BU Personal Websites



| En 522 12:30-2 spring 2014 CAS |322 |

People who have not satisfied CAS writing requirements should not take this class. Those who have not taken (or are not taking this semester) En 220 may experience abnormal difficulty writing papers and exams. or the equivalent. At the beginning of each class please ask questions about passages in the day’s reading with which you have had difficulty.

If absence and tardiness are vital for your self-esteem, think seriously about choosing some other course (see remarks on grading below). in no case can your grade exceed the percentage produced by dividing the amount of time you are present by the amount of time I am present.

Normal human beings have almost always regretted taking more than 16 credits or working more than 15 hours a week while taking this course. Anyone working full-time should be taking no other college-level course. 

Written assignments must be typed, and submitted by email enclosure (in Word only – not in word.dat). Late papers receive two grades, one of which is an F. Early papers are welcome. No one who stores files only on the hard-drive of her or his or a room-mates’ computer should be registered for this course. 

The first paper: By March 18 submit an account of at least 1000 words of what happened between January 16 and March 4 as you read the texts for the course, and then what happened in class (both what I seemed to be saying and what your peers seemed to be saying).

January 16 Read Aristophanes’ and Socrates’ contributions to the Symposium

Plato, Symposium, Aristophanes’ contribution: (primary texts included in the body of the syllabus are in Comic Sans MS font):

I dare say that I too have omitted several things which might be said in praise of Love, but this was not intentional, and you, Aristophanes, may now supply the omission or take some other line of commendation; for I perceive that you are rid of the hiccough.

Yes, said Aristophanes, who followed, the hiccough is gone; not, however, until I applied the sneezing; and I wonder whether the harmony of the body has a love of such noises and ticklings, for I no sooner applied the sneezing than I was cured.

Eryximachus said: Beware, friend Aristophanes, although you are going to speak, you are making fun of me; and I shall have to watch and see whether I cannot have a laugh at your expense, when you might speak in peace.

You are right, said Aristophanes, laughing. I will unsay my words; but do you please not to watch me, as I fear that in the speech which I am about to make, instead of others laughing with me, which is to the manner born of our muse and would be all the better, I shall only be laughed at by them.

Do you expect to shoot your bolt and escape, Aristophanes? Well, perhaps if you are very careful and bear in mind that you will be called to account, I may be induced to let you off.

Aristophanes professed to open another vein of discourse; he had a mind to praise Love in another way, unlike that either of Pausanias or Eryximachus. Mankind; he said, judging by their neglect of him, have never, as I think, at all understood the power of Love. For if they had understood him they would surely have built noble temples and altars, and offered solemn sacrifices in his honour; but this is not done, and most certainly ought to be done: since of all the gods he is the best friend of men, the helper and the healer of the ills which are the great impediment to the happiness of the race. I will try to describe his power to you, and you shall teach the rest of the world what I am teaching you. In the first place, let me treat of the nature of man and what has happened to it; for the original human nature was not like the present, but different. The sexes were not two as they are now, but originally three in number; there was man, woman, and the union of the two, having a name corresponding to this double nature, which had once a real existence, but is now lost, and the word "Androgynous" is only preserved as a term of reproach. In the second place, the primeval man was round, his back and sides forming a circle; and he had four hands and four feet, one head with two faces, looking opposite ways, set on a round neck and precisely alike; also four ears, two privy members, and the remainder to correspond. He could walk upright as men now do, backwards or forwards as he pleased, and he could also roll over and over at a great pace, turning on his four hands and four feet, eight in all, like tumblers going over and over with their legs in the air; this was when he wanted to run fast. Now the sexes were three, and such as I have described them; because the sun, moon, and earth are three;-and the man was originally the child of the sun, the woman of the earth, and the man-woman of the moon, which is made up of sun and earth, and they were all round and moved round and round: like their parents. Terrible was their might and strength, and the thoughts of their hearts were great, and they made an attack upon the gods; of them is told the tale of Otys and Ephialtes who, as Homer says, dared to scale heaven, and would have laid hands upon the gods. Doubt reigned in the celestial councils. Should they kill them and annihilate the race with thunderbolts, as they had done the giants, then there would be an end of the sacrifices and worship which men offered to them; but, on the other hand, the gods could not suffer their insolence to be unrestrained.

At last, after a good deal of reflection, Zeus discovered a way. He said: "Methinks I have a plan which will humble their pride and improve their manners; men shall continue to exist, but I will cut them in two and then they will be diminished in strength and increased in numbers; this will have the advantage of making them more profitable to us. They shall walk upright on two legs, and if they continue insolent and will not be quiet, I will split them again and they shall hop about on a single leg." He spoke and cut men in two, like a sorb-apple which is halved for pickling, or as you might divide an egg with a hair; and as he cut them one after another, he bade Apollo give the face and the half of the neck a turn in order that the man might contemplate the section of himself: he would thus learn a lesson of humility. Apollo was also bidden to heal their wounds and compose their forms. So he gave a turn to the face and pulled the skin from the sides all over that which in our language is called the belly, like the purses which draw in, and he made one mouth at the centre, which he fastened in a knot (the same which is called the navel); he also moulded the breast and took out most of the wrinkles, much as a shoemaker might smooth leather upon a last; he left a few, however, in the region of the belly and navel, as a memorial of the primeval state. After the division the two parts of man, each desiring his other half, came together, and throwing their arms about one another, entwined in mutual embraces, longing to grow into one, they were on the point of dying from hunger and self-neglect, because they did not like to do anything apart; and when one of the halves died and the other survived, the survivor sought another mate, man or woman as we call them, being the sections of entire men or women, and clung to that. They were being destroyed, when Zeus in pity of them invented a new plan: he turned the parts of generation round to the front, for this had not been always their position and they sowed the seed no longer as hitherto like grasshoppers in the ground, but in one another; and after the transposition the male generated in the female in order that by the mutual embraces of man and woman they might breed, and the race might continue; or if man came to man they might be satisfied, and rest, and go their ways to the business of life: so ancient is the desire of one another which is implanted in us, reuniting our original nature, making one of two, and healing the state of man.

Each of us when separated, having one side only, like a flat fish, is but the indenture of a man, and he is always looking for his other half. Men who are a section of that double nature which was once called Androgynous are lovers of women; adulterers are generally of this breed, and also adulterous women who lust after men: the women who are a section of the woman do not care for men, but have female attachments; the female companions are of this sort. But they who are a section of the male follow the male, and while they are young, being slices of the original man, they hang about men and embrace them, and they are themselves the best of boys and youths, because they have the most manly nature. Some indeed assert that they are shameless, but this is not true; for they do not act thus from any want of shame, but because they are valiant and manly, and have a manly countenance, and they embrace that which is like them. And these when they grow up become our statesmen, and these only, which is a great proof of the truth of what I am saving. When they reach manhood they are loves of youth, and are not naturally inclined to marry or beget children,-if at all, they do so only in obedience to the law; but they are satisfied if they may be allowed to live with one another unwedded; and such a nature is prone to love and ready to return love, always embracing that which is akin to him. And when one of them meets with his other half, the actual half of himself, whether he be a lover of youth or a lover of another sort, the pair are lost in an amazement of love and friendship and intimacy, and would not be out of the other's sight, as I may say, even for a moment: these are the people who pass their whole lives together; yet they could not explain what they desire of one another. For the intense yearning which each of them has towards the other does not appear to be the desire of lover's intercourse, but of something else which the soul of either evidently desires and cannot tell, and of which she has only a dark and doubtful presentiment. Suppose Hephaestus, with his instruments, to come to the pair who are lying side, by side and to say to them, "What do you people want of one another?" they would be unable to explain. And suppose further, that when he saw their perplexity he said: "Do you desire to be wholly one; always day and night to be in one another's company? for if this is what you desire, I am ready to melt you into one and let you grow together, so that being two you shall become one, and while you live a common life as if you were a single man, and after your death in the world below still be one departed soul instead of two-I ask whether this is what you lovingly desire, and whether you are satisfied to attain this?"-there is not a man of them who when he heard the proposal would deny or would not acknowledge that this meeting and melting into one another, this becoming one instead of two, was the very expression of his ancient need. And the reason is that human nature was originally one and we were a whole, and the desire and pursuit of the whole is called love. There was a time, I say, when we were one, but now because of the wickedness of mankind God has dispersed us, as the Arcadians were dispersed into villages by the Lacedaemonians. And if we are not obedient to the gods, there is a danger that we shall be split up again and go about in basso-relievo, like the profile figures having only half a nose which are sculptured on monuments, and that we shall be like tallies.

Wherefore let us exhort all men to piety, that we may avoid evil, and obtain the good, of which Love is to us the lord and minister; and let no one oppose him-he is the enemy of the gods who oppose him. For if we are friends of the God and at peace with him we shall find our own true loves, which rarely happens in this world at present. I am serious, and therefore I must beg Eryximachus not to make fun or to find any allusion in what I am saying to Pausanias and Agathon, who, as I suspect, are both of the manly nature, and belong to the class which I have been describing. But my words have a wider application-they include men and women everywhere; and I believe that if our loves were perfectly accomplished, and each one returning to his primeval nature had his original true love, then our race would be happy. And if this would be best of all, the best in the next degree and under present circumstances must be the nearest approach to such an union; and that will be the attainment of a congenial love. Wherefore, if we would praise him who has given to us the benefit, we must praise the god Love, who is our greatest benefactor, both leading us in this life back to our own nature, and giving us high hopes for the future, for he promises that if we are pious, he will restore us to our original state, and heal us and make us happy and blessed. This, Eryximachus, is my discourse of love, which, although different to yours, I must beg you to leave unassailed by the shafts of your ridicule, in order that each may have his turn; each, or rather either, for Agathon and Socrates are the only ones left.

Be prepared (1) to characterize Plato's attitude towards homosexuality; For more material, see David Halperin, One Hundred Years of Homosexuality, NY 1990, HQ76.2.G8.H35.1990, or Halperin's "Plato and the Erotics of Narrative" in Hexter and Selden pp. 95-26. For evidence of Athenian laws against pederasty see

as well as



For another perspective (Dover) see For an attempt to demonstrate the comic nature of Aristophenes’ contribution see [pic]

Socrates’ contribution to the Symposium:

And now, taking my leave of you, I would rehearse a tale of love which I heard from Diotima of Mantineia, a woman wise in this and in many other kinds of knowledge, who in the days of old, when the Athenians offered sacrifice before the coming of the plague, delayed the disease ten years. She was my instructress in the art of love, and I shall repeat to you what she said to me, beginning with the admissions made by Agathon, which are nearly if not quite the same which I made to the wise woman when she questioned me-I think that this will be the easiest way, and I shall take both parts myself as well as I can. As you, Agathon, suggested, I must speak first of the being and nature of Love, and then of his works. First I said to her in nearly the same words which he used to me, that Love was a mighty god, and likewise fair and she proved to me as I proved to him that, by my own showing, Love was neither fair nor good. "What do you mean, Diotima," I said, "is love then evil and foul?" "Hush," she cried; "must that be foul which is not fair?" "Certainly," I said. "And is that which is not wise, ignorant? do you not see that there is a mean between wisdom and ignorance?" "And what may that be?" I said. "Right opinion," she replied; "which, as you know, being incapable of giving a reason, is not knowledge (for how can knowledge be devoid of reason? nor again, ignorance, for neither can ignorance attain the truth), but is clearly something which is a mean between ignorance and wisdom." "Quite true," I replied. "Do not then insist," she said, "that what is not fair is of necessity foul, or what is not good evil; or infer that because love is not fair and good he is therefore foul and evil; for he is in a mean between them." "Well," I said, "Love is surely admitted by all to be a great god." "By those who know or by those who do not know?" "By all." "And how, Socrates," she said with a smile, "can Love be acknowledged to be a great god by those who say that he is not a god at all?" "And who are they?" I said. "You and I are two of them," she replied. "How can that be?" I said. "It is quite intelligible," she replied; "for you yourself would acknowledge that the gods are happy and fair of course you would-would to say that any god was not?" "Certainly not," I replied. "And you mean by the happy, those who are the possessors of things good or fair?" "Yes." "And you admitted that Love, because he was in want, desires those good and fair things of which he is in want?" "Yes, I did." "But how can he be a god who has no portion in what is either good or fair?" "Impossible." "Then you see that you also deny the divinity of Love."

"What then is Love?" I asked; "Is he mortal?" "No." "What then?" "As in the former instance, he is neither mortal nor immortal, but in a mean between the two." "What is he, Diotima?" "He is a great spirit (daimon), and like all spirits he is intermediate between the divine and the mortal." "And what," I said, "is his power?" "He interprets," she replied, "between gods and men, conveying and taking across to the gods the prayers and sacrifices of men, and to men the commands and replies of the gods; he is the mediator who spans the chasm which divides them, and therefore in him all is bound together, and through him the arts of the prophet and the priest, their sacrifices and mysteries and charms, and all, prophecy and incantation, find their way. For God mingles not with man; but through Love. all the intercourse, and converse of god with man, whether awake or asleep, is carried on. The wisdom which understands this is spiritual; all other wisdom, such as that of arts and handicrafts, is mean and vulgar. Now these spirits or intermediate powers are many and diverse, and one of them is Love. "And who," I said, "was his father, and who his mother?" "The tale," she said, "will take time; nevertheless I will tell you. On the birthday of Aphrodite there was a feast of the gods, at which the god Poros or Plenty, who is the son of Metis or Discretion, was one of the guests. When the feast was over, Penia or Poverty, as the manner is on such occasions, came about the doors to beg. Now Plenty who was the worse for nectar (there was no wine in those days), went into the garden of Zeus and fell into a heavy sleep, and Poverty considering her own straitened circumstances, plotted to have a child by him, and accordingly she lay down at his side and conceived love, who partly because he is naturally a lover of the beautiful, and because Aphrodite is herself beautiful, and also because he was born on her birthday, is her follower and attendant. And as his parentage is, so also are his fortunes. In the first place he is always poor, and anything but tender and fair, as the many imagine him; and he is rough and squalid, and has no shoes, nor a house to dwell in; on the bare earth exposed he lies under the open heaven, in-the streets, or at the doors of houses, taking his rest; and like his mother he is always in distress. Like his father too, whom he also partly resembles, he is always plotting against the fair and good; he is bold, enterprising, strong, a mighty hunter, always weaving some intrigue or other, keen in the pursuit of wisdom, fertile in resources; a philosopher at all times, terrible as an enchanter, sorcerer, sophist. He is by nature neither mortal nor immortal, but alive and flourishing at one moment when he is in plenty, and dead at another moment, and again alive by reason of his father's nature. But that which is always flowing in is always ch

flowing out, and so he is never in want and never in wealth; and, further, he is in a mean between ignorance and knowledge. The truth of the matter is this: No god is a philosopher. or seeker after wisdom, for he is wise already; nor does any man who is wise seek after wisdom. Neither do the ignorant seek after Wisdom. For herein is the evil of ignorance, that he who is neither good nor wise is nevertheless satisfied with himself: he has no desire for that of which he feels no want." "But-who then, Diotima," I said, "are the lovers of wisdom, if they are neither the wise nor the foolish?" "A child may answer that question," she replied; "they are those who are in a mean between the two; Love is one of them. For wisdom is a most beautiful thing, and Love is of the beautiful; and therefore Love is also a philosopher: or lover of wisdom, and being a lover of wisdom is in a mean between the wise and the ignorant. And of this too his birth is the cause; for his father is wealthy and wise, and his mother poor and foolish. Such, my dear Socrates, is the nature of the spirit Love. The error in your conception of him was very natural, and as I imagine from what you say, has arisen out of a confusion of love and the beloved, which made you think that love was all beautiful. For the beloved is the truly beautiful, and delicate, and perfect, and blessed; but the principle of love is of another nature, and is such as I have described."

I said, "O thou stranger woman, thou sayest well; but, assuming Love to be such as you say, what is the use of him to men?" "That, Socrates," she replied, "I will attempt to unfold: of his nature and birth I have already spoken; and you acknowledge that love is of the beautiful. But some one will say: Of the beautiful in what, Socrates and Diotima?-or rather let me put the question more dearly, and ask: When a man loves the beautiful, what does he desire?" I answered her "That the beautiful may be his." "Still," she said, "the answer suggests a further question: What is given by the possession of beauty?" "To what you have asked," I replied, "I have no answer ready." "Then," she said, "Let me put the word 'good' in the place of the beautiful, and repeat the question once more: If he who loves good, what is it then that he loves? "The possession of the good," I said. "And what does he gain who possesses the good?" "Happiness," I replied; "there is less difficulty in answering that question." "Yes," she said, "the happy are made happy by the acquisition of good things. Nor is there any need to ask why a man desires happiness; the answer is already final." "You are right." I said. "And is this wish and this desire common to all? and do all men always desire their own good, or only some men?-what say you?" "All men," I replied; "the desire is common to all." "Why, then," she rejoined, "are not all men, Socrates, said to love, but only some them? whereas you say that all men are always loving the same things." "I myself wonder," I said,-why this is." "There is nothing to wonder at," she replied; "the reason is that one part of love is separated off and receives the name of the whole, but the other parts have other names." "Give an illustration," I said. She answered me as follows: "There is poetry, which, as you know, is complex; and manifold. All creation or passage of non-being into being is poetry or making, and the processes of all art are creative; and the masters of arts are all poets or makers." "Very true." "Still," she said, "you know that they are not called poets, but have other names; only that portion of the art which is separated off from the rest, and is concerned with music and metre, is termed poetry, and they who possess poetry in this sense of the word are called poets." "Very true," I said. "And the same holds of love. For you may say generally that all desire of good and happiness is only the great and subtle power of love; but they who are drawn towards him by any other path, whether the path of money-making or gymnastics or philosophy, are not called lovers -the name of the whole is appropriated to those whose affection takes one form only-they alone are said to love, or to be lovers." "I dare say," I replied, "that you are right." "Yes," she added, "and you hear people say that lovers are seeking for their other half; but I say that they are seeking neither for the half of themselves, nor for the whole, unless the half or the whole be also a good. And they will cut off their own hands and feet and cast them away, if they are evil; for they love not what is their own, unless perchance there be some one who calls what belongs to him the good, and what belongs to another the evil. For there is nothing which men love but the good. Is there anything?" "Certainly, I should say, that there is nothing." "Then," she said, "the simple truth is, that men love the good." "Yes," I said. "To which must be added that they love the possession of the good? "Yes, that must be added." "And not only the possession, but the everlasting possession of the good?" "That must be added too." "Then love," she said, "may be described generally as the love of the everlasting possession of the good?" "That is most true."

"Then if this be the nature of love, can you tell me further," she said, "what is the manner of the pursuit? what are they doing who show all this eagerness and heat which is called love? and what is the object which they have in view? Answer me." "Nay, Diotima," I replied, "if I had known, I should not have wondered at your wisdom, neither should I have come to learn from you about this very matter." "Well," she said, "I will teach you:-The object which they have in view is birth in beauty, whether of body or, soul." "I do not understand you," I said; "the oracle requires an explanation." "I will make my meaning dearer," she replied. "I mean to say, that all men are bringing to the birth in their bodies and in their souls. There is a certain age at which human nature is desirous of procreation-procreation which must be in beauty and not in deformity; and this procreation is the union of man and woman, and is a divine thing; for conception and generation are an immortal principle in the mortal creature, and in the inharmonious they can never be. But the deformed is always inharmonious with the divine, and the beautiful harmonious. Beauty, then, is the destiny or goddess of parturition who presides at birth, and therefore, when approaching beauty, the conceiving power is propitious, and diffusive, and benign, and begets and bears fruit: at the sight of ugliness she frowns and contracts and has a sense of pain, and turns away, and shrivels up, and not without a pang refrains from conception. And this is the reason why, when the hour of conception arrives, and the teeming nature is full, there is such a flutter and ecstasy about beauty whose approach is the alleviation of the pain of travail. For love, Socrates, is not, as you imagine, the love of the beautiful only." "What then?" "The love of generation and of birth in beauty." "Yes," I said. "Yes, indeed," she replied. "But why of generation?" "Because to the mortal creature, generation is a sort of eternity and immortality," she replied; "and if, as has been already admitted, love is of the everlasting possession of the good, all men will necessarily desire immortality together with good: Wherefore love is of immortality."

All this she taught me at various times when she spoke of love. And I remember her once saying to me, "What is the cause, Socrates, of love, and the attendant desire? See you not how all animals, birds, as well as beasts, in their desire of procreation, are in agony when they take the infection of love, which begins with the desire of union; whereto is added the care of offspring, on whose behalf the weakest are ready to battle against the strongest even to the uttermost, and to die for them, and will, let themselves be tormented with hunger or suffer anything in order to maintain their young. Man may be supposed to act thus from reason; but why should animals have these passionate feelings? Can you tell me why?" Again I replied that I did not know. She said to me: "And do you expect ever to become a master in the art of love, if you do not know this?" "But I have told you already, Diotima, that my ignorance is the reason why I come to you; for I am conscious that I want a teacher; tell me then the cause of this and of the other mysteries of love." "Marvel not," she said, "if you believe that love is of the immortal, as we have several times acknowledged; for here again, and on the same principle too, the mortal nature is seeking as far as is possible to be everlasting and immortal: and this is only to be attained by generation, because generation always leaves behind a new existence in the place of the old. Nay even in the life, of the same individual there is succession and not absolute unity: a man is called the same, and yet in the short interval which elapses between youth and age, and in which every animal is said to have life and identity, he is undergoing a perpetual process of loss and reparation-hair, flesh, bones, blood, and the whole body are always changing. Which is true not only of the body, but also of the soul, whose habits, tempers, opinions, desires, pleasures, pains, fears, never remain the same in any one of us, but are always coming and going; and equally true of knowledge, and what is still more surprising to us mortals, not only do the sciences in general spring up and decay, so that in respect of them we are never the same; but each of them individually experiences a like change. For what is implied in the word 'recollection,' but the departure of knowledge, which is ever being forgotten, and is renewed and preserved by recollection, and appears to be the same although in reality new, according to that law of succession by which all mortal things are preserved, not absolutely the same, but by substitution, the old worn-out mortality leaving another new and similar existence behind unlike the divine, which is always the same and not another? And in this way, Socrates, the mortal body, or mortal anything, partakes of immortality; but the immortal in another way. Marvel not then at the love which all men have of their offspring; for that universal love and interest is for the sake of immortality."

I was astonished at her words, and said: "Is this really true, O thou wise Diotima?" And she answered with all the authority of an accomplished sophist: "Of that, Socrates, you may be assured;-think only of the ambition of men, and you will wonder at the senselessness of their ways, unless you consider how they are stirred by the love of an immortality of fame. They are ready to run all risks greater far than they would have for their children, and to spend money and undergo any sort of toil, and even to die, for the sake of leaving behind them a name which shall be eternal. Do you imagine that Alcestis would have died to save Admetus, or Achilles to avenge Patroclus, or your own Codrus in order to preserve the kingdom for his sons, if they had not imagined that the memory of their virtues, which still survives among us, would be immortal? Nay," she said, "I am persuaded that all men do all things, and the better they are the more they do them, in hope of the glorious fame of immortal virtue; for they desire the immortal.

"Those who are pregnant in the body only, betake themselves to women and beget children-this is the character of their love; their offspring, as they hope, will preserve their memory and giving them the blessedness and immortality which they desire in the future. But souls which are pregnant-for there certainly are men who are more creative in their souls than in their bodies conceive that which is proper for the soul to conceive or contain. And what are these conceptions?-wisdom and virtue in general. And such creators are poets and all artists who are deserving of the name inventor. But the greatest and fairest sort of wisdom by far is that which is concerned with the ordering of states and families, and which is called temperance and justice. And he wcho in youth has the seed of these implanted in him and is himself inspired, when he comes to maturity desires to beget and generate. He wanders about seeking beauty that he may beget offspring-for in deformity he will beget nothing-and naturally embraces the beautiful rather than the deformed body; above all when he finds fair and noble and well-nurtured soul, he embraces the two in one person, and to such an one he is full of speech about virtue and the nature and pursuits of a good man; and he tries to educate him; and at the touch of the beautiful which is ever present to his memory, even when absent, he brings forth that which he had conceived long before, and in company with him tends that which he brings forth; and they are married by a far nearer tie and have a closer friendship than those who beget mortal children, for the children who are their common offspring are fairer and more immortal. Who, when he thinks of Homer and Hesiod and other great poets, would not rather have their children than ordinary human ones? Who would not emulate them in the creation of children such as theirs, which have preserved their memory and given them everlasting glory? Or who would not have such children as Lycurgus left behind him to be the saviours, not only of Lacedaemon, but of Hellas, as one may say? There is Solon, too, who is the revered father of Athenian laws; and many others there are in many other places, both among hellenes and barbarians, who have given to the world many noble works, and have been the parents of virtue of every kind; and many temples have been raised in their honour for the sake of children such as theirs; which were never raised in honour of any one, for the sake of his mortal children.

