I had planned to take a class on Chaucer at my local college in the spring of 2023 but that didn’t work out for a number of reasons. To soothe my disappointment spent the time reading some of his poetry as well as various things about Chaucer and his poetry. One day I was listening to a lecture by Seth Lerer and he mentioned something I’ve never heard before about medieval reading habits. He said that people used to pick up a book they were about to read with the left hand, then open the back cover with the right hand and read the last few lines there. Then they’d flip to the front of the book and start reading from the beginning.

In an age when a large part of story-telling was retelling older stories, no one worried about spoilers. Homer and Virgil both begin their epics by telling the reader how the story is going to end.

Knowing this habit, medieval authors were fairly deliberate about the final lines of their stories, which makes for some interesting features. The last lines of The Canterbury Tales are this inscription:

The reader would then flip to the front and begin reading the Prologue.

Curious, I flipped through some of my older books to remind myself how they ended. Most of them let you know what kind of story you’ll be reading, whether it has a happy or sad ending. A few allude to the beginning of the story.

One that caught my attention was the ending of Ludovico Ariosto’s Orlando Furioso:

And lifting his victorious hand on hie,
In that Turks face he stabd his dagger twise
Up to the hilts, and quickly made him die,
And rid himselfe of trouble in a trice:
Downe to the lake, where damned ghosts do lie,
Sunke his disdainfull soule, now cold as Ise,
Blaspheming as it went, and cursing lowd,
That was on earth so loftie and so proud.
(tr. Sir John Harington)

This is almost exactly the way The Aeneid ends:

In the same breath, blazing with wrath he plants
his iron sword hilt-deep in his enemy’s heart.
Turnus’ limbs went limp in the chill of death.
His life breath fled with a groan of outrage
down to the shades below.
(tr. Robert Fagles)

Which brings me back to my earlier point about there being no spoilers in ancient and medieval literature.

And even if a reader didn’t look at the end before beginning, each book of Orlando Furioso opens with an “Argument,” a few lines that tell the reader what will happen in that book. Each canto of Spenser’s Faerie Queene also begins this way.

[I originally wrote this post last winter and don’t remember why I only saved it as a draft and didn’t publish is. Life has been crazy this year!]

One the funnest parts of looking at medieval art is running across an illustration of a knight fighting a snail.
 

There are many theories as to what these snails are doing in the art, but not a one of them matches my own, which I came up with this year while reading through the Psalms with my family. Take a look at this:

Psalm 58

1 Do ye indeed speak righteousness, O congregation? do ye judge uprightly, O ye sons of men?
2 Yea, in heart ye work wickedness; ye weigh the violence of your hands in the earth.
3 The wicked are estranged from the womb: they go astray as soon as they be born, speaking lies.
4 Their poison is like the poison of a serpent: they are like the deaf adder that stoppeth her ear;
5 Which will not hearken to the voice of charmers, charming never so wisely.
6 Break their teeth, O God, in their mouth: break out the great teeth of the young lions, O Lord.
7 Let them melt away as waters which run continually: when he bendeth his bow to shoot his arrows, let them be as cut in pieces.
8 As a snail which melteth, let every one of them pass away: like the untimely birth of a woman, that they may not see the sun.
9 Before your pots can feel the thorns, he shall take them away as with a whirlwind, both living, and in his wrath.
10 The righteous shall rejoice when he seeth the vengeance: he shall wash his feet in the blood of the wicked.
11 So that a man shall say, Verily there is a reward for the righteous: verily he is a God that judgeth in the earth.

The psalmist is describing how ferocious and dangerous the enemies of God appear, but then in verse 8 he says, "As a snail which melteth, let every one of them pass away."

In other words, they appear unconquerable, but they really aren't. 

The popular idea about this image is that the knight has given up and is begging mercy of the victorious snail, but I believe he has recognized that this is spiritual warfare, so he has laid down his sword and is praying to God for deliverance.