,^'% ^■> "'c • -% T •t-0^ V^ v^ .0- ^o. vV^ 0^ ■^-Uyu-^^^ q'J <* •p. ^'^'^^ ^ '^^ ^6^^ "oV v-O^ X. ,-\" 7 /^ v^^ t .^'• k vV v^^ "v^^^" . " • * <^^ .0' THE POETRY OF CHAUCER THE POETRY OF CHAUCER A GUIDE TO ITS STUDY AND APPRECIATION BY KOBERT KILBURN ROOT Professor of English in Princeton University REVISED EDITION HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY BOSTON NEW YORK CHICAGO SAN FRANCISCO \ c^t^ COPYRIGHT, 1922, By Robert Kilburn Root Copyright, 1906, by Robert Kilburn Root ALL RIGHTS RESERVED :^.z 6" Wht 3Kibec0ibe Srctftf CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS fRINTHD IN THE U . S . A APR 28 i322 g)C!.A661458 i PREFACE During the last twenty years, the poetry of Chaucer has been attaining an ever increasing popularity. Not only in our colleges and universities, but among the lovers of good literature at large, the discovery has been made that the difficulty of Chaucer's language is by no means so great as at first appears, and that what- ever difficulty there may be is richly compensated by the delights which his poetry has to offer. Meanwhile the scholars of Europe and America have been busy at the task of explaining what needs explanation, of investigating the problems of Chaucer's sources, and of determining the order in which his works were com- posed. It is the purpose of the present volume to ren- der accessible to readers of Chaucer the fruits of these investigations, in so far as they conduce to a fuller appreciation of the poet and his work. For the benefit of those who wish to go more deeply into the subject, rather copious bibliographical references are given in the footnotes. Of Chaucer's biography we know little that is really significant ; and that little has been fre- quently retold. It has, therefore, seemed better to omit any connected account of Chaucer's life, and to give in the discussion of the individual poems such biographi- cal details as serve to illuminate them. From the very nature of his task, the author's obli- gations are manifold. From Tyrwhitt down, there is hardly a Chaucerian scholar by whose labors he has not profited, as a glance at the footnotes will show. To Professor Ten Brink, to Professor Louusbury, to vi PREFACE Professor Skeat, and to Dr. Furnivall and his collabo- rators in the work of the Chaucer Society, his debt is particularly large. In making quotations and citations, Skeat's Student's Chaucer has been used ; and the order in which the several works of the poet are taken up is, with one slight exception, that in which they are there printed. This has seemed, on the whole, the most convenient order ; but the reader may take the chap- ters in any order he pleases. To my friends. Professor Albert S. Cook of Yale University and Professor Charles G. Osgood of Princeton University, I am indebted for much valuable criticism. K. K. R. Princeton University May 25, 1906. PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION It is now fifteen years since this book was first published, and these years have been extraordinarily fruitful of Chaucerian stud3^ Important contributions have been made to our knowledge of Chaucer and of his relations to the literature and prevalent ideas of the Middle Ages, contributions which, it is pleasant to note, have been in large measure the work of American scholars. To Profes- sor Kittredge and Professor Lowes of Harvard and to Professor Tatlock of Leland Stanford the debt of Chau- cer-lovers is, and will remain, a large one. In some cases this new knowledge has led to a considerable revision of our earlier understanding of the essential purport of Chaucer's poetry. This is particularly true of the work of Chaucer's middle period — the House of Fame, Troi- lus, the Legend of Good Women, the translation of Boe- thius. It was the original purpose of this book to render ac- cessible to readers of Chaucer the fruits of scholarly investigation in so far as they conduce to a fuller ap- preciation of the poet and his work. If it is to continue to render this service, a thorough revision is now neces- sary. Such a revision is presented in the present volume. Where the new information is so fundamental that it essentially alters an earlier interpretation of the facts, the passage concerned has been rewritten, and new pages substituted for the old; where it is rather in the nature of additional light, which clarifies but does not alter, the new information is given in an appendix of 'Notes and Revisions' at the end of the volume. Chapters VI viii PREFACE TO REVISED EDITION and VII, which deal with Troilus and the House of Fame, have been rewritten in their entirety. In addition, the pages numbered ix, x, 18, 40, 84, 85, 140-144, 167, 168, 184, 238-240, 291, 292 have been rewritten and substi- tuted for the original pages. These changes have made necessary a new index; but the pagination of the volume has been so little disturbed that most references to the original edition will apply also to this. More than one quarter of the present volume is, therefore, new. It is hoped that with these revisions the book may continue to fill the place which has been accorded to it in the past. With it and with Skeat's Student's Chaucer, or better with Professor F. N. Robinson's edition soon to be pub- lished in the Cambridge Poets Series, the student or the general reader will have in his possession all that is essen- tial to an understanding and appreciation of Chaucer's poetry. It is a pleasure to record my gratitude to my friend, Professor Gordon Hall Gerould, for his help and counsel in the preparation of this edition, R. K. R. Princeton University, October, 1921. ■WOEK3 A CHRONOLOGICAL SURVEY OF CHAUCER'S LIFE AND WORKS (The few significant facts of Chaucer's life given below rest on documen- tary evidence, and may, therefore, be rc^^arded as certain. The chronology of his works is far from certain; but the dates here given may be regarded as approximately correct.) LIFE 1340 Chaucer horn in London. His fiithor, John Chaucer, was a vintner, and was in some way conneoted with the court of lOdward III. (The date, 1.340, is conjec- tural.) 1357 Attached, as a page (?), to the household of Elizabeth, Duchess of Clarence. 1359 Serves in the English army in France, and taken pris- oner by the French. 13G7 Granted a life pension for his services as valet in the V king's household. 1372-73 First diplomatic mission to Italy. 1374 Appointed Comptroller of the customs and subsidy of wools, skins, and leather for the port of London. (We know that in this year the poet was already married.) Leased a dwelling over the gate of Aldgate in London. 1377 Diplomatic missions in Flanders and France. 1378 Second journey to Italy in the Idng's service. 1382 Appointed Comptroller of the petty customs. (This office he held in addition to his earlier office in the cus- toms.) To this general period may be assigned the Romaunt of the Rose, and the ' baladcs, roundels, virelayes,' referred to in the Pro- logue to the Legend of Good Wo- [ 771671, 1369 The Book of the Duchess. To the period from 1374 to 1379 may probably be assigned the House of Fame, and the poems later utilized as the Monk's Tale and the Second Null's Tale of St. Cecilia. In the six years from 1380 to 1385 we may place the transla- tion of Boethius, Troilus and Criseyde (not earlier than 1381), the Parliament of Fowls (1.382?) and the story of Palamon and Arcite, known as the KmghVs , Tale, (shortly before 1385?). X A CHRONOLOGICAL SURVEY 1385 Granted permission to exer- cise his office as comptroller through a permanent dep- uty. Appointed Justice of Peace for the county of Kent. 1386 Member of Parliament for Kent. Gives up his London house (and resides at Green- wich?). Deprived (by a hos- tile faction at court?) of his offices in the customs. 1387 Death of Chaucer's wife. 1389 Appointed Clerk of the King's Works at Westmin- ster. 1390 Clerk of the King's Works at Windsor, and member of a commission to repair the banks of the Thames be- tween Woolwich and Green- wich. 1394 Granted an additional pen- sion of 20 I. a year. (The poet seems, however, to have been in financial diffi- culty.) 1399 On the accession of Henry IV, Chaucer's pension again increased. He leases a house in Westminster. 1400 Chaucer's death. 1385-86 The Legend of Good TFo- ^ Soon after 1386 were begun the Canterbury Tales, on which the pof t probably worked intermit- tenily till his death. Groups D, E, and F, which contain the discussion of marriage, seem to have been written later than 1393. 1391 Treatise on the Astrolabe. 1393 Envoy to Scogan. 1394-95 Revised form ('A' text) of Prologue to Legend of Good Women. 1396-97 Envoy to Bukton. 1399 To his Empty PuraA CONTENTS ^ I. Chaucer's England 1 II. Chaucer . 14 III. The Romaunt of the Rose 45 IV, The Minor Poems 57 V. BOETHIUS AND THE ASTROLABE . . , .80 :'- VI. Troilus and Criseyde 87 r VII. The House of Fame 128 VIII. The Legend of Good Women ► . . . 135 IX. The Canterbury Tales, Group A . . . 151 X. The Canterbury Tales, Group B . . . 181 XI. The Canterbury Tales, Groups C and D . 219 XII. The Canterbury Tales, Groups E, F, G, H, I . 253 Appfjidix. The Study of Chaucer . . . 291 Notes and Revisions 294 Index 301 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER CHAPTER I CHAUCER'S ENGLAND It is five hundred years and more since Geoffrey Cliaucer was 'nayled in his cheste,' and laid in what is now known as the Poets' Corner of Westminster Abbey. Many things have happened since that day : a new half-world has been discovered ; mighty nations have had their birth ; there have been wars and revolu- tions ; the great world of science has been opened up, changing deeply our thoughts and beliefs, altering rad- ically the conditions of our industrial and social life ; one poet greater than Chaucer has arisen to grace our English tongue. Chaucer would have been intensely interested in all these things, could he have known them ; but for him they did not exist. If we are to enter into the spirit of his poetry, we must forget for the time being the present-day world, and all that has happened in five hundred years, and live again in a day long dead. We must, with William Morris, — Forget six counties overhung with smoke, Forget the snorting steam and piston stroke, Forget the spreading of the hideous town ; Think rather of the pack-horse on the down, And dream of London, small, and white, and clean, The clear Thames bordered by its gardens green. When this leap into the dark backward and abysm of time has been accomplished, many of the comforts 2 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER and luxuries of modern life will be found missing : houses are less comfortable ; traveling is a slow and dangerous process ; there are no newspapers, no tele- phones, no tea, coffee, or tobacco. Yet I fancy that these things are not so indispensable as our modern world thinks. For those of artistic tastes there is rich compensation in the external beauty of the life around. Nearly all the buildings of modern London which are really works of art were standing in Chaucer's day ; many buildings of equal beauty were standing then which have since perished. In place of the dingy, ugly, monotonous buildings which now line the streets of London town, stood picturesque houses of half-tim- ber, decorated in bright colors. The throngs of people passing through the streets must have been a constant source of interest and pleasure ; men did not then try to efface themselves by sober suits of black or gray. My lord passes by resplendent in bright colored silks and velvets, his retainers clothed in their distinguish- ing livery ; every trade has its peculiar costume. There are processions and pageants, with banners and waving plumes. Inside the houses one finds quaintly carved furniture and splendid pictured tapestries. There is a darker side to this picture, which we must also see before we are done ; but on the surface it is a gay and beautiful life that we have entered. This is indeed ' merry England.' There are many intellectual interests as well. The right of the people to govern themselves in Parliament is being fought out. The English Church is trying to limit the usurpations of the papal power ; Wiclif and his poor preachers are sowing the seeds of the English Reformation. English commerce is extending itself. There is exciting news of the war with France. Interesting from many varied aspects, the fourteenth CHAUCER'S ENGLAND 3 century is of particular significance to the student of literature and culture, because in it the movement of the Renaissance first assumed definite form, and our modern world began. But if the modern world had begun to assert itself, the mediaeval world had by no means passed away. Side by side they stood, the old and the new, essentially hostile to each other, yet blended and intermingled through the whole range of society, often in most incongruous fashion. Because of their coexistence it is easy to compare and contrast them. Any attempt at an inclusive definition of mediaeval- ism and of the Renaissance is a perilous, perhaps an impossible, undertaking ; but it is not so difficult to differentiate the two in their main characteristics and tendencies, always remembering that we have to do not so much with two periods of histoiy as with two oppos- ing attitudes of mind, two habits of thought, which have always existed side by side, with now one, now the other, in the ascendant. ' The fundamental distinction, I think, lies in the fact that the mediaeval mind has its gaze fixed primarily on the spiritual and abstract, that of the Renaissance on the sensuous and concrete. ' Me- diaevalism proclaims that the eternal things of the spirit are alone worth while ; the Renaissance declares that a man's life consists, if not in the abundance of the things he possesses, at any rate in the abundance and variety of the sensations he enjoys.' Though it is a char- acteristic of the greatest minds that they belong to no party, Dante and Shakespeare may be taken to repre- sent, in their dominant tendencies, the two habits of thought. In their power of poetic insight and obser- vation the two poets are nearly equal ; but Dante, following the natural bent of his spirit, portrayed the world in terms *... the abstract, through the language of 4 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER symbols ; his great poem is a vision, and the person- ages of his drama are disembodied souls dwelling in a realm of spirit ; while Shakespeare shows us men and women as concrete individuals, living and moving in an actual, material world. As a direct result of this basic distinction, we pass to another which is of almost equal significance. In its dealings with society and with humanity in general, the mediaeval tends towards communism, the lienais- sance towards individualism ; for the individual is a concrete fact, the community is an abstract ideal. To the mediaeval mind, man is a member of a great spir- itual family, the body of Christ, the Church catholic and universal. His true happiness, temporal and eter- nal, is inseparable from the welfare of humanity as a whole. ' For none of us liveth to himself, and no man dieth to himself.' Thus Dante, in contrasting spiritual and material benefits, explains that with material things the larger the number who share in a benefit, the smaller is the share of each ; while with spiritual bless- ings, in particular the joys of Paradise, the larger the number of souls who share, the greater is the portion of each. To the mind of the Renaissance, then, bent on the sensuous and material, the individual man, his per- sonal strivings and accomplishment, becomes the main interest. We have the thirst for personal fame, as exemplified in the vanity of a Petrarch, replacing the anonymous zeal of the cathedral-builders. We have the national tendency, the idea of patriotism, as opposed to the mediaeval conception of a united Christendom, a Holy Roman Empire. We have a splitting up of the social body into small groups of individuals, but slightly interested in one another's welfare. And as the con- sciousness of the whole community begins to fade, art and literature become limited in their appeal, no longer CHAUCER'S ENGLAND 5 s]ioaklnf;' to the whole people, but becoming the exclu- sive possc'ssion of the educated favored classes, a tend- eucy which is clearly evident in Petrarch's scorn for compositions in the vernacular. In the realm of thought, a precisely similar develop- ment takes place j' the age of faith gives way to the age of reason. 'Faith is the evidence of things not seen,' that is, of the invisible world, the spiritual. Reason, of necessity, confines itself mainly to things which can be seen and handled; in a word, to the sensuous and material. Or, again, to relate this development to that suggested in the preceding paragraph, faith, or authority, rests on a communistic basis. A belief in the benevolence of God, or in the immortality of the soul, is based, ajiart from any supernatural revelation, on the universality of man's instinct that these facts are so. This universal instinct gains definlteness in the body of dogma held and taught consistently by the Church, an essentially communistic organization. According to the mediaeval idea, the individual man has literally no right to think for himself ; the right of private judg- ment, which lies at the very foundation of Protestant- ism, is nothing but a corollary of the individualism of the Renaissance. In the domain of religion and conduct this ' right of private judguient' has had a curious twofold devel- opment. Among the more austere races of the north it gave rise to the Protestant Reformation, and, car- ried out to its logical conclusion, to that 'Protestantism of the Protestant religion ' which we call Puritanism. Protestantism is essentially the religion of the individ- ual. This may be proved first of all by its tendency to break up into sects ; it is in its very nature centri- fugal. The Protestant, again, is largely concerned with what he calls the salvation of his own soul, and in the 6 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER process of achieving this he feels no need of priestly mediation ; he insists, rather, on his direct and personal relation to the Deity. It is individualism in religion. The Protestant proceeds to create for himself, and with delightful inconsistency attempts to force upon oth- ers, a moral code of his own, harsh and unlovely, of which the Puritan observance of the Sabbath is a good example. At the opposite extreme from Puritanism is the other development of the Renaissance spirit, most conspicuous among the more passionate peoples of the south, in which men used their right of private judg- ment to overthrow all religion and morality. Morality conveniently divides itself into duty towards God and duty towards one's neighbor. If one doubts the exist- ence of God, he disposes easily of one half of his duty ; if he exalts his individual well-being at the expense of the common good of society, his duty towards his neigh- bor troubles him but little. And so we find in the Italian Renaissance a strong tendency towards irreligion and immorality, which may express itself in the moral laxity and religious indifference of a Boccaccio, or in the diabolic malignity of a Caesar Borgia or a Catherine de Medici. If, now, we try to balance up the profit and loss to civ- ilization and culture which have ensued on the triumph of that Renaissance spirit, which is still dominant at the present day, we shall find the account acom])licated one. To the heightened interest in material and sen- suous things, and to the activity of the individual mind, we owe, of course, the whole of onr modern science ; to the same causes we owe a great part of our noblest literature and art, our Michael Angelo and our Shake- speare. This is no mean debt. Yet we must remem- ber that this very art which we prize is a possession of only the few ; the ' plain man ' has no portion in it. Of CHAUCER'S ENGLAND 7 what sort are the books and pictures which we produce for liini? Art has been divorced from daily life. If we have greater poems and finer pictures than the Mitldle Ages knew, what of our carpets, our hangings, our fur- niture, our buildings, the dishes from which we eat? Then, too, we have to charge up against the Renais- sance our complexity of life, our unsettled doubts, our ambitions and discontents. And, lastly, there is the hideous fact that our boasted civilization is largely a civilization of materialism, of selfishness and legal- ized greed. After studying the ])ast and studying the present, we must strive to see both the benefits and the limitations which these two great world-tendencies have to offer, and, holding narrowly to neither, must so adjust and balance the two that we may attain to that golden mean which shall usher in the golden world. In the light of these distinctions between mediaevalism and the Renaissance, it will be well to pass in hasty review the great movements of the fourteenth century, political, sociid, religious, and literary, in order to see more clearly in what sort of a world Chaucer lived and worked. Politically, tlie most significant movement, in Eng- land at least, is the trend towards national consciousness. Henry II, on his accession to the throne of England in 1154, controlled more than half of what is now France. Normandy he inherited from the Conqueror, Anjou from his father, Geoffrey; Aquitaine was his tiirough the right of Eleanor his queen. Normandy and Anjou had been lost in the reign of King John (1199— 1216) ; but Aquitaine was still a possession of the English crown when Edward III came to the throne in 1327. The national tendency, asserting itself in France, led the French king to the endeavor to bring all Frenchmen under his own control; and this was 8 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER the ultimate cause of the Hundred Years' War, which begfan in 1337. The long; continued war served to strengthen immeasurably in each country the bud- ding instinct of patriotism. Men began to feel that they were Englishmen or Frenchmen; and the idea of a Holy Roman Empire faded gradually from their thoughts. The battle of Crecy (1846) and of Poitiers (1356) had not only fanned the flame of patriotism, but, won as they were by the archery of English yeomen, they increased immensely the importance of the middle classes, and hastened the fall of feudalism. With this increased importance of the commoners went a corre- sponding increase in the power of Parliament, which reached its flood tide in the ' Good Parliament ' of 1376. It is in this period that we first find clearly asserted the right of Parliament to vote taxes, on which as a corner-stone has since been built the edifice of English libei'ty. This democratic tendency in English politics is even more plainly marked in the social and industrial de- velopment of the fourteenth century. With the rapid growth of commerce and manufacture, and the conse- quently increased importance of the towns, there arose a large and prosperous bourgeois class, which, being as it was entirely without the pale of the feudal sys- tem, hastened its disintegration. For a discontented serf could become a freeman by establishing a legal residence in one of the towns ; and the vassal of higher station found himself overtopped in wealth, and conse- quently in influence, by the prosperous burgher. The emanci})ation of the laboring class from the bonds of serfdom was furthered by the great plague which swept over England, as over the rest of Europe, in 1348 and 1349. With half the population wiped out, the landown- CHAUCER'S ENGLAND 9 ers fouiul themselves with only half the former supply of labor, and onl}' half the demand for their products. The price of labor rose, and the price of bread fell. The old feudal obligation of the serf to labor a certain number of days on his master's land had already, in lar«;e measure, been commuted into a money rent, and the laborers were not slow to take advantage of the opi)ortunity to demand higher wages for their labor. The attempts to control the price of labor by legislation had little effect save to irritate the laborers, an irrita- tion which reached its climax in the peasants' revolt of 1381. This revolt, suppressed by the courage and good judgment of the boy king, Richard II, though barren of any direct and immediate results, exerted a lasting influence on the temper of the lower classes, fostering in them a spirit of independence which made them no longer a negligible quantity in the life of the nation. They ceased to be merely a part of the social organism, and became, with their betters, individuals conscious of their individuality. The new-born spirit of nationality, which was per- vading all of English life, found striking expression in the relations of England with the Papacy. Eng- land had been formerly, of all nations, most loyal in its allegiance to the Pope ; but when in 1309 the seat of the Papacy was removed to Avignon, and the holy father himself became a creature of the French king, loyalty to the Pope came into conflict with hatred of France, and the new sentiment of national patriotism ])roved the stronger. Though the popes of the 'Baby- lonian captivity ' seem not to have been wicked men= they were, at any rate, weak men ; and the ]>apal court became a centre of luxury and vice. To support this luxury it became necessary to sell the Church's pre- ferment; and England, where the Church owned in 10 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER landed property alone more than one third of the soil of the realm, and received in dues and offerings an income amounting to twice the king's revenue, was a particularly rich field for papal simony. When for- eigners, French and Italian, were preferred to the rich- est livings in England, and proceeded to spend their incomes abroad, the national pride, if not the national conscience, was aroused ; and when a French pope, as the last court of appeal in matters of the canon law, set aside the decisions of English courts, the injury to English pride was still deeper. In 1351 was passed the Statute of Provisors, which aimed to stop the first of these abuses, and two years later the Statute of Prwrnunire was directed against the second. This anti-papal agitation, though purely political in character, could not fail to shake also the religious authority of the Clnuch. A pope who was a French- man, and therefore an enemy of England, could not command the full religious loyalty of Englishmen, especially wdien his court was notorious for its extrav- agance and profligacy. Not unnaturally the corru]ition at the head spread through the whole body ; and we are unfortunately compelled to believe that the picture of clerical avarice drawn by Chaucer and his contem- poraries is but little exaggerated. Though the Church has always taught that the unworthiness of the minis- ter does not vitiate the efficacy of his spiritual minis- trations, it was inevitable that even the untutored mind should question the value of an absolution bought with a price fi"om a grasping and unscrupulous priest, and that questioning this, it should question further. If this was not enough, what must have been the conster- nation of the devout when, in 1378, the great schism of the west began, and Europe beheld two rival popes, each hurling anathemas at the other and at the other's CHAUCER'S ENGLAND 11 supporters ! Whichever pope you recognized, you were excommunioated by the other ; and how was one to tell ? England, of course, gave official recognition to Urban VI, the Pope of Kome, while France recog- nized Clement VII at Avignon ; but the prestige of the papal name, and the authority of the Church as a whole, received a crushing blow. The more worldly, like Chaucer, laughed at the whole thing ; the more devout either bewailed impotently, like Gower and Langland, the corruption they could not cure, or were driven, like Wiclif, into an open revolt, which was to be the precursor of the Protestant Reformation. The corruption in the Church and its attendant moral laxity led to corruption in the whole social body. ' If gold rust, what shall iron do ? ' Chaucer's Pro- logue shows us a world in which avarice and deceit are all but universal, and the Prologue to the Vision of Piers Plowman bears witness only less vigorously to the same facts. The world, as Langland sees it, is indeed a ' fair field ; ' but the laborers are unworthy. His men are wandering in a maze, and everything is going wrong. Here arc men at the })low, working hard, playing but seldom. What is the result of their work ? They are winning what wasters destroy with gluttony. Pilgrims and palmers go on their journeys ; and with what result ? They have leave to lie all the rest of their lives. Friars, whose business it is to preach the gospel, gloze it to their own profit. Parsons and parish priests are forsaking their cliarges to go up to London and sing in chantries at Paul's. Bishops neglect their spir- itual duties to take office under the King and count his silver. Gower, too, in the Prologue to his Confessio Amantis, reviews the condition of Church and State, and, less vigorously but no less clearly, portrays the same state of thincrs : — 12 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Lo, thus tobroke is Cristes folde, Wherof the tlock withoiito guide Devoured is on every side, In laeke of hem that hen unware Schepherdes, whiche her wit beware Upon the world in other halve. The sharpe pricke instede of salve Thei usen now, wherof the hele Thei hurte of that they scholden liele ; And what schep that is full of wnlic, Upon bis back, thei toose and puUe. But if the world of fourteenth-century England was sadly out of joint, it was far from being stagnant. In its intellectual ferment the age had much the same character as the age of great Elizabeth. There was the same glow of patriotism and national consciousness consequent upon a series of brilliant victories against a foreign foe ; there was the same spirit of revolt against a foreign church ; and, though the forms of mediseval- ism still survived, there was at work the same leaven of new ideas and of a new conception of life, reinforced by a new interest in the works of classical antiquity, coming over-seas from Italy ; literature and art was breaking away from the conventional, and, under the influence of new models, was drinking again at the fountain-head of nature. For such periods of restless- ness and change have often given birth to great crea- tive literature. Among a throng of lesser writers who contributed to the literature of fourteenth-century England, five stand out pi-eeminent. There is the nameless author of Sir Gaicayne and the Pearly who, thoroughly medi- aeval in his sympathies, infused new life into the old fox-ms of the romance and the vision. There is Lang- land, who, though a mediaeval in his habits of thought, had an independence of judgment, a vigor of expression, CHAUCER'S ENGLAND 13 and a strong- tinge of democracy, even of socialism, witlial, wliioh are essentially modern. There is Gower, at whom it is the fashion nowadays to langh as ponder- ous and dull, but who lias, nevertheless, a command of language, a mastery of metre, above all a faculty of simple, straightforwai'd story-telling, which are far from contemptible, and which make his Confesslo Amantis, when taken in small doses, at times really charming. There is the vigorous prose of Wiclif in his sermons and in his translation of the Bible, which is informed with the spirit of modern Protestantism, though tem- pered, to be sure, with some of the sweetness of medi- seval Catholicism. If none of these is an author of the first importance, it is none the less true that nearly two hundred yeai"s were to elapse before any other English anthors should arise to equal any one of them. Finally, there is Chaucer, the most perfect exponent of his age, who blended in himself both the old and the new, the mediaeval and the modern, who not only represents his age, but, transcending its limitations, has become one of the foremost English poets for ail time. CHAPTER II CHAUCER If the critic is to pass beyond the study of individual poems, and seek after a comprehensive estimate of a poet's whole vvoik, or if he would wring from a series of writings the secret of the writer's soul, and strive to learn what manner of man he was and by what stages he became what he became, it is a question of the first imj)ortance to discover in what oi'der his works were composed, and to determine, whenever possible, at least an approximate date for the composition of each. In the case of more modern authors, in general of those who lived after the invention of printing, the problem is usually solved by a mere inspection of the dates on the title-pages or in the prefaces of their volumes; but with authors like Shakespeare, who avoided publication by printing, and still more with authors like Chaucer, who never heard of the printing-press, the problem is more serious. The investigator must, as in any similar historical inquiry, collect and sift all the obtainable evidence of whatever sort. At times the evidence will consist of references in other books to the work in question ; sometimes of allusions in the work itself to historical events of known date ; oftener, and evi- dence of this third sort is least conclusive, and must be used with greatest caution, the argviment must be based on the aesthetic qualities of the work itself, on metre, style, and general handling of the theme, which may indicate youth or maturity or decline of the j)oet's power. CHAUCER 15 Foi* a few of Chaucer's writings, as, for example, tlie Booh of the Duchess, the Parliament of Fmds, the Legend of Good Women, it is possible to assign aj)prox- iniate dates with a good deal of certainty. From the list of his own works given by Chaucer in the Prologue to the Legend of Good Tl'bmen, we learn that the writings there mentioned were composed at some time earlier tiian the Legend. For the rest we are forced to piece together everj^ available shred of evidence, and construct hypotheses which shall be as plausible as may be. In the succeeding chapters of this book, where Chaucer's writings are considered separately, such evidence and plausible hypotheses as we possess regarding the dates of the several works are considered in detail. The reader will discover that the evidence is often of the flimsiest. It is only necessary here to sum up in the mass what may be determined of the orderly development of Chau- cer's art on the basis of the information,, more or less trustworthy, which we actually possess.^ When it is remembered that the date of Chaucer's birth cannot be later than 1340, and that the earliest of his works for which we can assign a date, the Book of the Duchess, was not wintten till 1369, we are at once impressed with the fact that Chaucer's art was very late in coming to maturity. For the Book of the Duchess, though by no means a contemptible work, bears evident marks of youth and immaturity. What was Chaucer doing between 1360 and 1369? To tliis period it has been customary to assign the lioniaunt of the Rose, or so much of it as may be considered ^ The best general study of Chaucerian chronolog'y is the essay by J. Koch, The Chronology of Chaucer's Wi-itings, published by the Chau- cer Society, London, 1890. Earlier, and therefore less trustworthy, is Ten Hrink's Chaucer : Studien zur Geschichle seiner Entwicklung and zur Chronologic seiner Schriften, Miinster, 1870. Ten Brink's later views on the SHbject may be found in two articles Zur Chronologie von Chaucer's 16 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Chaucer's work ; and tliough this assignment has been questioned/ the present writer is inclined to accept it as probable. In this period, too, we may assume, were written those ' balades, roundels, virelayes,' in praise of love, to which Chaucer refers in the Legend of Good JVomen, most of which have doubtless perished. To this general period belongs the A. B. C, and possibly also The Book of the Lion and Origines upon the Maudelcyne, lost works to which Chaucer refers at tlio end of the Parson s Tale and in the Legend of Good Women respectively. During this, the earliest period of his activity, the poet's models were for the most part French. The literary world in which he lived was a world of dream and lovely shadows, of abstractions and graceful conventions, through which his guide was Guillaume de Lorris. The Book of the Duchess is a pleasing and charming piece, but not a great poem ; excellent as is its poetic execution, there is little to suggest the Chaucer that was to be. Critics have been accustomed to call this period the period of French influence. Like most generalizations, the term is con- venient but dangerous. If we keep to the term, and for convenience' sake it is perhaps well that we should, we must be careful to remember that the French influence upon Chaucer does not cease with the close of the so-called French period. The Prologue to the Legend of Good Women is thoroughly in the school of Guillaume de Lorris ; and in the Canterhury Tales the influence of the satirical method of Jean de Meun, the second of the two authors of the Roman de la Hose, is evident at every turn. It is the overwhelming pre- Schri/ten, in Englische Studien, 17. 1-22, 189-200 (1S92). The opinions advocated by these earlier students of the subject have been consider- ably modified by later investigations as to the date of particular poems. ^ Cf. below, p. 5G. CHAUCER 17 dominance of French influence in this early period which makes the term apjiropriate. In 1373 and again in 1378 Chaucer was sent on dij)loniatic missions to Italy, and came for the first time into vital contact with the great intellectual move- ment of the early Kenaissance. He felt the power of Dante's divine poem ; he breathed the atmosphere of humanism which emanated from Petrarch and his cir- cle ; he found in Boccaccio a great kindred spirit, an author of keen artistic susceptibility, who in character and temperament had much in common with himself. lie found in Italy not only a new set of models, supe- rior in art and in depth of thought to those of France ; he received as well a new and powerful intellectual stimulus, which set him to thinking more deeply on the problems of philosophy, and gave him a keener intei-- est in the intricacies of human character. It follows naturally enough that the decade from 1375 to 1385 was one of unwearied literary production. Despite his somewhat arduous duties as an office-holder in the civil service, he found time to produce a series of works which would alone assure him a permanent place in English literature. In the domain of philosophy he made his translation of Boethius on the Consolation of Pliilosophi/, one of the half-dozen most popular books during the whole of the Middle Ages, and one wliieh entered very deeply into Chaucer's philosophy of life. Though he was already familiar with the doctrines of Boethius as they are represented in tiie Roman de la Hose, it is hardly to be questioned that the spur to work of this more serious character came to him from his Italian voyages. His newly found inter- est in human beings as individuals, in the more com- plex problems of character, bore fruit in his best sustained and most perfect work, Trollus and Criseyde. K 18 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER To this decade, most probably to the earlier years of it, belongs the House of Fame, a poem written in the octo- syllabic couplets of Chaucer's French models, and in its form a dream-vision of the same type as the Book of the Duchess, but thoroughly permeated with memories of Dante. Here and in the Parliament of Fowls, written in 1381 or 1382, Chaucer's artistic power has reached something very near to full maturity. In each of these poems an essentially slight theme is developed with the utmost wealth of Avit and fancy; through each Chaucer's characteristic humor plays most deliciously. To the earlier years of this decade, also, will probably be as- signed the legend of St. Cecilia, which was later to be- come the Second Niui's Tale, and possibly also the series of 'tragedies,' modelled on the De Casibus Virorum et Feminarum Illustrium of Boccaccio, later utilized as the tale of the Canterbury Monk. To the later years of the decade belong the Parliament of Fowls and Troilus; and at its very close, I believe, the story of Palamon and Arcite, which we know as the Knight's Tale. It is in these poems that the influence of Boccaccio is supreme. As the first period of the poet's activity has been called the period of French influence, so this second period has been called that of Italian influence. With the same proviso as before, that a great influence once felt never ceases to operate, this term also maybe allowed to stand. Chaucer has not forgotten his French models; but the influence of Italy is predominant. To the final period of Chaucer's art belong his great- est work, the Canierhury Tales, begun soon after 1386, and, on the borderland of the period, the unfinished work which may be thought of as a sort of propaedeutic to this, the Lerjend of Good Women, a collection of tales introduced by the most charming of dream-vision allego- ries, which may safely be dated 1385 or 1386. If we speak CHAUCER 19 of this as the period of Chaucer's originality, wo must carefully define what we mean by tlie term original. For nearly every tale in the Lccjcnd and in the Booh of Canterbury a definite original may be found ; nor is the idea of either collection essentially Chaucer's own. Chaucer, like Shakespeare, seldom troubled himself to invent a plot. For a majority, perhaps, of the ideas to be found in these works Chaucer is indebted to 'olde bokes.' The striking difference between this period and the two which preceded is that no single influence is predominant, no single influence save that of ihe poet's own personality. From the lioman dc la Itose, from Boethius, from Italy, from ancient Rome, Chaueer borrows at will ; but he has ceased to be a pupil, and has become a master. In a sense he is no longer influ- enced from without ; he has absorbed and assimilated and made his own. Thoughts which were once the thoughts of Boethius or Jean de Menu or Boccaccio are now his thoughts, lie has included and tran- scended. Among the individual authors from whom Chaucer drew the material which he thus toolc up into himself, four stand out preeminent. They are Boethius, Jean de Meun, Boccaccio, and Ovid. From Boethius he drew the major part of his philosophy, his insistence on a stoical superiority to Fortune and her whims, bis in- terest in the problem of foreknowledge and free-will, his platonic belief that true nobility springs only from greatness of soul. Wherever Chaucer moralizes or })hl- losophizes, the chances are strong that a similar passu ge may be found in the Consolation of Philosophy} To 1 It must be remembered that the doctrines of Boethius are largely reproduced in the Roman de la Rose, and that consequently it is often impossible to determine whether Chaucer is borrowing' at first or at KCC'.ind hand. iSinee Chaucer was intimately acquainted with both works, the question is one of little momeut ; for he cannot have failed 20 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Jean de Meun, Chaucer's debt is manifold. From him he learned the highly effective satirical method which he uses in the General Prologue to the Canterhury Tales and in the prologues of the Pardoner and the V/ife of Bath^ from him he borrowed many of his ideas, in particular those which are tinged with radi- calism or skepticism ; still more important, he seems to have acquired from Jean de Meun that attitude of mind, that habit of thought, which became an integral part of his nature — the habit of looking at life from the standpoint of comedy, that curious blending of easy tolerance and biting sarcasm, which is saved only by the evident kindliness of his soul from the charge of down- right cynicism. From Boccaccio and the Italian Renais- sance Chaucer received, as we have already seen, an interest in individual humanity, a new and higher stand- ard of artistic form, and a great intellectual stimulus, not to mention the plots of two of his most important compositions. To Ovid, to whose work the philosophical eagle in the House of Fame refers as Chaucer's ' owne book,' Chaucer was indebted largely and continuously. 'Altogether,' says Professor Lounsbury, 'Ovid may be called the favorite author of Chaucer in respect to the extent to which the material taken from him was embodied in productions of his own, written at long intervals of time apart, and upon subjects essentially different.' ^ Though Chaucer knew Virgil, and was not unacquainted with other Latin literature, classical an- tiquity appealed to him most strongly in the pages of Ovid. While drawing from him stories and allusions, to recognize Boethius as the original source. He was probably not aware of the fact that the work of Boethius is little more than a com- pendium of the doctrines of earlier pliilosophers. ' Studies ill C/iaurer, 2. 251, 252. The quotation is from the chapter on ' The Learning- of Cliaucer,' a chapter of which the serious student of Chaucer cannot afford to be ignorant. CHAUCER 21 Chaucer must have learned also some of Ovid's ease and grace, his power of vivid description, his rich sen- suonsness of color and form. liecogniziiig how great is Chaucer's debt to the work of those who went before him, one is tempted to ask what is left to Chaucer as his own. In one sense, little, ill another sense, all. If originality be taken to imply newness, what was never known nor thought before, ori- ginal minds have been very rare in the world's history, and have seldom expressed themselves in literature and art. The artist is not properly an investigator, a dis- coverer of truth ; his function is rather to select and assimilate, and by new combination of ideas or by new and higher expression, to present the truth with greater cogeney and to commend it to the emotions of his audi- ence. He is, however, no mere purveyor of the truth ; he, too, must be an original thinker, but original in the sense that he carries back the truth which he has learned to its origin, its fountain-head, in nature itself. Novelty is possible to very few ; originality is possible to many. It is not necessary that we should drink from a new river of truth, but that we should drink its waters at the fountain-head, the origo^ unmixed and unsullied. When Chaucer retells Boccaccio's story of Troilus and his faithless love, he does not merely trans- late ; neither does he paraphrase and adapt. Accepting the plot of the Filostrato^ he creates the characters anew from his own independent knowledge of human nature, giving to them new sentiments, new motives, impelling them often to new actions, and consequently to new situations. Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde and Pandarus are as original, ])erlKips more original, than tlieir prototypes in Boccaccio. So is it when he bor- rows a thouglit from Boethius or Jean de Menu. In this sense Chaucer is a great original poet; in this 22 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER sense, and in this sense alone, may we assert the ori- ginality of Shakespeare. If Chauoer's indebtedness seems greater than Shakespeare's, it is first because the range of his intellect is less universal, and secondly because he drew from a smaller number of sources. We of to-day draw our ideas from such a multitude of writers that our resultant philosophies are mosaics, wherein it is all but impossible to distinguish the origin of this bit and of that ; Chaucer had relatively few sources from which to draw, and his indebtedness to each of these is consequently much larger. Having seen the principal sources whence the poet's ideas were drawn, and the process by which these ideas were made his own, it will not be very dii^icult to frame some general notion of his ideals and beliefs, of his attitude toward the world about him, of what may be called his philosophy of life. Not that Chaucer ever fashioned for himself a complete and consistent 'sys- tem ' of philosophy ; he was as far as possible removed from any purpose of deliberate didacticism ; he was conscious of no burning 'message' to be delivered through the medium of his art ; but it is none the less possible to gather from his works a fairly definite idea of his intellectual and spiritual constitution. If tlie distinction be indeed legitimate, Chaucer's mind is remarkable rather for its breadth than for its depth, for the extent of its interests rather than for the intensity of its convictions. If Chaucer is not a profound thinker, he is at any rate marked by an eager intellectual curiosity, an openness to ideas, which is evident at all periods of his life. In the domain of science one notices first of all his interest in astronomy and the related pseudo-science of astrology. His works abound in allusions astronomical and astrolosrical. Like Dante and Milton, he prefers to tell his times and CHAUCER 23 seasons by the great clock of the starry heavens and b}' the calendar of the zodiac. So nunute and definite are these allusions in the majority of cases that we must depend on the professed student of astronomy for their elucidation. From such elucidations we learn that the allusions are not only definite but accurate. The crowning proof of the poet's astronomical attainments is furnished by his Trcxit'ise on the Astrolabe, written / in his later years for the use of 'litel Lowis my sone.' ' Though his acquaintance with physical science was less extensive, the discourse of the eagle in the House of Fame includes an admirable exposition of the theory of the transmission of sound ; and a similar perception of scientific principles, though with humorous applica- tion, is shown in the concluding episode of the Sum- moner^s Tale. That Chaucer had delved somewhat deeply into the mysteries of alchemy is shown by the tale of the Canon's Yeoman. Still another topic, on the borderland of science, in which he betrays a lively interest is the cause and significance of dreams.^ In the realm of philosophy and metaphysic there was one problem which had for Chaucer a powerful fasci- nation, the problem of God's foi^eknowledge and the freedom of man's will. On this topic the disappointed Troilus argues with himself at weary length ; on this topic, and on the related topic of man's inability to choose for himself, Arcite discourses in the /{jiighfs Tale (A. 1251-1274) ; to the same topic the KnigJiVs Tale reverts near its close in a long speech by Theseus. Some years later Chaucer opened the question again, this time in playful mood, in the tale of the Nun's 1 This interest, which Cliaiicer shares ■with many of his contem- poraries, is to be traced to the jiopnlaiity of Macrobiiis's coimiioiitary on tlie Somnium Scipionis of Cicero. For an account of this work, soe below, p. 05. 24 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Priest. Somewhat closely allied with this problem of foi-eknowledge and predestination is the equally insol- uble problem of the existence of evil in a world gov- erned by an all-powerful and benevolent God. It is this problem which troubles the faithful Dorigen in the Franklin' s Tale., when she contemplates ' thise grisly feendly rokkes blake ' which line the coast of Brittany, and threaten shipwreck to her husband returning from over-seas (F. 865-893). With more of bitterness and less of faith, the woeful prisoner, Palamon, vexes the same baffling question in the Knight! 8 Tale (A. 1303- 1333) : — Th' answere of this I lete to divynis, But wel I woot, that iu this world gret pyne is. Chaucer does not solve these questions — who indeed shall solve them ? — neither does he in his discussion of them pass much beyond his master Boethius. What is significant for our purpose is not his answers, for Chaucer is not primarily a philosopher, but the evi- dence which these discussions bear to his eager intel- lectual curiosity. In the poet's attitude towards these various interests of science and metaphysic, in his attitude towards all the interests of life, one plainly discerns a tendency towax'ds skepticism. It is easy to exaggerate this tend- ency; and some of Chaucer's critics, among them Pro- fessor Lounsbury, have laid upon this trait an emphasis which seems to me undue. Nevertheless, the point is not one to be neglected. Interested as he is in astro- nomy, Chaucer had learned, at least at the time when he wrote the FranMin s Tale, to distrust utterly the claims of astrologers and magicians. The magician of the story had a book, — Which book spak iiinchel of the operaciouns, Touchinge the eighte and twenty uiausiouns CHAUCER 25 Tliat longen to the moiie, and swichfolye, As in our dayes is nat worth a flije.^ That Chiuicer did not take very seriously the claims of the alchemists, the Canon s Yeoman^s Tale may bear witness. It must be remembered that the majority even of the more intelligent of Chaucer's contemporaries, and of his successors for several generations to come, believed firmly in both of these so-called sciences. Of the supernatural in myth and story, Chaucer makes, of course, large use in his works; and usually he is artist enough to give to the supernatural the air of verisimili- tude ; but once, at least, when telling in the Legend of Dido of the supernatural mist by which ^neas was made invisible on his entrance into Carthage, he feels called upon to screen himself from any charge of undue credulity : — / can nat seyn if that it he possible, But Venus hadde him niaked invisible, — Thus seith the book, withouteu any lees.^ That Chaucer was capable of questioning some of the tenets even of orthodox Christianity, we shall see a little later on. Coupled with this tendency to skepticism is a notice- able tinge of radicalism. This, again, must not be exag- gerated ; Chaucer was no revolutionist; he had no desire to subvert the existing order of things, either civil or ecclesiastical. But the speech of the transformed hag at the close of the Wife of Batlis Tale^ and the balade of Gentilesse, betray a strong leaven of democracy, which is further evident in the lively and sympathetic interest in the lower classes shown not infrequently iu the Canterbury Tales. Even more radical in its ^ Chaucer expresses a similar opinion in his Treatise on the Astrolabe, 2. 4. nS-ni : ' Natheles, thise hen ohservauiicez of judicial niatiore and rj'tes of payens. in which my sj)irit ne hath no feith.' ^ Legend, 1020-1022. 26 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER tendency is the discussion of celibacy, tlmt cherished ideal of mediaeval Catholicism, found in the Wife of BatJis Prijlogue^ and touched on again in the Honk's Prologue and in the Epilogue to the Nutis Priest''s Tale. Though it has been a comparatively easy matter to discover Chaucer's attitude towards many of the inter- ests of his day, it is difficult, pei'haps impossible, to determine with any exactness his attitude towards Clu'is- tianity and the Catholic Church ; for of his inmost con- victions and hopes Chaucer, like other modest men, speaks but seldom, and with reserve. We must not be misled, as were the reformers of Henry VIII's time, by the bitterness of Chaucer's attacks on the corruptions of the Church, into classing him with Wiclif as one of the forerunners of tlie Reformation. A contemporary writer of unquestioned orthodoxy, John Gower, ful- minates with equal bitterness, if with less effectiveness, against precisely the same abuses ; and Langland, who in his treatment of the clergy is at one witli Chaucer and Gower, is always a faithful son of the Church. From a great mass of inde]iendent testimony, we are compelled to the belief that Chaucer's picture of wholesale cor- ruption is but little overdrawn. It is entirely conceiv- able that Chaucer, like Gower, should, while remaining loyal to the Churcli, deplore its abuses. If Chaucer has shown us unworthy churchmen, has he not also ])ainted, with all a})parent sympathy, the portrait of an ideal pastor, the ' povre persoun of a toun ' ? As regards the vital doctrines of Christianity, Chaucer maintains a discreet silence, from which nothing can be inferred one way or the otlier. Professor Lounsbury has made much ^ of the opening lines of the Prologue to the Legend of Good Woinen : — ^ Studies in Chaw.er, 2. 