"These are the lesser mysteries of love, into which even you, Socrates, may enter; to the greater and more hidden ones which are the crown of these, and to which, if you pursue them in a right spirit, they will lead, I know not whether you will be able to attain. But I will do my utmost to inform you, and do you follow if you can. For he who would proceed aright in this matter should begin in youth to visit beautiful forms; and first, if he be guided by his instructor aright, to love one such form only-out of that he should create fair thoughts; and soon he will of himself perceive that the beauty of one form is akin to the beauty of another; and then if beauty of form in general is his pursuit, how foolish would he be not to recognize that the beauty in every form is and the same! And when he perceives this he will abate his violent love of the one, which he will despise and deem a small thing, and will become a lover of all beautiful forms; in the next stage he will consider that the beauty of the mind is more honourable than the beauty of the outward form. So that if a virtuous soul have but a little comeliness, he will be content to love and tend him, and will search out and bring to the birth thoughts which may improve the young, until he is compelled to contemplate and see the beauty of institutions and laws, and to understand that the beauty of them all is of one family, and that personal beauty is a trifle; and after laws and institutions he will go on to the sciences, that he may see their beauty, being not like a servant in love with the beauty of one youth or man or institution, himself a slave mean and narrow-minded, but drawing towards and contemplating the vast sea of beauty, he will create many fair and noble thoughts and notions in boundless love of wisdom; until on that shore he grows and waxes strong, and at last the vision is revealed to him of a single science, which is the science of beauty everywhere. To this I will proceed; please to give me your very best attention:

"He who has been instructed thus far in the things of love, and who has learned to see the beautiful in due order and succession, when he comes toward the end will suddenly perceive a nature of wondrous beauty (and this, Socrates, is the final cause of all our former toils)-a nature which in the first place is everlasting, not growing and decaying, or waxing and waning; secondly, not fair in one point of view and foul in another, or at one time or in one relation or at one place fair, at another time or in another relation or at another place foul, as if fair to some and-foul to others, or in the likeness of a face or hands or any other part of the bodily frame, or in any form of speech or knowledge, or existing in any other being, as for example, in an animal, or in heaven or in earth, or in any other place; but beauty absolute, separate, simple, and everlasting, which without diminution and without increase, or any change, is imparted to the ever-growing and perishing beauties of all other things. He who from these ascending under the influence of true love, begins to perceive that beauty, is not far from the end. And the true order of going, or being led by another, to the things of love, is to begin from the beauties of earth and mount upwards for the sake of that other beauty, using these as steps only, and from one going on to two, and from two to all fair forms, and from fair forms to fair practices, and from fair practices to fair notions, until from fair notions he arrives at the notion of absolute beauty, and at last knows what the essence of beauty is. This, my dear Socrates," said the stranger of Mantineia, "is that life above all others which man should live, in the contemplation of beauty absolute; a beauty which if you once beheld, you would see not to be after the measure of gold, and garments, and fair boys and youths, whose presence now entrances you; and you and many a one would be content to live seeing them only and conversing with them without meat or drink, if that were possible-you only want to look at them and to be with them. But what if man had eyes to see the true beauty-the divine beauty, I mean, pure and dear and unalloyed, not clogged with the pollutions of mortality and all the colours and vanities of human life-thither looking, and holding converse with the true beauty simple and divine? Remember how in that communion only, beholding beauty with the eye of the mind, he will be enabled to bring forth, not images of beauty, but realities (for he has hold not of an image but of a reality), and bringing forth and nourishing true virtue to become the friend of God and be immortal, if mortal man may. Would that be an ignoble life?"

Such, Phaedrus-and I speak not only to you, but to all of you-were the words of Diotima; and I am persuaded of their truth. And being persuaded of them, I try to persuade others, that in the attainment of this end human nature will not easily find a helper better than love: And therefore, also, I say that every man ought to honour him as I myself honour him, and walk in his ways, and exhort others to do the same, and praise the power and spirit of love according to the measure of my ability now and ever.

The words which I have spoken, you, Phaedrus, may call an encomium of love, or anything else which you please.

Download, print out, read, and bring to class as well as the syllabus and the sheet of 27

For a useful introduction to some of the traditional schemes and tropes of rhetoric, see: -- for a survey of some of the problems that result from thinking about tropes see  

Get into the habit of browsing through Isidore of Seville’s Etymologies:



January 21 What has the composer of the following poem done with the material Aristophanes supplied? Nombril

What has Ronsard done with the same material?

[pic]

Ronsard

[pic]

What did Spenser do with Aristophenes’ contribution?

From Spenser’s Fairy Queen Book III:

STANZAS IN 1590 REPLACED IN 1596 WITH OTHERS.

At last she came vnto the place, where late

She left Sir Scudamour in great distresse,

Twixt dolour and despight halfe desperate,

Of his loues succour, of his owne redresse,

And of the hardie Britomarts successe:

There on the cold earth him now thrown she found,

In wilfull anguish, and dead heauinesse,

And to him cald; whose voices knowen sound

Soone as he heard, himself he reared light from ground.

There did he see, that most on earth him ioyd,

His dearest loue, the comfort of his dayes,

Whose too long absence him had sore annoyd,

And wearied his life with dull delayes:

Straight he vpstarted from the loathed layes,

And to her ran with hasty egernesse,

Like as a Deare, that greedily embayes

In the coole soile, after long thirstinesse,

Which he in chace endured hath, now nigh breathlesse.

Lightly he clipt her twixt his armes twaine,

And streightly did embrace her body bright,

Her body, late the prison of sad paine,

Now the sweet lodge of loue and deare delight:

But she faire Lady ouercommen quight

Of huge affection, did in pleasure melt,

And in sweete rauishment pourd out her spright:

No word they spake, nor earthly thing they felt,

But like two senceles stocks in long embracement dwelt.

Had ye them seene, ye would haue surely thought,

That they had beene that faire Hermaphrodite,

Which that rich Romane of white marble wrought,

And in his costly Bath causd to bee site:

So seemd those two, as growne together quite,

That Britomart halfe enuying their b[l]esse,

Was much empassiond in her gentle sprite,

And to her selfe oft wisht like happinesse,

In vaine she wisht, that fate n'ould let her yet possesse.

Thus doe those louers with sweet counteruayle,

Each other of loues bitter fruit despoile.

But now my teme begins to faint and fayle,

All woxen weary of their iournall toyle:

Therefore I will their sweatie yokes assoyle,

At this same furrowes end, till a new day:

And ye faire swayns, after your long turmoyle,

Now cease your worke, and at your pleasure play:

Now cease your worke; to morrow is an holy day

January 23

Isidore of Seville, Etymologies:

6. ‘Charity’ (caritas) is a Greek word, and is translated into Latin as ‘love’

173(dilectio), because it binds (ligare) two (duo) in itself.

Indeed, love begins from two things, because it is the

love of God and the neighbor. Concerning this the apostle

Paul says (Romans 13:10): “Love is the fulfilling of the

law.” 7. It is greater than the other two, because he who

loves also believes and hopes. But he who does not love,

although he may do many good things, labors in vain.

Moreover every carnal love (dilectio carnalis) is customarily

called not love (dilectio) but ‘desire’ (amor).We usually

use the term dilectio only with regard to better things. 6. ‘Charity’ (caritas)

is a Greek word, and is translated into Latin as ‘love’

173(dilectio), because it binds (ligare) two (duo) in itself.

Indeed, love begins from two things, because it is the

love of God and the neighbor. Concerning this the apostle

Paul says (Romans 13:10): “Love is the fulfilling of the

law.” 7. It is greater than the other two, because he who

loves also believes and hopes. But he who does not love,

although he may do many good things, labors in vain.

Moreover every carnal love (dilectio carnalis) is customarily

called not love (dilectio) but ‘desire’ (amor).We usually

use the term dilectio only with regard to better things.

76. They say Venus (Venus) is so named because a woman does not leave off being a virgin without force

(vis). The Greeks call her J__"__ on account of the

generating foam of blood, for foam is called _____ in

Greek. 77.They imagine that Saturn cut off the genitals of

his father, the Sky (Caelus), so that the blood flowed into

the sea,and thatVenus was born from it as the foam of the

sea solidified. They say this because the substance of a salt

humor comes into being through coition, whence Venus

is called J__"__, because in coition there is a foam of

blood that consists of a liquid and salt secretion of the

internal parts. 78. They call Venus the wife of Vulcan

because the act of Venus does not take place without

heat, whence (Vergil, Geo. 3.97):

Grown older, he is cold in love.

79. Now, it is said that Saturn cut off the male organs of

his father, the Sky, and that these created Venus when

they fell into the sea; this is imagined because, unless

moisture descends from the sky to the land, nothing is

created.

80. They say that Cupid is so called because of love

(amor; cf. cupido, “desire”), for he is the demon of fornication.

He is pictured with wings because nothing more fleeting, nothing

more changeable is found than lovers.

He is pictured as a youth because love is foolish and

irrational. He is imagined to hold an arrow and a torch;

an arrow because love wounds the heart, and a torch

because it in flames. 81.The Greeks call the god of country

people, whom they fashioned in the likeness of nature,

Pan; Latin speakers call him Silvanus. He is called Pan,

that is, ‘everything’ (cf. !Y_, ‘everything’), for they fashion

him out of every sort of element. 82. He has horns

in the likeness of the rays of the sun and moon. He has a

pelt marked by spots, on account of the stars of the sky.

His face is ruddy in likeness to the ether.He holds a pipe

of seven reeds, on account of the harmony of heaven, in

which there are seven tones and seven intervals of sound.

83. He is hairy, because the earth is clothed and agitated

by the winds.16 His lower half is bestial, representing

trees and brutes like livestock. He has goat’s hooves, so

as to show the solidity of the earth. They claim he is the

god of things and of all nature, whence they say Pan,

‘everything’ as it were.

See opening of book nine and much of book IX of Isidore:

29. Item in eligenda uxore, quatuor res impellunt hominem ad amorem: pulchritudo, genus, divitiae, mores. Melius tamen est, si in ea mores quaerantur quam pulchritudo. Nunc autem illae quaeruntur, quas, aut divitiae, aut forma, non quas probitas morum commendat.

457 30. Ideo autem feminae sub viri potestate consistunt, quia levitate animi plerumque decipiuntur. Unde et aequum erat eas viri auctoritate reprimi. Proinde et veteres voluerunt feminas innuptas, quamvis perfectae aetatis essent, propter ipsam animi levitatem in tutela consistere.

29. Then, in choosing a wife, four things impel a man

to love: beauty, family,wealth, and character. Yet it is better

if character is looked for in her rather than beauty.

But nowadays wives are sought whom wealth and beauty

recommend, not uprightness of character. 30. Women

stand under the power of their husbands because they

are quite often deceived by the fickleness of their

minds. Whence, it was right that they were repressed

by the authority of men. Consequently, the ancients

wanted their unwed women, even those of mature

age, to live in guardianship, on account of their fickle minds.

See Augustine, Against Julian on necessity of lust

Elizabeth Sears demonstrates thoroughly that from the time of Pythagoras until now, the trope has appealed to philosophers, mathematicians, historians, medical workers, cosmologists, and, most significantly for the purposes of this paper, biblical exegetes. “Biblical exegesis, it might be argued, was the major source of creative thinking on the ages of man in late antiquity and the earlier middle ages”[1] See Sears, The Ages of Man, Princeton, 1986, p. 80.

[pic]

Alanus’ translator writes:

Those repetitions, those fantastic circumlocutions, those wonderful wild flowers of metaphor which grow up constantly around him, leave on the translator's hands a multitude of words, fluttering over an embarrassing paucity of ideas, for which English synonyms and approved figures of English speech are manifestly few or lacking. The present translator hopes that he is not chargeable too heavily with the weaknesses of a compromise. It has not been thought advisable to render into anything but prose those portions of the original which are in verse.

Jan 28   Alanus de Insula’s definition of love:

METRE V.

METRE V.

Pax odio, fraudique fides, spes juncta timori.

Love is peace joined with hatred, faith with fraud, hope with fear, and fury mixed with reason, pleasant shipwreck, light heaviness,, welcome Charybdis, healthy sickness, satisfied [1] hunger, famished satiety, drunken thirst, deceptive delight, glad sorrow, joy full of pains, sweet evil, evil sweetness, pleasure bitter to itself, whose scent is savory, whose savor is tasteless, grateful tempest, clear night, shadowy day, living death, dying life, agreeable misfortune, sinful forgiveness, pardonable sin, laughable punishment, holy iniquity, nay, even delightful crime, unstable play, fixed delusion, [1] weak vigor, changeable firmness, mover of things established, undiscerning reason, mad prudence, sad prosperity, tearful laughter, sick repose, soothing hell, sorrowful paradise, pleasant prison, vernal winter, wintry spring, calamity, bold moth of the mind, which the purple of the king feels, and which does not pass by the toga of a beggar. Does not Cupid, working many miracles by changing things into their opposites, transform the whole race of men? When the monk and the adulterer have both been foreign to a man, he yet compels these [2]' two to possess and dwell in him at the same time. While his madness rages, Scylla lays aside her fur , the good Eneas begins to be a Nero, Paris lightens with his sword, Tydeus -s is gentle in love, Nestor becomes young and Melicerta old, Thersites begs Paris for his beauty, Davus begs Adonis and into Davus goes all of Adonis, rich Crassus is in want and Codrus has abundance in poverty, Bavius produces poetry, the muse of Maro is dull, Ennius is eloquent, Marcus is silent, Ulysses becomes foolish, Ajax in his folly is wise. He who in time past saw through the stratagem of Antaeus and vanquished him, is vanquished by this prodigy, which subdues all others. If this madness infect a woman's mind, she runs into any conceivable crime, and beyond; the daughter treacherously kills her father, the sister her brother, the wife her husband, anticipating the hand of fate. And thus in the evil progression she hews her husband's body, and with stealthy sword

1 Alain plays on the words - instabilis ludus, stabilis delusio.

2.Reading haec, with B.

48

severs his head. Even the mother is forced not to know the name of parent, and, while she is giving birth, gives birth also to lies. The son is horrorstricken to find in his mother a stepmother, in faith deceit, in piety guile. Thus in Medea two names fight equally, for at one time she desires to be both mother and stepmother. The sister knows not her station or how to keep herself a sister, when Byblis has become too far a friend of Caunus. So also Myrrha, too subject to her sire, was a parent with her progenitor, and a mother with her father. But why should I tell more ? Under the spear of Cupid must each lover go, and pay him his dues. He wages war against all; his rule excepts hardly a one; he smites all things with the anger of his lightning, and against him neither probity nor prudence will be of effect, nor beauty of form, nor abundance of riches, nor the height of nobility. Thefts, lies, fear,[1] anger, fury, deceit, violence, error, sadness poetry is strange dominions. Here a on, moderation to be unrestrained, faith to have no faith. Displaying the sweet, he adds the bitter, instils poison, and finishes best things with an evil end. Attracting he seduces, laughing he jeers, with smarting ointment he anoints, laying hold he corrupts, loving he hates. Yet thou canst thyself bridle that madness, if thou fleest-no stronger medicine is given. If thou wouldst escape Love, shun his places, his times; both place and time give him nourishment. If thou followest him, he attends ; by fleeing, he is put to flight; if thou retreatest, he retires; if thou fleest, he flies.

1. Reading metus, with B.

alanus

Jam ex hoc mea doctrine artificio. 

Now the theory of the art of love has appeared clearly to thee from my skillful presentation, and through the book of experience thou wilt be able to acquire for thyself its practice. And it is not strange if in this portrayal of Cupid I intersperse slight signs of blame, although he is allied to me by the connection of own blood-relationship. Disparaging malice, 'with its deep rust, did not drive me to these upbraiding and reproving censures, nor the intensity of burning hate breaking forth from within, nor the tyrant of jealousy raging furiously without, but the fear lest I should seem to strangle, clear and eloquent truth by silence. I do not deny honorableness to the essential nature of love if it is checked by the bridle of moderation if it is restrained by the reins of sobriety, if it does not transgress the determined boundaries of the dual activity, or its heat boil to too great a degree. But if its spark shoots into a flame, or its little spring rises to a torrent, the rankness of the growth demands the pruning-knife, and the swelling and excess requires an assuaging medicine; for all excess disturbs the progress of well-regulated temperance, and the pride of unhealthy extravagance fattens, so to speak, into imposthumes of vices'

 

The former poetical discourse, then, which strayed into playful jest, is set before thee as a treat for thy childishness. Now let the style, which had slightly wandered toward the boyish and light verses of thy youth, return to the ordered theme of the narration previously planned. As I showed in touching on the subject before, I appointed Venus to build up a progeny from the living creatures of earth, that in her work of producing things she might shape in the rough various materials, and lay them before me. But I, in the manifold formation of their natures, was to add the execution of the final and polishing hand. And in order that faithful tools might exclude the confusion of poor work, I have assigned to her two lawful hammers, by which she may bring the stratagems of the Fates to naught, and present to view the multiform subjects of existence. Also I appointed for her work anvils, noble instruments, with a command that she should apply these same hammers to them, and faithfully give herself up to the forming of things, not permitting the hammers to leave their proper work, and become strangers to the anvils.f For the office of writing I provided her [1] with an especially potent reed-pen, in order that, on suitable leaves desiring the writing of this pen (in the benefit of my gift of which leaves she had been made a sharer), she might, according to the rule of my orthography, trace the natures of things, and might not suffer the pen to stray in the least measure possible from the path of proper description into the by-track of false writing. But since for the production of progeny the rule of marital coition, with its lawful embraces was to connect things unlike in their opposition of sexes, I, to the end that in her connections she should observe the orthodox constructions of grammatical art, and that the nobility of her work should not mar its glory by ignorance of any branch of knowledge, taught her, as a pupil worthy to be 6s taught, by friendly precepts under my guiding discipline, what rules of the grammatical art she should admit in her skilful connections and constructions, and what she should exclude as irregular and not redeemed b any justifying figure. For although natural reason recognizes, as grammar corroborates, two genders specially, namely masculine and feminine-albeit some men, deprived of the sign of sex, can be thought of in my opinion by the designation of neuter-yet I enjoined Cypris, with the most friendly admonitions, and under the most powerful thunder of threats, to solemnize in her connections as reason demands, only the natural union of the masculine with the feminine gender. For, since according to the demand of nuptial custom the masculine gender takes to itself its feminine gender, if the joining of these genders should be celebrated irregularly, so that members of the same sex should be connected with each other, that construction would not earn pardon from me, either by the help of evocation or by the aid of conception. For if the masculine gender by some violent and reasonless reasoning should demand a like gender, the relation of that connection could not justify its vice by any beauty of figure, but would be disgraced as an inexcusable and monstrous solecism. 

Furthermore, my command enjoined Cypris that, in her constructions, she have regard to the ordinary rules for nouns and adjectives, and that she appoint that organ which is especially marked with the peculiarity of the feminine sex to the office of noun, and that she should put that organ characterized y the signs of the masculine sex in the seat of the adjective. Thus should it be that neither the adjective should be able to fall into the place of the noun, nor should the noun remove into the region of the adjective. And since each is influenced by the other, by the laws of necessity the adjective is attracted according to its modifying quality, and the noun as is proper in a thing retentive of substantive nature. Besides this, I added that the Dionean conjugation should not admit into its uniform use of transitive construction either a defective use, or the circuity of reflexiveness, or the excess of double conjugation-it being rather contented with the direct course of single conjugation-nor should suffer by the irruption of any wandering influence to such degree that the active voice should become able by a usurping assumption to cross over into the passive, or the latter by an abandonment of its peculiar nature to turn into the active, or, retaining under the letters of the passive the nature of the active, to assume the law of the deponent. Nor is it strange if many conjugations, characterized by the mark of fullest grammatical strength, suffer repulse from the dwelling of the art of Venus; for though she admits into the bosom of her friendship those which follow her rules and direction, yet those which in the boasting of a most eloquent contradiction [1] try to overthrow her laws, she suspends in the exclusion of an eternal anathema. 

The voice of controversial logic, moreover, will acknowledge that very many powerful connections draw upon divers stores of strength-though there are some which have no freedom to go beyond their own stations and restraints. And since I knew that Venus was entering into conflict and sharp argument against the active opposition of the Fates, I gave [2] her, according to the maxims of controversial learning, and to the end that she should not fall into the closing trap Of a conclusion at the hands of Atropos through any deceiving trick, [1] instruction that she transcend the formal limits of her own arguments, and that she find the lurking-place of false deceit in those of her opponents. So might she the more safely carry on the contest and dispute against the wiles of the adversary, and by her earnestness refute the false arguments [2] of her opponents. Moreover, I added that a syllogistic conclusion in the due order of three propositions should be arranged, but that it should be content with an abridgment to two terms, following none of the Aristotelian figures; being of such sort that in every proposition the major extreme should perform the office of the predicate, and the minor should be the subject, and be bound by its laws. In the first proposition the predicate should cling to the subject, not in the manner of true inherence, but simply by the way of external connection, as with a term predicated from a term. In the minor proposition the major term should be joined to the minor more closely by the reciprocal pressure of the kisses of relation. But in the conclusion there should be celebrated, in the truer bond of closest inherence, the fleshly connection of subject [3] and predicate. It was also part of my plan that the terms in the conclusion of love should not, by any pernicious and retrograding conversion, following the laws of predication by analogy, change their places and stations. And to the end that no false consequent, born from terms like and equal, should be able to hinder the work of Venus, I distinguished the terms with special marks, that she might plainly recognize with familiar insight and easy perception what term, from the law of their nature, the more humble step of the subject demands, and what the loftier summit of the predicate ; for so, if a conclusion should inconsequently have its terms out of right relation, there should not still arise complete deformity and continual folly. 

Furthermore, just as it has been my purpose to attack with bitter hostility [1] certain practices of grammar and logic, and exclude them from the schools of Venus, so 'I have forbidden to the arts of Cypris those metonymic uses of rhetoricians which Mother Rhetoric embraces in her wide bosom, and inspires as her speech with many graces; for I feared lest if, in the pursuit of too strained a metaphor, she should change the predicate from its protesting subject into something wholly foreign, cleverness would be too far [2] converted into a blemish, refinement into grossness, fancy into a fault, ornament into a gaudy show.

Looking at the opening of the Complaint of Nature might help:

281 LIBER DE PLANCTU NATURAE.

[Col.0431] 

[Col.0431A] In lacrymas risus, in fletum gaudia verto: 

   In planctum plausus, in lacrymosa jocos, 

Cum sua naturam video secreta silere, 

   Cum Veneris monstro naufraga turba perit. 

Cum Venus in Venerem pugnans, illos facit illas: 

   Cumque suos magica devirat arte viros. 

Non fraus tristitiam, non fraudes fletus adulter 

   Non dolus, imo dolor parturit, imo parit. 

Musa rogat, dolor ipse jubet, natura precatur, 

   Ut donem flendo, flebile carmen eis. 

Heu! quo naturae secessit gratia? morum 

   Forma, pudicitiae norma, pudoris amor! 

Flet natura, silent mores, proscribitur omnis 

   Orphanus a veteri nobilitate pudor. 

Activi generis sexus, se turpiter horret 

   [Col.0431B] Sic in passivum degenerare genus. 

Femina vir factus, sexus denigrat honorem, 

   Ars magicae Veneris hermaphroditat eum. 

Praedicat et subjicit, fit duplex terminus idem, 

   Grammaticae leges ampliat ille nimis. 

Se negat esse virum, naturae factus in arte 

   Barbarus. Ars illi non placet, imo, tropus. 

Non tamen ista tropus poterit translatio dici; 

   In vitium melius ista figura cadit. 

Hic modo est logicus, per quem conversio simplex 

   Artis, naturae jura perire facit. 

Cudit in incude, quae semina nulla monetat 

   Horret et incudem malleus ipse suam. 

Nullam materiam matricis signat idaea, 

   Sed magis in sterili littore vomer arat. 

[Col.0431C] Sic pede dactilico Veneris male iambitur usus, 

   In quo non patitur syllaba longa brevem. 

Quamvis femineae speciei supplicet omnis 

   Forma viri, semper hujus honore minor; 

Quamvis Tyndaridi vultus formetur, Adonis 

   Narcissique decor victus adoret eam: 

Spernitur ipsa tamen, quamvis decor ille peroret 

   Et formae deitas disputet esse deam. 

Qua Jovis in dextra fulmen langueret, et omnis 

   Phoebi cessaret otia nervus agens: 

Qua liber fieret servus, propriumque pudorem 

   282 Venderet Hippolytus, hujus amore fruens. 

Queis impressa semel, mellirent oscula succo, 

   Queis mellita darent, mellis in ore favum. 

[Col.0431D] Spiritus exiret ad basia deditus ori, 

   Totus et in labiis luderet ipse sibi. 

Ut dum sic moriar, in me defunctus, in illa 

   Felici vita perfruar alter ego. 

Non modo Tyndaridem Phrygius venatur adulter, 

   Sed Paris in Paridem monstra nefanda parit. 

Non modo per rimas rimatur basia Thysbes 

   [Col.0432A] Pyramus, huic Veneris rimula nulla placet. 

Non modo Pelides mentitur virginis actus, 

   Ut sic virgineum se probet esse virum; 

Sed male naturae munus pro munere donat, 

   Cum sexum lucri vendit amore suum. 

A Genii templo tales anathema merentur, 

   Qui Genio decimas, et sua jura negant.

THE BOOK OF ALAIN ON THE COMPLAINT OF NATURE.

METRE 1.

In lacrimas risus, in luctus gaudia verto.

I change laughter to tears, joy to sorrow, applause to lament, mirth to grief, when I behold the decrees of Nature [1] in abeyance; when society is ruined and destroyed by the monster of sensual love; when Venus, fighting against Venus, makes men women; when with her magic art she unmans men. It is not pretense that travails with sorrow, O adulterer! nor the tears of pretense, nor dissimulation; rather is it grief, and birth itself is given to sorrow. The Muse requests, this very grief commands, Nature implores that, as, I weep, I give them a mournful song. Alas! Whither [2] has the loveliness of Nature, the beauty of character, the standard of chastity, the love of virtue departed? [3] Nature weeps, character passes away, chastity is wholly banished from its former high station, and become an orphan. The sex of active nature trembles shamefully at the way in which it declines into passive nature. Man is made woman, he blackens the honor of his sex, the craft of magic Venus makes him of double gender. He is both predicate and subject, he becomes likewise of two declensions, he pushes the laws of grammar too far. He, though made by Nature's skill, barbarously denies that he is a man. Art does not please him, but rather artifice; even that artificiality cannot be called metaphor; rather it sinks

1 Reading Naturam, with Migne.

2 Reading quo, with Migne.

3 Reading secessit, with Migne.

into viciousness. He is too fond of logic, with whom a simple conversion causes the rights of Nature to perish. He strikes on an anvil which emits no sparks. The very hammer deforms its own anvil. The spirit of the womb imprints no seal on matter, but rather the plowshare plows along [1] a sterile beach. Thus the iambic measure goes badly with the dactylic foot of earthly love, in which always the long syllable does not permit a short. Though all the beauty of man humbles itself before the fairness of woman, being always inferior to her glory; though the face of the daughter of Tyndaris is brought into being [2]and the comeliness of Adonis and Narcissus, conquered, adores her; for all this she is scorned, although she speaks as beauty itself, though her godlike grace affirms her to be a goddess, though for her the thunderbolt would fail in the hand of Jove, and every sinew of Apollo would pause and lie inactive, though for her the free man would become a slave, and Hippolytus, to enjoy her love, would sell his very chastity. Why do so many kisses lie untouched on maiden lips, and no one wish to gain a profit from them? These once pressed on me would sweeten my lips with flavor, and, honeyed, would offer a honeycomb to the mouth; the spirit would go out in kisses, all given over to the mouth, and play on lips with itself. So that until I should in this way die, my course finished, I, as another self, would in these kisses enjoy a happy life to the utmost. Not only does the adulterous Phrygian pursue the daughter of Tyndaris, but Paris with Paris devises unspeakable and monstrous acts. Not only does Pyramus seek the kisses of Thisbe through the chink, but no small opening of Venus pleases him. Not only does the son of Peleus counterfeit the bearing

1. Reading tin, with Migne.

2 Reading formetur, with Migne.

of a maiden, that so to maidens he may prove himself dear, but he wickedly gives away the gift of Nature for a gift, in selling for the love of money his sex. Such deserve anathema in the temple of Genius, for they deny the tithes of Genius and their own duties.

