The Canterbury Tales of Geoffrey Chaucer/Squire’s Tale
The Squire's Tale
The Squire's Prologue.
"SQUIRE, come nearer if ye will and say somewhat of love; for certes ye know as much thereof as any man."
"Nay, sir," quoth he, "but I will say heartily as best I know how; for I will not revolt against your wish; I will tell a tale. If I speak amiss, have me excused. My will is good; and lo! this is my story."
Here beginneth the Squire's Tale.
"AT Sarray, in Tartary, there dwelt a king, that warred against Russia, so that many a doughty man died. This noble king was called Cambinskan, and in his time was of so great renown that there was nowhere in any land so excellent a lord. He lacked naught that becometh a king. In the sect that he was born to, he obeyed his creed, as he was vowed, and thereto he was wise, hardy and rich, ever alike pious and just, true of his word, honourable and benign, of spirit steadfast as the earth, young, fresh and strong and in arms as ardent as any new-made knight of all his house. Of fair person he was, and prosperous, and kept alway such royal estate that there was nowhere such another as he. This noble king, Cambinskan, this Tartar, had on Elpheta, his queen, two sons, of whom the eldest was called Algarsyf, the other Cambalo. A daughter he had besides, that was the youngest and was named Canacee; but to tell you of all her beauty lieth not in my tongue nor in my cunning. I dare not attempt so high a matter ; mine English is insufficient. He must be a surpassing rhetorician, that knoweth the colours belonging to his art, who should describe her every whit. I am none such; I must speak as I know how.
It so befell when this Cambinskan hath borne his diadem twenty winters, that he bade cry—as, I trow, was his yearly wont—the feast of his nativity throughout his city Sarray, on the last Ides of March when they came around. Full joyous and clear was Phœbus, the sun, for he was nigh his exaltation in Mars' face, and in his mansion in Aries, the sign hot and choleric. Full lusty was the weather and mild, so that the birds, against the bright sun, what with the season and the young green, sang full loud their affections. It seemed they had got them shields against the keen, cold sword of winter.
This Cambinskan, of whom I have spoken to you, with royal vestments and diadem sitteth full high on the dais in his palace, and holdeth his feast, so sumptuous and rich, that never in this world was one like to it. If I should tell the ordinance thereof it would occupy a summer's day; it needeth not eke to describe the order of their service at every course. I will not tell of their strange delicacies, nor of their swans, nor of their hernshaws. Besides, in that land, as old knights tell us, some food is held full dainty, which in this land men reck of but little. There is no man that may report all things. I will not delay you, for it is prime, and it should but waste the morning. Therefore I will turn again unto my first matter.
It so befell, after the third course, while this king sitteth thus among his noblesse, hearkening his minstrels deliciously play 
There came a Knight upon a Steed of Brass
before him at the board, that all suddenly in at the hall-door came a knight on a steed of brass, and in his hand a broad mirror. On his thumb he had a ring of gold, and hanging by his side a naked sword, and up he rideth to the high board. In all the hall there was uttered no sound for marvel of this knight; but busily old and young gan stare on him. This strange knight that came thus on a sudden, all armed save his head full richly, saluteth king and queen and lords in their order as they sit in the hall, with such deep reverence and obeisance, in both speech and look, that Gawain, though he were come again out of Faërie, with his old courtesy, could not amend him with a word. And after this, before the high table, he saith his message with manly voice without defect of a syllable, after the form used in his language, and that his tale might the more please, as the art of speech teacheth them that learn it, his looks accorded with his words. Albeit I cannot express his style, nor climb over a stile so high, yet I say this: thus much to common understanding— if so be I have it rightly in mind—amounteth all that ever he spake.
He said: "My liege lord, the King of Araby and of Ind saluteth you on this festal day as best he can, and in honour of your feast, sendeth you by me, that am your servant, this steed of brass, that can easily, in the space of one natural day, that is to say, four and twenty hours, bear your body wheresoever ye list, without harm to you, in rain or shine, through fair or foul, into every place to which your heart willeth to go; or, if ye list to fly as high in the air as doth an eagle when he list to soar, this same steed shall bear you evermore without harm, though ye rest or sleep on his back, till ye be where ye list, and return again at the twirling of a pin. He that wrought it understood full many a device; he observed many a constellation ere he had done his work; and knew many a magic seal and full many a bond. Eke this mirror that I have here hath such a might that a man may behold in it when there shall befall any adversity unto your kingdom, or yourself, and openly who your friend is, or foe. And beside all this, if any fair lady hath set her heart on any manner of wight, if he be false, she shall see his treason, his new love and all his subtlety so openly, that nothing shall be hidden. Wherefore, against this lusty summer's tide, he hath sent this mirror and ring to my lady Canacee, your excellent daughter that is here.
