The Canterbury Tales · The Merchant’s Tale · The Tale 2746 (2/4)

High fantasy and curious business

From day to day gan in the soul impress2834

Of January about his marriáge

Many a fair shape, and many a fair viságe

There passed through his heartë night by night.

As whoso took a mirror polish’d bright,

And set it in a common market-place,

Then should he see many a figure pace

By his mirrór; and in the samë wise

Gan January in his thought devise

Of maidens, which that dweltë him beside:

He wistë not where that he might abide.2835

For if that one had beauty in her face,

Another stood so in the people’s grace

For her sadness2836 and her benignity,

That of the people greatest voice had she:

And some were rich and had a baddë name.

But natheless, betwixt earnest and game,

He at the last appointed him on one,

And let all others from his heartë gon,

And chose her of his own authority;

For love is blind all day, and may not see.

And when that he was into bed y-brought,

He pourtray’d in his heart and in his thought

Her freshë beauty, and her agë tender,

Her middle small, her armës long and slender,

Her wisë governance, her gentleness,

Her womanly bearíng, and her sadnéss.2837

And when that he on her was condescended,2838

He thought his choicë might not be amended;

For when that he himself concluded had,

He thought each other mannë’s wit so bad,

That impossíble it werë to reply

Against his choice; this was his fantasy.

His friendës sent he to, at his instánce,

And prayed them to do him that pleasánce,

That hastily they would unto him come;

He would abridge their labour all and some:

Needed no more for them to go nor ride,2839

He was appointed where he would abide.2840

Placebo came, and eke his friendës soon,

And alderfirst2841 he bade them all a boon,2842

That none of them no arguments would make

Against the purpose that he had y-take:

Which purpose was pleasánt to God, said he,

And very ground of his prosperity.

He said, there was a maiden in the town,

Which that of beauty haddë great renown;

All2843 were it so she were of small degree,

Sufficed him her youth and her beautý;

Which maid, he said, he would have to his wife,

To lead in ease and holiness his life;

And thanked God, that he might have her all,

That no wight with his blissë partë2844 shall;

And prayed them to labour in this need,

And shape that he failë not to speed:

For then, he said, his spirit was at ease.

“Then is,” quoth he, “nothing may me displease,

Save one thing pricketh in my conscience,

The which I will rehearse in your presénce.

I have,” quoth he, “heard said, full yore2845 ago,

There may no man have perfect blisses two,

This is to say, on earth and eke in heaven.

For though he keep him from the sinnës seven,

And eke from every branch of thilkë tree,2846

Yet is there so perfect felicity,

And so great ease and lust,2847 in marriáge,

That ev’r I am aghast,2848 now in mine age

That I shall head now so merry a life,

So delicate, withoutë woe or strife,

That I shall have mine heav’n on earthë here.

For since that very heav’n is bought so dear,

With tribulatión and great penánce,

How should I then, living in such pleasánce

As allë wedded men do with their wivës,

Come to the bliss where Christ etern on live is?2849

This is my dread;2850 and ye, my brethren tway,

Assoilë2851 me this question, I you pray.”

Justinus, which that hated his follý,

Answér’d anon right in his japery;2852

And, for he would his longë tale abridge,

He wouldë no authority2853 allege,

But saidë; “Sir, so there be none obstácle

Other than this, God of his high mirácle,

And of his mercy, may so for you wirch,2854

That, ere ye have your rights of holy church,

Ye may repent of wedded mannë’s life,

In which ye say there is no woe nor strife:

And ellës God forbid, but if2855 he sent

A wedded man his grace him to repent

Well often, rather than a single man.

And therefore, Sir, the bestë rede I can,2856

Despair you not, but have in your memóry,

Paráventure she may be your purgatóry;

She may be Goddë’s means, and Goddë’s whip;

And then your soul shall up to heaven skip

Swifter than doth an arrow from a bow.

I hope to God hereafter ye shall know

That there is none so great felicity

In marriáge, nor ever more shall be,

That you shall let2857 of your salvatión;

So that ye use, as skill is and reasón,

The lustës2858 of your wife attemperly,2859

And that ye please her not too amorously,

And that ye keep you eke from other sin.

My tale is done, for my wit is but thin.

Be not aghast2860 hereof, my brother dear,

But let us waden out of this mattére,

The Wife of Bath, if ye have understand,

Of marriáge, which ye have now in hand,

Declared hath full well in little space;

Fare ye now well, God have you in his grace.”