For a comic attitude towards homosexuality see Walter Map

See also Jan Ziolkowski, the Grammar of Sex P85.A38 Z56 1985

Winthrop Wetherbee, "The Function of Poetry in the De

Planctu Naturae of Alain de Lille," Traditio 25 (1969)

. 87-125 speaks of confusion and formlessness but not of

antithesis and paradox. He is concerned with the influence

of theological speculation, but not at all with rhetorical

impulses. No sense that Alanus, both in the De Planctu and

in the Anticlaudianus, is a compulsive paradoxicalist,

relentlessly invoking antitheses to articulate both problem

and solution. Poetic solution is permanently then at odds

with theological solution, as well as with philosophical

solutions generally, as Epicurus understood.

Alanus remarks on the limitations of reason and the

perturbation caused by Aristotle's Analytics, as well as the

general discouragement among theologians with logic at least

partially accounts for Alanus' reliance on paradox. p. 212.

on necessity of lust see Augustine, Against Julian

January 30 Love for Sale – the real medieval world?

Registre criminel du Châtelet de Paris du 6 septembre

1389 au 18 mai 1392.

Catherine, wife of Henryet Du Roquier 8 Oct 1389

In the year of grace 1389, Friday the eighth of October, in judgment in open court, before Master John Truquam, lieutenant, in the presence of Master Dreue d'Ars, prosecutor of Chatelet, John de Bar and John Soudant, examiner at the Chatelet, Katherine wife of Henryet du Roquier, prisoner in the Chatelet, was arrested and brought to trial, accused of being a public and common procuress, and also of having recently sold, engaged and delivered a young girl named Margot, sister of the said husband, who was an apprentice in his home, to a knight, who took her virginity. The which Katherine, under oath and in sworn testimony, said and affirmed in full conscience that she knew the said Margot her sister, and that, more than one half year before, she had been sent to her by her father and mother to learn the art and trade of embroidery. The which girl she had since that time and until the present time well and carefully looked after, in accordance with what is reasonable; and since the time that she had been given to her, she held and still holds in good conscience that she is a good girl and a virgin, which she relates and says of this Margot, sworn and examined first and in her presence. She also said that she is a poor lone woman, deprived of her husband, whom she had married in the city of Avignon four and more years ago, not wise in the ways of the city of Paris, since she came from the land of Arragon, and when her husband married her in that land, he told her that he would bring her to live in the city of Compiegne, in the home of his father. After they had lived there for some time, her husband decided to live in Paris, approximately a year or two ago, in the rue des Estuves. There, at about last Easter, he left her all alone, and went to live with and serve the count of Boulogne, his master, for whom he is a cook..

Margot Du Roquier, approximately 18 years old, living in the home of the said Katherine, wife of the said Henryet du Roquier, her brother, born in the city of Compiegne, sworn and examined by oath to tell the truth in the case concerning the imprisonment of the said Katherine, said and affirmed by oath and in the presence of this Katherine, that, about the time of last Easter, her father brought her to the city of Paris to see the said Katherine her sister; when they saw her, her said father asked this Katherine if she wished to take in her protection and tutelage her who is speaking; she agreed and promised to watch over her well and devoutly, and to teach her the art of embroidery. Afterwards, on a day one eats meat, otherwise there is no record of the day or the time, the said Katherine said to her that Sir John Braque, knight, had asked her to speak to him about a room that he wanted to rent for his stay; and for this purpose, in the company of her sister, she went to the home of the said knight, and when they had climbed the stairs to a room in the home of the said knight, he and the said Katherine spoke together a long time; then the said knight called her who is speaking to one side, and asked if she would like to be his beloved, and she replied to him that she would not, that she would have nothing to do with him, saying: "Sir, for God's sake, let me go!" Then the said sister said to her who is speaking that she should do what the knight wanted. And then the said Katherine pretended to cry, and the said knight promised to give her, as a gift towards her marriage, 30 francs. This knight soon after this went out of the room, leaving in it her who is speaking and Katherine, with a servant, whose name she does not know, to whom the knight had given orders to make a dinner for these women in this room. The servant in charge of the household set the table, brought them drink and food, but she who is making the deposition did not want at all to eat, angry that she might have to do the will of the said knight, even though she was asked several times, both by the said Katherine and by this servant if she would like to drink and to eat. She also said that soon after supper this knight returned into said room, commanded said chamber-servant to make up a bed for Katherine in the room next to his own, and he sent them out of said room, and told her to lie with him and in his bed, which command she dared not disobey, and therefore that night she lay with this knight, who deflowered her and knew her carnally, and he did this twice. And the next morning the said knight rose first, and gave to her who is speaking two francs, telling her that she should think that she had done well, and that she should return to the home and company of this Katherine.

She who is making this deposition, when the said knight had left that room, got up and went into the room where the said Katherine had slept, and she found her there fully dressed. And to this Katherine she said that this knight had given her two golden francs, which she gave to her, and she put them in her purse. This done, she who is speaking and the said Katherine left the home of the said knight, and they came to the home of this Katherine, at which she has continually remained from the time she was devirginated, from last Easter to the present, without having been with any man whatever, except the said knight. Four or five days after he had deflowered her, he sent his servant in charge of the household to get her, and, since the time previously mentioned, she had been with him three or four times, of which the first two times that she went there after she had been devirginated, he gave her one franc twice, which she gave to the said Katherine, and at the other times he had given her nothing. She also said that, out of the money mentioned, the said sister Katherine bought her hose, shoes, dresses; beyond that she got nothing, except what she told her the first time she returned from having been with the said knight, when that Katherine had her bathed, she had spent about seven francs. She said furthermore that since that servant in charge of the household of the said knight came looking for her the first time after she had been devirginated, to go to the home of that knight, the said Katherine had sent her to him once or twice, whether she were willing or not, and that when she said that she did not want to go there, she berated her who is speaking very much, and because she did not want to go, she beat her once or twice.

After the said Margot had given the testimony just described, the said lieutenant asked of this Katherine whether what the said Margot had spoken and sworn was true, and she acknowledged that it was true that she had brought her said sister Margot with her to the said knight, and that when she went to his home, she went with the intention of renting a room for his stay. When she had spoken a long time with this knight, she wanted permission to leave, to return to her own home to rest, but he did not give her leave, saying that it was too late, and that the next day he would have her and her said sister brought by his people to her home. During that night this knight asked Margot to be his amie, but because she and the said Margot did not wish to satisfy entirely the wish of the said knight, he said to them that if they did not satisfy his will, he would hand them over to his servants, who would take their pleasure with them. At these words, and because this knight promised to her who is speaking and to the said Margot, her sister, that he would give 30 francs for the advancement of her marriage, it is true that she said to her said sister that it would be better to do the willand pleasure of the said knight than that he hand them over to his said servants. She also said that on that night she knew very well that this knight lay with her said sister, and that the next day she told her that he had given her two francs, which she who is speaking put in her purse, and with which she bought for her dresses, hose, and shoes, and she also spent 7 francs two or three days after they had returned from the home of said knight, when she and her sister bathed. Furthermore, she said that since that time this knight had sent his servant in charge of the household for her, whom she had sent to him sometimes with this servant in charge of the household and sometimes entirely alone, without having rebuked, beaten, or struck her in any way.

Item, Saturday the 16th day of October, in the year 1389, in open court, before Master John Truquam, lieutenant, with Master Dreu d'Ars, prosecutor of Chatelet present, together with Jean Wilquin,Pierre Alespée, Hugues Le Grand, Jacques du Bois, Michel Marchant, Guillaume Rabigois, advocates in the said Chatelet, Pierre Picot, prosecutor, Robert Petit-Clerc, Jean de Bar, Jean de Tuillieres, Nicolas Chaon, examiners in this Chatelet, Jean Pastourelle, Jean Cherpentier, Jean Salmon, Guillaume Lomoy, Jean du Chesne, Denisot de Beloy and Henri Le Grand, prosecutors in the said Chatelet, said trial took place, and the confessions transcribed above were made. All these people deliberated and were of the opinion that, in the light of the confession of this Margot, to whom the said Katherine was related, and also in the light of the confession of the said Katherine, that this Katherine had deserved and ought to be pilloried as a prostitute, and burned there for her crimes, except for the said masters Pierre Alespée, Guillaume Rabigois, Hugues Le Grant, Jean Salmon, Henry Le Grand and Jean Wilquin, who said that she should only be pilloried. When the opinions were heard and the trial concluded, this Katherine was condemned by the said lieutenant to be pilloried and burned as a procuress, and, in addition, at the said place of pillory, the reason for which the said judgment against the said Katherine was to be cried out.

Which judgment was executed at the usual place, Saturday, the twenty-third day of October, 1389

Those who are interested in the treatment of sexual criminals can find more material at might interest some people.

Feb 4, 6, 11 Orpheus Read this translation of Ovid: (start at the top of the file)

Read this translation of Fulgentius : (late 5th – early 6th century) Fulgentius, mythologies book 2

Of Venus

They have taken Venus as the third one, as the symbol of the life of pleasure. Venus they explained either as the good things of life according to the Epicureans, or as the empty things of life according to the Stoics, for the Epicureans praise pleasure but the Stoics condemn it: the first cultivate license; the others want no part of it. Whereby she is called Aphrodite, for in Greek afros is the word for foam, either because lust rises momentarily like foam and turns to nothing, or because ejaculation of seed is foamy. Then the poets relate that when Saturn’s genitals were cut off with a scythe and thrown into the sea, Venus was born from them – a piece of poetic folly meaning nothing less that that Saturn is called Chronos in Greek, for in Greek chronos is the word for time. The powers of the seasons, that is, crops, are totally cut off by the scythe and, cast into the liquids of the belly, as it were into the sea, needs must produce lust. For abundance of satiety creates lust, as Terence says: “Venus grows cold without Ceres and Bacchus.” Also they depict her naked, either because she sends out her devotees naked or because the sin of lust is never cloaked or because it only suits the naked. They also considered roses as under her patronage, for roses both grow red and have thorns, as lust blushes at the outrage of modesty and pricks with the sting of sin; and as the rose gives pleasure, but is swept away by the swift movement of the seasons, so lust is pleasant for a moment, but then disappears forever. Also under her patronage they place doves, for the reason that birds of this species are fiercely lecherous in their love-making; with her they also associate the three Graces (Carites), two turned toward us and one turned away from us, because all grace sets off alone but returns twofold; the Graces are naked because no grace has any part of subtle ornament. They also depict her swimming in the sea, because all lust suffers shipwreck of its affairs, whence also Porfyrius in his Epigrams declares: “The shipwrecked sailor of Venus in the deep, naked and destitute.” She is also depicted carrying a sea-shell, because an organism of this kind, as Juba notes in his physiological writings, is always linked in open coupling through its entire body.

3.10 THE FABLE OF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE

Now this legend is an allegory (designatio) of the art of music. For Orpheus stands for oreafone, that is, matchless sound, and Eurydice is deep judgment. In all the arts there is a first and a second stage: for boys learning their letters there is first the alphabet, second learning to write; at the grammar level, first reading, second clear speech; at the rhetorical level, first rhetoric, second dialectic; in geometry, first pure geometry, second arithmetic; in astronomy, first learning the science, second applied astrology; in medicine, first the diagnosis, second the therapy; in divination, first the inspection of omens, second their application; and in music, first the melody, second the effect. It is one thing for teachers to recognize different aspects of their subject, another to put them into effect; it is one thing for instructors in rhetoric to have profuse, unbridled, and unrestrained fluency, another to impose a rigorous and scrupulous control over the investigation of truth; it is one thing for astrologers to know the courses and movements of the stars and the constellations, another to trace their significance; it is one thing in medicine to recognize the cause of diseases, another to cure the onslaught of the sickness; it is one thing in geometry to construct lines and formulas, another to adapt numbers to the formulas; it is one thing in divination to inspect entrails and orts, another according to Battiades to read the changes in events; and in music it is one thing to deal with scales of notes (ptongorum), compositions (sistematum), and notation (diastematum), another to explain the effect of the scales and the power of the words, for the beauty of the voice as it appeals to the inner secrets of the art also ahs to do with the mysterious power of words.

Again, Eurydice was desired by the best, that is, by Aristaeus – for ariston is the Greek for best – as art itself avoids the common level of men. She died by the blow of a snake, as it were, by the interception of skill; and she was removed to the secret places of the lower world. For after art has been sought out and raised toward the light, the voice of melody sinks down, because it both assists in the ultimate appeal of the sound and by a secret power gives these hidden forces the effect of delight: for we can say that the Dorian mode or the Phrygian is like Saturn in soothing wild beasts, or like Jove in charming the birds; but if the explanation why this happens is sought for, the theory of the subject inquired into dies away. Therefore, Orpheus is forbidden to look upon Eurydice, and loses her when he does look upon her; therefore the highly skilled Pythagoras when he adapted tunes to numbers and pursued the depths of musical composition in arithmetical terms through their melodies and rhythms and tunes, yet could not explain the reason for their effect

Read this translation from ovide moralisé

see also

Read this article on the ovide moralisé:

Also useful The Scandal of Pasiphae: Narration and Interpretation in the "Ovide moralisé" Renate Blumenfeld-KosinskiSource: Modern Philology, Vol. 93, No. 3 (Feb.,



Feb 13, 18, 20  Read sir orfeo (look through these editions and work with the one or ones that you find most useful:







For help with Middle English, browse through



|   We redeth oft and findeth y-write,    |written; (see note) |

|And this clerkes wele it wite, |these scholars; know |

|Layes that ben in harping |are in song |

|Ben y-founde of ferli thing: |composed about marvelous things |

|Sum bethe of wer and sum of wo, |Some are of war; grief |

|And sum of joie and mirthe also, |gaiety |

|And sum of trecherie and of gile, |guile |

|Of old aventours that fel while; |adventures; happened once |

|And sum of bourdes and ribaudy, |jokes; ribaldry |

|And mani ther beth of fairy.    |the Otherworld; (see note) |

|Of al thinges that men seth,    |relate; (see note) |

|Mest o love, forsothe, they beth. |Most of; in truth |

|In Breteyne this layes were wrought,    |Brittany these; made; (see note) |

|First y-founde and forth y-brought, |composed; produced |

|Of aventours that fel bi dayes, |happened in olden times |

|Wherof Bretouns maked her layes. |their |

|When kinges might ovr y-here    |anywhere hear; (see note) |

|Of ani mervailes that ther were, |marvels |

|Thai token an harp in gle and game |took; minstrelsy |

|And maked a lay and gaf it name. |gave |

|Now of this aventours that weren y-falle |have happened |

|Y can tel sum, ac nought alle. |I; but |

|Ac herkneth, lordinges that ben trewe,    |But listen; (see note) |

|Ichil you telle of "Sir Orfewe." |I will |

|Orfeo mest of ani thing    |most; (see note) |

|Lovede the gle of harping.    |glee or music; (see note) |

|Siker was everi gode harpour |Sure; good |

|Of him to have miche honour. |much |

|Himself he lerned forto harp,    |He taught himself to; (see note) |

|And leyd theron his wittes scharp; |applied |

|He lerned so ther nothing was    |in no way; (see note) |

|A better harpour in no plas. |anyplace |

|In al the warld was no man bore    |born; (see note) |

|That ones Orfeo sat bifore - |once |

|And he might of his harping here - |hear |

|Bot he schuld thenche that he were |think |

|In on of the joies of Paradis, |one |

|Swiche melody in his harping is. |    |

|   Orfeo was a king, |    |

|In Inglond an heighe lording, |high (great) lord |

|A stalworth man and hardi bo;    |brave both; (see note) |

|Large and curteys he was also.    |Generous; courtly; (see note) |

|His fader was comen of King Pluto, |descended from |

|And his moder of King Juno,    |(see note) |

|That sum time were as godes yhold |Who once; considered to be gods |

|For aventours that thai dede and told. |did |

|This king sojournd in Traciens,    |dwelled; (see note) |

|That was a cité of noble defens - |fortifications |

|For Winchester was cleped tho |called; then |

|Traciens, withouten no. |denial |

|   The king hadde a quen of priis |queen of excellence |

|That was y-cleped Dame Heurodis,    |called; (see note) |

|The fairest levedi, for the nones, |lady indeed |

|That might gon on bodi and bones, |walk [about] in |

|Ful of love and godenisse - |goodness |

|Ac no man may telle hir fairnise. |But; beauty |

|   Bifel so in the comessing of May    |It happened; beginning; (see note) |

|When miri and hot is the day, |merry (pleasant) |

|And oway beth winter schours, |away |

|And everi feld is ful of flours, |field |

|And blosme breme on everi bough |blossoms bright |

|Over al wexeth miri anought, |Everywhere grow; enough |

|This ich quen, Dame Heurodis |same |

|Tok to maidens of priis, |two; refinement |

|And went in an undrentide |late morning |

|To play bi an orchardside, |enjoy themselves |

|To se the floures sprede and spring    |(see note) |

|And to here the foules sing. |hear; birds |

|Thai sett hem doun al thre |themselves |

|Under a fair ympe-tre,    |grafted tree; (see note) |

|And wel sone this fair quene |very quickly |

|Fel on slepe opon the grene. |asleep |

|The maidens durst hir nought awake, |dared |

|Bot lete hir ligge and rest take. |let her lie |

|So sche slepe til after none,    |slept; noon; (see note) |

|That undertide was al y-done. |Until midday; past |

|Ac, as sone as sche gan awake, |But; began [to] |

|Sche crid, and lothli bere gan make;    |loathsome outcry made; (see note) |

|Sche froted hir honden and hir fete, |rubbed; hands |

|And crached hir visage - it bled wete - |scratched her face; profusely |

|Hir riche robe hye al to-rett |she tore all to pieces |

|And was reveyd out of hir wit.    |driven; (see note) |

|The two maidens hir biside |    |

|No durst with hir no leng abide, |Dared not; longer |

|Bot ourn to the palays ful right |ran; immediately |

|And told bothe squier and knight |    |

|That her quen awede wold, |their; was going mad |

|And bad hem go and hir at-hold. |bade them; seize |

|Knightes urn and levedis also, |ran; ladies |

|Damisels sexti and mo.    |[numbering] sixty and more; (see note) |

|In the orchard to the quen hye come, |hastily came |

|And her up in her armes nome, |their arms took |

|And brought hir to bed atte last, |    |

|And held hir there fine fast. |very securely |

|Ac ever she held in o cri |persisted in one |

|And wold up and owy. |wished [to go]; away |

|   When Orfeo herd that tiding |heard |

|Never him nas wers for nothing. |had he been as grieved by anything |

|He come with knightes tene |came; ten |

|To chaumber, right bifor the quene, |    |

|And bi-held, and seyd with grete pité, |beheld [her]; sorrow |

|"O lef liif, what is te,    |dear life; with you; (see note) |

|That ever yete hast ben so stille |Who; yet; calm |

|And now gredest wonder schille? |But; cries strangely shrilly |

|Thy bodi, that was so white y-core, |exquisitely |

|With thine nailes is all to-tore. |torn to pieces |

|Allas! thy rode, that was so red, |face |

|Is al wan, as thou were ded;    |pale, as [if]; (see note) |

|And also thine fingres smale |slender |

|Beth al blodi and al pale. |    |

|Allas! thy lovesum eyyen to |lovely two eyes |

|Loketh so man doth on his fo! |as; foe |

|A, dame, ich biseche, merci! |    |

|Lete ben al this reweful cri, |Let be; pitiful |

|And tel me what the is, and hou, |what's bothering you; how |

|And what thing may the help now." |    |

|Tho lay sche stille atte last |Then |

|And gan to wepe swithe fast, |very hard |

|And seyd thus the King to: |    |

|"Allas, mi lord, Sir Orfeo! |    |

|Sethen we first togider were, |Since |

|Ones wroth never we nere; |Never once; angry [with one another] |

|Bot ever ich have yloved the |    |

|As mi liif and so thou me; |    |

|Ac now we mot delen ato; |must separate apart |

|Do thi best, for y mot go." |I must |

|"Allas!" quath he, "forlorn icham! |utterly lost I am |

|Whider wiltow go, and to wham? |Where will you; whom |

|Whider thou gost, ichil with the,    |I will [go]; (see note) |

|And whider y go, thou schalt with me." |    |

|"Nay, nay, Sir, that nought nis! |cannot be |

|Ichil the telle al hou it is: |I will; all how |

|As ich lay this undertide |morning |

|And slepe under our orchardside, |    |

|Ther come to me to fair knightes,    |two; (see note) |

|Wele y-armed al to rightes, |quite properly |

|And bad me comen an heighing |bade; in haste |

|And speke with her lord the king. |their |

|And ich answerd at wordes bold, |with |

|Y durst nought, no y nold.    |dared not, nor did I want to; (see note) |

|Thai priked oyain as thai might drive; 1 |    |

|Tho com her king, also blive, |their; as quickly |

|With an hundred knightes and mo, |    |

|And damisels an hundred also, |    |

|Al on snowe-white stedes; |    |

|As white as milke were her wedes.    |their garments; (see note) |

|Y no seighe never yete bifore |saw |

|So fair creatours y-core. |exquisite |

|The king hadde a croun on hed; |    |

|It nas of silver, no of gold red,    |(see note) |

|Ac it was of a precious ston - |    |

|As bright as the sonne it schon. |    |

|And as son as he to me cam, |    |

|Wold ich, nold ich, he me nam, |Whether I wished or not he took me |

|And made me with him ride |    |

|Opon a palfray bi his side;    |palfrey; (see note) |

|And brought me to his palays,    |(see note) |

|Wele atird in ich ways, |adorned; every way |

|And schewed me castels and tours, |towers |

|Rivers, forestes, frith with flours, |woods with flowers |

|And his riche stedes ichon. |gorgeous steeds each one |

|And sethen me brought oyain hom |afterwards; back home |

|Into our owhen orchard, |own |

|And said to me thus afterward, |    |

|"'Loke, dame, tomorwe thatow be |that you |

|Right here under this ympe-tre, |    |

|And than thou schalt with ous go |us |

|And live with ous evermo. |    |

|And yif thou makest ous y-let, |a hindrance for us |

|Whar thou be, thou worst y-fet,    |Wherever; will be fetched; (see note) |

|And totore thine limes al |torn apart; limbs |

|That nothing help the no schal; |    |

|And thei thou best so totorn, |though (even if) you are so torn |

|Yete thou worst with ous y-born."'     |Yet; will be carried with us; (see note) |

|   When King Orfeo herd this cas, |matter |

|"O we!" quath he, "Allas, allas! |woe |

|Lever me were to lete mi liif |I'd rather lose |

|Than thus to lese the quen, mi wiif!" |lose |

|He asked conseyl at ich man, |advice from each person |

|Ac no man him help no can. |    |

|Amorwe the undertide is come |The next day; high noon |

|And Orfeo hath his armes y-nome, |taken |

|And wele ten hundred knightes with him, |    |

|Ich y-armed, stout and grim; |Each; strong; fierce |

|And with the quen wenten he |    |

|Right unto that ympe-tre. |    |

|Thai made scheltrom in ich a side    |a rank of armed men on each; (see note) |

|And sayd thai wold there abide |    |

|And dye ther everichon, |die; everyone |

|Er the quen schuld fram hem gon. |Before; from |

|Ac yete amiddes hem ful right |yet amidst them straightaway |

|The quen was oway y-twight, |snatched |

|With fairi forth y-nome. |enchantment; taken |

|Men wist never wher sche was bicome.    |never knew; gone; (see note) |

|Tho was ther criing, wepe and wo! |Then |

|The king into his chaumber is go, |has gone |

|And oft swoned opon the ston, |swooned; stone (i.e., floor) |

|And made swiche diol and swiche mon |such dole; moan |

|That neighe his liif was y-spent - |almost; ended |

|Ther was non amendement. |no remedy for it |

|He cleped togider his barouns, |called |

|Erls, lordes of renouns, |    |

|And when thai al y-comen were, |    |

|"Lordinges," he said, "bifor you here |    |

|Ich ordainy min heighe steward    |I ordain; high; (see note) |

|To wite mi kingdom afterward; |rule; henceforth |

|In mi stede ben he schal |place |

|To kepe mi londes overal. |    |

|For now ichave mi quen y-lore, |I have; lost |

|The fairest levedi that ever was bore, |lady; born |

|Never eft y nil no woman se. |Never again will I see another woman |

|Into wildernes ichil te |I will go |

|And live ther evermore |    |

|With wilde bestes in holtes hore; |woods grey |

|And when ye understond that y be spent, |dead |

|Make you than a parlement, |    |

|And chese you a newe king. |choose |

|Now doth your best with al mi thing." |do; affairs |

|   Tho was ther wepeing in the halle |Then |

|And grete cri among hem alle; |    |

|Unnethe might old or yong |Hardly; young |

|For wepeing speke a word with tong. |    |

|Thai kneled adoun al y-fere |together |

|And praid him, yif his wille were, |prayed |

|That he no schuld nought fram hem go. |from them |

|"Do way!" quath he, "It schal be so!" |Enough! |

|Al his kingdom he forsoke;    |(see note) |

|Bot a sclavin on him he toke. |Only; pilgrim's mantle |

|He no hadde kirtel no hode, |had neither tunic nor hood |

|Schert, ne no nother gode, |Shirt; goods |

|Bot his harp he tok algate    |at any rate; (see note) |

|And dede him barfot out atte gate; |passed barefoot |

|No man most with him go. |might |

|O way! What ther was wepe and wo, |woe! |

|When he that hadde ben king with croun |    |

|Went so poverlich out of toun! |in such poverty out of his town |

|Thurth wode and over heth |Through; heath |

|Into the wildernes he geth. |goes |

|Nothing he fint that him is ays, |finds; for him; comfort |

|Bot ever he liveth in gret malais. |distress |

|He that hadde y-werd the fowe and griis, |worn the variegated and grey fur; (see note) |

