Chaucer has chosen for himself a plan more humane, and truer to nature. It is not enough for him to saunter each day from a palace to a garden; he is not content with an alley, he must have a road. He puts his whole troop of narrators in motion; he stops them at the inns, takes them to drink at the public-houses, obliges them to hurry their pace when evening comes, causes them to make acquaintance with the passers-by. His people move, bestir themselves, listen, talk, scream, sing, exchange compliments, sometimes blows; for if his knights are real knights, his millers are real millers, who swear and strike as in a mill.

The interest of each tale is doubled by the way in which it is told, and even by the way it is listened to. The knight delights his audience, which the monk puts to sleep and the miller causes to laugh; one is heard in silence, the other is interrupted at every word. Each story is followed by a scene of comedy, lively, quick, unexpected, and amusing; they discuss, they approve, they lose their tempers; no strict rules, but all the independence of the high-road, and the unforeseen of real life; we are not sauntering in alleys! Mine host himself, with his deep voice and his peremptory decisions, does not always succeed in making himself obeyed. After the knight's tale, he would like another in the same style to match it; but he will have to listen to the miller's, which, on the contrary, will serve as a contrast. He insists; the miller shouts, he shouts "in Pilates vois," he threatens to leave them all and "go his wey" if they prevent him from talking. "Wel," says the host,

"Tel on, a devel wey! Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome,"

What would Donna Pampinea and Donna Filomena have said, hearing such words?

At other times the knight is obliged to interfere, and then the tone is very different. He does not have to scream; a word from him is enough, and the storms are calmed. Moreover, the host himself becomes more gentle at times; this innkeeper knows whom he has to deal with; with all his roughness, he has a rude notion of differences and distances. His language is the language of an innkeeper; Chaucer never commits the fault of making him step out of his role; but the poet is too keen an observer not to discern nuances even in the temper of a jovial host. One should see with what politeness and what salutations and what embarrassed compliments he informs the abbess that her turn has come to relate a story:

"My lady Prioresse, by your leve, So that I wist I sholde yow nat greve, I wolde demen that ye telle sholde A tale next, if so were that ye wolde. Now wol ye vouche-sauf, my lady dere?" —"Gladly," quod she, and seyde as ye shal here.

The answer is not less suitable than the request.

Thus, in these little scenes, we see, put into action, the descriptions of the prologue; the portraits step out of their frames and come down into the street; their limbs have become immediately supple and active; the blood courses through their veins; life fills them to the end of their fingers. No sooner are they on their feet than they turn somersaults or make courtesies; and by their words they charm, enliven, edify, or scandalise. Their personality is so accentuated that it makes them unmanageable at times; their temper rules them; they are not masters of their speech. The friar wants to tell a story, but he is so blinded by anger that he does not know where he is going; he stammers, he chokes, and his narrative remains shapeless; the pardoner is so closely bound to his profession that he cannot for a moment move out of it; shirt and skin make one, to use a familiar phrase of Montaigne's; his tale resembles a sermon, and he concludes as though he were in church:

Now, goode men, God forgeve yow your trespas ... I have relikes and pardon in my male As faire as any man in Engelond ... It is an honour to everich that is heer, That ye mowe have a suffisant pardoneer Tassoille yow, in contree as ye ryde, For aventures which that may bityde. Peraventure ther may falle oon or two Doun of his hors, and breke his nekke atwo. Look what a seuretee is it to yow alle That I am in your felaweship y-falle, That may assoille yow, bothe more and lasse, Whan that the soule shal fro the body passe. I rede that our hoste heer shal biginne, For he is most envoluped in sinne. Com forth sir hoste, and offre first anon, And thou shalt kisse the reliks everichon, Ye, for a grote! unbokel anon thy purs![534]

A most happy idea! Mine host makes a reply which cannot be repeated.

In other cases the personage is so wordy and impetuous that it is impossible to stop him, or set him right, or interrupt him; he cannot make up his mind to launch into his narrative; he must needs remain himself on the stage and talk about his own person and belongings; he alone is a whole comedy. One must perforce keep silence when the Wife of Bath begins to talk, irresistible gossip, chubby-faced, over-fed, ever-buzzing, inexhaustible in speech, never-failing in arguments, full of glee. She talks about what she knows, about her specialty; her specialty is matrimony; she has had five husbands, "three of hem were gode and two were badde;" the last is still living, but she is already thinking of the sixth, because she does not like to wait, and because husbands are perishable things; they do not last long with her; in her eyes the weak sex is the male sex. She is not going to break her heart about a husband who gives up the ghost; her conscience is easy; the spouse departs quite ready for a better world:

By God, in erthe I was his purgatorie, For which I hope his soule be in glorie.

Some praise celibacy, or reason about husbands' rights; the merry gossip will answer them. She discusses the matter thoroughly; sets forth the pros and cons; allows her husband to speak, then speaks herself; she has the best arguments in the world; her husband, too, has excellent ones, but it is she who has the very best. She is a whole Ecole des Maris in herself.

The tales are of every sort,[535] and taken from everywhere. Chaucer never troubled himself to invent any; he received them from all hands, but he modelled them after his own fashion, and adapted them to his characters. They are borrowed from France, Italy, ancient Rome; the knight's tale is taken from Boccaccio, that of the nun's priest is imitated from the "Roman de Renart"; that of "my lord the monk" from Latin authors and from Dante, "the grete poete of Itaille." The miller, the reeve, the somnour, the shipman, relate coarse stories, and their licentiousness somewhat embarrasses the good Chaucer, who excuses himself for it. It is not he who talks, it is his road-companions; and it is the Southwark beer which inspires them, not he; you must blame the Southwark beer. The manners of the people of the lower classes, their loves, their animosities and their jealousies, are described to the life in these narratives. We see how the jolly Absolon goes to work to charm the carpenter's wife, who prefers Nicholas; he makes music under her windows, and brings her little presents; he is careful of his attire, wears "hoses rede," spreads out hair that shines like gold,

He kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay.

If on a feast-day they play a Mystery on the public place before the church, he gets the part of Herod allotted to him: who could resist a person so much in view? Alison resists, however, not out of virtue, but because she prefers Nicholas. She does not require fine phrases to repel Absolon's advances; village-folk are not so ceremonious:

Go forth thy wey, or I wol caste a ston.

Blows abound in stories of that kind, and the personages go off with "their back as limp as their belly," as we read in one of the narratives from which Chaucer drew his inspiration.

Next to these great scenes of noise there are little familiar scenes, marvellously observed, and described to perfection; scenes of home-life that might tempt the pencil of a Dutch painter; views of the mysterious laboratory where the alchemist, at once duped and duping, surrounded with retorts, "cucurbites and alembykes," his clothes burnt to holes, seeks to discover the philosopher's stone. They heat, they pay great attention, they stir the mixture;

The pot to-breketh, and farewel! al is go!

Then they discuss; it is the fault of the pot, of the fire, of the metal; it is just as I thought;

Som seyde, it was long on the fyr-making, Som seyde, nay! it was on the blowing.... "Straw," quod the thridde, "ye been lewede and nyce, It was nat tempred as it oghte be."

A fourth discovers a fourth cause: "Our fyr was nat maad of beech." What wonder, with so many causes for a failure, that it failed? We will begin over again.[536]

Or else, we have representations of those interested visits that mendicant friars paid to the dying. The friar, low, trivial, hypocritical, approaches:

"Deus hic," quod he, "O Thomas, freend, good day."

He lays down his staff, wallet, and hat; he takes a seat, the cat was on the bench, he makes it jump down; he settles himself; the wife bustles about, he allows her to, and even encourages her. What could he eat? Oh! next to nothing, a fowl's liver, a pig's head roasted, the lightest repast; his "stomak is destroyed;"

My spirit hath his fostring in the Bible.

He thereupon delivers to the sick man a long and interested sermon, mingled with Latin words, in which the verb "to give" comes in at every line: whatever you do, don't give to others, give to me; give to my convent, don't give to the convent next door:

A! yif that covent half a quarter otes! A! yif that covent four and twenty grotes! A! yif that frere a peny and let him go.... Thomas, of me thou shalt nat ben y-flatered; Thou woldest ban our labour al for noght.[537]

Pay then, give then, give me this, or only that; Thomas gives less still.

Familiar scenes, equally true but of a more pleasing kind, are found in other narratives, for instance in the story of Chauntecleer the cock, so well localised with a few words, in a green, secluded country nook:

A poure widwe, somdel stope in age Was whylom dwelling in a narwe cotage, Bisyde a grove, standing in a dale.

Her stable, her barn-yard are described; we hear the lowing of the cows and the crowing of the cock; the tone rises little by little, and we get to the mock-heroic style. Chauntecleer the cock,

In al the land of crowing nas his peer. His vois was merier than the mery orgon On messe-days that in the chirche gon; Wel sikerer was his crowing in his logge Than is a clokke, or an abbey orlogge.... His comb was redder than the fyn coral, And batailed, as it were a castel-wal!

He had a black beak, white "nayles," and azure legs; he reigned unrivalled over the hens in the barn-yard. One of the hens was his favourite, the others filled subalternate parts. One day—

This storie is al-so trewe, I undertake As is the book of Launcelot de Lake, That wommen holde in ful gret reverence,

—he was looking for "a boterflye," and what should he see but a fox! "Cok, cok!" he cries, with a jump, and means to flee.

"Gentil sire, allas! wher wol ye gon? Be ye affrayed of me that am your freend?"

says the good fox; I came only to hear you sing; you have the family talent:

My lord your fader (God his soule blesse!),

sang so well; but you sing better still. To sing better still, the cock shuts his eye, and the fox bears him off. Most painful adventure! It was a Friday: such things always befall on Fridays.

