"A, yeve that covent half a quarter otes; And yeve that covent four and twenty grotes ; Is more strong, than whan it is yscatered . Then he begins again his sermon in a louder tone, shouting at each word, quoting examples from Seneca and the classics, a terrible fluency, a trick of his trade, which, diligently applied, must draw money from the patient. He asks for gold, "to make our cloistre," ... And yet, God wot, uneth the fundament N' is not a tile yet within our wones; By God, we owen fourty pound for stones. Now help Thomas, for him that harwed helle, And if ye lacke oure predication, Than goth this world all to destruction. For who so fro this world wold us bereve. So God me save, Thomas, by your leve, He wold bereve out of this world the sonne.'" 2 In the end, Thomas in a rage promises him a gift, tells him to put his hand in the bed and take it, and sends him away duped, mocked, and covered with filth. We have descended now to popular farce: when amusement must be had at any price, it is sought, as here, in broad jokes, even in filthiness. We can see how these two coarse and vigorous plants have blossomed in 1 Canterbury Tales, ii. The Sompnoures Tale, p. 226, l. 7545–7558. Ibid. p. 230, l. 7685-7695. the dung of the middle age. Planted by the sly fellows of Champagne and Ile-de-France, watered by the trouvères, they were destined fully to expand, speckled and ruddy, in the large hands of Rabelais. Meanwhile Chaucer plucks his nosegay from it. Deceived husbands, mishaps in inns, accidents in bed, cuffs, kicks, and robberies, these suffice to raise a loud laugh. Side by side with noble pictures of chivalry, he gives us a train of Flemish grotesque figures, carpenters, joiners, friars, summoners; blows abound, fists descend on fleshy backs; many nudities are shown; they swindle one another out. of their corn, their wives; they pitch one another out of a window; they brawl and quarrel. A bruise, a piece of open filthiness, passes in such society for a sign of wit. The summoner, being rallied by the friar, gives him tit for tat: 666 This Frere bosteth that he knoweth helle, And as an angel lad him up and doun, Wher is the nest of Freres in this place. And thurghout hell they swarmed al aboute, " 1 Such were the coarse buffooneries of the popular imagination. V. It is high time to return to Chaucer himself. Beyond the two notable characteristics which settle his place in his age and school of poetry, there are others which take him out of his age and school. If he was romantic and gay like the rest, it was after a fashion of his own. He observes characters, notes their differences, studies the coherence of their parts, endeavours to describe living individualities, a thing unheard of in his time, but which the renovators in the sixteenth century, and first among them Shakspeare, will do afterwards. Is it already the English positive common sense and aptitude for seeing the inside of things which begins to appear ? A new spirit, almost manly, pierces through, in literature as in painting, with Chaucer as with Van Eyck, with both at the same time; no longer the childish imitation of chivalrous life 2 or monastic devotion, but the grave spirit of inquiry and craving for deep truths, whereby art becomes complete. For the first time, in Chaucer as in Van Eyck, the character described stands out in relief; its parts are connected; it is no longer an unsubstantial phantom. You may guess its past and foretell its future action. Its externals manifest the personal and incommunicable details of its inner nature, and the 1 Canterbury Tales, ii. The Sompnoures Prologue, p. 217, l. 72547279. 2 See in The Canterbury Tales the Rhyme of Sir Topas, a parody on the chivalric histories. Each character there seems a precursor of Cervantes. Το infinite complexity of its economy and motion. "And though that he was worthy he was wise, He never yet no vilanie ne sayde In alle his lif, unto no manere wight, He was a veray parfit gentil knight." Prologue to Canterbury Tales, ii. p. 3, l. 68–72. "With him, ther was his sone, a yonge Squier, With lockes crull as they were laide in presse, Embrouded was he, as it were a mede He coude songes make, and wel endite, Juste and eke dance, and wel pourtraie and write. He slep no more than doth the nightingale. And carf befor his fader at the table." 1 There is also a poor and learned clerk of Oxford; and finer still, and more worthy of a modern hand, the Prioress," Madame Eglantine," who as a nun, a maiden, a great lady, is ceremonious, and shows signs of exquisite taste. Would a better be found now-a-days in a German chapter, amid the most modest and lively bevy of sentimental and literary canonesses ? "Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse, That of hire smiling was ful simple and coy 1 Prologue to Canterbury Tales, ii. p. 3, l. 79–100. |