|And on bed the purper biis, |purple linen |

|Now on hard hethe he lith, |heath; lies |

|With leves and gresse he him writh. |covers himself |

|He that hadde had castels and tours, |towers |

|River, forest, frith with flours, |woodland; flowers |

|Now, thei it comenci to snewe and frese, |although it begins; snow; freeze |

|This king mot make his bed in mese. |must; moss |

|He that had y-had knightes of priis |excellence |

|Bifor him kneland, and levedis, |kneeling; ladies |

|Now seth he nothing that him liketh, |sees; pleases |

|Bot wilde wormes bi him striketh. |snakes; glide |

|He that had y-had plenté |    |

|Of mete and drink, of ich deynté, |delicacy |

|Now may he al day digge and wrote    |dig; grub; (see note) |

|Er he finde his fille of rote. |roots |

|In somer he liveth bi wild frut, |fruit |

|And berien bot gode lite; |berries of little worth |

|In winter may he nothing finde |    |

|Bot rote, grases, and the rinde. |Except roots; bark |

|Al his bodi was oway dwine |away dwindled |

|For missays, and al to-chine. |hardship; chapped |

|Lord! who may telle the sore |sorrow |

|This king sufferd ten yere and more? |    |

|His here of his berd, blac and rowe,    |hair; beard; rough; (see note) |

|To his girdel-stede was growe. |waist |

|His harp, whereon was al his gle, |pleasure |

|He hidde in an holwe tre; |hollow |

|And when the weder was clere and bright,    |weather; (see note) |

|He toke his harp to him wel right |    |

|And harped at his owhen wille. |played; own desire |

|Into alle the wode the soun gan schille, |sound began to resound |

|That alle the wilde bestes that ther beth |    |

|For joie abouten him thai teth, |gathered |

|And alle the foules that ther were |birds |

|Come and sete on ich a brere |sat; briar |

|To here his harping a-fine - |    |

|So miche melody was therin; |much |

|And when he his harping lete wold, |would leave off |

|No best bi him abide nold.    |beast; would remain |

|   He might se him bisides, |nearby; (see note) |

|Oft in hot undertides, |    |

|The king o fairy with his rout |of fairyland; company |

|Com to hunt him al about |    |

|With dim cri and bloweing, |blowing [of horns] |

|And houndes also with him berking; |barking |

|Ac no best thai no nome,    |But they took no beast (game); (see note) |

|No never he nist whider they bicome |Nor did he ever know where they went |

|And other while he might him se |at other times |

|As a gret ost bi him te, |army; went |

|Wele atourned, ten hundred knightes, |equipped |

|Ich y-armed to his rightes, |All properly armed |

|Of cuntenaunce stout and fers, |appearance |

|With mani desplaid baners, |unfurled |

|And ich his swerd y-drawe hold - |    |

|Ac never he nist whider thai wold. |knew not whither; went |

|And otherwile he seighe other thing: |saw |

|Knightes and levedis com daunceing |    |

|In queynt atire, gisely, |elegant; skillfully |

|Queynt pas and softly; |Graceful steps |

|Tabours and trunpes yede hem bi, |drums and trumpets went |

|And al maner menstraci. |sorts of minstralsy |

|   And on a day he seighe him biside |on a certain day |

|Sexti levedis on hors ride, |Sixty ladies |

|Gentil and jolif as brid on ris; |lively as bird on bough |

|Nought o man amonges hem ther nis; |Not a single man was with them |

|And ich a faucoun on hond bere, |each a falcon on [her] hand bore |

|And riden on haukin bi o rivere. |a-hawking by a |

|Of game thai founde wel gode haunt - |great plenty |

|Maulardes, hayroun, and cormeraunt; |Mallards, heron; cormorant |

|The foules of the water ariseth, |    |

|The faucouns hem wele deviseth; |marked |

|Ich faucoun his pray slough - |Each; prey killed |

|That seigh Orfeo, and lough: |saw; laughed |

|"Parfay!" quath he, "ther is fair game; |By my faith |

|Thider ichil, bi Godes name; |I'll [go] |

|Ich was y-won swiche werk to se!" |I was wont such sport |

|He aros, and thider gan te.    |began [to] approach |

|To a levedi he was y-come, |(see note) |

|Biheld, and hath wele undernome, |perceived |

|And seth bi al thing that it is |sees |

|His owhen quen, Dam Heurodis. |own |

|Yern he biheld hir, and sche him eke, |Eagerly; also |

|Ac noither to other a word no speke; |But neither |

|For messais that sche on him seighe, |sadness |

|That had ben so riche and so heighe, |Who; exalted |

|The teres fel out of her eighe. |eye |

|The other levedis this y-seighe |saw |

|And maked hir oway to ride - |    |

|Sche most with him no lenger abide. |might |

|   "Allas!" quath he, "now me is wo!"    |(see note) |

|Whi nil deth now me slo? |Will not; slay |

|Allas, wreche, that y no might    |(see note) |

|Dye now after this sight! |    |

|Allas! to long last mi liif, |too long lasts |

|When y no dar nought with mi wiif, |    |

|No hye to me, o word speke. |Nor she; one |

|Allas! Whi nil min hert breke! |will not |

|Parfay!" quath he, "tide wat bitide,    |come what may; (see note) |

|Whiderso this levedis ride,    |Wherever these; (see note) |

|The selve way ichil streche - |same; hasten |

|Of liif no deth me no reche." |nor; I do not care |

|His sclavain he dede on also spac |pilgrim's gown he put on quickly |

|And henge his harp opon his bac, |    |

|And had wel gode wil to gon - |very good desire |

|He no spard noither stub no ston. |avoided; stump |

|In at a roche the levedis rideth, |Into a rock |

|And he after, and nought abideth. |    |

|   When he was in the roche y-go, |gone |

|Wele thre mile other mo, |    |

|He com into a fair cuntray    |country; (see note) |

|As bright so sonne on somers day, |as sun on summer's |

|Smothe and plain and al grene - |Smooth and level |

|Hille no dale nas ther non y-sene. |was not to be seen |

|Amidde the lond a castel he sighe, |saw |

|Riche and real and wonder heighe. |royal; wonderously high |

|Al the utmast wal |All [of] the outermost wall |

|Was clere and schine as cristal; |bright |

|An hundred tours ther were about, |    |

|Degiselich and bataild stout.     |Wonderful with strong battlements; (see note) |

|The butras com out of the diche |buttresses; moat |

|Of rede gold y-arched riche. |    |

|The vousour was avowed al |vaulting; adorned |

|Of ich maner divers aumal. |With every kind of enamel |

|Within ther wer wide wones, |were spacious dwellings |

|Al of precious stones; |    |

|The werst piler on to biholde 2 |    |

|Was al of burnist gold. |burnished |

|Al that lond was ever light, |always |

|For when it schuld be therk and night, |dark |

|The riche stones light gonne |stone's light shone |

|As bright as doth at none the sonne. |noon |

|No man may telle, no thenche in thought, |nor think |

|The riche werk that ther was wrought. |exquisite |

|Bi al thing him think that it is |    |

|The proude court of Paradis.    |(see note) |

|In this castel the levedis alight; |dismounted |

|He wold in after, yif he might. |wished to enter if |

|Orfeo knokketh atte gate; |    |

|The porter was redi therate |    |

|And asked what he wold hav y-do. |done |

|"Parfay!" quath he, "icham a minstrel, lo! |I am |

|To solas thi lord with mi gle, |entertain; my minstrelsy |

|Yif his swete wille be." |    |

|The porter undede the gate anon |undid |

|And lete him into the castel gon. |    |

|   Than he gan bihold about al,    |(see note) |

|And seighe liggeand within the wal    |lying; (see note) |

|Of folk that were thider y-brought |    |

|And thought dede, and nare nought. |seemed dead, but were not |

|Sum stode withouten hade, |stood; head |

|And sum non armes nade, |had no arms |

|And sum thurth the bodi hadde wounde, |through |

|And sum lay wode, y-bounde, |mad |

|And sum armed on hors sete, |    |

|And sum astrangled as thai ete; |they ate |

|And sum were in water adreynt, |drowned |

|And sum with fire al forschreynt. |shriveled |

|Wives ther lay on childe bedde, |    |

|Sum ded and sum awedde, |driven mad |

|And wonder fele ther lay bisides |wondrous many |

|Right as thai slepe her undertides; |Just as; their |

|Eche was thus in this warld y-nome, |taken |

|With fairi thider y-come. |enchantment brought there |

|Ther he seighe his owhen wiif, |    |

|Dame Heurodis, his lef liif,    |dear life; (see note) |

|Slepe under an ympe-tre - |    |

|Bi her clothes he knewe that it was he. |she |

|   And when he hadde bihold this mervails alle, |these marvels |

|He went into the kinges halle. |    |

|Than seighe he ther a semly sight, |fair |

|A tabernacle blisseful and bright, |canopy beautiful |

|Therin her maister king sete |their |

|And her quen, fair and swete. |    |

|Her crounes, her clothes schine so bright |Their |

|That unnethe bihold he him might. |scarcely |

|When he hadde biholden al that thing, |    |

|He kneled adoun bifor the king: |    |

|"O lord," he seyd, "yif it thi wille were,    |(see note) |

|Mi menstraci thou schust y-here." |should hear |

|The king answered, "What man artow, |are you |

|That art hider y-comen now? |    |

|Ich, no non that is with me, |Neither I, nor no one |

|No sent never after the. |you |

|Sethen that ich here regni gan, |Since; reign |

|Y no fond never so folehardi man |foolhardy |

|That hider to ous durst wende |to us dared come |

|Bot that ic him wald ofsende." |Unless I wished him summoned |

|"Lord," quath he, "trowe ful wel, |believe |

|Y nam bot a pover menstrel;    |(see note) |

|And, sir, it is the maner of ous |    |

|To seche mani a lordes hous - |seek many |

|Thei we nought welcom no be, |Although (even if) |

|Yete we mot proferi forth our gle." |must offer |

|Bifor the king he sat adoun |    |

|And tok his harp so miri of soun, |merry; sound |

|And tempreth his harp, as he wele can, |tunes; knows well [how to do] |

|And blisseful notes he ther gan, |began |

|That al that in the palays were    |(see note) |

|Com to him forto here, |listen |

|And liggeth adoun to his fete - |lie |

|Hem thenketh his melody so swete. |They think |

|The king herkneth and sitt ful stille; |listens; sits quietly |

|To here his gle he hath gode wille. |his (Orfeo's); he (the king) |

|Gode bourde he hadde of his gle; |Great pleasure; songs |

|The riche quen also hadde he. |she |

|When he hadde stint his harping, |stopped |

|Than seyd to him the king, |    |

|"Menstrel, me liketh wel thi gle.    |(see note) |

|Now aske of me what it be,    |what[ever] you wish; (see note) |

|Largelich ichil the pay; |Generously |

|Now speke, and tow might asay." |if you wish to find out |

|"Sir," he seyd, "ich biseche the |beseech you |

|Thatow woldest give me |That you |

|That ich levedi, bright on ble, |same; of complexion |

|That slepeth under the ympe-tree." |    |

|"Nay!" quath the king, "that nought nere! |that could never be |

|A sori couple of you it were, |ill-matched |

|For thou art lene, rowe and blac, |lean, rough |

|And sche is lovesum, withouten lac; |beautiful; blemish |

|A lothlich thing it were, forthi, |loathly; therefore |

|To sen hir in thi compayni." |see |

|   "O sir!" he seyd, "gentil king,    |(see note) |

|Yete were it a wele fouler thing |much more disgraceful |

|To here a lesing of thi mouthe! |hear a lie from |

|So, sir, as ye seyd nouthe, |just now |

|What ich wold aski, have y schold, |might ask [for]; I should |

|And nedes thou most thi word hold." |by necessity |

|The king seyd, "Sethen it is so, |Since |

|Take hir bi the hond and go; |    |

|Of hir ichil thatow be blithe." |With; I wish that you be happy |

|He kneled adoun and thonked him swithe. |quickly |

|His wiif he tok bi the hond, |    |

|And dede him swithe out of that lond, |quickly |

|And went him out of that thede - |country |

|Right as he come, the way he yede. |went |

|   So long he hath the way y-nome    |taken; (see note) |

|To Winchester he is y-come, |    |

|That was his owhen cité; |    |

|Ac no man knewe that it was he. |    |

|No forther than the tounes ende |further; town's |

|For knoweleche no durst he wende, |Because he did not want to be recognized; (see note) |

|Bot with a begger, y-bilt ful narwe, |[whose house] was very small; (see note) |

|Ther he tok his herbarwe |lodging |

|To him and to his owhen wiif |For himself and for |

|As a minstrel of pover liif, |    |

|And asked tidinges of that lond, |    |

|And who the kingdom held in hond. |    |

|The pover begger in his cote |cottage |

|Told him everich a grot: |every scrap |

|Hou her quen was stole owy, |their; away |

|Ten yer gon, with fairy, |ago; by magic |

|And hou her king en exile yede, |into; went |

|But no man nist in wiche thede; |no one knew; country |

|And how the steward the lond gan hold, |    |

|And other mani thinges him told. |    |

|   Amorwe, oyain nonetide,    |The next day, towards noon; (see note) |

|He maked his wiif ther abide; |stay with the beggar |

|The beggers clothes he borwed anon |    |

|And heng his harp his rigge opon, |back |

|And went him into that cité |    |

|That men might him bihold and se. |    |

|Erls and barouns bold, |    |

|Buriays and levedis him gun bihold. |Burgesses (citizens) |

|"Lo!" thai seyd, "swiche a man! |    |

|Hou long the here hongeth him opan! |hair; upon |

|Lo! Hou his berd hongeth to his kne! |    |

|He is y-clongen also a tre!" |gnarled like |

|And, as he yede in the strete, |went |

|With his steward he gan mete, |    |

|And loude he sett on him a crie: |he (Orfeo); him (the steward) |

|"Sir steward!" he seyd, "merci! |    |

|Icham an harpour of hethenisse; |I am; from heathendom |

|Help me now in this destresse!" |    |

|The steward seyd, "Com with me, come; |    |

|Of that ichave, thou schalt have some. |what I have |

|Everich gode harpour is welcom me to |    |

|For mi lordes love, Sir Orfeo." |    |

|   In the castel the steward sat atte mete,    |table; (see note) |

|And mani lording was bi him sete; |    |

|Ther were trompours and tabourers,    |trumpeters; drummers; (see note) |

|Harpours fele, and crouders -    |many; stringplayers; (see note) |

|Miche melody thai maked alle. |    |

|And Orfeo sat stille in the halle |    |

|And herkneth; when thai ben al stille, |    |

|He toke his harp and tempred schille; |tuned it loudly |

|The blissefulest notes he harped there    |most beautiful; (see note) |

|That ever ani man y-herd with ere - |    |

|Ich man liked wele his gle. |minstrelsy |

|The steward biheld and gan y-se, |began to perceive |

|And knewe the harp als blive. |at once |

|"Menstrel!" he seyd, "so mot thou thrive, |If you wish to thrive |

|Where hadestow this harp, and hou?    |did you get; how |

|Y pray that thou me telle now." |    |

|   "Lord," quath he, "in uncouthe thede |unknown land; (see note) |

|Thurth a wildernes as y yede, |went |

|Ther y founde in a dale |    |

|With lyouns a man totorn smale, |torn in small pieces |

|And wolves him frete with teth so scharp. |had devoured |

|Bi him y fond this ich harp; |same |

|Wele ten yere it is y-go." |    |

|"O!" quath the steward, "now me is wo! |    |

|That was mi lord, Sir Orfeo! |    |

|Allas, wreche, what schal y do,    |(see note) |

|That have swiche a lord y-lore? |lost |

|A, way that ich was y-bore! |O, woe; born |

|That him was so hard grace y-yarked, |to him; bitter fortune was allotted |

|And so vile deth y-marked!" |[a] death was ordained |

|Adoun he fel aswon to grounde; |in a faint |

|His barouns him tok up in that stounde |moment |

|And telleth him how it geth - |it (the world) |

|"It is no bot of mannes deth!" |There is no remedy for man's death! |

|   King Orfeo knewe wele bi than |    |

|His steward was a trewe man |    |

|And loved him as he aught to do, |    |

|And stont up, and seyt thus, "Lo, |    |

|Steward, herkne now this thing: |    |

|Yif ich were Orfeo the king,    |(see note) |

|And hadde y-suffred ful yore |very long ago |

|In wildernisse miche sore, |sorrow |

|And hadde ywon mi quen o-wy |won away |

|Out of the lond of fairy, |    |

|And hadde y-brought the levedi hende |gracious lady |

|Right here to the tounes ende, |    |

|And with a begger her in y-nome, |had placed her |

|And were mi-self hider y-come |    |

|Poverlich to the, thus stille, |In poverty |

|For to asay thi gode wille, |test |

|And ich founde the thus trewe, |    |

|Thou no schust it never rewe. |should never regret it |

|Sikerlich, for love or ay, |Surely; fear |

|Thou schust be king after mi day; |should |

|And yif thou of mi deth hadest ben blithe, |But if; happy |

|Thou schust have voided, also swithe." |been banished immediately |

|   Tho all tho that therin sete |Then all those |

|That it was King Orfeo underyete, |Recognized that it was |

|And the steward him wele knewe - |    |

|Over and over the bord he threwe,    |overturned the table; (see note) |

|And fel adoun to his fet; |his (Orfeo's) |

|So dede everich lord that ther sete, |    |

|And all thai seyd at o criing: |in one cry |

|"Ye beth our lord, sir, and our king!" |    |

|Glad thai were of his live; |life |

|To chaumber thai ladde him als belive |led him immediately |

|And bathed him and schaved his berd, |    |

|And tired him as a king apert; |clothed; openly |

|And sethen, with gret processioun, |afterwards |

|Thai brought the quen into the toun |    |

|With al maner menstraci - |    |

|Lord! ther was grete melody! |    |

|For joie thai wepe with her eighe |their eyes |

|That hem so sounde y-comen seighe. 3 |    |

|Now King Orfeo newe coround is, |newly crowned |

|And his quen, Dame Heurodis, |    |

|And lived long afterward, |    |

|And sethen was king the steward.    |And after [that]; (see note) |

|   Harpours in Bretaine after than |    |

|Herd hou this mervaile bigan,    |(see note) |

|And made herof a lay of gode likeing, |made of it; great delight |

|And nempned it after the king. |named |

|That lay "Orfeo" is y-hote; |called |

|Gode is the lay, swete is the note. |Good |

|Thus com Sir Orfeo out of his care:    |sorrow; (see note) |

|God graunt ous alle wele to fare! Amen! |    |

|    |    |

|    |    |

|Explicit |  |

Feb 25 Read this passage from St. Bernard on the Song of Songs: (for the full text see )

4. The text continues: "For your breasts are better than wine, smelling sweet of the best ointments." The author does not say who spoke these words, so we are free to assign them to the person whom we think they best suit. For my part, I can see reasons for attributing them either to the bride, or to the Bridegroom or to the latter's companions. And for a start I shall point out how fittingly the bride might have spoken them. Let us

say that while she and those companions are conversing together, the Bridegroom on whom the conversation centers, suddenly appears, for he loves to draw near to those who speak about him. It is his way. For example he proved himself a pleasant and affable companion to the two men who conversed together as they went to Emmaus. This is no more than what he has promised in the Gospel: "Where two or three meet in my name, I shall be there with them;" and through the Prophet: "Long before they call I

shall answer; before they stop speaking I shall say: 'I am here.' " And so in the present instance he approaches though not actually invited; their words so please him that he anticipates their invitation: I am sure that sometimes he does not wait for words, our thoughts alone are enough to summon him. Did not a man after God's own heart say: "The Lord has heard the desire of the poor: your ear has heard the preparation of their heart." In every place you must be attentive to your inward state, you must realize that the God who is the assessor of mind and heart knows everything about you; he it is who moulds every heart and takes thought of all men do. The bride therefore, becoming conscious of the Bridegroom's presence, grew suddenly silent. She is ashamed to think that he is aware of her presumption, for a certain modesty had prompted her to use intermediaries in achieving her purpose. So in her endeavor to excuse her temerity, she turns to him and says: "For your breasts are better than wine, smelling sweet of the best

ointments." What she meant was: "If I seem to be high-minded, my Bridegroom, you are responsible; you have honored me so greatly with the nurturing sweetness of your breasts, that by your love and not by my own temerity I have put aside all fear, and may seem to have been more daring than is proper. I do indeed make bold, but it is because I am convinced of your goodness, forgetful of your majesty." These explanations have

been given merely to supply a context for the words of the bride.

5. Now let us try to see the meaning of this commendation of the Bridegroom's breasts.

These two breasts are two proofs of his native kindness: his patience in awaiting the sinner and his welcoming mercy for the penitent. This twofold sweetness of inward joy overflows from the heart of the Lord Jesus in the form of tireless expectancy and prompt forgiveness. And be assured that this is no figment of mine. You yourselves have read of his patience: "Are you abusing his abundant goodness, patience and toleration, not realizing that this goodness of God is meant to lead you to repentance?" To this very

end he postpones his punishment of the contumacious, awaiting a favorable moment to bestow on them the grace of repentance and forgiveness. He does not wish the death of a wicked man, but that he turn back and live. And now let us see an example of the second breast, which I have called promptness to forgive. Of this you have read: "At whatever hour the sinner will repent, his sin will be forgiven him." Or again: "Let the wicked man abandon his way, the evil man his thoughts. Let him turn back to the Lord

who will take pity on him, to our God who is rich in forgiving." David eautifully

described both breasts in the few words: "Slow to anger, most loving." It is through her experience of this twofold goodness therefore, that the bride justifies the increase of confidence that emboldened her to ask for the kiss. She would seem to say to the Bridegroom: "What wonder if I presume to ask you for this favor, since your breasts have given me such verwhelming joy. It is your breasts' very sweetness, not trust in my own merits, that provokes me to this daring."

6. When she said, then, "your breasts are better than wine," she meant: "The richness of the grace that flows from your beasts contributes far more to my spiritual progress than the biting reprimands of superiors. Not only are they better than wine, but smelling sweet of the best ointments too, for not merely do you refresh those present with the milk of inward sweetness, you also spray the pleasing perfume of good repute over the

absent ones, and so are well thought of, both by outsiders and by those within. You have, as I say, milk within and ointments without, for none would come to be refreshed with the milk, if you had not the perfume to attract them." We shall see later on what these ointments contain that make them worth considering, when we discuss the text: "We will run after you to the odor of your ointments."

Now, however, we must fulfill our promise and show if those words which we have attributed to the bride may not also be suitably assigned to the Bridegroom.

7. While the bride is conversing about the Bridegroom, he, as I have said, suddenly appears, yields to her desire by giving her a kiss, and so brings to fulfillment those words of the psalm: "You have granted him his heart's desire, not denied him what his lips entreated." The filling up of her breasts is a proof of this. For so great is the potency of that holy kiss, that no sooner has the bride received it than she conceives and her breasts grow rounded with the fruitfulness of conception; bearing witness, as it were,

with this milky abundance. Men with an urge to frequent prayer will have experience of what I say. Often enough when we approach the altar to pray our hearts are dry and lukewarm. But if we persevere, there comes an unexpected infusion of grace, our breast expands as it were, and our interior is filled with an overflowing love; and if somebody should press upon it then, this milk of sweet fecundity would gush forth in streaming richness. Let us hear the Bridegroom "You have received, my love, what you asked for,

and here is a sign to show you, your breasts are better than wine; henceforth you will know that you have received the kiss because you will be conscious of having conceived. That explains the expansion of your breasts, filled with a milky richness far surpassing the wine of the worldly knowledge that can intoxicate indeed but with curiosity, not charity; it fills but does not nourish; puffs up but does not build up; pampers but does not strengthen."

8. Finally, let us imagine those words as coming from the Bridegroom's companions: "You are unjust," they say, "to murmur against the Bridegroom, because what he has already given you is of far more value than that which you look for. The favor you demand is rather for your own delight, but the breasts with which you may feed the offspring of your womb are preferable to, that is, they are more essential than, the wine of contemplation. What gladdens the heart of one man cannot be placed on equal terms with that which benefits many. Rachel may be more beautiful, but Lia is more fruitful. So beware of lingering amid the kisses of contemplation, better the breasts that flow in the preaching of God's word."

9. There is still another meaning that I did not really intend to place before you, but I must not exclude it. Why should we not allow that these words may be fittingly applied to those that are cared for by a mother or a nurse, as children are? For these souls, immature, lacking in hardihood, cannot tolerate patiently the contemplative repose of her to whom they look for fuller instruction in the faith, for the guidance of her religious observances. And is it not the restlessness of such as these that is frowned upon in a

subsequent verse, where they are forbidden with a grave warning to awake the loved one till she pleases? When these perceive that the bride longs for kisses, that she seeks to be alone, that she shuns the streets, turns aside from the crowds and prefers her own peace to solicitude for them, they protest: "No!" they say. "No! Far greater the profit in the breasts you extend to others than in the embraces you enjoy in private. For by the former you deliver us from the selfish passions that attack the soul; you snatch us from the world and gain us for God." What they are really saying is: "Your breasts are better than wine." "These spiritual delights," they say, "that your breasts distill can conquer in us the pleasures of the flesh, that enslaved us just as drunkards are enslaved by wine."

10. This comparison of carnal pleasures with wine is so very apt. For the grape, once pressed, can never again exude its liquid, it is condemned to endless dryness. So too the flesh, caught in the winepress of death, is completely drained of its co-natural pleasures, never again to revive to the stirring of sensual passions. Therefore the Prophet cried out: "All flesh is grass and its beauty like the wild flower's. The grass withers, the flower fades." St Paul too bears witness: "If a man sows in the field of

self-indulgence, he will get a harvest of corruption out of it. Food is only meant for the stomach and the stomach for food; yes, and God is going to do away with both of them." But this analogy may be applied to the world as well as to the flesh; for the world with all it craves for, is coming to an end. Everything in the world indeed will come to an end, an end from which there is no return. Not so, however, the breasts we have spoken of. For

when these have been drained dry they are replenished again from the maternal fount within, and offered to all who will drink. Here is a further reason why I insist that the breasts of the bride are superior to worldly or carnal love; the numbers who drink of them, however great, cannot exhaust their content; their flow is never suspended, for they draw unceasingly from the inward fountains of charity. Out of her heart shall flow rivers of water, there will be a spring inside her, welling up to eternal life. The accumulating praises of the breasts come to a climax in the perfume of the ointments,

because they not only feed us with the choice food of doctrine, but shed around them like a pleasing aroma the repute of good deeds. All else that these breasts may signify, what milk fills them, what be the ambient perfumes of her ointments these I shall treat of later with the help of Christ, who with the Father and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

SERMON 10 THE BREASTS AND THEIR PERFUMES

I do not pretend that, left to myself, I can make any new discovery, for the reason that I lack sufficient depth of understanding and powers of penetration. But the mouth of Paul is a mighty and unfailing fountain, ever open to us all; and as I have often done before, so now too I draw from its resources in my attempt to interpret the breasts of the bride. "Rejoice," he said, "with those who rejoice, and be sad with those who sorrow." In these

few words we find the description of a mother's affections, because she shares both health and sickness with her children. She cannot avoid being conformed to them in the depths of her being in these experiences. Therefore, following Paul's guidance, I shall assign these two affective movements to the bride's two breasts, compassion to one, joyful sympathy to the other. For if she were not prompt to rejoice with those who

rejoice, and ready to be sad with those who sorrow, her breasts would still be undeveloped; she would be no more than a girl too immature to marry. Should a person devoid of these affective qualities be confided with the direction of souls, or the work of preaching, he will do no good to others and great harm to himself. How utterly shameful then, if he should intrude himself into these tasks!

