No More Learning

His colour was betwixè yellow and red;
And tippèd was his tail, and both his ears
With black, unlike the remnant of his hairs.
His snoutè small, with glowing eyen twey;
Yet of his look for fear almost I dey³:
This caused me my groaning doubtèless. "
"Avoy! " quoth she, "fie on you heartèless!
Alas! " quoth she, "for by that God above
Now have ye lost mine heart and all my love;
I cannot love a coward, by my faith.
For certes, what so any woman saith,
We all desiren, if it mightè be,
To have husbándès, hardy, wise, and free,
And secre, and no niggard ne no fool,
Ne him that is aghast of every tool,
Ne none avantour" by that God above.
How durst ye say for shame unto your love,
That anything might maken you afeard?
Have ye no mannès heart, and have a beard?
Alas! and can ye be aghast of swevenès ?
Nothing but vanity, God wot, in sweven is.
Swevens engender of repletìóns,
And oft of fume, and of complexións,'
When humours be too abundant in a wight.
Certes this dream, which ye have met to-night,
Cometh of the greatè superfluity
Of yourè redè colera," pardié,
Which causeth folk to dreamen in hir dreams
Of arrows, and of fire with redè leames, 10
Of greate beastès, that they will hem bite,
Of contek" and of whelpès great and lite¹²;
Right as the humour of melancholy
Causeth full many a man in sleep to cry,
5 Boaster of female favor.
Dreams.
Temperaments.
8 Dreamed.
9 Bile.
10 Flames.
11 Contention.
12 Little.


## p. 3587 (#569) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
3587
For fear of blackè beares or bullès blake,
Or ellès blackè devils will hem take.
Of other humours could I tell also,
That worken many a man in sleep full woe:
But I will pass as lightly as I can.
Lo Cato, which that was so wise a man,
Said he not thus? Ne do no force of dreams. › »
"Now, Sir," quoth she, "when ye fly from the beams,
For Godès love, as take some laxative:
Up³ peril of my soul, and of my live,
I counsel you the best, I will not lie,
That both of choler, and of melancholy
Ye purge you; and for ye shall not tarry,
Though in this town is none apothecary,
I shall myself to herbès teachen you,
That shall be for your heal' and for your prow5;
And in our yard tho herbès shall I find,
The which have of hir property by kind'
To purgen you beneath, and eke above.
Forget not this for Godès owen love;
Ye be full choleric of complexìón;
Ware the sun in his ascensión
Ne find you not replete of humours hot:
And if it do, I dare well lay a groat,
That ye shall have a fever tertián,
Or an agúe, that may be yourè bane.
A day or two ye shall have digestives
Of wormès, ere ye take your laxatives,
Of lauriol, centaury, and fumetere,8
Or else of hellebore, that groweth there,
Of catapucè, or of gaitres-berríès, 10
Of herb ivy growing in our yard, that merry is:
Pick hem up right as they grow, and eat hem in.
Be merry, husband, for your father kin
Dreadeth no dream; I can say you no more. "
"Madame," quoth he, "grand mercy of your lore.
But nathèless, as touching Dan Caton,
That hath of wisdom such a great renown,
Though that he bade no dreamès for to drede,
By God, men may in oldè bookès read,
1
¹ Quickly.
* Make no account.
3
Upon.
'Health.
5 Profit.
6 Those.
10 Dogwood berries.
7 Nature.
8 Fumitory.
"Spurge.
11 Much obliged for.


## p. 3588 (#570) ###########################################

3588
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
Of many a man, more of authority
Than ever Cato was, so mote I the,'
That all the réverse say of this senténce,
And have well founden by experience,
That dreamès be significatións
As well of joy, as of tribulatións,
That folk enduren in this life presént.
There needeth make of this none argument;
The very prevè sheweth it indeed.
"One of the greatest authors that men read,
Saith thus, that whilom two fellówès went
On pilgrimage in a full good intent;
And happèd so, they came into a town,
Where-as there was such congregation
Of people, and eke so strait of herbergage,³
That they ne found as much as one cottage,
In which they bothè might ylodgèd be:
Wherefore they musten of necessity,
As for that night, departen company;
And each of hem goeth to his hostelry,
And took his lodging as it wouldè fall.
That one of hem was lodgèd in a stall,
Far in a yard, with oxen of the plow;
That other man was lodgèd well enow,
As was his áventúre, or his fortúne,
That us govérneth all, as in commúne.
And so befell, that, long ere it were day,
This man met 5 in his bed, there-as he lay,
How that his fellow gan upon him call,
And said, 'Alas! for in an oxès stall
This night I shall be murdered, there I lie.
Now help me, dearè brother, or I die;
In alle hastè come to me,' he said.
This man out of his sleep for fear abraid®;
But when that he was wakened of his sleep,
He turned him, and took of this no keep';
Him thought his dream nas but a vanity.
Thus twiès in his sleeping dreamèd he.
And at the thirdè time yet his felláw
Came, as him thought, and said, 'I am now slawe.
1 Thrive.
2 Trial, experience.
3 Limited in accommodation.
4 Part.
5 Dreamed.
6 Awoke.
7 Heed.
8 Slain.
8


