Parlement of Foules

The "Parlement of Foules" (also known as the "Parliament of Fowls", "Parlement of Briddes", "Assembly of Fowls", "Assemble of Foules", or "The Parliament of Birds") is a poem by Geoffrey Chaucer (1343?-1400) made up of approximately 700 lines. The poem is in the form of a dream vision in rhyme royal stanza and is interesting in that it is the first reference to the idea that St. Valentine's Day was a special day for lovers.

Summary

The poem begins with the narrator reading Cicero’s Somnium Scipionis in the hope of learning some “certeyn thing.” When he falls asleep Scipio Africanus appears and guides him up through the celestial spheres to Venus’s temple. The narrator then passes through Venus’s dark temple with its friezes of doomed lovers and out into the bright sunlight where Nature is convening a parliament at which the birds all choose their mates. There three tercel eagles make their case for the hand of a formel eagle until the birds of the lower estates begin to protest and launch into a comic parliamentary debate, which Nature herself finally ends. None of the tercels wins the formel, for Nature allows her to put off her decision for another year (indeed, female birds of prey often become sexually mature at one year of age, males only at two years). Nature allows the other birds, however, to pair off. The dream ends with a song welcoming the new summer. The dreamer awakes, still unsatisfied, and returns to his books, hoping still to learn the thing for which he seeks.

Manuscripts

There are fifteen manuscript sources for the poem:

• British Library, Harley 7333
• Cambridge University Library Gg. IV.27
• Cambridge University Library Ff. I.6 (Findern)
• Cambridge University Library Hh.IV.12 (incomplete)
• Pepys 2006, Magdalene College, Cambridge
• Trinity College, Cambridge R.III.19
• Bodleian Library, Arch. Selden B.24
• Bodleian Library, Laud Misc. 416
• Bodleian Library, Fairfax 16
• Bodleian Library, Bodley 638
• Bodleian Library, Tanner 346
• Bodleian Library, Digby 181
• St. John's College, Oxford, J LVII
• Longleat 258, Longleat House, Warminster, Wilts

William Caxton's early print of 1478 is also considered authoritative, for it reproduces the text of a manuscript now considered lost. The stemma and genealogy of these authorities was studied by John Koch in 1881, and later established by Eleanor Prescott Hammond in 1902, dividing them into two main groups, A and B (last five MSS), although the stemma is by no means definitive.

Concerning the author of the poem, there is no doubt that it was written by Geoffrey Chaucer, for so he tells us twice in his works.

• The first time is in the Introduction (Prologue) to The Legend of Good Women: "He made the book that hight the Hous of Fame, / And eke the Deeth of Blaunche the Duchesse, / And the Parlement of Foules, as I gesse" (Larry D. Benson, The Riverside Chaucer, 1987: 600).
• The second allusion is found in the Retractation to The Canterbury Tales: "the book of the Duchesse; the book of Seint Valentynes day of the Parlement of Briddes" (Benson 1987: 328).

A more difficult question is that of date. Early criticism of the poem, as far as the first decades of the 20th century, relied mainly on the different interpretations of the text — comparing the fight for the female eagle with royal betrothals of the age — to produce a date of composition for the poem. Fred N. Robinson (Complete Works of Geoffrey Chaucer, 1957: 791) mentioned that "if the theories of allegory in the Parliament are rejected, the principal evidence usually relied on for dating the poem about 1381-2 disappears." Later criticism, however, is much more objective on the reasons why the poem has been dated in 1382, the main reason given in lines 117-118 of the poem itself: "As wisly as I sawe the [Venus], northe northe west / When I begane my sweuene for to write" for according to John M. Manly (1913: 279-90) Venus is never strictly in the position "north-north-west,"but it can be easily thought to be so when it reaches its extreme northern point". Manly adds that this condition was met in May 1374, 1382, and 1390.

The third date is easily discarded since we know that the poem is already mentioned as composed in the Prologue to The Legend of Good Women. Derek Brewer (1960: 104) then argues that the date of 1382, as opposed to that of 1374, is much more likely for the composition of the poem since, during the same period (1373-85), Chaucer wrote many other works including The House of Fame which, in all respects, seems to have been composed earlier than "The Parliament of Fowls," thus: "a very reasonable, if not certain, date for the Parlement is that it was begun in May 1382, and was ready for St. Valentine's Day, 14th February 1383" (Brewer, 1960: 104). Although much of the criticism on the interpretation of "The Parliament of Fowls" — which would render clues for its date of composition — is contradictory, and criticism about the importance of line 117 does not agree on whether it can be taken as serious evidence for the dating of the poem, there is nowadays a general agreement among scholars as to 1381-1382 being the date of composition for "The Parliament of Fowls."