And with this word this Justin’ and his brother

Have ta’en their leave, and each of them of other.

And when they saw that it must needës be,

They wroughtë so, by sleight and wise treatý,

That she, this maiden, which that Maius hight,2861

As hastily as ever that she might,

Shall wedded be unto this Januáry.

I trow it were too longë you to tarry,

If I told you of every script and band2862

By which she was feoffed in his hand;

Or for to reckon of her rich array.

But finally y-comen is the day

That to the churchë bothë be they went,

For to receive the holy sacrament,

Forth came the priest, with stole about his neck,

And bade her be like Sarah and Rebecc’

In wisdom and in truth of marriáge;

And said his orisons, as is uságe,

And crouched2863 them, and bade2864 God should them bless,

And made all sicker2865 enough with holiness.

Thus be they wedded with solemnity;

And at the feastë sat both he and she,

With other worthy folk, upon the dais.

All full of joy and bliss is the paláce,

And full of instruments, and of vitáille,

The mostë dainteous2866 of all Itále.

Before them stood such instruments of soun’,

That Orpheus, nor of Thebes Amphioún,

Ne madë never such a melody.

At every course came in loud minstrelsy,

That never Joab trumped for to hear,

Nor he, Theodomas, yet half so clear

At Thebes, when the city was in doubt.

Bacchus the wine them skinked2867 all about.

And Venus laughed upon every wight

(For January was become her knight,

And wouldë both assayë his couráge

In liberty, and eke in marriáge),

And with her firebrand in her hand about

Danced before the bride and all the rout.

And certainly I dare right well say this,

Hyméneus, that god of wedding is,

Saw never his life so merry a wedded man.

Hold thou thy peace, thou poet Marcian,2868

That writest us that ilkë2869 wedding merry

Of her Philology and him Mercúry,

And of the songës that the Muses sung;

Too small is both thy pen, and eke thy tongue,

For to describen of this marriáge.

When tender youth hath wedded stooping age,

There is such mirth that it may not be writ;

Assay it yourëself, then may ye wit2870

If that I lie or no in this mattére.

Maius, that sat with so benign a cheer,2871

Her to behold it seemed faërie;

Queen Esther never look’d with such an eye

On Assuere, so meek a look had she;

I may you not devise all her beauty;

But thus much of her beauty tell I may,

That she was hike the bright morrow of May

Full filled of all beauty and pleasánce.

This January is ravish’d in a trance,

At every time he looked in her face;

But in his heart he gan her to menace,

That he that night in armës would her strain

Harder than ever Paris did Heléne.

But natheless yet had he great pitý

That thilkë night offendë her must he,

And thought, “Alas, O tender creatúre,

Now wouldë God ye mightë well endure

All my couráge, it is so sharp and keen;

I am aghast2872 ye shall it not sustene.

But God forbid that I did all my might.

Now wouldë God that it were waxen night,

And that the night would lasten evermo’.

I would that all this people were y-go.”2873

And finally he did all his laboúr,

As he best mightë, saving his honoúr,

To haste them from the meat in subtle wise.

The timë came that reason was to rise;

And after that men dance, and drinkë fast,

And spices all about the house they cast,

And full of joy and bliss is every man,

All but a squire, that hightë Damian,

Who carv’d before the knight full many a day;

He was so ravish’d on his lady May,

That for the very pain he was nigh wood;2874

Almost he swelt2875 and swooned where he stood,

So sore had Venus hurt him with her brand,

As that she bare it dancing in her hand.

And to his bed he went him hastily;

No more of him as at this time speak I;

But there I let him weep enough and plain,2876

Till freshë May will rue upon his pain.

O perilous fire, that in the bedstraw breedeth!

O foe familiar,2877 that his service bedeth

O servant traitor, O false homely hewe,2879

Like to the adder in bosom shy untrue,

God shield us allë from your acquaintánce!

O January, drunken in pleasánce

Of marriage, see how thy Damian,

Thine owen squier and thy boren2880 man,

Intendeth for to do thee villainy:2881

God grantë thee thine homely foe2882 t’ espy.

For in this world is no worse pestilence

Than homely foe, all day in thy presénce.

Performed hath the sun his arc diurn,2883

No longer may the body of him sojourn

On the horizon, in that latitude:

Night with his mantle, that is dark and rude,

Gan overspread the hemisphere about:

For which departed is this lusty rout2884

From January, with thank on every side.

Home to their houses lustily they ride,

Where as they do their thingës as them lest,

And when they see their time they go to rest.

