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grimoiresontape · 6 years ago

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Collyries: Cosmetics and Magical Gazing

This is a blog post about 'collyries', which I don't feel terribly bad about referring to as early modern magical cosmetics. I have frequent misgivings when Cool-Trying Historians attempt to excite interest in their topic by drawing clunky comparisons to some modern phenomenon ("hey fellow kids did you know books were, like, the iPads of medieval monastries?!") but, the thing is, these sorcerous 'confections' are fully designed to adorn the visage and literally empower and amplify the magic which comes out of faces. Gazing. Ensorcelling words. Enchanting breath. The evil eye. The look of love.

"Magical make-up" seems especially fair when we consider the mythic origins of cosmetics. In the Apocryphal Enochic materials, a particular fallen angel of the Grigori – the Watchers – is named as the explicit teacher of the violent and deceptive secrets of both weapons and cosmetics.

"And Azazel taught men to make swords and knives and shields and breastplates; and made known to them the metals [of the earth] and the art of working them; and bracelets and ornaments; and the use of antimony and the beautifying of the eyelids; and all kinds of costly stones and all colouring tinctures. And there arose much godlessness, and they committed fornication, and they were led astray and became corrupt in all their ways." [Book of Enoch 8:1–3a]

This tutelary patron, Azazel, is blamed fairly extensively by the Enochic God: ‘The whole earth has been corrupted through the works that were taught by Azazel: to him ascribe all sin.’ [Book of Enoch 2:8] Quite the reference for a curriculum vitae there.

So, 'collyries': a word describing magical preparations applied to the face, most typically the eyes. Thus, when Renaissance occult philosopher Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa warns of the power of sorcerous 'bindings', he offers some initial context for how these salves, pastes, and powders were considered:

'Now there are such kind of bindings as these made by Sorceries, Collyries, Unguents, love potions, by binding to, and hanging up of things, by rings, by charmes, by strong imaginations, and passions, by images, and characters, by inchantments, and imprecations, by lights, by sound, by numbers, by words, and names, invocations, sacrifices, by swearing, conjuring, consecrations, devotions, and by divers superstitions, and observations, and such like.'

Practically speaking, these collyries could come in the form of salves or washes. I am going to draw a line - however arbitrary - between the magic of beautifying or buffing oneself with compounds, and using these specialised magical preparations to imbue a 'magical expression' with greater potency. The former are employed to enchant oneself, whereas the latter I would argue enchant what one is throwing out, from evil side-eye to come hither glances. For instance, beyond this disclaimer, we will not consider the use of belladonna eye-drops - to widen the pupils and thus beautify the 'good lady' using them - despite these arguably being collyries, because they do not help with the "launching outwards" of a particular magical working, as much as they do glamour oneself. Likewise, the term 'collyrium' is sometimes used in medical herbalism to denote health-giving eye-washes and salves. I would also qualify these uses as internal 'buffs' like beautifying cosmetics. Now, this internal/external definitional divine falls apart in practice, I accept. If one is intending to stir the passions of lust in someone at a bar, we have two modes of looking: what we look like and how we look at them. For now though, if only for an artificial simplicity's sake (and brevity), I am going to concentrate on the latter. To reiterate for the herbalists: collyries can of course be employed to bolster health or affect one's physickal constituency, but for now we will content ourselves to consider those used to affect magical expression, especially gazing.

So how did such sorcerous eyeshadows and lipsticks work? In order to answer this we need to take a foray into understanding one of the underlying medical, occult, and cosmological models of the pre-modern magic: humoural theory.

But What Even Are A Humourals Theory Humoural theory formed the central operative European medical model for (at least) one and a half millennia, surviving from ancient Greece well into the early modern period. It was simply one of the most historically embedded, best regarded and most widely used medical models in the early modern period. It charted typologies of personality and behavioural proclivities of emotional expression, and indeed emotional experience. As Nogah Arikha puts it, ‘humoural theory explained most things about a person’s character, psychology, medical history, tastes, appearance, and behaviour.’ [Nogah Arikha, Passions and Tempers: A History of the Humours (New York: Harper Collins, 2007), xvii] It is proper to consider humoural theory as a magical principle concerning the organisation of the organic naturally magical cosmos, for the humours were considered the biological corollaries of the four classical elements.

Humoural theory posited substances (literally, ‘moistures’) that ‘controlled the whole existence and behaviour of mankind, and, according to the manner in which they were combined, determined the character of the individual.’ [Raymond Klibansky, Erwin Panofsky, and Fritz Saxl, Saturn and Melancholy: Studies in the History of Natural Philosophy, Religion, and Art (Nendeln: Kraus reprint, 1979), p. 3] Moreover, they linked humans and their environment in that they ‘corresponded, it was held, to the cosmic elements and to the divisions of time’. [Klibansky, Panofsky, and Saxl, p. 3] These cosmic elements, these 'originall grounds of all corporeall things' are of course understood by an occult natural philosophy of what Agrippa calls 'elementated world'. [Heinrich Cornelius Agrippa, Three Books of Occult Philosophy (London, 1651), 8] These classical four elements were corresponded to the humours: choleric Fire, sanguine Air, phlegmatic Water, and melancholy Earth.

As a brief but important note, the sanguine humour was often called 'blood', but the term could be used to refer to the actual sanguine humour, to the gross carrier liquid of all humours (which is why phlebotomy was thought to void all deleterious humours not just the sanguine ones). Sanguinity could even on occasion refer to 'subtle' sanguine vapours or aerial spirits in the body. Crucially also 'seed' (both male and female) and breastmilk were considered forms of rarified blood. Semen, especially, ‘as Galen had explained, was concocted out of blood’’[ Arikha, p. 164-5. For more on seed and blood, see Lesel Dawson, Lovesickness and Gender in Early Modern English Literature (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), p. 25-6, 85-6, 165-6, 209] This resulted in a further level of association ‘that those that are of a sanguine Complexion, are generally very Amorous’. [James Ferrand, Erotomania or A Treatise Discoursing of the Essence, Causes, Symptomes, Prognosticks, and Cure of Love or Erotique Melancholy (Oxford, 1640), p. 141] There is a rule-of-thumb that dictates that, in a way, prior to the wider acceptance and application of Paracelsian ideas about the organs, that all medical pathology was the study of malfunctioning or 'wounded' blood.

Humoural theory worked with connections between physiological and psychological affectivity in an incorporated and ensouled mind-body subject. It offered discourses for the distempers of the passions to be just as important to physical as to mental health. After all, at least potentially, ‘passions distemper the body, loose the spirits, ingender the humors, and produce diseases’ - moreover, ‘inordinate passion, is [itself] a most sharpe and violent disease: always dangerous and deadly…’ [M.I. Abernethy, A Christian and Heavenly Treatise: containing Physicke for the Soule (London, 1622), p. 264] This was no mere complaint about hysteria: 'the idea that heightened passion causes diseases and even death was common wisdom.’ [Michael MacDonald, Mystical Bedlam: Madness, Anxiety, and Healing in Seventeenth Century England (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1981), p. 181.]

The elements and their humours were apprehended by occult philosophers and astrologers (when those even were distinct personages!) through the elemental 'Triplicities': the four elementally-based groupings of the twelve signs of the zodiac, as when we refer to Aries, Leo and Sagittarius as 'Fire signs'. This created a greater degree of specificity of the elements and humours as apprehended in time, as when the Sun passed through these as the belt of zodiac revolved over the course of a year. What was time after all, mused Proclus (and, crucially, quoted Agrippa), but the movement of the celestial bodies? The wandering stars of the seven classical planets were also afforded elemental and humoural identities and associations, adding to the nuance of astrological diagnosis of humoural imbalances, and indeed to the range of astrological magical interventions, to either down- or up-regulate the humours of oneself or others, to balance or imbalance.

