Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Was never such another as she.

  I pray to God to sustain her in honor,

  And would she were of Europe all the queen.

  “In her is high beauty, without pride,

  Youth, without callowness or folly;

  In all her works virtue is her guide;

  Humility has slain in her all tyranny.

  She is mirror of all courtesy;

  Her heart is the very chamber of holiness,

  Her hand, minister of charity generous.”

  And all this report was true, as God is true.

  But now to the point let us turn again.

  These merchants have laden their ships anew,

  And when they had this blissful maiden seen,

  Home to Syria went they full gladly,

  And conducted their business as they had done before,

  And lived in prosperity; I can tell you no more.

  Now fel it, that thise marchants stode in grace

  Of him, that was the sowdan of Surrye;

  For whan they came from any strange place,

  He wolde, of his benigne curteisye,

  Make hem good chere, and bisily espye

  Tydings of sondry regnes, for to lere

  The wondres that they mighte seen or here.

  Amonges othere thinges, specially

  Thise marchants han him told of dame Custance,

  So gret noblesse in ernest, ceriously,

  That this sowdan hath caught so gret plesance

  To han hir figure in his remembrance,

  That al his lust and al his bisy cure

  Was for to love hir whyl his lyf may dure.

  Paraventure in thilke large book

  Which that men clepe the heven, y-writen was

  With sterres, whan that he his birthe took,

  That he for love shulde han his deeth, alias !

  For in the sterres, clerer than is glas,

  Is writen, god wot, who-so coude it rede,

  The deeth of every man, withouten drede.

  In sterres, many a winter ther-biforn,

  Was written the deeth of Ector, Achilles,

  Of Pompey, Julius, er they were born;

  The stryf of Thebes; and of Ercules,

  Of Sampson, Turnus, and of Socrates

  The deeth; but mennes wittes been so dulle,

  That no wight can wel rede it atte fulle.

  This sowdan for his privee conseil sente,

  And, shortly of this mater for to pace,

  He hath to hem declared his entente,

  And seyde hem certein, “but he mighte have grace

  To han Custance with-inne a litel space,

  He nas but deed;” and charged hem, in hye,

  To shapen for his lyf som remedye.

  Now befell it that these merchants stood in the good graces

  Of he who was the Sultan of Syria;

  And when they came from any foreign place,

  He would, of gracious courtesy,

  Make them welcome, and eagerly sought

  Tidings of sundry reigns, to learn

  The wonders that they might have heard or seen.

  Among other things, specially,

  These merchants had told him of dame Constance

  And of her nobility, especially, and in such detail

  That this Sultan derived great pleasure

  To see her image in his mind’s eye,

  So that all his hope and all his pleasure

  Was to love her so long as his life endured.

  Perhaps in that large book

  Which men call the heavens, written was

  In the stars, that when he his birth took,

  He was destined to die for love, alas!

  For in the stars, clearer than is glass,

  Is written, God knows, whoso could it decipher,

  The fate of every man, without doubt.

  In stars, many a winter therebefore,

  Was written the death of Hector, Achilles,

  Of Pompey the Great, of Julius Caesar,10 before they were born;

  The siege of Thebes,11 and of Hercules,

  Of Sampson, Turnus12 and of Socrates

  Their deaths, but men’s wits be so dull

  That no man can read it in full.

  This Sultan for his closest advisors sent,

  And, briefly of this matter to look over,

  He has to them declared his intent,

  And told them, certainly, unless he had the grace

  Of Constance within a short time,

  He was as good as dead; and ordered them in haste

  To devise for his life some remedy.

  Diverse men diverse thinges seyden;

  They argumenten, casten up and doun

  Many a subtil resoun forth they leyden,

  They speken of magik and abusioun;

  But finally, as in conclusioun,

  They can not seen in that non avantage,

  Ne in non other wey, save mariage.

  Than sawe they ther-in swich difficultee

  By wey of resoun, for to speke al playn,

  By-cause that ther was swich diversitee

  Bitwene hir bothe lawes, that they sayn,

  They trowe “that no cristen prince wolde fayn

  Wedden his child under oure lawes swete

  That us were taught by Mahoun our prophete.”

  And he answerde, “rather than I lese

  Custance, I wol be cristned doutelees;

  I mot ben hires, I may non other chese,

  I prey yow holde your arguments in pees;

  Saveth my lyf, and beeth noght recchelees

  To geten hir that hath my lyf in cure;

  For in this wo I may not longe endure.”

  What nedeth gretter dilatacioun?

