The Complaint of Mars
Rejoice, you birds, at the gray dawn; lo, Venus, arisen among yonder ruddy streaks! And you fresh flowers, honor this day, for you will open when the sun rises. But you lovers that are in fear, flee, lest wicked tongues discover you. Behold the sun yonder, the candle of Jealousy!
Stained with tears and with wounded heart, take your leave; and, with Saint John as your guarantee, take comfort somewhat in your bitter sorrows; the time will come again when your woes shall cease. A heavy morning is not too great a price for a joyous night. Thus, Saint Valentine,* I heard a bird sing upon your day,* before the sun rose.
And yet sang this bird: “Waken all, I counsel you. And you who have not humbly chosen your mates in good time, make your faithful choice now. And you who have chosen as I prescribe, renew your homage at least; confirm it, to last perpetually, and patiently accept what befalls you.
“For the honor of this high festival yet will I sing, in my bird’s fashion at least the contents of the complaint which woeful Mars* made at parting from fair Venus,* upon a morning when Phoebus* with his fiery red torches, came searching out every fearful lover.”
Long ago, Mars, the lord of the third heaven above, as well by the heavenly revolutions as by his merit, had won Venus his love, and she took him as her subject, and as a mistress taught him his lesson, commanding him he should never, as long as he served her, be so bold as to despise any lover.
She forbade him all jealousy and tyranny, cruelty and arrogance. She made him so humble and docile to her pleasure that, when she deigned to look upon him, he patiently accepted her will, whether it were to live or die. And thus she bridled him according to her custom, with no scourge but of her look.
Who reigns now in joy but Venus, with this worthy knight under her rule? Who sings now but Mars, that serves thus the fair Venus, giver of pleasure? He binds himself to obey her perpetually, and she binds herself to love him always, unless his trespass should sever the bond.
Thus were they knit, and reigned in the skies, gazing upon each other, until it fell upon a day that they set a time when Mars should glide as rapidly as he might into her nearest palace, to tarry there, walking slowly upon his course, until she should overtake him; and he prayed her to hurry.
Then he said, “Sweet lady of my heart, you well know my misfortune in that place; for truly until I meet with you my life remains entirely subject to chance and grace. But when I see the beauty of your face, no fear of death can hurt me, for all your desire is a joy to my heart.”
She had such great compassion upon her knight, dwelling in solitude until she should come, that very nearly her mind was overcome with woe; for it so was that there was nobody at that time to counsel him or make him welcome. Therefore she sped on her way almost as much in one day as he in two.
And no tongue can tell the great joy between the two of them when they met once more. Without more ado they went to bed, and thus I leave them in joy and bliss. This valiant Mars, fount of knighthood, folded the flower of beauty in his arms, and Venus kissed Mars, the god of war.
Now this Mars of whom I read travelled secretly into a chamber in the midst of the palace for a certain time, until fear came upon him because of Phoebus, who had come quickly and boldly within the palace gates, with torch in hand, of which the bright rays struck the chamber of Venus brilliantly.
The chamber where laid this blooming queen, Venus, was painted over with great white bulls.* Venus knew, by the light which shone so brightly, that Phoebus came so that he might burn them with his heat. This hapless Venus, drowned in wet tears, embraced Mars, and said, “Alas, I am dying! The torch has come that will reveal all this world.”
Up started Mars. He wished not for sleep when he heard his lady so lament. But because tears were not in his nature, instead of tears fiery sparks burst for woe out from his two eyes. And he seized his hauberk which lay by him; he would not flee, nor could he hide himself.
He threw on his helmet of huge weight, and girt himself with his sword; and in his hand he so shook his mighty spear, as he was accustomed in battle, that very nearly it snapped. He was very heavy to walk over the land. No longer could he remain with Venus, but he bade her to flee lest Phoebus spy her.
O woeful Mars, what can you say, you who are left behind in this perturbed palace, in peril to be slain, alas? And your penance is also double, for she who has governance of your heart is passed half beyond the beams of your eyes. Well may you weep and lament because you are not swift.
In fear of Phoebus’ light Venus now fled on her lonely course into the tower of Mercury. Alas, she had no assistance there, for she neither found nor saw any type of creature, and there had but little power. Therefore she fled into a cave within the gate, to hide and remain safe.
Dark was this cave and as smoky as hell, and she stood but two paces within the gate, and there I leave her in the dark for the space of one natural day. Now I will speak of Mars, that for mad and furious sorrow would gladly have seen his own heart’s blood; since he must lose her company, he cared not a farthing for his life.
So feeble he grew because of passion and woe, that he nearly died. He could scarcely endure. He climbed only one stair in two days; but nevertheless, and for all his heavy armor, he followed after her who was his life’s cure, for whose departing he had more wrath and woe than for all his burning in the sun’s fire.
Slowly after her he walked, lamenting until it was piteous to hear. “Oh, lady bright, Venus,” he said, “alas that my course ever had so wide a compass! When shall I meet you, dear heart, alack! This twelfth day of April* I endure this misfortune, through Phoebus’ malice.”
God help luckless solitary Venus! But as God willed, it happened that while Venus wept and made lament, Mercury,* riding on his course, could see his palace-tower across from Venus, and he saluted her, made her welcome, and received her as his very dear friend.
Mars lived still in his adversity, ever lamenting her departure, and now I remember me of his lament. And therefore, on this lusty morning, I will say and sing it as best I can; and then I will take my leave. God give every creature joy of his mate!
Mars’s Lament
The law of laments requires in reason that if a person shall make a piteous complaint there must be a cause for it; or others may deem that this person complains foolishly and causelessly. Alas, that is not my case! For this reason, as well as my troubled wit can reach, I will rehearse the ground and cause of my pain; not to gain a remedy, but to make known the ground of my heaviness.
