CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN

KEY TO THE COVER.

The 1st Arch contains a glimpse of Palamon and Arcite fighting desperately, yet wounded oftener and sharplier by Love’s arrows than by each deadly stroke. The ruthless boy aloft showers gaily upon them his poisoned shafts.

The 2nd contains Aurelius and Dorigen—that loving wife left on Breton shores, who was so nearly caught in the trap she set for herself. Aurelius offers her his heart aflame. It is true his attitude is humble, but she is utterly in his power—she cannot get away whilst he is kneeling on her dress.

The 3rd represents the Summoner led away, but this time neither to profit nor to pleasure, by his horned companion. The wicked spirit holds the reins of both horses in his hand, and the Summoner already quakes in anticipation of what is in store for him.

The 4th contains the three rioters. The emblem of that Death they sought so wantonly hangs over their heads; the reward of sin is not far off.

The 5th Arch is too much concealed by the lock to do more than suggest one of Griselda’s babes.

The Key, from which the book takes its name, we trust may unlock the too little known treasures of the first of English poets. The Daisy, symbol for all time both of Chaucer and of children, and thus curiously fitted to be the connecting link between them, may point the way to lessons fairer than flowers in stories as simple as daisies.

CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN

Demy 8vo, cloth limp, 2s. 6d.

CHAUCER FOR SCHOOLS.

By Mrs. HAWEIS, Author of ‘CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN.’

This is a copious and judicious selection from Chaucer’s Tales, with full notes on the history, manners, customs, and language of the fourteenth century, with marginal glossary and a literal poetical version in modern English in parallel columns with the original poetry. Six of the Canterbury Tales are thus presented, in sections of from 10 to 200 lines, mingled with prose narrative. ‘Chaucer for Schools’ is issued to meet a widely-expressed want, and is especially adapted for class instruction. It may be profitably studied in connection with the maps and illustrations of ‘Chaucer for Children.’

‘We hail with pleasure the appearance of Mrs. Haweis’s “Chaucer for Schools.” Her account of “Chaucer the Tale-teller” is certainly the pleasantest, chattiest, and at the same time one of the soundest descriptions of the old master, his life and works and general surroundings, that have ever been written. The chapter cannot be too highly praised.’—Academy.

‘The authoress is in such felicitous harmony with her task, that the young student, who in this way first makes acquaintance with Chaucer, may well through life ever after associate Mrs. Haweis with the rare productions of the father of English poetry.’—School-Board Chronicle.

‘Unmistakably presents the best means yet provided of introducing young pupils to the study of our first great poet.’—Scotsman.

‘In her “Chaucer for Schools” Mrs. Haweis has prepared a great assistance for boys and girls who have to make the acquaintance of the poet. Even grown people, who like their reading made easy for them, will find the book a pleasant companion.’—Guardian.

‘The subject has been dealt with in such a full and comprehensive way, that the book must be commended to everyone whose study of early English poetry has been neglected.’—Daily Chronicle.

‘We venture to think that this happy idea will attract to the study of Chaucer not a few children of a larger growth, who have found Chaucer to be very hard reading, even with the help of a glossary and copious notes. Mrs. Haweis’s book displays throughout most excellent and patient workmanship, and it cannot fail to induce many to make themselves more fully acquainted with the writings of the father of English literature.’—Echo.

‘The book is a mine of poetic beauty and most scholarly explanation, which deserves a place on the shelves of every school library.’—School Newspaper.

‘For those who have yet to make the acquaintance of the sweet and quaint singer, there could not well be a better book than this. Mrs. Haweis is, of course, an enthusiast, and her enthusiasm is contagious. Her volume ought to be included in all lists of school books—at least, in schools where boys and girls are supposed to be laying the foundations of a liberal education.’—Literary World.

‘Mrs. Haweis has, by her “Chaucer for Schools,” rendered invaluable assistance to those who are anxious to promote the study of English literature in our higher and middle-grade schools.... Although this edition of Chaucer has been expressly prepared for school use, it will be of great service to many adult readers.’—School Guardian.

CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY, W.

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KNIGHT. SQUIRE. BOY. WIFE OF BATH. PRIORESS. CHAUCER (A CLERK). FRIAR. MINE HOST.
MONK. SUMMONER. PARDONER. SECOND NUN. FRANKLIN.

MINE HOST ASSEMBLING THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS.

CHAUCER FOR CHILDREN

A Golden Key

By MRS. H. R. HAWEIS

ILLUSTRATED WITH EIGHT COLOURED PICTURES
AND NUMEROUS WOODCUTS BY THE AUTHOR

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‘Doth now your devoir, yonge knightes proude!’

A New Edition, Revised.

London
CHATTO & WINDUS, PICCADILLY
1882

CHIEFLY FOR THE USE AND PLEASURE OF
MY LITTLE LIONEL,
FOR WHOM I FELT THE NEED OF SOME BOOK OF THE KIND,
I HAVE ARRANGED AND ILLUSTRATED THIS
CHAUCER STORY-BOOK.

CONTENTS

List of Illustrations.

FOREWORDS TO THE SECOND EDITION.

In revising Chaucer for Children for a New Edition, I have fully availed myself of the help and counsel of my numerous reviewers and correspondents, without weighting the book, which is really designed for children, with a number of new facts, and theories springing from the new facts, such as I have incorporated in my Book for older readers, Chaucer for Schools.

Curious discoveries are still being made, and will continue to be, thanks to the labours of men like Mr. F. J. Furnivall, and many other able and industrious scholars, encouraged by the steadily increasing public interest in Chaucer.

I must express my sincere thanks and gratification for the reception this book has met with from the press generally, and from many eminent critics in particular; and last, not least, from those to whom I devoted my pleasant toil, the children of England.

M. E. HAWEIS.

FOREWORDS.

To the Mother.

A Chaucer for Children may seem to some an impossible story-book, but it is one which I have been encouraged to put together by noticing how quickly my own little boy learned and understood fragments of early English poetry. I believe that if they had the chance, many other children would do the same.

I think that much of the construction and pronunciation of old English which seems stiff and obscure to grown up people, appears easy to children, whose crude language is in many ways its counterpart.

The narrative in early English poetry is almost always very simply and clearly expressed, with the same kind of repetition of facts and names which, as every mother knows, is what children most require in story-telling. The emphasis[1] which the final E gives to many words is another thing which helps to impress the sentences on the memory, the sense being often shorter than the sound.

It seems but natural that every English child should know something of one who left so deep an impression on his age, and on the English tongue, that he has been called by Occleve “the finder of our fair language.” For in his day there was actually no national language, no national literature, English consisting of so many dialects, each having its own literature intelligible to comparatively few; and the Court and educated classes still adhering greatly to Norman-French for both speaking and writing. Chaucer, who wrote for the people, chose the best form of English, which was that spoken at Court, at a time when English was regaining supremacy over French; and the form he adopted laid the foundation of our present National Tongue.

Chaucer is, moreover, a thoroughly religious poet, all his merriest stories having a fair moral; even those which are too coarse for modern taste are rather naïve than injurious; and his pages breathe a genuine faith in God, and a passionate sense of the beauty and harmony of the divine work. The selections I have made are some of the most beautiful portions of Chaucer’s most beautiful tales.

I believe that some knowledge of, or at least interest in, the domestic life and manners of the 13th, 14th, and 15th centuries, would materially help young children in their reading of English history. The political life would often be interpreted by the domestic life, and much of that time which to a child’s mind forms the dryest portion of history, because so unknown, would then stand out as it really was, glorious and fascinating in its vigour and vivacity, its enthusiasm, and love of beauty and bravery. There is no clearer or safer exponent of the life of the 14th century, as far as he describes it, than Geoffrey Chaucer.

As to the difficulties of understanding Chaucer, they have been greatly overstated. An occasional reference to a glossary is all that is requisite; and, with a little attention to a very simple general rule, anybody with moderate intelligence and an ear for musical rhythm can enjoy the lines.

In the first place, it must be borne in mind that the E at the end of the old English words was usually a syllable, and must be sounded, as Aprillē, swootĕ, &c.

Note, then, that Chaucer is always rhythmical. Hardly ever is his rhythm a shade wrong, and therefore, roughly speaking, if you pronounce the words so as to preserve the rhythm all will be well. When the final e must be sounded in order to make the rhythm right, sound it, but where it is not needed leave it mute.[2]

Thus:—in the opening lines—

Whan that | April | le with | his schowr | es swootewhen, showers, sweet
The drought | of Marche | hath per | cèd to | the rootepierced, root
And bath | ud eve | ry veyne | in swich | licoursuch, liquor
Of whiche | vertue | engen | drèd is | the flour. (Prologue.)flower

You see that in those words which I have put in italics the final E must be sounded slightly, for the rhythm’s sake.

