Gower" and the "philosophical Strode," whose names he has thus embalmed
in his verse; and both were members of the University of Oxford at the
time that all three must have been engaged in the business of mental
culture. To them he dedicated his 'Troilus and Cressida;' and the poem
itself, which is said to have been written at Oxford, may have been
composed while in the daily enjoyment of their society. But whether it
was Oxford, or some other place, that the poet left at the termination
of his English academical studies, we may rest assured that Leland was
essentially correct in his general statement when he wrote, "At the
period of his leaving Oxford, he was already an acute dialectician, a
persuasive orator, an eloquent poet, a grave philosopher, an able
mathematician, and an accomplished divine. These no doubt are lofty
appellations; but whoever shall examine his works with a curious eye,
will admit that I have sufficient ground for my panegyric." But the
touches of the "finishing school," it appears, from the same authority,
were still requisite, and were obtained. Chaucer went to Paris, where
"he imbibed all the beauties, elegance, charms, wit, and grace of the
French tongue, to a degree that is scarcely credible." And thus
accomplished, and possessing a handsome person, which must have been
trained and developed into strength and activity by martial exercises,
the young poet returned to England, and prepared to enter into the
ordinary business of life, from which alone, it is probable, he
thenceforward derived his chief or entire support. At first he entered
into the study of the law, and became a member of the Inner Temple; but
the only result was, an affair in which he became subject to the law,
instead of an expounder of it. Some friar having offended the poet in
Fleet Street, he is said to have given him a beating, and to have been
fined five shillings for the offence. But it was not in the time of the
Third Edward that a young ambitious man, in the possession of all that
nature could possibly confer upon her greatest favourites--whether of
personal or mental advantages, and whose acquisitions were as remarkable
as his endowments,--it was not then such a man could shut himself up in
the dusty solitudes of the Temple chambers, and pore over legal
treatises from morn to noon--from noon to dewy eve. It was not the moths
of fashion that the dazzling radiance of the court of King Edward
attracted, but England's bravest and ablest men, her noblest and most
virtuous women, whose beauty, however conspicuous, formed the least of
their qualifications. It was with such as these that the palace halls of
Windsor were thronged. To mention but two names, each sufficient to
immortalize any court--there were then among the brilliant groups that
surrounded Edward, his queen Philippa, the saviour of the illustrious
citizens of Calais, and the Countess of Salisbury, the heroine of
Froissart's charming narration, who not only resisted the king's
unlawful love, but so purified the heart of the lover, that when the
well-known accident happened at a ball, he founded the order of the
Garter in her eternal honour: an act, all things considered, unequalled
for its combination of chivalrous, poetical, and lover-like feeling.
It was among such personages the young poet desired to be, and his
wishes were speedily gratified. And it is evident that he was at least
as much admired as he could admire, notwithstanding his modest and
retiring, if not even reserved habits. A pleasant tradition tells us
that the Countess of Pembroke, the king's daughter, one of his
patronesses, told him his silence created more mirth than his
conversation; for he was very bashful and reserved in company,
notwithstanding that life and spirit which appeared in his writings. But
Chaucer had no desire to play the courtier--and he was understood. More
than one of his poems are believed to have originated in conversations
between the poet and the noble women who honoured themselves and him by
taking an interest in his career. Thus, to appease them generally, when
they professed to be offended by the strictures contained in some of his
writings, he produced, at the command of Queen Philippa, 'The Legend of
Good Women,' which, it has been pointedly observed, should rather be
called 'The Legend of Bad Men.' Lydgate says--
"The poet wrote, at the request of the queen,
A Legende of perfect holiness;
Of good women to finde out nineteen
That did excel in bounty and faireness;"
and the sly monk adds, for all his labour he found it impossible
"In all this world to find so great a number."