## p. 3589 (#571) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
3589
Behold my bloody woundès, deep and wide.
Arise up early, in the morrow tide,
And at the west gate of the town,' quoth he,
'A cartè full of dung there shalt thou see,
In which my body is hid full privily.
Do thilkè cart arresten boldèly.
My gold caused my murder, sooth to sayn. '
And told him every point how he was slain
With a full piteous facè, pale of hue.
And trusteth well, his dream he found full true;
For on the morrow, as soon as it was day,
To his fellówès inn he took his way:
And when that he came to this oxès stall,
After his fellow he began to call.
The hosteler answérèd him anon,
And saidè, 'Sir, your fellow is agone,
As soon as day he went out of the town. '
"This man gan fallen in suspición
Remembering on his dreamès that he met,'
And forth he goeth, no lenger would he let,"
Unto the west gate of the town, and found
A dung cart, as it were to dungè lond,
That was arrayèd in that same wise
As ye have heard the deadè man devise:
And with an hardy heart he gan to cry,
'Vengeance and justice of this felony:
My fellow murdered is this samè night,
And in this cart he lieth, gaping upright. 3
I cry out on the ministers,' quoth he,
'That shouldè keep and rulen this city:
Harow! alas! here lieth my fellow slain. '
What should I more unto this talè sayn?
The people out start, and cast the cart to ground,
And in the middle of the dung they found
The deadè man, that murdered was all new.
O blissful God! that art so just and true,
Lo, how that thou bewrayest murder alway.
Murder will out, that see we day by day.
Murder is so wlatsom" and abominable
To God, that is so just and reasonable,
I Dreamed.
2 Stay.
3 Prone on his back.
+ Started.
5 Revealest.
6 Loathsome.


## p. 3590 (#572) ###########################################

3590
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
1 Hidden.
2 Seized.
3 Tortured.
• Racked.
5 Confessed.
That he ne will not suffer it helèd¹ be,
Though it abide a year, or two, or three;
Murder will out, this is my conclusión.
"And right anon, ministers of that town
Have hent the carter, and so sore him pined,³
And eke the hostèler so sore engined,*
That they beknew hir wickedness anon,
And were anhangèd by the neckè bone.
5
"Here may men see that dreamès be to dread.
And certes in the samè book I read,
Right in the nextè chapter after this,
(I gabbè not, so have I joy and bliss,)
Two men that would have passed over sea
For certain cause into a far country,
If that the wind ne haddè been contráry,
That made hem in a city for to tarry,
That stood full merry upon an haven side.
But on a day, again the even tide,
7
The wind gan change, and blew right as hem lest.
Jolly and glad they went unto hir rest,
And casten hem full early for to sail;
But to that one man fell a great marvail.
That one of them in sleeping as he lay,
He met a wonder dream, again the day:
Him thought a man stood by his beddès side,
And him commanded that he should abide,
And said him thus: If thou to-morrow wend,
Thou shalt be dreynt 10; my tale is at an end. '
He woke, and told his fellow what he met,"
And prayed him his voyage to let";
As for that day, he prayed him for to abide.
His fellow, that lay by his beddès side,
Gan for to laugh, and scornèd him full fast.
'No dream,' quoth he, 'may so my heart aghast,
That I will letten for to do my things.
I settè not a straw by thy dreamings,
For swevens 2 be but vanities and japes. "
Men dream all day of owlès or of apes,
11 Stay.
• Talk idly.
'Toward.
8 Pleased.
9 Dreamed.
10 Drowned.
12 Dreams.
13 Tricks.


