Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  For innocent children will ever soon learn.

  But, whenever I think upon this matter,

  Saint Nicholas6 stands ever in my presence,

  For he so young to Christ did revere.

  This litel child, his litel book lerninge,

  As he sat in the scole at his prymer,

  He Alma redemptoris herde singe,

  As children lerned hir antiphoner;

  And, as he dorste, he drough him ner and ner,

  And herkned ay the wordes and the note,

  Til he the firste vers coude al by rote.

  Noght wiste he what this Latin was to seye,

  For he so yong and tendre was of age;

  But on a day his felaw gan he preye

  T‘expounden him this song in his langage,

  Or telle him why this song was in usage;

  This preyde he him to construe and declare

  Ful ofte tyme upon his knowes bare.

  His felaw, which that elder was than he,

  Answerde him thus: “this song, I have herd seye,

  Was maked of our blisful lady free,

  Hir to salue, and eek hir for to preye

  To been our help and socour whan we deye.

  I can no more expounde in this matere;

  I lerne song, I can but smal grammere.”

  “And is this song maked in reverence

  Of Cristes moder?” seyde this innocent;

  “Now certes, I wol do my diligence

  To comme it al, er Cristemasse is went;

  Though that I for my prymer shal be shent,

  And shal be beten thryës in an houre,

  I wol it conne, our lady for to honoure.”

  His felaw taughte him homward prively,

  Fro day to day, til he coude it by rote,

  And than he song it wel and boldely

  Fro word to word, acording with the note;

  Twyës a day it passed thurgh his throte,

  To scoleward and homward whan he wente;

  On Cristes moder set was his entente.

  This little child, his little book studying,

  As he sat in the school with his primer,

  He Alma redemptoris7 heard sing,

  As older children learned their antiphon;

  And much as he dared, he to them drew close,

  And harkened to the words and notes,

  Till he the first verse knew by rote.

  Not knew he what this Latin said,

  For he so young and tender was of age.

  But on a day his fellow student he began to ask

  To expound for him the song in his tongue,

  Or tell him why this song was sung;

  This prayed he him to translate and declare

  Full often time upon his knees bare.

  His fellow, who older was than he,

  Answered him thus: “This song, I have heard say,

  Was made of our blissful lady gracious,

  To salute her, and also to pray to her

  To be our help and succor when we die.

  I can no more expound on this matter.

  I learn to sing it, but I know little grammar.”8

  “And is this song made in reverence

  Of Christ’s mother?” said this innocent.

  “Now, certainly, I will do my best

  To learn it before Christmas be here.

  Though I shall neglect my primer,

  And shall be beaten thrice an hour,

  I will it learn to honor Our Lady!”

  His fellow taught him walking home,

  From day to day, till it he knew by rote,

  And then he sang it well and boldly,

  From word to word, and note for note,

  Twice a day it passed through his throat,

  To school and homeward when he went;

  On Christ’s mother set was his intent.

  As I have seyd, thurgh-out the Jewerye

  This litel child, as he cam to and fro,

  Ful merily than wolde he singe, and crye

  O Alma redemptoris ever-mo.

  The swetnes hath his herte perced so

  Of Cristes moder, that, to hir to preye,

  He can nat stinte of singing by the weye.

  Our firste fo, the serpent Sathanas,

  That hath in Jewes herte his waspes nest,

  Up swal, and seide, “O Hebraik peple, alias!

  Is this to yow a thing that is honest,

  That swich a boy shal walken as him lest

  In your despyt, and singe of swich sentence,

  Which is agayn your lawes reverence?”

  Fro thennes forth the Jewes han conspyred

  This innocent out of this world to chace;

  An homicyde ther-to han they hyred,

  That in an aley hadde a privee place;

  And as the child gan for-by for to pace,

  This cursed Jew him hente and heeld him faste,

  And kitte his throte, and in a pit him caste.

  I seye that in a wardrobe they him threwe

  Wher-as these Jewes purgen hir entraille.

  O cursed folk of Herodes al newe,

  What may your yvel entente yow availle?

  Mordre wol out, certein, it wol nat faille,

  And namely ther th‘onour of god shal sprede,

  The blood out cryeth on your cursed dede.

  “O martir, souded to virginitee,

  Now maystou singen, folwing ever in oon

  The whyte lamb celestial,” quod she,

  “Of which the grete evangelist, seint John,

  In Pathmos wroot, which seith that they that goon

  Biforn this lamb, and singe a song al newe,

  That never, fleshly, wommen they ne knewe.”

  As I have said, throughout the ghetto

  This little child, as he went to and fro,

  Full merrily would he sing and cry

  O Alma redemptoris evermore.

