Chaucer and His Times

. The Book of the Duchesse gives us a sort of map of the character of the good fair White: in his choice of qualities and method of expression Chaucer shows both observ

though something more might be expected of the Legend of Good Women, as we have seen, the

ntil we come to Troilus and Criseyde do we find him giving full rein to his invention. The earlier part of Book I, which describes how Troilus first catches sight of Cressida in the temple and at once falls in love with her,

one Grekes maa

om remors o

falle in som

t him to despair. Pandarus heaves a sigh of relief and says if that is all he will soon put matters

s no kerving

eth sharpe ker

nly casts up his eyes and sighs, whereupon

ake" ful wonde

stow as in a

k an asse t

n, when men the

minde of th

him to glade

of his b

no less striking contrast is shown between the coarse humour and practical wisdom of the uncle and the daintiness and charm of the niece. Pandarus angles for Cressida and plays her as a skilful fisherman plays a trout. It is obvious that he regards the whole thing as a good-natured grown-up regards a children's game. It is deadly earnest to them, and since they take it so seriously he will do his best to help them, but all

ndes may nought

fuss about it, though he is so sincerely distressed at Cressida'

ht that might

[75] and of th

at it a sorw

, for hertes

lde I amende

world, almigh

sone; I can

rgy and force. When Troilus rushes about hi

eth roreth in

ce of such weakness and bids

the world on s

eye a martir,

tly soun

but his mere presence at once removes Troilus and Criseyde from the category of conventional love-romances, and the very fact that w

nd therefore she made a good end," and again and again in the medieval romances proper we find the same thought insisted on. Chaucer had therefore no light task before him when he set out to draw a heroine at once lovable and fickle, and to enlist the sympathies of his readers on behalf of one whose name had b

gh starf fo

the ferfulle

might

mistaking the sincerity of her unselfconsciousness and surprise when Pandarus tells her of her lover's plight. Nor is she at first altogether pleased at havin

ught that sh

ve, but that s

st, and I have

, his manhood

h-inne hir fo

process and

ove, and in

Flexippe and Tharbe and Antigone "and othere of hir wommen," or sits poring over tales of chivalry, witho

lle p

et be growe u

t the hero who rides blushi

is

uncle swereth

m have merc

whom she has to advise her, urges her to listen to Troilus; the prince himsel

, and alday

mmen al this

s? why nay, wit

over's passionate wooing when Pandaru

, this warne I

ne although

more have s

e, than righ

ere, if that

yow; and whyl t

yow right aft

dere herte an

d draweth yow

rewely, with

tornen al in

that may yow

ye shal rec

es took, and g

d speedy reconciliations, before the dreadful day when Calkas sends for his daughter. The news that Cressida is to be delivered

holsom and

pictures in the whole story is that of the worthy women who came to bid

oles sitting

he wepte and

she sholde out

never pleye

hadde y-know

e, and thoughte

m wepte eek fo

th her new friends, is a very different person from Chaucer's woebegone heroine. And yet in her very sorrow we see her weakness. When Pandarus first trie

an slee here

nce, it wol

of hit deme I

ful sleyly fo

o the person she is with at the moment, and a cat's adaptability to circumstances. She is genuinely distressed at being parted from Troilus, she cries till her eyes have dark rings round them, and even Pand

I me putte in

by nighte, a

ght, I shal b

this drede I

des of som wr

t, al be myn

od, thou on

··

s, bityde w

e at night, by

t stele on so

Troilus wher

l I holde, and

kked tonges j

ove han wrecc

to those of Troilus. Boccaccio's heroine at once makes up her mind to flee from the Greek camp, and then is quickly turned from her "high and g

