He was born in London about the year 1335, the son of a merchant vintner, and throughout his life London was to him "a city very deare and sweete." He was well educated, though where we know not, in classics, divinity, astronomy, philosophy, and chemistry, and naturally spoke3 French fluently, as its use was general. From his boyhood he loved reading only less than he loved nature.
"On bok?s for to rede, I me delyte,
Save certeynly whan that the moneth of May
Is comen, and that I here the foul4?s synge,
And that the flour?s gynnen for to sprynge,
Farwel my boke and my devoc?oun."
And almost equally, too, he loved to see life, to travel in foreign countries, to study, in a kindly5 sympathetic spirit, human nature in all its forms, neither criticising harshly nor condemning6 impatiently, but just observing and understanding.
Those early years of his life marked a great epoch7 in England, for Edward III. made the land ring with the fame of his victories at Crecy and Poitiers; the valour of his knights8 and soldiers; the fair and famous deeds done in the name of that chivalry10 which was then at its height; and young Chaucer seems to have caught the reflection of all that enthusiasm and vigour11. He was the child of his age, but he heard its sobs12 as well as its laughter, the rattling13 chains of its slaves as well as the clanking steel and the trumpet14 notes of its armed men. The Black Death and the revolt of the downtrodden peasants made a grim setting to the picture of heart-stirring triumphs in the battle-field, and Chaucer saw both the setting and the picture.
When he was about twenty he became attached to the court in a humble15 capacity, but his pleasant manners and conversation, his cheerfulness and his straightforward16 simplicity17, soon won him promotion18, so that he was made first gentleman-in-waiting, then esquire to King Edward, who more than once spoke of him as his "beloved valet," and who trusted him well enough to send him on many important missions to foreign countries as his messenger. But Chaucer's greatest and unchanging ally at court was the king's brother, John of Gaunt. For more than forty years their friendship remained unbroken through many ups and downs of fortune.
In 1369 John of Gaunt's first wife, Blanche, died, young, beautiful, and beloved. Chaucer had already shown his power of writing excellent verse by a translation he had made from a celebrated20 French poem "Le Roman de la Rose," so it was only natural that John of Gaunt should turn to him when in the sorrow of the moment he desired the goodness and charm of his lady to be commemorated21. The result was the "Book of the Duchess," a story told as an allegory, for Chaucer was under the spell of French literature, which revelled22 in allegory. In this book he tells how one May morning, the sun shining in at his windows, and the sound of the "sweete foule's carolling," drew him forth23 into the forest, where, led thereto by a faithful dog, he found a knight9 dressed in black, mourning all in a quiet spot among the mighty24 trees. His hands drooped25, his face was pale, he could not be consoled. But finding the poet a sympathetic listener, he told him the story of his sorrow.
"My lady bright
Which I heve loved with all my might,
Is from me deed, and is agone ...
That was so fair, so fresh, so free."
Years of happiness he had spent with her, this sweet lady, who yet was so strong and helpful.
"When I hed wrong and she the right,
She wolde alwey so good?ly
Forgive me so débónnairly.
In alle my youth, in alle chance,
She took me in her governaunce.
Therewith she was alwày so trewe,
Our joys was ever y-liche newe."
And now she was dead. Words of comfort were of no avail. The poet could no longer intrude26 on grief so overwhelming. He could only silently sympathise, and then leave the mourning knight alone in his sorrow, with the parting words
"Is that your los? By God, hit is routhe."
Soon after he had written this touching27 tribute to the memory of a woman who had been his ideal of goodness and graciousness, Chaucer was sent on a mission to Genoa and Florence, a journey which left its influence upon him in a very marked manner, as he made the acquaintance of Francis Petrarch, the Italian poet, and through him he learned to know the works of Dante and the delightful28 stories of Boccaccio. A new world was opened out to him, and eagerly he wandered through it, eyes and mind open to every fresh vision that unfolded itself before him. From this time forward his works were tinged29 with Italian influence, and thereby30 became much the richer. For he lost none of his own sturdy individuality and fresh, pure style; he only added to this more warmth, more colouring, more romance.