O Gaufred, dere mayster soverayn, That whan the worthy King Richard was slayn With shot, compleynedest his deth so sore, Why ne had I now thy sentence and thy lore, The Friday for to chide, as diden ye?[538]

Great commotion in the barn-yard; and here we find a picture charming for its liveliness: "Out! harrow! and weyl-away! Ha, ha, the fox!" every one shrieks, yells, runs; the dogs bark,

Ran cow and calf, and eek the verray hogges;

the ducks scream,

The gees for fere flowen over the trees,

and the bees come out of their hives. The prisoner is set free; he will be more prudent another time; order reigns once more in the domains of Chauntecleer.

Side by side with such tales of animals, we have elegant stories of the Round Table, borrowed from the lays of "thise olde gentil Britons," and which carry us back to a time when,

In tholde dayes of the King Arthour Of which that Britons speken greet honour, Al was this land fulfild of fayerye; The elf-queen, with hir joly companye, Daunced ful ofte in many a grene mede;

oriental legends, which the young squire will relate, with enchantments, magic mirrors, a brass horse that transports its rider through the air, here or there according as one touches a peg in its ears, an ancestor doubtless of "Clavilegno," the steed of Don Quixote in the Duchesse's park; biographies of Appius and Virginia, of Caesar, of Nero, of Holophernes, of Hugolino in the tower of hunger, taken from Roman history, the Bible and Dante; adventures of chivalry, in which figures Theseus, duke of Athens, where blood flows profusely, with all the digressions and all the embellishments which still continued to please great men and great ladies, and that is why the story is told by the knight, and Chaucer retains purposely all the faults of that particular sort of story. In opposition to his usual custom, he contents himself here with lending a little life to illuminations of manuscripts.[539]

Grave personages relate grave stories, like canticles or sermons, coloured as with the light of stained glass, perfumed with incense, accompanied by organ music: story of the pious Constance, of St. Cecilia, of a child killed by the Jews; dissertations of dame Prudence (a tale of wondrous dulness,[540] which Chaucer modestly ascribes to himself); story of the patient Griselda; discourse of the poor parson. A while ago we were at the inn; now we are in church; in the Middle Ages striking colours and decided contrasts were best liked; the faded tints that have since been in fashion, mauve, cream, old-green, did not touch any one; and we know that Chaucer, when he was a page, had a superb costume, of which one leg was red and the other black. Laughter was inextinguishable; it rose and fell and rose again, rebounding indefinitely; despair was immeasurable; the sense of measure was precisely what was wanting; its vulgarisation was one of the results of the Renaissance. Panegyrics and satires were readily carried to the extreme. The logical spirit, propagated among the learned by a scholastic education, was producing its effect: writers drew apart one single quality or characteristic and descanted upon it, neglecting all the rest. Thus it is that Griselda becomes Patience, and Janicola Poverty, and that by an easy and imperceptible transition the abstract personages of novels and the drama are created: Cowardice, Valiance, Vice. Those typical beings, whose names alone make us shudder, were considered perfectly natural; and, indeed, they bore a striking resemblance to Griselda, Janicola, and many other heroes of the most popular stories.

The success of Griselda is the proof of it. That poor girl, married to the marquis of Saluces, who repudiates her in order to try her patience, and then gives her back her position of wife, enjoyed an immense popularity. Boccaccio had related her misfortunes in the "Decameron"; Petrarch thought the story so beautiful that it appeared to him worthy of that supreme honour, a Latin translation: Chaucer translated it in his turn from Latin into English, and made of it his Clerk of Oxford's tale;[541] it was turned several times into French.[542] Pinturicchio represented the adventures of Griselda in a series of pictures, now preserved in the National Gallery; the story furnished the subject of plays in Italy, in France, and in England.[543] These exaggerated descriptions were just what went to the very heart; people wept over them in the fourteenth century as over Clarissa in the eighteenth. Petrarch, writing to Boccaccio about Griselda, uses almost the same terms as Lady Bradshaigh, writing to Richardson about Clarissa:

"Had you seen me, I surely should have moved your pity. When alone, in agonies would I lay down the book, take it up again, walk about the room, let fall a flood of tears, wipe my eyes, read again—perhaps not three lines—throw away the book, crying out: 'Excuse me, good Mr. Richardson, I cannot go on; it is your fault, you have done more than I can bear.'"[544]

I made "one of our mutual friends from Padua," writes Petrarch, "a man of elevated mind and vast learning, read this story. He had hardly got half through, when suddenly he stopped, choking with tears; a moment after, having composed himself, he took up the narrative once more to continue reading, and, behold, a second time sobs stopped his utterance. He declared it was impossible for him to continue, and he made a person of much instruction, who accompanied him, finish the reading." About that time, in all probability, Petrarch, who, as we see in the same letter, liked to renew the experience, gave the English poet and negotiator, who had come to visit him in his retreat, this tale to read, and Chaucer, for that very reason less free than with most of his other stories, scarcely altered anything in Petrarch's text. With him as with his model, Griselda is Patience, nothing more; everything is sacrificed to that virtue; Griselda is neither woman nor mother; she is only the patient spouse, Patience made wife. They take her daughter from her, to be killed, as they tell her, by order of the marquis. So be it, replies Griselda:

"Goth now," quod she, "and dooth my lordes heste; But o thing wil I preye yow of your grace. That, but my lord forbad yow, atte leste, Burieth this litel body in som place, That bestes ne no briddes it to-race." But he no word wol to that purpos seye, But took the child and wente upon his weye.[545]

Whereupon every one goes into ecstasies, and is greatly affected. The idea of entreating her husband, of throwing herself at his feet, of trying to move him, never enters her mind; she would no longer be playing her part, which is not to be a mother, but to be: Patience.

Chaucer left his collection of tales uncompleted; we have less than the half of it; but he wrote enough to show to the best his manifold qualities. There appear in perfect light his masterly gifts of observation, of comprehension, and of sympathy; we well see with what art he can make his characters stand forth, and how skilfully they are chosen to represent all contemporaneous England. The poet shows himself full of heart, and at the same time full of sense; he is not without suspicion that his pious stories, indispensable to render his picture complete, may offend by their monotony and exaggerated good sentiments. In giving them place in his collection, he belongs to his time and helps to make it known; but a few mocking notes, scattered here and there, show that he is superior to his epoch, and that, in spite of his long dissertations and his digressions, he has, what was rare at that period, a certain notion, at least theoretical, of the importance of proportion. He allows his heroes to speak, but he is not their dupe; in fact he is so little their dupe that sometimes he can stand their talk no longer, and interrupts them or laughs at them to their very face. He laughs in the face of the tiresome Constance, on the night of her wedding; he shows us his companions riding drowsily on their horses to the sound of the monk's solemn stories, and hardly preserved from actual slumber by the noise of the horse's bells. He allows the host abruptly to interrupt him when, to satirise the romances of chivalry, he relates, in "rym dogerel," the feats of arms and marvellous adventures of the matchless Sir Thopas.[546] Before we could even murmur the word "improbable," he warns us that the time of Griseldas has passed, and that there exist no more such women in our day. As the pilgrims draw near Canterbury, and it becomes seemly to finish on a graver note, he causes his poor parson to speak, and the priest announces beforehand that his discourse will be a sermon, a real sermon, with a text from Scripture: "Incipit sermo," says one of the manuscripts. He will speak in prose, as in church:

Why sholde I sowen draf out of my fest, Whan I may sowen whete if that me lest?

All agree, and it is with the assent of his companions, who become more serious as they approach the holy city, that he commences, for the good of their souls, his ample "meditation." The coarse story told by the miller had been justified by excuses no less appropriate to the person and to the circumstances; the person was a clown, and chanced to be drunk; now the person is a saint, and, as it happens, they are just nearing the place of pilgrimage.

The good sense which caused the poet to write his "Canterbury Tales" according to a plan so conformable to reason and to nature, is one of the most eminent of Chaucer's qualities. It reveals itself in the details as in the whole scheme, and inspires him, in the midst of his most fanciful inventions, with reassuring remarks which show that earth and real life are not far away, and that we are not in danger of falling from the clouds. He reminds us at an opportune moment that there is a certain nobility, the highest of all, which cannot be bequeathed in a will; that the corrupt specimens of a social class should not cause the whole class to be condemned:

Of every ordre som shrewe is, parde;[547]

that, in the education of children, parents should be careful not to treat them too soon as men; if one takes them to merry-makings before time, they become "to sone rype and bold, ... which is ful perilous." He expresses himself very freely about great captains, each of whom would have been called "an outlawe or a theef" had they done less harm.[548] This last idea is put forth in a few lines of a humour so truly English that it is impossible not to think of Swift and Fielding; and, indeed, Fielding can the more appropriately be named here as he has devoted all his novel of "Jonathan Wild the Great" to the expounding of exactly the same thesis.

Finally, we owe to this same common sense of Chaucer's a thing more remarkable yet: namely, that with his knowledge of Latin and of French, and living in a circle where those two languages were in great favour, he wrote solely in English. His prose, like his verse, his "Treatise on the Astrolabe" like his tales, are in English. He belongs to the English nation, and that is why he writes in that language; a reason of that sort is sufficient for him: "Suffyse to thee thise trewe conclusiouns in English, as wel as suffyseth to thise noble clerkes Grekes thise same conclusiouns in Greek, and to Arabians in Arabik, and to Jewes in Ebrew, and to the Latin folk in Latin." Chaucer, then, will make use of plain English, "naked wordes in English"; he will employ the national language, the king's English—"the king that is lord of this langage."[549] And he will use it, as in truth he did, to express exactly his thoughts and not to embellish them; he hates travesty, he worships truth; he wants words and things to be in the closest possible relation:

The wordes mote be cosin to the dede.[550]

The same wisdom is again the cause why Chaucer does not spend himself in vain efforts to attempt impossible reforms, and to go against the current. It has been made a subject of reproach to him in our day; and some, from love of the Saxon past, have been indignant at the number of French words Chaucer uses; why did he not go back to the origins of the language? But Chaucer was not one of those who, as Milton says, think "to pound up the crows by shutting their park gates;" he employed the national tongue, as it existed in his day; the proportion of French words is not greater with him than with the mass of his contemporaries. The words he made use of were living and fruitful, since they are still alive, they and their families; the proportion of those that have disappeared is wonderfully small, seeing the time that has elapsed. As to the Anglo-Saxons, he retained, as did the nation, but without being aware of it, something of their grave and powerful genius; it is not his fault if he ignored these ancestors; every one in his day ignored them, even such thinkers as Langland, in whom lived again with most force the spirit of the ancient Germanic race. The tradition was broken; in the literary past one went back to the Conquest, and thence without transition to "thise olde gentil Britons." In his enumeration of celebrated bards, Chaucer gives a place to Orpheus, to Orion, and to the "Bret Glascurion"; but no author of any "Beowulf" is named by him. Shakespeare, in the same manner, will derive inspiration from the national past; he will go back to the time of the Roses, to the time of the Plantagenets, to the time of Magna Charta, and, passing over the Anglo-Saxon period, he will take from the Britons the stories of Lear and of Cymbeline.

