Chaucer and His Times

me plot could quite well be used indifferently by any number of writers. Indeed, they did not hesitate to go even further and to form a patchwork of scraps taken from different authors, so that t

ginality of the whole is incontestable. It is a noteworthy fact that he tries his hand at almost every form of poetry popular in his day, he writes romances, lives of the saints, homilies, allegorical poems, topical satire, love songs, and fabliaux, and in every case he borrows wherever he s

laid on emotion. In both cases the action is usually set in motion by the hero's desire to ingratiate himself with his lady, but in the one he rides off in quest of renown that may make him worthy to aspire to her hand, and probably does not see her again for years; in the other, though he may perform doughty deeds for her sake, he may even go so far as to refuse battle unless he may have his sweet love, and much space is devoted to the description of his sighs and tears. In both, the emotion is perfectly simple and straightfor

done many

any a man w

destroyed

as for wo

or God's

to feel that it is a fair fight when one of the combatants can be beheaded without inconvenience to himself. The magic castles and enchanted swords, the dragons and sorcerers of medieval romance have a fascination of their own, but it is the fascination of sheer story-telling, not of character study. The love romances might naturally be expected to show evidence of a more analytical mind, but the feelings they describe are too obviously conventional to be very convincing, and though there is an undeniable charm in works of this sort, there is an equally undeniable sameness. Their strength lies, not in dramatic force of emotion, but in daintiness of description. Nicolette escaping

en left in the glade. The Teseide, as has been said, is an epic rather than a romance, and its twelve books afford scope for such episodes as the war of Theseus with the Amazons, his marriage with Hippolyta, the obsequies of those who fall in the combat between Palamon and Arcite, etc., etc. Chaucer in turning epic into romance has shown an extraordinary power of condensation. The conventional romance writer seems to have had no idea of proportion, no conception that one incident could be of more importance than another, or that it could be necessary to slur over one episode and concentrate on another. In the Knightes Tale Chaucer shows the instinct of the true story-teller. The account of the war with the Amazons and Theseus' marriage-which occupies two books of the Teseide-is reduced to twelve lines, which briefly tell us the bare facts. Theseus and Hippolyta are kept in the background throughout that the figures of Palamon, Arcite, and Emily may stand out the more clearly. The

aunged hous,

er, I can na

n and dry humour. He is learning how to tell a tale,

, the endless difficulties which they put in their own way, are quite in keeping with the spirit of the age, though even here Chaucer shows a skill in characterisation which almost makes us forget to be impatient with his hero's helplessness. Cressida, while she too has much in common with the conventional heroine of romance, has much that is peculiarly her own. She is beautiful and tender and clinging, as a heroine should be, but her shallow little character has an individuality of its own. It will be treated more fully in a later chapter, here it is sufficient to say that Chaucer transforms the mature woman of Boccaccio's poem into a timid girl, whose youth and inexperience appeal to our pity and make it impossible to judge her harshly. But the most important and characteristic change which Chaucer makes in the story is in the character of Pandarus. Instead of the gay young cousin of Troilus, he gives us the vulgar, gossiping, good-natured old uncle of Cressida, an utterly unimaginative and prosaic person who plays with the fires of passion as ignorantly and light-heartedly as the Nurse in Romeo and Juliet. Not only is the character of Pa

gifts-the steed of brass which will carry its rider whithersoever he desires, the mirror which shows if any adversity is about to befall its owner, the ring which enables its wearer to understand the speech of the birds and also gives knowledge of the healing properties of all herbs, and the sword whose edge will cut through any armour and the flat of whose blade will cure the wound so made. Any one of these would in itself be sufficient to furnish forth a tale, and when we find them heaped tog