## p. 3591 (#573) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
And eke of many a masè¹ therewithal;
Men dream of thing that never was, ne shall.
But sith I see that thou wilt here abide,
And thus forslothen' wilfully thy tide,
God wot it rueth me, and have good day. '
And thus he took his leave, and went his way.
But ere that he had half his course ysailed,
Nought I not why, ne what mischance it ailed,
But casually the shippès bottom rent,
And ship and man under the water went
In sight of other shippès there beside,
That with hem sailèd at the samè tide.
"And therefore, fairè Partèlote so dear,
By such ensamples old yet mayst thou lere,³
That no man shouldè be too reckèless
Of dreamès, for I say thee doubtèless,
That many a dream full sore is for to dread.
"Lo, in the life of Saint Kenelm I read,
That was Kenulphus son, the noble king
Of Mercenrike," how Kenelm met' a thing.
A little ere he was murdered, on a day,
His murder in his ávisión" he say. "
His norice 10 him expounded every del
His sweven, and bade him for to keep him well
For" treason; but he nas but seven year old,
And therefore little talè hath he told ¹²
Of any dream, so holy was his heart.
By God, I haddè liefer than my shirt,
That ye had read his legend, as have I.
"Dame Partèlote, I say you truèly,
Macrobius, that writ the ávisión 13
In Afric of the worthy Scipion,
Affirmeth dreamès, and saith that they be
Warning of thingès that men after see.
And furthermore, I pray you looketh well
In the Oldè Testament, of Daniél,
If he held dreamès any vanity.
Read eke of Joseph, and there shall ye see
1 Wild fancy.
2 Lose by sloth.
3 Moves my pity.
• Know not.
5 Learn.
11 For fear of.
6 Mercia.
7 Dreamed.
8 Vision.
9 Saw.
10 Nurse.
12 Account hath he made.
13 Vision.
3591


## p. 3592 (#574) ###########################################

3592
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
1 Whether.
2 Realms.
Where' dreamès be sometime (I say not all)
Warning of thingès that shall after fall.
Look of Egypt the king, Dan Pharao,
His baker and his butèler also,
Whether they ne felten none effect in dreams.
Whoso will seeken acts of sundry remes,"
May read of dreamès many a wonder thing.
Lo Croesus, which that was of Lydia king,
Met he not that he sat upon a tree,
Which signified he should anhangèd be?
"Lo here, Andromache, Hectórès wife,
That day that Hector shouldè lese his life.
She dreamed on the samè night beforn,
How that the life of Hector should be lorn,"
If thilke day he went into battáil:
She warned him, but it might not avail;
He wentè for to fighten nathèless,
And he was slain anon of Achillés.
But thilkè tale is all too long to tell,
And eke it is nigh day, I may not dwell.
"Shortly I say, as for conclusión,
That I shall have of this avisión
Adversity and I say furthermore,
That I ne tell of laxatives no store,
For they be venomous, I wot it well:
I hem defy, I love hem never a del.
"Now let us speak of mirth, and stint all this;
Madame Partèlote, so have I bliss,
Of one thing God hath sent me largè grace:
For when I see the beauty of your face,
Ye be so scarlet red about your eyen,
It maketh all my dreadè for to dien,
For, also sicker as In principio,
Mulier est hominis confusio,
Madam, the sentence of this Latin is,
Woman is mannès joy and all his bliss-
For when I feel a-night your softè side,
I am so full of joy and of soláce,
That I defyè bothè sweven" and dream. ”
7 As.
3 Dreamed.
'Lose.
8 Certain.
9 Meaning.
5 Lost.
6 Set no store.
10 Dream.


## p. 3593 (#575) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
3593
1 Since.
2 Instinct.
3 Voice.
And with that word he flew down from the beam,
For it was day, and eke his hennès all;
And with a chuck he gan hem for to call,
For he had found a corn, lay in the yard.
Royal he was, he was no more afeard;
He looketh as it were a grim lión;
And on his toes he roameth up and down,
Him deigned not to set his feet to ground:
He chucketh, when he hath a corn yfound,
And to him rennen then his wivès all.
Thus royal, as a prince is in his hall,
Leave I this Chanticleer in his pastúre ;
And after will I tell his áventúre.
When that the month in which the world began,
That hightè March, when God first makèd man,
Was cómplete, and ypassèd were also,
Sithen' March began, thirty dayès and two,
Befell that Chanticleer in all his pride,
His seven wivès walking by his side,
Cast up his eyen to the brightè sun,
That in the sign of Taurus had yrun
Twenty degrees and one, and somewhat more:
He knew by kind,' and by none other lore,
That it was prime, and crew with blissful steven,³
"The sun," he said, "is clomben up on heaven
Forty degrees and one, and more ywis. *
Madamè Partèlote, my worldès bliss,
Hearkeneth these blissful birdès how they sing,
And see the freshè flowers how they spring;
Full is mine heart of revel and solace. "
But suddenly him fell a sorrowful case;
For ever the latter end of joy is woe:
God wot that worldly joy is soon ago;
And if a rethor couldè fair indite,
He in a chronique safely might it write,
As for a sovereign notability.
Now every wise man, let him hearken me:
This story is also true, I undertake,
As is the book of Launcelot de Lake,
* Certainly.
5 Rhetorician.
6 As.


