The Riddle A Pleasant Pastoral Comedy Adapted from The Wife of Bath's Tale as it is set forth in the Works of Master Geoffrey Chaucer |
 | The Riddle |  |
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[The knights sit in a group and drink; Calepine and Paridell walk to and fro, talking.]
Paridell.
Is this the place?
Calepine.
It is, I know it well,
'Twas on this very spot, Sir Paridell,
The king gave judgment, in full audience,
That Pharamond should die.
Par.
And what offence
Had he committed?
Cal.
Falsely he defamed
A noble lady; all his heart inflamed
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A cold ear to the love wherein he burned;
Yet in the verdict none could find a flaw,
His head was forfeit by King Arthur's law.
Par.
Lo, I have lived in courts of many a king
And many an emperor, but ne'er this thing
Have I beheld, that sentence should be passed,
And not made good; far otherwise, as fast
As the king spake in wrath the fatal word
The headsman plied his axe. Who ever heard
Of execution thus remote? You say
The Court was held a year ago to-day.
Cal.
When the king's doom was given, our gracious Queen
And all her ladies knelt upon this green,
And begged the offender's life, that it should be
Delivered over to their lenity.
Their prayer was granted; then the Queen uprose
The sentence of her ladies to disclose,
And respited his life a single year
If he would come to-day and answer here
The question that they set him; which was this,
Wherein do women find their greatest bliss?
This well might puzzle sages, 'twas beyond
The simple wit of poor Sir Pharamond.
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To try if travel might fresh wisdom yield.
To-day must he give answer, and abide
The test that shall his death or life decide.
His tardiness bodes ill.
Golias.
Ye argue long,
This noble company demands a song.
Knights.
A song! A song! A song!
Gol.
A song of mirth;
By 'r Lady, there is grief enough on earth.
The Song
May he be hanged high on a tree,
Or fast bound to a post,
He that will not merry, merry be,
With a generous bowl and toast.
Chorus.
Let him be merry, merry, merry there,
And we will be merry, merry here,
For who can know
Where we may go
To be merry another year,
Brave boys,
To be merry another year.
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With a company of jolly boys,
May he be plagued with a scolding wife,
To confound him with her noise.
Chorus
—Let him be merry, &c.
Gol.
Is not this better than your mumping talk?
Cal.
The birds cease singing when they see the hawk;
Death hovers o'er us, poising on the wing,
Who knows where he may strike?
Gol.
Then drink and sing!
Perchance Sir Pharamond has found a clue
To this same riddle, and will answer true.
So warm with wine your thoughts that grief benumbs;
Care killed a cat!
Knights.
See, where he comes! He comes!
[Enter Sir Pharamond, travel-stained and weary. He salutes the company.]
Cal.
I dare not bid thee welcome, till I hear
How thou'rt attended, whether Hope or Fear
Hath shown thy wandering steps the homeward way.
What issue had thy errand? Quickly, say.
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Comfortless, hopeless. Though a man should run
From the bright orient to the setting sun,
And put this question unto all he meets,
'Twere the most profitless of idle feats.
I have travelled from the great Mongolian plain
To where the Atlantic bounds the realm of Spain,
From Barbary to snow-bound Astrachan,
And here I end as wise as I began.
I have asked them, sage and simple, rich and poor,
Christian and Turk, the Scythian and the Moor,
The Cham of Tartary and Prester John
What women most do set their hearts upon;
And each made answer gladly, with a show
Of telling secrets he alone did know.
At first this pleased me well; but, woe is me,
No pair of answers ever did agree.
So here I stand, undone, discomfited,
Teasing my wits in vain to save my head.
Jester.
Now, a plague on this game of joyous demands,
that sends a gentleman coursing round the world
like a greyhound after a swallow! A man were
better to stay at home and teach ducks to quack
at his funeral.
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Among so many answers could you find
None to bring hope of comfort to your mind?
Your travelled observation should impart
Skill to descry the secrets of the heart.
Jester.
Perchance Sir Knight of the sorrowful visage
has travelled much and seen little, like Sir Jonas
of old time in the belly of the whale, who spent
the greater part of his observation in observing
the pitiful fix he was in.
