L’abes esgarde sans atendre
 Et vit de la volte descendre
 Une dame si gloriouse
 Ains nus ne vit si preciouse
 Ni si ricement conreee,
 N’onques tant bele ne fu nee. 
 Ses vesteures sont bien chieres
 D’or et de precieuses pieres.

Avec li estoient li angle
 Del ciel amont, et li arcangle,
 Qui entor le menestrel vienent,
 Si le solacent et sostienent. 
 Quant entor lui sont arengie
 S’ot tot son cuer asoagie. 
 Dont s’aprestent de lui servir
 Por ce qu’ils volrent deservir
 La servise que fait la dame
 Qui tant est precieuse geme. 
 Et la douce reine france
 Tenoit une touaille blance,
 S’en avente son menestrel
 Mout doucement devant l’autel. 
 La franc dame debonnaire
 Le col, le cors, et le viaire
 Li avente por refroidier;
 Bien s’entremet de lui aidier;
 La dame bien s’i abandone;
 Li bons hom garde ne s’en done,
 Car il ne voit, si ne set mie
 Qu’il ait si bele compaignie.

The Abbot strains his eyes to see,
 And, from the vaulting, suddenly,
 A lady steps,—­so glorious,—­
 Beyond all thought so precious,—­
 Her robes so rich, so nobly worn,—­
 So rare the gems the robes adorn,—­
 As never yet so fair was born.

Along with her the angels were,
 Archangels stood beside her there;
 Round about the tumbler group
 To give him solace, bring him hope;
 And when round him in ranks they stood,
 His whole heart felt its strength renewed. 
 So they haste to give him aid
 Because their wills are only made
 To serve the service of their Queen,
 Most precious gem the earth has seen. 
 And the lady, gentle, true,
 Holds in her hand a towel new;
 Fans him with her hand divine
 Where he lies before the shrine. 
 The kind lady, full of grace,
 Fans his neck, his breast, his face! 
 Fans him herself to give him air! 
 Labours, herself, to help him there! 
 The lady gives herself to it;
 The poor man takes no heed of it;
 For he knows not and cannot see
 That he has such fair company.

Beyond this we need not care to go.  If you cannot feel the colour and quality—­the union of naivete and art, the refinement, the infinite delicacy and tenderness—­of this little poem, then nothing will matter much to you; and if you can feel it, you can feel, without more assistance, the majesty of Chartres.

CHAPTER XIV

ABELARD

Super cuncta, subter cuncta,
 Extra cuncta, intra cuncta,
 Intra cuncta nec inclusus,
 Extra cuncta nec exclusus,
 Super cuncta nec elatus,
 Subter cuncta nec substratus,
 Super totus, praesidendo,
 Subter totus, sustinendo,
 Extra totus, complectendo,
 Intra totus est, implendo.