"The virtue of the ring, if ye will learn, is this: that, if she list to wear it upon her thumb, or carry it in her purse, there is no fowl flieth under the heaven but she shall understand his voice and know plainly and openly his meaning, and answer him in his language. And she shall know eke every grass that groweth upon root, and to whom it will do cure, however deep and wide be his wounds. This naked sword, that hangeth beside me, hath such virtue that whatsoever man ye smite, it will cut and pierce clean through his armour, were it thick as a branched oak; and whatsoever man is wounded by the blow shall never be whole till ye list of grace to stroke him with the flat in the spot where he is hurt; that is to say, ye must stroke him again with the flat of the sword in the wound, and it will close; this is the very sooth, without lying; it faileth not while it is in your possession."
And when this knight hath thus told his tale, he rideth out of the hall and lighteth down. His steed, which glittered as the sun, standeth in the court, as still as marble. The knight is led anon to his chamber, and is unarmed and set at meat. The presents be fetched full royally, the mirror and sword, and borne anon by certain officers appointed thereto into the high tower; and unto Canacee, where she sitteth at the table, this ring is borne with ceremony. But in very sooth, the horse of brass may not be removed; it standeth as it were glued to the ground. No man may pull it out of the place, with any engine of windlass or pulley, and with good reason, for they know not the art. Therefore they have left it in the place till the knight hath taught them how to move it forth, as ye shall hear afterward.
Great was the press that to and fro swarmeth to gape on this horse where it standeth ; for it was as high and as broad and long, and as well proportioned for strength, as if it were truly a steed of Lombardy; therewith it was as horsely and quick of eye, as if it were a noble Apulian courser. For certes, from his tail to his ear, not nature nor art could amend him in any degree, as all the people weened. But evermore they wondered most how it could go and was of brass. It was of Faërie, thought the people. Diverse folk deemed diversely. As many heads so many wits. They murmured like a swarm of bees, and made explanations according to their fancies, and said—rehearsing these old poetic fables—it was like the Pegasus, the horse that had wings to fly ; or else it was the horse of Synon, the Greek, that brought destruction to Troy, as men may read in these old romances. "Mine heart," quoth one, "is aye afeard; I trow some men of arms be therein, that plan to capture this city. It were good that such things were known." Another whispered low to his neighbour and said : "He lieth ; it is rather like an apparition made by some magic such as jugglers sport with at great feasts." Thus they talk and babble of sundry doubts, as unlearned people commonly deem of things that be made more subtly than they in their ignorance can understand. They be fain to construe a thing for the worse. And some of them wondered on the mirror, that was borne up into the chief tower of the castle, how men might see such things in it. Another answered and said it might well be caused naturally by compositions of angles and sly reflections, and said that there was such an one in Rome. They speak of Vitulon and Alocen and Aristotle, that wrote in their lifetimes of curious mirrors and perspective-glasses, as they know that have read their books. And others wondered on the sword that would pierce through all things; and gan to speak of King Thelophus, and of Achilles with his curious spear, for he could both heal and harm with it, even in such wise as men might with the sword of which ye right now have learned. They speak of sundry hardenings of metal, and therewith speak of certain drugs, and how and when it should be tempered, which is unknown at least unto me.
Then they speak of Canacee's ring, and all say that none of them had ever heard of such a wonder of ring-craft, save that Moses and King Solomon had a name for cunning in such a thing. Thus say the people and draw apart. But natheless some said it was likewise wonderful to make glass of fern-ashes; but because men have known it for so long, therefore ceaseth their babbling of it and their marvel; even as some marvel sore on the cause of thunder, on ebb and flood, gossamers, mist, and all things till the cause is known. Thus they deem and babble and imagine till the king riseth from the board.
Phœbus hath left the angle meridional, and the royal beast, the gentle Lion, with his Aldiran, was yet ascending, when this Tartar king rose from his board, where he sat aloft. Before him goeth the loud minstrelsy till he cometh to his chamber of rich hangings, where they play upon diverse instruments, that it is like an heaven to hear. Now dance the lusty children of Venus, for aloft in the Fish sitteth their lady and looketh on them with friendly eye.