Cal.
Some answer must be given; let us unite
Our efforts, haply we may guess aright.
Phar.
Lend me your wits, my own are at a stand.
What shall I say?
1st Knight.
Rich husbands!
2nd Knight.
Dresses!
3rd Knight.
Land!
Jester.
The ten commandments!
Par.
Praise for secrecy!
Cal.
A pound of truth and tons of flattery!
Phar.
Ah, miserable counsel! Had ye said
That they desire a man should lose his head
For their fair sakes, 'twere nearer to the mark.
Eglamour.
It seems to me ye all are in the dark;
Will no one ask my counsel?
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That will I.
Sir Eglamour, what think you?
[Eglamour pauses, looks wise, and struts about.]
Be not shy!
My life stands on the hazard.
Egl.
What think you?
This cloak is not ill-cut—the cap is new,
A fancy of my own, designed in France,
I think it has some little elegance.
Phar.
May rust and moth consume thy trashy gear
For sporting thus with death! What help is here?
Jester.
Fie, fie, gaffer! Take a lesson in civility from
King Caradoc, who, eating oysters with the Pope
on Ash Wednesday, when he came to a bad
oyster made no wry faces, but fell to praising
the shells. Curse not the feathers because the
flesh is rank! Mew! We can have no more of
the cat but her skin!
Egl.
Do you not take my meaning? Force me not
To be immodest!
Phar.
Tell thy meaning, sot!
Jester.
The meaning of Sir Eglamour is like the
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less there is. 'Tis ill looking for eggs in a
mare's nest!
Egl.
Give ear to me a moment, Sir Knight, and if
I may do it without presumption, I will tell you
how you may save your life. When the Queen
and all her ladies are set, and the question put
to you, as thus, What do women love best?
or wherein do they take their chief delight? or
what is their greatest pleasure? then you, standing
silent like a baffled man at a loss for an
answer, must ever gaze on me, and I, stepping
forward, will smile upon the Queen, as thus
[smiling fantastically]
, then will the Queen and all
her ladies blush to be caught thinking of me.
This long while it hath been matter for amazement
how they dote on me. Then you still
gazing on me, and I still smiling,—
Phar.
Take thyself off, Sir Fop, or I shall beat thee
inordinately!
Jester.
Nay, gaffer, soft words! What says the proverb,
—Better kiss a fool than be troubled by him.
This poor Sir Eglamour is ambitious of my calling,
but he is young at the business.
Egl.
Beating, say you? 'Tis a tyrannical world
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from motives of sheer human kindness. Beating,
forsooth! Alack-a-daisy! Never talk to me of
beating!
[Exit.]
Jester.
This is a pleasant grave-yard, gaffer, but the
butterflies will not stay in it.
Phar.
Now my sad remnant of existence wanes,
Grief blurs my thoughts, and deadly peril drains
My life-blood from me and confounds my sense,
Give aid, my friends, concoct some poor defence.
Cal.
We have argued high and low, our bolt is shot;
Some wizard only could untie this knot.
[To Gol.]
My hawk sights quarry, he begins to tower,
The Court holds sessions in another hour.
Gol.
Some wizard? Now there comes into my thought
One gleam of comfort for a wit distraught.
Do they not call this lawn the Fairies' glade?
Cal.
'Tis so. The country yokels are afraid
To pass by night lest Mab and all her crew
Should capture them and pinch them black and blue,
Or prison them in dungeons underground
For seven long years, then loose them to be found
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And ever on the high Midsummer Day
The fairies hold full revel, in broad light,
Then, so the legend goes, the happy wight
Who sees them dance and breaks the magic ring,
May force their Queen to grant him anything
That he demands—
Gol.
Look up, the sun rides high;
'Tis the Midsummer solstice, let us try
This last forlorn device; if we give place,
Sir Pharamond may find the fairies' grace.
Come then, Sir Knights, away!
Cal.
These old wives' tales
Are broken reeds to trust, yet nought avails
That we can do. Then, Pharamond, good speed!
Heaven send the fairies help thee at thy need!
[The Knights go out. Pharamond stands lost in thought.]
Jester.
Who was the first man, gaffer?
