# Romance of the Rose (Ellis)/Chapter 50

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How fair Lucrece, through wrath she bare At heart, her noble besom tare With murderous knife, and death did win In face of husband, sire, and kin.9060
Then through her heart, with anguish filled. She drove the cruel steel and spilled tier life blood, but her friends charged first. To venge her on her foe accurst. From this example, through all time. It is that whoso such foul crime Commits, is doomed the death to die. Proud Tarquin and his family ​Were straightway driven forth from Rome, Dying in exile, and no home9070 Found kingship there again. Alas! Through all the world one now might pass, But no Penelope in Greece Discover, nor in Rome Lucrece, Nor such-like women otherwhere: Seek not—your pains ye well may spare.
Wives chosen blindly In pagan days too well ’tis known That women many a time have thrown Themselves at men who sought them not, As many a one doth now, God wot!9080
Those who in wedlock would engage, A custom have which neither sage Nor good I reckon, but bizarre And strange in each particular, And oft I marvel what should press Men on to such fond foolishness.
What man soe’er would buy a horse Examines him, in common course, With greatest pains, and carefully Notes each defect that meets his eye.9090 But women skilfully conceal All faults from those with whom they deal, And nought men know of good or ill Concerning those they wed until The knot is tied, but that once done, Good Lord! such pranks ’neath heaven’s high sun They play, as show all plain and clear Their inborn vice; nought then they fear, ​But let the wretched dupe perceive That nought his folly can retrieve;9100 Repentance comes alas! too late. Nay, even though a kindly fate Procure for him a wife both good And gentle, in all likelihood, Unless a fool, will he repent His folly ere a year be spent.
Good women are rare A virtuous woman! Nay, I swear By good St. Denis, that’s more rare Than is a phoenix. Thus hath said Valerius: Whosoe’er will wed9110 Or love a woman finds much pain And many troubles, while his gain Is nought. More rare than phoenix? Nay
’Twere apter simile to say Rarer by far than snow-white crow, How fine soe’er their bodies show.
But natheless am I free to say (Lest that the women of to-day Should count me neither just nor fair), I’ve no intention to declare9120 All womankind alike, but eyes Of lynx the man need have who tries So fair a bird on earth to find As any one of womankind Who’s faultless—secular or nun— Black swans are commoner ’neath the sun. Such birds on earth are sparsely sown, As lightly may, pardee, be known. ​Juvenal’s sayings And Juvenal supporteth this. He saith: If e’er thy luck it is9130 To find an honest woman, go Straight to the temple, fall alow To Jupiter on bended knees, And Goddess Juno strive to please With sacrificial cow, whose horns A film of precious gold adorns. For never while thou liv’st will be A rarer sight vouchsafed to thee. Valerius moreover saith: (Sans shame for that he uttereth)9140 That either at home or over-sea Would one affect the company Of vicious women, they are found Plenty as bees when swarms fly round. What deem you then shall be the fate Of such a fool? ’Twere desperate— He who a branch so frail doth choose To trust, shall soul and body lose.
Valerius, when ’twas plainly seen That young Rufinus, who had been9150 His friend from youth, would bend the knee To Hymen, cried: What’s come to thee In name of ail the Gods! dost set Thy foot within the treacherous net Designing women spread for men? And Juvenal these words wrote when Young Postumus would take a wife: ’Twere better far to end thy life! Doth no man now stout halters sell? Or can’st thou nowhere find a well9160 ​To drown thee in, or dizzy height From whence thou may’st take headlong flight?
Were not swift exit better far Than all thy happiness to mar By wedlock’s chains? Phoroneus, who The use of laws first taught unto The Greeks, when lying on his bed A-dying, to his brother said. The young Leontius: Brother dear. Calm were my death could I but hear9170 Thee promise that thou ne’er wilt take A wife—this vow I prithee make. And when Leontius sought the why, He spake him thus wise: Verily, Cruel experience all have found Whose feet within the snares are bound Of marriage, and if thou a wife Shouldst take—alas! woe worth thy life!
Abelard and Heloïse Likewise did Heloïse entreat (The abbess of the Paraclete)9180 Her lover Peter Abelard, That he would utterly discard All thought of marriage from his mind.
This lady, noble and refined, Of genius bright and learning great, Loving, and loved with passionate Strong love, implored him not to wed, And many a well-wrought reason sped To him in letters, where she showed That hard and troublous is the code9190 ​Heloïse refused marriage Of marriage, howsoever true Are those who bind themselves thereto; For not alone had she in books Studied, but all the closest nooks Of woman’s heart explored, and she Love’s throes had suffered bitterly. Therefore she begged they might atwain, Though dying each for each, remain, Bound by no bonds but those of love, Whose gentle ties are strong above9200
All marriage laws, yet frank and free Leave lovers—in sweet amity— To follow learning, and she said, Moreover, that long absence bred ’Twixt lovers unexpressed delight, Most poignant when they’re lost to sight.
But Peter, as himself hath writ In burning letters, so was smit With passion, that nought else would serve Till Heloïse he drew to swerve9210 From her sage counsel, and thence fell On him mischance most dire to tell; For little more their course was run Ere she at Argenteuil as nun Was close immured, while he was reft Of manhood by his foes, who deft As cruel were in his despite, Seizing him as he lay one night At Paris. After this mischance Saint Denis, patron saint of France,9220 ​Gave shelter to him as a monk; And when this bitter cup he’d drunk Down to the dregs, an abbey meet He founded, hight the Paraclete, For Heloïse, and there with good Success she ruled the sisterhood. Her love-lorn story hath she told In letters which she penned with bold Unshamed assurance; therein she Declares monk Abelard to be9230 Her lord and master; and some say These far-famed letters but betray Delirious love. When first the dress She donned of abbess, her distress Broke forth in these wild words: Heloïse unparalleled If he Who rules Rome’s Empire courteously Deigned to demand that I, as wife, To him would dedicate my life, In proud estate, I should reply: Much rather would I live and die9240 Thy mistress, wrapped in shame pro­found, Than empress of the world be crowned. But never since that day till now Hath such a woman lived, I trow.