This noble king, this Cambinskan, sitteth high in his throne; straightway this strange knight is fetched to him, and on the dance goeth with Canacee. Here is the revel and the jollity that a dull man cannot describe. He must have known Love and his service and been a festive man fresh as May, that should describe to you such a sight. Who could tell you the form of dances, such rare, fresh faces, such subtle lockings and dissimulatings for fear of the perceivings of jealous men? No man but Launcelot, and he is dead. Therefore I pass over all this merriment; I say no more, but leave them in this jollity till folk address them to the supper.
The steward biddeth the spices to be fetched in haste, and the wine eke in all this melody. The ushers and squires go and come anon with the spices and the wine; men eat and drink, and when this is done, as was reason, they wended unto the temple. The service done, they all sup by daylight. What needeth to rehearse to you the array upon the board? Every man wot well that at a king's feast is plenty for high and low, and more dainties than be in my knowledge. After supper this noble king goeth to see the horse of brass, with all the throng of lords and ladies about him.
Such wondering there was on this horse of brass that never since the great siege of Troy, where men also wondered on an horse, was there such a wondering as then. But finally the king asketh this knight concerning the power and virtue of this courser, and prayed him tell the manner of governing him. Anon the horse began to trip and dance, when this knight laid hand on his rein and said: "Sir, there is no more to say than when ye list to ride anywhere ye must twirl in his ear a pin, of which I shall tell you betwixt us two. Ye must also tell him by name to what place or country ye list to ride. And when ye come where ye list to alight, bid him descend and twirl another pin, for therein lieth the secret of all the contrivance, and he will descend down and do your will, and in that place he will abide ; though all the world had sworn the contrary, he shall not be drawn thence nor carried. Or if ye list to bid him go thence, twirl this pin, and he will straightway vanish out of the sight of all folk, and come again, be it by day or by night, when ye list to call him again in such wise as I shall say to you full soon betwixt you and me. Ride when ye list, there is no more to be done."
When this noble doughty king was instructed of that knight and hath conceived justly in his wit the manner and the form of all this contrivance, thus glad and blithe he repaireth to his revelry as before. The bridle is borne unto the tower and kept among his precious jewels. The horse vanished out of their sight, I wot not how; ye get no more of me. And thus in merriment and joy I leave this Cambinskan at feasting with his lords, till well nigh the day began to spring.
Explicit prima pars. Sequitur pars secunda.
The nurse of digestion, Sleep, gan wink upon them, and bade them take thought that much drink and labour will have rest, and with yawning mouth he kissed them all, and said it was time to lie down, for blood was in supremacy. "Cherish blood, nature's friend," quoth he. By twos and threes, they thank him yawning, and every wight gan draw to his rest, as sleep bade them, and as seemed to them good. I shall not tell of their dreams ; full were their heads of fumosity, which causeth dreaming, but of that no matter. The more part of them slept till fully prime, unless it were Canacee. She was temperate as be most women. For she had liberty of her father to go to rest soon after it was eve. She list not to grow pale nor to appear unfestive on the morrow, and slept her first sleep and then awoke. For she took such a joy in her heart both of her wondrous ring and her mirror that twenty times she changed hue, and in her sleep, for the very remembrance of her mirror, she had a vision. Wherefore, ere the sun gan glide upward, she called on her mistress, who slept hard by, and said that she list to rise. These old women will aye be prudent ; wherefore her mistress answered her anon and said: "Madame, whither will ye go thus early? for all the folk be abed." "I will arise," quoth she, "for I list no longer to sleep; and walk about."
Her mistress calleth a great troop of women, and up they rise, full ten or twelve; and up riseth fresh Canacee as ruddy and bright as the young sun that is voyaged four degrees in the Ram. No higher was he when she was ready, and forth she walketh quietly in light array, for the sweet lusty season, to walk and take her pastime with but five or six of her train. And forth in the park she goeth in an alley. The vapour that streamed upward from the earth made the sun to seem ruddy and broad; but natheless it was so fair a sight that it made all their hearts to leap up, what with the season and the morning-time and the birds that she heard sing, for right anon by their song she wist what they meant, and knew all their thought.
If the knot for which every tale is recounted be delayed till the pleasure of them be cold that have hearkened for it long, the savour passeth away more and more for fulsomeness of the prolixity, and for the same reason, methinketh, I should come to the knot and make soon an end of their walking.
