Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 2

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II

The Lover here essays to draw
The wondrous counterfeits he saw130
Painted along the garden wall.
Before our eyes doth he recall,
Lifelike, the semblance, form and fame,
Of each, and tells thereof the name,
And first, with lively pen, portrays
Of Hate the direful works and ways.

Short space my feet had traversed ere
A garden spied I, great and fair,
The which a castled wall hemmed round.
And pictured thereupon I found140
Full many a figure rich and bright
Of colour, and how each one hight
Clear writ beneath it; now will I
To you declare from memory
The semblance and the name of each,
And somewhat of their natures teach.

Hate.

Hate described Amidmost stood Hell’s daughter, Hate,
Malignant, base, and desolate
Of countenance; prime mover she
Of quarrel, strife, and jealousy.150
Her very being, as meseemed.
With black and treacherous poison teemed
Of evil passion, while her dark
And frowning visage bore the mark
Of frenzied madness. Heavenward rose.
As if in scorn, her camus nose,
And round her head, as if with will
To make her foulness fouler still,
A filthy clout had she enwrapped.

Felony.

Left of her stood a figure, capped160
And branded with a legend writ
Full large, which well her face did fit.
It said: “Behold foul Felony.”

Villainy.

And on her right hand Villainy
Stood pictured, and I soothly wot
That ’twixt this evil pair is not
Disparity of one poor hair.
A creature looked she born to bear
Within her bosom rancorous pride;
Her mouth thin lipped, as formed to chide.170
A master ’twas whose pencil drew
These portraitures, and throughly knew
His hand this face and form to dight
As one who little recked of right,
A woman who would scorn to do
Honour to those to whom ’twas due.

Covetousness.

A picture of Covetousness Next her was painted Covetise,
Who eggs men on, for their misease,
To gather but to scatter not.
And store, when nought they need, God wot!180
She ’tis the usurer doth cause
To press, unstayed by pity’s laws.
For gain relentlessly. ’Tis she
Doth urge to deeds of felony
Poor thieves, who, when they fall beneath
The hand of Justice, find swift death.
’Tis she that causeth men to take
Their neighbours’ goods, and doth awake
Desire to rob, deceive, and steal;
And ’tis through her that tricksters feel190
Impelled to fraud; ’tis she doth make
False pleaders, who, for lucre’s sake.
Full many an innocent youth or maid
Strip bare, by their unholy trade.
Of patrimony. Crooked and bent
Her fingers grew, as they were meant
By nature all to grip and seize
That came anigh her. Covetise
Careth for nought except to get
Her neighbours’ goods within her net.200

Avarice.

The foulness of Avarice Another image close allied
To Covetise stood side by side
With her. ’Twas Avarice, and she
Looked foul, and stooped most wretchedly.
Her wasted figure, lean and weak.
Was wan and pale as garden leek.
The while her visage, void of blood.
Bespoke her languorous wearihood.
Her corpse-like body looked as fed
On crusts of sour and mouldy bread210
Kneaded with leaven thin and eager;
And with intent to hide her meagre
Shrunken limbs she’d o’er them cast
A tattered threadbare garment, past
All hope of mendment, torn and slit,
As though fierce dogs had worried it.
In such poor wretched rags was she
Arrayed, God wot! right beggarly.
Hard by, upon a crazy pin,
Was hung her cloak, outworn and thin:220
Wrought of good brunette cloth, once fair
And soft, but now of ermine bare;
And, in the place of costly fur.
Poor Avarice contenteth her
With heavy lambskin, shag and black;
Full twenty years her skinny back
Hath borne its cumbrous weight, for shy
Is Avarice new clothes to buy.
But findeth ever some excuse
To spare her clouts due wear and use;230
And when outworn, her soul doth rue,
Sorely, the cost to purchase new,
But grievously the pinch of cold
Will suffer ere she spends her gold.
With greedy clutch doth Avarice hide
Her purse, which ne’er she openeth wide.
But keeps the strings drawn close and tight,
Consumed with jealous fear lest light
Her coin should see. Alas! but small
Delight doth hence to her befall,240
For ne’er from out that purse would she
Spend one poor penny willingly.

