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} +.lcol { width:50%; text-align:left; float:left; clear:right; } +.rcol { width:50%; float:right; text-align:right; } +.clear { clear:both; } +</style> +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's Medieval English Literature, by William Paton Ker + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Medieval English Literature + Home University of Modern Knowledge #43 + +Author: William Paton Ker + +Release Date: September 7, 2011 [EBook #37342] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEDIEVAL ENGLISH LITERATURE *** + + + + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Stephen Hutcheson, Mark Akrigg +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at +http://www.pgdpcanada.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="box"> +<p class="center"><i>THE HOME UNIVERSITY LIBRARY +<br />OF MODERN KNOWLEDGE</i></p> +<p class="center">43</p> +<p class="center">MEDIEVAL +<br />ENGLISH LITERATURE</p> +<p class="center"><i>EDITORS OF +<br />The Home University Library +<br />of Modern Knowledge</i></p> +<p class="center"><span class="small">GILBERT MURRAY, O.M., D.C.L., F.B.A. +<br />G. N. CLARK, LL.D., F.B.A. +<br />G. R. DE BEER, D.SC., F.R.S.</span></p> +<p class="center"><i>United States</i></p> +<p class="center"><span class="small">JOHN FULTON, M.D., PH.D. +<br />HOWARD MUMFORD JONES, LITT.D. +<br />WILLIAM L. LANGER, PH.D.</span></p> +</div> +<div class="box"> +<h1><i>Medieval +<br />English Literature</i></h1> +<p class="center">W. P. KER</p> +<p class="tbcenter"><i>Geoffrey Cumberlege</i> +<br /><span class="small">OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS +<br />LONDON <span class="hst">NEW YORK</span> <span class="hst">TORONTO</span></span></p> +<p class="tbcenter"><span class="small"><i>First published in</i> 1912, <i>and reprinted in</i> 1925, 1926, 1928 (<i>twice</i>), +<br />1932, <i>and</i> 1942 +<br /><i>Reset in</i> 1945 <i>and reprinted in</i> 1948</span></p> +<p class="tbcenter"><span class="smaller">PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN</span></p> +</div> +<h2 id="toc"><span class="small">CONTENTS</span></h2> +<dl class="toc"> +<dt><span class="lj"><span class="small">CHAP.</span></span> <span class="jr"><span class="small">PAGE</span></span></dt> +<dt><a href="#c1"><span>I </span>INTRODUCTION</a> 7</dt> +<dt><a href="#c2"><span>II </span>THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD</a> 16</dt> +<dt><a href="#c3"><span>III </span>THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD (1150-1500)</a> 43</dt> +<dt><a href="#c4"><span>IV </span>THE ROMANCES</a> 76</dt> +<dt><a href="#c5"><span>V </span>SONGS AND BALLADS</a> 107</dt> +<dt><a href="#c6"><span>VI </span>COMIC POETRY</a> 124</dt> +<dt><a href="#c7"><span>VII </span>ALLEGORY</a> 137</dt> +<dt><a href="#c8"><span>VIII </span>SERMONS AND HISTORIES, IN VERSE AND PROSE</a> 150</dt> +<dt><a href="#c9"><span>IX </span>CHAUCER</a> 163</dt> +<dt><a href="#c10"><span> </span>NOTE ON BOOKS</a> 187</dt> +<dt><a href="#c11"><span> </span>SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE <i>by</i> R. W. CHAMBERS</a> 188</dt> +<dt><a href="#c12"><span> </span>INDEX</a> 190</dt> +</dl> +<div class="pb" id="Page_7">[7]</div> +<h2 id="c1"><span class="small">CHAPTER I</span> +<br />INTRODUCTION</h2> +<p>Readers are drawn to medieval literature in many +different ways, and it is hardly possible to describe all +the attractions and all the approaches by which they +enter on this ground. Students of history have to +learn the languages of the nations with whose history +they are concerned, and to read the chief books in +those languages, if they wish to understand rightly the +ideas, purposes and temper of the past ages. Sometimes +the study of early literature has been instigated +by religious or controversial motives, as when the +Anglo-Saxon homilies were taken up and edited and +interpreted in support of the Reformation. Sometimes +it is mere curiosity that leads to investigation of +old literature—a wish to find out the meaning of what +looks at first difficult and mysterious. Curiosity of +this sort, however, is seldom found unmixed; there +are generally all sorts of vague associations and interests +combining to lead the explorer on. It has often been +observed that a love of Gothic architecture, or of +medieval art in general, goes along with, and helps, +the study of medieval poetry. Chatterton’s old +English reading and his imitations of old English verse +were inspired by the Church of St. Mary Redcliffe at +Bristol. The lives of Horace Walpole, of Thomas +Warton, of Sir Walter Scott, and many others show +how medieval literary studies may be nourished along +with other kindred antiquarian tastes.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_8">[8]</div> +<p>Sometimes, instead of beginning in historical or +antiquarian interests, or in a liking for the fashions +of the Middle Ages in general, it happens that a love +of medieval literature has its rise in one particular +author, e.g. Dante or Sir Thomas Malory. The book, +the <i>Divina Commedia</i> or <i>Le Morte d’Arthur</i>, is taken +up, it may be, casually, with no very distinct idea or +purpose, and then it is found to be engrossing and +captivating—what is often rightly called ‘a revelation +of a new world’. For a long time this is enough in +itself; the reader is content with Dante or with the +<i>Morte d’Arthur</i>. But it may occur to him to ask +about ‘the French book’ from which Malory got his +adventures of the Knights of King Arthur; he may +want to know how the legend of the Grail came to be +mixed up with the romances of the Round Table; and +so he will be drawn on, trying to find out as much +as possible and plunging deeper and deeper into the +Middle Ages. The same kind of thing happens to +the reader of Dante; Dante is found all through his +poem acknowledging obligations to earlier writers; he +is not alone or independent in his thought and his +poetry; and so it becomes an interesting thing to go +further back and to know something about the older +poets and moralists, and the earlier medieval world in +general, before it was all summed up and recorded +in the imagination of the Divine Comedy. Examples +of this way of reading may be found in the works of +Ruskin and in Matthew Arnold. Matthew Arnold, +rather late in his life (in the introductory essay to +T. H. Ward’s <i>English Poets</i>), shows that he has +been reading some old French authors. He does not +<span class="pb" id="Page_9">[9]</span> +begin with old French when he is young; evidently +he was brought to it in working back from the better +known poets, Dante and Chaucer. Ruskin’s old +French quotations are also rather late in the series of +his writings; it was in his Oxford lectures, partly +published in <i>Fors Clavigera</i>, that he dealt with <i>The +Romance of the Rose</i>, and used it to illustrate whatever +else was in his mind at the time.</p> +<p>Thus it is obvious that any one who sets out to write +about English literature in the Middle Ages will find +himself addressing an audience which is not at all in +agreement with regard to the subject. Some will +probably be historical in their tastes, and will seek, in +literature, for information about manners and customs, +fashions of opinion, ‘typical developments’ in the +history of culture or education. Others may be on +the look-out for stories, for the charm of romance +which is sometimes thought to belong peculiarly to +the Middle Ages, and some, with ambitions of their +own, may ask for themes that can be used and adapted +in modern forms, as the Nibelung story has been used +by Wagner and William Morris and many others; +perhaps for mere suggestions of plots and scenery, +to be employed more freely, as in Morris’s prose +romances, for example. Others, starting from one +favourite author—Dante or Chaucer or Malory—will +try to place what they already know in its right relation +to all its surroundings—by working, for instance, at +the history of religious poetry, or the different kinds +of story-telling. It is not easy to write for all these +and for other different tastes as well. But it is not a +hopeless business, so long as there is some sort of +<span class="pb" id="Page_10">[10]</span> +interest to begin with, even if it be only a general +vague curiosity about an unknown subject.</p> +<p>There are many prejudices against the Middle Ages; +the name itself was originally an expression of contempt; +it means the interval of darkness between the +ruin of ancient classical culture and the modern revival +of learning—a time supposed to be full of ignorance, +superstition and bad taste, an object of loathing to +well-educated persons. As an example of this sort of +opinion about the Middle Ages, one may take what +Bentham says of our ‘barbarian ancestors’—‘few of +whom could so much as read, and those few had +nothing before them that was worth the reading’. +‘When from their ordinary occupation, their order of +the day, the cutting of one another’s throats, or those +of Welshmen, Scotchmen or Irishmen, they could +steal now and then a holiday, how did they employ it? +In cutting Frenchmen’s throats in order to get their +money: this was active virtue:—leaving Frenchmen’s +throats uncut was indolence, slumber, inglorious ease.’</p> +<p>On the other hand, the Middle Ages have been +glorified by many writers; ‘the Age of Chivalry’, the +‘Ages of Faith’ have often been contrasted with the +hardness of the age of enlightenment, rationalism, and +material progress; they are thought of as full of colour, +variety, romance of all sorts, while modern civilization +is represented as comparatively dull, monotonous and +unpicturesque. This kind of view has so far prevailed, +even among people who do not go to any extremes, and +who are not excessively enthusiastic or romantic, that +the term ‘Gothic’, which used to be a term of contempt +for the Middle Ages, has entirely lost its scornful +<span class="pb" id="Page_11">[11]</span> +associations. ‘Gothic’ was originally an abusive +name, like ‘Vandalism’; it meant the same thing as +‘barbarian’. But while ‘Vandalism’ has kept its bad +meaning, ‘Gothic’ has lost it. It does not now mean +‘barbarous’, and if it still means ‘unclassical’ it does +not imply that what is ‘unclassical’ must be wrong. +It is possible now to think of the Middle Ages and +their literature without prejudice on the one side or +the other. As no one now thinks of despising Gothic +architecture simply because it is not Greek, so the +books of the Middle Ages may be read in a spirit of +fairness by those who will take the trouble to understand +their language; they may be appreciated for +what they really are; their goodness or badness is +not now determined merely by comparison with the +work of other times in which the standards and ideals +of excellence were not the same.</p> +<p>The language is a difficulty. The older English +books are written in the language which is commonly +called Anglo-Saxon; this is certainly not one of the +most difficult, but no language is really easy to learn. +Anglo-Saxon poetry, besides, has a peculiar vocabulary +and strange forms of expression. The poetical +books are not to be read without a great deal of +application; they cannot be rushed.</p> +<p>Later, when the language has changed into what is +technically called Middle English—say, in the thirteenth +century—things are in many ways no better. +It is true that the language is nearer to modern English; +it is true also that the language of the poetical books is +generally much simpler and nearer that of ordinary +prose than was the language of the Anglo-Saxon poets. +<span class="pb" id="Page_12">[12]</span> +But on the other hand, while Anglo-Saxon literature is +practically all in one language, Middle English is really +not a language at all, but a great number of different +tongues, belonging to different parts of the country. +And not only does the language of Yorkshire differ +from that of Kent, or Dorset, or London, or Lancashire, +but within the same district each author spells as he +pleases, and the man who makes a copy of his book +also spells as he pleases, and mixes up his own local +and personal varieties with those of the original author. +There is besides an enormously greater amount of +written matter extant in Middle English than in Anglo-Saxon, +and this, coming from all parts of the country, +is full of all varieties of odd words. The vocabulary +of Middle English, with its many French and Danish +words, its many words belonging to one region and +not to another, is, in some ways, more difficult than +that of Anglo-Saxon.</p> +<p>But luckily it is not hard, in spite of all these +hindrances, to make a fair beginning with the old +languages—in Anglo-Saxon, for example, with Sweet’s +<i>Primer</i> and <i>Reader</i>, in Middle English with Chaucer +or <i>Piers Plowman</i>.</p> +<p>The difference in language between Anglo-Saxon +and Middle English corresponds to a division in the +history of literature. Anglo-Saxon literature is different +from that which follows it, not merely in its +grammar and dictionary, but in many of its ideas and +fashions, particularly in its fashion of poetry. The +difference may be expressed in this way, that while the +older English literature is mainly English, the literature +after the eleventh century is largely dependent on +<span class="pb" id="Page_13">[13]</span> +France; France from 1100 to 1400 is the chief source +of ideas, culture, imagination, stories, and forms of +verse. It is sometimes thought that this was the +result of the Norman Conquest, but that is not the +proper explanation of what happened, either in +language or in literature. For the same kind of thing +happened in other countries which were not conquered +by the Normans or by any other people speaking +French. The history of the German language and of +German literature in the Middle Ages corresponds in +many things to the history of English. The name +Middle English was invented by a German philologist +(Grimm), who found in English the same stages of +development as in German; Anglo-Saxon corresponds +to Old German in its inflexions; Middle English is like +Middle German. The change, in both languages, is a +change from one kind of inflexion to another. In the +‘Old’ stage (say, about the year 900) the inflexions +have various clearly pronounced vowels in them; +in the ‘Middle’ stage (about 1200) the terminations of +words have come to be pronounced less distinctly, +and where there is inflexion it shows most commonly +one vowel, written <i>e</i>, where the ‘Old’ form might +have <i>a</i> or <i>o</i> or <i>u</i>. Changes of this kind had begun in +England before the Norman Conquest, and would +have gone on as they did in Germany if there had been +no Norman Conquest at all. The French and the +French language had nothing to do with it.</p> +<p>Where the French were really important was in their +ideas and in the forms of their poetry; they made +their influence felt through these in all Western +Christendom, in Italy, in Denmark, and even more +<span class="pb" id="Page_14">[14]</span> +strongly in Germany than in England. Indeed it +might be said that the Norman Conquest made it less +easy for the English than it was for the Germans to +employ the French ideas when they were writing +books of their own in their own language. The +French influence was too strong in England; the +native language was discouraged; many Englishmen +wrote their books in French, instead of making English +adaptations from the French. The Germans, who +were independent politically, were not tempted in +the same way as the English, and in many respects +they were more successful than the English as translators +from the French, as adapters of French ‘motives’ +and ideas. But whatever the differences might be +between one nation and another, it is certain that after +1100 French ideas were appreciated in all the countries +of Europe, in such a way as to make France the +principal source of enlightenment and entertainment +everywhere; and the intellectual predominance of +France is what most of all distinguishes the later +medieval from the earlier, that is, from the Anglo-Saxon +period, in the history of English literature.</p> +<p>The leadership of France in the literature of Europe +may be dated as beginning about 1100, which is the +time of the First Crusade and of many great changes +in the life of Christendom. About 1100 there is an +end of one great historical period, which began with +what is called the Wandering of the German nations, +and their settlement in various parts of the world. +The Norman Conquest of England, it has been said, +is the last of the movements in the wandering of the +nations. Goths and Vandals, Franks, Burgundians, +<span class="pb" id="Page_15">[15]</span> +Lombards, Angles, Jutes and Saxons, Danes and +Northmen, had all had their times of adventure, +exploration, conquest and settlement. One great +event in this wandering was the establishment of the +Norwegian settlers in France, the foundation of +Normandy; and the expeditions of the Normans—to +Italy as well as to England—were nearly the last which +were conducted in the old style. After the Norman +Conquest there are new sorts of adventure, which are +represented in Chaucer’s Knight and Squire—the one +a Crusader, or Knight errant, the other (his son) +engaged in a more modern sort of warfare, England +against France, nation against nation.</p> +<p>The two forms of the English language, Anglo-Saxon +and Middle English, and the two periods of +medieval English literature, correspond to the two +historical periods of which one ends and the other +begins about 1100, at the date of the First Crusade. +Anglo-Saxon literature belongs to the older world; +Anglo-Saxon poetry goes back to very early times and +keeps a tradition which had come down from ancient +days when the English were still a Continental German +tribe. Middle English literature is cut off from Anglo-Saxon, +the Anglo-Saxon stories are forgotten, and +though the old alliterative verse is kept, as late as the +sixteenth century, it is in a new form with a new tune +in it; while instead of being the one great instrument +of poetry it has to compete with rhyming couplets and +stanzas of different measure; it is hard put to it by +the rhymes of France.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_16">[16]</div> +<h2 id="c2"><span class="small">CHAPTER II</span> +<br />THE ANGLO-SAXON PERIOD</h2> +<p>In dealing with Anglo-Saxon literature it is well to +remember first of all that comparatively little of it +has been preserved; we cannot be sure, either, that +the best things have been preserved, in the poetry +especially. Anglo-Saxon poetry was being made, we +know, for at least five hundred years. What now +exists is found, chiefly, in four manuscript volumes,<sup><a id="fr_1" href="#fn_1">[1]</a></sup> +which have been saved, more or less accidentally, +from all sorts of dangers. No one can say what has +been lost. Many manuscripts, as good as any of +these, may have been sold as old parchment, or given +to the children to cut up into tails for kites. One +Anglo-Saxon poem, <i>Waldere</i>, is known from two +fragments of it which were discovered in the binding +of a book in Copenhagen. Two other poems were +fortunately copied and published about two hundred +years ago by two famous antiquaries; the original +manuscripts have disappeared since then. Who can +tell how many manuscripts have disappeared without +being copied? The obvious conclusion is that we can +speak about what we know, but not as if we knew +everything about Anglo-Saxon poetry.</p> +<p>With the prose it is rather different. The prose +<span class="pb" id="Page_17">[17]</span> +translations due to King Alfred are preserved; so is +the English Chronicle; so are a fair number of religious +works, the homilies of Ælfric and others; it does not +seem likely from what we know of the conditions of +authorship in those times that any prose work of any +notable or original value has disappeared. With the +poetry, on the other hand, every fresh discovery—like +that of the bookbinding fragments already mentioned—makes +one feel that the extent of Anglo-Saxon poetry +is unknown. Anything may turn up. We cannot say +what subjects were not treated by Anglo-Saxon poets. +It is certain that many good stories were known to +them which are not found in any of the extant +manuscripts.</p> +<p>The contents of Anglo-Saxon literature may be +divided into two sections, one belonging to the English +as a Teutonic people who inherited along with their +language a form of poetry and a number of stories +which have nothing to do with Roman civilization; +the other derived from Latin and turning into English +the knowledge which was common to the whole of +Europe.</p> +<p>The English in the beginning—Angles and Saxons—were +heathen Germans who took part in the great +movement called the Wandering of the Nations—who +left their homes and emigrated to lands belonging to +the Roman empire, and made slaves of the people they +found there. They were barbarians; the civilized +inhabitants of Britain, when the English appeared +there, thought of them as horrible savages. They were +as bad and detestable as the Red Indians were to the +Colonists in America long afterwards.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_18">[18]</div> +<p>But we know that the early English are not to be +judged entirely by the popular opinion of the Britons +whom they harried and enslaved, any more than the +English of Queen Elizabeth’s time are to be thought +of simply according to the Spanish ideas about Sir +Francis Drake. There were centuries of an old +civilization behind them when they settled in Britain; +what it was like is shown partially in the work of the +Bronze and the early Iron Age in the countries from +which the English came. The <i>Germania</i> of Tacitus +tells more, and more still is to be learned from the +remains of the old poetry.</p> +<p>Tacitus was not quite impartial in his account of +the Germans; he used them as examples to point a +moral against the vices of Rome; the German, in his +account, is something like the ‘noble savage’ who was +idealized by later philosophers in order to chastise the +faults of sophisticated modern life. But Tacitus, +though he might have been rather inclined to favour +the Germans, was mainly a scientific observer who +wished to find out the truth about them, and to write +a clear description of their manners and customs. One +of the proofs of his success is the agreement between +his <i>Germania</i> and the pictures of life composed by the +people of that race themselves in their epic poetry.</p> +<p>The case of the early English is very like that of +the Danes and Northmen four or five hundred years +later. The Anglo-Saxons thought and wrote of the +Danes almost exactly as the Britons had thought of +their Saxon enemies. The English had to suffer from +the Danish pirates what the Britons had suffered from +the English; they cursed the Danes as their own +<span class="pb" id="Page_19">[19]</span> +ancestors had been cursed by the Britons; the invaders +were utterly detestable and fiendish men of blood. +But luckily we have some other information about +those pirates. From the Norwegian, Danish and +Icelandic historians, and from some parts of the old +Northern poetry, there may be formed a different idea +about the character and domestic manners of the men +who made themselves so unpleasant in their visits to +the English and the neighbouring coasts. The pirates +at home were peaceful country gentlemen, leading +respectable and beneficent lives among their poorer +neighbours. The Icelandic histories—including the +history of Norway for three or four centuries—may be +consulted for the domestic life of the people who made +so bad a name for themselves as plunderers abroad. +They appear there, several varieties of them, as members +of a reasonable, honourable community, which +could have given many lessons of civilization to England +or France many centuries later. But the strangest and +most convincing evidence about the domestic manners +of the Northmen is found in English, and is written +by King Alfred himself. King Alfred had many +foreigners in his service, and one of them was a +Norwegian gentleman from the far North, named +Ohthere (or Ottárr, as it would be in the Norse tongue +rather later than King Alfred’s time). How he came +into the King’s service is not known, but there are +other accounts of similar cases which show how easy +it was for Northmen of ability to make their way in +the world through the patronage of kings. Ohthere +belonged exactly to the class from which the most +daring and successful rovers came. He was a gentleman +<span class="pb" id="Page_20">[20]</span> +of good position at home in Halogaland (now +called Helgeland in the north of Norway), a landowner +with various interests, attending to his crops, making a +good deal out of trade with the Finns and Lapps; and +besides that a navigator, the first who rounded the +North Cape and sailed into the White Sea. His +narrative, which is given by Alfred as an addition to +his translation of Orosius, makes a pleasant and amusing +contrast to the history of the Danish wars, which +also may have been partly written by King Alfred +himself for their proper place in the English Chronicle.</p> +<p>As the Icelandic sagas and Ohthere’s narrative and +other documents make it easy to correct the prejudiced +and partial opinions of the English about the Danes, +so the opinions of the Britons about the Saxons are +corrected, though the evidence is not by any means so +clear. The Angles and Saxons, like the Danes and +Northmen later—like Sir Francis Drake, or like +Ulysses, we might say—were occasionally pirates, but +not restricted to that profession. They had many +other things to do and think about. Before everything, +they belonged to the great national system which +Tacitus calls <i>Germania</i>—which was never politically +united, even in the loosest way, but which nevertheless +was a unity, conscious of its separation from all the +foreigners whom it called, in a comprehensive manner, +Welsh. In England the Welsh are the Cambro-Britons; +in Germany Welsh means sometimes French, +sometimes Italian—a meaning preserved in the name +‘walnut’ (or ‘walsh-note’, as it is in Chaucer)—the +‘Italian nut’. Those who are not Welsh are ‘Teutonic’—which +is not a mere modern pedantic name, but is +<span class="pb" id="Page_21">[21]</span> +used by old writers in the same way as by modern +philologists, and applied to High or Low Dutch indifferently, +and also to English. But the unity of +<i>Germania</i>—the community of sentiment among the +early German nations—does not need to be proved by +such philological notes as the opposition of ‘Dutch’ +and ‘Welsh’. It is proved by its own most valuable +results, by its own ‘poetical works’—the heroic legends +which were held in common by all the nations of +<i>Germania</i>. If any one were to ask, ‘What does the old +English literature <i>prove</i>?’ the answer would be ready +enough. It proves that the Germanic nations had a +reciprocal free trade in subjects for epic poems. They +were generally free from local jealousy about heroes. +Instead of a natural rivalry among Goths, Burgundians +and the rest, the early poets seem to have had a liking +for heroes not of their own nation, so long as they were +members of one of the German tribes. (The Huns, +it may be here remarked, are counted as Germans; +Attila is not thought of as a barbarian.) The great +example of this common right in heroes is Sigfred, +Sigurd the Volsung, Siegfried of the <i>Nibelungenlied</i>. +His original stock and race is of no particular interest +to any one; he is a hero everywhere, and everywhere +he is thought of as belonging, in some way or other, +to the people who sing about him. This glory of +Sigurd or Siegfried is different from the later popularity +of King Arthur or of Charlemagne in countries outside +of Britain or France. Arthur and Charlemagne are +adopted in many places as favourite heroes without +any particular thought of their nationality, in much +the same way as Alexander the Great was celebrated +<span class="pb" id="Page_22">[22]</span> +everywhere from pure love of adventurous stories. But +Siegfried or Sigurd, whether in High or Low Germany, +or Norway or Iceland, is always at home. He is not +indeed a national champion, like the Cid in Spain or +the Wallace in Scotland, but everywhere he is thought +of, apart from any local attachment, as the hero of the +race.</p> +<p>One of the old English poems called <i>Widsith</i> (the +Far Traveller) is an epitome of the heroic poetry of +<i>Germania</i>, and a clear proof of the common interest +taken in all the heroes. The theme of the poem is +the wandering of a poet, who makes his way to the +courts of the most famous kings: Ermanaric the Goth, +Gundahari the Burgundian, Alboin the Lombard, and +many more. The poem is a kind of <i>fantasia</i>, intended +to call up, by allusion, the personages of the most +famous stories; it is not an epic poem, but it plays with +some of the plots of heroic poetry familiar throughout +the whole Teutonic region. Ermanaric and +Gundahari, here called Eormanric and Guthhere, are +renowned in the old Scandinavian poetry, and the old +High German. Guthhere is one of the personages in +the poem of <i>Waldere</i>; what is Guthhere in English is +Gunnar in Norse, Gunther in German—the Gunther +of the <i>Nibelungenlied</i>. Offa comes into Widsith’s +record, an English king; but he has no particular +mark or eminence or attraction to distinguish him in +the poet’s favour from the Goth or the Lombard; +he is king of ‘Ongle’, the original Anglia to the south +of Jutland, and there is no room for doubt that the +English when they lived there and when they invaded +Britain had the stories of all the Teutonic heroes at +<span class="pb" id="Page_23">[23]</span> +their command to occupy their minds, if they chose to +listen to the lay of the minstrel. What they got from +their minstrels was a number of stories about all the +famous men of the Teutonic race—stories chanted in +rhythmical verse and noble diction, presenting tragic +themes and pointing the moral of heroism.