How the poet obtained admittance to the court we know not. In the
absence of any facts tending to show that he was by birth entitled to
expect as a matter of course the remarkable favour that was accorded to
him, we do not see why we may not fall back upon the agreeable
hypothesis that it was not social rank (though he had as much of it as
was indispensable), but intellectual merit that really introduced him
there. At all events such a supposition is supported in a remarkable
manner by the known nature of his connexion with the man who, next to
Edward and his son the Black Prince, occupied in his time the largest
share of the attention of the people of England: we refer to John of
Gaunt, Duke of Lancaster, the fourth son of Edward, and of course,
therefore, the brother of the prince just named.
Among the poems of Chaucer there are three which have been looked upon,
and no doubt correctly, as illustrating the personal history of the duke
as a lover and a husband. In the first of these, 'The Complaint of the
Black Knight,' the poet, in a charming passage, describes himself as
walking forth on a May morning, and meeting in an arbour the Black
Knight, who is bewailing the cruelty of his mistress. It is worthy of
observation, that the poem shows how much better the poet felt what did
concern him, the beauty of the time and season, than what did not touch
very deeply his sympathies, the love-distresses of his friend and patron
John of Gaunt. The second work of the series, 'Chaucer's Dream,' shows
that the lady's obduracy was, as usual, more apparent than real. The
royal lover has married the lady of his heart, Blanche, daughter of the
Duke of Lancaster. The third poem, the 'Book of the Duchess,' records
the premature death of Blanche in 1369, and the profound grief of her
husband. The historical facts relating to John of Gaunt, "time-honoured
Lancaster," harmonize so completely with the poetical ones contained in
this trio of poems, that there can be no reasonable doubt as to the
scope and origin of the latter. And this conviction is of greater value
than may be at first apparent. The 'Complaint of the Black Knight,'
referring to the duke's courtship, and 'Chaucer's Dream,' referring to
the duke's marriage, must have been written--the one a little before and
the other a little after that marriage, which took place at Reading, in
May, 1359, and was solemnized with great splendour. Knowing then the
period and the circumstances of the production of these poems, we shall
find, on looking at the one named 'Chaucer's Dream,' that we also know
the essential history of the poet's own courtship and marriage. In the
other two poems he is thinking chiefly of his friend and patron; in this
one he makes all turn toward the expression of his own heartfelt wishes.
In the 'Dream' he imagines himself in a lodge, beside a well in the
forest, reposing after the fatigues of a hunt. The difficulties
attending the courtship of the duke and duchess are then shadowed forth
by an account of their death, and revival, ending in their union. Then
follows a long and highly important passage, evidently, up to a certain
point, narrating facts. After the marriage was determined upon, the
royal lovers sent out messengers in all directions
"To kinges, queenes, and duchesses,
To divers princes, and princesses,"
inviting them to be present at the solemnity. Then, says the poet, they
ordered that certain knights and squires and officers--
"In manner of an embassade,
With certain letters clos'd and made,
Should take the barge and depart,
And seek _my lady_ every part
Till they her found."
The duke and duchess[26] (Blanche) tell them to charge her to be there
at the day; again and again Blanche desires to be commended to her, and
she is to be told that, unless she come, all will be wasted,
"And the feast but a business,
Withouten joy or lustiness."
The embassy departs, and, after fourteen days, returns with the object
of their search in the barge. The duchess, in her delight, cannot wait
for her arrival at the court, but, says the poet, she met my lady on the
sand, and clasped her in her arms. And for twelve hours after they
parted not, but wandered alone, talking of their joys and troubles, with
the pleasure natural to their young and tender years. And when night
came, they still remained together. On the morrow the prince of lords
"Came, and unto my lady said
Of her coming glad, and well apaid[27]
He was, and full right cunningly
Her thanked, and full heartily,
And laugh'd and smil'd, and said, 'Ywis
That[28] was in doubt, in safety is.'"
The marriage takes place, and then, continues the poet,
"The prince, the queen,[29] and all the rest
Unto my lady made request
And her besought often, and pray'd
To me-wards to be well apaid
And consider mine olde truth,
And on my paines haven ruth,
And me accept to her service
In suche form and in such wise
That we both mighten be as one;
Thus pray'd the queen and every one,
And, for there should ne be no Nay,
They stinten jousting all a day
To pray my lady, and requere
To be content and out of fear,
And with good heart make friendly cheer,
And said it was a happy year;
At which she smiled, and said 'Ywis
I trow well he my servant is,
And would _my_ welfare, as I trist,[30]
So would I _his_; and would he wist
How; and I knewe that his truth
Continue would, withouten sloth,
And be such as ye here report.
