Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 38
XXXVIII
Unto the Lover Reason shows
Dame Fortune’s wheel, and how it goes,6230
Pointing what lack of power hath she
O’er men, brave, resolute, and free.
Trust not Fortune
“Leave Fortune then to turn her wheel
With ceaseless, tireless hand, and deal
(Standing upright with banded eyes)
Her gifts. One man with wealth she tries
To blind, and on him heapeth she
Great honour, but with poverty
Afflicteth others, and whene’er
Capricious fancy seizeth her,6240
Round goes her wheel again. A fool
Is he who chafeth ’neath her rule,
Neglecting to enjoy the day
Of happiness while yet he may,
For he by power of will alone
May scorn her strokes if adverse grown.
Fortune endureth not
Give ear: A folly most extreme
It is that men should Fortune deem
A Goddess, up to highest heaven
Exalting her, for ne’er was given6250
To her by reason nor by right
In paradise a mansion bright;
No house enduring hath she got,
But one right perilous, God wot.
Amid a sea, of depth profound,
Rises a mighty rock, around
Whose bases in tumultuous roar
The rude waves beat for evermore.
The billows never shepherded,
Dash ’gainst its sides, and o’er its head,6260
And ever and again nigh drown
With thundering burst its high-built crown.
Sometimes the giant’s strength awakes,
And so the assaulting deluge shakes,
That ’tis half vanquished and falls back
While draws he breath ’gainst fresh attack.
But ever, Proteus-like, his shape
Doth change, as one who would escape
Cognition of his boisterous foes,
And when he lifts his head, he shows6270
A thousand flowerets (like to stars
That brighten heaven around the cars
Of deities) amidst the tides,
When Zephyrus in triumph rides,
But when the north wind blows, he reaps
With freezing sword the flowers in heaps.
And blooms and verdure die, as they
Draw nigh unto their burgeoning day.
An allegory of Fortune
This rock doth bear a fearsome wood
Of Strange-grown trees, both bad and good.6280
Sterile is one from crown to root,
Another beareth wholesome fruit;
The one puts forth fair branches green,
Another void of leaves is seen;
This showeth blossoms passing fair,
That stands of bud or promise bare.
And while this flourisheth on high,
That other withereth barrenly.
If one towards heaven doth raise its head,
Another seeks the earth’s cold bed.6290
When buds on one show strong and hale,
Those on its fellow shrink and fail.
The broom shoots upwards, giant high,
While pine and cedar lowly lie
Along the earth; shrub, tree, and plant
Their natures change in this strange haunt,
With variance wide. To dusky grey
The verdant laurel fades away,
Its brightness lost. The olive tree,
So famed for rich fecundity,6300
Stands barren there. The sterile elm
The gracious vine doth overwhelm
And win her fruit. The willow, bare
Erewhile of berries, giveth there
Fair foison.
Nightingales forsake
Their tunefulness, but screech-owls break
The silence, whose discordant song
Gives prophecy of woe and wrong,
Sad heralds, clad in hideousness.
Of evil happening and distress.6310
Fortune unsatisfying
While winter doth to summer grow,
And summer fall to winter, flow
Two plenteous streams of diverse source,
And nought alike of kind or force.
The water of the one doth greet
All those who drink with savour sweet
Beyond compare, and he who tastes
Thereof but once, in nowise hastes
Him onward, but would gladly stay,
Drinking his fill, the livelong day;6320
But yet it quencheth not his thirst,
For eagerly as when he first
Had ta’en a sup, he drinketh still
As though no draught his pouch could fill.
The more one drinks the more doth he
Desire to quaff unendingly,
Nor doth his burning thirst abate,
Though he become intoxicate.
The strongest words were weak and waste
To tell the sweet enticing taste6330
These wretched sots experience, who,
Their drouth unquenched, must still pursue
Their maddening, monstrous draughts, for thirst
Infernal still, like souls accurst,
Consumes them, till at last they fall
Inflate, like victims dropsical.
The rivers of Fortune
In rippling wavelets speeds along
This gentle stream with tinkling song,
More musically sweet, I ween,
Than ever broke from tambourine6340
Or silvery cymbal. Those who stroll
Beside the flowery meads where roll
These singing waters haste anear,
Impatient such sweet sounds to hear
More perfectly, but when the side
Attain they of the murmuring tide,
Can nowise find the manner how
To reach the farther bank, for trow
Ye well that when their feet they set
(No more than just enough to wet6350
Their shoe-latch) in the trancing wave,
And drink one drop, then nought can save
Their hearts from lust of that sweet drink,
And plunging in o’erwhelmed they sink.
Others, more bold, from off the brim
Leap hardily, and think to swim
Across the current; from among
The waves they shout, in accents strong,
The joyousness of their success;
But suddenly a wavelet’s stress6360
Carries them back, and there on dry
And arid earth, heart-sick, they lie.
And now will I relate to thee
The other stream’s strange history.
Its waves are sulphurous, black and grim,
No birds flit o’er it, no fish swim
Within its depths, the while its floor
With filthy scum is surfaced o’er.
No purling brook, no gentle tide
It floweth in, but billows gride6370
Tumultuous, with a dreadful roar
Sounding across from shore to shore.
