The first of April. Here in
Gloucestershire soft sunlight and birdsong. Nothing summons up for me this sense
of early spring so beautifully as the start of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales –
eighteen lines, one seamless sentence – that links humans to the stirring of
the natural world. Written at the end of the Fourteenth Century the opening of
the prologue catches this moment of the year – the tender crops and the young
sun, the singing of birds and the inevitable awakening in people to be out
there, to see the world, to travel. If we feel this in our modern centrally
heated houses, how much more powerful must it have been for medieval people,
sewn into their clothes all winter, eating whatever starveling rations they
could get, trying to keep warm – and then the astonishment of new life,
the vivid colours of flowers, the softer breeze and the sun on their faces –
and the more material comfort of food crops growing again.
‘Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the
roote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephyrus eek with his sweet breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tender croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne,
And smale foweles maken melodye,
That slepen al the nyght with open ye
(So priken hem nature in hir corages):
Thanne longen folk to goon on
pilgrimages,
And palmeres for to seken straunge
strondes,
To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry
londes,
And specially from every shires ende,
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,
The hooly blissful martir for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were
seeke.’
I really like the sound of Middle
English; it has an authentic music. You can hear this passage – the opening of
the prologue – read here, with some variation in text and spelling.
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