  The sweetness his heart pierced so

  Of Christ’s mother that, to pray to her,

  He cannot stint of singing along the way.

  Our first foe, the serpent Satan,

  Who had in Jews’ hearts his wasp’s nest,

  Upswelled, and said, “Oh Hebrew people, alas!

  Is this to you a thing that is decent,

  That such a brat shall walk as he pleases

  In your disrespect, and sing of such subjects,

  To which your laws object?”

  From thenceforth the Jews have conspired

  This innocent out of this world to chase.

  A murderer thereto have they hired,

  Who in an alley had a secret place;

  And as the child began past there to pace,

  This cursed Jew him seized, and held him fast,

  And cut his throat, and in a pit him cast.

  I say that in a privy they him threw

  Where these Jews purged their bowels.

  Oh cursed folk of Herods9 new,

  What may your evil intent avail?

  Murder will out, certainly, it will not fail,

  And namely there the honor of God shall spread;

  The blood cries out against your cursed deed.

  Oh martyr, consecrated to virginity,

  Now may you sing, following ever

  The white Lamb celestial—said she—

  Of which the great evangelist, Saint John,

  In Patmos wrote,10 who says that they go

  Before this Lamb and sing a song all new,

  Who never earthly women knew.

  This povre widwe awaiteth al that night

  After hir litel child, but he cam noght;

  For which, as sone as it was dayes light,

  With face pale of drede and bisy thoght,

  She hath at scole and elles-wher him soght,

  Til finally she gan so fere espye

  That he last seyn was in the Jewerye.

  With modres pitee in hir brest enclose
d,

  She gooth, as she were half out of hir minde,

  To every place wher she hath supposed

  By lyklihede hir litel child to finde;

  And ever on Cristes moder meke and kinde

  She cryde, and atte laste thus she wroghte,

  Among the cursed Jewes she him soghte.

  She frayneth and she preyeth pitously

  To every Jew that dwelte in thilke place,

  To telle hir, if hir child wente oght for-by.

  They seyde, “nay”; but Jesu, of his grace,

  Yaf in hir thought, inwith a litel space,

  That in that place after hir sone she cryde,

  Wher he was casten in a pit bisyde.

  O grete god, that parfournest thy laude

  By mouth of innocents, lo heer thy might!

  This gemme of chastitee, this emeraude,

  And eek of martirdom the ruby bright,

  Ther he with throte y-corven lay upright,

  He “Alma redemptoris” gan to singe

  So loude, that al the place gan to ringe.

  The Cristen folk, that thurgh the strete wente,

  In coomen, for to wondre up-on this thing,

  And hastily they for the provost sente;

  He cam anon with-outen tarying,

  And herieth Crist that is of heven king,

  And eek his moder, honour of mankinde,

  And after that, the Jewes leet he binde.

  This poor widow awaited all that night

  For her little child, but he came not;

  For which, as soon as it was daylight,

  With face pale with dread and anxious thought,

  She has at school and elsewhere him sought,

  Till finally she began to learn

  That he in the Jewery was last seen.

  With mother’s pity in her breast enclosed,

  She went, as she was half out of her mind,

  To every place where she has supposed

  By likelihood her little child to find;

  And ever to Christ’s mother meek and kind

  She cried, and at last thus she wrought:

  Among the cursed Jews she him sought.

  She asked and she prayed piteously

  To every Jew who dwelt in that place,

  To tell her if her child anywhere there went.

  They said “nay;” but Jesus of his grace

  Has in her thought in a little while

  Led her to that place where for her son she cried,

  Where he was cast in the pit beside.

  Oh great God, who manifests your praise

  In the mouths of innocents, behold your might!

  This gem of chastity, this emerald,

  And also of martyrdom the ruby bright,

  There with throat cut lay face upright,

  He Alma redemptoris began to sing

  So loud that all the place began to ring.

  The Christian folk who along the street went

  Came in to wonder upon this thing,

  And hastily they for the magistrate sent;

  He came anon without tarrying,

  And praised Christ who is of heaven king,

  And also his mother, honor of mankind,

  And after that the Jews he bound.

  This child with pitous lamentacioun

  Up-taken was, singing his song alway;

  And with honour of grete processioun

  They carien him un-to the nexte abbay.

  His moder swowning by the bere lay;

  Unnethe might the people that was there

  This newe Rachel bringe fro his bere.

  With torment and with shamful deth echon

  This provost dooth thise Jewes for to sterve

  That of this mordre wiste, and that anon;

  He nolde no swich cursednesse observe.

  Yvel shal have, that yvel wol deserve.

