Dryden's poetical power appears most of all, perhaps, in his
translations; and his translation of the most vulgar renown is that
which unites his name to that of the great Roman epopeist; but it is not
his greatest achievement. The tales modernized and paraphrased from
Chaucer, and those filled up into poetical telling from Boccacio, as
they are the works of Dryden's which the most fasten themselves with
interest upon a mind open to poetry and free from preconceived literary
opinion, so do they seem to us to be, after all, those which a versed
critic must distinguish as stamped, beyond the others, with the skilled
ease, the flow as of original composition, the sustained spirit, and
force, and fervour--in short, by the mastery, and by the keen zest of
Writing. They are the works of his more than matured mind--of his waning
life; and they show a rare instance of a talent so steadfastly and
perseveringly self-improved, as that, in life's seventh decennium, the
growth of Art overweighed the detriment of Time. But, in good truth, no
detriment of time is here perceptible; youthful fire and accomplished
skill have the air of being met in these remarkable pieces. Chaucer, in
his last and greatest labour, the _Canterbury Tales_, first effectually
creating his own style, and his translator, Dryden, at about the same
years, excelling himself to infuse renovated life into the _Canterbury
Tales_--are brought singularly together.
The age of Chaucer was widely and variously different from that of
Dryden. Knowledge, taste, art, had advanced with strides between the two
dates; and the bleak and stormy English political atmosphere of the
fourteenth century had changed, notwithstanding the commotion of the
later civil war, into a far milder and more settled element when the
seventeenth drew towards close. Genius, likewise, in the two poets, was
distinguished by marked differences. Strength, simplicity, earnestness,
human affection, characterize Chaucer. Dryden has plenty of strength,
too, but it shows itself differently. The strength of Chaucer is called
out by the requisition of the subject, and is measured to the call.
Dryden bounds and exults in his nervous vigour, like a strong steed
broke loose. Exuberant power and rejoicing freedom mark Dryden
versifying--a smooth flow, a prompt fertility, a prodigal splendour of
words and images. Old Chaucer, therefore, having passed through the
hands of Dryden, is no longer old Chaucer--no longer Chaucer. But the
well-chosen, and well-disposed, and well-told tale, full of masculine
sense, lively with humour, made present with painting--for all this
Chaucer brings to Dryden--becomes, by nothing more than the
disantiquating and the different hand, a new poem.
Place the two side by side, and whilst you feel that a total change has
been effected, you shall not always easily assign the secret of the
change wrought. There then comes into view, it must be owned, something
like an unpractised awkwardness in the gait of the great elder bard,
which you less willingly believe, or to which you shut your eyes, when
you have him by himself to yourself. The step of Dryden is rapid, and
has perfect decision. He knows, with every spring he takes, where he
shall alight. Now Chaucer, you would often say, is retarded by looking
where he shall next set down his foot. The old poetry details the whole
series of thinking. The modern supposes more. That is the consequence of
practice. Writer and reader are in better intelligence. A hint goes
further--that which is known to be meant needs not be explicitly said.
Style, as the art advances, gains in dispatch. There is better keeping,
too, in some respects. The dignity of the style--the purpose of the
Beautiful--is more considerately maintained. And perhaps one would be
justified in saying, that if the earnestness of the heart, which was in
the old time the virtue of virtues, is less--the glow of the fancy, the
tone of inspiration, is proportionally more. And if any where the
thought is made to give way to the straits of the verse, the modern art
more artfully hides the commission.
In our preceding paper, in which we spoke at large of the genius of
Chaucer, we gave some very noble extracts from Dryden's version of the
Knight's Tale. But we did not then venture to quote any long passages
from the original, unassured how they might look on our page to the eyes
of Young Britain. Having good reason to know that Young Britain desires
some veritable Chaucer from the hands of Maga, we shall now indulge her
with some specimens; and as we have been given to understand that
Dryden's versions of the same passages will be acceptable for
comparison, they shall be now produced, while the wishes of Young
Britain shall be further gratified with an occasional running commentary
from our popular pen on both poets. We shall confine ourselves to the
Knight's Tale, with which all who love us are by this time familiar.
Let us lead off with one or two short specimens, and be not frightened,
Fair-eyes, with the seemingly strange, mayhap obsolete-looking, words of
the ancient bard. Con them over a few times, and they will turn into
letters of light.