From The Romance of the Rose by Jean de Meun
translated by Charles Dahlberg

I set out like a good pilgrim, impatient, fervent and wholehearted, like a pure lover, on the voyage toward the aperture, the goal of my pilgrimage. [Never have I seen a place where I would so gladly gaze, even go down on my knees to adore . . . I would do anything in my power, whatever end I might come to, if I could find someone who might offer it to me, or, if nothing more, might allow me there.]
     I carried with me, by great effort, the sack and staff so stiff and strong . . . The sack was well-made, of a supple skin without seam. You should know that it was not empty: Nature, who gave it to me, had cleverly forged two hammers with great care at the same time that she first designed it . . .
     Nature herself made me the gift of the staff and wished to put hand to its polishing before I was taught to read . . . I am supremely happy when I gaze on it; and when I feel it content and happy, I give her thanks for her present. Since then it has comforted me in many places where I have carried it. It serves me well; and do you know how? When, in my travels, I find myself in a remote place, I put it into the ditches where I can see nothing, to see if they can be forded. But I find some so deep, with banks so far apart, that it would be less trouble to swim two leagues along the sea shore . . . I know; I have tried many great gulfs . . . But let us leave these wide roads to those who travel them willingly, and let those of us who lead a light-hearted life keep gaily to the seductive bypaths, not the cart roads but the intriguing footpaths . . .
     It was my wish that, if I could bring my entire harness . . . up to the harbor, I might touch it to the relics if I were allowed to bring it so close to them. With my staff unprotected . . . I knelt without delay between the two fair pillars, for I was very hungry to worship the lovely, adorable sanctuary . . . I partly raised the curtain which covered the relics and approached the image to know the sanctuary more intimately. I kissed the image very devoutly and then, to enter the sheath safely, wished to put my staff into the aperture, with the sack hanging behind. Indeed I thought that I could shoot it in at the first try, but it came back out. I replaced it, but to no avail; it still recoiled. By no effort could it enter there, for, I found, there was a paling in front, which I felt but could not see. It had formed the fortification of the aperture, close to its border, from the time when it was first built; it gave greater strength and security.
     I had to assail it vigorously . . . I attacked so much that I discovered a narrow passage by which I thought I might pass beyond, but to do so I had to break the paling . . . The passage was so narrow that I became greatly distressed, for I had not freed any wide space. Indeed, if I knew the state of the passage, no one had ever passed there; I was absolutely the first. The place was still not common enough to collect tolls. I don't know if, since then, it has done as much for others as it did for me, but I tell you indeed that I loved it so much that I could hardly believe...
     Finally, I scattered a little seed on the bud when I shook it, when I touched it within it in order to pore over the petals . . . I so mixed the seeds that they could hardly be separated; and thus I made the whole tender rosebush widen.