Here may you see what generosity
In women is when they advise closely.
Perhaps some tyrant (for there's many a one)
Who has a heart as hard as any stone,
Would well have let him die within that place
Much rather than have granted him her grace;
And such would have rejoiced in cruel pride,
Nor cared that she were thus a homicide.
This gentle May, fulfilled of all pity,
With her own hand a letter then wrote she
In which she granted him her utmost grace;
There was naught lacking now, save time and place
Wherein she might suffice to ease his lust:
For all should be as he would have it, just;
And when she'd opportunity on a day,
To visit Damian went this lovely May,
The Canterbury Tales 293
----------------------- Page 296-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
And cleverly this letter she thrust close
Under his pillow, read it if he chose.
She took him by the hand and hard did press,
So secretly that no one else could guess,
And bade him gain his health, and forth she went
To January, when for her he sent.
Up rose this Damian upon the morrow,
For gone was all his sickness and his sorrow.
He combed himself and preened his feathers smooth,
He did all that his lady liked, in sooth;
And then to January went as low
As ever did a hound trained to the bow.
He was so pleasant unto every man
(For craft is everything for those who can),
That everyone was fain to speak his good;
And fully in his lady's grace he stood.
Thus Damian I leave about his need
And forward in my tale I will proceed.
Some writers hold that all felicity
Stands in delight, and therefor, certainly,
This noble January, with all his might,
Honourably, as does befit a knight,
Arranged affairs to live deliciously.
His housing, his array, as splendidly
Befitted his condition as a king's.
Among the rest of his luxurious things
He built a garden walled about with stone;
So fair a garden do I know of none.
For, without doubt, I verily suppose
That he who wrote The Romance of the Rose
Could not its beauty say in singing wise;
Nor could Priapus' power quite suffice,
Though he is god of gardens all, to tell
The beauty of that garden, and the well
Which was beneath the laurel always green.
For oftentimes God Pluto and his queen,
Fair Proserpine and all her faery
Disported there and made sweet melody
About that well, and danced there, as men told.
This noble knight, this January old,
Such pleasure had therein to walk and play,
That none he'd suffer bear the key, they say.
Save he himself; for of the little wicket
He carried always the small silver clicket
With which, as pleased him, he'd unlock the gate.
And when he chose to pay court to his mate
In summer season, thither would he go
With May, his wife, and no one but they two;
And divers things that were not done abed,
Within that garden there were done, 'tis said.
And in this manner many a merry day
The Canterbury Tales 294
----------------------- Page 297-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
Lived this old January and young May.
But worldly pleasure cannot always stay,
And January's joy must pass away.
O sudden chance, O Fortune, thou unstable,
Like to the scorpion so deceptive, able
To flatter with thy mouth when thou wilt sting;
Thy tail is death, through thine envenoming.
O fragile joy! O poison sweetly taint!
O monster that so cleverly canst paint
Thy gifts in all the hues of steadfastness
That thou deceivest both the great and less!
Why hast thou January thus deceived,
That had'st him for thine own full friend received?
And now thou hast bereft him of his eyes,
For sorrow of which in love he daily dies.
Alas! This noble January free,
In all his pleasure and prosperity,
Is fallen blind, and that all suddenly.
He wept and he lamented, pitifully;
And therewithal the fire of jealousy
Lest that his wife should fall to some folly,
So burned within his heart that he would fain
Both him and her some man had swiftly slain.
For neither after death nor in his life
Would he that she were other's love or wife,
But dress in black and live in widow's state,
Lone as the turtle-dove that's lost her mate.
But finally, after a month or twain,
His grief somewhat abated, to speak plain;
For when he knew it might not elsewise be,
He took in patience his adversity,
Save, doubtless, he could not renounce, as done,
His jealousy, from which he never won.
For this his passion was so outrageous
That neither in his hall nor other house
Nor any other place, not ever, no,
He suffered her to ride or walking go,
Unless he had his hand on her alway;
For which did often weep this fresh young May,
Who loved her Damian so tenderly
That she must either swiftly die or she
Must have him as she willed, her thirst to slake;
Biding her time, she thought her heart would break.
And on the other side this Damian
Was now become the most disconsolate man
That ever was; for neither night nor day
Might he so much as speak a word to May
Of his desire, as I am telling here,
Save it were said to January's ear,
Who never took his blind hand off her, no.
Nevertheless, by writing to and fro
The Canterbury Tales 295
----------------------- Page 298-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
And secret signals, he knew what she meant;
And she too knew the aim of his intent.