And sma | le fow | les ma | ken me | lodiesmall birds make
That sle | pen al | the night | with o | pen yhe. (Prologue.)sleep, all

Again, to quote at random—

The bu | sy lark | e mess | ager | of day,lark, messenger
Salu | eth in | hire song | the mor | we gray. (Knight’s Tale.)saluteth, her, morning
Ful long | e wern | his leg | gus, and | ful lene;legs, lean
Al like | a staff | ther was | no calf | y-sene. (Prologue—‘Reve.’)

or in Chaucer’s exquisite greeting of the daisy—

Knelyng | alwey | til it | unclo | sèd wasalways
Upon | the sma | le, sof | te, swo | te gras. (Legend of Good Women.)small, soft, sweet

How much of the beauty and natural swing of Chaucer’s poetry is lost by translation into modern English, is but too clear when that beauty is once perceived; but I thought some modernization of the old lines would help the child to catch the sense of the original more readily: for my own rendering, I can only make the apology that when I commenced my work I did not know it would be impossible to procure suitable modernized versions by eminent poets. Finding that unattainable, I merely endeavoured to render the old version in modern English as closely as was compatible with sense, and the simplicity needful for a child’s mind; and I do not in any degree pretend to have rendered it in poetry.

The beauty of such passages as the death of Arcite is too delicate and evanescent to bear rough handling. But I may here quote some of the lines as an example of the importance of the final e in emphasizing certain words with an almost solemn music.

And with | that word | his spech | e fail | e gan;speech, fail
For fro | his feete | up to | his brest | was come
The cold | of deth | that hadde | him o | ver nome;overtaken
And yet | moreo | ver in | his ar | mes twoonow, arms
The vi | tal strength | is lost, | and al | agoo.gone
Only | the in | tellect, | withou | ten more,without
That dwel | led in | his her | te sik | and sore,heart, sick
Gan fayl | e when | the her | te felt | e deth. (Knight’s Tale.)began to fail, felt death

There is hardly anything finer than Chaucer’s version of the story of these passionate young men, up to the touching close of Arcite’s accident and the beautiful patience of death. In life nothing would have reconciled the almost animal fury of the rivals, but at the last such a resignation comes to Arcite that he gives up Emelye to Palamon with a sublime effort of self-sacrifice. Throughout the whole of the Knight’s Tale sounds as of rich organ music seem to peal from the page; throughout the Clerk’s Tale one seems to hear strains of infinite sadness echoing the strange outrages imposed on patient Grizel. But without attention to the rhythm half the grace and music is lost, and therefore it is all-important that the child be properly taught to preserve it.

I have adhered generally to Morris’s text (1866), being both good and popular,[3] only checking it by his Clarendon Press edition, and by Tyrwhitt, Skeat, Bell, &c., when I conceive force is gained, and I have added a running glossary of such words as are not immediately clear, on a level with the line, to disperse any lingering difficulty.

In the pictures I have been careful to preserve the right costumes, colours, and surroundings, for which I have resorted to the MSS. of the time, knowing that a child’s mind, unaided by the eye, fails to realize half of what comes through the ear. Children may be encouraged to verify these costumes in the figures upon many tombs and stalls, &c., in old churches, and in old pictures.

In conclusion I must offer my sincere and hearty thanks to many friends for their advice, assistance, and encouragement during my work; amongst them, Mr. A. J. Ellis, Mr. F. J. Furnivall, and Mr. Calderon.

Whatever may be the shortcomings of the book, I cannot but hope that many little ones, while listening to Chaucer’s Tales, will soon begin to be interested in the picturesque life of the middle ages, and may thus be led to study and appreciate ‘The English Homer’[4] by the pages I have written for my own little boy.

ACCENT OF CHAUCER.

The mother should read to the child a fragment of Chaucer with the correct pronunciation of his day, of which we give an example below, inadequate, of course, but sufficient for the present purpose. The whole subject is fully investigated in the three first parts of the treatise on ‘Early English Pronunciation, with special reference to Shakespere and Chaucer,’ by Alexander J. Ellis, F.R.S.

The a is, as in the above languages, pronounced as in âne, appeler, &c. E commonly, as in écarté, &c. The final e was probably indistinct, as in German now, habe, werde, &c.—not unlike the a in China: it was lost before a vowel. The final e is still sounded by the French in singing. In old French verse, one finds it as indispensable to the rhythm as in Chaucer,—and as graceful,—hence probably the modern retention of the letter as a syllable in vocal music.

Ou is sounded as the French ou.

I generally as on the Continent, ee: never as we sound it at present.

Ch as in Scotch and German.

I quote the opening lines of the Prologue as the nearest to hand.

Whan that Aprille with his schowres swoote
The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote,
And bathud every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertue engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breethe
Enspirud hath in every holte and heethe
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours i-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodie,
That slepen al the night with open yhe,
So priketh hem nature in here corages—&c.
Whan that Aprilla with his shōōrĕs sohta
The drŏŏkht of March hath pairsed to the rohta,
And bahthed ev’ry vīn in sweech licōōr,
Of which vairtú enjendrèd is the flōōr;
Whan Zephirŏŏs aik with his swaita braitha
Enspeered hath in ev’ry holt and haitha
The tendra croppes, and the yŏŏnga sŏŏnna
Hath in the Ram his halfa cōōrs i-rŏŏnna,
And smahla fōōles mahken melodee-a,
That slaipen al the nikht with ohpen ee-a,
So pricketh hem nahtúr in heer coràhges, &c.

It will thus be seen that many of Chaucer’s lines end with a dissyllable, instead of a single syllable. Sote, rote, brethe, hethe, &c. (having the final e), are words of two syllables; corages is a word of three, àges rhyming with pilgrimages in the next line. It will also be apparent that some lines are lengthened with a syllable too much for strict metre—a licence allowed by the best poets,—which, avoiding as it does any possible approach to a doggrel sound, has a lifting, billowy rhythm, and, in fact, takes the place of a ‘turn’ in music. A few instances will suffice:—

‘And though that I no wepne have in this place.’
‘Have here my troth, tomorwe I nyl not fayle,
Withouten wityng of eny other wight.’
‘As any raven fether it schon for-blak.’
‘A man mot ben a fool other yong or olde.’

I think that any one reading these lines twice over as I have roughly indicated, will find the accent one not difficult to practise; and the perfect rhythm and ring of the lines facilitates matters, as the ear can frequently guide the pronunciation. The lines can scarcely be read too slowly or majestically.

I must not here be understood to imply that difficulties in reading and accentuating Chaucer are chimerical, but only that it is possible to understand and enjoy him without as much difficulty as is commonly supposed. In perusing the whole of Chaucer, there must needs be exceptional readings and accentuation, which in detail only a student of the subject would comprehend or care for.

The rough rule suggested in the preface is a good one, as far as the rhythm goes: as regards the sound, I have given a rough example.

I will quote a fragment again from the Prologue as a second instance:—

Ther was also a nonne, a prioresse,
That of hire smylyng was ful symple and coy;
Hire gretteste ooth nas but by Seynte Loy;
And sche was cleped Madame Eglentyne.
Ful wel sche sang the servise devyne,
Entuned in hire nose ful semyly;
And Frensch sche spak ful faire and fetysly,
Aftur the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,
For Frensch of Parys was to hire unknowe.
Ther was ahlsoa a nŏŏn, a preeoressa,
That of her smeeling was fŏŏl sim-pland cooy;
Heer graitest ohth nas bŏŏt bee Sī-ent Looy,
And shay was cleppèd Màdam Eglanteena.
Fŏŏl well shay sang the servicĕ divinä,
Entúned in heer nohsa fŏŏl saimaly;
And French shai spahk fŏŏl fēr and faitisly,
Ahfter the scohl of Strahtford ahtta Bow-a,
For French of Pahrees was toh her ŏŏn-know-a.

Observe simpland for simple and: simple being pronounced like a word of one syllable. With the common English pronunciation the lines would not scan. ‘Vernicle,’ ‘Christofre,’ ‘wimple,’ ‘chilindre,’ ‘companable,’ &c., are further instances of this mute e, and may be read as French words.

CHAUCER THE TALE-TELLER.

I.

Do you like hearing stories? I am going to tell you of some one who lived a very long time ago, and who was a very wise and good man, and who told more wonderful stories than I shall be able to tell you in this little book. But you shall hear some of them, if you will try and understand them, though they are written in a sort of English different from what you are accustomed to speak.

But, in order that you really may understand the stories, I must first tell you something about the man who made them; and also why his language was not the same as yours, although it was English. His name was Chaucer—Geoffrey Chaucer. You must remember his name, for he was so great a man that he has been called the ‘Father of English Poetry’—that is, the beginner or inventor of all the poetry that belongs to our England; and when you are grown up, you will often hear of Chaucer and his works.

