The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

The Monk’s Tale

Heere bigynneth the Monkes Tale

De Casibus Virorum Illustrium

So I will lament, in the manner of tragedy, the fate of those who once stood in high degree. They fell so far that they could not be rescued from the darkness. When the doom of Fortune has been decided, no one can avert its course. Never rely upon prosperity. That is the lesson of these little histories.

Lucifer

I will begin with Lucifer. I know that he is an angel rather than a man, but he is a very good example to us all. Fortune cannot help or harm an angel, of course. Nevertheless he fell from heaven into hell, where he still resides. Oh Lucifer, son of the morning, you can never escape from the flames of the inferno. You have become Satan. How you have fallen!

Adam

Behold Adam, lying in Eden (now known as Damascus). He was not made from human seed, but wrought by God’s own finger. He ruled over all of Paradise, with the exception of one tree. No human being has ever been so blessed as Adam. Yet for one bad act he fell from grace. He was consigned to a fallen world of labour and misery.

Sampson

Behold great Sampson, heralded by an angel before his birth, consecrated to Almighty God! While he retained his sight, he was the noblest of all. No one in the world was stronger or more courageous. Yet foolishly he told the secret of his strength to his wife. In doing so, he condemned himself to death.

This mighty champion slew a lion, and tore it to pieces with his bare hands. He was on his way to his own wedding, and he had no weapons. His wife knew how to please him, with her wicked wiles, and could coax all of his confidences out of him. Then she betrayed him to his enemies, and took another man in his place.

In his anger he took up three hundred foxes and bound them together by their tails. Then he set the tails on fire, with a burning torch tied to each one, and with them he set ablaze all the cornfields in the land. He destroyed the olive trees and the vineyards. In his rage he killed a thousand men, although his only weapon was the jawbone of an ass.

After they were slain he was tortured by a thirst so great that he turned to God for help. He prayed Him to send water, or else he would die. Lo and behold, a miracle occurred. From the molar tooth of this dry jawbone there sprang forth a fountain of water, with which Sampson refreshed himself. So God saved him. All this really happened. You can read about it in the Book of Judges.

Then one night in Gaza, despite the presence of all the Philistines in that city, he tore up the entrance gates and carried them on his back. He took them to the top of a hill, where everyone could see them. Oh noble Sampson, fine and courageous warrior, you would have been without equal in the world if you had not whispered your secret to your wife.

Sampson never drank wine or strong liquor. He never cut his hair or shaved himself. What was the reason? He had been told by a divine messenger that all of his strength lay in his hair. He ruled Israel for twenty years. Yet bitter tears would fall down Sampson’s cheeks. One woman would lead him to destruction.

He had told Delilah where his strength lay. She sold the secret to his enemies and, while he slept in her arms one night, she took a pair of shears and cut off all his hair. When his enemies burst in upon them, they were able to bind Sampson before putting out his eyes.

When he still had his hair, there was no one in the world who could defeat him. After he was blinded and shorn, he was consigned to a cavernous prison where he was forced to labour at a mill with slaves. Sampson was the strongest of humankind. He was a fearless judge, a wise and noble man. Yet his fate was to weep out of blind eyes, bitterly mourning his wretchedness.

Let me tell you the final chapter of this sad story. His enemies celebrated with a great feast and called Sampson before them to play the part of a jester; the setting was a hall of marble pillars. Here Sampson stood his ground, and took his revenge upon them all. He took hold of two pillars and shook them so violently that the whole building collapsed. He was killed, but so were those who had enslaved him.

The leaders of the country, and three thousand of their followers, were among the dead who lay among the ruins of the hall. I will say no more about Sampson. But remember the moral of this tale. Husbands must never tell their secrets to their wives. Their lives might depend on it.

Hercules

Let us praise famous men, and principal among them mighty Hercules. In his lifetime he was the flower of might. He killed and skinned a lion. He overthrew the Centaurs, part human and part horse. He slew the Harpies, winged spirits of death. He stole the golden apples of the Hesperides. He drove back Cerberus, the hound of hell.

What else? He slew the cruel tyrant, Busirus, and forced his horse to eat him, flesh and bone. He strangled a serpent while he was still in his cradle. He broke off one of the two horns of Achelous. He destroyed Cacus in a cave of stone. He overcame and killed the mighty giant Antheus. He slew the wild boar of Mycenae. He even held the heavens upon his shoulders.

