This story from Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales is often omitted from collections of his work. It is about Hugh of Lincoln, a boy who was victim of the jewish ritual murder of young Christians, a practice believed to be carried down to this very day. For help with many of the medieval English words, see the Middle-English glossary at Librarius.com.
|
The Prologe of the Prioresses Tale. |
|
Domine dominus noster. |
|
|
|
"O lord oure lord, thy name how merveillous |
|
Is in this large world ysprad," quod she |
|
"For noght oonly thy laude precious |
|
Parfourned is by men of dignitee, |
5 |
But by the mouth of children thy bountee |
|
Parfourned is, for on the brest soukynge |
|
Somtyme shewen they thyn heriynge. |
|
|
|
Wherfore in laude, as I best kan or may, |
|
Of thee, and of the whyte lylye flour |
10 |
Which that the bar, and is a mayde alway, |
|
To telle a storie I wol do my labour; |
|
Nat that I may encressen hir honour, |
|
For she hirself is honour, and the roote |
|
Of bountee, next hir sone, and soules boote. |
|
|
15 |
O mooder Mayde! O mayde Mooder free! |
|
O bussh unbrent, brennynge in Moyses sighte, |
|
That ravysedest doun fro the deitee |
|
Thurgh thyn humblesse, the Goost that in th'alighte, |
|
Of whos vertu, whan he thyn herte lighte, |
20 |
Conceyved was the Fadres sapience, |
|
Help me to telle it in thy reverence. |
|
|
|
Lady, thy bountee, thy magnificence, |
|
Thy vertu, and thy grete humylitee, |
|
Ther may no tonge expresse in no science, |
25 |
For somtyme, lady, er men praye to thee, |
|
Thou goost biforn of thy benyngnytee |
|
And getest us the lyght, thurgh thy preyere, |
|
To gyden us unto thy Sone so deere. |
|
|
|
My konnyng is so wayk, O blisful Queene, |
30 |
For to declare thy grete worthynesse, |
|
That I ne may the weighte nat susteene, |
|
But as a child of twelf monthe oold, or lesse, |
|
That kan unnethes any word expresse, |
|
Right so fare I; and therfore I yow preye, |
35 |
Gydeth my song that I shal of yow seye." |
|
|
|
Heere bigynneth the Prioresses Tale. |
|
|
|
Ther was in Asye, in a greet citee, |
|
Amonges Cristene folk, a Jewerye, |
|
Sustened by a lord of that contree |
|
For foule usure and lucre of vileynye, |
40 |
Hateful to Crist and to his compaignye, |
|
And thurgh this strete men myghte ride or wende, |
|
For it was free and open at eyther ende. |
|
|
|
A litel scole of cristen folk ther stood |
|
Doun at the ferther ende, in which ther were |
45 |
Children an heep, ycomen of Cristen blood, |
|
That lerned in that scole yeer by yeer |
|
Swich manere doctrine as men used there, |
|
This is to seyn, to syngen and to rede, |
|
As smale children doon in hir childhede. |
|
|
50 |
Among thise children was a wydwes sone, |
|
A litel clergeon, seven yeer of age, |
|
That day by day to scole was his wone, |
|
And eek also, wher as he saugh th' ymage |
|
Of Cristes mooder, he hadde in usage |
55 |
As hym was taught, to knele adoun, and seye |
|
His Ave Marie, as he goth by the weye. |
|
|
|
Thus hath this wydwe hir litel sone ytaught |
|
Oure blisful Lady, Cristes mooder deere, |
|
To worshipe ay; and he forgate it naught, |
60 |
For sely child wol alday soone leere. |
|
But ay, whan I remembre on this mateere, |
|
Seint Nicholas stant evere in my presence, |
|
For he so yong to Crist dide reverence. |
|
|
|
This litel child, his litel book lernynge, |
65 |
As he sat in the scole at his prymer, |
|
He Alma redemptoris herde synge |
|
As children lerned hir anthiphoner; |
|
And as he dorste, he drough hym ner and ner, |
|
And herkned ay the wordes and the noote, |
70 |
Til he the firste vers koude al by rote. |
|
|
|
Noght wiste he what this Latyn was to seye, |
|
For he so yong and tendre was of age, |
|
But on a day his felawe gan he preye |