Such planetary humouralism and humoural planetary magic survives fossilised in idiomatic and figurative language to this day: we speak of people as saturnine, or mercurial, or having a sunny disposition, or even of lunacy itself. Such humoural theory did not simply set stringent "personality types", it articulated proclivities to particular experience and expression of passions. As one seventeenth-century passion theorist phrased the relationship, 'Passions ingender Humors, and Humors breed Passions'. [Thomas Wright, The Passions of the Minde in Generall (London, 1601), p. 64.] Such was the passional-humoural feedback loop of expression and habituation: a hot-headed angry Martial person not only lived in an angry world, but made themselves more likely to become angrier more easily. As we shall see, by the porous or "leaky" early modern self, such a choleric feedback might even extend its influence through and beyond the body, breath and speech of the angry person to begin to innervate and galvanise the natural choler of 'elementated world' around them. The angry person makes their world angrier. A stray furious look here, a bitter word there. Ripples in the imaginal fields of affect and contagion.

Express Your Bad Self The power of the humours - like other occult virtues - could be stirred, gathered, directed and deployed through words and signifying representational images, even images conjured and fixated in the imagination. This was most easily performed with humours and passions by being somewhat predicated on concepts of plethora (excess): from ‘the common Proverbe, ex adundantia cordis os loquitur, from the abundance of the heart, the tongue speaketh’. [Wright, Passions, p. 78-79] One could not help venting humours and passions when one expressed oneself. This welling tide of humours motivates us to speak up or pull a face at all. Indeed, the ex-pressive as well as behavioural affectivity of the passions was founded on the notion of the impassioned ensouled mind-body complex producing and being subject to inordinate unbalancing excesses. Impassioned and passionate, one simply had to get the words out.

Facial expressions, and especially the eyes, were some of the primary means to read and diagnose impassioned states. Yet this very readability also made them an excellent means of transferring passions. The seductive glance conveys a magical image as potentially powerful as any Venusian talisman of a maid holding a comb and mirror. Not only was this because ‘the countenance is the Image of the same’ passion prompting and enacted by it, but due to the origins of affections in the soul; for ‘by the eyes as by a window, you may looke euen into the secret corners of the Soule: so that it was well sayde of Alexander that the eyes are the mirror or Looking-glasse of the Soule.’ [Helkiah Crooke, Mikrocosmographia: A Description of the Body of Man Together with the Controversies Thereto Belonging (London, 1615), p. 8-9] The eyes did not merely convey meaning, but affectivity: the signifier was also the signified. An angry look carried an affective seed of anger itself. Thus a magnifying glass could also be a mirror, and this sense of reflection has a deep occult significance, as the ‘Looking-glasse’ looked both ways. As ‘the Eyes wonder at a thing, they loue it, they desire it; they are the bewrayers of loue, anger, rage, mercie, reuenge: in a worde; The eyes are fitted and composed to all the affections of the minde; expressing the very Image thereof in such a manner’. [Crooke, Mikrocosmographia, p. 9. Emphasis added.] Again, “expression” was a literal as well as figurative term. To think of expressions in both behavioural and idiomatic light, malefic choleric expressions and their dangerous martial qualities are preserved in much modern idiom: the sharp tongue, bitter words, cutting remarks, seeing red, staring daggers.

Gaze Amplifiers A particular expression while gazing was not the only way to augment magically affective ‘overlooking’. The clearest example is that of ‘Collyries', magical salves to smear upon the eyes to magnify the effects of fascination. Here is Heinrich Agrippa on their potencies:

‘Collyries, and Unguents conveying the vertues of things Naturall, and Celestiall to our spirit, can multiply, transmute, transfigure and transform it accordingly, as also transpose those vertues which are in them into it, that so it cannot act only upon its own body, but also upon that which is neer it, and affect that by visible rayes charmes, and by touching it, with some like quality. For because our spirit is the subtile, pure lucid, airy, and unctuous vapour of the blood; it is therefore fit to make Collyries of the like vapours, which are more sutable to our spirit in substance, for then by reason of their likeness, they do the more stir up, attract, and transform the spirit. The like virtues have certain ointments and other confections.’ [Agrippa, Three Books of the Occult Philosophy, trans. 'JF' (London, 1651), p. 90]

Such 'Collyries' would be made from ‘the gall of a man’, which was the main depository of yellow bile, and thus powerful for strengthening choleric gazes. Consider the very phrase "having the gall": filling with fiery boldness. Such collyries could also be compounded from animal ingredients, such as ‘the blood of a lapwing, of a bat, and of a goat’. [Agrippa, Three Books, p. 134] These animal components were considered sources of appropriate occult virtue. One reason for this consideration was the idea that humours and passions were regulated by the rational faculties of the human soul, faculties that animals lacked. So the beasts of the earth were considered to express and even, in their use as spell components, enmatter unadulterated humours and passions. Raw feelings, to be marshalled and manipulated. Wolf parts were choleric, as their howling indicated. Cats were melancholy... as their howling also indicated. For more on this fascinating dimension to Shakespearean witches' brews, see Gail Kern Paster's 'Melancholy Cats, Lugged Bears, and Early Modern Cosmology: Reading Shakespeare's Psychological Materialism Across the Species Barrier', in Reading the Early Modern Emotions, edited by Paster, Katherine Rowe, and Mary Floyd-Wilson.

Now, I hope I do not need to state the importance of knowing the chemical and biological as well as magical affectivity of any materials you might chose to use in this manner. I do not wish to speak down to anyone by stating "do not rub random blood into your peepers". But, yknow, maybe don't. There are a wealth of herbs and other ingredients that contain the appropriate occult virtues to work as collyries that won't cause other problems. Consider adapting planetary correspondences for plant allies you already work: choleric humours respond to Solar and Martial virtues; phlegmatic humours to those of Venus and the Moon; jovial Jupiter is considered especially sanguine; and Saturn is well known as the ruler of melancholy. Again, to disclaim, I must strongly advice that if you are pregnant or might be pregnant, do not attempt any working, magical or medicinal, where you are taking herbs or other substances internally or through a mucous membrane like the eyes.

By these means of compounding humourally and passionally-charged materia, the humours expelled through the eyes and the passions expressed, vivified, and received were empowered and amplified by the virtues of these salves and eye-washes: for ‘such like passions also can magical confections induce, by suffumigations, by collyries, by unguents, by potions, by poisons, by lamps and lights, by looking-glasses, by images, enchantments, charms, sounds and music’. [Agrippa, Three Books, p. 135] Such magical eye-washes were not some half-baked tacked-on gimmick; they were as core a part of magical tool use as lamps, images, and incantations.

Yet amplifying the ejection of a sort of astral poison out of one's eyes was not the only use of such preparations. Agrippa goes onto to foreground the importance of sight and vision in terms of the all-too-real magic of the imagination:

'Now the sight, because it perceives more purely and clearly than the other senses, and fastening in us the marks of things more acutely and deeply, doth most of all and before others, agree with the phantastic spirit, as is apparent in dreams, when things seen do more often present themselves to us than things heard, or any thing coming under the other senses. Therefore, when collyries or eye-waters transform visual spirits, that spirit doth easily affect the imagination, which indeed being affected with divers species and forms, transmits the same by the spirit unto the outward sense of sight; by which occasion there is caused in it a perception of such species and forms in that manner, as if it were moved by external objects, that there seem to be seen terrible images and spirits and such like. So there are made collyries, making us forthwith to see the images of spirits in the air or elsewhere...' [Agrippa, Three Books, p. 134]

There is also a strong dimension by which collyries affected the imagination. For ‘when collyries transform visual spirits, that spirit doth easily affect the imagination’ either of oneself – in order to ‘make invocated spirits to be seen’ – or of others, in order to manipulate their senses and passions. (Those interested in magical preparations for seeing spirits might find this blog post compiling grimoiric instructions for such material useful.) These perceptual distortions of the magical gaze upon the overlooked’s imaginations could induce targets to ‘hear horrid, or delectable sounds’ making them ‘angry, and contend, nobody being present, and fear where there is no fear’. [Agrippa, Three Books, p. 134-5] Here occult passion manipulation is working directly on the imagination, through the inducement of impassioned hallucinatory states.