On his return to England he was made Comptroller of the Customs of the Port of London, on the understanding that he did all the accounts himself, so important was it that this post should be filled by a man who was both shrewd and honest; and in addition to this both the king and John of Gaunt granted him certain allowances and privileges, so that in worldly affairs he prospered31. Good fortune, however, did not cause him to become idle, and his poems followed each other in quick succession. There was the "Assembly of Fowles," of course an allegory, and written probably to celebrate the betrothal32 of young King Richard to the Princess Anne of Bohemia.
"Troilus and Cresside" was a much deeper poem, full of sadness, and Chaucer himself called it his "little Tragedie," adding the hope that one day God might send it to him to "write some Comedie." It is in this work that he refers to the great difficulty with which he, in common with the other writers of his day, had to contend—the unsettled state of the language. The struggle as to whether the French or English tongue should prevail had been a fierce one, but it was now in its last throes. Chaucer, through his works, helped more than any one else to develop our language as it is to-day, and strenuously33 avoided those "owre curyrows termes which could not be understood of comyn people, and which in every shire varied34." But his own words show the difficulties which beset35 him.
"And for there is so great diversité
In English, and in writing of our tong,
So pray I God that none miswrite thee
Or thee mismetre for default of tong,
And red whereso thou be, or elles song,
That thou be understood, God I beseech36."
And it is just because he wrote to be understood that the charm of Chaucer's style remains37 for ever fresh and entrancing.
In his "House of Fame" he had free scope for his pleasant wit, especially when he tells of all he saw and heard in the "House of Rumour," whither came shipmen, pilgrims, pardoners, couriers, and their like, each bringing scraps38 of news, which, whether true or false, were passed on, growing like a rolling snowball. He set fame at its true value, and for himself only desires that in life he might be able to "study and rite1 alway," while for the rest—
"It suffyceth me, as I were dedd,
That no wight have my name in honde,
I wot myself best how I stonde."
The "Legend of Good Women" was written in praise of all those maidens39 and wives who loved truly and unchangingly.
Hitherto Chaucer, whose married life was not an altogether happy one, had sung but little of love in its highest, purest form. But here, in a prologue40 sparkling and radiant as the morning he describes, he tells us how he went out to greet the daisy, the flower he loved, and would ever love anew till his heart did die.
"Kneeling alway, til it uncloséd was
Upon the swet?, soft?, swot? gras
That was with flour?s swote embroidered41 all.
In his dream there came to him the God of Love, with his queen, Alcestis, who, daisy-like, was clad in royal habits green—
"A fret42 of golde she hedde next her heer,
And upon that a white courone she beer."
She it was who made him swear that from henceforth he would "poetize of wommen trewe in lovying," "speke wel of love," and so make a glorious legend.
Chaucer had intended writing at least nineteen stories on the lines decreed by Alcestis, but his days of prosperity had come to an end for the time being, with the exile of John of Gaunt, and he became so poor after his dismissal from the Customs, that he had to raise money on his pension. And so the legend seems to have been laid aside.
When Henry of Lancaster became king five years later, he doubled the pension, remembering how his father, just dead, had loved the poet; and so the cloud, which had been heavy enough while it lasted, passed away. But it is to those dark days that we owe the greatest of all Chaucer's work—his "Canterbury Tales"—work, it must be remembered, which rings and re-rings with cheerfulness, courage, sympathy, and kindliness44. We know so little of Chaucer as a man but this one fact stands out, that he never allowed his own troubles or anxieties, or even his pressing poverty, to over-cloud his heart or his mind. For him the sun shone always, though he saw it not, and because of that sunshine no trace of bitterness or harshness is to be found in his work.