|
T'expounden hym this song in his langage, |
75 |
Or telle hym why this song was in usage; |
|
This preyde he hym to construe and declare |
|
Ful often tyme upon hise knowes bare. |
|
|
|
His felawe, which that elder was than he, |
|
Answerde hym thus, "This song, I have herd seye, |
80 |
Was maked of oure blisful Lady free, |
|
Hir to salue, and eek hir for to preye |
|
To been our help, and socour whan we deye. |
|
I kan namoore expounde in this mateere, |
|
I lerne song, I kan but smal grammere." |
|
|
85 |
"And is this song maked in reverence |
|
Of Cristes mooder?" seyde this innocent. |
|
"Now, certes, I wol do my diligence |
|
To konne it al, er Cristemasse is went; |
|
Though that I for my prymer shal be shent |
90 |
And shal be beten thries in an houre, |
|
I wol it konne, oure lady for to honoure." |
|
|
|
His felawe taughte hym homward prively |
|
Fro day to day, til he koude it by rote; |
|
And thanne he song it wel and boldely |
95 |
Fro word to word acordynge with the note. |
|
Twies a day it passed thurgh his throte, |
|
To scoleward, and homward whan he wente; |
|
On Cristes mooder set was his entente. |
|
|
|
As I have seyd, thurghout the Juerie |
100 |
This litel child, as he cam to and fro, |
|
Ful murily than wolde he synge and crie |
|
"O Alma redemptoris" evere-mo. |
|
The swetnesse hath his herte perced so |
|
Of Cristes mooder, that to hir to preye |
105 |
He kan nat stynte of syngyng by the weye. |
|
|
|
Oure firste foo, the serpent Sathanas, |
|
That hath in Jewes herte his waspes nest, |
|
Up swal, and seyde, "O Hebrayk peple, allas, |
|
Is this to yow a thyng that is honest, |
110 |
That swich a boy shal walken as hym lest |
|
In youre despit, and synge of swich sentence, |
|
Which is agayn oure lawes reverence?" |
|
|
|
Fro thennes forth the Jewes han conspired |
|
This innocent out of this world to chace. |
115 |
An homycide therto han they hyred |
|
That in an aleye hadde a privee place; |
|
And as the child gan forby for to pace, |
|
This cursed Jew hym hente and heeld hym faste, |
|
And kitte his throte, and in a pit hym caste. |
|
|
120 |
I seye that in a wardrobe they hym threwe, |
|
Where as this Jewes purgen hire entraille. |
|
O cursed folk of Herodes al newe, |
|
What may youre yvel entente yow availle? |
|
Mordre wol out, certeyn, it wol nat faille, |
125 |
And namely ther thonour of God shal sprede, |
|
The blood out crieth on youre cursed dede. |
|
|
|
O martir, sowded to virginitee, |
|
Now maystow syngen, folwynge evere in oon |
|
The white lamb celestial -quod she- |
130 |
Of which the grete evaungelist Seint John |
|
In Pathmos wroot, which seith that they that goon |
|
Biforn this lamb and synge a song al newe, |
|
That never, fleshly, wommen they ne knewe. |
|
|
|
This poure wydwe awaiteth al that nyght |
135 |
After hir litel child, but he cam noght; |
|
For which, as soone as it was dayes light, |
|
With face pale of drede and bisy thoght, |
|
She hath at scole and elleswhere hym soght, |
|
Til finally she gan so fer espie, |
140 |
That he last seyn was in the Jewerie. |
|
|
|
With moodres pitee in hir brest enclosed, |
|
She gooth, as she were half out of hir mynde, |
|
To every place where she hath supposed |
|
By liklihede hir litel child to finde; |
145 |
And evere on Cristes mooder, meeke and kynde |
|
She cride, and atte laste thus she wroghte, |
|
Among the cursed Jewes she hym soghte. |
|
|
|
She frayneth, and she preyeth pitously |
|
To every Jew that dwelte in thilke place, |
150 |
To telle hir if hir child wente oght forby. |
|
They seyde "nay"; but Jhesu, of his grace, |
|
Yaf in hir thoght, inwith a litel space, |
|
That in that place after hir sone she cryde, |
|
Where he was casten in a pit bisyde. |
|
|
155 |
O grete God, that parfournest thy laude |