</p> +<p>Of this old poetry there remains one work nearly +complete. <i>Beowulf</i>, because it is extant, has sometimes +been over-valued, as if it were the work of an +English Homer. But it was not preserved as the <i>Iliad</i> +was, by the unanimous judgement of all the people +through successive generations. It must have been +of some importance at one time, or it would not have +been copied out fair as a handsome book for the library +of some gentleman. But many trashy things have +been equally honoured in gentlemen’s libraries, and it +cannot be shown that <i>Beowulf</i> was nearly the best of +its class. It was preserved by an accident; it has no +right to the place of the most illustrious Anglo-Saxon +epic poem. The story is commonplace and the plan +is feeble. But there are some qualities in it which +make it (accidentally or not, it hardly matters) the +best worth studying of all the Anglo-Saxon poems. +It is the largest extant piece in any old Teutonic +language dealing poetically with native Teutonic +subjects. It is the largest and fullest picture of life +in the order to which it belongs; the only thing that +shows incontestably the power of the old heroic poetry +to deal on a fairly large scale with subjects taken from +the national tradition. The impression left by <i>Beowulf</i>, +when the carping critic has done his worst, is that of a +noble manner of life, of courtesy and freedom, with +<span class="pb" id="Page_24">[24]</span> +the dignity of tragedy attending it, even though the +poet fails, or does not attempt, to work out fully any +proper tragic theme of his own.</p> +<p>There is a very curious likeness in many details +between <i>Beowulf</i> and the <i>Odyssey</i>; but quite apart +from the details there is a real likeness between them +in their ‘criticism of life‘—i.e. in their exhibition of +human motives and their implied or expressed opinions +about human conduct. There is the same likeness +between the <i>Odyssey</i> and the best of the Icelandic +Sagas—particularly the <i>Story of Burnt Njal</i>; and the +lasting virtue of <i>Beowulf</i> is that it is bred in the same +sort of world as theirs. It is not so much the valour +and devotion of the hero; it is the conversation of the +hosts and guests in the King’s hall, the play of serious +and gentle moods in the minds of the freeborn, that +gives its character to the poem. <i>Beowulf</i>, through its +rendering of noble manners, its picture of good society, +adds something distinct and unforgettable to the +records of the past. There is life in it, and a sort of +life which would be impossible without centuries of +training, of what Spenser called ‘vertuous and gentle +discipline’.</p> +<p><i>Beowulf</i> is worth studying, among other reasons, +because it brings out one great difference between the +earlier and later medieval poetry, between Anglo-Saxon +and Middle English taste in fiction. <i>Beowulf</i> is +a tale of adventure; the incidents in it are such as may +be found in hundreds of other stories. Beowulf himself, +the hero, is a champion and a slayer of monsters. +He hears that the King of the Danes is plagued in his +house by the visits of an ogre, who night after night +<span class="pb" id="Page_25">[25]</span> +comes and carries off one of the King’s men. He goes +on a visit to Denmark, sits up for the ogre, fights with +him and mortally wounds him. That does not end +the business, for the ogre’s mother comes to revenge +her son, and Beowulf has a second fight and kills her +too, and is thanked and goes home again. Many years +afterwards when he is king in his own country, Gautland +(which is part of modern Sweden), a fiery dragon +is accidentally stirred up from a long sleep and makes +itself a pest to the country. Beowulf goes to attack +the dragon, fights and wins, but is himself killed by +the poison of the dragon. The poem ends with his +funeral. So told, in abstract, it is not a particularly +interesting story. Told in the same bald way, the +story of Theseus or of Hercules would still have much +more in it; there are many more adventures than this +in later romances like <i>Sir Bevis of Southampton</i> or <i>Sir +Huon of Bordeaux</i>. What makes the poem of <i>Beowulf</i> +really interesting, and different from the later romances, +is that it is full of all sorts of references and allusions +to great events, to the fortunes of kings and nations, +which seem to come in naturally, as if the author had +in his mind the whole history of all the people who +were in any way connected with Beowulf, and could +not keep his knowledge from showing itself. There +is an historical background. In romances, and also in +popular tales, you may get the same sort of adventures +as in <i>Beowulf</i>, but they are told in quite a different way. +They have nothing to do with reality. In <i>Beowulf</i>, the +historical allusions are so many, and given with such a +conviction of their importance and their truth, that +they draw away the attention from the main events of +<span class="pb" id="Page_26">[26]</span> +the story—the fights with the ogre Grendel and his +mother, and the killing of the dragon. This is one +of the faults of the poem. The story is rather thin and +poor. But in another way those distracting allusions +to things apart from the chief story make up for their +want of proportion. They give the impression of +reality and weight; the story is not in the air, or in a +fabulous country like that of Spenser’s <i>Faerie Queene</i>; +it is part of the solid world. It would be difficult to +find anything like this in later medieval romance. It +is this, chiefly, that makes <i>Beowulf</i> a true <i>epic</i> poem—that +is, a narrative poem of the most stately and serious +kind.</p> +<p>The history in it is not English history; the personages +in it are Danes, Gauts, and Swedes. One of +them, Hygelac, the king whom Beowulf succeeded, is +identified with a king named by the Frankish historian +Gregory of Tours; the date is about <span class="small">A.D.</span> 515. The +epic poem of <i>Beowulf</i> has its source pretty far back, +in the history of countries not very closely related to +England. Yet the English hearers of the poem were +expected to follow the allusions, and to be interested +in the names and histories of Swedish, Gautish, and +Danish kings. As if that was not enough, there is a +story within the story—a poem of adventure is chanted +by a minstrel at the Danish Court, and the scene of this +poem is in Friesland. There is no doubt that it was a +favourite subject, for the Frisian story is mentioned in +the poem of Widsith, the Traveller; and more than +that, there is an independent version of it among the +few remains of Anglo-Saxon heroic poetry—<i>The Fight +at Finnesburh</i>. Those who listened to heroic songs in +<span class="pb" id="Page_27">[27]</span> +England seem to have had no peculiar liking for +English subjects. Their heroes belong to <i>Germania</i>. +The same thing is found in Norway and Iceland, +where the favourite hero is Sigurd. His story, the +story of the Volsungs and Niblungs, comes from +Germany. In <i>Beowulf</i> there is a reference to it—not +to Sigfred himself, but to his father Sigemund. +Everywhere and in every possible way the old heroic +poets seem to escape from the particular nation to +which they belong, and to look for their subjects in +some other part of the Teutonic system. In some +cases, doubtless, this might be due to the same kind of +romantic taste as led later authors to place their stories +in Greece, or Babylon, or anywhere far from home. +But it can scarcely have been so with <i>Beowulf</i>; for +the author of <i>Beowulf</i> does not try to get away from +reality; on the contrary, he buttresses his story all +round with historical tradition and references to +historical fact; he will not let it go forth as pure +romance.</p> +<p>The solid foundation and epic weight of <i>Beowulf</i> +are not exceptional among the Anglo-Saxon poems. +There are not many other poems extant of the same +class, but there is enough to show that <i>Beowulf</i> is not +alone. It is a representative work; there were others +of the same type; and it is this order of epic poetry +which makes the great literary distinction of the Anglo-Saxon +period.</p> +<p>It is always necessary to remember how little we +know of Anglo-Saxon poetry and generally of the ideas +and imaginations of the early English. The gravity +and dignity of most of their poetical works are unquestionable; +<span class="pb" id="Page_28">[28]</span> +but one ought not to suppose that we +know all the varieties of their poetical taste.</p> +<p>It is probable that in the earlier Middle Ages, and +in the Teutonic countries, there was a good deal of the +fanciful and also of the comic literature which is so +frequent in the later Middle Ages (after 1100) and +especially in France. One proof of this, for the fanciful +and romantic sort of story-telling, will be found in +the earlier part of the Danish history written by Saxo +Grammaticus. He collected an immense number of +stories from Danes and Icelanders—one of them being +the story of Hamlet—and although he was comparatively +late (writing at the end of the twelfth century), +still we know that his stories belong to the North and +are unaffected by anything French; they form a body +of Northern romance, independent of the French +fashions, of King Arthur and Charlemagne. The +English historians—William of Malmesbury, e.g.—have +collected many things of the same sort. As for +comic stories, there are one or two in careful Latin +verse, composed in Germany in the tenth century, +which show that the same kind of jests were current +then as in the later comic poetry of France, in the +<i>Decameron</i> of Boccaccio, and in the <i>Canterbury Tales</i>. +The earlier Middle Ages were more like the later +Middle Ages than one would think, judging merely +from the extant literature of the Anglo-Saxon period +on the one hand and of the Plantagenet times on the +other. But the differences are there, and one of the +greatest is between the Anglo-Saxon fashion of epic +poetry and the popular romances of the time of +Edward I or Edward III.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_29">[29]</div> +<p>The difference is brought out in many ways. There +is a different choice of subject; the earlier poetry, +by preference, is concentrated on one great battle or +combat—generally in a place where there is little or +no chance of escape—inside a hall, as in <i>The Fight at +Finnesburh</i>, and in the slaughter ‘grim and great’ +at the end of the <i>Nibelungenlied</i>; or, it may be, in a +narrow place among rocks, as in the story of Walter of +Aquitaine, which is the old English <i>Waldere</i>. This is +the favourite sort of subject, and it is so because the +poets were able thus to hit their audience again and +again with increasing force; the effect they aimed at +was a crushing impression of strife and danger, and +courage growing as the danger grew and the strength +lessened. In <i>Beowulf</i> the subjects are different, but in +<i>Beowulf</i> a subject of this sort is introduced, by way of +interlude, in the minstrel’s song of <i>Finnesburh</i>; and +also <i>Beowulf</i>, with a rather inferior plot, still manages +to give the effect and to bring out the spirit of deliberate +heroic valour.</p> +<p>Quite late in the Anglo-Saxon period—about the +year 1000—there is a poem on an English subject in +which this heroic spirit is most thoroughly displayed: +the poem on the Battle of Maldon which was fought +on the Essex shore in 993 between Byrhtnoth, alderman +of East Anglia, and a host of vikings whose leader +(though he is not mentioned in the poem) is known as +Olaf Tryggvason. By the end of the tenth century +Anglo-Saxon poetry had begun to decay. Yet the +Maldon poem shows that it was not only still alive, +but that in some respects it had made very remarkable +progress. There are few examples anywhere of poetry +<span class="pb" id="Page_30">[30]</span> +which can deal in a satisfactory way with contemporary +heroes. In the Maldon poem, very shortly after the +battle, the facts are turned into poetry—into poetry +which keeps the form of the older epic, and which in +the old manner works up a stronger and stronger swell +of courage against the overwhelming ruin. The last +word of the heroic age is spoken, five hundred years +after the death of Hygelac (above, <a href="#Page_26">p. 26</a>), by the old +warrior who, like the trusty companion of Beowulf, +refused to turn and run when his lord was cut down +in the battle:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Thought shall be the harder, heart the keener,</p> +<p class="t0">Mood the more, as our might lessens.</p> +</div> +<p>It is one of the strange things in the history of poetry +that in another five hundred years an old fashion of +poetry, near akin to the Anglo-Saxon, comes to an end +in a poem on a contemporary battle The last poem +in the Middle English alliterative verse, which was +used for so many subjects in the fourteenth century—for +the stories of Arthur and Alexander and Troy, and +for the Vision of Piers Plowman—is the poem of +<i>Scottish Field</i> <span class="small">A.D.</span> 1513, on the battle of Flodden.</p> +<p>This alliterative verse, which has a history of more +than a thousand years, is one of the things that are +carried over in some mysterious way from the Anglo-Saxon +to the later medieval period. But though it +survives the great change in the language, it has a +different sound in the fourteenth century from what +it has in <i>Beowulf</i>; the older verse has a manner of its +own.</p> +<p>The Anglo-Saxon poetical forms are difficult at +<span class="pb" id="Page_31">[31]</span> +first to understand. The principal rule of the verse +is indeed easy enough; it is the same as in the verse of +<i>Piers Plowman</i>; there is a long line divided in the +middle; in each line there are <i>four</i> strong syllables; +the first <i>three</i> of these are generally made alliterative; +i.e. they begin with the same consonant—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Wæs se grimma gæst Grendel haten</p> +<p class="t0">mære mearcstapa, se the móras heold</p> +<p class="t0">fen and fæsten.</p> +</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Was the grievous guest Grendel namèd</p> +<p class="t0">mighty mark-stalker, and the moors his home</p> +<p class="t0">fen and fastness.</p> +</div> +<p>or they all begin with <i>different</i> vowels—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Eotenas and ylfe and orcneas.</p> +</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Etins and elves and ogres too.</p> +</div> +<p>But there is a variety and subtilty in the Anglo-Saxon +measure which is not found in the Middle +English, and which is much more definitely under +metrical rules. And apart from the metre of the single +line, there is in the older alliterative poetry a skill in +composing long passages, best described in the terms +which Milton used about his own blank verse: ‘the +sense variously drawn out from one line to another’. +The Anglo-Saxon poets, at their best, are eloquent, and +able to carry on for long periods without monotony. +Their verse does not fall into detached and separate +lines. This habit is another evidence of long culture; +Anglo-Saxon poetry, such as we know it, is at the end +of its progress; already mature, and with little prospect +in front of it except decay.</p> +<p>The diction of Anglo-Saxon poetry is a subject of +<span class="pb" id="Page_32">[32]</span> +study by itself. Here again there is a great difference +between Anglo-Saxon and Middle English poetry. +Middle English poetry borrows greatly from French. +Now in all the best French poetry, with very few +exceptions, the language is the same as that of prose; +and even if there happen to be a few poetical words +(as in Racine, for example, <i>flammes</i> and <i>transports</i> and +<i>hymenée</i>) they do not interfere with the sense. Middle +English generally copies French, and is generally +unpretentious in its vocabulary. But Anglo-Saxon +poetry was impossible without a poetical dictionary. +It is very heavily ornamented with words not used in +prose, and while there are hardly any similes, the whole +tissue of it is figurative, and most things are named two +or three times over in different terms. This makes it +often very tiresome, when the meaning is so encrusted +with splendid words that it can scarcely move; still +more, when a poet does not take the trouble to invent +his ornaments, and only repeats conventional phrases +out of a vocabulary which he has learned by rote. But +those extravagances of the Anglo-Saxon poetry make +it all the more interesting historically; they show that +there must have been a general love and appreciation +of fine language, such as is not commonly found in +England now, and also a technical skill in verse, something +like that which is encouraged in Wales at the +modern poetical competitions, though certainly far less +elaborate. Further, these curiosities of old English +verse make it all the more wonderful and admirable +that the epic poets should have succeeded as they did +with their stories of heroic resistance and the repeated +waves of battle and death-agony. Tremendous subjects +<span class="pb" id="Page_33">[33]</span> +are easily spoilt when the literary vogue is all for +ornament and fine language. Yet the Anglo-Saxon +poets seldom seem to feel the encumbrances of their +poetic language when they are really possessed with +their subject. The eloquence of their verse then gets +the better of their ornamental diction.</p> +<p>The subjects of Anglo-Saxon poetry were taken +from many different sources besides the heroic legend +which is summarized by Widsith, or contemporary +actions like the battle of Maldon.</p> +<p>The conversion of the English to Christianity +brought with it of course a great deal of Latin literature. +The new ideas were adopted very readily by the +English, and a hundred years after the coming of the +first missionary the Northumbrian schools and teachers +were more than equal to the best in any part of Europe.</p> +<p>The new learning did not always discourage the old +native kind of poetry. Had that been the case, we +should hardly have had anything like <i>Beowulf</i>; we +should not have had the poem of Maldon. Christianity +and Christian literature did not always banish the old-fashioned +heroes. Tastes varied in this respect. The +Frankish Emperor Lewis the Pious is said to have +taken a disgust at the heathen poetry which he had +learned when he was young. But there were greater +kings who were less delicate in their religion. Charles +the Great made a collection of ‘the barbarous ancient +poems which sung the wars and exploits of the olden +time’. Alfred the Great, his Welsh biographer tells us, +was always ready to listen to Saxon poems when he was +a boy, and when he was older was fond of learning +poetry by heart. That the poems were not all of them +<span class="pb" id="Page_34">[34]</span> +religious, we may see from some things in Alfred’s +own writings. He was bold enough to bring in a +Northern hero in his translation of the Latin philosophical +book of Boethius. Boethius asks, ‘Where are +the bones of Fabricius the true-hearted?’ In place of +the name Fabricius, Alfred writes, ‘Where are now the +bones of Wayland, and who knows where they be?’ +Wayland Smith, who thus appears, oddly, in the +translation of Boethius, is one of the best-known heroes +of the Teutonic mythology. He is the original +craftsman (like Daedalus in Greece), the brother of the +mythical archer Egil and the harper Slagfinn—the hero +of one of the finest of the old Scandinavian poems, and +of many another song and story.</p> +<p>The royal genealogies in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle +are an example of the conservative process that went +on with regard to many of the old beliefs and fancies—a +process that may be clearly traced in the poem of +<i>Beowulf</i>—by means of which pre-Christian ideas were +annexed to Christianity. The royal house of England, +the house of Cerdic, still traces its descent from +Woden; and Woden is thirteenth in descent from +Noah. Woden is kept as a king and a hero, when he +has ceased to be a god. This was kindlier and more +charitable than the alternative view, that the gods of +the heathen were living devils.</p> +<p>There was no destruction of the heroic poetry +through the conversion of the English, but new themes +were at once brought in, to compete with the old ones. +Bede was born (672) within fifty years of the baptism +of King Edwin of Northumbria (625), and Bede is +able to tell of the poet Cædmon of Whitby who +<span class="pb" id="Page_35">[35]</span> +belonged to the time of the abbess Hild, between 658 +and 670, and who put large portions of the Bible +history into verse.</p> +<p>Cædmon the herdsman, turning poet late in life +by a special gift from Heaven and devoting himself +exclusively to sacred subjects, is a different sort of +minstrel from that one who is introduced in <i>Beowulf</i> +singing the lay of Finnesburh. His motive is different. +It is partly the same motive as that of King Alfred in +his prose translations. Cædmon made versions of +Bible history for the edification of Christian people.</p> +<p>Anglo-Saxon poetry, which had been heathen, +Teutonic, concerned with traditional heroic subjects +was drawn into the service of the other world without +losing its old interests. Hence comes, apart from the +poetical value of the several works, the historical +importance of Anglo-Saxon poetry, as a blending of +<i>Germania</i>, the original Teutonic civilization, with the +ideas and sentiments of Christendom in the seventh +century and after.</p> +<p>Probably nothing of Cædmon’s work remains except +the first poem, which is paraphrased in Latin by Bede +and which is also preserved in the original Northumbrian. +But there are many Bible poems, <i>Genesis</i>, +<i>Exodus</i>, and others, besides a poem on the Gospel +history in the Saxon language of the Continent—the +language of the ‘Old Saxons’, as the English called +them—which followed the example and impulse given +by Cædmon, and which had in common the didactic, +the educational purpose, for the promotion of Christian +knowledge.</p> +<p>But while there was this common purpose in these +<span class="pb" id="Page_36">[36]</span> +poems, there were as great diversities of genius as in +any other literary group or school. Sometimes the +author is a dull mechanical translator using the conventional +forms and phrases without imagination or spirit. +Sometimes on the other hand he is caught up and +carried away by his subject, and the result is poetry +like the <i>Fall of the Angels</i> (part of <i>Genesis</i>), or the +<i>Dream of the Rood</i>. These are utterly different from +the regular conventional poetry or prose of the Middle +Ages. There is no harm in comparing the <i>Fall of the +Angels</i> with Milton. The method is nearly the same: +narrative, with a concentration on the character of +Satan, and dramatic expression of the character in +monologue at length. The <i>Dream of the Rood</i> again +is finer than the noblest of all the Passion Plays. It is a +vision, in which the Gospel history of the Crucifixion +is so translated that nothing is left except the devotion +of the young hero (so he is called) and the glory; it is +not acted on any historical scene, but in some spiritual +place where there is no distinction between the Passion +and the Triumph. In this way the spirit of poetry +does wonderful things; transforming the historical +substance. It is quite impossible to dismiss the old +English religious poetry under any summary description. +Much of it is conventional and ordinary; some +of it is otherwise, and the separate poems live in their +own way.</p> +<p class="tb">It is worth remembering that the manuscripts of the +<i>Dream of the Rood</i> have a history which is typical of +the history in general, the progress of Anglo-Saxon +poetry, and the change of centre from Northumberland +<span class="pb" id="Page_37">[37]</span> +to Wessex. Some verses of the poem are carved in +runic letters on the Ruthwell Cross (now in the Parish +Church of Ruthwell in Dumfriesshire) in the language +of Northumberland, which was the language of Cædmon +and Bede. The Ruthwell Cross with the runic +inscription on it is thus one of the oldest poetical +manuscripts in English, not to speak of its importance +in other ways.</p> +<p>The Ruthwell verses are Northumbrian. They +were at first misinterpreted in various ways by antiquaries, +till John Kemble the historian read them truly. +Some time after, an Anglo-Saxon manuscript was +found at Vercelli in the North of Italy—a regular +station on the old main road which crosses the Great +St. Bernard and which was commonly used by Englishmen, +Danes, and other people of the North when +travelling to Rome. In this Vercelli book the <i>Dream +of the Rood</i> is contained, nearly in full, but written in +the language of Wessex—i.e. the language commonly +called Anglo-Saxon—the language not of Bede but of +Alfred. The West Saxon verses of the <i>Rood</i> corresponding +to the old Anglian of the Ruthwell Cross are +an example of what happened generally with Anglo-Saxon +poetry—the best of it in early days was Anglian, +Northumbrian; when the centre shifted to Wessex, +the Northern poetry was preserved in the language +which by that time had become the proper literary +English both for verse and prose.</p> +<p>Cynewulf is an old English poet who has signed his +name to several poems, extant in West Saxon. He +may have been the author of the <i>Dream of the Rood</i>; +he was probably a Northumbrian. As he is the most +<span class="pb" id="Page_38">[38]</span> +careful artist among the older poets, notable for the +skill of his verse and phrasing, his poetry has to be +studied attentively by any one who wishes to understand +the poetical ideals of the age between Bede and +King Alfred, the culmination of the Northumbrian +school. His subjects are all religious, from the Gospel +(<i>Crist</i>) or the lives of saints (<i>Guthlac</i>, <i>Juliana</i>, <i>Elene</i>, +probably <i>Andreas</i> also). The legendary subjects may +be looked on as a sort of romance; Cynewulf in many +ways is a romantic poet. The adventure of St. +Andrew in his voyage to rescue St. Matthew from the +cannibals is told with great spirit—a story of the sea. +Cynewulf has so fine a sense of the minor beauties of +verse and diction that he might be in danger of losing +his story for the sake of poetical ornament; but though +he is not a strong poet he generally manages to avoid +the temptation, and to keep the refinements of his art +subordinate to the main effect.</p> +<p>There is hardly anything in Anglo-Saxon to be +called lyrical. The epic poetry may have grown out +of an older lyric type—a song in chorus, with narrative +stuff in it, like the later choral ballads. There is one +old poem, and a very remarkable one, with a refrain, +<i>Deor’s Lament</i>, which may be called a dramatic lyric, +the utterance of an imaginary personage, a poet like +Widsith, who comforts himself in his sorrow by +recalling examples of old distresses. The burden +comes after each of these records:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">That ancient woe was endured, and so may mine.</p> +</div> +<p><i>Widsith</i> in form of verse is nearer to this lyric of <i>Deor</i> +than to the regular sustained narrative verse of <i>Beowulf</i>. +<span class="pb" id="Page_39">[39]</span> +There are some fragments of popular verse, spells +against disease, which might be called songs. But +what is most wanting in Anglo-Saxon literature is the +sort of poetry found at the close of the Middle Ages +in the popular ballads, songs and carols of the fifteenth +century.</p> +<p>To make up for the want of true lyric, there are a +few very beautiful poems, sometimes called by the +name of elegies—akin to lyric, but not quite at the +lyrical pitch. The <i>Wanderer</i>, the <i>Seafarer</i>, the <i>Ruin</i>, +the <i>Wife’s Complaint</i>—they are antique in verse and +language but modern in effect, more than most things +that come later, for many centuries. They are poems +of reflective sentiment, near to the mood of a time +when the bolder poetical kinds have been exhausted, +and nothing is left but to refine upon the older themes. +These poems are the best expression of a mood found +elsewhere, even in rather early Anglo-Saxon days—the +sense of the vanity of life, the melancholy regret +for departed glories—a kind of thought which popular +opinion calls ‘the Celtic spirit’, and which indeed may +be found in the Ossianic poems, but not more truly +than in the <i>Ruin</i> or the <i>Wanderer</i>.