O January, what might it now avail
Could your eyes see as far as ships can sail?
For it's as pleasant, blind, deceived to be
As be deceived while yet a man may see.
Lo, Argus, who was called the hundred-eyed,
No matter how he peered and watched and pried,
He was deceived; and God knows others to
Who think, and firmly, that it is not so.
Oblivion is peace; I say no more.
This lovely May, of whom I spoke before,
In warm wax made impression of the key
Her husband carried, to the gate where he
In entering his garden often went.
And Damian, who knew all her intent,
The key did counterfeit, and privately;
There is no more to say, but speedily
Some mischief of this latch-key shall betide,
Which you shall hear, if you but time will bide.
O noble Ovid, truth you say, God wot!
What art is there, though it be long and hot,
But Love will find it somehow suits his turn?
By Pyramus and Thisbe may men learn;
Though they were strictly kept apart in all,
They soon accorded, whispering through a wall,
Where none could have suspected any gate.
But now to purpose: ere had passed: days eight,
And ere the first day of July, befell
That January was under such a spell,
Through egging of his wife, to go and play
Within his garden, and no one but they,
That on a morning to this May said he:
"Rise up, my wife, my love, my lady free;
The turtle's voice is heard, my dove so sweet;
The winter's past, the rain's gone, and the sleet;
Come forth now with your two eyes columbine!
How sweeter are your breasts than is sweet wine!
The garden is enclosed and walled about;
Come forth, my white spouse, for beyond all doubt
You have me ravished in my heart, O wife!
No fault have I found in you in my life.
Come forth, come forth, and let us take our sport;
I chose you for my wife and my comfort."
Such were the lewd old words that then used he;
To Damian a secret sign made she
That he should go before them with his clicket;
This Damian then opened up the wicket,
And in he slipped, and that in manner such
That none could see nor hear; and he did crouch
And still he sat beneath a bush anon.
The Canterbury Tales 296
----------------------- Page 299-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
This January, blind as is a stone,
With Maia's hand in his, and none else there,
Into his garden went, so fresh and fair,
And then clapped to the wicket suddenly.
"Now, wife," said he, "here's none but you and I,
And you're the one of all that I best love.
For by that Lord Who sits in Heaven above,
Far rather would I die upon a knife
Than do offence to you, my true, dear wife!
For God's sake how I did choose you out,
And for no love of money, beyond doubt,
But only for the love you roused in me.
And though I am grown old and cannot see,
Be true to me, and I will tell you why.
Three things, it's certain, shall you gain thereby;
First, Christ's dear love, and honour of your own,
And all my heritage of tower and town;
I give it you, draw deeds to please you, pet;
This shall be done tomorrow ere sunset.
So truly may God bring my soul to bliss,
I pray you first, in covenant, that we kiss.
And though I'm jealous, yet reproach me not.
You are so deeply printed in my thought
That, when I do consider your beauty
And therewith all the unlovely age of me,
I cannot, truly, nay, though I should die,'
Abstain from being in your company,
For utter love; of this there is no doubt.
Now kiss me, wife, and let us walk about."
This blooming May, when these words she had heard,
Graciously January she answered,
But first and foremost she began to weep.
"I have also," said she, "a soul to keep,
As well as you, and also honour mine,
And of my wifehood that sweet flower divine
Which I assured you of, both safe and sound,
When unto you that priest my body bound;
Wherefore I'll answer you in this manner,
If I may by your leave, my lord so dear.
I pray to God that never dawns the day
That I'll not die, foully as woman may,
If ever I do unto my kin such shame,
And likewise damage so my own fair name,
As to be false; and if I grow so slack,
Strip me and put me naked in a sack
And in the nearest river let me drown.
I am a lady, not a wench of town.
Why speak you thus? Men ever are untrue,
And woman have reproaches always new.
No reason or excuse have you, I think,
And so you harp on women who hoodwink."
The Canterbury Tales 297
----------------------- Page 300-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
And with that word she saw where Damian
Sat under bush; to cough then she began,
And with her slender finger signs made she
That Damian should climb into a tree
That burdened was with fruit, and up he went;
For verily he knew her full intent,
And understood each sign that she could make,
Better than January, her old rake.
For in a letter she had told him all
Of how he should proceed when time should fall.
And thus I leave him in the pear-tree still
While May and January roam at will.
Bright was the day and blue the firmament,
Phoebus his golden streamers down has sent
To gladden every flower with his warmness.