The Poem

	1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37 38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45 46 47 48 49 50 51 52 53 54 55 56 57 58 59 60 61 62 63 64 65 66 67 68 69 70 71 72 73 74 75 76 77 78 79 80 81 82 83 84 85 86 87 88 89 90 91 92 93 94 95 96 97 98 99 100 101 102 103 104 105	The lyf so short, the craft so long to lerne, Thassay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The dredful Ioy, that alwey slit so yerne, Al this mene I by love, that my feling Astonyeth with his wonderful worching So sore y-wis, that whan I on him thinke, Nat wot I wel wher that I wake or winke. For al be that I knowe nat love in dede, Ne wot how that he quyteth folk hir hyre, Yet happeth me ful ofte in bokes rede Of his miracles, and his cruel yre; Ther rede I wel he wol be lord and syre, I dar not seyn, his strokes been so sore, But God save swich a lord! I can no more. Of usage, what for luste what for lore, On bokes rede I ofte, as I yow tolde. But wherfor that I speke al this? not yore Agon, hit happed me for to beholde Upon a boke, was write with lettres olde; And ther-upon, a certeyn thing to lerne, The longe day ful faste I radde and yerne. 22 For out of olde feldes, as men seith, 23 Cometh al this newe corn fro yeer to yere; 24 And out of olde bokes, in good feith, 25 Cometh al this newe science that men lere. 26 But now to purpos as of this matere -- 27 To rede forth hit gan me so delyte, 28 That al the day me thoughte but a lyte. 29 This book of which I make of mencioun, 30 Entitled was al thus, as I shal telle, 31 `Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun.'; 32 Chapitres seven hit hadde, of hevene and helle, 33 And erthe, and soules that therinnr dwelle, 34 Of whiche, as shortly as I can hit trete, 35 Of his sentence I wol you seyn the grete. 36 First telleth hit, whan Scipion was come 37 In Afrik, how he mette Massinisse, 38 That him for Ioye in armes hath y nome. 39 Than telleth hit hir speche and al the blisse 40 That was betwix hem, til the day gan misse; 41 And how his auncestre, African so dere, 42 Gan in his slepe that night to him appere. 43 Than telleth hit that, fro a sterry place, 44 How African hath him Cartage shewed, 45 And warned him before of al his grace, 46 And seyde him, what man, lered other lewed, 47 That loveth comun profit, wel y-thewed, 48 He shal unto a blisful place wende, 49 Ther as Ioye is that last withouten ende. 50 Than asked he, if folk that heer be dede 51 Have lyf and dwelling in another place; 52 And African seyde, `ye, withoute drede,' 53 And that our present worldes lyves space 54 Nis but a maner deth, what wey we trace, 55 And rightful folk shal go, after they dye, 56 To heven; and shewed him the galaxye. 57 Than shewed he him the litel erthe, that heer is, 58 At regard of the hevenes quantite; 59 And after shewed he him the nyne speres, 60 And after that the melodye herde he 61 That cometh of thilke speres thryes three, 62 That welle is of musyk and melodye 63 In this world heer, and cause of armonye. 64 Than bad he him, sin erthe was so lyte, 65 And ful of torment and of harde grace, 66 That he ne shulde him in the world delyte. 67 Than tolde he him, in certeyn yeres space, 68 That every sterre shulde come into his place 69 Ther hit was first; and al shulde out of minde 70 That in this worlde is don of al mankinde. 71 Than prayde him Scipioun to telle him al 72 The wey to come un-to that hevene blisse; 73 And he seyde, `know thy-self first immortal, 74 And loke ay besily thou werke and wisse 75 To comun profit, and thou shalt nat misse 76 To comen swiftly to that place dere, 77 That ful of blisse is and of soules clere. 78 But brekers of the lawe, soth to seyne, 79 And lecherous folk, after that they be dede, 80 Shul alwey whirle aboute therthe in peyne, 81 Til many a world be passed, out of drede, 82 And than, for-yeven alle hir wikked dede, 83 Than shul they come unto that blisful place, 84 To which to comen god thee sende his grace!' -- 85 The day gan failen, and the derke night, 86 That reveth bestes from her besinesse, 87 Berafte me my book for lakke of light, 88 And to my bedde I gan me for to dresse, 89 Fulfild of thought and besy hevinesse; 90 For bothe I hadde thing which that I nolde, 91 And eek I ne hadde that thing that I wolde. 92 But fynally my spirit, at the laste, 93 For-wery of my labour al the day, 94 Took rest, that made me to slepe faste, 95 And in my slepe I mette, as I lay, 96 How African, right in the selfe aray 97 That Scipioun him saw before that tyde, 98 Was comen and stood right at my bedes syde. 99 The wery hunter, slepinge in his bed, 100 To wode ayein his minde goth anoon; 101 The Iuge dremeth how his plees ben sped; 102 The carter dremeth how his cartes goon; 103 The riche, of gold; the knight fight with his foon; 104 The seke met he drinketh of the tonne; 105 The lover met he hath his lady wonne.		