Lest this talk of imagination sound "too psychologising", we should bear in mind Agrippa is also clear that 'by divers rites, observations, ceremonies, religions and superstitions; all which shall be handled in their places. And not only by these kind of arts are passions, apparitions and images induced, but also things themselves, which are really changed and transfigured into divers forms...' The field-like qualities of the pre-modern magical imagination did not mean "it's all in your head". Rather, that something moving through your head (and heart!) - the tides of choleric boldness and anger, phlegmatic fear and hope, sanguine love and lust, and melancholy cogitation - flowed through us, into and out of the world, reminding and reanimating 'elementated' components of the responsive interconnected cosmos of their own natural magic. Nature itself could also be charmed, in this continually unfolding dance of attraction and rebuffing; the inhale and exhale of sympathia and antipathy expressing itself through the actions of a dancefloor or cast shade, variously as majestic and cutting as the turning celestial orbs spinning to the music of the spheres.

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zachwinthrop · 7 years ago

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@alexandraburton-x

an interminable spell had lapsed before alexandra had achieved her coveted look for the evening. she lauded her S O N S I E likeness in the mirror, sweeping pin – straight, auburn tresses over her shoulder regarding they way the pleated down the center of her back. light wash, threadbare denim swathed her curves, a simple ivory tank top, & ( i m p r e s s i v e ) leopard printed christian louboutins that reared her dainty stature by several inches. alexandra’s shoulders plucked gently, her reluctance to relegate the ensemble overwhelming her. with an hour now effete, she wandered through the deserted suite, pinching dregs of glass beneath the C R I M S O N soles of her swank pumps. she was unable to recollect the last time she’d been on an authentic date with him – or ever for that matter. had they truly been that secluded and detached from reality? thousands of miles from the comforts of a presumptuous los angeles, three years too late – their first amorous tryst. alex made note of the consideration, certain to plague him with it when necessary. she departed her F O R S A K E N suite, quietly entering the hall to be greeted by his handsome visage. ❝ oh my god, zach winthrop is that you? ❞ she taunted, quirking her fingers into the soft cotton material of his sweatshirt. ❝ where to mari? if alcohol isn’t a part of this plan, I’m going to petition for divorce. ❞

zach lounged upon the elevated chassis, iphone 8 ILLUMINATING his august countenance. he thumbed his own name into a search engine and watched as his screen became ( l i t t e r e d ) with a plethora of images situating him upon the steps of his private jet. he sucked his cheeks between is teeth, skim - reading speculations about where he could be headed. one article suggested he may be flying somewhere to record his fifth studio album. auric tinctures rolled. he hadn’t spent nearly enough time with alex yet to pen an entire albums worth of lyrics. he smirked, locking the phone. maybe their most recent exploits would earn him his first GRAMMY win. she was certainly the right type of cataclysmic muse that spurred critically acclaimed works. once close to an hour had passed, he emerged again before her hotel room, and she slipped out of the door. he dipped his head, a curt laugh burbling from his lips. ❝ stop speaking in french or we’ll never make it out the fucking hotel, ❞ he mewled, drawing her in for a brief lip - lock. the couple ( if you could label them such a thing ) advanced toward the elevator. he ushered her inside by the small of her back. ❝ oh, you wanna drink now? we haven’t even stepped foot outside yet. can’t take you anywhere. ❞

#gif chat

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aikipoet-blog · 6 years ago

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THE CANTERBURY TALES

A MINIMALIST TRANSLATION

Forrest Hainline

GENERAL PROLOGUE

1 When that April with his shower’s sweet

2 The drought of March has pierced to the root,

3 And bathed every vein in such liquor

4 Of which virtue engendered is the flower;

5 When Zephirus too with his sweet breath

6 Inspired has in every holt and heath

7 The tender crops, and the young sun

8 Has in the Ram his half course run,

9 And small fowls making melody,

10 That sleep all the night with open eye

11 (So pricks them Nature in their courage) :