No man in myth or history has killed so many monsters and prodigies as Hercules. His fame spread all over the world; he was renowned for his beauty as much as for his strength. He visited every kingdom and was welcomed everywhere. No man could defeat him. One commentator says that he was able to raise pillars to mark the eastern and western boundaries of the known world.

This noble warrior had a lover. Her name was Deianira, and she was as fresh as the first day of May. The old writers tell us that she was busily employed in knitting him a shirt, as women do. It was bright and colourful, but it had one fault. It was suffused with a fatal poison. Hercules had worn it only for a few hours when the flesh began to fall from his bones.

Some learned men tell us that a man named Nessus was responsible for making this shirt. I do not know. I will not accuse Deianira. I only tell you what I have read. As soon as Hercules had put on the shirt, the flesh on his back began to bake and harden. When he realized that there was no remedy he threw himself into the hot coals of a fire. He did not want to die by poison. It was too undignified.

So died Hercules, a mighty and worthy man. Who can trust the dice that Fortune throws? Anyone who makes his way in the difficult world must know that misfortune and disaster are always at hand. The only remedy is self-knowledge. Beware of Dame Fortune. When she wants to mislead, or to deceive, she chooses the least predictable path.

Nebuchadnezzar

No one can conceive or describe the majesty of this mighty and glorious king. No one can count his wealth or estimate his power. Twice he conquered Jerusalem, and stole all the sacred vessels of the temple. He took them back with him to Babylon, where they were laid down reverently with his other treasures.

He had captured the royal children of Israel and had ordered them to be castrated; then they became his slaves. Daniel was among them, and even then he was judged to be the wisest of all. It was he who could interpret the dreams of the king, when the king’s own seers and magicians were baffled by them. Clever boy.

Then Nebuchadnezzar ordered a statue of gold to be fashioned, sixty cubits in height and seven cubits in breadth. He ordered all of his subjects to worship and make sacrifice to this golden image, on pain of death. Anyone who disobeyed his command would be flung in a fiery furnace. Yet Daniel, and two of his young cousins, refused to bow down before it.

The great king was filled with pride and was fully conscious of his might. He believed that God Himself could not challenge him or deprive him of his power. Little did he know. This proud king was humbled suddenly, and reduced to the condition of a beast of the field. He imagined himself to be an ox; he lay with the herd, and ate their food. He walked on all fours and munched on grass.

His hair grew like an eagle’s feathers, and his nails became as long as an eagle’s talons. After a number of years had passed, God gave him back his reason. With the return of his humanity, Nebuchadnezzar wept. He thanked God, and promised that he would never again trespass into sin. He kept that oath until the day of his death. God be praised for His justice and His mercy.

Belshazzar

The name of his son was Belshazzar, and he reigned over Babylon after his father’s death. Yet he did not heed the warning, or the example, of Nebuchadnezzar. He was proud in heart, fierce, and an idolater. He lived in high estate but then, suddenly, Fortune cast him down. There were divisions within his kingdom.

He gave a feast for all the nobles at his court, and bid them all to be of good cheer. He told his servants to bring out the sacred vessels that his father had taken from the temple at Jerusalem. ‘We will pour libations to our gods,’ he said, ‘in honour of my father’s victories over the Jews.’

So his wife, his lords and his concubines poured wine into the holy chalices of the Lord and drank their fill. But then Belshazzar happened to look around, gesturing for a servant, when he saw a hand writing very quickly on the wall. There was a hand, and nothing else. No arm. No body. Of course the king was aghast, and shook with fear. He looked with horror upon the words that had been written. Mane. Techel. Phares.

None of the wise men in the kingdom could interpret these three words. Only Daniel knew the secret of the saying. ‘Great king,’ he said, ‘Almighty God gave power and glory to your father. He loaded him with wealth and honour. But your father was proud. He did not fear or venerate the Almighty. So God sent him grief and wretchedness. He took away his kingdom. He took away his reason.

‘He was an outcast, lost to human society. His companions were the beasts of the field. He ate the grass and the hay, exposed to the elements, until the time came when it was revealed to him that Almighty God has dominion over all creatures. Only to Him belong the power and the glory. Out of pity for the poor man, God restored his humanity and gave him back his kingdom.

‘You, sir, his son, are also filled with pride. You are following your father’s sinful course, and you have become an enemy of God. You drank from the sacred vessels stolen from the temple. You encouraged your wife and your concubines to do the same. You are worse than a blasphemer. You also worship false gods. You will soon feel the force of the true God’s wrath.