</p> +<p>When the language of Wessex became the literary +English, it was naturally used for poetry—not merely +for translations of Northumbrian verse into West +Saxon. The strange thing about this later poetry +is that it should be capable of such strength as is +shown in the Maldon poem—a perpetual warning +against rash conclusions. For poetry had seemed to +be exhausted long before this, or at any rate to have +reached in Cynewulf the dangerous stage of maturity. +<span class="pb" id="Page_40">[40]</span> +But the Maldon poem, apart from some small technical +faults, is sane and strong. In contrast, the earlier +poem in the battle of Brunanburh is a fair conventional +piece—academic laureate work, using cleverly enough +the forms which any accomplished gentleman could +learn.</p> +<p>Those forms are applied often most ingeniously, +in the Anglo-Saxon riddles; pieces, again, which +contradict ordinary opinion. Few would expect to +find in Anglo-Saxon the curious grace of verbal +workmanship, the artificial wit, of those short poems.</p> +<p>The dialogue of <i>Salomon and Saturnus</i> is one of the +Anglo-Saxon things belonging to a common European +fashion; the dialogue literature, partly didactic, partly +comic, which was so useful in the Middle Ages in +providing instruction along with varying degrees of +amusement. There is more than one Anglo-Saxon +piece of this sort, valuable as expressing the ordinary +mind; for, generally speaking, there is a want of +merely popular literature in Anglo-Saxon, as compared +with the large amount later on.</p> +<p class="tb">The history of prose is continuous from the Anglo-Saxon +onwards; there is no such division as between +Anglo-Saxon and Middle English poetry. In fact, +Middle English prose at first is the continuation of the +English Chronicle, and the transcription of the homilies +of Ælfric into the later grammar and spelling.</p> +<p>The English had not the peculiar taste for prose +which seems to be dealt by chance to Hebrews and +Arabs, to Ireland and Iceland. As in Greece and +France, the writing of prose comes after verse. It +<span class="pb" id="Page_41">[41]</span> +begins by being useful; it is not used for heroic stories. +But the English had more talent for prose than some +people; they understood it better than the French; +and until the French influence came over them did +not habitually degrade their verse for merely useful +purposes.</p> +<p>Through the Chronicle, which probably began in +King Alfred’s time, and through Alfred’s translations +from the Latin, a common available prose was established, +which had all sorts of possibilities in it, partly +realized after a time. There seems no reason, as far as +language and technical ability are concerned, why there +should not have been in English, prose stories as good +as those of Iceland. The episode of King Cynewulf +of Wessex, in the Chronicle, has been compared to the +Icelandic sagas, and to the common epic theme of +valorous fighting and loyal perseverance. In Alfred’s +narrative passages there are all the elements of plain +history, a style that might have been used without +limit for all the range of experience.</p> +<p>Alfred’s prose when he is repeating the narratives +of his sea-captains has nothing in it that can possibly +weary, so long as the subject is right. It is a perfectly +clean style for matter of fact.</p> +<p>The great success of Anglo-Saxon prose is in religious +instruction. This is various in kind; it includes the +translation of Boethius which is philosophy, and fancy +as well; it includes the Dialogues of Gregory which are +popular stories, the homilies on Saints’ Lives which are +often prose romances, and which often are heightened +above prose, into a swelling, chanting, alliterative tune, +not far from the language of poetry. The great master +<span class="pb" id="Page_42">[42]</span> +of prose in all its forms is Ælfric of Eynsham, about +the year 1000. Part of his work was translation of the +Bible, and in this, and in his theory of translation, he is +more enlightened than any translator before Tyndale. +The fault of Bible versions generally was that they +kept too close to the original. Instead of translating +like free men they construed word for word, like the +illiterate in all ages. Ulphilas, who is supposed by +some to have written Gothic prose, is really a slave to +the Greek text, and his Gothic is hardly a human +language. Wycliffe treats his Latin original in the +same way, and does not think what language he is +supposed to be writing. But Ælfric works on principles +that would have been approved by Dryden; +and there is no better evidence of the humanities in +those early times than this. Much was lost before +the work of Ælfric was taken up again with equal +intelligence.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_43">[43]</div> +<h2 id="c3"><span class="small">CHAPTER III</span> +<br />THE MIDDLE ENGLISH PERIOD, 1150-1500</h2> +<h3>INTRODUCTORY</h3> +<p>Anglo-Saxon and Middle English literature had +many things in common. The educational work of +King Alfred was continued all through the Middle +Ages. Chaucer translates Boethius, five hundred years +after King Alfred’s translation. The same authors are +read and adapted. The sermons of Ælfric, <span class="small">A.D.</span> 1000, +have the same sort of matter as those of the thirteenth +or the fourteenth century, and there is no very great +difference of tone. Many of the literary interests of +the Plantagenet times are found already among the +Anglo-Saxons. The Legends of the Saints are inexhaustible +subjects of poetical treatment in the earlier +as well as the later days. The poetical expression is, +of course, very greatly changed, but earlier or later the +Saints’ Lives are used as material for literature which +is essentially romantic, whatever its other qualities +may be. There are other sources of romance open, +long before the French influence begins to be felt in +England; particularly, the wonders of the East appear +in the Anglo-Saxon version of Alexander’s letter to +Aristotle; and later Greek romance (through the +Latin) in the Anglo-Saxon translation of <i>Apollonius of +Tyre</i>.</p> +<p>The great difference between the two ages is made +by the disappearance of the old English poetry. There +is nothing in the Plantagenet reigns like <i>Beowulf</i> or +<span class="pb" id="Page_44">[44]</span> +the Maldon poem; there is nothing like the <i>Fall of +the Angels</i> and the dramatic eloquence of Satan. The +pathos of the later Middle Ages is expressed in a +different way from the <i>Wanderer</i> and the <i>Ruin</i>. The +later religious poetry has little in it to recall the finished +art of Cynewulf. Anglo-Saxon poetry, whether +derived from heathendom or from the Church, has +ideas and manners of its own; it comes to perfection, +and then it dies away. The gravity and thought of the +heroic poetry, as well as the finer work of the religious +poets, are unlike the strength, unlike the graces, of the +later time. Anglo-Saxon poetry grows to a rich +maturity, and past it; then, with the new forms of +language and under new influences, the poetical +education has to start again.</p> +<p>Unfortunately for the historian, there are scarcely +any literary things remaining to show the progress of +the transition. For a long time before and after +1100 there is a great scarcity of English productions. +It is not till about 1200 that Middle English literature +begins to be at all fully represented.</p> +<p>This scantiness is partly due, no doubt, to an actual +disuse of English composition. But many written +things must have perished, and in poetry there was +certainly a large amount of verse current orally, whether +it was ever written down or not. This is the inference +drawn from the passages in the historian William of +Malmesbury to which Macaulay refers in his preface +to the <i>Lays of Ancient Rome</i>, and which Freeman has +studied in his essay on <i>The Mythical and Romantic +Elements in Early English History</i>. The story of +Hereward the Wake is extant in Latin; the story of +<span class="pb" id="Page_45">[45]</span> +Havelock the Dane and others were probably composed +in English verse much earlier than the thirteenth +century, and in much older forms than those which +have come down to us.</p> +<p>There is a gap in the record of alliterative poetry +which shows plainly that much has been lost. It is a +curious history. Before the Norman conquest the +old English verse had begun to go to pieces, in spite +of such excellent late examples as the Maldon poem. +About 1200 the alliterative verse, though it has still +something of its original character, is terribly broken +down. The verse of Layamon’s <i>Brut</i> is unsteady, +never to be trusted, changing its pace without warning +in a most uncomfortable way. Then suddenly, as late +as the middle of the fourteenth century, there begins a +procession of magnificent alliterative poems, in regular +verse—<i>Sir Gawayne</i>, the <i>Morte Arthure</i>, <i>Piers Plowman</i>; +in regular verse, not exactly with the same rule as +<i>Beowulf</i>, but with so much of the old rule as seemed to +have been hopelessly lost for a century or two. What +is the explanation of this revival, and this sudden great +vogue of alliterative poetry? It cannot have been a +new invention, or a reconstruction; it would not in +that case have copied, as it sometimes does, the rhythm +of the old English verse in a way which is unlike the +ordinary rhythms of the fourteenth century. The +only reasonable explanation is that somewhere in +England there was a tradition of alliterative verse, +keeping in the main to the old rules of rhythm as it +kept something of the old vocabulary, and escaping +the disease which affected the old verse elsewhere. +The purer sort of verse must have been preserved for +<span class="pb" id="Page_46">[46]</span> +a few hundred years with hardly a trace of it among the +existing documents to show what it was like till it +breaks out ‘three-score thousand strong’ in the reign +of Edward III.</p> +<p>In the Middle Ages, early and late, there was very +free communication all over Christendom between +people of different languages. Languages seem to have +given much less trouble than they do nowadays. The +general use of Latin, of course, made things easy for +those who could speak it; but without Latin, people of +different nations appear to have travelled over the +world picking up foreign languages as they went along, +and showing more interest in the poetry and stories +of foreign countries than is generally found among +modern tourists. Luther said of the people of +Flanders that if you took a Fleming in a sack and carried +him over France or Italy, he would manage to learn +the tongues. This gift was useful to commercial +travellers, and perhaps the Flemings had more of it +than other people. But in all the nations there seems +to have been something like this readiness, and in all +it was used to translate the stories and adapt the poetry +of other tongues. This intercourse was greatly +quickened in the twelfth century through a number of +causes, the principal cause being the extraordinary +production of new poetry in France, or rather in the +two regions, North and South, and the two languages, +French and Provençal. Between these two languages, +in the North and the South of what is now France, +there was in the Middle Ages a kind of division of +labour. The North took narrative poetry, the South +took lyric; and French narrative and Provençal lyric +<span class="pb" id="Page_47">[47]</span> +poetry in the twelfth century between them made +the beginning of modern literature for the whole of +Europe.</p> +<p>In the earlier Middle Ages, before 1100, as in the +later, the common language is Latin. Between the +Latin authors of the earlier time—Gregory the Great, +or Bede—and those of the later—Anselm, or Thomas +Aquinas—there may be great differences, but there is +no line of separation.</p> +<p>In the literature of the native tongues there is a line +of division about 1100 more definite than any later +epoch; it is made by the appearance of French +poetry, bringing along with it an intellectual unity of +Christendom which has never been shaken since.</p> +<p>The importance of this is that it meant a mutual +understanding among the laity of Europe, equal to +that which had so long obtained among the clergy, the +learned men.</p> +<p>The year 1100, in which all Christendom is united, +if not thoroughly and actively in all places, for the +conquest of the Holy Sepulchre, at any rate ideally +by the thought of this common enterprise, is also a +year from which may be dated the beginning of the +common lay intelligence of Europe, that sympathy +of understanding by which ideas of different sorts +are taken up and diffused, outside of the professionally +learned bodies. The year 1100 is a good date, because +of the first Provençal poet, William, Count of Poitiers, +who was living then; he went on the Crusade three +years later. He is the first poet of modern Europe +who definitely helps to set a fashion of poetry not only +for his own people but for the imitation of foreigners. +<span class="pb" id="Page_48">[48]</span> +He is the first modern poet; he uses the kind of verse +which every one uses now.</p> +<p>The triumph of French poetry in the twelfth century +was the end of the old Teutonic world—an end which +had been long preparing, though it came suddenly at +last. Before that time there had been the sympathy +and informal union among the Germanic nations out +of which the old heroic poems had come; such community +of ideas as allowed the Nibelung story to be +treated in all the Germanic tongues from Austria to +Iceland, and even in Greenland, the furthest outpost +of the Northmen. But after the eleventh century +there was nothing new to be got out of this. Here and +there may be found a gleaner, like Saxo Grammaticus, +getting together all that he can save out of the ancient +heathendom, or like the Norwegian traveller about +fifty years later, who collected North German ballads +of Theodoric and other champions, and paraphrased +them in Norwegian prose. The really great achievement +of the older world in its last days was in the prose +histories of Iceland, which had virtue enough in them +to change the whole world, if they had only been known +and understood; but they were written for domestic +circulation, and even their own people scarcely knew +how good they were. Germania was falling to pieces, +the separate nations growing more and more stupid +and drowsy.</p> +<p>The languages derived from Latin—commonly +called the Romance languages—French and Provençal, +Italian and so on—were long of declaring themselves. +The Italian and Spanish dialects had to wait for the +great French outburst before they could produce +<span class="pb" id="Page_49">[49]</span> +anything. French and Provençal, which are well in +front of Spanish and Italian, have little of importance +to show before 1100. But after that date there is such +profusion that it is clear there had been a long time of +experiment and preparation. The earlier French epics +have been lost; the earliest known Provençal poet is +already a master of verse, and must be indebted to +many poetical ancestors whose names and poems have +disappeared. Long before 1100 there must have +been a common literary taste in France, fashions of +poetry well understood and appreciated, a career open +for youthful poets. In the twelfth century the social +success of poetry in France was extended in different +degrees over all Europe. In Italy and Spain the +fashions were taken up; in Germany they conquered +even more quickly and thoroughly; the Danes and +Swedes and Norwegians learned their ballad measures +from the French; even the Icelanders, the only +Northern nation with a classical literature and with +minds of their own, were caught in the same way.</p> +<p>Thus French poetry wakened up the sleepy countries, +and gave new ideas to the wakeful; it brought the +Teutonic and Romance nations to agree and, what was +much more important, to produce new works of their +own which might be original in all sorts of ways while +still keeping within the limits of the French tradition. +Compared with this, all later literary revolutions are +secondary and partial changes. The most widely +influential writers of later ages—e.g. Petrarch and +Voltaire—had the ground prepared for them in this +medieval epoch, and do nothing to alter the general +conditions which were then established—the intercommunication +<span class="pb" id="Page_50">[50]</span> +among the whole laity of Europe with +regard to questions of taste.</p> +<p>It seems probable that the Normans had a good +deal to do as agents in this revolution. They were +in relation with many different people. They had +Bretons on their borders in Normandy; they conquered +England, and then they touched upon the +Welsh; they were fond of pilgrimages; they settled +in Apulia and Sicily, where they had dealings with +Greeks and Saracens as well as Italians.</p> +<p>It is a curious thing that early in the twelfth century +names are found in Italy which certainly come from +the romances of King Arthur—the name Galvano, e.g. +which is the same as Gawain. However it was brought +there, this name may be taken for a sign of the process +that was going on everywhere—the conversion of +Europe to fashions which were prescribed in France.</p> +<p>The narrative poetry in which the French excelled +was of different kinds. An old French poet, in an +epic on Charlemagne’s wars against the Saxons, has +given a classification which is well known, dividing the +stories according to the historical matter which they +employ. There are three ‘matters’, he says, and no +more than three, which a story-teller may take up—the +matter of France, the matter of Britain, the matter +of Rome the Great. The old poet is right in naming +these as at any rate the chief groups; since ‘Rome the +Great’ might be made to take in whatever would not +go into the other two divisions, there is nothing much +wrong in his refusal to make a fourth class. The +‘matter of France’ includes all the subjects of the old +French national epics—such as Roncevaux, or the song +<span class="pb" id="Page_51">[51]</span> +of Roland; Reynold of Montalban, or the Four Sons +of Aymon; Ferabras; Ogier the Dane. The matter of +Britain includes all the body of the Arthurian legend, +as well as the separate stories commonly called Breton +lays (like Chaucer’s Franklin’s Tale). The matter +of Rome is not only Roman history, but the whole of +classical antiquity. The story of Troy, of course, is +rightly part of Roman history, and so is the Romance +of Eneas. But under Rome the Great there fall other +stories which have much slighter connexion with +Rome—such as the story of Thebes, or of Alexander.</p> +<p>Many of those subjects were of course well known +and popular before the French poets took them up. +The romantic story of Alexander might, in part at +any rate, have been familiar to Alfred the Great; he +brings the Egyptian king ‘Nectanebus the wizard’ into +his translation of Orosius—Nectanebus, who is the +father of Alexander in the apocryphal book from which +the romances were derived. But it was not till the +French poets turned the story of Alexander into verse +that it really made much impression outside of France. +The tale of Troy was widely read, in various authors—Ovid +and Virgil, and an abstract of the <i>Iliad</i>, and in the +apocryphal prose books of Dares the Phrygian and +Dictys the Cretan, who were supposed to have been at +the seat of war, and therefore to be better witnesses +than Homer. These were used and translated some +times apart from any French suggestion. But it was +the French <i>Roman de Troie</i>, written in the twelfth +century, which spread the story everywhere—the +source of innumerable Troy Books in all languages, +and of Chaucer’s and Shakespeare’s <i>Troilus</i>.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_52">[52]</div> +<p>The ‘matter of Britain’ also was generally made +known through the works of French authors. There +are exceptions; the British history of Geoffrey of +Monmouth was written in Latin. But even this found +its way into English by means of a French translation; +the <i>Brut</i> of Layamon, a long poem in irregular alliterative +verse, is adapted from a French rhyming translation +of Geoffrey’s History. The English romances of Sir +Perceval, Sir Gawain and other knights are founded on +French poems.</p> +<p>There is an important distinction between the +‘matter of France’ and the ‘matters’ of Britain and +Rome; this distinction belongs more properly to the +history of French literature, but it ought not to be +neglected here. The ‘matter of France’, which is +exemplified in the song of Roland, belongs to an earlier +time, and was made into French poetry earlier than the +other subjects. The poems about Charlemagne and +his peers, and others of the same sort, are sometimes +called the old French epics; the French name for them +is <i>chansons de geste</i>. Those epics have not only a +different matter but a different form from the French +Arthurian romances and the French <i>Roman de Troie</i>. +What is of more importance for English poetry, there +is generally a different tone and sentiment. They are +older, stronger, more heroic, more like <i>Beowulf</i> or the +Maldon poem; the romances of the ‘matter of Britain’, +on the other hand, are the fashionable novels of the +twelfth century; their subjects are really taken from +contemporary polite society. They are long love-stories, +and their motive chiefly is to represent the +fortunes, and, above all, the sentiments of true lovers. +<span class="pb" id="Page_53">[53]</span> +Roughly speaking, the ‘matter of France’ is action, +the ‘matter of Britain’ is sentiment. The ‘matter of +Rome’ is mixed; for while the <i>Roman de Troie</i> (with +the love-story of Troilus, and with courteous modern +manners throughout) is like the romances of Lancelot +and Tristram, Alexander, in the French versions, is a +hero like those of the national epics, and is celebrated +in the same manner as Charlemagne.</p> +<p>The ‘matter of France’ could not be popular in +England as it was in its native country. But Charlemagne +and Roland and his peers were well known +everywhere, like Arthur and Alexander, and the ‘matter +of France’ went to increase the stories told by English +minstrels. It was from an English version, in the +thirteenth century, that part of the long Norwegian +prose history of Charlemagne was taken; a fact worth +remembering, to illustrate the way in which the +exportation of stories was carried on. Of course, the +story of Charlemagne was not the same sort of thing +in England or Norway that it was in France. The +devotion to France which is so intense in the song of +Roland was never meant to be shared by any foreigner. +But Roland as a champion against the infidels was a +hero everywhere. There are statues of him in Bremen +and in Verona; and it is in Italy that the story is told +of the simple man who was found weeping in the +market-place; a professional story-teller had just +come to the death of Roland and the poor man heard +the news for the first time. A traveller in the Faroe +Islands not long ago, asking in the bookshop at +Thorshavn for some things in the Faroese language, +was offered a ballad of Roncesvalles.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_54">[54]</div> +<p>The favourite story everywhere was <i>Sir Ferabras</i>, +because the centre of the plot is the encounter between +Oliver the Paladin and Ferabras the Paynim champion. +Every one could understand this, and in all countries +the story became popular as a sound religious romance.</p> +<p>Naturally, the stories of action and adventure went +further and were more widely appreciated than the +cultivated sentimental romance. The English in the +reign of Edward I or Edward III had often much +difficulty in understanding what the French romantic +school was driving at—particularly when it seemed to +be driving round and round, spinning long monologues +of afflicted damsels, or elegant conversations full of +phrases between the knight and his lady. The +difficulty was not unreasonable. If the French authors +had been content to write about nothing but sentimental +conversations and languishing lovers, then one would +have known what to do. The man who is looking at +the railway bookstall for a good detective story knows +at once what to say when he is offered the Diary of a +Soul. But the successful French novelists of the +twelfth century appealed to both tastes, and dealt +equally in sensation and sentiment; they did not often +limit themselves to what was always their chief interest, +the moods of lovers. They worked these into plots of +adventure, mystery, fairy magic; the adventures were +too good to be lost; so the less refined English readers, +who were puzzled or wearied by sentimental conversations, +were not able to do without the elegant +romances. They read them; and they skipped. The +skipping was done for them, generally, when the +romances were translated into English; the English +<span class="pb" id="Page_55">[55]</span> +versions are shorter than the French in most cases +where comparison is possible. As a general rule, the +English took the adventurous sensational part of +the French romances, and let the language of the heart +alone. To this there are exceptions. In the first +place it is not always true that the French romances are +adventurous. Some of them are almost purely love-stories—sentiment +from beginning to end. Further, +it is proved that one of these, <i>Amadas et Ydoine</i>—a +French romance written in England—was much liked +in England by many whose proper language was +English; there is no English version of it extant, and +perhaps there never was one, but it was certainly well +known outside the limited refined society for which +it was composed. And again there may be found +examples where the English adapter, instead of +skipping, sets himself to wrestle with the original—saying +to himself, ‘I will <i>not</i> be beaten by this culture; +I will get to the end of it and lose nothing; it shall be +made to go into the English language’. An example +of this effort is the alliterative romance of <i>William and +the Werwolf</i>, a work which does not fulfil the promise +of its title in any satisfactory way. It spends enormous +trouble over the sentimental passages of the original, +turning them into the form worst suited to them, viz. +the emphatic style of the alliterative poetry which is so +good for battle pieces, satire, storms at sea, and generally +everything except what it is here applied to. Part +of the success of Chaucer and almost all the beauty of +Gower may be said to be their mastery of French +polite literature, and their power of expressing in +English everything that could be said in French, +<span class="pb" id="Page_56">[56]</span> +with no loss of effect and no inferiority in manner. +Gower ought to receive his due alongside of Chaucer +as having accomplished what many English writers +had attempted for two hundred years before him—the +perfect adoption in English verse of everything +remarkable in the style of French poetry.</p> +<p>The history of narrative poetry is generally easier +than the history of lyric, partly because the subjects +are more distinct and more easily traceable. But it is +not difficult to recognize the enormous difference +between the English songs of the fourteenth century +and anything known to us in Anglo-Saxon verse, +while the likeness of English to French lyrical measures +in the later period is unquestionable. The difficulty +is that the history of early French lyric poetry is itself +obscure and much more complicated than the history +of narrative. Lyric poetry flourished at popular +assemblies and festivals, and was kept alive in oral +tradition much more easily than narrative poetry was. +Less of it, in proportion, was written down, until it +was taken up by ambitious poets and composed in a +more elaborate way.</p> +<p>The distinction between popular and cultivated +lyric is not always easy to make out, as any one may +recognize who thinks of the songs of Burns and attempts +to distinguish what is popular in them from what is +consciously artistic. But the distinction is a sound +one, and especially necessary in the history of medieval +literature—all the more because the two kinds often +pass into one another.</p> +<p>A good example is the earliest English song, as it is +sometimes called, which is very far from the earliest—</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_57">[57]</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Sumer is icumen in</p> +<p class="t0">lhude sing cuccu.</p> +</div> +<p>It sounds like a popular song; an anonymous poem +from the heart of the people, in simple, natural, +spontaneous verse. But look at the original copy. +The song is written, of course, for music. And the +Cuckoo song is said by the historians of music to be +remarkable and novel; it is the first example of a +canon; it is not an improvisation, but the newest +kind of art, one of the most ingenious things of its +time. Further, the words that belong to it are Latin +words, a Latin hymn; the Cuckoo song, which appears +so natural and free, is the result of deliberate study; +syllable for syllable, it corresponds to the Latin, and +to the notes of the music.