I doubt not ’twas her reading wide Had taught her wisely to decide All questions wherein woman’s heart Is bound to bear so great a part, And so when love she felt disturb Her soul, she knew his power to curb;9250 ​And had her lover Abelard deckings Listened to her, he had not marred His life through marriage ties, but well Had passed his days in learned cell.
A wife’s deckings Marriage is but an evil bond: Help me, St. Julian, who so fond Hast been of aiding travellers, And Leonard, saint whom prisoners Invoke to give them timely aid When they repentant are; I made9260 Worse bargain when I took a wife Than If I had, to end my life, A halter bought, for chose I one So fine and fair to look upon That through her coquetry I’m dead. But, Son of Mary! by my head, What comes of all this bravery? What benefit accrues to me From costly gowns and quaint-cut gear, Your flirting tricks and mincing cheer?9270 The more with wasteful train you sweep The ground, the more my flesh doth creep With rage, and when I see you clad Thus foolishly it drives me mad. What profits it, I ask again, That you should take such toiling pain To pleasure others, while to me It brings but grief and misery? If I attempt some sportive play With you, ’tis always in the way,9280 For this vile muffling up prevents And baffles all my fond intents. ​And then as cold as clay you turn, And all my efforts fail to earn Your kind accord; you do but shake Awkward excuses, till I see Most clearly that my gallantry You find distasteful. A husband’s grievance When abed I seek with you to lay my head,9290 As worthy spouse should do at night, My dues to claim, my debt to quite, Your dizenments you cast aside, And both for head and neck provide White shrouds of linen, and from view Hide ribbons, red and green and blue, While all your robes of tissues fair And costly on a rail in air Are hung all night. I pray you, tell What use such things are but to sell9300 Or pawn? and if so be you do Nor one nor t’other with them, you May then expect such storms to break Around your head as cause you shake With terror: if your trash annoy Me day-long through, and nought of joy Gives me at night, what benefit Or pleasure do I gain from it More than a truss of river sedge, Unless it be to sell or pledge?9310
And for yourself—to make an end— If you have witting to attend ​To reason, know that nought you gain Of credit through behaviour vain And frivolous, nor do you one bit Better your looks, poor foolish chit.
Beauty needs not art And if some man should quote a throng Of mouldy saws to prove me wrong, And show the folly of my words, Saying: Fine feathers make fine birds,9320 And that good garniture sits well Alike on dame and damosel; I should not trouble to reply At length, but simply say: You lie.
For all the beauty of fair things, Whether it be delightful spring’s Sweet fleur-de-lis, as white as milk, Roses, or violets, or silk. Or other tissues fair (as I Have read in many a book) doth lie9330 Within themselves, and not in those Who wear them. Happy she who knows That all the choicest things ’neath heaven Can ne’er improve, but oft may leaven The beauty Nature gives. The heart In this same quality hath part.
To make my meaning stand out clear: Suppose a dunghill disappear From sight beneath a coverlet Of silk, with fragrant flowers beset9340 Of brightest hues, ’twould still remain A dunghill, and would stink amain ​E’en as before it was bedeckt.
Fair deckings vain And if some dotard should affect To say that, though all foul within, Fair is the dungheap for its skin Of silk and flowers, in same-like way As ladies who themselves array To help their beauty, and conceal Their ugliness, I could but feel9350 Amazed, nor dare to make reply, Except I said that probably Such strange delusion must arise From some wild vision of the eyes, Which see alone the outward show, And ne’er the heart’s vagaries know, By seeming-sweet imaginings Led to forget the depth of things In suchwise that they nought can see How to distinguish verity9360 From falsehood, nor with ease unknit A fallacy, through lack of wit.
But if they had the eyes of lynx, Men would not find a jade or minx Better because she chanced to wear Rich mantles trimmed around with rare And line Siberian marten fur, Nor think one atom more of her For heaps of diamonds and laces, Set off with mincing airs and graces,9370 Nor frillings, furbelows, and stays, Arranged a dozen different ways, Nor hats with gayest flowers bedeckt.
None could be fairer in respect ​Of form than Alcibiades, Whose beauteous shape perforce must please All who beheld it, so the hand Of Nature had in seeming planned A godlike man, but who within Should look would find him foul with sin.9380 Chastity’s evil plight And thus hath great Boethius said, Whose wit was with fair virtue wed. And he doth Aristotle call To witness, as a man whom all Put faith in, forasmuch as he Declares a lynx may clearly see Whate’er he will, right through and through. Past doubt it must be owned for true That Beauty is to Chastity In nowise friendly, as we see9390 In many a legend, tale and song Related, but unending wrong Will do to her. War to the death They wage so long as each draws breath, And neither one will yield a foot, Striving the other to uproot: But all unequal is the fight, And, whether in assault or flight, Cold Chastity is overcome, And lastly falling, worn and glum,9400 Throws down her arms. E’en Ugliness, Her handmaid, seeing her distress, Forbears to help her, but doth strive The damsel forth her house to drive,