Full high amid a withered tree as white as chalk, while Canacee roamed in her pastime, there sat a falcon over her head that with piteous voice so gan to cry that of her wail all the wood resounded. So piteously hath she beaten herself with both her wings that the red blood ran all adown the tree whereon she rested. And ever alike she cried and screamed, and so stabbed herself with her beak, that there is no tiger, nor cruel beast that dwelleth in woods, that would not have wept, if he could weep, for pity of her—so loud she screamed alway. For there was never yet a man alive—if I could describe this falcon well—that heard of such another for fairness both of plumage and nobility of shape, and of all things that may be reckoned. A falcon peregrine she seemed, from a foreign land, and evermore again and again she swooneth for lack of blood, till she is well nigh fallen from the tree.
This fair king's-daughter, that wore on her finger the wondrous ring, through which she understood fully all that any bird may say in his jargon, and could in his jargon answer him again, this Canacee hath understood what this falcon said and well nigh she died for ruth. And to the tree she goeth in haste and looketh pitifully on this falcon, and held wide her kirtle, for well she wist the falcon must fall from the bough, when next it swooned for lack of blood. A long time she stood to watch it, till at the last she spake in such fashion to the hawk as ye shall hear.
"What is the cause, if it may be told, that ye be in this furious pain of hell? Is this for sorrow of some death or for loss of love? For as I ween these be two causes that bring woe to a gentle heart. It needeth not speak of other harm; for I see you tormenting yourself, which well proveth that either love or fear must occasion your cruel deed, sith I see not that ye are chased by any creature. For love of God, show yourself some mercy, or what may advantage you? for never ere now saw I in this world beast or bird that fared with himself so piteously. In sooth, ye slay me with your sorrow, I have such pity for you. For God's love, come down from the tree and, as I am a true king's-daughter, if I might know the cause verily of your grief, if it lay in my power, I would amend it before night, so help me the great God of nature! And I shall find herbs a-plenty wherewith quickly to heal your hurts."
Then this falcon screamed more piteously than ever, and straightway fell to the ground and lay swooning as dead and like a stone, till Canacee hath taken her in her lap, to await such time as she should awake from her swoon. And after she gan start out of this swoon, she said thus in her hawk's language :
"That pity runneth soon into a gentle heart, that feeleth his fellow-being in pain, is every day proved, as men may behold, both by acts and by book-authority; for gentle heart sheweth gentle deeds. I see well, my fair Canacee, that ye have compassion of my distress, because of the true, womanly benignity that nature hath set in you. Yet not from the hope of faring the better, but to obey your noble heart, and to make others beware by me as the lion is affrighted by beating a dog, even for that cause—while I have leisure and a space to do it—will I confess my woe, ere I pass on." And ever while the one told her sorrow, the other wept as if she would turn to water, till the falcon bade her to be still, and with a sigh thus she said her say:
"Where I was bred (alas! wretched time!) and fostered in a rock of grey marble so tenderly that nothing ailed me, I knew not what adversity was till I could soar far aloft under the sky. Then dwelt a tercelet hard by me that seemed the well of all gentleness. Although he was full of treason and falsehood, it was wrapped in such manner under humble looks, show of truth, courtesy and busy tokens of regard, that no wight would have weened that he could dissemble, so deep in grain he dyed his colours. Even as a serpent hideth him under blossoms till he may see his time to sting, even so doth this god of love, this hypocrite, perform his ceremonies and dutiful attentions and in semblance doth all the observances that accord unto love's gentleness. As in a tomb all the fairness is outward and underneath is the corpse in such guise as ye know, even such was this hypocrite, both cold and hot, and in this wise he served his purpose, so that (save the fiend) none knew what was his mind; till he had wept and lamented so long, and so many a year feigned his service to me, that my heart—too pitiful and too foolish—all innocent of his sovereign malice, and fearful as methought of his death, upon his oath and pledge, granted him love upon this condition, that evermore mine honor and fame should be spared, both privily and openly; that is to say, I gave him, after his deserving, all my heart and all my thought—God knoweth, and he, that I would not on other terms—and took his heart for aye in exchange for mine. But the sooth was said this many a day ago, 'A true wight and a thief think not alike.' And when he saw the thing gone so far that I had granted him my love fully in such wise as I have said, and given him my true heart, as utterly as he swore that he gave me his, straightway this tiger, full of doubleness, fell on his knees, with humility so devout, with reverence so high and, in his look, so like in manner unto a gentle lover, so ravished as it seemed with bliss, that never Jason nor Paris of Troy—Jason? nay certes, nor any other man since Lameth, that was the first of all to love two, as folk wrote of yore, nor ever since the first man was born, could anyone, by a twenty-thousandth part, imitate the sophisms of his cunning, nor be worthy to unbuckle his shoe where it concerneth feigning or doubleness, nor could so thank a person as he did me. It were an heaven to any woman—be she never so knowing—to behold his manner, he so painted and combed at point-device his words as well as his countenance. And I so loved him for his devotedness and for the truth I deemed in his heart, that if it chanced anything grieved him, were it never so little, an I knew of it, methought I felt death wring my heart. And in brief, so far is this thing gone, that my will was his will's instrument; that is to say, my will obeyed his in everything as far as was in reason, keeping the bounds ever of my worship, nor was ever thing so lief and dear to me as he, God wot! nor shall be evermore.
