Chaucer and His Times

by Grace E. Hadow

  Your doom is fals, your constance yvel preveth,[200]

  A ful greet fool is he that on yow leveth.

  But at the same time he realises that poverty has its rights. The earlier version of the Prologue to the Legend of Good Women contains much excellent advice to King Richard:—

  For he that king or lord is naturel,

  Him oghte nat be tiraunt or cruel,

  As is a fermour,[201] to doon the harm he can.

  He moste thinke hit is his lige man,

  And that him oweth, of verray duetee

  Shewen his peple pleyn benignitie

  And wel to here hir excusatiouns,

  And hir compleyntes and peticiouns....

  The Lenvoy which ends the balade of Lak of Stedfastnesse holds up a noble ideal of kingship:—

  O prince, desyre to be honourable,

  Cherish thy folk and hate extorcioun!

  Suffre no thing, that may be reprevable

  To thyn estat, doon in thy regioun.

  Shew forth thy swerd of castigacioun,

  Dred God, do law, love trouthe and worthinesse,

  And wed thy folk agein to stedfastnesse.

  And in the Persones Tale the duties of the rich towards the poor are set forth in considerable detail. Superfluity of clothing and absurdly slashed and ornamented garments are to be avoided because “the more that clooth is wasted, the more it costeth to the peple for the scantnesse; and forther-over, if so be that they wolde yeven such pounsoned and dagged[202] clothing to the povre folk, it is nat convenient to were for hir estaat, ne suffisant to bete hir necessitee, to kepe hem fro the distemperance of the firmament.” Lords are bidden to take no pride in their position, and do no wrong to those dependent on them: “I rede thee, certes, that thou, lord, werke in swiche wyse with thy cherles, that they rather love thee than drede. I woot wel ther is degree above degree, as reson is; and skile it is that men do hir devoir ther-as is due; but certes, extorciouns and despit of youre underlinges is dampnable.” Chaucer’s inborn sense of justice will not allow him to condone oppression, and his speculative and inquiring mind is fully conscious of the artificiality of rank. From the Parson we might expect a homily on the fact that “we ben alle of o fader and of o moder; and alle we been of o nature roten and corrupt, both riche and povre,” but it is more surprising to find the Wife of Bath holding forth in the same strain. Her tale describes the bitter feeling of Florent when he finds himself bound to a wife old, ugly, and of base degree. The bride answers with a disquisition on true nobility:—

  But for ye speken of swich gentillesse

  As is descended out of old richesse,

  And that therfore sholden ye be gentil men,

  Swich arrogance is nat worth a hen.

  Loke who that is most vertuous alwey,

  Privee and apert,[203] and most entendeth

  To do the gentil dedes that he can,

  An tak him for the grettest gentil man.

  Crist wol, we clayme of him our gentilesse,

  Nat of our eldres for hir old richesse.

  For thogh they yeve us al hir heritage,

  For which we clayme to been of heigh parage,[204]

  Yet may they nat biquethe, for no-thing,

  To noon of us hir vertuous living,

  That made hem gentil men y-called be.

  ······

  Heer may ye see wel, how that genterye

  Is nat annexed to possessioun

  ······

  Redeth Senek, and redeth eek Boece,

  Ther shul ye seen express that it no drede is

  That he is gentil that doth gentil dedis.

  John Ball himself could hardly go further.

  Possibly Chaucer’s personal experience of the occasional difficulty of making both ends meet, quickened his sympathy with poor men. It is true that Florent’s wife, in the lines which follow those just quoted, goes on to defend poverty against riches on the ground that it is

  A ful greet bringer out of bisinesse,

  but though she calls cheerful poverty “an honest thing,” she is forced to own that at best it is “hateful good.” The Man of Law, in the prologue to his tale, speaks of it with undisguised bitterness:—

  Herken what is the sentence of the wyse:—

  “Bet is to dyen than have indigence;”

  “Thy selve neighebour wol thee despyse;”

  If thou be poore, farwel thy reverence!