Like to the threatening thunder’s crash
When heaven and earth together clash.
Above these ruffling waves unclean,
Kind Zephyr’s wing hath ne’er been seen
To poise or lightly kiss the stream,
But harshly doth the north wind scream
In triumph there, and buffeteth
The surface dark with angry breath.6380
Fortune’s votaries
Its force hath dug dim ravines deep,
Whence towering mountains all a-heap
Rise up on either side, and wage
Unceasing war with furious rage
Of wind and storm, which never stay
Their combat fierce through night or day.
Along the bank is spread a crowd
Of wretched folk, whose wailings loud
Burden the air, while out their eyes
Gush forth their griefs and miseries.6390
For, ever they, convulsed with fear,
Behold the engulfing water near,
And if within it one should dip
His body till above the hip
It touch his waist, then swift, below
Its surface dragged, above him flow
The raging waters. But upcast
Are some, above whose heads have passed
The waves, thrown back upon the brink;
But, rashly venturing, many sink6400
For ever ’neath the o’er whelming flood,
And from the rank and noisome mud.
That clogs its cavern depths, no more
Shall gain the light, or win the shore.
This horrible flood doth boil and churn,
With many a vagrant twist and turn,
Through gorges numberless, and thus,
At last its waters poisonous,
That reek with odours foul, and steam
With noisome vapours, meet the stream6410
So pure and limpid, and to it
Their own vile mirous filth transmit,
Fulfilled of direful pestilence,
And sickening every finer sense;
The waters of the pleasant pool
Flow on no longer calm and cool,
And that same stream that higher gave
Forth perfumes delicate and suave
Becomes a fetid torrent, curst
With odours that from hell might burst.6420
The house of Fortune
Not on the crest of mountain tall,
But where its flank doth sloping fall,
Above the plain, in crumbling state,
As ready to succumb to fate,
Is Fortune’s mansion dight. No rage
There is of stormy winds that wage
Wild war, that falls not on it. Fierce
And strong the tempests are that pierce
That dwelling. Rarely Zephyr soft
Descendeth gently from aloft6430
To visit it with gentle breath,
And lull those blasts that tell of death.
Both bright and drear
One half the house stands high and straight,
The other poor and desolate;
And thus it seems as though it hung
Ready ere long to fall among
The rocks beneath.
One part so fair
And glorious looks, that man hath ne’er
Seen nobler mansion; walls and roof
Are wrought of one same warp and woof:6440
Silver and gold, with gems beset
Resplendent, (whence men oft-times get
Great virtue), never mortal eye
Saw palace built more gorgeously.
The other part is raised of mud
Commingled with decaying wood;
Thin fragile walls with many a flaw,
And broken roof of mouldering straw.
And thus, while scarce can words express
The symmetry and gorgeousness6450
That one side shows, the other mean
And rotten looks, within it seen
Five hundred thousand cracks and gaps
Betwixt the worthless bits and scraps
Whereof ’tis built, and to its base
It tottereth, as in parlous case.
Within this mansion, bright and drear,
Dame Fortune makes from year to year
Her home.
Whene’er she hath desire
The minds of mortals to inspire6460
Fortune’s vicissitudes
With wish to honour her, she goes
To that side of the house which shows
So gorgeously, and dwelleth there
In queenly state, attired in fair
Rich regal vesting; passing sweet
Of perfumes, and of colours meet
For Iris’ self; such tints indeed
As dyers, or by herb or seed
Produce, for costliest garments made,
In silk, or wool, or rich brocade,6470
For wealthy folk, who dearly love
To vaunt themselves in pride above
Their fellow mortals. Thus her snares
Doth Fortune set, but never cares
One straw for living man when she
Is ’tired in all her bravery.
When looks she round and notes her great
Honour and wealth, and proud estate;
So madly then is she misled,
That seemeth she to lose her head6480
Outright, and dream that none on earth
But she have smallest count or worth,
Oblivious that on her descend
Oft-times rude strokes ere falls the end.
Then wandereth she about the house,
Till comes she where ’tis ruinous
And all in cue to fall piecemeal,
Yet ceaseless moveth on her wheel.
Then stumbling gropes she, head low bent,
As though she saw not where she went;6490
And when she finds her fallen a-down,
Straightway both cheer and broidered gown
Are changed, and all at once of dress
She finds herself an orphaness;
And all her pride of state subdued,
There stands she, as a blind-worm nude;
All she possessed hath vanishèd,
And now doth nought her need bestead.
Then seeing her estate so low,
All shameless seeketh she to go6500
Beneath the bordel’s roof to hide
Her head, for sorrow humbleth pride.
Then mourneth she, with floods of tears,
The splendours now no longers hers—
The worldly pleasures past and gone.
The gorgeous robes she woned to don.
Fortune’s last estate
Alas, for Fortune! jade perverse!
Full many a noble man shall curse
Her hand which cast him in the mire,
A prey to woe and misery dire,6510
While vilest men she sets on high,
Bestowing on them lavishly
Honour, and dignity, and power,
Only that when their little hour
Is past, she suddenly away
May snatch the gifts of yesterday.
O were not then the ancients wise,
Who Fortune drew with blindfold eyes.”