‘You ask about the hand that wrote those three words upon the wall? It was sent by God. Trust me. Your reign is over. You are now less than nothing. Your kingdom shall be divided, given over to the Medes and the Persians.’ On that same night Belshazzar was assassinated. Darius ascended the throne, although he had no right or claim to it.

So, fellow pilgrims, learn the moral of this story. Authority on earth is brittle. Power and wealth are transient. When Dame Fortune goes against you, you lose everything. You lose your friends, too. A friend made when Fortune smiles becomes an enemy when Fortune frowns. You know the proverb well enough.

Cenobia

Cenobia, queen of Palmyra in Syria, was renowned throughout the world for her nobility no less than for her skill in arms. No one could match her. She was of royal blood, descended from the kings of Persia. I will not say that she was the most beautiful woman in the world. I will only say that, in appearance, she had no defects at all.

From her childhood she disdained feminine pursuits. She did not want to stitch or sew. She ran off into the woods and joined the hunt for wild beasts; she liked nothing better than to let the arrows fly. She was faster than the creatures she pursued, and never tired. When she was older she killed lions and leopards. She ripped a bear apart with her ‘bear’ hands.

She tracked them down. She sought their dens and lairs. She explored the mountains all night and, when she was tired, she slept beneath a bush. She could wrestle any young man to the ground, however strong he was. Nothing could withstand her force. It is needless to say that she was still a virgin. She would lie beneath no man.

But her friends eventually persuaded her to marry. She betrothed herself to a prince of that country, Odenathus by name, although she made him wait a long time for the ceremony. You should realize, too, that he was as fanciful and as wayward as she was. Nevertheless they were happy. They lived in married bliss.

Except for one thing. She insisted that he could have intercourse with her only once. She wanted to have a child. That was all she wished for. If she discovered that she was not pregnant after the first time, Odenathus was allowed to do it again. Just the once, of course.

If she was with child after that, then her husband was not permitted to touch her for forty weeks. Then he would be allowed another go. It did not matter if he complained, or wept, he got nothing more from her. She used to tell him that sex for its own sake was a sin. It was lechery, and a reproach to all women.

She bore two sons, whom she brought up to be virtuous as well as learned. But let me tell you the story. So here we have Cenobia before us, esteemed, wise, generous without being profligate; she was indefatigable in war, and modest in peace. There was no one like her in the wide world.

Her way of life was affluent beyond measure. She was rich in treasures. She was dressed in the finest robes of gold and pearl. She still loved the hunt, but she also strove to learn as many languages as she could. She studied books, earnestly trying to discover the most virtuous form of life.

To cut a long story short, she and her noble husband were so expert in arms that they conquered many kingdoms in the East and occupied many famous cities in lands as far away as Turkey and Egypt. No enemy could escape them, at least while Odenathus lived.

You may read all about their battles against Shapur, king of Persia, and against other monarchs. You can learn about their victories – and of their defeats. Petrarch, my great master, has told the story of Cenobia’s downfall in abundant detail. He has described how she was captured and taken.

It had all been going so well. After the death of her husband her strength and courage seemed to be redoubled. She fought so fiercely against her enemies that there was not a king or prince in that region who could withstand her. So they made treaties with her, and exchanged gifts with her. They promised anything if she would only leave them in peace.

The Roman emperor, Claudius, dared not enter the field against her. Neither did his predecessor, Gallienus. The kings of Armenia and of Egypt, of Syria and Arabia, all quailed before her. They were terrified of being slain by her, their armies in flight.

The two sons of Cenobia were always dressed in regal garments, as the legal heirs of their father. Their names were Hermanno and Thymalao. But in fact Cenobia ruled. Yet there came a time when sweet Fortune turned sourly against her. The queen was not mistress of her destiny. She was doomed to fall from sovereign power and to experience sorrow and disgrace.

This is how it happened. When the emperor Aurelianus donned the imperial purple at Rome, he decided to take vengeance upon the queen of Palmyra for all the insults the empire had suffered at her hands. So he marched with his legions into her lands. She fled from him, but eventually he caught up with her and captured her. He put her in chains, together with her two sons, and rode back with them to Rome in triumph.

He carried with him her chariot of gold, richly jewelled, and ordered that it should be driven in his victory procession so that every Roman might see it. Then Cenobia herself was led before the people, wearing her crown but pinioned with chains of gold.