</p> +<p>Is it then <i>not</i> to be called a popular song? Perhaps +the answer is that all popular poetry, in Europe at +any rate for the last thousand years, is derived from +poetry more or less learned in character, or, like the +Cuckoo song, from more or less learned music. The +first popular songs of the modern world were the +hymns of St. Ambrose, and the oldest fashion of +popular tunes is derived from the music of the +Church.</p> +<p>The learned origin of popular lyric may be illustrated +from any of the old-fashioned broadsheets of the +street ballad-singers: for example <i>The Kerry Recruit</i>—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">As I was going up and down, one day in the month of August,</p> +<p class="t0">All in the town of sweet Tralee, I met the recruiting serjeant—</p> +</div> +<p>The metre of this is the same as in the <i>Ormulum</i>—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">This book is nemned Ormulum, for thy that Orm hit wroughtè.</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_58">[58]</div> +<p>It is derived through the Latin from the Greek; it +was made popular first through Latin rhyming verses +which were imitated in the vernacular languages, +Provençal, German, English. As it is a variety of +‘common metre’, it is easily fitted to popular tunes, +and so it becomes a regular type of verse, both for +ambitious poets and for ballad-minstrels like the +author quoted above. It may be remembered that a +country poet wrote the beautiful song on Yarrow from +which Wordsworth took the verse of his own Yarrow +poems—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">But minstrel Burne cannot assuage</p> +<p class="t">His grief, while life endureth,</p> +<p class="t0">To see the changes of this age</p> +<p class="t">Which fleeting time procureth—</p> +</div> +<p>verse identical in measure with the <i>Ormulum</i>, and with +the popular Irish street ballad, and with many more. +So in the history of this type of verse we get the +following relations of popular and literary poetry: +first there is the ancient Greek verse of the same +measure; then there are the Latin learned imitations; +then there is the use of it by scholars in the Middle +Ages, who condescend to use it in Latin rhymes for +students’ choruses. Then comes the imitation of it +in different languages as in English by Orm and others +of his day (about 1200). It was very much in favour +then, and was used often irregularly, with a varying +number of syllables. But Orm writes it with perfect +accuracy, and the accurate type survived, and was just +as ‘popular’ as the less regular kind. Minstrel Burne +is as regular as the <i>Ormulum</i>, and so, or very nearly as +much, is the anonymous Irish poet of The <i>Kerry Recruit</i>.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_59">[59]</div> +<p>What happened in the case of the <i>Ormulum</i> verse is +an example of the whole history of modern lyric +poetry in its earlier period. Learned men like St. +Ambrose and St. Augustine wrote hymns for the +common people in Latin which the common people +of that time could understand. Then, in different +countries, the native languages were used to copy the +Latin measures and fit in to the same tunes—just as +the English Cuckoo song corresponds to the Latin +words for the same melody. Thus there were provided +for the new languages, as we may call them, a +number of poetical forms or patterns which could be +applied in all sorts of ways. These became common +and well understood, in the same manner as common +forms of music are understood, e.g. the favourite +rhythms of dance tunes; and like those rhythms they +could be adapted to any sort of poetical subject, and +used with all varieties of skill.</p> +<p>Many strange things happened while the new +rhyming sort of lyric poetry was being acclimatized in +England, and a study of early English lyrics is a good +introduction to all the rest of English poetry, because +in those days—in the twelfth and thirteenth centuries—may +be found the origin of the most enduring poetical +influences in later times.</p> +<p>One of the strange things was that the French lyrical +examples affected the English in two opposite ways. +As foreign verse, and as belonging especially to those +who were acquainted with courts and good society, it +had the attraction which fashionable and stylish things +generally have for those who are a little behind the +fashion. It was the newest and most brilliant thing; +<span class="pb" id="Page_60">[60]</span> +the English did all they could to make it their own +whether by composing in French themselves or by +copying the French style in English words. But +besides this fashionable and courtly value of French +poetry, there was another mode in which it appealed +to the English. Much of it was closely related not to +the courts but to popular country festivals which were +frequent also in towns, like the games and dances to +celebrate the coming of May. French poetry was +associated with games of that sort, and along with +games of that sort it came to England. The English +were hit on both sides. French poetry was more +genteel in some things, more popular and jovial in +others, than anything then current in England. Thus +the same foreign mode of composition which gave a +new courtly ideal to the English helped also very greatly +to quicken their popular life. While the distinction +between courtly and popular is nowhere more important +than in medieval literature, it is often very hard to +make it definite in particular cases, just for this reason. +It is not as if there were a popular native layer, English +in character and origin, with a courtly foreign French +layer above it. What is popular in Middle English +literature is just as much French as English; while, +on the other hand, what is native, like the alliterative +verse, is as often as not used for ambitious works. +<i>Sir Gawayne and the Greene Knight</i> and the poem of the +<i>Morte Arthure</i> are certainly not ‘popular’ in the sense +of ‘uneducated’ or ‘simple’ or anything of that kind, +and though they are written in the old native verse +they are not intended for the people who had no +education and could not speak French.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_61">[61]</div> +<p>The great manifestation of French influence in the +common life of the Middle Ages was through the +fashion of the dance which generally went by the name +of <i>Carole</i>. The <i>carole</i>—music, verse and dance +altogether—spread as a fashion all over Europe in the +twelfth century; and there is nothing which so effectively +marks the change from the earlier to the later +Middle Ages. It <i>is</i> in fact a great part of the change, +with all that is implied in it; which may be explained +in the following way.</p> +<p>The <i>carole</i> was a dance accompanied by a song, the +song being divided between a leader and the rest of the +chorus; the leader sang the successive new lines, while +the rest of the dancers holding hands in a ring all +joined in the refrain. Now this was the fashion most +in favour in all gentle houses through the Middle Ages, +and it was largely through this that the French type +of lyric was transported to so many countries and +languages. French lyric poetry was part of a graceful +diversion for winter evenings in a castle or for summer +afternoons in the castle garden. But it was also +thoroughly and immediately available for all the +parish. In its origin it was popular in the widest +sense—not restricted to any one rank or class; and +though it was adopted and elaborated in the stately +homes of England and other countries it could not lose +its original character. Every one could understand it +and enjoy it; so it became the favourite thing at +popular festivals, as well as at the Christmas entertainments +in the great hall. Particularly, it was a favourite +custom to dance and sing in this way on the vigils or +eves of Saints’ days, when people assembled from some +<span class="pb" id="Page_62">[62]</span> +distance at the church where the day was to be observed. +Dancing-parties were frequent at these ‘wakes’; they +were often held in the churchyard. There are many +stories to show how they were discouraged by the +clergy, and how deplorable was their vanity: but those +moral examples also prove how well established the +custom was; some of them also from their date show +how quickly it had spread. The best is in Giraldus +Cambrensis, ‘Gerald the Welshman’, a most amusing +writer, who is unfortunately little read, as he wrote in +Latin. In his <i>Gemma Ecclesiastica</i> he has a chapter +against the custom of using churches and churchyards +for songs and dances. As an illustration, he tells the +story of a wake in a churchyard, somewhere in the +diocese of Worcester, which was kept up all night long, +the dancers repeating one refrain over and over; so +that the priest who had this refrain in his ears all night +could not get rid of it in the morning, but repeated it +at the Mass—saying (instead of <i>Dominus vobiscum</i>) +‘Sweet Heart, have pity!’ Giraldus, writing in Latin, +quotes the English verse: <i>Swete lemman, thin arè</i>. <i>Are</i>, +later <i>ore</i>, means ‘mercy’ or ‘grace’, and the refrain is +of the same sort as is found, much later, in the lyric +poetry of the time of Edward I. Giraldus wrote in the +twelfth century, in the reign of Henry II, and it is plain +from what he tells that the French fashion was already +in full swing and as thoroughly naturalized among +the English as the Waltz or the Lancers in the nineteenth +century. The same sort of evidence comes +from Denmark about the same time as Giraldus; ring-dances +were equally a trouble and vexation to religious +teachers there—for, strangely, the dances seem everywhere +<span class="pb" id="Page_63">[63]</span> +to have been drawn to churches and monasteries, +through the custom of keeping religious wakes in a +cheerful manner. Europe was held together in this +common vanity, and it was through the <i>caroles</i> and +similar amusements that the poetical art of France +came to be dominant all over the North, affecting the +popular and unpretending poets no less than those of +greater ambition and conceit.</p> +<p>The word ‘Court’ and its derivations are frequently +used by medieval and early modern writers with a +special reference to poetry. The courts of kings and +great nobles were naturally associated with the ideas of +polite education; those men ‘that has used court and +dwelled therein can Frankis and Latin’, says Richard +Rolle of Hampole in the fourteenth century; the +‘courtly maker’ is an Elizabethan name for the accomplished +poet, and similar terms are used in other +languages to express the same meaning. This ‘courtly’ +ideal was not properly realized in England till the time +of Chaucer and Gower; and a general view of the +subject easily leads one to think of the English language +as struggling in the course of three centuries to get rid +of its homeliness, its rustic and parochial qualities. +This period, from about 1100 to 1400, closes in the full +attainment of the desired end. Chaucer and Gower are +unimpeachable as ‘courtly makers’, and their success +in this way also implies the establishment of their +language as pure English; the competition of dialects +is ended by the victory of the East Midland language +which Chaucer and Gower used. The ‘courtly poets’ +make it impossible in England to use any language for +poetry except their own.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_64">[64]</div> +<p>But the distinction between ‘courtly’ and ‘vulgar’, +‘popular’, or whatever the other term may be, is not +very easy to fix. The history of the <i>carole</i> is an +example of this difficulty. The <i>carole</i> flourishes +among the gentry and it is a favourite amusement as +well among the common people. ‘Courtly’ ideas, +suggestions, phrases, might have a circulation in +country places, and be turned to literary effect by +authors who had no special attachment to good society. +A hundred years before Chaucer there may be found +in the poem of <i>The Owl and the Nightingale</i>, written +in the language of Dorset, a kind of good-humoured +ironical satire which is very like Chaucer’s own. This +is the most <i>modern</i> in tone of all the thirteenth-century +poems, but there are many others in which the rustic, +or popular, and the ‘courtly’ elements are curiously +and often very pleasantly mixed.</p> +<p>In fact, for many purposes even of literary history +and criticism the medieval distinction between ‘courtly’ +and popular may be neglected. There is always a +difficulty in finding out what is meant by ‘the People’. +One has only to remember Chaucer’s Pilgrims to +understand this, and to realize how absurd is any fixed +line of division between ranks, with regard to their +literary taste. The most attentive listener and the +most critical among the Canterbury Pilgrims is the +Host of the Tabard. There was ‘culture’ in the +Borough as well as in Westminster. The Franklin +who apologizes for his want of rhetorical skill—he had +never read Tullius or Cicero—tells one of the ‘Breton +lays’, a story elegantly planned and finished, of the +best French type; and the Wife of Bath, after the story +<span class="pb" id="Page_65">[65]</span> +of her own life, repeats another romance of the same +school as the Franklin’s Tale. The average ‘reading +public’ of Chaucer’s time could understand a great +many different varieties of verse and prose.</p> +<p>But while the difference between ‘courtly’ and +‘popular’ is often hard to determine in particular cases, +it is none the less important and significant in medieval +history. It implies the chivalrous ideal—the self-conscious +withdrawal and separation of the gentle +folk from all the rest, not merely through birth and +rank and the fashion of their armour, but through their +ways of thinking, and especially through their theory +of love. The devotion of the true knight to his lady—the +motive of all the books of chivalry—began to be the +favourite subject in the twelfth century; it was studied +and meditated in all manner of ways, and it is this that +gives its character to all the most original, as well as +to the most artificial, poetry of the later Middle Ages. +The spirit and the poetical art of the different nations +may be estimated according to the mode in which they +appropriated those ideas. For the ideas of this religion +of chivalrous love were <i>literary</i> and <i>artistic</i> ideas; they +went along with poetical ambitions and fresh poetical +invention—they led to the poetry of Dante, Petrarch +and Spenser, not as ideas and inspirations simply, but +through their employment of definite poetical forms +of expression, which were developed by successive +generations of poets.</p> +<p>Stories of true love do not belong peculiarly to the +age of chivalrous romance. The greatest of them all, +the story of Sigurd and Brynhild, has come down from +an older world. The early books of the Danish +<span class="pb" id="Page_66">[66]</span> +History of Saxo Grammaticus are full of romantic +themes. ‘A mutual love arose between Hedin and +Hilda, the daughter of Hogne, a maiden of most +eminent renown. For though they had not yet seen +one another, each had been kindled by the other’s +glory. But when they had a chance of beholding one +another, neither could look away; so steadfast was the +love that made their eyes linger’. This passage +(quoted from Oliver Elton’s translation) is one of the +things which were collected by Saxo from Danish +tradition; it is quite independent of anything chivalrous, +in the special sense of that word. Again, Chaucer’s +<i>Legend of Good Women</i>, the story of Dido, or of +Pyramus and Thisbe, may serve as a reminder how +impossible it is to separate ‘romantic’ from ‘classical’ +literature. A great part of medieval romance is +nothing but a translation into medieval forms, into +French couplets, of the passion of Medea or of Dido. +Even in the fresh discovery which made the ideal of the +‘courtly’ schools, namely, the lover’s worship of his +lady as divine, there is something traceable to the Latin +poets. But it was a fresh discovery, for all that, a new +mode of thought, whatever its source might be. The +devotion of Dante to Beatrice, of Petrarch to Laura, is +different from anything in classical poetry, or in the +earlier Middle Ages. It is first in Provençal lyric verse +that something like their ideas may be found; both +Dante and Petrarch acknowledge their debt to the +Provençal poets.</p> +<p>Those ideas can be expressed in lyric poetry; not +so well in narrative. They are too vague for narrative, +and too general; they are the utterance of any true +<span class="pb" id="Page_67">[67]</span> +lover, his pride and his humility, his belief that all the +joy and grace of the world, and of Heaven also, are +included in the worshipful lady. There is also along +with this religion a firm belief that it is not intended +for the vulgar; and as the ideas and motives are noble +so must the poetry be, in every respect. The refinement +of the idea requires a corresponding beauty of +form; and the lyric poets of Provence and their +imitators in Germany, the Minnesingers, were great +inventors of new stanzas and, it should be remembered, +of the tunes that accompanied them. It was +not allowable for one poet to take another poet’s stanza. +The new spirit of devotion in love-poetry produced +an enormous variety of lyrical measures, which are still +musical, and some of them still current, to this day.</p> +<p>It was an artificial kind of poetry, in different senses +of the term. It was consciously artistic, and ambitious; +based upon science—the science of music—and deliberately +planned so as to make the best effect. The poets +were competitors—sometimes in actual competition +for a prize, as in the famous scene at the Wartburg, +which comes in <i>Tannhäuser</i>, or as at a modern Welsh +<i>eisteddfod</i>; the fame of a poet could not be gained +without the finest technical skill, and the prize was +often given for technical skill, rather than for anything +else. Besides this, the ideas themselves were conventional; +the poet’s amatory religion was often assumed; +he chose a lady to whom he offered his poetical homage. +The fiction was well understood, and was highly +appreciated as an honour, when the poetry was +successful. For example, the following may be taken +from the Lives of the Troubadours—</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_68">[68]</div> +<p>‘Richard of Barbezieux the poet fell in love with a +lady, the wife of a noble lord. She was gentle and fair, +and gay and gracious, and very desirous of praise and +honour; daughter of Jeffrey Rudel, prince of Blaye. +And when she knew that he loved her, she made him +fair semblance of love, so that he got hardihood to +plead his suit to her. And she with gracious countenance +of love treasured his praise of her, and accepted +and listened, as a lady who had good will of a poet +to make verses about her. And he composed his +songs of her, and called her <i>Mielhs de Domna</i> (‘Sovran +Lady’) in his verse. And he took great delight in +finding similitudes of beasts and birds and men in his +poetry, and of the sun and the stars, so as to give new +arguments such as no poet had found before him. +Long time he sang to her; but it was never believed +that she yielded to his suit.’</p> +<p>Provençal poetry cannot be shown to have had any +direct influence upon English, which is rather strange +considering the close relations between England and +the districts where the Provençal language—the <i>langue +d’oc</i>—was spoken. It had great indirect influence, +through the French. The French imitated the Provençal +lyric poetry, as the Germans and the Italians +did, and by means of the French poets the Provençal +ideas found their way to England. But this took a +long time. The Provençal poets were ‘courtly +makers’; so were the French who copied them. The +‘courtly maker’ needs not only great houses and polite +society for his audience; not only the fine philosophy +‘the love of honour and the honour of love’, which is +the foundation of chivalrous romance. Besides all +<span class="pb" id="Page_69">[69]</span> +this, he needs the reward and approbation of success +in poetical art; he cannot thrive as an anonymous poet. +And it is not till the time of Chaucer and Gower that +there is found in England any poet making a great +name for himself as a master of the art of poetry, like +the Provençal masters Bernart de Ventadour or Arnaut +Daniel in the twelfth century, or like the German +Walther von der Vogelweide at the beginning of the +thirteenth.</p> +<p>Lyric poetry of the Provençal kind was a most +exacting and difficult art; it required very peculiar +conditions before it could flourish and be appreciated, +and those conditions did not exist in England or in the +English language. At the same time the elaborate +lyrics of Provence, like those of the Minnesingers in +Germany, are pretty closely related to many ‘popular’ +forms and motives. Besides the idealist love-poetry +there were other kinds available—simple songs of +lament, or of satire—comic songs—lyrics with a scene +in them, such as the very beautiful one about the girl +whose lover has gone on the Crusade. In such as +these, though they have little directly to do with English +poetry, may be found many illustrations of English +modes of verse, and rich examples of that most delightful +sort of poetry which refuses to be labelled either +‘courtly’ or ‘popular’.</p> +<p>In French literature, as distinct from Provençal, +there was a ‘courtly’ strain which flourished in the +same general conditions as the Provençal, but was +not so hard to understand and had a much greater +immediate effect on England.</p> +<p>The French excelled in narrative poetry. There +<span class="pb" id="Page_70">[70]</span> +seems to have been a regular exchange in poetry +between the South and the North of France. French +stories were translated into Provençal, Provençal lyrics +were imitated in the North of France. Thus French +lyric is partly Provençal in character, and it is in this +way that the Provençal influence is felt in English +poetry. The French narrative poetry, though it also +is affected by ideas from the South, is properly French +in origin and style. It is by means of narrative that +the French ideal of courtesy and chivalry is made +known, to the French themselves as well as to other +nations.</p> +<p>In the twelfth century a considerable change was +made in French poetry by the rise and progress of a +new romantic school in succession to the old <i>chansons +de geste</i>—the epic poems on the ‘matter of France’. +The old epics went down in the world, and gradually +passed into the condition of merely ‘popular’ literature. +Some of them survive to this day in roughly printed +editions, like the <i>Reali di Francia</i>, which is an Italian +prose paraphrase of old French epics, and which +seems to have a good sale in the markets of Italy still, +as <i>The Seven Champions of Christendom</i> used to have in +England, and <i>The Four Sons of Aymon</i> in France. +The decline of the old epics began in the twelfth century +through the competition of more brilliant new +romances.</p> +<p>The subjects of these were generally taken either +from the ‘matter of Britain’, or from antiquity, the +‘matter of Rome the Great’, which included Thebes and +Troy. The new romantic school wanted new subjects, +and by preference foreign subjects. This, however, +<span class="pb" id="Page_71">[71]</span> +was of comparatively small importance; it had long +been usual for story-tellers to go looking for subjects +to foreign countries; this is proved by the Saints’ Lives, +and also by the story of Alexander the Great, which +appeared in French before the new school was properly +begun.</p> +<p>In form of verse the new romances generally differed +from the <i>chansons de geste</i>, but this again is not an +exact distinction. Apart from other considerations, +the distinction fails because the octosyllabic rhyming +measure, the short couplet, which was the ordinary +form for fashionable romances, was also at the same +time the ordinary form for everything else—for +history, for moral and didactic poetry, and for comic +stories like Reynard the Fox. The establishment of +this ‘short verse’ (as the author of <i>Hudibras</i> calls it) in +England is one of the most obvious and one of the +largest results of the literary influence of France, but +it is not specially due to the romantic school.</p> +<p>The character of that school must be sought much +more in its treatment of motives, and particularly +in its use of sentiment. It is romantic in its fondness +for strange adventures; but this taste is nothing new. +The real novelty and the secret of its greatest success +was its command of pathos, more especially in the +pathetic monologues and dialogues of lovers. It is +greatly indebted for this, as has been already remarked, +to the Latin poets. The <i>Aeneid</i> is turned into a +French romance (<i>Roman d’Eneas</i>); and the French +author of the <i>Roman de Troie</i>, who gives the story of +the Argonauts in the introductory part of his work, +has borrowed much from Ovid’s Medea in the +<span class="pb" id="Page_72">[72]</span> +<i>Metamorphoses</i>. Virgil’s Dido and Ovid’s Medea had +an immense effect on the imagination of the French +poets and their followers. From Virgil and Ovid the +medieval authors got the suggestion of passionate +eloquence, and learned how to manage a love-story +in a dramatic way—allowing the characters free scope +to express themselves fully. Chivalrous sentiment +in the romances is partly due to the example of the +Latin authors, who wrote long passionate speeches for +their heroines, or letters like that of Phyllis to Demophoon +or Ariadne to Theseus and the rest of Ovid’s +<i>Heroides</i>—the source of Chaucer’s <i>Legend of Good +Women</i>. The idea of the lover as the servant of his +mistress was also taken first of all from the Latin +amatory poets. And the success of the new romantic +school was gained by the working together of those +ideas and examples, the new creation of chivalrous and +courteous love out of those elements.</p> +<p>The ideas are the same in the lyric as in the narrative +poetry; and it is allowable to describe a large part of +the French romantic poems as being the expression in +narrative of the ideas which had been lyrically uttered +in the poetry of Provence—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">The love of honour and the honour of love.</p> +</div> +<p>The well-known phrase of Sidney is the true rendering +of the Provençal spirit; it is found nearly in the same +form in the old language—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Quar non es joys, si non l’adutz honors,</p> +<p class="t0">Ni es honors, si non l’adutz amors.</p> +</div> +<p>(There is no joy, if honour brings it not; nor is there +honour, if love brings it not.)</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_73">[73]</div> +<p>The importance of all this for the history of Europe +can scarcely be over-estimated. It was the beginning +of a classical renaissance through the successful +appropriation of classical ideas in modern languages +and modern forms. It is true that the medieval +version of the <i>Aeneid</i> or of the story of the Argonauts +may appear exceedingly quaint and ‘Gothic’ and +childish, if it be thought of in comparison with the +original; but if it be contrasted with the style of +narrative which was in fashion before it, the <i>Roman +d’Eneas</i> comes out as something new and promising. +There is ambition in it, and the ambition is of the +same sort as has produced all the finer sentimental +fiction since. If it is possible anywhere to trace the +pedigree of fashions in literature, it is here. All +modern novelists are descended from this French +romantic poetry of the twelfth century, and therefore +from the classical poets to whom so much of the life +of the French romances can be traced. The great +poets of the Renaissance carry on in their own way +the processes of adaptation which were begun in the +twelfth century, and, besides that, many of them are +directly indebted—Ariosto and Spenser, for example—to +medieval romance.</p> +<p>Further, all the chivalrous ideals of the modern +world are derived from the twelfth century. Honour +and loyalty would have thriven without the chivalrous +poets, as they had thriven before them in every nation +on earth. But it is none the less true that the tradition +of honour was founded for the sixteenth century and +the eighteenth and the present day in Europe by the +poets of the twelfth century.