2. But we must return to the subject of the bride's breasts, and see how the milk of one differs in kind from that of the other. Joyful sympathy yields the milk of encouragement, compassion that of consolation, and

as often as the spiritual mother receives the kiss, so often does she feel each species flowing richly from heaven into her loving heart. And you may see her unhesitatingly nourishing her little ones with the milk of these full breasts, from one the milk of consolation, from the other that of encouragement, according to the need of each. For example, if she should notice that one of those whom she begot by preaching the Good

News is assailed by temptation, that he becomes emotionally disturbed, is reduced to sadness and pusillanimity and therefore no longer capable of enduring the force of the temptation, will she not condole with him, caress him, weep with him, comfort him, and bring forward every possible evidence of God's love in order to raise him from his desolate state? If, on the contrary, she discovers that he is eager, active, progressive, her joy abounds, she plies him with encouraging advice, fans the fire of his zeal, imparts the ways of perseverance, and inspires him to ever higher ideals. She becomes all things to all, mirrors in herself the emotions of all and so shows herself to be a mother to those who fail no less than to those who succeed.

3. And if I may speak of those who have undertaken the direction of souls, how many there are today who reveal their lack of the requisite qualities! Only with a feeling of pain can I speak of this subject at all - - how they melt down in the furnace of their covetousness the insults endured by Christ, the spittle, the scourging, the nails, the lance, the cross, his death itself, and squander them in the pursuit of shameful gain. The very price of the world's redemption is bundled into their purses; and only in this do

they differ from Judas Iscariot, that he reckoned the total value of these things at a paltry sum of money, while they, with a more ravening greed, demand riches beyond counting. They display an insatiable passion for gains that they constantly fear to lose, and bewail after they have lost. In this love of money they find their rest, provided they are ever free from the anxiety of securing, or even further increasing, what they have acquired. Neither the peril of souls nor their salvation gives them any concern. They are certainly devoid of the maternal instinct. Grown fat, gross, bloated to excess on the heritage of the crucified Christ, "about the ruin of Joseph they do not care at all." There is no pretense about a true mother, the breasts that she displays are full for the taking. She knows how to rejoice with those who rejoice, and to be sad with those who sorrow, pressing the milk of encouragement without intermission from the breast of joyful

sympathy, the milk of consolation from the breast of compassion. And with that I think we may desist from further discussion on the breasts of the bride and the milk that fills them.

4. Now I shall try to explain the nature of the ointments of which the breasts are redolent, and so I ask the aid of your prayers that I may benefit my hearers by a worthy expression of the thoughts that inspire me.

that I may benefit my hearers by a worthy expression of the thoughts that inspire me. Just as the breasts of the Bridegroom differ from those of the bride, so do the ointments with which they are perfumed. In the previous sermon I have indicated the place in which I hope to speak of the Bridegroom's breasts. Here we must concentrate on the ointments of the bride with an attention worthy of the scriptural eulogy that commends

them not merely as good but as the best. I mention several kinds of ointments, so that given a choice, we may select the ones that seem especially appropriate to the breasts of the bride. There is the ointment of contrition, that of devotion and that of piety. The first is pungent, causing some pain; the second mitigates and soothes pain; the third heals the wound and rids the patient of the illness. And now let us discuss each of these

more extensively.

Cf. Caroline Walker Bynum, Jesus as Mother: Studies in the Spirituality of the High Middle Ages (Berkeley, 1982), pp. 16–19, 129–35;  

Feb 25 Read Dante Paolo and Francesca, Inferno: Canto V

Ussefulvery useful is Princeton website for Dante see also Peter Abelard: Historia Calamitatum [The Story of My Misfortunes] as well as

Thus I descended out of the first circle

Down to the second, that less space begirds,

And so much greater dole, that goads to wailing.

There standeth Minos horribly, and snarls;

Examines the transgressions at the entrance;

Judges, and sends according as he girds him.

I say, that when the spirit evil-born

Cometh before him, wholly it confesses;

And this discriminator of transgressions

Seeth what place in Hell is meet for it;

Girds himself with his tail as many times

As grades he wishes it should be thrust down.

Always before him many of them stand;

They go by turns each one unto the judgment;

They speak, and hear, and then are downward hurled.

"O thou, that to this dolorous hostelry

Comest," said Minos to me, when he saw me,

Leaving the practice of so great an office,

"Look how thou enterest, and in whom thou trustest;

Let not the portal's amplitude deceive thee."

And unto him my Guide: "Why criest thou too?

Do not impede his journey fate-ordained;

It is so willed there where is power to do

That which is willed; and ask no further question."

And now begin the dolesome notes to grow

Audible unto me; now am I come

There where much lamentation strikes upon me.

I came into a place mute of all light,

Which bellows as the sea does in a tempest,

If by opposing winds 't is combated.

The infernal hurricane that never rests

Hurtles the spirits onward in its rapine;

Whirling them round, and smiting, it molests them.

When they arrive before the precipice,

There are the shrieks, the plaints, and the laments,

There they blaspheme the puissance divine.

I understood that unto such a torment

The carnal malefactors were condemned,

Who reason subjugate to appetite.

And as the wings of starlings bear them on

In the cold season in large band and full,

So doth that blast the spirits maledict;

It hither, thither, downward, upward, drives them;

No hope doth comfort them for evermore,

Not of repose, but even of lesser pain.

And as the cranes go chanting forth their lays,

Making in air a long line of themselves,

So saw I coming, uttering lamentations,

Shadows borne onward by the aforesaid stress.

Whereupon said I: "Master, who are those

People, whom the black air so castigates?"

"The first of those, of whom intelligence

Thou fain wouldst have," then said he unto me,

"The empress was of many languages.

To sensual vices she was so abandoned,

That lustful she made licit in her law,

To remove the blame to which she had been led.

She is Semiramis, of whom we read

That she succeeded Ninus, and was his spouse;

She held the land which now the Sultan rules.

The next is she who killed herself for love,

And broke faith with the ashes of Sichaeus;

Then Cleopatra the voluptuous."

Helen I saw, for whom so many ruthless

Seasons revolved; and saw the great Achilles,

Who at the last hour combated with Love.

Paris I saw, Tristan; and more than a thousand

Shades did he name and point out with his finger,

Whom Love had separated from our life.

After that I had listened to my Teacher,

Naming the dames of eld and cavaliers,

Pity prevailed, and I was nigh bewildered.

And I began: "O Poet, willingly

Speak would I to those two, who go together,

And seem upon the wind to be so light."

And, he to me: "Thou'lt mark, when they shall be

Nearer to us; and then do thou implore them

By love which leadeth them, and they will come."

Soon as the wind in our direction sways them,

My voice uplift I: "O ye weary souls!

Come speak to us, if no one interdicts it."

As turtle-doves, called onward by desire,

With open and steady wings to the sweet nest

Fly through the air by their volition borne,

So came they from the band where Dido is,

Approaching us athwart the air malign,

So strong was the affectionate appeal.

"O living creature gracious and benignant,

Who visiting goest through the purple air

Us, who have stained the world incarnadine,

If were the King of the Universe our friend,

We would pray unto him to give thee peace,

Since thou hast pity on our woe perverse.

Of what it pleases thee to hear and speak,

That will we hear, and we will speak to you,

While silent is the wind, as it is now.

Sitteth the city, wherein I was born,

Upon the sea-shore where the Po descends

To rest in peace with all his retinue.

Love, that on gentle heart doth swiftly seize,

Seized this man for the person beautiful

That was ta'en from me, and still the mode offends me.

Love, that exempts no one beloved from loving,

Seized me with pleasure of this man so strongly,

That, as thou seest, it doth not yet desert me;

Love has conducted us unto one death;

Caina waiteth him who quenched our life!"

These words were borne along from them to us.

As soon as I had heard those souls tormented,

I bowed my face, and so long held it down

Until the Poet said to me: "What thinkest?"

When I made answer, I began: "Alas!

How many pleasant thoughts, how much desire,

Conducted these unto the dolorous pass!"

Then unto them I turned me, and I spake,

And I began: "Thine agonies, Francesca,

Sad and compassionate to weeping make me.

But tell me, at the time of those sweet sighs,

By what and in what manner Love conceded,

That you should know your dubious desires?"

And she to me: "There is no greater sorrow

Than to be mindful of the happy time

In misery, and that thy Teacher knows.

But, if to recognise the earliest root

Of love in us thou hast so great desire,

I will do even as he who weeps and speaks.

One day we reading were for our delight

Of Launcelot, how Love did him enthral.

Alone we were and without any fear.

Full many a time our eyes together drew

That reading, and drove the colour from our faces;

But one point only was it that o'ercame us.

When as we read of the much-longed-for smile

Being by such a noble lover kissed,

This one, who ne'er from me shall be divided,

Kissed me upon the mouth all palpitating.

Galeotto was the book and he who wrote it.

That day no farther did we read therein."

And all the while one spirit uttered this,

The other one did weep so, that, for pity,

I swooned away as if I had been dying,

Feb 27, read Vergil’s lecture in Dante’s Purgatorio XVII

Then to my guide I turn'd, and said: "Lov'd sire!

Declare what guilt is on this circle purg'd.

If our feet rest, no need thy speech should pause."

He thus to me: "The love of good, whate'er

Wanted of just proportion, here fulfils.

Here plies afresh the oar, that loiter'd ill.

But that thou mayst yet clearlier understand,

Give ear unto my words, and thou shalt cull

Some fruit may please thee well, from this delay.

"Creator, nor created being, ne'er,

My son," he thus began, "was without love,

Or natural, or the free spirit's growth.

Thou hast not that to learn.  The natural still

Is without error; but the other swerves,

If on ill object bent, or through excess

Of vigour, or defect.  While e'er it seeks

The primal blessings, or with measure due

Th' inferior, no delight, that flows from it,

Partakes of ill.  But let it warp to evil,

Or with more ardour than behooves, or less.

Pursue the good, the thing created then

Works 'gainst its Maker.  Hence thou must infer

That love is germin of each virtue in ye,

And of each act no less, that merits pain.

Now since it may not be, but love intend

The welfare mainly of the thing it loves,

All from self-hatred are secure; and since

No being can be thought t' exist apart

And independent of the first, a bar

Of equal force restrains from hating that.

"Grant the distinction just; and it remains

The' evil must be another's, which is lov'd.

Three ways such love is gender'd in your clay.

There is who hopes (his neighbour's worth deprest,)

Preeminence himself, and coverts hence

For his own greatness that another fall.

There is who so much fears the loss of power,

Fame, favour, glory (should his fellow mount

Above him), and so sickens at the thought,

He loves their opposite: and there is he,

Whom wrong or insult seems to gall and shame

That he doth thirst for vengeance, and such needs

Must doat on other's evil.  Here beneath

This threefold love is mourn'd.  Of th' other sort

Be now instructed, that which follows good

But with disorder'd and irregular course.

"All indistinctly apprehend a bliss

On which the soul may rest, the hearts of all

Yearn after it, and to that wished bourn

All therefore strive to tend.  If ye behold

Or seek it with a love remiss and lax,

This cornice after just repenting lays

Its penal torment on ye.  Other good

There is, where man finds not his happiness:

It is not true fruition, not that blest

Essence, of every good the branch and root.

The love too lavishly bestow'd on this,

Along three circles over us, is mourn'd.

Account of that division tripartite

Expect not, fitter for thine own research."

Vergil in Dante’s Purgatorio XVIII

The teacher ended, and his high discourse

Concluding, earnest in my looks inquir'd

If I appear'd content; and I, whom still

Unsated thirst to hear him urg'd, was mute,

Mute outwardly, yet inwardly I said:

"Perchance my too much questioning offends."

But he, true father, mark'd the secret wish

By diffidence restrain'd, and speaking, gave

Me boldness thus to speak: "Master, my Sight

Gathers so lively virtue from thy beams,

That all, thy words convey, distinct is seen.

Wherefore I pray thee, father, whom this heart

Holds dearest!  thou wouldst deign by proof t' unfold

That love, from which as from their source thou bring'st

All good deeds and their opposite."  He then:

"To what I now disclose be thy clear ken

Directed, and thou plainly shalt behold

How much those blind have err'd, who make themselves

The guides of men.  The soul, created apt

To love, moves versatile which way soe'er

Aught pleasing prompts her, soon as she is wak'd

By pleasure into act.  Of substance true

Your apprehension forms its counterfeit,

And in you the ideal shape presenting

Attracts the soul's regard.  If she, thus drawn,

incline toward it, love is that inclining,

And a new nature knit by pleasure in ye.

Then as the fire points up, and mounting seeks

His birth-place and his lasting seat, e'en thus

Enters the captive soul into desire,

Which is a spiritual motion, that ne'er rests

Before enjoyment of the thing it loves.

Enough to show thee, how the truth from those

Is hidden, who aver all love a thing

Praise-worthy in itself: although perhaps

Its substance seem still good.  Yet if the wax

Be good, it follows not th' impression must."

"What love is," I return'd, "thy words, O guide!

And my own docile mind, reveal.  Yet thence

New doubts have sprung.  For from without if love

Be offer'd to us, and the spirit knows

No other footing, tend she right or wrong,

Is no desert of hers."  He answering thus:

"What reason here discovers I have power

To show thee: that which lies beyond, expect

From Beatrice, faith not reason's task.

Spirit, substantial form, with matter join'd

Not in confusion mix'd, hath in itself

Specific virtue of that union born,

Which is not felt except it work, nor prov'd

But through effect, as vegetable life

By the green leaf.  From whence his intellect

Deduced its primal notices of things,

Man therefore knows not, or his appetites

Their first affections; such in you, as zeal

In bees to gather honey; at the first,

Volition, meriting nor blame nor praise.

But o'er each lower faculty supreme,

That as she list are summon'd to her bar,

Ye have that virtue in you, whose just voice

Uttereth counsel, and whose word should keep

The threshold of assent.  Here is the source,

Whence cause of merit in you is deriv'd,

E'en as the affections good or ill she takes,

Or severs, winnow'd as the chaff.  Those men

Who reas'ning went to depth profoundest, mark'd

That innate freedom, and were thence induc'd

To leave their moral teaching to the world.

Grant then, that from necessity arise

All love that glows within you; to dismiss

Or harbour it, the pow'r is in yourselves.

Remember, Beatrice, in her style,

Denominates free choice by eminence

The noble virtue, if in talk with thee

She touch upon that theme."  The moon, well nigh

To midnight hour belated, made the stars

Appear to wink and fade; and her broad disk

Seem'd like a crag on fire, as up the vault

That course she journey'd, which the sun then warms,

When they of Rome behold him at his set.

Betwixt Sardinia and the Corsic isle.

And now the weight, that hung upon my thought,

Was lighten'd by the aid of that clear spirit,

Who raiseth Andes above Mantua's name.

I therefore, when my questions had obtain'd

Solution plain and ample, stood as one

Musing in dreary slumber; but not long

Slumber'd; for suddenly a multitude,

March 4, 6 read some of the Carmina Burana

And Troubadours, trobairitz

Simon Gaunt, "Poetry of Exclusion: a Feminist Reading of some Troubadour Lyrics," MLR 85 (1990) 310-329; Laura Kendrick, The Game of Love, Berkeley 1988 PC3304.K46.1988; Linda M. Paterson, The World of the Troubadours, Cambridge 1993 PC3308.P33.1993; Linda M. Paterson, Troubadours and Eloquence, Oxford, 1975 PC3308.P3 (particularly for the concern with levels of difficulty); Susan Kay, Subjectivity in Troubadour Poetry, Cambridge, 1990 PC3308.K39.1990; Amelia E. Van Vleck, Memory and Recreation in Troubadour Lyric, Berkeley 1991PC3304.V36;

comtesse de dia, william 9th ;(ed.) J.J. Wilhelm, The poetry of Arnaut Daniel, NY 1981 PC3330.A74.A28.1981; (ed.) S.G Nichols et al, The Songs of Bernart de Ventadorn, Chapel Hill, 1965 PC3330.B4.1965M; (ed.) W. Paden et al,, The Poems of Bertran de Born, Berkeley 1986 PC3330.B5.A2.1986; G. Wolf (ed.),The Poetry of Cercamon and Rudel, NY 1983 PC3365.E3.C47.1983; (ed.) J.J. Wilhelm, The Poetry of Sordello, NY 1987 PC3330.S6.A28.1987; William VII, Poetry, NY 1982 PC3330.G7.A24.1982; R.V. Sharman, The cansos and sirventes of Giraut de Borneil ,Cambridge 1989 PC3330.G4.A63.1989; Joseph Linskill, The poems of Raimbaut de Vaqueiras, The Hague 1964 PC3330.R28.F64; Meg Bogin, The Women Troubadours, NY 1976 PC3308.B64; Songs of the women troubadours, Matilda Tomaryn Bruckner, Laurie Shepard, Sarah White, New York, Garland, 1995. PC3365.E3 S66 1995; W.D. Paden, The voice of the trobairitz, Philadelphia 1989 PC3308.V65;









 

March 18   read Andreas Capellanus

"Andreas Capellanus and the Problem of Irony," Speculum, 63 (1988), pp. 539-572 – Reiss on irony may be useful ; Paolo Cherchi, Andreas and the Ambiguity of Courtly Love, Toronto, 1994

March 20 read the following two passages from Gottfried von Strassburg’s Tristan:

|Der guote man swaz der in guot    (line 5) |Devotion to the common good |

|und niwan der werlt ze guote tuot, |by one who labors as he should |

|swer daz iht anders wan in guot |we ought to recognize as good, |

|vernemen wil, der missetuot. |or we do other than we should. |

now lay before the world

these labors I have undertaken.

May noble hearts find them a solace—

those hearts I love so heartily,

in that world where my heart sees clearly.

It's not that common world I speak of 50

(a place I only know from hearsay),

of those who scorn to endure affliction

and only want to soar in pleasure.

May God let them have their pleasures!

To their world and the one I live in,

what I say means different things—

their life and mine go different ways.

No, I'm speaking to a different world

that mingles in its single heart

its suavest spoil, its dearest dread,

its heart's delight, its longing need,

its lovely life, its death so dire,

its lovely death, its life so dire.

To that life do I yield my own.

Of that world be my worldliness,

make or break, win or lose.

I've stayed with it all my years,

there it is I've spent my days,

there I've taken help and counsel

for all my life's deepest needs.

And before that world I lay my labors,

a diversion and a pastime,

so that with my story

its most pressing sorrows

may be half softened,

its deepest hurt lessened.

If anyone will keep his sight

on what is able to divert the mind,

that helps to free the mind of trouble—

that's good for what troubles the heart.

Surely you will all agree:

when it is an idle person

who's weighed down with pain and yearning,

the pain of yearning must grow worse.

Idleness combined with yearning

always increases yearning pain.

That is why it's good for any

who have taken heartaches to heart

to try with full intent

to find the right diversion.

This will help to lighten the mind

and do the mind a lot of good.

Now, if he will listen to my advice,

never will a man in love

busy himself with anything

that goes against pure love.

Let the sad yearner

tell a yearning story

with both heart and tongue

to ease away the hours. 100

No doubt you've often heard it said,

and I'm almost willing to agree,

that busying the yearning mind

with more tales that tell of yearning

only makes the yearning worse.

That's a saying I would believe

except that one thing stands against it:

when one is fervently in love,

however love may pain the heart,

the heart persists in desiring it.

The mind held captive by desire—

the deeper it sinks into longing,

the more it burns with the fire of yearning,

the more intense is its desire.

This is a pain so full of love,

an evil that does the heart such good,

that no noble heart, once having felt it,

ever again can beat without it.

This I know, as sure as death,

and understand it just as surely:

the man of noble yearning

desires yearning tales.

Now whoso longs for a tale of yearning,

go no further, linger here;

for I shall spin you one

of yearning lovers

who turned yearning into purity.

Lost in yearning, he and she,

a man—a girl; a girl—a man.

Tristan—Isolt; Isolt—Tristan.

know, of course, that not a few

have read of Tristan. But it's true

that of them there are very few

who have read correctly what is true.

o have my say about it also,

and merely do the same as they,

to charge that when they tell the story

they only manage to get it wrong

would not by any means be right.

And so I won't. They wrote honestly,

and only with the best intentions,

for my sake and for everyone's.

Certainly they meant it well,

and whatever is done in good will

is surely good, and well done, surely.

But indeed, as I have claimed,

that none of them have read it right,

I say again, this is fact:

they haven't rightly told the story

that master Thomas of Britanje tells— 150

the master, yes, of all these tales,

who knows the lives of all the princes

from reading the books of Britanje,

and lets us know the true story.

His way of telling the life of Tristan,

the plain truth, told correctly,

I have searched for everywhere,

in all the books, of both kinds,

Latin and not Latin,

and taken the greatest care and trouble

in writing this poem

to follow his example.

After much searching,

at last in one book

I read all that he has said

about how this adventure goes.

And now from all my reading there

about this history of longing,

I have chosen to present

the tale to all noble hearts

as a pleasure and diversion.

Reading it will do them good.

Good? Oh, yes, the deepest good:

it makes love lovely, heartens courage,

puts faith in trusting, envirtues living—

enlivens, so to speak, our lives.

The loyal man who hears or reads

about such steadfast faithfulness,

love, devotion, steadfast will,

learns by doing so to love

loyalty and like virtues too:

honor, all the many qualities

that never otherwise appeal

so strongly, nor so well

as when we tell of heartfelt love

and rue the heartbreak born of love.

Yes, such a blessed thing is love,

a struggle of such blessedness,

that none has honor or worth

unless he knows its teachings.

Love fosters so much worthiness,

so much value comes of it—

to no avail for him who never

struggles to gain his heart's love—

alas, how few of those I find

who for his lover will endure

the purity of heart's desire

for no more reward than the lament

which, when the time for sorrow comes,

stays buried deep within the heart! 200

What noble mind would refuse to bear

a single ill for endless good?

For countless weals a single woe?

If you know not the pain of love,

neither do you know its joy.

Love and pain have ever been

inseparable in love.

It takes them both to win,

to try for honor and gain,

or you’re not in the game at all.

Now, those of whom this story tells—

had they not suffered pain for love,

not paid with sore lament for joy,

not borne it all with single heart,

never would their names and tale

have brought such joy and blessing

to so many a noble heart.

The story still is good to hear,

still sweet and ever new,

of their entire devotion,

their love, their hurt, their joy, their need—

no matter that they're dead long since.

The sweetness of their name lives on,

and in the world their death will live

much longer still, and evermore

inspire the loyal with devotion,

and with honor those who seek it.

Their death will live forever

for us, the living, ever new,

because whenever we recite

how perfect was their loyalty,

their heart's love, their heart's pain—

to noble hearts, this is their bread.

For us their deaths thus are not dead.

We read their lives—yes, they are dead,

and this is sweet to us as bread.

Their lives, their deaths, must be our bread.

Their lives thus live, they live though dead.

And so they live, yet both are dead.

Their deaths are, for the living, bread.

Tristan l’ameir

The ships put back out to sea

and the voyage continued as before,

except that the force of Passion

had thrown two hearts aboard

entirely off their intended course.

Both were much oppressed by thought,

seriously encumbered

with the delightful sorrow

caused by a strange wonder

that makes gall of honey,

turns the sweet to sour,

sets the dew ablaze,

infects balm with agues,

disheartens every heart,

and turns the world upside down.

This had deeply troubled them,

Tristan and Isolt.

Some compulsion was driving them

in a new and strange way.

Neither of them was able

to find any rest or comfort

except in each other's sight.

But when they gazed at each other,

that perturbed them also,

since between them they could not

reconcile their desires. 11900

Strangeness and embarrassment

lamed pleasure for them.

When they tried secretly

to steal a fascinated look

in each other's direction,

their complexions showed the color

of their hearts and senses.

Passion with her tinctures

would not be satisfied

that one bore her nobly

concealed in the heart.

She meant to make her power

visible and obvious,

using them as her palette.

Her colors played over them

as she played with her tints—

the hues succeeded one another,

first pale, then flushed.

They turned red, and then white,

as Passion called the shadings.

Thus it slowly began to dawn

on each one of them

that something—could it be desire?—

in the mind of the one

was intended toward the other.

At this point they began

to venture signs of affection,

watching for a time and place

to exchange whispered pleasantries.

Now as lovers on the prowl

they laid their nets and snares

here and there for one another,

set up their blinds and ambushes

concealed in questions and answers.

They spoke of many different things.

Isolt's method in this stalk

was proper for a maiden.

She circled her beloved prize

on all sides from a distance.

She started from the beginning,

rehearsing how, alone and wounded,

he had drifted in his boat

near the harbor at Develin,

how her mother had taken charge

and by her arts healed him,

and then the whole story

of how she herself had learned

first how to read and write,

then Latin and music as he taught her.

She enlivened her account 11950

with many vivid recollections

about his intrepid courage

and the fight with the dragon,

also how she knew him twice,

first in the swamp, then the bath.

Soon their talk was flowing freely,

she to him and he to her.

"Alas," Isolt mused aloud,

"I'll never have a better chance.

When I failed to kill you in the bath—

God, why didn't I do it?

Had I known then, what I know now,

upon my word, you'd be dead!"

"What?" he spluttered, "lovely Isolt,

are you mad? What do you know?"

"What I know is driving me mad—

everything I see, hurts.

It all hurts—the sky, the sea—

life and limb are killing me!"

For support she leaned against him

with her elbow, daintily.

Then one thing led to another.

