Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 50
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How fair Lucrece, through wrath she bare
At heart, her noble besom tare
With murderous knife, and death did win
In face of husband, sire, and kin.9060
Then through her heart, with anguish filled.
She drove the cruel steel and spilled
tier life blood, but her friends charged first.
To venge her on her foe accurst.
From this example, through all time.
It is that whoso such foul crime
Commits, is doomed the death to die.
Proud Tarquin and his family
Were straightway driven forth from Rome,
Dying in exile, and no home9070
Found kingship there again. Alas!
Through all the world one now might pass,
But no Penelope in Greece
Discover, nor in Rome Lucrece,
Nor such-like women otherwhere:
Seek not—your pains ye well may spare.
Wives chosen blindly
In pagan days too well ’tis known
That women many a time have thrown
Themselves at men who sought them not,
As many a one doth now, God wot!9080
Those who in wedlock would engage,
A custom have which neither sage
Nor good I reckon, but bizarre
And strange in each particular,
And oft I marvel what should press
Men on to such fond foolishness.
What man soe’er would buy a horse
Examines him, in common course,
With greatest pains, and carefully
Notes each defect that meets his eye.9090
But women skilfully conceal
All faults from those with whom they deal,
And nought men know of good or ill
Concerning those they wed until
The knot is tied, but that once done,
Good Lord! such pranks ’neath heaven’s high sun
They play, as show all plain and clear
Their inborn vice; nought then they fear,
But let the wretched dupe perceive
That nought his folly can retrieve;9100
Repentance comes alas! too late.
Nay, even though a kindly fate
Procure for him a wife both good
And gentle, in all likelihood,
Unless a fool, will he repent
His folly ere a year be spent.
Good women are rare
A virtuous woman! Nay, I swear
By good St. Denis, that’s more rare
Than is a phoenix.
Thus hath said
Valerius: Whosoe’er will wed9110
Or love a woman finds much pain
And many troubles, while his gain
Is nought. More rare than phoenix? Nay
’Twere apter simile to say
Rarer by far than snow-white crow,
How fine soe’er their bodies show.
But natheless am I free to say
(Lest that the women of to-day
Should count me neither just nor fair),
I’ve no intention to declare9120
All womankind alike, but eyes
Of lynx the man need have who tries
So fair a bird on earth to find
As any one of womankind
Who’s faultless—secular or nun—
Black swans are commoner ’neath the sun.
Such birds on earth are sparsely sown,
As lightly may, pardee, be known.
Juvenal’s sayings
And Juvenal supporteth this.
He saith: If e’er thy luck it is9130
To find an honest woman, go
Straight to the temple, fall alow
To Jupiter on bended knees,
And Goddess Juno strive to please
With sacrificial cow, whose horns
A film of precious gold adorns.
For never while thou liv’st will be
A rarer sight vouchsafed to thee.
Valerius moreover saith:
(Sans shame for that he uttereth)9140
That either at home or over-sea
Would one affect the company
Of vicious women, they are found
Plenty as bees when swarms fly round.
What deem you then shall be the fate
Of such a fool? ’Twere desperate—
He who a branch so frail doth choose
To trust, shall soul and body lose.
Valerius, when ’twas plainly seen
That young Rufinus, who had been9150
His friend from youth, would bend the knee
To Hymen, cried: What’s come to thee
In name of ail the Gods! dost set
Thy foot within the treacherous net
Designing women spread for men?
And Juvenal these words wrote when
Young Postumus would take a wife:
’Twere better far to end thy life!
Doth no man now stout halters sell?
Or can’st thou nowhere find a well9160 To drown thee in, or dizzy height
From whence thou may’st take headlong flight?
Were not swift exit better far
Than all thy happiness to mar
By wedlock’s chains?
Phoroneus, who
The use of laws first taught unto
The Greeks, when lying on his bed
A-dying, to his brother said.
The young Leontius: Brother dear.
