by John Dryden
But first, I pray you of your courtesy,
That ye ne arrete it nought my villany,
Though that I plainly speak in this mattere
To tellen you her words, and eke her chere:
Ne though I speak her words properly,
For this ye knowen as well as I,
Who shall tellen a tale after a man
He mote rehearse as nye as ever he can
Everich word of it been in his charge,
All speke he, never so rudely, ne large.
Or else he mote tellen his tale untrue,
Or feine things, or find words new:
He may not spare, altho he were his brother,
He mote as well say o word as another.
Christ spake himself full broad in holy writ,
And well I wote no villany is it,
Eke Plato saith, who so can him rede,
The words mote been cousin to the dede.
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Yet if a Man should have enquir’d of Boccace or of Chaucer, what need they had of introducing such Characters, where obscene Words were proper in their Mouths, but very undecent to be heard, I know not what Answer they could have made: For that Reason, such Tales shall be left untold by me. You have here a Specimen of Chaucer’s Language, which is so obsolete, that his Sense is scarce to be understood; and you have likewise more than one Example of his unequal Numbers, which were mention’d before. Yet many of his Verses consist of Ten Syllables, and the Words not much behind our present English: As, for Example, these two lines, in the Description of the Carpenter’s Young Wife:
Wincing she was, as is a jolly Colt,
Long as a Mast, and upright as a Bolt.
27
I have almost done with Chaucer, when I have answer’d some Objections relating to my present Work. I find some People are offended that I have turned these Tales into modern English; because they think them unworthy of my Pains, and look on Chaucer as a dry, old-fashion’d Wit, not worth reviving. I have often heard the late Earl of Leicester say, that Mr. Cowley himself was of that opinion; who having read him over at my Lord’s Request, declared he had no Taste of him. I dare not advance my Opinion against the Judgment of so great an Author: But I think it fair, however to leave the Decision to the Publick: Mr. Cowley was too modest to set up for a Dictatour; and being shock’d perhaps with his old Style, never examin’d into the depth of his good Sense. Chaucer, I confess, is a rough Diamond; and must first be polish’d e’er he shines. I deny not likewise, that, living in our early Days of Poetry, he writes not always of a piece; but sometimes mingles trivial Things with those of greater Moment. Sometimes also, though not often, he runs riot, like Ovid, and knows not when he has said enough. But there are more great Wits beside Chaucer, whose Fault is their Excess of Conceits, and those ill sorted. An Author is not to write all he can, but only all he ought. Having observ’d this Redundancy in Chaucer (as it is an easie Matter for a Man of ordinary Parts to find a Fault in one of greater) I have not ty’d myself to a Literal Translation; but have often omitted what I judged unnecessary, or not of Dignity enough to appear in the Company of better Thoughts. I have presum’d farther in some Places; and added somewhat of my own where I thought my Author was deficient, and had not given his Thoughts their true Lustre, for want of Words in the Beginning of our Language. And to this I was the more embolden’d, because (if I may be permitted to say it of my self) I found I had a Soul congenial to his, and that I had been conversant in the same Studies. Another Poet, in another Age, may take the same Liberty with my Writings; if at least they live long enough to deserve Correction. It was also necessary sometimes to restore the Sense of Chaucer, which was lost or mangled in the Errors of the Press. Let this Example suffice at present: in the Story of Palamon and Arcite, where the Temple of Diana is describ’d, you find these Verses in all the Editions of our Author:
There saw I Danè, turned unto a Tree,
I mean not the Goddess Diane,
But Venus daughter, which that hight Danè.
Which after a little Consideration I knew was to be reform’d into this Sense, that Daphne, the Daughter of Peneus, was turn’d into a Tree. I durst not make thus bold with Ovid; lest some future Milbourn should arise, and say, Ivaried from my Author, because I understood him not. 28
But there are other Judges who think I ought not to have translated Chaucer into English, out of a quite contrary Notion: They suppose there is a certain Veneration due to his old Language; and that it is little less than Profanation and Sacrilege to alter it. They are farther of opinion, that somewhat of his good Sense will suffer in this Transfusion, and much of the Beauty of his Thoughts will infallibly be lost, which appear with more Grace in their old Habit. Of this Opinion was that excellent Person whom I mention’d, the late Earl of Leicester, who valu’d Chaucer as much as Mr. Cowley despis’d him. My Lord dissuaded me from this Attempt (for I was thinking of it some Years before his Death) and his Authority prevail’d so far with me as to defer my Undertaking while he liv’d, in deference to him: Yet my Reason was not convinc’d with what he urg’d against it. If the first End of a Writer be to be understood, then as his Language grows obsolete, his Thoughts must grow obscure: multa renascuntur quæ nunc cecidere; cadenlque quæ nunc sent in honore vocabula, si volet usus, quem penes arbitrium est et jus et norma loquendi. When an ancient Word for its Sound and Significancy deserves to be reviv’d, I have that reasonable Veneration for Antiquity, to restore it. All beyond this is Superstition. Words are not like Land-marks, so sacred as never to be remov’d: Customs are chang’d, and even Statutes are silently repeal’d, when the Reason ceases for which they were enacted. As for the other Part of the Argument, that his Thoughts will lose of their original Beauty, by the innovation of Words; in the first place, not only their Beauty, but their Being is lost, where they are no longer understood, which is the present Case. I grant, that something must be lost in all Transfusion, that is, in all Translations; but the Sense will remain, which would otherwise be lost, or at least be maim’d, when it is scarce intelligible; and that but to a few. How few are there who can read Chaucer, so as to understand him perfectly! And if imperfectly, then with less Profit, and no Pleasure. ’Tis not for the Use of some old Saxon Friends that I have taken these Pains with him: Let them neglect my Version, because they have no need of it. I made it for their sakes who understand Sense and Poetry as well as they; when that Poetry and Sense is put into Words which they understand. I will go farther, and dare to add, that what Beauties I lose in some Places, I give to others which had them not originally: But in this I may be partial to my self; let the Reader judge, and I submit to his Decision. Yet I think I have just Occasion to complain of them, who, because they understand Chaucer, would deprive the greater part of their Countrymen of the same Advantage, and hoord him up, as Misers do their Grandam Gold, only to look on it themselves, and hinder others from making use of it. In sum, I seriously protest, that no Man ever had, or can have, a greater Veneration for Chaucer than my self. I have translated some part of his Works, only that I might perpetuate his Memory, or at least refresh it, amongst my Countrymen. If I have alter’d him anywhere for the better, I must at the same time acknowledge, that I could have done nothing without him: Facile est inventis addere, is no great Commendation; and I am not so vain to think I have deserv’d a greater. I will conclude what I have to say of him singly, with this one Remark: A Lady of my Acquaintance, who keeps a kind of Correspondence with some Authors of the Fair Sex in France, has been inform’d by them, that Mademoiselle de Scudery, who is as old as Sibyl, and inspir’d like her by the same God of Poetry, is at this time translating Chaucer into modern French. From which I gather, that he has been formerly translated into the old Provençall (for, how she should come to understand Old English, I know not). But the Matter of Fact being true, it makes me think, that there is something in it like Fatality; that, after certain Periods of Time, the Fame and Memory of Great Wits should be renew’d, as Chaucer is both
in France and England. If this be wholly Chance, ’tis extraordinary; and I dare not call it more, for fear of being tax’d with Superstition. 29
Boccace comes last to be consider’d, who, living in the same Age with Chaucer, had the same Genius, and follow’d the same Studies. Both writ Novels, and each of them cultivated his Mother-Tongue. But the greatest Resemblance of our two Modern Authors being in their familiar Style, and pleasing way of relating Comical Adventures, I may pass it over, because I have translated nothing from Boccace of that Nature. In the serious Part of Poetry, the Advantage is wholly on Chaucer’s Side; for though the Englishman has borrow’d many Tales from the Italian, yet it appears, that those of Boccace were not generally of his own making, but taken from Authors of former Ages, and by him only modell’d: So that what there was of invention in either of them, may be judg’d equal. But Chaucer has refin’d on Boccace, and has mended the Stories which he has borrow’d, in his way of telling; though Prose allows more Liberty of Thought, and the Expression is more easie, when unconfin’d by Numbers. Our Countryman carries Weight, and yet wins the Race at disadvantage. I desire not the Reader should take my Word; and therefore I will set two of their Discourses on the same Subject, in the same Light, for every Man to judge betwixt them. I translated Chaucer first; and amongst the rest, pitch’d on The Wife of Bath’s Tale; not daring, as I have said, to adventure on her Prologue; because it is too licentious: There Chaucer introduces an old Woman of mean Parentage, whom a youthful Knight of Noble Blood was forc’d to marry, and consequently loath’d her: The Crone being in bed with him on the wedding Night, and finding his Aversion, endeavours to win his Affection by Reason, and speaks a good Word for her self, (as who could blame her?) in hope to mollifie the sullen Bridegroom. She takes her Topiques from the Benefits of Poverty, the Advantages of old Age and Ugliness, the Vanity of Youth, and the silly Pride of Ancestry and Titles without inherent Vertue, which is the true Nobility. When I had clos’d Chaucer, I return’d to Ovid, and translated some more of his Fables; and by this time had so far forgotten The Wife of Bath’s Tale, that, when I took up Boccace, unawares I fell on the same Argument of preferring Vertue to Nobility of Blood, and Titles, in the Story of Sigismonda; which I had certainly avoided for the Resemblance of the two Discourses, if my Memory had not fail’d me. Let the Reader weigh them both; and if he thinks me partial to Chaucer, ’tis in him to right Boccace. 30
I prefer in our Countryman, far above all his other Stories, the Noble Poem of Palamon and Arcite, which is of the Epique kind, and perhaps not much inferiour to the Ilias or the Æneis: The Story is more pleasing than either of them, the Manners as perfect, the Diction as poetical, the Learning as deep and various; and the Disposition full as artful: only it includes a greater length of time; as taking up seven years at least; but Aristotle has left undecided the Duration of the Action; which yet is easily reduc’d into the Compass of a year, by a Narration of what preceded the Return of Palamon to Athens. I had thought for the Honour of our Nation, and more particularly for his, whose Laurel, tho’ unworthy, I have worn after him, that this Story was of English Growth and Chaucer’s own: But I was undeceiv’d by Boccace; for casually looking on the End of his seventh Giornata, I found Dioneo (under which name he shadows himself) and Fiametta (who represents his Mistress, the natural Daughter of Robert, King of Naples) of whom these Words are spoken. Dioneo e Fiametta gran pezza cantarono insieme d’ Arcita e di Pala mone: by which it appears that this Story was written before the time of Boccace; but the Name of its Author being wholly lost, Chaucer is now become an Original; and I question not but the Poem has receiv’d many Beauties by passing through his Noble Hands. Besides this Tale, there is another of his own Invention, after the manner of the Provencalls, called The Flower and the Leaf; with which I was so particularly pleas’d, both for the Invention and the Moral; that I cannot hinder my self from recommending it to the Reader. 31
As a Corollary to this Preface, in which I have done Justice to others, I owe somewhat to my self: not that I think it worth my time to enter the Lists with one M —— — or one B —— — , but barely to take notice, that such Men there are who have written scurrilously against me, without any Provocation. M —— — , who is in Orders, pretends amongst the rest this Quarrel to me, that I have fallen foul on Priesthood; If I have, I am only to ask Pardon of good Priests, and am afraid his part of the Reparation will come to little. Let him be satisfied that he shall not be able to force himself upon me for an Adversary. I contemn him too much to enter into Competition with him. His own Translations of Virgil have answer’d his Criticisms on mine. If (as they say, he has declar’d in print) he prefers the Version of Ogilby to mine, the World has made him the same Compliment: For ’tis agreed on all hands, that he writes even below Ogilby: That, you will say, is not easily to be done; but what cannot M —— — bring about? I am satisfy’d, however, that while he and I live together, I shall not be thought the worst Poet of the Age. It looks as if I had desir’d him underhand to write so ill against me: But upon my honest word I have not brib’d him to do me this Service, and am wholly guiltless of his Pamphlet. ’Tis true I should be glad if I could persuade him to continue his good Offices, and write such another Critique on any thing of mine: For I find by Experience he has a great Stroke with the Reader, when he condemns any of my Poems, to make the World have a better Opinion of them. He has taken some Pains with my Poetry; but no body will be persuaded to take the same with his. If I had taken to the Church (as he affirms, but which was never in my Thoughts) I should have had more Sense, if not more Grace, than to have turn’d myself out of my Benefice by writing Libels on my Parishioners. But his Account of my Manners and my Principles, are of a Piece with his Cavils and his Poetry: And so I have done with him for ever. 32
As for the City Bard or Knight Physician, I hear his Quarrel to me is, that I was the Author of Absalom and Achitophel, which he thinks is a little hard on his Fanatique Patrons in London. 33
But I will deal the more civilly with his two Poems, because nothing ill is to be spoken of the Dead: And therefore peace be to the Manes of his Arthurs. I will only say, that it was not for this Noble Knight that I drew the plan of an Epick Poem on King Arthur, in my Preface to the Translation of Juvenal. The Guardian Angels of Kingdoms were Machines too ponderous for him to manage; and therefore he rejected them, as Dares did the Whirl-bats of Eryx, when they were thrown before him by Entellus: Yet from that Preface he plainly took his Hint: For he began immediately upon the Story; though he had the Baseness not to acknowledge his Benefactor, but in stead of it, to traduce me in a Libel. 34
I shall say the less of Mr. Collier, because in many Things he has tax’d me justly; and I have pleaded Guilty to all Thoughts and Expressions of mine, which can be truly argu’d of Obscenity, Profaneness, or Immorality; and retract them. If he be my Enemy, let him triumph; if he be my Friend, as I have given him no Personal Occasion to be otherwise, he will be glad of my Repentance. It becomes me not to draw my Pen in the Defence of a bad Cause, when I have so often drawn it for a good one. Yet it were not difficult to prove, that in many Places he has perverted my Meaning by his Glosses; and interpreted my Words into Blasphemy and Baudry, of which they were not guilty. Besides that, he is too much given to Horse-play in his Raillery; and comes to Battel, like a Dictatour from the Plough. I will not say, The zeal of God’s House has eaten him up; but I am sure it has devour’d some Part of his Good Manners and Civility. It might also be doubted, whether it were altogether Zeal, which prompted him to this rough manner of Proceeding; perhaps it became not one of his Function to rake into the Rubbish of Ancient and Modern Plays; a Divine might have employ’d his Pains to better purpose than in the Nastiness of Plautus and Aristophanes; whose Examples, as they excuse not me, so it might be possibly suppos’d, that he read them not without some Pleasure. They who have written Commentaries on those Poets, or on Horace, Juvenal, and Martial, have explain’d some Vices, which without their Interpretation had been unknown t
o Modern Times. Neither has judg’d impartially betwixt the former Age and us. 35
There is more Baudry in one Play of Fletcher’s, called The Custom of the Country, than in all ours together. Yet this has been often acted on the Stage in my remembrance. Are the Times so much more reform’d now, than they were Five and twenty Years ago? If they are, I congratulate the Amendment of our Morals. But I am not to prejudice the Cause of my Fellow-Poets, though I abandon my own Defence: They have some of them answer’d for themselves, and neither they nor I can think Mr. Collier so formidable an Enemy, that we should shun him. He has lost Ground at the latter end of the Day, by pursuing his Point too far, like the Prince of Conde at the Battel of Senneph: From immoral Plays, to no Plays; ab abusu ad usum, non valet consequentia. But being a Party, I am not to erect myself into a Judge. As for the rest of those who have written against me, they are such Scoundrels, that they deserve not the least Notice to be taken of them. B —— — and M —— — are only distinguish’d from the Crowd by being remember’d to their Infamy.
Demelri, Teque Tigelli
Discipularum inter jubeo plorare cathedras.
To her Grace the Dutchess of Ormond
MADAM
The Bard who first adorn’d our Native Tongue
Tun’d to his British Lyre this ancient Song:
Which Homer might without a Blush reherse,
And leaves a doubtful Palm in Virgil’s Verse:
He match’d their Beauties, where they most excell; 5
Of Love sung better, and of Arms as well.
Vouchsafe, Illustrious Ormond, to behold
What Pow’r the Charms of Beauty had of old;