## p. 3594 (#576) ###########################################

3594
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
¹ Crafty fox.
2 Dwelt.
3 Predestined.
That women hold in full great reverénce.
Now will I turn again to my senténce.
A col fox,' full of sly iniquity,
That in the grove had wonèd² yearès three,
By high imaginatión forncast,³
The same night throughout the hedges brast'
Into the yard, there Chanticleer the fair
Was wont, and eke his wivès, to repair:
And in a bed of wortès still he lay,
Till it was passèd undern® of the day,
Waiting his time on Chanticleer to fall:
As gladly do these homicidès all,
That in awaitè lie to murder men.
O falsè murderer! lurking in thy den!
O newè 'Scariot, newè Genelon!
False dissimulour, O Greek Sinon,
That broughtest Troy all utterly to sorrow!
O Chanticleer! accursèd be that morrow,
That thou into that yard flew from the beams,
Thou were full well ywarned by thy dreams,
That thilke day was perilous to thee.
But what that God forewot' mote needès be,
After the opinìón of certain clerkès.
Witness on him that any perfect clerk is,
That in school is great altercatión
In this mattér, and great disputison,
8
And hath been of an hundred thousand men.
But I ne cannot bolt it to the bren,⁹
As can the holy doctor Augustin,
Or Boece, or the bishop Bradwardin,
Whether that Godès worthy forewiting 10
Straineth me needly for to do a thing,
Needly clepe I simple necessity-
Or ellès if free choice be granted me
To do that samè thing, or do it nought,
Though God forewot it ere that it was wrought;
Or if his witing" straineth never a del,
But by necessity conditionèl.
I will not have to do of such mattère;
My tale is of a cock, as ye may hear,
+ Burst.
5 Herbs.
"Mid-day meal time.
10 Foreknowledge.
Foreknows.
8 Sift.
9 Bran.
11 Knowledge.


## p. 3595 (#577) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
3595
1 Dreamed.
2 Know not.
3 Conjecture.
That took his counsel of his wife with sorrow
To walken in the yard upon that morrow
That he had met¹ the dream, that I of told.
Womenès counsels be full often cold;
Womanès counsel brought us first to woe,
And made Adám from Paradise to go,
There as he was full merry, and well at ease.
But for I not, to whom it might displease,
If I counsel of women wouldè blame,
Pass over, for I said it in my game.
Read authors, where they treat of such mattére,
And what they say of women ye may hear.
These be the cockès wordès, and not mine;
I can none harm of no woman divine.
3
Fair in the sand, to bathe her merrily,
Lieth Partelote, and all her sisters by,
Again the sun; and Chanticleer so free
Sang merrier than the mermaid in the sea;
For Physiologus saith sikerly,'
How that they singen well and merrily.
And so befell that as he cast his eye
Among the wortès on a butterfly,
He was ware of this fox that lay full low.
Nothing ne list him thennè for to crow,
But cried anon "Cock! cock! " and up he start,"
As man that was affrayèd in his heart.
For naturally a beast desireth flee
From his contráry, if he may it see,
Though he ne'er erst had seen it with his eye.
This Chanticleer, when he gan him espy,
He would have fled, but that the fox anon
Said, "Gentle Sir, alas! why will ye gon?
Be ye afraid of me that am your friend?
Now certes, I were worsè than a fiend,
If I to you would harm or villainy.
I am not come your counsel for to espy,
But truely the cause of my coming
Was only for to hearken how that ye sing:
For truely ye have as merry a steven,
As any angel hath that is in heaven;
* Certainly.
5 Started.
6 Before.
7 Voice.


## p. 3596 (#578) ###########################################

3596
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
1 Enjoy.
2 Foolish.
Therewith ye have in music more feeling,
Than had Boece, or any that can sing.
My lord your father! God his soulè bless
And eke your mother of her gentillesse,
Have in mine house ybeen, to my great ease:
And certes, sir, full fain would I you please.
But for men speak of singing, I will say,
So mote I brooken' well my eyen tway,
Save you, I heardè never man so sing,
As did your father in the morwening
Certes it was of heart all that he sung.
And for to make his voice the morè strong,
He would so pain him, that with both his eyen
He mustè wink, so loud he wouldè crien,
And standen on his tipton therewithal,
And stretchen forth his neckè long and small.
And eke he was of such discretión,
That there nas no man in no región,
That him in song or wisdom mightè pass.
I have well read in Dan Burnel the ass
Among his verse, how that there was a cock,
For that a priestès son gave him a knock
Upon his leg, while he was young and nice,'
He made him for to lese his benefice.
But certain there nis no comparisón
Betwix the wisdom and discretión
Of your father, and of his subtilty.
Now singeth, sir, for saintè Charity,
Let see, can ye your father counterfeit ? »
This Chanticleer his wingès gan to beat,
As man that could his treason not espy,
So was he ravished with his flattery.
Alas! ye lordès, many a false flatour³
Is in your courts, and many a losengeour,³
That pleasen you well morè, by my faith,
Than he that soothfastness unto you saith.
Readeth Ecclesiast of flattery,
Beware, ye lordès, of hir treachery.
This Chanticleer stood high upon his toes
Stretching his neck, and held his eyen close,
And gan to crowen loudè for the nonce:
And Dan Russèl the fox start up at once,
3 Flatterer.
+ Truth.