12 Then long folk to go on pilgrimage

13 And palmers for to seek strange strands,

14 To foreign hallways, known in sundry lands;

15 And specially, from every shire's end

16 Of England, to Canterbury they wend,

17 The holy blissful martyr for to seek

18 That them has helped, when that they were sick.

19 Befell that in that season on a day,

20 In Southwerk at the Tabarad as I lay

21 Ready to go on my pilgrimage 22 To Canterbury with full devout courage,

23 At night was come into that hostelry

24 Well nine and twenty in a company 25 Of sundry folk, by adventure to fall

26 In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,

27 That toward Canterbury would ride.

28 The chambers and the stables were wide,

29 And well we were eased at best.

30 And shortly, when the sun was to rest,

31 So had I spoken with them everyone,

32 That I was of their fellowship anon,

33 And made forward early for to rise,

34 To take our way there as I you devise.

35 But nonetheless, while I have time and space,

36 Ere that I further in this tale pace,

37 Me thinks it according to reason,

38 To tell you all the condition

39 Of each of them, so as it seemed me,

40 And which they were, and of what degree,

41 And eek in what array that they were in;

42 And at a knight then will I first begin.

43 A knight there was, and that a worthy man

44 That from the time that he first began

45 To ride out, he loved chivalry,

46 Truth and honor, freedom and courtesy,

47 Full worthy was he in his lord's war,

48 And thereto had he ridden, no man as far,

49 As well in Christendom as in heatheness,

50 And ever honored for his worthiness.

51 At Alexander he was when it was won;

52 Full oft time he had the board begun

53 Above all nations in Prussia;

54 In Lithuania had he raised and in Russia,

55 No Christian man so oft of his degree;

56 In Grenada at the siege too had he be

57 Of Algezir, and ridden in Belmarie;

58 At Ayas was he and at Attalie, 59 When they were won, and in the Great Sea

60 At many a noble army had he be.

61 At mortal battles had he been fifteen,

62 And fought for our faith at Tlemcen

63 In lists thrice, and aye slain his foe.

64 This same worthy knight had been also

65 Sometime with the lord of Paletey

66 Against another heathen in Turkey:

67 And evermore he had a sovereign prize.

68 And though that he were worthy, he was wise,

69 And of his port as meek as is a maid.

70 He never yet any villainy said

71 In all of his life, unto no manner wight.

72 He was a very perfect, gentle knight.

73 But for to tell you of his array,

74 His horse was good, but he was not gay.

75 Of fustian he wore a gipon

76 All bespattered with his habergeon;

77 For he was lately come from his voyage,

78 And went for to do his pilgrimage.

79 With him there was his son, a young Squire,

80 A lover, and a lusty bachelor,

81 With locks curly as they were laid in press,

82 Of twenty year of age he was, I guess.

83 Of his stature he was of even length,

84 And wondrously delivered, and of great strength.

85 And he had been sometime in cavalry,

86 In Flanders, in Artois, and Picardy,

87 And born him well, as of so little space,

88 In hope to stand in his lady's grace.

89 Embroidered was he, as it were a meadow

90 All full of fresh flowers, white and red.

91 Singing he was, or fluting, all the day;

92 He was as fresh as is the month of May.

93 Short was his gown, with sleeves long and wide.

94 Well could he sit on horse, and fair ride.

95 He could songs make and well endite,

96 Joust and dance too, and well portray and write.

97 So hot he loved that by nighter-tale

98 He sleeps no more than doth a nightingale.

99 Courteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,

100 And carved before his father at the table.

101 A Yeoman had he, and servants no more

102 At that time, for he pleased to ride so; 103 And he was clad in coat and hood of green;

104 A sheaf of peacock arrows bright and keen

105 Under his belt he bore full thriftily;

106 Well could he dress his tackle yeomanly:

107 His arrows drooped not with feathers low;

108 And in his hand he bore a mighty bow.

109 A knot-head had he, with a brown visage.

110 Of woodcraft well could he all the usage.

111 Upon his arm he bore a gay bracer,

112 And by his side a sword and a buckler,

113 And on that other side a gay dagger,

114 Harnessed well, and sharp as point of spear;

115 A Christopher on his breast of silver sheen;

116 A horn he bore, the baldric was of green.

117 A forester he was, truly as I guess.

118 There was also a Nun, a Prioress,

119 That of her smiling was full simple and coy.

120 Her greatest oath was but by Saint Loy;

121 And she was called Madame Eglantine.

122 Full well she sang the service divine,

123 Intoned in her nose full seemly;

124 And French she spoke full fair and fetisly,

125 After the school of Stratford at the Bowe,

126 For French of Paris was to her unknow.

127 At meat well taught was she withal;

128 She let no morsel from her lips fall,

129 Nor wet her fingers in her sauce deep.

130 Well could she carry a morsel, and well keep,

131 That no drop would fall upon her breast.

132 In courtesy was set full much her lest.

133 Her over-lip wiped she so clean

134 That in her cup there was no farthing seen

135 Of grease, when she drunk had her draft.

136 Full seemly after her meat she raft,

137 And certainly she was of great disport,

138 And full pleasant, and amiable of port,

139 And pained her to counterfeit cheer

140 Of court, and be stately of manner

141 And to be held worthy of reverence.

142 But for to speak of her conscience,

143 She was so charitable and so piteous

144 She would weep, if that she saw a mouse

145 Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.

146 Of small hounds had she, that she fed

147 With roasted flesh, or milk and wastel-bread.

148 But sore wept she if one of them were dead,

149 Or if men smote it with a yard smart:

150 And all was conscience and tender heart.

151 Full seemly her wimple pinched was;

152 Her nose tretis, her eyes gray as glass;

153 Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red.

154 But certainly she had a fair forehead;

155 It was almost a span broad, I trow;

156 For hardily, she was not under grow.

157 Full fetis was her cloak, as I was ware.

158 Of small coral about her arm she bare

159 A pair of beads, gauded all with green,

160 And thereon hung a brooch of gold full sheen,

161 On which there was first writ a crowned A,

162 And after, amor vincit omnia.

163 Another nun with her had she,

164 That was her chaplain, and priests three.

165 A Monk there was, a fair for the mastery,

166 An outrider, that loved venery,

167 A manly man, to be an abbot able.

168 Full many a dainty horse had he in stable,

169 And when he rode, men might his bridle hear

170 Jingling in a whistling wind all clear

171 And too as loud as doth the chapel bell

172 There as this lord was keeper of the cell.

173 The rule of Saint Maure or of Saint Benedict -

174 Because that it was old and somewhat strict

175 This same monk let old things pass,

176 And held after the new world the space.

177 He gave not of that text a pulled hen,

178 That says that hunters be not holy men,

179 Nor that a monk, when he is reckless,

180 Is likened to a fish that is waterless -

181 This is to say, a monk out of his cloister.

182 But that text held he not worth an oyster;

183 And I said his opinion was good.

184 What should he study and make himself wood,

185 Upon a book in cloister always to pour,

186 Or swink with his hands, and labor,

187 As Austin bid? How shall the world be served?

188 Let Austin have his swink to him reserved!

189 Therefore he was a pricasour aright:

190 Greyhounds he had as swift as fowl in flight;

191 Of pricking and of hunting the hare

192 Was all his lust, for no cost would he spare.

193 I saw his sleeves purfled at the hand

194 With gray, and that the finest of the land;

195 And for to fasten his hood under his chin,

196 He had of gold wrought a full curious pin;

197 A love knot in the greater end there was.

198 His head was bald, that shone as any glass,

199 And too his face, as he had been anoint.

200 He was a lord full fat and in good point;

201 His eyes steep, and rolling in his head,

202 That steamed as a furnace of lead;

203 His boots supple, his horse in great estate.

204 Now certainly he was a fair prelate;

205 He was not pale as a forpined ghost.

206 A fat swan he loved best of any roast.

207 His palfrey was as brown as is a berry.

208 A Friar there was, a wanton and a merry,

209 A limiter, a full solemn man.

210 In all the orders four there is none that can

211 So much of dalliance and fair language.

212 He had made full many a marriage

213 Of young women at his own cost.

214 Unto his order he was a noble post.

215 Full well beloved and familiar was he

216 With franklins over all in his country,

217 And too with worthy women of the town;

218 For he had power of confession,

219 As said himself, more than a curate,

220 For of his order he was licentiate.

221 Full sweetly heard he confession,

222 And pleasant was his absolution:

223 He was an easy man to give penance,

224 There as he knew to have a good pittance.

225 For unto a poor order for to give

226 Is sign that a man is well shrive;

227 For if he gave, he dared make avaunt,

228 He knew that a man was repentant;

229 For many a man so hard is of his heart,

230 He may not weep, although him sorely smart.

231 Therefore instead of weeping and prayers

232 Men must give silver to the poor friars.

233 His tippet was ay farsed full of knives

234 And pins, for to give young wives.

235 And certainly he had a merry note:

236 Well could he sing and play on a rote;

237 Of yeddings he bore utterly the prize.

238 His neck white was as the flour-de-lys;

239 Thereto he strong was as a champion.

240 He knew the taverns well in every town

241 And every hosteler and tappester,

242 Better than a lazar or a begster,

243 For unto such a worthy man as he

244 Accorded not, as by his faculty,

245 To have with sick lazars acquaintance.

246 It is not honest, it may not advance,

247 For to deal with no such porail,

248 But all with rich and sellers of victual.

249 And over all, there as profit should arise,

250 Courteous he was and lowly of service;

251 There’s no man nowhere so virtuous.

252 He was the best beggar in his house;

252a [And gave a certain fee for the grant;

252a None of his brethren came there in his haunt;]

