#  Fortune's Speech on Tragedy 

 



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### The Romance of the Rose (13th Cent.)

## Tragedies of Fortune: Nero, Croesus,  
 and Some Modern Examples

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**THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 229**   
   
 Nero, of whom I lately spake,  
 And whose mere frown sufficed to shake  
 The world, o'er which he held such sway   
 As never tyrant till his day   
 Had known, had yet no power to check   
 Fortune, but bowed before her beck,   
 If history lie not, for 'tis said   
 Most wretchedly he perished.   
 So did he fire the people's hate,   
 That rose they all infuriate   
 Against this monster. Then he sent   
 Envoys to all his friends, intent   
 To save his worthless life, but not   
 A single man he found, I wot,   
 To give him refuge. Then while rocked   
 His craven heart with fear, he knocked   
 With frantic strokes at many a portal,   
 But, to his thundering, not a mortal   
 Replied and he aback returned,   
 While helpless rage his vitals burned."   
   
   
 **230 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 **XLI**   
   
 *This tells how Nero sought to hide  Within a garden, where he died,   
 Self-slain. Thus, coward-like, life's stage   
 He fled, nor dared the people's rage.*   
   
 "THEN ran he swift to hide his head  
 In flower-grown close, and with him fled  
 Two faithful slaves, but all around   
 He heard the fearful surging sound   
 Of maddening voices, which: 'Nero,'   
 Cried loudly, 'thou to hell shalt go;   
 Where skulk'st thou?' And he, terrified,   
 Beheld that vain it was to hide,   
 Yet knew not how to go or stay   
 So he might 'scape the dread affray.   
 And compassing his fearsome case,   
 Despaired he of all hope of grace,   
 And 'mandment gave his slaves to kill   
 Their master, and when nought fulfil   
 Would they his hest, the wretched elf   
 Fell on his sword and slew himself   
 Outright, but ere death came he gave   
 His servants bidding they should shave   
 His head from off his trunk, that none   
 Might know 'twas he, and, that stroke done,   
 They should his corse without delay   
 Burn on a pyre to ashes grey.   
 This may be read by him who dives   
 Among old parchments in the lives   
 Of those twelve Caesars, which were writ   
 By Suetonius, who doth twit   
   
   
 **THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 231**   
   
 The law of Christ as tale absurd  
 (This is the wretched caitiff's word)  
 And mischievous. Alas! the day,  
 That mouth of man such words should say!   
 With Nero perished out the line   
 Of Caesar, and, as I opine,   
 This monster so was void of grace   
 Or virtue, that 'twere meet his race   
 Should fall extinct. He nobly reigned   
 Five years before with crime he stained   
 His annals, and no prince e'er gave   
 A fairer promise by his grave   
 And loyal rule; so good at first   
 Appeared this felon-king accurst,   
 That once in audience given at Rome,   
 When some poor caitiff that home   
 Whence none return he should consign,   
 He cried: 'O evil fate is mine   
 That e'er my hand hath learned to write.'   
   
 This monster stood upon the height   
 Of empire more than sixteen years,   
 Deceiving hopes, fulfilling fears,   
 And for his whole life thirty-two   
 Years good and evil lived he through.   
 But, stirred to felony by pride,   
 So grievously he turned aside   
 From virtue, that he lastly fell   
 From highest grace to lowest hell   
 Of crime and sin, as thou hast heard,   
 And Fortune's freak it was preferred   
 Him thus on high, that she might show   
 Her power to raise and overthrow.   
   
   
 **232 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 Neither could Croesus, Lydia's king,  
 And mighty conqueror, 'scape the sting  
 Of Fortune. On the burning pyre  
 He stood and round him leapt the fire,   
 When suddenly the lowering sky   
 Disburdened it so copiously   
 That died the flames; his foes dismayed   
 Thereat took flight, nor long time stayed   
 King Croesus, but escaped his bane.   
   