He was that time in Gemini, I guess,
And but a little from his declination
Of Cancer, which is great Jove's exaltation.
And so befell, in that bright morning-tide,
That in this garden, on the farther side,
Pluto, who is the king of Faery,
With many a lady in his company,
Following his wife, the fair Queen Proserpine,
Each after other, straight as any line
(While she was gathering flowers on a mead,
In Claudian you may the story read
How in his grim car he had stolen her)-
This king of Faery sat down yonder
Upon a turfen bank all fresh and green,
And right anon thus said he to his queen.
"My wife," said he, "there may no one say nay;
Experience proves fully every day
The treason that these women do to man.
Ten hundred thousand stories tell I can
To show your fickleness and lies. Of which,
O Solomon wise, and richest of the rich,
Fulfilled of sapience and worldly glory,
Well worth remembrance are thy words and story
By everyone who's wit, and reason can.
Thus goodness he expounds with praise of man:
'Among a thousand men yet found I one,
But of all women living found I none.'
"Thus spoke the king that knew your wickedness;
And Jesus son of Sirach, as I guess,
Spoke of you seldom with much reverence.
A wild-fire and a rotten pestilence
Fall on your bodies all before tonight!
Do you not see this honourable knight,
Because, alas! he is both blind and old,
His own sworn man shall make him a cuckold;
Lo, there he sits, the lecher, in that tree.
The Canterbury Tales 298
----------------------- Page 301-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
Now will I grant, of my high majesty,
Unto this old and blind and worthy knight,
That he shall have again his two eyes' sight,
Just when his wife shall do him villainy;
Then shall he know of all her harlotry,
Both in reproach to her and others too."
"You shall," said Proserpine, "if will you so;
Now by my mother's father's soul, I swear
That I will give her adequate answer,
And all such women after, for her sake;
That, though in any guilt caught, they'll not quake,
But with a bold face they'll themselves excuse,
And bear him down who would them thus accuse.
For lack of answer none of them shall die.
Nay, though a man see things with either eye,
Yet shall we women brazen shamelessly
And weep and swear and wrangle cleverly,
So that you men shall stupid be as geese.
What do I care for your authorities?
"I know well that this Jew, this Solomon
Found fools among us women, many a one,
But though he never found a good woman,
Yet has there found full many another man
Women right true, right good, and virtuous
Witness all those that dwell in Jesus' house;
With martyrdom they proved their constancy.
The Gesta Romanorum speak kindly
Of many wives both good and true also.
But be not angry, sir, though it be so
That he said he had found no good woman,
I pray you take the meaning of the man;
He meant that sovereign goodness cannot be.
Except in God, Who is the Trinity.
"Ah, since of very God there is but one,
Why do you make so much of Solomon?
What though he built a temple for God's house?
What though he were both rich and glorious?
So built he, too, a temple to false gods,
How could he with the Law be more at odds?
By gad, clean as his name you whitewash, sir,
He was a lecher and idolater;
And in old age the True God he forsook.
And if that God had not, as says the Book,
Spared him for father David's sake, he should
Have lost his kingdom sooner than he would.
I value not, of all the villainy
That you of women write, a butterfly.
I am a woman, and needs must I speak,
Or else swell up until my heart shall break.
For since he said we gossip, rail, and scold,
As ever may I my fair tresses hold,
The Canterbury Tales 299
----------------------- Page 302-----------------------
The Canterbury Tales
I will not spare, for any courtesy,
To speak him ill who'd wish us villainy."
"Dame," said this Pluto, "be no longer wroth;
I give it up; but since I swore my oath
That I would give to him his sight again,
My word shall stand, I warn you that's certain.
I am a king, it suits me not to lie."
"And I," said she, "am queen of Faery.
Her answer shall she have, I undertake;
No further talk hereof let us two make.
Forsooth, I will not longer be contrary."
Now let us turn again to January,
Who in the garden with his lovely May
Sang, and that merrier than the popinjay,
"I love you best, and ever shall, I know."
And so about the alleys did he go
Till he had come at last to that pear-tree
Wherein this Damian sat right merrily
On high, among the young leaves fresh and green.
This blooming May, who was so bright of sheen,
Began to sigh, and said: "Alas, my side!
Now, sir," said she, "no matter what betide,
I must have some of these pears that I see,
Or I may die, so much I long," said she,
"To eat some of those little pears so green.
Help, for Her love Who is of Heaven Queen!
I tell you well, a woman in my plight
May have for fruit so great an appetite
That she may die if none of it she have."