Phar.
Gad-fly, what dost thou here?
Jester.
Nothing, gaffer, but that I thought it was the
fashion to ask riddles. Do thou answer me, 'twill
get thee into the habit. I will begin with an
easy one, and draw thee to perfection by degrees.
Be not angry—who was the first man?
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Thou art a good priest, fool, and dost stablish
me in religious knowledge by way of shrift.
Was it not Adam?
Jester.
I know not. Who was the first woman?
Phar.
Eve.
Jester.
And what was Eve's straw hat made of?
There is a harder one, and so we lift the novice
higher.
Phar.
Fool, thou troublest me. Leave me.
Jester.
I feared thou would'st not know what Eve's
straw hat was made of. 'Tis a question in
millinery, wherein thou art no expert, for thou
knowest neither what is on women's heads nor
what is in them. But thou must persevere, we
shall have thee a scholar ere long. Be not
surly, gaffer, let me help thee.
Phar.
And how does thy miserable folly help my
foolish misery?
Jester.
Bravely, gaffer; if folly were not to lend a
hand to wisdom, neither of them two would
ever get to Tewkesbury. Now Eve's straw hat
was made of straw, take that from my folly;
and what women do most desire is to be desired,
save that for thine own wisdom. For there is no
woman, be she young, be she fair, but doth
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gazed upon with the eye of affection.
Phar.
[throwing himself on the grass].
Away, fool, away!
Must thy babble be the last sound in my ears?
Jester.
Good-night, gaffer! Sleep not too long, lest
the fairies clap an ass's head on thee and give
the Separator trouble to determine whether he is
cutting the body off a donkey or the head off
a man.
And here comes a chopper to chop off the head
Of the last, last, last, last man.
[Exit.]
Enter the Old Woman, dishevelled and hobbling. She takes her stand in the middle of the lawn and turns thrice, weaving magic circles with her staff. She whistles; the fairies creep out from the wood, at first one by one, then in troops, and surround her.
A Dance of Fairies.
[The fairies vanish: Pharamond approaches, and crosses the ring. The Old Woman rises and speaks.]
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What seek'st thou here, Sir Knight, by whose command
Com'st thou to break the peace of fairy land?
This lawn is sacred to the Queen of Fays,
Take warning, save thy life, and go thy ways.
Phar.
Fair speech, good mother, to a desperate man!
My life is forfeit 'neath King Arthur's ban.
I've wandered o'er the world to pay my debt,
And paid it will be, ere the sun shall set.
Call back your goblins, let them do their worst.
O. W.
Do thou give answer to my question first,
What brings thee here?
Phar.
It seems the common cry,
Answer my question, or at once you die.—
Nay, lady, spare an overburdened mind,
I seek an answer that I cannot find
To no such easy question as you ask;
Answer my question were the worthy task
For witches or for seers.
O. W.
Propound it, son!
Phar.
And idly cater for the elvish fun
Of all your dancing brood! Here lies my way,
The headsman's axe yields better comfort.
O. W.
Stay!
Truth dwelt in woodlands in the Age of Gold,
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Three hundred springs have laughed upon the leas,
Three hundred summers faded from the trees,
Since I was young with youth's simplicity.
Who knows but I may help thee?—tell it me.
Phar.
In very truth, good mother, here it is:
I am a dead man if I tell amiss
Before King Arthur's court, this day convened,
The answer to the riddle of a fiend—
What thing is that which women most desire?
To cut this knot have I dared flood and fire,
Through many a court and many a continent,
Yet still have I returned the way I went,
Unhelped by clown or courtier, fool or knave.
If, by thy magic art, thou now canst save
My name from smirch, my body from despite,
My lands and fees shall all be thine of right.
O. W.
Plight me thy hand in mine, and promise me
That anything I may require of thee
Thou wilt perform it, be it in thy power,
And I will save thee ere another hour.
Phar.
Here is my hand, I swear with all goodwill!
O. W.
Then I may boast, for all thy little skill,
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The Queen herself will say the same as I,
And not the proudest lady of her court
Will dare to contradict thy true report;
The silence of them, widow, maid, and wife,
Shall prove my wisdom and preserve thy life.