 Then ruled he o'er his land again   
 But yet, once more by Fortune flung   
 In durance, was he lastly hung   
 But ere that happed this vision dreamed   
 High on a beech tree's top he seemed,   
 Where mighty Jupiter had set   
 Himself to wash him: when all wet   
 By Jove's hands made, his glorious son,   
 Phoebus, with towel, had begun   
 To dry his skin. Alas! too true   
 That dreaming proved he thereby grew   
 To hateful pride and foolishness,   
 And then succumbed to sore distress.   
 Though when to Phanie fair, his child,   
 He told this dream so strange and wild,   
 She strove to tear from off his eyes   
 The veil, for she was passing wise   
 To pierce the visions of the night,   
 And show their truth in morning light."   
   
   
 **THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 233**   
   
 **XLII**   
   
 *This tells how Phanie to the king  Gave warning that his pride would bring   
 Him shameful death. The dream but sung   
 His knell, when he on gallows hung.*   
   
 "FAIR father,' quoth the damosel,   
 This dream but rings your passing bell   
 I count your pride not worth a cock;   
 The jade hight Fortune doth but mock   
 And jeer at you; by this portent   
 I clearly read that she is bent   
 That you, ere long, on gallows tree   
 Shall perish; and while mournfully,   
 The sport of winds, it swings in air,   
 Heaven's rain upon your body bare   
 Shall beat, and then the scorching sun   
 Shall dry it. So doth Fortune run   
 Against you. She but gives and takes   
 As pleaseth her; one while she makes   
 The highest nought, and then amain   
 The pauper setteth up again   
 In wealth or splendour. Why should I   
 Betray your heart with flattery?   
 Fortune hath ruthlessly assigned   
 You to the gibbet, and will bind   
 The halter close about your neck,   
 And that gold crown that now doth deck   
 Your well-loved head will she uplift   
 Therefrom, and then as royal gift   
   
   
 **234 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 Bestow it where you dream not. Hear,  
 While yet I make my rede more clear:  
 God Jupiter, who you did wash,  
 Is air and cloud, whose rains shall lash   
 Your corpse; and Phoebus, who bedried   
 Your body, clearly typified   
 The sun; the high beech tree,   
 What should it but the gallows be?   
 This cruel path you needs must tread,   
 Dear father; on your glorious head   
 Will Fortune wreak her wrath as one   
 Whose arrogant pride hath vengeance won:   
 No man, whate'er his dignity,   
 More than an apple counteth she.   
 High loyalty or treachery base,   
 Lordly estate or pauper case,   
 Are one to her. As shuttlecock   
 Which playful damsels lightly knock   
 Hither and thither, so doth she   
 Toss gifts and favours recklessly,   
 Without a thought whereso they fall,   
 On mansion proud or cobbler's stall.   
 For good or bad hath she no care,   
 All, all alike her giftings share;   
 She valueth none above a pea,   
 Saving her child Nobility,   
 Misfortune's cousin, and her friend,   
 Who doth in Fortune's balance pend.   
 But Fortune, though she take away   
 Nobility from whom she may,   
 Will deal it forth to none except   
 Such as through every change have kept   
   
   
 **THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 235**   
   
 Them pure in heart and courteous,  
 Upright, and good, and generous.  
 For never yet was man so bold   
 In field, but, if he chanced to hold   
 In heart some baseness, then would flee   
 Far from him fair Nobility.   
   
 Nobility I greatly prize,   
 Because mean spirits in her eyes   
 Are hateful, and I meekly pray,   
 Dear father, that you cast away   
 All proud and villain thought, and reign   
 The good man's prop, the bad man's bane.   
 Make your dear heart the dwelling-place   
 Of gentle love and tender grace   
 For ill poor folk; 'tis well a king   
 The portals of his heart should fling   
 Wide open. O my father, deign   
 To list my speech, you then shall gain   
 The people's love; that lacking, poor   
 Is greatest king as rudest boor.'   
   
 O Phanie, precious words were these,   
 But never fool his folly sees   
 In other light than worthiest sense,   
 Wisdom he hears, but learns nought thence.   
   
 Thus Croesus' heart was obdurate,   
 And sternly scorned he to abate   
 His pride; if herein wise was he,   
 Or foolish, that ere long shalt see.   
   
