VI THE PEARL ABOUT 1375.
Reading edition
The facts leading to the presumption that Pearl and Sir Gawayne are by the same author have been mentioned in the prefatory note to Sir Gawayne. But the poems are markedly different in subject and tone. Pearl, like Chaucer's Death of Blanche the Duchess, is an elegy cast in the vision form made popular by the Roman de la Rose. The subject is a little girl, who died before she was two years old, and the treatment is deeply religious. Her death is symbolized as the loss of a pearl without spot, that slipped from its owner's hand through the grass into the earth.
On a festival day in August, the poet, while mourning his loss, falls asleep on his child's grave. His spirit passes to a land of flowers and rich fruits, where birds of flaming hues sing incomparably, where the cliffs are of crystal and beryl, and a river runs in a bed of gleaming jewels. On the other side of the river, which is lovelier still, sits a maiden dressed all in white, with coronet and ornaments of pearl. The poet recognizes his lost child, but cannot call to her for wonder and dread, until she rises and salutes him. He complains that since her loss he has been a joyless jeweller. She rebukes him gently; she is not lost, but made safe and beautiful for ever. Overjoyed, he says he will cross the river and live with her in this paradise; but she warns him against such presumption, for since Adam's fall the river may be crossed only by the way of death. He is in despair to think that now that his Pearl is found, he must still live joyless, apart from her; but he is bidden to resign himself to God's will and mercy, because rebellion will avail him nothing.
At this point begins the argument on salvation by grace or salvation by works which is here reprinted.
The maiden then continues the discussion, explaining that 'the innocent are ay safe by right', and that only those who come as little children can win the bliss sought by the man who sold his all for a matchless pearl.
Next the poet asks whence her beauty comes, and what her office is. She replies that she is one of the brides of Christ, whom St. John in the Apocalypse saw arrayed for the bridal in the New Jerusalem. He asks to see their mansions, and by special grace is allowed to view the holy city from without. He sees it as St. John saw it, gleaming with gold, with its pillars of precious stone, its gates of pearl; its streets lighted by a divine radiance, so that there is no need of moon or sun. There is no church or chapel or temple there: God himself is the minister, and Christ is the sacrifice. Mortal eye could not bear the splendour, and he stood 'as stylle as dased quayle'. At evening came the procession of the virgin brides of Christ, each bearing on her breast the pearl of perfect happiness. The Lamb leads them, in pearl-white robes, his side bleeding, his face rapt; while elders make obeisance, and angels sing songs of joy as He nears the throne of God.
Suddenly the poet sees his Pearl among her companions. Overcome with longing and delight, he tries to cross the river, only to wake in the garden where he fell asleep. Henceforth he is resigned to the pleasure of the Prince of Heaven.
The reader will be able to judge the author's poetical gift from the selection, which has been chosen as one of the less ornate passages. Even here the form distracts attention from the matter by its elaborateness. A difficult rime scheme is superimposed on the alliterative line; stanza is interlinked with stanza; each group of five stanzas is distinguished by a similar refrain, and bound to the preceding and following groups by repetition in the first and last lines. So too the close of the poem echoes the beginning. With such intricacy of plan, it is not surprising that the rime is sometimes forced, and the sense strained or obscure. It is rather a matter for wonder that, in so long a work, the author was able to maintain his marvellous technique without completely sacrificing poetry to metrical gymnastics.
The highly wrought, almost overwrought, effect is heightened when the poem is read as a whole. If Piers Plowman gives a realistic picture of the drabness of mediaeval life, Pearl, more especially in the early stanzas, shows a richness of imagery and a luxuriance in light and colour that seem scarcely English. Yet they have their parallels in the decorative art of the time—the elaborate carving in wood and stone; the rich colouring of tapestries, of illuminated books and painted glass; the designs of the jewellers, goldsmiths, and silversmiths, which even the notaries who made the old inventories cannot pass without a word of admiration. The Pearl reminds us of the tribute due to the artists and craftsmen of the fourteenth century.
