Excerpts from the Old Woman’s speech in the Romance of the Rose (13^th c.)

I was young and beautiful, foolish and wild, and had never been to a school of love where they read in the theory, but I know everything by practice. (cp. WB Prol 1-3)

* * * *

O God! But it still pleases me when I think back on it. I rejoice in my thought and my limbs become lively again when I remember the good times and the gay heart for which my heart so strongly yearns. Just to think of it and to remember it all makes my body young again. Remembering all that happened gives me all the blessings of the world, so that however they may have deceived me, at least I have had my fun. (12930; cp. WB Prol 469-79)

* * * *

Next, a lady must sigh and pretend to get angry, to attack him and run at him and say that he hasn’t been late without some reason, and that some other woman was keeping him at home, someone whose solaces were more pleasing to him, and that now she is indeed betrayed when he hates her on account of another. She should certainly be called a miserable creature, when she loves without being loved. When the man, with his silly ideas, hears this speech, he will believe, quite incorrectly, that she loves him very loyally and that she may be more jealous of him than Vulcan ever was of his wife Venus, when he found her taken in the act with Mars.(13823; cp. WB Prol 391-96)

* * * *

No man can keep watch over a woman if she does not watch over herself. If it were Argus who guarded her and looked at her with his hundred eyes, of which one half watched while the other half slept, his watchkeeping would be worth nothing. (14381; cp. WB Prol 357-61)

* * * *

By my soul, if I had been wise, I would have been a very rich lady, for I was acquainted with very great people when I was already a coy darling, and I certainly was held in considerable value by them, but when I got something of value from one of them, then, by the faith that I owe God or Saint Thibaut, I would give it all to a rascal who brought me great shame but pleased me more. I called all the others lover, but it was he alone that I loved. Understand, he didn’t value me at one pea, and in fact told me so. He was bad—I never saw anyone worse—and he never ceased despising me. This scoundrel, who didn’t love me at all, called me a common whore. A woman has very poor judgment, and I was truly a woman. I never loved a man who loved me, but, do you know, if that scoundrel had laid open my shoulder or broken my head, I would have thanked him for it. He wouldn’t have known how to beat me so much that I would not have had him throw himself upon me, for he knew very well how to make his peace, however much he had done against me. He would never have treated me so badly, beaten me or dragged me or wounded my face or bruised it black, that he would not have begged my favor before he moved from the place. He would never have said so many shameful things to me that he would not have counseled peace to me and then made me happy in bed, so that we had peace and concord again. Thus he had me caught in his snare, for this false, treacherous thief was a hard rider in bed. I couldn’t live without him; I wanted to follow him always. If he had fled, I would certainly have gone as far as London in England to seek him, so much did he please me and make me happy. (14471; cp WB Prol 503-514)

from Guilluame de Lorris and Jean de Meun, The Romance of the Rose, trans. Charles Dahlberg (Princeton, 1983)