512. The whola of the section entitled ' Cbau- CHAUCER 27 A thousand tymes have I herd men telle, That ther is joye in Iieven, and peyne in belle ; Anil I acorde wel that hit is so; Pmt natheU's, yit wot I wol also, That ther nis noon dwelling in tliis contree, That either hath in heven or hello yhe, Ne may of hit non other weyes witen, But as he hath herd seyd, or fouude hit writen. This Professor Lounsbury considers a skeptical utter- ance. But taken in the light of its context, the passadulously removing the beams from his own eyes, he will give to the world whatever of good he can, and see to it that his own small influence be an influence towards righteousness ; for the rest, he will leave the sal- vation of the world in the competent hands of the God 30 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER who has created it. Chaucer has said all this himself in what is one of his noblest uttei*ances, the Balade de Bon Conseyl^ to which has been given the title Truth. Tempest thee noglit al croked to redresse, In trust of hir that turneth as a bal: Gret rests stant in litel besinesse; And eek be war to sporne ageyn an al; Stryve noght, as doth the crokke with tlie wal. Daunte thyself, that dauntest otheres dede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede. That thee is sent, receyve in buxumnesse, The vvrastling for this worlde axeth a fal. Her nis non hoom, her nis but wildernesse; P''orth, pilgrim, forth ! Forth, beste, out of thy stal ! Know thy coiitree, look up, thank God of al; Hold the hye wey, and l;it thy gost tliee lede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede. That is the Catholic spirit ; that is the spirit that actu- ated Chaucer's life. Reformers may rail at this spirit as they please, but they cannot prove that it is weak or base. One other line from the balade entitled Truth, not included in the two stanzas given above, must be quoted for the light which it throws on Chaucer's temper. It is the line with which the poem opens : — Flee fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse. In the Prologue to Sir T7topns, it will be remem- bered, when the Host calls upon Chaucer to tell his tale, he accuses him of riding ever with his eyes upon the ground, and urges him to approach nearer and look up merrily : — ' lie semetli elvisli by his contenannce, For unto no wight dooth he daliaunce.' Again, in the House of Fainc^ the eagle says to Chan- cier : — CHAUCER 31 < And noglit only fro fer contree, That ther no tyding cointh to thee, But of tiiy verray neygliebores, That dwollen almost at tliy dores, Thou herest neither that ue this.' The trait to which these passages all point is one highly characteristic of Chaucer's nature, a certain aloofness from the world of men and things. Though keenly in- terested, he never seems to have felt himself a part of it. To the great peasants' revolt of 1381, the dramatic denouement of which in the streets of London he may well have witnessed with his own eyes, he refers but once, and then only playfully in three lines.^ Though the battle of Poitiers was fought in Chaucer's lifetime, and though he himself had seen service in the fields of France, he never sings the glory of the English arms. Closely attached as he was to the royal court, he never speaks of the great di])lomatic struggle which was being fought out between England and the Pope. Chaucer was living the while in another realm, the i*ealm of fantasy. Not that he felt It necessary, like Wordsworth, to retire to the solitude of some Dove Cottage ; fond as he was of wandering in the fields of a May morning, Chaucer would have been quite miserable in Dove Cottage. He lived the major part of his life in London, and held important offices under the Crown. We have every reason to believe that he discharged the duties of these offices faithfully and efficiently. Neither did he close his eyes to things about him ; few English poets have observed the ways of men so minutely and so accurately as he. He could be a practical man of affairs, when thnt was necessary ; he was doubtless the most charming of companions over a glass of canary or old sack. But by temperament and choice he held aloof, not an actor but 1 B. 4584-458(5. 32 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER a spectator, sympathizing but not sharing in the inter- ests of the world. lie was in the world, but not of it ; and for this very reason, perhaps, he continues to live when the more active and conspicuous men of his age have become but a shadow and a name. The intellectual curiosity and openness of mind which mark Chaucer's attitude towards the workl in general are equally evident in his more exclusively lit- erary activity. Never a profound scholar,^ even when measured by the standards of his own day, he was, none the less, an omnivorous reader, and dipped more or less deeply into a great variety of books on widely diverse subjects. Professor Lounsbury has noticed the significant fact that a large number of his citations and allusions are drawn from the earlier pages of a work. In his reading, as in his writing, his curiosity was ever leading him into new courses ; after the first flush of interest was spent, he found it hard to hold himself down to the completion of a work begun with all enthu- siasm. In his mastery of foreign languages, too, the same trait is discoverable. Though he read Latin, French, and Italian fluently, he is often guilty, when held down to the stricter work of translation, of rather serious blunders. It is but fair to remember, however, that in the absence of adequate lexicons and gram- mars, strict verbal accuracy was not easy of attain- ment. Similarly, when we catch him at error in an allusion, it must be remembered that books were not then, as now, readily accessible, and that even a pains- taking scholar, which Chaucer certainly was not, was obliged to trust to memory much more than was al- ways safe. Boccaccio, who made much greater jueten- sions to scholarship than Chaucer, was capable of such ^ See Professor Lounsbury 's chapter on ' The Learning of Chau- cer,' Stii lies in Chaucer, 2. 109-426. CHAUCER 33 a hybiiil coinage as Filostrato^ the title of his Troi- his romance, which he took to mean 'laid low by love;* anil the ponderously learned Gower was not aware that Tullius and 'Cithero' were one and the same pei'- son.^ In view of this last slip, it may surely be for- given to Chaucer if he similarly fails to recognize the identity of lulus and Ascanius.^ Chaucer's works abound, indeed, with inaccuracies and with shocking anachronisms; but so, for that matter, do the works of Shakespeare. Unfortunately, however, Chaucer has a thoroughly medieval love of parading his learning. It is one of the few serious blemishes in his art that he cannot refrain from long scholastic digressions, in which he heaps up authority on authority, and even suffers his personages to interrupt a passionate speech with an explanation of some obscure term needlessly introduced.^ But if Chaucer, despite his parade of learning, did not read with scholarly thoroughness, he read with the fine discrimination of the literary critic. Nothing can be more untrue to Chaucer than to speak of him, as was long the fashion, as an untutored genius, ' warbling his native wood-notes wild,' attaining his artistic effects by mere happy blunder or lucky intuition. He was a conscious critic of his own work and of the work of others. There is good reason to believe that he beg.in the series of ' tragedies ' known to us as the Monies Tale^ in all good faith as a serious work of art ; but later, when he incorporated the unfinished series into the Canterhury Tales^ he had already recognized its essential literary badness, and through the mouths of the Host and the Knight conveys his own just criti- 1 Confessio Amantis, 4. 2r>48 ; 7. 1588-1698. 2 House oj" Fame, 1T7-17S. « Troilus and Criseyde, 5. 897-899. 34 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER cism of the work. Similarly, he was not long in dis- covering the inherent flaw in the scheme of the Legend of Good Women, and abandoning it as a mistaken experiment.^ The exquisite burlesque of Sir Thopas and the Host's common-sense criticism thereon show tliat he had accurately discerned the literary extrava- gances of the widely popular romance of chivalry. Still higher proof of his fine literary taste is furnished by the process of selection and rejection, alteration and addition, with which he utilizes the works which serve him as sources for his compositions. The eclectic character of Chaucer's artistic procedure is strikingly shown in the variety of his experiments in versification. Metrically, to be sure, his range is very limited ; he employs normally only the iambic rhythm ; and, save in Sir Thopas,'^ his measure is always either tetrameter or pentameter, though ample variety is attained by skillful handling of the pauses, by not infrequent substitutions of trochee or dactyl for the normal iambus, by large use of the feminine ending, and by various drawing out of the sense from one verse into another. It is in stanza form that Chaucer experi- mented widely. Nine tenths or more of his verse com- position is in one of three stanzas, — the octosyllabic couplet, characteristic of his earliest or French period, though reappearing in the House of I*^am,e ; the rime royal, or seven-line stanza of Troilus and Criseyde, which belongs in general to the second or Italian pei'iod ; and the heroic couplet, in which was written his matur- est work. The last two of these stanzas, of which the first continued to be widely employed until Shake- speare's youth, and the second is rivaled only by blank 1 Cf. below, p. U\ - Further exception sliniilil, perluips, \m made of two stanzns in Anelida and Arcite (lines 272-2SU, 3o3-341), where the pentameter is broken up by iuterual lihios. CHAUCER 35 verse in use and popularity, Chaucer was the first to introduce into English literature. In his mastery of all three he has never been surpassed. The minor poems display several other stanzas. If the rimes of the seven- line stanza are repeated through three or four succes- sive stanzas, we get the balade form used by Chaucer so effectively in Truth, in Gentilesse., and in Lack of Stcnclfastness. In the A. B. C. and in the Jllonk's Tale appears an eight-line stanza, with rime-scheme ahabbcbc, which Chaucer apparently abandoned as less jiliahle than the seven-line stanza of the rime royal. This stanza, with the addition of a final alexandrine riming c, becomes the famous S[)enserian stanza of the Faerie Queene. The Complaint to His Lady is little more than an exercise in versification. The poem begins with two stanzas of the rime royal ; then shifts into the terza rima of Dante, employed here for the first time^m English verse, and ends in a ten-line stanza with rime-scheme aahaahcddc. The complaint inserted into Anelida and Arcite is a highly artificial arrangement of varying stanzas, with strophe and answering antistrophe. Still another artificial form borrowed from France is the triple roundel entitled Merciles Beaute, with wliich should be grouped the charming roundel introduced into the Parliumevt of Fowls. When it is remembered that in some of these artificial verse-forms it is necessary to find twelve words riming with the same sound, and that in a few instances the number is yet greater, Chaucer's mastery of the art of riming is ap])arent ; for seldom are we conscious of any constraint due to the exigencies of rime. No less remarkable is tlie breadth and variety of Chaucer's range, wlien his work is looked at from the standpoint of its content. Preciuineutly, of course, his 36 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER fame rests on his power as a narrator, the power to tell an interesting story supremely well. His narrative method is characterized by straightforward directness antl simplicity. Ordinarily, his stories have a single plot, one main thread of interest, which is taken up at the beginning and followed without interruption to the end. This is the method of Boccaccio and of mediaeval story-telling in general ; it is the method which Wil- liam Morris adopted in his Earthly Paradise. The method of the modern writer of short stories is quite different from this, since his purpose is usually not so much to narrate a series of hapj^enings as to create a single strong impression. His story will not begin at the beginning, and will seldom be conducted to its logi- cal end ; it will consist of a series of striking situations, presented not necessarily in their chronological order, with just so much of narrative as may be necessary to bind these situations together and make them under- standable. To this modern method Chaucer approxi- mates in the Pardoner s Tale, and in lesser measure in the Ii^nif//it''s Tale,^ from which the reader carries away not so much the recollection of a narrative as the vivid memory of a few important scenes. Even when Chaucer clings more closely to the mediaeval method of direct narration, he achieves a somewhat similar effect by a subtle shifting of emphasis. If one compares his stories of Virginia and of Constance with their originals, it may be seen how, by the addition of a few skillful touches, the interest of narrative has been subordinated to the strong impression of a noble character. With what admirable skill Chaucer could handle a more com- plicated plot, in which two independent intrigues are made to furnish eacii the catastrophe for the other, may be seen in the conduct of the Miller s Tale. 1 Cf. what is said of these tales below, pp. 172, 227-230. CHAUCER 37 No less brilliant is Chaucer's art in description. From the merry May morning, gay with singing of birds and sounding of the huntsman's horn, in the Book of the Duchess to the matchless series of por- traits in the Prologue to the Cuntcrhury Tales^ the vividness and variety of Chaucer's pictures are un- snri)assed. It were idle to enumerate them, for the reader's memory will call up a score of unforgettable scenes. What is the KnigJit's Tale but a splendidly pictured tapestry, full of color and motion? Particu- larly remarkable in these descriptions is their scope and breadth. There is much more of definiteness than of vagueness in Chaucer's descriptive method ; yet the mind is seldom wearied with a confusing catalogue of details. A few significant details give exactness to the picture, while suggesting a whole realm of things be- yond. It is as though a veil were suddenly withdrawn, letting the scene burst instantly into view. Lowell has called attention to this quality of suggestiveness in the description at the beginning of the Clerk's Tale: — Ther is, at the west syde of Itaille, Donii at the rote of Vesvihis the colde, A lusty playne, habiindaut of vitaille, Wher many a tour and toun thou mayst biholde, That founded were in tyuie of fadres olde, And many another delitable siglite, And Saluces this noble contree highte. Though not primarily a reflective poet, Chaucer is no less a master in this division of his art. Illustra- tions may be drawn from among his minor poems, and even more from among the moralizing passages of Troilns and the Cantcrhury Talcs. The House of Fame, too, is essentially a work of reflection, though clothed in the form of an allegorical narrative. Unfortunately, Chaucer never wrote a drama ; but 38 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER that he might have heen, had the dramatic form been developed in his time, one of the foremost of English dramatists, there can be no manner of doubt. A master of the art of characterization, skillful in his handling of dialogue, delighting in action, and keenly alive to the value of effective situation and climax, above all a master of constructive art, he is a dramatist in all but the fact. Evident in many of the Canterhiiry Tales, and still more manifest in the story of the pilgrimage itself, this dramatic power reaches its full- est expression in Troilus and Criseyde^ a work which is better dramatically than Shakespeare's play on the same theme. The five books into which the poem is disposed correspond accurately to the five acts of the drama; the action rises to a climax in the third book, and falls to a catastrophe in the fifth. The poem con- sists of a series of dramatic scenes ; and the story is carried forward almost entirely by means of dialogue. The characterization of Crise^^de is as subtle as any- thing in Shakesj^eare ; and Pandarus is hardly less remarkable. In virtue of this work alone, Chaucer has an unquestionable right to be considered as the forerunner of the great dramatic literature of Eliza- beth and James. After considering the range of Chaucer's ]iower in narrative and dramatic art, it is surprising to find liow limited is Iiis power as a lyrist. Though in the Pri- oress's Tale, in the Lawyer's tale of Constance, and in the Booh of the Duchess there is a distinctly lyrical note, Chaucer seldom enters the domain of the lyric ]n-oper. The best of his short })oems, such as Truth, Gentilesse, and The Former Age, are reflective rather than lyrical, while the love poems, though charming in their way, are too conventional and artificial to touch us deeply. Almost alone in its fresh spontane- CHAUCER 39 ity, its authentically lyric quality, stands the roundel sung by the choir of birds at tiie end of the Parliu' merit of F^oicls. Why this absence of lyric power, it is hard to say. In tlie age of Elizabeth dramatic and lyric went hand in hand. The fact must merely be recorded as one of the limitations in Chaucer's genius. The variety and breadth of Chaucer's art shows itself again in his wide register of tone. For illustra- tion one need not go beyond the limits of the Ccinter- hur}j Tales. There is the romantic idealism of the Kn'ujht's Tale and the high religious idealism of the Prioress's Tale side by side with the Zolaesque realism of the Miller and the Reeve. The Wife of Bath's prologue is brutally frank in its realism ; her tale is a graceful tale of faerie. The delightful extrava- ganza of Chanticleer and Partlet is introduced by a realistic genre painting of the poor widow's cottage, worthy of Teniei's or Gerard Dou. In both of these manners Chaucer seems equally at home. The domi- nant tone in the Canterhury Tales, as in Chaucer's work as a whole, is that of humor ; but Chaucer's humor is as protean in its variety as any other of his qualities. It ranges from broad farce and boisterous horse-i^lay in the tales of the Miller and the Summoner to the sly insinuations of the JCnight's Tale and the infinitely graceful burlesque of Sir Thopas. Every in- termediate stage between these extremes is represented, the most chai*acteristic mean between the two being found, perhaps, in the tale of the Nun's Priest. Tne only constant element in Chaucer's humor is its kind- liness, its healthiness, its spontaneous freshness. With a keen sense of humor is usually joined, as in Thackeray and Dickens, a deep susceptibility to the pathetic, and Chaucer is no exception to the rule ; but, unlike Dickens and Thackeray, he knows the delicate 40 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER line which separates pathos from sentimentality, and over this line he never steps. Troilus as he eagerly watches for the returning form of Cressid, Arcite taking his last leave of his kinsman and his love, Dorigen as she goes to keep her terrible tryst, Constance comforting her little son, Virginius dooming his daughter to the death that shall vindicate her honor, Griselda preparing for the wedding feast of the rival who is to supplant her, above all the matchless story of the murdered schoolboy singing his Alma Redemptoris — these show the touch of pathos in its purest form, and the list might be indefinitely extended. In any one of these instances a lesser poet would have become sentimental. To the sublimer heights of tragedy Chaucer rarely ascends. Though the Pardoner's Tale moves us to tragic pity and fear, it does this rather by its accessories — the dreadful plague, the mysterious veiled figure, the suddenness of its catastrophe — than by an^^ working out of inevitable moral law. Its effect is not so much tliat of tragedy as of superb melodrama. Chaucer called his Troilus and Criseyde a 'tragedie,' and he has handled his theme in the spirit of tragedy as the JNIiddle Ages understood the term. The story moves forward relent- lessly to an ever impending doom. But the poem has not the intensity of great tragedy. Its effect is rather a blending of pathos and tragic irony. Troilus has sought and achieved a great happiness which turns in his grasp to the bitterness of ashes. So it must ever be, Chaucer declares, with the 'false felicity' of temporal joy. It is Chaucer's constant sense of the irony of life, of the mock- ery which our ultimate achievement casts on rosy expec- tation, that dominates his more serious thought. This irony is most often a comic irony; but at times, as in Troilus or the Pardoner's Talc, it becomes essentially tragic. CHAUCER 41 What is this world ? what askelh men to have ? Now with his K)ve, now in his colde grave AUone, withouten any coinpanye. Tho autlior of tlieso lines was surely capable of being serious; there are few lines in our literature more preg- nant with the tragedy of life. But this note is never long sustained ; where possible, it is avoided altogether. Cai)able of seriousness, Chaucer has deliberately chosen to portray the world through the medium of comedy. I woot myself best how I stonde, are Chaucer's words when he refuses to compete for the favors of Lady Fame. I, for one, am ready to believe that Chaucer knew his own powers best, and am unwilling to quarrel with him for his choice of the comic spirit ; for comedy such as his constitutes a ' criticism of life ' as true witiiin its limits as that of * high seriousness ' and the 'grand style.' Of Chaucer's style it will not do to talk at great longtli, for its quality can be felt much better than it can be analyzed. It is so delicate, indeed, that any elaborate analysis seems in the nature of an imperti- nence. It is characterized preeminently by its simpli- city. Though for his metre's sake the poet afPects a slight archaism in the preservation of the final e, which was already beginning to disappear, his words are the words of every-day life. His sentences are short and loose, simple in their structure, free from awkward in- versions and from any studied balance or antithesis. As his diction is simple, so is his thought. In his later work, at least, there is an almost complete absence of tlie strained conceits, the far-fetched metaphors, and elaborate puns, which mar much of Shakespeare's work ; and this is the more remarkable when one remembers Chaucer's reverence for the authority of 42 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Petrarch. Once in the FrcDihUn^s Tale^ he finds him- self betrayed into an overwrought metaphor : — For tli'orisonte hath reft the soniie his light. Instead of canceling the line, he lets it stand, and adds : — This is as uiuche to seye as it was night. To read Chaucer is to listen to the charming, gracious conversation of a cultured gentleman who is also a poet. At times his language is as terse and pregnant as any in Shakespeare. Such is the line in the Knighfs Tale which shows us The sniyler with the knyf under the cloke. But ordinarily he has leisure to give his thouglit full expression. He has ' the power of diffiisicm without being diffuse.' His stories tell themselves away with- out apparent effort, even without apparent art, without hurry, but without delay. A povre widwe, somdel stope in age, Was wliylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, stonding in a dale. This widwe, of which I telle you my tale — There is nothing remarkable in these lines ; but they are the very essence of literature, and no one can resist their charm. If Chaucer's st3de is marked by naturalness and simplicity, let no one suppose that it is a careless style. Artless as his lines seem, they are full of that high- est art which effaces itself. In his perfect finish, his unassuming elegance, Chaucer is essentially Gallic, one may almost say Hellenic. With all his simplicity, there is a quiet energy, a sureness of touch, a delicacy of perception, which betray the master mind. Above all, there is in Chaucer's style, as in the man himself, CHAUCER 43 a sanity and poise, a calm equanimity, which render it peculiarly grateful to the ears of our modern world, wearied with much wild talking. No one will pretend, I suppose, that Chaucer is a poet of the first rauk. He is not a great prophet like Dante, with a burning message which he must deliver ; only rarely does he move one's whole emotional and moral nature as does Shakespeare. Though sharing in the fresli spontaneity which makes the Homeric poems a perpetual solace, he has not Homer's majesty ; nor does lie attain to the dignity and elegance of Virgil. As a comedian he will hardly rank with Cervantes and IVIoliere. In intellect and in art he is inferior to all these ; but among poets of the second rank his posi- tion is high. In the list of English poets other than Shakespeare, Milton is the only one who may be held to surpass him; and between two men so dissimilar in their powers one will hesitate to determine the preem- inence. The qualities which make for Chaucer's greatness have already been reviewed in the preceding pages, and will be considered again in more detail as they mani- fest themselves in individual works, in the chapters which follow ; but the quality which distinguishes him preeminently is his sanity and poise. With the possible exception of Shakespeare, thei'e is no English poet of power even commensurate with Chaucer's, who is so eminently sane. We are living in an age which is rest- less, in many respects unhealthy, insane. On one side of us is the dull sway of materialism, commercialism, money-getting ; on the other side we still hear the fran- tic protests of a Carlyle and a Ruskin, the revolution- ary rliapsodies of a Byron or a Shelley, we listen to the j)ersistent self-analyses of a Wordswortli or a Coleridge, or to the beautiful but morbid imaginings of a Keats ; 44 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER or, coming nearer to the present day, we hearken to the strange dreamings of a Maeterlinck or the unsparing ieonoclasms of an Ibsen. I woukl not for a moment be tliought insensible to the greatness of these men ; I insist merely that with all their varied greatness there is infused a strain which is morbid and unhealthy. The eighteenth century had sanity without poetry ; the nineteenth had poetry without sanity ; Chaucer, like the great Greeks, combined both. We turn to Chaucer not primarily for moral guid- ance and sjiiritual sustenance, nor yet that our emotions may be deeply and powerfully moved ; we turn to him rather for refreshment, that our eyes and ears may be opened anew to the varied interest and beauty of the world around us, that we may come again into healthy living contact with the smiling green earth and with the hearts of men, that we may shake off for a while ' the burthen of the mystery of all this unintelligible world,' and share in the kindly laughter of the gods, that we may breathe the pure, serene air of equanimity. CHAPTER III THE IIOMAUNT OF THE ROSE It is thoroug-lily in accord with what we know of Chau- cer's innate modesty that his first serious undertaking in literature shoukl have been a translation rather than an original work ; and surely no better exercise than that of translation could have been found to develop a technical mastery of poetic form. The poem which Chaucer chose to translate was the widely popular Moinan de la I^ose, a work which offered a broad and varied scope to the young poet's powers of expression, and was, moreover, thoroughly congenial to his tastes and sympathies. Tliough the Chaucerian Homaunt of the Rose ex- tends to the no mean length of 7G98 lines, it reproduces less than a third of its French original, for The French the Roman de la Rose contains in Meon's p°^°^- edition 22,047 lines of octosyllabic couplets. Of these, lines 1-5169 and 10716-125G4 alone are translated. But if the English translation is only a fragment of its original, Chaucer's familiarity with the whole poem, and the influence which it exerted upon him, are so great, that the poem in its entirety is of the first importance to the student of Chaucer's work. The Roman de la Rose is the work not of a single author, but of two authors, of two successive genera- tions, utterly unlike in their ideals and temperaments. Of the first of these, Guillaume de Lorris, whose work extends to line 40G8, we know very little ; and for that little we are indebted to the second i^oet, Jean de Mean, 46 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER wlio continued his work. From the statements of the younger author we are able to calcuLite that Guillaume must have been born about the year 1200, and that the composition of the poem must have fallen between the years 1225 and 1230. His work is supposed to have been terminated by his early death. Of the place of his birth and of his residence we do not know. The little town of Lorris is a few miles east of Orleans ; and Guillaume's name may indicate that as his birth- place ; but we cannot be sure. If, as seems probable, he was a clerk, his education may have been received either at Orleans or at Paris. His dialect shows that he lived in the north of France ; but in the absence of any critical edition of the Honian, it is impossible to be more exact. Of Jean de Meun, who forty years after Guillaume's death undertook the continuation of his unfinished work, we know somewhat more. Jean Clopiuel was born at Meun-sur-Loire, aud died before November 6, 1305, on which date his comfortable house in Paris was deeded to the Dominicaus of the rue St. Jacques. Since it can be shown from internal evidence that his continuation of the Roman was written between 12G8 and 1277, M. Langlois fixes on the year 1240 as the approximate date of his birth. From his own statement in another work we learn that his life was an honorable and prosperous one, and that it had been his fortune to serve ' les plus granz genz de France.' He was an excellent scholar, widely read in Latin and French, and the author of several works, among which may be mentioned a trans- lation of the Conf^olation of Philosophy of Boethins, a book to which he is deeply indebted in the Moman de la Rose. Two men more dissimilar in character than the authors of the Roman it would be hard to find. THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 47 Guillaume is essentially an idealist, a purist, clierisliing the fair ideal of Middle Age chivalry, living in a world of dream and shadows. To him love is the great in- iluence which ennobles and purifies the human heart, woman is a superior, well-nigh perfect being, little short of the divine, in whose service man may well expend all in him that is best and highest. Plis poem is a love story and a courtly treatise on the art of love. Five years and more ago, he tells us, as he lay on his bed one May morning, he dreamed a wondrous dream. In this dream he wandered out throuuh the flowerinp; fields, with the birds singing all about him, and catne at last to a great garden all walled about, the garden of love. In the midst of the garden, hard by the foun- tain of Narcissus, stands a goodly rose tree, on which grows a bud which the i)oet longs earnestly to pluck. This is the allegorical device by which the jDoet shadows forth his love for the lady of his desire. The porter at the gate of the garden is Idleness. The dramatis personoi are, save the poet himself, such abstractions as Largesse, Fair- Welcome, Evil-Tongue, Jealousy, and Danger, or haughtiness. When allegory is but a literary device, it is always dangerous ; but Guillaume thought in terms of allegory, and his allegorical per- sonages, if shadowy, are none the less true and effec- tive. Guillaume de Lorris is not a great poet ; but he is a good poet, and one can hardly fail to enjoy the quiet loveliness of his work. fican de Mcun is of quite a different stamp, so differ- ent, indeed, that it seems a mere caprice that he should have undertaken the continuation of such a })oeni as the Homan de la RoHe. If Guillaume de Lorris is a conservative and an idealist, Jean de Meun is a realist and a revolutionist. To him the chivnlric ideal is mere nonsijnse. In his democratic creed noble birth is but an 48 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER accident ; personal worth is the only patent of true no- bility. Woman is a vain and fickle creature, a snare for men's feet. Love is but a game played for the prize of sensual gratification. In crossing the line which divides the work of the two authors, the reader phmges into a totally different atinosjihere. Jean de Mean has kcj)t to the machinery of Guillanme's poem; the same allegori- cal pei'sonages pass before us ; the quest of the rose still remains the ostensible theme of the poem ; but the ])()et uses the framework merely as a device for the introduc- tion of his own ideas. There are long digressions on various topics, philosophical and theological, wearisome because of their jjrolixity, but excellent in their rea- soning, and terse and effective in their diction. There are bitter tirades against the frailty of woman, and merciless attacks against the corruption of the clergy. Jvun de Meun's method in his satii'ieal passages is of ]>e- culiar interest to the student of Chaucer; for it is the very method so effectively emplo^'ed in the Canterbury Talcs. In the person of False-Seeming, one of the most masterful of Jean de jMeun's chai'ucterizations and the l)rototype of Chaucer's Friar and Pardoner, a friar himself is made to expose, prondly and boastfully, the iniquities of his order ; while in the person of the Du- enna, who becomes in Chaucer's hands the genial Wife of Bath, is exhibited all the sensuality and cunning craft which constitutes Jean de Meun's idea of woman. In Guillaume de Lorris one is conscious of a sweet and noble personality, coupled with a fairly true sense of artistic form and poetical exj^ression. One cannot read a thousand lines of Jean Clopinel without realiz- ing that he has to do with a masterful intellect. His personality is not lovable, but commanding. Unques- tionably inferior to Guillaume in artistic form, — for liis work seems often a mere hodge-podge of ideas, — he THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 49 as unquestionably surpasses liim in range and in intel- lectual scope. For the graceful delicacy of Guillaume's dii'tion, Jean de Meun offers a nervous, incisive, yet polished style, which is as superior to that of Guil- lannie as is Shakespeare to Spenser. This strange composite poem exerted in its own cen- tiuy, and in the two centuries following, an enormous influence on the literature of Northern Europe, and no inconsiderable influence south of the Alps. Its wide circulation is attested by the fact that nearly two hun- / dred manuscript copies have survived to the present | day, many of which arc found in England and in | Germany. It was eaidy translated into Flemish and into Italian, while somewhat later appeared the Eng- lisli version which is the subject of this chapter. In France it was kept before the public eye by its bitter antagonists no less than by its enthusiastic admirers. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that for two hun- dred 5'ears no important French author escaped its influence. In England its vogue was little less exten- i sive. Without its suggestion Chaucer would not have I been Chaucer, and English literature would have fol- j lowed a different channel. The reasons for this widespread po])ularity and far- reaching influence are not hard to fathon). The Ro- man is not, as is sometimes asserted, a great original creation. Guillaume did not invent the dream-vision form nor the use of allegory, any more than Petrarch invented the sonnet; the revolutionary doctrines of Jean de Meun did not spring unbegotten from his own brain. Those who will take the trouble to rend M. Ernest Langlois's monograph' on the subject will find thnt every significnnt feature of tlie ]K)em is paralleled in earlier works. The great achievement of Guillaume ■^ Origir.es et Sources du Korr.an de la Rose, Pariss, 1S90. 50 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER I de Lorris and Jean de Meim is that they assimilated I and then crystallized into masterful poetic expression I a literai-y form and a set of ideas which were already current and popular. Without Petrarch the sonnet might still have survived as a literary form ; but it could hardly have achieved the great vogue which it attained through his authority. It is a general law in literature that widespread and long-continned j^opu- larity is possible only when an idea already popular receives permanent expression at the hands of a master. The lloman de la Rose was immediately recognized as such a masterpiece, and became the medium through which was effectively transmitted an influence which might otherwise have spent itself ineffectually in a couple of generations. Another source of its wide ap- peal may be found in the fact of its dual and diverse authorship. The poem took its rise just before the dawn of the Renaissance. During the centuries which immediately followed, two tendencies, the mediaeval and the modern, were existing side by side. To those who clung to the old ideals, Guillaume de Lorris made a strong appeal ; while the free-thinkers of the Renais- sance could not but recognize a kindred soul in Jean de Meun. The poem was wide enough in its scope to appeal to all. Chaucer, for example, who exhibits in his own development the transition from the medi- seval to the modern, was first attracted by Guillaume de Lorris, and only later felt the full influence of Jean de Meun. The chief interest of the Roman de la Rose for the modern student lies in this its historical significance as an expression of the varying ideals of the later Middle Ages ; but it has its absolute interest as well. Any one who will read the poem through, either in the French original or in the excellent English translation by Mr- THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 51 F. S. Ellis,^ will find many passages of vivid and charm- ing description, of keen analysis, of telling satire, of much vital liuman interest, and of true literary power, to repay him for the many hours which even a huriied reading will demand." The English translation of the Homan de la 7?o.se, which is preserved in a single manuscript ^hg English in the Ilnnterian collection at Glasgow, was Version. first included among Chaucer's works in Thynne's edi- tion of 1532,^ and was until 1870 universally accepted as a genuine work of Chaucer. Since that date the question of its authenticity has been one of the most vexed problems of Chaucerian scholarshiia ; and even to-day scholars are not in full accord as to the solution. That Chaucer made a translation of some portion at least of the I^oman, we know on Chaucer's own author- ity. In the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women (B version, 328-381), the god of love says to Chaucer: — For in pleyn text, withouten nede of g-lose, Thou hast transhited the Eomaiince of the Rose, That is an heresye ageyns my lawe, And makest wjse folk fro me withdrawe.'* ^ London, 1900. (The Temple Classics Series, J. M. Dent & Co. 3 vols.) - The best editions of the French text are those of M. M^on, Paris, 1H14, and F. Mit-hel, Paris, 1864. A new edition, which will doubtless supersede these, is pronii.sed by M. Ernest Langlois. The best literary study of the Roman is that by M. Langlois in the second volume of llistoire de la Langne et de la Litterature franraise, published under the direction of M. Petit de Julleville, Paris, lSi>G. Shorter and less de- tailed, but highly sugg-estive, is the chapter devoted to the Eoiiian in La Litt/rulure /ranraise au Moyen Age, by Gaston Paris, Paris, ISDO. Reference has been made in a previous note to M. Langlois's Oriyines et Sources dit Romdn de la Hose, Paris, IS'.K). ** Thynne printed from a manuscript now lost, which, though some- what more accurate than the Hunterian MS., does not differ markedly from it. * Lydgrate, moreover, in the Fall of Princes, mentions the translation among other works of Chaucer : — 52 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Two questions at once su^^gest themselves : Did Chau- cer ever complete his translation ? Is the fragmentary translation which we possess the work of Chaucer ? The first of these questions may be pretty safely answered in the negative. In the first place, the translation of so long a poem is a laborious and tedious task; and Chau- cer, as we well know, was only too likely to weary of an undertaking before it was half completed. In the second place, had so popular a poet as Chaucer completed a translation of so popular a poem as the Roman dc la Hose, it is highly im])robable that the work would have been allowed to perish.^ The first scholar to raise the second question, that as to Chaucer's authorship of the existing English ver- sion, was the late Professor F. J. Child of Harvard, in a communication to the Athenceum for December 3, 1870 : ' I may add, that it will take a great deal more than the fact that the Rojnaunt of the Rose is printed in old editions, to make me believe that it is Chaucer's. The rhymes are not his, and the style is not his, unless he changed both extraordinarily as he got on in life. The translation is often in a high degree slovenl}^ The part after the break, from v. 5814 on, seemed to me, on a recent comparison with the French, better done than the middle ; and as the Bialacoil of the earlier portion is here called Fair-welcomyng,^;er/iaps this part belongs to a different version.' Professor Child did not pursue the question any fur- ther ; and it was several years before any detailed argu- And notably [he] did his businesso By great auiso his vvittes to dinpose, To translate the liomaynl oj the Rose. Quoted by Skeat, 1. 23. ^ It is, pi'rlitips. worthy of remark that the Bomnunt of the Hose is not metitiontid in the list of works of evil tendency which Chancer re]>i>nts of having written in the ' retractation' at the end of the 1' arson's Tale, THE ROMAUNT OF THE ROSE 53 niont against the Chaucerian authorship appeared in ])iiiit. It was nearly twenty yeai'S before the impor- tant hint contained in his last sentence received fur- ther elaboration. The first important document in the controversy ajjpeared from the pen of Skeat in 1880,' in which the argument ai^ainst Chaucer's authorship of the translation is based mainly on three grounds : (1) The presence in the translation of imperfect rimes, particularly the riming of words ending in -y with words ending in -ye, such as do not appear in the poet's unquestioned works ; (2) the occurrence of words which belong distinctly to a dialect more northern than that of Chaucer ; (3) differences in the vocabulary of the translation from the vocabulary of Chaucer.^ Though the argument against Chaucer's authorship of the translation did not pass unchallenged,^ nothing more of importance appeared till 1888, when it was clearly proved that Child had been right in suspecting that tlie portion of the translation which follows the break at line 5810 is not by the author of the earlier portion.' 1 C'liaucer^s Prioress's Tdle, etc., third edition, Oxford. 1S80. The essay is reprinted in the Chaucer Society's volume of Essays on Chau- cer, yiit. 4o0-451. That the question had already heen discussed is shown by Thomas Arnold's communication to The Academy, July 20, 1878, pp. (')), who argued tliat the impure rimes and northern forms were to be explained on the ground that the translation was a work of Chaucer's youth. * F. Lindner in Englische Studien, 11. 163-173. The argument is based on rime, on the ch.inge from Bialacoil to Fair-welcomyng, noticed by Cbild, and on a number of false translations in the second part. Lind- ner is not ready to attribute either section to Chaucer, but favors the first rather than the second. His article is in many particulars inv.ali- dati'd by the more thorough investigations of Kalnza. (See below.) In a review of Kaluza's work in Englische Sludieti, IS. 104-105, Lindner 54 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER In the j-^ears 1892 and 1893 the controversy reached its cuhiiination. In his /Studies in Chaucer,^ pub- lished in 1892, Professor Lounsbury combated stoutly and at great length the arguments against Chaucer's authorship of the whole translation ; and in the same year he was ably answered by Piofessor Kittredge.^ In the year following, 1893, the whole question was put upon a new footing, and all preceding ai'guments were in a measure invalidated by Professor Kaluza.^ It is unnecessary to reproduce here in detail Kalnza's argu- ments, which a serious student of the question will read for himself; his conclusions alone need detain us. Ho has shown conclusively that the existing liomaunt of the Hose consists, not, as Child guessed and Lindner proved, of two dissimilar fragments, but of three. The first (Fragment A), including lines 1-1705, contains nothing in rime, dialect, or vocabulary to prevent its attribution to Chaucer. The second (Fragment B), lines 1705-5810, is much less faithful in its following of the French text, and includes within its limits nearly all of the false rimes and northern forms which had led earlier scholars to reject the whole translation. Fragment C, lines 6811 to end, returns in method of translation and in style to the manner of Fragment A, pracefully admits his errors, and assents fully to Kalnza's position. tSee Skeat's communication to The Academy for September 8, 18S8, pp. 153, 1&4. ^ Vol. ii, pp. 3-1 fiO. Professor Lounsbury has never retreated from the position here maintained. He is, as far as the present writer knows, the only scholar who still asserts the Chaucerian authorship of the whole translation. 2 Harvard Studies and Notes in Philology and Literature, 1. 1-65. See also Skeat in The Academy for February 21. 1892, pp. 20('., 207. ^ Chaucer itnd der Sosenroman, Berlin, 1893. Kalnza hiwl previonslj commnnieated his discoveries to Furnivall, who in turn communicated them to The Academy for July .1, 1890, p. 11. See also Skeat's comran- nications to the same paper for July 19, 1890 (pp. 51, 52), and August 15, 1891 (p. 137). THE ROM AUNT OF THE ROSE 55 and oontains only a small nuniber of questionable rimes and forms. Dz\ Kaliiza reaches the conclusion that Fragments A anil C ai-e tlie work of Chaucer, and that Fragment B is the work of an unknown poet of north- ern diak'ct, who, imitating as well as he could the man- ner of Chaucer, set himself to com})lete Chaucer's unfinished work.^ The main contentions of Kaluza's study have been pretty generally accepted; and most scholars now agree that Fragment A is by Chaucer, and that Fragment B certainly is not. About Fragment C there is still much dispute, Professor Skeat declining to accept it as Chaucer's.- The present writer is inclined to agree with Kaluza in thinking it genuine.^ It may be held as fairly certain, then, that, intimate as was Chaucer's acquaintance with the whole of the Roman de la Hose, and great as was the influence it exerted upon him, he executed but a small part of his projected translation of the work, and that his unfin- ished version was later continued by some poet of Chaucer's school. It remains to ask at what period of his career Chau- cer's fragmentary translation was made. AVhile the whole of the existing translation was held as Chaucer's work, its imperfect rimes led students to attribute it ' In Essays on Chaucer, published by the Chaucer Society, pp. 075-083, Skeat assigns the dialect of Fragrneiit B to ' some county not far from the Iluniber, as Lancashire, Yorkshire, or Lincolnshire.' The date of the frajftnent ho thinks to be later than 1400 and earlier than 1440. It has recently been iirg-ed by J. H. Lang-e in Englische Studlen, 29. 397- 40.') (1901), that the author of Fragment B is Chaucer's disciple Lyd- gate. The argument is plausible, but not conclusive. Skeat has shown (Alhenoeum, June 0, 18.)(i, p. 747) that Lydgate was acquainted with Fragment A. 2 Oxford Chawcr, 1. 1-20. * The latest artenipt to prove Chaucer's authorship for the ivhole translation is that of Mi.ss Louise Pound in Modern Language Notes, 11. 92-102 (1S90). The argument, which is b;ised on the sentence-length in Chaucer's genuine poems and in the Romaunt, is hardly convincing. 56 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER to the earliest period of the poet's activity. When, on the otlier hand, the whole work was considered spuri- ous, this argument ceased to operate, and the fact that the Romaunt is mentioned in the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women in close association with the Troilus led Ten Brink to the conclusion that Chaucer's supposedly lost translation belonged to a period only slightly earlier than his Troilus.^ To this conclusion Kaluza also assents.^ Though the ques- tion probably is not capable of final proof, the present writer is inclined to hold to the earlier view, that Chau- cer's translation belongs to the period of his youth. Though the portions of the work which may be attrib- uted to Chaucer are of a high degree of excellence, easy and spirited,^ they have not the power of his niaturer work. The translation is a good one, but not a great one. There are, moreover, in Fragment C at least, a number of imperfect rimes that can be accepted as Chaucer's only on the assumption that the work is immature. Finall}', it seems inherently more probable that an undertakins: of this character should belong to the period of the poet's apprenticeship rather than to that of his developed art.* The association of the work with Troilus may be sufficiently explained as due to the similarity in the spirit of the two works.^ 1 History of English Literature (Eiig. trans.), 2. 70, 77 ; and Eng- lisrke Studien, 17. 9, 10. 2 Chaucer unci der liosettroman, 1, 2. ^ The first 1678 lines of the French poem are reprinted from Moon's edition in t^keat's Oxford Chaucer, 1. 90-1(54, parallel with Chaucer's version. The student is thns enabled to make his own comparisons between original and translation. The English version is but 27 lines longer than the French. * tekeat, apparently, continues to regard the Romaunt as an early work. Cf. the Oxford Chancer, 1. 11. ^ For the date of tlie Eonumnt, see also Koch's The Chronology of Chaucer^ s Writings (Cliaucer kjociety), pp. 12-15. CHAPTER IV THE MINOR POEMS Though among the Minor Poems of Chancer are num- bered many of his latest as well as of his earliest pro- ductions, it is convenient to treat of them together in a single chapter. Nor is the departure from the chro- nological method which such treatment involves with- out its compensating advantages ; for in their variety of theme and tone, and even more in their wide metri- cal range, they constitute an excellent introduction to Cliaucer's longer and more sustained compositions. In the following pages the Minor Poeuis are considered severally in the a])j)roximately chronological order adopted in Professor Skeat's edition. I. AN A. B. C. Chaucer's A. B. C, a 'song according to the order of the letters of the alphabet,' is merely a translation, as literal as the exigencies of rime and rhythm would ]M'rmit, of a hymn to the Virgin included in La Pele- r hinge dc la Vie Ilumalne of Guillaume de Deguille- ville, 'a Cistercian monk in the royal abbey of Chalis,' written about the year 1330. Of the date of Chaucer's translation we have no certain knowledge ; but from the clioice of subject and the manner of execution, it is safe to infer that it is among the poet's earliest works. It is merely a meritorious essay in verse compo- sition. The introductory statement in Sjieght's Chan- cer of 1602, whei-e the A. B. C. was first printed, to the effect that it was made, ' as some say, at the 58 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Request of Blanch, Ducliesse of Lancaster, as a praier for her piiuat vse, being a woman in her religion very deiiout,' is not supported by any other evidence. The verse is iambic pentameter ; the stanza contains eight lines, with the rime-scheme abahhcbc. The stanza of Cliaucer'.s original contains twelve lines of octosyllabic verse, with only two rimes. II. THE COMPLAINT TO PITY The love-lorn squire, Aurelius, in the Franldlns Tale, tried to ease his heart by making ' manye layes, soiiges, compleintes, roundels, virelayes; ' and, ai)par- entl}', in his younger days, Chaucer had done the same. Whether the unhappy love expressed in the ' com- plaint' and described again at the beginning of the Booh of the Duchess was a real and deep passion or not, we have no way of knowing. Don Quixote, when he would make himself a knight-errant complete, provided himself with a Dulcinea del Toboso whom he might serve as lady-love; and it is quite possible that when Chaucer would launch himself as a courtly ])(iet, he found it expedient to do the same. Still we nuist not assume the truth of such a hypothesis merely because the expression of this love is clothed in arti- ficial and conventional forms. Personally, I find the idea of a hopeless love, protracted through eight long years, out of harmony with the eminent sanity of Chaucer's nature. But who shall say ? We do not know the date of the Comiilaint to T'iti/, nor do we know whether or not it was original with Chaucer.^ It is a conventional love poem on the Fi-ench model, and is in all probability one of Cliau- cer's earliest extant works. It is interesting chiefly as ^ Professor Skeat's attempt to find a parallel for tke personification of Pity in the Thehais of Statins seems unnecessary. THE MINOR POEMS 59 he'uv^ probably the^earliest^jppearanee in English verse of the seven-line stanza, with rime-scheme ahahbcc, known as the rime-royal, which was later used in Troilus and Criacydc. III. THE BOOK OF THE DUCHESS The Book of the Duchess^ or the ' Deeth of Blannche the Duchesse,' as it is called in the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women, is the first of Date and Chaucer's poems to which a definite date Sources. can be assigned. In September, 1369, died the Lady Blanche, daughter of Henry, Duke of Lancaster, and first wife of Chaucer's patron, John of Gaunt; and soon after her death, we may suppose, was written the poem which celebrates her virtue and bewails her loss. John of Gaunt and his lady were both twenty-nine years old ; and if we accept the 3'ear 1340 as the approximate date of Chaucer's birth, this also was the age of the poet. Twenty-nine he was at least, perhaps older, so that if this be his first original work of any length, — and its immaturity lends credence to the belief, — Chaucer's genius was slow in its development. Keats, we remem- ber, was but twenty-six when death took him away. Chaucer's literary apprenticeship was worked out in the school of the lioman de la Hose, his translation of the poem being very likely his first serious venture into the field of letters; and the Book of the Duchet^s, like other work of his earliest period, is strongly under the influence of the allegorical love ])oetry of France. From that soui^e, directly or indii-ectly, comes the whole machinery of the poem, its dream and vision, its singing birds, its flowery meads; from tlie same source are drawn some of the ideas also. Were not the Willis of the chamber in which the poet dreamed that he awoke 60 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Peynted, bothe text and glose, Of al the Roniauiice of the Rose ? Of the same school of poetry is the Frenchman, Guil- laume de Machault (1300?-13T7), and from him, too, Chaucer has borrowed here and there. ^ Machault's Z)it de la Fontaine Amoiirensc^ which Chaucer cer- tainly knew, contains a long paraphrase of the story of Ceyx and Alcyone; and it has been asserted that this suggested the Proem of the Booh of the Duchess? It is quite likely that Chaucer did consult Machault's version of the story ; but it is clearly demonstrable that he also went directly to Ovid, and that he is more indebted to the Latin than to the French. Thoush the general spirit of the Booh of the Duchess is of the French school, its plot, if it may be said to have a plot, is Chaucer's own. Of its 1334 lines, not more than a hundred have been traced to a definite French original.