The brilliancy with which Chaucer used this new tongue, the instant fame of his works, the clear proof afforded by his writings that English could fit the highest and the lowest themes, assured to that idiom its definitive place among the great literary languages. English still had, in Chaucer's day, a tendency to resolve itself into dialects; as, in the time of the Conquest, the kingdom had still a tendency to resolve itself into sub-kingdoms. Chaucer knew this, and was concerned about it; he was anxious about those differences of tongue, of orthography, and of vocabulary; he did all in his power to regularise these discordances; he had set ideas on the subject; and, what was rare in those days, the whims of copyists made him shudder. Nothing shows better the faith he had in the English tongue, as a literary language, than his reiterated injunctions to the readers and scribes who shall read his poems aloud or copy them. He experiences already, concerning his work, the anxieties of the poets of the Renaissance:

And for ther is so greet diversitee In English, and in writyng of our tonge, So preye I God, that noon miswryte thee, Ne thee mysmetre for defaute of tonge, And red wher-so thou be, or elles songe, That thou be understonde I God beseche![551]

Chaucer himself looked over the transcriptions done from his original manuscripts by his amanuensis Adam; he corrected with minute care every fault; he calls down all manner of woe upon the "scriveyn's" head, if, copying once more "Boece" or "Troilus," he leaves as many errors again.[552] We seem to hear Ronsard himself addressing his supplications to the reader: "I implore of you one thing only, reader, to pronounce well my verses and suit your voice to their passion ... and I implore you again, where you will see this sign: (!) to raise your voice a little, to give grace to what you read."[553]

Chaucer's efforts were not exercised in vain; they assisted the work of concentration. After him, the dialects lost their importance; the one he used, the East Midland dialect, has since become the language of the nation.

His verse, too, is the verse of the new literature, formed by a compromise between the old and the new prosody. Alliteration, which is not yet dead, and which is still used in his time, he does not like; its jingle seems to him ridiculous:

I can nat geste—run, ram, ruf—by lettre.[554]

Ridiculous, too, in his eyes is the "rym dogerel" of the popular romances of which "Sir Thopas" is the type. His verse is the rhymed verse, with a fixed number of accents or beats, and a variable number of syllables. Nearly all the "Tales" are written in heroic verse, rhyming two by two in couplets and containing five accentuated syllables.

The same cheerful, tranquil common sense which made him adopt the language of his country and the usual versification, which prevented him from reacting with excess against received ideas, also prevented his harbouring out of patriotism, piety, or pride, any illusions about his country, his religion, or his time. He belonged to them, however, as much as any one, and loved and honoured them more than anybody. Still the impartiality of judgment of this former prisoner of the French is wonderful, superior even to Froissart's, who, the native of a border-country, was by birth impartial, but who, as age crept on, showed in the revision of his "Chronicles" decided preferences. Towards the close of the century Froissart, like the Limousin and the Saintonge, ranked among the conquests recovered by France. Chaucer, from the beginning to the end of his career, continues the same, and the fact is all the more remarkable because his turn of mind, his inspiration and his literary ideal, become more and more English as he grows older. He remains impartial, or, rather, outside the great dispute, in which, however, he had actually taken part; his works do not contain a single line directed against France, nor even any praise of his country in which it is extolled as the successful rival of its neighbour.

For this cause Des Champs, a great enemy of the English, who had not only ravaged the kingdom in general but burnt down his own private country house, made an exception in his hatred, and did homage to the wisdom and genius of the "noble Geoffrey Chaucer," the ornament of the "kingdom of Eneas," England.

V.

The composition of the "Canterbury Tales" occupied the last years of Chaucer's life. During the same period he also wrote his "Treatise on the Astrolabe" in prose, for the instruction of his son Lewis,[555] and a few detached poems, melancholy pieces in which he talks of shunning the world and the crowd, asks the prince to help him in his poverty, retreats into his inner self, and becomes graver and more and more resigned:

Fle fro the prees, and dwelle with sothfastnesse, Suffyce unto thy good, though hit be smal.... Forth, pilgrim, forth! Forth, beste out of thy stal!... Hold the hye wey, and lat thy gost thee lede: And trouth shal delivere, hit is no drede.[556]

In spite of this melancholy, he was at that time the uncontested king of English letters; a life-long friendship bound him to Gower[557]; the young poets, Hoccleve, Scogan, Lydgate, came to him and proclaimed him their master. His face, the features of which are known to us, thanks to the portrait we owe to Hoccleve, had gained an expression of gentle gravity; he liked better to listen than to talk, and, in the "Canterbury Tales," the host rallies him on his pensive air and downcast eyes:

"What man artow?" quod he; "Thou lokest as thou woldest finde an hare, For ever up-on the ground I see thee stare."

Age had bestowed on him a corpulency which made him a match for Harry Bailey himself.[558]

When Henry IV. mounted the throne, within the four days that followed his accession, he doubled the pension of the poet (Oct. 3, 1399), who then hired, for two pounds thirteen shillings and four pence a year, a house in the garden of St. Mary's, Westminster. The lease is still preserved in the archives of the Abbey.[559] He passed away in the following year, in that tranquil retreat, and was interred at Westminster, not far from the sepulchres where slept his patrons, Edward III. and Richard II., in that wing of the transept which has since been called the Poets' Corner, where lately we saw Browning's coffin lowered, and where, but yesterday, Tennyson's was laid.

No English poet enjoyed a fame more constantly equal to itself. In the fifteenth century writers did scarcely anything but lament and copy him: "Maister deere," said Hoccleve,

O maister deere and fadir reverent, Mi maister Chaucer, flour of eloquence, Mirour of fructuous entendement, O universal fadir of science, Allas that thou thyn excellent prudence In thi bed mortel mightist noght byquethe![560]

At the time of the Renaissance Caxton printed his works twice,[561] and Henry VIII. made an exception in their favour in his prohibition of "printed bokes, printed balades, ... and other fantasies."[562] Under Elizabeth, Thynne annotated them,[563] Spenser declared that he "of Tityrus," that is of Chaucer, "his songs did lere,"[564] and Sidney exalted him to the skies.[565] In the seventeenth century Dryden rejuvenates his tales, in the eighteenth century the admiration is universal, and extends to Pope and Walpole.[566] In our time the learned men of all countries have applied themselves to the task of commentating his works and of disentangling his biography, a Society has been founded to publish the best texts of his writings,[567] and but lately his "Legend of Good Women" inspired with an exquisite poem the Laureate who sleeps to-day close to the great ancestor, beneath the stones of the famous Abbey.

FOOTNOTES:

[448] The date 1328 has long but wrongly been believed to be the true one. The principal documents concerning Chaucer are to be found in the Appendix to his biography by Sir H. Nicolas, in "Poetical Works," ed. R. Morris, Aldine Poets, vol. i. p. 93 ff., in the "Trial Forewords," of Dr. Furnivall, 1871, and in the "Life Records of Chaucer," 1875 ff., Chaucer Society. One of the municipal ordinances meant to check the frauds of the vintners is signed by several members of the corporation, and among others by John Chaucer, 1342. See Riley, "Memorials, of London," p. 211.

[449] See the view of London, painted in the fifteenth century, obviously from nature, reproduced at the beginning of this vol., from MS. Royal 16 F ii, in the British Museum, showing the Tower, the Bridge, the wharfs, Old St. Paul's, etc.

[450] Such is the case with a tower in the churchyard of St. Giles's, Cripplegate.

[451] "Et qi pork voedra norir, le norise deinz sa measoun." Four jurymen were to act as public executors: "Quatuor homines electi et jurati ad interficiendos porcos inventos vagantes infra muros civitatis." Riley "Munimenta Gildhallae," Rolls, 1859, 4 vols. 8vo; "Liber Albus," pp. 270 and 590.

[452] April, 1357, an information gathered from a fragment of the accounts of the household of Elizabeth found in the binding of a book.

[453] In the controversy between Sir Richard Scrope and Sir Robert Grosvenor, concerning a question of armorial bearings, Chaucer, being called as witness, declares (1386) that he has seen Sir Richard use the disputed emblems "en France, devant la ville de Retters ... et issint il [le] vist armez par tout le dit viage tanque le dit Geffrey estoit pris." "The Scrope and Grosvenor controversy, 1385-90," London, 2 vols. fol., vol. i. p. 178. "Retters" is Rethel in Champagne (not Retiers in Brittany, where the expedition did not go). Chaucer took part in another campaign "in partibus Franciae," in 1369.

[454] On this see Furnivall, "Chaucer as valet and esquire," Chaucer Society, 1876.

[455] A passage in Chaucer's "Book of the Duchesse" (1369), lines 30 ff., leaves little doubt as to the reality of the unlucky passion he describes. The poet interrupts the train of his speech to answer a supposed question put to him as to the causes of his depression and "melancolye":

I holde hit be a siknesse That I have suffred this eight yere, And yet my bote is never the nere; For ther is phisicien but oon, That may me hele.