  ······

  If thou be povre, thy brother hateth thee,

  And all thy freendes fleen fro thee, alas!

  O riche marchaunts, ful of wele ben ye,

  O noble, O prudent folk as in this cas!

  And Chaucer’s lines to his empty purse show that he had no wish to share the pleasant security of those who are able, as Florent’s wife says, to sing and play in the presence of thieves.

  In yet a third respect, Chaucer shows himself able to discriminate between the use and abuse of a thing. He can expose and denounce hypocrisy without losing his reverence for true religion; he can point out evils in social life, without siding wholly with nobles or people; he can laugh at the folly which allows itself to be deluded by charlatanism, without losing his respect for science. Two hundred years had yet to pass before Bacon should raise science, once and for all, above the level where it lay confused with magic and the black art. A generation to whom gunpowder was a novelty, and spectacles an almost miraculous aid to sight, found nothing strange in the sight of learned men seeking for the elixir of life, or the philosopher’s stone. In a world which was but just becoming dimly conscious of the mighty forces which lie at man’s command, limitations were unknown, and the boundary line between the possible and impossible was so uncertain as to be negligible. The populace which believed that every sage could summon legions of devils to his assistance, was not likely to criticise his pretensions too closely, and doubtless many a quack saw, and seized, the opportunity for imposing on the easy credulity of a greedy and wonder-loving people.

  Chaucer shows a real interest in such rudimentary science as he was able to pick up in the midst of his other avocations. Clocks of any kind were rare in the fourteenth century, and the practice of telling the time by astronomical observations was a common one. There is nothing peculiar in noting the season or the hour by such statements as that

  the yonge sonne

  Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne.

  or,

  He wiste it was the eightetehe day

  Of April, that is messager to May;

  And sey wel that the shadwe of every tree

  Was as the lengthe the same quantitee

  That was the body erect that caused it.

  And therefore by the shadwe he took his wit

  That Phebus, which that shoon so clere and brighte,

  Degrees was fyve and fourty clombe on highte;

  And for that day, as in that latitude,

  It was ten of the clokke, he gan conclude;

  but Chaucer not only follows this method with an amount of detail and a persistency which show that he enjoyed it for its own sake, he also, as we have seen, writes a treatise on the use of the Astrolabe, for the instruction of his little son. The modesty and sincerity shown in the introduction are worthy of a true scientist. After saying that he purposes to teach little Lewis “a certain nombre of conclusions,” Chaucer continues, “I seye a certein of conclusiouns, for three causes. The furste cause is this: truste wel that alle the conclusiouns that have ben founde, or elles possibly mighten be founde in so noble an instrument as an Astrolabie, ben un-knowe perfitly to any mortal man in this regioun, as I suppose. A nother cause is this; that sothly, in any tretis of the Astrolabie that I have seyn, there ben some conclusiouns that wole nat in alle thinges performen hir bihestes; and some of them ben harde to thy tendre age of ten yeer to conseyve.” He then explains his reason for writing in English instead of Latin, and finally declares: “I nam but a lewd compilatour of the labour of olde Astrologiens, and ha
ve hit translated in myn English only for thy doctrine; and with this swerd shall I sleen envye.” The whole Prologue is well worth reading if only for the light it throws upon Chaucer’s view of education and the power it displays of entering into a child’s mind. Scattered references to astronomy, medicine, chemistry, and even astrology, are to be found throughout the Canterbury Tales. The Franklin shows himself well abreast of scientific discovery when he speaks of

  This wyde world, which that men seye is round.

  Chaucer himself in the Prologue reels off a list of medicaments which might be expected to improve the Somnour’s complexion. Pertelote shows a housewifely knowledge of the properties of herbs.

  One tale, indeed, turns on the pseudo-science of the day. After the second Nun has finished her tale of St. Cecilia the pilgrims ride in silence for awhile, till, close to Boghton under Blee, they are joined by a Canon and his man. The Canon’s Yeoman soon begins to boast of his master’s marvellous powers, how

  That al this ground on which we ben ryding,

  Til that we come to Caunterbury toun,

  He coude al clene turne it up-so-doun,

  And pave it al of silver and of gold.