Her mirror-bright eyes grew wet,

although she tried to hide it.

Her heart began to fill,

her sweet mouth and lips to swell,

her head sank down and forward.

Tristan took his cue

and put his arms around her,

neither too tight nor closely,

only in a friendly way.

His voice was soft and gentle.

"Oh, my beauty, tell me,

what is it, what's troubling you?"

And Isolt, Passion's accipiter

said "lameir, that's what it is,

lameir is making me so sad,

it's lameir that hurts so bad."

Hearing lameir repeatedly,

he began to deliberate

and consider with much care

what this word might mean.

On the one hand, he knew,

lameir could mean "love,"

but also "bitter," and la meir the sea.

It could mean almost anything.

He left out one of the three

and focused on the other two—

disregarding Passion,

who in fact ruled them both, 12000

their desire and their mainstay,

he considered "sea" and "sour."

"I think, fairest Isolt," he said,

"the bitter sea must trouble you.

The flavor of the sea and wind

together must seem bitter to you?"

"No, sir, no, what are you saying?

none of that bothers me.

I don't smell the air or sea.

Lameir alone afflicts me."

This left him with the last word,

which now he knew meant "passion."

He said, very tenderly,

"It's true, my finest, so does it me—

lameir and you, you are my need.

Beloved woman, dear Isolt,

you alone and your love

have so possessed all my mind

and so distracted all my senses

that I have lost my way entirely,

and indeed with no prospect

that I shall ever find myself.

Everything that meets my gaze

makes me doubt and tremble,

feel weak and as though lost.

There's nothing left in the world

that my heart loves but you."

"Sir," she murmured, "I love you too."

Now when the lovers knew each other

to be of one mind between them,

a single heart, a single will,

this began both to ease

and to expose their disquiet.

Now each could speak more frankly

and openly to the other,

man to maiden and maid to man.

All hesitation now was gone.

He kissed her and she kissed him

tenderly and sweetly.

This made a fortunate beginning

to soften the pangs of love—

each poured out and each drank

the sweetness flowing from the heart.

Whenever they could find occasion,

this pleasant trade between them

flowed both ways, back and forth,

but always so covertly

that no one in that little world

suspected what it was they felt

but one, who knew all about it: 12050

Brangaene the wise.

She often watched them quietly,

careful not to show herself,

seeing plainly through their pretence,

and wrestled long with her thoughts:

"Alas, now I'm sure of it.

Passion is taking hold of them."

It didn't take her long to see

how seriously they meant it

by all the outward indications

of the inmost pains

afflicting mind and heart.

Their distraction troubled her,

seeing them continually

ameiren and amuren,

sighing and languishing,

longing and fantasizing,

first blushing, then growing pale.

In such deep infatuation

that they took no nourishment,

this stress and deprivation

began to undermine their health

so that Brangaene began to fear

it might mean the end of them,

and finally in deep concern

told herself,"now do something—

find out what's really going on!"

One day she came to sit with them,

quietly and confidentially,

proud and wise as she was,

and said, "now we're alone, we three.

Tell me, what's got into you?

I see you, all the time,

as though lost in longing,

sighing, sorrowing, and lamenting."

"Courtly lady," Tristan said,

If I dared, I would tell you."

"Very well, sir, let's hear it—

You can tell me whatever you wish."

"Oh, fine lady," he replied,

I cannot say any more

unless you will assure us

on your solemn word of honor

that you will take compassion

upon our misfortune,

for otherwise, we are lost."

Brangaene reassured them.

She faithfully promised

by God and her loyalty

to be obedient to them. 12100

"Trusted companion," Tristan said,

"look to God, first of all,

and then to your own salvation.

Have pity on the pain we suffer

and the trouble we are in.

I, and also Isolt, alas—

I don't know what's wrong with us.

It's happened so suddenly.

We have lost our senses

by some peculiar malaise.

We are dying of desire

and can by no means regain

any time for repose

when it does not confound us.

But this is sure: if we perish,

it's no one's fault but our own.

Now, our death, and our life,

are given into your hand.

That's as much as I can tell you.

Brangaene, blessed maiden,

now assist and forgive

your sovereign lady and me."

Brangaene addressed Isolt:

"My Lady, are you affected

so severely, as he says?"

"Yes, dear cousin," sighed Isolt.

"God have mercy," exclaimed Brangaene,

"that the Fiend has chosen us

upon whom to make his sport!

I see there is no help for it,

that now for your sakes

I'm forced to condone this vice,

whatever it may cost me.

Rather than see you perish,

I'll give you every chance I can

to do whatever you want to do.

You needn't desist on my account

from anything you won't avoid

by your own sense of honor.

But as far as you can resist

and restrain yourselves from such doings,

by all means, abstain, I say.

Keep the secret of this corruption

strictly to the three of us—

if you let out a word of it,

it will destroy your reputation.

If anyone knows but we three,

It's the end of you, and me with you.

Beloved lady, beautiful Isolt,

be your life and your death 12150

now given into your own control.

Preside over death and life

as your whim may incline,

but entertain no suspicions

from this time on, about me.

You can do what you please."

That night, as the beauty lay

thinking of her pain and longing

for her true beloved,

there came stealing quietly

into her private chamber

her amis and physician,

Tristan and Passion.

Passion the physician

led her ailing patient,

Tristan, by the hand,

and found the ill Isolt there.

She took her two sufferers

and administered them to each other

as a sure and certain remedy.

Who else could have cured

and freed these two afflicted

from their common malady

by joining one to the other,

while shackling their senses?

Passion the shackler

shackled both their hearts

with the shackles of her sweetness

so masterfully together,

with such mysterious power,

that nothing could release them

for all the rest of their years.

ndless talk about desire

is more that courtly minds require.

Brief talk of good desire

betters what good minds require.



March 25 A passage from Chrétien’s Lancelot and from Pearl Poet’s Gawain and the Green Knight:

Chretien’s Lancelot:

In the midst of the hall a bed had been set up, the sheets of which were by no means soiled, but were white and wide and well spread out. The bed was not of shredded straw or of coarse spreads. But a covering of two silk cloths had been laid upon the couch. The damsel lay down first, but without removing her chemise. He had great trouble in removing his hose and in untying the knots. He sweated with the trouble of it all; yet, in the midst of all the trouble, his promise impels and drives him on. Is this then an actual force? Yes, virtually so; for he feels that he is in duty bound to take his place by the damsel's side. It is his promise that urges him and dictates his act. So he lies down at once, but like her, he does not remove his shirt. He takes good care not to touch her; and when he is in bed, he turns away from her as far as possible, and speaks not a word to her, like a monk to whom speech is forbidden. Not once does he look at her, nor show her any courtesy. Why not? Because his heart does not go out to her. She was certainly very fair and winsome, but not every one is pleased and touched by what is fair and winsome. The knight has only one heart, and this one is really no longer his, but has been entrusted to some one else, so that he cannot bestow it elsewhere. Love, which holds all hearts beneath its sway, requires it to be lodged in a single place. All hearts? No, only those which it esteems. And he whom love deigns to control ought to prize himself the more. Love prized his heart so highly that it constrained it in a special manner, and made him so proud of this distinction that I am not inclined to find fault with him, if he lets alone what love forbids, and remains fixed where it desires. The maiden clearly sees and knows that he dislikes her company and would gladly dispense with it, and that, having no desire to win her love, he would not attempt to woo her. So she said: "My lord, if you will not feel hurt, I will leave and return to bed in my own room, and you will be more comfortable. I do not believe that you are pleased with my company and society. Do not esteem me less if I tell you what I think. Now take your rest all night, for you have so well kept your promise that I have no right to make further request of you. So I commend you to God; and shall go away." Thereupon she arises: the knight does not object, but rather gladly lets her go, like one who is the devoted lover of some one else; the damsel clearly perceived this, and went to her room, where she undressed completely and retired, saying to herself: "Of all the knights I have ever known, I never knew a single knight whom I would value the third part of an angevin in comparison with this one. As I understand the case, he has on hand a more perilous and grave affair than any ever undertaken by a knight; and may God grant that he succeed in it." Then she fell asleep, and remained in bed until the next day's dawn appeared.

From Gawain and the Green Knight

'Nay for soþe, beau sir,' sayd þat swete,

'Ȝe schal not rise of your bedde, I rych yow better,

I schal happe yow here þat oþer half als,

And syþen karp wyth my knyȝt þat I kaȝt haue;

For I wene wel, iwysse, Sir Wowen ȝe are,

Þat alle þe worlde worchipez quere-so ȝe ride;

Your honour, your hendelayk is hendely praysed

With lordez, wyth ladyes, with alle þat lyf bere.

And now ȝe ar here, iwysse, and we bot oure one;

My lorde and his ledez ar on lenþe faren,

Oþer burnez in her bedde, and my burdez als,

Þe dor drawen and dit with a derf haspe;

And syþen I haue in þis hous hym þat al lykez,

I schal ware my whyle wel, quyl hit lastez,

with tale.

Ȝe ar welcum to my cors,

Yowre awen won to wale,

Me behouez of fyne force

Your seruaunt be, and schale.' Page  35

'In god fayth,' quoþ Gawayn, 'gayn hit me þynkkez,

Þaȝ I be not now he þat ȝe of speken;

To reche to such reuerence as ȝe reherce here

I am wyȝe vnworþy, I wot wel myseluen.

Bi God, I were glad, and yow god þoȝt,

At saȝe oþer at seruyce þat I sette myȝt

To þe plesaunce of your prys--hit were a pure ioye.'

'In god fayth, Sir Gawayn,' quoþ þe gay lady,

'Þe prys and þe prowes þat plesez al oþer,

If I hit lakked oþer set at lyȝt, hit were littel daynté;

Bot hit ar ladyes innoȝe þat leuer wer nowþe

Haf þe, hende, in hor holde, as I þe habbe here,

To daly with derely your daynté wordez,

Keuer hem comfort and colen her carez,

Þen much of þe garysoun oþer golde þat þay hauen.

Bot I louue þat ilk lorde þat þe lyfte haldez,

I haf hit holly in my honde þat al desyres,

þurȝe grace.'

Scho made hym so gret chere, [folio 108r]

Þat watz so fayr of face,

Þe knyȝt with speches skere

Answared to vche a cace.

'Madame,' quoþ þe myry mon, 'Mary yow ȝelde,

For I haf founden, in god fayth, yowre fraunchis nobele,

And oþer ful much of oþer folk fongen bi hor dedez,

Bot þe daynté þat þay delen, for my disert nys euen,

Hit is þe worchyp of yourself, þat noȝt bot wel connez.'

'Bi Mary,' quoþ þe menskful, 'me þynk hit an oþer;

For were I worth al þe wone of wymmen alyue,

And al þe wele of þe worlde were in my honde,

And I schulde chepen and chose to cheue me a lorde,

For þe costes þat I haf knowen vpon þe, knyȝt, here,

Of bewté and debonerté and blyþe semblaunt,

And þat I haf er herkkened and halde hit here trwee,

Þer schulde no freke vpon folde bifore yow be chosen.'

'Iwysse, worþy,' quoþ þe wyȝe, 'ȝe haf waled wel better,

Bot I am proude of þe prys þat ȝe put on me,

And, soberly your seruaunt, my souerayn I holde yow, Page  36

And yowre knyȝt I becom, and Kryst yow forȝelde.'

 "Nay, forsooth, fair sir," quoth the lady, "ye shall not rise, I will rede ye better. I shall keep ye here, since ye can do no other, and talk with my knight whom I have captured. For I know well that ye are Sir Gawain, whom all the world worships, wheresoever ye may ride. Your honour and your courtesy are praised by lords and ladies, by all who live. Now ye are here and we are alone, my lord and his men are afield; the serving men in their beds, and my maidens also, and the door shut upon us. And since in this hour I have him that all men love, I shall use my time well with speech, while it lasts. Ye are welcome to my company, for it behoves me in sooth to be your servant."

   "In good faith," quoth Gawain, "I think me that I am not him of whom ye speak, for unworthy am I of such service as ye here proffer. In sooth, I were glad if I might set myself by word or service to your pleasure; a pure joy would it be to me!"

   "In good faith, Sir Gawain," quoth the gay lady, "the praise and the prowess that pleases all ladies I lack them not, nor hold them light; yet are there ladies enough who would liever now have the knight in their hold, as I have ye here, to dally with your courteous words, to bring them comfort and to ease their cares, than much of the treasure and the gold that are theirs. And now, through the grace of Him who upholds the heavens, I have wholly in my power that which they all desire!"

   Thus the lady, fair to look upon, made him great cheer, and Sir Gawain, with modest words, answered her again: "Madam," he quoth, "may Mary requite ye, for in good faith I have found in ye a noble frankness. Much courtesy have other folk shown me, but the honour they have done me is naught to the worship of yourself, who knoweth but good."

   "By Mary," quoth the lady, "I think otherwise; for were I worth all the women alive, and had I the wealth of the world in my hand, and might choose me a lord to my liking, then, for all that I have seen in ye, Sir Knight, of beauty and courtesy and blithe semblance, and for all that I have hearkened and hold for true, there should be no knight on earth to be chosen before ye!"

   "Well I wot," quoth Sir Gawain, "that ye have chosen a better; but I am proud that ye should so prize me, and as your servant do I hold ye my sovereign, and your knight am I, and may Christ reward ye."

   So they talked of many matters till mid-morn was past, and ever the lady made as though she loved him, and the knight turned her speech aside. For though she were the brightest of maidens, yet had he forborne to shew her love for the danger that awaited him, and the blow that must be given without delay.

March 27, April 1 Chaucer, rhetoric: effictio The effictio is a routine prescribed in medieval school texts – in the abbreviated version of Geoffrey of Vinsauf’s Poetria Nova:

[pic]

A taste of the full-blown version:

[pic]

[pic][pic][pic]

From Launfal

He fond yn the pavyloun

The kynges doughter of Olyroun,

   Dame Tryamour that hyghte;

Her fadyr was Kyng of Fayrye,

Of Occient, fer and nyghe,

   A man of mochell myghte.

In the pavyloun he fond a bed of prys

Yheled wyth purpur bys,

   That semyle was of syghte.

Therinne lay that lady gent

That after Syr Launfal hedde ysent,

   That lefsom lemede bryght.

   

For hete her clothes down sche dede

Almest to her gerdylstede

   Than lay sche uncovert.

Sche was as whyt as lylye yn May,

Or snow that sneweth yn wynterys day -

   He seygh never non so pert.

The rede rose, whan sche ys newe,

Agens her rode nes naught of hewe, 1

   I dar well say, yn sert.

Her here schon as gold wyre;

May no man rede here atyre,

   Ne naught wel thenke yn hert.

Effictio of Alyson in Chaucer’s Miller’s Tale: Click here to hear this passage read aloud.

Fair was this yonge wyf, and therwithal

                    Fair was this young wife, and moreover

3234         As any wezele hir body gent and smal.

                    As any weasel was her body graceful and slender.

3235         A ceynt she werede, barred al of silk,

                    A belt she wore, with decorative strips all of silk,

3236         A barmclooth as whit as morne milk

                    An apron as white as morning milk

3237         Upon hir lendes, ful of many a goore.

                    Upon her loins, full of many a flounce.

3238         Whit was hir smok, and broyden al bifoore

                    White was her smock, and embroidered all in front

3239         And eek bihynde, on hir coler aboute,

                    And also behind, around her collar,

3240         Of col-blak silk, withinne and eek withoute.

                    With coal-black silk, within and also without.

3241         The tapes of hir white voluper

                    The ribbons of her white cap

3242         Were of the same suyte of hir coler;

                    Were of the same color as her collar;

3243         Hir filet brood of silk, and set ful hye.

                    Her headband broad of silk, and set very high.

3244         And sikerly she hadde a likerous ye;

                    And surely she had a wanton eye;

3245         Ful smale ypulled were hire browes two,

                    Her two eyebrows were plucked very thin,

3246         And tho were bent and blake as any sloo.

                    And those were bent and black as any sloe.

3247         She was ful moore blisful on to see

                    She was much more blissful to look upon

3248         Than is the newe pere-jonette tree,

                    Than is the new early-ripe pear tree,

3249         And softer than the wolle is of a wether.

                    And softer than the wool is of a sheep.

3250         And by hir girdel heeng a purs of lether,

                    And by her girdle hung a purse of leather,

3251         Tasseled with silk and perled with latoun.

                    Tasseled with silk and ornamented with latten "pearls."

3252         In al this world, to seken up and doun,

                    In all this world, to seek up and down,

3253         There nys no man so wys that koude thenche

                    There is no man so wise that he could imagine

3254         So gay a popelote or swich a wenche.

                    So lovely a little doll or such a wench.

3255         Ful brighter was the shynyng of hir hewe

                    Much brighter was the shining of her complexion

3256         Than in the Tour the noble yforged newe.

                    Than the newly minted noble in the Tower.

3257         But of hir song, it was as loude and yerne

                    But of her song, it was as loud and lively

3258         As any swalwe sittynge on a berne.

                    As any swallow sitting on a barn.

3259         Therto she koude skippe and make game,

                    Moreover she could skip and play,

3260         As any kyde or calf folwynge his dame.

                    Like any kid or calf following its mother.

3261         Hir mouth was sweete as bragot or the meeth,

                    Her mouth was sweet as ale and honey or mead,

3262         Or hoord of apples leyd in hey or heeth.

                    Or a hoard of apples laid in hay or heather.

3263         Wynsynge she was, as is a joly colt,

                    Skittish she was, as is a spirited colt,

3264         Long as a mast, and upright as a bolt.

                    Tall as a mast, and straight as an arrow.

3265         A brooch she baar upon hir lowe coler,

                    A brooch she wore upon her low collar,

3266         As brood as is the boos of a bokeler.

                    As broad as is the boss of a shield.

3267         Hir shoes were laced on hir legges hye.

                    Her shoes were laced high on her legs.

3268         She was a prymerole, a piggesnye,

                    She was a primrose, a pig's eye (a flower),

3269         For any lord to leggen in his bedde,

                    For any lord to lay in his bed,

3270         Or yet for any good yeman to wedde.

                    Or yet for any good yeoman to wed.

Effictio of the Prioress in the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales

118         Ther was also a Nonne, a PRIORESSE,

                 There was also a Nun, a PRIORESS,

119         That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy;

                 Who was very simple and modest in her smiling;

120         Hire gretteste ooth was but by Seinte Loy;

                 Her greatest oath was but by Saint Loy;

121         And she was cleped madame Eglentyne.

                 And she was called Madam Eglantine.

122         Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne,

                 She sang the divine service very well,

123         Entuned in hir nose ful semely;

                 Intoned in her nose in a very polite manner;

124         And Frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly,

                 And she spoke French very well and elegantly,

125         After the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,

                 In the manner of Stratford at the Bow,

126         For Frenssh of Parys was to hire unknowe.

                 For French of Paris was to her unknown.

127         At mete wel ytaught was she with alle;

                 At meals she was well taught indeed;

128         She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle,

                 She let no morsel fall from her lips,

129         Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe;

                 Nor wet her fingers deep in her sauce;

130         Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe

                 She well knew how to carry a morsel (to her mouth) and take good care

131         That no drope ne fille upon hire brest.

                 That no drop fell upon her breast.

132         In curteisie was set ful muchel hir lest.

                 Her greatest pleasure was in good manners.

133         Hir over-lippe wyped she so clene

                 She wiped her upper lip so clean

134         That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene

                 That in her cup there was seen no tiny bit

135         Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte.

                 Of grease, when she had drunk her drink.

136         Ful semely after hir mete she raughte.

                 She reached for her food in a very seemly manner.

137         And sikerly she was of greet desport,

                 And surely she was of excellent deportment,

138         And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port,

                 And very pleasant, and amiable in demeanor,

139         And peyned hire to countrefete cheere

                 And she took pains to imitate the manners

140         Of court, and to been estatlich of manere,

                 Of court, and to be dignified in behavior,

141         And to ben holden digne of reverence.

                 And to be considered worthy of reverence.

142         But for to speken of hire conscience,

                 But to speak of her moral sense,

143         She was so charitable and so pitous

                 She was so charitable and so compassionate

144         She wolde wepe, if that she saugh a mous

                 She would weep, if she saw a mouse

145         Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.

                 Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.

146         Of smale houndes hadde she that she fedde

                 She had some small hounds that she fed

147         With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel-breed.

                 With roasted meat, or milk and fine white bread.

148         But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed,

                 But sorely she wept if one of them were dead,

149         Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte;

                 Or if someone smote it smartly with a stick;

150         And al was conscience and tendre herte.

                 And all was feeling and tender heart.

151         Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was,

                 Her wimple was pleated in a very seemly manner,

152         Hir nose tretys, hir eyen greye as glas,

                 Her nose well formed, her eyes gray as glass,

153         Hir mouth ful smal, and therto softe and reed.

                 Her mouth very small, and moreover soft and red.

154         But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed;

                 But surely she had a fair forehead;

155         It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe;

                 It was almost nine inches broad, I believe;

156         For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe.

                 For, certainly, she was not undergrown.

157         Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war.

                 Her cloak was very well made , as I was aware.

158         Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar

                 About her arm she bore of small coral

159         A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene,

                 A set of beads, adorned with large green beads,

160         And theron heng a brooch of gold ful sheene,

                 And thereon hung a brooch of very bright gold,

161         On which ther was first write a crowned A,

                 On which there was first written an A with a crown,

162         And after Amor vincit omnia.

                 And after "Love conquers all."

Gunnar meets Hallgerd in Njals saga

It happened one day that Gunnar went away from the Hill of Laws,

and passed by the booths of the men from Mossfell; then he saw a

woman coming to meet him, and she was in goodly attire; but when

they met she spoke to Gunnar at once. He took her greeting well,

and asks what woman she might be. She told him her name was

Hallgerda, and said she was Hauskuld's daughter, Dalakoll's son.

She spoke up boldly to him, and bade him tell her of his voyages;

but he said he would not gainsay her a talk. Then they sat them

down and talked. She was so clad that she had on a red kirtle,

and had thrown over her a scarlet cloak trimmed with needlework

down to the waist. Her hair came down to her bosom, and was both

fair and full. Gunnar was clad in the scarlet clothes which King

Harold Gorm's son had given him; he had also the gold ring on his

arm which Earl Hacon had given him.

So they talked long out loud, and at last it came about that he

asked whether she were unmarried. She said, so it was, "and

there are not many who would run the risk of that."

"Thinkest thou none good enough for thee?"

"Not that," she says, "but I am said to be hard to please in

husbands."

"How wouldst thou answer, were I to ask for thee?"

"That cannot be in thy mind," she says.

"It is though," says he. If thou hast any mind that way, go and see my father."

After that they broke off their talk.

"If thou hast any mind that way, go and see my father."

After that they broke off their talk.

HÁVAMÁL

90. Such is the love of women, who falsehood meditate, as if one

drove not rough-shod, on slippery ice, a spirited two-years old and

unbroken horse; or as in a raging storm a helmless ship is beaten; or

as if the halt were set to catch a reindeer in the thawing fell.[21]

91. Openly I now speak, because I both sexes know: unstable are

men's minds towards women; 'tis then we speak most fair when we most

falsely think: that deceives even the cautious.

92. Fair shall speak, and money offer, who would obtain a woman's

love. Praise the form of a fair damsel; he gets who courts her.

93. At love should no one ever wonder in another: a beauteous

countenance oft captivates the wise, which captivates not the foolish.

94. Let no one wonder at another's folly, it is the lot of many.

All-powerful desire makes of the sons of men fools even of the wise.

95. The mind only knows what lies near the heart, that alone is

conscious of our affections. No disease is worse to a sensible man

than not to be content with himself.

96. That I experienced, when in the reeds I sat, awaiting my

delight. Body and soul to me was that discreet maiden: nevertheless I

possess her not.

97. Billing's lass[22] on her couch I found, sun-bright, sleeping. A

prince's joy to me seemed naught, if not with that form to live.

98. "Yet nearer eve must thou, Odin, come, if thou wilt talk the

maiden over; all will be disastrous, unless we alone are privy to such

misdeed."

99. I returned, thinking to love, at her wise desire. I thought I

should obtain her whole heart and love.

100. When next I came the bold warriors were all awake, with lights

burning, and bearing torches: thus was the way to pleasure closed.

101. But at the approach of morn, when again I came, the household

all was sleeping; the good damsel's dog alone I found tied to the bed.

102. Many a fair maiden, when rightly known, towards men is fickle:

From Chaucer’s Knight’s Tale

 This passeth yeer by yeer and day by day,

                   This passes year by year and day by day,

1034          Till it fil ones, in a morwe of May,

                   Until it befell once, in a morning of May,

1035          That Emelye, that fairer was to sene

                   That Emelye, who was fairer to be seen

1036          Than is the lylie upon his stalke grene,

                   Than is the lily upon its green stalk,

1037          And fressher than the May with floures newe --

                   And fresher than the May with new flowers --

1038          For with the rose colour stroof hire hewe,

                   For her hue vied with color of the rose,

1039          I noot which was the fyner of hem two --

                   I do not know which was the finer of them two --

1040          Er it were day, as was hir wone to do,

                   Before it was day, as was her custom to do,

1041          She was arisen and al redy dight,

                   She was arisen and all ready prepared,

1042          For May wole have no slogardie anyght.

                   For May will have no laziness at night.

1043          The sesoun priketh every gentil herte,

                   The season urges on every gentle heart,

1044          And maketh it out of his slep to sterte,

                   And makes it out of its sleep to awake suddenly,

1045          And seith "Arys, and do thyn observaunce."

                   And says "Arise, and do thy observance."

1046          This maked Emelye have remembraunce

                   This made Emelye remember

1047          To doon honour to May, and for to ryse.

                   To do honor to May, and to rise.

1048          Yclothed was she fressh, for to devyse:

                   She was gaily clothed, so to say:

1049          Hir yelow heer was broyded in a tresse

                   Her yellow hair was braided in a tress

1050          Bihynde hir bak, a yerde long, I gesse.

                   Behind her back, a yard long, I guess.

1051          And in the gardyn, at the sonne upriste,

                   And in the garden, at the rising of the sun,

1052          She walketh up and doun, and as hire liste

                   She walks up and down, and as she pleases

1053          She gadereth floures, party white and rede,

                   She gathers flowers, mixed white and red,

1054          To make a subtil gerland for hire hede;

                   To make an intricate garland for her head;

1055          And as an aungel hevenysshly she soong.

                   And she sang (as) heavenly as an angel.