Soon after that this hasty2885 Januáry

Will go to bed, he will no longer tarry.

He drankë hippocras, clarre,2886 and vernage2887

Of spices hot, to increase his couráge;

And many a lectuary had he full fine,

Such as the cursed monk Dan Constantine2888

Hath written in his book de Coitu;

To eat them all he would nothing eschew:

And to his privy friendës thus said he:

“For Goddë’s love, as soon as it may be,

Let voiden all this house in courteous wise.”

And they have done right as he will devise.

Men drinken, and the travers2889 draw anon;

The bride is brought to bed as still as stone;

And when the bed was with the priest y-bless’d,

Out of the chamber every wight him dress’d,

And January hath fast in arms y-take

His freshë May, his paradise, his make.2890

He lulled her, he kissed her full oft;

With thickë bristles of his beard unsoft,

Like to the skin of houndfish,2891 sharp as brere2892

(For he was shav’n all new in his mannére),

He rubbed her upon her tender face,

And saidë thus; “Alas! I must trespace

To you, my spouse, and you greatly offend,

Ere timë come that I will down descend.

But natheless consider this,” quoth he,

“There is no workman, whatsoe’er he be,

That may both workë well and hastily:

This will be done at leisure perfectly.

It is no force2893 how longë that we play;

In true wedlock coupled be we tway;

And blessed be the yoke that we be in,

For in our actës may there be no sin.

A man may do no sinnë with his wife,

Nor hurt himselfë with his owen knife;

For we have leave to play us by the law.”

Thus labour’d he, till that the day gan daw,

And then he took a sop in fine clarré,

And upright in his beddë then sat he.

And after that he sang full loud and clear,

And kiss’d his wife, and madë wanton cheer.

He was all coltish, full of ragerie2894

And full of jargon as a flecked pie.

The slackë skin about his neckë shaked,

While that he sang, so chanted he and craked.2895

But God wot what that May thought in her heart,

When she him saw up sitting in his shirt

In his nightcap, and with his neckë lean:

She praised not his playing worth a bean.

Then said he thus; “My restë will I take

Now day is come, I may no longer wake;

And down he laid his head and slept till prime.

And afterward, when that he saw his time,

Up rosë January, but freshë May

Heldë her chamber till the fourthë day,

As usage is of wivës for the best.

For every labour some time must have rest,

Or ellës longë may he not endure;

This is to say, no life of creature,

Be it of fish, or bird, or beast, or man.

Now will I speak of woeful Damian,

That languisheth for love, as ye shall hear;

Therefore I speak to him in this mannére.

I say. “O silly Damian, alas!

Answér to this demand, as in this case,

How shalt thou to thy lady, freshë May,

Tellë thy woe? She will alway say nay;

Eke if thou speak, she will thy woe bewray;2896

God be thine help, I can no better say.

This sickë Damian in Venus’ fire

So burned that he diëd for desire;

For which he put his life in áventure,2897

No longer might he in this wise endure;

But privily a penner2898 gan he borrow,

And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow,

In manner of a cómplaint or a lay,

Unto his fairë freshë lady May.

And in a purse of silk, hung on his shirt,

He hath it put, and laid it at his heart.

The moonë, that at noon was thilkë2899 day

That January had wedded freshë May,

In ten of Taure, was into Cancer glided;2900

So long had Maius in her chamber abided,

As custom is unto these nobles all.

A bridë shall not eaten in the hall

Till dayës four, or three days at the least,

Y-passed be; then let her go to feast.

The fourthë day complete from noon to noon,

When that the highë massë was y-done,

In hallë sat this January, and May,

As fresh as is the brightë summer’s day.

And so befell, how that this goodë man

Remember’d him upon this Damian.

And saidë; “Saint Marý, how may this be,

That Damian attendeth not to me?

Is he aye sick? or how may this betide?”

His squiërs, which that stoodë there beside,

Excused him, because of his sickness,

Which letted2901 him to do his business:

None other causë mightë make him tarry.

“That me forthinketh,”2902 quoth this January,

“He is a gentle squiër, by my truth;

If that he died, it were great harm and ruth.

He is as wise, as díscreet, and secré,2903

As any man I know of his degree,

And thereto manly and eke serviceáble,

And for to be a thrifty man right able.

But after meat, as soon as ever I may

I will myself visit him, and eke May,

To do him all the comfort that I can.”

And for that word him blessed every man,

That of his bounty and his gentleness

He wouldë so comfórten in sickness

His squiër, for it was a gentle deed.