Proem of the "Book." See, in connection with this, the "Compleynte unto Pite." Who was the loved one we do not know; could it be that the poet was playing upon her name in such lines as these:

For kindly by your heritage right Ye been annexed ever unto Bountee? (l. 71).

There were numerous families of Bonamy, Bonenfaut, Boncoeur. A William de Boncuor is named in the "Excerpta e Rotulis Finium," of Roberts, vol. ii. pp. 309, 431, 432.

[456] The date of Chaucer's marriage has not been ascertained. We know that his wife was called Philippa, that one Philippa Chaucer belonged to the queen's household in 1366, and that the Philippa Chaucer, wife of the poet, was at a later date in the service of the Duchess of Lancaster, after having been in the service of the queen. It seems most likely that the two women were the same person: same name, same function, same pension of ten marks, referred to in the same words in public documents, for example: 1 42 Ed. III., 1368, "Philippae Chaucer cui dominus Rex decem marcas annuatim ad scaccarium percipiendas pro bono servitio per ipsam Philippam Philippe Regine Anglie impenso per literas suas patentes nuper concessit...." 2 4 Ric. II., 1381, "Philippae Chaucer nuper uni domicellarum Philippae nuper Regine Anglie"—she had died in 1369—"cui dominus Rex Edwardus avus Regis hujus X marcas annuatim ad scaccarium suum percipiendas pro bono servitio per ipsam tam eidem domino Regi quam dicte Regine impenso per literas suas patentes nuper concessit ... in denariis sibi liberatis per manus predicti Galfridi mariti sui...." "Poetical Works," ed. Morris, i. p. 108. Who Philippa was by birth is doubtful, but it seems likely that she was Philippa Roet, daughter of Sir Payne Roet, who hailed, like the queen herself, from Hainault—hence her connection with the queen—and sister of Catherine Roet who became the mistress and then the third wife of John of Gaunt—hence the favour in which the poet and his family stood with the Lancastrians. It seems again very probable, though not absolutely certain, that Thomas Chaucer, who used at different times both the Chaucer and the Roet arms, Speaker of the House of Commons under Henry V., a man of great influence, was one of the children of the poet.

[457] Book iv. chap. 40.

[458] Froissart declares concerning his own poems that he "les commencha a faire sus l'an de grace Nostre Seigneur, 1362." He wrote them "a l'ayde de Dieu et d'Amours, et a le contemplation et plaisance de pluisours haus et nobles signours et de pluisours nobles et vaillans dames." MS. Fr. 831 in the National Library, Paris.—On Guillaume de Deguileville, who wrote about 1330-5, see Ward, "Catalogue of Romances," 1893, vol. ii. p. 558; Hill, "An Ancient Poem of G. de Guileville," London, 1858, 4to, illustrated, and my "Piers Plowman," chap. vii. Chaucer imitated from him his "A.B.C.," one of his first works.—On Machault, who died in 1377, see Tarbe, "Oeuvres Choisies," Reims and Paris, 1849, 8vo, and Thomas, "Romania," x. pp. 325 ff. (papal bulls concerning him, dated 1330, 1332, 1333, 1335).—On Des Champs, see "Oeuvres Completes publiees d'apres le Manuscrit de la Bibliotheque Nationale," by the Marquis de Queux de St. Hilaire, Societe des Anciens Textes, 1878 ff. (which MS. contains, e.g., 1175 ballads, 171 roundels, and 80 virelais), and A. Sarradin, "Etude sur Eustache des Champs," Versailles, 1878, 8vo.—On Granson, a knight and a poet slain in a judicial duel, in 1397, see Piaget, "Granson et ses poesies," "Romania," vol. xix.; Chaucer imitated in his later years his "Compleynt of Venus," from a poem of "Graunson, flour of hem that make in Fraunce."

[459] Chaucer's favourite flower; he constantly praises it; it is for him a woman-flower (see especially the prologue of the "Legend of Good Women"). This flower enjoyed the same favour with the French models of Chaucer. One of the ballads of Froissart has for its burden: "Sus toutes flours j'aime la margherite" ("Le Paradis d'Amour," in "Poesies," ed. Scheler, Brussels, 1870, 3 vols. 8vo), vol. i. p. 49. Des Champs praised the same flower; Machault wrote a "Dit de la Marguerite" ("Oeuvres Choisies," ed. Tarbe, p. 123):

J'aim une fleur qui s'uevre et qui s'encline Vers le soleil, de jour quand il chemine; Et quand il est couchiez soubz sa courtine Par nuit obscure, Elle se clost ainsois que le jour fine.

[460] Guillaume de Lorris wrote the first part of the "Roman" ab. 1237; Jean de Meun wrote the second towards 1277. On the sources of the poem see the important work of Langlois: "Origines et Sources du Roman de la Rose," Paris, 1891, 8vo. M. Langlois has traced the originals for 12,000 out of the 17,500 lines of Jean de Meun; he is preparing (1894) a much-needed critical edition of the text.

[461] One of them has a sort of biographical interest as having belonged to Sir Richard Stury, Chaucer's colleague in one of his missions (see below, p. 284); it was afterwards purchased for Thomas, duke of Gloucester, son of Edward III., and is now in the British Museum, MS. Royal 19 B xiii. "Ceste livre est a Thomas fiz au Roy, duc de Glouc', achates dez executeurs Mons' Ric' Stury." It has curious miniatures exemplifying the way in which people pictured to themselves at that time Olympian gods and romance heroes. The "Dieu d'amour" figures as a tall person with a tunic, a cloak, and a crown, a bow in his hand and large red wings on his back. See fol. 16, "coment li diex d'amours navra l'amant de ses saietes."

[462] "A vous qui belles filles avez et bien les desirez a introduire a vie honneste, bailliez leur, bailliez le Rommant de la Rose, pour aprendre a discerner le bien du mal, que diz-je, mais le mal du bien. Et a quel utilite ne a quoy proufite aux oyans oir tant de laidures?" Jean de Meun "oncques n'ot acointance ne hantise de femme honorable ne vertueuse, mais par plusieurs femmes dissolues et de male vie hanter, comme font communement les luxurieux cuida ou faingny savoir que toutes telles feussent car d'autres n'avoit congnoissance." "Debat sur le Rommant de la Rose," in MS. Fr. 604 in the National Library, Paris, fol. 114 and 115.

[463] An incomplete translation of the "Roman" in English verse has come down to us in a single MS. preserved in the Hunterian collection, Glasgow. It is anonymous; a study of this text, by Lindner and by Kaluza, has shown that it is made up of three fragments of different origin, prosody, and language. The first fragment ends with line 1705, leaving a sentence unfinished; between the second and third fragments there is a gap of more than 5,000 lines. The first fragment alone might, on account of its style and versification, be the work of Chaucer, but this is only a surmise, and we have no direct proof of it. The "Romaunt" is to be found in Skeat's edition of the "Complete Works" of Chaucer, 1894, vol. i. For Fragment I. the French text is given along with the English translation.

[464]

Mais pran en gre les euvres d'escolier Que par Clifford de moy avoir pourras.

For Des Champs, Chaucer is a Socrates, a Seneca, an Ovid, an "aigle tres hault," "Oeuvres Completes," Paris, 1878 ff., vol. ii. p. 138.

[465] "Hous of Fame," line 622; "Legend of Good Women," line 422, "Complete Works," 1894, vol. i. pp. 19 and 96. Such was the reputation of Chaucer that a great many writings were attributed to him—a way to increase their reputation, not his. The more important of them are: "The Court of Love"; the "Book of Cupid," otherwise "Cuckoo and Nightingale"; "Flower and Leaf," the "Romaunt of the Rose," such as we have it; the "Complaint of a Lover's Life"; the "Testament of Love" (in prose, see below, page 522); the "Isle of Ladies," or "Chaucer's Dream"; various ballads. Most of those works (not the "Testament") are to be found in the "Poetical Works" of Chaucer, Aldine Poets, ed. Morris.

[466]

And every day hir beaute newed.

(ll. 906, 963.)

[467] "Book of the Duchesse," ll. 339, 406, 391, 1033. John of Gaunt found some consolation in marrying two other wives. Blanche, the first wife, was buried with him in old St. Paul's. See a view of their tomb from Dugdale's "St. Paul's," in my "Piers Plowman," p. 92.

[468]

Vous Ambasseur et messagier, Qui alez par le monde es cours Des grans princes pour besongnier, Vostre voyage n'est pas cours ... Ne soiez mie si hastis! Il fault que vostre fait soit mis Au conseil pour respondre a plain; Attendez encore mes amis ... Il faut parler au chancelier De vostre fait et a plusours ... Temps passe et tout vint arrebours.

"Oeuvres Completes," Societe des Anciens Textes, vol. vii. p. 117.

[469]

De laissier aux champs me manace, Trop souvent des genoulx s'assiet, Par ma foy, mes chevaulx se lace.

(Ibid., p. 32.)

[470]

Mal fait mangier a l'appetit d'autruy.

(Ibid., p. 81.)

[471]

O doulz pais, terre tres honorable, Ou chascuns a ce qu'il veult demander Pour son argent, et a pris raisonnable, Char, pain et vin, poisson d'yaue et de mer, Chambre a par soy, feu, dormir, reposer, Liz, orilliers blans, draps flairans la graine, Et pour chevaulz, foing, litiere et avaine, Estre servis, et par bonne ordonnance, Et en seurte de ce qu'on porte et maine; Tel pais n'est qu'en royaume de France.

(Ibid., p. 79.)

[472] Book i. chap. 692.