The edition by C. G. Osgood, Boston 1906, is the handiest.
THE PEARL, ll. 361-612. (MS. Cotton Nero A X (about 1400).)
Thenne demed I to þat damyselle: 'Ne worþe no wrathþe vnto my Lorde, If rapely <I> raue, spornande in spelle; My herte watȝ al wyth mysse remorde, As wallande water gotȝ out of welle. 5 I do me ay in Hys myserecorde; Rebuke me neuer wyth wordeȝ felle, Þaȝ I forloyne, my dere endorde, Bot kyþeȝ me kyndely your coumforde, Pytosly þenkande vpon þysse: 10 Of care and me ȝe made acorde, Þat er watȝ grounde of alle my blysse. My blysse, my bale, ȝe han ben boþe, Bot much þe bygger ȝet watȝ my mon; Fro þou watȝ wroken fro vch a woþe, 15 I wyste neuer quere my perle watȝ gon. Now I hit se, now leþeȝ my loþe; And, quen we departed, we wern at on; God forbede we be now wroþe, We meten so selden by stok oþer ston. 20 Þaȝ cortaysly ȝe carp con, I am bot mol and manereȝ mysse; Bot Crystes mersy, and Mary, and Ion, Þise arn þe grounde of alle my blysse. 'In blysse I se þe blyþely blent, 25 And I a man al mornyf mate; Ȝe take þeron ful lyttel tente, Þaȝ I hente ofte harmeȝ hate. Bot now I am here in your presente, I wolde bysech, wythouten debate, 30 Ȝe wolde me say in sobre asente What lyf ȝe lede erly and late. For I am ful fayn þat your astate Is worþen to worschyp and wele, iwysse; Of alle my ioy þe hyȝe gate 35 Hit is, and grounde of alle my blysse.' 'Now blysse, burne, mot þe bytyde,' Þen sayde þat lufsoum of lyth and lere, 'And welcum here to walk and byde, For now þy speche is to me dere. 40 Maysterful mod and hyȝe pryde, I hete þe, arn heterly hated here. My Lorde ne loueȝ not for to chyde, For meke arn alle þat woneȝ Hym nere; And when in Hys place þou schal apere, 45 Be dep deuote in hol mekenesse; My Lorde þe Lamb loueȝ ay such chere, Þat is þe grounde of alle my blysse. 'A blysful lyf þou says I lede; Þou woldeȝ knaw þerof þe stage. 50 Þow wost wel when þy perle con schede I watȝ ful ȝong and tender of age; Bot my Lorde þe Lombe, þurȝ Hys Godhede, He toke myself to Hys maryage, Corounde me quene in blysse to brede 55 In lenghe of dayeȝ þat euer schal wage; And sesed in alle Hys herytage Hys lef is, I am holy Hysse; Hys prese, Hys prys, and Hys parage Is rote and grounde of alle my blysse.' 60 'Blysful,' quod I, 'may þys be trwe?— Dyspleseȝ not if I speke errour— Art þou þe quene of heueneȝ blwe, Þat al þys worlde schal do honour? We leuen on Marye þat grace of grewe, 65 Þat ber a barne of vyrgynflour; Þe croune fro hyr quo moȝt remwe Bot ho hir passed in sum fauour? Now, for synglerty o hyr dousour, We calle hyr Fenyx of Arraby, 70 Þat freles fleȝe of hyr fasor, Lyk to þe quen of cortaysye.' 'Cortayse Quen,' þenne s<a>yde þat gaye, Knelande to grounde, folde vp hyr face, 'Makeleȝ Moder and myryest May, 75 Blessed Bygynner of vch a grace!' Þenne ros ho vp and con restay, And speke me towarde in þat space: 'Sir, fele here porchaseȝ and fongeȝ pray, Bot supplantoreȝ none wythinne þys place. 80 Þat emperise al heueneȝ hatȝ, And vrþe and helle in her bayly; Of erytage ȝet non wyl ho chace, For ho is quen of cortaysye. 