## p. 3597 (#579) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
3597
1 Throat.
And by the garget¹ hentè² Chanticleer,
And on his back toward the wood him bare.
For yet ne was there no man that him sued. "
O destiny, that mayst not be eschewed!
Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the beams!
Alas, his wife ne raughtè not of dreams!
And on a Friday fell all this mischance.
O Venus, that art goddess of pleasance,
Sin that thy servant was this Chanticleer,
And in thy service did all his powér,
More for delight, than world to multiply,
Why wouldst thou suffer him on thy day to die?
O Gaufrid, dearè master sovereign,
That, when thy worthy king Richárd was slain
With shot, complainedest his death so sore,
Why nad I now thy sentence and thy lore,
The Friday for to chide, as diden ye? -
For on a Friday soothly slain was he,
Then would I shew you how that I could plain
For Chanticleerès dread, and for his pain.
Certes such cry, ne lamentatìón
Was ne'er of ladies made, when Ilión
Was won, and Pyrrhus with his streitè swerd,
When he had hent king Priam by the beard,
And slain him, as saith us Ænéidós,
As maden all the hennès in the close,
When they had seen of Chanticleer the sight.
But sovereignly Dame Partèlotè shright,
Full louder than did Hasdrubalès wife,
When that her husband haddè lost his life,
And that the Romans haddè burnt Carthage.
She was so full of torment and of rage,
That willfully into the fire she start,
And brents herselven with a steadfast heart.
O woful hennès! right so crieden ye,
As when that Nero brentès the city
Of Rome, crieden senatorès wives
For that their husbands losten all hir lives;
Withouten guilt this Nero hath hem slain.
Now will I turnè to my tale again;
This sely widow, and eke her daughters two,
Hearden these hennès cry and maken woe,
2 Seized.
* Cared.
8 Burnt.
• Drawn.
3 Followed.
Shrieked.
5 Had not.
9 Simple.


## p. 3598 (#580) ###########################################

3598
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
gon,
And out at doorès starten they anon,
And saw the fox toward the
And bare upon his back the cock away:
They crieden, "Out! harow and welawa!
Ha, ha! the fox! " and after him they ran,
And eke with stavès many another man;
Ran Coll our dog, and Talbot, and Garland,
And Malkin with a distaff in her hand;
Ran cow and calf, and eke the very hoggès,
So were they feared for barking of the doggès,
And shouting of the men and women eke,
They rannen so, hem thought hir heartè breke. '
They yellèden as fiendès do in hell:
The duckès crieden as men would hem quell:
The geese for fearè flewen o'er the trees,
Out of the hivè came the swarm of bees,
So hideous was the noise, a! ben'cite!
Certes he Jackè Straw, and his meyné,²
Ne maden never shoutès half so shrill,
When that they woulden any Fleming kill,
As thilkè day was made upon the fox.
Of brass they broughten beamès" and of box,
Of horn and bone, in which they blew and pooped,'
And therewithal they shrieked and they hoopèd³;
It seemed as that heaven shouldè fall.
Now, goodè men, I pray you hearkeneth all;
Lo, how Fortunè turneth suddenly
The hope and pride eke of her enemy.
This cock that lay upon the fox's back,
In all his dread, unto the fox he spake,
And saidè, "Sir, if that I were as ye,
Yet would I say, as wis God helpè me,
'Turneth again, ye proudè churlès all;
A very pestilence upon you fall!
Now am I come unto the woodès side,
Maugre your head, the cock shall here abide:
I will him eat in faith, and that anon. '»
The fox answered, "In faith, it shall be done:"
And as he spake that word, all suddenly
This cock brake from his mouth deliverly,'
And high upon a tree he flew anon.
1 Would break.
2 Followers.
3
Trumpets.
Trumpeted.
7
' Actively.
5 Whooped.
Surely.


## p. 3599 (#581) ###########################################

GEOFFREY CHAUCER
¹ Seized.
2 Wicked.
3 Curse.
And when the fox saw that he was ygone,
"Alas! " quoth he, "O Chanticleer, alas!
I have to you," quoth he, "ydone trespáss,
Inasmuch as I makèd you afeard,
When I you hent,' and brought out of the yard;
But, sir, I did it of no wicke intent:
Come down, and I shall tell you what I meant.
I shall say sooth to you, God help me so. "
"Nay then," quoth he, "I shrew³ us bothè two.
And first I shrew myself, both blood and bonès,
If thou beguile me any ofter than onès.
Thou shalt no morè through thy flattery
Do me to sing and winken with mine eye.
For he that winketh when he shouldè see,
All willfully, God let him never the 5! »
་ Nay," quoth the fox, "but God give him mischance,
That is so indiscreet of governance,
That jangleth when he shouldè hold his peace. "
Lo, such it is for to be reckèless
And negligent, and trust on flattery.
But ye that holden this tale a folly,
As of a fox, or of a cock and hen,
Take the morality thereof, good men.
For Saint Paul saith, That all that written is,
To our doctrine it is ywrit ywis,'
Taketh the fruit, and let the chaff be still.
Now goodè God, if that it be thy will,
As saith my lord, so make us all good men;
And bring us to his highè bliss. - Amen.
+ Cause.
5 Thrive.
6 Prateth.
3599
Certainly.