"Longer than a year or two this lasteth that I supposed naught but good of him; but finally it befell that fortune would have him depart out of that place wherein I was. Whether I were woful there is no question; I can describe it not. But one thing I dare tell boldly : I know thereby what is the pain of death, such woe did I feel that he might not tarry. On a day he took his leave of me, so sorrowfully eke that I weened in truth he felt as much woe as I, when I heard him speak and saw his pallor. But I thought natheless he was true, and, to say sooth, that he would come again within a little while, and eke reason would that he must go for his honour, as oft it happeth, so that I made virtue of necessity, and took it well, sith it must be so. As I best might I hid my sorrow from him—Saint John be my witness!—and took him by the hand, and said to him thus: 'Lo! I am all yours; be such as I have been to you, and shall ever be.' It needeth not repeat what he answered. Who can say better than he? Who can do worse? When he hath said all things well, then he hath done. I have heard it said: 'He that shall eat with a fiend needeth a full long spoon therefor.' So at last he must fare on his way, and forth he flyeth till he came where he list. When he thought best to abide, I trow he had in remembrance the text that 'all things, repairing to their kind, rejoice.' Thus men say, methinketh. Men of their own proper nature love newfangledness, as do birds that men feed in cages. For though thou care for them night and day, and strew their cage fair and soft as down, and give them sugar and milk, bread and honey, yet right so soon as the door is raised, they will spurn down their cup with their feet and away to the wood and eat worms. So newfangled be they of diet, and of very nature love novelties, that no gentleness of blood may bind them. So alas the day! fared this tercelet. Though he was gentle-born, fresh and blithe, and goodly for to see, and humble and generous, yet on a time he saw a kite flying, and suddenly he so loved this kite that all his love is clean gone from me, and in this manner he hath broken his troth. Thus the kite hath my love in her service, and I am lorn without remedy."
With that word this falcon gan wail and swooned again in Canacee's bosom.
Great was the lament for the falcon's harm that Canacee made and all her women. They wist not how they might gladden her. But Canacee beareth her home in her kirtle and softly gan wrap her in plasters where with her beak she had hurt herself. Now Canacee can do naught but dig roots out of the ground, to heal this hawk, and make new salves of herbs, precious and fine of hue ; from dawn till dark she busieth herself with all her might. And by her bed's head she made a mew and covered it with blue velvets, in sign of the truth that is in women. And without, all the mew is painted green, and there were painted these false fowls such as be all these titlarks, tercelets and owls; and pies, to scream and chide them, were painted eke there for despite.
Thus leave I Canacee with her hawk; no more now will I speak of her ring till the time come again to say how this falcon got her love once more repentant, as the story telleth, by mediation of Cambalus, the king's son of whom I told you. But henceforth I will guide my tale to speak of such battles and adventures that never yet were heard so great wonders.
First I will tell you of Cambinskan, that in his time won many a city; and afterward I will speak of Algarsyf, how he won Theodora for his bride, for whom he was in great peril full oft, had he not been helped by the steed of brass ; and afterward I will speak of Cambalo, that fought with the two brethren in the lists for Canacee, ere he might win her. And where I left I will return again.
Explicit secunda pars. Incipit pars tercia.
Apollo whirleth up his chariot so far aloft that the house of the sly god Mercurius——
(Unfinished.)