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_74">[74]</div> +<p>The poetical doctrine of love, which is so great a +part of chivalry, has had one effect both on civilization +in general and on particular schools of poetry which it is +hard to sum up and to understand. It is sometimes +a courtly game like that described in the life of the +troubadour quoted above; the lady pleased at the +honour paid her and ready to accept the poet’s worship; +the lady’s husband either amused by it all, or otherwise, +if not amused, at any rate prevented by the rules +of polite society from objecting; the poet enamoured +according to the same code of law, with as much +sincerity as that law and his own disposition might +allow; thoroughly occupied with his own craft of +verse and with the new illustrations from natural or +civil history by means of which he hoped to make a +name and go beyond all other poets. The difficulty +is to know how much there is of pretence and artifice +in the game. It is certain that the Provençal lyric +poetry, and the other poetry derived from it in other +languages, has many excellences besides the ingenious +repetition of stock ideas in cleverly varied patterns of +rhyme. The poets are not all alike, and the poems of +one poet are not all alike. The same poem of Bernart +de Ventadour contains a beautiful, true, fresh description +of the skylark singing and falling in the middle of +the song through pure delight in the rays of the sun; +and also later an image of quite a different sort: the +lover looking in the eyes of his mistress and seeing +himself reflected there is in danger of the same fate as +Narcissus, who pined away over his own reflection in +the well. Imagination and Fancy are blended and +interchanged in the troubadours as much as in any +<span class="pb" id="Page_75">[75]</span> +modern poet. But apart from all questions of their +value, there is no possible doubt that the Provençal +idealism is the source, though not the only source, to +which all the noblest lyric poetry of later times and +other nations may be referred for its ancestry. The +succession of schools (or whatever the right name may +be) can be traced with absolute certainty through +Dante and Petrarch in the fourteenth century to +Ronsard and Spenser in the sixteenth, and further still.</p> +<p>The society which invented good manners and the +theory of honour, which is at the beginning of all +modern poetry and of all novels as well, is often +slighted by modern historians. The vanity, the +artifice, the pedantry can easily be noted and dismissed. +The genius of the several writers is buried in the difficulty +and unfamiliarity of the old languages, even where +it has not been destroyed and lost in other ways. But +still the spirit of Provençal lyric and of old French +romance can be proved to be, at the very lowest +estimate, the beginning of modern civilization, as +distinct from the earlier Middle Ages.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_76">[76]</div> +<h2 id="c4"><span class="small">CHAPTER IV</span> +<br />THE ROMANCES</h2> +<p>All through the time between the Norman Conquest +and Chaucer one feels that <i>the Court</i> is what determines +the character of poetry and prose. The English +writers almost always have to bear in mind their +inferiority to French, and it is possible to describe their +efforts during three centuries (1100-1400) as generally +directed towards the ideal of French poetry, a struggle +to realize in English what had been already achieved +in French, to make English literature polite.</p> +<p>In the history of the English romances this may be +tested in various ways. To begin with, there is the +fact that many writers living in England wrote French, +and that some French romances, not among the worst, +were composed in England. It can hardly be doubted +that such was the case with the famous love-story of +<i>Amadas and Ydoine</i>; it is certain that the romance of +<i>Ipomedon</i> was composed by an Englishman, Hue de +Rotelande. Those two works of fiction are, if not the +noblest, at any rate among the most refined of their +species; <i>Amadas and Ydoine</i> is as perfect a romance of +true love as <i>Amadis of Gaul</i> in later days—a history +which possibly derived the name of its hero from the +earlier Amadas. <i>Ipomedon</i> is equally perfect in another +way, being one of the most clever and successful +specimens of the conventionally elegant work which +was practised by imitative poets after the fashion had +been established. There is no better romance to look +<span class="pb" id="Page_77">[77]</span> +at in order to see what things were thought important +in the ‘school’, i.e. among the well-bred unoriginal +writers who had learned the necessary style of verse, +and who could turn out a showy piece of new work by +copying the patterns they had before them. Both +<i>Ipomedon</i> and <i>Amadas and Ydoine</i> are in the best +possible style—the genteelest of tunes. The fact is +clear, that in the twelfth century literary refinement +was as possible in England as in France, so long as one +used the French language.</p> +<p>It must not be supposed that everything written in +French, whether in France or England, was courtly or +refined. There is plenty of rough French written in +England—some of it very good, too, like the prose +story of Fulk Fitzwaryn, which many people would +find much more lively than the genteel sentimental +novels. But while French could be used for all +purposes, polite or rude, English was long compelled +to be rude and prevented from competing on equal +terms with the language of those ‘who have used court’.</p> +<p>It is very interesting to see how the English translated +and adapted the polite French poems, because +the different examples show so many different degrees +of ambition and capacity among the native English. +In the style of the English romances—of which there +are a great many varieties—one may read the history +of the people; the romances bring one into relation +with different types of mind and different stages of +culture. What happened to <i>Ipomedon</i> is a good illustration. +First there is the original French poem—a +romantic tale in verse written in the regular French +short couplets of octosyllabic lines—well and correctly +<span class="pb" id="Page_78">[78]</span> +written by a man of English birth. In this production +Hue de Rotelande, the author, meant to do his best +and to beat all other competitors. He had the right +sort of talent for this—not for really original imagination, +but for the kind of work that was most in fashion +in his time. He did not, like some other poets, look +for a subject or a groundwork in a Breton lay, or an +Arabian story brought from the East by a traveller; +instead of that he had read the most successful romances +and he picked out of them, here and there, what suited +him best for a new combination. He took, for example, +the idea of the lover who falls in love with a lady he has +never seen (an idea much older than the French +romantic school, but that does not matter, for the +present); he took the story of the proud lady won by +faithful service; he took from one of the Arthurian +romances another device which is older than any +particular literature, the champion appearing, disguised +in different colours, on three successive days. +In <i>Ipomedon</i>, of course, the days are days of tournament, +and the different disguises three several suits of armour. +The scene of the story is Apulia and Calabria, chosen +for no particular reason except perhaps to get away +from the scene of the British romances. The hero’s +name, Hippomedon, is Greek, like the names in the +<i>Romance of Thebes</i>, like Palamon and Arcita, which are +taken from the Greek names Palæmon and Archytas. +Everything is borrowed, and nothing is used clumsily. +<i>Ipomedon</i> is made according to a certain prescription, +and it is made exactly in the terms of the prescription—a +perfect example of the regular fashionable novel, well +entitled to its place in any literary museum. This +<span class="pb" id="Page_79">[79]</span> +successful piece was turned into English in at least two +versions. One of these imitates the original verse of +<i>Ipomedon</i>, it is written in the ordinary short couplets. +In every other respect it fails to represent the original. +It leaves things out, and spoils the construction, and +misses the point. It is one of our failures. The other +version is much more intelligent and careful; the +author really was doing as much as he could to render +his original truly. But he fails in his choice of verse; +he translates the French couplets of <i>Ipomedon</i> into a +form of stanza, like that which Chaucer burlesques in +<i>Sir Thopas</i>. It is a very good kind of stanza, and this +anonymous English poet manages it well. But it is +the wrong sort of measure for that kind of story. It +is a dancing, capering measure, and ill suited to +translate the French verse, which is quiet, sedate, and +not emphatic. These two translations show how the +English were apt to fail. Some of them were stupid, +and some of them had the wrong sort of skill.</p> +<p>It may be an accident that the English who were so +fond of translating from the French should (apparently) +have taken so little from the chief French poet of the +twelfth century. This was Chrestien de Troyes, who +was in his day everything that Racine was five hundred +years later; that is to say, he was the successful and +accomplished master of all the subtleties of emotion, +particularly of love, expressed in the newest, most +engaging and captivating style—the perfect manner of +good society. His fine narrative poems were thoroughly +appreciated in Germany, where German was +at that time the language of all the courts, and where +the poets of the land were favoured and protected in +<span class="pb" id="Page_80">[80]</span> +the same way as poets in France and Provence. In +English there is only one romance extant which is +translated from Chrestien de Troyes; and the character +of the translation is significant: it proves how +greatly the circumstances and conditions of literature +in England differed from those of France and Germany. +The romance is <i>Ywain and Gawain</i>, a translation of +Chrestien’s <i>Yvain</i>, otherwise called <i>Le Chevalier au +Lion</i>. It is a good romance, and in style it is much +closer to the original than either of the two versions of +<i>Ipomedon</i>, lately mentioned; no other of the anonymous +romances comes so near to the standard of Chaucer and +Gower. It is good in manner; its short couplets (in +the language of the North of England) reproduce very +well the tone of French narrative verse. But the +English writer is plainly unable to follow the French in +all the effusive passages; he thinks the French is too +long, and he cuts down the speeches. On the other +hand (to show the difference between different +countries), the German translator Hartmann von Aue, +dealing with the same French poem, admires the same +things as the French author, and spins out his translation +to a greater length than the original. Another +historical fact of the same sort is that the English seem +to have neglected the <i>Roman d’Eneas</i>; while German +historians note that it was a translation of this French +poem, the <i>Eneide</i> of Heinrich van Valdeke, which first +introduced the courteous literary form of romance into +Germany. German poetry about the year 1200 was +fully the equal of French, in the very qualities on +which the French authors prided themselves. England +was labouring far behind.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_81">[81]</div> +<p>It is necessary to judge England in comparison with +France, if the history of medieval poetry is to be written +and studied at all. But the comparison ought not to +be pressed so far as to obliterate all the genuine virtues +of the English writers because they are not the same +as the French. There is another consideration also +which ought not to be left out. It is true that the most +remarkable thing in the French romances was their +‘language of the heart’, their skill in rendering passion +and emotion—their ‘sensibility’, to use an eighteenth-century +name for the same sort of disposition. But +this emotional skill, this ingenious use of passionate +language in soliloquies and dialogues, was not the only +attraction in the French romances. It was the most +important thing at the time, and historically it is what +gives those romances, of Chrestien de Troyes and +others, their rank among the poetical ideas of the world. +It was through their sensibility that they enchanted +their own time, and this was the spirit which passed +on from them to later generations through the prose +romances of the fourteenth century, such as <i>Amadis of +Gaul</i>, to those of the seventeenth century, such as the +<i>Grand Cyrus</i> or <i>Cassandra</i>. To understand what the +works of Chrestien de Troyes meant for his contemporaries +one cannot do better than read the letters in +which Dorothy Osborne speaks of her favourite +characters in the later French prose romances, those +‘monstrous fictions’, as Scott called them, ‘which +constituted the amusement of the young and the gay +in the age of Charles II’. Writing to Sir William +Temple she says: ‘Almanzor is as fresh in my memory +as if I had visited his tomb but yesterday. . . . You +<span class="pb" id="Page_82">[82]</span> +will believe I had not been used to great afflictions when +I made his story such an one to me as I cried an hour +together for him, and was so angry with Alcidiana that +for my life I could never love her after it’. Almanzor +and Alcidiana, and the sorrows that so touched their +gentle readers in the age of Louis XIV and Charles II, +were the descendants of Chrestien de Troyes in a direct +line; they represent what is enduring and inexhaustible +in the spirit of the older polite literature in France. +Sentiment in modern fiction can be traced back to +Chrestien de Troyes. It is a fashion which was +established then and has never been extinguished since; +if there is to be any history of ideas at all, this is what +has to be recorded as the principal influence in French +literature in the twelfth century. But it was not +everything, and it was not a simple thing. There are +many varieties of sentiment, and besides sentiment +there are many other interests in the old French +romantic literature. The works of Chrestien de Troyes +may be taken as examples again. In one, <i>Cliges</i>, there +are few adventures; in <i>Perceval</i> (the story of the Grail), +his last poem, the adventures are many and wonderful. +In his <i>Lancelot</i>, the sentimental interest is managed in +accordance with the rules of the Provençal poetry at its +most refined and artificial height; but his story of +<i>Enid</i> is in substance the same as Tennyson’s, a romance +which does not need (like Chrestien’s <i>Lancelot</i>) any +study of a special code of behaviour to explain the +essence of it. The lovers here are husband and wife +(quite against the Provençal rules), and the plot is pure +comedy, a misunderstanding cleared away by the truth +and faithfulness of the heroine.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_83">[83]</div> +<p>Further, although it is true that adventure is not +the chief interest with Chrestien de Troyes and his +followers, it is not true that it is neglected by them; +and besides, although they were the most fashionable +and most famous and successful authors of romance, +they were not the only story-tellers nor was their +method the only one available. There was a form of +short story, commonly called <i>lai</i> and associated with +Brittany, in which there was room for the same kind of +matter as in many of the larger romances, but not for +the same expression and effusion of sentiment. The +best known are those of Marie de France, who +dedicated her book of stories to King Henry of +England (Henry II). One of the best of the English +short romances, <i>Sir Launfal</i>, is taken from Marie de +France; her stories have a beauty which was not at +the time so enthralling as the charm of the longer +stories, and which had nothing like the same influence +on the literature of the future, but which now, for +those who care to look at it, has much more freshness, +partly because it is nearer to the fairy mythology of +popular tradition. The longer romances are really +modern novels—studies of contemporary life, characters +and emotions, mixed up with adventures more +or less surprising. The shorter <i>lais</i> (like that of +<i>Sir Launfal</i>) might be compared to the stories of Hans +Christian Andersen; they are made in the same way. +Like many of Andersen’s tales, they are borrowed from +folk-lore; like them, again, they are not mere transcripts +from an uneducated story-teller. They are ‘old wives’ +tales’, but they are put into fresh literary form. This +new form may occasionally interfere with something +<span class="pb" id="Page_84">[84]</span> +in the original traditional version, but it does not, either +with Marie de France or with Andersen, add too much +to the original. Curiously, there is an example in +English, among the shorter rhyming romances, of a +story which Andersen has told in his own way under +the title of the <i>Travelling Companion</i>. The English +<i>Sir Amadace</i> is unfortunately not one of the best of the +short stories—not nearly as good as <i>Sir Launfal</i>—but +still it shows how a common folk-lore plot, the story +of the Grateful Dead, might be turned into literary +form without losing all its original force and without +being transformed into a mere vehicle for modern +literary ambitions.</p> +<p>The relations between folk-lore and literature are +forced on the attention when one is studying the Middle +Ages, and perhaps most of all in dealing with this +present subject, the romances of the age of chivalry. +In Anglo-Saxon literature it is much less to the fore, +probably not because there was little of it really, but +because so little has been preserved. In the eleventh +and twelfth centuries there was a great stirring-up of +popular mythology in a number of countries, so that +it came to be noticed, and passed into scores of books, +both in the form of plots for stories, and also in scientific +remarks made by investigators and historians. Giraldus +Cambrensis is full of folk-lore, and about the same +time Walter Map (in his <i>De Nugis Curialium</i>) and +Gervase of Tilbury (in his <i>Otia Imperialia</i>) were taking +notes of the same sort. Both Giraldus and Walter +Map were at home in Wales, and it was particularly +in the relation between the Welsh and their neighbours +that the study of folk-lore was encouraged; both the +<span class="pb" id="Page_85">[85]</span> +historical study, as in the works of these Latin authors +just named, and the traffic in stories to be used for +literary purposes in the vernacular languages whether +French or English.</p> +<p>The ‘matter of Britain’ in the stories of Tristram, +Gawain, Perceval and Lancelot came to be associated +peculiarly with the courteous sentimental type of +romance which had such vogue and such influence +in the Middle Ages. But the value of this ‘matter’—the +Celtic stories—was by no means exclusively +connected with the ambitious literary art of Chrestien +and others like him. Apart from form altogether, it +counts for something that such a profusion of stories +was sent abroad over all the nations. They were +interesting and amusing, in whatever language they +were told. They quickened up people’s imaginations +and gave them something to think about, in the same +way as the Italian novels which were so much read in +the time of Shakespeare, or the trashy German novels +in the time of Shelley.</p> +<p>It is much debated among historians whether it was +from Wales or Brittany that these stories passed into +general circulation. It seems most probable that the +two Welsh countries on both sides of the Channel gave +stories to their neighbours—to the Normans both in +France and England, and to the English besides on the +Welsh borders. It seems most probable at any rate +that the French had not to wait for the Norman +Conquest before they picked up any Celtic stories. +The Arthurian names in Italy (mentioned already +above, p. 50) are found too early, and the dates do not +allow time for the stories to make their way, and find +<span class="pb" id="Page_86">[86]</span> +favour, and tempt people in Lombardy to call their +children after Gawain instead of a patron saint. It is +certain that both in Brittany—Little Britain—and in +Wales King Arthur was a hero, whose return was to +put all things right. It was to fulfil this prophecy +that Geoffrey Plantagenet’s son was called Arthur, and +a Provençal poet hails the child with these auspices: +‘Now the Bretons have got their Arthur’. Other +writers speak commonly of the ‘Breton folly’—this +hope of a deliverer was the Breton vanity, well known +and laughed at by the more practical people across +the border.</p> +<p>Arthur, however, was not the proper hero of the +romantic tales, either in their shorter, more popular +form or in the elaborate work of the courtly school. +In many of the <i>lais</i> he is never mentioned; in most of +the romances, long or short, early or late, he has +nothing to do except to preside over the feast, at +Christmas or Whitsuntide, and wait for adventures. +So he is represented in the English poem of <i>Sir Gawayn +and the Grene Knyght</i>. The stories are told not about +King Arthur, but about Gawain or Perceval, Lancelot +or Pelleas or Pellenore.</p> +<p>The great exception to this general rule is the history +of Arthur which was written by Geoffrey of Monmouth +in the first half of the twelfth century as part of his +Latin history of Britain. This history of Arthur was +of course translated wherever Geoffrey was translated, +and sometimes it was picked out for separate treatment, +as by the remarkable author of the <i>Morte Arthure</i>, one +of the best of the alliterative poems. Arthur had long +been known in Britain as a great leader against the +<span class="pb" id="Page_87">[87]</span> +Saxon invaders; Geoffrey of Monmouth took up and +developed this idea in his own way, making Arthur a +successful opponent not of the Saxons merely but of +Rome; a conqueror of kingdoms, himself an emperor +before whom the power of Rome was humbled. In +consequence of which the ‘Saxons’ came to think of +their country as Britain, and to make Arthur their +national hero, in the same way as Charlemagne was +the national hero in France. Arthur also, like Charlemagne, +came to be generally respected all over +Christendom, in Norway and Iceland, as well as Italy +and Greece. Speaking generally, whenever Arthur is +a great conquering hero like Alexander or Charlemagne +this idea of him is due to Geoffrey of Monmouth; the +stories where he only appears as holding a court and +sending out champions are stories that have come +from popular tradition, or are imitations of such stories. +But there are some exceptions. For one thing, +Geoffrey’s representation of Arthur is not merely a +composition after the model of Alexander the Great or +Charlemagne; the story of Arthur’s fall at the hands +of his nephew is traditional. And when Layamon +a ‘Saxon’ turned the French rhyming version of +Geoffrey into English—Layamon’s <i>Brut</i>—he added a +number of things which are neither in the Latin nor +the French, but obtained by Layamon himself independently, +somehow or other, from the Welsh. +Layamon lived on the banks of the Severn, and very +probably he may have done the same kind of note-taking +in Wales or among Welsh acquaintances as was +done by Walter Map a little earlier. Layamon’s +additions are of great worth; he tells the story of the +<span class="pb" id="Page_88">[88]</span> +passing of Arthur, and it is from Layamon, ultimately, +that all the later versions—Malory’s and Tennyson’s—are +derived.</p> +<p>None of the English authors can compete with the +French poets as elegant writers dealing with contemporary +manners. But apart from that kind of work +almost every variety of interest may be found in the +English stories. There are two, <i>King Horn</i> and +<i>Havelok the Dane</i>, which appear to be founded on +national English traditions coming down from the +time of the Danish wars. <i>King Horn</i> is remarkable +for its metre—short rhyming couplets, but not in the +regular eight-syllable lines which were imitated from +the French. The verse appears to be an adaptation +of the old native English measure, fitted with regular +rhymes. Rhyme was used in continental German +poetry, and in Icelandic, and occasionally in Anglo-Saxon, +before there were any French examples to +follow; and <i>King Horn</i> is one thing surviving to show +how the English story-tellers might have got on if they +had not paid so much attention to the French authorities +in rhyme. The story of Havelok belongs to the town +of Grimsby particularly and to the Danelaw, the +district of England occupied by Danish settlers. The +name Havelok is the Danish, or rather the Norwegian, +Anlaf or Olaf, and the story seems to be a tradition in +which two historical Olafs have been confused—one +the Olaf who was defeated at the battle of Brunanburh, +the other the Olaf who won the battle of Maldon—Olaf +Tryggvason, King of Norway. <i>Havelok</i>, the +English story, is worth reading as a good specimen of +popular English poetry in the thirteenth century, a +<span class="pb" id="Page_89">[89]</span> +story where the subject and the scene are English, +where the manners are not too fine, and where the +hero, a king’s son disinherited and unrecognized, lives +as a servant for a long time and so gives the author +a chance of describing common life and uncourtly +manners. And he does this very well, particularly in +the athletic sports where Havelok distinguishes himself—an +excellent piece to compare with the funeral +games which used to be a necessary part of every +regular epic poem. <i>Horn</i> and <i>Havelok</i>, though they +belong to England, are scarcely to be reckoned as part +of the ‘matter of Britain’, at least as that was understood +by the French author who used the term. There +are other stories which will not go easily into that or +into either of the two other divisions. One of these is +the story of <i>Floris and Blanchefleur</i>, which was turned +into English in the thirteenth century—one of the +oldest among the rhyming romances. This is one of +the many stories that came from the East. It is the +history of two young lovers who are separated for a +time—a very well known and favourite type of story. +This is the regular plot in the Greek prose romances, +such as that of Heliodorus which was so much admired +after the Renaissance. This story of <i>Floris and +Blanchefleur</i>, however, does not come from Greece, +but from the same source as the <i>Arabian Nights</i>. +Those famous stories, the Thousand and One Nights, +were not known in Europe till the beginning of the +eighteenth century, but many things of the same sort +had made their way in the Middle Ages into France, +and this was the best of them all. It is found in +German and Dutch, as well as in English; also in +<span class="pb" id="Page_90">[90]</span> +Swedish and Danish, in the same kind of short +couplets—showing how widely the fashions of literature +were prescribed by France among all the Teutonic +races.</p> +<p>How various the styles of romance might be is +shown by two poems which are both found in the +famous <i>Auchinleck</i> manuscript in Edinburgh, <i>Sir +Orfeo</i> and <i>Sir Tristrem</i>. The stories are two of the +best known in the world. <i>Sir Orfeo</i> is Orpheus. But +this version of Orpheus and Eurydice is not a translation +from anything classical; it is far further from any +classical original than even the very free and distinctly +‘Gothic’ rendering of Jason and Medea at the beginning +of the old French tale of Troy. The story of Orpheus +has passed through popular tradition before it turns +into <i>Sir Orfeo</i>. It shows how readily folk-lore will +take a suggestion from book-learning, and how easily +it will make a classical fable into the likeness of a +Breton lay. Orfeo was a king, and also a good harper:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">He hath a queen full fair of price</p> +<p class="t0">That is clepèd Dame Erodys.</p> +</div> +<p>One day in May Queen Erodys slept in her orchard, +and when she awoke was overcome with affliction +because of a dream—a king had appeared to her, with +a thousand knights and fifty ladies, riding on snow-white +steeds.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">The king had a crown on his head</p> +<p class="t0">It was no silver, ne gold red,</p> +<p class="t0">All it was of precious stone,</p> +<p class="t0">As bright as sun forsooth it shone.</p> +</div> +<p>He made her ride on a white palfrey to his own land, +and showed her castles and towers, meadows, fields +<span class="pb" id="Page_91">[91]</span> +and forests; then he brought her home, and told her +that the next day she would be taken away for ever.</p> +<p>The king kept watch on the morrow with two +hundred knights; but there was no help; among them +all she was fetched away ‘with the faerie’. Then King +Orfeo left his kingdom, and went out to the wilderness +to the ‘holtes hoar’ barefoot, taking nothing of all his +wealth but his harp only.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">In summer he liveth by hawès</p> +<p class="t0">That on hawthorne groweth by shawès,</p> +<p class="t0">And in winter by root and rind</p> +<p class="t0">For other thing may he none find.</p> +<p class="t0">No man could tell of his sore</p> +<p class="t0">That he suffered ten year and more,</p> +<p class="t0">He that had castle and tower,</p> +<p class="t0">Forest, frith, both field and flower,</p> +<p class="t0">Now hath he nothing that him liketh</p> +<p class="t0">But wild beasts that by him striketh.</p> +</div> +<p>Beasts and birds came to listen to his harping—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">When the weather is clear and bright,</p> +<p class="t0">He taketh his harp anon right;</p> +<p class="t0">Into the wood it ringeth shrill</p> +<p class="t0">As he could harpè at his will:</p> +<p class="t0">The wildè bestès that there beth</p> +<p class="t0">For joy about him they geth</p> +<p class="t0">All the fowlès that there were</p> +<p class="t0">They comen about him there</p> +<p class="t0">To hear harping that was fine</p> +<p class="t0">So mickle joy was therein.