This is the wheel of Fortune. The noble queen, once the terror and the wonder of the world, was now on display to the mob. She who had led her troops in mighty battles, and who had conquered castles and cities, was brought low. She had once borne a sceptre, but now she carried a distaff with which to wind wool.

Peter, king of Spain

Oh worthy Peter, noble king, the glory of Spain! Fortune raised you so high. But now you are remembered only for your miserable death. Your own brother chased you from your realm. And then you were betrayed by your enemies and led into his tent, where he killed you with his own hands. He took over your kingdom and your possessions. He was as black as an eagle in a snow-white field.

Peter, king of Cyprus

Oh noble Peter, worthy king, who won by your mastery the great city of Alexandria. You vanquished many heathens in the course of your career! You were so triumphant that some of your own subjects envied you. They killed you in your bed for no other reason than your nobility. Thus does Dame Fortune turn the wheel, and bring men from glory to distress.

Bernabo of Lombardy

I sing of you, Bernabo Visconti, lord of Milan, scourge of Lombardy, lover of ease and delight. Why should I not recount your misfortunes? You were raised high, only to be brought down by your brother’s son. Your nephew cast you into prison, and there you died. I do not know the reason. I do not know the killer.

Ugolino, count of Pisa

Who can relate the suffering of Ugolino, count of Pisa? There was a dark tower, a little way out of the city, to which he was consigned. He was imprisoned there with his three children, the oldest of whom was only five years old. What cruel Fortune shut these little birds within a cage?

He was destined to die in that prison. The bishop of Pisa, Roger Ubaldini, had borne false witness and had stirred up the people against him; so Ugolino was confined, with so little meat and drink that he despaired of his life.

There was a certain time each day when the gaoler brought his food into the cell. Ugolino was waiting for him at that time when, suddenly, he heard the great door of the tower closing. He heard the sound clearly, but he said not a word to his children. But he knew in his heart that they would all now starve to death. ‘I wish that I had never been born,’ he said to himself. And he wept.

His youngest son, three years old, crept upon his lap. ‘Father,’ he said, ‘why are you crying? When will the gaoler bring us our food? Do you not have any bread for us? I am so hungry that I cannot sleep. I wish that I could sleep for ever. Then I would never be hungry! Please give me bread!’

So the poor child grew weaker and weaker each day. Eventually he climbed into his father’s lap and whispered to him, ‘Farewell, Father. I must go now.’ The little boy kissed him on the cheek, laid down his head, and died. When Ugolino saw that his son was dead he gnawed his arms with grief, lamenting the faithlessness of Fortune. ‘I am bound upon the wheel,’ he said.

His two surviving children were convinced that he was gnawing on his flesh out of hunger rather than grief. The eldest of them implored him. ‘Father,’ he said, ‘do not eat your own flesh. Eat us, instead. You gave us life. You have the right to take it from us. Our flesh is yours.’ Within a day or two, both of the little boys were dead.

In his despair Ugolino also laid down and died. So ended the life of the mighty count of Pisa, drawn down into grief from high estate. If you wish to read more about this tragedy, you will find it in the pages of the great poet of Italy known as Dante. He has written a detailed account of the last days of Ugolino. His words will live for ever.

Nero

The emperor Nero was as great a fiend as any that dwells in hell. Yet, as Suetonius tells us in his Lives of the Caesars, he was the master of the world, from east to west and from north to south. His robes were of the purest white silk, and were covered with fine jewels. He delighted in diamonds and in sapphires.

He was prouder, and more pompous, than any emperor before; he was more fastidious than a maid, and would never wear the same robes twice. He used to fish in the Tiber with nets of gold. His caprices were turned into laws. His lusts were always satisfied. Dame Fortune smiled upon him.

He burned Rome to ashes for his entertainment. He killed all of the senators of that city just to hear how they groaned in their death throes. He killed his brother, and slept with his own sister. He made sad work of his mother, too. He cut open her womb so that he could view the place where he was conceived. That is how little he thought of her.

He did not cry at the sight of her ravaged body. He merely observed that she had once been a fine-looking woman. How could he judge of her beauty, when she lay dead before him? Then he called for wine, and drank off a draught. He showed no sign of remorse. When strength is united with cruelty, there breed monstrous offspring.

In his youth Nero had a teacher who tutored him in literature and morals. This man was the very flower of learning, as the old books tell us, and he managed to impart to his pupil all the lessons of civility. Nero then was compliant and obedient. He hid his vices very well.