Let us go forth at once, and in thine ear
The answer shall be told. Away with fear!
[Exeunt.]
The Court of King Arthur enters, preceded by Trumpeters, the King and Queen, then the Ladies, then the Knights. The King and Queen are seated together, the Ladies of the court as assessors on either side, the Knights stand grouped on either side.
Herald.
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! This is the Court of
King Arthur!
All wild beasts and creeping things are straitly
charged in the name of our Sovran Lord the
King to leave the court! All birds, dragons, and
other flying things are forbidden, under pain of
death, to fly over the court while our liege Lord
and Lady are in session. Let all those persons
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and all those who are bound over to appear this
day before our Sovran Lord the King or our
Sovran Lady the Queen, now stand forward!
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! This is the Court of
King Arthur!
[Sir Pharamond enters and stands before the King and Queen, facing them: the Knights give way on either hand.]
Phar.
My Sovran Lord, my Lady without peer,
Ye noble Dames that are assembled here,
Maidens, that in the seat of judgment sit
By virtue of your gentleness and wit,
Wives, whom true faith empowers, and widows, ye
Whom old experience hath taught subtlety,
Lo, I have held my day; and here I stand,
For judgment at my Sovran Lady's hand.
Herald.
Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! Let all that are in
the Court keep silence, that the cause between
our Sovran Lady the Queen, and Sir Pharamond
may be well and truly tried!
Queen.
Read him the question from the Rolls of State,
According to his answer is his fate.
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[unrolls a large parchment and reads].
The Court hereby decrees that twelve months hence
Sir Pharamond shall tell in audience,
What women most do set their hearts upon.
Give answer truly, for the year is gone.
Phar.
My gracious Lady, universally,
Women desire to have sovereignty,
And to be absolute in power above
The men they sway, in policy or love.
This is the utmost goal of their desire,
Take now my life, if justice do require.
Queen.
How say you ladies, has he spoken true?
What, none deny it? You, nor you, nor you?
Shall this blunt answer expiate his guilt?
Or shall his life upon this place be spilt?
1st Lady.
Absolve him!
2nd Lady.
Quit him!
3rd Lady.
Spare the brazen-face!
1st Lady.
Pardon the ribald!
2nd Lady.
Pity!
3rd Lady.
Mercy!
All the Ladies.
Grace!
Queen.
You see, Sir Knight, these ladies plead for you,
Perchance (I know not) thou hast spoken true.
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Thou knowest to prize the mercy of thy Queen.
Phar.,
[kneeling].
My gracious Lady, in all lowliness,
Saved by thy puissance from my black distress,
I thank and praise thee [rising]
; now as free as air
Joyful I take my leave.
Old Woman
[coming forward with uplifted arm].
Hold, stop him there!
1st Lady.
Who is this person?
2nd Lady.
Shocking!
3rd Lady.
Turn her out!
O. W.
Justice, my liege! 'Twas I that solved his doubt.
The answer that the noble Court has heard
And has approved, I taught him, every word.
1st Lady.
Odious old scrub!
2nd Lady.
Her finger in the pie!
3rd Lady.
Not nice!
1st Lady.
I wish we'd killed him!
2nd Lady.
So do I!
3rd Lady.
If some one doesn't stop her, I shall faint!
O. W.
Give ear, my lady Queen, to my complaint!
This man has pledged to me his knightly oath
That whatsoe'er I ask him, nothing loth
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And now before the Court, this very hour,
Sir Knight, I pray thee, take me for thy wife,
For well thou knowest I have saved thy life.
Do I speak true or false?
Phar.
Alas! too true!
That was the promise that I gave to you—
Fool that I am! But, lady, think again,
Make me not thus the wretchedest of men.
For love of Heaven choose some new request,
Take all my goods, or what you fancy best
Of lands or tenements; 'twere ill to save
A man from death and wed him to the grave.
O. W.
My mind is fixed, not all that thou canst do
Will change it;—judge, O Queen, betwixt us two!
Lo! here I stand to vindicate my claim,
What does he see in me that he can blame?
I saved his life, does that deserve his hate?
Why am I deemed unworthy for his mate?
