And after siker doeth her voice outring: He, as soon as he perceived a hope from afar, "In chaunged voice, right for his very drede, Was twice: 'Mercy, mercy, O my sweet herte!""2 This ardent love breaks out in impassioned accents, in bursts of happiness. Far from being regarded as a fault, it is the source of all virtue. Troilus becomes braver, more generous, more upright, through it; his speech runs now on love and virtue; he scorns all villainy; he honors those who possess merit, succors those who are in distress; and Cressida, delighted, repeats all day, with exceeding liveliness, this song, which is like the warbling of a nightingale : "Whom should I thanken but you, god of love, Or is unmightie for his shreudnesse But I with all mine herte and all my might, My owne dere herte, and all mine owne knight, And his in me, that it shall ever last."3 But misfortune comes. Troilus and Cressida, vol. v. bk. 3, P. 40. 2 lbid. P 4. 3 Ibid. vol. iv. bk. 2, p. 292. "But as God would, of swough she abraide, "Took her in armes two and kist her oft, And her to glad, he did al his entent, "And asked him why had he it out draw, And gan him in her armes faste fold, At last they are separated, with what vows and what tears! and Troilus, alone in his chamber, murmurs: "Where is mine owne lady lefe and dere? Where is her white brest, where is it, where? 1 Troilus and Cressida, vol. v. bk. 4, p. 97. And yonde so goodly gan she me behold, None has since found more true and tender words. These are the charming "poetic branches" which flourished amid gross ignorance and pompous parades. Human intelligence in the middle age had blossomed on that side where it perceived the light. But mere narrative does not suffice to express his felicity and fancy; the poet must go where "shoures sweet of rain descended soft." "And every plaine was clothed faire With new greene, and maketh small floures To springen here and there in field and in mede, So very good and wholsome be the shoures, Springeth the hearbe, so that every wight In which (grove) were okes great, streight as a line, Was newly sprong, and an eight foot or nine He must forget himself in the vague felicity of the country, and, like Dante, lose himself in ideal light and allegory. The dreams of love, to continue true, must not take too visible a form, nor enter into a too consecutive history; they must float in a misty distance; the soul in which they hover can no longer think of the laws of existence; it inhabits another world; it forgets itself in the ravishing emotion which troubles it, and sees its well-loved visions rise, mingle, come and go, as in summer we see the bees on a hill-slope flutter in a haze of light, and circle round and round the flowers. One morning, a lady sings, at the dawn of day, I entered an oak-grove 1 Troilus and Cressida, vol. v. bk. 5, p. 119 et passim. 2 The Flower and the Leaf, vi. p. 244, l. 6–32. "With branches brode, laden with leves new, "And I, that all this pleasaunt sight sie, Thought sodainly I felt so sweet an aire "And as I stood, and cast aside mine eie, "And as I sat, the birds harkening thus, And sweet accord was in so good musike, Then she sees arrive "a world of ladies . . . in surcotes white of velvet set with emerauds as of great pearles round and orient, and diamonds fine and rubies red." And all had on their head "a rich fret of gold . . . full of stately riche stones set," with "a chapelet of branches fresh and grene some of laurer, some of woodbind, some of agnus castus;" and at the same time came a train of valiant knights in splendid array, with "harneis" of red gold, shining in the sun, and noble steeds, with trappings "of cloth of gold, and furred with ermine." These knights and ladies were the servants of the Leaf, and they sate under a great oak, at the feet of their queen. From the other side came a bevy of ladies as resplendent as the first, but crowned with fresh flowers. These were the servants of the Flower. They alighted, and began to dance in the meadow. But heavy clouds appeared in the sky, and a storm broke out. They wished to shelter themselves under the 1 The Flower and the Leaf, p. 245, l. 33. oak, but there was no more room; they ensconced themselves as they could in the hedges and among the brushwood; the rain came down and spoiled their garlands, stained their robes, and washed away their ornaments; when the sun returned, they went to ask succor from the queen of the Leaf; she, being merciful, consoled them, repaired the injury of the rain, and restored their original beauty. Then all disappears as in a dream. The lady was astonished, when suddenly a fair dame appeared and instructed her. She learned that the servants of the Leaf had lived like brave knights, and those of the Flower had loved idleness and pleasure. She promises to serve the Leaf, and came away. Is this an allegory? There is at least a lack of wit. There is no ingenious enigma; it is dominated by fancy, and the poet thinks only of displaying in quiet verse the fleeting and brilliant train which had amused his mind, and charmed his eyes. Chaucer himself, on the first of May, rises and goes out into the meadows. Love enters his heart with the balmy air; the landscape is transfigured, and the birds begin to speak: "There sate I downe among the faire flours, "They coud that service all by rote, "The proyned hem and made hem right gay, "And the river that I sate upon, It made such a noise as it ron, This confused harmony of vague noises troubles the sense; a se VOL. I. 1 The Cuckow and Nightingale, vi. p. 121, l. 67-85. I 2 |