Canace hir

as now speke

eft to purpo

faucon gat h

s the storie

··

orth I wol m

ventures and

was herd so g

telle yow of

tyme many

ol I speke

wan Theodora

ofte in greet

n holpen by th

wol I spek

listes with t

er that he mi

efte I wol a

s own tale. Nothing could give a more vivid impression of youth and exuberance than the Squire's na?ve enjoyment of the marvellous adventures which he describes: the story is exactly suited to the teller, and his s

sty ba

e,[51] as they we

er of age he

··

was he, as i

she floures, w

, or floytinge[

sh as is the

eres Tale was left unfinished by chance. The manner in which it is cut short not only lights up the characters of the Squire and the Franklin in a manner eminently characteristic of Chaucer, but also gently satirises the long-windedness and absurdity of the romance-writers; and that Ch

lerable jingle of its verse and the absurdity of its extra syllables, while the adventures of Sir Thopas and t

wex a dog

s face as p

pes red

is lyk scar

telle in g

e a sem

fter bearing a couple of hundred

this, for go

··

of thy drast

rym the dev

be rym doge

tand out conspicuously: in the first place his skill in simple narration, and in the second his interest in action as revealing character rather than for its own sake. In the Canterbury Tales he shows greater certainty in the delineation of character, greater readiness to trust to his readers' discrimination. Instead of describing characters at length, he gives us

she invited all the Christians to a great feast, professing that she herself desired to embrace their religion. At a given signal the seven hundred Saracens fell upon the unarmed guests, and of the whole number there escaped but three young men and Constance herself. The Sultan, the Admiral, and the other converts were involved in the general massacre. The three young men fled to Rome, where they told the Emperor that his daughter had perished with the rest. Constance, having refused to renounce her faith, "for no fair promise of wealth or honour, nor for any threat of punishment or death," is set adrift in an open boat, with provision enough to last her for three years, and also with all the treasure which she had brought with her as a bride. For three whole years she drifts about on the great ocean. "Then, in the eighth month of the fourth year, God who steered the ship of the holy man Noah in the great flood, sent a favourable wind, and drove the ship to England, under a castle in the kingdom of Northumberland, near Humber." Elda, the warden of the castle, goes down to ask her of her condition. "And she answered him in Saxon ... as one who was learned in divers languages, as is aforesaid." The good warden receives her hospitably, and his wife Hermingild becomes so enamoured of the maiden "that nothing could happen to her that she would not do according to her will." Then follows the conversion of Hermingild and Elda owing to a miracle wrought by Constance upon a blind man. Elda tells Alle, King of Northumberland, of the wonderful maiden at his castle, and Alle is about to visit her when dire distress falls upon the three friends. A felon knight, to whose suit Constance has turned a deaf ear, murders Hermingild and contrives that suspicion shall fall upon Constance. Elda cannot believe her capable of such treachery, whereupon the accuser swears upon the gospels and upon his baptism, "which he had already lately received," that Constance is the criminal. Scarcely had he ended the word, when a closed hand, like a man's fist, appeared before Elda and all who were present, and smote such a blow on the nape of the felon's neck, that both his eyes flew out of his head, and his teeth out of his mouth; and the felon fell smitten down to the earth. And thereupon a voice said in the hearing of all, "Against Mother Church thou wert laying a scandal: this hast thou done, and I have held my peace." On Alle's arrival the felon is condemned to death, and so struck is the king by what has passed that he is himself baptised, and then marries Constance. Six months later he is called away by a border raid. During his absence the queen is deli

tance to strain his credulity. But whereas in Trivet the characters are mere lay figures set up to illustrate the power of Christianity and the evil fate which befalls the opponents of Mother Church, in Chaucer they have an individuality of their own. Instead of alienating our sympathy at the outset by insisting on the learning and missionary enterprise of a child of thirteen, Chaucer omits all this and follows the more natural path of making the foreign chapmen so st

the Barbre

sin that it

starf[60] for

ce his hestes[

an, no fors tho

rn to thraldo

under manne

heart misgives her at the thought of leaving her parents and going to meet an unknown husband. Equally vivid and effective is Chaucer's picture of th

l not greve us

r that by the time she has

nede to wasshe

ont-ful water

haracteristic interpolation which Chaucer borrows from quite a diffe

that ever a

e, spreynd[64] w

joye of our w

he fyn of our

onseil for t

dde day have

or harm that

Trivet. Here the poet breaks off to discuss the miraculous element in the story. Nothing is more characteristic of Chaucer than this habit of pausing to consider some abstract question raised by what he is relating-it is

