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The Canterbury Tales and Other Works of Chaucer (Middle English), by Geoffery Chaucer, [14th cent.], at sacred-texts.com

The Canterbury Tales

The Second Nun's Tale

120 This mayden bright Cecilie, as hir lif seith,
 Was comen of Romayns and of noble kynde,
 And from hir cradel up fostred in the feith
 Of Crist, and bar his gospel in hir mynde.
 She nevere cessed, as I writen fynde,
 Of hir preyere and God to love and drede,
 Bisekynge hym to kepe hir maydenhede.
 And whan this mayden sholde unto a man
 Ywedded be, that was ful yong of age,
 Which that ycleped was Valerian,
130 And day was comen of hir marriage,
 She, ful devout and humble in hir corage,
 Under hir robe of gold, that sat ful faire,
 Hadde next hire flessh yclad hire in an haire.
 And whil the organs maden melodie,
 To God allone in herte thus sang she:
 "O Lord, my soule and eek my body gye
 Unwemmed, lest that I confounded be."
 And for his love that dyde upon a tree
 Every seconde and thridde day she faste,
140 Ay biddynge in hire orisons ful faste.
 The nyght cam, and to bedde moste she gon
 With hire housbonde, as ofte is the manere,
 And pryvely to hym she seyde anon,
 "O sweete and wel biloved spouse deere,
 Ther is a conseil, and ye wolde it heere,
 Which that right fayn I wolde unto yow seye,
 So that ye swere ye shul it nat biwreye."
 Valerian gan faste unto hire swere
 That for no cas ne thyng that myghte be,
150 He sholde nevere mo biwreyen here;
 And thanne at erst to hym thus seyde she:
 "I have an aungel which that loveth me,
 That with greet love, wher so I wake or sleepe,
 Is redy ay my body for to kepe.
 "And if that he may feelen, out of drede,
 That ye me touche, or love in vileynye,
 He right anon wol sle yow with the dede,
 And in youre yowthe thus ye shullen dye;
 And if that ye in clene love me gye,
160 He wol yow loven as me, for youre clennesse,
 And shewen yow his joye and his brightnesse."
 Valerian, corrected as God wolde,
 Answerde agayn, "If I shal trusten thee,
 Lat me that aungel se and hym biholde;
 And if that it a verray angel bee,
 Thanne wol I doon as thou hast prayed me;
 And if thou love another man, for sothe
 Right with this swerd thanne wol I sle yow bothe."
 Cecile answerde anon-right in this wise:
170 "If that yow list, the angel shul ye see,
 So that ye trowe on Crist and yow baptize.
 Gooth forth to Via Apia," quod shee,
 "That fro this toun ne stant but miles three,
 And to the povre folkes that ther dwelle,
 Sey hem right thus, as that I shal yow telle.
 "Telle hem that I, Cecile, yow to hem sente
 To shewen yow the goode Urban the olde,
 For secree nedes and for good entente.
 And whan that ye Seint Urban han biholde,
180 Telle hym the wordes whiche I to yow tolde;
 And whan that he hath purged yow fro synne,
 Thanne shul ye se that angel, er ye twynne."
 Valerian is to the place ygon,
 And right as hym was taught by his lernynge,
 He foond this hooly olde Urban anon
 Among the seintes buryeles lotynge.
 And he anon withouten tariynge
 Dide his message; and whan that he it tolde,
 Urban for joye his handes gan up holde.
190 The teeris from his eyen leet he falle.
 "Almyghty Lord, O Jhesu Crist," quod he,
 "Sower of chaast conseil, hierde of us alle,
 The fruyt of thilke seed of chastitee
 That thou hast sowe in Cecile, taak to thee!
 Lo, lyk a bisy bee, withouten gile,
 Thee serveth ay thyn owene thral Cecile.
 "For thilke spouse that she took but now
 Ful lyk a fiers leoun, she sendeth heere,
 As meke as evere was any lomb, to yow!"
200 And with that word anon ther gan appeere
 An oold man, clad in white clothes cleere,
 That hadde a book with lettre of gold in honde,
 And gan bifore Valerian to stonde.