II.

Chaucer lived in England 500 years ago—a longer time than such a little boy as you can even think of. It is now the year 1876, you know. Well, Chaucer was born about 1340, in the reign of King Edward III. We should quite have forgotten all Chaucer’s stories in such a great space of time if he had not written them down in a book. But, happily, he did write them down; and so we can read them just as if he had only told them yesterday.

If you could suddenly spring back into the time when Chaucer lived, what a funny world you would find! Everybody was dressed differently then from what people are now, and lived in quite a different way; and you might think they were very uncomfortable, but they were very happy, because they were accustomed to it all.

People had no carpets in those days in their rooms. Very few people were rich enough to have glass windows. There was no paper on the walls, and very seldom any pictures; and as for spring sofas and arm-chairs, they were unknown. The seats were only benches placed against the wall: sometimes a chair was brought on grand occasions to do honour to a visitor; but it was a rare luxury.

The rooms of most people in those days had blank walls of stone or brick and plaster, painted white or coloured, and here and there—behind the place of honour, perhaps—hung a sort of curtain, like a large picture, made of needlework, called tapestry. You may have seen tapestry hanging in rooms, with men and women and animals worked upon it. That was almost the only covering for walls in Chaucer’s time. Now we have a great many other ornaments on them, besides tapestry.

The rooms Chaucer lived in were probably like every one’s else. They had bare walls, with a piece of tapestry hung here and there on them—a bare floor, strewn with rushes, which must have looked more like a stable than a sitting-room. But the rushes were better than nothing. They kept the feet warm, as our carpets do, though they were very untidy, and not always very clean.

When Chaucer wanted his dinner or breakfast, he did not go to a big table like that you are used to: the table came to him. A couple of trestles or stands were brought to him, and a board laid across them, and over the board a cloth, and on the cloth were placed all the curious dishes they ate then. There was no such thing as coffee or tea. People had meat, and beer, and wine for breakfast, and dinner, and supper, all alike. They helped themselves from the common dish, and ate with their fingers, as dinner-knives and forks were not invented, and it was thought a sign of special good breeding to have clean hands and nails. Plates there were none. But large flat cakes of bread were used instead; and when the meat was eaten off them, they were given to the poor—for, being full of the gravy that had soaked into them, they were too valuable to throw away. When they had finished eating, the servants came and lifted up the board, and carried it off.

III.

And now for Chaucer himself! How funny you would think he looked, if you could see him sitting in his house! He wore a hood, of a dark colour, with a long tail to it, which in-doors hung down his back, and out of doors was twisted round his head to keep the hood on firm. This tail was called a liripipe.

He did not wear a coat and trousers like your father’s, but a sort of gown, called a tunic, or dalmatic, which in one picture of him is grey and loose, with large sleeves, and bright red stockings and black boots; but on great occasions he wore a close-fitting tunic, with a splendid belt and buckle, a dagger, and jewelled garters, and, perhaps, a gold circlet round his hair. How much prettier to wear such bright colours instead of black! men and women dressed in green, and red, and yellow then; and when they walked in the streets, they looked as people look in pictures.

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DINNER IN THE OLDEN TIME.

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER.

You may see how good and clever Chaucer was by his face; such a wise, thoughtful, pleasant face! He looks very kind, I think, as if he would never say anything harsh or bitter; but sometimes he made fun of people in a merry way. Words of his own, late in life, show that he was rather fat, his face small and fair. In manner he seemed ‘elvish,’ or shy, with a habit of staring on the ground, ‘as if he would find a hair.’

All day he worked hard, and his spare time was given to ‘studying and reading alway,’ till his head ached and his look became dazed. (House of Fame.)

Chaucer lived, like you, in London. Whether he was born there is not known;[5] but as his father, John Chaucer, was a vintner in Thames Street, London, it is probable that he was. Not much is known about his parents or family, except that his grandfather, Richard Chaucer, was also a vintner; and his mother had an uncle who was a moneyer; so that he came of respectable and well-to-do people, though not noble.[6] Whether he was educated at Oxford or Cambridge, whether he studied for the bar or for the Church, there is no record to show; but there is no doubt that his education was a good one, and that he worked very hard at his books and tasks, otherwise he could not have grown to be the learned and cultivated man he was. We know that he possessed considerable knowledge of the classics, divinity, philosophy, astronomy, as much as was then known of chemistry, and, indeed, most of the sciences. French and Latin he knew as a matter of course, for the better classes used these tongues more than English—Latin for writing, and French for writing and speaking; for, by his translations from the French, he earned, early in life, a ‘balade’ of compliment from Eustache Deschamps, with the refrain, ‘Grant translateur, noble Geoffroi Chaucier.’ It is probable, too, that he knew Italian, for, in his later life, we can see how he has been inspired by the great Italian writers, Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio.

It has recently been discovered that for a time (certainly in 1357) Geoffrey Chaucer, being then seventeen, was a page[7] in the household of Elizabeth, Countess of Ulster, wife of Lionel, second son of King Edward III.; a position which he could not have held if he had not been a well-born, or at least well-educated, person. A page in those days was very different from what we call a page now—therefore we infer that the Chaucer family had interest at Court; for without that, Geoffrey could never have entered the royal service.

Most gentlemen’s sons were educated by becoming pages. They entered the service of noble ladies, who paid them, or sometimes were even paid for receiving them. Thus young men learned courtesy of manners, and all the accomplishments of indoor and outdoor life—riding, the use of arms, &c.—and were very much what an aide-de-camp in the army now is. Chaucer, you see, held a post which many a nobly-born lad must have coveted.

There is a doubtful tradition that Chaucer was intended for a lawyer, and was a member of the Middle Temple (a large building in London, where a great many lawyers live still), and here, as they say, he was once fined two shillings for beating a Franciscan friar in Fleet Street.

If this be true, it must have been rather a severe beating; for two shillings was a far larger sum than it is now—equal to about sixteen shillings of our money. Chaucer was sometimes angry with the friars at later times in life, and deals them some hard hits in his writings with a relish possibly founded on personal experience of some disagreeable friar.

At any rate, Chaucer never got fond of the friars, and thought they were often bad and mischievous men, who did not always act up to what they said. This is called hypocrisy, and is so evil a thing that Chaucer was quite right to be angry with people who were hypocrites.

IV.

Fleet Street still exists, though it was much less crowded with people in Chaucer’s day than now. Indeed, the whole of London was very different from our London; and, oh, so much prettier! The streets within the London wall were probably thickly populated, and not over-healthy; but outside the wall, streets such as Fleet Street were more like the streets of some of our suburbs, or rather some foreign towns—the houses irregular, with curious pointed roofs, here and there divided by little gardens, and even green fields. I dare say, when Chaucer walked in the streets, the birds sang over his head, and the hawthorn and primrose bloomed where now the black smoke and dust would soon kill most green things. Thames Street was where Chaucer long lived in London, but, at one time in his life at least, it is certain that he occupied a tenement at Aldgate, which formed part of an old prison; and it is probable that at another he lived in the beautiful Savoy Palace with John of Gaunt, whilst his wife was maid of honour. In 1393, Chaucer was living at Greenwich, near which he had work in 1390—poor and asking his friend Scogan to intercede for him “where it would fructify;” and at the end of his life he had a house in Westminster, said to be nearly on the same spot on which Henry VII.’s Chapel now stands, and close to the Abbey where he is buried.

In those days it was the fashion, when the month of May[8] arrived, for everybody, rich and poor, to get up very early in the morning, to gather boughs of hawthorn and laurel, to deck all the doorways in the street, as a joyful welcoming of the sweet spring time. Chaucer alludes more than once to this beautiful custom. The streets must have been full of fragrance then. He also tells us how he loved to rise up at dawn in the morning, and go into the fresh green fields, to see the daisies open. You have often seen the daisies shut up at night, but I don’t suppose you ever saw them opening in the morning; and I am afraid, however early you got up in London, you could not reach the fields quick enough to see that. But you may guess from this how much nearer the country was to the town 500 years ago. There were so many fewer houses built then, that within a walk you could get right into the meadows. You may see that by comparing the two maps I have made for you.

London was also much quieter. There were no railways—such things had never been heard of. There were not even any cabs or carriages. Sometimes a market cart might roll by, but not very often, and then everybody would run out to see what the unaccustomed clatter was all about. People had to walk everywhere, unless they were rich enough to ride on horseback, or lived near the river. In that case, they used to go in barges or boats on the Thames, as far as they could; for, strange as it may seem, even the King had no coach then.

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London in the 15^th Century.

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London in the 19^th Century.