253 For though a widow had not a shoe,

254 So pleasant was his “In principio, ”

255 Yet would he have a farthing, ere he went.

256 His purchase was well better than his rent.

257 And rage he could, as it were right a whelp.

258 In love days there could he much help,

259 For there he was not like a cloisterer

260 With a threadbare cope, as is a poor scholar,

261 But he was like a master or a pope.

262 Of double worsted was his semicope,

263 That rounded as a bell out of the press.

264 Somewhat he lisped, for his wantonness,

265 To make his English sweet upon his tongue;

266 And in his harping, when that he had sung,

267 His eyes twinkled in his head aright

268 As do the stars in the frosty night.

269 This worthy limiter was called Huberd.

270 A merchant was there with a forked beard,

271 In motley, and high on horse he sat;

272 Upon his head a Flanderish beaver hat,

273 His boots clasped fair and featously.

274 His reasons he spoke full solemnly,

275 Speaking always the increase of his winning.

276 He would the sea were kept for anything

277 Between Middleburgh and Orwell.

278 Well could he in exchange shields sell.

279 This worthy man full well his wit beset;

280 There knew no wight that he was in debt,

281 So stately was he of his governance

282 With his bargains and with his chevisance

283 For truth he was a worthy man withall,

284 But, truth to say, I know not how men him call.

285 A clerk there was of Oxford also,

286 That unto logic had long ago.

287 As lean was his horse as is a rake,

288 And he was not right fat, I undertake,

289 But looked hollow, and thereto soberly,

290 Full threadbare was his overest courtepy,

291 For he had gotten him yet no benefice,

292 Nor was so worldly for to have office.

293 For he was rather have at his bed’s head

294 Twenty books, clad in black or red,

295 Of Aristotle and his philosophy

296 Than robes rich, or fiddle, or gay psaltry.

297 But all be that he was a philosopher,

298 Yet had he but little gold in coffer;

299 But all that he might of his friends hent,

300 On books and on learning he it spent,

301 And busily gan for the soul’s prayer

302 Of them that gave him wherewith to scholar.

303 Of study took he most cure and most heed.

304 Not a word spoke he more than was need,

305 And that was said in form and reverence,

306 And short and quick and full of high sentence;

307 Sounding in moral virtue was his speech,

308 And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.

309 A Sergeant of the Law, aware and wise,

310 That often had been at the Parvise,

311 There was also, full rich of excellence.

312 Discreet he was and of great reverence –

313 He seemed such, his words were so wise.

314 Justice he was full often in assize,

315 By patent and by plain commission.

316 For his science and for his high renown,

317 Of fees and robes had he many a one.

318 So great a purchaser was nowhere none:

319 All was fee simple to him in effect;

320 His purchasing might not been infect.

321 Nowhere so busy a man as he there was,

322 And yet he seemed busier than he was.

323 In terms had he case and dooms all

324 That from the time of King William were fall.

325 Thereto he could endite and make a thing,

326 There could no wight pinch at his writing;

327 And every statute could he play by rote.

328 He rode but homely in a motley coat,

329 Girt with a seynt of silk, with bars small;

330 Of his array shall I no longer tell.

331 A Franklin was in his company.

332 White was his beard as is the daisy;

333 Of his complexion he was sanguine.

334 Well loved he by the morning a sup of wine;

335 To live in delight was ever his won,

336 For he was Epicurus’ own son,

337 That held opinion that plain delight

338 Was very felicity parfit.

339 A householder, and that a great, was he;

340 Saint Julian was he in his country.

341 His bread, his ale, was always after one;

342 A better envied man was nowhere known.

343 Without baked meat was never his house,

344 Of fish and flesh, and that so plenteous

345 It snowed in his house of meat and drink;

346 Of all dainties that men could think,

347 After the sundry seasons of the year,

348 So changed he his meat and his supper.

349 Full many a fat partridge had he in mew,

350 And many a bream and many a luce in stew.

351 Woe was his cook but if his sauce were

352 Poignant and sharp, and ready all his gear.

353 His table dormant in his hall alway

354 Stood ready covered all the long day.

355 At sessions there he was lord and sire;

356 Full oft time he was knight of the shire.

357 A dagger and a purse all of silk

358 Hung at his girdle, white as morning milk.

359 A sheriff had he been, an auditor.

360 Was nowhere such a worthy vavasour.

361 A Haberdasher and a Carpenter,

362 A Weaver, a Dyer, and a Tapisser –

363 And they were clothed all in a livery

364 Of a solemn and a great fraternity.

365 Full fresh and new their gear apiked was;

366 Their knives were mounted not with brass

367 But all with silver, wrought full clean and well,

368 Their girdles and their pouches everydell.

369 Well seemed each of them a fair burgess

370 To sit in a guildhall on a dais.

371 Each one, for the wisdom that he kan,

372 Was shapely for to be an alderman.

373 For cattle had they enough and rent,

374 And too their wives would it well assent

375 And else certain were they to blame.

376 It is full fair to have been called “madame, ”

377 And go to vigils all before,

378 And have a mantle royally bore.

379 A Cook they had with them for the nonce

380 To boil the chickens with the marrow bones,

381 And powdered marchant tart and galingale.

382 Well could he know a draft of London ale. 383 He could he roast, and seethe, and broil, and fry,

384 Makemortreux, and well bake a pie.

385 But great harm was it, as it thought me,

386 That on his shin, an ulcer had he.

387 For blancmanger, that made he with the best.

388 A Shipman was there, dwelling far by west;

389 For aught I know, he was of Dartmouth.

390 He rode upon a rouncy, as he couth,

391 In a gown of falding to the knee.

392 A dagger hanging on a laas had he

393 About his neck, under his arm adown.

394 The hot summer had made his hue all brown;

395 And certainly he was a good fellow.

396 Full many a draft of wine had he draw.

397 From Bordeaux-ward, while that the chapman sleep.

398 Of nice conscience took he no keep.

399 If that he fought and had the higher hand,

400 By water he sent them home to every land.

401 But of his craft to reckon well his tides,

402 His streams, and his dangers him besides,

403 His harbor, and his moon, his pilotage,

404 There was none such from Hull to Carthage.

405 Hardy he was and wise to undertake;

406 With many a tempest had his beard been shake.

407 He knew all the havens, as they were,

408 From Gotland to the cape of Finisterre,

409 And every creek in Brittany and in Spain.

410 His barge called was the Madelene.

411 With us there was A Doctor of Physic;

412 In all this world there was no one like him, 413 To speak of physic and of surgery,

414 For he was grounded in astronomy.

415 He kept his patient a full great deal

416 In hours, by his magic natural.

417 Well could he fortune the ascendant

418 Of his images for his patient.

419 He knew the cause of every malady,

420 Were it of hot, or cold, or moist, or dry,

421 And where they engendered, and of what humor.

422 He was a very, perfect practitioner:

423 The cause known, and of his harm the root,

424 Anon he gave the sick man his boot.

425 Full ready had he his apothecaries

426 To send him drugs and electuaries,

427 For each of them made other for to win –

428 Their friendship was not new to begin.

429 Well knew he the old Aesculapius,

430 And Dioscorides and too Rufus,

431 Old Hippocrates, Hali, and Galen,

432 Serapion, Rhazes, and Avicen,

433 Averroes, Damascene, and Constantine,

434 Bernard, and Gatisden, and Gilbertus.

435 Of his diet measurable was he,

436 For it was of no superfluity,

437 But of great nourishing and digestable.

438 His study was but little on the Bible.

439 In sanguine and in perse he clad was all,

440 Lined with taffeta and with sendal.

441 And yet he was but easy of dispense;

442 He kept that he won in pestilence.

443 For gold in physic is a cordial,

444 Therefore he loved gold in special.

445 A good Wife was there of beside Bath,

446 But she was somewhat deaf, and that was scathe.

447 Of cloth making she had such a haunt

448 She passed them of Ypres and of Ghent.

449 In all the parish wife was there none

450 That to the offering before her should go on;

451 And if they did, certain so wroth was she

452 That she was out of all charity.

453 Her coverchiefs full fine were of ground;

454 I dare swear they weighed ten pound

455 That on a Sunday were upon her head.

456 Her hose were of fine scarlet red,

457 Full straight tied, and shoes full moist and new.