The teacher’s name was Seneca. He ruled over Nero with words rather than deeds. He did not punish him, but he reproved wrongdoing. ‘Sir,’ he would say, ‘a good emperor must love virtue and hate tyranny.’ What was his reward? Nero ordered that the wrists of Seneca should be slit as he lay in a bath.

Nero hated any authority placed over him. In particular he always felt a grievance against Seneca. So the philosopher chose to die in the bath, his blood in the water, rather than endure any more grievous punishment. That is the way the emperor slaughtered him.

There came a time, however, when Dame Fortune no longer favoured Nero. She detested his pride. And she knew, even though he was strong, that she was stronger. ‘I cannot allow this vicious man to glory in his power and wickedness. I will throw him from the emperor’s throne and, when he least expects it, he will suffer a great fall.’

One night the people of Rome rose up against him. When he learned of the revolt he ran out of the palace and looked for allies among his confederates. But their doors were closed to him. He knocked upon their gates, and cried for help, but they did not listen. He knew then that it was over. He stopped crying out, and went on his lonely way.

The uproar of the people continued. There were shouts and oaths resounding through the streets, and Nero could hear them asking one another: ‘Where is that false tyrant? Where is Nero?’ He was almost out of his mind with fear. He prayed to his heathen gods for help, but of course they could not assist him. He knew that he was about to die, and he ran into a nearby garden to hide himself.

There he found two peasants, sitting around a large bonfire. He begged and pleaded with these two men to kill him and to cut off his head. He did not want to be recognized and shamefully mutilated after his death. Then he killed himself in front of them. He had no choice. Dame Fortune looked down, and laughed at his fate.

Holofernes

Behold Holofernes, the general of Nebuchadnezzar. There was no king’s soldier more famous or more victorious. There was no one stronger in battle. There was no one more filled with pride and presumption. Fortune kissed him, fondled him and then led him to a place where his head was cut off. It happened before he knew it.

For the sake of their wealth, and their liberty, men held him in fearful respect; he made his enemies renounce their faith. ‘Nebuchadnezzar is your god,’ he told them. ‘You shall worship no other deity.’ No one dared to disobey him – except in one city under siege, Bethulia, where an elder named Joachim was the high priest.

Take heed of the death of mighty Holofernes. One night as he lay drunk among his army outside Bethulia, lying in a tent as spacious as a great barn, he was murdered by a woman. Despite his power and his strength Judith hacked off his head and, unknown to anyone, crept out of the tent and brought the severed head back to the town.

The illustrious king Antiochus

What need is there to describe the sovereign power of this man, proud in intent and evil in deed? There was no one in the world like him. You can read of him in the Book of Maccabees. You can read there, too, all of his vainglorious words. Then you will learn of his ruin and fall, and of his death on a bare hillside.

Dame Fortune had so favoured him that he thought that he could touch the stars with his hand; he believed that he could lift mountains, and command the waves of the sea. Of all the people on the earth he hated God’s chosen; he tortured and killed them, believing that their God had no power over him.

When he received the news of the defeat of his generals, Nicanor and Timotheus, he burned with wrath and hatred. He commanded that his chariot be prepared, and swore that he would not leave it until he had come to the gates of Jerusalem, where he would wreak his vengeance. But God forestalled him.

The Almighty smote him with a grievous wound, invisible and incurable, festering in his guts and causing him unendurable pain. Yet it was a fitting vengeance for one who had inflicted suffering on so many others. Even in his agony he pursued his evil purpose.

He ordered his army to prepare for battle. But, as he did so, God crushed his pride. Antiochus was hurled from his chariot by an unseen force, and his body was so badly mangled that the bones protruded through the flesh and skin. He could no longer ride a horse. He could no longer hold the reins. So he was carried everywhere in a chair of state, his body black with bruising.

The vengeance of the Lord was soon complete. His festering wounds had bred maggots beneath the skin and, as the wicked worms crept through the body, his flesh began to stink terribly. None of his attendants could bear the smell of him, sleeping or waking. He fell into despair, weeping all the time, because he knew now that God alone was the lord of creation.

Neither he, nor those around him, could endure the stench any longer. They could not stay in his company. So he was taken to a hillside, where he was left in all his agony. Alone among the rocks he died. So this thief and murderer ended his days with the just reward for all the pain he had caused to others. He was killed by his own pride.

