As the noise of the Phlegethon falling into the abyss reminds Dante of the sound of bees,1 so Chaucer heard

A noise aprochen blyve

That ferde as been done in an hyve

Agen her tyme of out-fleying (Book III, 431);

and the scene where the eagle

Terribil come folgor discendesse 2

is paraphrased or almost translated, according to Morley, in Book II:

This egle, of which I have yow told
That shoon with fethres as of gold,
Which that so hyë gan to soar,

I

gan beholde more and more

To see hir beautee and the wonder;

But never was the dint of thunder,

Ne that thing that men calle foudre
That smoot sometyme a tour to poudre,
And in his swifte coming brende,

That so swythe gan descende,

1 Inf., XVI, 1-3; cf. Vergil, Geor., IV, 260-263. 2 Purg., IX, 19-33.

"Which eagle has flown into Chaucer's poem out of the Ninth Canto of Dante's Purgatory." (Eng. Writers, V, p. 220.)

And this foul, whan hit behelde

That I a-roume was in the felde;
And with his grimme pawes strong
Within his sharpe nayles longe
Me, fleinge at a swappe he hente
And with his sours agayn upwente,
Me carryinge in his clawes starke.

I have quoted the above parallels from the House of Fame, not because I believe that in every case the influence of Dante is proven, but to give an idea of the kind of evidence brought to bear on this question by Ten Brink, Rambeau, and others. Undoubtedly many of the similarities should be attributed to the general body of mediæval conventionalities. The form of a dream was one of the commonplaces of the time, and Chaucer knew well the Somnium Scipionis of Cicero, the De Consolatione Philosophiæ of Boëthius, the Roman de la Rose, the Triumphs of Petrarch, to say nothing of Piers Plowman, Raoul d'Houdan, and Guillaume de Guileville. In regard to metaphors, episodes, and re

flections on life and society, Chaucer was likewise well acquainted with all that the literature of the day could furnish him, and although in some cases he undoubtedly followed Dante, in others we cannot state positively what his sources were.

Chaucer's character was not one to be completely attracted to Dante. He was not a philosopher, or politician, or theologian. In the words of Mr. Ward, “If he had strong political opinions of his own, or strong personal views on questions of ecclesiastical policy or religious doctrine, he did not use his poetry, allegorical or otherwise, as a vehicle of his wishes, hopes, or fears on those heads." He was gay, light-tempered, gentle; loved birds, flowers, cheerful company, the brilliant society of the court, and travel. Dante was sad, grim, terrible in his intense earnestness; a man of one idea, a religious and political reformer. Hence the deepest of all influences which Dante can exert

that upon life and character, and spiritual ideals was small in the case of Chaucer.

On the other hand, Chaucer delighted in stories, he followed his age in the use of allegory, in the fondness for those moralizing reflections (almost commonplaces) which were so characteristic of mediæval poetry. Hence the fruit of his reading of Dante a reading which I conceive to be superficial-consists, as may be seen from the quotations given in the above pages, in the appropriation of those parts of the latter's works which were in harmony with his own disposition and poetical characteristics.

CHAPTER III.

FROM CHAUCER TO MILTON.

WITH the death of Chaucer and the opening of that long period when English literature was at its lowest ebb, practically all trace of Dante's influence dies out for

over a hundred years. The two poets who form an apparent exception to this statement are both of secondary importance, and show 'little if any real knowledge of Dante.

John Gower (1325?-1408) in the Confessio Amantis (VII, 2329 ff.) tells the well-known story of Dante's answer to the flatterer:1

1 This story is given by Petrarch in his Libri Rerum Memorandarum. See Papanti, Dante secondo la Tradizione e i Novellatori, p. 31.