stance by the treacherous knight, and here we see Chaucer's power of painting a dramatic situation in a few words. He tells us how Constance is brought b

seyn som tym

s, of him th

th, where-as h

olour in his

we his face, t

e faces in

ance, and lok

dismisses even more hastily th

f the chaf no

g a tale as

I tellen of

r which cours

in a trompe

every tale is

ke, and daunce, an

derful passages in the whole poem, that in which he describes Constance going down to the boat "with deedly pale face," her bab

one, I wol do

e most harrowing description could be. And here again, as Constance lulls the baby in her arm

child y-slayn

veth my litel

ht, to whom al

wommanhede, tho

refut, brighte

child, that o

ry rewful[68]

ips she turns to Elda and

arst not saven

nes in his f

ut furthe

ir; and in-to

g. We forget the absurdity of the story, the impossible repetition of an impossible situation,

nstance's adventures off the coast of Spain. Here again, we find a break in the narrative, as the author pauses to comment on the evils of self-indulgence, and to explain how God sends weak women the

ndred tymes b

lisse is ther

e joye that l

lyk, that

al whyl that th

f comment on the instab

arrative that it moves quickly and straight-forwardly, while at the same time he expands any situation which affords opportunity fo

called the Roman de Renart. The Cock and the Fox consists of but thirty-eight lines, and the Roman de Renart of 453, whereas the Nonne Preestes Tale consists of 626 lines,

ry-yard is entirely Chaucer's. There is nothing in the French to correspond

faireste hewe

aire damoyse

self-important cock, thoroughly frightened and yet too conceited to accept his wife's simple and prosaic suggestion that his terrors spring from indigestion, and of the sensible, practical hen with her scathing contempt for the husband who though he has a beard has yet "no mannes heart." And here fol

s, he was n

lightest and most amusing of skits, we find him gravely considering the question of predestination and free-will. He

n to do of s

a cok, as ye

and Analogues, p. 112), Chaucer improves the story by omitting the spring made by the fox before he begins to flatter Chauntecleer;

y dame Perte

han dide Has

housbond hadde

Romans hadde

y with which we are led on step by step until we find ourselves accepting the most ridiculous situa

at random, now from sacred history, now from the classics, now from contemporary life. No great dramatic skill is to be expected of the narrator, and for the most part the tragedies succeed one another with pl

lle hir consei

as they wolde h

che hir limmes

told the story of Count Hugo of Pisa, who was locked up in a tower with his sons and starved to de

we

day, then Ga

fling him, cryi

her?" There he

ou seest me,

'twixt the fif

me, now grown

, and for thr

who were dead.

tery of

s trans

ies fifty-six, so in this case there is little in the way either of condensation or expansion. The changes which Chaucer makes are, however,

carsly fyf ye

ne! it was g

for to putte in

e's Count

utlet undern

rible t

hat he can find no relief

. that I w

teres fillen f

cture of the little three-ye

why do

gayler bringe

rsel breed th

y that I may

imple presentation of suffering Chaucer shows little of that power of grim suggestion, of appeal to the imagination, which are among the most essential characteristics of the tragic poet. Cressida's hesitation has nothing grand or tragic about it. She is simply uncertain which course will bring her most happiness. And her repentance-if such it can be called-is no more than a momentary discomfort at the thought that she has caused Troilus pain and that unkind things are likely to be said of her. Troilus suffers, but, in Professor Bradley's phrase, it is suffering that merely befalls him, the whole tragedy is external, and

to seyn a ce

kes maken

stood in gre

llen out of

, and endeth

re to their own hindrance. We hardly notice the absurdity of the situation itself, and are little troubled by the magic arts which enable her persecutor to remove all rocks from the coast of Brittany. Constance is no tragedy-queen, but a true-hearted, simple woman; and the fact that she lives in a world of miracles never obtrudes itself. We accept her adventures without a qua