1056          The grete tour, that was so thikke and stroong,

                   The great tower, that was so thick and strong,

1057          Which of the castel was the chief dongeoun

                   Which was the main fortification of the castle

1058          (Ther as the knyghtes weren in prisoun

                   (Where the knights were in prison

1059          Of which I tolde yow and tellen shal),

                   Of which I told yow and shall tell),

1060          Was evene joynant to the gardyn wal

                   Was just next to the garden wall

1061          Ther as this Emelye hadde hir pleyynge.

                   Where this Emelye took her pleasure.

1062          Bright was the sonne and cleer that morwenynge,

                   The sun was bright and clear that morning,

1063          And Palamoun, this woful prisoner,

                   And Palamon, this woeful prisoner,

1064          As was his wone, by leve of his gayler,

                   As was his custom, by permission of his jailer,

1065          Was risen and romed in a chambre an heigh,

   Had risen and roamed in a chamber on high,

1066          In which he al the noble citee seigh,

                   In which he saw all the noble city,

1067          And eek the gardyn, ful of braunches grene,

                   And also the garden, full of green branches,

1068          Ther as this fresshe Emelye the shene

                   Where this fresh Emelye the bright

1069          Was in hire walk, and romed up and doun.

                   Was in her walk, and roamed up and down.

1070          This sorweful prisoner, this Palamoun,

                   This sorrowful prisoner, this Palamon,

1071          Goth in the chambre romynge to and fro

                   Goes in the chamber roaming to and fro

1072          And to hymself compleynynge of his wo.

                   And to himself lamenting his woe.

1073          That he was born, ful ofte he seyde, "allas!"

                   That he was born, full often he said, "alas!"

1074          And so bifel, by aventure or cas,

                   And so it happened, by chance or accident,

1075          That thurgh a wyndow, thikke of many a barre

                   That through a window, thickly set with many a bar

1076          Of iren greet and square as any sparre,

                   Of iron, great and square as any beam,

1077          He cast his eye upon Emelya,

                   He cast his eye upon Emelye,

1078          And therwithal he bleynte and cride, "A!"

                   And with that he turned pale and cried, "A!"

1079          As though he stongen were unto the herte.

                   As though he were stabbed unto the heart.

1080          And with that cry Arcite anon up sterte

                   And with that cry Arcite immediately leaped up

1081          And seyde, "Cosyn myn, what eyleth thee,

                   And said, "My cousin, what ails thee,

1082          That art so pale and deedly on to see?

                   Who art so pale and deadly to look upon?

1083          Why cridestow? Who hath thee doon offence?

                   Why didst thou cry out? Who has done thee offence?

1084          For Goddes love, taak al in pacience

                   For the love of God, take all in patience

1085          Oure prisoun, for it may noon oother be.

                   Our imprisonment, for it may not be otherwise.

1086          Fortune hath yeven us this adversitee.

                   Fortune has given us this adversity.

1087          Som wikke aspect or disposicioun

                   Some wicked aspect or disposition

1088          Of Saturne, by som constellacioun,

                   Of Saturn, by some arrangement of the heavenly bodies,

1089          Hath yeven us this, although we hadde it sworn;

                   Has given us this, although we had sworn it would not be;

1090          So stood the hevene whan that we were born.

                   So stood the heavens when we were born.

1091          We moste endure it; this is the short and playn."

                   We must endure it; this is the short and plain."

1092          This Palamon answerde and seyde agayn,

                   This Palamon answered and said in reply,

1093          "Cosyn, for sothe, of this opinioun

                   "Cousin, truly, concerning this opinion

1094          Thow hast a veyn ymaginacioun.

                   Thou hast a foolish conception.

1095          This prison caused me nat for to crye,

                   This prison did not cause me to cry out,

1096          But I was hurt right now thurghout myn ye

                   But I was hurt right now through my eye

1097          Into myn herte, that wol my bane be.

                   Into my heart, so that it will be the death of me.

1098          The fairnesse of that lady that I see

                   The fairness of that lady whom I see

1099          Yond in the gardyn romen to and fro

                   Yonder in the garden roaming to and fro

1100          Is cause of al my criyng and my wo.

                   Is cause of all my crying and my woe.

1101          I noot wher she be womman or goddesse,

                   I know not whether she is woman or goddess,

1102          But Venus is it soothly, as I gesse."

                   But truly it is Venus, as I suppose."

1103          And therwithal on knees doun he fil,

                   And with that he fell down on his knees,

1104          And seyde, "Venus, if it be thy wil

                   And said, "Venus, if it be thy will

1105          Yow in this gardyn thus to transfigure

                   Thus to transfigure yourself in this garden

1106          Bifore me, sorweful, wrecched creature,

                   Before me, sorrowful, wretched creature,

1107          Out of this prisoun help that we may scapen.

                   Help that we may escape out of this prison.

1108          And if so be my destynee be shapen

                   And if it be so that my destiny is shaped

1109          By eterne word to dyen in prisoun,

                   By eternal decree to die in prison,

1110          Of oure lynage have som compassioun,

                   Have some compassion on our (noble) lineage

1111          That is so lowe ybroght by tirannye."

                   Which is brought so low by tyranny."

1112          And with that word Arcite gan espye

                   And with that word Arcite did see

1113          Wher as this lady romed to and fro,

                   Where this lady roamed to and fro,

1114          And with that sighte hir beautee hurte hym so,

                   And with that sight her beauty hurt him so,

1115          That, if that Palamon was wounded sore,

                   That, if Palamon was sorely wounded,

1116          Arcite is hurt as muche as he, or moore.

                   Arcite is hurt as much as he, or more.

1117          And with a sigh he seyde pitously,

                   And with a sigh he said piteously,

1118          "The fresshe beautee sleeth me sodeynly

                   "The fresh beauty slays me suddenly

1119          Of hire that rometh in the yonder place;

                   Of her who roams in the yonder place;

1120          And but I have hir mercy and hir grace,

                   And unless I have her mercy and her grace,

1121          That I may seen hire atte leeste weye,

                   So that I can at least see her,

1122          I nam but deed; ther nis namoore to seye."

                   I am as good as dead; there is no more to say."

1123          This Palamon, whan he tho wordes herde,

                   This Palamon, when he heard those words,

1124          Dispitously he looked and answerde,

                   Angrily he looked and answered,

1125          "Wheither seistow this in ernest or in pley?"

                   "Sayest thou this in earnest or in play?"

1126          "Nay," quod Arcite, "in ernest, by my fey!

                   "Nay," said Arcite, "in earnest, by my faith!

1127          God helpe me so, me list ful yvele pleye."

                   So help me God, I have no desire to play."

1128          This Palamon gan knytte his browes tweye.

                   This Palamon did knit his two brows.

1129          "It nere," quod he, "to thee no greet honour

                   "It would not be," said he, "any great honor to thee

1130          For to be fals, ne for to be traitour

                   To be false, nor to be traitor

1131          To me, that am thy cosyn and thy brother

                   To me, who am thy cousin and thy brother

1132          Ysworn ful depe, and ech of us til oother,

                   Sworn very sincerely, and each of us to the other,

1133          That nevere, for to dyen in the peyne,

                   That never, though we had to die by torture,

1134          Til that the deeth departe shal us tweyne,

                   Until death shall part us two,

1135          Neither of us in love to hyndre oother,

                   Neither of us in love (is) to hinder the other,

1136          Ne in noon oother cas, my leeve brother,

                   Nor in any other case, my dear brother,

1137          But that thou sholdest trewely forthren me

                   But rather thou shouldest truly help me

1138          In every cas, as I shal forthren thee --

                   In every case, as I shall help thee --

1139          This was thyn ooth, and myn also, certeyn;

                   This was thy oath, and mine also, certainly;

1140          I woot right wel, thou darst it nat withseyn.

                   I know right well, thou darest not deny it.

1141          Thus artow of my conseil, out of doute,

                   Thus thou art my trusted confidant, without doubt,

1142          And now thow woldest falsly been aboute

                   And now thou wouldest falsely be busy preparing

1143          To love my lady, whom I love and serve,

                   To love my lady, whom I love and serve,

1144          And evere shal til that myn herte sterve.

                   And ever shall until my heart dies.

1145          Nay, certes, false Arcite, thow shalt nat so.

                   Nay, certainly, false Arcite, thou shalt not (do) so.

1146          I loved hire first, and tolde thee my wo

 I loved hire first, and told thee my woe

1147          As to my conseil and my brother sworn

                   As to my confidant and my sworn brother

1148          To forthre me, as I have toold biforn.

                   To further me, as I have told before.

1149          For which thou art ybounden as a knyght

                   For which thou art bound as a knight

1150          To helpen me, if it lay in thy myght,

                   To help me, if it lay in thy power,

1151          Or elles artow fals, I dar wel seyn."

                   Or else thou art false, I dare well say."

1152          This Arcite ful proudly spak ageyn:

                   This Arcite full proudly spoke in return:

1153          "Thow shalt," quod he, "be rather fals than I;

                   "Thou shalt," said he, "be rather false than I;

1154          And thou art fals, I telle thee outrely,

                   And thou art false, I tell thee flatly,

1155          For paramour I loved hire first er thow.

                   As a mistress I loved her first before thou.

1156          What wiltow seyen? Thou woost nat yet now

                   What wilt thou say? Thou knowest not yet now

1157          Wheither she be a womman or goddesse!

                   Whether she is a woman or goddess!

1158          Thyn is affeccioun of hoolynesse,

                   Thine is a feeling of holiness,

1159          And myn is love as to a creature;

                   And mine is love as to a creature;

1160          For which I tolde thee myn aventure

                   For which I told thee my circumstance

1161          As to my cosyn and my brother sworn.

                   As to my cousin and my sworn brother.

1162          I pose that thow lovedest hire biforn;

                   I posit (this assumption): that thou lovedest her first;

1163          Wostow nat wel the olde clerkes sawe,

                   Knowest thou not well the old clerks' saying,

1164          That `who shal yeve a lovere any lawe?'

                   That `who shall give a lover any law?'

1165          Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan,

                   Love is a greater law, by my skull,

1166          Than may be yeve to any erthely man;

                   Than may be given to any earthly man;

1167          And therfore positif lawe and swich decree

                   And therefore positive (man-made) law and such decree

1168          Is broken al day for love in ech degree.

                   Is broken every day for love in every way.

1169          A man moot nedes love, maugree his heed;

                   A man must of necessity love, in spite of all he can do;

1170          He may nat fleen it, thogh he sholde be deed,

                   He can not flee (from) it, though he should be dead,

1171          Al be she mayde, or wydwe, or elles wyf.

                   Whether she be maid, or widow, or else wife.

1172          And eek it is nat likly al thy lyf

                   And also it is not likely all thy life

Theseus “dirge”

   "The Firste Moevere of the cause above,

                   "The First Mover of the First Cause above,

2988        Whan he first made the faire cheyne of love,

                   When he first made the faire chain of love,

2989        Greet was th'effect, and heigh was his entente.

                   Great was the effect, and noble was his plan.

2990        Wel wiste he why, and what thereof he mente,

                   Well knew he why, and what thereof he meant,

2991        For with that faire cheyne of love he bond

                   For with that faire chain of love he bound

2992        The fyr, the eyr, the water, and the lond

                   The fire, the air, the water, and the land

2993        In certeyn boundes, that they may nat flee.

                   In definite bounds, from which they may not flee.

2994        That same Prince and that Moevere," quod he,

                   That same Prince and that Mover," said he,

2995        "Hath stablissed in this wrecched world adoun

                   "Has established in this wretched world below

2996        Certeyne dayes and duracioun

                   Specific (numbers of) days and (term of) duration

2997        To al that is engendred in this place,

                   To all that is engendered in this place,

2998        Over the whiche day they may nat pace,

                   Beyond the which day they can not pass,

2999        Al mowe they yet tho dayes wel abregge.

                   Although they may yet well shorten those days.

3000        Ther nedeth noght noon auctoritee t'allegge,

                   There is no need to cite any written authority,

3001        For it is preeved by experience,

                   For it is proven by experience,

3002        But that me list declaren my sentence.

                   Unless I wish to make my meaning more clear.

3003        Thanne may men by this ordre wel discerne

                   Then one can by this order well discern

3004        That thilke Moevere stable is and eterne.

                   That that same Mover is stable and eternal.

3005        Wel may men knowe, but it be a fool,

                   Well may one know, unless it be a fool,

3006        That every part dirryveth from his hool,

                   That every part derives from its whole,

3007        For nature hath nat taken his bigynnyng

                   For nature has not taken its beginning

3008        Of no partie or cantel of a thyng,

                   Of no part or portion of a thing,

3009        But of a thyng that parfit is and stable,

                   But of a thing that is complete and stable,

3010        Descendynge so til it be corrumpable.

                   Descending (from that) until it becomes corruptible.

3011        And therfore, of his wise purveiaunce,

                   And therefore, by his wise foresight,

3012        He hath so wel biset his ordinaunce

                   He has so well established his plan

3013        That speces of thynges and progressiouns

                   That types of being and natural processes

3014        Shullen enduren by successiouns,

                   Shall endure (for a set time) one after another,

3015        And nat eterne, withouten any lye.

                   And not eternally, without any lie.

3016        This maystow understonde and seen at ye.

                   This thou canst understand and plainly see.

3017        "Loo the ook, that hath so long a norisshynge

                   "Lo the oak, that is so slow to mature,

3018        From tyme that it first bigynneth to sprynge,

                   From the time that it first begins to spring,

3019        And hath so long a lif, as we may see,

                   And has so long a life, as we may see,

3020        Yet at the laste wasted is the tree.

                   Yet at the last the tree is wasted away.

3021        "Considereth eek how that the harde stoon

                   "Consider also how the hard stone

3022        Under oure feet, on which we trede and goon,

                   Under our feet, on which we tread and go,

3023        Yet wasteth it as it lyth by the weye.

                   Eventually it is worn away as it lies by the way.

3024        The brode ryver somtyme wexeth dreye;

                   The broad river sometimes grows dry;

3025        The grete tounes se we wane and wende.

                   We see the great cities grow weak and pass away.

3026        Thanne may ye se that al this thyng hath ende.

                   Then you can see that all things have an end.

3027        "Of man and womman seen we wel also

                   "Of man and woman also we see well

3028        That nedes, in oon of thise termes two --

                   That by necessity, in one of these two periods of time --

3029        This is to seyn, in youthe or elles age --

                   This is to say, in youth or else in age --

3030        He moot be deed, the kyng as shal a page;

                   He must be dead, the king as must a servant boy;

3031        Som in his bed, som in the depe see,

                   One in his bed, one in the deep sea,

3032        Som in the large feeld, as men may see;

                   One in the large field, as people can see;

3033        Ther helpeth noght; al goth that ilke weye.

                   Nothing helps there; all goes that same way.

3034        Thanne may I seyn that al this thyng moot deye.

                   Then may I say that all things must die.

3035        "What maketh this but Juppiter, the kyng,

                   "What causes this but Jupiter, the king,

3036        That is prince and cause of alle thyng,

                   Who is prince and cause of all things,

3037        Convertynge al unto his propre welle

                   Causing all to return to its own origin

3038        From which it is dirryved, sooth to telle?

                   From which it is derived, to tell the truth?

3039        And heer-agayns no creature on lyve,

                   And against this no living creature,

3040        Of no degree, availleth for to stryve.

                   Of any rank, is helped by striving.

3041        "Thanne is it wysdom, as it thynketh me,

                   "Then is it wisdom, as it seems to me,

3042        To maken vertu of necessitee,

                   To make virtue of necessity,

3043        And take it weel that we may nat eschue,

                   And take it well what we may not escape,

3044        And namely that to us alle is due.

                   And namely that which is due to us all.

3045        And whoso gruccheth ought, he dooth folye,

                   And whoever complains in any way, he does folly,

3046        And rebel is to hym that al may gye.

                   And is rebel to Him that can rule all.

3047        And certeinly a man hath moost honour

                   And certainly a man has most honor

3048        To dyen in his excellence and flour,

                   To die in his (time of) excellence and flower,

3049        Whan he is siker of his goode name;

                   When he is sure of his good name;

3050        Thanne hath he doon his freend, ne hym, no shame.

                   Then he has not done his friend, nor himself, any shame.

3051        And gladder oghte his freend been of his deeth,

                   And his friend ought to be more pleased with his death,

3052        Whan with honour up yolden is his breeth,

                   When his breath is yielded up with honor,

3053        Than whan his name apalled is for age,

                   Than when his name is faded because of age,

3054        For al forgeten is his vassellage.

                   For all forgotten is his knightly prowess.

3055        Thanne is it best, as for a worthy fame,

                   Then is it best, for a worthy fame,

3056        To dyen whan that he is best of name.

                   To die when he has the most fame.

3057        "The contrarie of al this is wilfulnesse.

                   "The contrary of all this is willfulness.

3058        Why grucchen we, why have we hevynesse,

                   Why do we complain, why do we have sadness,

3059        That goode Arcite, of chivalrie flour,

                   That good Arcite, flower of chivalry,

3060        Departed is with duetee and honour

                   Is departed with all due honor

3061        Out of this foule prisoun of this lyf?

                   Out of this foul prison of this life?

January in bed in Chaucer’s Merchants Tale

1805         Soone after that, this hastif Januarie

                    Soon after that, this hasty January

1806         Wolde go to bedde; he wolde no lenger tarye.

                    Would go to bed; he would no longer tarry.

1807         He drynketh ypocras, clarree, and vernage

                    He drinks mulled wine, claret, and strong white wine

1808         Of spices hoote t' encreessen his corage;

                    With hot spices to increase his desire;

1809         And many a letuarie hath he ful fyn,

                    And many a very fine aphrodisiac has he,

1810         Swiche as the cursed monk, daun Constantyn,

                    Such as the cursed monk, Dan Constantine,

1811         Hath writen in his book De Coitu;

                    Has written in his book "Concerning Intercourse";

1812         To eten hem alle he nas no thyng eschu.

                    To eat them all he was not at all averse.

1813         And to his privee freendes thus seyde he:

                    And to his private friends thus said he:

1814         "For Goddes love, as soone as it may be,

                    "For God's love, as soon as it can be done,

1815         Lat voyden al this hous in curteys wyse."

                    Have all this house emptied in courteous manner."

1816         And they han doon right as he wol devyse.

                    And they have done right as he will command.

1817         Men drynken and the travers drawe anon.

                    Men drink and draw the curtain (dividing the room) straightway.

1818         The bryde was broght abedde as stille as stoon;

                    The bride was brought to bed as still as stone;

1819         And whan the bed was with the preest yblessed,

                    And when the bed was by the priest blessed,

1820         Out of the chambre hath every wight hym dressed,

                    Out of the chamber has every one gone,

1821         And Januarie hath faste in armes take

                    And January has fast in arms taken

1822         His fresshe May, his paradys, his make.

                    His fresh May, his paradise, his mate.

1823         He lulleth hire; he kisseth hire ful ofte;

                    He lulls her; he kisses her full often;

1824         With thikke brustles of his berd unsofte,

                    With thick bristles of his beard rough,

1825         Lyk to the skyn of houndfyssh, sharp as brere --

                    Like to the skin of a shark, sharp as brier --

1826         For he was shave al newe in his manere --

                    For he was all freshly shaved in his fashion --

1827         He rubbeth hire aboute hir tendre face,

                    He rubs her about her tender face,

1828         And seyde thus, "Allas! I moot trespace

                    And said thus, "Alas! I must do injury

1829         To yow, my spouse, and yow greetly offende

                    To you, my spouse, and you greatly offend

1830         Er tyme come that I wil doun descende.

                    Before the time comes that I will down descend.

1831         But nathelees, considereth this," quod he,

                    But nevertheless, consider this," said he,

1832         "Ther nys no werkman, whatsoevere he be,

                    "There is no workman, whosoever he be,

1833         That may bothe werke wel and hastily;

                    That can work both well and hastily;

1834         This wol be doon at leyser parfitly.

                    This will be done at leisure perfectly.

1835         It is no fors how longe that we pleye;

                    It does not matter how long we play;

1836         In trewe wedlok coupled be we tweye,

                    In true wedlock we two are coupled,

1837         And blessed be the yok that we been inne,

                    And blessed be the yoke that we are in,

1838         For in oure actes we mowe do no synne.

                    For in our acts we can do no sin.

1839         A man may do no synne with his wyf,

                    A man can do no sin with his wife,

1840         Ne hurte hymselven with his owene knyf,

                    Nor hurt himself with his own knife,

1841         For we han leve to pleye us by the lawe."

                    For we have leave by the law to enjoy ourselves."

1842         Thus laboureth he til that the day gan dawe;

                    Thus labors he until the day dawned;

1843         And thanne he taketh a sop in fyn clarree,

                    And then he takes a bit of bread soaked in fine claret,

1844         And upright in his bed thanne sitteth he,

                    And upright in his bed then sits he,

1845         And after that he sang ful loude and cleere,

                    And after that he sang full loud and clear,

1846         And kiste his wyf, and made wantown cheere.

                    And kissed his wife, and acted lecherously.

1847         He was al coltissh, ful of ragerye,

                    He was frisky as a colt, full of wantonness,

1848         And ful of jargon as a flekked pye.

                    And full of chatter as a spotted magpie.

1849         The slakke skyn aboute his nekke shaketh

                    The slack skin about his neck shakes

1850         Whil that he sang, so chaunteth he and craketh.

                    While he sang, so chants he and croaks.

1851         But God woot what that May thoughte in hir herte,

                    But God knows what May thought in her heart,

1852         Whan she hym saugh up sittynge in his sherte,

                    When she saw him sitting up in his shirt,

1853         In his nyght-cappe, and with his nekke lene;

                    In his night-cap, and with his lean neck;

1854         She preyseth nat his pleyyng worth a bene.

                    She rates his playing not worth a bean.

1855         Thanne seide he thus, "My reste wol I take;

                    Then said he thus, "My rest will I take;

1856         Now day is come, I may no lenger wake."

                    Now day is come, I can no longer remain awake."

1857         And doun he leyde his heed and sleep til pryme.

January to May in the garden

2132         But now to purpos: er that dayes eighte

                    But now to purpose: before eight days

2133         Were passed [of] the month of [Juyn], bifil

                    Were passed [of] the month of [June], it happened

2134         That Januarie hath caught so greet a wil,

                    That January has caught so great a desire,

2135         Thurgh eggyng of his wyf, hym for to pleye

                    Through incitement of his wife, to enjoy himself

2136         In his gardyn, and no wight but they tweye,

                    In his garden, and no one (there) but those two,

2137         That in a morwe unto his May seith he:

                    That in a morning unto his May says he:

2138         "Rys up, my wyf, my love, my lady free!

                    "Rise up, my wife, my love, my noble lady!

2139         The turtles voys is herd, my dowve sweete;

                    The turtle dove's voice is heard, my dove sweet;

2140         The wynter is goon with alle his reynes weete.

                    The winter is gone with all his rains wet.

2141         Com forth now, with thyne eyen columbyn!

                    Come forth now, with thy dove-like eyes!

2142         How fairer been thy brestes than is wyn!

                    How fairer are thy breasts than is wine!

2143         The gardyn is enclosed al aboute;

                    The garden is enclosed all about;

2144         Com forth, my white spouse! Out of doute

                    Come forth, my white spouse! Beyond doubt

2145         Thou hast me wounded in myn herte, O wyf!

                    Thou hast me wounded in my heart, O wife!

2146         No spot of thee ne knew I al my lyf.

                    No blemish on thee knew I all my life.

2147         Com forth, and lat us taken oure disport;

                    Come forth, and let us take our pleasure;

2148         I chees thee for my wyf and my confort."

                    I chose thee for my wife and my comfort."

2149         Swiche olde lewed wordes used he.

                    Such old ignorant words used he.

2150         On Damyan a signe made she,

                    To Damian a sign made she,

2151         That he sholde go biforn with his cliket.

                    That he should go before with his latchkey.

2152         This Damyan thanne hath opened the wyket,

                    This Damian then has opened the gate,

2153         And in he stirte, and that in swich manere

                    And in he hurried, and that in such a way

2154         That no wight myghte it se neither yheere,

                    That no one could either see or hear it,

2155         And stille he sit under a bussh anon.

                    And quickly he sits still under a bush.

2156         This Januarie, as blynd as is a stoon,

                    This January, as blind as is a stone,

2157         With Mayus in his hand, and no wight mo,

                    With May in his hand, and no one else,

2158         Into his fresshe gardyn is ago,

April 8 Patronage and Erotic Rhetoric in the Sixth Century: The Case of Venantius Fortunatus .  

April 10 – May 1 Selections from Book III, Chaucer’s Troilus and Cressida (for a translation of the entire book III see )

This Troilus ful sone on knees him sette

Ful sobrely, right be hir beddes heed,

955 And in his beste wyse his lady grette;

But lord, so she wex sodeynliche reed!

Ne, though men sholden smyten of hir heed,

She coude nought a word a-right out-bringe

So sodeynly, for his sodeyn cominge.

960 But Pandarus, that so wel coude fele

In every thing, to pleye anoon bigan,

And seyde, `Nece, see how this lord can knele!

Now, for your trouthe, seeth this gentil man!'

And with that word he for a quisshen ran,

965 And seyde, `Kneleth now, whyl that yow leste,

Ther god your hertes bringe sone at reste!'

Can I not seyn, for she bad him not ryse,

If sorwe it putte out of hir remembraunce,

Or elles that she toke it in the wyse

970 Of duetee, as for his observaunce;

But wel finde I she dide him this plesaunce,

That she him kiste, al-though she syked sore;

And bad him sitte a-doun with-outen more.

Quod Pandarus, `Now wol ye wel biginne;

975 Now doth him sitte, gode nece dere,

Upon your beddes syde al there with-inne,

That ech of yow the bet may other here.'

And with that word he drow him to the fere,

And took a light, and fond his contenaunce,

980 As for to loke up-on an old romaunce.

Criseyde, that was Troilus lady right,

And cleer stood on a ground of sikernesse,

Al thoughte she, hir servaunt and hir knight

Ne sholde of right non untrouthe in hir gesse,

985 Yet nathelees, considered his distresse,

And that love is in cause of swich folye,

Thus to him spak she of his Ialousye: ………

With that a fewe brighte teres newe

Owt of hir eyen fille, and thus she seyde,

`Now god, thou wost, in thought ne dede untrewe

To Troilus was never yet Criseyde.'

1055 With that hir heed doun in the bed she leyde,

And with the shete it wreigh, and syghed sore,

And held hir pees; not o word spak she more.