Restraining both courage and sport,
I could consent at your request
To be ynamed of your feast,
And doen after your usance
In obeying of your pleaesance.
At your request this I consent,
To pleasen you in your intent:
_And eke the sovereign above,
Commanded hath me for to love,
And before others him prefer_;
Against which prince may be no wer;[31]
For his power o'er all reigneth,
That other would for nought him paineth;
And sith his will and yours is one,
Contrary in me shall be none.'"
Here we have passed the boundaries of fact. That the lady had not yet
said what the poet so delicately tells her she should say, much less
that the marriage had taken place amidst all the ceremonies and gladness
and splendour that he next so picturesquely describes, the poet
presently proceeds to tell us. The sounds
"Round about, and in all the tents,
With thousandes of instruments,"
trouble him in his sleep; he wakes, and finds no lady, alas! And now
the mask, assumed for the moment, is dropped; he avows his prayer that
his lady will accept of his service in such a manner that the substance
of his dream may prove true, or that he may return into the same
pleasant isle of fancy. And then, in direct appeal to her for grace
(under the title of L'Envoy), he concludes the poem.
If we need any other evidence of the correctness of the idea that this
poem records the poet's own feelings and position, and the position of
the lady loved by him, we have only to inquire who it was that is known
to have inspired such sentiments in his breast. She was the daughter of
Sir Payne Roet, Guienne, king-of-arms, who is supposed to have come over
from Hainault with Queen Philippa, after whom she may have been named,
and in whose service she remained up to the day of the queen's death.
This lady therefore was a member, and, as we know, a highly favoured
one, of the household of the wife of John of Gaunt's brother. But the
connexion may be traced still closer. Philippa Roet's sister Katherine,
widow of Sir Hugh Swynford, was in the household of the duchess Blanche
herself, the queen of Chaucer's dream, and it was that Katherine whom
the great duke, later in life, married.
And what did the lady say, on the receipt of this poem, so exquisitely
contrived and carried out? We know not, but may guess from subsequent
circumstances that it was not very unfavourable. Suddenly, however, the
sound of war rouses the lovers from all such dreamy delights. Edward,
like a losing gamester, growing only the more desperate, is fitting out
a new army for the conquest of France. The poet must accompany him. It
is Chaucer's first military expedition. We must for a while forget the
poet in the soldier.
Our knowledge of this important incident in the poet's career is derived
from the deposition before mentioned, and forms the chief value of that
document. Though delivered, therefore, many years subsequent to the
period in question, we may here fitly transcribe it. Chaucer, among a
host of other witnesses, was called by Richard, Lord Scrope, to bear
testimony to his right to certain arms, in opposition to a similar claim
on the part of Sir Robert Grosvenor.
"Geoffrey Chaucer, Esquire, of the age of forty and upwards, armed for
twenty-seven years, produced on behalf of Sir Richard Scrope, sworn and
examined: Asked, whether the arms 'Azure, a bend Or' belonged or ought
to belong to the said Sir Richard? Said yes, for he saw him so armed in
France, before the town of Retters [apparently the village of Retiers,
near Rennes, in Brittany], and Sir Henry Scrope armed in the same arms
with a white label, and with a banner; and the said Sir Richard armed in
the entire arms 'Azure, with a bend Or,' and so he had seen him armed
during the whole expedition, until the said Geoffrey was taken. Asked,
how he knew that the said arms appertained to the said Sir Richard? Said
that he had heard say from old knights and esquires, that they had been
reputed to be their arms, as common fame and the public voice proved;
and he also said that they had continued their possession of the said
arms; and that all his time he had seen the said arms in banners, glass,
paintings, and vestments, and commonly called the arms of Scrope. Asked,
if he had heard anyone say who was the first ancestor of the said Sir
Richard who first bore the said arms? Said no, nor had he ever heard
otherwise than that they were come of ancient ancestry, and of old
gentry, and used the said arms. Asked if he had heard any one say how
long a time the ancestors of the said Sir Richard had used the said
arms? Said no, but he had heard say that it passed the memory of man.