I
When I was first created, alas, and brought here for certain ends by Him who rules over each intelligence, I gave my loyal service and my thought forevermore (how dearly I have paid for it!) to her who is of such excellent power that, if any creature should come into her presence when she is angry and will take no heed of him, he cannot long remain rejoicing in his love.
This is no false matter that I relate. My lady is the very source and spring of beauty, pleasure, generosity, and nobility; of rich array (how precious it is!), of all friendly amusements, of love and merriment, of benign humility, of the melody of all sweet instruments; and she is also so well endowed by fortune and virtue that her goodness is made manifest through the whole world.
What wonder is it then, though I have knit my service to such a one, who may devote me to joy or woe, since it lies in her power? Therefore I have promised my heart to her forever; nor, truly, though I die, shall I cease to be her most loyal servant and her knight. I flatter not, as all may know. For this day I shall die in her service. Unless I am in her grace, I shall never again set eyes upon her.
II
To whom then shall I lament my distress? Who can help me? Who can cure my hurt? Shall I complain to my bountiful lady? Nay, for certain! For she is in such heaviness from fear and sorrow that it will soon be her slayer, I believe. If only she were safe, it would not matter to me. Alas that ever lovers must endure so many perilous chances for love!
For though lovers may be as faithful as any metal newly forged, misfortune often comes to them. Sometimes their ladies will have no pity; sometimes, when they know jealousy, they would lightly devote themselves to death; sometimes envious people with foul tongues slander them. Alas, whom can they please? Only the false lover has comfort.
But what use is so long a sermon about the fortunes of love? I will return, and speak of my pain. What destroys my peace is this: my true lady, my salvation, is in terror, and knows not to whom to make lament. O dear heart! O sovereign lady! I have good cause to swoon and die away for your distress, though I feel no other hurt or fear.
III
To what end has God, enthroned on high, created love or companionship beneath him, and constrained people to love in spite of themselves? And then, it seems to me, their joy lasts not for the twinkling of an eye; and some never gain joy to the day of their death. What does this signify? What does this mean? To what end does he constrain his people to desire a thing so eagerly, unless it should endure?
Though he may cause a lover to love a thing, and make it seem steadfast and lasting, yet he subjects it to such mishap that there is no rest that comes with the giving. And that is a wonder, that so just a king would do such cruelty unto his creation. Thus, whether love should break or endure, in any way he who has to do with love has sorrow more often than the moon changes.
It seems that God has enmity toward lovers, and, like a fisherman, as people may see any day, he so baits his hook with such delightful bait that many a fish is crazed until he has taken the bait; and then for the first time he has all his desire, and at the same time all misfortune; and though the line may break, yet he has suffering, for he is wounded so sorely by the hook that he has his wages forevermore.
IV
The brooch of Thebes,* so full of rubies and precious stones of India, was of such nature that every creature who set eye on it would soon go out of his mind; so sorely would the beauty of it bind his heart, until he had it, that he thought he should die. And as long as it was his, he should endure such distress of fear that he very nearly would go mad.
And when it went from his possession, then he had double the woe and passion because he had foregone so fair a treasure. Yet, after all, this brooch was not the cause of this destruction; but he who created it gave it the power that every creature who possessed it should have sorrow. And therefore the fault was in the craftsman as well as in the foolish coveter.
So it goes with all lovers and with me. For though my lady may have had such beauty that I was mad until I had won her favor, she did not cause my adversity, but he who created her, so help me God, who set such beauty in her face that it made me covet and to win my own death. I blame him that I die, and my own folly that ever I climbed so high.
V
But you bold knights of renown, since you are of my division* (although I am unworthy of so great a name, yet these scholars say I am your patron), therefore you ought to have some compassion upon my distress, and take it not as a game. The proudest of you may yet be well tamed; for this reason I pray you by your noble kindness that you will lament my sorrow.
And you my ladies, made by nature true and steadfast, you ought to have pity upon people in pain. Now you have cause to wear sable,* since your glorious empress is desolate; well ought you to lament. Now should your holy tears fall as rain. Alas, your honor and your empress, nearly dead with fear, fails to reach her goal.
Likewise you lovers, all together, lament for her who with sincere and meek demeanor was at all times ready to come to your assistance. Bewail her who always held you dear; bewail Beauty, Bounty, and Courtesy; bewail her who ends your toil; bewail that paragon of all honor, who never did anything but gentle deeds; show to her, therefore, some kindness.
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1 Saint Valentine . . . day. As mentioned also below in the “Complaynt D’Amours,” this is the subject of Chaucer’s Parliament of Fowls.
2 Mars. The god of war.
3 Venus. The goddess of love.
4 Phoebus. The god of the sun.
5 Bulls. The symbol of the zodiacal sign of Taurus. The entire poem is cast in terms of celestial imagery.
6 Twelfth day of April. The beginning of the period when the sun, Phoebus, is in Taurus. There may be some significance beyond this, but it is not clear.
7 Mercury. The messenger god; god of commerce and speed. Chaucer uses the alternative name for him here, Cilinius.
8 Brooch of Thebes. A brooch made by Vulcan, Venus’ smith husband, for Harmonia, the daughter of Venus and Mars, in revenge for their adulterous relationship: it was to bring bad luck to all associated with it.
9 Division. I.e., ruled by the planet of Mars.
10 Sable. Black, i.e., in mourning.
Translated and Edited by Gerard NeCastro
© Copyright, 2007, All Rights Reserved
Citation. Chaucer, Geoffrey. The Complaint of Mars. NeCastro, Gerard, ed. and trans. eChaucer: https://www.echaucer.com. [Site Visit Date.]