  Therfor with wilde hors he dide hem drawe,

  And after that he heng hem by the lawe.

  Up-on his bere ay lyth this innocent

  Biforn the chief auter, whyl masse laste,

  And after that, the abbot with his covent

  Han sped hem for to burien him ful faste;

  And whan they holy water on him caste,

  Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was holy water,

  And song—“O Alma redemptoris mater!”

  This abbot, which that was an holy man

  As monkes been, or elles oghten be,

  This yonge child to conjure he bigan,

  And seyde, “o dere child, I halse thee,

  In vertu of the holy Trinitee,

  Tel me what is thy cause for to singe,

  Sith that they throte is cut, to my seminge?”

  “My throte is cut un-to my nekke-boon,”

  Seyde this child, “and, as by wey of kinde,

  I sholde have deyed, ye, longe tyme agoon,

  But Jesu Crist, as ye in bokes finde,

  Wil that his glorie laste and be in minde;

  This child with piteous lamentation

  Uptaken was, singing his song always,

  And with honor of great procession

  They carried him unto the next abbey.

  His mother swooning by his bier lay;

  Hardly might the people who were there

  This new Rachel bring from his bier.11

  With torture and with shameful death,

  This magistrate put those Jews to death

  Who of this murder knew, and that anon.

  He had never permitted such cursedness.

  “Evil shall have what evil deserves”;

  Therefore with wild horses he did them draw,

  And then he them hung as held the law.12

  Upon this bier ever lay this innocent

  Before the chief altar, while the mass lasted;

  And after that, the abbot with his monks

  Made haste to bury him full fast;

  And when they holy water on him cast,

  Yet spoke this child, when sprinkled with holy water,

  And sang, O Alma redemptoris mater!

  This abbot, who was a holy man,

  As monks be—or else ought to be—

  This young child to entreat he began,

  And said, “Oh dear child, I beseech you,

  In virtue of the holy Trinity,

  Tell me what is the cause of your singing,

  Since your throat was cut as it seems to me?”

  “My throat is cut unto my neck bone,”

  Said this child, “and by natural law

  I should have died, yea, long time ago.

  But Jesus Christ, as you in books find,

  May his glory last and be in mind,

  And, for the worship of his moder dere,

  Yet may I singe ‘O Alma’ loude and clere.

  This welle of mercy, Cristes moder swete,

  I lovede alwey, as after my conninge;

  And whan that I my lyf sholde forlete,

  To me she cam, and bad me for to singe

  This antem verraily in my deyinge,

  As ye han herd, and, whan that I had songe,

  Me thoughte, she leyde a greyn up-on my tonge.

  Wherfor I singe, and singe I moot certeyn

  In honour of that blisful mayden free,

  Til fro my tonge of-taken is the greyn;

  And afterward thus seyde she to me,

  ‘My litel child, now wol I fecche thee

  Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge y-take;

  Be nat agast, I wol thee nat forsake.’ ”

  This holy monk, this abbot, him mene I,

  Him tonge out-caughte, and took a-wey the greyn,

  And he yaf up the goost ful softely.

  And whan this abbot had this wonder seyn,

  His salte teres trikled doun as reyn,

  And gruf he fil al plat up-on the grounde,

  And stille he lay as he had been y-bounde.

  The covent
eek lay on the pavement

  Weping, and herien Cristes moder dere,

  And after that they ryse, and forth ben went,

  And toke awey this martir fro his bere,

  And in a tombe of marbul-stones clere

  Enclosen they his litel body swete;

  Ther he is now, god leve us for to mete.

  O yonge Hugh of Lincoln, slayn also

  With cursed Jewes, as it is notable,

  For it nis but a litel whyle ago;

  And for the worship of his Mother dear

  Yet may I sing O Alma loud and clear.

  “This well of mercy, Christ’s mother sweet,

  I loved always, as after my understanding;

  And when I my life forfeited,

  To me she came, and bade me to sing

  This psalm truly in my dying,

  As you have heard, and when I had sung,

  I thought she laid a seed upon my tongue.

  “Therefore I sing, and sing most certain,

  In honor of that blissful Maid of mercy

  Till from my tongue removed is the seed;

  And after that thus she said to me:

  ‘My little child, now will I fetch you,

  When the seed is from your tongue taken.

  Be not afraid, I will not you forsake.’ ”

  This holy monk, this abbot, I mean,

  His tongue grasped, and took away the seed,

  And he gave up the ghost full softly.

  And when this abbot had this wonder seen,

  His salt tears trickled down as rain,

  And face down he fell flat upon the ground,

  And still he lay as if he were bound.

  These monks they lay upon the pavement

  Weeping, and praising Christ’s mother dear,