[473] The order for the payment of the expenses of "nostre cher et feal chivaler Edward de Berkle," and "nostre feal esquier Geffray Chaucer," is directed to William Walworth, then not so famous as he was to be, and to the no less notorious John Philpot, mercer and naval leader. Both envoys are ordered "d'aler en nostre message si bien au duc de Melan Barnabo come a nostre cher et foial Johan Haukwode es parties de Lumbardie, pur ascunes busoignes touchantes l'exploit de nostre guerre," May 12, 1378. Berkeley receives 200 marcs and Chaucer 100; the sums are to be paid out of the war subsidy voted by Parliament the year before. The French text of the warrant has been published by M. Spont in the Athenaeum of Sept. 9, 1893. During this absence Chaucer appointed to be his representatives or attorneys two of his friends, one of whom was the poet Gower. See document dated May 22, 1378, in "Poetical Works," ed. Morris, i. p. 99.

[474] ll. 1982, 1990, 1997.

[475] Figure of "Peace," by Ambrogio Lorenzetti, 1339. See a drawing of it in Muentz, "Les Precurseurs de la Renaissance," Paris, 1882, 4to, p. 29.

[476] Muentz, ibid., p. 30.

[477] "F. Petrarcae Epistolae," ed. Fracassetti, Florence, 1859, vol. iii. p. 541.

[478] Letter of Boccaccio "celeberrimi nominis militi Jacopo Pizzinghe." Corazzini, "Le Lettere edite ed inedite di Giovanni Boccaccio," Florence, 1877, 8vo, p. 195.

[479] Chaucer could not be present at the lectures of Boccaccio, who began them on Sunday, October 23, 1373; he had returned to London in the summer. Disease (probably diabetes) soon obliged Boccaccio to interrupt his lectures; he died in his house at Certaldo on December 21, 1375. See Cochin, in Revue des Deux Mondes, July 15, 1888.

[480] This meeting, concerning which numerous discussions have taken place, seems to have most probably happened. "I wol," says the clerk of Oxford in the "Canterbury Tales,"

I wol yow telle a tale which that I Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk ... He is now deed and nayled in his cheste ... Fraunceys Petrark, the laureat poet.

Such a circumstantial reference is of a most unusual sort; in most cases, following the example of his contemporaries, Chaucer simply says that he imitates "a book," or sometimes he refers to his models by a wrong or fancy name, such being the case with Boccaccio, whom he calls "Lollius," a name which, however, does duty also with him, at another place, for Petrarch. But on this occasion it seems as if the poet meant to preserve the memory of personal intercourse. We know besides that at that date Chaucer was not without notoriety as a poet on the Continent (Des Champs' praise is a proof of it), and that at the time when he came to Italy Petrarch was at Arqua, near Padua, where he was precisely busy with his Latin translation of Boccaccio's story of Griselda.

[481] "The Othe of the Comptroler of the Customes," in Thynne's "Animadversions," Chaucer Society, 1875, p. 131.

[482] None in the handwriting of Chaucer have been discovered as yet; but some are to be seen drawn, as he was allowed to have them later, by another's hand, under his own responsibility: "per visum et testimonium Galfridi Chaucer."

[483] The lease is dated May 10, 1374; Furnivall, "Trial Forewords," p. 1. Such grants of lodgings in the gates were forbidden in 1386 in consequence of a panic (described, e.g., in the "Chronicon Angliae," Rolls, p. 370) caused by a rumour of the coming of the French. See Riley, "Memorials of London," pp. 388, 489. A study on the too neglected Ralph Strode is being prepared (1894) by M. Gollancz.

[484] "Dimissio Portae de Aldgate facta Galfrido Chaucer.—Concessio de Aldrichgate Radulpho Strode.—Sursum-redditio domorum supra Aldrichesgate per Radulphum Strode." Among the "Fundationes et praesentationes cantariarum ... shoparum ... civitati pertinentium." "Liber Albus," Rolls, pp. 553, 556, 557.

[485] Chaucer represents Jupiter's eagle, addressing him thus:

And noght only fro fer contree That ther no tyding comth to thee But of thy verray neyghebores, That dwellen almost at thy dores, Thou herest neither that ne this; For whan thy labour doon al is, Thou gost hoom to thy hous anoon, Thou sittest at another boke, Til fully daswed is thy loke, And livest thus as an hermyte.

"Hous of Fame," book ii. l. 647; "Complete Works," iii. p. 20.

[486] All these dates are merely approximative. Concerning the chronology of Chaucer's works, see Ten Brink, "Chaucer Studien," Muenster, 1870, 8vo; Furnivall, "Trial Forewords," 1871, Chaucer Society; Koch, "Chronology," Chaucer Society, 1890; Pollard, "Chaucer," "Literature Primers," 1893; Skeat, "Complete Works of Chaucer," vol. i., "Life" and the introductions to each poem. "Boece" is in vol. ii. of the "Complete Works" (cf. Morris's ed., 1868, E.E.T.S.). The "Lyf of Seinte Cecile" was transferred by Chaucer to his "Canterbury Tales," where it became the tale of the second nun. The good women of the "Legend" are all of them love's martyrs: Dido, Ariadne, Thisbe, &c.; it was Chaucer's first attempt to write a collection of stories with a Prologue. In the Prologue Venus and Cupid reproach him with having composed poems where women and love do not appear in a favourable light, such as "Troilus" and the translation of the "Roman de la Rose," which "is an heresye ageyns my lawe." He wrote his "Legend" to make amends.

[487] "Parlement of Foules," ll. 272, 225, "Complete Works," vol. i.

[488] "Hous of Fame," l. 133 ibid., vol. iii.

[489] "Hous of Fame," l. 518.

[490] "Complete Works, "vol. i. p. 365. This beginning is imitated from Boccaccio's "Teseide."

[491] "Parlement of Foules," in "Complete Works," vol. i. p. 336. Chaucer alludes here to a book which "was write with lettres olde," and which contained "Tullius of the dreme of Scipioun."

[492] "Legend of Dido," in "Complete Works," vol. iii. p. 117.

[493] Book v. st. 256.

[494] "Hous of Fame," ll. 469, 473, 492.

[495]

Thorgh me men goon in-to that blisful place ... Thorgh me men goon unto the welle of Grace, &c.

These lines were "over the gate with lettres large y-wroghte," ll. 124, 127.

[496]

S'amor non e, che dunque e quel ch'i sento?

which becomes in Chaucer the "Cantus Troili":

If no love is, O God, what fele I so?

(Book i. stanza 58.)

[497] l. 449.

[498]

In sogno mi parea veder sospesa Un' aquila nel ciel con penne d'oro Con l'ali aperte, ed a calare intesa....

Poi mi parea, che piu rotata un poco, Terribil come folgor discendesse, E me rapisse suso infino al foco.

("Purgatorio," canto ix.)

In Chaucer:

Me thoughte I saw an egle sore ... Hit was of golde and shoon so bright That never saw men such a sighte ... Me, fleinge, at a swappe he hente, And with his sours agayn up wente, Me caryinge in his clawes starke.

(ll. 449, 503, 542.)

[499]

I wol now singe, if that I can The armes, and al-so the man, &c.

(l. 142.)

Hereupon follows a complete but abbreviated account of the events in the AEneid, Dido's story being the only part treated at some length.

[500] "Complete Works," vol. iii. The poem was left unfinished; it is written in octosyllabic couplets, with four accents or beats.

[501] Compare, for example, the beginning of "Hous of Fame," and No. 487 of The Spectator (Sept. 18, 1712):

God turne us every dreem to gode! For hit is wonder, by the rode, To my wit what causeth swevenes Either on morwes or on evenes; And why the effect folweth of somme, And of somme hit shal never come; Why this is an avisioun, And this a revelacioun ... Why this a fantom, these oracles.

Addison writes: "Tho' there are many authors who have written on Dreams, they have generally considered them only as revelations of what has already happened in distant parts of the world, or as presages of what is to happen in future periods of time," &c.

[502] l. 1191.

[503] l. 1242.

[504] l. 1830.

[505] l. 2047.

[506] l. 2078. Cf. La Fontaine's "Les Femmes et le Secret."

[507] "Parlement of Foules," l. 186.

[508] Boccaccio's story is told in stanzas of eight lines, and has for its title "Il Filostrato" (love's victim: such was at least the sense Boccaccio attributed to the word). Text in "Le Opere volgari di Giov. Boccaccio," Florence, 1831, 8vo, vol. xiii.

[509] Text in "Complete Works," vol. iii. It is divided into five books and written in stanzas of seven lines, rhyming a b a b b c c. See the different texts of this poem published by the Chaucer Society; also Kitredge, "Chaucer's Language in his Troilus," Chaucer Society, 1891. For a comparison between the English and the Italian texts see Rossetti "Troylus and Cressida, compared with Boccaccio's Filostrato," Chaucer Society, 1875. About one-third of Chaucer's poem is derived from Boccaccio. It is dedicated to Gower and to "philosophical Strode" (see above, p. 290), both friends of the poet.

[510] Book i. st. 28.

[511] And, as the nurse, gets out of breath, so that he cannot speak:

... O veray God, so have I ronne! Lo, nece myn, see ye nought how I swete?

Book ii. st. 210. Says the Nurse:

Jesu, what haste! can you not stay awhile? Do you not see that I am out of breath?

[512] Turned later into English verse by Lydgate, to be read as a supplementary Tale of Canterbury: "Here begynneth the sege of Thebes, ful lamentably told by Johnn Lidgate monke of Bury, annexynge it to ye tallys of Canterbury," MS. Royal 18 D ii. in the British Museum. The exquisite miniatures of this MS. represent Thebes besieged with great guns, fol. 158; Creon's coronation by two bishops wearing mitres and gold copes, fol. 160, see below, p. 499.

[513] Book ii. st. 46.

[514] Book ii. st. 100 ff.

[515] Book ii. st. 182.

[516] Book iii. st. 163 and 170.

[517] Book iii. st 173. Boccaccio's Griselda has nothing to be compared to those degrees in feeling and tenderness. She laughs at the newly wedded ones, and ignores blushes as well as doubts ("Filostrato," iii. st. 29 ff.).