## p. 3600 (#582) ###########################################

3600
GEOFFREY CHAUCER
BALLADE OF GOOD COUNSEL
F
LEE from the press, and dwell with soothfastness ¹;
Suffice thine owen thing, though it be small;
For hoard hath hate, and climbing tickleness,²
Press hath envy, and weal blent overall *;
Savour no more than thee behove shall;
Rule well thyself, that other folk canst rede³;
And truthè shall deliver, it is no drede. "
TRUTH
Tempest thee not all crooked to redress,
In trust of her that turneth as a ball:
For great rest stands in little businéss;
Beware also to spurn against an awl;
Strive not as doth the crockè with the wall;
Dauntè thyself that dauntest otherès deed,
And truthè shall deliver, it is no drede. "
That' thee is sent receive in buxomness,8
The wrestling for this world asketh a fall:
Here is none home, here nis but wilderness:
Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beast, out of thy stall!
Know thy country, look up, thank God of all;
Hold the high way, and let thy ghost 10 thee lead,
And truthè shall deliver, it is no drede. "
• Everywhere.
5 Advise.
Therfore, thou vache," leave thine old wretchedness
Unto the worldè; leave now to be thrall;
Cry him mercy, that of his high goodnéss
Made thee of nought, and in especiál
Draw unto him, and pray in generál
1 Truth.
2 Unsteadiness, unstability.
3 Blinds.
For thee, and eke for other, heavenly meed,
And truthè shall deliver, it is no drede. "
ENVOY
11 Beast.
6 Doubt.
7 What.
8 Submissiveness.
9 Is not.
10 Spirit.


## p. 3601 (#583) ###########################################

3601
ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
(1762-1794)
BY KATHARINE HILLARD
HERE are some reputations which seem to depend upon their
environment. Certain names are surrounded by a halo of
romance, through which all outlines are enlarged and
heightened in effect until it becomes difficult to discern their true
proportions through the golden mist. When we think of André
Chénier we see a youthful figure among a crowd of fellow-prisoners,
the light of genius in his eyes, the dark shadow of impending death
already enveloping him and climbing slowly upwards, as the mist of
the Highland second-sight rises higher as
death draws near. The pathetic character
of his fate touches the heart, and disposes
us to judge the poems he wrote with that
bias of personal interest which is so apt to
warp the verdict of the critical mind. Had
André Chénier died comfortably in his bed
at a good old age, would Sainte-Beuve
have been so apt to call him "our greatest
classic poet since Racine and Boileau"?
unless indeed he had vainly racked his
memory to think of any other.
André-Marie de Chénier-

ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
as he was
called until 1790 swept away all ornamental
particles- was born amid picturesque sur-
roundings at Constantinople, October 30th, 1762, where his father
then held the office of Consul-General. He had married a young
Greek girl, a Mademoiselle Santi-l'Homaka, whose family came
originally from the island of Cyprus. A Languedocian father, a
Cyprian mother, an Oriental birthplace,- it was no wonder that the
passionate fire of his blood flamed somewhat too hotly through his
verse. André was the third of four sons, and four daughters were
also born to M. de Chénier. In 1765, when he was but three years
old, his father returned to France; but two years afterwards left his
native country again to fill a diplomatic position in Morocco, while
his wife remained in Paris with their children.
André seems to have always looked back with pleasure to his
Eastern birthplace, and long cherished the hope of revisiting it, but
VI-226