Envy

Envy portrayed Beside her, sad-eyed Envy stood,
Who smileth never. Nothing good
To her doth seem, and nought can cheer
Her soul to joy, or please her ear,
Except it be some evil hap
Befalls, the happiness to sap
Of worthy men, that only she
Heareth or looks on joyfully.250
But if perchance some lineage great
Cast down should be from fair estate,
Above all else such case I deem
Would raise her soul to joy supreme.
Should some good man perchance arise
To honour great, within her dies
Her heart; but marvellous delight
Awakes therein when hate and spite
Spur men to wrath. Such rancour grows
Within her breast, that ne’er she shows260
Envy spareth no man Love to a friend, nor hath one good
Kind thought towards those who share her blood—
Yea, sorely ’twould her heart distress
Her sire to see in happiness.
Right cruel is the price she pays,
Who walketh thus in devious ways.
And through her cursed spirit she
Suffers forsooth most bitterly;
For in her villain mind doth rage
Torment more rude than thought can gauge270
Whene’er she hears of kindly deed
Or worthy act; and sore doth bleed
Her venomous heart enduring this.
Which God’s most righteous vengeance is
Upon her. Envy’s evil tongue
Spares no man, be he old or young.
And if ’twas hers to know perchance
The noblest knight who honours France.
Or one whose fame lies over-sea.
She’d deal them slander equally.280
And should their names so fair be found
As made her villain words redound
To eke their praise, then would she try
By mean insinuating lie
To undermine their fame some deal
With venomous wound no balm could heal.
I noted how she seemed to glance
Sideways, with tortuous peep askance.
And furtive leer turned all awry.
Half-closed her slanting evil eye.290
Her habit seemed, forsooth, innate
That she towards no man cast a straight
And honest gaze, but one eye closed
She kept, as if forsooth she dozed;
Then suddenly ’twas lit with ire
If some fair thing she saw, and fire
Would burn therein, for loves she not
Aught good or beauteous, as I wot.

Sorrow.

Heavy-eyed Sorrow Then standing Envy close beside.
Was fretful Sorrow, heavy-eyed300
And dismal. By her deadly hue
’Twas clear her wretched spirit knew
Unending grief, and thus jaundice
Paled all her blood. E’en Avarice
Than she doth look less poor and lean.
For care and misery, well I ween,
And cruel chagrin and distress.
That day nor night know never cess.
She suffers, and through sickly woe
More lean and pale doth daily grow.310
None suffereth martyrdom more dire
Than she, and this begetteth ire
Within her heart, as seemed to me,
And much I doubt if aught could be
Or said or done whereby to ease
Her rooted grief, or calm or please
Her cankered soul, or break the round
Of care wherein her life is bound!
Alike her face and garments wore
Marks of the cruel rage that tore320
Her woeful heart. Her nails had scratched
Her cheeks, the while her hands had snatched
Her rob to rags and plainly spake
What cruel passion was awake
Within her miserable breast,
Outworn with rage, with grief opprest.
Sad token both of spleen and hate,
That left her thus disconsolate.
Around her head hung ragged shocks
Of hair in wild disordered locks,
The which her angry hands had torn,
The while she wept her state forlorn,
Till every eye that saw her grew
Bedewed with tears of pitying rue,
For ceased she not to beat her breast
As though with madness dire possessed.
Her body and soul both seemed to be
Encompassed round with misery;
No pastime sought she, and the bliss
Her mouth ne’er knew of amorous kiss.
The wight whose being is in woe
Immersed hath little will to go
Where merry folk dance, laugh, and sing,
But closely hugs her sorrowing;
For Joy and Sorrow know not how
To dwell in fellowship, I trow.

Eld.

The woes of Age To Sorrow next was pictured Eld:
Time’s hand all care for food had quelled
Within her, and a foot was she
Less than in youth she woned to be,350
Bowed down by toil and drearihead.
Her beauty, years long past, had fled.
Age and Time And foul of face was she become.
And though old Time had left her some
Sparse, straggling locks, her head was white
As though ’twere floured: the loss were light
If that poor body, worn and waste.
The doubtful woe of death should taste;
For shrivelled were her limbs, and dry.
Faded her once bright lustrous eye;360
Wrinkled the cheeks once soft and smooth;
And those once pink-shell ears, forsooth,
Now pendent hung; her pearl-like teeth,
Alas! had long since left their sheath,
And barely could she walk as much
As fathoms four without her crutch.

Time speedeth over night and day.
No rest he taketh nor delay
Of briefest movement makes, but steals
So warily along, man feels370
His going nought, but fondly deems
Time standeth still; but while he dreams.
Half-waked, Time’s foot hath passed, I trow,
For none can say that time is—now!
Ask thou some learned clerk, while he
Maketh response, the time shall be
Gone and departed three times o’er,
For Time aye passeth, but no more
Returneth: e’en as water flows
For ever onward, but ne’er goes380
Back to its source. No thing can ’dure
Against the force of time, though sure
As adamant or iron. Time
Each thing devoureth when its prime
Eld was once fair Is reached. ’Tis Time that maketh grow
All new-born things, and Time doth show
How all things change, and wear and waste;
’Tis he that hath our fathers chased
From off the earth. Of mighty kings
And emperors the dirge he sings,390
And all, through Time, must pass away,
For he ’tis marks our dooming day.
And Time, who ne’er forgetteth aught,
Hath Eld forgotten not, but brought
His hand to bear upon her so
That feebler doth she surely grow
From day to day, until no more
She hath of strength, or notes of lore,
Than child that on its mother’s knee
Or laughs or smiles unconsciously.400

Yet natheless had Eld been in youth
A damsel fair, and sweet forsooth
To my sure knowledge, but I trow
Is sadly metamorphosed now—
Changed to a world-worn doting thing.
A great fur cloak for wrappering
She wore (methinks around her form
I see it yet) to keep her warm,
For aged folk still dread the cold.
By nature’s law, through many a fold.