[518] Book iii. st. 188.

[519]

What me is wo That day of us mot make desseveraunce!

(Book iii. st. 203, 204.)

[520] Book iv. st. 98 ff.

[521]

Yet preye I yow on yvel ye ne take, That it is short which that I to yow wryte; I dar not, ther I am, wel lettres make, Ne never yet ne coude I wel endyte. Eek greet effect men wryte in place lyte. Thentente is al, and nought the lettres space And fareth now wel, God have you in his grace.

La vostre C.

Book v. st. 233. Troilus had written at great length, of course, "the papyr al y-pleynted." St. 229.

[522] Book v. st. 263.

[523] Pierre de Beauveau's translation of the passage (in Moland and d'Hericault, "Nouvelles francoises en prose, du XIVe Siecle," 1858, p. 303) does not differ much from the original. Here is the Italian text:

Giovane donna e mobile, e vogliosa E negli amanti molti, e sua bellezza Estima piu ch'allo specchio, e pomposa Ha vanagloria di sua giovinezza; La qual quanto piaccevole e vezzosa E piu, cotanto piu seco l'apprezza; Virtu non sente ni conoscimento, Volubil sempre come foglia al vento.

("Opere Volgari," Florence, 1831, vol. xiii. p. 253.)

[524] "Return of the names of every member [of Parliament]," 1878, fol. a Blue Book, p. 229.

[525] "Hous of Fame," l. 1189.

[526] "Complete Works," ed. Skeat, Oxford, 1894, 6 vols. 8vo, vol. iv.

[527] The "Tabard," a sleeveless overcoat, then in general use, was, like the "Bell," a frequent sign for inns. The Tabard Inn, famous in Chaucer's day, was situated in the Southwark High Street; often repaired and restored, rebaptised the "Talbot," it lasted till our century.

[528] Beginning of the "Shipmannes Tale."

[529] "Vie de Marianne," Paris, 1731-41.

[530] Book i. chap. 81, Luce's edition.

[531] The canonisation took place shortly after the death of the archbishop, 1170-73. There is nothing left to-day but an old marble mosaic, greatly restored, to indicate the place in the choir where the shrine used to be.

[532] A map of the road from London to Canterbury, drawn in the seventeenth century, but showing the line of the old highway, has been reproduced by Dr. Furnivall in his "Supplementary Canterbury Tales—I. The Tale of Beryn," Chaucer Society, 1876, 8vo.

[533] "E forse a queste cose scrivere, quantunque sieno umilissime, si sono elle venute parecchi volte a starsi meco." Prologue of "Giornata Quarta."

[534] "Pardoner's Tale," ll. 904, 920, 931.

[535] The setting of the tales into their proper order is due to Bradshaw and Furnivall; see Furnivall's "Temporary Preface" for the "Six-text edition of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales," Chaucer Society, 1868. The order, subject, and originals of the tales are follows:—

1st Day. London to Dartford, 15 miles.—Tale of the Knight, history of Palamon and Arcyte, derived from Boccaccio's "Teseide."—Tale of the Miller: story of Absolon, Nicholas and Alisoun the carpenter's wife, source unknown.—Reeve's tale, imitated from the French fabliau of Gombert and the two clerks (above, p. 155); same tale in Boccaccio, ix. 6, from whom La Fontaine took it: "le Berceau."—Cook's tale, unfinished; the tale of Gamelyn attributed by some MSS. to the Cook seems to be simply an old story which Chaucer intended to remodel; it would suit the Yeoman better than the Cook (in "Complete Works," as an appendix to vol. iv.).

2nd Day. Stopping at Rochester, 30 miles.—Tale of the Man of Law: history of the pious Constance, from the French of Trivet, an Englishman who wrote also Latin chronicles, &c., same story in Gower, who wrote it ab. 1393.—Shipman's tale: story of a merchant of St. Denys, his wife, and a wicked monk, from some French fabliau, or from "Decameron," viii. 1.—Tale of the Prioress: a child killed by Jews, from the French of Gautier de Coinci.—Tales by Chaucer: Sir Thopas, a caricature of the romances of chivalry; story of Melibeus, from a French version of the "Liber consolationis et consilii" of Albertano of Brescia, thirteenth century.—Monk's tale: "tragedies" of Lucifer, Adam, Sampson, Hercules, Nebuchadnezzar, Belshazzar, Zenobia, Pedro the Cruel, Pierre de Lusignan king of Cyprus, Barnabo Visconti (d. 1385), Hugolino, Nero, Holofernes, Antiochus, Alexander, Caesar, Croesus; from Boccaccio, Machault, Dante, the ancients, &c.—Tale of the Nun's Priest: Story of Chauntecleer, same story in "Roman de Renart" and in Marie de France.

3rd Day. Rest at Ospringe, 46 miles.—Tale of the Physician: Appius and Virginia, from Titus Livius and the "Roman de la Rose;" same story in Gower.—Pardoner's tale: three young men find a treasure, quarrel over it and kill each other, an old legend, of which, however, we have no earlier version than the one in the "Cento Novelle antiche," nov. 82.—Tale of the Wife of Bath: story of the young knight saved by an old sorceress, whom he marries and who recovers her youth and beauty; the first original of this old legend is not known; same story in Gower (Story of Florent), and in Voltaire: "Ce qui plait aux Dames."—Friar's tale: a summoner taken away by the devil, from one of the old collections of exempla.—Tale of the Summoner (somnour, sompnour): a friar ill-received by a moribund; a coarse, popular story, a version of which is in "Til Ulespiegel."—Clerk of Oxford's tale: story of Griselda from Petrarch's Latin version of the last tale in the "Decameron."—Merchant's tale: old January beguiled by his wife May and by Damian; there are several versions of this story, one in the "Decameron," vii. 9, which was made use of by La Fontaine, ii. 7.

4th Day. Reach Canterbury, 56 miles.—Squire's tale: unfinished story of Cambinscan, king of Tartary; origin unknown, in part from the French romance of "Cleomades."—Franklin's tale: Aurelius tries to obtain Dorigen's love by magic; same story in Boccaccio's "Filocopo," and in the "Decameron," x. 5.—Tale of the second nun: story of St. Cecilia, from the Golden Legend.—Tale of the Canon's Yeoman: frauds of an alchemist (from Chaucer's personal experience?).—Manciple's tale: a crow tells Phoebus of the faithlessness of the woman he loves; from Ovid, to be found also in Gower.—Parson's tale, from the French "Somme des Vices et des Vertus" of Friar Lorens, 1279.

[536] "Complete Works," vol. iv. p. 538. The canon and his man join the pilgrims during the fourth day's journey. Contrary to Chaucer's use, such a keen animosity appears in this satire of alchemists that it seems as if the poet, then rather hard up, had had himself a grudge against such quacks.

[537] l. 1963. Compare the mendicant friar in Diderot, who drew him from nature, centuries later; it is the same sort of nature. Friar John "venait dans notre village demander des oeufs, de la laine, du chanvre, des fruits a chaque saison." Friar John "ne passait pas dans les rues que les peres, les meres et les enfants n'allassent a lui et ne lui criassent: Bonjour, frere Jean, comment vous portez vous, frere Jean? Il est sur que quand il entrait dans une maison, la benediction du ciel y entrait avec lui." "Jacques le Fataliste et son Maitre," ed. Asseline, p. 46.

[538] "Complete Works," vol. iv. p. 285; on Geoffrey de Vinesauf and Richard, see above, p. 180.

[539] See for example his description of a young lady gathering flowers at dawn in a garden, at the foot of a "dongeoun," Knight's Tale, l. 190, "Complete Works," iv. p. 31.

[540] But very popular, derived from the "Liber Consolationis" of Albertano of Brescia, written ab. 1246, ed. Thor Sundby, Chaucer Society, 1873. It was translated into French (several times), Italian, German, Dutch. French text in MS. Reg. 19, C vii. in the British Museum: "Uns jouvenceauls appele Melibee, puissant et riches ot une femme nomme Prudence, et de celle femme ot une fille. Advint un jour...." "A young man," says Chaucer, whose tale is also in prose, "called Melibeus, mighty and riche, bigat up-on his wyf that called was Prudence, a doghter which that called was Sophie. Upon a day befel...." (iv. 119).

[541] Unlike most of the tales, this one is written in stanzas, Chaucer's favourite seven-line stanza, rhyming a b a b b c c.

[542] It is to be found in the "Menagier de Paris," ab. 1393, the author of which declares that he will "traire un exemple qui fut ja pieca translate par maistre Francois Petrarc qui a Romme fut couronne poete" ("Menagier," 1846, vol. i. p. 99). The same story finds place in "Melibeus," MS. Reg. 19 C vii. in the British Museum, fol. 140. Another French translation was printed ab. 1470: "La Patience Griselidis Marquise de Saluces." Under Louis XIV., Perrault wrote a metrical version of the same story: "La Marquise de Saluces ou la patience de Griselidis," Paris, 1691, 12mo. A number of ballads in all countries were dedicated to Griselda; the popularity of an English one is shown by the fact of other ballads being "to the tune of Patient Grissel." One of Miss Edgeworth's novels has for its title and subject: "The Modern Griselda."

[543] One in French was performed at Paris in 1395 ("Estoire de Griselidis ... par personnages," MS. Fr. 2203 in the National Library, Paris), and was printed at the Renaissance, by Bonfons, ab. 1550: "Le Mystere de Griselidis"; one in German was written by Hans Sachs in 1550. In Italy it was the subject of an opera by Apostolo Zeno, 1620. In England, Henslowe, on the 15th of December, 1599, lends three pounds to Dekker, Chettle and Haughton for their "Pleasant comodie of Patient Grissil," printed in 1603, reprinted by the Shakespeare Society, 1841. The English authors drew several hints from the French play, but theirs is the best written on the subject (parts of Julia, the witty sister of the Marquis, of Laureo, the poor student, brother of Griselda, as proud as she is humble, &c.).