  I seye, by tretis and embassadrye,

  And by the popes mediacioun,

  And al the chirche, and al the chivalrye,

  That, in destruccioun of Maumetrye,

  And in encrees of Cristes lawe dere,

  They ben acorded, so as ye shal here;

  How that the sowdan and his baronage

  And alle his liges shulde y-cristned be,

  And he shal han Custance in mariage,

  And certein gold, I noot what quantitee,

  And her-to founden suffisant seurtee;

  This same acord was sworn on eyther syde;

  Now, faire Custance, almighty god thee gyde!

  Different men different things said;

  They argued, considered ups and downs;

  Many a subtle reason forth they laid;

  They spoke of magic and deception.

  But finally, in conclusion,

  They could not see any advantage

  Nor any other way, save in marriage.

  Then saw they therein such difficulty

  By way of reason, for to speak all plain,

  Because there was such difference

  Between their religions, that they said

  They believed that no “Christian prince would care to

  Wed his child under our law sweet

  That was taught us by our prophet, Mahomet.”

  And he answered, “Rather than I lose

  Constance, I will be christened, doubtless.

  I must be hers, I may no other choose.

  I pray you hold your arguments in peace;

  Save my life, and be not negligent

  To get her—in whose hands lies my fate—

  For in this woe I may not long endure.”

  Need I with words more elaborate?

  I say, by treaty and negotiation,

  And by the pope’s mediation,

  And supported by all the church, and all the chivalry,

  To further the destruction of idolatry,

  And to increase the reign of Christ’s law dear,

  They came to an accord, as you shall hear:

  Whereby the Sultan and his barons

  And all his lieges sh
ould christened be,

  And he should have Constance in marriage,

  And certain gold, I know not what quantity;

  For this provided sufficient surety.

  This same accord was sworn on either side;

  Now, fair Constance, almighty God you guide!

  Now wolde som men waiten, as I gesse,

  That I shulde tellen al the purveyance

  That th‘emperour, of his grete noblesse,

  Hath shapen for his doghter dame Custance.

  Wel may men knowe that so gret ordinance

  May no man tellen in a litel clause

  As was arrayed for so heigh a cause.

  Bisshopes ben shapen with hir for to wende,

  Lordes, ladyes, knightes of renoun,

  And other folk y-nowe, this is the ende;

  And notifyed is thurgh-out the toun

  That every wight, with gret devocioun,

  Shulde preyen Crist that he this mariage

  Receyve in gree, and spede this viage.

  The day is comen of hir departinge,

  I sey, the woful day fatal is come,

  That ther may be no lenger taryinge,

  But forthward they hem dressen, alle and some;

  Custance, that was with sorwe al overcome,

  Ful pale arist, and dresseth hir to wende;

  For wel she seeth ther is non other ende.

  Alias! what wonder is it though she wepte,

  That shal be sent to strange nacioun

  Fro freendles, that so tendrely hir kepte,

  And to be bounden under subieccioun

  Of oon, she knoweth not his condicioun.

  Housbondes been alle gode, and han ben yore,

  That knowen wyves, I dar say yow no more.

  “Fader,” she sayde, “thy wrecched child Custance,

  Thy yonge doghter, fostred up so softe,

  And ye, my moder, my soverayn plesance

  Over alle thing, out-taken Crist on-lofte,

  Custance, your child, hir recomandeth ofte

  Un-to your grace, for I shal to Surryë,

  Ne shal I never seen yow more with ye.

  Now would some expect, as I guess,

  That I should tell all the preparations

  That the emperor, in his great nobility,

  Had planned for his daughter, dame Constance.

  Well may men know that such great preparation

  May no man tell in a little clause

  As was arranged for so high a cause.

  Bishops were appointed with her for to wend,

  Lords, ladies, knights of renown,

  And other folk enough; this is the end;

  And made known was throughout the town

  That every person, with great devotion,

  Should pray to Christ that he this marriage

  Receive favorably and speed this voyage.

  The day came for her departure;

  I say, the woeful fatal day arrived,

  That there might be no longer tarrying,

  But forward they prepared themselves, all and some.

  Constance, who was with sorrow all overcome,

  Full pale arose, and prepared herself to wend;

  For well she saw there was no other end.

  Alas, what wonder that she wept,

  Who should be sent to a strange nation

  From friends who so tenderly her kept,

  And to be bound under subjection

  Of one who—she knew not his disposition?

  Husbands be all good, and have been of yore;

  That know wives, I dare say you no more.

  “Father,” she said, “your wretched child Constance,

  Your young daughter raised so tenderly,

  And you, my mother, my sovereign pleasure

  Above everything, except Christ above,

  Constance your child commends herself often

  Unto your grace, for I shall go to Syria,

  Never shall my eyes see you again.

  Allas! un-to the Barbre nacioun

  I moste anon, sin that it is your wille;

  But Crist, that starf for our redempcioun,

  So yeve me grace, his hestes to fulfille;

  I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille.