^ It is possible that the story of Ceyx and Alcyone was originally an inde])endent work. In the Prologue of the Man of Law s Tale, at any rate, we read that In youthe he made of Ccys and Alcion; but this may very well refer to the Booh of tJ.e Dvchciis, which, as we know, was made in Chauccrs youth. It is as a work of the poet's youth, a mark from wliicli one may measuj-e his subsequent literary development, Literary that the Booh of the Duchess deserves at- ■'^"' tention. Intrinsically its value is but slight. It is not lacking in beautiful and effective passages ; 1 See Sandras, Etude sur G. Chaucer, 291-294. ^ The significant portions of the Dit de la Fontaine Amoureiise are given by 'J'en Brink, iSiuf/i'en, 197-205. Ovid's version is found inMcta- 7/iorplio.ses, 11. 410-74S. <* Cf. Lounsbnry's Studies in Chaucer, 2, 212. THE MINOR POEMS Gl but, taken as a whole, it furnishes but weary reading. Distinctly graceful and pleasing is the story of Ceyx and Alcyone, when judged purely on its own merits as an imitation of Ovid; but so slight is its connection witli the main theme of the poem, that it constitutes a serious breach of artistic unity. By far the most charming ])assage of the whole work is the account of the poet's supposed awakening, with the merry sing- ing of the birds without the j)ictured windows of his chamber broken by the sudden blast of the huntsman's horn, all the varied life and motion of the hunt, the flowers and trees and wild beasts of the greenwood. It is not till the lonely knight begins to speak that the poem sinks to its true level of mediocrity. Not only are his speeches intolerably long, they are also essentially artificial. If he may be forgiven his con- ventional diatribe against malicious fortune, and his strange conceit of the game of chess, features bor- rowed from Machault, it is hard to overlook his unin- termitted pedantry. He ransacks the treasure-house of classical antiquity, and the Bible as well, to furnish forth fit comparisons for his loss, and, not content with this, stops now and then to explain a more recondite allusion. He tells how he had made many songs to win his lady's love : — Altho^h 1 con(le not make so wel Soiij^es, lie kuovve tlie art al, As coude Lamolvcs sone Tnl)al, That fond out first tlie ait of songe; For, as his brothers lianiers ronge Upon his anvelt up and donn, Therof he took tlie firste soun; But Grekes seyn, Pictagoras, That he the firste Knder was Of the art; Aurora telleth so, I?ut tlicrof no fors, of iit-in Ivvo, 62 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER It is Chaucer, of course, and not the bereaved knight, who is thus jeah)us of his reputation for philological accuracy. ' But therof no fors, of hem two ; ' it is in either case a serious lapse from literary taste. Lapses of this sort Chaucer never wholly outgrew. In passing judgment so harshly on the long speeches of the knight, some exception must be made for the pas- sage in which he describes the charms, spiritual as well as physical, of the ' gode faire Whyte.' Of this Lowell has spoken as ' one of the most beautiful portraits of a woman that was ever drawn.' ' Full of life it is,' he continues, ' and of graceful health, with no romantic hectic or sentimental languish. It is such a figure as yoi\ would never look for in a ballroom, but might expect to meet in the dewy woods, just after sunrise, when you were hunting for late violets.' ^ But even here one is tempted to cry out on the score of prolixity. Some attempt is made to create a sort of suspense by withholding till the very end the fact that the knight's loss of his lady is the irreparable loss of death; and after the long-drawn-out speeches of the poem, a dis- tinctly striking effect is produced by the abruptness of the end, with its utter restraint : — ' She is deed ! ' ' Nay ! ' ' Yis, by my trouthe ! ' ' Is that your los ? by God, liit is routhe ! ' I cannot agree with the majority of critics who see in this ending proof that Chaucer tired of his woik an()em shows overwhelming proof of the influence of the new culture which came to Chaucer us a result of his Italian journeys of 1373 and 1378. After four introductory stanzas, Chaucer devotes fifty- six lines to a synopsis of Cicero's Somnivni Scipionls, which he was reading before he fell asleep and dreamed his dream. This woik, a part of the De llepuhlica^ was not known to Chaucer and to his contemporaries in its original setting, for the De Reinihlica was not recovered till a later date, but was preserved as an ex- tract in a copious commentary of Macrobius, a gram- marian and philosopher of the fifth century. This book was a very popular one with Chaucer and with the Middle Ages in general, and exerted no small influence on the Divine Comedy of Dante. The extract from Cicero, if not the laborious commentary of Macrobius, is fully worthy of the popularity it achieved. In the section which follows on the synopsis of the Somnium Scipionis, the predominant influence is that of Dante, from whom the inscription over the gate to the garden of love is freely adapted ; though one stanza, beginning with the line, — u^ The wery hunter, slepinge in his bed, — is translated from the late Latin poet Claudian. For the description of the garden and its delights Clisies 176- 294) Chaucer is closely indebted to the Teseide of Boccaccio. It was at about tliis time, apparently, that 1 As Skeat has noticed, one of the fables of Mario de Franee is en- titled ' Li parlemeus des Oiseax por faire Hoi.' Oxford Chaucer, 1. 75. 66 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Chaucer wrote his Palamon and Arcite^ known to us as the Knight's Tale ; and findings that the stanzas of the Teselde hei*e utilized were not necessary for his k>ng'er work, he thriftily turned them to account in the Parliament of Fowls. Tlie description of the Goddess Nature surrounded by all the birds of the air is adapted, as Chaucer him- self tells us, from the De Planctu Naturoe of Alanus de Insulis, a Latin poet and divine of the twelfth cen- tury. In Alanus, iiowever, the birds are merely depicted on the robe which Nature wears. As for the parlia- ment itself, with its long debate, which constitutes the real substance of the poem, that is, so far as we know, Chaucer's own original production. As the sources of the poem show a twofold influence, that of the departing Middle Age and that of the new Italian culture, so too in its literary workmanship one Literary ^^^^Y detect the transition from the more con- Art, ventional poetry of Chaucer's earlier period to the work of his maturer genius. Structurally consid- ered, the work is far from perfect ; for the real action of the piece does not begin till nearly three hundred lines have rolled melodiously by. Beautiful as is the description of the garden of love, its length is both relatively and absolutely extravagant. Quite unne- cessary to the action is the synopsis of the Somnivm Scipionis with which the poem begins, an unfortu- nate bit of introductory machinery which Chaucer also employs, at greater length, in his earlier Book of the Pnche^s. It is not till Chaucer has finished Ids introductions, and has left his authoi's well behind him, that the con- ventional gives place to the natural, and the poet's genius plavs freely. The graceful and charming conceit of Dame Nature on her hill of flowers, with all the birds THE MINOR POEMS 07 about lier come to choose their mates, is well executed and well sustained. If we fail to enter with mut'li enthusiasm into the emotions of the three rival eagles as they plead their amorous causes, we are at any rate highly entertained by the varying counsels of the four estates in this feathered parliament. The birds of prey, who constitute the peers of the roalm, take the matter quite seriously. If necessary, they are willing to see in the dispute fit cause for war. The fowls of lower degree, the hourgeois birds who feed on worms, the mercantile birds who occupy their busi- ness in the water, those of agricultural pursuit who feed on seeds, care more for their own well-being and for the expeditious transaction of business than for any punctilio of honor. But she wol love him, lat him love another ! cries the unsentimental goose, as spokesman for the water-fowl, while the cuckoo, of the worm-eating estate, goes even further : — * So I,' quod he, * may have my make in pees, I recche not how longe that ye stryve ; Lat ech of hem be soleyu al hir lyve.' From these radical views the turtle dove, representing the more poetical class of those who feed on seeds, is inclined to dissent : — Yet let him serve hir ever, til he be deed, an opinion which the duck considers merely laughable. Though characterized quite humanly, Chaucer does not suffer us to forget that the parliament is only one of fowls, and the sudden ' Kek, kek ! kukkow, quek, quek ' which breaks upon us serves as a delicious bit of humorous realism, after the passionate speeches of the three tercel eagles. As in its general structure the 68 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Parliament of Foiols leads us to comparisons with the Book of the Duchess which preceded it, so in its treat- ment of birds who speak like men it leads us forward to the more finished art of the Nuns Priest' s Tale. VI. A COMPLAINT TO HIS LADY Chaucer's Com.plabit to Jus Lady is apparently no more than a series of experiments in verse form. Be- ginning with two stanzas of seven lines, it shifts into the terza rima of Dante, and thence into a comjdex stanza of ten lines, with rime-scheme aahaabcddc. This is the first appearance of the terza rima in English verse, and probably its only appearance until English literature was again Italianized in the days of Wyatt and Surrey. As Mr. Heath suggests, the poem should not be taken too seriously.^ It may have been written shortly after Chaucer's Italian journey of 1373. VII. ANELIDA AND ARCITE The fragment of Anellda and yl?'ci^e ponsists of a Proem of three stanzas, twenty-seven stanzas of seven lines each of the ' Story,' followed by a Complaint in fourteen stanzas of very elaborate metrical construction. After the Complaint, the 'Story 'is resumed, but is broken off after a single stanza. Probably the work was never completed. In line 21 Chaucer gives as his sources ' Stace, and after him Corinne.' Stanzas 4-7 are indeed from the Thebais of Statins; but who 'Corinne' may be, we do not know, — very likely the name is one of Chaucer's sheer inventions, — nor do we know any source for the story. But for six stanzas of the poem (1-3, 8-10) a source is easily discoverable. They are taken ivotut the first and second books of Boccaccio's Teseide, the *■ Globe Chaucer, p. xxxvii. THE MINOR POEMS 69 poem which served as the foundation of the Knight^ s Talc. Since stanzas from the Teseide are also found in tlie Parliament of Foiols and in Troilus, it is nat- ural to infer that these three poems were written at about the same time, when Chaucer was busy with his Palamon and Arcite, later known as the Kiiight's Tale ; that is, soon after the year 1380. Since the poem is a mere frajj^ment, it is not possible to say much of its literary qualities, save to call atten- tion to the metrical skill and pleasing effect of the Complaint which is incorporated into it. Neither can we, while in ignorance of its source, venture to guess how the story would have been concluded. Though also a Theban at the court of Theseus, the Arcite of this poem has nothing to do with the Arcite of the Jvnighfs Tale. It is not impossible that Chaucer may have intended to celebrate some love story of the English court, and that being busy with the Teseide, he chose to shadow forth his real personages under names bor- rowed from the court of Theseus, inventing the name Corinne to increase the obscurity of his allegory. Frag- ment as it is, the piece gives unquestioned proof of Chaucer's power. VIII. Chaucer's words unto adam T know no better way to illustrate Chaucer's half-seri- ous, half-playful address to his copyist, than by quoting the words of Petrarch to a friend to whom he wished to send a copy of his own work on the Life of Soli- tude: ' I have tried ten times and more to have it copied in such a way that, even if the style should not please either tlie ears or the mind, the eyes might yet be grati- fied by the form of the letters. But the faithfulness and industry of the copyists, of whom I am constantly complaining and with which you are familiar, have, in 70 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER spite of all my earnest efforts, frustrated my wishes. These fellows are verily the plague of noble minds. What I have just said must seem incredible. A work written in a few months cannot be copied in so many years ! The trouble and discouragement involved in the case of more important books is obvious. . . . Such is the ignorance, laziness, or arrogance of these fel- lows, that, strange as it may seem, they do not repro- duce what you give them, but M'rite out something quite different.' i One may assume that the poem was written soon after Troilus and Soece, which it mentions in the second line. It is written in the seven-line stanza of Troilus. IX. THE FORMER AGE Poets have always been ready to sing the praises of long ago, and to Chaucer, living in an age of continual warfare, of corruption and oppression, the ' blisful lyf, paisible and swete, led by the peples in the former age,' may well have appealed very strongly. Doubtless he was wise enough and practical enough to see the fal- lacies of a general ' return to nature,' and to recognize that civilizati(m has brought its blessings as well as its curses ; but he was also philosopher enough to see that ' covetyse ' was really at the bottom of all the most serious evils of his day, as it is of our own. The poem is founded on the fifth metre of the second book of Boethius's Consolation of Philosophy., and may pro- fitably be compared with Chaucer's prose translation of the same passage. About twenty lines of TJie For- mer Age are directly taken from Boethius, wliile the remainder are Chaucer's own expansion of the theme. There is nothing to indicate the date of its composition. ^ Robinson and Rolfe, Petrarch, the First Modern Scholar and Man of Letters, New York, 180!), pp. 27, 2a THE MINOR POEMS 71 The stanza coxisists of eight lines, with rime-scheme ahahhchc. X. FORTUNE Because the poem called Fortune^ like TJie Former A(/c, is little more than a restatement of the teachings of Boethius/ it must not be inferred that it is a mere literary toiir de force. Indirectly at first through the Roman de la Hose, and later from the Consolation of Philosophy itself, Chaucer assimilated the philo- sophy of Boethius into his own soul, and made it the guiding principle of his life. Trite though they be, the tlioughts expressed in Fortune are noble thoughts; and they are nobly spoken forth, not only with art, but with conviction. Fortune may govern all things with her fickleness, but ' man is man and master of his fate.' Not only may a true man defy Fortune, he may learn from her frowns which of his friends are friends indeed, which things in life are really enduring. Before the poem closes, its stoicism becomes a Christian stoi- cism. The very uncertainty of things terrestrial, which we, 'ful of lewednesse,' call Fortune, is but part of the scheme of righteous Providence : — The hcvene hath propretee of sikernesse, This world hath ever resteles travayle; Thy laste day is end of rayii iutresse: In general, this reule may nat fayle. Whether the poem was called forth by some partic- ular reverse of fortune or not cannot be known ; but the definiteness of the refrain, — And eek thou hast thy bests frend alyve, — and of the appeal to certain princes in the envoy, seems to suggest that this may have been the case. But who 1 Cf. Boethius, Book II, Proses 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 8, and Metre 1. Here and there the influence of Boethius seems to be at second hand throupi-h the Roman de la Rose. See ISkeat's notes, Oxford Chaucer, 1. r)42-547. 72 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER the friend may be, and what the occasion, it were idle to inquire. Apart from the nobility of its thought and the ele- ( , vation of its language, the poem is remarkable for the I 1 metrical skill which it betrays. The poem consists of I ^ three balades and an envoy. Each of the balades has ' three stanzas of eight lines each, with the rime-scheme ababbcbc, and the rimes are identical in each of the three stanzas; so that the rime 'b' is repeated twelve times, while the rimes ' a ' and ' c ' appear six times each ; yet there is scarcely a line in which one is con- scious of any conflict between versification and thought. XI. MERCILESS BEAUTY In the Prologue to the Lege7id of Good Women, it is said that Chaucer made many a hymn for love's holi- days, — That liigliten Balades, Roundels, Virela3'es. The roundel is a highly elaborate verse form, borrowed from France. The stanza contains thirteen lines, with rime-scheme abbabababbabb, in which lines one and two ai"e repeated as lines six and seven, and are again repeated with line three to form the last three lines of the stanza. The three roundels of this poem and the one near the end of the Pai^Hament of Fowls are the only roundels of Chaucer preserved to us. 3ferciless Beauty is a charmingly graceful, but entirely conven- tional, love poem, after the French school, and perhaps imitated from a French original.* XII. TO ROSEMOUNDE The balade To Rosemounde was discovered by Pro- fessor Skeat in 1891, appended to a manuscript of Troilus and Criseyde in the Bodleian Library. This ^ See Skeat, Oxford Chaucer, 1. o4S. THE MINOR POEMS 73 may indicate that it was written at the same time as the longer poem ; but whenevei* written, it breathes the same spirit of mingled seriousness and irony. It is thoroughly characteristic of Chaucer's developed art. There are three stanzas of eight lines each, with rime- scheme ahdhhchc, the rimes of the first stanza being repeated in the second and third. XIII. TRUTH The balade of Truth is the best answer one may give to the charge that Chaucer was incapable of ' high seriousness.' Though suggested in part by Boethius, the poem is essentially original, and expresses, I think, the substance of Chaucer's criticism of life. Like Lano-- land and Wiclif, Chaucer was fully conscious of the evils of his time; nor was he, as one might hastily infer from the humorous treatment of these evils in the Canterbury Tales^ indifferent to their gravity. When Jacques invites Oilando to sit down and 'rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery,' Orlando answers : ' I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.' Orlando's attitude seems to have been Shakespeare's attitude, as it was certainly Chaucer's. ' Werk wel thyself, that other folk canst rede.' The world is bad, but who am I, to set it right? the poet asks. Shall I not merely fill my own soul with storm and tempest, and all the while be striving 'as doth the crokke with the wal'? The poet is gifted with a delicate and sensitive soul, which, ke})t untainted, can give forth life and beauty to his own age and to the ages in store. To spend it all in mad protest against a wicked world — what shall it profit? Fleeing from the press, renouncing the 'strenuous life' to dwell with truth, Chaucer showed his age its true likeness, its good and evil. The world 74 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER might listen or not, as it pleased. After all there is a power stronger than we, making for righteousness : — Daunte thyself, tliat dauntest otheres dede ; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede. But beyond all this, what is this world that we should struo-gle so to set it straight? Her nis non boom, her nis but wildernesse: Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste, out of thy stal I Know tliy contree, look up, thank God of al; Hold the bye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede; And trouthe shal delivere, hit is no drede. The poem consists of three stanzas and an envoy, all in the seven-line stanza, with the same rimes reappear- ing in each stanza and in the envoy.* XIV. GENTILESSE Though borrowed in its general conception, like Truth, from Boethius, and in part also from the Roman de la Rose, the balade of Gentilesse ex- presses Chaucer's own conviction as to true gentility, a conviction which is expressed again in the Wife of Roth's Tale. Trite enough in a democratic age like the present, these thoughts were more novel in the day of Chaucer, particularly when they came from one who dwelt near the court, that great centre of all the 'sol- emn plausibilities ' of life. There are three seven-line stanzas, with rimes repeated throughout. XV. LACK OF STEADFASTNESS If the philosophy of ' Flee fro the prees ' be accepted as representing Chaucer's true conviction, it is not sur- prising to find that he very seldom assumes the propliet's mantle, and attempts to scourge, save with the lash of comedy, the evils and abuses of his time. One of the ^ For further remarks on this poem, cf. above, pp. 29, 30. THE MINOR POEMS 75 few exceptions to this rule is the vigorous balade, with its envoy to King Richard, entitled Lach of Stead- fastness. Covetise and the love of meed, the ' lust that folk have in dissensioun,' the decay of virtue and of mercy — these are the evils which are bringing the world to naught ; and in this opinion Chaucer is at one with Langland, with Wiclif, and with Gower. To assign even an approximate date for the composi- tion of the poem is very difficult. In the Tanner manu- script of the minor poems it is headed with the words : ' Balade Royal made by oure laureal poete of Albyon in hees laste yeeres.' Following this hint, Chaucerian , scholars have generally assigned it to the years between 1393 and 1399, during which Richard succeeded in alienating the loyalty and affection of most of his sub- jects. Mr. Pollard, however, suggests, with a good deal of reason, that from a dependent of the court such advice to his sovereign would have been prudent only at an earlier period, in 1389 perhaps, ' when the young Richard was taking the government into his own hands, and throwing over the tutelage of his guardian uncles with the support of all his people's hopes.' ^ Professor Skeat asserts that the general idea of the poem was taken from Boethius, Book II, Metre 8; but the indebtedness, if any, was very slight. The poem is essentially original. The metre is the same as that of Truth. XVI. ENVOY TO SCOGAN The date of the playful Envoy to Scogan may, perhaps, be determined by the allusion in the sec- ond stanza to ' this deluge of pestilence,' which has been interpreted as a reference to the unusually heavy rains which, according to Stowe's Annales, fell in the autumn of 1393. ' Such abundance of water fell in 1 Preface to the Globe Edition, p. xlix. 76 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER October, that at Bury in Snffolke the church was full of water, and at Newmarket it bare downe walles of houses, so that men and women hardly escaped drown- ing.' ^ This deluge, Chaucer suggests, was due to the tears of Venus shed over Scogan's impiety in love. The date 1393 would agree, moreover, with the closing stanza, in which Chaucer speaks of himself ' in solitarie wilderness ' at the mouth of the Thames, that is at Greenwich, whither he had been dispatched in 1390 on a commission to repair the banks of the river. That the poem was written in Chaucer's later years is evi- dent from his humorous mention of those ' that ben hore and rounde of shape,' in the number of whom he includes himself. Of Scogan we know little. He is probably the Henry Scogan, Squire, who was later tutor to the sons of Henry IV. In a balade of his own, written. Professor Skeat thinks, ' not many j'ears before 1413,' Scogan refers to Chaucer as ' my maistre Chaucier,' and pro- ceeds to quote entire Chaucer's balade of GcntUease. There are six stanzas and an envoy, all in the seven- line stanza. The rimes in each stanza are different. XVII. ENVOY TO BUKTON The date of the thoroughly characteristic Envoy to Buhton is determined by the allusion in line 23 to the undesirability of being taken prisoner in Fries- land, whither a company of English was dispatched in August, 1396, to the aid of William of Hainault.^ A late date is further indicated by the reference to the Wife of Bath. Of Bukton we know only that a Peter de Buketon was the king's escheator for the County of ^ Oxford Chaucer, 1. 557. ^ See Froissart's Chronicles, Book IV, chap. 78. In the preceding chapter we read that ' The Frieslanders are a people void of honor and understanding, and show mercy to none who fall in their way.' THE MINOR POEMS 77 York in 1397. Aj)parently, Bukton was meditating a second marriage. Chaucer's sound advice on the sub- ject, which seems to he at least half serious, need not be taken as proof that his own marriage had been par- ticularly nnhappy. It is clear, however, that Chaucer, now a widower, had no intention of falling again into ' swich dotage ' if he could help it. There are three stanzas and an envoy of eight lines each, with rime- scheme ahuhhchc. XVIII. THE COMPLAINT OF VENUS The Complaint of Venus consists of three bal- ades, loosely joined together, and supplemented by an envoy. As Chaucer himself tells us in the envoy, the balades are translated from the French of Sir Otes de Graunsoun, a poet of Savoy, contemporary with Chau- cer, As may be learned from a comparison with the French text, which is printed in Skeat's Oxford Chau- cer,^ the translation does not ' folowe word by word,' but is rather free. Since this complaint is associated in many copies with the Complaint of iJ/ars, it has been assumed that the princess addressed in the envoy is the Princess Isabel of Spain and Duchess of York, whose love is celebrated in the earlier piece. If this be true, the date of composition will fall between 1390 and 1394 ; for in the latter year Princess Isabel died, and in the envoy Chancer speaks of himself as already dulled by old age. The poem, which is of the conven- tional type, is chiefly interesting for its elaborate rime- sciieme, admirably handled. Each of the three balades consists of three eight-line stanzas, riming ahahbccb, witii repeated rimes. The envoy has ten lines, riming aahaahhaab. 1 I. -100-404. See also the articles on Graunsoun by Dr. A. Piag-et, who Orst discovered the French originals, in Romania, 19. 23T-2G9, 403- 4iS. 78 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER XIX. THE COMPLAINT OF CHAUCER TO HIS EMPTY PURSE This delightful poem, which with delicate humor a))plie3 the conventional language of amorous poetry to an empty purse, is probably among Chaucer's latest compositions. The envoy, at any rate, addressed to Henry IV as ' conquerour of Brutes Albioun,' cannot have been written earlier than September 30, 1399, wlien Parliament formally acknowledged, by ' free elec- cioun,' Jlenry's right to the throne. It is, of course, possible that the preceding stanzas had been written at an earlier time. It is pleasant to know that this deli- cate appeal for help met with almost immediate reply. On October 3 Chaucer received an additional pension grant of forty marks from the royal treasury. There are three seven-line stanzas, with repeated rimes, and an envoy of five lines, riming aabba. XX. PROVERBS The two Proverbs attributed to Chaucer by the man- uscripts are not of sufficient value to merit any discus- sion. Each proverb contains four octosyllabic lines, riming abab. XXI. AGAINST WOMEN UNCONSTANT Though there is no sufficient external evidence to prove this poem one of Chaucer's, it is so thoroughly Chaucerian in manner, and withal so charming and graceful, that one is strongly inclined to think that the manuscripts and the early editions are right in asso- ciating it with his genuine work. The idea of the poem and its refrain are from the French of Machault, an author with whom Chaucer was thoroughly familiar. The metre is Chaucer's favorite seven-line stanza, with repeated rimes. THE MINOR POEMS 79 XXII. AN AMOROUS COMPLAINT As in the case of the preceding poem, there is no satisfactory evidence that An Amorous Complaint is by Chaucer, though it is certainly in his manner. The poem has not sufficient excellence to make the question au important one. The seven-line stanza is employed. XXIII. A BALADE OF COMPLAINT This poem, like the preceding, is of the conventional erotic tyi)e. It occurs in but one manuserii)t, and is not there attributed to Chaucer. Though superior to An Amorous Complaint in art, it is not a poem which we need consider very seriously. There are three seven- line stanzas, without repetition of rime. The acciden- tal recurrence of the c rime of the first stanza as the a rime of the second is a metrical blemish which may be taken as an argument against its Chaucerian authorship. XXIV. WOMANLY NOBLESSE This poem, which is found in a single manuscript, was first printed by Professor Skeat in The Athencevm, for June 9, 1894. If not deserving of the high praise bestowed upon it by Professor Skeat in the first flush of discovery, it is yet a charming and graceful bit of conventional love poetry. The rime-scheme is highly elaborate, but three rimes appearing in the entire jiiece. Tliere are three stanzas of nine lines each, rim- ing aahaahhaa^ with repeated rimes, and an envoy of six lines riming ababaa, in which the same rimes again appear. The a rime is therefore repeated twenty-two times. It should be noticed, however, that Chaucer has prudently chosen very easy rimes. CHAPTER V BOETIIIUS AND THE ASTROLABE BOETHIUS DE CONSOLATIONE PHILOSOPHIE During the whole extent of the Middle Ages there was no single work, save the Bible itself, which ex- The erted so wide and continuous an influence on Original. ^^le thought of Europe as the dialogue of Boethius on the Consolation of Philosoj:)hy. In England its influence may be traced from the very dawn of our literature ; for the moralizing interpola- tions in Beowulf are in several instances to be traced to this source, and the De Co7isoIatione was among the works which the great Alfred gave to his country- men, translated into their own speech. Chaucer, as has already been seen, was permeated through and through with the teachiugs of Boethius, and his coutemporaries felt this influence as strongly. What is true of Eng- land is true also of France and Italy and Germany. The direct influence of Boethius, moreover, was su])i)le- mented by an indirect influence, exerting itself through the channels of other books, notably of the Roman de la Hose. Through this channel, not improbably, Chaucer first met the doctrines of Boethius ; and It is not impossible that the idea of Chaucei-'s trauslation was first suggested by a couplet of the Momun : — 'T would redound Greatly to that man's praise who should Translate that book with masterhood.' 1 Ellis's translation, 11. 53.14-5346. BOETHIUS AND THE ASTROLABE 81 Joan de Mean, at any rate, followed his own advice, and made a translation of the book into French. The work fully deserved the popularity it attained, l)(>th in virtue of its inherent excellence and charm, and in virtue of the fascinatingly romantic life of its author. Additional authority was given to it by the tradition, now strongly questioned but never satisfacto- rily refuted, that its author was a Christian, and by the erroneous belief that he gave his life, a martyr for the true faith. Two or three centuries after his death, he was canonized as St. Severinus. Anicius Manlius Severinus Boethius was born be- tween the years 475 and 483 a. d., probably later than 480, and died in 524, his life falling in the exciting days of Odoacer and Theodoric. His family was one of high standing, which had. for six centuries held office in the public service ; his father, who died in the philosopher's boyhood, had been prefect of the city, praetorian pre- fect, and consul. Boethius married the daughter of his kinsman and guardian, Symmachus, a senator, and him- self sat in the Senate. In the year 510 he was elected sole consul through the favor of Theodoric. In 522 the philosopher's two sons were made consuls together. Though participating in affairs of state, Boethius's highest efforts were given to his books. Plis educa- tion was of the best, and his wide attainments included a knowledge of Greek. ' He translated the works of Pythagoras on music, of Ptolemy on astromomy, of Nichomachus on arithmetic, of Euclid on geometry, of Archimedes on mechanics. Finally, he sought to bring the whole of Greek speculative science within the range of Roman readers ; and though he did not live to see tlie attainment of his ambition, he managed to give to the world in something less than twenty years, of which several were absorbed in the discharge of public duties, 82 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER more than thirty books of commentary on, and trans- lation of, Aristotle.' ^ From this life of distinguished service, Boethius was snatched by a sudden tragic catastrophe. The Senate was suspected by Theodoric of a treasonable intent to restore the ancient liberties of Rome ; and Boethius was chosen as the one to bear the full brunt of the royal displeasure. Out of the mouths of notorious false wit- nesses, as Boethius insists, he was convicted of treason, was imprisoned at Pa via, and, after a long imprisonment, was put to death. It was during this period of impris- onment that he wrote the Conwlation of Philosophy. This, the latest and greatest of Boethius's writings, is a dialogue between the author and the goodly lady Philosophy, in alternating sections of prose and verse, wherein are discussed those great problems of human life which were brought vividly to the author's con- sciousness by his sudden and overwhelming misfortune, coming as it did close on the heels of his highest pros- perity. In briefest outline, the argument runs as follows: As Boethius bewails in prison the wretched- ness that has come upon him, suddenly appears to him the majestic figure of Philosophy. ' When all the universe is ordered by God,' the prisoner asks, ' why should man alone wander at will ? ' Philosophy, in her reply, asserts the absolute omnipotence of God (Book I). It is not right to blame Fortune for our woes, for none of the gifts of Fortune are really valuable. Fortune really benefits man only when she frowns upon him, thus teaching him what is the true good (Book II). What, then, is this true good ? It must include within itself all the partial goods for which various men strive ; 1 H. F. Stewart, Boethius, an Essay, Edinburg-h and London, 1891, p. 26. This volume of 279 pag-es may be most enthusiastically recom- mended to any one who wishes to know more of Boethius and of his philosophy. BOETHIUS AND THE ASTROLABE 83 and this absolute ami perfect good, the sum of all par- tial goods, is God himself. Since all men instinctively seek happiness, and since happiness consists only in the true good, all men naturally seek God (Book III). But if God is the supieme good and is omnipotent, why do the wicked flourish ? To this world-old question Phi- losophy answers in the si)irit of Plato, that the wicked are not really powerful, that properly they do not even exist at all. They are no part of God, and God alone really exists. God, in his omnipotence, rules the world by his providence, Fate being merely his minister, the actual working out of his providence. Chance does not exist at all (Book IV). But if God's providence rules all things, what room is left for the free will of man? To God, who is the only eternal, superior to the acci- dent of time, all things, past, present, and future, lie open in an ' everlasting now ; ' and all these things, being patent to his foreknowledge, have been ordered by him into a divine harmony. But to man, living under the condition of time, seeing only the past and present, blind to the future, there is at the moment a real freedom of choice. God foresees, but does not pre- destine ; j'et, since his foreknowledge is infallible, he overrules, not the choice, but the consequences of the choice. Thus the freedom of man's will is not inconsis- tent with God's overruling government (Book V). The philosophy of the Consolation^ though not untouched by Christian influence, is essentially pagan, an eclectic blending of Plato (and the Neo-Platonists) with Aristotle and the Stoics. Boethius is indeed the ' last of the Romans.' Noble and exalted as is the spirit which informs the dialogue, the consolation sought and received is not the consolation of the Christian ; it is not a matter of faith, but of reason. It is curious \ that the subtle theolojrical intellect of the Middle Ajres : 84 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER should have accepted it with whole-hearted approval.^ To Chaucer the Consolation of Philosophy became the domhiant influence in all his more speculative thought. Under its guidance he philosophized the story of Troilus and that of Palamon and Arcite; it is the thought of Boethius which he revitalizes in such balades as Truth and Fortune and The Former Age.^ There is no evidence which determines precisely the date of Chaucer's translation. It is included in the hst The Trans- of the poet's works given in the Prologue to lation. the Legend of Good Women, and must there- fore be earlier than 1386. Because of the very great Boethian influence on Troilus, and because of the fact that Chaucer mentions Troilus and his ' Boece ' together in the lines addressed to Adam, his scrivener, it has been thought that the two works were executed at about the same time, i.e. shortly after 1380. Chaucer used for his translation not only the Latin original, but also a French version, probably the work of Jean de Meun, which is preserved in two manuscripts of the Bibliotheque Nationale at Paris. As only a few excerpts from this translation have been printed, the precise extent of Chaucer's dependence on it has not been determined; but his debt seems to have been con- siderable.^ Some of Chaucer's many glosses are taken ' The Latin text of the Consolalio, together with a seventeenth- century translation by 'I. T.' has been published in the Loeb Classical Library (1918), under the editorship of H. F. Stewart and E. K. Rand. ^ For a most illuminating account of Chaucer's use of the Consola- tion, and for a discussion of his translation of the work, see B. L. Jefferson, Chaucer and the Consolation of Philosophy of Boethius, Princeton University Press, 1917. 5 See M. H. Liddell's article in Academy, 1895, II. 227, and his notes in the Globe Chaucer. See also the discussion by B. L. Jeffer- son, op. cit. pp. 1-9. Dr. Jefferson's conclusions were independently corroborated by J. L. Lowes in Romanic Review, 8.383-400 (1917). BOETHIUS AND THE ASTROLABE 85 over from the French version; others are apparently from the commentary of Nicholas Trivet.^ Chaucer's translation is not free from blunders. For some of these the corruptions of his Latin text may be responsible; in the case of others he was certainly misled by the French version. But on the whole he has given a faithful and able rendering. The prose style of the translation, cumbersome and at times confused, and for our modern taste much too rhetorical, is in striking con- trast with the directness and simplicity, the clearness and grace, of Chaucer's verse. Mr. Stewart says of it: ^ 'It is certainly not in prose that Chaucer's genius shows to best advantage. The restrictions of metre were indeed to him as silken fetters, while the freedom of prose only served to embarrass him.' Perhaps it would be better to say that for Chaucer and for his contem- poraries prOse bffered not untrammeled freedom, but the intricacies of a literary medium not yet mastered. For the prose of Chaucer's translation, if not always felicitous, is anything but artless. It employs intricate alliteration, balance and antithesis, varied cadence of clause, and other 'colours of rethoryk.' At his best, Chaucer attains to a dignity and eloquence that suggest the perfection, three centuries later, of this same tradi- tion of rhetorical prose in the hands of John Milton. A TREATISE ON THE ASTROLABE An astrolabe is 'an obsolete astronomical instru- ment of different forms, used for taking the altitude of the sun or stars, and for the solution of other problems in astronomy.' Chaucer's Treatise is an attempt to expound 'under ful Hghte rewles and naked wordes in ' See the article by Miss K. O. Petersen, 'Chaucer and Trivet' Puhlica( ions of the Modern Language Association, 18. 173-193 (1903). "^ Boelhius, an Essay, p. 227. 86 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER English,' the uses of the instrument and the elements of astronomy and astrology, for the benefit of ' litel Lewis my sone,' who had attained the ' tendre age of ten yeer.' As outlined in the Prologue, the work was to have consisted of five parts; but of these only the first and part of the second were completed. As the ' yeer of cure lord 1391, the 12 day of March ' is twice used ^ as an example in the ' conclusions ' of Part II, it is reason- able to assume that the year 1391 is the date of com- position. Chaucer makes no claim to originality in his work : ' I ne usurpe nat to have founde this werk of my labour or of myn engyn. I nam but a lewd compilatour of the labour of olde Astrologiens, and have hit trans- lated in myn English only for thy doctrine ; and with this swerd shal I sleen envye.' Professor Skeat has shown that the ' old astrologien ' from whom Chaucer has drawn the great bulk of his material is a Latin translation of a treatise by Messahala, an Arabian astronomer who flourished towards the end of the eighth century, entitled Compositio ct Operatio Astrolabie. As the tables were to be calculated ' aftur the latitude of Oxenford,' it has been assumed that little Lewis was a student in the Oxford schools; beyond this we know nothing whatever about him, and it is not unlikely that he may have died before reaching manhood. Since the work has no literary value save that of clear ex])o- sition, and since the modern reader is little likely to attempt its perusal, it is not necessary to discuss it further, except to call attention to the charming char- acter of the introductory sentences addressed by the author to his little son.^ 1 2. 1. 6 and 2. 3. 18. 2 The treatise has been edited by Mr. A. E. Brae, London, 1870, and afjatii in 1872 by Professor Skeat for tlie Chancer Society. Skeat's observations are repeated, in condensed form, in the Oxford Chaucer, 3. Ivii-lxxx. CHAPTER VI TROILUS AND CRISEYDE Of all the poems of Chaucer, not excepting the Can,' terbury Tales, none is more characteristic of his genius than is Troilus and Criseyde. In some ways it is his supreme masterpiece; for it is the only work of large di- mensions, requiring a sustained effort of the poetical imagination, which he brought to completion. In mas- tery of constructive art, in perfect finish of execu- tion, in portrayal of character and easy flow of action, above all in its dramatic objectiveness and vivid actuality, it will bear comparison with any narrative poem in the language. Hitherto Chaucer had written, gracefully and wittily, in the school of French allegory and dream-vision. With Troilus he becomes the poet of living humanity. Though ostensibly a tale of Troy long ago, it makes but the scantest attempt to suggest the world of classical antiquity. Onlj^ the names are ancient; the characters, the manners, are modern and contemporary. Troy is but medifeval London, besieged as it might have been by the French. The parliament which King Priam con- venes is an English parliament. Troilus might as well be son to Edward III. Its spirit and temper is that of the modern novel rather than of the mediaeval romance. Were it written in prose, it would be called the first English novel. To the taste of the modern reader, particularly at a first reading, it may seem in places tediously prolix; for considering its length there is comparatively little ac- 88 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER tion. Its interest lies not in rapid action, but in a keen, minute, almost Richardsonian portrayal of character and situation. Its appeal grows with a second reading or a third. One ceases to be impatient at the slowness of progress, and looks eagerly in every stanza for su})tle revelations of character and motive, for flashes of that ironical humor with which Chaucer has enlivened his essentially tragic theme, for lines of haunting poetic beauty. Perhaps the poem would be more effective still if it were somewhat condensed; but it is none the less true that from beginning to end there is not a stanza which is really irrelevant. That Troilus and Criseyde was written and already known to English readers before 1386 we know from the Date of references to it in the Prologue to the Legend Composi- oj Good Women. There is, further, a pre- tion. sumption amounting to virtual certainty that Chaucer was not acquainted with Boccaccio's Filostrato, his primary source for Troilus, earlier than his first Italian journey of 1373. Within this period of a dozen years the poem cannot be dated with absolute certainty; but a variety of considerations points strongly to a date not earlier than 138'2. For a date earlior than that the onl^^ important evidence is found in a passage of Gower's long French poem, the Miroir de VOmme, where mention is made of 'la geste de Troylus et de la belle Creseide.' If Gower is alluding to Chaucer's poem, we must date Troilus before 1377; but it seems probal>le that Gower is thinking of some earlier version of the famous story, despite the fact that the sole surviving manuscript of the Miroir gives the name of the lady as 'Creseide' instead of 'Briseide,' the name under which she appears in Benoit and Guido. The most definite evidence for a later date is found in the plausible inter- pretation which sees a veiled compliment to the young TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 89 (^iieen Anne in a passage near the beginning of Troilus wliich describes Criseyde's beauty: — Right as our firste lettre is now an A, In beautee first so stood she, makelees. Professor J. L. Lowes ^ was the first to suggest that this curious alphabetic simile, otherwise rather inept, refers to the use of Queen Anne's initial 'A' intertwined with the initial ' R ' of her royal husband as a decorative device on courtly robes and tapestries. If this interpre- tation is correct — and it is supported by documentary evidence that the queen's initial was actually so used — the passage in question cannot have been written earlier than January 1-i, 138'3, the date of Richard's marriage. A date between 1382 and 1384 is so thoroughly in accord with all the probabilities that it is accepted with a good deal of confidence. 2 If written between 1382 and 1384, Troilus is a work of the poet's full maturity of mind and art; and its philo- sophic seriousness and superb mastery of exe- ^ . . • 1 • • Vni • Revision. cution corroborate the supposition. Ihere is abundant testimony that Chaucer wrought out his mas- terpiece with painstaking care, and jealously sought to maintain its artistic integrity. Near its close he prays that the poem may escape the corruption of careless copyists : — And for ther is so greet diversitee In English and in wryting of our tonge. So preye I god that noon miswryte thee, Ne thee misnietre for dcfaute of tonge; and in the lines addressed to Adam his own scrivener, * 'The Date of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde,' Publications of the Modern Langnarje Association, 23. 285-306 (1908). - See Professor Kitlredgc's Chaucer Society volume, The Date of Chancer's Troilus, 1908. For the argument in favor of an early date, Bcc Professor Tatlock's Development and Chronology, pp. 15-34. 90 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER he represents himself as 'rubbing and scraping' the manuscripts of Troilus written by the careless scribe to correct their errors and bring them into textual conform- ity with his own 'making.' Nor was he content merely to correct scribal errors. The manuscripts of the poem which have survived to us show that even after its pub- lication Chaucer continued to work over it, rewriting lines, substituting a more felicitous word, changing here and there the order of the stanzas. INIost significant of these revisions is the addition of three new passages de- signed to heighten the philosophical tone of the poem. These are Troilus's hj^mn to love as the perpetual bond of- all things in heaven and earth (3. 1744-1771), which is closely paraphrased from one of the metres of Boe- thius; the long soliloquy of Troilus on the conflict between divine foreknowledge and human freedom (4. 953-1085), which is also adapted from Boethius; and the three stanzas (5. 1807-1827) near the close of the poem, borrowed from Boccaccio's Teseide, which de- scribe the flight to heaven of the soul of Troilus. There is no evidence to determine the date of these revisions, which were certainly not all made at one time. The added passages seem to have been written at an early period; that on free will is referred to by Thomas Usk in his Testament of Love wTitten about 1387. The manuscripts on which Skeat's text of the poem is based contain the greater part, but not all, of Chaucer's re- visions.^ Of the many sources from which the Middle Age sat- The Troy isfied its thirst for stories, three stand out pre- Story. eminent. There is first the ' matter of France ' Tv^ith its heroic tales of Charlemagne and Roland; 1 For a full account of the problem of revision, see the present writer's Chaucer Society volume, The Textual Tradition of Chaucer's Troilus, 191G. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 91 there is again the 'matter of Brittany' with its ro- mances of the Table Round; and lastly, the source with which we arc immediately concerned, 'the mat- ter of Rome the Great.' By this last phrase we are to understand, of course, not merely Rome, but the whole field of classical anticjuity, — the wars of Alexan- der, the tale of Thebes, and above all, the ' tale of Troy divine.' A modern author who should wish to write of Troy would turn first of all to Homer; but in the Middle Ages Homer was little more than a name. There must always have been a few scholars here and there who had some knowledge of Greek, picked up perhaps on journeys to the Levant; but for the vast majority of those who read at all. Homer was accessible only in the E'pitome Iliados IIomericcB of Pindarus Thebanus (first century), where the events of the Iliad are condensed into 1100 lines of Latin hexameter. But even if Homer had been more easily accessible, it is doubtful whether he would have satisfied the mediaeval historian. To begin with, he lived long after the events he undertakes to describe; and then, too, his work bears the marks of evident false- hood, for who can believe that the gods came down to earth and warred ^vnth men? Fortunately there was a better authority than that of Homer, the authority of an eyewitness, who himself took part in the expedition against Troy. This important document is the Ephem- eris Belli Trojani of Dictys the Cretan. Dictys Cretensis was, so the preface of the Ephemeris tells us, a dweller in Cnossus, who with Idomeneus and Merion took arms against Troy. Realizing with rare insight that the events which v.ere passing by unheeded of most would be of deep interest to the generations to follow. Dicta's kept a journal written in Phoenician char- acters. On the author's death, the six books of his chron- 92 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER icle were buried with him in a tin case, where they rested undisturbed until the thirteenth year of the reign of Nero, when they were fortunately exposed by an earth- quake. A Greek, named Eupraxis, carried the manu- script to Rome, where, at the command of Nero, it was transliterated into Greek characters, and from the Greek version a Latin translation was made by one Septimius Romanus. It is hardly necessary to suggest that this story must not be taken too seriously. Whether the work is really a translation from the Greek, or whether the forgery was first launched in its present form, we cannot say with certainty; but scholars are now inclined to believe that the former is the case. The translation, if translation it be, occupies 113 pages of Teubner text, while the period covered begins with the birth of Paris, and ends with the death of Ulysses. The prose style of the author is fairly good, being to a great extent an imitation of that of Sallust. The date of composition is probably the fourth century a. d. The following passage taken from chapter ix, describing the death of Troilus, will give a fair idea of what the book is like : — At post paucos dies Graeci instructi arm is processere in carapum lacessentes, si auderent, ad bcllandum Trojanos. Quis dux Alexander cum reliquis fratribus militem ordinal atque adversum pergit. Scd priiisquam ferire inter se aeies, aut jaci tela coepere, barbari desolatis ordinibus fugam faciunt: cfesique eorum plurimi, aut in flunien praeceps dati, cum hinc atque inde ingrucret hostis atque undique adempta fuga esset. Capti etiam Lycaon et Troilus Priamidoe, quos in medium perductos Achilles jugulari jubet indignatus nondum sibi a Priamo super his, quse secum tractaverat, mandatum. Dictys was greatly preferred to Homer, because he v/as more trustworthy, being, as we have seen, an eye- v.'itness, and excluding all traces of the supernatural; TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 93 hut there was one particular in which he was not per- fectly satisfactory: he was a Greek, and, as such, preju- diced against the Trojans, who were our ancestors. It is not necessary, however, to trust to the narrative of a single prejudiced historian; by good fortune there was also an historian within the walls of Troy. The De Ex- cidio TrojoB Ilistoria of Dares the Phrygian gives us an authentic account of the war from the standpoint of the defeated Trojans. Homer mentions {Iliad, 5. 9) one Dares, a rich man and blameless, a priest of Hephosstus. To him antiquity ascribed an Iliad older than Homer's. Of this lost work, probably the work of a sophist, the Latin version pur- ports to be a translation made by Cornelius Nepos. A recently discovered papyrus proves that a Greek original really existed, of which the Latin version is a condensa- tion; but the condensation was certainly not made by Nepos. Professor Constans, the editor of Benoit, char- acterizes the Ilistoria as ' un assemblage disproportionne de maigres details ecrit en un latin barbare et horrihle- ment monotone.' It cannot have been composed earlier than the sixth century a. d. That Constans has not been too hard on Dares may be shown by the following selec- tion (chapter xxix) : — Postera die Trojani alacres in aciem prodcunt. Agamem- non cxercitum contra educit. Proelio commisso utcrque exer- citus inter se piignat. Postquam major pars diei transiit, prodit in prime Troilus, cajdit devastat, Argivos in caslra fngat. Postera die exercitum Trojani educunt: contra Aga- memnon. Fit maxima ca^des, uterque exercitus inter se pug- nat acriter. Multos duces Argivorum Troilus interficit. Pugnatur continuis diebus VII. Agamemnon indutias petit in duo menses. Fifty-two pages of Teubner text are filled with such 94 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER wretched stuflf as this ! But despite its inferiority. Dares seems to have been more popular with the Middle Ages than Dictys. He was a Trojan, and therefore a country- man; he was at any rate mercifully brief; perhaps, as Ten Brink suggests, the very fact that the work is but an epitome made it all the more available for the expan- sion and adornment which the Troy story was to receive at the hands of Benoit de Sainte-More.^ In the latter half of the twelfth century, according to Constans between 1155 and 1160, appeared a work which lies at the foundation of the whole later develop- ment of the legend of Troy; this is the Roman de Troie of Benoit de Sainte-More. Of Benoit, as of so many authors of the Middle Ages, we know nothing with cer- tainty; but his book is a very substantial, and to the student a rather appalling, fact of 30,316 hues of octo- syllabic couplets. Using as his basis the brief epitome of Dares, ^ and supplementing the matter there found from Dictys and Ovid, and perhaps other authors still, Benoit has given us a detailed history, which begins with the Argonautic expedition, describes the rape of Helen, the gathering of the Greek hosts, and, after telling the events of the siege and fall of Troy, devotes 5000 lines to the return of the Greek warriors to their homes, ending v\ath the death of Ulysses. One would not like to be compelled to read the Roman through from cover to cover; but taken in moderate doses, Benoit has a good deal of poetic charm. Compared with Dictys and Dares, Benoit is great literature. A little more than a century after the appearance of the Roman de Troie, in 1287, an Itahan named Guido * There is some reason to believe that a much longer Latin version of Dares may have been extant in the Middle Ages, of which the exist- ing Historia is a condensation. * Or perhaps a longer version of Dares, now lost. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 95 clelle Colonne produced in turgid Latin prose a para- phrase of Benoit's French poem. Guido, who was care- ful to say nothing about his indebtedness to Benoit, not only succeeded in passing off his Hidoria Trojana as an original composition; but was until after the middle of the nineteenth century actually believed to be the origi- nal from whom Benoit drew the material of his Roman. Guido added little to the substance of the tradition; but because his work was in the universal language of Eu- rope, it attained a wide circulation, was translated into many languages, and became the basis for several JNIid- dle Enghsli 'Troy Books,' of which Lydgate's is, per- haps, the most important. Before considering the Filosirato of Boccaccio, the immediate source of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseijde, it will be necessary to look back once more over the ground already traversed, and notice the degree of prominence given by earlier authors to the figures of Chaucer's pair of lovers. Homer merely mentions in a single passage (Iliad, 24. 257) the chariot-fighter Troilus as one of the sons of Priam whom Ares has destroyed. Virgil devotes a few lines to an account of his death {/Eneid, 1. 474- 478). Criseyde, or Briseida as Benoit calls her, probably represents two Homeric personages: Briseis, the slave of Achilles, vrhose name appears in the accusative Bri- seida in Iliad, 1. 184, and Chrj^seis, daughter of the seer Chryses, who is taken from Agamemnon at the com- mand of Apollo. The accusative of her name, Chry- seida, occurs in Iliad, 1. 182. As the professor of leger- demain will take two thin rabbits, and, rubbing them together in his hands, present us with one particularly fat rabbit, so these two unimportant characters have combined to form the heroine of the mediaeval tale of Tro}'. In Dictys and Dares, Troilus has become a more important figure among the sons of Priam, and Briseida 96 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER is accorded some prominence; but there is no hint of any relationship between them. It is to Benoit de Sainte-More, so far as we can de- termine, that must be given the credit of inventing the story of the faithful love of Troilus and the faithlessness of Criseyde. One must not suppose, however, that the story furnishes the central theme of his voluminous work. It is merely an episode, which, during about a third of his work, serves to relieve the annals of blood- shed. We first meet the episode at line 13065, when a parliament is held to decide upon the return of Briseida to the Grecian camp; the death of Troilus occurs a thousand lines before the end of the poem.^ In the main the events recorded agree with those described in the latter half of the poems of Boccaccio and Chaucer, Though a King Pandarus is mentioned by Benoit as one of the councilors in the Trojan parliament, he bears no part in the determinaition of the fortunes of Troilus and his love. It was the genius of Boccaccio w^iich first recognized in the Troilus and Briseida episode of Benoit the mate- rial for a single and unified love story. 'Boccaccio seems to have known both Guido and Benoit; Italian transla- tions of both were then in existence; and on their basis he built up one of his most charming works, the most perfect of his epic poems. . . . The story lay before him finished, as part of a richly organized wdiole, and his only creative work was that specially suited to the poet, > Benoit's poem is availaljle in the admirable edition of Leopold Constans, published in six volumes by the Societe des Ancicns Textes Francais, Paris, 1904-1912. The last volume of this edition contains a very useful discussion not only of Benoit, but of the development of the Troy story as a whole. A summary of those parts of the poem which deal with Troilus and Briseida may be found in Professor Kittredge's Chaucer Society volume, The Date of Chaucer's Troilus, pp. C2-G5. / TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 97 viz., the exercise of selection, of spiritual penetration, of deepening the characterization, and of glorifying all by a poetic presentation. . , . This tender, sentimental tale (for the poet passes quickly over the conclusion, and all the warlike scenes) is presented by Boccaccio with great psychological discernment, and with the most personal participation, though here and there with a slight tinge of irony. A truly creative spirit is revealed by the way in which the details are worked out, and by the thousand little touches that make us interested in his characters. But all these touches converge to one point, all have the same tendency.' ^ Benoit's episode, as we have seen, begins with the departure of the heroine for the Greek camp; and in consequence the main interest of the tale centers about her intrigue with Diomede, the Troilus story serving as little more than an introduction. All the earlier scenes of the Filostrato are Boccaccio's invention. To serve as motive force for this earlier part of the story, the poet has invented the character of Pandarus. The Panda- rus of Boccaccio, to be sure, is a character in many ways different from the Pandarus whom we know from Chaucer; he is a young and sprightly Florentine gen- tleman, an intimate companion of Troilus, and a cousin to Criseida. In the preceding section of this chapter we have traced the development of the Troy myth as a whole, and have seen how the genius of Boccaccio, Boccaccio, seizing on a single episode of Benoit's Ro- and^hake- vian, has made a new and independent ro- speare. mance, not of battles long ago, but of lovers and their love. This new creation has become one of the great world-stories, both in virtue of its intrinsic interest and l^ecause of its use by three great world-poets: Boccaccio, ' Ten Brink, Hiitory of English Literature (Eng. trans.), 2. 88-90, 98 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Chaucer, and Shakespeare. It is in the highest degree interesting to see how these three poets have altered or modified the theme, each in accordance with his own character and underlying literary purpose. Boccaccio is a thoroughgoing sentimentalist, and he has told the story, accordingly, M'ith full sympathy. Troilo is a por- trait of the poet himself, generous, high-spirited, enthu- siastic, sentimental. He has been in love before; but on beholding Criseida in the temple, as Boccaccio first be- held Fiammetta, he loves her with all his soul. Pandaro is a gay, light-hearted, loose-principled gallant, such as Boccaccio may have known at the Neapolitan court. Criseida is a fickle beauty, and little more. Troilo is the central figure of the poem, and with his love longings in the earher part of the tale, and still more with his later sorrow, the reader is asked to sympathize in fullest measure.^ When Chaucer approached the story, he was no longer young. Though he professes himself the servant of the servants of love, he dares not hope success in love him- self, 'for myn unlyklinesse.' If he identifies himself with any of the persons of his story, it is with the ironist Ban- dar, rather than with the sentimental Troilus. He tells the story with more detachment than does Boccaccio. Into its fundamental tragedy he breathes a spirit of ironical humor, which is all but totally foreign to the Italian poem. Even as he recounts the idealism of Tro- ilus and presents the inexhaustible charm of Criseyde, ' he is conscious of the bitter mockery of both which is to be provided by Criseyde's ultimate treachery. That such angelic beauty and womanly charm should reside in a nature so essentially shallow and unstable, that the 1 An English translation of the pertinent parts of the Filostralo by W. M. Rossetti has been pubUshed by the Chaucer Society: Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde (Jrom the Harl. MS. S943) compared with Boccaccio's Filostrato, translated by W. M. Rossetti, London, 1873. " TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 99 youthful ardor and utter loyalty of Troilus should be expended on a woman capable of Criseyde's baseness, that is part of the mystery and mockery of human life. And so, if Chaucer's poem has much more humor than Boccaccio's, it has also a much higher seriousness, a seriousness which becomes at the end a philosophic in- terpretation of the action, and through it of the ultimate values of life. Criseyde's falsehood becomes a type of the fallacy of all earthly happiness. But if life is certain to deceive, it is none the less very interesting, very amus- ing; and Chaucer dwells with the subtle analysis of great comedy on the complications of his tragic plot, the inter- play of motive, above all on the psychological problems of Criseyde's character. The result is a poem which is neither tragedj'' nor comedy, but a masterpiece of irony. Though in a very different spirit, Chaucer has in gen- eral followed the outline of Boccaccio's poem. At times, for many stan?:as together, he is content to follow its very words. But he has very appreciably expanded his original; Filostrato contains 5512 lines, Troilus has 8239. The greater part of Chaucer's additions are found in the second and third books. The whole episode of the meet- ing of the lovers at the house of Deiphebus has no coun- terpart in Filosirato; wholly original also is the elaborate stratagem by vvhich Pandarus brings the lovers to- gether at his own house. ^ If Chaucer has transformed the spirit of the story from pathetic sentimentality to half-ironical humor, ' For the relation of Troilus to its sources see Professor Karl Young's Chaucer Society volume, Origin and Development of the Story of Troilus and Criseyde, 1908, and H. M. Cummings, The In- debtedness of Chaucer's Works to the Italian Works of Boccaccio, Princeton dissertation, 1916. Professor Young has argued that the episode of the first night of his lovers was suggested to Chaucer by an episode in the Filocolo, a prose romance of Boccaccio. Dr. Cumminga has, I think with justice, thrown grave doubt on the probability of 8uch indebtedness. 100 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Shakespeare, in his Troilus and Cressida, has approached it in a spirit of bitter cynicism and blackest pessimism.^ The love story, which is after all subordinate to the intrigues of the Grecian camp, has neither the romance of Boccaccio nor the humor of Chaucer; it is merely dis- gusting. Troilus remains much what he is in Chaucer; but Cressida has flung away every pretense of virtue, and is merely a confessed wanton. Pandarus has lost all his geniality and humor, and is merely repulsive. To crown all, the final worthlessness of Cressida, and the breaking heart of Troilus, are interpreted to us by the scrofulous mind of Thersites, whose whole function in the play is to defile with the foulness of his own imagina- tion all that humanity holds high and sacred.^ Chaucer's main source for Troilus is the Filostrafo of Boccaccio; it is, indeed, no exaggeration to say that the , English poem is a free reworking of the Ital- ian. Chaucer has, to be sure, with something of the scholar's instinct, gone back of his immediate original, and consulted for a point here and there the works of Benoit and of Guido. Though there is no proof that he used the prose Dares, he did use for the portraits of the dramatis persona; which he draws in the fifth book the twelfth-century paraphrase of Dares in Latin hex- ameters by the Englishman, Joseph of Exeter.^ With the artist's instinct, he has reshaped his characters, and 1 For the reasons which may have actuated Shakespeare's treat- ment of the story, see the essay by W. W. Lawrence in the Cohmibia University Press volume of Shaksperian Studies (New York, 1916), pp. 187-211. 2 Those who wish to pursue the theme still further in English liter- ature may read Dryden's version of Troilus and Cressida, in which the character of the heroine is vitally altered by a new interpretation put upon her relations with Diomcd. ' See the article by R. K. Root, 'Chaucer's Dares,' Modern Phi- lolo(iy, 15. 1-22 (1917). Chaucer seems to have known Dictys only by name. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 101 added two important episodes to the plot; but his debt to Boccaccio remains preponderant. Nowhere, however, does he so much as mention Boc- caccio's name. Instead, he professes to follow with strict fidelity ' myn autour called Lollius.' Twice, once near the beginning of the poem and again near its end, he men- tions 'Lollius' by name; and he appeals to him by im- plication as 'myn autour' in half a dozen other passages. The identification of this mysterious 'Lollius' is a prob- lem which has hitherto bafUed the critics; for, though one can find actual authors who bear the name of Lol- lius, or something resembling it, none of them has writ- ten the tale of Troy. Our most probable guess is that the notion that some one named Lollius had written of the Trojan war is to be traced to a misreading of the opening lines of one of the epistles of Horace, the second epistle of Book I: — Troiani belli scriptorem, maxime Lolli, Dum tu declamas Romae, Preeneste relegi. It seems clear that Chaucer did not invent ' Lollius ' out of whole cloth, that he really believed that some 'Tro- iani belli scriptor maximus' named Lollius, a Latin poet of long ago, had actually existed; for he mentions him also in the House of Fame, along with Homer, Dares, Dictys, and Guido delle Colonne, as one who bears up the fame of Troy. Perhaps he thought that the Latin work of 'Lollius,' which he had never seen, was the im- mediate source of the Italian Filostroto, that in following Filosiraio he was but following Lollius at second hand. At any rate, Chaucer chose to cite as his chief authority the work of 'Lollius,' a Latin poet of long ago, instead of a contemporary work written in the vernacular of Italy. 1 He could thus lend to his story an air of greater ' It, is not at all impossible that Chaucer did not know who was the author of Filostrato. 102 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER credibility, as though it were in all essentials authentic history. Nor was there anything in the literary ethics of the Middle Ages which demanded of Chaucer an ac- knowledgment of his actual debt. Every good story was regarded as common property. A mediaeval author ad- duced authority whenever by so doing he could add credit to his own work, never in recognition of an obliga- tion.^ In the proem to Book II, Chaucer warns his readers that there is more than one w^ay to make love : — Eek for to winne love in sondry ages. In sondry londes, sondry been usages. If it was necessary for the poet to forestall the possible criticism of fourteenth-century lovers to whom the Courtly speech and doings of his hero might seem Love. 'wonder nyce and straunge,' it is much more necessary to forestall similar criticism from the modern reader. The art of love has, like every other art, its conventions; but these conventions change greatly in sundry ages and in sundry lands. The love of Troilus and Criseyde is told in accordance with the code of courtly love, the code which is assumed in the French romances of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries, in Chretien de Troyes and Marie de France, the code which is allegorically presented in the Roman de la Rose. One of the central features of this code is that ideal love is seldom if ever compatible wdth marriage. INIod- ern readers of Troilus are sure to ask wdiy Troilus did not marry Criseyde. If Troilus is a prince royal, Criseyde is at least a lady of excellent social standing, and appar- ently of wealth. There could have been no serious bar to ' For the latest discussion of the Lollius problem and for a review of earlier discussions, see G. L. Kittrec'.ge, 'Chaucer's Lollius,' Har- vard Studies in Classical Philology, 28. 47-133 (1917). The interpreta- tion given above is in essentials that of Professor Kittredge. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 103 a marriage, had the lovers so wished. But the idea of marriage is never once suggested. In the code of courtly love marriage is an arrangement of convenience cjuite outside the region of romantic love. Marriage implies, theoretically at least, the subjection of wife to husband; and in the love of the romances the lady rules supreme, her lightest whim a law. A twelfth-century writer on the art of love, Andreas Capellanus, reports a decision of the Countess ]\Iarie of Champagne that love cannot exist between husband and wife, 'amorem non posse suas inter duos iugales extendere vires.' ^ But courtly love is in no sense platonic. Far removed as it is from grossness and mere sensuality by its elabo- rate idealization, it seeks final consummation in the complete surrender of the lady. When Crispyde- accepts Troilus as her lover, she grants by implication the be- stowal of her ultimate favors. Nor does such a bestowal incur from the courtly poet the slightest hint of blame. The relation established is an ideal relation, with all the sanctitj^ which modern feeling casts about an ideal mar- riage. Chaucer repeatedly tells us that the influence on Troilus of his love, both in the period of his despairing adoration and that of his final possession, was an enno- bling one. In the field of battle against the Greeks he was a very lion; and among his friends in Troy his manner became so goodly and gracious 'that ech him lovede tliat loked on his face.' When Criseyde takes her fare- well of Troilus just before she sets out for the Grecian camp, she tells him that it was not his rank and riches, nor yet his martial prowess, which first won her love, *but moral vertue grounded upon trouthe.' ^ ' Andrea; Capellani de Amorc lihri trcs, ed. Trojel (1892) p. 153. For a useful summary of the code of courtly love and a detailed study of its exemplification in the works of Chaucer, see W. G. Dodd, Courtly Love in Cliancnr and Gower, Boston, 1913. * See Troilus, 1, 1075-10S2; 3. 1802-1806; 4. 1GG7-1G73. 104 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER ' We are to accept the love of Troilus and Criseyde, then, as something pure and ideal hke the love of Romeo and Juliet, even though it lack the sanction of wedlock. And yet this noble and ennobling union must be kept inviolably secret. Were it avowed and known, the lady's reputation would be irreparably soiled. Pandarus re- peatedly warns Troilus that he must not blab; and when, after the Trojan parliament has decreed Criseyde's re- turn to her father, Troilus urges that they flee together to some far land, Criseyde pleads her reputation against it: — And also thenketh on myn honestee. That floureth yet, how foule I sholde it shende. And with what filthe it spotted sholde be. If in this forme I sholde with yow wende. So at all costs the union must be kept secret, and the meetings of the lovers must be clandestine. This ir- reconcilable conflict of standards, that a love vrhich is regarded as not only right and proper but ideally noble should if known become the height of dishonor, marks the essential artificiality of the whole code of courtly love. But artificial or not. we must accept its postulates if we are to understand the fundamental problem of Troihis. We must not consider the clandestine and il- licit love of Troilus as in any sense a derogation of his noble character; nor must we regard Criseyde's accept- ance of his love, scrupulously concealed as it is from all eyes, as any reflection on her honor. Criseyde's sin is not that she becomes the mistress of Troilus, but that hav- ing pledged her love she becomes unfaithful. For in courtly love, as in the whole system of chivalric ethics, the greatest of the virtues is truth and loyalty, and the blackest crime is that of faithlessness. As Dante reserves the lowest pit of his Inferno for the treachery of Brutus and Cassius and Judas Iscariot, so the deepest condem- TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 105 nation of the courtly lover is visited on the faithless Criseyde, the renegade of true love. It is in the light of these conventions of courtly love that one must analyze the character of Chaucer's hero- ine. In Book I we see Criseyde only at a dis- „ . , • ^ n Criseyde. tance; but even so we are captivated at nrst sight, as Troilus is, by her beauty and charm. We are touched, too, with pity for her in the trying situation in which she is placed, and with admiration for the fine dignity with which she meets it. Her father, Calchas, knowing by his magic art that Troy is doomed to de- struction, has basely gone over to the enemy, and left his daughter to bear alone and un})rotected the anger which the Trojan populace is ready to visit on all his kin. She is a widow, also, recently bereaved. And so, alone and in great peril, she throws herself on the protection of Hector, who chivalrously promises her full immunity. She is living, then, in strict retirement in her own stately house with three young nieces to bear her company, and so 'keeps her estate' that she wins the full respect and love of every one. But who could help loving a lady of such exquisite beauty.^ So aungellyk was hir natyf beautee. That lyk a thing inmortal semed she. As doth an hevcnish parfit creature. That doun were sent in scorning of nature. Not only is she beautiful, there is a queenly dignity and grandeur in her port. April comes and with it the great feast of Palladion, the Trojan Easter day, when every one goes to church in his best clothes; and Criseyde in her simple w^idow's black goes too. Ever conscious of her father's shame, she takes an inconspicuous station near the door; but having yielded so much to her sense of disgrace, her 106 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER proud spirit never falters. She has a 'ful assured loking and manere,' with just a touch of defiance in it. It is while she stands thus in the temple that Troilus sees her from afar, and is struck to the heart by her beauty and dignity. This is all that we see of Criseyde in Book I; though her presence, to be sure, fills all the long scene of Troi- lus's feverish love-longing. Book II may be called the book of Criseyde. An over- whelming proportion of its lines is directly dedicated to the unfolding of her character, and to the subtle analysis of her heart as the figure of Troilus gradually establishes itself there. On a May morning Pandarus goes on his embassy to Criseyde's house. He finds her in a 'paved parlour' with two other ladies, listening to the 'geste of the Sege of Thebes,' quite undisturbed by the fact that its author. Statins, was not to be born till near the mid- dle of the first century a.d. He playfully asks if it is a book of love she is reading, and is laughingly answered by an allusion to his own unrequited love. No small part of Criseyde's charm is conveyed through these scenes with her uncle, scenes of playful badinage, in w^iich her wit is quite the equal of his. Uncle and niece meet on the most gi'acious terms of long established affection and understanding, with free give and take of kindly banter. In answer to Pandar's suggestion that she put away her book and rise up and dance, she reminds him that she is a widow : — It sete me \sel bet ay in a cave To bidde, and rede on holy seyntes lyves; Lat maydens gon to daimce, and yonge wyves. This protestation is hardly to be taken with full serious- ness; and yet it suggests, I think, something of the truth. Criseyde has come to regard herself, in the life of quiet TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 107 seclusion which follows on her widowhood and her fa- tlior's shameful treachery, as forever cut off from the brighter things of Ufe. It is a state of mind by no means unfa\orable to the discovery that she has won the love of Troilus, when once she has had time to make the necessary adjustments. Pandarus pays no attention to her words, but immediately begins to play on her wo- man's curiosity by hinting at a great piece of news that he could tell her if he would. He plan's with his secret through a dozen stanzas, insinuating into his speech the praise of Troilus, the friendliest of princes, second only to Hector in prowess. Then at last, after much teasing, he tells her the news, giving her no chance to reply till he has spoken ten stanzas of appeal and argument. Was the news a complete surprise to Criseyde, or had she during the month which had elapsed since the feast of Palladion suspected the truth.'^ We cannot say. Chau- cer himself raises the question, but professes his uncer- tainty as to the answer. In any case she receives the news calmly : — Criseyde which that herde him in this vryse, Thoughte, ' I shal fele what he meneth, ywis.' ' Now, eem,' quod she, ' what wolde ye devj'se. What is your reed I sholde doon of this?' ' But when Pandar has given his advice that she return love for love, this cool deliberation melts into a passion- ate burst of tears and reproaches, that he, her uncle and her best friend, should counsel her to love. These tears are the natural reaction which follows on the first clear recognition of the terrifying possibility that she, the widow and the recluse, may begin again to live passion- ately. Iler resentment is short-lived, and she listens trcml^ling to Pandar's threat that her hard heart will be the death not only of Troilus but of himself as well. Is 108 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER there after all any evil in her uncle's advice that she smile on Troilus, when she has the solemn assurance that he means no 'harm or vilanye'? And if this man slee here himself, alias! In my presence, it wol be no solas. What men wolde of hit deme I can nat seye; It nedeth me ful sleyly for to pleye. Criseyde has recovered her self-control. In the lines just quoted, and even more in the long soliloquy in which she weighs the pro's and con's of love, one realizes how complete this self-control is. There is in these speeches a tone of cool calculation which to many readers may seem unpleasant, a trait of character which appears again in the fourth book when she builds her hope for a speedy return to Troy on the avarice of her aged father. In appraising these speeches, it must be remembered that Criseyde is not a young girl, with the impulsive idealism of her maidenhood. Just how old she is we do not know, — Chaucer himself professes that he does not know either — ; but one feels that she is, in experience at least, older than Troilus. She has been married and is now a widow. 'I am,' she says, 'myn owene woman, wcl at ese.' Though love of Troilus has already found lodg- ment in her heart, it does not sweep her off her feet. She does not so much fall in love as drift into love; but she drifts with her eyes open. Pandarus takes his leave, too shrewd in his knowledge of Criseyde's character to press her to a decision. But he has made his effect, and the effect is powerfully height- ened by the circumstances which follow. By great good fortune, Troilus himself is presented to her view, Troilus the mighty warrior returning from battle on his wounded charger. Here is a living argument. Criseyde considers his excellent prowess, his wit, his shape, his courte?y, TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 109 and above all his love for her. Would it not be a pity to cause the death of such an one as he? And last of all her uiece, Antigone, sings her song in praise of love, every word of which imprints itself on Criseyde's heart. 'And ay gan love hir lasse for to agaste than it dide erst.' On the next day Pandarus returns to the attack with a letter from Troilus, which Criseyde at first refuses to receive, but at last consents to answer. Once more, this time by Fandar's appointment, the knightly Troilus rides by her window. Though she will write to her lover, she oii'crs him only a sister's regard. She will not agree to speak to him : — it were eek to sone To graunten him so greet a libertee. For playnly hir entente, as seyde she. Was for to love him iinwist, if she mighte. And guerdon him with nothing but with sighte. It is a prime article in the code of courtly love, as in our modern conventions of love-making, that the lady must not let herself be too easily won. Troilus and Pandar have every reason to be satisfied with the result of these two days of wooing; for the lady has at least acquiesced in the courtship, and her words 'eek to sone' and 'if she mighte' suggest the promise of more to come. Up to this point Chaucer's story follows essentially, though with greater elaboration of detail, that of his Italian model. But here Boccaccio's heroine consents, with merely formal protest, to receive her lover as soon as time and place shall serve, provided only that due secrecy be maintained; and the joy of the lovers is shortly consummated. For the character of Criseyde as Chaucer has conceived it, such a course of action would have been much too direct. It would have required a definite decision instead of a genial drifting with circum- stance. It is a striking fact that Criseyde, with all her 110 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER native self-assurance, never takes a single step of her own volition. And so, that she may seem to herself to have been ensnared rather than to have capitulated, Pandarus gives full play to his love of cunning stratagem. It is a most ingenious stratagem, plausible in its devis- ing, and skillfully controlled by the master strategist down to the smallest detail, which brings Criseyde to the feigned sick-bed of the truly love-sick Troilus at the house of Deiphebus, where Troilus first has the chance to plead his own cause. This meeting proves to be the decisive moment of the story; for Criseyde, though unable to make a decision, accepts completely a decision which has been made for her by the logic of events, or by the scheming of her uncle. She would very likely have refused to grant Troilus a private meeting; but here is the meeting devised without her consent. It is Troilus, not Criseyde, who is panic-stricken. She listens to his passionate declarations, quietly asks him to tell her 'the fjm of his entente,' and after listening to his reply, says slowly and deliberately : — ' I shal trewely, with al my might. Your bittre tornen al into swetnesse; If I be she that may yow do gladnesse. For every wo ye shal recovere a blisse'; And him in armes took, and gan him kisse. This is complete surrender, and Pandarus recognizes it as such. Criseyde has. to be sure, stipulated that her honor must not be compromised; but she acquiesces by her silence in Pandar's promise that he wdll shortly de- vise a secret meeting of the lovers at his own house, v.^here they shall have full leisure 'to speke of love aright.' It is in fulfillment of this promise that Pandarus in- vites Criseyde to supper at his house, and after refusing to let her return home in the downpour of rain, brings TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 111 Troilus to her l)ecl. This scene is another masterpiece of Pandar's strategy; but it is a plot in which the ap- parent victim is at least an acquiescent accomplice. At an openly avo\Aed meeting and consummation of her love, such as the Italian Criseida herself arranges, Chau- cer's heroine would probably have balked. Her woman's modesty, or at least her shrinking from an irrevocable decision, is still to be overcome. The act must seem to her inevitable, not of her own choosing; and yet there can be no doubt that she accepted her uncle's invitation knowing well that Troilus was to meet her. Pandar's denial of her susi)icion is a virtual acknowledgment of its truth. As to her acceptance of this denial, Chaucer himself professes ignorance : — Nouglit list myn auctor fully to declare What that she thoughte whan he seyde so. That Troilus was out of town yfare, As if he seyde therof sooth or no. V^Tien we remember that Chaucer's 'auctor' does not relate this episode of the supper-party at all, it is not strange that he does not 'fully declare' the heroine's motives. Chaucer's assumed ignorance is only his char- acteristic way of hinting rather than asserting his own interpretation. Crisej^de herself settles the question beyond any doubt. When Troilus clasps her in his arms and begs her to yield, she replies: — 'Ne hadde I er now, my swete hertc dere, Ben yolde, ywis, I were now not here. ' Again Criseyde accepts with full frankness the accom- plished fact. The events of this first night have been so devised by Pandarus that they seem inevitable as a- decree of fate; but now irrevocably in her lover's arms, Crisej'dc avows that not fate nor fortunej-iSut her own 112 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER love has brought her there. It is a very subtle touch in Chaucer's portrayal of the woman's heart. To herself she must seem to have yielded only to inevitable fate; but to her lover she wished to be not a helpless victim but an offering of free love. The last barriers of womanly reluctance have been overcome; and Criseyde loves Troilus as passionately and unreservedly as he loves her. Judged by the stand- ards of courtly love, the relation now established be- tvN^een the lovers is an ideal and noble one. As Criseyde says, it is a love — ayeins tlie which that no man may, Ne oughte eek goodly maken resistence. The relation must be kept secret, or her honor will be gone. That is one of the conditions of courtly love. But, save for a half-hearted reproach to Pandarus for his share in the matter, Criseyde has no regrets; nor does Troilus ever suggest that there is anything shame- ful in this clandestine love. Two or three years pass in unbroken happiness, until the August day when the Trojan parliament decrees that Criseyde be delivered over to her father, and all the lovers' weal is turned to woe. Up to this point, Criseyde's behavior has been above reproach. With scrupulous observance of all the conventions of courtly love, she has accepted as her lover a knight who in worth and chivalric prowess is second only to Hector; and she has loved him not sensually, but nobly and purely, won not by 'veyn delyt' but by his 'moral vertue grounded upon trouthe.' But this lady whose loveliness and charm have capti- vated not only Troilus, but Chaucer and his readers as v/ell, must in the sequel become a hissing and reproach, the shame of all her sex. She is false to Troilus and to her solemnly plighted word; she allows herself to be TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 113 wooed and won with most indecent haste by the master- ful but cynical Diomede. By the slightest turn of for- tune, this catastrophe might have been averted, and the story given a pathetic but heroic end. In her grief at the prospect of leaving Troilus, a grief the sincerity of which we may not doubt, Criseyde falls into a death- like swoon; and Troilus, believing her to be really dead, draws his sword and is on the point of ending his own life. Had he done so, Criseyde would, she tells us, have slain herself with the same sword. Had events taken this course, we should have had an ending like that of Pyramus and Thisbe, or of Romeo and Juliet. Or a dif- ferent woman in Criseyde's place might have accepted Troilus's urgent proposal that they defy all, and in de- spite of Priam and his parliament flee to some foreign land. Had Troilus taken things boldly into his own hands and resolutely carried her off, she would prob- ably have acquiesced; but he humbly leaves the judg- ment to her. It is one of those irrevocable decisions which Criseyde is incapable of making. She thinks too precisely on the event — the injury to her own reputa- tion and to that of Troilus should he desert his be- leaguered city in its need, the life of wandering exile which would lie ahead for both of them. It is so much easier to accept the circumstances which fate and for- tune have shaped. And so she departs for the Grecian camp with solemnly reiterated promises to return by the tenth day, 'but if that deeth me assayle.' But once in her father's tent, she finds that return is not easy. Once more she thinks upon the event — she may be taken as a spy, she may fall into the hands of lawless men. She lacks the resolution necessary for so bold a step. She still purposes to return — but not to-day, nor yet to-morrow. And there is Diomede, the sudden Diomede, who boldly begins his courtship be- 114 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER fore they reach the Grecian camp. He is no ideahzing courtly lover, but a somewhat cynical man of the world, a mediseval Lovelace, whose motto is: — He is a fool that wo! foryete himselve. Diomede does not lose his heart; he merely improves a good opportunity to win a lady's. All the greater will be his conquest if, as he suspects, she has a lover in Troy. He needs no intriguing Pandarus to help him; he spends no sleepless nights. With a man of such force ai\d resolute will, the hesitating Criseyde is helpless. At first she neither accepts nor rejects his courtship. Once more she prefers to drift with circumstance. She does not cease to care for Troilus; but in her loneliness the company of Diomede is very pleasant. How, after all, shall she return to Troy; and is not the fate of the city, as Diomede tells her, certain destruction? On the very day of her jiromised return, when faithful Troilus is feverishly watching from the city walls for a first sight of her, she is listening not unwilling to the love- making of Diomede; and both Troilus and Troy town are slipjiing 'knotless' through her heart. In less than two months she has accepted completely the new inevi- table. Over the details of Diomede's courtship and Cri- seyde's infamy, her gift to him of the bay steed and of the brooch which had belonged to Troilus, Chaucer passes hurriedly, with continual appeal to the authority of 'the story' and of *myn auctor.' With utmost reluc- tance, and of sheer compulsion, he narrates the shame of Criseyde as it stands recorded in his old books. Her indecision, her irresolute tendency to drift with circum- stance, the trait of character which Chaucer sums up in the phrase, 'slydinge of corage,' have brought her to the depths of ignominy. Criseyde's damnation is complete. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 115 Though Chaucer's chief interest in the story would seem to lie in the personality of Criseyde, it is none the less true that Troilus remains its central r^ ■, figure. He is at least titular hero. When Criseyde's unfaithfulness is accomplished, she fades from the story; the fortunes of Troilus are followed till his death, and with his death the poem ends. The sub- ject of the poem, as set forth in its opening line, is the 'double sorrow of Troilus.' Its concluding moral is pointed as his soul, mounting the heavens, looks back and despises this wretched world that 'passeth sone as floures fayre.' Boccaccio drew the character of Troilo as the type of his own passionate love for Fiammetta; and Chaucer has left it in all essentials unchanged, though appre- ciably ennobled. Troilus is the ideal lover of chivalric love, utterly faithful, utterly humble in his self-effacing sul)jcction to his lady. So completely is he the lover that one is in danger of forgetting that he is also the intrepid warrior, 'hardy as lyoun,' 'save Ector, most ydrad of any wight.' To the shouting multitudes who acclaimed him as he passed through the streets on his way home from battle, he was not the sighing lover, but 'our love, and next his brother holdere up of Troye.' And it is this Troilus, 'al armed save his heed,' mounted on his bay steed, whose image sank into the heart of Criseyde. With Troilus the warrior the modern reader finds himself in immediate sympathy; but with Troilus the lover he is in danger of losing patience, unless he un- derstand clearly what sort of a character Chaucer is portraying, unless he realize how the courtly lover of mediicval romance is expected to behave. His utter faithfulness to Criseyde, his unwillingness to doubt her good faith long after the shrewder Pandarus sees 116 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER clearly that she will not return, needs no apology. It is a point in which the mediseval code of love is in full accord with the conventions of modern romance. It is the utter humility of Troihis, his complete subjection to his lady, his conviction of his own unworthiness, which may seem to the modern reader unnatural. And yet here also the mediseval and the modern code are not so far apart. Modern convention demands that the lover proclaim himself 'not nearly good enough' for his lady, and declare that he is 'the luckiest of men' to win her. If the friends of the modern lover are tempted to smile at him, so does Pandarus more than once smile at the extravagances of Troilus. Nor does Chaucer take Tro- ilus quite seriously; he tells us that the first letter of Troilus was filled with 'thise othere termes alle that in swich cas these loveres alle seche'; and a few lines later he reports : — And after that he seyde, and ley ful hude. Himself was litel worth, and lesse he coude. These protestations of unworthiness, however sincerely uttered, are actually nothing but lies. Troilus himself had once jested at the woes of hapless lovers. Thoroughly in accord with the medieval depiction of love are the pallor and sleeplessness and loss of appetite which afflict Troilus, his sighs and tears and the tremors which seize him when he is about to speak to Criseyde for the first time. They are the recognized symptoms of the lover's malady, ^ symptoms not wholly unknown in modern love-stories. Before we accuse this second Hector of unmanliness in the luxuriance of his grief, we must remember that he indulges in these sighs and tears only when alone or in the sympathetic company ^ See J. L. Lowes, 'The Loveres Maladye of Hereos,' Modern Philology, n. 491-546(1914). TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 117 of his closest friend. From all others his woes are jeal- ously guarded; nor did the Greeks discover any lack of manliness on the battle-field. But even so, Troilus does luxuriate in his sorrow, which is only another way of saying that he is a good deal of a sentimentalist. With him emotion and desire become an end in themselves rather than a spur to ac- tion. Without the aid of Pandarus he would perhaps never have let Criseyde know. It is in his helplessness to further his own cause that Troilus ceases to be merely the typical lover and becomes individualized. This tendency to luxuriate in his own sorrow is the trait of character which, in league with fate, brings about his tragedy. In the first sorrow of his double portion he is supplied by Pandarus with the active force which he lacks. Through the tireless energy and devotion of his friend he breaks down Criseyde's reluc- tance to harbor love, and all is well. But in his second sorrow, when Criseyde must leave him, Pandarus can give no help beyond patient sympathy. It is no time for intrigue and skillful manipulation; if there was any way out for Troilus, it was through quick decision and resolute action. Of such action the sentimental Troilus is not capable. He defers the decision to Criseyde, who characteristically follows the path of least resistance. For himself, he can only withdraw to a temple and bit- terly debate with himself the question of God's provi- dence and man's free will. This long Boethian soliloquy has l>een regarded as a digression and an artistic blem- ish in the poem. Prolonged beyond its due proportion it may be; but it is no more a digression than are the soliloquies of Hamlet. It is thoroughly in accord with the character of Troilus as Chaucer conceived him.^ ' Sec the article by Dr. H. R. Patch on 'Troilus on Prerlestination,' Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 17. 399-422 (1918). 118 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER For Troilus in his love for Criseyde there is no such thing as free choice. It was his destiny that he should love Criseyde; and from the moment that he confides in Pandarus, his destiny is in the hands of his friend. It is with a mingling of pathos and irony that Chaucer depicts the closing scenes of Troilus's story. While Criseyde is receiving the advances of Diomede, Troilus is sadly revisiting the scenes of his former happiness, looking with the eyes of tender sentiment at the barred windows of her empty house. The tenth day comes, and we witness the feverish watching of Troilus. Pan- darus encourages his hopes, but in his own heart he knows better. The evidences of Criseyde's faithless- ness are at last too clear for even Troilus's credulity. His fair dream is shattered; the lady whom he has idealized in joy and sorrow has proved false. Nothing remains but his own integrity. His only hope is to seek release from the emptiness of a deceitful world by speedy death in battle. And so Troilus 'repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee.' He has anticipated by a little the doom which hangs over his city and all his kin. He is the tragic victim of Fortune and of his own character. The dominating personage of the poem is neither Cri- seyde nor Troilus, but Pandarus, prime mover of the plot during half the story and the hero's confidant throughout. It is his character, gay and genial, shrewd and ironic, which gives the poem its prevailing tone, the tone of humorous irony which all but overshadows the essential tragedy. This masterly figure, perhaps the finest example of^ Chaucer's art in portraiture, is almost wholly the Eng- lish poet's original creation. The Pandaro of Boccaccio is a young man, the cousin of Criseida (and of Troilo also), a high-spirited gallant, not much differentiated, save in his fortunes, from the hero, Troilo. He acts TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 119 as messenger and go-between for the lovers; but the much readier susceptibiHty of the Italian heroine makes unnecessary any elaborate scheming and artifice. And Pandaro is quite devoid of the humor which is so salient a quality of his English counterpart. Though Chaucer has^depicted the character of his Pandarus in minute detail, he has nowhere described his personal api)earance; nor has he given any certain indication of his age. But the impression we receive is of a man distinctly older than either of the lovers. He is Criseyde's uncle, a relationship which suggests — though it does not necessarily imply — that he is some years her senior. The terms of charming intimacy and playful banter on which they meet, the trust and con- fidence which Criseyde reposes in him, again suggest the older man and the younger woman. But the differ- ence in their ages need not be more than ten or a dozen years ; for Pandarus is not old, hardly even middle-aged. He is at any rate not too old to play the courtly lover. He has loved *gon sithen longe whyle' a lady whose heart pity for him has never softened. He, like Troilus, has times of sleeplessness and pallor, when he feels 'his part of loves shottes kene'; but for the most part he bears his sorrow easily. Criseyde rallies him about it; and Pandarvis himself jokes about his 'jolly woe' and 'lusty sorrow' which will not let him sleep of a May morning, and humorously describes himself as hop- ping lamely behind in the dance of love. And yet we must not doul)t that Pandarus is genuinely the unsuc- cessful lover; it is one of the ironies of his character that he can win a lady for his friend but not for him- self. He is young enough, also, to be the friend and in- separal)le companion of Troilus. He has, he tells us, loved Troilus 'in wrong and right' all his life. It is a 120 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER strong and loyal friendship, with no faintest suspicion of self-seeking. To his friendship he sacrifices rest and honor. For from the mediaeval point of view as well as from the modern, the role which Pandar plays is one of in- famy and dishonor; and he clearly recognizes that were his actions to be known he would be regarded as guilty of 'the worste trecherye' to his niece. She also regards his advocacy of Troilus's love as a breach of faith. '^ The conventions of courtly love hold Troilus free of blame, and Criseyde so long as she remains true, but not so her uncle, whom circumstance has placed in the position of a father to her, or an elder brother, and who betrays his trust. Had he been merely the friend of Troilus, acting as confidant and messenger, it would have been different; but as Criseyde's uncle, he should have been her jealous guardian. His only defense is that he acts from motives of pure friendship. Professor Kittredge has put very clearly the tragic conflict of duties which confronts Pandarus as the friend of Troilus and the uncle of Criseyde. 'This double relation is the sum and substance of his tragedy, for it involves him in an action that sullies his honor to no purpose. Since Cressida is faithless, he not only labors in vain, but ruins his friend by the very success that his plans achieve. This humorous worldly enthusiast has two ideals, friendship and faith in love. To friendship he sacrifices his honor, only, it seems, to make possible the tragic infidelity of Cressida, which destroys his friend. 2 Though Pandar sacrifices all to the ideal of friend- ship, he is not like Troilus an idealist. He does not sentimentalize his friendship, nor yet his own unre- ' » See Troilus, 3. 271-279; 2. 410-413. Cf. Filoatralo, 3. 8. « Chaucer and his Poetry, pp. 139, 140. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 121 quited love. It is one of his outstanding traits of char- acter that he clearly faces the facts, that he sees things as they are; if he deceives others, he never deceives himself. His love for Troilus does not blind him to his friend's foolish extravagance in love; he can laugh at Troilus as he can laugh at his own hapless love-story. Even while he is comforting Troilus through his ten days' waiting for Criseyde's return, he sees clearly that the hope of Troilus is vain: — But in his herte he thoughte, and softe lough, , And to himself ful sobrely he seyde: 'From hasel-wode, ther loly Robin pleyde, Shal come al that that thou abydest here; Ye, farewel al the snow of feme yere. ' Pandar 'softe lough.' He is always laughing, at himself, at others, at the irony of life which he so clearly sees — Mais oil sont les neiges d'antan? — ; and yet his laughter does not preclude sympathy. More than once we see him weep at the woes of others. In his blending of ironical humor, clear vision, unfailing sympathy, he has much in common with the poet who created him. If there is much about him which is worldly, he is also in the better sense of the word a man of the world. Nothing could exceed the grace and charm of his man- ners and his conversation, playful, witty, full of shrewd observation. He handles Troilus and Criseyde with equal tact; he is easy master of every situation. Best of all, he is never dull. Troilus and Criseyde is a masterpiece not only in its keen analysis of character, but in the skill with which its plot is conceived and developed; its art Narrative is in the highest sense of the word dramatic. ^^^ Troilus first sees Criseyde on a morning in April; Criseyde departs for the Grecian camp on an August 122 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER morning two years later. ^ But if the story extends over some three years, the actions narrated are con- fined to a few days, several of which are recorded in full detail, almost hour by hour. Three quarters of the lines of Book I are devoted to the events of two days — the day when Troilus first sees Criseyde in the temple and the day when he confides his secret to Pandarus. Beginning with Book II, nearly 5000 lines of the 8239 which constitute the poem are devoted to the events of eight days, presented in sets of two, a day and its morrow. These four groups of two center respectively on Pandar's first visit to Criseyde in his friend's behalf,^ on the dinner party at the house of Deiphebus, on the stormy night when the lovers meet at the house of Pandarus, on Criseyde's departure from Troy. Over 900 lines are given to the nine days which follow Criseyde's departure from Troy. The great bulk of the poem is thus devoted to a few significant episodes, and the intervening intervals are dismissed with concise summary. Each of these major episodes is transacted largely by means of dialogue in a series of essentially dramatic scenes. It will suSiciently illustrate Chaucer's method if we analyze one of them, the episode of Criseyde's departure, which fills the fourth book and the begin- ning of the fifth. It is divided into six scenes. The first is a brief scene at the Grecian camp, in which Cal- chas obtains the promise that Antenor shall be ex- changed for Criseyde (4. 64-140). The scene then shifts to Troy, where a parliament is held to consider the ex- ^ We are told, 5. 8-14, that there have been three spring seasons since Troilus began to love Criseyde. If one counts as one of the three the spring in which the story begins, the total lapse of time is two and a half years ; if one counts exclusively of the first spring, another year must be added. " Chaucer dates this visit as on 'Mayes day the thridde,' 2. 66. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 123 cliange, and Criseyde's departure is decreed while Tro- ilus listens in helpless silence (4. 141-217). There fol- lows a long scene in which Troilus in his own chamber, first alone and later with Pandarus, bewails his evil fortune (218-658). This is balanced by a scene at Criseyde's house in which the heroine laments the fatal decree. During this scene she receives the farewell visit of her lady friends, and with breaking heart hstens to their idle chatter, at what Professor Price has called 'a Trojan afternoon tea'^ — an interlude which is a most subtle blending of comedy and pathos. Later in the scene she is joined by Pandarus. This scene extends from line 659 to 945. It is followed by the scene in the temple, where Troilus has withdrawn to meditate on the problem of God's providence and man's freedom; he is interrupted by Pandarus who brings the plan for a farewell meeting at his house (946-1123). The book closes with the long scene (1124-1701) of the lovers' last night together, a scene which extends till dawn of the following day. The final scene of the episode, Cri- seyde's actual departure from the city, is transacted in the opening lines of Book V. More than 1800 fines are devoted to the events of these two days.^ Boccaccio dedicated his Filostrato to Fiammetta, the lady of his passionate heart; Chaucer dedicates his own retelfing of the story to 'moral Gower' and 'the philo- * Soc his illuminating article, 'Troilus and Criseyde, a study in Chaucer's Method of Narrative Construction,' Publications of the Modem Language Association, 11. 307-322 (1896). Professor Price finds that the action of the poem is arranged into fifty scenes, skill- fully contrasted in emotional tone, nf which thirty-two are conducted by means of dialogue, nine arc soliloquy or monologue, two are trio scones, while seven introduce a larger group of speakers. ^ The student will find it interesting to make a similar analysis of the other episodes, particularly that of the dinner party at the house of Deiphebus. 