Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 56
LVI
The Lover findeth Dame Richesse,
Who guards the path with carefulness
By which the fortress may be ta’en
Of those who scatter golden rain.
The Lover finds Richesse
Hard by a fountain fresh and clear
(While musing on my Rosebud dear)10510
I found a sweet sequestered spot
Where sat a dame, whom all would wot
Of lovely form and joyous face,
Beneath a leafy elm her place.
A gallant stood beside the dame,
(Of whom I wist nor rank nor name)
But her I knew for Dame Richesse,
By all men held of great noblesse,
And o’er a pleasant pathway guard
She kept, and all intrusion barred.10520
Soon as I saw them I inclined
My head, and well was pleased to find
Return thereof, but that was all
My welcoming. In accent small
And soft I gently asked if they
Could to Much-Giving point the way;
And Richesse, speaking first, replied.
In tones that savoured scorn and pride:
Richesse.
The Lover.
Ah! lady, God preserve, I pray,10530
Your life, but prithee suffer me
To wend towards that high fort I see
Yonder, which Jealousy hath reared
For purpose that my heart hath seared.
Richesse.
The woning of Richesse
Not yet, O vassal, to that spot
May you approach, I know you not;
Those only by this path can go
Who know me, and I please to know.
As stranger you must ten years wait
Ere, as my friend, you pass this gate;10540
Although from Paris straight one came
Or Amiens, ’twere to me the same.
My friends may freely enter here
To dance and sing throughout the year,
And live a joyous life and free,
Whereof no sage need envious be,
Nought passeth here but frolic play
Wherewith to wile the time away,
Light dances set to gleesome tunes,
On viols, tambours, and bassoons,10550
Sweet songs that savour amorousness,
And games of tables, dice and chess,
And many another for delight
Of merry hearts. And there are dight
Delicious meats that never cloy,
And soft amours fulfilled of joy,
There loving swains with ladies sweet,
By schemes of skilled duennas meet,
The home of Richesse
And wandering stroll ’neath shady groves
And gardens, where they tell their loves,10560
Gaily attired as popinjays,
And leisure-footed wend their ways
Towards dulcet baths right well prepared
For soft delight, and having shared
This joyance, then hard by are found
Luxurious chambers, where they, crowned
With flower-twined chaplets, idly lie
Within Mad-Largess’ hostelry,
Where they at every pore are bled,
And long ’tis ere their cure is sped.10570
Right dearly do they pay for what
Their host affordeth them; so hot
And ruthless his rapacity,
That all their goods and lands must be
To him made o’er.
I lead men in
That they a joyous time may win.
But Poverty doth drive them thence,
Naked and shivering, reft of pence.
I guard the entry, she the gate
Of exit: men of all estate10580
Accept I, ignorant and wise
May enter, but when they arise
To travel forth, they’re paupers. Yet
I will not say but they may get
Permission to return (but this
No small or light won favour is)
If they with good provision come,
To make with me once more their home,
Nor that I would not many a time
Receive them till they had no dime10590
Of that great wealth they once possessed.
Scatterlings fall to Poverty
But know thou, even more distressed
Are they the oftener they return
New store of bitter woe to earn,
Till that they shun my gaze for shame
And, taking on their heads the blame,
Cast off their lives of misery.
I flee from those who flee from me.
I warn you well, ere yet you pass
This barrier, you will cry, alas!10600
When you return, for never Bear,
Hand-led, and muzzle doomed to wear,
Was wretcheder than you will be
At going hence. If Poverty
Cast you on bed of hay or straw,
You there mid sighs and groans must draw
Your breath till you of hunger die.
Hunger, who unto Poverty
Was chamberer, by her bitterness
Reduced her dame to dire distress,10610
And then corrupted her, till she
Became the nurse of Knavery;
From her own breast with milk she fed;
The varlet, who no other bread
E’er tasted. And if ye desire
To hear of her, this caitiff dire,
Fierce Hunger, dwells on stone-strewn ground,
Where nought of herb or grain is found,
A land which north of Scotland lies,
Whose frozen atmosphere outvies10620
The marble’s coldness. Hunger, who
Wones where no tree or grain e’er grew.
Digs from the earth roots crude and raw,
With pointed tooth and long-grown claw.
But sparsely roots and herbage strow
Those rugged rocks where wild winds blow.
Hunger portrayed
Should I the crone describe to you,
My words forsooth need be but few.
Her body long, dry-boned, and bent.
With lack of food shows worn and spent;10630
Ragged her locks; blear eyes deep-set;
Face livid; lips, so thin, they let
Long teeth protrude; her wrinkled skin
Scarce hides the wretched bones wherein
Nor sap nor marrow flows, while she
For belly hath a cavity.