</p> +<p class="t2"><span class="gs"> . . .</span></p> +<p class="t0">Oft he saw him beside</p> +<p class="t0">In the hotè summer tide</p> +<p class="t0">The king of Fayré with his rout</p> +<p class="t0">Came to hunt all about.</p> +<p class="t2"><span class="gs"> . . .</span></p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_92">[92]</div> +<p>Sometimes he saw the armed host of the Faerie; sometimes +knights and ladies together, in bright attire, +riding an easy pace, and along with them all manner +of minstrelsy. One day he followed a company of the +Fairy ladies as they were hawking by the river (or +rather the <i>rivere</i>—i.e. the bank of the stream) at</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Pheasant heron and cormorant;</p> +<p class="t0">The fowls out of the river flew</p> +<p class="t0">Every falcon his game slew.</p> +</div> +<p>King Orfeo saw that and laughed and rose up from his +resting-place and followed, and found his wife among +them; but neither might speak with the other—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">But there might none with other speak</p> +<p class="t0">Though she him knew and he her, eke.</p> +</div> +<p>But he took up his harp and followed them fast, over +stock and stone, and when they rode into a hillside—‘in +at the roche’—he went in after them.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">When he was into the roche y-go</p> +<p class="t0">Well three mile, and some deal mo</p> +<p class="t0">He came to a fair countray</p> +<p class="t0">Was as bright as any day.</p> +</div> +<p>There in the middle of a lawn he saw a fair high castle +of gold and silver and precious stones.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">No man might tell ne think in thought</p> +<p class="t0">The riches that therein was wrought.</p> +</div> +<p>The porter let him in, as a minstrel, and he was brought +before the king and queen. ‘How do you come here?’ +said the king; ‘I never sent for you, and never before +have I known a man so hardy as to come unbidden.’ +<span class="pb" id="Page_93">[93]</span> +Then Sir Orfeo put in a word for the minstrels; ‘It is +our manner’, he said, ‘to come to every man’s house +unbidden’,</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">‘And though we nought welcome be</p> +<p class="t0">Yet we must proffer our game or glee.’</p> +</div> +<p>Then he took his harp and played, and the king offered +him whatever he should ask.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">‘Minstrel, me liketh well thy glee.’</p> +</div> +<p>Orfeo asked for the lady bright. ‘Nay’, said the king, +‘that were a foul match, for in her there is no blemish +and thou art rough and black’. ‘Fouler still’, said +Orfeo, ‘to hear a leasing from a king’s mouth’; and +the king then let him go with good wishes, and Orfeo +and Erodys went home. The steward had kept the +kingdom truly; ‘thus came they out of care’.</p> +<p>It is all as simple as can be; a rescue out of fairyland, +through the power of music; the ideas are found +everywhere, in ballads and stories. The ending is +happy, and nothing is said of the injunction not to look +back. It was probably left out when Orpheus was +turned into a fairy tale, on account of the power of +music; the heart of the people felt that Orpheus the +good harper ought not to be subjected to the common +plot. For there is nothing commoner in romance or +in popular tales than forgetfulness like that of Orpheus +when he lost Eurydice; the plot of <i>Sir Launfal</i> e.g. +turns on that; he was warned not to speak of his fairy +wife, but he was led, by circumstances over which he +had no control, to boast of her—</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_94">[94]</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">To speke ne mightè he forgo</p> +<p class="t">And said the queen before:</p> +<p class="t0">‘I have loved a fairer woman</p> +<p class="t0">Than thou ever laidest thine eye upon,</p> +<p class="t">This seven year and more!’</p> +</div> +<p>The drama of <i>Lohengrin</i> keeps this idea before the +public (not to speak of the opera of <i>Orfeo</i>), and +<i>Lohengrin</i> is a medieval German romance. The +Breton lay of Orpheus would not have been in any way +exceptional if it had kept to the original fable; the +beauty of it loses nothing by the course which it has +preferred to take, the happy ending. One may refer +to it as a standard, to show what can be done in the +medieval art of narrative, with the simplest elements +and smallest amount of decoration. It is minstrel +poetry, popular poetry—the point is clear when King +Orfeo excuses himself to the King of Faerie by the +rules of his profession as a minstrel; that was intended +to produce a smile, and applause perhaps, among the +audience. But though a minstrel’s poem it is far +from rude, and it is quite free from the ordinary faults +of rambling and prosing, such as Chaucer ridiculed in +his <i>Geste of Sir Thopas</i>. It is all in good compass, and +coherent; nothing in it is meaningless or ill-placed.</p> +<p><i>Sir Tristrem</i> is a great contrast to <i>Sir Orfeo</i>; not an +absolute contrast, for neither is this story rambling or +out of compass. The difference between the two is +that <i>Sir Orfeo</i> is nearly perfect as an English representative +of the ‘Breton lay’—i.e. the short French +romantic story like the <i>Lais</i> of Marie de France; while +<i>Sir Tristrem</i> represents no French style of narrative +poetry, and is not very successful (though technically +<span class="pb" id="Page_95">[95]</span> +very interesting) as an original English experiment in +poetical form. It is distinctly clever, as it is likewise +ambitious. The poet intends to do finer things than +the common. He adopts a peculiar stanza, not one of +the easiest—a stanza more fitted for lyric than narrative +poetry, and which is actually used for lyrical verse by +the poet Laurence Minot. It is in short lines, well +managed and effective in their way, but it is a thin +tinkling music to accompany the tragic story.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Ysonde bright of hewe</p> +<p class="t">Is far out in the sea;</p> +<p class="t0">A wind again them blew</p> +<p class="t">That sail no might there be;</p> +<p class="t0">So rew the knightes trewe,</p> +<p class="t">Tristrem, so rew he,</p> +<p class="t0">Ever as they came newe</p> +<p class="t">He one again them three</p> +<p class="t0">Great swink—</p> +<p class="t">Sweet Ysonde the free</p> +<p class="t0">Asked Brengwain a drink.</p> +</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">The cup was richly wrought,</p> +<p class="t">Of gold it was, the pin;</p> +<p class="t0">In all the world was nought</p> +<p class="t">Such drink as there was in;</p> +<p class="t0">Brengwain was wrong bethought</p> +<p class="t">To that drink she gan win</p> +<p class="t0">And sweet Ysonde it betaught;</p> +<p class="t">She bad Tristrem begin</p> +<p class="t0">To say:</p> +<p class="t">Their love might no man twin</p> +<p class="t0">Till their ending day.</p> +</div> +<p>The stage is that of a little neat puppet-show; with +figures like those of a miniature, dressed in bright +armour, or in scarlet and vair and grey—the rich cloth, +<span class="pb" id="Page_96">[96]</span> +the precious furs, grey and ermine, which so often +represent the glory of this world in the old romances—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Ysonde of highe pris,</p> +<p class="t">The maiden bright of hewe,</p> +<p class="t0">That wered fow and gris</p> +<p class="t">And scarlet that was newe;</p> +<p class="t0">In warld was none so wis</p> +<p class="t">Of crafte that men knewe.</p> +</div> +<p>There is a large group of rhyming romances which +might be named after Chaucer’s <i>Sir Thopas</i>—the companions +of <i>Sir Thopas</i>. Chaucer’s burlesque is easily +misunderstood. It is criticism, and it is ridicule; it +shows up the true character of the common minstrelsy; +the rambling narrative, the conventional stopgaps, the +complacent childish vanity of the popular artist who +has his audience in front of him and knows all the +easy tricks by which he can hold their attention. +Chaucer’s <i>Rime of Sir Thopas</i> is interrupted by the +voice of common sense—rudely—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">This may well be rime doggerel, quoth he.</p> +</div> +<p>But Chaucer has made a good thing out of the rhyme +doggerel, and expresses the pleasant old-fashioned +quality of the minstrels’ romances, as well as their +absurdities.</p> +<p>His parody touches on the want of plan and method +and meaning in the popular rhymes of chivalry; it is +also intended as criticism of their verse. That verse, +of which there are several varieties—there is more +than one type of stanza in <i>Sir Thopas</i>—is technically +called <i>rime couée</i> or ‘tail-rhyme’, and like all patterns +of verse it imposes a certain condition of mind, for +the time, on the poets who use it. It is not absolutely +<span class="pb" id="Page_97">[97]</span> +simple, and so it is apt to make the writer well pleased +with himself when he finds it going well; it very +readily becomes monotonous and flat—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Now cometh the emperour of price,</p> +<p class="t0">Again him rode the king of Galice</p> +<p class="t2">With full mickle pride;</p> +<p class="t0">The child was worthy under weed</p> +<p class="t0">And sat upon a noble steed</p> +<p class="t2">By his father side;</p> +<p class="t0">And when he met the emperour</p> +<p class="t0">He valed his hood with great honour</p> +<p class="t2">And kissed him in that tide;</p> +<p class="t0">And other lords of great valour</p> +<p class="t0">They also kissèd Segramour</p> +<p class="t2">In heart is not to hide.<span class="lnum">(<i>Emaré.</i>)</span></p> +</div> +<p>For that reason, because of the monotonous beat of the +tail-rhymes in the middle and at the end of the stanza, +it is chosen by the parodists of Wordsworth in the +<i>Rejected Addresses</i> when they are aiming at what they +think is flat and insipid in his poetry. But it is a form +of stanza which may be so used as to escape the +besetting faults; the fact that it has survived through +all the changes of literary fashion, and has been used +by poets in all the different centuries, is something to +the credit of the minstrels, as against the rude common-sense +criticism of the Host of the Tabard when he +stopped the Rime of <i>Sir Thopas</i>.</p> +<p>Chaucer’s catalogue of romances is well known—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Men speken of romances of prys</p> +<p class="t0">Of Horn Child and of Ypotys</p> +<p class="t2">Of Bevis and Sir Gy,</p> +<p class="t0">Of Sir Libeux and Pleyndamour,</p> +<p class="t0">But Sir Thopas he bereth the flour</p> +<p class="t2">Of royal chivalry.</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_98">[98]</div> +<p>In this summary, the name of <i>Pleyndamour</i> is still a +difficulty for historians; it is not known to what book +Chaucer was referring. <i>Ypotis</i> is curiously placed, for +the poem of <i>Ypotis</i> is not what is usually reckoned a +romance. ‘Ypotis’ is Epictetus the Stoic philosopher, +and the poem is derived from the old moralizing +dialogue literature; it is related to the Anglo-Saxon +dialogue of Solomon and Saturn. The other four are +well known. <i>Horn Childe</i> is a later version, in stanzas, +of the story of <i>King Horn</i>. Bevis of Southampton and +Guy of Warwick are among the most renowned, and +most popular, of all the chivalrous heroes. In later +prose adaptations they were current down to modern +times; they were part of the favourite reading of +Bunyan, and gave him ideas for the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. +<i>Guy of Warwick</i> was rewritten many times—Chaucer’s +pupil, Lydgate, took it up and made a new version of +it. There was a moral and religious strain in it, which +appealed to the tastes of many; the remarkable +didactic prose romance of <i>Tirant the White</i>, written in +Spain in the fifteenth century, is connected with <i>Guy +of Warwick</i>. Sir Bevis is more ordinary and has no +particular moral; it is worth reading, if any one wishes +to know what was regularly expected in romances by +the people who read, or rather who listened to them. +The disinherited hero, the beautiful Paynim princess, +the good horse Arundel, the giant Ascapart—these and +many other incidents may be paralleled in other stories; +the history of Sir Bevis has brought them all together, +and all the popular novelist’s machinery might be fairly +catalogued out of this work alone.</p> +<p><i>Sir Libeaus</i>—Le Beau Desconnu, the Fair Knight +<span class="pb" id="Page_99">[99]</span> +unknown—is a different thing. This also belongs to +the School of Sir Thopas—it is minstrels’ work, and +does not pretend to be anything else. But it is well +done. The verse, which is in short measure like that +of <i>Sir Tristrem</i>, but not in so ambitious a stanza, is +well managed—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">That maide knelde in halle</p> +<p class="t0">Before the knightes alle</p> +<p class="t">And seide: My lord Arthour!</p> +<p class="t0">A cas ther is befalle</p> +<p class="t0">Worse withinne walle</p> +<p class="t">Was never non of dolour.</p> +<p class="t0">My lady of Sinadoune</p> +<p class="t0">Is brought in strong prisoun</p> +<p class="t">That was of great valour;</p> +<p class="t0">Sche praith the sende her a knight</p> +<p class="t0">With herte good and light</p> +<p class="t">To winne her with honour.</p> +</div> +<p>This quotation came from the beginning of the story, +and it gives the one problem which has to be solved +by the hero. Instead of the mixed adventures of Sir +Bevis, there is only one principal one, which gives +occasion to all the adventures by the way. The lady of +Sinodoun has fallen into the power of two enchanters, +and her damsel (with her dwarf attendant) comes to the +court of King Arthur to ask for a champion to rescue +her. It is a story like that of the Red Cross Knight +and Una. If Sir Bevis corresponds to what one may +call the ordinary matter of Spenser’s <i>Faerie Queen</i>, the +wanderings, the separations, the dangerous encounters, +<i>Sir Libeaus</i> resembles those parts of Spenser’s story +where the plot is most coherent. One of the most +beautiful passages in all his work, Britomart in the +<span class="pb" id="Page_100">[100]</span> +house of the enchanter Busirane, may have been +suggested by <i>Sir Libeaus. Sir Libeaus</i> is one example +of a kind of medieval story, not the greatest, but still +good and sound; the Arthurian romance in which +Arthur has nothing to do except to preside at the +beginning, and afterwards to receive the conquered +opponents whom the hero sends home from successive +stages in his progress, to make submission to the king. +Sir Libeaus (his real name is Guinglain, the son of +Gawain) sets out on his journey with the damsel and +the dwarf; at first he is scorned by her, like Sir Gareth +of Orkney in another story of the same sort, but very +soon he shows what he can do at the passage of the +Pont Perilous, and in the challenging of the gerfalcon, +and many other trials. Like other heroes of romance, +he falls under the spell of a sorceress who dazzles him +with ‘fantasm and faerie’, but he escapes after a long +delay, and defeats the magicians of Sinodoun and +rescues the lady with a kiss from her serpent shape +which the enchanters have put upon her. Compared +with Spenser’s house of Busirane, the scene of Sir +Libeaus at Sinodoun is a small thing. But one does +not feel as in <i>Sir Tristrem</i> the discrepancy between the +miniature stage, the small bright figures, and the tragic +meaning of their story. Here the story is not tragic; +it is a story that the actors understand and can play +rightly. There are no characters and no motives +beyond the scope of a fairy tale—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Sir Libeaus, knight corteis</p> +<p class="t0">Rode into the paleis</p> +<p class="t">And at the halle alighte;</p> +<p class="t0">Trompes, homes, schalmeis,</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_101">[101]</div> +<p class="t0">Before the highe dais,</p> +<p class="t">He herd and saw with sight;</p> +<p class="t0">Amid the halle floor</p> +<p class="t0">A fire stark and store</p> +<p class="t">Was light and brende bright;</p> +<p class="t0">Then farther in he yede</p> +<p class="t0">And took with him his steed</p> +<p class="t">That halp him in the fight.</p> +</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Libeaus inner gan pace</p> +<p class="t0">To behold each place,</p> +<p class="t">The hales in the halle; <span class="lnum"><i>niches</i></span></p> +<p class="t0">Of main more ne lasse</p> +<p class="t0">Ne saw he body ne face</p> +<p class="t">But menstrales clothed in palle;</p> +<p class="t0">With harpe, fithele and rote,</p> +<p class="t0">And with organes note,</p> +<p class="t">Great glee they maden alle,</p> +<p class="t0">With citole and sautrie,</p> +<p class="t0">So moche menstralsie</p> +<p class="t">Was never withinne walle.</p> +</div> +<p>As if to show the range and the difference of style in +English romance, there is another story written like +<i>Sir Libeaus</i> in the reign of Edward III, taken from the +same Arthurian legend and beginning in the same way, +which has scarcely anything in common with it except +the general resemblance in the plot. This is <i>Sir +Gawain and the Green Knight</i>, one of the most original +works in medieval romance. It is written in alliterative +blank verse, divided into irregular periods which +have rhyming tailpieces at the end of them—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">As hit is stad and stoken</p> +<p class="t">In story stif and stronge</p> +<p class="t0">With leal letters loken</p> +<p class="t">In land so has been longe.</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_102">[102]</div> +<p>While the story of <i>Sir Libeaus</i> is found in different +languages—French, Italian, German—there is no +other extant older version of <i>Gawain and the Green +Knight</i>. But the separate incidents are found elsewhere, +and the scene to begin with is the usual one: +Arthur at his court, Arthur keeping high festival and +waiting for ‘some main marvel’. The adventure +comes when it is wanted; the Green Knight on his +green horse rides into the king’s hall—half-ogre, by +the look of him, to challenge the Round Table. What +he offers is a ‘jeopardy’, a hazard, a wager. ‘Will any +gentleman cut off my head’, says he, ‘on condition +that I may have a fair blow at him, and no favour, in a +twelvemonth’s time? Or if you would rather have it +so, let me have the first stroke, and I promise to offer +my neck in turn, when a year has gone’. This is the +beheading game which is spoken of in other stories +(one of them an old Irish comic romance) but which +seems to have been new at that time to the knights of +King Arthur. It is rightly considered dangerous; and so +it proved when Sir Gawain had accepted the jeopardy. +For after Gawain had cut off the stranger’s head, the +Green Knight picked it up by the hair, and held it up, +and it spoke and summoned Gawain to meet him +at the Green Chapel in a year’s space, and bide the +return blow.</p> +<p>This is more surprising than anything in <i>Sir Bevis</i> +or <i>Sir Guy</i>. Not much is done by the writer to explain +it; at the same time nothing is left vague. The author +might almost have been a modern novelist with a +contempt for romance, trying, by way of experiment, +to work out a ‘supernatural’ plot with the full strength +<span class="pb" id="Page_103">[103]</span> +of his reason; merely accepting the fabulous story, and +trying how it will go with accessories from real life, +and with modern manners and conversation. There is +none of the minstrel’s cant in this work, none of the +cheap sensations, the hackneyed wonders such as are +ridiculed in <i>Sir Thopas</i>. Only, the incident on which +the whole story turns, the device of the beheading +game, is a piece of traditional romance. It is not +found in every language, but it is fairly well known. +It is not as common as the lady turned into a serpent, +or the man into a werewolf, but still it is not invented, +it is borrowed by the English poet, and borrowed for a +work which always, even in the beheading scenes, is +founded on reality.</p> +<p>It is probable that the author of <i>Sir Gawain</i> is also +the author of three other poems (not romances) which +are found along with it in the same manuscript—the +<i>Pearl</i>, <i>Cleanness</i>, and <i>Patience</i>. He is a writer with a +gift for teaching, of a peculiar sort. He is not an +original philosopher, and his reading appears to have +been the usual sort of thing among fairly educated men. +He does not try to get away from the regular authorities, +and he is not afraid of commonplaces. But he has +great force of will, and a strong sense of the difficulties +of life; also high spirits and great keenness. His +memory is well supplied from all that he has gone +through. The three sporting episodes in <i>Sir Gawain</i>, +the deer-hunt (in Christmas week, killing the hinds), +the boar-hunt and the fox-hunt, are not only beyond +question as to their scientific truth; the details are +remembered without study because the author has +lived in them, and thus, minute as they are, they are +<span class="pb" id="Page_104">[104]</span> +not wearisome. They do not come from a careful +notebook; they are not like the descriptions of rooms +and furniture in painstaking novels. The landscapes +and the weather of <i>Sir Gawain</i> are put in with the +same freedom. The author has a talent especially +for winter scenes. ‘Grim Nature’s visage hoar’ had +plainly impressed his mind, and not in a repulsive way. +The winter ‘mist hackles’ (copes of mist) on the hills, +the icicles on the stones, the swollen streams, all come +into his work—a relief from the too ready illustrations +of spring and summer which are scattered about in +medieval stories.</p> +<p>The meaning of the story is in the character of +Gawain. Like some other romances, this is a +chivalrous <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. Gawain, so much +vilified by authors who should have known better, is +for this poet, as he is for Chaucer, the perfection of +courtesy. He is also the servant of Our Lady, and +bears her picture on his shield, along with the pentangle +which is the emblem of her Five Joys, as well as the +Five Wounds of Christ. The poem is the ordeal of +Gawain; Gawain is tried in courage and loyalty by +his compact with the Green Knight; he is tried in +loyalty and temperance when he is wooed by the +wanton conversation of the lady in the castle. The +author’s choice of a plot is justified, because what he +wants is an ordeal of courage, and that is afforded by +the Green Knight’s ‘jeopardy’.</p> +<p>The alliterative poetry is almost always stronger +than the tales in rhyme, written with more zest, not +so much in danger of droning and sleepiness as the +school of Sir Thopas undoubtedly is. But there is +<span class="pb" id="Page_105">[105]</span> +a great difference among the alliterative romances. +<i>William of Palerne</i>, for example, is vigorous, but to +little purpose, because the author has not understood +the character of the French poem which he has +translated, and has misapplied his vigorous style to +the handling of a rather sophisticated story which +wanted the smooth, even, unemphatic, French style +to express it properly. <i>The Wars of Alexander</i> is the +least distinguished of the group; there was another +alliterative story of Alexander, of which only fragments +remain. The <i>Chevelere Assigne</i>, the ‘Knight of the +Swan,’ is historically interesting, as giving the romantic +origin of Godfrey the Crusader, who is the last of the +Nine Worthies. Though purely romantic in its +contents, the <i>Chevalier au Cygne</i> belongs to one of the +French narrative groups usually called epic—the epic +of <i>Antioch</i>, which is concerned with the first Crusade. +The <i>Gest historial of the Destruction of Troy</i> is of great +interest; it is the liveliest of all the extant ‘Troy Books’, +and it has all the good qualities of the fourteenth-century +alliterative school, without the exaggeration +and violence which was the common fault of this style, +as the contrary fault of tameness was the danger of +the rhyming romances. But the alliterative poem +which ranks along with <i>Sir Gawayne</i> as an original +work with a distinct and fresh comprehension of its +subject is the <i>Morte Arthure</i>. This has some claim +to be called an epic poem, an epic of the modern kind, +composed with a definite theory. The author takes +the heroic view of Arthur given by Geoffrey of +Monmouth, and turns his warfare into a reflection of +the glory of King Edward III; not casually, but +<span class="pb" id="Page_106">[106]</span> +following definite lines, with almost as much tenacity +as the author of <i>Sir Gawayne</i>, and, of course, with a +greater theme. The tragedy of Arthur in Malory to +some extent repeats the work of this poet—whose +name was Huchoun of the Awle Ryale; it may have +been Sir Hugh of Eglinton.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_107">[107]</div> +<h2 id="c5"><span class="small">CHAPTER V</span> +<br />SONGS AND BALLADS</h2> +<p>King Canute’s boat-song has some claim to be the +earliest English song in rhyme—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Merie sungen the muneches binnen Ely</p> +<p class="t0">Tha Knut king rew therby:</p> +<p class="t0">Roweth, knihtes, ner the land</p> +<p class="t0">And here we thes muneches sang.</p> +</div> +<p>If this claim be disallowed, then the first is St. Godric, +the hermit of Finchale in the reign of Henry II—his +hymn to Our Lady and the hymn to St. Nicholas. +These are preserved along with the music (like the +Cuckoo song which comes later); the manuscript of +the poems of Godric is copied in the frontispiece to +Saintsbury’s <i>History of English Prosody</i>; it proves +many interesting things. It is obvious that musical +notation is well established; and it seems to follow +that with a good musical tradition there may be +encouragement for lyric poetry apart from any such +‘courtly’ circumstances as have been described in +another chapter. There is no doubt about this. +While it is certain on the one hand that the lyrical art +of the Middle Ages was carried furthest in courtly +society by the French, Provençal, German and Italian +poets, it is equally certain that the art of music +flourished also in out-of-the-way places. And as in +those days musical and poetical measures, tunes and +words, generally went together, the development of +<span class="pb" id="Page_108">[108]</span> +music would mean the development of poetical forms, +of lyric stanzas. Music flourished in England most +of all in Godric’s country, the old Northumbria. +Giraldus Cambrensis, who has been quoted already +for his story of the wake and the English love-song, +gives in another place a remarkable description of the +part-singing which in his time was cultivated where it +is most in favour at the present day—in Wales, and +in England north of the Humber. Where people met +to sing in parts, where music, therefore, was accurate +and well studied, there must have been careful patterns +of stanza. Not much remains from a date so early +as this, nor even for a century after the time of Godric +and Giraldus. But towards the end of the reign of +Edward I lyric poems are found more frequently, often +careful in form. And in judging of their art it is well +to remember that it is not necessary to refer them to the +courtly schools for their origin. Country people might +be good judges of lyric; they might be as exacting +in their musical and poetical criticisms as any persons +of quality could be. Hence while it is certain that +England before the time of Chaucer was generally +rustic and provincial in its literary taste, it does not +follow that the rustic taste was uninstructed or that +the art was poor. The beauty of the English songs +between 1300 and 1500 is not that of the nobler lyric +as it was (for example) practised and described by +Dante. But the beauty is undeniable, and it is the +beauty of an art which has laws of its own; it is poetry, +not the primitive elements of poetry. In art, it is not +very far from that of the earlier Provençal poets. For +everywhere, it should be remembered, the noble lyric +<span class="pb" id="Page_109">[109]</span> +poetry was ready to draw from the popular sources, to +adapt and imitate the rustic themes; as on the other +hand the common people were often willing to take +up the courtly forms.</p> +<p>The earliest rhyming songs are more interesting +from their associations than their own merits; though +Canute and St. Godric are certainly able to put a good +deal of meaning into few words. Godric’s address to +St. Nicholas is particularly memorable for its bearing +on his own history. Godric had been a sea captain +in his youth (like another famous author of hymns, the +Rev. John Newton) and St. Nicholas is the patron +saint of sailors. Godric, whose operations were in +the Levant, had often prayed to St. Nicholas of Bari, +and he brings the name of the saint’s own city into his +hymn, by means of a sacred pun. ‘Saint Nicholas’, +he says, ‘build us a far sheen house—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">At thi burch at thi bare</p> +<p class="t0">Sainte Nicholaes bring us wel thare.