, the story

never womm

n that she fa

s excess of sorrow

llas! for now

routhe in lo

··

e unto the

been y-writte

r thise bokes wo

I ben on many

aracteristic h

the firste th

in the act of jilting one lover she annou

ee there is

ate is now fo

algate I wo

large-hearted tolerance. It is comparatively easy for an author to hold up a character to execration, but only the

the characters of the personages who play a part in the various stories. The 560 lines of the Prologue in themselves contain a far greater number and variety of characters than are to be found in the whole of Troilus and Criseyde, and if there is less subtlety of treatment the later prologues and end-links soon atone for this. Nothing, for instance, would have been easier than to draw a conventional picture of the self-indulgent, pleasure-loving monk, and at first sight we might thi

owne lord, br

uthe, I knowe

alle you my l

as, or elle

be ye, by y

thou hast a

l pasture the

yk a penaunt[8

hat follow; but with quiet dignity he ignores the familiarity and offer

ave an hundre

ng-instead of which the pilgrims are regaled with a series of moral discourses which would have been perfectly in place in the cloister, but seem strangely ill-suited to the present company. Indeed, the pilgrims grow restive under

night, "good sir

eyd is right

ore; for lit

ugh to mochel

me it is a

n ben in greet

hir sodyn

illy informs the narrator of the obvious fact that his tale "anoyeth al this companye," and courteously begs him to "sey somwhat of hunt

how to ensure sufficient variety to suit all listeners. His rough good-humoured air of authority is sufficient to keep the Friar and the Somnour within bounds. He prevents the drunken Cook from becoming an intolerable nuisance to the company. He keeps an eye on every individual pilgrim, and sees that no one is overlooked. His ready jests smooth over many little roughnesses and disagreeables, and the one thing that really takes him aback is when the poor parson rebukes him for the constant oaths which slip off his tongue so readily. He can

ol my judgem

that we spend

ical person,

of a tragedy. Palamon and Arcite are as indistinguishable as Demetrius and Lysander. There are critics who profess to see subtle differences of character between them, but to the majority of readers they are mere types of chivalry. Dorigen's husband, Averagus, is little more than an embodiment of loyal truth, and Griselda's, were one to regard him as anything but the means of testing wifely patience, would be a monster of cruelty. Compare with these, the Pardoner, the Friar, the Somnour, the Canon's Yeoman, the Miller, and all the other commonplace, practical men whom Chaucer describes. Most of them

t tragedy-queen, no Guenever or Vittoria Corrombona, but with this great exception he depicts women of almost every type. Before going on

ons, appealed to him strongly, and, as we have seen, he more than once goes out of his way to introduce some invocation to the "flour of virgines alle." His love of children no doubt inclined him to lo

[90] this litel

ce, and gan the

and after gan

ude towards marriage is characteristic. Reference has already been made to his acceptance of the comic convention of the shrewish wife, and certainly both the Host and the

any neighe

irche to my w

rdy to hir

hoom, she ram

lse coward, wre

haucer warns modern husbands to look for no patient Griseldas among their wives, and gives much satiric advice to "archewyves"

how that it i

on which he

n, were he ou

e, he wolde be

all the words which Chaucer utters on the subject are those which preface the Marchantes Tale of January and May, when with biting sarcasm he rebu

a man han a

yf? certes I

ch that is bit

onge telle, o

she helpeth hi

good, and waste

onde lust,[96] hi

ects this impression. He is as ready to say what will amuse his contemporaries as Shakespeare is to tickle the ears of the groundlings in his generation, but, like Shakespeare, he is too just to see anything from only one point of view. There certainly are women who abuse their husbands, and Chaucer's inferiority to Shakespeare

a woman

im that u

st, lo! thu

al gold that

rouke I wel

be under

any a shr

be no wi

love only

or for fre

hal every

, of his pur

outward t

aught that wh

wol he ca

ow that she

prevy, or

me, Bk. I,

onging to be free to roam in the forest and "noght to been a wyf," and Constance trembling at the thought of the strange man into whose hands she is being committed, are as true to life as the Wife of Bath with her husbands five at

seen an humbl

take hir serva

ove, and lor

the in lordshi

, but in lor

bothe his lad

ertes, and

at lawe of lo

ns Tale, l

nderstands by freedom, is too long to quote in full, but it shows clearly enough

comth, the g

ges, and farew

nd take and does not deman

e, or conste

aunginge of co

fte to doon a

a man may nat

ll, it is in Chaucer's women themselves, rather than in what he says about woman, that we see his attitude most clearly. In the character of Blanche the Duchesse he portrays an ideal which differs in many ways from the conventional standard of the day. Instead of the typical heroine of romance, whose sole thought is of love and whose sole desire that her knight may prov

