'Ho, my good sir, no more!' exclaimed the Knight.
'What you have said so far no doubt is right,
And more than right, but still a litle grief
Will do for most of us, in my belief.
As for myself, I take a great displeasure
In tales of those who once knew wealth and leisure
And then are felled by some unlucky hit.
But it's a joy to hear the opposite,
For instance tales of men of low estate
Who climb aloft and growing fortunate
Remain secure in their prosperity;
That is delightful as it seems to me
And is a proper sort of tale to tell.'
This is the Good Knight speaking to a friar monk after many stories were told, along the
road, on horseback, of the downfall of many kings and emperors, heroes and other famous
rulers, near Rochester. In England on the road to Canterbury. The Host agrees with the Knight in Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, and goes on to rebuke the former speaker, the Monk, after his many woeful, tragic tales.
"...This Monk, he talks too loud;
All about "Fortune covered with a cloud"
-- I don't know what -- and as for "Tragedy",
You heard just now, what has to be must be.
It does no good to grumble and complain,
What's done is done. Moreover, it's a pain,
As you have said, to hear about disaster;
Let's have no more of it. God bless you, master,
It's an offence, you're boring us that's why!...
"When lecturers find their audiences decrease
It does them little good to say their piece."
Give us a word or two on hunting, say.'
'No,' said the Monk, 'I'm in no mood today
For fun. Ask someone else, I've said enough.'
The host then turns and asks the priest of a nun to follow.
"'Come here you priest, step forward, you, Sir John,
And tell a tale to make our troubles pack.
Cheer yourself up although you ride a hack.
What if your ugly horse is poor and thin?
If it will serve you, never care a pin!
And always keep your heart up -- that's the test!'
'Yes,' he replied, 'yes, Host, I'll do my best,
Not to be merry would deserve reproach.'
And he immediately began to broach
His story to us as we all rode on,
This charming priest and kindly man, Sir John.
'Once, long ago, there dwelt a poor old widow
In a small cottage, by a little meadow
Beside a grove and standing in a dale.
This widow-woman of whom I tell my tale
Since the sad day when last she was a wife
Had led a very patient, simple life.
Little she had in capital or rent,
But still, by making do with what God sent,
She kept herself and her two daughters going."
She had three pigs, three cows and several chickens, but it was the lusty rooster Chanticleer that Chaucer's Nun's Priest goes on at length about. The rooster that taugt a fox to curse his own sweet talk. More on that later. Nearly 200 years later, Michel de Montaigne, snug in later years at his estate, offered a description of such a method for diversion as a set, or series of responses, to soothe grief or sadness. More on that later.
Montaigne Essays: On Diversion: iii,4
or how to dissuade from too much sadness...
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Nevill Coghill was an Oxford English Lit Professor of the twentieth century - and who reached a wider audience than many - with his 1951 translation of Chaucer quoted and excerpted here. He works it happily into a mid-century idiom that makes sense and captures the rolling rhythms of Chaucer easily. It was a bestseller for decades apparently. Here's a charming bit about him and his papers.
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