In the prologue to the "Tales" Chaucer explains his plot in the most natural and personal way. One day in the spring, he says, he was waiting at the Tabard Inn, to rest before continuing a pilgrimage he had set out to make to Canterbury, when twenty-nine other pilgrims, all bound for the same destination, arrived. He soon made friends with them, and, finding their company very entertaining, arranged to join this party. Then came the proposal that each one should tell two tales to enliven the journey; a good supper at the end to be the reward of the pilgrim whose story found most favour. The jovial45 host of the inn decided46 to join them, and one morning in early spring the procession set out. What a motley crowd they were! Yet Chaucer, with his happy knack47 of describing people just as they appeared, has made them all so real to us, that it is easy to picture each one of them, and in so doing to get a vivid glimpse of the men and women whom the poet was accustomed to meet every day of his life. But for Chaucer we should know next to nothing about the people of his day. First came the knight, who "lovede chyvalrye," who had ridden far afield in his master's wars; a great soldier, but tender as a woman, "a verrey parfyte gentil knight." With him was his son, acting48 as his squire19, great of strength, able to make brave songs, and to sit well his horse, handsomely dressed, yet in his manners "curteys, lowly, and servysable." His attendant was a yeoman, sunburnt and sturdy, who carried the sheaf of arrows, which he could dress right yeomanly. It seems likely that for a short while Chaucer served as a soldier in France, and if so, how familiar these three must have been to him. Then came the prioress, very "pleasant and semely," adopting court manners, and impressing every one with the idea that she was so compassionate49 and charitable that even to see a mouse in a trap made her weep. She had her own attendant nuns50 and priests. The monk51 was only interested in riding, but the friar, who was licensed52 to hear confessions53, raise money, and perform the offices of the Church in a certain district, was merry, the good friend of all rich women, and reported to "hear confession54 very sweetly," being easy with the penances55 he ordered. Sometimes he lisped, "to make his English sweet upon the tongue," and when he sang to his guitar, "his eyes shone like stars on a frosty night." The merchant sat high on his horse, and talked loudly of his increased wealth, a great contrast to the poor clerk of Oxford56, who looked hollow, wore a threadbare cloak, and had not been worldly enough to get a benefice. The sergeant-at-law, the landholder, the haberdasher, carpenter, weaver57, dyer, tapestry-maker, the cook, the sailor, and the doctor, all had their special characteristics, but of these there is not space to speak. The wife of Bath had a bold face and wore bright clothes; had buried five husbands, all of whom she had ruled, and was quite willing to try a sixth. The poor parson, who was "a shepherd holy and vertuous, never despising sinful men, but teaching them the law of Christ, which he faithfully followed," was, I think, the pilgrim whom Chaucer most reverenced58. The religion of the monks59 and friars revolted him, but those poor priests, leading their simple lives of work and worship, were to his eyes in very truth the servants of Christ, who witnessed loyally to their Master, in spite of the contempt with which their very poverty caused them to be treated. His brother, the ploughman, was in his way as good a man as the priest, for he was a true and honest labourer, who lived in charity with all, loved God, and would, for Christ's sake, "thresh, dyke60, or delve61 for the poor widow's hire." The miller62; the manciple, who bought the food for an Inn of Court; the reeve or steward63; the summoner to the ecclesiastical courts; and the pardoner, with his packets of relics64 which he always sold successfully, made up the party; and all having agreed to the host's proposals as to the tales to be told, they drew lots to decide who should begin, the choice falling on the knight, whereat all rejoiced. "Tell us merry things," was the injunction of the host, who was rejoicing in a spell of freedom from his wife's sharp eyes and sharper tongue, and—
"Speak ye so plain at this time, we you pray,
That we may understand? what you say."
Just as Chaucer gave to each pilgrim his own individuality, so in every case he fitted the story to its teller65. The knight had a tale of love, romance, and adventure; the clerk chose for heroine the patient, much-suffering Griselda; the prioress told of a child-martyr, and the poor parson, in earnest words, drew their thoughts upward to "that parfyt glorious pilgrimage which each and all must make to celestial66 Jerusalem." Chaucer did not live to finish all the tales he had planned out. In the year 1399 he had taken on a long lease a house at Westminster, which stood where now is Henry VII.'s chapel67, and here he spent the last few months of his life, reading and writing contentedly69 to the end, in high favour at the Palace hard by, and the centre of a little group who loved and revered70 him. Probably the poor priest's tale was his last bit of work, and that significantly ends with words concerning the pilgrimage of man to the Heavenly City, "To thilke life He bring us, that bought us with His precious blood. Amen."