[544] Lady Bradshaigh to Richardson, January 11, 1749. "Correspondence of Samuel Richardson," ed. Barbauld, London, 1804, 6 vols. 12mo, vol. iv. p. 240.

[545] "Complete Works," vol. iv. p. 568.

[546]

Listeth, lordes, in good entent, And I wol telle verrayment Of mirthe and of solas, &c.

The caricature of the popular heroic stories of the day is extremely close (see below, p. 347).

[547] Tale of the Canon's Yeoman, l. 995.

[548]

... For the tyrant is of gretter might, By force of meynee for to sleen doun-right, And brennen hous and hoom, and make al plain, Lo! therfor is he cleped a capitain; And, for the outlawe hath but smal meynee, And may nat doon so greet an harm as he, Ne bringe a contree to so greet mescheef, Men clepen him an outlawe or a theef.

(Maunciple's tale, in "Complete Works," iv. p. 562.)

[549] "A Treatise on the Astrolabe" in "Complete Works," vol. iii. p. 175.

[550] "General Prologue," l. 742.

[551] "Troilus," Book v. st. 257.

[552] "Chaucer's wordes unto Adam, his owne Scriveyn," in "Complete Works," vol. i. p. 379.

[553] "Je te suppliray seulement d'une chose, lecteur, de vouloir bien prononcer mes vers et accomoder ta voix a leur passion ... et je te supplie encore de rechef, ou tu verras cette marque: (!) vouloir un peu eslever ta voix pour donner grace a ce que tu liras." Preface of the "Franciade."

[554] So says the Parson, who adds:

Ne, God wot, rym holde I but litel bettre.

Parson's Prologue, l. 43. It will be observed that while naming simply rhyme, he caricatures alliteration.

[555] 1391, in "Complete Works," vol. iii. On that other, possible son of Chaucer, Thomas, see ibid., vol. i. p. xlviii., and above, p. 273.

[556] "Truth," or "Balade de bon Conseyl," in "Complete Works," vol. i. p. 390. Belonging to the same period: "Lak of Stedfastnesse" (advice to the king himself); "L'Envoy de Chaucer a Scogan"; "L'Envoy de Chaucer a Bukton," on marriage, with an allusion to the Wife of Bath; "The Compleynt of Venus"; "The Compleint of Chaucer to his empty purse," &c., all in vol. i. of "Complete Works."

[557] It has been said, but without sufficient cause, that this friendship came to an end some time before the death of Chaucer.

[558]

He in the waast is shape as wel as I.

(Prologue to Sir Thopas.)

[559] To be seen (1894) under glass in the Chapter House.

[560] "Hoccleve's Works," ed. Furnivall, E.E.T.S., 1892, vol. i. p. xxi.

[561] One ab. 1478, the other ab. 1484; this last is illustrated. See in "English Novel in the time of Shakespeare," p. 45, a facsimile of the woodcut representing the pilgrims seated at the table of the Tabard inn.

[562] "Animadversions uppon the Annotacions and corrections of some imperfections of impressiones of Chaucers workes...." by Francis Thynne, ed. Furnivall and Kingsley, Chaucer Society, 1876, p. xiv.

[563] Ibid.

[564] "Shepheard's Calender," December.

[565] "Of whom, truly I know not, whether to mervaile more, either that he in that mistie time could see so clearly, or that wee in this cleare age walke so stumblingly after him." "Apologie for Poetrie," ed. Arber, p. 62.

[566] The subject of Chaucer's fame is treated at great length in Lounsbury's "Studies in Chaucer, his life and writings," London, 1892, 3 vols. 8vo, vol. iii. ch. vii., "Chaucer in Literary History."

[567] The Chaucer Society, founded by Dr. Furnivall, which has published among other things, the "Six-text edition of the Canterbury Tales"; some "Life Records of Chaucer"; various "Essays" on questions concerning the poet's works; a collection of "Originals and Analogues" illustrative of the "Canterbury Tales," &c. Among modern tributes paid to Chaucer may be added Wordsworth's modernisation of part of "Troilus" (John Morley's ed., p. 165), and Lowell's admirable essay in his "Study Windows."



CHAPTER III.

THE GROUP OF POETS.

The nation was young, virile, and productive. Around Chaucer was a whole swarm of poets; he towers above them as an oak towers above a coppice; but the oak is not isolated like the great trees that are sometimes seen beneath the sun, alone in the midst of an open country. Chaucer is without peer but not without companions; and, among those companions, one at least deserves to be ranked very near him.

He has companions of all kinds, nearly as diverse as those with whom he had associated on the road to Canterbury. Some are continuators of the old style, and others are reformers; some there are, filled with the dreamy spirit of the Anglo-Saxons; there are others who care little for dreams and theories, who are of the world, and will not leave the earth; some who sing, others who hum, others who talk. Certain poems are like clarions, and celebrate the battle of Crecy, of which Chaucer had not spoken; others resemble lovers' serenades; others a dirge for the dead.

I.

The old styles are continued; the itinerant poets, jugglers, and minstrels have not disappeared; on the contrary, they are more numerous than ever. "Merry England" favours them; they continue to play, as under the first Angevins,[568] a very considerable and multiple part, which it is difficult to estimate. Those people, with their vast memory, are like perambulating libraries; they instruct, they amuse, they edify. Passing from county to county, hawking news, composing satirical songs, they fill also the place of a daily gazette; they represent public opinion, sometimes create it, and often distort it; they are living newspapers; they furnish their auditors with information about the misdeeds of the Government, which, from time to time, seizes the most talkative, and imprisons them to keep them silent. The king has minstrels in his service; they are great personages in their way, pensioned by the prince and despising the others. The nobles also keep some in their pay, which does not prevent their welcoming those who pass; they feast them when they have sung well, and give them furred robes and money.[569]

They continue to prosper in the following century. We see at that time the king of England's minstrels, people clever and of good instruction, protesting against the increasing audacity of sham minstrels, whose ignorance casts discredit on the profession. "Uncultured peasants," says the king in a vengeful statute, "and workmen of different kinds in our kingdom of England ... have given themselves out to be our own minstrels."[570] Without any experience or understanding of the art, they go from place to place on festival days, and gather all the money that should have enriched the true artists, those who really devote themselves to their profession and ply no manual craft. Vain efforts; decline was imminent; minstrels were not to recover their former standing. The Renaissance and the Reformation came; and, owing to the printing-press, gay scavoir found other means of spreading through the country. In the sixteenth century, it is true, minstrels still abound, but they are held in contempt; right-minded people, like Philip Stubbes, have no terms strong enough to qualify "suche drunken sockets and bawdye parasits as range the cuntreyes, ryming and singing of uncleane, corrupt, and filthie songes in tavernes, ale-houses, innes, and other publique assemblies.... Every towne, citie, and countrey is full of these minstrelles to pype up a dance to the devill; but of dyvines, so few there be as they maye hardly be seene."[571]

Before this awful time comes for them, however, the minstrels thrive under the last Plantagenets. Their bill is a varied one, and includes the best and the worst; they sometimes recite the "Troilus" of Chaucer,[572] and sometimes the ancient romances of chivalry, altered, spoiled, shorn of all their poetry. Chaucer had ridiculed these versions of the old heroic stories, written in tripping verses, but in vain. Throughout his life, after as well as before "Sir Thopas," he could wonder and laugh at the success of stories, composed in the very style of his own burlesque poem, about heroes who, being all peerless, are necessarily all alike: one is "stalworthe and wyghte," another "hardy and wyght," a third also "hardy and wyght"; and the fourth, fifth, and hundredth are equally brave and invincible. They are called Isumbras, Eglamour, Degrevant[573]; but they differ in their names and in nothing more. The booksellers of the Renaissance who printed their histories could make the same woodcut on the cover serve for all their portraits. By merely altering the name beneath, they changed all there was to change; one and the same block did duty in turn for Romulus or Robert the Devil.[574] Specimens of this facile art swarm indefinitely; they are scattered over the country, penetrate into hamlets, find their way into cottages, and make the people acquainted with the doughty deeds of Eglamour and Roland. We now find ourselves really in the copse.

In the middle of the copse are trees of finer growth. Some among the poets, while conforming to the old style, improve upon their models as they proceed; they add an original note of their own, and on that account deserve to be listened to. Far above those empty, tripping metrical stories, and superior even to "Morte Arthure" and to "William of Palerne,"[575] written in English verse at the time of Chaucer, ranks "Sir Gawayne and the Green Knight,"[576] being incomparably the best specimen of the style. Instead of puppets with jerky movements, and wooden joints that we hear crack, the English poet shows in this work real men and women, with supple limbs and red lips; elegant, graceful, and charming to behold. These knights and ladies in their well-fitting armour or their tight dresses, whom we see stretched in churches on their fourteenth-century tombs, have come back to life once more; and now they move, they gaze on each other, they love again.

On Christmas day, in presence of Arthur and his whole Court, Sir Gawayne cuts off the head of the Green Knight. This giant knight is doubtless an enchanter, for he stoops, picks up his head, and, remounting his horse, bids Sir Gawayne meet him a year hence at the Green Chapel, where he will give him blow for blow.

The year passes. Gawayne leaves the Court with his horse "Gringolet," and without quitting England, rides through unknown lands, having no one to speak to save God. He reaches the gate of a splendid castle, and is welcomed by a knight of ordinary stature, under whose present appearance he does not recognise his adversary the giant. Three days are left before the date of the tryst; they are spent in amusements. The knight goes daily to hunt; he agrees to give all his game to his guest, who remains at home with the lady of the castle, the most beautiful woman ever seen, on condition that Gawayne, in his turn, will give him what he has taken during his absence. Every night they gaily sup in the hall; a bright light burns on the walls, the servants set up wax torches, and serve at table. The meal is cheered by music and "caroles newe,"[577] jests, and the laughter of ladies.[578] At three o'clock each morning the lord of the castle rises, hears mass, and goes a-hunting. Gawayne is awakened from sleep by his hostess; she enters his room, with easy and graceful movements, dressed in a "mery mantyle" and furred gown, trailing on the floor, but very low in the neck:

Hir breste bare bifore, and bihinde eke.