|
By mouth of innocentz, lo, heer thy myght! |
|
This gemme of chastite, this emeraude, |
|
And eek of martirdom the ruby bright, |
|
Ther he with throte ykorven lay upright, |
160 |
He Alma redemptoris gan to synge |
|
So loude, that al the place gan to rynge. |
|
|
|
The cristene folk that thurgh the strete wente |
|
In coomen, for to wondre upon this thyng, |
|
And hastily they for the provost sente. |
165 |
He cam anon withouten tariyng, |
|
And herieth Crist that is of hevene kyng, |
|
And eek his mooder, honour of mankynde; |
|
And after that, the Jewes leet he bynde. |
|
|
|
This child, with pitous lamentacioun, |
170 |
Uptaken was, syngynge his song alway, |
|
And with honour of greet processioun |
|
They carien hym unto the nexte abbay; |
|
His mooder swownynge by his beere lay, |
|
Unnethe myghte the peple that was theere |
175 |
This newe Rachel brynge fro his beere. |
|
|
|
With torment and with shameful deeth echon |
|
This provost dooth the Jewes for to sterve, |
|
That of this mordre wiste, and that anon. |
|
He nolde no swich cursednesse observe; |
180 |
"Yvele shal have that yvele wol deserve"; |
|
Therfore with wilde hors he dide hem drawe, |
|
And after that he heng hem, by the lawe. |
|
|
|
Upon this beere ay lith this innocent |
|
Biforn the chief auter, whil masse laste, |
185 |
And after that, the abbot with his covent |
|
Han sped hem for to burien hym ful faste, |
|
And whan they hooly water on hym caste, |
|
Yet spak this child, whan spreynd was hooly water, |
|
And song O Alma redemptoris mater! |
|
|
190 |
This abbot, which that was an hooly man, |
|
As monkes been - or elles oghte be - |
|
This yonge child,to conjure he bigan, |
|
And seyde, "O deere child, I halse thee, |
|
In vertu of the hooly Trinitee, |
195 |
Tel me what is thy cause for to synge, |
|
Sith that thy throte is kut to my semynge?" |
|
|
|
"My throte is kut unto my nekke boon," |
|
Seyde this child, "and, as by wey of kynde, |
|
I sholde have dyed, ye, longe tyme agon, |
200 |
But Jesu Crist, as ye in bookes fynde, |
|
Wil that his glorie laste and be in mynde, |
|
And for the worship of his mooder deere, |
|
Yet may I synge O Alma loude and cleere. |
|
|
|
"This welle of mercy, Cristes mooder swete, |
205 |
I loved alwey as after my konnynge; |
|
And whan that I my lyf sholde forlete, |
|
To me she cam, and bad me for to synge |
|
This antheme, verraily, in my deyynge, |
|
As ye han herd, and whan that I hadde songe, |
210 |
Me thoughte she leyde a greyn upon my tonge. |
|
|
|
"Wherfore I synge, and synge I moot certeyn |
|
In honour of that blisful mayden free, |
|
Til fro my tonge of taken is the greyn. |
|
And afterward thus seyde she to me, |
215 |
`My litel child, now wol I fecche thee, |
|
Whan that the greyn is fro thy tonge ytake; |
|
Be nat agast, I wol thee nat forsake.'" |
|
|
|
This hooly monk, this abbot, hym meene I, |
|
His tonge out-caughte, and took awey the greyn, |
220 |
And he yaf up the goost ful softely; |
|
And whan this Abbot hadde this wonder seyn, |
|
His salte teeris trikled doun as reyn, |
|
And gruf he fil al plat upon the grounde, |
|
And stille he lay, as he had been ybounde. |
|
|
225 |
The covent eek lay on the pavement, |
|
Wepynge, and heryen Cristes mooder deere. |
|
And after that they ryse, and forth been went, |
|
And tooken awey this martir from his beere, |
|
And in a tombe of marbul stones cleere |
230 |
Enclosen they his litel body sweete. |
|
Ther he is now, God leve us for to meete! |
|
|
|
O yonge Hugh of Lyncoln, slayn also |
|
With cursed Jewes, as it is notable, |
|
For it nis but a litel while ago, |
235 |
Preye eek for us, we synful folk unstable, |
|
That of his mercy God so merciable |
|
On us his grete mercy multiplie, |
|
For reverence of his mooder Marie. Amen. |