Chaucer's wife had been dead many years, and of his children we know nothing, except that to his son Lewis he gave an astrolabe, an instrument for taking the height of the stars, and wrote for him a "little treatise71" on the subject, in which he craves72 pardon for his "rude inditing73 and his superfluity of words," explaining that a child is best taught by simple words and much repetition. But we can never think of Chaucer as alone or solitary74 in his old age. Rather was the house at Westminster a pleasant haven75 of rest where he anchored surrounded by his many comrades and friends. So greatly honoured was he, that when he died it was at once decided to bury him in the Abbey. The verses with which I end have been called Chaucer's Creed43, and some say he repeated them just before his death. Certain it is that they guided his conduct through life.
THE GOOD COUNSEL OF CHAUCER
Flee from the crowd and dwell with truthfulness76,
Contented68 with thy good, though it be small.
Treasure breeds hate and climbing dizziness;
The world is envious77, wealth beguiles78 us all.
Care not for loftier things than to thee fall,
Counsel thyself, who counsel'st others' need,
And Truth shall thee deliver without dread79.
Pain thee not all the crooked80 to redress81,
Trusting to her who turneth as a ball;
For little meddling82 wins much easiness.
Beware lest thou dost kick against an awl83!
Strive not, as doth a clay pot with a wall.
Judge thou thyself, who judgest others' deeds,
And Truth shall thee deliver without dread.
All that is sent receive with cheerfulness:
To wrestle84 with this world inviteth fall.
Here is no home, here is but wilderness85.
Forth! pilgrim, forth! Forth, beast, out of thy stall!
Look up on high, and thank thy God for all!
Cast by ambition, let thy soul thee lead,
And Truth shall thee deliver, without dread.
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1
rite
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| n.典礼，惯例，习俗 | |
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consecrated
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| adj.神圣的，被视为神圣的v.把…奉为神圣，给…祝圣( consecrate的过去式和过去分词 )；奉献 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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foul
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| adj.污秽的；邪恶的；v.弄脏；妨害；犯规；n.犯规 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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condemning
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| v.（通常因道义上的原因而）谴责( condemn的现在分词 )；宣判；宣布…不能使用；迫使…陷于不幸的境地 | |
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epoch
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| n.(新)时代；历元 | |
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knights
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| 骑士； （中古时代的）武士( knight的名词复数 )； 骑士； 爵士； （国际象棋中）马 | |
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knight
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| n.骑士，武士；爵士 | |
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chivalry
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| n.骑士气概，侠义；（男人）对女人彬彬有礼，献殷勤 | |
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vigour
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| （=vigor）n.智力，体力，精力 | |
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sobs
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| 啜泣（声），呜咽（声）( sob的名词复数 ) | |
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rattling
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| adj. 格格作响的, 活泼的, 很好的 adv. 极其, 很, 非常 动词rattle的现在分词 | |
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trumpet
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| n.喇叭，喇叭声；v.吹喇叭，吹嘘 | |
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humble
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| adj.谦卑的，恭顺的；地位低下的；v.降低，贬低 | |
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straightforward
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| adj.正直的，坦率的；易懂的，简单的 | |
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simplicity
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| n.简单，简易；朴素；直率，单纯 | |
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promotion
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| n.提升，晋级；促销，宣传 | |
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squire
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| n.护卫, 侍从, 乡绅 | |
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celebrated
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| adj.有名的，声誉卓著的 | |
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commemorated
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| v.纪念，庆祝( commemorate的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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revelled
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| v.作乐( revel的过去式和过去分词 )；狂欢；着迷；陶醉 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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mighty
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| adj.强有力的；巨大的 | |
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drooped
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| 弯曲或下垂，发蔫( droop的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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intrude
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| vi.闯入；侵入；打扰，侵扰 | |
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touching
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| adj.动人的，使人感伤的 | |
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delightful
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| adj.令人高兴的，使人快乐的 | |
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tinged
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| v.（使）发丁丁声( ting的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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thereby
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prospered
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| 成功，兴旺( prosper的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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betrothal
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| n. 婚约, 订婚 | |
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strenuously
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| adv.奋发地，费力地 | |
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varied
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| adj.多样的，多变化的 | |
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beset
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| v.镶嵌；困扰，包围 | |
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beseech