The life so short, the craft so long to learn, The assay so hard, so sharp the conquering, The fearful joy that slips away in turn, All this mean I by Love, that my feeling Astonishes with its wondrous working So fiercely that when I on love do think I know not well whether I float or sink. For although I know not Love indeed Nor know how he pays his folk their hire, Yet full oft it happens in books I read Of his miracles and his cruel ire. There I read he will be lord and sire; I dare only say, his strokes being sore, ‘God save such a lord!’ I’ll say no more. By habit, both for pleasure and for lore, In books I often read, as I have told. But why do I speak thus? A time before, Not long ago, I happened to behold A certain book written in letters old; And thereupon, a certain thing to learn, The long day did its pages swiftly turn. For out of old fields, as men say, Comes all this new corn from year to year; And out of old books, in good faith, Comes all this new science that men hear. But now to the purpose of this matter – To read on did grant me such delight, That the day seemed brief till it was night. This book of which I make mention, lo, Entitled was, as I shall quickly tell, ‘Cicero, on the dream of Scipio’; Seven Chapters it had on heaven and hell And earth and the souls that therein dwell: As briefly as I can treat of its art, I’ll tell you, of its meaning, the main part. First it tells how when Scipio came To Africa, he met Massinissa, Who in his arms embraced the same. Then it tells of their speeches, all the bliss there That lay between them till the shadows gather, And how at night his grandfather, so dear, Scipio the Elder, did appear. Then it tells how, from a starry place, His grandfather had him Carthage shown, And told him in advance of all his grace And taught him how a man, learned or rude, Who loves the common good and virtue too Shall unto a blissful place yet wend, There where joy is that lasts without an end. Then he asked if folk that have died here Have life and dwelling in another place; And his grandfather said, ‘Have no fear,’ And that our present world’s brief space Is but a kind of death, whose path we trace, And virtuous folk after they die shall go To heaven; and the galaxy did him show. Then showed him how small our Earth appears Compared to the heavens’ quantity; And then he showed him the nine spheres, And after that the melody heard he That comes from those spheres thrice three, The source of music and of melody In this world here, and cause of harmony. Then he told him, since Earth is so slight, And full of torment and so little grace, That he should never in this world delight. And then he said, that in a certain space Of time, return the stars would to their place Where they had been at first, and out of mind Pass all things in this world done by mankind. Then Scipio prayed he would tell him all The way to come into that heavenly bliss; And he said: ‘Know yourself first immortal, Be sure to work busily, wisely in this World for the common good, you’ll not miss The path that leads swift to that place dear, That full of bliss is, and of souls clear. But breakers of the law, he did explain, And lecherous folk, after they are dead, Shall whirl about the Earth ever in pain Till many an age be past, and then indeed Forgiven for their every wicked deed, Then shall they come unto that blissful place, To come to which may God send you his grace!’ The day began to fail, and the dark night That relieves all creatures of their business Bereft me of my book for lack of light, And to my bed I began me to address Filled full of thought and anxious heaviness, For I yet had the thing that I wished not, And the thing that I wished I had not got. Yet finally my spirit at the last Full weary of my labour all the day Took its rest, sent me to sleep so fast That in my sleep I dreamed there as I lay How that Elder in selfsame array Whom Scipio saw, who long ago had died, Came and stood there right at my bedside. The weary hunter sleeping in his bed To the woods again his mind will go; The judge he dreams how his pleas are sped; The carter dreams of drawing carts below; The rich, of gold; the knight fights with his foe; The sick person dreams he drinks a tun; The lover dreams he has his lady won. |-	Example	Example
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References

• Benson, Larry D., ed. The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd ed. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1987.

External links

• Modern Prose Translation and Other Resources at eChaucer
• The Dream Poems – modernised versions A. S. Kline