458 Bold was her face, and fair, and red of hew.

459 She was a worthy woman all her life:

460 Husbands at church door she had five,

461 Without them other company in youth -

462 But there's no need to speak as now.

463 And thrice had she been at Jerusalem;

464 She had passed many a strange stream;

465 At Rome she had been, and at Boulogne,

466 In Galicia at Saint Jame, and at Cologne.

467 She could much of wandering by the way.

468 Gap-toothed was she, truly for to say.

469 Upon an ambler easily she sat,

470 Wimpled well, and on her head a hat

471 As broad as is a buckler or a targe;

472 A foot-mantle about her hips large,

473 And on her feet a pair of spurs sharp.

474 In fellowship well could she laugh and carp.

475 Of remedies of love she knew per chance,

476 For she knew of that art the old dance.

477 A good man was there of religion,

478 And was a poor Parson of a town,

479 But rich he was of holy thought and work.

480 He was also a learned man, a clerk,

481 That Christ’s Gospel truly would preach;

482 His parishioners devoutly would he teach.

483 Benign he was and wonder diligent,

484 And in adversity full patient,

485 And such he was proved oft times.

486 Full loathe was he to curse for his tithes,

487 But rather would he give, out of doubt,

488 Unto his poor parishioners about

489 Of his offering and too of his substance.

490 He could in little things have sufficience.

491 Wide was his parish, and houses far asunder,

492 But he left not, for rain or thunder,

493 In sickness nor in mischief to visit

494 The farthest in his parish, much and light,

495 Upon his feet, and in his hand a stave.

496 This noble example to his sheep he gave,

497 That first he wrought, and afterward he taught.

498 Out of the Gospel he those words caught,

499 And this figure he added eek thereto,

500 That if gold rust, what shall iron do?

501 For if a priest be foul, on whom we trust,

502 No wonder is a lewd man to rust;

503 And shame it is if a priest take keep,

504 A shitten shepherd and a clean sheep.

505 Well ought a priest example for to give,

506 By his cleanness, how that his sheep should live.

507 He set not his benefice to hire

508 And let his sheep encumbered in the mire

509 And ran to London unto Saint Paul’s

510 To seek him a chantry for souls,

511 Or with a brotherhood to be withhold;

512 But dwelt at home, and kept well his fold,

513 So that the wolf not make it miscarry;

514 He was a shepherd and not a mercenary.

515 And though he holy were and virtuous,

516 He was to sinful men not despitous,

517 Nor of his speech dangerous nor digne,

518 But in his teaching discreet and benign.

519 To draw folk to heaven by fairness,

520 By good example, this was his business.

521 But it were any person obstinate,

522 What so he were of high or low estate,

523 Him would he snib him sharply for the nonce.

524 A better priest I trust that nowhere none is.

525 He waited after no pomp and reverence,

526 Nor maked him a spiced conscience,

527 But Christ’s lore and his apostles twelve

528 He taught; but first he followed it himself.

529 With him there was a Plowman, was his brother,

530 That had hauled of dung full many a fother;

531 A true swinker and a good was he,

532 Living in peace and perfect charity.

533 God loved he best with all his whole heart

534 At all times, though him gamed or smarte,

535 And then his neighbor right as himself.

536 He would thresh, and thereto dike and delve,

537 For Christ’s sake, for every poor wight,

538 Without hire, if it lay in his might.

539 His tithes paid he full fair and well,

540 Both of his proper swink and his chattel.

541 In a tabard he road upon a mare.

542 There was also a Reeve and a Miller,

543 A Summoner and a Pardoner also,

544 A Manciple, and myself, - there were no more.

545 The Miller was a stout carl for the nonce;

546 Full big he was of brawn, and too of bones.

547 That proved well, for over all there he came,

548 At wrestling he would have always the ram.

549 He was short-shouldered, broad, a thick knar;

550 There was no door that he could not heave off har,

551 Or break it at a running with his head.

552 His beard as any sow or fox was red,

553 And thereto broad as it were a spade.

554 Upon the top right of his nose he had

555 A wart, and thereon stood a tuft of hairs,

556 Red as the bristles of a sow’s ears;

557 His nostrils black were and wide.

558 A sword and a buckler bore he by his side.

559 His mouth as great was as a great furnace.

560 He was a jangler and a goliardeys,

561 And that was most of sin and harlotries.

562 Well could he steal corn toll threes;

563 And yet he had a thumb of gold, pardie.

564 A white cope and a blue hood wore he.

565 A bagpipe well could he blow and sound,

566 And therewithal he brought us out of town.

567 A gentle Manciple was there of a temple,

568 Of which achatours might take example

569 For to be wise in buying of victuals;

570 For whether that he paid or took by tally,

571 Always he waited so in his achate,

572 That he was ay before and in good state.

573 Now is not that of God a full fair grace

574 That such a lewd man’s wit shall pace

575 The wisdom of a heap of learned men?

576 Of masters had he more than thrice ten,

577 That were of law expert and curious,

578 Of which there were a dozen in that house

579 Worthy to be stewards of rent and land

580 Of any lord that is in England,

581 To make him live by his proper good

582 In honor debtless (but if he were wood) ,

583 Or live as scarcely as he might desire;

584 And able for to help all a shire

585 In any case that might fall or hap

586 And yet this Manciple set their all cap.

587 The Reeve was a slender choleric man.

588 His beard was shaved as nigh as ever he can;

589 His hair was by his ears full round shorn;

590 His top was docked like a priest before.

591 Full long were his legs and full leen,

592 Like a staff; there was no calf seen.

593 Well could he keep a garner and bin;

594 There was no auditor could on him win.

595 Well wist he by the drought and by the rain

596 The yielding of his seed and of his grain.

597 His lord’s sheep, his neet, his dairy,

598 His swine, his horse, his steer, and his poultry

599 Was wholly in this Reeve’s governing,

600 And by his covenant gave the reckoning,

601 Since that his lord was twenty year of age.

602 There could no man bring him in arrearage.

603 There’s no bailiff, no herder, no other hine,

604 That he not knew his sleight and his covine;

605 They were adread of him as of the death.

606 His dwelling was full fair upon the heath,

607 With green trees shaded was his place.

608 He could better than his lord purchase.

609 Full rich he was astored privily.

610 His lord well could he please subtlely,

611 To give and lend him of his own good,

612 And have a thank, and yet a coat and hood.

613 In youth he had learned a good mister:

614 He was a well good wright, a carpenter.

615 This Reeve sat upon a full good stot

616 That was all pomely grey, and called Scot.

617 A long surcoat of perse upon him hade,

618 And by his side he bore a rusty blade.

619 Of Norfolk was this Reeve of which I tell,

620 Beside a town men call Baldeswell.

621 Tucked he was as is a friar about,

622 And ever he rode the hindmost of our route.

623 A Summoner was there with us in that place

624 That had a fire-red cherubin’s face,

625 For sauceflemed he was, with eyes narrow.

626 As hot he was and lecherous as a sparrow,

627 With scaled brows black, and piled beard.

628 Of his visage children were afeard.

629 There’s no quick-silver, litharge, nor brimstone,

630 Borax, ceruse, nor oil of tarter none,

631 No ointment that would cleanse and bite,

632 That him might help of his whelks white,

633 Nor of the knobs sitting on his cheeks.

634 Well loved he garlic, onions, and eek leeks,

635 And for to drink strong wine, red as blood;

636 Then would he speak and cry as he were wood.

637 And when that he well drunk had the wine,

638 Then would he speak no word but Latin.

639 A few terms had he, two or three,

640 That he had learned out of some decree –

641 No wonder is, he heard it all the day;

642 And too you know well how that a jay

643 Can call out “Walter” as well as can the pope.

644 But whoso could in other things him grope,

645 Then had he spent all his philosophy;

646 Ay “Questio quid juris” would he cry.

647 He was a gentle harlot and a kind;

648 A better fellow should men not find.

649 He would suffer for a quart of wine

650 A good fellow to have his concubine

651 A twelve month, and excuse him at full;

652 Full privily a finch too could he pull.

653 And if he found anywhere a good fellow,

654 He would teach him to have no awe,

655 In such case of the archdeacon’s curse,

656 But if a man’s soul were in his purse;

657 For in his purse he should punished be.

658 “Purse is the archdeacon’s hell, ” said he.