Hypocrisy.

The image standing next was fit
To show right well a hypocrite.
The falseness of Hypocrisy Popeholy was the name she bore,
And on her face a mask she wore
Of righteousness, for her great care
It is to take men unaware,
And play them some base, shameful trick.
On first acquaintance is she quick
To waken pity by her sad
And simple piteous look, beclad420
With simple, sweet, and saintly seeming;
But in this world no evil deeming
Exists, that rolls not through her brain.
The painting gave to her amain.
Kind, gentle semblance; debonair
And simple all her features were.
And both her pose and raiment done
In guise of some good convent nun.
A psalter held she in her hand.
As though the throne of God she fanned420
With holy prayers, and saints invoked:
But never laughed she, smiled nor joked.
Good works pretendeth she to do.
As though nought else did she pursue
Since first she donned the shirt of hair.
Her wretched body, lean and spare.
All bloodless looked and deadly white,
Through daily fest and sleepless night.
For her, and those who share her lot,
The gate of Paradise I wot
Ne’er openeth, for the Gospel says:
They fast and make long prayers for praise
Of men, and thus they cast away

God’s Kingdom at the dooming day.

Poverty.

The sad estate of Poverty Last Poverty, of whom I vouch,
No penny lay within her pouch,
And buy a rope to hang herself.
Naked as any wretched worm,
She oft, in direful winter’s term,450
Nigh dies with misery and cold.
Nought else her body did enfold
Except a sack, from whence hung torn
Foul rags, for robe and mantle worn;
Therewith alone did she dissemble
Her nakedness, her limbs a-tremble,
Down in a corner, on the ground
Couched, like a beaten, shamefaced hound.
Alas! a dolorous fate hath she,
Cast out from all men’s company.460
Accursed the hour when man is born
To live in poverty forlorn:
Far better had he never been
Than naked, houseless, friendless seen.

Before these images I stayed
Some space; each one was well arrayed
In dazzling gold and azure bright.
By skilful limner deftly dight.
The wall was high, and built of hard
Rough stone, close shut, and strongly barred,470
Enclosing round a garden vast.
Wherein no swain had ever passed;
Beyond all doubt a place most fair.
And I most gladly entry there
The birds’ matin song Had made, and plenteous measure he
Of thanks had won who showed to me
How, helped by steps or ladder tall,
My feet might scale the high-built wall.
O joy of joys! O dear delight,
If ’twere but given to me that height480
To climb, and such sweet joyance win
As surely might be found therein.
This garden was a safe retreat
For hosts of nesting birds, and sweet
Their piping sounded from the trees,
The glory of the place; the breeze
Was redolent of woodland song,
Nor shall I be convict of wrong
In saying that it shields perchance
Three times as many birds as France490
Contains elsewhere. The harmony
Thereof could scarcely fail to be
Such as would cheer the saddest wight,
And wake his soul to sweet delight.
To me more boundless was the pleasure
To hear those songs than words may mea­sure.
And fain had I an hundred pounds
Paid straight to win within the bounds,
And see the gathered cloud of these
Sweet birds (God save them!) in the trees,500
And list their tireless minstrelsy,
Which e’en love’s dancing tunes outvie,
All piping clear, from untaught throats.
In ever varying wilding notes.
While hearkening to the matin chant
The small fowl sang, my soul a-pant
The Dreamer spies a gate Became with longing for some mode
To win within this blest abode,
And searched, but vainly searched, alas!
For means, or fair or foul, to pass510
The wall, but nought to help me found;
And then I vainly gazed around
For one who might, for love or meed.
Within that longed-for haven lead
My eager footsteps. Thus I stood,
With dire vexation well-nigh wood,
Until the thought possessed my mind,
That never yet was wall so blind
That careful diligence should fail
To find some door, or means to scale.520
Hot-foot, the boundary’s full extent
I traversed, heart and soul intent
Some aperture to spy; at last
Mine eye with eager joy I cast
Upon a wicket, straight and small,
Worked in the stern, forbidding wall,
And forthwith set myself to get
An entry there, whate’er might let.