## p. 3602 (#584) ###########################################

3602
ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
he never got farther on the way than Italy. Madame de Chénier,
who was a refined and cultivated woman with much taste for art
and literature, gave him his first lessons; but he was soon sent
with his brothers to the College of Navarre. There he made many
friendships that lasted to the end of his short life, and his school-
fellows, some of whom belonged to noble and wealthy families, often
took him to spend his holidays at their country-houses.
verse.
At the age of sixteen he carried off a first prize in rhetoric; and
from that time began his apprenticeship to the trade of the Muses,
as Ronsard would say, by writing translations of Greek and Latin
He does not seem to have been particularly precocious as a
poet, and his imitations of Sappho were even then considered rather
feeble. His mother's salon was thronged with artists, poets, writers,
and men of the world, among whom André might have found many
indulgent listeners, were it not that his reserve and fastidious taste
made him rather chary of exhibiting his youthful efforts. His mind
was already full of ambitious projects for future epics, and his
leisure was spent very much as his classic models had spent theirs,
in light and facile pleasures and loves.
M. de Chénier, who watched over his family from afar, was ambi-
tious for the future of his sons; Constantine, the eldest, was already
in the diplomatic service; the other three were destined for the
army. André joined his regiment when he was twenty, and went to
Strasbourg to learn his new duties; but the life of a soldier was not
congenial to him, and although he made one or two dear friends in
the garrison, the six months that he spent there seemed intermina-
ble, and he returned to Paris to resume his life of elegant dissipation
among his rich and titled acquaintances. But his health began to
give way, and the hope of relief from a change of climate induced
him to join his old friends, the brothers Louis and Charles Trudaine,
in a journey they projected through Switzerland and Italy to Con-
stantinople. The three friends started together in the summer of
1784, passed through Switzerland, and spent the autumn and winter
in Italy; but although they remained away a year, they never got
any further.
This journey and its experiences did much to educate and enrich
the mind of André, and he continued to devote much time to study
and poetic composition to the elaboration of vast schemes for dramas
and epics, and to the imitation of the Greek and Latin poets he
loved and copied so well. He wished to enlarge the province of the
idyl, and to give to it more variety than even Theocritus had suc-
ceeded in doing; to make it more dramatic, less ruistc, and in short,
if we may judge from the assertions of his countrymen, a more per-
fect picture of that elegant and aristocratic world in which he moved.


## p. 3603 (#585) ###########################################

ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
3603
The idyls of André Chénier are to poetry very much what the pic-
tures of Watteau and Boucher are to painting. The variety he
wished so much to impart to them is after all confined to the group-
ing of the figures, and their greatest beauty is the classic elegance
of their style; as one of his French biographers says, "The style of
these poems inakes up for what the sentiment lacks of ideality, and
lends a sort of purity to details which from any other pen would
have run great risk of coarseness. " Sainte-Beuve speaks of "his
boxwood flute, his ivory lute"; but all this beauty of diction, this
smoothness and grace of verse, can hardly blind the unprejudiced
critic to the fact that "a sort of purity" will hardly make up for his
too frequent choice of subjects that appeal only to the grossest tastes.
His highest ideals, like those of most poets, were never reached.
He had lofty visions of writing a poem called 'Hermes,' which
should be an exposition of natural and social laws, principles, and
progress; a system of philosophy in heroic couplets, beginning with
the birth of humanity and its first questioning of natural phenomena,
its first efforts to solve the problems of the universe, and coming
down to the latest discoveries of physical and political science. He
never succeeded in completing the preliminary studies necessary to
the carrying out of this vast conception, and the 'Hermes' remains
a mass of incoherent fragments.
André de Chénier had not the robust common-sense that underlay
all the poetic eccentricities of the poet whom in many ways he so
much resembled,- Alfred de Musset. The latter knew and recog-
nized his limitations. "My glass is not large, but I drink from my
own glass," he said, and what he did attempt was well within his
possibilities and was exquisitely done. Not so with Chénier. With
a genius like that of De Musset, pre-eminently lyrical, but with infi-
nitely less variety and richness, he laboriously accumulated vast piles
of materials for dramas and for epics that if ever completed must
have but added another page to the list of literary soporifics. He
made a colossal sketch of another poem, to be called 'America,'— a
sort of geographical and historical encyclopedia, M. Joubert calls it,
whose enormous mass of detail could scarcely be floated by any one
current of interest, but whose principal motive seemed meant to be
the conquest of Peru.
In the midst of these enterprises he suddenly conceived what one
of his biographers calls "the amiable intention" of writing a poem on
the story of 'Susannah and the Elders,' but only completed a prose
sketch with two or three short passages in verse. He also began one
or two tragedies which were to be after Eschylus, a comedy called
'The Charlatans,' poems on the literary life, and many other sub-
jects; and at the same time he was keeping up his relations with