  Wommen are born to thraldom and penance,

  And to ben under mannes governance.“

  I trowe, at Troye, whan Pirrus brak the wal

  Or Ylion brende, at Thebes the citee,

  Nat Rome, for the harm thurgh Hanibal

  That Romayns hath venquisshed tymes three,

  Nas herd swich tendre weping for pitee

  As in the chambre was for hir departinge;

  Bot forth she moot, wher-so she wepe or singe.

  O firste moeving cruel firmament,

  With thy diurnal sweigh that crowdest ay

  And hurlest al from Est til Occident,

  That naturelly wolde holde another way,

  Thy crowding set the heven in swich array

  At the beginning of this fiers viage,

  That cruel Mars hath slayn this mariage.

  Infortunat ascendent tortuous,

  Of which the lord is helples falle, alias!

  Out of his angle in-to the derkest hous.

  O Mars, O Atazir, as in this cas!

  O feble mone, unhappy been thy pas!

  Thou knittest thee ther thou art nat receyved,

  Ther thou were weel, fro thennes artow weyved.

  Imprudent emperour of Rome, allas!

  Was ther no philosophre in al thy toun?

  Is no tyme bet than other in swich cas?

  Of viage is ther noon eleccioun,

  Namely to folk of heigh condicioun,

  Nat whan a rote is of a birthe y-knowe?

  Alias! we ben to lewed or to slowe.

  “Alas, unto the Berber nation13

  I most go anon, since that is your will;

  But Christ, who died for our redemption

  So give me grace his heedings to fulfill!

  I, wretched woman, no matter if I die!

  Women are born to thralldom and penance,

  And to be under man’s governance.”

  Not at Troy, when Pyrrhus14 broke the wall

  And the city burned, nor at Thebes,

  Nor at Rome, when it was poised to fall

  To Hannibal, who thrice vanquished the Romans,

  Was heard such tender weeping for pity

  As in the chamber was for her departing;

  But go she must, weeping or singing.

  O primum mobile!15 Cruel firmament,

  With your diurnal sway that crowds ever

  And hurls all from east to west

  That naturally would go another way,

  Your force set the heavens in such array

  At the beginning of this dangerous voyage,

  That cruel Mars will slay this marriage.

  Inauspicious ascendent tortuous,16

  Of which the lord was helplessly fallen, alas,

  Out of his angle into the darkest house!

  Oh Mars, oh atazir, as in this case!

  Oh feeble moon, unhappy are your steps!

  You conjoin where you are not well-received;

  From where you were well, you are now banished.

  Imprudent Emperor of Rome, alas!

  Was there no astrologer in all your town?

  Was no time better than another in that case?

  For a voyage is there no choice,

  Especially for folk of high position?

  Not when a date of birth is known?

  Alas, we be too unlearned or too slow!

  To shippe is brought this woful faire mayde

  Solempnely, with every circumstance.

  “Now Jesu Crist be with yow alle,” she sayde;

  Ther nis namore but “farewel! faire Custance!”

  She peyneth hir to make good countenance,

  And forth I lete hir sayle in this manere,


  And turne I wol agayn to my matere.

  The moder of the sowdan, welle of vyces,

  Espyëd hath hir sones pleyn entente,

  How he wol lete his olde sacrifyces,

  And right anon she for hir conseil sente;

  And they ben come, to knowe what she mente.

  And when assembled was this folke in-fere,

  She sette hir doun, and sayde as ye shal here.

  “Lordes,” quod she, “ye knowen everichon,

  How that my sone in point is for to lete

  The holy lawes of our Alkaron,

  Yeven by goddes message Makomete.

  But oon avow to grete god I hete,

  The lyf shal rather out of my body sterte

  Than Makometes lawe out of myn herte!

  What shulde us tyden of this newe lawe

  But thraldom to our bodies and penance?

  And afterward in helle to be drawe

  For we reneyed Mahoun our creance?

  But, lordes, wol ye maken assurance,

  As I shal seyn, assenting to my lore,

  And I shall make us sauf for evermore?”

  They sworen and assenten, every man,

  To live with hir and dye, and by hir stonde;

  And everich, in the beste wyse he can,

  To strengthen hir shal alle his freendes fonde;

  And she hath this empryse y-take on honde,

  Which ye shal heren that I shal devyse,

  And to hem alle she spak right in this wyse.

  To ship was brought this woeful fair maid

  Solemnly, with every ceremony.

  “Now Jesus Christ be with you all!” she said;

  There was no more, but, “Farewell, Constance!”

  She tried to put on a brave face;

  And forth I let her sail in this manner,

  And turn I will again to my matter.