And not more flesh, as I opine.
Hangs on her dugs than on her chine.
Her knees resemble jagged points10640
Of rock, and all her finger joints
Rude knots deform; such misery lean
Holds her in grip. And ne’er, I ween,
Doth Ceres, foison’s Goddess, come
Anigh this heaven-forgotten home;
Nor doth Triptolemus e’er fly
His dragons through this sunless sky,
For Destiny decrees that ne’er
Shall here be joined that welcome pair.
The fruitful Goddess could not dwell
With Famine in her dreary hell.10650
For foison can in nowise be
Allied with direful Poverty.
But she it is, forsooth, will lead
You on to curst estate of need
Hunger and Poverty
If you through slothfulness once get
Your feet within her close-meshed net,
And unto Poverty’s dim den
A man as surely cometh when
That path he takes, as though he trod
This road, of which I guard the sod;10660
For men of idle life and base
Soon meet the beldame face to face.
And if you deem that well ’twill suit
Your turn to follow out the route
Towards treacherous Poverty accurst
In hope thereby the gates to burst
Of this strong fort, you easily
May fail. But Hunger, credit me,
Will be your fellow and bedmate
Soon as you fall to poor estate,10670
For better Poverty by heart
The road knows than by parchment chart.
And wretched Hunger doth expend
Such pains and carefulness to tend
Her dam (for though she loves her not,
Yet through her only hath she got
Wherewith to live, though she herself
Is naked, and devoid of pelf).
That ever comes she day by day,
And sits beside her in the way,10680
And kisseth her with much misease.
Theft’s ear she suddenly doth seize,
And wakes him if she sees him sleep,
Inclines her towards him in her deep
Distress, consulting how they may
By some means Hunger’s pangs allay.
Faint-Heart with Hunger doth agree,
Who of the rope thinks tremblingly,
And on her body every hair
Stends stiff and straight with mortal fear10690
And dread, lest Theft, her child, amain
Red-handed in the deed be ta’en.
By this path seek then not to go.
But find some other road, for lo!
If you should persevere to choose
This way, you all your wealth must lose,
And have not served me so that I
Should love you unreservedly.
The Lover speaks to Richesse.
Lady, I swear by God above
That gladly would I win your love,10700
And by your grace would fain essay
Along your path to make my way.
And rescue from his durance dire
Fair-Welcome—grant my one desire.
Richesse.
Richesse warns the Lover
I understand, quoth she, that all
Your store of wood both great and small
You’ve sold not, but one stick kept back;
’Tis well, and ne’er the world will lack
Of folly till men rise above
The thraldom known to fools as love,10710
But each who in this madness lies,
Deems himself natheless wondrous wise.
The madness of lovers
’Tis foolishness to call that life
Which is but fury, rage and strife.
Reason saw well your folly, but
To all her wisdom did you shut
Your ears, and madly you deceived
Yourself when nowise you believed
Her words. Before Dame Reason came.
No power could you from Love reclaim,10720
And now, forsooth, you still despise
My words, since Love alone you prize.
From lovers gain I small esteem,
Meseemeth that alone they dream
Of scattering wide my goods, but whence
Can come the wealth that fools dispense.
When, slaves to Love, they play his game?
That rede you, in the devil’s name!
But hence, and leave me here in peace.
The Lover.
I saw ’twere well my prayers to cease,10730
And sadly thence betook my way.
But, though I went, with her did stay
Her friend arrayed in raiment rich.
I took a path, scarce noting which,
Across that close past all compare,
Filled with delights most heavenly fair,.
The tale whereof ye erst have heard.
But now, alas! no more it stirred
Joy in my heart. I dreamed alone
What manner way might best be done10740
That service whereto I was bound.
Not of freewill would I be found
False to my word and solemn oath,
And, into crime so base, were loth
To be betrayed. My heart was filled
With thought of that my friend instilled
Therein with so great care: That I
By every mode and means should try
To honour Evil-Tongue, nor swerve
From his advice to please and serve10750
My cruel foes.
The Lover’s perplexities
Should I get aught
Of thanks thereby? That knew I nought,
Yet wist I not what else to do,
Not daring to approach unto
The enclosure, as I quickly should
If I but wrought the thing I would.
And thus, God knows, did I debate
These doubts, with conscience desolate.
For one course duty sternly bid,
The while another thing I did,10760
And so towards the course of right
A traitor was I (though despite
Of sore temptation up till now
Had I been faithful), and did throw
My lot with treason, seen I could
No other way attain that good
My being longed for—I who ne’er
Ere this the cloak of leasings ware.