  Whereupon the Host blesses himself, and asks, not unnaturally, why if the Canon “is of so heigh prudence,” he wears such poor and dirty clothes? The Yeoman answers that

  —whan a man hath over-greet a wit

  Ful oft him happeth to misusen it;

  So dooth my lord ...

  and is proceeding to dilate upon the hard share of the work that falls to himself, when the Canon, who is nervous as to what he may be saying, with some sharpness bids him hold his tongue. The Host, however, has no intention of allowing his authority to be over-ridden:—

  “Ye,” quod our host, “telle on, what so bityde;

  Of al his threting rekke nat a myte!”[205]

  “In feith,” quod he, “namore I do but lyte.”

  On which the Canon sets spurs to his horse and gallops off, leaving his character behind him, and the Yeoman settles down to tell the story of the foolish priest and the charlatan. The false Canon borrows a mark from the priest, promising to return it within three days:—

  And at the thridde day broghte his moneye,

  And to the preest he took his gold agayn,

  Whereof this preest was wonder glad and fayn.

  The Canon protests that under no circumstances would he ever dream of breaking his word:—

  “ther was never man yet yvel apayd

  For gold ne silver that he to me lente ...

  and in token of friendship he offers, if the priest will send for some quicksilver, to show him a marvel.

  “Sir,” quod the preest, “it shal be doon y-wis.”

  He bad his servant fecchen him this thing....

  The Canon then orders a fire to be prepared, and with much parade makes ready a crucible. He carefully shuts the door and pretends to be most anxious lest any one should see what they are doing. Not till the servant has gone out, and he and the priest are alone, does he solemnly cast various powders on to the blazing coals, “To blynde with the preest.” Finally, while his unfortunate victim is busy blowing the fire and making himself generally useful, the false Canon so manipulates things that an ingot of silver appears in the crucible. He repeats the trick three times, and so impresses “this sotted preest” that the poor dupe

  the somnee of fourty pound anon

  Of nobles fette,[206] and took hem everichon

  To this chanoun, for this ilke receit....

  After which, needless to say, the Canon disappears.

  The whole story teems with technical terms, with descensories, and sublimatories, and cucurbites, with bole armoniak and orpiment, and the like. It shows an intimate knowledge of the laboratory work of the day, of vessels and retorts, of chemicals and minerals and their various properties. At the same time, it proves that Chaucer was well aware of the ease with which a very little knowledge combined with a great deal of assurance would enable a quack to impose on the absolute ignorance of the uninitiated. The charlatan who tried to impose upon the author of the Chanouns Yemannes Tale would soon have found out his mistake.

  And yet, with all his shrewdness, Chaucer was not wholly exempt from the superstition of his age. Such vulgar trickery as that just described would never have imposed on him, but he is too truly fourteenth century in his point of view always to distinguish between astronomy and astrology. The thought that a man’s destiny may be written in the stars appealed to this lover of dreams. In the Man of Lawes Tale he breaks away from his original, to speculate on this subject:—

  Paraventure in thilke large book

  Which that men clepe the heven, y-writen was

  With sterres, when that he (i. e. the Soldan) his birthe took

  That he for love shulde han his deeth, allas!

  For in the sterres, clerer than is glas,

  Is writen, god wot, who-so coulde it rede,

  The deeth of every man, withouten drede.

  And again, after describing the grief of Constance at parting from her parents, he vehemently exclaims against the unfortunate conjunction of constellations which wrought such havoc, and asks if there were no “philosophre” to advise the emperor to consult some astrologer as to which was the auspicious time for him to marry.

  Certain aspects of Chaucer’s character stand out with unmistakable clearness in his works. The most careless reader could hardly fail to be struck by his wide sympathies, ready humour, keen observation, and honesty of mind. His idealism, his poetic sensitiveness to the more imaginative side of life, are perhaps less often insisted upon, but are no less real. He is no visionary, afraid to face the facts of life, dwelling in a world of beauty and delight which has no counterpart on earth, but a poet who takes no shame in human nature, whose eyes see so clearly that they are not blinded by evil, who dares to say, with his Creator, that the world is good. In the Book of the Duchesse is a passage which explains much of Chaucer’s so-called worldliness. He is speaking of Blanche’s innocent kindliness, and how he never knew one less

  Harmful, than she was in doing;

  and he adds, in words as bold as Milton’s own,

  I sey nat that she ne had knowing

  What was harm; or elles she

  Had coud[207] no good, so thinketh me.

  He has little respect for a fugitive and cloistered virtue. But if he is, perhaps, over-ready to plunge into the dust and din of ordinary life, he never forgets the wonder and mystery that lie behind the commonplace.

  * * *

  CHAPTER VIII

  CHAUCER’S INFLUENCE

  Few poets have received more immediate and widespread recognition than Chaucer. Fifteenth-century poetry almost wholly dominated by his influence, and one united chorus of praise and admiration rises from the lips of his successors. Shirley, who edited the Knightes Tale (amongst other works of Chaucer’s) in the first half of the fifteenth century, speaks of him as “the laureal and most famous poete that euer was to-fore him as in th’ embelisshing of oure rude modern englisshe tonge....” Lydgate and Occleve, the most noted poets of the period, invariably refer to him as their master. As has already been mentioned, a large number of poems were written in close imitation of his style, and echoes of his verse are to be heard on every side.

  It is usual to divide his followers into two groups: English Chaucerians and Scottish Chaucerians.

  The English Chaucerians, with all their admiration for their master, show but scant understanding of his real greatness. Having little ear for rhythm themselves, they only mangle his verse when they try to imitate it; and while they fully recognise the debt which English versification owes him, it is but rarely that their own lines show any hint of his sweetness and melody. Lydgate is by far the greatest of them, and of him Professor Saintsbury justly remarks: “It is enough to say that, even in rime royal, his lines wander from seven to fourteen syllables, without the possibility of allowing monosyllabic or trisyllabi
c feet in any fashion that shall restore the rhythm; and that his couplets, as in the Story of Thebes itself, seem often to be unaware whether they are themselves octosyllabic or decasyllabic—four-footed, or five-footed.” Instead of the suppleness and endless variety of Chaucer’s verse, we have a treatment of metre which at its best is apt to be dull and stiff, and at its worst is intolerably slipshod. Only by some rare chance does a momentary gleam of beauty flicker across these pages, and a flash of poetic feeling raise the trite and conventional language to such a level as:—

  O thoughtful herte, plonged in dystresse,

  With slomber of slouthe this longe winter’s night—

  Out of the slepe of mortal hevinesse

  Awake anon! and loke upon the light

  Of thilke starr.

  (Lydgate, Life of Our Lady.)

  Nor is the matter much more inspiring than the form that clothes it. The English Chaucerians are worthy men, who spend their time in bewailing the errors of their youth and offering good advice to whoso will accept it. Of Chaucer’s humour and realism they have no conception, nor do they realise the force of his digressions. The allegorical form of his earlier poems appeals to them, and, disregarding the movement and life of the Canterbury Tales, they ramble along the paths marked out in the Hous of Fame without attending to their master’s excellent advice to flee prolixity. Lydgate, it is true, does show some narrative power. His Troy Book is obviously inspired by Troilus and Creseyde, and his Story of Thebes by the Knightes Tale, but he has neither the conciseness of Gower nor the dramatic insight of Chaucer. Among the 114 works attributed to him, it is only natural that some variety should be shown, and occasionally, as in the London Lickpenny, a skit on contemporary life in the City, he shows some trace of humour. The Temple of Glas is a close imitation of the Hous of Fame, but it lacks the shrewd sense, the original comments on life, the subtle humour of its model. Lydgate is most poetical when his religious feeling is touched, as in his Life of Our Lady; and most human when he becomes frankly autobiographical. The stiffness of the Temple of Glas is redeemed by such passages as that in which the author (who entered a monastery at fifteen) describes the lamentations of those