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| v.祈求，恳求 | |
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remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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maidens
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| 处女( maiden的名词复数 )； 少女； 未婚女子； （板球运动）未得分的一轮投球 | |
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prologue
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| n.开场白，序言；开端，序幕 | |
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embroidered
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| adj．绣花的 | |
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fret
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| v.(使)烦恼；(使)焦急；(使)腐蚀，(使)磨损 | |
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creed
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| n.信条；信念，纲领 | |
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kindliness
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| n.厚道，亲切，友好的行为 | |
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jovial
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| adj.快乐的，好交际的 | |
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decided
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| adj.决定了的，坚决的；明显的，明确的 | |
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knack
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| n.诀窍，做事情的灵巧的，便利的方法 | |
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acting
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| n.演戏，行为，假装；adj.代理的，临时的，演出用的 | |
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compassionate
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| adj.有同情心的，表示同情的 | |
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nuns
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| n.（通常指基督教的）修女， （佛教的）尼姑( nun的名词复数 ) | |
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monk
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| n.和尚，僧侣，修道士 | |
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licensed
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| adj.得到许可的v.许可，颁发执照(license的过去式和过去分词) | |
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confessions
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| n.承认( confession的名词复数 )；自首；声明；（向神父的）忏悔 | |
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confession
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| n.自白，供认，承认 | |
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penances
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| n.（赎罪的）苦行，苦修( penance的名词复数 ) | |
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Oxford
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| n.牛津（英国城市） | |
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weaver
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| n.织布工；编织者 | |
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reverenced
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| v.尊敬，崇敬( reverence的过去式和过去分词 )；敬礼 | |
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monks
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| n.修道士，僧侣( monk的名词复数 ) | |
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dyke
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| n.堤，水坝，排水沟 | |
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delve
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| v.深入探究，钻研 | |
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miller
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| n.磨坊主 | |
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steward
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| n.乘务员，服务员；看管人；膳食管理员 | |
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relics
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| [pl.］n.遗物，遗迹，遗产；遗体，尸骸 | |
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teller
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| n.银行出纳员；(选举)计票员 | |
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celestial
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| adj.天体的；天上的 | |
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67
chapel
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| n.小教堂，殡仪馆 | |
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68
contented
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| adj.满意的，安心的，知足的 | |
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contentedly
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| adv.心满意足地 | |
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revered
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| v.崇敬，尊崇，敬畏( revere的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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71
treatise
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| n.专著；(专题)论文 | |
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72
craves
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| 渴望，热望( crave的第三人称单数 )； 恳求，请求 | |
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inditing
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| v.写（文章，信等）创作，赋诗，创作( indite的现在分词 ) | |
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74
solitary
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| adj.孤独的，独立的，荒凉的；n.隐士 | |
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haven
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| n.安全的地方，避难所，庇护所 | |
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truthfulness
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| n. 符合实际 | |
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envious
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| adj.嫉妒的，羡慕的 | |
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beguiles
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| v.欺骗( beguile的第三人称单数 )；使陶醉；使高兴；消磨（时间等） | |
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dread
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| vt.担忧，忧虑；惧怕，不敢；n.担忧，畏惧 | |
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80
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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redress
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| n.赔偿，救济，矫正；v.纠正，匡正，革除 | |
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82
meddling
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| v.干涉，干预（他人事务）( meddle的现在分词 ) | |
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83
awl
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| n.尖钻 | |
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84
wrestle
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| vi.摔跤，角力；搏斗；全力对付 | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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