Asked, whether he had ever heard of any interruption or challenge made
by Sir Robert Grosvenor, or by his ancestors, or by any one in his name,
to the said Sir Richard, or to any of his ancestors? Said no; but he
said that he was once in Friday Street, in London, and as he was walking
in the street, he saw hanging a new sign made of the said arms, and he
asked what inn that was that had hung out these arms of Scrope, and one
answered him and said, No Sir, they are not hung out for the arms of
Scrope, nor painted there for those arms, but they are painted and put
there by a knight of the county of Chester, whom men call Sir Robert
Grosvenor; and that was the first time he ever heard speak of Sir Robert
Grosvenor, or of his ancestors, or of any other bearing the name of
Grosvenor."
Chaucer says he had been armed twenty-seven years; this means,
according to the then prevalent mode of speaking of such matters, that
in 1359, twenty-seven years before the date of the deposition, 1386,
Chaucer had _first_ borne arms. He says also, he was in France, in one
of the military expeditions of the time. Now as 1359 is the very year in
which Edward took a great army into that country, and as for three years
before and for ten years after, there was no other such expedition set
on foot, and as when fresh ones were despatched we know the poet was not
concerned in them, but was differently engaged--why, on the whole, the
inference is irresistible, that it was in Edward's expedition of 1359
that Chaucer first became a soldier.
And that expedition was one calculated to test most searchingly his
possession of the soldier's best quality, fortitude, though not at all
calculated to make him enamoured of the vocation. The expedition
throughout exhibited to him only the shades of military life, without a
glimpse of its sunshine. A more formidable army had never perhaps left
the English shores--certainly had never left it to meet so melancholy a
fate; it comprised a hundred thousand men, and filled a thousand ships
during the passage from coast to coast. And if for a time it seemed as
irresistible as it had promised to be, that was because no army came
forth to meet it. From Calais Edward moved on through Artois to Picardy;
and thence to Rheims, which he besieged with the intention, it is said,
of having himself crowned king of France in the cathedral, the usual
place of coronation for the sovereigns of the country. But the garrison
was brave, the place strong, and the season winter. In the end he raised
the siege, and marched into Burgundy, and then, turning towards Paris,
he moved forwards till the dismayed Parisians beheld an English army
encamped without their walls. The French, however, had learned wisdom
from the success with which they had often defended their fortified
places, and from the failure that attended their efforts in the open
field. So they were not to be drawn outside the walls of the capital,
not even by a challenge; and at the same time Edward was quite unable to
force his way in; so, harassed by insufficient supplies of provisions,
he presently retreated towards Brittany. Every step of his way was
marked by falling horses and men, who died from hunger or the
intolerable fatigue to which they were subjected. No wonder that the
spirits of the troops sank, and that Edward's own mind was so affected
that he became superstitious, and yielded, beneath the terror of a great
storm, the peace that not all the miseries of his own subjects, and the
infinitely greater miseries they had inflicted on the French people,
could wring from him. On the 8th of May, 1360, the treaty of Bretigny
was concluded; Bretigny being a village near to Chartres. Of the greater
part of the horrors of the expedition Chaucer was an eyewitness and
participator, with the additional pang added that, as he himself tells,
he was "taken" prisoner. How long he remained in captivity it is
impossible to say; but there is reason to fear that the period may have
even extended to five or six years. From 1359-60 to a little before 1366
his history is a blank to us; and the next circumstance we find related
of him looks very like the greetings of his friends and of his sovereign
after a prolonged and painful absence. In or before 1366 he received the
hand of Philippa Roet, who, on the 12th of September in that year, was
granted, by Edward, a pension of ten marks for life, by the name of
Philippa Chaucer; and on the 20th of June in the following year, we find
her husband holding a post (that of valet) in the king's household,