Calm were my death could I but hear9170
Thee promise that thou ne’er wilt take
A wife—this vow I prithee make.
And when Leontius sought the why,
He spake him thus wise: Verily,
Cruel experience all have found
Whose feet within the snares are bound
Of marriage, and if thou a wife
Shouldst take—alas! woe worth thy life!
Abelard and Heloïse
Likewise did Heloïse entreat
(The abbess of the Paraclete)9180
Her lover Peter Abelard,
That he would utterly discard
All thought of marriage from his mind.
This lady, noble and refined,
Of genius bright and learning great,
Loving, and loved with passionate
Strong love, implored him not to wed,
And many a well-wrought reason sped
To him in letters, where she showed
That hard and troublous is the code9190
Heloïse refused marriage
Of marriage, howsoever true
Are those who bind themselves thereto;
For not alone had she in books
Studied, but all the closest nooks
Of woman’s heart explored, and she
Love’s throes had suffered bitterly.
Therefore she begged they might atwain,
Though dying each for each, remain,
Bound by no bonds but those of love,
Whose gentle ties are strong above9200
All marriage laws, yet frank and free
Leave lovers—in sweet amity—
To follow learning, and she said,
Moreover, that long absence bred
’Twixt lovers unexpressed delight,
Most poignant when they’re lost to sight.
But Peter, as himself hath writ
In burning letters, so was smit
With passion, that nought else would serve
Till Heloïse he drew to swerve9210
From her sage counsel, and thence fell
On him mischance most dire to tell;
For little more their course was run
Ere she at Argenteuil as nun
Was close immured, while he was reft
Of manhood by his foes, who deft
As cruel were in his despite,
Seizing him as he lay one night
At Paris.
After this mischance
Saint Denis, patron saint of France,9220
Gave shelter to him as a monk;
And when this bitter cup he’d drunk
Down to the dregs, an abbey meet
He founded, hight the Paraclete,
For Heloïse, and there with good
Success she ruled the sisterhood.
Her love-lorn story hath she told
In letters which she penned with bold
Unshamed assurance; therein she
Declares monk Abelard to be9230
Her lord and master; and some say
These far-famed letters but betray
Delirious love. When first the dress
She donned of abbess, her distress
Broke forth in these wild words:
Heloïse unparalleled
If he
Who rules Rome’s Empire courteously
Deigned to demand that I, as wife,
To him would dedicate my life,
In proud estate, I should reply:
Much rather would I live and die9240
Thy mistress, wrapped in shame profound,
Than empress of the world be crowned.
But never since that day till now
Hath such a woman lived, I trow.
I doubt not ’twas her reading wide
Had taught her wisely to decide
All questions wherein woman’s heart
Is bound to bear so great a part,
And so when love she felt disturb
Her soul, she knew his power to curb;9250
And had her lover Abelard
deckings Listened to her, he had not marred
His life through marriage ties, but well
Had passed his days in learned cell.
A wife’s deckings
Marriage is but an evil bond:
Help me, St. Julian, who so fond
Hast been of aiding travellers,
And Leonard, saint whom prisoners
Invoke to give them timely aid
When they repentant are; I made9260
Worse bargain when I took a wife
Than If I had, to end my life,
A halter bought, for chose I one
So fine and fair to look upon
That through her coquetry I’m dead.
But, Son of Mary! by my head,
What comes of all this bravery?
What benefit accrues to me
From costly gowns and quaint-cut gear,
Your flirting tricks and mincing cheer?9270
The more with wasteful train you sweep
The ground, the more my flesh doth creep
With rage, and when I see you clad
Thus foolishly it drives me mad.
What profits it, I ask again,
That you should take such toiling pain
To pleasure others, while to me
It brings but grief and misery?
If I attempt some sportive play
With you, ’tis always in the way,9280
For this vile muffling up prevents
And baffles all my fond intents.
And then as cold as clay you turn,
And all my efforts fail to earn
Your kind accord; you do but shake
Awkward excuses, till I see
Most clearly that my gallantry
You find distasteful.