</p> +</div> +<p>‘Bare’ here means shrine, literally, but Godric is +thinking also of the name of the ‘burgh’, the city of +Bari to which the relics of the saint had been lately +brought.</p> +<p>Religious lyric poetry is not separate from other +kinds, and it frequently imitates the forms and language +of worldly songs. The <i>Luve Ron</i> of the Friar Minor +Thomas de Hales is one of the earliest poems of a type +something between the song and the moral poem—a +lyric rather far away from the music of a song, more +like the lyrics of modern poets, meant to be read rather +than sung, yet keeping the lyrical stave. One passage +<span class="pb" id="Page_110">[110]</span> +in it is on the favourite theme of the ‘snows of yester +year’—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Where is Paris and Heleyne</p> +<p class="t0">That were so bright and fair of blee!</p> +</div> +<p>This is earlier in date than the famous collection in +the Harleian MS., which is everything best worth +remembering in the old lyrical poetry—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Betwene Mersche and Averil</p> +<p class="t0">When spray beginneth to springe.</p> +</div> +<p>The lyrical contents of this book (there are other things +besides the songs—a copy of <i>King Horn</i>, e.g.)—the +songs of this Harleian MS.—are classified as religious, +amatory and satirical; but a better division is simply +into songs of love and songs of scorn. The division +is as old and as constant as anything in the world, and +the distinction between ‘courtly’ and ‘popular’ does +not affect it. In the older court poetry of Iceland, as +in the later of Provence and Germany, the lyric of +scorn and the lyric of praise were equally recognized. +The name ‘Wormtongue’ given to an Icelandic poet +for his attacking poems would do very well for many +of the Provençals—for Sordello, particularly, whose +best-known poem is his lyrical satire on the Kings of +Christendom. It depends, of course, on fashion how +the lyrical attack shall be developed. In England it +could not be as subtle as in the countries of Bertran de +Born or Walter von der Vogelweide, where the poet +was a friend and enemy of some among the greatest +of the earth. The political songs in the Harleian +manuscript are anonymous, and express the heart of +the people. The earliest in date and the best known +<span class="pb" id="Page_111">[111]</span> +is the song of Lewes—a blast of laughter from the +partisans of Simon de Montfort following up the +pursuit of their defeated adversaries—thoroughly happy +and contemptuous, and not cruel. It is addressed to +‘Richard of Almain’, Richard the king’s brother, who +was looked on as the bad counsellor of his nephew +Edward—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Sir Simon de Montfort hath swore by his chin,</p> +<p class="t0">Hadde he now here the Erl of Warin</p> +<p class="t0">Sholde he never more come to his inn</p> +<p class="t0">With shelde, ne with spere, ne with other gin</p> +<p class="t2">To helpe of Windesore!</p> +<p class="t0"><i>Richard! thah thou be ever trichard,</i></p> +<p class="t0"><i>Trichen shalt thou never more!</i></p> +</div> +<p>This very spirited song is preserved together with +some others dealing with later events in the life of +Edward. One of them is a long poem of exultation +over the death of the King’s Scottish rebels, Sir +William Wallace and Sir Simon Fraser; the author +takes great pleasure in the treatment of Wallace by +the King and the hangman—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Sir Edward oure King, that full is of pité</p> +<p class="t0">The Waleis’ quarters sende to his owne countré</p> +<p class="t0">On four half to honge, here mirour to be</p> +<p class="t0">Ther upon to thenche, that monie mihten see</p> +<p class="t4">And drede:</p> +<p class="t2">Why nolden hie be war,</p> +<p class="t2">Of the bataile of Donbar</p> +<p class="t4">How evele hem con spede?</p> +</div> +<p>The same poet gibes at a Scottish rebel who was then +still living and calls him a ‘king of summer’ and ‘King +Hob’—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Nou kyng Hobbe in the mures gongeth.</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_112">[112]</div> +<p>This King Hob of the moors was Robert the Bruce, +wandering, as Barbour describes him, over the land. +There is another very vigorous and rather long piece +on a recent defeat of the French by the Flemings at +Courtrai—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">The Frenshe came to Flaundres so light so the hare</p> +<p class="t0">Er hit were midnight, hit fell hem to care</p> +<p class="t0">Hie were caught by the net, so bird is in snare</p> +<p class="t3">With rouncin and with stede:</p> +<p class="t0">The Flemishe hem dabbeth on the hed bare,</p> +<p class="t0">Hie nolden take for hem raunsoun ne ware</p> +<p class="t0">Hie doddeth off here hevedes, fare so hit fare,</p> +<p class="t3">And thare to haveth hie nede.</p> +</div> +<p>This style of political journalism in rhyme was +carried on later with much spirit, and one author is +well known by name and has had his poems often +edited—Lawrence Minot, a good workman who is +sometimes undervalued. Lawrence Minot has command +of various lyrical measures; he has the clear +sharp phrasing which belongs generally to his northern +dialect, and he can put contempt into his voice +with no recourse to bad language. After describing +the threats and boasting of the French, when Minot +remarks</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">And yet is England as it was,</p> +</div> +<p>the effect is just where it ought to be, between wind +and water; the enemy is done for. It is like Prior’s +observation to Boileau, in the <i>Ode</i> on the taking of +Namur, and the surrender of the French garrison—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Each was a Hercules, you tell us,</p> +<p class="t0">Yet out they marched like common men.</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_113">[113]</div> +<p>Besides the songs of attack, there are also comic +poems, simply amusing without malice—such is the +excellent Harleian piece on the <i>Man in the Moon</i>, which +is the meditation of a solitary reveller, apparently +thinking out the problem of the Man and his thorn-bush +and offering sympathy: ‘Did you cut a bundle +of thorns, and did the heyward come and make you +pay? Ask him to drink, and we will get your pledge +redeemed’.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">If thy wed is y-take, bring home the truss;</p> +<p class="t">Set forth thine other foot, stride over sty!</p> +<p class="t0">We shall pray the heyward home to our house,</p> +<p class="t">And maken him at ease, for the maistry!</p> +<p class="t0">Drink to him dearly of full good bouse,</p> +<p class="t">And our dame Douce shall sitten him by;</p> +<p class="t0">When that he is drunk as a dreynt mouse</p> +<p class="t">Then we shall borrow the wed at the bailie!</p> +</div> +<p>A Franciscan brother in Ireland, Friar Michael of +Kildare, composed some good nonsensical poems—one +of them a rigmarole in which part of the joke is the +way he pretends to rhyme and then sticks in a word +that does not rhyme, asking all through for admiration +of his skill in verse. As a poetical joke it is curious, +and shows that Brother Michael was a critic and knew +the terms of his art. There are many literary games +in the Middle Ages, nonsense rhymes of different +sorts; they are connected with the serious art of +poetry which had its own ‘toys and trifles’—such feats +of skill in verse and rhyming as Chaucer shows in his +<i>Complaint of Anelida</i>. Tricks of verse were apt to +multiply as the poetic imagination failed—a substitute +for poetry; but many of the strongest poets have used +<span class="pb" id="Page_114">[114]</span> +them occasionally. Among all the artistic games one +of the most curious is where a Welsh poet (in Oxford +in the fifteenth century) gives a display of Welsh +poetical form with English words—to confute the +ignorant Saxon who had said there was no art of +poetry in Wales.</p> +<p>The stanza forms in the Harleian book are various, +and interesting to compare with modern stanzas. +There is an example of the verse which has travelled +from William of Poitiers, about the year 1100, to +Burns and his imitators. Modern poetry begins with +William of Poitiers using the verse of Burns in a +poem on <i>Nothing</i>—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">The song I make is of no thing,</p> +<p class="t0">Of no one, nor myself, I sing,</p> +<p class="t0">Of joyous youth, nor love-longing,</p> +<p class="t3">Nor place, nor time;</p> +<p class="t0">I rode on horseback, slumbering:</p> +<p class="t3">There sprang this rhyme!</p> +</div> +<p>Two hundred years after, it is found in England—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Her eye hath wounded me, y-wisse,</p> +<p class="t0">Her bende browen that bringeth blisse;</p> +<p class="t0">Her comely mouth that mightè kisse</p> +<p class="t3">In mirth he were;</p> +<p class="t0">I woldè chaungè mine for his</p> +<p class="t3">That is her fere!</p> +</div> +<p>The romance stanza is used also in its original +lyrical way, with a refrain added—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">For her love I cark and care</p> +<p class="t0">For her love I droop and dare</p> +<p class="t0">For her love my bliss is bare</p> +<p class="t3">And all I waxè wan;</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_115">[115]</div> +<p class="t0">For her love in sleep I slake,</p> +<p class="t0">For her love all night I wake</p> +<p class="t0">For her love mourning I make</p> +<p class="t3">More than any man.</p> +<p class="t2"><i>Blow, northern wind!</i></p> +<p class="t2"><i>Send thou me my sweeting!</i></p> +<p class="t2"><i>Blow, northern wind!</i></p> +<p class="t2"><i>Blow! blow! blow!</i></p> +</div> +<p>Technically, it is to be noted that some of those +poems have the combination of a six-line with a four-line +passage which is frequent in French lyrics of all +ages, which is also found in the verse of <i>The Cherrie and +the Slae</i> (another of Burns’s favourite measures), and +also in some of Gray’s simpler odes. It is found in +one of the religious poems, with the six lines first, +and the four lines after, as in Burns. The common +French pattern arranges them the other way round, +and so does Gray, but the constituent parts are the +same.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Now shrinketh rose and lily flower</p> +<p class="t0">That whilom bare that sweete savour,</p> +<p class="t">In summer, that sweete tide;</p> +<p class="t0">Ne is no queene so stark ne stour,</p> +<p class="t0">Ne no lady so bright in bower</p> +<p class="t">That death ne shall by glide;</p> +<p class="t0">Whoso will flesh-lust forgon,</p> +<p class="t">And heaven bliss abide,</p> +<p class="t0">On Jesu be his thought anon,</p> +<p class="t">That thirled was his side.</p> +</div> +<p>This poem is a good text to prove the long ancestry +of modern verse, and the community of the nations, +often very remote from definite intercourse between +them. And there is one phrase in this stanza which +goes back to the older world: ‘bright in bower’ is from +<span class="pb" id="Page_116">[116]</span> +the ancient heroic verse; it may be found in Icelandic, +in the Elder Edda.</p> +<p>The fifteenth century, which is so dismal in the +works of the more ambitious poets (Lydgate, and +Occleve, e.g.), is rich in popular carols which by this +time have drawn close to the modern meaning of the +name. They are Christmas carols, and the name loses +its old general application to any song that went with +dancing in a round. In the carols, the art is generally +much more simple than in the lyrics which have just +been quoted; they belong more truly to the common +people, and their authors are less careful. Yet the +difference is one of degree. The only difference which +is really certain is between one poem and another.</p> +<p>Speaking generally about the carols one may say +truly they are unlike the work of the Chaucerian +school; the lyrics of the Harleian book in the reign of +Edward I are nearer the Chaucerian manner. It is +hardly worth while to say more, for the present.</p> +<p>And it is not easy to choose among the carols. +Some of them are well known to-day—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">When Christ was born of Mary free</p> +<p class="t0">In Bethlehem that fair city</p> +<p class="t0">Angels sang loud with mirth and glee</p> +<p class="t3"><i>In excelsis gloria</i>.</p> +</div> +<p>Ballads in the ordinary sense of the term—ballads +with a story in them, like <i>Sir Patrick Spens</i> or <i>The Milldams +of Binnorie</i>—are not found in any quantity till +late in the Middle Ages, and hardly at all before the +fifteenth century. But there are some early things +of the kind. A rhyme of <i>Judas</i> (thirteenth century) is +<span class="pb" id="Page_117">[117]</span> +reckoned among the ballads by the scholar (the late +Professor Child) who gave most time to the subject, +and whose great collection of the English and Scottish +Popular Ballads has brought together everything +ascertainable about them.</p> +<p>By some the ballads are held to be degenerate +romances; and they appear at a time when the best +of romance was over, and when even the worst was +dying out. Also, it is quite certain that some ballads +are derived from romances. There is a ballad of the +young <i>Hynd Horn</i> which comes from the old narrative +poem of <i>King Horn</i> or of <i>Horn Childe</i>. There is a +ballad version of <i>Sir Orfeo</i>, the ‘Breton lay’ which has +been described in another chapter. But there are +great difficulties in the way of this theory. In the +first place, there are many ballads which have no +romance extant to correspond to them. That may not +prove much, for many old romances have been lost. +But if one is to make allowance for chances of this +sort, then many old ballads may have been lost also, +and many extant ballads may go back to the thirteenth +century or even earlier for their original forms. Again, +there are ballads which it is scarcely possible to think +of as existing in the shape of a narrative romance. +The form of the ballad is lyrical; all ballads are lyrical +ballads, and some of them at any rate would lose their +meaning utterly if they were paraphrased into a story. +What would the story of <i>Sir Patrick Spens</i> be worth +if it were told in any other way—with a description of +the scenery about Dunfermline, the domestic establishment +of the King of Norway, and the manners at his +Court? Further, the theory that the ballads are +<span class="pb" id="Page_118">[118]</span> +degenerate romances is unfair to those ballads which +are known to be descended from romances. The +ballad of <i>Hynd Horn</i> may be derived from an older +narrative poem, but it is not a <i>corruption</i> of any old +narrative; it is a different thing, in a lyrical form which +has a value of its own. ‘Corruption’, ‘degeneracy’, +does not explain the form of the ballads, any more +than the Miracle Plays are explained by calling them +corruptions of the Gospel.</p> +<p>The proper form of the ballads is the same as +the <i>carole</i>, with narrative substance added. Anything +will do for a ring dance, either at a wake in a churchyard, +or in a garden like that of the <i>Roman de la Rose</i>, +or at Christmas games like those described in <i>Sir +Gawayne and the Green Knight</i>. At first, a love-song +was the favourite sort, with a refrain of <i>douce amie</i>, +and so on. But the method was always the same; +there was a leader who sang the successive verses, +the fresh lines of the song, while the other dancers +came in with the refrain, most often in two parts, one +after the first verse, the second after the second—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">When that I was and a little tiny boy</p> +<p class="t"><i>With a heigh-ho, the wind and the rain</i>,</p> +<p class="t0">A foolish thing was but a toy</p> +<p class="t"><i>And the rain it raineth every day</i>.</p> +</div> +<p>The narrative ballad was most in favour where +people were fondest of dancing. The love-song or +the nonsense verses could not be kept up so long; +something more was wanted, and this was given by +the story; also as the story was always dramatic, more +or less, with different people speaking, the entertainment +<span class="pb" id="Page_119">[119]</span> +was all the better. If this is not the whole +explanation, it still accounts for something in the +history, and it is certainly true of some places where +the ballad has flourished longest. The <i>carole</i> has +lasted to the present day in the Faroe Islands, together +with some very ancient types of tune; and there the +ballads are much longer than in other countries, +because the dancers are unwearied and wish to keep +it up as long as may be. So the ballads are spun out, +enormously.</p> +<p>The history of ballad poetry in Western Europe, if +one dates it from the beginning of the French <i>carole</i> +fashion—about 1100—is parallel to the history of pure +lyric, and to the history of romance. It is distinct +from both, and related to both. There are many +mysterious things in it. The strangest thing of all is +that it often seems to repeat in comparatively modern +times—in the second half of the Middle Ages—what +has been generally held to be the process by which +epic poetry begins. There is reason for thinking that +epic poetry began in concerted lyric, something like +the ballad chorus. The oldest Anglo-Saxon heroic +poem, <i>Widsith</i>, is near to lyric; <i>Deor’s Lament</i> is +lyric, with a refrain. The old Teutonic narrative +poetry (as in <i>Beowulf</i>) may have grown out of a very +old sort of ballad custom, where the narrative elements +increased and gradually killed the lyric, so that recitation +of a story by the minstrel took the place of the +dancing chorus. However that may be, it is certain +that the ballads of Christendom in the Middle Ages +are related in a strange way to the older epic poetry, +not by derivation, but by sympathy. The ballad +<span class="pb" id="Page_120">[120]</span> +poets think in the same manner as the epic poets +and choose by preference the same kind of plot. +The plots of epics are generally the plots of tragedies. +This is one of the great differences between the Anglo-Saxon +heroic poetry and the later romances. It is a +difference also between the romances and the ballads. +Few of the romances are tragical. The story of +Tristram and the story of King Arthur are tragical; +but the romantic poets are beaten by the story of +Tristram, and they generally keep away from the +tragedy of Arthur. The ballads often have happy +endings, but not nearly so often as the romances; in +the best of the ballads there is a sorrowful ending; +in many there is a tragical mistake; in many (and in +how few of the romances!) there is a repetition of the +old heroic scene, the last resistance against the enemy +as in Roncevaux or in the <i>Nibelunge Nôt</i>. <i>Chevy Chase</i> +is the ballad counterpart of <i>Maldon</i>; <i>Parcy Reed</i> or +<i>Johnny of Braidislee</i> answers in the ballad form to the +fight at <i>Finnesburgh</i>, a story of a treacherous onset and +a good defence. Parcy Reed, beset and betrayed, is +more like a northern hero than a knight of romance.</p> +<p>The mystery is that the same kind of choice should +be found in all the countries where ballads were sung. +The English and Scottish ballads, like the English +romances, are related to similar things in other lands. +To understand the history of the ballads it is necessary, +as with the romances, to compare different versions of +the same matter—French or German, Italian, Danish.</p> +<p>Many curious things have been brought out by +study of this sort—resemblances of ballad plots all +over Christendom. But there is a sort of resemblance +<span class="pb" id="Page_121">[121]</span> +which no amount of ‘analogues’ in different languages +can explain, and that is the likeness in temper among +the ballad poets of different languages, which not only +makes them take up the same stories, but makes them +deal with fresh realities in the same way. How is it +that an English ballad poet sees the death of Parcy +Reed in a certain manner, while a Danish poet far off +will see the same poetical meaning in a Danish adventure, +and will turn it into the common ballad form? +In both cases it is the death of a hero that the poet +renders in verse; deaths of heroes are a subject for +poetry, it may be said, all over the world. But how +is it that this particular form should be used in different +countries for the same kind of subject, not conventionally, +but with imaginative life, each poet independently +seizing this as the proper subject and treating it with +all the force of his mind?</p> +<p>The medieval ballad is a form used by poets with +their eyes open upon life, and with a form of thought +in their minds by which they comprehend a tragic +situation. The medieval romance is a form used +originally by poets with a certain vein of sentiment +who found that narrative plots helped them to develop +their emotional rhetoric; then it passed through +various stages in different countries, sinking into chapbooks +or rising to the <i>Orlando</i> or the <i>Faerie Queene</i>—but +never coming back to the old tragic form of +imagination, out of which the older epics had been +derived, and which is constantly found in the ballads.</p> +<p>Probably the old ballad chorus in its proper dancing +form was going out of use in England about 1400. +Barbour, a contemporary of Chaucer, speaks of girls +<span class="pb" id="Page_122">[122]</span> +singing ballads ‘at their play’; Thomas Deloney in +the time of Elizabeth describes the singing of a ballad +refrain; and the game lives happily still, in songs of +<i>London Bridge</i> and others. But it became more and +more common for ballads to be sung or recited to an +audience sitting still; ballads were given out by +minstrels, like the minstrel of <i>Chevy Chase</i>. Sometimes +ballads are found swelling into something like a +narrative poem; such is the famous ballad of <i>Adam +Bell, Clim o’ the Clough, and William of Cloudeslee</i>, +which has a plot of the right sort, the defence of a +house against enemies. <i>The Little Geste of Robin +Hood</i> seems to be an attempt to make an epic poem by +joining together a number of ballads. The ballad of +<i>Robin Hood’s Death</i> is worth reading as a contrast to +this rather mechanical work. <i>Robin Hood’s Death</i> is a +ballad tragedy; again, the death of a hero beset by +traitors. Red Roger stabbed Robin with a grounden +glave (‘grounden’ comes from the oldest poetic +vocabulary). Robin made ‘a wound full wide’ between +Roger’s head and his shoulders. Then he asks Little +John for the sacrament, the housel of earth (he calls +it ‘moud’, i.e. ‘mould’) which could be given and taken +by any Christian man, in extremity, without a priest—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">‘Now give me moud,’ Robin said to Little John,</p> +<p class="t0">‘Now give me moud with thy hand;</p> +<p class="t0">I trust to God in heaven so high</p> +<p class="t0">My housel will me bestand.’</p> +</div> +<p>And he refuses to let Little John burn the house of +the treacherous Prioress where he had come by his +death. This is heroic poetry in its simplest form, +and quite true to its proper nature.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_123">[123]</div> +<p>The beauty of the ballads is uncertain and often +corrupted by forgetfulness and the ordinary accidents +of popular tradition. It is not always true that the +right subject has the best form. But the grace of +the ballads is unmistakable; it is unlike anything in the +contemporary romances, because it is lyrical poetry. +It is often vague and intangible. It is never the same +as narrative romance.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">He’s tane three locks o’ her yellow hair,</p> +<p class="t"><i>Binnorie, O Binnorie!</i></p> +<p class="t0">And wi’ them strung his harp so fair</p> +<p class="t"><i>By the bonny mill-dams o’ Binnorie</i>.</p> +</div> +<p>It is the singing voice that makes the difference; and +it is a difference of thought as well as of style.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_124">[124]</div> +<h2 id="c6"><span class="small">CHAPTER VI</span> +<br />COMIC POETRY</h2> +<p>France sets the model for comic as well as romantic +poetry, in the Middle Ages. In romance the English +were not able for a long time—hardly before Chaucer +and Gower—to imitate the French style properly; +the French sentiment was beyond them, not appreciated; +they took the stories, the action and adventures, +and let the sentiment alone, or abridged it. The +reasons for this are obvious. But there seems to be +no reason, except accident, for the way in which the +English writers in those times neglected the French +comic literature of the twelfth century. Very little +of it is represented in the English of the following +centuries; yet what there is in English corresponding +to the French <i>fabliaux</i> and to Reynard the Fox is +thoroughly well done. The English wit was quite +equal to the French in matters such as these; there +were no difficulties of style or caste in the way, such +as prevented the English minstrels from using much +of the French romantic, sentimental rhetoric. There +might have been a thirteenth-century English <i>Reynard</i>, +as good as the High or Low German <i>Reynards</i>; that +is proved by the one short example (295 lines) in +which an episode of the great medieval comic epic is +told by an English versifier—the story of <i>The Vox and +the Wolf</i>. This is one of the best of all the practical +jokes of Reynard—the well-known story of the Fox +and the Wolf in the well. It is told again, in a different +<span class="pb" id="Page_125">[125]</span> +way, among the Fables of the Scottish poet Robert +Henryson; it is also one of the stories of Uncle Remus.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">A vox gan out of the wodè go,</p> +</div> +<p>and made his way to a hen-roost, where he got three +hens out of five, and argued with Chauntecler the cock, +explaining, though unsuccessfully, that a little blood-letting +might be good for him; thence, being troubled +with thirst, he went to the well. The well had two +buckets on a rope over a pulley; the Fox ‘ne understood +nought of the gin’ and got into one of the buckets +and went down to the bottom of the well; where he +repented of his gluttony. The comic epic is as moral +as Piers Plowman; that is part of the game.</p> +<p>Then (‘out of the depe wode’) appeared the Wolf, +Sigrim (Isengrim), also thirsty, and looking for a drink; +he heard the lamentations of his gossip Reneuard, and +sat down by the well and called to him. Then at last +the Fox’s wit returned and he saw how he might +escape. There was nothing (he said) he would have +prayed for more than that his friend should join him +in the happy place: ‘here is the bliss of Paradise’. +‘What! art thou dead?’ says the Wolf: ‘this is +news; it was only three days ago that thou and thy +wife and children all came to dine with me.’ ‘Yes! +I am dead’, says the Fox. ‘I would not return to the +world again, for all the world’s wealth. Why should +I walk in the world, in care and woe, in filth and sin? +But this place is full of all happiness; here is mutton, +both sheep and goat.’ When the Wolf heard of this +good meat his hunger overcame him and he asked to +be let in. ‘Not till thou art shriven’, says the Fox; +<span class="pb" id="Page_126">[126]</span> +and the Wolf bends his head, sighing hard and strong, +and makes his confession, and gets forgiveness, and is +happy.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Nou ich am in clene live</p> +<p class="t0">Ne recche ich of childe ne of wive.</p> +</div> +<p>‘But tell me what to do.’ ‘Do!’ quoth the Fox, ‘leap +into the bucket, and come down.’ And the Wolf +going down met the Fox half-way; Reynard, ‘glad +and blithe’ that the Wolf was a true penitent and in +clean living, promised to have his soul-knell rung and +masses said for him.</p> +<p>The well, it should be said, belonged to a house of +friars; Aylmer the ‘master curtler’ who looked after +the kitchen-garden came to the well in the morning; +and the Wolf was pulled out and beaten and hunted; +he found no bliss and no indulgence of blows.</p> +<p>The French story has some points that are not in +the English; in the original, the two buckets on the +pulley are explained to Isengrim as being God’s +balance of good and evil, in which souls are weighed. +Also there is a more satisfactory account of the way +Reynard came to be entrapped. In the English story +the failure of his wit is rather disgraceful; in the +French he takes to the bucket because he thinks he +sees his wife Hermeline in the bottom of the well; +it is a clear starlight night, and as he peers over the +rim of the well he sees the figure looking up at him, +and when he calls there is a hollow echo which he +takes for a voice answering. But there is no such +difference of taste and imagination here between the +French and the English Reynard as there is between +the French and the English chivalrous romances.