Alexander

Do you know the old song, some talk of Alexander, some talk of Hercules? Well, everyone knows the story of Alexander. It is common throughout the civilized world. He conquered the whole world, too, and every sovereign was eager to make peace with him. He laid low the pride of man and beast, as far as the world’s end.

There is no comparison to be made between him and any other general; the seas and continents quaked in fear of him. He was the flower of chivalry and the lord of grace. He was the heir of Fortune’s bounty. He was so full of courage that nothing could divert his progress in arms – nothing, that is, except for the charms of wine and women.

He does not need my praise. Why should I repeat his victories over Darius, king of the Persians, and of a hundred thousand other rulers, generals and commanders? As far as any man could ride, or travel, the land belonged to Alexander. He owned the world. There is no more to say.

He was the son of Philip, king of Macedon and the first high ruler of Greece, and he reigned for twelve years. Oh worthy Alexander, then Fortune rolled the dice against you. You lost the game. Your own people poisoned you.

No tears are enough to lament your fall. In you died honour and nobility. You conquered the world, and yet that empire was not large enough for you. Are there words enough to describe false fortune and the horror of poisoning? I don’t think so.

Julius Caesar

By dint of labour, of wisdom, and of strength, Caesar rose up from humble beginnings to the highest power. He was the conqueror of the Western world, by force or by treaty. All the nations were tributaries of Rome at the time Caesar became emperor. But then Dame Fortune’s wheel turned.

Mighty Caesar fought in Thessaly against his father-in-law, Pompey the Great. Pompey had a vast force, made up of all the Eastern nations as far as the rising of the sun. Yet the valour and strength of Caesar conquered that Eastern army. Only a few soldiers, with Pompey himself, escaped from the battlefield. So Caesar became the object of awe in the East. Fortune was then his friend.

May I take a moment to lament the fate of Pompey himself? He fled the battle, as I said, but one of his men proved to be a foul traitor. He cut off Pompey’s head and presented it to Caesar in order to win favour. The conqueror of the East was humiliated in death. Fortune had found another victim.

Caesar returned in triumph to Rome, where wreathed in laurels he led the victory procession. Yet there were two Romans, Brutus and Cassius, who had always envied his high estate; they entered a conspiracy against Caesar, and chose a place where they could easily assassinate him with hidden knives.

Caesar went in procession to the Capitol one morning, as he was wont to do, where he was surrounded by his enemies and struck many times by their blades. He lay there, dying in his own blood, but he did not groan at any of the blows against him – except, perhaps, for one or two from those once closest to him.

Caesar was so proud, and so manly, that he maintained his honour even in death. He placed his toga over his waist so that no one might see his private parts. As he lay dying, and knew that his fate was drawing near, he would not be shamed.

I recommend that you read this story in Lucan’s Pharsalia, or else in Suetonius. They will tell you how Dame Fortune first favoured, and then failed, the two great conquerors Caesar and Alexander. You cannot trust her smile. Keep an eye on her. Look what happened to all these heroes.

Croesus

Croesus, once king of Lydia and enemy of Cyrus the Great, was taken up in his pride and carried to the stake where he was to be burned to death; but then there descended a great rain from the heavens that quenched the flames. Croesus escaped, but he did not pay proper respect to Dame Fortune until he was suspended on the gallows.

When he had escaped from the consuming fire he could not wait to return to war. He believed that Fortune, having rescued him with a rainstorm, had also made him invincible against all of his foes. He had a dream one night that increased his confidence and his vainglory.

This was the dream. He was in a tree, and Jupiter there washed his entire body. Then Phoebus brought him a towel with which to dry himself. This was a good omen indeed. He asked his daughter to interpret the dream to him; she was skilled in all manner of prognostication.

‘The tree you saw,’ she told him, ‘signifies the gallows. The washing of Jupiter signifies the rain and the snow. The towel that Phoebus brought you is an image of the sun’s warm rays. You are going to be hanged, Father. There is no doubt about it. The rain will wash you, and the sun will dry you.’ So did his daughter, whose name was Phania, warn him of his coming fate.

And indeed he was hanged. The proud king ended on the gallows, where his royal estate could not save him. The tragedies of the proud and the fortunate have the same burden. They are threnodies of grief against the guile of Dame Fortune, who kills where she might cure. When men put their faith in her, she fails them and covers her bright face with a cloud.

Heere stynteth the Knyght the Monk of his tale