   
 **236 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 *Croesus makes answer to Phanie.*   
   
 "My daughter, neither courtesy  
 Nor sense you show herein,' quoth he;  
 'Much better versed am I than you   
 In what the Gods propose to do;   
 You do but treat me to a lie,   
 Interpreting most shamefully   
 This riddle hid within my dream:   
 Your gloss approacheth the extreme   
 Of witlessness: my dream will be   
 Fulfilled, I doubt not, literally:   
 Sure ne'er before did prophet dare   
 To shadow forth for dream so fair   
 Such vile fulfillment.   
   
 Yet will come   
 The Gods from out their sky-built home,   
 To work the end that they in sleep   
 Foretold to me, and I shall reap,   
 Dear child, from them such high reward   
 As they to those they love accord,   
 For well have I deserved of them.'   
   
 *Reason*.   
   
 "Alas! the boastful apothegm!   
 Fortune laid hand on him and gave   
 His body wastefully to wave   
 In wind and storm on gibbet hung,   
 And last be o'er the desert flung.   
   
 Doth this not plainly demonstrate   
 No man can cause her wheel to wait   
   
   
 **THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 237**   
   
 Or stay its course, and thus be able,  
 Honour attained, to keep him stable?  
 And dost thou aught of logic know   
 (Which falsity from truth doth show),   
 Thou'lt see, where great and strong men fall,   
 For poor and weak, the chance how small!   
   
 But if examples thou shouldst scorn   
 From old authentic writings torn,   
 Then is it well that thou shouldst learn   
 That if thou wilt, thou need'st but turn   
 For good examples which have been   
 Before the eyes of all men seen,   
 Writ large for us in later days,   
 Of turmoils, battles, and affrays.   
 In Sicily we first may see   
 Lord Manfred, who by treachery   
 Long time unchallenged kept the land,   
 Till Charles of Anjou's mighty hand   
 O'ercame him, and there reigns to-day,   
 Where no man dares dispute his sway.   
 Him thou mayst better know perchance   
 As Count of Anjou and Provence,   
 And who by providence of God   
 Is lord of Sicily's fair sod.   
 This good King Charles from Manfred took   
 His kingdom not alone, but strook   
 The life from him; when he, with sword   
 Fine tempered, on the battle sward   
 Where first they met assailed him, high   
 On towering war-horse mounted: 'Die,'   
 He cried, 'shalt thou, for check and mate   
 I give thee,' but soon met his fate,   
   
   
 **238 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 Amid his goodly company,  
 By arrow-stroke, death pierced, fell he.  
 It scarcely needs my page to blot   
 By telling of the woeful lot   
 Of Conradin, whom Charles decreed   
 To death, although for him did plead   
 The German princes; or how fell   
 Henry, the prince of Spain as well,   
 In prison slain, as guerdon good   
 For one whose treason shamed manhood.   
 These two rash, foolish men, I ween,   
 Lost knights and rooks, and pawns and queen,   
 Till, seeing all against them scored,   
 They fled and left swept clear, the board.   
 Great fear they had lest round them spun   
 Should be the web they had begun,   
 Yet ne'er need they have been afraid   
 Lest they should see check-mate arrayed   
 Against them, since devoid of king   
 They fought, their foes could nowise bring   
 Those into check with whom they played,   
 Since first this noble game was made,   
 For never men at chess can fight   
 (How great soe'er the power they dight)   
 With check 'gainst those who fight afoot,   
 The pawn, or rook, or fool to boot,   
 Nor queen or knight, nor all the hoard   
 Of commoners who fill the board.   
 For of a truth I dare to state   
 What meaneth that men call 'a mate';   
 The king it is to whom we give   
 'Check,' when his men have ceased to live,   
   
   
 **THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 239**   
   
 Or captive stand, and none he sees  
 Around him save his enemies,  
 And thus doth he in check remain,  
 Escape debarred, resistance vain.   
 And thus saith Attalus the wise,   
 Who did the game of chess devise   
 With worthy wit; its subtle trick   
 He found when deep arithmetic   
 He taught, and Polycraticus,   
 Of John of Sarum, showeth us   
 How he the intricate movements set,   
 Wherewith the game is played e'en yet.   
   