I am afraid Geoffrey Chaucer would not recognize that ‘dere and swete citye of London’ in the great, smoky, noisy, bustling metropolis we are accustomed to, and I am quite sure he would not recognize the language; and presently I will explain what I meant by saving that though Chaucer spoke and wrote English, it was quite different from what we speak now. You will see, as you go on, how queerly all the words are spelt, so much so that I have had to put a second version side by side with Chaucer’s lines, which you will understand more readily; and when I read them to you, you will see how different is the sound. These words were all pronounced slowly, almost with a drawl, while we nowadays have got to talk so fast, that no one who lived then would follow what we say without great difficulty.

V.

Chaucer’s connection with the Court makes it probable that he lived during the greater part of his life in London; and it is pleasant to think that this great poet was valued and beloved in his day by the highest powers in the land. He held, at various times, posts in the King’s household, which brought him more or less money, such as valet of the King’s chamber, the King’s esquire, &c.; and he found a fast friend in John of Gaunt, one of the sons of King Edward III.

In 1359 Chaucer became a soldier, and served in the army under this King, in an attack upon France, and was taken prisoner. It is supposed he was detained there about a year; and, being ransomed by Edward, when he came back to England, he married a lady named Philippa. She was probably the younger daughter of Sir Paon de Roet, of Hainault,[9] who came over to England in the retinue of Queen Philippa, who was also of Hainault. These two Philippas, coming from the same place, remained friends during all the Queen’s life; for when Chaucer married Philippa de Roet, she was one of the Queen’s maids of honour; and, after her marriage, the Queen gave her an annual pension of ten marks[10] (£50), which was continued to her by the King after Queen Philippa died. Some people say Chaucer’s wife was also the Queen’s god-daughter.[11]

If you would like to know what Chaucer’s wife looked like, I will tell you. I do not know what she was like in the face, but I can tell you the fashion of the garb she wore. I like to believe she had long yellow hair, which Chaucer describes so often and so prettily. Chaucer’s wife wore one of those funny head-dresses like crowns, or rather like boxes, over a gold net, with her hair braided in a tress, hanging down her back. She had a close green[12] dress, with tight sleeves, reaching right down over the hand, to protect it from the sun and wind; and a very long skirt, falling in folds about her feet, sometimes edged with beautiful white fur, ermine, or a rich grey fur, called vair. The colour of this grey fur was much liked, and when people had light grey eyes, of somewhat the same colour, it was thought very beautiful. Many songs describe pretty ladies with ‘eyes of vair.’

When noble persons went to Court, they wore dresses far more splendid than any to be seen now—dresses of all colours, worked in with flowers and branches of gold, sometimes with heraldic devices and strange figures, and perfectly smothered in jewels. No one has pearls, and emeralds, and diamonds sewn on their gowns now; but in the fourteenth century, rich people had the seams of their clothes often covered with gems. The ladies wore close-fitting dresses, with splendid belts, or seints, round their hips, all jewelled; and strings of glittering jewels hung round their necks, and down from the belt, and on the head-dress. People did not wear short sleeves then, but long ones, made sometimes very curiously with streamers hanging from the elbow; a long thin gauze veil, shining with silver and gold; and narrow pointed shoes, much longer than their feet, which, they thought, made the foot look slender. If ladies had not had such long shoes, they would never have showed beneath their long embroidered skirts, and they would always have been stumbling when they walked. It was a very graceful and elegant costume that Chaucer’s wife wore; but the laws of England probably forbade her to wear silk, which was reserved for nobles. When she walked out of doors, she had tall clogs to save her pretty shoes from the mud of the rough streets; and when she rode on horseback with the Queen, or her husband Chaucer, she sat on a pillion, and placed her feet on a narrow board called a planchette. Many women rode astride, like the “Wife of Bath” whom Chaucer speaks of.

Now, perhaps, you would like to know whether Chaucer had any little children. We do not know much about Chaucer’s children. We know he had a little son called Lewis, because Chaucer wrote a treatise for him when he was ten years old, to teach him how to use an instrument he had given him, called an astrolabe.[13] Chaucer must have been very fond of Lewis, since he took so much trouble for him, and he speaks to him very kindly and lovingly.

As Chaucer was married before 1366, it is likely that he had other children; and some people say he had an elder son, named Thomas, and a daughter Elizabeth.[14]

John of Gaunt, who was Chaucer’s patron as I told you, was very kind to Thomas Chaucer, and gave him several posts in the King’s household, as he grew up to be a man. And John of Gaunt heard that Elizabeth Chaucer wished to be a nun; and, in 1381, we find that he paid a large sum of money for her noviciate (that is, for her to learn to be a nun) in the Abbey of Barking.

[Larger Image]

A LADY CROSSING THE STREET IN THE OLDEN TIME.

A nun is a person who does not care for the amusements and pleasures which other people care for—playing, and dancing, and seeing sights and many people; but who prefers to go and live in a house called a nunnery, where she will see hardly any one, and think of nothing but being good, and helping the poor. And, if people think they can be good best in that way, they ought to become nuns. But I think people can be just as good living at home with their friends, without shutting themselves in a nunnery.

Now I must leave off telling you about Chaucer’s wife and children, and go on to Chaucer himself.

VI.

Chaucer was, as I told you, the friend of one of the sons of the King, Edward III. Not the eldest son, who was, as you know, Edward the Black Prince, the great warrior, nor Lionel, the third son, whom he had served when a boy, but the fourth son, John of Gaunt, who had a great deal of power with the King.

John of Gaunt.

John of Gaunt was the same age as Chaucer.

When John of Gaunt was only 19 (the year that Chaucer went with the army to France), he married a lady called Blanche of Lancaster, and there were famous joustings and great festivities of every kind. In this year, it has been supposed, Chaucer wrote a poem, ‘The Parliament of Birds,’ to celebrate the wedding. Another long poem, called ‘The Court of Love,’ is said to have been written by him about this time—at any rate, in very early life.

When Chaucer came back to England, and got married himself, he was still more constantly at Court, and there are many instances recorded of John’s attachment to both Chaucer and Philippa all his life. Among others we may notice his gifts to Philippa of certain ‘silver-gilt cups with covers,’ on the 1st of January in 1380, 1381, and 1382.

It is touching to see how faithful these two friends were to each other, and how long their friendship lasted. The first we hear of it was about 1359, the year when John married Blanche, and for forty years it remained unbroken. Nay, it grew closer and closer, for in 1394, when John of Gaunt and Chaucer were both middle-aged men, John married Philippa’s sister (Sir Paon Roet’s elder daughter), so that Chaucer became John of Gaunt’s brother.[15]

When John of Gaunt was in power he never forgot Chaucer. When he became unpopular it was Chaucer’s turn to be faithful to him; and faithful he was, whatever he suffered, and he did suffer for it severely, and became quite poor at times, as you will see. Directly John came into power again up went Chaucer too, and his circumstances improved. There are few friendships so long and so faithful on both sides as this was.[16]

VII.

Chaucer was employed by Edward III. for many years as envoy, which is a very important office. It can only be given to a very wise and shrewd man. This proves the great ability of Chaucer in other things besides making songs and telling stories. He had to go abroad, to France, Italy, and elsewhere, on the King’s private missions; and the King gave him money for his services, and promoted him to great honour.

On one occasion (1373) when he was sent to Florence, on an embassy, he is supposed to have seen Petrarch, a great Italian poet and patriot, whose name you must not forget. Petrarch was then living at Arqua, two miles from Padua, a beautiful town in Italy; and though Petrarch was a much older man than Chaucer—more than twenty years older—it seems only natural that these two great men should have tried to see each other; for they had much in common. Both were far-famed poets, and both, in a measure, representatives of the politics, poetry, and culture of their respective countries.

Still, some people think they could never have met, because the journey from Florence to Padua was a most difficult one. Travelling was hard work, and sometimes dangerous, guides being always necessary: you could not get a carriage at any price, for carriages were not invented. In some places there was no means of going direct from city to city at all—not even on horseback—there being actually no roads. So that people had to go on foot or not at all. If they went, there were rocks and rivers to cross, which often delayed travellers a long time.

Chaucer, as the King’s envoy, must have had attendants, even for safety’s sake, with him, and much luggage, and that would of course make travelling more difficult and expensive. He most likely went a great part of the way by sea, in a vessel coasting along the Mediterranean to Genoa and Leghorn, and so by Pisa to Florence: you may trace his route in a map. Doubtless, he had neither the means nor the will to go all the way to Padua on his own account. So you see people hold different opinions about this journey, and no one can be quite sure whether Chaucer did see Petrarch or not.

In 1373 Chaucer wrote his ‘Life of St. Cecile;’ and about that time, perhaps earlier, the ‘Complaint to Pity.’

VIII.

I am not going to tell you everything that the King and John of Gaunt did for Chaucer. You would get tired of hearing about it. I will only say that Chaucer was ‘holden in greate credyt,’ and probably had a real influence in England; for, connected as he was with John of Gaunt, I dare say he gave him advice and counsel, and John showed the King how shrewd and trustworthy Chaucer was, and persuaded him to give him benefits and money.