 Valerian as deed fil doun for drede
 Whan he hym saugh, and he up hente hym tho,
 And on his book right thus he gan to rede:
 "O Lord, o feith, o God, withouten mo,
 O Cristendom, and Fader of alle also,
 Aboven alle and over alle everywhere."
210 Thise wordes al with gold ywriten were.
 Whan this was rad, thanne seyde this olde man,
 "Leevestow this thyng or no? Sey ye or nay."
 "I leeve al this thyng," quod Valerian,
 "For sother thyng than this, I dar wel say,
 Under the hevene no wight thynke may."
 Tho vanysshed this olde man, he nyste where,
 And Pope Urban hym cristned right there.
 Valerian gooth hoom and fynt Cecilie
 Withinne his chambre with an angel stonde.
220 This angel hadde of roses and of lilie
 Corones two, the which he bar in honde;
 And first to Cecile, as I understonde,
 He yaf that oon, and after gan he take
 That oother to Valerian, hir make.
 "With body clene and with unwemmed thoght
 Kepeth ay wel thise corones," quod he;
 "Fro paradys to yow have I hem broght,
 Ne nevere mo ne shal they roten bee,
 Ne lese hir soote savour, trusteth me;
230 Ne nevere wight shal seen hem with his ye,
 But he be chaast and hate vileynye.
 "And thow, Valerian, for thow so soone
 Assentedest to good conseil also,
 Sey what thee list, and thou shalt han thy boone."
 "I have a brother," quod Valerian tho,
 "That in this world I love no man so.
 I pray yow that my brother may han grace
 To knowe the trouthe, as I do in this place."
 The angel seyde, "God liketh thy requeste,
240 And bothe with the palm of martirdom
 Ye shullen come unto his blisful feste."
 And with that word Tiburce his brother coom.
 And whan that he the savour undernoom,
 Which that the roses and the lilies caste,
 Withinne his herte he gan to wondre faste,
 And seyde, "I wondre, this tyme of the yeer,
 Whennes that soote savour cometh so
 Of rose and lilies that I smelle heer.
 For though I hadde hem in myne handes two,
250 The savour myghte in me no depper go.
 The sweete smel that in myn herte I fynde
 Hath chaunged me al in another kynde."
 Valerian seyde: "Two corones han we,
 Snow white and rose reed, that shynen cleere,
 Whiche that thyne eyen han no myght to see;
 And as thou smellest hem thurgh my preyere,
 So shaltow seen hem, leeve brother deere,
 If it so be thou wolt, withouten slouthe,
 Bileve aright and knowen verray trouthe."
260 Tiburce answerde, "Seistow this to me
 In soothnesse, or in dreem I herkne this?"
 "In dremes," quod Valerian, "han we be
 Unto this tyme, brother myn, ywis.
 But now at erst in trouthe oure dwellyng is."
 "How woostow this?" quod Tiburce, "and in what wyse?"
 Quod Valerian, "That shal I thee devyse.
 "The aungel of God hath me the trouthe ytaught
 Which thou shalt seen, if that thou wolt reneye
 The ydoles and be clene, and elles naught."
270 And of the myracle of thise corones tweye
 Seint Ambrose in his preface list to seye;
 Solempnely this noble doctour deere
 Commendeth it, and seith in this manere:
 "The palm of martirdom for to receyve,
 Seinte Cecile, fulfild of Goddes yifte,
 The world and eek hire chambre gan she weyve;
 Witnesse Tyburces and [Valerians] shrifte,
 To whiche God of his bountee wolde shifte
 Corones two of floures wel smellynge,
280 And made his angel hem the corones brynge.
 "The mayde hath broght thise men to blisse above;
 The world hath wist what it is worth, certeyn,
 Devocioun of chastitee to love."
 Tho shewed hym Cecile al open and pleyn
 That alle ydoles nys but a thyng in veyn,
 For they been dombe, and therto they been deve,
 And charged hym his ydoles for to leve.
 "Whoso that troweth nat this, a beest he is,"
 Quod tho Tiburce, "if that I shal nat lye."
290 And she gan kisse his brest, that herde this,
 And was ful glad he koude trouthe espye.