## p. 3604 (#586) ###########################################

3604
ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
many of his distinguished contemporaries; -the Polish poet Niemce-
wicz; Mrs. Cosway, the charming young wife of the well-known
English painter, and an artist herself; the Italian poet Alfieri; and
the Countess of Albany.
In 1787 his father, who had returned to Paris, was anxious that
André should begin his diplomatic career; and he was appointed
attaché to M. de la Luzerne, just sent as ambassador to England.
The poet went to London in December,—a most unpropitious season,—
and naturally nothing pleased him there; he found the climate
detestable, the manners of the English rude and cold, their literature
of a barbaric richness, and in fact he approved of nothing in England
but its Constitution, which he thought not only good but worthy of
imitation.
He had been in London about sixteen months when the first
rumors of the French Revolution reached him and turned all his
thoughts towards the great political questions of the moment. The
project of a rule of liberty and justice for France appealed to the
noblest side of his nature; and while passionately opposed to all
excess and violence, he was eager to assist any movement that
promised to help the people.
With his friends the brothers Trudaine, he joined the Society of
'89, when it was a centre for varying shades of opinion, reconciled
by a common love of liberty and hatred of anarchy. He returned
to Paris definitely in the summer of 1790, and wrote independent
and impassioned articles in the Journal of the Society of 1789, warn-
ing the people against their real enemies, the fomenters of anarchy,
while he expressed much the same ideas in one of the most cele-
brated of his poems, the ode to David's picture called 'Le Jeu de
Paume, representing the deputies taking their famous oath in the
Hall of the Jeu de Paume at Versailles. Lacretelle, in his reminis-
cences published half a century later, spoke of André Chénier as a fel-
low-member of the club called Friends of the Constitution, as a man
of great talent and great force of character:-"The most decided
and the most eloquently expressed opinions always came from him.
His strongly marked features, his athletic though not lofty stature,
his dark complexion, his glowing eyes, enforced and illuminated his
words. Demosthenes as well as Pindar had been the object of his
study. "
But moderate opinions and a horror of the excesses of the Revolu-
tion were very unsafe things to hold. Although André took refuge
in 1793 in a quiet little house at Versailles, he could not stay there
altogether, but made frequent visits to Paris; and an unfortunate
chance caused his arrest at the house of M. Pastoret at Passy, where
he was accused of having gone to warn his friend of his own danger.


## p. 3605 (#587) ###########################################

ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
3605
Chénier was first taken to the prison of the Luxembourg, which was
too full to receive him, and then to St. Lazare, where he was regis-
tered on the 8th of March, 1794.
Apart from the suspicion which caused his arrest, he could hardly
have escaped much longer; his fellow editor of the Journal de Paris
had already been in St. Lazare for several months, and his friends
the Trudaines joined him there before long. M. de Chénier exerted
all his influence to procure his son's liberation, but was put off with
promises and polite evasions; and not long after, his second son,
Sauveur, was imprisoned in the Conciergerie.
By this time there were nearly eight thousand persons in the
prisons of Paris; about eight hundred in St. Lazare, where Chénier
found many of his friends, and among the ladies there the beautiful
and charming young Duchess of Fleury. It was she who inspired the
poet with the idea of his poem called The Young Captive,' perhaps
the most beautiful, as it is the most touching, of all his poems.
Shortly before Chénier was arrested he had formed a close
friendship with Madame Pourrat of Luciennes and her two daughters,
the Countess Hocquart and Madame Laurent Lecoulteux. To the
latter, under the name of Fanny, he addressed many charming
verses; one ode in particular, that seems to have been intended to
accompany the gift of a necklace, is almost worthy of Ronsard,
although like many of Chénier's poems it was never finished.
His last poems were written in a very fine hand on some narrow
strips of paper that had escaped the vigilance of his jailers, and were
smuggled out of prison with the linen that went to the wash.
On the flimsy pretext of a conspiracy among the prisoners, André
Chénier, then only thirty-one, was condemned with twenty-five others
as "an enemy of the people, and for having shared in all the crimes
perpetrated by the tyrant, his wife, and his family; of writing against
liberty and in favor of tyranny; of corresponding with enemies of
the republic abroad and at home; and finally of conspiring, in the
prison of St. Lazare, to murder the members of the committees of
general safety, etc. , and to re-establish royalty in France. "
The twenty-five victims went through the mockery of their trial
in the morning of the 25th of July, 1794, and at six the same even-
ing were executed at the Barrière de Vincennes. Three days after-
ward, Robespierre and many of his accomplices perished upon the
scaffold, and the Reign of Terror was at an end.
Very little of André Chénier's poetry was left in a state fit for
publication; he began so many vast enterprises of which he left but
the merest fragments, and he wrote so much that his literary execu-
tors feared would shock the public taste. His brother published
'The Young Captive' and one or two other poems some seven years


## p. 3606 (#588) ###########################################

3606
ANDRÉ CHÉNIER
after his death, which were quoted by Châteaubriand in 1802 and
warmly admired by him. The first complete edition of his poems
did not appear till 1819, a year before Lamartine's 'Meditations'
came out, and three years before Victor Hugo's first collection was
printed.
He was not considered a great poet by his first readers, and
he would be almost a forgotten one now, were it not for the romance
of his short life and his early death. He was the precursor of Byron
and De Musset, having the ardent love of liberty of the former and
the sensuous grace of the latter; but he lacked the strength for a
sustained flight, and he did not know the measure of his powers. He
had saturated himself too completely with the honey of Greek verse,
and was prisoned in its cloying sweetness.