124 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER sophical Strode.' Chaucer's friend, John Gower, had M 1 ^°^ y^^ written Confessio Amantis, his great collection of moralized tales; but his early works, the French Miroir de I'Omme and the Latin Vox Clamantis, are even more pronouncedly didactic. They constitute an ethical analysis of the individual and of society as a whole which amply justifies Chaucer in characterizing their author as preeminently a moralist. Chaucer's other friend, Ralph Strode, was a fellow of Merton College, Oxford, a scholastic of some distinc- tion, and the author of voluminous treatises on logic and dialectic. Chaucer directs his book, then, to a great moralist and a learned professor of philosophy, begging them 'ther nede is to corecte'; and he leaves us in no doubt as to the moral he would have us draw from it, or the philosophy of life which permeates it. Boccaccio is content to warn young lovers not to put trust too lightly in every fair lady, many of whom are, alas, like Criseida, ' unstable as leaf in the wind.' One must be cautious, and choose a mistress who will be firm and constant. Very different is Chaucer's moral: — O yonge fresshe folkes, he or she. In wliich that love npgroM-eth with your age, ' Repeyreth hoom from worldly vanitee. And of your herte upcasteth the visage To thiike god that after his image Yow made, and thinketh al nis but a fayre This world, that passeth sone as floures fayre. Let us flee the vanities of the world, and set our love on Him who in the fullness of His love died for us on the cross, 'for he nil falsen no wight, dar I seye.' This moral is reiterated in the passage where the slain Troilus, as his soul mounts the heavens, looks back at Uhis litel spot of erthe ' and — TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 125 fully gan despyse This wrecched world, and held al vanitee To respect of tiie plcyn felicitee That is in heveue above. The noble stanzas which follow heavenward the soul of Troilus have no counterpart in Filosirato; Chaucer has appropriated them from another poem of Boccaccio, the Teseide, his j)rincii)al source for the Knighfs Tale. Nor were the stanzas present in the first edition of Troilus; they constitute a deliberate addition made at the time when Chaucer revised his finished work. It is plain that Chaucer has done his utmost to make the poem end, unhke the consistently worldly Filosirato, with full emphasis on its moral and philosophical signifi- cance. The contrast with Boccaccio, which is so marked in the conclusion of the poem, is also present, though less strikingly, throughout Troilus and Criseyde. The whole story is interpreted at every stage in accordance with the philosophy of Boethius, a philosophy which Chaucer seems to have adopted as his own — a pro- found sense of the transitoriness of all earthly happiness, of the capriciousness of Fortune, that incalculable power to whom is entrusted the working out of divinely ordained destiny. Chaucer calls his poem a tragedy; and tragedy ac- cording to the mediiDeval conception is, as the Monk of the Canterbury Tales makes clear, the story of a man cast down by Fortune from great prosperity and high estate into misery and wretchedness. But in the Bo- etliian philosophy Fortune is but executrix of destiny. Professor Kittredge has pointed out how strongly Chau- cer has emphasized the idea that his characters are in- volved in the mesh of inexorable fate. It is 'through his destiny' that Troilus first falls in love with Criseyde. It is destiny again which sends him riding 'an esy pas* 12G THE POETRY OF CHAUCER below Criseyde's v/indow at the very moment when Pandarus has disposed the lady's thoughts to answer love by love : — For which, men say, may nought disturbed be That shal bityden of necessitee. And Troilus and Criseyde are Trojans, citizens of a doomed city, marked by the gods for destruction. Cal- chas has already fled from the doom to come; and it is to save his daughter from a share in it that he secures her extradition from the city, and so precipitates the tragedy. Troilus, when the Trojan parliament issues its decree, sees the hand of destiny at work: — For al that comth, comth by necessitee; Thus to be lorn, it is my destinee. And so he debates, through a long passage which Chau- cer added in his recension of the poem, the question of man's freedom and God's foreknowledge, inclining in his argument towards the side of predestination. If stern necessity rules supreme, if men are but the playthings of Fortune, then earthly happiness is but delusion. 'O god!' quod she, 'so worldly selinesse. Which clerkes caJlen fals felicitee, Ymedled is with many a bitternesse! Ful anguisshous than is, god woot,' quod she, ' Condicioun of veyn prosperitee. For either joyes comen nought yfere. Or elles no wight hath hem ahvey here. Wherfore I wol deffyne in this matere. That trewely, for ought I can espye, Ther is no verray wele in this world here.' * It is Criseyde who in these lines, closely modeled on ■ » 3. 813-836. TROILUS AND CRISEYDE 127 Boctliius,' sets forth the doctrine of false felicity; Cri- seyde, who by her subsequent falseness points this same moral at the end of the poem, the moral that the world is but Vanity Fair and its pleasures merely transitory, that true felicity is to be found only 'in hevene above.* Not only in its concluding stanzas, but throughout its course, Chaucer has moralized his song of courtly love in terms of the stoic philosophy of Boethius, and justified his dedication of the poem to 'moral Gower* and 'the philosophical Strode.' He has given to his story of what is, after all, an illicit love a high level of moral elevation, a level which is essentially maintained throughout the poem. This element of its art contrib- utes in no small measure to our feeling that Troilus and Criseyde is a very great poem.^ 1 Book II, Prose iv. For a full discussion of the Boethian element in Troilus, see B. L. JefTerson, Chaucer and the Consolatioji of Philos- ophy of Boethius, pp. 120-130. « See Professor Tatlock's article, 'The Epilog of Chaucer's Troilus,' Modern Philology, 18. 62o-G59 (1921). CHAPTER VII THE HOUSE OF FAME There is no evidence which enables us to assign a pre- cise date to the House of Fame. Since it is named among the poet's works in the Prologue to the Leg- Date and end of Good Women, it must have been writ- Sources. ten before 1386, The use made in it of the Divine Comedy indicates a date later than Chaucer's Ital- ian journey of 1373. Within this range of a dozen years, the date may, though less certainly, be further limited to the period from June, 1374, to February, 1385, the period of Chaucer's active administration of his comptrollership of customs. It would seem to be to these exacting duties at the customs house that the eagle refers in the lines : — For whan thy labour doon al is. And hast ymaad thy rekeninges. In stede of reste and newe thinges. Thou gost hoom to thy hous anoon; And, also domb as any stoon. Thou sitlest at another boke. Til fully daswed is thy loke. In default of a more exact date, one would be glad to know whether the poem was written earlier or later than Chaucer's masterpiece of the so-called Italian period, the Book of Troilus. Even here, no certain con- clusion is possible; and the evidence, such as it is, is too complicated to summarize in such a book as this. But the weight of scholarly opinion now inclines towards the belief that the House of Fame was written before THE HOUSE OF FAME 129 Troilus} If so, it cannot have been written later than 1380. Such leisure as was left to the poet from his reckon- incs at the customs house must have been diligently spent in poring over old books; for the House of Fame displays a very considerable and varied reading. It is a much more 'learned' poem than is the Book of the Duch- ess, written in 1369. It shows, first of all, a thorough acquaintance with Dante, from whom apparently came the suggestion of Chaucer's flight heavenwards in the talons of an eagle, as well as echoes from all three sec- tions of the Divine Comedy. Even greater is the influence of Virgil. The main events of the Mneid are digested in the description of the carvings on the temple of Venus in Book I; and the description of Lady Fame in Book III is indebted to JEneid, 4. 173-183. To Ovid, Metamor- phoses, 12. 39-63, is due the general conception of a House of Fame. The Somnium Scipionis of Cicero, with the commentary of Macrobius, supplied the intro- ductory discussion of the nature of dreams. Other works the influence of which may be traced are the Antidaudi- anus of Alanus de Insulis, and the De Nuptiis Philolo- gies et Mercurii of Martianus Capella. There is no evi- dence that Chaucer knew the Trionfo delta Fama of Petrarch. No single source for the poem as a whole has been discovered, nor is it likely that any will be found. But in general form and structure it belongs clearly in the category of the dream-vision literature of mediaeval France, and has much in common with the Roman de la Rose, the Paradys d' Amours of Froissart, and Chaucer's own Book of the Duchess; though its marked differences from any known poems of the type are very striking. There is no reason to doubt that Chaucer alone is re- ' Sec G. L. Kittredge, Date of Chaucer's Troilus, pp. 53-60. 130 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER sponsible for the central conception of his plot and for its development, even though he has cast it in the mould of the vision-poems of love-allegory, and has enriched it from his varied reading. ^ Despite its debt in form and substance to * olde bokes,' the poem impresses one first of all by its spontaneity, its ease of movement, its boundless energy of invention. It excels in that quality which eighteenth-century critics designated as 'wit,' which we to-day are more likely to call ingenious fancy. It mod- estly disclaims any pretense to poetic art : — Nat that I wilne, for maistrye, Here art poetical be shewed; But, for the rym is light and lewed, j Yit make hit sumwhat agreable, I Though som vers faile in a sillable. It will merely recount to us a most marvelous dream which the poet dreamed on the tenth day of last Decem- ber. And so, half playfully, half seriously, Chaucer discusses in his first fifty lines the nature of dreams. Are they warnings of things to come, or the mere result of bodily disorders? It is a question which Chaucer was fond of raising. With what amused interest he would have investigated present-day methods of 'psychoan- alysis' through interpretation of dreams! But though Chaucer raises the question, he leaves its determination to 'grete clerkes.' If dreams are really warnings, they warn 'to derkly' to be of much use. So he merely re- counts his dream without attempting an interpretation of it. Unmindful of Chaucer's caution, scholars have tried to read into his dream an elaborate allegorical meaning, ' See W. O. Sypherd, Studies in Chaucer's House of Fame, Chaucer Society, 1907. THE HOUSE OF FAME 131 a revelation of his own intellectual experiences and aspirations; but the trend of critical opinion to-day is to discredit these interpretations as over-ingenious, and to accept the poem at its face value as merely a wonder- ful dream. At most, one may take as revealing Chau- cer's own more serious conviction his account of Lady Fame and her abode. The word 'fame' is used in the poem with double meaning. One meaning is rumor, general report, the mysterious dissemination of tidings. Upon the basis of this general report, some strange power distributes to men their meed of glory or reputation; and this is the second meaning of the word 'fame.' It is with the first of these meanings in view that the magisterial eagle gives his scientific explanation of how all reports tend by their own nature to fly upwards to a single center set in the midst of heaven and earth and sea. But in the third book we see first the dwelling-place of the goddess of reputation or glory. The poetic imagery is easy of interpretation. The mount of ice is slippery of ascent, and in its nature so little permanent that the names upon it melt easily away. Only on the northern side, the direction of hardship and adversity, were there any names of endurance. The lady Fame herself is a won- drous 'feminyne creature,' seviper muiabile, who, like Virgil's Fama, is of such varying stature that one mo- ment she seems less than a cubit in height, and the next she touches the heavens. Mutable in her outward form, the lady is equally capricious in the bestowal of her favor. Perhaps the most brilliant touch of poetical fancy in the poem is the scene where the various com- panies of men, the deserving and the desertless, come to ask their boons of glory or oblivion, and are answered with no rule or reason, but merely as the whim of the moment mav dictate. 132 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER The significance of all this is plain enough. Uncertain and evanescent in itself, fame or reputation is bestowed in so unreasonable a way that a man of reason and self- respect cannot but despise it. As Chaucer stood marvel- ing at all this gear, some one addressed him: — And seyde : ' Frend, what is thy name? Artow come hider to han fame?' 'Nay, forsothe, frend!' quod I; *I cam noght hider, graunt mercy! For no swich cause, by my heed! Suffyceth me, as I were deed. That no wight have my name in honde. I woot myself best how I stonde; For what I drye or what I thinke, I wol myselven al hit drinke.' Chaucer dehberately repudiates all desire for glory; but for fame in the sense of tidings he has the keenest relish; and this desire is satisfied in the house of Rumor, the domus Dedali, to which he is now conducted. Here are tidings in abundance, false and true, of all sorts of happenings under heaven. Here are shipmen and pil- grims, pardoners and messengers, — With scrippes bret-ful of lesinges, Entremedled with tydinges. The poem breaks off abruptly — either because Chaucer never finished it, or because a final leaf got lost from the original manuscript — leaving the poet in the house of Rumor; and there we find him again some ten years later, as he rides with a company of shipmen and pilgrims and pardoners, an unassuming but keenly interested spectator and auditor, on the road to Canter- bury. The first phase of this wondrous dream transacts itself in a marvelous temple of glass, on the walls of THE HOUSE OF FAME 133 which are pictured in true mediaeval fashion all the story of yEneas. The poet recognizes that it is the temple of Venus — for, in portreyture, I saw anoon right hir figure Naked fletinge in a see. It is because of the poet's devotion to love that Jupiter sends down his great eagle to bear him aloft to the land of Fame, where he can hear tidings of lovers and their ways. The second book is concerned with Chaucer's skyward journey. The eagle who bears him none too securely in his talons is no mere piece of narrative machinery, but quite the most delightful personage of the poem. He is a very learned eagle, and not in the least niggardly about imparting his learning. With his helpless audi- ence of one gripped in his two claws, he lectures most academically on the theory of sound, and then inquires with fine condescension: — Have I not preved thus simply, Withouten any subtiltee Of speche, or grct prolixitee Of termes of philosophye? To this question Chaucer, taking the part of wisdom, discreetly answers 'Yis.' 'A ha!' quod he, 'lo, so I can Lewedly to a lowed man Speke, and shewe him swiche skiles. That he may shake hem by the biles. So palpable they shulden be.' Though the eagle speak with the tongue of men and schoolmasters, the poet does not forget that he is a bird, and reminds his readers of the fact by the deHcious con- ceit — 'shake hem by the biles.' 134 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Having lectured to his own great satisfaction on the wave-theory of sound, he is ready, nay eager, to dis- course on the stars; but his audience rebels: — 'Wilt thou lere of sterres aught?' ' Nay, certeinly,' quod I, ' right naught; And why? for I am now to old.' ' Elles I wolde thee have told,' Quod he, 'the sterres names, lo. And al the hevenes signes to. And which they been.' Every reader of poetry, he insists, should have at least an elementary course in astronomy, and what time so favorable as this when we are in the very midst of the constellations? It is only when his hearer urges that his eyes will not bear to look upon the stars in their blazing proximity, that the eagle reluctantly bridles his peda- gogic zeal. It would be idle to point out all the humorous touches of this aerial colloquy. If the reader cannot see them for himself, as Matthew Arnold would have said, mori- etur in peccatis suis. Not even in the Nun's Priest's Tale is Chaucer's humor more irresistible. CHAPTER Vni THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN The Legend of Good Women marks the beginning of what is ordinarily called Chaucer's third period, the period which reaches full flower in the Canterhury Tales. Itself a collection of tales bound together by community of theme and by a common prologue, it may in deed be thought of as a direct precursor of the greater collection which follows. Chaucer has ceased to feel the overmastering influence of Italian models; and though the intellectual stimulus received from Italy was not to spend itself until his death, he is feeling about for a form of literary expression which shall be essentially his own. That the Legend was in some sort an experimental venture is suggested by the fact that it was loft unfinished, crowded from its place in his attention by the vastly superior conception of the Canterhury Tales. But experiment though it be, it is far from being a failure. The nine legends which Chaucer wrote are good pieces of narrative, told with the poet's peculiar grace and charm ; while the Prologue is, in its beauty of imagery, its buoyant freshness of an English Maytide, in its general conception and execution, one of Chaucer's most successful and most beautiful productions. The Legend consists of a series of tales, drawn from the storehouse of classical antiquity, recounting the fortunes of noble women, true in love, intro- duced by a prologue poem of the dream- vision type so popular in the allegorical literature of 136 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER the Middle Ages. In the case of such a work, one need not look for any single source ; one will ask rather what models Chaucer may have had before him, or what earlier works may have suggested the scheme of his jDoem. Two such works immediately suggest them- selves : the Heroldes of Ovid, a series of imaginary letters sent by heroines of mythology to their faithless lovers, and, nearer to Chaucer's own time, the JJe Claris Mulierihus ^ of Boccaccio, a collection of sto- ries in Latin prose, wherein are epitomized the fortunes of famous women. The first of these works Chaucer certainly knew ; and there is every probability that he was acquainted with the other. In compiling materials for the individual legends, Chaucer seems to have done what any modern author would do under similar circumstances : he read all the accounts of his heroines which wei-e readily accessible to him, and selected, adapted, and combined, as his liteiary taste impelled him. In the case of the first legend, that of Cleopatra, it is not very clear just what versions of the story Chancer used. Perhaps a Latin translation of Plutarch's life of Antony was accessi- ble to him ; perhaps, too, he consulted the Historia adversiim Paganos of Orosius (fifth century a. D.) and tlie De Claris Mulierihus of Boccaccio. Pretty certainly he was acquainted with the Epitome Rerum liomanarum of Florus, a Roman historian of the reign of Hadrian. The legend of Thisbe was drawn entirely from Ovid's account of the lady in 3Ietamorphoses^ 4. 65-166, though the source was used by Chaucer with characteristic freedom. The story of Dido is taken, of course, from Virgil, though a few lines (1355-1365) ^ Similar in character, though -wider in its scope, is the De Casihus Virorum et Feminarum Illust'iuin of the same author, used by Chaucer as the model for his Monk's Tale. THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 137 are from Ovid's TTcroidcs^ 1. 1-8. For the stories of Hypsipyle and Medea Chaucer went, naturally enough, to Ovid ; ^ but he seems to have made even greater use of the account given in the Illstoria Trojana of Guido delle Colonne.''' For the story of Lucretia Chaucer liiuiself refers us to Livy and to Ovid,^ the latter of whom is his principal source. The remaining legends are hased chiefly on Ovid, whose influence is the domi- nant one in the whole collection. Other works which Chaucer may well have consulted are the fables of Ilyginus, the two works of Boccaccio mentioned above, and the compendium of classical mythology by the same author entitled De Genealogia Deorum.* Most of the stories of the Legend of Good Women are also told by Gower in the Confessio Amantis ; so that one may, if he pleases, see how a less gifted contemporary uses the same material.^ For tlie Prologue the problem of sources is much less clear. It seems to have been composed under the gen- eral influence of a school, rather than of any particular models. This school is that of the French love-alle- gory, with its familiar devices of a dream-vision and a court of love, and its unfailing accompaniments of May-morning, singing birds, and springing flowers, of which the Roman de la Rose is the great exemplar.*' From anions: the vast thronsx of French love-alle<2:ories of this type, it is possible to segregate a small group ^ Metamorphoses, 7. 1-290 ; Heroides, C and 12. '^ Cf. ;ib()ve. p. US. 8 Fasti, ;5. 401-510. * Chaucer's indebtedness to the De Genealogia has been convincin£;]y proved by C. G. Child in Modern Lanepiage Notes, 11. 238-245. ^ For a discussion of the sources of the Legend and of the relation of Chaucer's work to Gower's, see the excellent article by M. Bech in Anglia, 5. 3l;'--3S2. '' For a very thoroug'h account of this poetry, see Professor W. A. Neilsou's The Origins and Sources of the Court oj" Love, Eoston, 1899. 138 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER which exerted a more particular influence on the Pro- logue. Some twenty years before the probable date of Chaucer's Legend^ the French poet Guillaume de Machault wrote a Dit de la Marguerite., wherein a lady named Marguerite, very likely a mistress of Machault's patron Pierre de Lnsignan, king of Cyprus, is praised under the figure of the flower whose name she bears. The cult of the daisy was immediately taken up by Machault's literary disciples, Froissart and Deschamps. Froissart in his Dittie de la Flour de la Marguerite and his Paradys d" Amours uses the same symbolism, with extravagant praise of the daisy, in honor of another Marguerite ; and Deschamps carries the same device even farther in his Lay de Franchise^ and in several of his balades. As the fashion gained vogue, this symbol- ism of the daisy was applied even to ladies whose name did not happen to be Marguerite. So that one need not be surprised to find in the Prologue to Chaucer's Legend that the daisy is used to symbolize Alcestis, and, through her, Chaucer's patroness, Queen Anne.^ With the work of all three of these poets Chaucer, we know, was familiar ; with Deschamps he had per- sonal relations of pecidiar interest ; for a balade of Deschamps is addressed to the ' grant translateur, noble Geff roy Chaucier.' ^ From the balade itself we learn that it was to be sent to Chaucer, together with other of Deschamps's poems, by the hands of Sir Lewis Clifford.' It is entirely possible that the Lay de FrancJdse, with 1 For a discussion of the marguerite poems and their influence on Chaucer, see the article by J. L. Lowes on the Legend of Good Wo- men, in Publications of the Modern Language Association, 19. 593-GS3 (1904). ^ The halade is reprinted entire in the Oxford Chaucer, 1. Ivi, Ivii. ^ For an account of Clifford, see the article by Professor Kittredge on ' Chaucer and some of his Friends,' in Modern Philology, 1. 1-lS. THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 139 its praise of the marguerite, was one of the poems thus truusmitted from the poet over-seas. However it reached him, we can be all but sure that the Lay de Jl^ranchisey and Froissart's Paradys d^ Amours., and perhaps other of the marguerite poems, were in Chau- cer's mind when he composed his Prologue.^ It is to this group of marguerite poets, then, and to the still larger group of their countrymen who had written courtly allegories of love, that Chaucer is speaking in the familiar lines near the beginning of his poem : — Ye lovers, that can make of seutement; In this cas oghte j'e be diligent To forthren me somvvhat in my labour, VV'hetlier ye ben with the leef or with the flour. For wel I wot, that ye han herbiforu Of makings ropen, and lad awey the corn ; And I come after, glening here and there, And am ful glad if I may flnde an ere Of any goodly word that ye han left. One need only say that Chaucer's gleaning was indeed rich. In the Patent Rolls for the eighth jj^ear of the reign of Richard II, under date of February 17 [1385], there is a writ by which the king grants ' b}' special -Q^ie and grace to our beloved Geoffrey Chaucer, comp- circum- troller of our customs and subsidies in the ofcompo- port of our city of London,' the privilege of ^'^*°'^- appointing a permanent deputy to conduct the business which he had before been commanded to transact with his own hand. With what delicious sense of untram- meled freedom must Chaucer have closed his books of reckonings, and taken farewell of his not too congenial associates at the custom-house on Thames-bank. No ^ Despite the contention of Dr. Lowes in the article cited above, these poems seem to me to have served aa suggestions, rather than as definite sources. 140 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER longer need he crowd his study and his writing into the evening hours, after a day's work was ah-eady done. Chaucer was at this time a man of forty-five or thereabouts, and already the most famous poet in Eng- land. He was the 'grant translateur' of the Roman de la Rose; he had celebrated the marriage of Richard and Queen Anne in the Parliament of Fowls; he had shown the free play of his wit and fancy in the House of Fame; above all he had published but a few years ago his great narrative poem, Troilus. We can imagine that Troilus had created no small sensation in courtlj'^ circles. Never before had Chaucer's readers seen in English, nor in French, a story of courtly love told with such vivid and convincing realism; and in this vivid story the heroine, Criseyde, becomes in the end a type of all that a lady should not be. It is likely enough that many a noble lady of the court reproached the poet, betwixt play and earnest, for drawing so unflattering a portrait of woman- kind. In the Prologue to the Legend, King Cupid bitterly upbraids the poet for having translated the Romance of the Rose, 'that is an heresye ageyns my lawe,' and for having written disparagingly of Criseyde — ' that mak- eth men to womraen lasse triste.' Queen Alcestis, su- preme type of womanly fidelity in love, pleads Chaucer's cause. Perhaps, since Chaucer is but a foolish poet at best, he has sinned by sheer inadvertence, 'gessing no malyce.' At any rate, he has written many other poems in praising of Love's name. She promises that he will never err again; and proposes that as penance he shall now write 'of wommen trewe in lovinge al hir lyve.' These proceedings at the court of King Cupid are, of course, a literary device for introducing the series of legends which is to follow; and Chaucer has warned us that the whole scene is but a dream. One must be on THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 141 one's guard against reading into scenes of poetic fiction a record of supposedly actual happenings; yet in this instance there is reason to believe that the events of the dream-vision reflect something of reality, that the task of writing a legend of good women was imposed on Chaucer by Queen Anne, as in the poem it is enjoined on him by Queen Alcestis. That the poem was, at any rate, to be dedicated to Queen Anne is made clear in Alceste's command: — And whan this book is maad, yive hit the quene On my behalfe, at Eltham, or at Shene. Chaucer's disciple, Lydgate, writing a generation later, asserts in the Prologue to his Falls of Princes that the Legend was made 'at the request of the c{uene.' Perhaps Lydgate is reporting authentic tradition; perhaps his statement rests only on his own interpretation of Chau- cer's Prologue. Even on this latter hypothesis the evi- dence is significant. The modern critic would be less diffident of seeing in the poem a meaning found also by a nearly contemporary poet thoroughly conversant with the conventions of mediaeval poetry. It seems probable, also, that Chaucer's reverence for Queen Alcestis, and his passionate devotion to the daisy which is associated with her, w^ere intended as a compli- ment to Queen Anne. In the lines which sing the praises of the daisy, Chaucer has echoed the language of the French poets who, under the type of the marguerite, have complimented living ladies. But Chaucer surpasses his French originals in the fervor of his devotion. He says of the daisy: — She is the clernesse and the verrey light That in this derke worlde me wynt and ledeth; The herte inwith my sorowful brest yow dredeth, And loveth so sore, tliat ye ben verrayly The maistresse of my wit, and nothing I . . . 142 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Be ye my gyde and lady sovereyne; As to myn erthly god, to yow I calle, Bothe in this werke and in my sorwes alle. These lines, as Professor Lowes has pointed out, are closely modeled on a passage of fervent devotion in the Proem to Filostrato, where Boccaccio is addressing not a flower, but his lady Piammetta. It would be absurd to suppose that this extravagant devotion of Chaucer is bestowed on a mere flower of the field. It seems hardly less unreasonable to suppose that it is lavished upon the mythical person of Queen Alcestis. What 's Hecuba to him, or he to Hecuba, that he should weep for her? To the present writer the conclusion seems inevitable that under the twofold type of the daisy and of Alcestis the poet is praising some living lady. If so, it is highly probable that the lady is none other than Queen Anne, to whom, as we know from Chaucer's own words, the book was to be formally presented 'at Eltham or at Shene.' From this conclusion it need not follow that Alcestis is at all points to be equated with Anne, nor that had Chaucer carried out his intention to devote one of the legends to the story of Alcestis: — She that for hir husbonde chees to dye, And eek to goon to helle, rather than he — he would have made her life in any way an allegory of the life of the queen. Alcestis is not an invariable sym- bol for Queen Anne, but rather a type of noble woman- hood and wifely devotion which, Chaucer suggests, is again embodied in his youthful queen. ^ The daisy, then, ^ The view that Alcestis typifies Queen Anne is supported by Tat- lock, Development and Chronology of Chaucer's Works, pp. 102-120, and by B. L. Jefferson in Journal of English and Germanic rhilology, 13. 434-443. It is opposed by Lowes in the article already cited, and by Kittredge in Modern Philology, 6. 435-439. A middle position is taken by Samuel Moore in Modern Language Review, 7. 488-493. THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 143 plays a double role. It is immediately the type of Queen Alcestis who is to appear in person later in the poem; but more subtly it also shadows forth the poet's royal patroness. The Prologue to the Legend of Good Women has come down to us in two versions which present very consider- able variations from one another. Hitherto The Two this discussion has confined itself to the ^^""^'o^^ longer version, which modern editors have Prologue. designated by the letter 'B' to distinguish it from the shorter ' A ' version, found in a single manuscript (Cam- bridge University Library, Gg4. 27). ^ That both of these versions are from Chaucer's own hand, no one has doubted; but the question as to the relative priority of the two versions was long in dispute. The 'A' version contains 90 lines not found in ' B,' lacks 124 hues which *B ' contains, presents transpositions of several important passages, and numerous slight alterations in individual lines. Particularly notable is the fact that 'A' omits entirely the couplet quoted above in which the poem is expressly dedicated to Queen Anne, and that the passage in which the poet expresses his devotion to the daisy is greatly modified, with complete suppression of many of its most ardent lines. Had this version alone sur- vived, we should have had no grounds for seeing in the poem any special compliment to the queen. The daisy would have seemed to typify Alcestis and only Alcestis. It is impossible to enter here into all the intricacies of the argument. It must sufiice to say that virtually all scholars are now agreed that the so-called * B ' version is the earlier, and that it was written in 1385 or 1386, ' Recent critics sometimes designate the 'A' version by the symbol 'G' or 'Gg,' and the so-called 'B' version, the text of which is best preserved in MS. Faifax 16 of the Bodleian Library, by the symbol •F." 144 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER probably in the latter year. Deschamps's Lay de Fran- chise, which seems to have contributed to Chaucer's praises of the marguerite, was composed for May-day, 1385. This sets an early hmit for the date of the 'B' Prologue. It was certainly written before the death of Queen Anne in 1394. By 1387, or shortly after, Chaucer was apparently engaged on the Canterbury Tales, and would have been most unwilling to undertake, even at royal request, another collection of tales based on a plan artistically so inferior. When Queen Anne died in 1394, her royal husband tore down the palace at Shene, where she had died, and avoided everything which should remind him of his loss. It would seem that the so-called * A' version of the Pro- logue, which suppresses the dedication to the queen and obliterates the compliment paid to her in the earlier version, was called forth by this event and by the king's attitude towards it. As the Legend was not completed, it had probably never been presented to the queen, never formally 'published.' The queen's death made the dedication no longer appropriate; and the king's attitude made unacceptable to him a poem designed to do her honor. To adapt his still unfinished work to these new conditions would seem to have been Chaucer's motive for revision. If so, the date of the 'A' version must be shortly after 1394, a date which is corroborated by other considerations. ^ By the command of Queen Alcestis, Chaucer is to write 'a glorious Legende of Gode Wommen, maidenes Plan of and wy ves ' who were saints and martyrs in the Poem, the cause of true love. Cupid adds a further command that the legends shall conclude with the life of Alcestis. * For a fuller discussion of the problem see Tatlock's chapter on the Legend in Development and Chronology of Chaucer's Works. THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 145 The finished poem, then, was to have consisted of tlie Prologue, followed by the legends of the nineteen ladies who form Alcestis's train, and concluded by tlie story of Alcestis herself. But Chaucer had a sad habit not unknown to us moderns, of undertaking a large task with boundless enthusiasm, and of tiring of it before the task was half ])erfornied. He wrote nine legends (tlie last unfinished), praising the virtue of ten of the noble ladies, and then the new and the better idea of the Canterbury pilgi-iniage took possession of his mind. With the intellectual impatience so char- acteristic of him, he started on the fresher task; and though intending to finish the Legend^ as shown by his reference to it in the Prologue to the Man of Laws Talc^ he laid it one side to wait for the more convenient day which never came. It is easy to see why the work was put aside. Charming as the Prologue is in its kind, it is after all only a dream, and forever inferior to the human reality and broad sweep of the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. Moreover, since the tales were all to be told by the poet himself, there was no opportunity for the dramatic variety offered by the Canterbury pilgrimage. Lastly, and most impor- tant, the very nature of the plan involved inevitable monotony — all the stories were to be of true women, faithful though abandoned in love, and all were to be drawn from the realm of classical antiquity. As Professor Lounsbury has pointed out, one can trace in the successive sections of the work the poet's growing tedium. Even as he wrote the last lines of the Prologue, he began to be o})pressed with the mag- nitude of his undertaking. The god of love warns him: — 'I wot wpI that thou mayst nat al hit ryme, That swiche lovers diden in Lir tyme; 146 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER It were to long to reden and to here; Suffyceth nie, thou make in this manere, That thou reherce of al hir lyf the grete, After thise okle auctours listen to trete. For whoso shal so many a storie telle, Sey shortly, or he shal to longe dwelle.' A similar note recurs in the first of the legends : — The wedding and the feste to devyse, To me, that have ytake swiche empryse Of so many a storie for to make. Hit were to long, lest that I sholde slake Of thing that bereth more effect and charge: For men may overlade a ship or barge; And forthy to th' effect than wol I skippe, And al the remenant, I wol lete hit slippe. Other hints of weariness may be found frequently in the legends ; ' but quite unmistakable are the following lines from the Legend of Phyllis : — But for I am agroted heerbiforn To wryte of hem that been in love forsworn, And eek to haste me in my legende. Which to performe god me grace sende, Therfor I passe shortly in this wyse. With such a warning, one is not surprised to find the next legend broken off abruptly in the middle of a sentence. One curious slip on the poet's part gives further proof that his heai't was not in the work. In the Legend of Ariadne^ at line 2075, we are told that Theseus was but twenty years and three of age ; only twenty lines farther on Ariadne suggests that her sister be wedded to Theseus's son. On the basis of the lists of heroines given in the balade introduced into the Prologue, and in the Pro- logue to the Man of Law's Tale^ Professor Skeat sur- 1 See 11. 1002-1003. 1552-1553, 1565, 1679, 1692-1693, 1921, 2257- 2258, 2470-2471, 2490-2491, 2513-2515. THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 147 mises that the remaining- legends were to have dealt with Penelope, Helen, Hero, Laodamia, Lavinia, Polyxena, Deianira, Hermione, and Briseis: but since the two lists are not in accord, we may well believe that Chau- cer's mind was never clearly made up on the matter. The peculiar charm of the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women is in part the charm of spring-time and out-of-doors, in part the charm of noble The Pro- womanhood as figured in the fair Alceste, and ^°sue. even more the buoyant joyfulness of new-won freedom, as of an Ariel set free. First we see the poet, Chau- cer, himself in his daily life — in the study and in the fields. Though he is no deep scholar, he modestly confesses, it is his surpassing delight to read books, — And to hem yeve I feyth and ful credence, And in myn herte have hem in reverence So hertely, that tlier is game noon That fro my bokes maketh me to goon, But hit be seldom, on the holyday. Though a book-lover, Chaucer is no book-worra. There is one attraction more potent than that of ' olde bokes ' — the beauty of nature in the fair spring-time.^ But when we speak of Chaucer's love of nature, we must be careful not to confuse this with the love of nature which marks more modern poets. Nowhere in his works is there any suggestion that he cared for the wilder beauty of mountains and rocks and surging sea. We never hear that he spent a summer in Wales, or Corn- wall, or the Scottish Highlands. In his journeys to Italy he must surely have caught a glimpse of the Alps ; but never does he sing of cloud-capped peak or snowy ^ Chaucer's picture of Maytide is, of course, largel)' influenced by the conventionalities of the French love-allenfories : but his poetry is so ipoiuanpous in its enthusiasm that we may safely assume that the con- reution chimed with his own natural feeling^. 148 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER summit. In tlie FranlcUrCs Tale the story demands a description of the rocky coast of Brittany ; but the rocks are thought of as terrible and destructive ratlier than as beautifuL They even cause Dorigen to doubt the benevolence of their Creator : — Eterne god, that tliurgh thy purveyaunce Ledest the world by certeiii governaunce, In ydel, as men seyn, ye nothing niake ; I5ut, lord, thise grisly feeiidly rokkes blake, That semen rather a foul confnsioun Of werk than any fair creacioun Of swich a parfit wys god and a stable, Why ban ye vvroght this werk unresonable ? ^ Once only does Chaucer give a sweeping view from hill or mountain-side : — Ther is, at the west syde of Itaille, Doun at the rote of Vesulus the colde, A lusty playne, habundant of vitaiile, Wher many a tour and toun tliou mayst biholde, That founded were in tyme of %dres olde, And many another delitable sighte, And SalucGS this noble contree highte.'^ What appeals to Chaucer in the view is the fertility of the plain, and the evidence of prosperous human life furnished by ' many a tour and toun.' As for Mt. Ve- sulus itself, he dismisses it with the single ej^ithet ' colde.' The tale of Constance offers abundant oppor- tunity for describing the beauty and grandeur of the sea; but the opportunity is not improved. It is merely the ' wilde see,' or the ' salte see,' thought of as dan- gerous and cruelly malignant. What Chaucer, and the men of the Middle Ages in general, loved in nature was the peaceful and gentle, the beneficent to human life. The beauty of a May dawning, the song of birds, the fairness of the daisy, the gentle sweep of a green Qieadow, the long avenues of a well-kept forest — these 1 F SG5-S72. 2 E 57-63. THE LEGEND OF GOOD WOMEN 149 were the charms which could lure Chaucer from his books and make him happy for a long summer's day. It is hard for us, bred and born in the atmosphere of romanticism, to sympathize with such a choice, to umhMstantl why one of the most beautiful of Alpine jiasses should have received the name of Mala Via, the ' bad road ; ' and yet who shall say that love of the kindly and beneficent is not as sane and reasonable as romantic enthusiasm for the desolate and destructive? Following on the description of Chaucer's daily life comes the dream-vision itself. In this charming vision one may notice the skill with which the poet paints a wide and crowded scene without any confusion or dis- traction of attention from its central figures. Thouo:h the long description of the beauty of a May meadow belongs to Chaucer's waking experience and not to the dream,' the memor}'^ of it is so fresh in the reader's mind that no further painting of background is neces- sary ; and the dream begins at once with the entrance of the god of love, and of the queen whom he is leading by the hand. They, as the central figures of the scene, are described with all beauty of detail, the noble womanhood of Aleestis dominating all about her. Then, after the balade has been sung, our atten- tion is diverted to a definite number of attendants, the nineteen ladies. They are in ' royal habit,' but beyond this single touch they are not described. From them we turn to a vast company without number, and the whole scene is filled with beauty and goodness. But suddenly the whole throng ceases its motion ; all kneel and sing with one voice : — ' Helo and liononr To trouthe of womanliede, and to tins flour That berth our alder prys in figiiringe ! ' ^ We are speaking of the B version. 150 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Once more our whole attention is brought back to the object of this adoration, and the action of the dream proceeds uninterrupted to the end. Beyond all this beauty of nature and of fair vision, there is the spirit of health and free-hearted joy per- vading the whole poem, which is too subtle for analy- sis, and fortunately needs no service of the critic. Into the Prologue Chaucer threw all the enthusiasm of his art ; but the legends which it introduces were The Nine written, as we have seen, half-heartedly. Legends. Xhough the tales are well and gracefully told, and much more than mere imitations of classical authors, many readers, 1 think, will fail to read them throusfh. We are conscious of a 'hidden want,' the want of Chaucer's own participant enthusiasm. Any- thing which has been hastily and reluctantly written will be hastily and reluctantly read. There are a few passages of fine description, such as the highly ani- mated account of the sea-fight at Actium in the Legend of Cleopatra (a description which suggests the tour- nament scene in the Knight's Tale), or the description of the hunt and ensuing thunder-storm in the Legend of Dido ; there is true pathos in the story of Lucre- tia, and real lyric passion in the lament of forsaken Ariadne ; and yet we feel that the legends are in the main creditable productions rather than inspired poems. Perhaps the Legend of Thisbe comes nearest to being real poetry. CHAPTER IX THE CANTERBURY TALESf, GROUP A Excellent as is the quality of Cnaucer's earlier work, — rich in characterization, in humor, in pathos, in essential poetry, — it is in the Canterbury Tales, and in them alone, that we find the full measure of Chau- cer's greatness. In their endless variety of beauty and charm tiiey themselves are Chaucer. To attempt any critical appreciation of the Canterbury Tales as a whole is to discuss the literary art of Chaucer, and that has already been attempted in an earlier chapter. Detailed estimates of the individual tales will be found in the pages which follow. All that remains for con- sideration here is the happy device by which the sev- eral tales are bound together into an artistic whole. All the world loves a good story : and long before the days of Chaucer, collections of short tales in prose or verse were popular in Europe and in the ^j^^ Orient. Very often, too, an attempt was made Frame- to give to such compilations a sort of collec- tive unity, either by community of theme, as in the Lefjend of Good Women and the MojiFs Tale, or better by some framework story, as in the great col- lection known as the Arabian Nights. The Confessio Amantis of Gower is merely a vast treasure-house of stories bound together somewhat clumsily by the device of a lover's confession to the priest of Venus, the sto- ries being told by the confessor as examples and ad- monitions to his penitent. Pearly in the fourteenth century we have in English a collection of fifteen tales 152 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER unified by an enveloping plot in the Proces of the Sevyn Sages. Most famous, perhaps, of such collections of stories is the Decameron of Boccaccio ; and though, in all probability, Chaucer was unacquainted with this work, it is interesting to compare the way in which the two foremost of fourteenth century story-tellers gave unity to their work. In Boccaccio a company of ten young men and women of high social standing flee from plague-stricken Florence to a country estate, the pro- perty of one of them, and pass their days in telling stories. On each of ten days a story is told by each of the company, the stories of each day dealing with the same general theme. Connecting links describe the other diversions with which the days are filled. Chaucer's device of a springtime pilgrimage to Canterbury has several advantages over that of Boc- caccio. In the democracy of travel it was possible to bring together quite naturally persons of varied occu- pations and of diverse social rank, from the Knight to the Plowman, and in consequence to give to the stories a greater variety in theme and manner than is possible in the Decameron, Moreover, the motley complexion of the company and the adventures of a journey give rise to many humorous encounters, which add greatly to the realism of the whole. With constant change of scene, and with wide range of human char- acters, tedium is impossible ; and the reader enters at once into the exhilarating spirit of travel and holiday. Had Chaucer carried out his original plan for the Canterbury Tales^ the Prologue describing the gath- The Nine e^'i^g ^^ the Tabard Inn would have been Groups of followed by sixty tales, two by each of the pilgrims including Chaucer himself, each introduced by its own prologue. The connecting links between the tales would have kept us informed of the THE CANTERBURY TALES 153 progress of the journey, where the nights were spent, where dinner was taken, of all the little happenings of the way. Then would have followed an account of the arrival in Canterbury and of the doings of the com- pany while there. Sixty more tales, with their connect- ing links, would have brought us back to Southwark; and a concluding section would have described the supper given to him who should be judged the best ra- conteur. Of this grand scheme Chaucer completed less than a quai'ter. The plan was modified in the course of execution to one tale from each pilgrim on the way to Canterbury, and one on the return ; but in the work as we have it, many of the pilgrims are never called upon, and the company never reaches Canterbury, though it gets within sight of its towers. Even the stories which we possess do not form an orderly sequence. We have the first tale told, the Knight's, and the last, the Parson's ; but between the beginning and the end there are eight gaps which should have been filled with tales, or with connecting links ; so that we have not a fragment of the whole, but nine separate fragments, the longest of which contains seven connected tales, and the shortest but one. These fragments are usually spoken of as groups, and are for convenience designated by the letters of the al- phabet from A to I. Further confusion is caused by the fact that in the various manuscripts of the Canterhiiry Tales the order of the tales is different, even the integ- rity of the several groups or fragments not being always preserved. But the references in the link-poems enable us to constitute the groups ; while the geographical references to the towns through which the pilgrims pass make it possible to determine with certainty the relative position of all but one of the nine groups. The group, of the position of which we are not certain, h;is been assigned by Mr. Furnivall to the third place in 154 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER the series, and has therefore been denominated Group C. Its assignment to this position, though based on the slightest evidence, has been generally accepted as a convenient practical disposition of the case. Fragmentary as is the work, we are none the less able to piece out its allusions to places and time with what The Jour- we know independently of the usual proced- canter- ^^® ®^ pilgrims to the shrine of St, Thomas, i^ury. and thus to reconstruct with some deo^ree of probability the route followed by Chaucer's pilgrims, and the time taken by them upon their joui-ney. Though it was possible, when demanded by urgent business, to make the journey in much less time, it was the usual custom for pilgrims to spend four days in going from London to Canterbury, the recognized stopping-places for the night being Dartford, Roches- ter, and Ospringe, thus dividing the journey into three easy stages of about fifteen miles each, with a short stint of ten miles for the last day. Roads were rough and heavy, so bad that wlieeled vehicles were usually impracticable ; and progress was necessarily slow and fatiguing. In the case of the pilgrimage which Chaucer describes, there were many reasons why the ordinary rate of travel should not be exceeded. There were three women in the company, and several of the pilgrims, not- ably the Clerk and the Shipman, were but ill mounted ; April, *with his shoures sote,' had made the roads heavy with mud, as we know from the Host's assertion (B 3988) that he was so bored by the tale of the Monk that, save for the clinking of the bells on the Monk's bridle, he would certainly have fallen down for sleeji. Although the slough had never been so depe ; lastly, the journey was being taken mainly for pleasure, and half the fun of a vacation is to take your time. THE CANTERBURY TALES 155 At the beginning of Group B, which, as we shall see, occupies the second day of the pilgrimage, we are told that the date is April 18. It is on the evening of April 16, then, that Chaucer enters the spacious hostelry of the Tabartl, and finds the uine-and-twenty who are to be his fellow-voyagers. Allowing for the change in the calendar, April IG corresponds to April 24 in our reck- oning, and at that date, in southern England, the sun rises about quarter of five, and sets about quarter past seven. Early on the morning of April 17, at break of day, the Host awoke his guests, and gathering thein into a flock, led them forth at an easy jog, ' a litel more than pas,' the Miller playing his bagpipes the while, till they came to the little brook which crossed the Canter- bury way, called St. Thonias-a- Watering. Here the cuts are drawn, and the Knight begins his tale. By the time his tale is ended, the musical Miller is so drunk that *unnethe upon his hors he sat.' Southwark ale, we are told, is responsible for his condition. He is not too drunk, however, to tell his churl's tale, at the conclu- sion of which the company has nearly reached Green- wich, and the hour is half past seven (half-way pryme). The Reeve's Tale next follows, and after that the frag- ment of the Cook's TaJe^ of which ' tale maked Chaucer na more.' Here ends Group A ; and the rest of the tales of the first day are silence. The night is probably spent at Dartford, fifteen miles from London. Either the start next day is delayed, or the story- telling postponed ; for it is already ten o'clock of April 18, when the Host reminds his friends that a fourth part of the day is gone, and that they are wasting time. Group B is the longest consecutive series of tales, and since near the end of it, in the Monies Prologue^ the Host says, ' Lo I Kouchestre stant heer faste by ! ' and since Rochester was probably the stopping-place for the 156 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER second night, it may be that we have the full stint of tales for the second day. Rochester is thirty miles from London. There is nothing to determine the place of Group C. Mr. Furnivall thinks the Pardoner's desire for cakes and ale more appropriate to the morniug, and hence assigns it conjecturally to the morning of the third day. It was usual for pilgrims to dine on the third day at Sittinghourne, ten miles from Rochester; and since in the Wife of Bathes Prologue the Summoner promises to tell two or three tales about Friars before they come to Sitting-bourne, and at the end of his story says, * My tale is doon, we been almost at toune,' it is reason- able to assign Group D to the morning of the third day. Group E, which contains a playful allusion to the Wife of Bath, is probably to be assigned to the afternocm of the same day, during which the party rides six miles to Ospringe, where the next night is spent. Near the beginning of the Squire's Tale, which with the Frankliji s constitutes Group F, the Squire says (F73): — • I wol nat tarien yow, for it is prynie.' Since, then, the time of day is nine of the morning, this group has been assigned to the morning of the fourth day. The position of Group G is clearly determined by the opening lines of the Cano7is Yeomatis Pro- logue: — Whan ended was the lyf of seint Ceeyle, Er we had riden fully fyve niyle, At Boghton under Blee us gan atake A man, that clothed was in clothes blake. A little farther on we are told that the Yeoman had seen the jolly company ride out of their hostelry in the morning, and that he and his master had ridden fast to overtake them. Measurin"^ back five miles from tho THE CANTERBURY TALES 157 little village of Boughton-under-Blean, we get Ospringe as the town from which they hatl set out in the morning. From Boughton the road leads through the Forest of Blean, a favorable place for robbers, and unwillingness to ride through so dangerous a place alone may account for the Canon's desire to join the larger company. It is at a little town, — Which that ycleped is Bob-up-and-doun, — that Group II begins. Antiquarians are not agreed in their identification of this village with the picturesque name ; but the village of Kavbledown, just out of Can- terbury, seems best to answer the requirements. It is not yet noon, for the Cook, too drunk to tell the tale demanded of him, is reproached for sleeping ' by the morwe.' The Manciple offers himself as a substitute ; and it is his tale which constitutes Group H. The Parson's Tale apparently follows immediately on the Manciple's, for in the first lines of the ParsoTi's Prologue we read : — By tliat the maunciple hadde his tale al ended, The Sonne fro the south lyne was descended So lowe, that he was nat, to my siglite, Degrees nyne and twenty as in hij^lite. Foure of the clokke it was tho, as I gesse. The difficulty, however, resides in the lapse of time. If it was still morning when the Manciple began his tale, how explain the fact that it is four o'clock at its con- clusion? Because of this inconsistency in time, the Parson s Tale has been separated from the Manciple's and labeled Group I. When one remembers, thougli, the way time is made to gallop in Shakespeare at the demand of dramatic effectiveness, one wonders whether the inconsistency may not have bgen deliberately planned, so that the pilgrimage miglit end appropri- 158 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER ately as the shadows begin to lengthen. Personally I see no sufficient reason for making the division which Mr. Furnivall thinks necessary.