 "This day I take thee for myn allye,"
 Seyde this blisful faire mayde deere,
 And after that she seyde as ye may heere:
 "Lo, right so as the love of Crist," quod she,
 "Made me thy brotheres wyf, right in that wise
 Anon for myn allye heer take I thee,
 Syn that thou wolt thyne ydoles despise.
 Go with thy brother now, and thee baptise,
300 And make thee clene, so that thou mowe biholde
 The angels face of which thy brother tolde."
 Tiburce answerde and seyde, "Brother deere,
 First tel me whider I shal, and to what man?"
 "To whom?" quod he, "com forth with right good cheere,
 I wol thee lede unto the Pope Urban."
 "Til Urban? Brother myn Valerian,"
 Quod tho Tiburce, "woltow me thider lede?
 Me thynketh that it were a wonder dede.
 "Ne menestow nat Urban," quod he tho,
310 "That is so ofte dampned to be deed,
 And woneth in halkes alwey to and fro,
 And dar nat ones putte forth his heed?
 Men sholde hym brennen in a fyr so reed
 If he were founde, or that men myghte hym spye,
 And we also, to bere hym compaignye;
 "And whil we seken thilke divinitee
 That is yhid in hevene pryvely,
 Algate ybrend in this world shul we be!"
 To whom Cecile answerde boldely,
320 "Men myghten dreden wel and skilfully
 This lyf to lese, myn owene deere brother,
 If this were lyvynge oonly and noon oother.
 "But ther is bettre lif in oother place,
 That nevere shal be lost, ne drede thee noght,
 Which Goddes Sone us tolde thurgh his grace.
 That Fadres Sone hath alle thyng ywroght,
 And al that wroght is with a skilful thoght;
 The Goost, that fro the Fader gan procede,
 Hath sowled hem, withouten any drede.
330 "By word and by myracle heigh Goddes Sone,
 Whan he was in this world, declared heere
 That ther was oother lyf ther men may wone."
 To whom answerde Tiburce, "O suster deere,
 Ne seydestow right now in this manere,
 Ther nys but o God, lord in soothfastnesse?
 And now of three how maystow bere witnesse?"
 "That shal I telle," quod she, "er I go.
 Right as a man hath sapiences three --
 Memorie, engyn, and intellect also --
340 So in o beynge of divinitee,
 Thre persones may ther right wel bee."
 Tho gan she hym ful bisily to preche
 Of Cristes come, and of his peynes teche,
 And manye pointes of his passioun;
 How Goddes Sone in this world was withholde
 To doon mankynde pleyn remissioun,
 That was ybounde in synne and cares colde;
 Al this thyng she unto Tiburce tolde.
 And after this Tiburce in good entente
350 With Valerian to Pope Urban he wente,
 That thanked God, and with glad herte and light
 He cristned hym and made hym in that place
 Parfit in his lernynge, Goddes knyght.
 And after this Tiburce gat swich grace
 That every day he saugh in tyme and space
 The aungel of God; and every maner boone
 That he God axed, it was sped ful soone.
 It were ful hard by ordre for to seyn
 How manye wondres Jhesus for hem wroghte;
360 But atte laste, to tellen short and pleyn,
 The sergeantz of the toun of Rome hem soghte,
 And hem biforn Almache, the prefect, broghte,
 Which hem apposed, and knew al hire entente,
 And to the ymage of Juppiter hem sente,
 And seyde, "Whoso wol nat sacrifise,
 Swape of his heed; this my sentence heer."
 Anon thise martirs that I yow devyse,
 Oon Maximus, that was an officer
 Of the prefectes, and his corniculer,
370 Hem hente, and whan he forth the seintes ladde,
 Hymself he weep for pitee that he hadde.
 Whan Maximus had herd the seintes loore,
 He gat hym of the tormentoures leve,
 And ladde hem to his hous withoute moore,
 And with hir prechyng, er that it were eve,
 They gonnen fro the tormentours to reve,
 And fro Maxime, and fro his folk echone,
 The false feith, to trowe in God allone.