corresponding to hers in the queen's, and enjoying that king's especial
favour, as expressed by a grant of twenty marks yearly, in consideration
of his former and future services. It is tolerably evident from all
this, that it was not through the exertions of his own friend and patron
John of Gaunt, or through the existence of any particular private desire
to aid him in the minds of the still more influential friends and
patrons of his wife, that the poet thus succeeded in establishing a
position for himself in the world. The reward looks as though it were
apportioned simply to the amount of the desert; and through all
Chaucer's subsequent and highly distinguished career we shall find the
same characteristic prevailing in the treatment of him. Or if there be
any discrepancy, it is that the rewards on the whole seem to fall short
rather than to exceed what might be supposed the legitimate amount. The
king's grant to Chaucer was to last for life, or until he should be
otherwise provided for. The promise here held out to the poet was not
long left unredeemed. In 1370 he was sent abroad on the king's service;
and--having been raised to the rank of one of the king's own
squires--again in 1372, when he went to Genoa, to treat on the subject
of the choice of a port in England where the Genoese might form an
establishment. In 1376 a secret mission, and the nature of which still
remains secret, was intrusted to him and Sir John Burley. In 1377 he
accompanied Sir Thomas Percy on another secret mission to Flanders, and
in the same year is supposed to have been concerned in the negotiations
for peace with France; all missions of an important nature, and all
comprised within the period of the life of Edward. But change of
monarchs made no change in this respect; the poet's abilities,
character, and services were sufficient to command the respect and
attention of Edward's successor. One of the earliest events of the new
reign was the appointment of an embassy to treat of the marriage of
Richard II. with the daughter of the king of France: Chaucer was one of
the ambassadors. This was in January, 1378, and the poet could scarcely
have fulfilled his duty and returned, before he was again despatched, in
May of the same year, to Lombardy, to treat with the lord of Milan and
the famous free commander Sir John Hawkwood. An interesting circumstance
marks this embassy. Gower was one of the two representatives who acted
for the poet in England during his absence. This is one of the numerous
valuable facts that Sir Harris Nicholas has made known for the first
time in his (as yet unpublished) 'Life of Chaucer.'
It was in the embassy to Genoa, of 1372, that Chaucer is supposed to
have met Petrarch, and to have heard from him the story of Griselda.
This supposition, the truth of which one would be glad to be satisfied
of, rests upon the following evidence:--Chaucer, in the prologue to the
Clerk's Tale, makes the clerk say,
"I will you tell a tale, which that I
Learned at Padua, of a worthy clerk,
As proved by his wordes and his work.
He is now dead and nailed in his chest;
I pray to God so give his soule rest.
Francis Petrarch, the laureate poete,
Highte this clerk, whose rhetoric sweet
Illumined all Itaille of poetry."
Now Boccaccio was the author, in the Italian language, of the story in
question, 'Griselda;' and why did Chaucer, if he is not referring to an
actual and highly interesting incident of his own history, make the
clerk go out of his way to speak of Petrarch, who only translated, in
Latin, Boccaccio's work? No one supposes that Chaucer was ignorant of
the existence or nature of the writings of Boccaccio; and the only
answer given to Godwin, who put the foregoing question, is, that Chaucer
may not have been acquainted with the Italian language, and therefore
preferred acknowledging an obligation to Petrarch, whose translation
alone had enabled him to become familiar with the tale. It might be so;
though it is not very likely. Not only was Chaucer, as we have seen,
distinguished in youth for the depth and universality of his
attainments, but had been at least twice an ambassador to Italy. The
strong probability therefore is, that he did know the language, and was
perfectly well acquainted with the 'Decameron' (the exemplar of his own
Canterbury Tales) in its mother tongue, but that having met Petrarch,
_who was at Arqua near Padua_ at the very time that Chaucer was in the
neighbourhood, he could not tell the tale he had then heard, under such
remarkable circumstances, without a passing record of them.