John’s wife, Blanche of Lancaster, died in 1369, and so did his mother, Queen Philippa. Chaucer wrote a poem called ‘The Death of Blanche the Duchess,’ in honour of this dead Blanche. John married another wife in the next year, and got still more powerful, and was called King of Castile, in Spain, because his new wife was the daughter of a King of Castile. But all this made no difference in his affection for Chaucer. He always did what he could for Chaucer.

I will give you some instances of this.

Soon after Chaucer’s return from his journey to Florence, he received a grant of ‘a pitcher of wine’ every day ‘from the hands of the King’s butler.’ This seems like a mark of personal friendship more than formal royal bounty; but it was worth a good deal of money a year. Less than two months afterwards he received, through John of Gaunt’s goodwill, a place under Government called ‘Comptrollership of the Customs’ of the Port of London. This was a very important post, and required much care, shrewdness, and vigilance; and the King made it a condition that all the accounts of his office were to be entered in Chaucer’s own handwriting—which means, of course, that Chaucer was to be always present, seeing everything done himself, and never leaving the work to be done by anybody else, except when sent abroad by the King’s own royal command. Only three days after this, John of Gaunt himself made Chaucer a grant of £10 a year for life, in reward for all the good service rendered by ‘nostre bien ame Geffray Chaucer,’ and ‘nostre bien ame Philippa sa femme,’ to himself, his duchess, and to his mother, Queen Philippa, who was dead. This sum of money does not sound much; but it was a great deal in those days, and was fully equal to £100 now.

The very next year the King gave Chaucer the ‘custody’ of a rich ward (a ward is a person protected or maintained by another while under age), named Edmond Staplegate, of Kent; and when this ward married, Chaucer received a large sum of money (£104 = £1,040).[17]

Then Chaucer’s care in the Customs’ office detected a dishonest man, who tried to ship wool abroad without paying the lawful duty; this man was fined for his dishonesty, and the money, £71 4s. 6d., was made a present to Chaucer—a sum equal to £700.

So you see it seemed as if John of Gaunt could never do enough for him; because all these things, if not done by John himself, were probably due to his influence with the King.

IX.

The Black Prince died about that time, and Edward III. did not long survive him. He died in 1377. Then the Black Prince’s little son, Richard, who was only eleven years old, became King of England; but as he was too young to reign over the country, his three uncles governed for him. These three uncles were John of Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster; the Duke of York; and the Duke of Gloucester.

And all this time Chaucer was very well looked after, you may be sure, for John of Gaunt was then more powerful than the King. Chaucer was still Comptroller of the Customs; and, before long, John gave him a second post of a similar kind, called ‘Comptroller of the Petty Customs.’

But all this good luck was not to go on for ever. The people were not so fond of John of Gaunt as Chaucer was, because, in governing them, he was very ambitious and severe. They got angry with everything he did, and with everybody who remained his friend. So, of course, they did not like Chaucer.

This was a very troublous time. The Crown (represented by the King’s uncles) wanted one thing, and the great barons wanted another, and the people or lower classes wanted another! These were called the three great opposing parties, and each wanted to have all the power. At last some of the barons sided with the King’s party, and others sided with the people; so there were then two opposing parties quarrelling and hating each other. John of Gaunt would have liked to be King himself; but the people were unhappy, and very discontented with his government, and he began to have much less power in the kingdom.

The people knew that John of Gaunt was obliged to go with an army into Portugal, and they began to make plans to get their own way when his back was turned. When he was gone, they said that John of Gaunt did not govern them well, and had given government posts to men who did not do their duty, and neglected their work, and Chaucer was one of them.

Then there was what was called a ‘Commission of Inquiry’ appointed, which means a body of men who were free to examine and reform everything they chose in the country. Their power was to last a whole year; and these men looked into all that Chaucer had done in the ‘Customs’ offices. They did not find anything wrong, as far as we know, but still they sent away Chaucer in disgrace, just as if they had. And this made him very poor. It was a harsh thing to do, and unjust, if they were not certain he had been neglecting his work; and John of Gaunt was out of the country, and could not help him now. This was in the year 1386.

A great deal has been said and written about this matter. Some people still believe that Chaucer really did neglect his duties, though the conditions that he should attend to everything himself had been so very strict;[18] that he had probably absented himself, and let things go wrong. But such people forget that these conditions were formally done away with in 1385, when Chaucer was finally released from personal drudgery at the Customs, and allowed to have a deputy, or person under him to do his work.

They forget, too, how Chaucer had plunged into political matters directly afterwards, at a time when party feeling was intensely strong, the people and John of Gaunt being violently opposed to each other; and how Chaucer took up the part of his friend warmly, and sat in the House of Commons as representative of Kent, one of the largest counties of England, on purpose to support the ministers who were on John of Gaunt’s side. This alone would be enough to make the opposing party hate Chaucer, and this doubtless was the reason of their dismissing him from both his offices in the Customs as soon as ever they were able, to punish him for his attachment to the Duke of Lancaster’s (John of Gaunt’s) cause.

Stylus.

But Chaucer never wavered or changed. And his faithfulness to his friend deserves better than the unjust suspicion that his disgrace was warranted by neglect of his duties. Chaucer was too good, and too pious, and too honourable a man to commit any such act. He submitted to his disgrace and his poverty unmoved; and after the death of his wife Philippa, which happened in the following summer, nothing is known of him for several years, except that he was in such distress that he was actually obliged to part with his two pensions for a sum of money in order to pay his debts.

During all the eventful years that followed Edward III.’s death, up to this time, Chaucer had been writing busily, in the midst of his weightier affairs. The ‘Complaint of Mars,’ ‘Boece,’ ‘Troilus and Cressida,’ the ‘House of Fame,’ and the ‘Legend of Good Women,’ all of which I hope you will read some day, were written in this period; also some reproachful words to his scrivener, who seems to have written out his poems for him very carelessly. Some persons think that Chaucer’s pathetic ‘Good Counsel,’ and his short ‘Balade sent to King Richard,’ reflect the disappointment and sadness at his changed lot, which he must have felt; and that, therefore, these poems were written at about the same time.

X.

In 1389 there was another great change in the government. The King, being of age, wished to govern the country without help, and he sent away one of his uncles, who was on the people’s side, and asked John of Gaunt to come back to England. John of Gaunt’s son was made one of the new ministers. Immediately Chaucer was thought of. He was at once appointed Clerk of the King’s Works—an office of some importance—which he was permitted to hold by deputy; and his salary was two shillings per day—that is £36 10s. 0d. a-year, equal to about £370 of our money.

It seems that Chaucer kept this appointment only for two years. Why, we cannot tell.[19] While he held this office (viz., Sept. 1390)a misfortune befell him. Some notorious thieves attacked him, near the ‘foule Ok’ (foul Oak), and robbed him of £20 (nearly £200 present currency) of the King’s money, his horse, and other movables. This was a mishap likely enough to overtake any traveller in those days of bad roads and lonely marshes, for there was no great protection by police or soldiery in ordinary cases. The King’s writ, in which he forgives Chaucer this sum of £20, is still extant.

What he did, or how he lived, for some time after his retirement from the King’s Works in 1391, is not known; but in 1394, King Richard granted him a pension of £20 (= £200 present currency) per annum for life. This was the year when John of Gaunt married Chaucer’s sister-in-law; but, in spite of this rich alliance, I fear Chaucer was still in great distress, for we hear of many small loans which he obtained on this new pension during the next four years, which betray too clearly his difficulties. In 1398, the King granted him letters to protect him against arrest—that is, he wrote letters forbidding the people to whom Chaucer owed money to put him in prison, which they would otherwise have done.

It is sad that during these latter years of his life, the great poet who had done so much, and lived so comfortably, should have grown so poor and harassed. He ought to have been beyond the reach of want. He had had large sums of money; his wife’s sister was Duchess of Lancaster; his son[20] was holding grants and offices under John of Gaunt. Perhaps he wasted his money.[21] But we cannot know exactly how it all came about at this distance of time. And one thing shows clearly how much courage and patience Chaucer had; for it was when he was in such want in 1388, two years after he had been turned out of the Customs, that he was busiest with the greatest work of his life, called the Canterbury Tales. Some men would have been too sad after so much disgrace and trouble, to be able to write stories and verses; but I think Chaucer must have felt at peace in his mind—he must have known that he did not deserve all the ill-treatment he got—and had faith that God would bring him through unstained.

XI.