^ What Chaucer would have done with his pilgrims after their arrival in Canterbury we shall never know ; The Tale but a monk of Canterbury, nearly contemiDO- ofBeryn. rary with Chaucer, has given us a Tale of Beryyi, supposed to be the first tale of the journey back to London, told by the Merchant, the Prologvxe to which consists of a spirited account of the happenings in the cathedral town. This tale was first printed by Urry in his Chaucer edition of 1721, and has since been reprinted in 1876 by the Chaucer Society from a man- uscript belonging to the Duke of Northumberland. On their arrival in Canterbury, the pilgrims go to the ' Cheker of the Hope ' Inn, where the Pardoner at once makes friends with Kit the tapster, who gives him false hopes of her favor. The cathedral is, of course, the first attraction ; and thither the company goes to make its offerings at the shrine. The gentles, after being sprinkled with holy water, pass directly to the shrine back of the high altar ; but the Pardoner, the Miller, and other of the lewder sort, stare at the painted windows, and try to guess out the figures de- picted in them, and to interpret the armorial bearings. One of them sees a man with a spear, which he takes for a rake. After kneeling at the shrine, praying, and hear- ing service, all proceed to buy pilgrim's tokens to set in their caps ; but the Miller and Pardoner manage to steal some Canterbury brooches for themselves. Dinner passes by with much merry talk, and in the afternoon ^ For the account of the journey to Canterbury aiul the time occu- pied therein, I have drawn on Fumivall's Temporary Preface to the Six- Text edition of the Canferburi/ Tales, § 8, and on Littleliale's Some Notes on the Road from London to Canterbury in the Middle Ages, Chaucer Society, IS'JS. THE CANTERBURY TALES 159 each follows his inclinations ; the Monk takes the Parson and Friar to call on one of his friends; the Knight and the Squire inspect the walls and forti- fications ; the Wife of Bath and the Prioress walk in the garden (one wonders what common interests they found to talk about) ; the Pardoner once more seeks out the tapster Kit. Supper is eaten in grand style, the gentles treating the rest to wine, after which the more respectable go to bed, while the Miller and the Cook sit up to drink. Again the Pardoner makes advances to Kit, which develop into a broad farce, of which the Pardoner is the unhappy dupe. At daybreak the comjoany starts on its journey home, and the Merchant is called on for the first tale. This, of course, is not Chaucer ; but it is written in Chaucer's spirit, and is interesting as the work of one who, living in Canterbury, knew well how pilgrims usually disported themselves.^ For a work so composite in its character as the Can- tcrhury Tales it is impossible to set any definite dates. Several of the tales now incorporated in the Date of collection, we know positively, had been writ- tgr^.^^"' ten by Chaucer before the great work was Tales. planned ; and the same may be true of other tales of which we have no definite information. The Legend of Good Women was pretty certainly begun in 1385 or 138G, and was probably left unfinished because of the poet's greater interest in his larger work. It is safe to say, then, that the idea of the Canterbury Tales was conceived not much before 1387, and that Chaucer continued to work at its execution intermittently until the time of his death. In the year 1387, April 16 fell on a ^ Chaucer's disciple Lydg'ate also wrote a tale for the journey back, ■which is entiiled The Tale of Thebes. 160 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Tuesday, which would bring the pilgrims to Canterbury on Saturday, and since no mention is made of Sunday on the pilgrimage, it has been argued that Chaucer had the year 1387 in mind. But surely this is holding the poet down rather closely to the actual. If, however, we must have a precise date, 1387 has more in its favor than any other. THE PROLOGUE . If we set aside the wonderful felicity of phrase and the sparkling humor which are common to nearly all of Chaucer's maturer compositions, the peculiar greatness of the Prologue may be said to reside in the vividness of its individual portraiture, and in the representative character of the whole series of portraits as a true pic- ture of English life in the fourteenth century. To the uncritical mind the value of a portrait depends on its likeness to the original, the fidelity with which it reproduces the peculiar traits of some individual man. Here, as in most things, the opinion of the man in the street is not to be lightly set at nought ; if the portrait lacks fidelity to its original, it ceases to be a portrait at all. On the other hand, if it does no more than repro- duce the individual, it falls short of true art. A photo- graph may be a perfect likeness, and at the same time supremely uninteresting to all but the friends of the sitter; the portraiture of a true artist is interesting to all people and to all ages. We look at Rembrandt's portrait of Dr. Tulp, and are immediately convinced of its lifelikeness. Though we never have seen the original, the marked individuality of the portx\ait, the peculiarities of feature and expression, convince us of its truth. But there is more in the portrait than the individual anatomist of long ago. The eager passion to learn and teach, the quick play of intelligence, the THE PROLOGUE 161 unassuming authority of pose and gesture, betray the scientist. We behold not only the individual, but the type; the abstract type is made visible and real as embodied in the individual. This, the end and aim of true jiortrait-painting, is true in its measure of all high art. The true ideal is to be sought in and through the actual. However high we may tower into the region of the universal, we must ])lant our feet firmly on the actual ; and the actual is of necessity individual. It is by their successful blending of the individual with the typical that the portraits of Chaucer's Prologue attain to so high a degree of effectiveness. The Wife of Bath is typical of certain of the primary instincts of woman, but she is given local habitation 'bisyde Bathe,' a definite occupation of cloth-making, and is still further individualized by her partial deafness and the peculiar setting of her teeth. A wholly different type of woman- hood, the conventional as opposed to the natural, is fur- nished by the Prioress. The description of the gentle lady abounds in minute personal, individual character- istics, physical and moral ; yet all these individualizing traits are at the same time suggestive of that type which finds fullest realization in the head of a young lady's school, who fulfills in our modern life precisely the func- tion of the prioress of the Middle Ages. What is true of these two is true of all the personages of the Pro- logue. The details enumerated nearly always suggest at once the individual and the type, as in the splendid line about the Shipman : — With many a tempest hadde his herd been shake. It is the individual character of the several portraits which gives to the Canterhury Tales its dramatic real- ism and lifelikejiess. Their universal character makes the Prologue^ and indeed the whole body of the work, 162 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER a compendium of human life as it passed before the eyes of Geoffrey Chaucer. It is as a representative assembly, a parliament of social and industrial England, that we may regard this Canterbury pilgrimage. Save for the very highest stratum of society, the lords of the realm, who are after all but the golden fringe of the garment, every important phase of life is represented. We do not, to be sure, see the artisan at his bench, the sailor on his ship, the lawyer pleading his case ; that is, of course, dramatically impossible ; but more than that, it is artistically less desirable. Chaucer has shown his personages away from their daily tasks, on a vacation ; and, though the marks of the profession are still plainly discernible, it is their essential humanity which is emphasized ; each is measured by the absolute stand- ards of manhood. The life of the Middle Ages lent itself particularly well to such a process of portraiture. Though the dawn- ing of the Renaissance was beginning its emphasis of the individual, society was still organized on a com- munistic basis ; life was less complex. Members of the various crafts were banded together in guilds and mysteries, each with its peculiar livery. Each member of a guild was conscious of himself as one of a body, its representative and type. To-day things are very dif- ferent. In the so-called learned professions, perhaps, something of the old esprit dc coiys has survived. In the essentially communistic life of our universities, again, there may be found a strong, essentially medi- aeval feeling for the whole, and an approximation to a common type, so that one may speak of a typical Oxonian, a typical Yale undergraduate. But with the majority of us, the typical is lost in the individual as far as character goes, while in costume we dress, as far as possible, alike. THE KNIGHT'S TALE 163 Chaucer's west-country contemporary, In the Pro- logue to Piers Plowman, has also painted a wide pic- ture of human life. In his fair field full of folk, all sorts and conditions are seen side by side, the mean and the rich, ' working and wandering as the world asketh.' It is instructive to compare this picture, which some have thought responsible for suggesting Chaucer's, with the picture furnished by the Prologue to the Canter- hury Talcs. Langland, with his allegorical imagery of the heaven and hell which bound our little life on this side and on that, gains much in grandeur and im- prcssiveness. Chaucer, with his individualized types, gains infinitely in reality and in human sympathy. THE knight's tale Early on the morning of April 17, ' whan that day bigan to springe,' the Host calls his company together, and at an easy gait they ride out of Southwark to the music of the Miller's bagpipes. When two miles have been traveled, and St. Thomas-a- Watering has been reached, the Host suddenly stops his horse, and reminds his guests of the agreement made overnight : — If even-song and morwe-song acorde, Lat see now who shal telle the firste tale. The cuts are drawn ; and, either by fortune or over- ruling providence, or perhaps by the manipulation of the Host, the lot falls to the Knight, whom every one feels should be the first to tell his story; and the Canierhury Tales begin with a high-wrought tale of chivalry and old romance. Though Chaucer is here and there indebted to the Thchais of Statius for a bit of description, his great oblijration for the KniqhCs Tale is to the Source Teselde of Boccaccio, from which he drew the whole outline of the story. Here, as in the case 164 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER of Troihis, he has as his model a highly artistic poem by one of the foremost authors of Italy ; so that it becomes peculiarly interesting to see to what ex- tent, and in what spirit, he has departed from his original. Comparing Chaucer's version of the story with that of Boccaccio, the most striking fact is their disparity in length. Exclusive of the rimed argomenti which pre- cede each of the twelve books, the Teseide comprises 9896 lines, or 1237 stanzas of ottava rima, while the Jf night's Tale contains but 2250 lines — little more than a fifth the bulk of its original. Besides this ruth- less use of the pruning-knife, one notices the abandon- ment by Chaucer of the division into twelve books, and with it of the conventional invocations of the Muses, of much of the mythological machinery, and, in short, of all the conventional ear-marks of the Virgilian epic. But more significant than these external changes are tlie modifications and omissions whicli Chaucer has made in the story itself. These can be best shown by giving a brief synopsis of Boccaccio's poem as it unfolds itself book by book. Book I narrates in 1104 lines what Chaucer sum- marizes in a dozen : — How wonnen was the regne of Femenye By Theseus, and by his chivalrye. Book II devotes 792 lines to the home-coming of The- seus, and to his expedition against Thebes, which re- sults in the capture of Palemone and Arcita, and their condemnation to lifelong imprisonment. In tlie third book the real action of the story begins. After a year of imprisonment, the two kinsmen catch fatal sight of Emilia as she walks in her garden, but with Boccaccio it is Arcita who sees her first, not Palemone ; while the Emilia of the Italian is not, like Chaucer's Emily, THE KNIGHT'S TALE 165 80 wliolly unconscious tliat she has won tlic attention of the Thcban captives. As Arcita, after his release, rides away from Atliens, P^niilia stands on a balc(jny and receives his impassioned farewell. The whole of Book IV is devoted to Arcita, liis love- longing in exile, his return to Thcseus's court under the assumed name of Penteo. The sorrows of the love- lorn knight, which Chaucer passes over half humor- ously, are detailed by Boccaccio with all his native sentiment. Very characteristic is stanza 32, in which Arcita, who has come in his wanderings to iEgina, stands on the seashore all alone, and is comforted by the breeze which blows from Athens, the breeze which has been very near to Emilia. Book V, which brings the action up to the point of Theseus's intervention and the ordaining of the tournament, differs only slightly from Chaucer's story, save that the escape of Palemone is narrated in detail. In the followinjr book the two kinsmen collect their champions ; but instead of the two vivid descriptions of Emetrius and Lygurge, Boc- caccio devotes four hundred lines to a catalogue of the heroes who take part on the two sides. Book VII is given up to the prayers of Arcita, Palemone, and Emilia, and to the description of the amphitheatre. In the description of the tournament, which fills Boold VIII, Chaucer's superiority to his original is againl evident. Instead of his brief but vigorous picture of] the mclec, the Italian furnishes a series of single com- 1 bats between the champions of the two sides, warriors in whom the reader has no direct interest whatever. Meanwhile Emilia looks on, and feels her love go out now to the one kinsman, now to the other, according as the fortunes of the battle sway now this way, now that. In Book IX the victor Arcita is hurt to death throujrh 'he device of Venus and her hell-sent fury. In place \ 166 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER of the brief, deeply pathetic speech in which Chaucer's Arcite takes leave of friend and loved one, Boccaccio, in IJook X, draws a long death-bed scene, less effec- tive because of its greater length. The 728 verses of Book XI are devoted to the funeral of Arcita, which is celebrated with elaborate games after Virgilian model. lu the closing book, after an interval of only a few weeks, is solemnized the wedding of Palemone and Emilia.* The Tcseide is by no means a contemptible compo- sition ; but, considering the slightness of its plot, it is surely much too long. Nor is the essentially romantic, sentimental character of the tale in keeping with its elaborate epic machinery. In his great condensation, in his simj)lification, in all his changes of detail, Chau- cer's superior literary discernment is plainly evident. \Vhat Chaucer has borrowed is the outline of the tale ; ' the execution is mainly his own. Mr. Henry Ward has shown 2 that of Chaucer's 2250 lines, 270 are directly translated from Boccaccio, 374 are somewhat closely imitated, leaving three quarters of Chaucer's lines for which no parallel is found in Boccaccio. The source of the Teseide has never been discov- ered. Boccaccio took many suggestions from the TVic- hais of Statins ; but these are of minor importance. Scholars are inclined to believe that the ultimate source was a Greek prose romance of the Byzantine period, which may have reached Boccaccio in a Latin translation. ^ In preparing this brief synopsis, I have made freqnent nse of the foil outline of the poem given by Koerting in Boccaccio's Leben und Werlce, pp. 591—615. The best edition of the Teseide is that given in ▼ol. ix of Opere Volgari di Giovanni Boccaccio, ed. Moutier, Firenze, 18:5 1. ' Temporary Preface to the Six-Text edition of the Canterbury Tales, p. 104 THE KNIGHT'S TALE 1G7 That Chaucer had already written the story of Pala- mon and Arcite not later than 138G, we know from the passage in the Prologue to the Legend of Good Date of Women where Queen Alcestis recites in Composi- Chaucer's defense a list of the poet's works in which he had spoken nobly of woman and of love: — And al the love of Palaraon and Arcyte Of Thebes, thogh the story is knowen Ij-tc. These lines can only refer to the story which we know as the Knight's Tale} If we can confidently date the tale not later than 1386, we can also be pretty cer- tain that it was not written earlier than 1382. Among the ills visited upon the human race by power of Saturn is mentioned (A 2459) 'the cherles rebelling.' This seems to be an allusion to the Peasants' Revolt of 1381. Similarly, the tempest at the home-coming of Queen Hippolyta (A 884) was pro])ably, as Professor Lowes j has pointed out, suggested by the violent disturbance of the sea which took place just after Richard's young queen, Lady Anne of Bohemia, had first set foot in Eng- ' land in December, 1381. Neither of these details is found in the Teseide.^ The composition of the KnigliCs Tale falls, then, in the same period as that of Troilus and Criseyde; and * More recent investigations have rendered utterly improbable the conjecture elaborated by Ten Brink {Chancer Studicn, pp. 39-70) and Koch (Englische Studicn, 1. 249-293, English translation in Essays on Chaucer, pp. 357-415) and accepted by Skcat, that the ref- erence is to an earlier 'Palanion and Arcite,' written in seven-line ' Btanzas and a close paraphrase of Tescidc, and that Chaucer later worked over this poem in a greatly abridged form for the Knight's Tale. It is now believed that the poem referred to in the Legend was in metre and in scope essentially what we know as the Knight's Talc. ^Seo F. J. Mather in FurniraH Mif:crllnny, pp. 301-313, and Tatlock, DevclopmrnI and Chronnlogti. pp. 45-70. * On the date of the Knight's Talc see Tatlock, op. cit., pp. 70-S3. 1C8 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER the two poems have much in con tnon. Each is a re-, working of one of Boccaccio's youthful epics; in each we find the same blending of pathos and ironical humor; in each a {^le of courtly l ove is philosophized by a', ,'i copious infusion of lioethius, and made to point the, ; moral that earthly felicity is transient and deceitful.^ {.Which of the two was written first? The cjuestion can- not be answered finally; but the evidence points strongly, I think, to the conclusion that the Knighfs Tale is later than Troilus.^ In the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women it is clearly implied that Troilus is widely known, that it is notorious as a 'heresy' against the law of Dan Cupid; whereas it is explicitly stated that the story of Palamon and Arcite is 'knowen lyte' — it has exerted but narrow influence as a counteragent to the poison of Troilus and Criseyde. This suggests that ~ it had only recently been finished, or at any rate that its circulation had not been wide. If composed as an in- dependent poem earlier than Troilus, it is hard to see why the work should be 'little known,' It seems prob- able, then, that the poem was written about 1385. If so, it may, perhaps, have been intended from the first as one of the Canterbury Talcs. The Knight has wandered far and wide,^ and has seen The many cities of men, in Russia, in Asia, in Knight's Africa; but he has lived and traveled and fought in the fair dream of chivalry, — * See Dr. B. L. JefTerson's dissertation, Chaucer and the Consola- tion of Philosophy of Boethius (Princeton, 1917). pp. 120-132. * Professor Lowes argiics for the priority of 'Palamon' in Publica- tions of the Modem Language Association, 20. 841-854. » See A. S. Cook on 'The Historical Background of Chaucer's Knight,' Transactions of the Conv^cclicut Academy, 20. 161-240, and on 'Beginning the Board in Pru.ssia,' Journal of English and Germanic Philology, 14. 375-388; and S. Robertson on 'Elements of Realism in the Knight'e Tale.' ibid. 14. 22G-255. » THE KNIGHTS TALE 169 Trouthe and honour, fredom and ciirteisyo ; he is as uuworltlly as his squire-son. As with Tenny- son's Sir Percivale, — All men, to one so bound by such a vow, And women were as phantoms. He tells no tale of his own wanderings, his own expe- rience ; he hardly deals with real incn and women at all. His tale is of chivalrous ideals, of knightly en- counters long ago, of men and women living as he has lived, in dream and fancy. Even these shadow dreams are hardly more than moving pictures in the rich and varied pageantry which constitutes the world of the knight-errant. The opening words of the tale, — Whylom, as olde stories tellcn us, — carry us far away from present-day realities, far from the Tabard Inn and its varied company, into the land of story and of long ago. It is to ancient Athens and the days of Theseus that we are bidden go, but to an Athens which the student of classical archaeology will hardly recognize. Though, in its simplicity and restraint, the story is by no means un-IIellenic, the manners and customs are for the most part those of mediaival chivalry ; and we had best forget forthwith all we know of ancient Greece. Neither Chaucer nor his knight knew much, or recked much, of antiquarian lore. If we are to read the ITriigJifs Tale in the spirit in which Chaucer conceived it, we must give ourselves up to the spirit of romance ; we must not look for subtle characterization, nor for strict probability of action ; we must delight in the fair shows of things, and not ask too many questions. Chaucer can be real- istic enough when he so elects ; but here he has chosen otherwise. 170 THE rOETRY OF CHAUCER Four diameters only are brought before us? ^vith any prominenc : Palanion, Arcite, Emily, and Theseus. Though not characterized subtly, as Troilus and I 'an- darus are characterized, Palainon and Arcite are more than mere lay-figures of the piece. Of necessity, the two kinsmen have much in common. They are sisters' sons ; they bear identical armor ; their lives have been spent in closest fellowship ; they have sworn a knightly vow of perpetual brotherhood. It is not until the, fair ideal of friendship is shattered by the stern reality of love that they realize their disparity. Then it is clear, in the debate which they hold over Emily, and in their subsequent actions, that relatively to one another Pala- nion is the dreamer, Arcite the man of action. It is f Palanion who insists on the inviolability of their vow of friendship, and Arcite who, after an attempt at un- worthy quibbling, comes out with the plain statement that I Love is a gretter lawe, by my pan, . if*' Than may be yeve to any erthly man, and who recognizes that, since they are both condemned to prison perpetually, the question of prior claim to Emily is one of purely academic interest. Partly as a , result of opportunity, partly as a result of character, it ! is Arcite who determines the destiny of the two ; while ^ Palamon merely drifts with the current of circumstance. Tlie "same distinction is observed in Arcite' s^ prayer to _]VIars_ for victory, the definite practical means to the attainment of his desires; while Palamon prays Venus for success in his love, leaving the means of its attain- ment to the providence of the heavenly synod. But in prowess in arms, and in chivalric coxirtesy, there is not . ajot of su])criority in either; and the reader of the tale, like family herself, is unable to decide on which he would wish the ultimate success to light. When THE KNIGHT'S TALE 171 the action closes, and the dying Arcitc betroths Emily to his kinsman-rival, friendship wins its final triumph over jealousy, and the two noble kinsmen remain in I our memoiy not as dissimilar rivals, but as eternal friends, one and indivisible. As for Emily, she is a fair vision of womanly beauty and grace, and little more. Only once in the whole story, and that when the story is more than half done, in her prayer to Diana, do we hear Emily speak. We think of her as she roams up and down in her garden on the fatal spring morning, gathering flowers ' to make a sotil gerland for hir hede,' singing like an angel of heaven. We see her beauty and recognize her worth, realizing that the love of her may well be strong enough to break the friendship of a life ; and yet we know her n tible or absurd. Chaiicer wisely kept her a vision and a name, letting us realize her character only in its effect upon othei;s. Theseus,- the brave warrior, the man of anger, who is yet-ftble to turn anger to justice when persuaded of the right, who can good-naturedly see the absurdity of Palamon and Ai'cite, yet tolerantly remember that A man mot been a fool, or yong or old, *' and that he too had been a lover in his youth, is the most actual personage in the tale. He is, moreover, the motive power of the plot; his acts and decisions really determine the whole story. It is not in the characterization, but in the descrip- 172 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER tion, that the greatness of the /{night's Tale resides. TTbe poem opens with the brilliant pageant of the vic- torious lionie-coniing of Theseus, thrown into sharp contrast by the band of black-clad widowed ladies who meet him on the way. A never-to-be-forgotten ])ictnre is that of Emily roaming in her garden, while the kinsmen look down upon her through thick prisori-bars. The meeting and silent encounter of the cousins in the wood, the great theatre with its story-laden oratories, the vivid portraits of Emetrius and Lygurge, all the varied bustle of preparation, the vigorous description of the tournament itself, — these, with occasional pas- sages of noble reflection, form the flesh and blood of the poem, of which the charactei's and the action are ■merely the skeleton framework. The Juiighfs Tale is preeminently a web of splendidly pictured tapestry, in which the eye may take delight, and on which the memory may fondly linger. In the dying words of Arcite : — What is this world ? What asketh men to have ? Now with his hive, now in his colde grave AUonc, withouten any companye, — the terrible reality of the mystery of life, its tragedy and its pathos, are vividly suggested ; but it is only '.suggested, as a great painting may touch on what is most sacred and most deep. It is this e6scn_tially pictorial character of the poem which accounts for the slight success of Fletcher's at- tempt to translate it into drama, the poetry of action. In the Tvo Noble Kinsmen the slenderness of the plot, and the inconsistency of the characters, which we have accepted without question in the Kn'u/liVs Talc^ become painfully apparent. The splendid effectiveness of silence, which Chaucer has utilfzcd so artistically in the first appearance of Emily, and in the encounter THE MILLER AND THE REEVE 173 in the wood, is necessarily sacrificed to dramatic exi- gencies. The tournament is transacted o£E the stage^ and the descriptions of tlie three oratories drop out altogether. A reading of Fletcher's drama is of the greatest help in enabling one to recognize the distinc- tive poetic qualities of Chaucer's narration; just as a comparison with Dryden's brilliant modernization of the tale will help one to realize the peculiar charm of Chaucer's simple, unassuming diction. THE TALES OF THE MILLER AND THE REEVE The Knight's long tale of love and chivalry won, as it deserved, universal approbation : — In al the route nas ther yong ne old That he ne seyde it was a noble storio » And worthy for to drawcn to memorie. The Host, chuckling with delin:ht over the success- ful beginning of his story-telling scheme, turns to the Monk and courteously asks him to tell 'sumwhat to quyte with the Knightes tale.' The choice of the ^lonk was dictated, doubtless, by the post's punctilious re- gard for social rank, the worthy ecclesiastic being after the Knight the most dignified personage of the com- pany. But since the Monk must of necessity tell a serious tale, which could not offer a sufficiently effec- tive contrast to the Knight's, the poet, as overruling providence of the pilgrimage, devises an interruption of the Host's less artistic scheme by the obstreper- ous intrusion of the IMiller; who, though so drunk that ' unnethe upon his hors he sat,' insists that he knows a ' noble tale,' with which to repay the Knight. The ^ost, as complete tavern-keeper, knows not only the deference to be paid to men of rank, but also the more delicate diplomacy of dealing with a drunken man. ^ When his soft-spoken words of deprecation fail 174 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER to silence the unruly Miller, he recognizes that discre- tion is the better part of courtesy, and suffers him to proceed. After making the quite unnecessary ' protestation ' that he is drunk, — a fact of which he is convinced by the sound of his own voice, — he announces that his tale is to be of a carpenter and his wife, and of how a clerk made a fool of the carpenter. But this theme treads on the toes of another in the company. The General Prologue tells us of the Reeve that — In you the he lerned hadde a good mister ; He was a wel good wrighte, a carpenter. So we are prepared for the change from the ' noble tale' of the Knight to the ribald tale of the Miller by an altercation between drunken Robin and the white-haired Osewold, who thinks the tale directed against himself. And when the Miller's tale is done, the wounded professional pride of the Reeve furnishes us with a companion tale of how two Cambridge stu- dents got the better of a cheating miller. The tales of the Miller and the Reeve are so closely linked by this dramatic interlude, and are moreover so similar in spirit, that it will be convenient to treat them together. For neither of these tales do we possess Chaucer's immediate source ; but there exist stories sufficiently like them to indicate that in neither case did Chaucer draw wholly on his own imagination. In the 3Iillcr^s Tale we have a combination of two stories originally distinct — the story of a man who is made to believe that the great day of reckoning is at hand, represented by a German tale of one Valentin Schumann, printed in 1559, and the story of Absolon and Nicholas, to which an analogue is found in a col- lection of novelle by Massuccio di Salerno, who flonr- THE MILLER AND THE REEVE 175 ishcd in the latter half of the fifteenth century. Otlier similar tales are found in German and in Latin.* A tale similar to that of the Heeve is found in Boc- caccio's Decameron, Day 9, Nov. 6 ; and still closer to Chaucer are two French fahliaux which are reprinted in the volume of Originals and Analogues published by the Chaucer Society.^ The point of strongest resemblance between the tales of the Miller and the Keeve is their extreme in- decency, an indecency which cannot be wholly The Two explained away as due to the frankness of a ''^^'^^ less delicate age. Chaucer, himself, was quite aware that to many of his readers these tales would be objec- tionable. Half seriously, half playfully, he prefaces them with an apology in which he warns away the sc^ueamish, and at the same time disclaims any per- sonal responsibility for the tales. What sholde I more seyn, but this Millero He nolde his wordes for no man forbore, But told bis cborlcs tale in his manere ; Me thinketh that I shal rcherce it here. And therfore every gentil wight I preye, For goddes love, demeth nat that I seye Of eve! entente, but that I moot reherce Hir tales alle, be they bettre or werse, Or elles falsen som of my matere. And therfore, whoso list it nat yhere, Turns over the leef, and chese another tale ; Avyscth yow and putte me out of blame ; And eek men shal nat make ernest of game. ^ Those who wish to go fartlier with Ihis not very profitable theme may consult the papers of R. KiJhlpr, in Anglia, 1. 38-44, ISfV-lSS ; 2. 135-13G ; of II. Variilia!;eii, in AiKjlia, 7. Anzeigfer 81-8."); of L. Frlin- kel, in Anglia, 10. 2()l-!ii3 ; and of E. Kijlbiiig', in Zcitschrijl J"ur vtr- ylfichende Litcraturgeschlrhte, 12. 448-450; 13. 112. See also L. Proe- Bcholdt, in Anglia, 7. 117. * Pp. 85-102. For a full discussion of the sources of the Reeve^s Tale, see the paper by II. Varuhagen, in Englische Studim, 0. 240-2G0. 176 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER This is in effect a repetition of the disclaimer given in the General Prologue, 11. 725-742 ; what is its valid- ity ? That he must rehearse all tiie tales of all his pil- grims precisely as they were told, whatever their char- acter, or else ' falsen som of his matere,' is precisely the argument by which the followers of Zola defend their ultra-realism. The simple answer to all this is found in the fact that the great poets have never con- ceived of their function as that of a mere photographer or stenographer. They ' imitate nature,' to be sure, but with a difference. If it is their duty to observe, it is also their duty to select, to adapt, to idealize. It would have been perfectly possible to give a true picture of the varied humanity which made up the Canterbury pilgrimage, without suffering these churls to tell their 'cherles tales,' which no sophistry can elevate into true art. I do not believe that Chaucer was in the least deceived by this argument. He deliberately chose to insert the tales, not as works of art, nor even as a necessary part of a great artistic whole, but merely as a diverting interlude. Making a rather considerable ""allowance for greater freedom of speech, they are tales of the sort which entirely moral men of vigorous na- ture haveiound diverting, and at which the less vigor- ous Have alwaysraised their eyebrows. Having chosen to insert" the tales, he playfully answers the anticipated charges of the moralist, by assuring him that he wrote the tales unwillingly, compelled to do so by the higher moral consideration of strict truthfulness. Inasmuch as the Cantcrhury Tales are in the main truly great art, and as these tales are by thefr nature not true art, I think it unfortunate that Chaucer included them ; but I am very far from considering them as evidence of immoral character in their author. THE MILLER AND THE REEVE 177 What I take to be Chaucer's serious defense of these tales is contained in a single line, which concludes the passage quoted above : — And eek men shal nat make erncst of game. In other words, both these tales narrate practical johes, and their comic interest deper.^ ou the^ clever working- out and complete success of the trick. .In thc_Jii7/cr's Ta/e, for example, the attention is centred on the ludicrous gullibility of the jealous carpenter and the clever manceuvrinfr of hende Nicholas, not on..the . . . . '^ — — immoral purpose for which the trick is devised. So in ~i;Tie liceve's Tale^ there is a sort of rough poetic justice^ in the complete discomfiture of the cheating miller; and on this, rather than on the immoral character of^.tho retribution, the effectiveness of the story depends. It is not immorality for immorality's sake, but inimqrality for the joke's sake. Of course, this does not lessen tlie moral blame of the two Cambridge students, when seriously considered; but it very materially lessens the immorality of the story. It is only when the reader reverses th'e"emphasis, when, in Chaucer's words, he makes earnest of game, that the tales become actively immoral. In the Miller s Tale^ in particular, the attention is diverted from the lustful and nasty features of the story, to the brilliant charactei;izations, and to the consummate skill with whicirthe narrative isjransacte.d- In none of Chaucer's tales is there more convincing proof of his mastery of the technique of story-telling. The tale con- sists ofTwo comic in trigues.combined into a single unity. It will l)e worth while to notice with some particularity the steps by which this end is attained. Since Nicholas is to be the grime. mover of the action, without whose machinations neither plot could have 178 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER matured, tlio first tliirty-tlirce lines of tlie t.ilo arc de- voted to a^vivid (^s('Ti])tiou of liis person and pci tonality. The carjienter, as passive centre of the plot, is next de- scribed more briefly. Nearly forty lines are then devoted to a description of AUsoim, whose attractiveness consti- tutes the causa cansans for both intrifrues. These por- traits, and that of Absolon which follows a little later, are done with all the skill which marks the portraiture of the General Prologue. After another forty lines, in which the j-elation s b_e t\veen_ Nicholas and Alisou2i_are established, the main action is fully launched, and the natural pause which ensues is utilized for the introduc- tion of the second action. Absolon is described, and his persistent attentions to Alisoun are recorded, eighty- four lines sufficing to set the new intrigue afoot. Re- suming the thread of the main argument, some two hundred and fifty lines are devoted to the clever scheme by which the car])enter is beguiled into believing that a second Noah's flood is toward, and the two lovers at- tain their end. Particularly rich in humor is the scene where Nicholas, in feigned trance, predicts the coming deluge, a prediction for which we liave been artistically prepared by the earlier statement thfit_ all^Nichplas's fancy ^^^asjtuiiiedipi^to lerne astrologye.' Again there is a natural pause in the action, in which the story reverts to Absolon. Because the carpenter, in instant fear of the flood which is at hand, has kept all day to his house, Absolon is led to believe that he is from home, and consequently chooses this particular night to pay his addresses. He goes tO-AlJsoun's window, where he is duped, and has his revenge. This section of the tale occupies about a hundred and sixty lines. Thirty-eight lines now suffice to end the tale. The frantic cry of 'Water!' uttered l)y Nicholas as a result of Absolon's revenge, wakes the sleeping carpenter, and, THE COOK'S TALE 179 fitting in with his expectation of a flood, leads liini to cut the ropes which suspend his ark of safety, thus bringing about the catastrophe of the main action. It is certainly a pity that such excellent skill was '' expended on a story which many of Cliaucer's readers '] will prefer to slvip ; and yet, as we have seen, it is this ' very skill which does most to niinin.iize_.the objection- aBle character of the tale. "^ THE cook's tale Whoever may have been offended at the freedom of the lieevcs Tale, jo^^y Hodge of Ware was not of the strait-laced sect : — The Cook of London, whyl the Reve spak, For joye, him thoughte, he clawed him on the bak, *HaI ha!' quod he, 'for Cristes passioun, « This miller hadde a sharp conclnsioun Upon his argument of herbergage I * Perhaps, in his vocation of cook, he has had to do with cheating millers, and consequently finds special relish in the tale. He volunteers a ' litel jape that fil in our citee,' which is to deal, saving the presence of mine host, with a London ' hostileer.' After some playful allusions to the tricks of the culinary profession, the Host bids him proceed. The tale of the Cook is a mere fragment, extending only to fifty-eight lines, and though we have a fine piece of portraiture in the picture of Perkin Revellour, who is to bo the hero, and a fairly complete ?n(sc en scene, we have not enough of the story to form any guess as to its plot. We can only surmise that it is to be a ' merry ' tale of the same general type as those of the Miller and the Peeve. Perhaps it was a recog- nition of ^ the fact that three tales of this sort on end would be too larfro a dose of ' mirth ' that caused the 180 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER poet to abandon it; for, as the old scribe says, 'Of this Cokes tale maked Chaucer na more.' There is a spurious tale, certainly not by Chaucer, which some of the nianuscrij)ts, and the old editions, insert after this fragment under the title of The Cokes Talc of Gamelyn; but a discussion of this tale, which has some interest because of its relation to Shakespeare's As You Like It^ is outside the scope of the present work.* ^ The tale may be found in the appendix to vol. iv of Skeat's Ox' ford Chaucer. For a discussion of it, see the article by E. Lindner, ia Englische Studicu, 2. 94-114, 321-343. CHAPTER X THE CANTERBURY TALES, GROUP B THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE The first day's journey had brought the band of pil- grims only fifteen miles on their way ; and the night liad been spent at the little town of Dartford in Kent.* Either the company had slept long and started late on the second day's ride, or the beauty of a sunny morn- ing in mid-April had made the diversion of stor3--tell- ing superfluous; for it is already ten o'clock when the Host suddenly turns his horse about, and reminds his fellow-voyagers that a fourth part of the day is already sjient, and time is wasting. The Man of Law is called on to begin the entertainment of the day. As a lawyer, he is too well schooled in the law of contracts to refuse assent: — *To breke forward is not myn entente. Bihest is dette, and I wol holde fayn Al my bilieste ; I can no better seyu ; ' but since the tale he is minded to tell is in effect the legend of a good woman, he feels not unnatural hesi- tation in nai'rating it, when Chaucer, as all the pilgrims know, has written a whole volume of such legends. ' I can right now no thrifty tale seyn, But Chaucer, though he can but lewedly On metres and on ryniing craftily,^ 1 Cf. p. 1.",. 2 Tlie (h^preciation of Chaucer's skill is to be considered a bit of the poet's lialf-huniorons modesty, rather than as representing dramatically the opinion of the Man of Law. 182 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER • Hath seyd hem in swich English as he can Of olde tyme, as knoweth many a man. And if he have not seyd hem, lere brother, In o book, he hathe seyd hem in another.' Hereupon follows a catalogue of women faithful in love whose stories Chaucer had narrated, or planned to narrate, in the Legend of Good Women, referred to here as the Seintes Legende of Cupyde. How shall he, the Man of Law, presume to rival such a master in this particular art? Ovid's story of the daughters of Pierus who dared contend with the Muses, and were for their presumption turned into chattering magpies, should give him pause : — ♦ But nathelees, I recche noght a bene Though I come after him with hawe-bake ; I speke in prose, and lat him rymes make.' And with that word he, with a sobre chore, Bigan his tale, as ye shal after here. Though many of the incidents of the tale of Con- stance are found in other, earlier stories, Chaucer's immediate source was the Anglo-Norman Chromcle of the Englishman, Nicholas Tri- vet, a voluminous English scholar and historian, who flourished in the first half of the fourteenth century.^ Trivet's chronicle, written in the Anglo-Norman French of the Enorlish court, devotes a lon^ section to the his- tory of * la pucele Constaunce,' ^ the account agreeing in all important details with that given by Chaucer. Chaucer has very considerably condensed the story, has ^ The Dictionary of National Biograpky, folIowiDg- the early bio- graphers, Leland and Bale, g'ives the date of his death as 1328; but since his chronicle includes the reign of Pope John XXII, who died in 13;M, the date is certainly wrong. - As reprinted in Originals and Analogues, the story occupies 25 pages. Tlie text is provided with a running summary and a translation in English (pp. 1-53). THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE 183 added many original passages of a reflective or lyrical character, and has altered some of the minor details.^ Thus, for example, Trivet narrates in detail how King Alia slew his mother with his own hands,^ an episode which Chaucer has preferred to soften down into a inere vague statement. If the student will take the trouble to pick out Chaucer's original additions to the tale, as indicated in the foot-note, he will find that they com- prise all the most beautiful jjassages in the tale. Thus, when Constance and her child are put to sea in the rud- derless boat. Trivet merely says : ' The mariners with great grief commended her to God, praying that she might again return to land.' It is Chaucer who has added the sublimely beautiful lines (825-868) which show her noble resignation, and supreme trust in God. Of what wondrous pathos is the stanza : — Hir litel cliild lay wepiiig in hir arm, And kueling, pitously to him she seyde, 'Pees, litel soue, I wol do thee non harm.' With that hir kerchef of hir heed she breyde, And over his litel yen she it leyde ; And in hir arm she luUeth it fnl faste, And into heven hir yen up she caste. Chaucer's less gifted contemporary, John Gower, has also told the story of Constance in the second book of liis Confessio Amantis ; but that both poets went ^ About .loO lines of the 1029 comprising the tale are not represented in Trivet. Four of the aath is due, appar- ently, to an allegorical personage in the Roman de la Hose named La Vieille, a personage who, though first introduced in the earlier part of the poem by Guil- laume de Lorris, is elaborated in Jean de Meun's satiri- cal continuation of the work. But though the points of similarity are numerous, La Vieille remains, as her name indicates, an abstraction, or at most a type ; while the Wife of Bath is a living, breathing woman. Other hints for the elaboration of the character Chaucer seems to have drawn from Jean de Meun's description of Le Jaloux, an old married man, who attributes to woman many of the qualities which the Wife of Bath eagerly claims for herself.^ For the long discussion of celibacy, however, Chaucer has gone directly to a work of St. Jerome, used also by the author of the Roman de la Rose, known as Hleronymus contra Joviiiianum, in which the holy father demolishes with much acerbity the argument of one Jovinian, who had ventured to write against the practice of celibacy. In the course of this argument Jerome inserts a long extract from a lost work of a Greek named Theophrastus, entitled 1 See W. E. Mead, ' The Prolog-ne of the Wife of Bath's Tale,' Publi- cations of the Modern Language Association of America, IC. 388-10-4. THE WIFE OF BATH'S PROLOGUE 233 Liher Aurcolus dc Nnptlis. A further source is the JEpistola Valerii ad Rvfinum de non Ducenda Uxore^ printed among the works of Jerome, though written much Liter. Tiiese three works, it will be observed, were all contained in the favorite volume of the Wife of Bath's fifth husband, the vohuiie which the irate lady forces him to burn. The delicious humor of Chau- cer's procedure consists in suffering the serious argu- ments of a father of the church to be quoted and refuted by such a one as the Wife of Bath. Bitter attacks on the frailty of woman were a commonplace of the olil monastic literature : but Chaucer is enfraued in no moral diatribe. Neither does he feel called upon to espouse the cause of woman vilified ; in the spirit of the dramatist he creates a woman who not only exemplifies all that had been charged against woman, but who even glories openly in the possession of these qualities, and by his art forces us to take her point of view, and all but sympathize with her. It is hard to say how far Chaucer himself was in 8ym])athy with the views wliich the Wife of Bath pro- pounds on the subject of marriage and vir- The Argu- ginity. That he was no mere glorifier of the ^„!^ins(. sensual may go without saying ; but that he celibacy. recognized the fallacy of the prevailing ideal of celi- bacy, and that besides his merely dramatic interest in the Wife of Bath he was also interested in breaking down a false idol, is quite probable. Professor Louus- bury has called attention to the fact that Chaucer has twice put into the mouth of the Host, in his words to the Monk (B 3133-3154) and to the Nun's Priest (B 4637-4646), opinions of a similar character, and on the basis of these facts he calls the Wife's Prologue a 'revolutionary document,' in which tlie poet, shielding himself behind the ample figure of this clothmaker of 234 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Bath, has spoken out with playful exaggeration his opinion on one of the questions of the day. Whether Chaucer's or not, the opinions are revo- lutionary enough even at the present day. This four- teenth-century advocate of a return to nature is, how- ever, so prolix in her speech, and so given to digi'cssion, that it is not wholly a work of supererogation to sum up briefly the argument she advances. A little while ago she had been told that since Christ went to but one wedding, she too, the much-married, should have confined herself to a single husband. Then, too, what a sharp word Christ spoke to the woman of Samaria anent her five husbands, — precisely the num- ber which the Wife has reached herself ! But the good woman frankly confesses that the significance of that rebuke she has never been able to understand. There is another 'gentil text,' though, the meaning of which she can easily grasp, — the command to be fruitful and multiply. God never defined the number of husbands which might be taken. But of no nombre mencioun made he, Of bigamye or of octogamye. (Notice the delicious coinage of a new word, necessary to contain the new wine of her advanced opinions.) Solomon had many wives at once. ' Would that similar liberty were allowed to me ! ' sighs the Wife of Bath. So far, it will be noticed, the argument has dealt with second marriage ; but there are those who recom- mend the avoidance of mari'iage altogether, and praise perpetual virginity. Yet God has never expressly com- manded virginity, and the apostle, though he counsels it, does not enjoin it. Up to this point the discussion has consisted of an appeal to the authority of holy writ ; the Wife now descends boldly to the ground of common sense. If every one should practice virginity, THE WIFE OF BATH'S PROLOGUE 235 who, pray, is to beget virgins and bring them forth ? It may be that virginity is more excellent than the married state ; very well, wooden vessels are needed in the household as well as golden. The Wife of Bath is quite contented with the humbler lot. Once more there is a bold appeal to connnon sense : it is the obvious intention of nature that man should marry and bring forth issue. Having established her point, she can afford to be generous to her opponents; they may follow virginity if they please : — I nil envye no virginitee; Lat liem be breed of pared whete-seed, And hit us wj'ves lioten barly-breed ; And yet with barly-breed, Mark telle can, Our loi"d Jesu refresshed many a man. In swich estaat as god hath cleped us I wol persevere, I nam nat precious. Despite its playful tone, the argument is a good one, and it may well be believed that Chaucer is at least half in earnest. The chief interest of this Prologue lies not in its character as a controversial pamphlet, but in ,pjjg -^^^ its portrayal of a human type. It is a great of Bath, human document. Looked at superficially, the Wife of Bath is a thor- oughly healthy animal, somewhat over forty, of substantial figure, dressed conspicuously, exceedingly coarse in her speech, but withal a friendly, good-natured woman, and by no means laclung in shrewd, practical wisdom. Tliough she has picked up many odds and ends of knowledge from her scholar-husband, Jankin, her manner of speech shows her to be essentially illit- erate. Iler whole theory of life is one of frank ani- malism. This is what one takes in at first glance, and this, probably, is all that her companions on the 236 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Canterbury journey saw in her; but Chaucer saw more. He saw that with all her apparent gayety, she was not happy. She begins her long preamble with mention of 'wo that is in niariage.' She argues at length to prove that marriage is the 8ummuf)i honum of life, and she lias had the singular good fortune to enter five times into this blessed state ; surely she should know the quintes- sence of bliss. But none of her marriages has been fortunate; of her husbands she says: 'Three of hem were gode and two were badde ; ' but with none of them was she happy. The first three she had married for their money. Tliey were too old to satisfy her lust ; they ciiided and harangued her; they would not even give her money enough to satisfy her love of finery. The fourth husband was a reveler, who made her as jealous as she had made his predecessors. The fifth, clerk Jankin, tried to lord it over her, and told her uncomplimentary stories from his books. When she hael at last won the mastery, he disobligingly died. Is not this ' tribulacioun in mariage ' ? She is haunted, moreover, with a vague suspicion that, argue as she may to the contrary, her way of life is not the right one, a subconscious conviction that reaches masterful expression in the single exclamation: Alias ! alias ! that ever love was sitme ! A further proof of her failure to attain happiness is found in her restlessness. As the souls of the lustful in the first circle of the Inferno are blown about con- tinually by the whirlwind, so she has been driven by her restlessness to seek strange lands. She has been to Rome, to Santiago in Spain, to Boulogne, to Cologne. Thrice she has made the long journey to Jerusalem. When we meet her, she is on the road to Canterbury. THE WIFE OF BATH'S PROLOGUE 237 It Is tlie same insatiable lust for ti-avel which marks the restlessness of our modern life. Worst of all, the Wife of Bath is growing old. Mar- rii'd lirst at the age of twelve, she is already forty when she marries her fifth husband. She must now be Hearing fifty. Her good days are done. If, as Horace tells us, no piety can give pause to wrinkles and sure- advancing age, neither can the impiety of rank animal- ism. It is not only ' indomitable death ' whose approach she has to dread, but the dulling of the sharp edge of pleasure on which her fancied happiness depends. 