 Cecile cam, whan it was woxen nyght,
380 With preestes that hem cristned alle yfeere;
 And afterward, whan day was woxen light,
 Cecile hem seyde with a ful stedefast cheere,
 "Now, Cristes owene knyghtes leeve and deere,
 Cast alle awey the werkes of derknesse,
 And armeth yow in armure of brightnesse.
 "Ye han for sothe ydoon a greet bataille,
 Youre cours is doon, youre feith han ye conserved.
 Gooth to the corone of lif that may nat faille;
 The rightful Juge, which that ye han served,
390 Shal yeve it yow, as ye han it deserved."
 And whan this thyng was seyd as I devyse,
 Men ledde hem forth to doon the sacrefise.
 But whan they weren to the place broght
 To tellen shortly the conclusioun,
 They nolde encense ne sacrifise right noght,
 But on hir knees they setten hem adoun
 With humble herte and sad devocioun,
 And losten bothe hir hevedes in the place.
 Hir soules wenten to the Kyng of grace.
400 This Maximus, that saugh this thyng bityde,
 With pitous teeris tolde it anonright,
 That he hir soules saugh to hevene glyde
 With aungels ful of cleernesse and of light,
 And with his word converted many a wight;
 For which Almachius dide hym so bete
 With whippe of leed til he his lif gan lete.
 Cecile hym took and buryed hym anon
 By Tiburce and Valerian softely
 Withinne hire buriyng place, under the stoon;
410 And after this, Almachius hastily
 Bad his ministres fecchen openly
 Cecile, so that she myghte in his presence
 Doon sacrifice and Juppiter encense.
 But they, converted at hir wise loore,
 Wepten ful soore, and yaven ful credence
 Unto hire word, and cryden moore and moore,
 "Crist, Goddes Sone, withouten difference,
 Is verray God -- this is al oure sentence --
 That hath so good a servant hym to serve.
420 This with o voys we trowen, thogh we sterve!"
 Almachius, that herde of this doynge,
 Bad fecchen Cecile, that he myghte hire see,
 And alderfirst, lo, this was his axynge.
 "What maner womman artow?" tho quod he.
 "I am a gentil womman born," quod she.
 "I axe thee," quod he, "though it thee greeve,
 Of thy religioun and of thy bileeve."
 "Ye han bigonne youre questioun folily,"
 Quod she, "that wolden two answeres conclude
430 In o demande; ye axed lewedly."
 Almache answerde unto that similitude,
 "Of whennes comth thyn answeryng so rude?"
 "Of whennes?" quod she, whan that she was freyned,
 "Of conscience and of good feith unfeyned."
 Almachius seyde, "Ne takestow noon heede
 Of my power?" And she answerde hym this:
 "Youre myght," quod she, "ful litel is to dreede,
 For every mortal mannes power nys
 But lyk a bladdre ful of wynd, ywys.
440 For with a nedles poynt, whan it is blowe,
 May al the boost of it be leyd ful lowe."
 "Ful wrongfully bigonne thow," quod he,
 "And yet in wrong is thy perseveraunce.
 Wostow nat how oure myghty princes free
 Han thus comanded and maad ordinaunce
 That every Cristen wight shal han penaunce
 But if that he his Cristendom withseye,
 And goon al quit, if he wole it reneye?"
 "Yowre princes erren, as youre nobleye dooth,"
450 Quod tho Cecile, "and with a wood sentence
 Ye make us gilty, and it is nat sooth.
 For ye, that knowen wel oure innocence,
 For as muche as we doon a reverence
 To Crist, and for we bere a Cristen name,
 Ye putte on us a cryme and eek a blame.
 "But we that knowen thilke name so
 For vertuous, we may it nat withseye."
 Almache answerde, "Chees oon of thise two:
 Do sacrifice, or Cristendom reneye,
460 That thou mowe now escapen by that weye."
 At which the hooly blisful faire mayde
 Gan for to laughe, and to the juge sayde:
 "O juge, confus in thy nycetee,
 Woltow that I reneye innocence,
 To make me a wikked wight?" quod shee.
 "Lo, he dissymuleth heere in audience;
 He stareth, and woodeth in his advertence!"