The Canterbury Tales are full of cheerfulness and fun; full of love for the beautiful world, and full of sympathy for all who are in trouble or misery. The beauty of Chaucer’s character, and his deep piety, come out very clearly in these tales, as I think you will see. No one could have sung the ‘ditties and songs glad’ about birds in the medlar trees, and the soft rain on the ‘small sweet grass,’ and the ‘lily on her stalk green,’ and the sweet winds that blow over the country, whose mind was clouded by sordid thoughts, and narrow, selfish aims. No one could have sung so blithely of ‘fresh Emily,’ and with such good-humoured lenity even of the vulgar, chattering ‘Wife of Bath,’ whose heart was full of angry feelings towards his fellow-creatures. And no one, who was not in his heart a religious man, could have breathed the words of patience with which Arcite tries to comfort his friend, in their gloomy prison—or the greater patience of poor persecuted Griselda—or the fervent love of truth and honourable dealing, and a good life, which fills so many of his poems—or a hundred other touching prayers and tender words of warning. There was a large-heartedness and liberality about Chaucer’s mind, as of one who had mixed cheerfully with all classes, and saw good in all. His tastes were with the noble ranks among whom he had lived; but he had deep sympathy with the poor and oppressed, and could feel kindly even to the coarse and the wicked. He hated none but hypocrites; and he was never tired of praising piety and virtue.

Chaucer wrote a great many short poems, which I have not told you of. Many have been lost or forgotten. Some may come back to us in the course of time and search. All we know of, you will read some day, with the rest of the Canterbury Tales not in this book: a few of these poems I have placed at the end of the volume; and among them one ‘To his empty Purse,’ written only the year before his death.[22]

There is only a little more I can tell you about Chaucer’s life before we begin the stories. We got as far as 1398, when the King gave Chaucer letters of protection from his creditors.

About this time another grant of wine was bestowed on him, equal to about £4 a year, or £40 of our money. In the next year, King Richard, who had not gained the love of his subjects, nor tried to be a good King, was deposed—that is, the people were so angry with him that they said, “You shall not be our King any more;” and they shut him up in a tower, and made his cousin, Henry, King of England. Now this Henry was the son of John of Gaunt, by his first wife, Blanche, and had been very badly treated by his cousin, the King. He was a much better man than Richard, and the people loved him. John of Gaunt did not live to see his son King, for he died while Henry was abroad; and it must have been a real grief to Chaucer, then an old man of sixty,[23] when this long and faithful friend was taken from him.

Still it is pleasant to find that Henry of Lancaster shared his father’s friendship for Chaucer. I dare say he had been rocked on Chaucer’s knee when a little child, and had played with Chaucer’s children. He came back from France, after John of Gaunt’s death, and the people made him King, and sent King Richard to the castle of Pomfret (where I am sorry to say he was afterwards murdered).

The new King had not been on the throne four days before he helped Chaucer. John of Gaunt himself could not have done it quicker. He granted him an annuity of £26 13s. 4d. a year, in addition to the other £20 granted by Richard.

The royal bounty was only just in time, for poor old Chaucer did not long survive his old friend, the Duke of Lancaster. He died about a year after him, when Henry had been King thirteen months.

John of Gaunt was buried in St. Paul’s, by the side of his first and best-loved wife, Blanche; Geoffrey Chaucer was buried in Westminster Abbey.

So ended the first, and almost the greatest, English writer, of whom no one has spoken an ill word, and who himself spoke no ill words.

Poet, soldier, statesman, and scholar, ‘truly his better ne his pere, in school of my rules could I never find.... In goodness of gentle, manly speech he passeth all other makers.’[24]

XII.

And now for Chaucer’s ‘speech.’ How shall I show you its ‘goodness,’ since it is so difficult to read this old English? Wait a bit. You will soon understand it all, if you take pains at the first beginning. Do not be afraid of the funny spelling, for you must remember that it is not so much that Chaucer spells differently from us, as that we have begun to spell differently from Chaucer. He would think our English quite as funny, and not half so pretty as his own; for the old English, when spoken, sounded very pretty and stately, and not so much like a ‘gabble’ as ours.

I told you a little while ago, you know, that our talking is much faster than talking was in Chaucer’s time; it seems very curious that a language can be so changed in a few hundred years, without people really meaning to change it. But it has changed gradually. Little by little new words have come into use, and others have got ‘old-fashioned.’ Even the English of one hundred years ago was very unlike our own. But the English of five hundred years ago was, of course, still more unlike.

XIII.

Now, I have put, as I told you, two versions of Chaucer’s poetry on the page, side by side. First, the lines as Chaucer made them, and then the same lines in English such as we speak. You can thus look at both, and compare them.

I will also read you the verses in the two ways of pronouncing them, Chaucer’s way and our way: but when you have grown a little used to the old-fashioned English, you will soon see how much prettier and more musical it sounds than our modern tongue, and I think you will like it very much. Besides, it is nice to be able to see the words as Chaucer put them, so as to know exactly how he talked.

In Chaucer’s time a great deal of French was spoken in England, and it was mixed up with English more than it is now. The sound of old French and old English were something the same, both spoken very slowly, with a kind of drawl, as much as to say—“I am in no hurry. I have all day before me, and if you want to hear what I have got to say, you must wait till I get my words out.”

So if you wish to hear Chaucer’s stories, you must let him tell them in his own way, and try and understand his funny, pretty language. And if you do not pronounce the words as he meant, you will find the verses will sound quite ugly—some lines being longer than others, and some not even rhyming, and altogether in a jumble.

XIV.

Chaucer himself was very anxious that people should read his words properly, and says in his verses, as if he were speaking to a human being—

And for there is so grete dyversitégreat diversity
In Englissh,[25] and in writynge of our tonge,tongue
So preye I God that non miswrité theepray
Ne thee mys-metere for defaute of tonge. (Troilus.)defect

To mis-metre is to read the metre wrong; and the metre is the length of the line. If you read the length all wrong, it sounds very ugly.

Now, suppose those lines were read in modern English, they would run thus:—

And because there is so great a diversity
In English, and in writing our tongue,
So I pray God that none miswrite thee
Nor mismetre thee through defect of tongue.

How broken and ragged it all sounds! like a gown that is all ragged and jagged, and doesn’t fit. It sounds much better to read it properly.

You will find that when Chaucer’s words are rightly pronounced, all his lines are of an even length and sound pretty. I don’t think he ever fails in this. This is called having a musical ear. Chaucer had a musical ear. Some people who write poetry have not, and their poetry is good for nothing. They might as well try to play the piano without a musical ear; and a pretty mess they would make of that![26]

XV.

When you find any very hard word in Chaucer’s verses which you cannot understand, look in the glossary and the modern version beside them; and you will see what is the word for it nowadays. A few words which cannot be translated within the metre you will find at the bottom of the page; but think for yourself before you look. There is nothing like thinking for one’s self. Many of the words are like French or German words: so if you have learnt these languages you will be able often to guess what the word means.

For instance, you know how, in French, when you wish to say, I will not go or I am not sure, two no’s are used, ne and pas: Je n’irai pas, or je ne suis pas sûr. Well, in Chaucer’s time two no’s were used in English. He would have said, “I n’ill nat go,” and “I n’am nat sure.”

There are many lines where you will see two no’s. “I n’am nat precious.” “I ne told no deintee.” “I wol not leve no tales.” “I ne owe hem not a word.” “There n’is no more to tell,” &c. Sometimes, however, ne is used by itself, without not or nat to follow. As “it n’is good,” “I n’ill say—or sain,” instead of “it is not good—I will not say.”

And, as in this last word sain (which only means say), you will find often an n at the end of words, which makes it difficult to understand them; but you will soon cease to think that a very alarming difficulty if you keep looking at the modern version. As, “I shall nat lien” (this means lie). “I wol nat gon” (go): “withouten doubt” (without). “Ther wold I don hem no pleasance” (do); “thou shalt ben quit” (be). “I shall you tellen” (tell).

And I think you will also be able to see how much better some old words are for expressing the meaning, than our words. For instance, how much nicer ‘flittermouse’ is than ‘bat.’ That is an old North-country word, and very German (Fledermaus). When you see a little bat flying about, you know it is a bat because you have been told: but ‘flitter-mouse’ is better than bat, because it means ‘floating mouse.’ Now, a bat is like a mouse floating in the air. The word expresses the movement and the form of the creature.

Again—the old word ‘herteles’ (heartless), instead of without courage, how well it expresses the want of courage or spirit: we often say people have no heart for work, or no heart for singing, when they are sad, or ill, or weak. Heartless does not always mean cowardly; it means that the person is dejected, or tired, or out of spirits. We have left off using the word heartless in that sense, however, and we have no word to express it. When we say heartless, we mean cruel or unkind, which is a perfectly different meaning.

Again, we have no word now for a meeting-time or appointment, as good as the old word ‘steven:’ we use the French word ‘rendezvous’ as a noun, which is not very wise. ‘Steven’ is a nice, short, and really English word which I should like to hear in use again.