'The court of þe kyndom of God alyue 85 Hatȝ a property in hytself beyng: Alle þat may þerinne aryue Of alle þe reme is quen oþer kyng, And neuer oþer ȝet schal depryue, Bot vchon fayn of oþereȝ hafyng, 90 And wolde her corouneȝ wern worþe þo fyue, If possyble were her mendyng. Bot my Lady, of quom Iesu con spryng, Ho haldeȝ þe empyre ouer vus ful hyȝe; And þat dyspleseȝ non of oure gyng, 95 For ho is quene of cortaysye. 'Of courtaysye, as saytȝ Saynt Poule, Al arn we membreȝ of Iesu Kryst; As heued and arme and legg and naule Temen to hys body ful trwe and t<r>yste, 100 Ryȝt so is vch a Krysten sawle A longande lym to þe Mayster of myste. Þenne loke what hate oþer any gawle Is tached oþer tyȝed þy lymmeȝ bytwyste: Þy heued hatȝ nauþer greme ne gryste 105 On arme oþer fynger þaȝ þou ber byȝe: So fare we alle wyth luf and lyste To kyng and quene by cortaysye.' 'Cortaysé,' quod I, 'I leue, And charyté grete, be yow among, 110 Bot my speche þat yow ne greue, ―――――――――――――――――― Þyself in heuen ouer hyȝ þou heue, To make þe quen þat watȝ so ȝonge. What more honour moȝte he acheue 115 Þat hade endured in worlde stronge, And lyued in penaunce hys lyueȝ longe, Wyth bodyly bale hym blysse to byye? What more worschyp moȝt he fonge, Þen corounde be kyng by cortaysé? 120 'That cortaysé is to fre of dede, Ȝyf hyt be soth þat þou coneȝ saye; Þou lyfed not two ȝer in oure þede; Þou cowþeȝ neuer God nauþer plese ne pray, Ne neuer nawþer Pater ne Crede; 125 And quen mad on þe fyrst day! I may not traw, so God me spede, Þat God wolde wryþe so wrange away; Of countes, damysel, par ma fay! Wer fayr in heuen to halde asstate, 130 Aþer elleȝ a lady of lasse aray; Bot a quene!—hit is to dere a date.' 'Þer is no date of Hys godnesse,' Þen sayde to me þat worþy wyȝte, 'For al is trawþe þat He con dresse, 135 And He may do no þynk bot ryȝt, As Mathew meleȝ in your messe, In sothful Gospel of God Almyȝt, In sample he can ful grayþely gesse, And lykneȝ hit to heuen lyȝte: 140 "My regne," He saytȝ, "is lyk on hyȝt To a lorde þat hade a uyne, I wate. Of tyme of ȝere þe terme watȝ tyȝt, To labor vyne watȝ dere þe date. '"Þat date of ȝere wel knawe þys hyne.145 Þe lorde ful erly vp he ros, To hyre werkmen to hys vyne, And fyndeȝ þer summe to hys porpos. Into acorde þay con declyne For a pené on a day, and forth þay gotȝ, 150 Wryþen and worchen and don gret pyne, Keruen and caggen and man hit clos. Aboute vnder, þe lorde to marked totȝ, And ydel men stande he fyndeȝ þerate. 'Why stande ȝe ydel?' he sayde to þos; 155 'Ne knawe ȝe of þis day no date?' '"'Er date of daye hider arn we wonne;' So watȝ al samen her answar soȝt; 'We haf standen her syn ros þe sunne, And no mon byddeȝ vus do ryȝt noȝt.' 160 'Gos into my vyne, dotȝ þat ȝe conne,' So sayde þe lorde, and made hit toȝt; 'What resonabele hyre be naȝt be runne I yow pay in dede and þoȝte.' Þay wente into þe vyne and wroȝte, 165 And al day þe lorde þus ȝede his gate, And nw men to hys vyne he broȝte, Welneȝ wyl day watȝ passed date. '"At þe date of day of euensonge, On oure byfore þe sonne go doun, 170 He seȝ þer ydel men ful stronge, And sa<y>de to hem wyth sobre soun: 'Wy stonde ȝe ydel þise dayeȝ longe?' Þay sayden her hyre watȝ nawhere boun. 