659 But well I know he lied right indeed;

660 Of cursing ought each guilty man him dread,

661 For curse will slay right as absolving save it,

662 And also ware him of a Significavit.

663 In danger had he at his own guise

664 The young girls of the diocese,

665 And knew their counsel, and was all their rede.

666 A garland had he set upon his head,

667 As great as it were for an ale-stake.

668 A buckler had he made him of a cake.

669 With him there rode a gentle Pardoner

670 Of Rouncivale, his friend and his compeer,

671 That straight was come from the court of Rome.

672 Full loud he sang “Come hither, love, to me! ”

673 The Summoner barred to him a stiff burdoun;

674 Was never trumpet of half so great a sound.

675 This Pardoner had hair as yellow as wax,

676 But smooth it hung as does a strike of flax;

677 By ounces hung his locks that he had,

678 And therewith he his shoulders overspread;

679 But thin it lay, by culpons one and one.

680 But hood, for jollity, wore he none,

681 For it was trussed up in his wallet.

682 He thought he rode all of the new jet;

683 Disheveled, save his cap, he rode all bare.

684 Such glaring eyes had he as a hare.

685 A Vernicle had he sowed upon his cap;

686 His wallet, before him in his lap,

687 Bretfull of pardon come from Rome all hot.

688 A voice he had as small as has a goat.

689 No beard had he, nor ever should have;

690 As smooth it was as it were late shave.

691 I trow he were a gelding or a mare.

692 But of his craft, from Berwick into Ware

693 Nor was there such another pardoner.

694 For in his male he had a pillow-bier,

695 Which that he said was Our Lady’s veil;

696 He said he had a gobbet of the sail

697 That Saint Peter had, when that he went

698 Upon the sea, ‘til Jesus Christ him hent.

699 He had a cross of latten full of stones,

700 And in a glass he had pigs’ bones,

701 But with these relics, when that he found

702 A poor person dwelling upon land

703 Upon a day he got him more money

704 Then that the person got in months twey;

705 And thus, with feigned flattery and japes,

706 He made the person and the people his apes.

707 But truly to tell at the last,

708 He was in church a noble ecclesiast.

709 Well could he read a lesson or a story,

710 But all the best he sang an offertory;

711 For well he wist, when that song was sung,

712 He must preach and well affile his tongue

713 To win silver, as he full well could;

714 Therefore he sang the merrily and loud.

715 Now have I told you truly, in a clause,

716 The estate, the array, the number, and too the cause

717 Why that assembled was this company

718 In Southwerk at this gentle hostelry

719 Called the Tabard, fast by the Belle.

720 But now is time to you for to tell

721 How that we baren us that same night,

722 When we were in that hostelry allright;

723 And after will I tell of our voyage

724 And all the remnant of our pilgrimage.

725 But first I pray you, of your courtesy,

726 That you not ascribe it to my villainy,

727 Though that I plainly speak in this matter,

728 To tell you their words and their cheer.

729 Nor though I speak their words properly.

730 For this you know also well as I:

731 Whoso shall tell a tale after a man,

732 He must rehearse as nigh as ever he can

733 Every word, if it be in his charge,

734 All speak he never so rudely or large,

735 Or else he must tell his tale untrue,

736 Or feign things, or find words new.

737 He may not spare, although he were his brother;

738 He might as well say one word as another.

739 Christ spoke himself full broad in holy writ,

740 And well you know no villainy is it.

741 Eek Plato said, whoso can him read,

742 The words must be cousin to the deed.

743 Also I pray you to forgive it me,

744 All have I not set folk in their degree

745 Here in this tale, as that they should stand.

746 My wit is short, you may well understand.

747 Great cheer made our Host us everyone,

748 And to the supper set he us anon.

749 He served us with victuals at the best;

750 Strong was the wine, and well to drink us lest.

751 A seemly man our host was withall

752 For he'd been a marshal in a hall.

753 A large man he was with even step -

754 A fairer burgess was there none in Chepe -

755 Bold of his speech, and wise, and well taught,

756 And of manhood he lacked right naught.

757 Eek thereto he was right a merry man;

758 And after supper playing he began,

759 And spoke of mirth among other things,

760 When that we had made our reckonings,

761 And said thus: "Now, lords, truly,

762 You've been to me right welcome, heartily;

763 For by my troth, if that I shall not lie,

764 I saw not this year so merry a company

765 At once in this herber as is now.

766 Fain would I do you mirth, knew I how.

767 And of a mirth I am right now bethought,

768 To do you ease, and it shall cost naught.

769 "You're going to Canterbury - God you speed,

770 The blissful martyr quit you your meed!

771 And well I know, as you go on by the way,

772 You'll shape you to tell and to play;

773 For truly, comfort nor mirth is none

774 To ride by the way dumb as a stone;

775 And therefore will I make you disport,

776 As I said erst, and do you some comfort.

777 And if you like all by one assent

778 For to stand at my judgment,

779 And for to work, as I shall you say,

780 Tomorrow, when you ride by the way,

781 Now by my father's soul that is dead,

782 But you be merry, I will give you my head!

783 Hold up your hands, without more speech."

784 Our counsel was not long for to seek.

785 We thought it was not worth to make it wise,

786 And granted him without more avise,

787 And bade him say his verdict as he lest.

788 "Lords," said he, "now hearken for the best;

789 But take it not, I pray you, in disdain.

790 This is the point, to speak short and plain,

791 That each of you, to short with our way,

792 In this voyage shall tell tales tway

793 To Canterbury-ward, I mean it so,

794 And homeward he shall tell another two,

795 Of adventures that awhile have befall.

796 And which of you that bears him best of all -

797 That is to say, that tells in this case

798 Tales of best sentence and most solace -

799 Shall have a supper at all our cost

800 Here in this place, sitting by this post,

801 When that we come again from Canterbury.

802 And for to make you the more merry,

803 I will myself goodly with you ride,

804 Right at my own cost, and be your guide;

805 And whoso will my judgment gainsay

806 Shall pay all that we spend by the way.

807 And if you vouchsafe that it be so,

808 Tell me anon, without words more,

809 And I will early shape me therefore."

810 This thing was granted, and our oaths swore

811 With full glad heart, and prayed him also

812 That he would vouchsafe for to do so,

813 And that he would be our governor,

814 And our tale’s judge and reporter,

815 And set a supper at a certain price,

816 And we will ruled be at his devise

817 In high and low; and thus by one assent

818 We were accorded to his judgment.

819 And thereupon the wine was fetched anon;

820 We drank, and to rest went each one,

821 Without any longer tarrying.

822 At morning, when that day began to spring,

823 Up rose our Host, and was all our cock,

824 And gathered us together all in a flock,

825 And forth we rode a little more than pace

826 Unto the watering of Saint Thomas;

827 And there our Host began his horse to rest

828 And said, "Lords, hearken, if you lest,

829 You know your forward, and I it you record.

830 If even-song and morning-song accord,

831 Let's see now who shall tell the first tale.

832 As ever must I drink wine or ale,

833 Whoso be rebel to my judgment

834 Shall pay for all that by the way is spent.

835 Now draw cut, er we further twin;

836 He which that has the shortest will begin.

837 "Sir Knight, " said he, "my master and my lord,

838 Now draw cut, for that is my accord.

839 "Come near, " said he, "my lady Prioress.