One more instance. The word ‘fret’ was used for devouring. This just describes what we call ‘nibbling’ now. The moth fretting a garment—means the moth devouring or nibbling a garment.

This is a word we have lost sight of now in the sense of eating; we only use it for ‘complaining’ or ‘pining.’ But a fretted sky—and the frets on a guitar—are from the old Saxon verb frete, to eat or devour, and describe a wrinkly uneven surface, like the part of a garment fretted by the moth. So you must not be impatient with the old words, which are sometimes much better for their purpose than the words we use nowadays.

CANTERBURY TALES.

CHAUCER’S PILGRIMS.

Some of Chaucer’s best tales are not told by himself. They are put into the mouths of other people. In those days there were no newspapers—indeed there was not much news—so that when strangers who had little in common were thrown together, as they often were in inns, or in long journeys, they had few topics of conversation: and so they used to entertain each other by singing songs, or quite as often by telling their own adventures, or long stories such as Chaucer has written down and called the ‘Canterbury Tales.’

The reason he called them the ‘Canterbury Tales’ was because they were supposed to be told by a number of travellers who met at an inn, and went together on a pilgrimage to a saint’s shrine at Canterbury.

But I shall now let Chaucer tell you about his interesting company in his own way.

He begins with a beautiful description of the spring—the time usually chosen for long journeys, or for any new undertaking, in those days.

When you go out into the gardens or the fields, and see the fresh green of the hedges and the white May blossoms and the blue sky, think of Chaucer and his Canterbury Pilgrims!

[Larger Image]

Chaucer’s Prologue.

Whan that Aprille with his schowres swooteWhen, sweet
The drought of Marche hath perced to the roote,root
And bathud every veyne in swich licour,such liquor
Of which vertue engendred is the flour;flower
Whan Zephirus[27] eek with his swete breethalso, breath
Enspirud hath in every holte and heethgrove
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonneyoung
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours i-ronne,run
And smale fowles maken melodie,small birds make
That slepen al the night with open yhe,sleep, eye
So priketh hem nature in here corages:—pricketh them, their impulses
Thanne longen folk to gon on pilgrimages,long, go
And palmers[28] for to seeken straunge strondes,seek, shores
To ferne halwes, kouthe[29] in sondry londes;distant saints
And specially from every schires ende
Of Engelond, to Canturbury they wende,go
The holy blisful martir[30] for to seeke,blessed, seek
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.them, sick
When April hath his sweetest showers brought
To pierce the heart of March and banish drought,
Then every vein is bathéd by his power,
With fruitful juice engendering the flower;
When the light zephyr, with its scented breath,
Stirs to new life in every holt and heath
The tender crops, what time the youthful sun
Hath in the Ram his course but half-way run;
And when the little birds make melody,
That sleep the whole night long with open eye,
So Nature rouses instinct into song,—
Then folk to go as pilgrims greatly long,
And palmers hasten forth to foreign strands
To worship far-off saints in sundry lands;
And specially from every shire’s end
Of England, unto Canterbury they wend,
Before the blessed martyr there to kneel,
Who oft hath help’d them by his power to heal.

It happened that one day in the spring, as I was resting at the Tabard[31] Inn, in Southwark, ready to go on my devout pilgrimage to Canterbury, there arrived towards night at the inn a large company of all sorts of people—nine-and-twenty of them: they had met by chance, all being pilgrims to Canterbury.[32] The chambers and the stables were roomy, and so every one found a place. And shortly, after sunset, I had made friends with them all, and soon became one of their party. We all agreed to rise up early, to pursue our journey together.[33]

But still, while I have time and space, I think I had better tell you who these people were, their condition and rank, which was which, and what they looked like. I will begin, then, with

The Knight.

A Knight[34] ther was and that a worthy man,there, valuable
That from the tyme that he ferst bigan
To ryden out, he lovede chyvalrye,ride
Trouthe and honour, fredom and curtesie.frankness
Ful worthi was he in his lordes werre,war
And therto hadde he riden, noman ferre,further
As wel in Cristendom as in hethenesse,
And evere honoured for his worthinesse.
A knight there was, and that a worthy man,
Who from the time in which he first began
To ride afield, loved well all chivalry,
Honour and frankness, truth and courtesy.
Most worthy was he in his master’s war,
And thereto had he ridden, none more far,
As well in Christian as in heathen lands,
And borne with honour many high commands.

He had been at Alexandria when it was won: in Prussia he had gained great honours, and in many other lands. He had been in fifteen mortal battles, and had fought in the lists for our faith three times, and always slain his foe. He had served in Turkey and in the Great Sea. And he was always very well paid too. Yet, though so great a soldier, he was wise in council; and in manner he was gentle as a woman. Never did he use bad words in all his life, to any class of men: in fact

He was a verray perfight, gentil knight.
He was a very perfect, noble knight.

As for his appearance, his horse was good, but not gay. He wore a gipon of fustian, all stained by his habergeon;[35] for he had only just arrived home from a long voyage.

The Squire.

With him ther was his sone, a yong Squyer,there, son
A lovyer, and a lusty bacheler,[36]merry
With lokkes crulle as they were layde in presse.locks curled
Of twenty yeer he was of age I gesse.guess
Of his stature he was of evene lengthe,
And wondurly delyver, and gret of strengthe.wonderfully nimble, great
And he hadde ben somtyme in chivachie,[37]had been
In Flaundres, in Artoys, and in Picardie,
And born him wel, as in so litel space,little
In hope to stonden in his lady grace.[38]stand
Embrowdid[39] was he, as it were a mede
Al ful of fresshe floures, white and reede.
Syngynge he was, or flowtynge al the day;playing on the flute
He was as fressh as is the moneth of May.
Schort was his goune, with sleeves long and wyde.
Wel cowde he sitte on hors, and faire ryde.could, horse
He cowde songes wel make and endite,relate
Justne and eek daunce, and wel purtray and write.also, draw pictures
With him there was his son, a gay young squire,
A bachelor and full of boyish fire,
With locks all curl’d as though laid in a press,
And about twenty years of age, I guess.
In stature he was of an even length,
And wonderfully nimble, and great of strength.
And he had followed knightly deeds of war
In Picardy, in Flanders, and Artois,
And nobly borne himself in that brief space,
In ardent hope to win his lady’s grace.
Embroidered was he, as a meadow bright,
All full of freshest flowers, red and white;
Singing he was, or flute-playing all day,
He was as fresh as is the month of May.
Short was his gown, his sleeves were long and wide,
Well he became his horse, and well could ride;
He could make songs, and ballads, and recite,
Joust and make pretty pictures, dance, and write.

As for the young squire’s manners—

Curteys he was, lowly, and servysable,
And carf[40] byforn his fadur at the table.carved
Courteous he was, lowly, and serviceable,
And carved before his father at the table.

The Yeoman.

A Yeman had he, and servantes nomoono more
At that tyme, for him luste ryde soo;it pleased him
And he was clad in coote and hood of grene.
A shef of pocok arwes[41] bright and kene,arrows
Under his belte he bar ful thriftily,bore
Wel cowde he dresse his takel yomanly;arrow
His arwes drowpud nought with fetheres lowe,[42]arrows
And in his hond he bar a mighty bowe.bore
A not-heed hadde he, with a broun visage.v. notes, p. 111.
Of woode-craft cowde he wel al the usage;knew
Upon his arme he bar a gay bracer,[43]bore
And by his side a swerd, and a bokeler,[44]buckler
And on that other side a gay daggere,
Harneysed wel, and scharp at poynt of spere;dressed well
A Cristofre on his brest of silver schene.ornament representing St. Christopher
An horn he bar, the bawdrik[45] was of grene:
A forster was he sothely, as I gesse.forester, truly
A yeoman had he (but no suite beside:
Without attendants thus he chose to ride,)
And he was clad in coat and hood of green.
A sheaf of peacock-arrows bright and keen,
Under his belt he carried thriftily;
Well could he dress an arrow yeomanly!
None of his arrows drooped with feathers low
And in his hand he held a mighty bow.
A knot-head had he, and a sunburnt hue,
In woodcraft all the usages he knew;
Upon his arm a bracer gay he wore,
And by his side buckler and sword he bore,
While opposite a dagger dangled free;
Polished and smart, no spear could sharpe be.
A silver ‘Christopher’ on his breast was seen,
A horn he carried by a baldrick green:
He was a thorough forester, I guess.

The Prioress.

