The result was a long and none too amiable argument between the two young gentlemen, in which Palamon maintained that he saw her first and that Arcite was therefore in honor bound to banish all thought of her from his mind, while Arcite took the ground that love has nothing to do with law or logic and declared that he would win Emelie if he could in spite of Palamon. The best friend of Duke Theseus was Duke Perotheus, who "loved wel Arcite." At the prayer of Perotheus, Theseus finally released Arcite on condition that, if he were ever caught in Attica, he with " a swerd should lose his heed." Far from being pleased with these arrangements, Arcite, because he could no longer see Emelie, declared that he must henceforth dwelle Palamon, on the other hand, was so fearful that his rival would come back with an army and win Emelie that the “grete tour resowneth of his yolling and clamour." Arcite, indeed, after his return to Thebes, sorrowed to such an extent that he waxed lean and dry as any shaft. When he endured had a year or two this cruel torment, one day he caught a great myrour “And saugh that changed was al his colour." He therefore ventured to go back under the name of Philostrate to Athens, where he had the good fortune to obtain service as page of the chamber of Emelie the bright. So well did he acquit himself in this capacity that Theseus made him squire, after a year or two, of his own chamber, and "three year in this wise his life he led." Palamon meantime had languished seven years in prison. In the seventh year in May, the third night soon after midnight, by help of a friend, however, he broke prison, and before day had hidden himself in a wood near Athens. When morning came, "The busy larke, messager of day, Arcite, enchanted by the fairness of the day, rode out to do his observance to May, and loud he sang "against the sone-scheene," "May, with al thin floures and thy greene, Welcom be thou, wel faire freissche May." But, as your lover is "now up, now doun, as boket in a welle," his joy was shortly followed by melancholy. He sat him down, as luck would have it, directly in front of the bushes where Palamon had hidden himself and cried: "Ye slen me with your eyhen, Emelye!" 66 This was too much for Palamon, who “quook for ire" and started up as he were mad out of the bushes thick, crying Arcite, false traitor wikke! The upshot of the encounter was that they agreed the next day to fight it out there in the wood; and in the meantime, Arcite, like the true knight that he was, brought his foe meat and drink and cloth for his bedding. When they met Palamon was in his fighting like a mad lion and like a cruel tiger was Arcite; but, as they contended up to their ankles in blood, their contest was interrupted by Duke Theseus, who, with Ipolita and Emelie, had ridden forth to hunt. On being discovered Palamon begged him to give neither of them mercy or refuge, crying "Slay me first, for sacred charity, but slay my fellow, too, as well as me, or slay him first, for this is Arcite." At this Theseus waxed mightily wroth; but the queen, for very womanhood, began to weep, and so did Emelie, whereupon, as pity runneth soon in gentle heart, aslaked was his mood, and he said: 66 The god of love, a! benedicite, How mighty and how great a lord is he! You know yourself that Emelie may not wed two. Therefore this day fifty weeks each of you shall bring a hundred knights to Athens, and the winner of the combat which we shall hold between them shall have Emelie to wife." Both of the lovers acquiesced joyfully in this decision and set out to enlist knights for the tournament, while Theseus busied himself in building a theatre a mile about, walled of stone, and dyched all about. Eastward above the gate there were an oratory and an altar in worship of Venus, westward such another in mind and memory of Mars, and northward in a turret on the walls a third in honor of Diana. At the appointed time, for love and for increase of chivalry, there came to Athens with the rivals a great company of noble warriors. Two hours before daybreak, on the morning set for the contest, Palamon repaired to the east gate and prayed to Venus that he might win Emelie; the goddess gave a sign that assured him that his prayer was granted. At the third hour up rose the sun and up rose Emelie, who at once went to the temple of Diana and begged the goddess that she might remain forever unwed, but was assured that she must marry one of her lovers, which the goddess would not tell. At the fourth hour Arcite betook himself to Mars, who assured him that he should be victorious. Thereupon up rose in heaven such great strife between Venus, the goddess of love, and Mars, the stern god army-potent, that Jupiter was busy it to stent, until Saturn put an end to it by declaring that he knew a way to give Palamon his