840 And you, sir Clerk, let be your shamefacedness,

841 Study it not; lay hand to, every man! "

842 Anon to draw every wight began,

843 And shortly for to tell it as it was,

844 Were it by adventure, or sort, or case,

845 The truth is this: the cut fell to the Knight,

846 Of which full blithe and glad was every wight,

847 And tell he must his tale, as was reason,

848 By forward and by composition,

849 As you have heard; what need words more?

850 And when this good man saw that it was so,

851 And he that wise was and obedient

852 To keep his forward by his free assent,

853 He said, "Since I shall begin the game,

854 What, welcome be the cut, by God's name!

855 Now let us ride, and hearken what I say."

856 And with that word we rode on forth our way,

857 And he began with right a merry cheer

858 His tale anon, and said as you may hear.

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asplendidbeginning · 7 years ago

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Concerning Mortis and the Symbology of the Force Part II — The Prophesy of the Chosen One

March 4, 2015

Adjua Adama

In Part I, the symbology behind Mortis — the world and the trinity of Overlords — was explored, where it was posited that Lucas, Supervising Director Dave Filoni, and writer Christian Taylor, continue the tradition of drawing from human mythological history as source inspiration for their Star Wars tales.

Between the griffin Daughter and the gargoyle Son stands the Chosen One, bound by prophesy, in a world made from the nature of the Force itself, capable of taming each of these creatures, as with the Mesopotamian “master of the griffins.”

Indeed, Anakin’s destiny does stand above the Jedi and the Sith, as Lucas removes his character from the limited vestiges of flawed humanity, affording him the status of Force deity replete with virgin birth. As both Orders seek to utilize and manipulate his power, Anakin has a hand in eviscerating both — he is, in essence, Shiva the destroyer in Star Wars mythology, cultivating balance and reciprocity through an Old Testament, “fire and brimstone” approach. Apparently, the Father understands the wisdom of hiding his power from the galaxy’s population. He tells Anakin, “There are some who would like to exploit our power; the Sith are but one. Too much dark or light would be the undoing of life as you understand it.” This man engenders enough wisdom to understand that the Jedi would be just as guilty of exploiting their power to eradicate evil, as the Sith would be in cleansing the galaxy of good. Either tipping of the scale would spell doom for all who inhabit the world of Star Wars.

But is Anakin the “Chosen One,” as Qui-Gon deemed him in The Phantom Menace? This has actually been a heated topic of discussion among fans even before The Clone Wars series debuted. I’ve seen a number of discussions online, and via podcasts, in which people have hotly championed both Anakin and Luke for the sacred appellation; a discussion that has increased exponentially after the debut of “The Yoda Arc” from Season 6 of The Clone Wars (sometimes referred to as “Mortis Part II”). Those that advocate the belief that Luke Skywalker is the “Chosen One” refer to a line from the “Yoda Arc” by the mysterious Priestesses (who measure Yoda’s worthiness in understanding the mastery of life preservation post-mortem), when the “Serenity” Priestess declares: “He will teach one who is to save the galaxy from the great imbalance…” This has been interpreted to mean that Luke is the actual “chosen one,” as Yoda does train Luke in the future (as exhibited by the deliberate phrasing, “He will…”), but he isn’t directly responsible for Anakin’s training as a Jedi — even initially opposing it. Ultimately, after a series of trials that Yoda successfully mitigates, including a number of significant encounters on the Sith home world of Moriband, the Priestesses repeat to Yoda the sage’s own words from Return of the Jedi: “There is another Skywalker.” At the time, this would mean nothing to Yoda, as he had no knowledge of Padme’s impending pregnancy, let alone young Anakin’s tacit marriage. On April 7th, model and actress Jaime King, who voiced the Priestesses, engaged in a discussion of these issues with her husband, Star Wars superfan and director Kyle Newman; the actor who voiced the Son, Sam Witwer; Ralph McQuarrie preservation artist Paul Bateman; and Rebel Force Radio podcast hosts Jason Swank and Jimmy Mac. Jaime mentioned a number of times that Lucas and Filoni declared to her that, “Anakin is the Chosen One…” Later in the discussion, she presumably texted Filoni [she actually attributes this to, “…someone on very high authority…”], who replied, according to King: “There is another [Skywalker], and then Yoda sees off-screen his future, even older, self say, ‘There is another Skywalker.’ Right? As in Return of the Jediright before he dies. The Priestesses exist without time or space. They are a part of the cosmic and living force.” And as participants of the discussion outwardly wished the prophesy would be more clearly articulated in the mythology, Paul Bateman afforded the debate what I believe to be the missing link — that Lucas was a student not only of Joseph Campell’s “hero’s journey” universality, but also Peruvian American author Carlos Casteneda’s Tales of Power, which explores the mysticism of Native American spirit and vision quests, along with the role of tricksters in religious mythology.

Indeed, the Priestesses do play the trickster role in these sequences, often taking Yoda through vision quests to test his mettle, including taking the form of Sith rule of two progenitor Darth Bane. Albert Arnold (1996), in Monsters, Tricksters, and Sacred Cows: Animal Tales and American Identities, speaks of the trickster as the amoral character who can be a hero, but because it is so inextricably tied to its own agenda, can also be an example of what not to do. In Nigeria, the Yoruba deity Eshu (also known as Elegba or Elegbara), according to William Bascom’s (1984) The Yoruba of Southwestern Nigeria, is the youngest and cleverest of the Yoruban deities, “…a trickster who delights in trouble making…” He survives the Trans-Atlantic slave trade in various iterations throughout Latin America, and in the U.S. as the character The Signifying Monkey, joining other African-based animal tricksters like Anansi, the Akan spider, and Br’er Rabbit, of the American South. While studying at Penn State, within the African-American history department, we often referred to Harvard professor Dr. Henry Louis Gates’ treatise concerning this subject, and how these characters informed the rebellious nature of slaves who simultaneously eschewed the wrath of severe punishment. John Wideman (1988) wrote a New York Times article covering the debut of Gates’ book The Signifying Monkey: A Theory of Afro-American Literary Criticism, explaining:

Signifying is verbal play — serious play that serves as instruction, entertainment, mental exercise, preparation for interacting with friend and foe in the social arena. In black vernacular, Signifying is a sign that words cannot be trusted, that even the most literal utterance allows room for interpretation, that language is both carnival and minefield.

As the Priestesses do not actually teach Yoda how to become a force ghost, but only serve to measure his virtuosity through a series of tricks he alone must navigate, one must question everything they say. If Anakin is the “Chosen One,” but they appear to hint at Luke serving that role, what possible motive does this serve? The controversial line in question does not mention that Yoda will train “the balancer,” or, “one who will bring the Force back into balance” — as many people mistakenly quote Serenity Priestess. The Force has destined Anakin to become Vader in order to destroy the corruption within both the Jedi Order and the Republic — the third chapter of Mortisdemonstrates this fact, as his path still leads to the Dark Lord’s visage while in the well of the Dark Side. But, in order to complete the cycle, prior to his descent into the proverbial valley, in an act of rebellion against Jedi dogma, Anakin creates a key to his own redemption: a son conceived of love, who will revive the former Self within his consciousness at the opportune moment in which the Sith must be destroyed. Yoda, of course, is the key to that fail-safe opportunity, as he is destined to train the instrument, “who will save the galaxy [not necessarily the Force] from the great imbalance.”

In Part III, I’ll explore the motive behind why Yoda would need to be tricked into thinking Anakin was not the Chosen One, and also the significance of Anakin’s virgin birth in the greater mythology of the hero’s journey.

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