But now help god to quenchen al this sorwe,

So hope I that he shal, for he best may;

1060 For I have seyn, of a ful misty morwe

Folwen ful ofte a mery someres day;

And after winter folweth grene May.

Men seen alday, and reden eek in stories,

That after sharpe shoures been victories.

1065 This Troilus, whan he hir wordes herde,

Have ye no care, him liste not to slepe;

For it thoughte him no strokes of a yerde

To here or seen Criseyde, his lady wepe;

But wel he felte aboute his herte crepe,

1070 For every teer which that Criseyde asterte,

The crampe of deeth, to streyne him by the herte.

And in his minde he gan the tyme acurse

That he cam there, and that that he was born;

For now is wikke y-turned in-to worse,

1075 And al that labour he hath doon biforn,

He wende it lost, he thoughte he nas but lorn.

`O Pandarus,' thoughte he, `allas! Thy wyle

Serveth of nought, so weylaway the whyle!'

And therwithal he heng a-doun the heed,

1080 And fil on knees, and sorwfully he sighte;

What mighte he seyn? He felte he nas but deed,

For wrooth was she that shulde his sorwes lighte.

But nathelees, whan that he speken mighte,

Than seyde he thus, `God woot, that of this game,

1085 Whan al is wist, than am I not to blame!

Ther-with the sorwe so his herte shette,

That from his eyen fil there not a tere,

And every spirit his vigour in-knette,

So they astoned or oppressed were.

1090 The feling of his sorwe, or of his fere,

Or of ought elles, fled was out of towne;

And doun he fel al sodeynly a-swowne.

This was no litel sorwe for to see;

But al was hust, and Pandare up as faste,

1095 `O nece, pees, or we be lost,' quod he,

`Beth nought agast;' But certeyn, at the laste,

For this or that, he in-to bedde him caste,

And seyde, `O theef, is this a mannes herte?'

And of he rente al to his bare sherte;

1100 And seyde, `Nece, but ye helpe us now,

Allas, your owne Troilus is lorn!'

`Y-wis, so wolde I, and I wiste how,

Ful fayn,' quod she; `Allas! That I was born!'

`Ye, nece, wole ye pullen out the thorn

1105 That stiketh in his herte?' quod Pandare;

`Sey "Al foryeve," and stint is al this fare!'

`Ye, that to me,' quod she, `ful lever were

Than al the good the sonne aboute gooth';

And therwith-al she swoor him in his ere,

1110 `Y-wis, my dere herte, I am nought wrooth,

Have here my trouthe and many another ooth;

Now speek to me, for it am I, Cryseyde!'

But al for nought; yet mighte he not a-breyde.

Therwith his pous and pawmes of his hondes

1115 They gan to frote, and wete his temples tweyne,

And, to deliveren him from bittre bondes,

She ofte him kiste; and, shortly for to seyne,

Him to revoken she dide al hir peyne.

And at the laste, he gan his breeth to drawe,

1120 And of his swough sone after that adawe,

And gan bet minde and reson to him take,

But wonder sore he was abayst, y-wis.

And with a syk, whan he gan bet a-wake,

He seyde, `O mercy, god, what thing is this?'

1125 `Why do ye with your-selven thus amis?'

Quod tho Criseyde, `Is this a mannes game?

What, Troilus! Wol ye do thus, for shame?'

And therwith-al hir arm over him she leyde,

And al foryaf, and ofte tyme him keste.

1130 He thonked hir, and to hir spak, and seyde

As fil to purpos for his herte reste.

And she to that answerde him as hir leste;

And with hir goodly wordes him disporte

She gan, and ofte his sorwes to comforte.

Quod Pandarus, `For ought I can espyen,

This light, nor I ne serven here of nought;

Light is not good for syke folkes yen.

But for the love of god, sin ye be brought

In thus good plyt, lat now non hevy thought

1140 Ben hanginge in the hertes of yow tweye:'

And bar the candele to the chimeneye.

Sone after this, though it no nede were,

Whan she swich othes as hir list devyse

Hadde of him take, hir thoughte tho no fere,

1145 Ne cause eek non, to bidde him thennes ryse.

Yet lesse thing than othes may suffyse

In many a cas; for every wight, I gesse,

That loveth wel meneth but gentilesse.

But in effect she wolde wite anoon

1150 Of what man, and eek where, and also why

He Ielous was, sin ther was cause noon;

And eek the signe, that he took it by,

She bad him that to telle hir bisily,

Or elles, certeyn, she bar him on honde,

1155 That this was doon of malis, hir to fonde.

With-outen more, shortly for to seyne,

He moste obeye un-to his lady heste;

And for the lasse harm, he moste feyne.

He seyde hir, whan she was at swiche a feste,

1160 She mighte on him han loked at the leste;

Not I not what, al dere y-nough a risshe,

As he that nedes moste a cause fisshe.

And she answerde, `Swete, al were it so,

What harm was that, sin I non yvel mene?

1165 For, by that god that boughte us bothe two,

In alle thinge is myn entente clene.

Swich arguments ne been not worth a bene;

Wol ye the childish Ialous contrefete?

Now were it worthy that ye were y-bete.'

1170 Tho Troilus gan sorwfully to syke,

Lest she be wrooth, him thoughte his herte deyde;

And seyde, `Allas! Up-on my sorwes syke

Have mercy, swete herte myn, Cryseyde!

And if that, in tho wordes that I seyde,

1175 Be any wrong, I wol no more trespace;

Do what yow list, I am al in your grace.'

And she answerde, `Of gilt misericorde!

That is to seyn, that I foryeve al this;

And ever-more on this night yow recorde,

1180 And beth wel war ye do no more amis.'

`Nay, dere herte myn,' quod he, `y-wis.'

`And now,' quod she, `that I have do yow smerte,

Foryeve it me, myn owene swete herte.'

This Troilus, with blisse of that supprysed,

1185 Put al in goddes hond, as he that mente

No-thing but wel; and, sodeynly avysed,

He hir in armes faste to him hente.

And Pandarus, with a ful good entente,

Leyde him to slepe, and seyde, `If ye ben wyse,

1190 Swowneth not now, lest more folk aryse.'

What mighte or may the sely larke seye,

Whan that the sperhauk hath it in his foot?

I can no more, but of thise ilke tweye,

To whom this tale sucre be or soot,

1195 Though that I tarie a yeer, som-tyme I moot,

After myn auctor, tellen hir gladnesse,

As wel as I have told hir hevinesse.

Criseyde, which that felte hir thus y-take,

As writen clerkes in hir bokes olde,

1200 Right as an aspes leef she gan to quake,

Whan she him felte hir in his armes folde.

But Troilus, al hool of cares colde,

Gan thanken tho the blisful goddes sevene;

Thus sondry peynes bringen folk in hevene.

1205 This Troilus in armes gan hir streyne,

And seyde, `O swete, as ever mote I goon,

Now be ye caught, now is ther but we tweyne;

Now yeldeth yow, for other boot is noon.'

To that Criseyde answerde thus anoon,

1210 `Ne hadde I er now, my swete herte dere,

Ben yolde, y-wis, I were now not here!'

O! Sooth is seyd, that heled for to be

As of a fevre or othere greet syknesse,

Men moste drinke, as men may often see,

1215 Ful bittre drink; and for to han gladnesse,

Men drinken often peyne and greet distresse;

I mene it here, as for this aventure,

That thourgh a peyne hath founden al his cure.

And now swetnesse semeth more sweet,

1220 That bitternesse assayed was biforn;

For out of wo in blisse now they flete;

Non swich they felten, sith they were born;

Now is this bet, than bothe two be lorn!

For love of god, take every womman hede

1225 To werken thus, if it comth to the nede.

Criseyde, al quit from every drede and tene,

As she that iuste cause hadde him to triste,

Made him swich feste, it Ioye was to sene,

Whan she his trouthe and clene entente wiste.

1230 And as aboute a tree, with many a twiste,

Bitrent and wryth the sote wode-binde,

Gan eche of hem in armes other winde.

And as the newe abaysshed nightingale,

That stinteth first whan she biginneth to singe,

1235 Whan that she hereth any herde tale,

Or in the hegges any wight steringe,

And after siker dooth hir voys out-ringe;

Right so Criseyde, whan hir drede stente,

Opned hir herte and tolde him hir entente.

1240 And right as he that seeth his deeth y-shapen,

And deye moot, in ought that he may gesse,

And sodeynly rescous doth him escapen,

And from his deeth is brought in sikernesse,

For al this world, in swich present gladnesse

1245 Was Troilus, and hath his lady swete;

With worse hap god lat us never mete!

Hir armes smale, hir streyghte bak and softe,

Hir sydes longe, fleshly, smothe, and whyte

He gan to stroke, and good thrift bad ful ofte

1250 Hir snowish throte, hir brestes rounde and lyte;

Thus in this hevene he gan him to delyte,

And ther-with-al a thousand tyme hir kiste;

That, what to done, for Ioye unnethe he wiste.

Than seyde he thus, `O, Love, O, Charitee,

1255 Thy moder eek, Citherea the swete,

After thy-self next heried be she,

Venus mene I, the wel-willy planete;

And next that, Imeneus, I thee grete;

For never man was to yow goddes holde

1260 As I, which ye han brought fro cares colde.

`Benigne Love, thou holy bond of thinges,

Who-so wol grace, and list thee nought honouren,

Lo, his desyr wol flee with-outen winges.

For, noldestow of bountee hem socouren

1265 That serven best and most alwey labouren,

Yet were al lost, that dar I wel seyn, certes,

But-if thy grace passed our desertes.

`And for thou me, that coude leest deserve

Of hem that nombred been un-to thy grace,

1270 Hast holpen, ther I lykly was to sterve,

And me bistowed in so heygh a place

That thilke boundes may no blisse pace,

I can no more, but laude and reverence

Be to thy bounte and thyn excellence!'

1275 And therwith-al Criseyde anoon he kiste,

Of which, certeyn, she felte no disese,

And thus seyde he, `Now wolde god I wiste,

Myn herte swete, how I yow mighte plese!

What man,' quod he, `was ever thus at ese

1280 As I, on whiche the faireste and the beste

That ever I say, deyneth hir herte reste.

`Here may men seen that mercy passeth right;

The experience of that is felt in me,

That am unworthy to so swete a wight.

1285 But herte myn, of your benignitee,

So thenketh, though that I unworthy be,

Yet mot I nede amenden in som wyse,

Right thourgh the vertu of your heyghe servyse.

`And for the love of god, my lady dere,

1290 Sin god hath wrought me for I shal yow serve,

As thus I mene, that ye wol be my stere,

To do me live, if that yow liste, or sterve,

So techeth me how that I may deserve

Your thank, so that I, thurgh myn ignoraunce,

1295 Ne do no-thing that yow be displesaunce.

`For certes, fresshe wommanliche wyf,

This dar I seye, that trouthe and diligence,

That shal ye finden in me al my lyf,

Ne wol not, certeyn, breken your defence;

1300 And if I do, present or in absence,

For love of god, lat slee me with the dede,

If that it lyke un-to your womanhede.'

Gret was the sorwe and pleynt of Troilus;

1745 But forth hir cours fortune ay gan to holde.

Criseyde loveth the sone of Tydeus,

And Troilus mot wepe in cares colde.

Swich is this world; who-so it can biholde,

In eche estat is litel hertes reste;

1750 God leve us for to take it for the beste!

In many cruel batayle, out of drede,

Of Troilus, this ilke noble knight,

As men may in these olde bokes rede,

Was sene his knighthod and his grete might.

1755 And dredelees, his ire, day and night,

Ful cruelly the Grekes ay aboughte;

And alwey most this Diomede he soughte.

And ofte tyme, I finde that they mette

With blody strokes and with wordes grete,

1760 Assayinge how hir speres weren whette;

And god it woot, with many a cruel hete

Gan Troilus upon his helm to bete.

But natheles, fortune it nought ne wolde,

Of others hond that either deyen sholde. --

1765 And if I hadde y-taken for to wryte

The armes of this ilke worthy man,

Than wolde I of his batailles endyte.

But for that I to wryte first bigan

Of his love, I have seyd as that I can.

1770 His worthy dedes, who-so list hem here,

Reed Dares, he can telle hem alle y-fere.

Bisechinge every lady bright of hewe,

And every gentil womman, what she be,

That al be that Criseyde was untrewe,

1775 That for that gilt she be not wrooth with me.

Ye may hir gilt in othere bokes see;

And gladlier I wole wryten, if yow leste,

Penolopees trouthe and good Alceste.

Ne I sey not this al-only for these men,

1780 But most for wommen that bitraysed be

Through false folk; god yeve hem sorwe, amen!

That with hir grete wit and subtiltee

Bitrayse yow! And this commeveth me

To speke, and in effect yow alle I preye,

1785 Beth war of men, and herkeneth what I seye! --

Go, litel book, go litel myn tragedie,

Ther god thy maker yet, er that he dye,

So sende might to make in som comedie!

But litel book, no making thou nenvye,

1790 But subgit be to alle poesye;

And kis the steppes, wher-as thou seest pace

Virgile, Ovyde, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.

And for ther is so greet diversitee

In English and in wryting of our tonge,

1795 So preye I god that noon miswryte thee,

Ne thee mismetre for defaute of tonge.

And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe,

That thou be understonde I god beseche!

But yet to purpos of my rather speche. --

1800 The wraththe, as I began yow for to seye,

Of Troilus, the Grekes boughten dere;

For thousandes his hondes maden deye,

As he that was with-outen any pere,

Save Ector, in his tyme, as I can here.

1805 But weylawey, save only goddes wille,

Dispitously him slough the fiers Achille.

And whan that he was slayn in this manere,

His lighte goost ful blisfully is went

Up to the holownesse of the seventh spere,

1810 In convers letinge every element;

And ther he saugh, with ful avysement,

The erratik sterres, herkeninge armonye

With sownes fulle of hevenish melodye.

And doun from thennes faste he gan avyse

1815 This litel spot of erthe, that with the see

Embraced is, and fully gan despyse

This wrecched world, and held al vanitee

To respect of the pleyn felicitee

That is in hevene above; and at the laste,

1820 Ther he was slayn, his loking doun he caste;

And in him-self he lough right at the wo

Of hem that wepten for his deeth so faste;

And dampned al our werk that folweth so

The blinde lust, the which that may not laste,

1825 And sholden al our herte on hevene caste.

And forth he wente, shortly for to telle,

Ther as Mercurie sorted him to dwelle. --

Swich fyn hath, lo, this Troilus for love,

Swich fyn hath al his grete worthinesse;

1830 Swich fyn hath his estat real above,

Swich fyn his lust, swich fyn hath his noblesse;

Swich fyn hath false worldes brotelnesse.

And thus bigan his lovinge of Criseyde,

As I have told, and in this wyse he deyde.

1835 O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she,

In which that love up groweth with your age,

Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee,

And of your herte up-casteth the visage

To thilke god that after his image

1840 Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre

This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre.

And loveth him, the which that right for love

Upon a cros, our soules for to beye,

First starf, and roos, and sit in hevene a-bove;

1845 For he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye,

That wol his herte al hoolly on him leye.

And sin he best to love is, and most meke,

What nedeth feyned loves for to seke?

Lo here, of Payens corsed olde rytes,

1850 Lo here, what alle hir goddes may availle;

Lo here, these wrecched worldes appetytes;

Lo here, the fyn and guerdon for travaille

Of Iove, Appollo, of Mars, of swich rascaille!

Lo here, the forme of olde clerkes speche

1855 In poetrye, if ye hir bokes seche. --

O moral Gower, this book I directe

To thee, and to the philosophical Strode,

To vouchen sauf, ther nede is, to corecte,

Of your benignitees and zeles gode.

1860 And to that sothfast Crist, that starf on rode,

With al myn herte of mercy ever I preye;

And to the lord right thus I speke and seye:

Thou oon, and two, and three, eterne on-lyve,

That regnest ay in three and two and oon,

1865 Uncircumscript, and al mayst circumscryve,

Us from visible and invisible foon

Defende; and to thy mercy, everichoon,

So make us, Iesus, for thy grace digne,

For love of mayde and moder thyn benigne! Amen.

Translation of previous passage

Go little book: go, my little tragedy:

let God, to your maker yet, before he die,

send the power to make a comedy!

But, little book, do not go in envy,

but be subject to all poesy:

and kiss the steps where you see pace

Virgil, Ovid, Homer, Lucan and Stace.

 

                              257.

 

And because there is such great diversity

in English and in writing of our tongue,

so I pray God that none mis-write thee,

nor mis-scan you through default of tongue.

And read, wherever you be, or else sung,

that you are understood I God beseech.

But now to the purpose rather of my speech –

 

                              258.

 

The anger, as I began to say

of Troilus the Greeks bought dear,

for thousands his hands made away,

as one who was without a peer,

save Hector in his time, as I hear.

But, welaway, were it not it was God’s will,

mercilessly, fierce Achilles did him kill.

 

                              259.

 

And when he was slain in this manner,

his light ghost full blissfully went

up to the hollowness of the eighth sphere,

leaving behind every element.

And there he saw, clear in his ascent,

the wandering planets, hearing harmony

                    in sounds full of heavenly melody.

 

                                                  260.

 

                    And down from there he spies

                    this little spot of earth that with the sea

                    is embraced, and begins to despise

                    this wretched world, and hold it vanity

                    compared with the true felicity

                    that is in heaven above. And at the last

                    down where he was slain, his gaze he cast.

 

                                                  261.

 

          And in himself he laughed at the woe

          of those who wept for his death now past:

          and damned all our work that follows so

          on blind lust, which can never last,

          when we should all our heart on heaven cast.

          And forth he went, briefly to tell,

          where Mercury appointed him to dwell.

 

                                        262.

 

          Such ending has Troilus, lo, through love:

          such ending has all his great worthiness,

          such ending has his royal estate above,

          such ending his desire, his nobleness,

          such ending has false words’ fickleness.

          And thus began his loving of Cressid,

          and in this way he died, as I have said.

 

                                        263.

 

          O young fresh folks, he or she,

in whom love grows when you age,

return home from worldly vanity,

and of your heart cast up the visage

to that same God who in His image

made you, and think it but a fair,

this world that passes soon as flowers fair.

 

                              264.

 

And love Him, who truly out of love

on a cross, to redeem our souls that day,

first died, then rose, to sit in heaven above:

for he deceives no one, I say,

who his heart shall wholly on him lay.

And since He is best to love, and most meek,

what need is there for feigned loves to seek?

 

                              265.

 

Lo see, the pagan’s cursed ancient rites:

Lo see, how much their gods avail:

Lo see, this wretched world’s appetites:

Lo see, the end and reward of the travail

of Jove, Apollo, Mars, their rascally tale:

Lo see, the form of ancient clerks’ speech

in poetry, if you their books should seek.

 

                              266.

 

O moral Gower, this book I direct

to you, and you, philosophical Strode,

to warrant, and where need is, to correct,

in your benignity and zeal’s good.

And to that true Christ who died on rood,

with all my heart for mercy ever I pray,

and to the Lord right thus I speak and say:

 

                              267.

 

Thou one and two, and three, eternally alive,

who reign forever, in three and two and one,

un-circumscribed, that may all circumscribe,

us from foes visible, and the invisible one

defend: and of Thy mercy, everyone,

so make us, Jesus, worthy this grace of thine,

for love of Maid and Mother thine benign. Amen.

 

May 7, 2:30 Final exam paper: at least 2000 words – consider the Wife of Bath’s Prologue and Tale

as a series of variations on medieval, classical, Christian, pagan material to be found in what you have read in this course this semester.

OFFICE HOURS: T,R 10:30-11, 1-2 and by appointment, at 236 Bay State Road, rm. 321 (tel. 358-2535). If these times conflict with your other classes, appointments may be made at other mutually convenient times. No harm will come to you if you call me at home (617-491-3958) 7-8:30 weeknights, or on Saturday or Sunday 11 AM – 8:30 PM. If I am not home, PLEASE leave your name, telephone number, and, if possible, hours you expect to be at that number. Send e-mail to bobl@bu.edu   

The course involves significant amounts of reading (a minimum of 6-8 hours a week normally) that must be done on time. Written exercises, typed, with one-inch margins, and PROOFREAD SCRUPULOUSLY, must be submitted as email attachments in WORD no later than the assigned time on the due date, in grammatical, idiomatic English. The style sheet distributed at the first meeting indicates specific penalties for specific crimes against the English language; in this area, justice outweighs mercy.   

 Criteria for grading: papers count 90%; performance in class can add as much as a letter, if written work is at least tolerable. Merely sociable responses in class discussion are welcome, but add nothing to the grade. Remarks that demonstrate familiarity with the primary texts produce higher grades; remarks that demonstrate familiarity with secondary material as well as primary texts produce superior letters of recommendation. Conferences: you are strongly urged to put in at least two appearances during the semester. The time to express your problems about papers is before the day on which the paper is due. If you think that the grade you receive for any of your work is mysterious or unfair, sulking in silence or heaping maledictions upon my head behind my back are less useful strategies than appearing at my office and demanding clarification, justice, satisfaction.    

A FEW RECOMMENDED TEXTS  

GENERAL 

In your papers, the only dictionary to which you may refer is the OED (Mugar Reference XPE1625 .O87 1989) or  



N. Frye, Anatomy of Criticism  PN81 F57.    

E. Auerbach, Mimesis  PN56.R3.F53. and Literary Language etc. PA8027 A813.   for the opening chapter of Mimesis see  

E.R. Curtius, European Literature and the Latin Middle Ages. New York, 1963 PN674 F53    

C.S. Lewis, Allegory of Love, Oxford 1936 PN688 .F36 

John W. Baldwin, The Language of Sex: Five Voices from Northern France around 1200, Chicago, 1994 (review)

MIDDLE AGES 

Jacques Le Goff, The Medieval Imagination, Chicago, 1988. PQ155 M27 L413 1988  

C.S. Lewis, The Discarded Image  PN671 F64. 

RENAISSANCE 

J. Seznec, The Survival of the Pagan Gods in the Renaissance BR135.S483 (to be read in conjunction with and  

Daphne and Apollo (Ross Arthur)

see also and

"Just as dung prepares the field to bring forth corn more abundantly, so the words of the pagan poets, foul though they be, since they are not true, are yet of much aid in the comprehension of the divine word."Ermenrich of Ellenwangen MGH Epist. V, pp. 536 ff. See also De Lubac's remarks at origen second, 3rd centuries

E. Wind, Pagan Mysteries in the Renaissance N6915.F58.F671.   

William Kerrigan and Gordon Braden, The Idea of the Renaissance CB361 K37 1989    

E.M.W. Tilyard, The Elizabethan World Picture PR428 P5 F60  

CHAUCER 

C. Muscatine, Chaucer and the French Tradition PR1912 F7 F57. 

D.W. Robertson, Preface to Chaucer PR1924 F62   

Caedmon TC 1226 The poetry of Geoffrey Chaucer. Caedmon TC 1226. [1967]      

PR1068 .K63 1976 Chaucer, Geoffrey, The Knight's tale London : Argo, c1976 

Caedmon TC 1223 Chaucer, Geoffrey, Canterbury tales: The miller's tale [and] the reeve's tale.  

Caedmon TC 1151 Chaucer, Geoffrey, The Canterbury tales.

Argo ZPL 1003- 1004  Chaucer, Geoffrey, Troilus and Criseyde. Argo ZPL 1003-1004. [1971]      

Argo RG 401 Chaucer, Geoffrey, Prologue to the Canterbury tales. [Phonodisc]     

postscript

A type of this sort of wisdom is described in Deuteronomy under the figure of a captive woman. The divine voice commands that if an Israelite desires to have her as a wife, he shall make her bald, pare her nails, and shave her hair. When she has been made clean, then she shall pass into the victor's embrace. If we understand that literally, isn't it ridiculous? 6 And yet we ourselves are accustomed to do this when we read the philosophers, when the books of secular wisdom come into our hands. If we find anything useful in them, we apply it to our own doctrine; but if we find anything —with regard to idols, love, the care of secular things—that is inapplicable, these we shave off, for these we decree baldness, these we cut away like our nails with a very sharp blade.

and then I said you see why they talk to me is that I am like them I do not know the answer, you say you do not know but you do know if you did not know the answer you could not spend your life in teaching but I really do not know, I really do not, I do not even know whether there is a question let alone having an answer for a question. To me when a thing is really interesting it is when there is no question and no answer, if there is then already the subject is not interesting and it is so, that is the reason that anything for which there is an answer is not interesting, that is the trouble with governments and Utopias and teaching, the things not that can be learnt but that can be taught are not interesting. G.S.

313 Edict of Milan

Ambrose c. 340 – 397

Jerome c. 347 – 420

Prudentius 348-c.410

Augustine 354 – 430

Hengest and Horsa 444

476 rome falls

Boethius 480-525

Fortunatus 530-600

Isidore of seville (c. 560 – 4 April 636)

Bede 673-735 

Alcuin 730’s -804

Rabanus c. 780-856

800 HRE

1066 Hastings

1077 Canossa

1095 Crusade I

1170 death of Beckett

1215 magna carta

1265-1321 Dante

1309-1377 Babyonian captivity

1456 constantinople falls

1517 Luther 95 theses Worms

Contents

p. 1 Plato

p. 17 Hermaphrodites and some of Isidore’s definitions

p. 19 Isidore of Seville, Etymologies

p. 24 Alanus de Insula’s definition of love

p. 29 Love for Sale

p.33 Orpheus

p. 35 St. Bernard

p. 42 Dante

p. 51 Carmina Burana, Troubadours, Andreas Capellanus

p 51 Gottfrieds Tristan

p. 64 Chrétien and Pearl Poet

p. 67 Chaucer and Rhetoric

p. 85 Selections from Book III, Chaucer’s Troilus and Cressida





| |

-----------------------

[1] See Sears, The Ages of Man, Princeton, 1986, p. 80.

-----------------------

90.

Svá er friðr kvenna,

þeira er flátt hyggja,

sem aki jó óbryddum

á ísi hálum,

teitum, tvévetrum

ok sé tamr illa,

eða í byr óðum

beiti stjórnlausu,

eða skyli haltr henda

hrein í þáfjalli.

91.

Bert ek nú mæli,

því at ek bæði veit,

brigðr er karla hugr konum;

þá vér fegrst mælum,

er vér flást hyggjum:

þat tælir horska hugi.

................
................

In order to avoid copyright disputes, this page is only a partial summary.

Google Online Preview   Download