She goes to the window, opens it, and says, "with hir riche wordes":

A! mon, hou may thou sleep, This morning is so clere![579]

She seats herself, and refuses to go. Gawayne is assailed by terrible temptations. The thought of the Green Chapel, fortunately, helps him to overcome them, and the first, second, and third night his fair friend finds him equally coy. She kisses him once, twice, thrice, and jeers at him for forgetting each day what she had taught him on the previous one, namely, to kiss. When the hunter returns in the evening, Gawayne gives him the kisses he has received in exchange for the spoils of the chase: a buck, a boar, and a fox. He had, however, accepted besides a marvellous belt, which protected the wearer from all danger, but he says nothing about this, and puts it on: "Aux grands coeurs donnez quelques faiblesses," our author obviously thinks, with Boileau.

On the fourth day Gawayne starts with a guide, and reaches the Green Chapel; the Green Giant is there, ready to give him back the blow received a year before. Gawayne stoops his head under the dreadful axe, and just as it falls cannot help bending his shoulders a little. You are not that Gawayne, says the giant, held in such high esteem. At this, Arthur's knight straightens himself; the giant lifts his axe again and strikes, but only inflicts a slight wound. All is now explained: for the kisses Gawayne should have received mortal blows, but he gave them back; he kept the belt, however, and this is why he will bear through life a scar on his neck. Vexed, he throws away the belt, but the giant returns it to him, and consoles him by admitting that the trial was a superhuman one, that he himself is Bernlak de Haut-Desert, and that his guest has been the sport of "Morgan the fairy," the companion of his hostess:

Thurgh myght of Morgne la Faye that in my hous lenges (dwells).

Gawayne declares that should he ever be tempted by pride, he need only look at the belt, and the temptation will vanish. He rejoins Arthur and his peers, and tells his adventures, which afford food both for laughter and for admiration.

The poem is anonymous. The same manuscript contains another, on a totally different subject, which seems to be by the same author. This poem has been called "The Pearl;"[580] it is a song of mourning. It must have been written some time after the sad event which it records, when the bitterness of sorrow had softened. The landscape is bathed in sunlight, the hues are wonderfully bright. The poet has lost his daughter, his pearl, who is dead; his pearl has fallen in the grass, and he has been unable to find it; he cannot tear himself away from the spot where she had been. He entered in that arbour green; it was August, that sunny season, when the corn has just fallen under the sickle; there the pearl had "trendeled doun" among the glittering, richly-coloured plants, gilly-flowers, gromwell seed, and peonies, splendid in their hues, sweeter in their smell.[581] He sees a forest, rocks that glisten in the sun, banks of crystal; birds sing in the branches, and neither cistern nor guitar ever made sweeter music. The sound of waters, too, is heard; a brook glides over pebbles shining like the stars in a winter's night, at the hour when the weary sleep.[582]

So great is the beauty of the place that the father's grief is soothed, and he has a marvellous vision. On the opposite side of the stream he sees a maiden clothed in white; and as he gazes he suddenly recognises her: O pearl art thou in sooth my pearl, so mourned and wept for through so many nights? Touching and consoling is the answer: Thou hast lost no pearl, and never hadst one; that thou lost was but a rose, that flowered and faded; now only has the rose become a pearl for ever.[583] The father follows his child to where a glimpse can be caught of the Celestial City, with its flowers and jewels, the mystic lamb, and the procession of the elect; it seems as if the poet were describing beforehand, figure by figure, Van Eyck's painting at St. Bavon of Ghent.

II.

An immense copse surrounds the oak. About Chaucer swarm innumerable minstrels, anonymous poets, rhyming clerks, knightly ballad makers.[584] The fragile works of these rhyming multitudes are for the most part lost, yet great quantities of them still exist. They are composed by everybody, and written in the three languages used by the English; some being in French, some in English, some in Latin.

The Plantagenets were an art-loving race. Edward III. never thought of cost when it came to painting and gilding the walls of St. Stephen's Chapel; Richard II. disliked a want of conformity in architectural styles, and, having the conscience of an artist, gave an example of a rare sort in the Middle Ages, for he continued Westminster Abbey in the style of Henry III. Members of the royal family were known to write verses. The hero of Poictiers inserted in his will a piece of poetry in French, requesting that the lines should be graven on his tomb, where they can still be read in Canterbury Cathedral: "Such as thou wast, so was I; of death I never thought so long as I lived. On earth I enjoyed ample wealth, and I used it with great splendour, land, houses, and treasure, cloth, horses, silver and gold; but now I am poor and bereft, I lie under earth, my great beauty is all gone.... And were you to see me now, I do not think you would believe that ever I was a man."[585]

The nobles followed suit; they put their passions into verse; but all had not sufficient skill for such delicate pastimes. Many contented themselves with copying some of those ready-made ballads, of which professional poets supplied ready-made collections; just as sermons were written for the benefit of obtuse parish priests, under the significant title of "Dormi Secure"[586] (Sleep in peace, tomorrow's sermon is ready). We find also in English manuscripts rubrics like the following: "Loo here begynnethe a Balade whiche that Lydegate wrote at the request of a squyer yt served in Love's court."[587] In their most elegant language, with all the studied refinement of the flowery style, the poets, writing to order, amplified, embellished, and spoilt: "ce mot, le mot des dieux et des hommes: je t'aime!" We are not even in the copse now, and we must stoop close to earth in order to see these blossoms of a day.

Among men of the people, and plain citizens, as well as at Court, the taste for ballads and songs imported from France became general in the fourteenth century. In the streets of London, mere craftsmen could be heard singing French burdens: for in spite of the progress of the national tongue, French was not yet entirely superseded in Great Britain. Langland in his Visions has London workmen who sing: "Dieu vous sauve dame Emma."[588] Chaucer's good parson bears witness to the popularity of another song, and declares in the course of his sermon: "Wel may that man that no good werke ne dooth, singe thilke newe Frenshe song: "J'ay tout perdu mon temps et mon labour."[589]

In imitation of what was done in the northern provinces of France, a Pui had been founded in London, that is an association established for the purpose of encouraging the art of the chanson, which awarded prizes to the authors of the best verses and the best music.[590] In the fourteenth century the Pui of London was at the height of its prosperity; it included both foreign and English merchants. It had been instituted so that "jolity, peace, courtesy, gentleness, debonairity, and love without end might be maintained, all good promoted, and evil prevented." These merchants of divers countries evidently agreed in thinking that music softens the manners, and tried to extinguish their quarrels by songs. At the head of the Pui was a "prince" surrounded by twelve "compaignouns," elected by the brotherhood, whose mission included the duty of pacifying the squabblers. Each year a new prince was chosen and solemnly enthroned. On the appointed day "the old prince and his companions must go from one end of the hall to the other, singing; the old prince will bear on his head the crown of the Pui, and have in his hand a gilt cup full of wine. And when they shall have gone all round, the old prince must give the one they have elected to drink, and also give him the crown, and that one shall be prince."

To pass judgment on chansons is no trifle, and the deed is surrounded by every precaution befitting so important a sentence. The decision rests with the old prince and the new, assisted by about fifteen "of the most knowing among the companions," who are all obliged to take a solemn oath: "They must find which is the best song, to the best of their capacity, under oath that they will not fail for love, for hate, for favour, for promise, for neighbourhood, for lineage, for any tie old or new, or for any reason whatsoever." Moreover, two or three judges shall be appointed "who are skilled in singing and music," to examine the tune of the song: "For unless it be accompanied by music, a written text cannot be called a chanson, neither can a chanson royale be crowned unless it be accompanied with the sweetness of melodious singing." The winner is to receive the crown, and his composition, copied and fairly written out, will be posted up in the hall, under the prince's coat of arms: "The prince shall cause to be fastened under his coat of arms the song crowned on the day he was chosen to be the new prince, clearly written, and correctly, without fault."

At one time the Pui society was nearly ruined, owing to the expense incurred for decking the hall. In future it will be more moderate: "It is agreed henceforth that part of the hall where the feast of the Pui is held, be not hung with silk or cloth of gold, neither shall the hall itself be draped, but only fairly garnished with green boughs, the floor strewn with rushes, benches prepared, as befits such a feast royal; only the seat for the singers who are to sing the chansons royales shall be covered with cloth of gold."

After the competition, all dine together. Here is the bill of fare for the feast: "And the bill of fare is thus ordained; be all the companions liberally served, the poorest as well as the richest, after this fashion, to wit, that to them be served good bread, good ale and good wine, and then potage and a course of strong meat, and after that a double roast in a dish, and cheese, and nothing else." Women were not admitted to these gatherings, and so that slanderers might not say it was for fear of quarrels, or worse, we are told by the society itself that it was to teach the members to "honour, cherish, and praise them as much in their absence as in their presence."

No feast was complete in the Middle Ages without a procession or progress through the streets; the amusement was thus shared by the people. The members of the Pui did not fail in this: "As soon as they shall have given the crown to the best singer, they shall mount their horses and ride through the town, and then accompany their new prince to his hostel, and there all get down, and dance before departing; and drink once, and return each to his hostel." With its songs and music, its kind purpose, its crowns and green branches, this association seems like a peaceful and verdant corner of Arcadia in the midst of London City, peaceful and merry in spite of mercantile jealousies and international hatreds.

This oasis is all the more charming to the sight because it is only an oasis. Such sentiments were too courteous to be very common. While our friends of the Pui endeavour to cherish and praise women even in their absence, other makers of songs follow another mediaeval tradition and satirise them mercilessly. Triads were dedicated to them, which were nothing but slanderous litanies: