Chaucer [43]
of the Saints of Cupid" assumes the character of a kind of calendar of women canonised by reason of their faithfulness to earthly love. But obviously this is a method of treatment belonging to an age, not to a single poem or poet. Chaucer's artistic judgment in the selection and arrangement of his themes, the wonderful vivacity and true pathos with which he turns upon Tarquin or Jason as if they had personally offended him, and his genuine flow of feeling not only FOR but WITH his unhappy heroines, add a new charm to the old familiar faces. Proof is thus furnished, if any proof were needed, that no story interesting in itself is too old to admit of being told again by a poet; in Chaucer's version Ovid loses something in polish, but nothing in pathos; and the breezy freshness of nature seems to be blowing through tales which became the delight of a nation's, as they have been that of many a man's, youth.
A single passage must suffice to illustrate the style of the "Legend of Good Women"; and it shall be the lament of Ariadne, the concluding passage of the story which is the typical tale of desertion, though not, as it remains in Chaucer, of desertion unconsoled. It will be seen how far the English poet's vivacity is from being extinguished by the pathos of the situation described by him.
Right in the dawening awaketh she, And gropeth in the bed, and found right naught. "Alas," quoth she, "that ever I was wrought! I am betrayed!" and her hair she rent, And to the strande barefoot fast she went, And criede: "Theseus, mine hearte sweet! Where be ye, that I may not with you meet? And mighte thus by beastes been y-slain!" The hollow rockes answered her again. No man she sawe; and yet shone the moon, And high upon a rock she wente soon, And saw his barge sailing in the sea. Cold waxed her heart, and right thus said she: "Meeker than ye I find the beastes wild!" (Hath he not sin that he her thus beguiled?) She cried, "O turn again for ruth and sin, Thy barge hath not all thy meinie in." Her kerchief on a pole sticked she, Askance, that he should it well y-see, And should remember that she was behind, And turn again, and on the strand her find. But all for naught; his way he is y-gone, And down she fell aswoone on a stone; And up she rose, and kissed, in all her care, The steppes of his feet remaining there; And then unto her bed she speaketh so: "Thou bed," quoth she, "that hast received two, Thou shalt answer for two, and not for one; Where is the greater part away y-gone? Alas, what shall I wretched wight become? For though so be no help shall hither come, Home to my country dare I not for dread, I can myselfe in this case not rede." Why should I tell more of her complaining? It is so long it were a heavy thing. In her Epistle Naso telleth all. But shortly to the ende tell I shall. The goddes have her holpen for pity, And in the sign of Taurus men may see The stones of her crown all shining clear. I will no further speak of this matter. But thus these false lovers can beguile Their true love; the devil quite him his while!
Manifestly, then, in this period of his life--if a chronology which is in a great measure cojectural may be accepted--Chancer had been a busy worker, and his pen had covered many a page with the results of his rapid productivity. Perhaps, his "Words unto his own Scrivener," which we may fairly date about this time, were rather too hard on "Adam." Authors ARE often hard on persons who have to read their handiwork professionally; but in the interest of posterity poets may be permitted an execration or two against whosoever changes their words as well as against whosoever moves their bones:--
Adam Scrivener, if ever it thee befall "Boece" or "Troilus" to write anew, Under thy long locks may'st thou have the scall, If thou my writing copy not more true! So oft a day I must thy work renew, It to correct and eke to rub and scrape; And all is through thy negligence and rape.
How far the manuscript of the "Canterbury Tales" had already progressed is uncertain; the "Prologue" to the "Legend
A single passage must suffice to illustrate the style of the "Legend of Good Women"; and it shall be the lament of Ariadne, the concluding passage of the story which is the typical tale of desertion, though not, as it remains in Chaucer, of desertion unconsoled. It will be seen how far the English poet's vivacity is from being extinguished by the pathos of the situation described by him.
Right in the dawening awaketh she, And gropeth in the bed, and found right naught. "Alas," quoth she, "that ever I was wrought! I am betrayed!" and her hair she rent, And to the strande barefoot fast she went, And criede: "Theseus, mine hearte sweet! Where be ye, that I may not with you meet? And mighte thus by beastes been y-slain!" The hollow rockes answered her again. No man she sawe; and yet shone the moon, And high upon a rock she wente soon, And saw his barge sailing in the sea. Cold waxed her heart, and right thus said she: "Meeker than ye I find the beastes wild!" (Hath he not sin that he her thus beguiled?) She cried, "O turn again for ruth and sin, Thy barge hath not all thy meinie in." Her kerchief on a pole sticked she, Askance, that he should it well y-see, And should remember that she was behind, And turn again, and on the strand her find. But all for naught; his way he is y-gone, And down she fell aswoone on a stone; And up she rose, and kissed, in all her care, The steppes of his feet remaining there; And then unto her bed she speaketh so: "Thou bed," quoth she, "that hast received two, Thou shalt answer for two, and not for one; Where is the greater part away y-gone? Alas, what shall I wretched wight become? For though so be no help shall hither come, Home to my country dare I not for dread, I can myselfe in this case not rede." Why should I tell more of her complaining? It is so long it were a heavy thing. In her Epistle Naso telleth all. But shortly to the ende tell I shall. The goddes have her holpen for pity, And in the sign of Taurus men may see The stones of her crown all shining clear. I will no further speak of this matter. But thus these false lovers can beguile Their true love; the devil quite him his while!
Manifestly, then, in this period of his life--if a chronology which is in a great measure cojectural may be accepted--Chancer had been a busy worker, and his pen had covered many a page with the results of his rapid productivity. Perhaps, his "Words unto his own Scrivener," which we may fairly date about this time, were rather too hard on "Adam." Authors ARE often hard on persons who have to read their handiwork professionally; but in the interest of posterity poets may be permitted an execration or two against whosoever changes their words as well as against whosoever moves their bones:--
Adam Scrivener, if ever it thee befall "Boece" or "Troilus" to write anew, Under thy long locks may'st thou have the scall, If thou my writing copy not more true! So oft a day I must thy work renew, It to correct and eke to rub and scrape; And all is through thy negligence and rape.
How far the manuscript of the "Canterbury Tales" had already progressed is uncertain; the "Prologue" to the "Legend