o Walay

and in-t

dre, ne in

im faste, a

to the dr

m by the Car

ling hi

righ

of yow he

r that ye

beauty. She looks you straight in the f

oode, gladd

folk." She utters no half truths, and tak

ough hi

man great

delightful passages in the poem is that in which the Black K

wrong and s

e alwey

me so d

youthe in a

e in hir g

hir owne name" that she suffered

do wolde t

n

ight do he

Rosalind and Portia and Beatrice, as a type of simple unspoiled girlhood. Her frank enjoyment of life, her keen wit, which knows no touch of malice, her combination of tender-hear

ghtes Tale and the Emily of Two Noble Kinsmen. The one walks alone in the garden, gathering flowers, and singing to herself for sheer lightness of heart. The other converses with her waiting-woman, and her chief interest in nature lies in the hope that the maid may prove able "to work such flowers in silk." There is no reason why the second Emily should not wish to have an embroidered gown

nneth sone in

ntly bandaging the wounded bird upon her lap, or doing "h

honesty of mind. They meet their fate with grave serenity and simple courage. Griselda abandons herself to what she believes to be her duty. Constance and Dorigen when confronted by danger show perfect readiness to do what in them lies to defend their own honour. Constance throws the wicked steward into the sea; Dorigen, instead of indulging in hysterics, is quick-witted e

how gentil a

our speche an

t maked was

y she has suffered. They are great-hearted women, before whose innate nobility the p

ul. Our sympathies are with Blanche, as she sings and dances so gaily, rather than with th

en the

s to treten o

s, revels, and

neck, and asks if there is no remedy, and again where she begs him to smite softly, but these are not enough to atone for the perfunctoriness of the rest. The story is too essentially t

ed. The music of the verse has a charm of its own, and Chaucer's most left-handed work is yet the work of a genius, but a comparison of Cecilia with Constance soon shows the difference between a real woman and an embodied ideal. T

t part lower in the social scale than Calkas' daughter, and their stories are of mere sensuous self-indulgence with none of the charm and poetry which marks the tale of Troilus and Cressida. One character alone recalls Chaucer's earlier heroine. The Prioress is very much what a fourteenth-century Cressida wou

haritable an

pe if that s

ppe, if it were

xcellent, and she wears

hir wimpel

Monk is complete. He is gross, jovial, self-indulgent; she is delicate, mincing, conventional. Like Cressida she would always follow the line of least resistance, though it would cause her genuine-if but momentary-distress to give pain to anyone. She is too well-bred ever to think for herself, and too innocent and simple-minded not to accept life as it is

idea of letting dignity stand in the way of enjoyment, and is quite ready to take her part in the rough jests of the company. Comely of face and plump of person, she dresses well and is quite prepared to make the most of her attractions. The prologue to her tale shows that she has plenty of shrewd mother-wit. Her view of matrimony is c

vye no vi

cr

breed of pur

ves hoten bar

o bear contradiction good-humouredly enough. Her methods with her various husbands were simple: three she bullied and brow-beat, one she paid b

ernance of

onge and of

oman, who despises bookishness and thoroughly enjoys good ale and g

and to pr

k, and to this

f miracles

lowship makes her a ple

will find all his nervousness and depression disappear. Chauntecleer is furious at being treated with such scant respect and proceeds to overwhelm her with examples of dreams that have come true. His wise wife, who knows when to hold her tongue, makes no attempt to answer him back, but is evidently only too thankful when at last, being convinced that he has established his point, he suffers his attention to be distracted and turns to the pleasanter business of love-making. Pertelote is in fact typical of the good wives of her class,

hennes cry

dores stete

t that Chaunte

ommonplace novelist or dramatist, on the other hand, gives us mere types of vice and virtue. Mr. Jerome's gallery of Stageland characters-the hero, the heroine, the comic Irishman, the good old man, and the rest-is scarcely caricature. It is hardly necessary to give them names, the same types have been recurring again and again for many a long year, and are likely to continue to recur as long as there are cheap books