If I have faults they may in time amend.
Queen.
Sir Knight, give answer.
Herald.
Let the Court attend!
Phar.
O Queen, my word is passed, and I will keep
The hasty vow I made. Yet silly sheep
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The butcher's knife in many a glozing phrase.
Pardon my frankness, therefore, if I call
This beldame old and poor and therewithal
Ugly extremely, and of base degree.
Are these defects that may amended be?
1st Lady.
Here is a gentle wooer.
2nd Lady.
Does he well
Rashly to cheapen what he cannot sell?
3rd Lady.
I like his plainness.
Herald.
Silence in the Court!
Phar.
My answer, therefore, lady Queen, is short,
I hate her, and will marry her to-day.
O. W.
Now let me speak, O Queen, and I will say
My answer to the charges that he brings.
First, I am poor; they say the poor man sings
Even when he meets with robbers on the road;
And poverty hath ever been a goad
To honourable toil, a happy test
Whereby true friends are sifted from the rest;
Yea, a man learns, by poverty brought low,
Not his friends only, but himself to know.
And is not merry poverty as good
As groaning 'neath a cumbrous livelihood?
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A reason for redoubled courtesy?
Wisdom and prudence are the wealth of age,
If youth would but accept the heritage.
Once more, I am the object of his scorn
Because I fortune to be lowly born.
Ah, if a Nobleman could but devise
A means to leave his virtue when he dies
Tied up with all his titles and estate,
Then were nobility of higher rate;
But if a noble's son do churlish deeds,
And flout the hand that helps him in his needs,
He is not gentle, be he Duke or Earl,
For base ungrateful actions make a churl.
Lastly, I am displeasing to the eye,
But many excellences come thereby.
Think of the famous women of old time,
Shrined in true history or poet's rhyme,
For whom the direst wicked deeds were done,
They all were Queens of beauty, every one.
Whole empires have been shattered, cities sacked,
And busy valleys left a lifeless tract,
Millions of men have perished for the kiss
Of Cleopatra or Semiramis;
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Remembering Helen, but forgetting Troy.
Nay, look on me with gladness; for this face
No towns shall burn, no champions court disgrace,
No kings shall agonize in mad despair,
Nor screams of widowed women rend the air.
Deceit here is not, what I am, I seem,
No painter's fantasy nor poet's dream:
The homely virtues, proper to the shade,
Dwell in this face and flourish undismayed.
Yet, lest this knight, O Queen, should curse his hap,
And taunt me that I caught him in a trap,
I can again employ the magic lore
Whereby I rescued him from death before.
Let him now choose if he will have his wife
Virtuous and faithful to him all her life,
But old and all uncomely; or endowed
With matchless beauty, but of spirit proud
Peevish and fickle, skilled in every wile,
Charming and faithless, beautiful and vile.
For one of these two let him give his voice,
And he shall have the lady of his choice.
[Pharamond sighs, and falls into a brown study.]
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The offer is a fair one. Come, Sir Knight.
Phar.
O, gracious Queen, thou seest to what a plight
I am reduced; full well may I repine,
Squalor or wickedness must needs be mine.
Yet since this lady hath by fate been sent
To be my succour and admonishment,
I fain would have my sentence make it plain
That all her lesson has not been in vain.
Lady, I will not choose; but do protest
That I approve whiche'er to you seems best,
Do as you please, and I am satisfied.
O. W.
Then do you utterly renounce your pride,
And here submit to my authority?
Phar.
I do.
O. W.
Now have I gained the victory,
Look up, be joyful, cast away despair,
And you shall have a bride both good and fair.
[The Old Woman throws off her cloak and appears transformed. Sensation in the Court.]
Queen.
Take her, Sir Knight, and let this day be spent
In feasting, revelry, and merriment.
King.
Strike up the music! Though we are a King,
Our rule is brief, and frail, and wavering,
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Hath been established in our Court to-day.
This night shall be resigned to mirth and sport,
In honour of the despots of our Court.
Ye Knights, take each your lady by the hand,
And modestly submit to her command.
In full procession to the palace go;
Ourselves will lead you. Let the trumpets blow!
| The Riddle | |