 From off the field these leaguers cleared,   
 Since to be captive ta'en they feared   
 Most bitterly. What say I then?   
 They feared captivity, these men?   
 Nay, but far worse; fierce death they fled,   
 Which nevertheless they sufferèd,   
 For in this wretched game had they   
 With impious daring played their play.   
 Despising faith, estranged from God,   
 They madly his chastising rod   
 Had bared their backs to; Holy Church   
 They braved, and found them left a-lurch.   
 And if their fortunes lay in wreck,   
 And on them cried their foes 'a check!'   
 What wonder? Who would cover them,   
 Or who their tide of misery stem?   
 For when the onset came their queen   
 They lost, as well might be foreseen,   
 And then this worthless, foolish king   
 Lost rooks, knights, pawns, and everything.   
   
   
 **240 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 Forsooth she nought was present there  
 But worn with grief, and wan with care  
 Could not defend herself nor flee,   
 Hearing how Manfred wretchedly   
 Lay dead and cold, head, hands, and feet.   
 And when these tidings men repeat   
 To good King Charles, how both these men   
 Like caitiffs fled the combat, then   
 On both he freely worked his will,   
 Giving command to slay and kill   
 Them and their fellows who had stood   
 To aid their impious hardihood.   
   
 This noble prince, whose deeds I sing,   
 Of many a tale hath been the spring.   
 May God preserve both night and day   
 His body, soul, and heirs I pray,   
 And grant such wisdom as ne'er falls:   
 The pride he conquered of Marseilles,   
 Whose rebel burghers' heads lopped he   
 Ere yet high rule in Sicily   
 To him was given, where he as king   
 Was crowned, and vicar ministering   
 For all the Empire: but to write   
 His deeds at full must one indite   
 A ponderous tome.   
   
 See what became   
 Of all these favourites of fame   
 And Fortune.   
   
 Doth she not, I ask,   
 Make fools of those who calmly bask   
 Beneath her smiles?   
   
 At first they find   
 All fair, then comes a stab behind.   
   
   
 **THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE 241**   
   
 And thou, who joy'dst to kiss the Rose,  
 Through which to thee such misery grows  
 As seems would never more abate,  
 Dost thou desire it for thy fate   
 Ever to live in soft delight   
 Kissing fair roses, day and night?   
 Now swear I stoutly by my head,   
 Good sense within thee seemeth dead.   
 Lest thou beneath thy sorrow sink,   
 I counsel thee to muse and think   
 Of Manfred and of Conradin   
 And Henry, who, than Saladin,   
 Did deadlier crimes, since war they made   
 'Gainst Holy Church their nurse, who laid   
 Her curse on them, and mark how died   
 Those of Marseilles through fatal pride.   
 With ancient lore too well acquaint   
 Art thou that I again need paint   
 Vile Nero's crime, or Croesus' fall,   
 Such lessons might'st thou well recall,   
 Showing how vain their power to stay   
 The turn of Fortune's wheel one day.   
 I'faith! the freeman who in pride   
 Of freedom scorneth all beside,   
 Forgets how mighty Croesus fell   
 From freedom's heaven to serfdom's hell,   
 And in his memory holds he not   
 Sad Hecuba's unhappy lot,   
 The wife of Priam, nor the fate   
 Of Sisygambis, who the great   
 Darius, king of Persia, bore,   
 Yet Alexander fell before;   
   
   
 **242 THE ROMANCE OF THE ROSE**   
   
 All these o'er realms in freedom reigned   
 Yet slaves became when Fortune waned.



  
   
 **Nero**   
 **deserted**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **How**   
 **Nero died**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **Fair**   
 **promise**   
 **blighted**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **King**   
 **Croesus'**   
 **dream**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **Jupiter**   
 **and**   
 **Apollo**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **True**   
 **nobility**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **The fall**   
 **of pride**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **Manfred**   
 **of Sicily**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **Death of**   
 **Conradin**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **The**   
 **game**   
 **of chess**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **Charles of**   
 **Anjou**   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
   
 **Victims**   
 **of**   
 **Fortune**







#####   
 

From *The Romance of the Rose by W. Lorris and J. Clopinel*, tr. F.S, Ellis, London, 1901, Vol. II.