 To whom Almachius, "Unsely wrecche,
 Ne woostow nat how fer my myght may strecche?
470 "Han noght oure myghty princes to me yiven,
 Ye, bothe power and auctoritee
 To maken folk to dyen or to lyven?
 Why spekestow so proudly thanne to me?"
 "I speke noght but stedfastly," quod she;
 "Nat proudly, for I seye, as for my syde,
 We haten deedly thilke vice of pryde.
 "And if thou drede nat a sooth to heere,
 Thanne wol I shewe al openly, by right,
 That thou hast maad a ful gret lesyng heere.
480 Thou seyst thy princes han thee yeven myght
 Bothe for to sleen and for to quyken a wight;
 Thou, that ne mayst but oonly lyf bireve,
 Thou hast noon oother power ne no leve.
 "But thou mayst seyn thy princes han thee maked
 Ministre of deeth; for if thou speke of mo,
 Thou lyest, for thy power is ful naked."
 "Do wey thy booldnesse," seyde Almachius tho,
 "And sacrifice to oure goddes er thou go!
 I recche nat what wrong that thou me profre,
490 For I kan suffre it as a philosophre;
 "But thilke wronges may I nat endure
 That thou spekest of oure goddes heere," quod he.
 Cecile answerde, "O nyce creature!
 Thou seydest no word syn thou spak to me
 That I ne knew therwith thy nycetee
 And that thou were in every maner wise
 A lewed officer and a veyn justise.
 "Ther lakketh no thyng to thyne outter yen
 That thou n' art blynd; for thyng that we seen alle
500 That it is stoon -- that men may wel espyen --
 That ilke stoon a god thow wolt it calle.
 I rede thee, lat thyn hand upon it falle
 And taste it wel, and stoon thou shalt it fynde,
 Syn that thou seest nat with thyne eyen blynde.
 "It is a shame that the peple shal
 So scorne thee and laughe at thy folye,
 For communly men woot it wel overal
 That myghty God is in his hevenes hye;
 And thise ymages, wel thou mayst espye,
510 To thee ne to hemself mowen noght profite,
 For in effect they been nat worth a myte."
 Thise wordes and swiche othere seyde she,
 And he weex wroth, and bad men sholde hir lede
 Hom til hir hous, and "In hire hous," quod he,
 "Brenne hire right in a bath of flambes rede."
 And as he bad, right so was doon the dede;
 For in a bath they gonne hire faste shetten,
 And nyght and day greet fyr they under betten.
 The longe nyght, and eek a day also,
520 For al the fyr and eek the bathes heete
 She sat al coold and feelede no wo.
 It made hire nat a drope for to sweete.
 But in that bath hir lyf she moste lete,
 For he Almachius, with ful wikke entente,
 To sleen hire in the bath his sonde sente.
 Thre strokes in the nekke he smoot hire tho,
 The tormentour, but for no maner chaunce
 He myghte noght smyte al hir nekke atwo;
 And for ther was that tyme an ordinaunce
530 That no man sholde doon man swich penaunce
 The ferthe strook to smyten, softe or soore,
 This tormentour ne dorste do namoore,
 But half deed, with hir nekke ycorven there,
 He lefte hir lye, and on his wey he went.
 The Cristen folk, which that aboute hire were,
 With sheetes han the blood ful faire yhent.
 Thre dayes lyved she in this torment,
 And nevere cessed hem the feith to teche
 That she hadde fostred; hem she gan to preche,
540 And hem she yaf hir moebles and hir thyng,
 And to the Pope Urban bitook hem tho,
 And seyde, "I axed this of hevene kyng,
 To han respit thre dayes and namo
 To recomende to yow, er that I go,
 Thise soules, lo, and that I myghte do werche
 Heere of myn hous perpetuelly a cherche."
 Seint Urban with his deknes prively
 The body fette and buryed it by nyghte
 Among his othere seintes honestly.
550 Hir hous the chirche of Seint Cecilie highte;
 Seint Urban halwed it, as he wel myghte;
 In which, into this day, in noble wyse,
 Men doon to Crist and to his seint servyse.

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