A husband’s grievance
When abed
I seek with you to lay my head,9290
As worthy spouse should do at night,
My dues to claim, my debt to quite,
Your dizenments you cast aside,
And both for head and neck provide
White shrouds of linen, and from view
Hide ribbons, red and green and blue,
While all your robes of tissues fair
And costly on a rail in air
Are hung all night.
I pray you, tell
What use such things are but to sell9300
Or pawn? and if so be you do
Nor one nor t’other with them, you
May then expect such storms to break
Around your head as cause you shake
With terror: if your trash annoy
Me day-long through, and nought of joy
Gives me at night, what benefit
Or pleasure do I gain from it
More than a truss of river sedge,
Unless it be to sell or pledge?9310
And for yourself—to make an end—
If you have witting to attend
To reason, know that nought you gain
Of credit through behaviour vain
And frivolous, nor do you one bit
Better your looks, poor foolish chit.
Beauty needs not art
And if some man should quote a throng
Of mouldy saws to prove me wrong,
And show the folly of my words,
Saying: Fine feathers make fine birds,9320
And that good garniture sits well
Alike on dame and damosel;
I should not trouble to reply
At length, but simply say: You lie.
For all the beauty of fair things,
Whether it be delightful spring’s
Sweet fleur-de-lis, as white as milk,
Roses, or violets, or silk.
Or other tissues fair (as I
Have read in many a book) doth lie9330
Within themselves, and not in those
Who wear them.
Happy she who knows
That all the choicest things ’neath heaven
Can ne’er improve, but oft may leaven
The beauty Nature gives.
The heart
In this same quality hath part.
To make my meaning stand out clear:
Suppose a dunghill disappear
From sight beneath a coverlet
Of silk, with fragrant flowers beset9340
Of brightest hues, ’twould still remain
A dunghill, and would stink amain
E’en as before it was bedeckt.
Fair deckings vain
And if some dotard should affect
To say that, though all foul within,
Fair is the dungheap for its skin
Of silk and flowers, in same-like way
As ladies who themselves array
To help their beauty, and conceal
Their ugliness, I could but feel9350
Amazed, nor dare to make reply,
Except I said that probably
Such strange delusion must arise
From some wild vision of the eyes,
Which see alone the outward show,
And ne’er the heart’s vagaries know,
By seeming-sweet imaginings
Led to forget the depth of things
In suchwise that they nought can see
How to distinguish verity9360
From falsehood, nor with ease unknit
A fallacy, through lack of wit.
But if they had the eyes of lynx,
Men would not find a jade or minx
Better because she chanced to wear
Rich mantles trimmed around with rare
And line Siberian marten fur,
Nor think one atom more of her
For heaps of diamonds and laces,
Set off with mincing airs and graces,9370
Nor frillings, furbelows, and stays,
Arranged a dozen different ways,
Nor hats with gayest flowers bedeckt.
None could be fairer in respect
Of form than Alcibiades,
Whose beauteous shape perforce
must please
All who beheld it, so the hand
Of Nature had in seeming planned
A godlike man, but who within
Should look would find him foul with sin.9380
Chastity’s evil plight
And thus hath great Boethius said,
Whose wit was with fair virtue wed.
And he doth Aristotle call
To witness, as a man whom all
Put faith in, forasmuch as he
Declares a lynx may clearly see
Whate’er he will, right through and through.
Past doubt it must be owned for true
That Beauty is to Chastity
In nowise friendly, as we see9390
In many a legend, tale and song
Related, but unending wrong
Will do to her. War to the death
They wage so long as each draws breath,
And neither one will yield a foot,
Striving the other to uproot:
But all unequal is the fight,
And, whether in assault or flight,
Cold Chastity is overcome,
And lastly falling, worn and glum,9400
Throws down her arms. E’en Ugliness,
Her handmaid, seeing her distress,
Forbears to help her, but doth strive
The damsel forth her house to drive,