Ther was also a Nonne, a Prioresse,
That of hire smylyng was ful symple and coy;her
Hire grettest ooth[46] ne was but by seynt Loy,oath
And sche was cleped madame Eglentyne.called
Ful wel sche sang the servíse devyne,
Entuned in hire nose[47] ful semyly,seemly
And Frensch sche spak ful faire and fetysly,elegantly
Aftur the scole of Stratford atte Bowe,school
For Frensch of Parys was to hire unknowe.her unknown
At mete wel i-taught was sche withalle;meat, taught
Sche leet no morsel from hire lippes falle,let
Ne wette hire fyngres in hire sauce deepe.[48]wetted
Wel cowde sche carie a morsel, and wel keepe,carry
That no drope ne fil uppon hire breste.fell
In curtesie was sett al hire leste.courtesy, pleasure
Hire overlippe wypude sche so clene,[49]
That in hire cuppe ther was no ferthing senescrap
Of grees, whan sche dronken hadde hire draught.had drunk
Ful semely aftur hire mete sche raught.seemly
And sikurly sche was of gret disport,assuredly
And ful plesant, and amyable of port,
And peyned hire to counterfete cheereways
Of court, and ben estatlich of manere,stately, manner
And to ben holden digne of reverence.worthy
But for to speken of hire conscience,speak
Sche was so charitable and so pitous[50]
Sche wolde weepe if that sche sawe a mous
Caught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde.
Of smale houndes hadde sche, that sche feddesmall hounds
With rostud fleissh, and mylk, and wastel breed.[51]
But sore wepte sche if oon of hem were deed,them
Or if men smot it with a yerde smerte:rod
And al was conscience and tendre herte.
Ful semely hire wymple[52] i-pynched was:
Hire nose tretys: hire eyen grey as glas:well-proportioned, eyes, glass
Hire mouth ful smal, and therto softe and reed;
But sikurly sche hadde a faire forheed.surely
It was almost a spanne brood, I trowe:broad, think
For hardily sche was not undurgrowe.certainly, undergrown
Ful fetys was hire cloke, as I was waar.neat
Of smal coral aboute hire arme sche baarsmall
A peire of bedes[53] gaudid al with grene;set of beads
And theron heng a broch of gold ful schene,jewel, bright
On which was first i-writen a crowned A,written
And after that, Amor vincit omnia.[54]
There also was a Nun, a Prioress,
Who of her smiling was most simple and coy;
Her greatest oath was only ‘by St. Loy,’
And she was calléd Madame Eglantine.
Full well she sang the services divine,
Entunéd through her nose melodiously,
And French she spoke fairly and fluently,
After the school of Stratford atte Bow,
For French of Paris—that she did not know.
At meal-times she was very apt withal;
No morsel from her lips did she let fall,
Nor in her sauce did wet her fingers deep;
Well could she lift a titbit, and well keep,
That not a drop should fall upon her breast;
To cultivate refinement was her taste.
Her upper lip she ever wiped so clean
That in her drinking-cup no scrap was seen
Of grease, when she had drank as she thought good.
And gracefully she reach’d forth for her food.
And she was very playful, certainly,
And pleasant, and most amiable to see.
And mighty pains she took to counterfeit
Court manners, and be stately and discreet,
And to be held as worthy reverence.
But then to tell you of her conscience!
She was so charitable and piteous
That she would weep did she but see a mouse
Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled;
And little dogs she had, which oft she fed
With roasted meat, and milk, and finest bread;
But sore she wept if one of them were dead,
Or, haply, with a rod were smitten smart.
And all was conscience and tender heart!
Most daintily her wimple plaited was:
Her nose was straight; her eyes were grey as glass;
Her mouth was little, and so soft and red!
Besides, she had a very fine forehead,
That measured nigh a span across, I trow!
For certainly her stature was not low.
And very dainty was the cloak she wore;
Around her arm a rosary she bore,
Of coral small, with little gauds of green,
And thereon hung a golden locket sheen,
On which was graven first a crownéd A,
And after, Amor vincit omnia.

The Prioress was attended by another nun, who acted as her chaplain, and three priests.

The Monk.

A Monk ther was, a fair for the maistrie,[55]mastery
An out-rydere, that lovede venerye;hunting
A manly man, to ben an abbot able.be
Ful many a deynte hors hadde he in stable:dainty horse
And whan he rood, men might his bridel heere[56]when, hear
Gyngle in a whistlyng wynd as cleere,jingling, clear
And eek as lowde as doth the chapel belle,
Ther as this lord was keper of the selle.where, religious house
A monk there was—one sure to rise no doubt,
A hunter, and devoted rider out;
Manly—to be an abbot fit and able,
For many a dainty horse had he in stable;
And when he rode, his bridle you could hear
Jingle along a whistling wind as clear
And quite as loud, as doth the chapel bell,
Where this good monk is keeper of the cell.

This jolly monk cared for little else but hunting, though this has never been considered a proper pursuit for the clergy. He was indifferent to what was said of him, and spared no cost to keep the most splendid greyhounds and horses for hard riding and hare-hunting. I saw his sleeves edged with the rare fur gris at the wrist, and that the finest in the land; his hood was fastened under his chin with a curious gold pin, which had a love-knot in the largest end. His pate was bald and shiny, his eyes rolled in his head; his favourite roast dish was a fat swan.[57]

The Friar.

A Frere ther was, a wantoun and a merye,friar
A lymytour,[58] a ful solempne man.solemn
In alle the ordres foure[59] is noon that canIs able to do
So moche of daliaunce and fair langage.dalliance
·······
Ful wel biloved and famulier was hefamiliar
With frankeleyns[60] overal in his cuntre,country
And eek with worthi wommen of the toun:also, rich
·······
Ful sweetly herde he confessioun,
And plesaunt was his absolucioun;[61]
He was an esy man to yeve penanceeasy
Ther as he wiste to han a good pitance;when, knew
For unto a poure ordre for to gevepoor
Is signe that a man is wel i-schreve.shriven
For if he yaf, he dorste make avaunt,boast
He wiste that a man was repentaunt.knew
For many a man so hard is of his herte,heart
He may not wepe though him sore smerte;he may smart
Therfore in-stede of wepyng and prayeres,
Men moot yive silver to the poure freres.may
A friar there was, so frisky and so merry—
A limitour, a most important man,
In the four orders there is none that can
Outdo him in sweet talk and playfulness.
········
He was most intimate and popular
With all the franklins dwelling near and far,
And with the wealthy women of the town.
········
So sweetly did he hear confession ay;
In absolution pleasant was his way.
In giving penance, very kind was he
When people made it worth his while to be;
For giving largely to some order poor
Shows that a man is free from sin, be sure,
And if a man begrudged him not his dole,
He knew he was repentant in his soul.
For many a man so hard of heart we see,
He cannot weep, however sad he be;
Therefore, instead of weeping and long prayers,
Men can give money unto the poor friars.

He carried a number of pretty pins and knives about him that he made presents of to people; and he could sing well, and play on the rotta.[62] He never mingled with poor, ragged, sick people—it is not respectable to have anything to do with such, but only with rich people who could give good dinners.

Somwhat he lipsede for his wantownesse,
To make his Englissch swete upon his tunge;tongue
Somewhat he lispéd for his wantonness,
To make his English sweet upon his tongue;

and when he played and sang, his eyes twinkled like the stars on a frosty night.

The Merchant.

A Marchaunt was ther with a forked berd,beard
In motteleye, and highe on hors he sat,motley, horse
Uppon his heed a Flaundrisch bevere hat.Flemish beaver
A merchant was there with a forkéd beard,
In motley dress’d—high on his horse he sat,
And on his head a Flemish beaver hat.

The Clerk.

A Clerk[63] ther was of Oxenford also,Oxford
That unto logik hadde longe ygo.logic, gone
As lene was his hors as is a rake,lean, horse
And he was not right fat, I undertake;
But lokede holwe, and therto soburly.looked hollow
Ful thredbare was his overest courtepy.uppermost short cloak
For he hadde geten him yit no benefice,got
Ne was so worldly for to have office,
For him was lever have at his beddes heedehe would
Twenty bookes, clothed in blak or reede,
Of Aristotil, and his philosophie,
Than robus riche, or fithul, or sawtrie.robes
A clerk of Oxford was amid the throng,
Who had applied his heart to learning long.
His horse, it was as skinny as a rake,
And he was not too fat, I’ll undertake!
But had a sober, rather hollow look;
And very threadbare was his outer cloak.
For he as yet no benefice had got:
Worldly enough for office he was not!
For liefer would he have at his bed’s head
A score of books, all bound in black or red,
Of Aristotle, and his philosophy,
Than rich attire, fiddle, or psaltery.

Yet although the poor scholar was so wise and diligent, he had hardly any money, but all he could get from his friends he spent on books and on learning; and often he prayed for those who gave him the means to study. He spoke little—never more than he was obliged—but what he did speak was always sensible and wise.

Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche,tending to
And gladly wolde he lerne, and gladly teche.would, learn
Full of true worth and goodness was his speech,
And gladly would he learn, and gladly teach.

Then there was a

Serjeant-of-Law.