1386

THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN

by Geoffrey Chaucer

Prologue

A THOUSAND times I have heard say that in heaven is joy and in hell pain; and I grant well that it be so. Nevertheless, well I wot this, that there is none dwelling in this land who has been in either hell or heaven, or who can know of them in any other wise than as he has heard tell or found it written, for none can put his knowledge to the assay. But God forbid but men should believe far more than they have seen with their eyes! A man shall not deem all things false because he has not beheld them of long time. God wot, a thing is none the less true though every wight cannot see it. Even Bernard the monk saw not all things, perdy!

Then in all reason must we give credence to these books, through which olden things be kept in mind, and to the instruction of these sages of old time, and believe on these old, approved histories of holiness, of kingdoms, of victories, of love, hate, and other sundry things which I cannot now rehearse. And were old books all gone, then were the key of remembrance lost. Well ought we then to believe old books, where there is none other test by experience.

As for me, though my wit be little, I delight to read in books and in mine heart revere them. In them I have such joy and faith, that there is scarce any sport to draw me from my books, unless it be some festival or else the lovely time of May; but when I hear the little birds singing, and when the flowers begin to put forth, then farewell my studies for that season!

Now I have eke this liking, that of all the flowers in the meadow I most love those white and red flowers which men in our town call daisies. To them I have such affection, as I have said, that when May is come, no day dawns upon me in my bed, but I am up and walking in the mead to see these flowers opening to the sun when it rises, in the bright morn, and through the long day thus I walk in the green. And when the sun draws toward the west, then they close and betake them to slumber till the morrow when the day comes- so sore they fear the night. This daisy, flower of all flowers, filled with all excellence and honor, ever and alike fair and lusty of hue, fresh in winter as well as in summer, fain would I praise it if aright I could. But woe is me, for it lies not in my power! For well I wot that folk have reaped the field of poesy before me and have garnered the corn. I come after, gleaning here and there, and am right glad if perchance I find an ear of any goodly words which they have left behind. And if I chance to rehearse again what they have said in their lusty songs, I hope that they will not be ill-pleased, since all is said in furthering and worship of them who are followers of either the leaf or flower. For trust well, I have not undertaken to sing in honor of the leaf against the flower, or of the flower against the leaf, any more than of the corn against the shock. For as to me, neither is dearer; as yet I am retained by neither. I know not who serves the leaf, who the flower; that is no wise the object of my labor. For this work is all drawn out of another tun, of ancient story, ere any such strife was.

But why I spake of giving credence to old books and revering them, is that men should believe authorities in all things wherein there lies none other means of proof. For mine intent is, ere I go from you, to make known in English the naked text of many a history or many a tale, even as authors tell them. Believe them if you list!

When the month of May was almost past, and I had roamed all the summer's day over the green meadow of which I have told you to gaze upon the fresh daisy, and when the sun out of the south drew towards the west, and the flower was closed and gone to sleep, for darkness of the night which she feared, I sped me full swiftly home to mine house; and in a little shady bower that I have, newly embanked with fresh-cut turves, I bade folk lay my couch, and flowers to be strewn thereon, for joy of the new summer. When I had laid me down and closed my eyes, I fell asleep within an hour.

Then I dreamed that I was in the meadow, and was roaming about to see that flower, even as you have heard me tell. Fair was this meadow, methought, all variegated with sweet flowers. No herbs or trees or spicy gums could compare with it; for it utterly surpassed all odors, and eke all flowers for rich beauty. The earth had forgot his poor estate of winter, which had made him naked and deject and with the sword of cold had smitten him so sore. Now the mild sun had relieved all that, and clothed him in green all afresh. Rejoicing in the season, the little birds that had escaped the snare and the net mocked the fowler who had affrighted them in winter and destroyed their brood, and eased their hearts to sing of him in scorn, and to flout the foul churl who for his covetousness had betrayed them with his sophistries. This was their song, 'We defy the fowler!' On the branches some sang clear lays of love and spring, that it was a joy to listen, in honor and praise of their mates, and for the new, joyous summer; they sang, 'Blessed be Saint Valentine! For upon his day I chose you, my dear heart, and never have I repented.' And then they joined their beaks, and they paid honor and tenderness to each other, and then did other ceremonies right pleasing to love and nature.

I gave myself to hearing their song (for I dreamed I understood their meaning); till at last a lark sang on high. Quoth she, 'I see the mighty god of love! Lo yonder he comes! I see his wings spread!' Then I looked along the meadow and saw him come, leading by the hand a lady clothed in a royal habit of green. She had a net of gold around her hair, and over that a white crown with many flowers; for all the world even as the flower of the daisy is crowned with little white leaves, such were the flowers of her white crown, for it was made all of one fine orient pearl; wherefore the white crown above the green, with the golden ornament in her hair, made her appear like a daisy.