'But age, alias ! th.at al wol envenyme, Hath me biraft my bciuitee and my pith; Lat go, fare-wel, the devel go therwith ! The flonr is goon, ther is na-more to telle, The breii, as I best can, now moste I selle; Bnt yet to be right mery wol 1 fonde.' The spirit of reckless bravado in these lines cannot blind us to the torribh^ truth they contain. Tlie last line in particular tells us that the gayety of her character is a forced gayety : — ' But yet to be right mery ivol I fonde J There is, as Professor Lounsbury has said, a profound 'un(h'rtone of melancholy' running through all the apj>aient gayety of the piece. It is this deeper significance of the character which we must urge against those who are tempted to quarrel with the Prologue on the score of morality, Chaucer has indeed chosen to depict an immoral woman, and he has allowed her to reveal herself with a coarse plainness of language which is sure to shock the fastidious of a more ]irudish age, and which may well have shocked the more fastidious of Chaucer's contemporaries: liut we must remember thiit Chaucer has not apologized for 238 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER her immorality, nor attempted to represent it as other than it is. Some readers may find the poem disgusting; but no one can call it seductive. Chaucer has, more- over, preserved the moral balance by his clear appre- ciation of the fact that unstinted gratification of sense is not the road to happiness. THE WIFE OF BATh's TALE It was Chaucer's first intention, as we have seen above, ^ to put in the mouth of the Wife of Bath the * merry* fabliau of the Parisian merchant and his un- faithful wife which we know as the Shipman's Tale. The general tenor of this tale is thoroughly appropri- ate to the Wife of Bath; but Chaucer conceived a new and better idea. The good woman's prologue has dealt with the 'wo that is in mariage.' She has proposed a problem — how to be happy though married ; and in her own tale and in those of the Clerk, the Merchant, and the Franklin which follow are presented various answers to the problem or contributions towards its solution. Recent critics have called this set of tales the 'marriage group.' In the Wife's own tale the knight, confronted with the choice whether he would have his wife old and foul but faithful and devoted, or yomig and fair but skittish, leaves the decision to the lady herself, giving her the mastery and sovereignty over him. As a reward for his submission, she promises to be both fair and good. And thus they live, unto hir lyves ende. In parfit joye. * The recipe for marital happiness is to let your wife have her own way in everything. » See page 189. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE 239 After the quarrelsome interlude of Friar and Sum- moner is concluded, the Clerk of Oxford returns to the theme of marriage with a tale addressed directly to the Wife of Bath, which offers exactly the opposite an- swer. Marquis Walter rules his ever-patient wife with the most autocr-atic sovereignty. To all his commands, however outrageous, she gives unquestioning, uncom- plaining obedience; and, her twelve years of trial over — Ful many a yeer in heigh prosperitee Liven thise two in concord and in reste. The Clerk's playful recipe for happiness is complete wifely submission. The Merchant's Tale offers no recipe for happiness, but elaborates further the woe that is in marriage, par- ticularly in such an ill-assorted union as that of January and INIay, perhaps in any marriage entered into with the sole idea of 'fol delit.' Chaucer had been reading the Miroir de Manage of Deschamps, and from it he draws in considerable measure the long satirical dis- cussion of marriage w^hich occupies the earUer part of the Merchants Tale.^ The final contribution to the debate is found in the Franklin s Tale. Dorigen and her husband Ar\aragus have found the solution in mutual forbearance. The husband swears that he will 'take no maistrye agayn hir wil'; and she in return promises that there shall never be dispute between them, that she will be his 'humble trewe wyf.' This, says the FrankUn, is the only way to married happiness : — For o thing, sires, saufly dar I seye. That frendes everich other moot obeye, ' See the article by J. L. Lowes on 'Chaucer and the Miroir de Mariagc,' Modem Philology, 8. 165-186, 305-334. ^ 240 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER If they wol longe holden companye. Love wol nat ben constreyned by maistrye; Whan maistrie comth, the god of love anon Beteth hise winges, and farewel ! he is gon ! * Stories closely akin to that told by the Wife of Bath are found elsewhere in English literature. Gower tells essentially the same story, though in much less artistic form, in the first book of the Con- fessio Amantis. In Bishop Percy's folio manuscript there are two ballads — the Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Ragnell and the Marriage of Sir Gawaine — which develop the same theme. Still another in- stance of the tale is the border ballad of King Hen- rie in Scott's Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border. Sim- ilar stories of a loathly lady who becomes beautiful in her marriage-bed are found in Icelandic, Gaelic, French, German, and in the Orient. Indeed, the idea of dis- enchantment by a kiss is a common theme of fairy tales, as in the well-known nursery story of the Sleep- ing Beauty. 2 Though Gower's version and Chaucer's are nearer akin to one another than to any other of the tales known to us, neither seems to have been direct source for the other. Dr. G. H. Maynadier,^ who has gone most thoroughly into the question, believes that the tales of Chaucer and Gower go back ultimately to an Old ^ Through these tales of the 'marriage group' there runs another thread of common interest, the discussion of 'gentillesse.' The doc- trine that 'gentillesse* depends not on birth but on excellence of character, promulgated by the loathly lady in the Wife's tale, is ex- emplified by the perfect bearing of the lowly-born Griselda. The Franklin is impressed by the ' gentillesse ' of the Squire and his tale of Canace. He wishes that his own son 'mighte lerne gentillesse aright.' The Franklin's Tale shows that a clerk can ' doon a gentil dede ' as well as a knight or squire. * See Originals and Analogues, pp. 481-524. * The Wife of Bath's Tale, its Sources and Analogues, London, 1901. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE 241 Irish original ; but his argument, though interesting, is so involved that one fails to be convinced by it. The Friar, always ready, as the Sumnioner declares, to intermeddle in matters that do not concern him, has laughed at the undue length of the Wife's The Tale pieaiuble to her tale. She does not imniedi- itself. ately answer him ; indeed, the loud-voiced Summoner gives her no chance ; but when the Host has called the Friar and Sumnioner to order, she takes occasion, in the opening paragraph of her tale, to pay back her critic with a clever dig. Her tale is to be a fairy tale, and so she begins with the remark that In th' olde dayes of tlie king Arthour, Of which that Britons speken greet honour, Al was this laud fiilfild of fayerye. The elf-queen, with hir joly conipauy.e, Dannced ful ofte in many a greue mede; but now their place has been taken by these limiters and other holy friars : — For ther as wont to walken was an elf, Ther walketh now the limitour himself. As a result of this change, — Wommen may go saufly up and doun, In every bush, or under every tree ; Ther is noon other incubus but he. And he ne wol doon hem but dishonour.' The Wife of Bath has introduced her tale and paid back the Friar at the same time ; while the combina- tion of delicate imagination with coarse insinuation serves admirably as a transition from the Prologue to the tale itself. 1 I. e., ' He vill not carry them ofF to fairy-land ; he will only dis- honor them.' This is the reading: of Skeat's text and of the best MSS. The Globe Edition, following: the Cambridge MS., reads: 'And he ne wol doon hem noii dishonour,' which must, of course, be taken 1 as sarcasm. 242 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER The story proceeds smoothly for a while, till the knight begins to collect answers to the riddle, 'What thing is it that wommen most desyren?' The Wife finds herself face to face again with the question she has debated in her Prologue ; ami fifty-seven lines are devoted to a discussion of the various answers sug- gested, and to the tale of Midas's wife (learned doubt- less from husband number five). One may notice that she here returns for a while from the land of fiction to the problems of reality. This is suggested subtly by a change of tense, and by the introduction of the pronoun 'we,' which indicates her lively personal par- ticipation in the matter. Compare, for example, the Somme seyde, wommen loven best richesse of line 925 with Somme seyde, tb.at our hertes been most esed, Wben tbat we been ytlatered and yplesed of lines 929, 930, and with change to the present tense : And somme seyn, how that we loven best For to be free, and do right as us lest. The story is resumed with the charmingly poetical vision of the four and twenty ladies dancing under a forest side, who vanish as the knight approaches. The picture is not elaborated as Spenser would have treated it;* it is merely suggested to the imagination. It is sufficient, however, to furnish us with the hint that the loathly lady is not of human kind. One may notice in passing how Chaucer has managed to introduce an element of surprise into the story. The hag does not, as in Gower, specify the condition on which she will extricate the knight from his difficulty, she merely demands the granting of her first request; not till after the knight's triumphant answer to the queen, is 1 Cf. Faerie Qtieene, 6. 10. 10-18. THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE 243 marriage mentioned. Nor does the reader learn the answer to the riddle till the knight speaks it out in full court. lirought to the fulfillment of his pledge, the knight ungenerously, though not unnaturally, objects that his wife is loathly and old and come of low kind. This gives occasion for the long and excellent sermon on the nature of true nobility which occupies the last quarter of the tale : — Loke who that is most vertuoiis alway, Privee and apert, and most entendetli ay To do the gentil dedes tliat he can, And tak him for the grettest gentil man. The noble ideas nobly expressed in this speech, which suggest familiar words of Burns and of Tennyson, though part of Chaucer's personal creed, as shown by their reappearance in his balade of Gcntilesse, are not his original discovery. A similar strain of democracy may be found in Dante, in Petrarch, in Boccaccio, and in the Roman dc la Rose. Some exception has been taken, however, to the dramatic appropriateness of such sentiments to the character of the Wife of Bath. Ten Brink says, for example : 'The thoroughly sound moral of the long sermon given by the wise old woman, before her metamorphosis, to her young, unwill- ing husband, comes more from the heart of the poet than from the Wife of Bath.' ' But is not the Wife of Bath, as a prosperous member of the middle class, precisely the person to assert that true gentility is not the peculiar possession of the nobly born? If the poet has lent to these lines a tone of higher poetry than the Wife can be conceived capable of, he has done only what Shakespeare does continually. The function of the dramatist is not that of the mere repoi'ter. ^ History of English Literature (English trans.), 2. 1G3. 244 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Another possible objection that may be urged against this passage is tliat so long a digression interrupts too seriuusly the progress of the tale. On the contrary, it is an artistic device of the highest skill. A loathly hag is to be transformed suddenly into a beautiful lady. Such a process makes a large draught on our powers of belief. The high poetry of the long discourse serves to bridge over the change ; our minds are for the time being diverted from what is going on. We are held captive by the spell of her poetry, and at the conclusion of the speech are not surprised to find that the speaker is of wondrous beauty. As a further instance of Chau- cer's art in the management of the metamorphosis, we may notice that he refrains from any detailed descrip- tion either of her ugliness or of her beauty. Our minds are less startled by the change from ugliness in general to beauty in general than by that of a definite type of ugliness into a definite type of beauty. The tale is one of Chaucer's poetic triumphs. THE friar's tale At the conclusion of the Wife of Bath's long pre- amble, it will be remembered, the Friar had 'intermed- dled ' with a derisive laugh at the good woman's long- windedness, and had been promptly called to order by the Summoner. Eacli promised to tell a tale which should not be complimentary to the other's profession ; and only with difficulty could the Host calm them down, and win a hearing for the Wife of Bath. All through tliis enforced silence, the quarrel has been smouldering ; and the Friar has cast dark looks upon his natural foe. When Dame Alice has ended, the Friar hastens to seize the opportunity to strike the first blow. His tale is ably paid back by the Summoner ; and each reader njust decide for himself which comes THE FRIARS TALE 245 out Letter in this war of tales. The enmity of the Fiiar and the Summoner is not come of new ; their quarrel is the quarrel of their professions. The Sum- moner belongs to the organization of the so-called sec- ular clergy, which includes the parish priests, the arch- deacons, and the bishops. The Friar, as a member of a mendicant order, belongs to the so-called religious clergy — those who had taken definite religious vows, and belonged to world-wide organizations, which held authority directly from the Pope, and were independ- ent of the jurisdiction of the national church. Such a co-existence of separate ecclesiastical organizations within the same realm gave rise, of course, to endless jars ; for the religions clergy were continually en- croaching on the privileges of their secular brethren, and the latter not unnaturally tried to curb their power. Thus the Friar boasts that he and his order are outside the Sumraoner's jurisdiction ; to which the Summoner gives countercheck quarrelsome b}-- the answer that so are ' the wommen of the styves.' Since we know that the Friar could rage ' as it were rijrht a whelpe,' and since the ' fyr-reed cherubines face ' of the Summoner portends a choleric disposition, their quarrel was a foregone conclusion. As it was appar- ently Chaucer's purpose to show up both professions impartially, he chose the clever device of ' making each of these rascals demolish the other,' a device which serves also to heighten the dramatic realism of the Canterbury pilgrimage. The Friar^s Tale is merely an application to the profession of the Summoner of a popular anecdote, pre- viously told at the expense of a bailiff or a „ , , 11 • Sources. lawyer, l)ut equally ap])T'oprinto to any otiier unpopular functionary. Two annlognes to Chaucer's tale are given iu the Chancer Society's volume of 246 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Originals and Analogues. The first of these, and the one which illustrates most clearly what the poet had to build on, is found in a volume, printed probably about 1480, written by a Dominican friar named John Herolt, which is intended as a help to sermon-writers. The second section of the work contains a series of short anecdotes which a preacher might find useful as examples to point his moral. Among them is the story just referred to. Of course this volume appeared nearly a century later than the Canterbury Tales ; but the anecdote may well have been in circulation long before. If Chaucer found it in some similar work on sermon-writing, its appropriateness to the preaching Friar is very obvious. The heightened effectiveness of Chaucer's tale, which, in the absence of any evi- dence to the contrary, we may suppose due to his own genius, is clearly shown by a comparison with this Latin Narrative of a certain Wicked Seneschal which I shall give here in translation. There was a certain man, a seneschal and lawyer, a calumniator of the poor, and a despoiler of goods of every sort. One day he went to court to bring a suit, and to enrich himself. A certain man met him in the M'ay and said to him, 'Where are you going? and what is your business.'** The first man answered, 'I am going to make money.' And the second said, 'I am just such a one as you. Let 's go together.' When the first man consented to this, the second said to him, ' How do you make your money ? ' And he answered, * The substance of the poor, as long as they have any- thing, which I get by law-suits and prosecutions, either justly or unjustly. Now I have told you how I make my money, tell me, prithee, how do you make yours?' The second answered him and said, ' I put down to my profit everything that is given to the devil in curses.' THE FRIAR'S TALE 247 ?The first man laughed, and made fun of the second, i not knowing that he was the devil. After a little, as ■ they were going through a town, they heard a poor flman curse a calf, which he was leading to market, ■■ because it would not go straight ; and they also heard ' a similar curse from a woman who was beating her I boy. Then said the first to the second, ' Here 's a ^ cliance for you to make money if you wish. Take the fjboy and the calf.' The second answered, 'I can't, be- ■ cause they are not cursing from their hearts.' Now twhen they had gone a little further, a band of poor ii men came along, going to the law-court, and seeing the '■ seneschal, they all began to hurl curses at him with one accord. And the second said to the first, ' Do you i hear what they say ? ' 'I hear,' said he, ' but it makes J no difference to me.' And the second said, ' They are cursing from their hearts, and giving you over to the ' devil, and so you shall be mine.' And straightway he snatched him up and disappeared with him.^ This is a clever and diverting anecdote ; but Chau- cer's tale is something more. We may notice first of all the heightened realism given by the de- chaucer's tailed description of the Summoner and his '^'^^^- methods, and of the fiend, as he rides in his gay dis- guise of yeoman's green ; by the vivid picture of the carter urging his horses, Brok and Scot, through the heavy slough, whacking them and cursing them while the wagon sticks, calling down all the blessings of ! heaven upon them when the wheels begin to turn ; and by the half-humorous, half-pathetic figure of old ' Mabely indignantly repelling the Summoner's persecu- : tion, wishing him and the new pan, which he covets, both to the devil together. The dialogue between the 1 Still another analogue, from tlie Ziirich poet, Usteri (17G3-1S27X is given by F. Votter in Anylia, Btiblatl, 13. 180, 181. 218 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER two travelers is, as Ten Brink calls it, a little master- piece. Though he is entertaining him unawares, the Suramoner finds the fiend such eminently congenial company, that he immediately pledges him a life-long friendship. Shameless as he is, he none the less tries to hide the fact of his detested calling : — He dorste nat, for verray filthe and shame, Seye that he was a soiuuour, for the name. Deliciously humorous is the series of hints by which the fiend gradually reveals his true identity. He, too, is a sort of bailiff, who must gather in his lord's rents. As for his dwelling-place, it is ' fer in the north con- tree ' (the region where Lucifer set up his power) ; ' the yeoman hopes to see his new friend there some day ; he will give him such clear directions before they part, that he cannot possibly miss it. The fiend's ac- count of his own unscrupulous methods draws from the Summoner a frank confession that he makes off with everything that he can find, ' but-if it be to hevy or to hoot.' The Summoner must know the name of this stranger so completely after his own heart. This yeraan gan a litel for to smyle. ' Brother,' quod he, ' wiltow that I thee telle ? I am a feend, my dwelling is in helle.' The Summoner is naturally a little startled at the revelation, but not for long ; he is not the man to give up so charming an acquaintance for a trifling circum- stance. One may be a little taken aback on discover- ing thnt a chance acquaintance is a rabid anarchist or violent atheist. If he is well dressed, and a gentleman, we can pardon him some eccentricities of belief ; and 1 The hell of Teutonic mytholog-y was located in the north, as the region of darkness. A false interpretation of Isaiah 14. 12-14 may have helped to incorporate the same idea into Christian myth. Ci'. Milton, Paradise Lost, 5. 755. CHAPTER XII THE CANTERBURY TALES, GROUPS E, F, G, H, I THE clerk's tale Apparently the university students of the fourteenth century were as diverse a lot as those of the present day. Clerk Nicholas of the Miller s Tale^ with his gay sautrye,' and the two Cambridge students who take their mischievous revenge on the Miller of Trunip- ington, represent one species of the genus ; while the poor clerk of the Canterbury pilgrimage belongs to the class which we thoughtlessly dismiss with the word 'grind.' Lean he is of figure, sober of his bearing, threadbare as to his coat : — For him was lever have at his beddes heed Twenty bokes, clad in bhik or reed, Of Aristotle and his philosophye, Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrye. Of studie took he most cure and most hede. Sharply contrasted with the ready assurance of 'hendo Nicholas ' is the bashful reserve of this nameless Clerk of Oxenford : — ' Sir clerk of Oxenford,' our hoste sayde, ' Ye ryde as coy and stille as dooth a mayde, Were newe spoused, sitting at the bord; This day ne horde I of your tonge a word. I trow ye studio aboute som sophyme.' So academic is his bearing, that the Host feels it neces- sary to request that he refrain from preaching, and from too scholarly a manner of speech. But the Clerk is no 254 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER mere mechanical ' griml.' We discover the eager play of an active and original mind in his very way of speak- ing, ' short and quik, and f ul of hy sentence.' It is a delight to see the sudden flash of enthusiasm with which he refers to the great and worthy clerk, Fraunceys Petrark. That he is by no means lacking in a healthy vein of roguish humor, the closing stanzas of his tale show clearly enough. That the Host's warning against too lofty and pedantic a style was superfluous, the tale itself may bear witness. It is written in 'an honest method, as wholesome as sweet, and by very much more handsome than fine.' In res2)onse to the Host's command to tell a tale, the Clerk says : — Sources. I wol yow telle a tale which that I Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk, As preved by his wordes and his werk. He is now deed and nayled in his cheste, I prey to god so yeve his soule reste! Fraunceys Petrark, the laureat poete, Highte this clerk. Chaucer's tale of Griselda is, indeed, only a close trans- lation of Petrarch's Fable of Ohedieace and Wifely Faitli^ which is in its turn a somewhat freer Latin ren- dering of the tenth novella of the tenth day in Boccac- cio's Decameron. Prefixed to Petrarch's rendering of the tale is a Latin letter to Boccaccio telling how the translation came to be made. Though Petrarch and Boccaccio were close friends, and though the Decameron had been written at least twenty years earlier, Petrarch seems not to have read it till a year or two before his death, which occurred in 1374. Even then Petrarch found the book too big to read through. He merely glanced over the greater part of it, reading carefidly only the introductory description of the plague and THE CLERK'S TALE 255 the concluding tale of Griselda. The latter impressed him so deeply that he committed it to memory, and was in the habit of repeating it to his friends. Wishing to make it current among those who knew no Italian, he found leisure to turn it into Latin, retelling it in his own words, adding and changing a little here and there. That Chaucer used Petrarch's version rather than Boccaccio's original we know from the Clerk's explicit statement. Independently of that, a comparison of the three versions establishes the fact beyond shadow of doubt. Great as is Chaucer's debt to Boccaccio, we have no evidence that he ever read a line of the work on which Boccaccio's fame now chiefly rests. The problem of Boccaccio's sources for the tale is a puzzling one, and fortunately is of no immediate concern to the student of Chaucer. We may notice, however, that the tale is found in a collection of French Fabliavx, ou Contes du Xllle et clu Xlllle /Slecle, edited by Le Grand (1781). 1 If the question of Chaucer's source for the Clerk's Tale is a simple one, very complicated is the question as to the exact way in which Petrarch's fable ^^^ reached him. The Clerk of Oxenford is made posed Meet. to say that he learned the tale at Padua from cifaucer the worthy clerk, Fraunceys Petrark ; and this ^nd has been taken to mean that Chaucer himself heard the story from Petrarch's lips. At first blush there is much to lend probability to this interpretation. Pe- trarch's version of the tale was made in 1373, while the 'laureat poete ' was actually living at Arqua, a suburb of Padua ; and 1373 is the date of Chaucer's first visit to Italy. What more likely than that Chaucer should have sought out the chief man of letters in all Italy, ^ An abstract of the fabliau is given in Originals and Analogues to Some o/Ohaucer's Canterbury Tales, pp. 527-5u7. 256 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER and that Petrarch, who, we know, was in the habit of reciting the tale to his friends, should have entertained his guest with the fable of Griselda? If it is objected that Chaucer's version follows Petrarch's so closely that he must have had the Latin text before him as he wrote, it is plausibly suggested that Petrarch presented his visitor witli a manuscript of the tale as a parting gift. Professor Skeat is so sure of the interpretation that he insists that any one who doubts it must accuse Chaucer of deliberate falsehood. Chaucer's romantic biographer, Godwin, even tells us just how the two poets felt on meeting, and what each said to the other. Nevertheless, there have long been skeptics to doubt this pleasing theory. Professor Lounsbury, after call- ing attention to the fact that the Canterhury Tales is a dramatic composition, and that it is the Clerk of Oxen- ford and not Chaucer who says he learned the tale from Petrarch at Padua, sums up with the sentence : 'We can creditably and honestly try hard to think that the two poets met; but with the knowledge we at present possess, we have no right to assert it.' ^ Much as we should like to believe a story which appeals so strongly to our sense of what ought to have been, I fear that in view of recent investigations, even the cautious posi- tion of Professor Lounsbury is no longer tenable. Mr. F. J. Mather, after carefully investigating the exact date of Petrarch's composition of the fable, and the chronology of Chaucer's Italian journey, and looking into the conditions of traveling in the fourteenth century, has come to the following conclusions.^ For Petrarch's translation of the Griselda story ' any date in the early months of 1373 is possible, any date earlier ^ Studies in Chaucer, 1. 68. 2 ' On the asserted meeting of Chaucer and Petrarca,' Modern Lan- guaye Notes, 12. 1-11. THE CLERKS TALE 257 than April is improbable.' The mission of which Chaucer was a member was sent primarily to conduct business at Genoa. Leaving England on December 1, 1372, it could not have reached Genoa much before February 1, 1373.^ On reacliing Genoa, Chaucer was detached from his associates and sent on special busi- ness to Florence. Supposing that he made no stay in Genoa, he may have been in Florence about February 10. He was apparently back in Genoa by March 23. The length of his possible stay in Florence is thus seen to be only a few weeks; and diplomatic business is usu- ally not very quickly dispatched. Moreover, a journey from Florence to Padua, easy enough in the day of rail- ways, was then to be accomplished only by a long and dangerous ride over mountain roads, still made diffi- cult by the winter's snow. It seems improbable that Chaucer made this wide detour, but if he did, he could not have been in Padua later than March 15, a date too early for the probable composition of Petrarch's Latin version. We cannot assert positively that Petrarch and Chaucer did not meet ; but in the absence of any positive evi- dence of their meeting, we must admit that the proba- bilities are strongly against it. As for Chaucer's actual possession of the tale, Mr. Mather has shown that it speedily became poj)ular, and that manuscripts of it were early multiplied. That Petrarch was dwelling near Padua, Chaucer might easily have learned without coming within two hundred miles of the place. ^^'llat we shall think of the Clerk's Tale will be largely determined by what we think of the Griseida woman about whose personality the whole the Patient. 1 An allowance of two months for the journey to Oenoa is probably excessive. On liis second Itali.-m voyinre of \'A1^, Chaucer was absent from Enirlaiid leis tli.an four mouths. Tlie second jouruev. however, waa made in the tiuminer, when traveling was doubtless easier. 258 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER action centres. We are shown a young peasant-girl of blameless life, who is suddenly taken from her daily round of unremitting toil and frugal simplicity to be made first lady of a great domain. The sweet nobility of her character is raised far above the play of outward circumstance. She fills her new station as naturally and simply as she had tended sheep or turned her spinning- wheel ; she gives to her husband the same unfeigned, unstinted love and devotion that she had given to her old and feeble father. With a character such as this, and with great beauty of person as its fitting shrine, it is no wonder that Marquis Walter loved her, and that his people came to look upon her as the brightest star of all their land. A character which can stand sudden prosperity without receiving a flaw can also stand ad- versity. With unquestioning obedience she suffers her children to be snatched from her, and herself to be sup- planted by an unknown rival. The crowning instance of her wonderful patience is her prayer to Walter to spare his new-found lady: — ' O tiling biscke I yow and warne also, That ye ne prikke with no tormentinge This tendre mayden, as ye han don mo; For she is fostred in hir norishinge More tendrely, and, to my supposinge, She coude nat adversitee endure As coude a povre fostred creature.' Here is no word of reproach ; though the reproach in- evitably implied is heavy enough. Notice the carefully guarded phrase, 'as ye han don mo,' where vio means not mie but more, 'as you have done to others.'^ ^ Petrarch's Latin reads : ' Unum bona fide te precor ac moneo, ne hanc illis aculeis agites, quibus alteram ag-itasti.' Boccaccio is a little more definite : ' Ma qnanto posso vi prieg'o, clie quelle pnnture, le quali aJV ahra, che voxtra fn. g'ia deste, noii diate a qnesta.' (But I be^' tou with all my mig-ht that you give not to this woman tliose pricks which you gave to the other who was yours.) THE CLERK'S TALE 259 What are we to think of this matchless patience? Most modern readers, particuhirly women readers, I suppose, will think it ridiculous, if not positively crim- inal. Imagine a convention of woman's rights advocates debating the conduct of Griselda ! ' Miserable, weak- spirited creature ! ' one hears them shriek. But those were the days when women still promised at the altar to obey their lords, and considered the promise as something more than a meaningless phrase. Moreover, Griselda was not only her husband's wife, but his subject as well ; and the obligation of the vassal to obey the lord was only less sacred than man's obligation to obey his God. Griselda merely lives up strictly to the letter and spirit of her obligation, and, one may add, to the letter and spirit of the command that we ' resist not evil,' a command which our modern world has agreed to ignore. But, some one exclaims, is not a woman's first duty to protect her offspring, and is not Griselda vir- tually an accomplice before the act to what she supposes to be the murder of her children ? A duty, doubtless, and a sacred one ; but by what authority do we call it her ' first duty ' ? Mothers have been known to urge their sons on to almost certain death in battle ; and the deed has been called one of noble patriotism. There is an old story, not yet quite forgotten, of a father who stood ready to sacrifice an only son, at what he believed to be the command of his God. He may have been mistaken; Griselda may have been mistaken ; perhaps we shall one day be so civilized that the Spartan mother will no longer be held up as a model. The question of pre- cedence in moral duties is a more troublesome one than any that has vexed the master of ceremonies at a court levee ; and each age must be left to settle the matter for itself. Griselda merely put in practice what all her contemporaries held in theory, Petrarch was a man of 260 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER enlightened views, far in advance of his age ; yet it did not occur to him to question the Tightness of her conduct. He tells, in one of his letters, how he once gave the tale to a friend, and asked hiiu to read it aloud. The friend broke down in the middle of the reading, and could not continue for his tears. 1 am not arguing the question on its merits; I merely insist that he who would read the tale aright must imaginatively think himself into the spirit of a time long past, in which men held princi- ples quite other than ours, but in which, as in our own, there were found those who would answer unflinchingly to the stern voice of duty. Unquestioning obedience to duty is a quality too noble and too rare in any age to suffer us to question too nicely the occasion which calls it forth. The tale is, as Ten Brink calls it, ' the Song of Songs of true and tender womanhood.' Just what Chaucer himself thought of Griselda is not entirely clear to me. At the conclusion of the tale he makes the teller say : — This storie Is seyd, iiat for that wyves sholde Folvven Grisilde as in liuinilitee, For it were iinportahle, though they wolde; But for that every wiglit, in his degree, Sholde be constant in adversitee As was Grisikle. The difficulty of interpretation lies in the word ' importa- ble,' which means ' unbearable.' ^ Does it mean that such conduct would be unbearable to others, or that a woman who should strive to follow Griselda would be unable to bear the strain ? The context seems to me to favor the latter interpretation, in which case we shall conclude that Chaucer considered Griselda's humility entirely right, but for the majority of women an unattainable ideal. The roguish reference to the Wife of Bath, and ^ Cf. Cantirbury Tales, B 3792 : ' His peynes weren importable.' THE CLERK'S TALE 261 the liumorons envoy which follow are merely intended to restore the playful tone which Chaucer wished should dominate the Canterbury Tales. One dramatic problem of peculiar difficulty is pre- sented by the character of the Marquis, Griselda's husband. The plot of the story demands that ^^ he shall act with wanton cruelty, and cause his Marquis wife twelve years of needless sorrow. Yet it was not possible to paint him as a heartless villain ; for Griselda must not only obey him, but love him. This fundamental inconsistency cannot be removed; but the art of the story is shown in the extent to which it is concealed. The opening sections of the tale present him in a distinctly favorable light. He is young, handsome, and good-natured : — A fair persone, and strong, and yong of age, And fill of honour and of curteisye, Discreet ynogh his contree for to gye. All his people love him, both lords and commons. He has no vices ; in light-hearted carelessness he spends his time a-hawking and a-hunting. Though he was To speke as of linage, The gentilleste yborn of Lunibardye, he is quick to discern the true nobility of a peasant girl; and, far from entertaining any dishonorable designs upon her, is ready to make her his wife, and treat her as his equal. It is easy to see the grounds of his gen- eral poi)ularity. Yet, withal, there is an unlovely side to his nature; he is essentially selfish, a spoiled cliild. He neglects affairs of state, thinking only of his own pleasure. It is obviously his duty to marry and beget an heir; yet he prefers bachelor freedom, and has to be reminded of his duty by a delegation of his subjects. He is too 262 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER good-natured to refuse the request; but willfully declines the offer of his lords to choose a fitting consort for him, and asserts his liberty of action by flying in the face of conventionality and wedding a peasant. There is surely as much of pride as of generosity in his action; and one is tempted, too, to think that he foresees less interfer- ence to his liberty from a wife who is his inferior. He has his way, weds Griselda, and is proud to find his eccentric choice justified by Griselda's popularity, and by her dignity in her new position. He is fond of her as a spoiled boy is fond of a favorite horse, and in mere pride of possession proceeds to put her through her paces. As the reckless horseman is not contented that his mare can take an ordinary hedge or ditch, but keeps trying her at harder barriers to test the limits of her excellence, so Walter devises still harder tests of his wife's patience and obedience. He does not mean to be cruel; he believes in his wife, and intends to set all right in the end ; he loves her after a selfish fashion. Even when all is over, he feels no particle of remorse ; he has restored to her her children and the incomparable blessing of his own love. But those twelve years ! THE MEECHANT's TALE Whatever Chaucer may have thought of Griselda as an ideal of womanhood, he was quite aware that actual realizations of the ideal are not over-numerous. The fabulous Chichevache, who feeds only on patient wives, is never in danger of a surfeit. Having depicted a wife of the type of Griselda, the poet restores the balance of actuality by telling, in the person of the Merchant, the not very edifying tale of January and May. As seen at the Tabard Inn, on the eve of the Canter- bury pilgrimage, no one would have suspected the skel- eton in the prosperous merchant's domestic closet. His THE MERCHANT'S TALE 203 forked beard, liis Flemish beaver hat, liis 'botes clasped fairc and fctisly,' his self-satisfied manner of speech, — Souninge alway th'encrccs of liis winning, suggest no hidden tragedy. But he has listened with strange feelings to the Clerk's story of Griselda, who suffered twelve long years without a murmur. He, poor man, has been married but two months, — * And yet, I trowe, he that al his lyve Wyflees hath been, thongli that men wolde him ryve Unto the herte, ne coude in no manere Tellen so niuehel sorwe, as I now here Coude tellen of my wyves cursednesse I* The Host, it will be remembered, has some experience in conjugal infelicity, and readily enough gives the Merchant leave to tell his tale. The greater part of the Merchant'' s Talc is, as far as we know, Chaucer's original creation ; only the climax of the tale, the scene in the garden, where the blind husband recovers his sight just in time to witness his wife's infidelity, and is persuaded that all was done for his ov/n good, can be traced to an earlier original. The particular version of this ' pear-tree story ' which Chaucer used is not known tons; but several analogous tales, European and Oriental, are given in the Chaucer Society's volume of Originals and Ana- lof/ues,^ which may be read and compared by those who think it worth while to trace the genesis of a tale which was hardly worth telling. in the first place. Of these analogues, the best known is the ninth novella of the seventh day in Boccaccio's Decameron. This, though obviously a related tale, differs materially from the ver- sion Chaucer nuist have followed, the element of the husband's blindness being entirely lacking. Even in the portion of the tale which is borrowed, Chaucer's 1 Pp. 177-188, 341-3G4. I. 264 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER originality mayl)C seen. As Tyrwhitt says: '"^A^'Latcver was the real origin of this tale, the machinery of the faeries -which Chaucer has used so happily, was probahly added by himself; and indeed, I cannot helji thinking that his Pluto and Proserpina were the true progenitors of Oberon and Titania, or rather, that they themselves have, once at least, deigned to revisit our poetical sys- tem under the latter names.' Chaucer's tale has been retold by Pope under the title of January and May} Whatever one may think of the merits of the Mer- chants Tale, it will not do to dismiss it, tin does a recent The Taio Writer on Chaucer, as a mere ' tale of harlotry ; * Itself for the poet's chief interest in the story cen- tres not in its adulterous denoiicmc7it, but in the humorous character-sketch of old January. The doting gray-beard has spent his godless life in unbridled wantonness ; and now that he is sixty years and more, and the spark of desire is burning low, he decides that the comfort and happiness of his declining years, and incidentally the salvation of his soul, will be furthered by a tardy entrance into ' that holy bond with \Yhich that first God man and womraan bond.' Only a young and beautiful wife will answer the purpose ; and with such a one old January foresees a life of unmixed bliss: — For wedlok is so esy and so clene, That in this world it is a paradys. The sage counsels of Justinus, who urges objections manifold, avail as much as good advice usually avails a man who is already decided : — For whan that he himself conchuled haddc, Him thoughte cch other inannes wit so badde, * For a comparison of Pope's version with the original, see the article by A. Schade, in Englische Studien, 25. 1-130, 20. 161-228. THE MERCHANT'S TALE 2G5 o That inpossible it were to ropljrc Agayn his chois, this was his fantasyc. The sycophant, Placebo, who is clever enough to argue on the popular side, bears away the palm for wisdom. Exceedingly delicate is the irony with which Chaucer manages this debate, and proclaims the unending ha])- piness of the married state, while making it quite appar- ent all the while that for January the roseate vision is to be but mockery. So plausible is the sarcastic praise of marriage that the passage beginning : — For who can be so buxom as a wyf ? Who is so trowe, and eek so ententyf To kepe hira, syk and hool, as is bis make ? has actually been quoted, in all seriousness, to show Chaucer's ' perception of a sacred bond, spiritual and indestructible, in true marriage between man and woman ' ! * Foredoomed inevitably to failure, this senseless union of ' crabbed age and youth ' is rendered 3'et more absurd by the elaborate marriage-feast, which Chaucer, contrary to his usual custom, has described at length, but described with an irony all the more biting because of its apparent good faith : — Whan tendre youtbe hath wedded stouping age, Ther is swich mirthe that it may nat be writen. When, in the sequel, the entirely natural happens, and ' faire fresshe May ' plays false with her marriage vows, she carries our sympathies with her. Not that we approve of her conduct exactly, but our attention is diverted from the merely lascivious in the tale, and from the moral questions involved, to the eminent poetic jus- tice of old January's cuckoldom. An immoral tale is made to subserve a sort of crude morality. ^ The Prologue, KniqhCs Tale, etc., edited by Richard Morris, Oxford, 1895, p. xvUi, and Morloy, English Writers, 2. 135, 25G, 280. 266 THE rOETRY OF CHAUCER Even when tlic faithless wife occupies the centre of attention, it is the cleverness of her intrigue, and the sublime audacity of her inspired self-vindication, rather than her sensual desires which interest us ; while the deli- cate conceit of an overruling providence in the persons of Pluto and Proserpine, king and queen of faery, who sagely debate the wisdom of King Solomon and of Jesus jilius Syruh, relieves the essential coarseness of the tale. Even in the realm of faery, a wife will have her way : Pluto may espouse the cause of the injured husband, but the queen knows a subtler magic than his- own. It would have been easy, had Chaucer so wished, to give the tale a tragic ending ; but it is conceived from beginning to end in the spirit of a ' humor ' comedy of Ben Jonson. The tragedy is there, to be sure, but it is concealed so successfully from its victim that ho ends his days, for aught we know, in the paradise of fools whose bliss is their ignorance. ' The Merchant's Talc was written when Chaucer was at the height of his power, after he had already achieved one masterpiece of the same general character in the Wife of Bath's Prologue.' Immoral the tale' certainly is ; but its immorality is not insidious, and | the spirit of broad comedy which pervades the piece is | all but sufficient to sweeten the unwholesomeness of it. THE squire's tale * r '. '- ^ ^hen Milton in II Penseroso wished to summon up the memory of Chaucer, he did so by an allusion to the Squire's Tale : — Or call up him that left half-told The story of Camhusean bold, Of Cainball, and of Algarslfc, » That the Merchant's Tale is later than the Wife of Bath's Prologue is shown by the direct allusion to the latter at line 1085. THE SQUIRE'S TALE 267 And who had Canace to wife, That owned the virtuous ring and glass, And of the wondrous horse of brass On which the Tartar King did ride. Another of England's greater poets, the author of the Faerie Queeiie, took upon himself the task of complet- ing the half-told story, after addressing ' Dan Chaucer ' in terms of deepest reverence and love.^ A lesser poet, Leigh Hunt, who made a modernization of the Square's Tale, entertained the idea of writing a conclusion to it, but wisely refrained." The critic, Warton, placed the tale next after that of the Knight as ' written in the higher strain of poetry.' A considerable part of the attention which this tale has received is due, I fancy, to the very fact that it was left half told. I am inclined to suspect that Chau- cer abandoned the work because he did not know how to conclude it ; and if this is so, any attempt on our part to guess its conclusion must be futile. The Tar- tar King is provided with a wondrous horse of brass, on which he can fly ' as hye in the air as doth an egle,' and in the space of four and twenty hours arrive in whatsoever land he will. To his daughter, Canace, is given a magic ring, whose virtue is such that with it on her finger she shall understand the voices of all the birds of heaven and converse with them in their own tongue, and a mirror in which all the deeds of men are revealed as if face to face. There is a magic sword, too, which will pierce the strongest armor, and like Achilles' spear ' is able with the change to kill and cure.' In the second part, Canace, by virtue of her ' Faerie Queene, Book 4, Cantos 2 and 3. ^ S(!e Lonnsbury, Studies in Chaucer, .'J. 211-212. One John Lane, a friend of Milton's f.-ither, produced in 10150 a long' continuation of the tale, wlilch has been published by the Chaucer Society, It is miserable nouseusa. 268 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER i ring, learns a tale of unhap])y love from a falcon, who is, we must suppose, some princess laboring under an enchanter's spell. There are great wars toward. With such a beginning, what is not possible ? The imagina- tion roams through limitless fields of pleasing conjec- ture. The very name of magic has its fascination for our poor race of mortals, shut in as we are by the relentless barrier of the possible and the actual. Any conclusion which Chaucer, or any other poet, could have written would be barren and commonplace com- pared with our vague imaginings. And this is inevit- able in the very nature of the case. Let the magic horse, the ring, the sword, and mirror be put to practi- cal use, let their use result in any definite achievements or events, and they are immediately vulgarized. Onco more the tyranny of the actual, if not the possible, shuts us in ; and the boundless scope of the imagina- tion is narrowed to nothing. An exactly similar case is presented by Coleridge's wonderful fragment, Kvhla Khan, which deals, be it noticed, with the same Ori- ental dynasty as Chaucer's tale, Kubla Khan being a grandson of Gengis Khan, whose name becomes the Cambinskan of Chaucer. This poem is unfinished for the good retison that it could not be finished ; it is essen- tially a fragment ; and so great is Coleridge's art that the fragment may be said to constitute a distinct lit- erary form. Much might be said of the beauty of the incomplete, of the desirability of leaving things half finished. The beauty of a spring day is in lai'ge mea- sure the promise of summer days to come, which, when they come, fall often below our expectation. The un- equaled charm of a noble youth rests on the unlimited possibility of noble action which lies before him. The early death of Keats has served to magnify fourfold the estimate set upon his work. AVe have no proof THE SQUIRE'S TALE 269 that lio would ever have surpassed the actual achieve- ments he has left to us. Indeed, there are indications that he would not have done so. Yet such is the power of the incomplete, that we hear critics speak of him as one who might have been a second Shakespeare. Or, to take an example from what might have been, su])pos0 that Milton had been cut off after he had completed, only the first two books of Paradise Lost. What should we not have expected of the ten remaining books of a poem which opens so magnificently ? But we have the poem entire, and know that the level of the first two books was higher than Llilton could con- sistently maintain. The more one considers the keen- ness of Chaucer's critical insight and the strange 'elvishness' of his character, the more strongly one sus- pects that Chaucer recognized this power of the incom- plete, and deliberately left his tale half told. In no case has Chaucer more happily suited the tale to the character of the teller than in the case of the Squire. As the Knight, his father, tells a noble tale of tour- nament and knightly love, so his son, the Squii-e, turns naturally to a theme of chivalry. But there is a differ- ence. Warton says that ' the imagination of this story consists in Arabian fiction engrafted on Gothic chivalry.' It is in the days of our youth that the fiction of the Ara- bian Kights appeals most strongly to us. Before the ' shadows of our prison house ' close about us, we are all impatient of the actual, and dream of the infinite possibilities that might follow on the impossible. The Knight has lived his life and worked his work, and so his story, however ideal in its spirit, is of things accom- plished, of deeds already done. The Squire, though He had been somtyme in chivachye, In Flaiindres, in Artoys, and Picardye, And boru him wel, as of so litel space, 270 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER is living mainly in the infinite future, where all things are possible. All that his father has accomplished is as nothing beside what he intends to do. His charm, like that of the tale he tells, is in large measure the charm of incompleteness. There is hardly a feature of the Squire's Tale which does not find its parallel in the Oriental literature of magic. A reader whose acquaintance with this Sources. ,. . n ^ ^ A 1 • t»T' 7 literature is confined to the Arabian JSights will find such parallels in abundance.* But no single narrative which Chaucer might have used has yet been discovered. Whether any such narrative existed, or whether Chaucer merely allowed his imagination to play freely with the familiar themes of Arabian magic, fill- ing in his background with such scraps of knowledge about Tartary and the Far East as he had picked up in reading or conversation, we cannot say. The general character of the tale, and in particular its unfinished state, would favor the latter theory. Professor Skeat tried hard to prove that Chaucer's acquaintance with Gengis Khan, and with such features of local color as his story presents, was derived from the famous book of the travels of Marco Polo ; but this theory has been shown to be absolutely without foun- dation .^ Such are Chaucer's mistakes and confusions that it is hard to believe that he could have had any connected account of the Tartars before him.^ ^ The whole subject has been investigated with prreat thoroughness by Mr. W. A. Clouston, in an article entitled On the Magical Elements in Chaucer^s Squire's Tale, appended to the Chaucer Society's edition of John Lane's continuation of the Squire's Tale. '^ J. M. Manley. ' Marco Polo and the Squire's Tale,' Publications of the Modern Language Association of America, 11. 349-362. ^ Perhaps this is the best place to notice another exploded theory, that of Professor Brandl, who with characteristic German ingenuity has found in the Squire's Tale an elabornte allegory of the English court, Cambinskan representing Edward III, and Canace liis daughter- THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 271 THE franklin's TALE The portrait of the Franklin in the General Prologue, though an attractive one, hardly does full justice to this ' wortliy vavasour.' We are shown a prosperous coun- try land-holder, a man of sixty or over, we may suppose, with beard as white as the daisies which stud his spa- cious meadows, and with countenance as ruddy as the wine which lies in his well-stocked cellar. It takes no extraordinary power of clairvoyance to know that his table must be loaded with ' alle deyntees that men coude thinke,' while the general kindliness and good-nature of his bearing tell us that there is always room at his board for another guest. We like the good man, and should be glad enough to receive an invitation to spend a week- end in a house where it ' snows meat and drink.' But we dismiss him from our thought as ' Epicurus owne sone ' for his good living, and as the Saint Julian of his country for generous hospitality. It is only after we have traveled a day or two with him on the Canterbury road, and heard him tell his noble tale, that we see more intimately into his life and aspirations. The Franklin has much in common with the better type of the 'self-made man.' He has at his disposal all that money can buy, and he has held office in his own county ; but he is uncomfortably conscious of a certain { lack of 'gentility,' — betrayed by his fondness for the ] words ' gentil ' and ' gentilesse,' — and of the full edu- ' cation which would adorn his prosperous estate. ' But, sires, bycause I am a burel man, At my biginning first I yow biseclie Have me excused of my rude speche ; I learned never rethoryk certeyn.' in-law Constance, second wife of John of Gaunt (Englische Studien, 12. 161). This fanciful theory has been demolished by Professor Kit- tredge, in Englische Studien, 13. 1-25. 272 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER That he has made up in some way or other for the lack of early advantages, is showu by the excellence of his tale, and by the more or less learned discussions which he rather needlessly introduces, such as the historical- mythological catalogue of women who died rather than sully their honor, which occupies lines 1366-1450. His enlightened views and sound good sense are showu in the opinion he expresses of astrology : — And swicli folye, As in our dayes is nat worth a flye. Once he indulges in one of the figures of rhetoric of which he has professed his ignorance: — But sodeinly bigonne revel newe Til that the brighte souue loste his hewe ; For th'orisonte hath reft the sonne his light ; but his good sense and native honesty bring him down to earth again in the line which follows: — This is as inuche to seye as it was night. Conscious that, with all that he has acquired and at- tained, he can never be quite the complete gentleman, he would fain be the father of a gentleman; but his hopes are disappointed by the unfortunate vulgar procliv- ities of his son and heir. To the gallant young squire he says : — ' I have a sone, and, by the Trinitee, I hadde lever than twenty pound worth lond, Though it right now were fallen in inyn bond, He were a man of swich discrecioun As that ye been ! fy on possessioun But-if a man be vertuous withal. I have my sone snibbed, and yet shal, For he to vertu listeth nat entende; But for to pleye at dees, and to despende, Aud lese al that he hath, is his usage. And he hath lever talken with a page Than to commune with any gentil wight Ther he mighte ierne gentillesse aright.* THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 273 So might a Toledo oil-magnate bewail the vicious tend- encies of the son whom he is lavishly maintaining at Yale or Harvard. Considering this, there is something of pathos as well as fine generosity, in the enthusi- .istic praise which the Franklin bestows on the Squire for his noble tale, which we, alas ! can never hear to its end : — ' In feith, Squier, thou hast thee wel yquit, And gentilly; I preise wel thy wit.' This outburst of praise calls the Host's attention to the Franklin; and, though he disposes of the good man's most cherished aspiration with a contemptuous * straw for your gentillesse ! ' he nevertheless singles him out as the teller of the next tale. Were it not that in other instances we find Chaucer assigning a fanciful, rather than the actual, source for his compositions, the opening lines of the Franklin s Tale would seem sufficient evi- dence that its source was a courtl}'^ Breton lay, such as those that have come down to us in French dress from the hand of Marie de France. Thise olde gentil Britons in hir dayes Of diverse aventnres maden layes, Rymeyed in hir firste Briton tonge; Which layes with hir instruments they songe, Or elles redden hem for hir plesannce; And oon of hem have I in remembraunce, Which I shal seyn with good wil as I can. But no such lay has been preserved to us.* Tales similar ^ Dr. W. H. Schofield has attempted to prove from an account of a Briton chieftain, Arvir.apiis. in Geoffrey of Monmouth's Historia, that such a legend actually existed in South Wales, whence it was carried to Brittany, and written up, perhaps with accretions from another source ultimately Oriental, by a poet of the school of Marie de France. (Publi- cations of the Modern Language Association of America, 10. 40.")-44t).) The arR'ument is in£;'enious, and one would be glad to accept it ; but it consists of hypotheses rather than of evidouce. An elaborate refutation 274 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER to that of the Franklin have been found in Sanskrit, Bur- mese, Persian, and other Oriental tongues ; and a still closer parallel is offered in a tale told by Boccaccio in his early prose work the Filocolo^ and again, with slight va- riations, in the Decameron^ Day 10, Nov. 5.* In Boccac- cio's version, a faithful wife promises an importunate lover, of whom she wishes to be rid, that she will give him her love, if he can make a garden bloom and bear fruit in mid-January. The lover accomplishes this by the help of a magician ; and the story concludes as does the Franklin's. Of the two parallel tales of Boccaccio, that in the FUocolo is somewhat nearer to Chaucer's; and it is possible that Chaucer may have drawn his material thence, changing the scene to Brittany, alter- ing the names in accordance with this change, and con- siderably modifying the story itself ; but it is more probable that his source was a French yaJ/iaw, closely related to the source whence Boccaccio's tale was drawn. The fact that the scene was laid in Brittany would be sufficient to explain the fanciful attribution to a Breton lai. The history of the tale, as it traveled from the dis- tant east to Chaucer's study, was probably similar to that of the story which we have in tlie Pardoner's Tale? It is interesting to notice that Beaumont and Fletcher have utilized the plot of the Frankliri s Tale for a one-act play entitled TJie Triumph of Honour. The chief beauty of this tale resides in the noble of Dr. Schofield's contention is g-iven by P. Rajna in Romania, 32. 204- 267. (' Le Origini della Novella narrata dal Frankeleyn nei Canterbury Tales del Chaucer.') ^ The story also appears in the twelfth canto of Boiardo's Orlando Innamorato. See Originals and Analogues to Some of Chaucer'' s Canterbury Talcs, pp. 280-340, where several Oriental versions and the Decameron novella are given in translation. For the relation of Chaucer's ver.sion to Boccaccio's, see the article by P. Rajna, in Romania, 32, 204-267. Rajna's conclusions in this matter the present writer cannot accept. 2 Cf. above, p. 224. THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 275 spirit which pervades it. The unswerving fidelity of Dorigen, who cannot make merry when her husband is overseas, and who unhesitatingly rejects the Literary advances of her lover Aurelius ; the utmost Qualities, loyalty to the spoken pledge, which impels Arviragus to send his wife to keep a promise, though spoken in jest — are so potent in their power for good that not only the passionate lover, but the poor scholar in far- off Orleans, are compelled to an equal nobility. Ten Brink says of the poem : 'The contagious influence of good, proceeding from a conunon as well as from a noble disposition, and the wondrous power of love, are beautifully symbolized in this fable. And throughout all his story Chaucer gives special prominence to the idea by which the whole receives its internal comple- tion, viz., the idea that love and force mutually exclude each other, while patience and forbearance belong to the very essence of love.'* Beautiful as is this picture of married love, Chaucer has taken care that it shall not become sentimental, by touching it here and therewith his own peculiar humor. Thus with sly ambiguity he asks, after describing the bliss of Arviragus and Dorigen, — Who coude telle, but he had wedded be, The joye, the ese, and the prosperitee That is betwixe an housbonde and his wyf ? And again in describing the grief of Dorigen at her husband's departure for Britain : — For his absence wepeth she and syketh, As doon thise noble wyves whan hem lykelh. After giving us the passionate 'complaint' uttered by Aurelius in his love-longing, there is on the author's part a playful assurance of his own unconcern : — ' History of English Literature (English trans.), 2. 169. 276 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Dispeyred in this torment and this thoght Lete I this wofiil creature lye ; Chese he, for me, whether he wol live or dye. The poem ends in the manner of the dehat literature so popuhir in mediieval France, with a question addressed to the judicious reader, or rather to the members of the pilgrimage : — Lordinges, this question wolde I aske now, Which was the moste free, as thinketh yow? Which of the three — Arviragus, who sacrifices his wife to liis sense of honor. Aurelins, who foregoes his coveted opportunity, or the clerk of Orleans, who in remitting his promised fee, showed that he too ' coude doon a gentil dede ' • — shows the greatest freedom, i.e., generosity? One would be glad to hear the discussion which must have arisen among the company when this question was pro- pounded ; but one of the several gaps in the unfinished framework of the Canterhury Tales follows the Frank- lin^ s Tale, and the reader is left to imagine the debate, and to settle the burning question by himself. In at- tempting the question, one must decide whether or not the terrible sacrifice of Arviragiis was necessary, or even justifiable. Probably most modern readers will decide that it was neither. A jesting promise is made on con- dition that the seemingly impossible be performed. By calling in the aid of magic, the condition is fulfilled. Surely it is a hyperquixotic sense of honor which shall insist on the fulfillment of a pledge so circumstanced. But the Middle Age apparently admired such extreme conceptions of honor, ^ and I, for one, am not willing to say that they were wrong. It would not hurt our modern world to be a little more quixotic in its sense of honor. I am quite ready to grant that in this in- ^ Cf. The tale of Nathan and MlthriJanes, in Boccaccio's Decam- eron, Day 10, Nov. o. THE SECOND NUN'S TALE 277 stance Arviragns was mistaken, that truth did not de- nuuul the sacrifice ; even, if you will, that the sacrifice should not have been made; and yet his act is none the less a noble act. I cannot see that its spirit is very different from the spirit of the equally quixotic cora- niiuid, ' If any man will sue thee at the law, and take away thy coat, let him have thy cloke also.' In the event, at least, Arviragus is justified ; his noble deed begets nobility in others ; and we are shown once more that it is indeed possible to overcome evil with good. THE SECOND NUN'S TALE Of the Second Nun, to whom the manuscript rubrica assign the legend of St. Cecilia, we know nothing be- yond the mere fact of her presence in the pilgrim-com- pany as attendant on the Prioress. At the end of the description of Madam Eglantine in the General Pro- logue we read : — Another Noiine with hir hadde she, That was hir chapele^'iie. Chaucer has provided no introductory prologue to the tale itself to inform us further of the good lady's per- sonality, nor of the circumstance of her narration. The appropriateness of tale to teller is, however, obvious at a glance. Like the tale of the Prioress, the story breathes that spirit of peculiar religious exaltation which we associate with all that is most beautiful in the monastic life. That the legend of St, Cecilia was not originally in- tended for its present place as one of the Canterbury Tales might be shown from the internal evi- Date of dence of the tale itself. In open contradic- Composition, tion to the idea of oral narration on the pilgrimage is ; line 78 : — Yet preye I yow that reden that I wryte. 278 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER Equally inconsistent is line 62, in which the speaker refers to herself as ' unworthy sonc of Eve.' We have, however, a piece of external evidence on the question which is even more convincing. In the Legend of Good Women Dan Cupid says of the poet : — He hath in prose translated Boece, And mad the Lyf also of seynt Cecyle. This evidence taken together may be held to prove that the tale was written before 1385, and was not revised for its present position. That the legend was written after Chaucer's Italian journey of 1373 is rendered probable by the fact that lines 36-51 are translated from the last canto of Dante's Paradiso. From its general stylistic qualities, and in particular from the closeness with which it follows its original, critics have been inclined to ascribe it, with Ten Brink, to the very beginning of Chaucer's so-called Italian period, that is, to the years 1373-74. Proba- bility favors this ascription ; but it must be remem- bered that we have no positive evidence in its suj^port.^ The source of the Second JVun's Tale is suggested by the rubric which precedes line 85 : Tnterpretacio nominis Cecilie, quam j^onit f rater lacohus lanuensis in Legenda Aurea. This Jacobus Januensis, better known as Jacobus a Voragine, was a Dominican friar, who in 1292 was consecrated arch- bishop of Genoa ; and his Golden Legend, ' a collec- tion of the legendary lives of the greater saints of the mediffival church,' was one of the most popular books of the Middle Ages. Professor Koelbing has shown, however, that Chaucer's original was a Latin life of St. Cecilia, which, though closely related to thai in the Golden Legend, is in some particulars nearer to the ^ Dr. Koeppel, in Anglia, 14. 227-233, favors a date later than that of Troilus and Criseyde. THE SECOND NUN'S TALE 279 life of the saint written by Simeon Metaphrastes,* printed in a collection of saints' lives by Aloysius Lipomanus, Louvain, 1571. There is no proof that Chaucer used the French translation of the Golden Legend by Jehan de Vignay, nor any of the earlier English accounts of St. Cecilia.^ Though we do not possess Chaucer's exact original, we know from the extant Latin versions, from which it probably differed only in minute details, that his trans- lation is exceedingly literal. The following extract from the version of Meta])hraste8 may be compared with Chaucer's corresponding lines : ' Dixit Almacius prse- fectus : Elige tu unum ex duobus, aut sacrifica aut nega te esse cristianam, ut delicti tibi detur venia. Tunc dixit ridens sancta Caecilia : O judicem pudore necessario affectum ! Vult me negare et esse me inno- centem, ut ipse me faciat crimini obnoxiam.' ^ In Chaucer's English this becomes : — Almache answerde, ' cbees oou of thise two, Do sacrifyce, or Cristendom relieve, That thou inowe now escapen by that weye.' At which the holy blisful fayre niayde Gan for to laughe, and to the juge seyde, *0 jiige, confiis in thy nycetee, Woltow that I reneye innocence, To make me a wikked wight ? ' quod she. This passage is typical of Chaucer's procedure through- out, so that we may agree with Professor Koelbing's assertion that ' apart from the charming versification, which seems splendidly suited to the subject, Chaucer's proprietorship in the composition consists only in single words or half lines, which he used to fill out his verse.' Any criticism of the tale, then, must be a criticism of 1 Engliscke Studien, 1. 2l.">-24S. ' See Originals and Analogues, pp. 189-219. 8 From Koelbing's article cited above, p. 223. 280 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER the original saint's legend rather than of Chaucer. It is a story of a type to which our modern world is The Tale inclined to do small justice. Full as it is of Itself. ^j^g supernatural and the impossible, it lends itself readily enough to the laugh of the mocker ; while even the human motives of the saintly heroine are far from the comprehension of to-day. Yet for its pathos, its noble spirit of high religion, above all for the irresistible force of Cecilia's sweet personality, the tale may still be read and loved by all whose hearts are not completely hardened. Chaucer, apparently, took the tale quite seriously ; the genuineness of its religious feeling cannot be questioned. So that his deliberate choice of theme, not in the first place for the Second Nun, but for himself, is a valuable piece of testimony as to his deeper and more serious life. Of the historical Cecilia little is known beyond what can be inferred from the developed legend. Her mar- tyrdom is usually assigned to the reign of the Emperor Alexander Severus (a. d. 222-235) ; but even this is not certain. St. Cecilia's present fame as patroness of music and inventor of the organ is a later develop- ment, of which Chaucer probably never heard. The Cecilia of the legend sang to God in her heart ' whyl the organs maden melodye,' and she received an angel visitant ; but the two facts are unconnected, and the mention of the organ is only a passing one. THE canon's yeoman's TALE When the Second Nun has finished her tale of St. Cecilia, and the company have reached the little village of Boghton under Blee, they are joined by two new- comers, the Canon and his Yeoman, who have ridden furiously to overtake them, fearing perhaps to travel alone through the robber-haunted Forest of Blean. THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE 281 The black-clothed Canon speaks but little ; but his silence is more than atoned for by the garrulous lo- quacity of his Yeoman. Little by little it transpires that the Canon is a practicer of alchemy. The Yeoman will not be silenced : — And whan this chanon saugh it wolde nat be, But his yeinan wolde telle his privetee, He fledde awey for verray sorwe and shame. Chaucer had little, if any, of the reformer's spirit in his make-up ; but with his temperamental tendency to see the comic in human life, he had a keen interest in hypocrisy and clever imposture, an interest which at times almost extends to an intellectual admiration. With lively intellectual interest, but with no trace of bitterness, he shows up the lying devices of his Par- doner. With less detail, but with rich humor. Clerk Nicholas in the Miller's Tale is made to exemplify the tricks of the false astrologer. The Canoiis Yeoman's Tale is a complete expose of alchemy made by one of its victims, and consequently made with a personal bit- terness that has led many critics to the unwarranted supposition that Chaucer himself had fallen prey to the im])osture. Chaucer may have believed, as did all the most learned of his time, in the theoretical possibility of transmuting the baser metals into gold. The fullness and accuracy of his acquaintance with the subject, as shown in the tale itself, prove that his intellectual curiosity had led him to explore the mysteries of the science. Even the Canon's Yeoman^s Tale itself in- dicates no active disbelief in the theory of alchemy. But his sound common sense told him that in actual experience the search for the philoso})her's stone had been but a pursuit of will-o'-the-wisp, when it had not been downright fraud and imposture. We can be sure, I think, that the only use Chaucer made of alchemy was 282 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER in transmuting the base metal of human greed and folly into the finer gold of humor. The bitterness of the Canon s Yeoman's Tale is the dramatic indignation of the Yeoman, who at last discovers that he has been made a gull. Needless to say, it gives the highest real- ism and color to the tale. When his master takes to flight, and the Yeoman finds himself free of the incubus that has for seven long years possessed him, robbing him of money and of health, his pent-up scorn finds vent in a long rambling exposition of alchemical mysteries. He has learned his lesson well ; and the ' terms ' of the ' elvish craft,' ' so clergial and so qaeynte,' flow freely from his loosened tongue. There is no order in his speech ; and the majority of his terms are, of course, meaningless to us. The total effect is one of bewildering confusion, precisely the effect which Chaucer wished to produce. Deliciously humorous is his description of the sudden bursting of the pot which contained the mixture which was to bi'ing great wealth. Some said this, and some said that, but the bitter fact remained that months of labor had gone for nothing. The first part of the tale deals with the futile at- tempts of serious alchemy, in which the deceivers are themselves deceived, and all alike share in the common failure. The second part, which is the more interest- ing, tells of the clever trick of legerdemain by which another canon, less scrupulous than the one we have met, convinces a gullible priest that he actually pos- sesses the elixir, and disposes of his worthless receipt for the considerable sum of forty pounds. No source for tlie tale is known, and probably none is to be sought. Very likely the anecdote of the second part is founded on an actual occurrence. A trick closely similar to this was actually perpetrated in New York I THE MANCIPLE'S TALE 283 in the summer of 1890.* After all, the chief interest of the tale lies not so much in its substance as in the personality of the Yeoman who relates it. THE manciple's TALE The journey to Canterbury is nearly ended, and already the company is in sight of a little town, — Wliich that ycleped is Bob-up-and-doun, Under the Blee, in Caunterbury weye. Meanwhile honest Hodge of Ware, the Cook of Lon- don, has been taking advantage of his vacation days to sample the wine or ale of every wayside tavern, until he has got himself disgracefully drunk. He talks through his nose, breathes heavily, and finally falls from his horse into the mire, whence he is raised into the saddle again only after much shoving and lifting. Obviously, he is in no condition to tell the tale which mine Host demands of him ; so that the Manciple's ready offer to serve in his stead is gladly accepted. On the first day of the pilgrimage, it will be remembered, the Cook had been called on for a tale, and had responded with the story of Perkin Revelour, which Chaucer left unfin- ished after the fifty -eighth line. That he should be called on a second time is pi-oof that, when the Man- ciple's Prologue was written, Chaucer had not aban- doned his original plan, as announced in tlie General Prologue, that each of the ])ilgi-ims should tell turn tales on the road to Canterbury, and other two on the journey home. The tale which the Manciple tells is a short and sim- ple one, and needs no long exposition here. It is merely ^ See Dr. C. M. Hatbaway's edition of Ben Jonson's Alcheiniat, New York, V.KY-j, pp. 87, 88. The introduction of this vohime contains an interesting^ liistory of alchemy, its theory and practice, down to the prtwent day. 284 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER a clever retelling of the fable of Apollo and Coronis in Ovid's Metamorphoses^ 2. 531-632. Chaucer has somewhat simplified the tale, and has added some moral reflections on the futility of trying to restrain a wife, and on the undesirability of repeating scandal, the latter taken from Albertano of Brescia's treatise on the Art of Speaking and of Keeping Silence.^ The same tale is told byGower in (7o??/essio-4ma?i^is, 3. 783-830. Mr. Clouston has shown ^ that the tale is ultimately of Ori- ental origin, and that a version of the story, independent of that given by Ovid, was brought to Eui-ope in the Middle Ages, and incorporated into the popular collec- tion of tales entitled Li Romans des Sept Sages. But Chaucer's tale was probably drawn directly from Ovid, and certainly has no connection with this version last named. THE parson's tale In the life of the fourteenth century the Church played, for good and for evil, a part of the first impor- tance, so that one need not be surprised that of the nine and twenty gathered together at the inn in South- wark, eleven are connected in one Avay or another with the ecclesiastical organization. Surveying this delega- tion as a whole, one is forced to the conclusion that the English Church had fallen on evil days ; and this conclusion is strengthened by the appearance of other churchmen quite as unworthy as these in the tales themselves. Unfortunately, the concurrent testimony of such diverse observers as Gower, Langland, and Wiclif proves that Chaucer's picture is not overdrawn. Against such a background of corruption and unwor- thiness, the poor parson of a town stands out with singu- lar beauty, and the sympathetic portrait of him given 1 See the article by Koeppel, in Herrig-'s Arckiv, 80. 44. ^ Originals and Analogues, 437-4S0. THE PARSON'S TALE 285 in the General Prologue is justly regarded as one of the loveliest bits of Chaucer's poetry. Often enough on the road to Canterbury the good priest must have been shocked by the words he had to hear ; but he knew how to keep his peace. He ' ne maked him a spyced conscience.' Only once does he protest, when on the second day of the journey the Host turns to him and with an oath demands a tale. The Parson's mild rebuke calls forth from the Host a scornful answer : — ' I smelle a loUer in the wind,' quod he. * How ! good men,' qxiod our hoste, 'herkneth ine; Abydeth for goddes digne passioun, For we shall han a predicacioun; This Idler heer wil prechen us somwhat.' But the Shipman, that stout defender of the estab- lished faith, throws himself into the breach ; the dan- ger of a ' predicacioun ' is for the present averted ; and the unpleasantness blows over. Not, however, till all the other pilgrims have told their tales, late in the after- noon of the last day's ride, does the Host again make requisition for the Parson's tale. This time the Par- son suffers his profanity to pass without rebuke. The Host's earlier fears of a ' predicacioun,' however, are fully realized. The Parson will tell no fable, either in rime or alliteration; his tale is to be ' moralitee and vertuous matere,' To shewe yow the wey, in this viage, Of thilko parfit glorious pilgrimage That highte Jerusalem celestial. The whole company sees the appropriatness of ending ' in som vertuous sentence,' and the Parson is given free audience. Much as we may admire the beauty of the Parson's character as parish priest, we are heartily glad that we 286 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER do not have to sit under his preaching of a Sunday. His sermon, or meditation, as he calls it, is interiniuably long, and for our modern taste at least, intolerably flull. It is full of excellent teaching, often expressed in tren- chant language ; but for elfectiveness as a whole, it is immeasurably inferior to the brilliant sermon of the miserable Pardoner. The theme of the discourse is Peni- tence ; but into its midst is introduced a digression on the seven deadly sins and their remedies, longer than all the rest of the sermon, which hopelessly destroys the unity and proportion of the whole. Of the source of the Parson s Tale Piofessor Skeat says : ^ 'It is now known that this Tale is little else Sources than an ada])tation (with alterations, omis- Authen- sions, and additions, as usual with Chaucer) ticity of a French treatise by Frere Lorens, entitled La Somme des Vices ct desVerUis, written in 1279.'* Until quite recently this statement was universally ac- cepted ; but we now know that the Par807i''s Tale and La Somme des Vices et des Vertus both go back to an earlier common original, the Sum,ma seu Tractatvs de Viciis of Guilielmus Peraldus, a Dominican Friar of the thirteenth century, while the main body of tlie tale which deals with penitence is from the Summa Casnum Pcenitentim of another Dominican of the same century, Raymund of Pennaforte.^ In just what versions these treatises reached Chaucer we do not yet know ; but, 1 Oxford Chaucer, 3. 502. 2 In the Chaucer Society's volume of Essays on Chaucer, pp. 503- 610, may be found a minute comparison of the Parson's Tale and the Somme, by W. Eilers. 2 The Sources of the Parson's Tale, by Miss Kate O. Petersen, Rad- clifFe Colleg^e Monooraphs, 12. Boston, 1901. Favorably reviewed by E. Kopppel, in Englische Sludien, oO. 404-467. Professor Liddell's ' A New Source of the Parson's Tale,' in the Furnivall Miscellany, 255-277, is DO longer important. THE PARSON'S TALE 287 tliongli the Somme of Frere Lorens may have been consulted, it cannot have been his direct or even indi- rect source. Nor do we know whether the unfortunate piecing together of two distinct treatises is due to Cliaucer, or to his immediate original. So inartistic is this combination, that many critics, among them Ten Brink, have been unwilling to believe that the tale as preserved to us is Chaucer's authentic work. The whole digression on the seven deadly sins, and other lesser sections of the work, they regard as interpolations by another hand. But this method of higher criticism, by which everything offensive to the aesthetic taste of the critic is conveniently branded as interpolation, is fortunately going out of fashion ; and in this particular case there is no adequate ground for supposing that the tale is not in all essentials as Chau- cer wrote it.* It will be remembered that the Host accused the Parson of being a ' loller,' i. e. a lollard, a follower of Wiclif. Superficially, the portrait of the Parson in the General Prologue suggests the ' poor preachers ' who spread the reformer's teachings through the country- side ; and a serious attem])t has been made to prove that he was intended as a Wiclifite, and that Chaucer himself was in sympathy with the movement. Of course the Parson's ' meditation,' with its insistence on the necessity of auricular confession, is eminently orthodox ; and if we accept it as genuine, we must at once dis- miss the theory of his \Yiclifite sympathies. Apart ; from this objection, the theory never had any adequate evidence in its favor. As for the Host's playful charge, one may readily enough answer that it is quite in ^ Professor Koeppel, in IIerri};''3 Archiv, ST. .13-54, lias shown tliat many quotations from the section on the seven deadly sins occur in Chaucer's other works, just as wn find similar quotations from Boa- thius and from the 2 a e of Melihens. 288 THE POETRY OF CHAUCER accord with Chaucer's characteristic humor to have it suggested that the one thoroughly worthy ecclesiastic in the company Is a heretic.^ In the last paragraph of the ParsorCs Tale, under the caption ' Here taketh the makere of this book his The Re- Icve,' Is found a strange and sad leave-taking, tractation. jj^ which the poet beseeches ' mekely for the mercy of god, that ye preye for me, that Crist have mercy on me and foryeve me my giltes : — and namely, of my translacions and endytinges of worldly vanitees, the whiche I revoke In my retracciouns : as Is the book of Troilus ; The book also of Fame ; The book of the nynetene Ladies ; The book of the Duchesse ; The book of seint Valentynes day of the Parlement of Briddes ; The tales of Caunterbury, thilke that sounen into sinne.' The only works that he does not regret are the translation of Boethius, ' and other bokes of Legendes of seintes, and omelies, and moralitee, and devocioun.' All for which we prize Chaucer he would rather not have writ ! We should be glad to believe that these words are not authentic ; but, remembering Tolstoi and Ruskin, we dare not. The sincerity of the passage cannot be questioned. We must believe that In the sadness of his latter days the poet's conscience was seized upon by the tenets of a narrow creed, which in the days of his strength he had known how to trans- mute Into something better and truer. But into the sacredness of his soul we had better not pry too curi- ously. ' So here is ended the book of the Tales of Caunter- bury, com])iled by Geffrey Chaucer, of whos soule Jesu Crist have mercy. Amen.' ^ Those who wish to pursue this Wiclifite theory may read the essay on ' Chaucer a Wicliffite,' in Essays on Chancer, 227-292, by H. Simon. APPENDIX SUGGESTIONS FOR THE STUDY OF CPIAUCER The first question that presents itself to the student of Chaucer is that of editions of the poet's works. The more ad- vanced student must have access to Skeat's edition in six volumes,^ commonly known as The Oxford Chaucer, pub- lished in 1894. Though somewhat deficient in scholarly method, this edition contains the most satisfactory text of Chaucer's works in their entirety which has yet appeared, and in notes and introductions a vast store of valuable infor- mation. The intnuluctions, however, are already in many particulars antiquated. Skeat's text, with condensed glossary, and brief general introduction, but without explanatory notes, is also published in a single volume, called The Stu- dent's Cliaucer (Oxford University Press, 1900). This is the most satisfactory edition of Chaucer now available for the average reader. It is, everj'thing considered, preferable to the Globe edition, edited by Pollard, Heath, Liddell, and McCormiek (Macmillan, 1903). Professor F. N. Robinson of Harvard has now (1921) in preparation and nearly completed a single volume edition of Chaucer to be published in the Cambridge Poets Series (Houghton MifHin Company), which will undoubtedly supersede both the Globe edition and the Student's Chaucer of Skeat. The older editions of Chaucer have no value save to the book-collector or the special student of textual criticism, and should be avoided. For the student of Chaucer's language and verse the stand- ard work is Ten Brink's The Language and Metre of Chaucer (English translation of the second German edition by M. ' A seventh voliime contains all the pieces which have in the past been erroneously included among Chaucer's works. 292 APPENDIX Bentinck Smith, Macmillan, 1901).^ The less advanced stu- dent will find all that he needs clearly presented in Pro- fessor Samuel Moore's Historical Outlines of English Philol- ogy and Middle English Grarmnar (George Wahr, Ann Arbor, Michigan, 1919). This small volume contains an excellent account of Chaucerian pronunciation, with phonetic tran- scriptions. The best existing glossary is that in the Oxford Chaucer. Under the auspices of the Carnegie Institution, Professor J. S. P. Tatlock of Leland Stanford University is now completing a concordance to Chaucer originally under- taken by the late Professor Flugel. This work, when pub- lished, will be indispensable to serious students. For the life of Chaucer, about which we have but few signi- ficant details, the student may best use the article by J. W. Hales in the Dictionary of National Biography. The fullest presentation of the little we know is given in the Chaucer Society volume of Life Records of Chaucer (1900). Interesting light is thrown on one phase of the poet's career in Dr. J. R. Hulbert's University of Chicago dissertation, Chaucer's Offi- cial Life (1912). The most comprehensive study of the chro- nology of the poet's literary career is Professor Tatloek's Chaucer Society volume, The Development and Chronology of Chaucer's Works (1907). The author's conclusions have not, however, been accepted in their entirety by other scholars. Miss Caroline F. E. Spurgeon's Chaucer Society volumes, Five Hundred Years of Chaucer Criticism and Allusion (1914 and 1918), and her earlier book, Chaucer devant la Critique en Angleterre et en France (Paris, 1911), form the starting-point for any study of Chaucer's influence on later literature. The great mass of Chaucerian scholarship is contained in the voluminous publications of the Chaucer Society (London), in the various scholarly journals, English, American, and German, and in various university series of doctoral disserta- tions. This material has been made accessible by the admir- ' A third edition of the German work, revised by Eduard Eckhardt has just appeared (Leipzig, Tauchnitz, 1920). The advanced student will also consult Die Sprachlichen Eigentiimlichkeiten der wichtigeren Chaucer-Handschriftcn und die Sprache Chancers, by Dr. Friedrich Wild {Wiener Beitrage, xliv, Vienna and Leipzig, 1915). APPENDIX 293 able hibliography compiled by Miss E. P. Hammond, Chaucer, a Bibliographical Mamial (Macmillan, 1908). This volume is indispensable to advanced students. It is supplemented, par- ticularly in the case of matter published since 1907, by Pro- fessor J. E. AVells's Manual of the Writings in Middle English (Yale University Press, 1916), and the 'First Supplement' to this work (1919). Among more jxipular discussions of Chaucer and his poetry may be mentioned the study by Professor E. Legouis of the Sorbonne, Gcoffroy Chaucer (Paris, 1910; English translation, London and New York, 1913), and Professor Kittredge's de- lightful and illuminating volume of lectures entitled Chaucer and his Poetry (Harvard University Press, 1915). Mr. G. G. Coulton's Chaucer and his England (Putnam's, 1908) contains interesting matter on the daily life of Chaucer's England. Pro- fessor T. R. Loimsbury's three volumes of Studies in Chaucer (Harper's, 189'2) and the pages devoted to Chaucer in Tea Brink's Ilistori/ of English Literature, Vol. ii. Part I, (Holt, 1893), contain much that is still of value. NOTES AND REVISIONS (In this appendix will be found references to important books and articles which have been published since the first edition of this book appeared in 1906, and a few corrections and addi- tions to its text, which could not conveniently be incorporated in the body of the volume. It is not intended that the bibliog- raphy of recent books and articles should be complete. For example, no notice is taken of such unfounded conjectures as those contained in Mr. Victor Langhans's extensive volume, Vntersuchungen zu Chaucer, Halle, 1918.) Page 59. Professor W. O. Sypherd has pointed out interest- ing similarities between the Book of the Duchess and the anony- mous fourteenth-century French poem, Le Songe Vert: Modern Language Notes, 24. 46-47 (1909). See also Professor Kittredge's article on ' Guillaunie de Machaut and the Book of the Duchess,' Publications of the Modern Language Associa- tion, 30. 1-24 (1915). Page 64. It was formerly believed that the two eagles 'of lower kinde' in the Parliament of Fowls stood for William of Bavaria and Frederick of Meissen; but Professor O. F. Emer- son, Modern Philology, 8. 45-62 (1910), and Professor Samuel Moore, Modern Language Notes, 26. 8-12 (1911), have shown that it is more probable that the third eagle represents Charles VI of France, and the second, Frederick of Meissen. In 1913 Professor J. M. Manly, Studien zur englischen Philolo- gie, ed. Morsbach, 50. 279-290, argued that the poem is merely a variation of the conventional demande d' amours, where a hypothetical case of love-casuistry is propounded and left for solution to the wits of readers or auditors. He declines to see in it any allusion to the marriage of Richard and Anne, or to admit the necessity of any personal allegory. In the following year Professor Emerson, Joxirnal of English and Germanic Philology, 13. 560-582, replied with new evidence in support APPENDIX 295 of his position. In 1920 Miss Edith Rickert, Modern Philol- ogy, 18. l-"29, argued that the demande d'amours of Chaucer's poem was intended to conipHnient not Queen Anne, but the Lady FhiUppa of Lancaster, eldest daughter of John of Gaunt. In this interpretation tlie tiiree suitor eagles become the lady's cousin. King Richard II, whom, as Froissart declares, Duke John wish<'d to annex as son-in-law, ^^ illiarn of Ba'.aria, and John of Blois, all of whom were possible suitors for the lady in the year 1381. The arguments are too complex for summary and criticism here. The present writer can only state his opinion that the demande d'amours of the Parliament of Fowls seems clearly intended as an allegory of some actual courtship, and that Miss Rickert's interpretation involves more serious inconsis- tencies than those which she and Professor Manly have pointed out in the theory which identifies the 'formel egle' with the Lady Anne of Bohemia. Page C6, line 1. The present writer now believes that the composition of the Knight's Tale falls two or three years later than that of the Parliament of Fowls. Cf. p. 168. Page 66, line 8. The De Plandu NaturcB may be read in the English translatic; of D. M. Moffat, Yale Studies in English, vol. 36 (1908). Page 68. Dr. Edgar F. Shannon, Publications of the Modern Language Association, 27. 461-485 (1912), has pointed out re- semblances of a general character between Anelida and Arcite anfl the Heroides of Ovid. In the same article he has shown that the A mores of Ovid were sometimes referred to by media3val scholars under the title 'Corinna' — the name of Ovid's mistress in whose honor they are written. He suggests that this is the explanation of Chaucer's mysterious ' Corinne.' Unfortunately, Dr. Shannon has been able to find but one possible parallel between Anelida and the Amoves, and that of a sort that might easily be fortuitous. In Publications of the Modern Language Association, 36. 186- 222 (1921), Professor Frederick Tupper has argued that the story of Anelida and Arcite was intended to shadow forth the events of an unhappy marriage in one of the noble families of 296 APPENDIX Ireland. Anelida, the 'quene of Ermony,' he identifies with the young countess of Ormonde. The name Ormonde was com- monly represented in contemporary Latin charters as 'Ermonie '; and the maiden name of the countess was Anne Welle, while her husband, the earl, was on his mother's side a d'Arcy. The re- semblance of these names to Anelida and Arcite, when taken in conjunction with the equivalence of Ormonde and Ermony, constitutes a considerable presumption in favor of Tupper's theory; but there is no positive evidence in its support. The only reason for believing that the marriage in question was an unhappy one is the existence of two illegitimate sons of the Earl of Ormonde, who may perfectly well have antedated his marriage to Anne Welle. In the poem, moreover, Arcite's new love never granted him any grace (lines 188, 189). Pro- fessor Tapper suggests a number of further identifications, such as that of Theseus with Lionel, Duke of Clarence, which are much less plausible. Miss M. Fabin, Modern Language Notes, 34. 266-272, argues that Anelida is indebted to Le Lai de la Souscie of Machaut. Page 69, line 7. Cf. note on page 6, line 1, above. Page 69, line 24. For a further account of the troubles of the mediaeval author with his copyists, see the article by R. K. Root, 'Publication before Printing,' Publications of the Modern Language Association, 28. 417-431 (1913). See also E. P. Kuhl's 'A Note on Chaucer's Adam,' Modern Lan- guage Notes, 29. 263-264 (1914). Page 72, line 13. See the article by J. L. Lowes, 'The Chaucerian "Mercilcs Beaute" and three poems of Des- champs's,' Modern Language Review, 5. 33-39 (1910). Page 73. We now know, thanks to the brilliant discovery of Miss Edith Rickert, Modern Philology, 11. 209-225 (1913), that the balade. Truth, is addressed to Chaucer's friend. Sir Philip la Vache. The word 'vache' in the envoy should, therefore, be printed with a capital V. La Vache was son-in- law to Chaucer's friend. Sir Lewis Clifford. Miss Rickert has recorded the main facts of his career. Page 76. In Modern Language Notes, 27. 45-48 (1912), APPENDIX 297 Professor J. L. Lowes discusses the reference in the Envoy to Bitlton to captivity in Frisia, and suggests that the pocn: might have boon written at any time between 1393 and 1396. Professor Kittredge, Modern Language Notes, 24. 14-15 (1909) cites from Deschamps some interesting parallels in dispraise of marriage. Page 8G. Professor Kittredge has suggested. Modern Phi- lology, 14. 129-134 (1917), that 'litel Lowis' may have been the son of Chaucer's friend. Sir Lewis Clifford, and the 'son' of the poet only by affectionate adoption. Page 151. The closest parallel to the framework of the Canterhiry Tales is furnished by the prose Novelle of Giovanni Sercambi of Lucca written some time later than 1374. In this collection, the tales, though narrated by a single sp>eaker, are addressed to a group of travelers on a journey through Italy. Brief interludes describe the doings of the company on the way. There is a 'president' who exercises a function somewhat anal- ogous to that of Chaucer's Host. It is possible that Chaucer may have known Sercambi's work; but his debt to it, if any, is of a very general nature. He does not seem to have utilized any of the individual talcs of the collection. The Novelle have survived only in a single manuscript, which has never been printed in its entirety. The best discussion of the matter is Professor Karl Young's essay, 'The Plan of the Canterbury Tales,' Kittredge Anniversary Papers, pp. 405-417 (1913). The first scholar to call attention to the parallel was H. B. Hinckley in his Notes on Chaucer (Northampton, Mass., 1907). Page 152. The student who wishes to venture Into the tangled problem of the order of the groups of the Canterbury Tales will do well to begin with Miss E. P. Hammond's dis- cussion, Chaucer, a Bibliographical Manual, pp. 158-172, 241-2G4. It must be remembered that the unity of Group B, as adopted by Furnivall for the Chaucer Society and observed in modern editions, rests on the authority of a single and other- wise unreliable manuscript. This manuscript (Selden B 14 of the Bodleian Library) is the only one which reads 'Shipman' in line B 1179. Instead, we find the word 'Squier' in all but 298 APPENDIX one of the remaining manuscripts which contain this hnk; in that the word 'Sompnour' is substituted. The Selden manu- script is the only one in which the Skijiman's Tale follows im- mediately the Man cf Law's Tale. In the remaining manu- scripts the Man of Law is followed by the Squire or bj' the Wife of Bath. The link which in Skcat's edition is called the *Slii])man's Prologue' should instead be called the 'Man of Law's Epilogue.' Scholars to-day consider the Ma)i of Law's Tale with its introductory lints and this epilogue as one group, which they designate as B ^ The group which begins with the Shipman's Tale and ends with the Nun's Priest's epilogue is designated B^ The position assigned bj^ Furnivall to C immediately after B^ is entirely arbitrary'. In all existing manuscripts except Selden B 14, where it is found between G and H, it immedi- ately precedes B^. Professor Samuel Moore, P^iblications of the Modern Language Association, 30. 110-123 (1915), has accord- ingly argued that the proi>er order is A, B^ C, B", D, etc. This seems more probable than the order A, C, B\ B^ D, urged by G. Shipley in Modern Language Notes, 10. 200-279 (1895). \^'hen Chaucer died, the Canterbury Tales were still un- finished. It seems clear that the pile of manuscript which he left gave no certain indication of the order in which he in- tended to incorporate the various fragments into a unified whole. Perhaps he himself had had no settled intention in the matter. Various scribes tried in various ways to arrange the sequence; and the result was the discord which now exists in the surviving manuscripts. The modern editor must similarly do the best he can to arrive at an arrangement which, if not Chaucer's own, shall in its avoidance of inconsistencies be one which Chaucer might have approved. lie will consider i)ri- marily the geographical allusions in the various fragments and the references from one fragment to another, and will consider only secondarily the order presented in the existing manuscripts. From this point of view the order devised by Furnivall and adopted by Skeat in his edition remains a reasonably satisfactory solution; even though we grant, as APPENDIX 290 seems probable, that Chaucer had no hand in the Unking to- gether of B^ and B% and that he thought of C as preceding B^ Skeat's Chaucer Society volume. The Evolution of the Canterbury Tales (1907), confuses rather than clarifies the problem. Paije 173. See the discussion of the Miller and the Reeve by Dr. W. C. Curry, Pvhlications of the Modern Language Associ- rtion, 33. 189-209 (1920). Page 175. For a parallel to Chaucer's apology for his inde- cent tales, see the article by R. K. Root, 'Chaucer and the Decameron,' Englische Studien, 44. 1-7 (1911). Page 191. For a full and very interesting discussion of the Prioress's Tale and of the various versions of the story in mediEeval literature, see Professor Carleton Brown's Chaucer Society volume, A Stvdy of the Miracle of Our Lady told by Chaucer's Prioress (1910). Page 223. See Dr. W. C. Curry's interesting article, 'The Secret of Chaucer's Pardoner,' Journal of English and Ger- manic Philology, 18. 593-GOC (1919). Page 253. On the Clerk of O.xford, see the article bj^ Profes- sor H. S. V. Jones in Publications of the Modern Language As- sociation, 27. 106-115 (1912). Page 255. Dr. W. E. Farnham has argued. Modern Lan- guage Notes, 33. 198-203 (1913), that Chaucer had access to the Italian version of Griselda as well as to Petrarch's Latin. Professor Cook has suggested. Romanic Review, 8. 210 (1917), that Chaucer consulted a French translation of Boccac- cio's tale. Page 270. A little further light has been thrown on the sources of the Squire's Tale by Professor H. S. V. Jones in Publications of the Modern Language Association, 20. 34G-359 (1905), and by Professor J. L. Lowes in Washington Univer- sity Studies, Vol. I, Part II, pp. 3-18 (St. Louis, 1913). Page 273. The fidelity of the Franklin's Tale to its Breton setting is admirably discussed by Professor J. S. P. Tatlock in his Chaucer Society volume. The Scene of the FranlcUn's Tale Visited (1914). Mr. Tatlock believes that Chaucer has with deliberate art given to a story derived from other sources — 300 APPENDIX including the Filocolo of Boccaccio — the character of a Breton lay. See also the article by J. L. Lowes, 'The Frank- lin's Tale, the Teseide, and the Filocolo,' Modern Philologyy 15. 689-728 (1918). Professor Lowes has shown conclusively that in numerous passages of the FranklirCs Tale Chaucer has drawn on the Teseide of Boccaccio. He argues also for Chau- cer's debt to the Filocolo. In spite of important differences, the Franklin's Tale is closer to the version in the Filocolo than to any other known version of the story; and there is no reason why Chaucer may not have known this work of Boccaccio. The facts can, however, be equally well ex- plained on the assumption of a lost fabliau which was the ultimate common source of the Italian and the English tales. See also Professor Tatlock's article, 'Astrology and Magic in Chaucer's Franklin's Tale,' Kittredge Anniversary Papers, pp. 339-3o0 (Boston, 1913), and Professor W. M. Hart's essay on the narrative art of the Franklin's Tale and its relation to the Breton lay in Haverford Essays, pp. 185-234 (Haverford, Pa., 1909). Page 277. The student who wishes to understand the type of composition, of which the Second Nun's legend of St. Cecilia is an example, should consult Professor G. H. Gerould's scholarly book. Saints' Legends (Boston and New York, 1916), The Second Nun's Tale is discussed on pages 239-244. See also Professor Carleton Brown's 'The Prologue of Chaucer's "Lyf of Seint Cecile," ' Modern Philology, 9. 1-16 (1911), and the papers by Professor J. L. Lowes in Publications of the Modern Language Association, 26. 315-323 (1911) and 29. 129-133 (1914). Page 288. See the article on 'Chaucer's Retractations,* by Professor J. S. P. Tatlock, in Publications of the Modem Language Association, 28. 521-529 (1913). INDEX INDEX A. B. C. 57, 58, 207. Adam, Worch unto, 69, 70. 84, 297, Against Women Unconstant, 78. Alanus de Insulis, GG, 129, 296. Albertauo of Brescia, 203, 284. Alcestis, 140-144. Alchemy, 23, 25, 281-283. Alma Redcmploris, 198. Alphonsus of Lincoln, 194-196. Amorous Complaint, 79. Andreas Capellanus, 103. Anclida and Arcilc, 68, 69, 296, 297. Anne, Queen of England, 63, 64, 89, 141-144, 107, 29.1, 296. Arabian Nights, 151, 2G9, 270. Astrolabe, 23, 85, 86. 298. Astrology, Chaucer's attitude to- wards, 22, 24. Astronomy, Chaucer's interest in, 22. Balade of Complaint, 79. Beaumont and f^Ietcher, 274. Benoit de Sainte-More, 94-96, 97, 100. Beowulf, SO. Beri/n, Tale of, 158, 159. Boccaccio, 17, 18, 20, 21, 32, 65, 68. 88, 90, 96-98, 103, 125, 136, 137, 142, 152, 163, 168, 175, 188, 205, 207, 228, 243, 254, 2.35, 263, 274, 300, 301. Boethius, 17, 19, 46, 70, 71, 73, 74, 75. 80-85, 90, 117, 125, 127, 103, 207. Bool: of the Duchess, 15, 18, 37, 38, 58, 59-63, 66, 68, 295. Buktoa, 76, 77, 298. Canon s Yeoman's Tale, 23, 280- 283. Canterbury Tales, 18, 135, 151- 160, 298-300. Cento Novelle AnticJie, 225-227. Chretien de Troyes, 102. Christianity, Chaucer's attitude towards, 26. Chronology of Chaucer's writings, 15-19, 292. Cicero, 65, 129. Claudian, 65. Clerk's Tale, 37, 148, 239, 253- 262, 300. Clifford, Sir Lewis, 138, 298. Coleridge, 208. Complaint of Mars, 63, 77. Complaint of Venus, 77, Complaint to his Empty Purse, 78. Complaint to his Lady, 68, Complaint to Pity, 58, 59. Cook's Tale, 179," ISO. 'Corinne,' 68, 69, 296. Courtly love, 102-105, 112, 115- 117, 120. Criseyde, 105-114, 187. Dante, 3, 4, 17, 35, 65, 68, 104, 129, 207, 243, 278. Dares Phrygius, 93-95, 100, 101. Decameron, 152, 175, 188, 228, 254, 2G3, 274, 300. Deschamps. 138, 139, 141, 144, 239, 298. Dictys Cretensis, 91-93, 95, 100, 101. Diomede, 11,3, 114. Dramatic power of Chaucer, 38, 122, 123. Dry den, 100 n, 173. 304 INDEX Envoy to Buhton, 76, 77. Envoy to Scogan, 75, 76. Faerie Qjieene, 35, 207. Filocolo, 99, 274, 301. Filostrato, 96-100, 123, 142. Fletcher, 172, 173, 274. Florus, 136. Former Age, 38, 70, 71, 84. Fortune, 71, 84. Franklins Tale, 24, 42, 148, 239, 271-277, 300, 301. Friar, 48. Friar's Tale, 244-249. Froissart, 64, 76, 129, 138, 139. Gautier de Coincy, 194. Gentilesse, 25, 38, 74, 243. Gentilesse, 240 n, 243. Golden Legend, 278. Gower, 11, 13, 26, 33, 88, 124, 137, 151, 183, 184, 240, 284. Graunsoun, Otes de, 77. Groups of Canterbury Tales, 152- 154, 298-300. Guido delle Colonne, 94-96, 100, 101, 137, 207. Guilielmus Peraldus, 286. Guillaume de Deguilleville, 57. Guillaume de Lorris, 16, 45-50. Guillaume de Machaut, 60, 61, 78, 138, 295, 297. Herolt, John, 246, 247. Homer, 91, 93, 95, 101. Horace, 101. House of Fame, 18, 23, 30, 37, 101, 128-134, 140. Hugh of Lincoln, 193. Humor of Chaucer, 39. Hunt, Leigh, 267. Hyginus, 137. Irony, 40, 99, 118, 121, 227. Jacobus a Voragine, 278. Jakes de Basiu, 250. Jean de Meun, 16, 20 46-50, 81, 84. 220, 232. Jerome, St., 232. Jews, mediaeval attitude toward' 191-194. John of Gaunt, 59, 68. Joseph of Exeter, 100. ; Keats, 268, 269. Kipling, 225. Knight's Tale, 18, 23, 24, 27, 36, 37, 39, 42, 66, 69, 150, 163-173, 209, 296. Lack of Steadfastness, 74, 75. Langland, 11, 12, 26, 163, La Vache, Sir Philip, 297. Legenda Aurea, 278. Legend of Cleopatra, 150. Legend of Dido, 25, 150. Legend of Good Women, 18, 26, 34, 135-150, 151, 182, 219. . Legend of Thisbe, 150. Le Songe Vert, 295. Livy, 137, 220. 'Lollius,' 100-102. Lorens, Frere, 286, 287. Lowell, 37, 62, 251. Lydgate, 141, 206. Machaut, 60, 61, 78, 138, 295. 297. Macrobius, 65, 129. Manciple's Tale, 283, 284. Man of Law's Tale, 38, 148, 181- 187, 238. Marco Polo, 270. Marie de Champagne, 103. Marie de France, 102, 210, 273. Marriage, 77, 102, 103, 233-236, 238-240, 263, 275, 298. Martianus Capella, 129. Massuccio di Salerno, 174. ~-v:.v INDEX 305 Medievalism and the Renais- sance, 3-7. Melibens, Tale of, 203. Merchant's Tale, £39. 262-266. Merciless Beauty, 72, 297. Messahala, 86. Miller, 300. Miller's Tale, 36, 39. 173-179. Milton, 266, 267, 269. Monk's Tale, 18, 33, 151, 203- 207. Narrative art. 121-123, 177-179. Nature, Chaucer's love of, 147- 149. Nun's Priest's Tale, 39, 68, 207- 218. Originality of Chaucer, 21. Orosius, 136. Otes de Graunsoun. 77. Ovid, 20, 61, 97, 127, 129, 136, 137. 207, 284, 296. 'Palamon and Arcite,' 167, 168. Pandarus, 118-121. Papacy, England and the, 9-11. Pardoner, 20, 48, 223, 224, 300. Pardoner's Tale, 36, 40, 222-231. Parliament of Fowls, 18, 39, 63- 68, 72. 140, 168, 29.5. 296. Parsons Tale, 284-288. Pathos of Chaucer, 40. Pearl, 12. Peasant's Revolt, 31, 167. Petrarch, 17, 42, 69, 129, 132, 243, 254, 2J5, 2.59; supposed meet- ing with Chaucer, 25-5-257. Physicians Tale, 219-222. Pindarns Thebanus, 91. Plutarch, 136. Pope, 127, 264. Predestination, 24, 90, 117, 125, 126, 218. Prioress, 161, 190, 191. Prioress's Tale, 38, 39, 190-198, 300. Proces of the Sevyn Sages, 152, Prologue, 27. 145, 160-163. Protestantism, 5. Proverbs, 78. Radicalism of Chaucer, 25. Realism, 140, 168 n. Reeve, 300. Reeves Tale, 39, 173-179. Reinecke Fucks, 211, 212, Rembrandt, 160. Renaissance contrasted with Me- disevalism, 3-7. Retractation, 288, 301. Reynard the Foot, 210. Roman de Renart, 211, 212, Roman de la Rose, 45-51, 59, 8Q, 102, 129, 137, 140, 220-222, 232. 243. Roman de Troie, 94-97. Romans des Sept Sages, 284. Romaunt of the Rose, 15, 45-56, 65. Romulus, 210. RoscTnound, To, 72, 73. St. Cecilia, 277-280. Second Nun's Tale, 18, 277-280, 301. Scholarship of Chaucer, 32. Scogan, 76. Sercambi, 298. Shakespeare, 4, 97, 99, 100. Shipman's Tale, 187-190, 238, 299. Simeon Metaphrastes, 279. Sir Gawayne, 12. Sir Thopas, 30, 34, 39, 199-203. Skepticism of Chaucer, 24. Socrates, 192. Somninm Scipionis, 65, 66, 129. Spenser, 242. 267. Squire's Tale, 266-270, 300.. \ 306 INDEX Statius, 68, 106, 163. Strode, 124. Style of Chaucer, 41. Summoner's Tale, 23, 39, 240- 252. Teseide, 65, 68, 69, 90, 125, 163- 166, 301. Theophrastus, 232. Thomas of Monmouth, 193. Tragedy, 40, 125, 205. Trivet, Nicholas, 85, 182-184. Troilus, 115-118. Troilus and Criseyde, 17, 18, 38, 40, 56, 84, 87-127, 168. Troy Story, 90-97. Truth, 29, 30, 38, 73, 74, 84, 297. Two Noble Kinsmen, 172. 173. Usk, Thomas, 90. Valerius, 233. Versification of Chaucer, 34. Virgil, 129, 131, 133. Warton, 267, 269. Whitfield, 231. Wiclif, 13, 287. Wife of Bath, 20, 48, 161, 235- 238. Wife of Bath's Prologue, 231-238. Wife of Bath's Tale, 25, 39, 74, 238-2441 William of Norwich, 192, 193. Womanly Noblesse, 79. Words unto Adam, 69, 70, 84, 297. FOR COLLEGE LITERATURE COURSES HISTORY AND CRITICISM BoTTA — Handbook of Universal Literature* Grumbine — Stories from Browning. HiNCHMAN AND GuMMERE — Lives of Great English Writers from Chaucer to Brow^ning. Matthews — A Study of Versification. Maynadier — The Arthur of the English Poets. Perry— A Study of Prose Fiction, Perry — A Study of Poetry. Root — The Poetry of Chaucer, SiMONDs — A Student's History of English Literature, Simon Ds — A Student's History of American Literature. Baker — Dramatic Technique, Brooke — The Tudor Drama. Matthews — A Study of the Drama, ScHELLiNG — A History of the Elizabethan Drama, 2 vol$. ANTHOLOGIES POETRY Holt — Leading English Poets from Chaucer to Browning, Neilson and Webster — The Chief British Poets of the Fear* teenth and Fifteenth Centuries. Page — The Chief American Poets. Weston — The Chief Middle English Poets. PROSE Alden — Readings in English Prose of the Eighteenth Century, Alden — Readings in English Prose of the Nineteenth Century, Part I; Part II; Complete. Foerster — The Chief American Prose Writers, THE DRAMA Dickinson — Chief Contemporary Dramatists, First Series, Dickinson — Chief Contemporary Dramatists, Second Series, Matthews — Chief European Dramatists. Neils'jn — The Chief Elizabethan Dramatists (except Shake- speare) to the Close of the Theatres. HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY 1825 «D 143. ■V<^ v^ 4* °v° '* (^^ " o o ^^. 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