'Gotȝ to my vyne, ȝemen ȝonge, 175 And wyrkeȝ and dotȝ þat at ȝe moun.' Sone þe worlde bycom wel broun, Þe sunne watȝ doun, and hit wex late; To take her hyre he mad sumoun; Þe day watȝ al apassed date. 180 '"The date of þe daye þe lorde con knaw, Called to þe reue: 'Lede, pay þe meyny; Gyf hem þe hyre þat I hem owe; And fyrre, þat non me may reprené, Set hem alle vpon a rawe, 185 And gyf vchon ilyche a peny; Bygyn at þe laste þat standeȝ lowe, Tyl to þe fyrste þat þou atteny.' And þenne þe fyrst bygonne to pleny, And sayden þat þay hade trauayled sore: 190 'Þese bot on oure hem con streny; Vus þynk vus oȝe to take more. '"'More haf we serued, vus þynk so, Þat suffred han þe dayeȝ hete, Þenn þyse þat wroȝt not houreȝ two, 195 And þou dotȝ hem vus to counterfete.' Þenne sayde þe lorde to on of þo: 'Frende no waning I wyl þe ȝete; Take þat is þyn owne and go. And I hyred þe for a peny agrete, 200 Quy bygynneȝ þou now to þrete? Watȝ not a pené þy couenaunt þore? Fyrre þen couenaunde is noȝt to plete. Wy schalte þou þenne ask more? '"'More weþer †louyly† is me my gyfte 205 To do wyth myn quat so me lykeȝ? Oþer elleȝ þyn yȝe to lyþer is lyfte For I am goude and non byswykeȝ?' 'Þus schal I,' quod Kryste, 'hit skyfte: Þe laste schal be þe fyrst þat strykeȝ, 210 And þe fyrst be laste, be he neuer so swyft; For mony ben calle<d>, þaȝ fewe be mykeȝ.'" Þus pore men her part ay pykeȝ, Þaȝ þay com late and lyttel wore; And þaȝ her sweng wyth lyttel atslykeȝ, 215 Þe merci of God is much þe more. 'More haf I of ioye and blysse hereinne, Of ladyschyp gret and lyueȝ blom, Þen alle þe wyȝeȝ in þe worlde myȝt wynne By þe way of ryȝt to aske dome. 220 Wheþer welnygh now I con bygynne— In euentyde into þe vyne I come— Fyrst of my hyre my Lorde con mynne, I watȝ payed anon of al and sum. Ȝet oþer þer werne þat toke more tom, 225 Þat swange and swat for long ȝore, Þat ȝet of hyre no þynk þay nom, Paraunter noȝt schal toȝere more.' Then more I meled and sayde apert: 'Me þynk þy tale vnresounable; 230 Goddeȝ ryȝt is redy and euermore rert, Oþer Holy Wryt is bot a fable; In Sauter is sayd a verce ouerte Þat spekeȝ a poynt determynable: "Þou quyteȝ vchon as hys desserte, 235 Þou hyȝe Kyng ay pretermynable." Now he þat stod þe long day stable, And þou to payment com hym byfore, Þenne þe lasse in werke to take more able, And euer þe lenger þe lasse þe more.' 240 'Of more and lasse in Godeȝ ryche,' Þat gentyl sayde, 'lys no ioparde, For þer is vch mon payed ilyche, Wheþer lyttel oþer much be hys rewarde, For þe gentyl Cheuentayn is no chyche; 245 Queþersoeuer He dele nesch oþer harde, He laueȝ Hys gyfteȝ as water of dyche, Oþer goteȝ of golf þat neuer charde. Hys fraunchyse is large þat euer dard To Hym þat matȝ in synne rescoghe; 250 No blysse betȝ fro hem reparde, For þe grace of God is gret inoghe.