lady and yet allow Arcite to win the tournament. To make a long story short, though Palamon performed prodigies of valor in the combat, he wa finally captured and adjudged loser; but, while Arcite was riding victorious about the lists, Saturn caused a fire infernal to frighten his horse, he was thrown violently, and so injured that, after lingering some days, he expired. Theseus, who loved him dearly, sought to comfort himself with this reflection: 66 This world nys but a thurghfare ful of woe, However, after he had caused the remains to be burned with great pomp, he called Palamon and Emelie to him, and commanded them to wed, justi fying his decision on the ground that it is wisdom to maken vertu of necessite." "And thus with blys and eek with melodye The Miller tells a story in which the chief character, a carpenter, plays an unheroic part, at which none of the pilgrims grieves except Osewald the Reeve, who is himself a carpenter. To get even, he follows with a tale about a miller who was made equally ridiculous. The Coke's story has been made familiar to everybody by Shakespeare's "As You Like It," but in all probability it was not written by Chaucer. The first night was spent at Dartford, 14 miles from London. They slept late, and started again at ten o'clock, Harry Bailey distinguishing himself by swearing at everything. In fact, he rarely opens his mouth at all without letting fall several new oaths. The first tale of the second day is told by the Man of Lawe, who prefixes his remarks by the declaration that all the good stories have been told already by one Geoffrey Chaucer. His story is the Tale of Constance, only daughter of the Roman Emperor Tiberius Constantine, who converted the people of Barbary and married the Sultan on condition that he become a Christian. Shortly after, the Sultan's mother killed her son at a banquet, and set Constance, adrift on the sea. Carried to Britain, she was accused of murder, saved by her piety, and married to the King. The machinations of a second malicious queen-mother caused her, in the absence of her husband, to be set adrift a second time, along with her infant son. Picked up by a Roman fleet, she was restored first to her father, and finally to her husband, who had put his unnatural mother to death on returning home. The Shipman's Tale, which is borrowed from Boccaccio, comes next; and it, in turn, is followed by that of the Prioresse, the legend of Hugh of Lincoln, a little " clergioun," killed by the Jews in Asia. The child when living had loved the Virgin, who appeared to it as it was dying and put a grain under its tongue, so that still, though dead, it kept singing, O Alma Redemptoris Mater. Harry Bailey, upon the completion of this tale, calls upon Chaucer for something. The poet responds with the "Rime of Sir Thopas" which starts out as a playful burlesque on the endless rhyming romances so popular at that time. Thirty-three stanzas exhaust Harry Bailey's patience to such an extent that he cries out in a rage, "Mine eres aken for thy drasty speche," and demands some From an old manuscript in the University Library, Cambridge The courtesy of the Macmillan Company, from "English Literature, An Illustrated Record" He good thing in prose. Chaucer, however, has his revenge. naturedly replies that he will tell a "litel thing in prose." This "litel thing" is the tale of Melibœus, a production 70 pages long and as dry as an old-fashioned country parson's sermon on a bright May morning, when the birds are singing out of doors. As Chaucer finishes they are approaching Rochester, 30 miles from London. The Monk's tale follows. Harry wants a story of hunting, but he gets an account of various tragedies-Lucifer, Adam, Samson, Nebuchadnezzar, Balthazar, Hercules, Zenobia, Nero, Holofernes, Antiochus, Alexander, Cæsar, Croesus, and about a dozen more. The knight objects; also the host. The Nonnes Preeste is then called upon to tell something merry. He responds with one of the finest tales in the collection, the story of Chanticlere and Daun Russel the Fox. The description of the hero is a careful study in color: Chanticlere, like other husbands, discourses learnedly and somewhat disingenuously to his wife Dame Pertelote, even going so far in the impudence born of superior classical training to say to her: 66 'For, al so siker as In principio Mulier est hominis confusio; Madame, the sentence of this Latyn is, For all his learning, however, he and his wives are real barnyard "He lokith as it were a grim lioun; And on his toon he rometh up and doun; "Faire in the sond, to bathe her merily, Lith Pertelote, and alle hir sustres by, Upon this happy scene, like Satan into Paradise, came Daun Russel the Fox. Unlike Satan, however, he chose to beguile the husband rather than the wife, praising his heavenly voice until, ravished |