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_127">[127]</div> +<p>The <i>Roman de Renart</i> is generally, and justly, taken +as the ironical counterpart of medieval epic and +romance; an irreverent criticism of dignitaries, spiritual +and temporal, the great narrative comedy of the Ages +of Faith and of Chivalry. The comic short stories +usually called <i>fabliaux</i> are most of them much less +intelligent; rhyming versions of ribald jokes, very +elementary. But there are great differences among +them, and some of them are worth remembering. It +is a pity there is no English version of the <i>jongleur</i>, +the professional minstrel, who, in the absence of the +devils, is put in charge of the souls in Hell, but is +drawn by St. Peter to play them away at a game of +dice—the result being that he is turned out; since +then the Master Devil has given instructions: No +Minstrels allowed within.</p> +<p>There are few English <i>fabliaux</i>; there is perhaps +only one preserved as a separate piece by itself, the +story of <i>Dame Sirith</i>. This is far above the ordinary +level of such things; it is a shameful practical joke, +but there is more in it than this; the character of +Dame Sirith, in her machinations to help the distressed +lover of his neighbour’s wife, is such as belongs to +comedy and to satire, not to the ordinary vulgar ‘merry +tale’.</p> +<p>It is hard to find any other separate tale of this class +in English; but the stories of the Seven Wise Masters, +the Seven Sages of Rome, are many of them impossible +to distinguish from the common type of the French +<i>fabliaux</i>, though they are often classed among the +romances. There are many historical problems connected +with the medieval short stories. Although they +<span class="pb" id="Page_128">[128]</span> +do not appear in writing to any large extent before +the French rhyming versions, they are known to have +been current long before the twelfth century and before +the French language was used in literature. There +are Latin versions of some of them composed in +Germany before the <i>fabliaux</i> had come into existence; +one of them in substance is the same as Hans Andersen’s +story of Big Claus and Little Claus, which also is +found as one of the <i>fabliaux</i>. Evidently, there are a +number of comic stories which have been going about +for hundreds (or thousands) of years without any need +of a written version. At any time, in any country, it +may occur to some one to put one of those stories into +literary language. Two of the German-Latin comic +poems are in elaborate medieval verse, set to religious +tunes, in the form of the <i>Sequentia</i>—a fact which is +mentioned here only to show that there was nothing +popular in these German experiments. They were +not likely to found a school of comic story-telling; +they were too difficult and exceptional; literary +curiosities. The French <i>fabliaux</i>, in the ordinary short +couplets and without any literary ornament, were +absolutely popular; it needed no learning and not +much wit to understand them. So that, as they spread +and were circulated, they came often to be hardly +distinguishable from the traditional stories which had +been going about all the time in spoken, not written, +forms. It was one of the great popular successes of +medieval French literature; and it was due partly to +the French stories themselves, and partly to the +example which they set, that comic literature was +cultivated in the later Middle Ages. The French +<span class="pb" id="Page_129">[129]</span> +stories were translated and adapted by Boccaccio +and many others; and when the example had +once been given, writers in different languages +could find stories of their own without going to the +<i>fabliaux</i>.</p> +<p>Does it matter much to any one where these stories +came from, and how they passed from oral tradition +into medieval (or modern) literary forms? The +question is more reasonable than such questions usually +are, because most of these stories are trivial, they are +not all witty, and many of them are villainous. But +the historical facts about them serve to bring out, at +any rate, the extraordinary talent of the French for +making literary profit out of every kind of material. +Any one might have thought of writing out these +stories which every one knew; but, with the exception +of the few Latin experiments, this was done by nobody +till the French took it up.</p> +<p>Further, those ‘merry tales’ come into the whole +subject of the relations between folk-lore and literature, +which is particularly important (for those who like +that sort of inquiry) in the study of the Middle Ages. +All the fiction of the Middle Ages, comic or romantic, +is full of things which appear in popular tales like +those collected by Grimm in Germany or by Campbell +of Islay in the West Highlands. So much of medieval +poetry is traditional or popular—the ballads especially—that +folk-lore has to be studied more carefully than +is needful when one is dealing with later times. With +regard to short comic tales of the type of the <i>fabliaux</i>, +part of the problem is easy enough, if one accepts the +opinion that stories like <i>Big Claus and Little Claus</i>, +<span class="pb" id="Page_130">[130]</span> +which are found all over the world, and which can be +proved to have been current orally for centuries, +are things existing, and travelling, independently of +written books, which may at any time be recorded in a +written form. The written form may be literary, +as when the story is written in Latin verse by an early +German scholar, or in French medieval verse by a +minstrel or a minstrel’s hack, or in fine Danish prose +by Hans Andersen. Or it may be written down by a +scientific collector of folk-lore keeping closely to the +actual phrasing of the unsophisticated story-teller; as +when the plot is found among the Ananzi stories of +the negroes in the West Indies. The life of popular +stories is mysterious; but it is well known in fact, +and there is no difficulty in understanding how the +popular story which is perennial in every climate +may any day be used for the literary fashion of that +day.</p> +<p>It is rather strange that while there is so much +folk-lore in medieval literature there should be so few +medieval stories which take up exactly the plots of +any of the popular traditional tales. And it is a +curious coincidence that two of the plots from folk-lore +which are used in medieval literature, distinctly, +by themselves, keeping to the folk-lore outlines, should +also appear in literary forms equally distinct and no less +true to their traditional shape among the Tales of +Andersen. One is that which has just been mentioned, +<i>Big Claus and Little Claus</i>, which comes into English +rather late in the Middle Ages as the <i>Friars of Berwick</i>. +The other is the <i>Travelling Companion</i>, which in English +rhyming romance is called <i>Sir Amadace</i>. There is +<span class="pb" id="Page_131">[131]</span> +something fortunate about those two stories which has +gained for them more attention than the rest. They +both come into the Elizabethan theatre, where again +it is curiously rare to find a folk-lore plot. One is +Davenport’s <i>New Trick to Cheat the Devil</i>; the other, +the <i>Travelling Companion</i>, is Peele’s <i>Old Wives’ +Tale</i>.</p> +<p>With most of the short stories it is useless to seek +for any definite source. To ask for the first author of +<i>Big Claus and Little Claus</i> is no more reasonable than +to ask who was the inventor of High Dutch and Low +Dutch. But there is a large section of medieval +story-telling which is in a different condition, and +about which it is not wholly futile to ask questions of +pedigree. <i>The Seven Sages of Rome</i> is the best +example of this class; it has been remarked already +that many things in the book are like the <i>fabliaux</i>; +but unlike most of the <i>fabliaux</i> they have a literary +origin which can be traced. The Book of the Seven +Wise Masters of Rome (which exists in many different +forms, with a variety of contents) is an Oriental +collection of stories in a framework; that is to say, +there is a plot which leads to the telling of stories, as +in the <i>Arabian Nights</i>, the <i>Decameron</i>, the <i>Canterbury +Tales</i>. The <i>Arabian Nights</i> were not known in the +West till the beginning of the eighteenth century, but +the Oriental plan of a group of stories was brought to +Europe at least as early as the twelfth century. The +plot of the <i>Seven Sages</i> is that the son of the Emperor of +Rome is falsely accused by his stepmother, and defended +by the Seven Masters, the Empress and the Masters +telling stories against one another. As the object of +<span class="pb" id="Page_132">[132]</span> +the Masters is to prove that women are not to be +trusted, it may be understood that their stories generally +agree in their moral with the common disrespectful +‘merry tales’. Among the lady’s stories are some of a +different complexion; one of these is best known in +England through W. R. Spencer’s ballad of the death +of Gelert, the faithful hound who saved the child of +his lord, and was hastily and unjustly killed in error. +Another is the story of the Master Thief, which is +found in the second book of Herodotus—the treasure +of Rhampsinitus, king of Egypt.</p> +<p>One of those Oriental fables found among the old +French short stories comes into English long afterwards +in the form of Parnell’s <i>Hermit</i>.</p> +<p>Although the <i>fabliaux</i> are not very largely represented +in medieval English rhyme, there is a considerable +amount of miscellaneous comic verse. One of +the great differences between Middle English and +Anglo-Saxon writings (judging from what is extant) +is that in Middle English there is far more jesting +and nonsense. The best of the comic pieces is one +that might be reckoned along with the <i>fabliaux</i> except +that there is no story in it; the description of the <i>Land +of Cockayne</i>, sometimes called the land of Readymade, +where the geese fly about roasted—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Yet I do you mo to wit</p> +<p class="t0">The geese y-roasted on the spit</p> +<p class="t0">Fleeth to that abbey, Got it wot</p> +<p class="t0">And gredeth: Geese all hot, all hot!</p> +</div> +<p>The land of Cockayne is a burlesque Paradise ‘far +in the sea by West of Spain’.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_133">[133]</div> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">There beth rivers great and fine</p> +<p class="t0">Of oil, milk, honey and wine;</p> +<p class="t0">Water serveth there to no thing,</p> +<p class="t0">But to sight and to washing.</p> +</div> +<p>This piece, and <i>Reynard and Isengrim (The Fox and +the Wolf)</i>, and others, show that fairly early, and before +the French language had given way to English as the +proper speech for good society, there was some talent +in English authors for light verse, narrative or descriptive, +for humorous stories, and for satire. The +English short couplets of those days—of the time of +Henry III and Edward I—are at no disadvantage as +compared with the French. Anything can be expressed +in that familiar verse which is possible in French—anything, +except the finer shades of sentiment, for +which as yet the English have no mind, and which +must wait for the authors of the <i>Confessio Amantis</i> and +the <i>Book of the Duchess Blanche</i>.</p> +<p>But there is one early poem—a hundred, it may be +a hundred and fifty, years before Chaucer—in which +not the sentiment but something much more characteristic +of Chaucer is anticipated in a really wonderful +way. <i>The Owl and the Nightingale</i> is an original poem, +written in the language of Dorset at a time when +nothing English was considered ‘courteous’. Yet +it is hard to see what is wanting to the poem to distinguish +it from the literature of polite society in the +Augustan ages. What is there provincial in it, except +the language? And why should the language be +called, except in a technical and literal sense, rustic, +when it is used with a perfect command of idiom, +with tact and discretion, with the good humour that +<span class="pb" id="Page_134">[134]</span> +comprehends many different things and motives at +once, and the irony which may be a check on effusive +romance, but never a hindrance to grace and beauty? +Urbanity is the right word, the name one cannot help +using, for the temper of this rustic and provincial +poem. It is urbane, like Horace or Addison, without +any town society to support the author in his criticism +of life. The author is like one of the personages in +his satire, the Wren, who was bred in the greenwood, +but brought up among mankind—in the humanities:</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">For theih heo were ybred a wolde</p> +<p class="t0">Heo was ytowen among mankenne,</p> +<p class="t0">And hire wisdom broughte thenne.</p> +</div> +<p><i>The Owl and the Nightingale</i> is the most miraculous +piece of writing, or, if that is too strong a term, the +most contrary to all preconceived opinion, among +the medieval English books. In the condition of the +English language in the reign of Henry III, with so +much against it, there was still no reason why there +should not be plenty of English romances and a +variety of English songs, though they might not be +the same sort of romances and songs as were composed +in countries like France or Germany, and though they +might be wanting in the ‘finer shades’. But all the +chances, as far as we can judge, were against the +production of humorous impartial essays in verse. +Such things are not too common at any time. They +were not common even in French polite literature in +the thirteenth century. In the century after, Froissart +in French, Gower and of course Chaucer in English +have the same talent for light familiar rhyming essays +<span class="pb" id="Page_135">[135]</span> +that is shown by Prior and Swift. The early English +poet had discovered for himself a form which generally +requires ages of training and study before it can +succeed.</p> +<p>His poem is entitled in one of the two MSS. <i>altercatio +inter Philomenam et Bubonem</i>: ‘A debate between +the Nightingale and the Owl.’ Debates, contentions, +had been a favourite literary device for a long time +in many languages. It was known in Anglo-Saxon +poetry. It was common in France. There were +contentions of Summer and Winter, of the Soul and +the Body, the Church and the Synagogue, of Fast and +Feasting; there were also (especially in the Provençal +school) debates between actual men, one poet challenging +another. The originality of <i>The Owl and the +Nightingale</i> argument is that it is not, like so many +of those poetical disputations, simply an arrangement +of all the obvious commonplaces for and against one +side and the other. It is a true comedy; not only is +the writer impartial, but he keeps the debate alive; +he shows how the contending speakers feel the strokes, +and hide their pain, and do their best to face it out with +the adversary. Also, the debate is not a mere got-up +thing. It is Art against Philosophy; the Poet meeting +the strong though not silent Thinker, who tells him +of the Immensities and Infinities. The author agrees +with Plato and Wordsworth that the nightingale is +‘a creature of a fiery heart’, and that the song is one +of mirth and not lamentation. Yet it is not contrasted +absolutely with the voice of the contemplative person. +If it were, the debate would come to an end, or would +turn into mere railing accusations—of which there +<span class="pb" id="Page_136">[136]</span> +is no want, it may be said, along with the more serious +arguments. What makes the dispute worth following, +what lifts it far above the ordinary medieval conventions, +is that each party shares something of the +other’s mind. The Owl wishes to be thought musical; +the Nightingale is anxious not to be taken for a mere +worldling.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_137">[137]</div> +<h2 id="c7"><span class="small">CHAPTER VII</span> +<br />ALLEGORY</h2> +<p>Allegory is often taken to be the proper and characteristic +mode of thought in the Middle Ages, and +certainly there is no kind of invention which is +commoner. The allegorical interpretation of Scripture +was the regular, the universal method employed by +preachers and commentators. Anglo-Saxon religious +writings are full of it. At the Revival of Learning, five +hundred years after Ælfric, the end of the Middle +Ages is marked by a definite attack upon the allegorical +method, an attack carried on by religious reformers +and classical scholars, who held that allegory perverted +and destroyed the genuine teaching of Scripture, and +the proper understanding of Virgil and Ovid.</p> +<p>The book in which this medieval taste is most +plainly exhibited is the <i>Gesta Romanorum</i>, a collection +of stories, in Latin prose, drawn from many different +sources, each story having the moral interpretation +attached to it, for the use of preachers.</p> +<p>One of the most popular subjects for moral interpretation +was natural history. There is a book called +<i>Physiologus</i>—‘the Natural Philosopher’—which went +through all the languages in the same way as the story +of Alexander or the book of the Seven Wise Masters. +There are fragments of an Anglo-Saxon rendering, in +verse—the <i>Whale</i>, and the <i>Panther</i>, favourite examples. +The Whale is the Devil; the Whale lying in the sea +with his back above water is often mistaken by sailors +<span class="pb" id="Page_138">[138]</span> +for an island; they land on his back to rest, and the +Whale goes down with them to the depths. The +common name for these natural histories (versions or +adaptations of <i>Physiologus</i>) is ‘Bestiary’; there is an +English <i>Bestiary</i> of the beginning of the thirteenth +century, most of it in the irregular alliterative verse +which seems to have been common at that date; some +of it is in fairly regular rhyme.</p> +<p>Allegorical interpretation of Scripture, or of stories, +or of natural history is not the same thing as allegorical +invention. This is sometimes forgotten, but it is +clear enough that an allegory such as the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i> has a quite different effect on the mind, and +requires a different sort of imagination, from the +allegorical work which starts from a given text and +spins out some sort of moral from it. Any one with +a little ingenuity can make an allegorical interpretation +of any matter. It is a different thing to invent and +carry on an allegorical story. One obvious difference +is that in the first case—for example in the <i>Bestiary</i>—the +two meanings, literal and allegorical, are separate +from one another. Each chapter of the <i>Bestiary</i> is +in two parts; first comes the <i>nature</i> of the beast—<i>natura +leonis, etc.</i>—the natural history of the lion, the +ant, the whale, the panther and so forth; then comes +the <i>signification</i>. In the other kind of allegory, though +there is a double meaning, there are not two separate +meanings presented one after the other to the mind. +The signification is given along with, or through, the +scene and the figures. Christian in the <i>Pilgrim’s +Progress</i> is not something different from the Christian +man whom he represents allegorically; Mr. Greatheart, +<span class="pb" id="Page_139">[139]</span> +without any interpretation at all, is recognized +at once as a courageous guide and champion. So when +the Middle Ages are blamed for their allegorical +tastes it may be well to distinguish between the +frequently mechanical allegory which forces a moral +out of any object, and the imaginative allegory which +puts fresh pictures before the mind. The one process +starts from a definite story or fact, and then destroys +the story to get at something inside; the other makes +a story and asks you to accept it and keep it along +with its allegorical meaning.</p> +<p>Thus allegorical invention, in poetry like Spenser’s, +or in imaginative prose like Bunyan’s, may be something +not very different from imaginative work with +no conscious allegory in it at all. All poetry has something +of a representative character in it, and often it +matters little for the result whether the composer has +any definite symbolical intention or not. <i>Beowulf</i> or +<i>Samson Agonistes</i> might be said to ‘stand for’ heroism, +just as truly as the Red Cross Knight in Spenser, or +Mr. Valiant for Truth in the <i>Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. So in +studying medieval allegories either in poetry, painting +or sculpture, it seems advisable to consider in each +case how far the artist has strained his imagination +to serve an allegorical meaning, or whether he has +not succeeded in being imaginative with no proper +allegorical meaning at all.</p> +<p>By far the best known and most influential of +medieval allegories is the <i>Romance of the Rose</i>. Both +in France and in England it kept its place as a poetical +example and authority from the thirteenth century till +well on in the sixteenth. It is the work of two authors; +<span class="pb" id="Page_140">[140]</span> +the later, Jean Clopinel or Jean de Meung, taking up +the work of Guillaume de Lorris about 1270, forty +years after the death of the first inventor. The part +written by Jean Clopinel is a rambling allegorical +satire, notorious for its slander against women. The +earlier part, by Guillaume de Lorris, is what really +made the fame and spread the influence of the <i>Roman +de la Rose</i>, though the second part was not far below +it in importance.</p> +<p>Guillaume de Lorris is one of those authors, not +very remarkable for original genius, who put together +all the favourite ideas and sentiments of their time in +one book from which they come to be distributed +widely among readers and imitators. His book is an +allegory of all the spirit and doctrine of French +romantic poetry for the past hundred years; and as +the French poets had taken all they could from the +lyric poets of Provence, the <i>Roman de la Rose</i> may be +fairly regarded as an abstract of the Provençal lyrical +ideas almost as much as of French sentiment. It was +begun just at the time when the Provençal poetry +was ended in the ruin of the South and of the Southern +chivalry, after the Albigensian crusade.</p> +<p>No apology is needed for speaking of this poem in a +discourse on English literature. Even if Chaucer had +not translated it, the <i>Roman de la Rose</i> would still be a +necessary book for any one who wishes to understand +not only Chaucer but the poets of his time and all his +successors down to Spenser. The influence of the +<i>Roman de la Rose</i> is incalculable. It is acknowledged +by the poet whose style is least like Chaucer’s, except +for its liveliness, among all the writers in the reign of +<span class="pb" id="Page_141">[141]</span> +Edward III—by the author of the alliterative poem on +<i>Purity</i>, who is also generally held to be the author of +the <i>Pearl</i> and of <i>Sir Gawayne</i>, and who speaks with +respect of ‘Clopyngel’s clene rose’.</p> +<p>It is thoroughly French in all its qualities—French +of the thirteenth century, using ingeniously the ideas +and the form best suited to the readers whom it sought +to win.</p> +<p>One of the titles of the <i>Roman de la Rose</i> is the <i>Art of +Love</i>. The name is taken from a poem of Ovid’s +which was a favourite with more than one French poet +before Guillaume de Lorris. It appealed to them +partly on account of its subject, and partly because it +was a didactic poem. It suited the common medieval +taste for exposition of doctrine, and the <i>Roman de la +Rose</i> which follows it and copies its title is a didactic +allegory. In every possible way, in its plan, its doctrine, +its sentiment, its decoration and machinery, the <i>Roman +de la Rose</i> collects all the things that had been approved +by literary tradition and conveys them, with their +freshness renewed, to its successors. It concludes one +period; it is a summary of the old French romantic +and sentimental poetry, a narrative allegory setting +forth the ideas that might be extracted from Provençal +lyric. Then it became a storehouse from which those +ideas were carried down to later poets, among others +to Chaucer and the Chaucerian school. Better than +anything else, the descriptive work in the <i>Roman de la +Rose</i> brings out its peculiar success as an intermediary +between earlier and later poets. The old French +romantic authors had been fond of descriptions, +particularly descriptions of pictorial subjects used as +<span class="pb" id="Page_142">[142]</span> +decoration, in painting or tapestry, for a magnificent +room. The <i>Roman de la Rose</i>, near the beginning, +describes the allegorical figures on the outside wall of +the garden, and this long and elaborate passage, of the +same kind as many earlier descriptions, became in +turn, like everything else in the book, an example for +imitation. How closely it is related to such arts as it +describes was proved in Ruskin’s <i>Fors Clavigera</i>, +where along with his notes on the <i>Roman de la Rose</i> +are illustrations from Giotto’s allegorical figures in the +chapel of the Arena at Padua.</p> +<p>The ‘formal garden’ of the Rose is equally true, +inside the wall—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">The gardin was by mesuring</p> +<p class="t0">Right even and squar in compassing.</p> +</div> +<p>The trees were set even, five fathom or six from one +another.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">In places saw I wèlles there</p> +<p class="t0">In whiche ther no froggès were</p> +<p class="t0">And fair in shadwe was every welle;</p> +<p class="t0">But I ne can the nombre telle</p> +<p class="t0">Of stremès smale that by device</p> +<p class="t0">Mirth had done comè through coundys,</p> +<p class="t0">Of which the water in renning</p> +<p class="t0">Can make a noyse ful lyking.</p> +</div> +<p>The dreamer finds Sir Mirth and a company of fair +folk and fresh, dancing a <i>carole</i>.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">This folk of which I telle you so</p> +<p class="t0">Upon a carole wenten tho;</p> +<p class="t0">A lady caroled hem, that highte</p> +<p class="t0">Gladnesse the blisful the lighte;</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_143">[143]</div> +<p class="t0">Wel coude she singe and lustily,</p> +<p class="t0">Non half so wel and semely,</p> +<p class="t0">And make in song swich refreininge</p> +<p class="t0">It sat her wonder wel to singe.</p> +</div> +<p>The dream, the May morning, the garden, the fair +company, the carole all were repeated for three hundred +years by poets of every degree, who drew from the +<i>Romaunt of the Rose</i> unsparingly, as from a perennial +fountain. The writers whom one would expect to +be impatient with all things conventional, Chaucer and +Sir David Lyndsay, give no sign that the May of the +old French poet has lost its charm for them; though +each on one occasion, Chaucer in the <i>Hous of Fame</i> +and Lyndsay in the <i>Dreme</i>, with a definite purpose +changes the time to winter. With both, the May +comes back again, in the <i>Legend of Good Women</i> and +in the <i>Monarchy</i>.</p> +<p>Even Petrarch, the first of the moderns to think +contemptuously of the Middle Ages, uses the form of +the Dream in his <i>Trionfi</i>—he lies down and sleeps on +the grass at Vaucluse, and the vision follows, of the +Triumph of Love.</p> +<p>The <i>Pearl</i>, one of the most beautiful of the English +medieval poems, is an allegory which begins in this +same way; the <i>Vision of Piers Plowman</i> is another. +Neither of these has otherwise much likeness to the +<i>Rose</i>; it was by Chaucer and his school that the +authority of the <i>Rose</i> was established. The <i>Pearl</i> +and <i>Piers Plowman</i> are original works, each differing +very considerably from the French style which was +adopted by Chaucer and Gower.</p> +<p>The <i>Pearl</i> is written in a lyrical stanza, or rather in +<span class="pb" id="Page_144">[144]</span> +groups of stanzas linked to one another by their +refrains; the measure is unlike French verse. The +poem itself, which in many details resembles many +other things, is altogether quite distinct from anything +else, and indescribable except to those who +have read it. Its resemblance to the <i>Paradiso</i> of +Dante is that which is less misleading than any other +comparison. In the English poem, the dreamer is +instructed as to the things of heaven by his daughter +Marjory, the Pearl that he had lost, who appears to +him walking by the river of Paradise and shows him +the New Jerusalem; like Dante’s Beatrice at the end +she is caught away from his side to her place in glory.</p> +<p>But it is not so much in these circumstances that +the likeness is to be found—it is in the fervour, the +belief, which carries everything with it in the argument, +and turns theology into imagination. As with Dante, +allegory is a right name, but also an insufficient name +for the mode of thought in this poem.</p> +<p>In the <i>Pearl</i> there is one quite distinct and abstract +theory which the poem is intended to prove; a point +of theology (possibly heretical): that all the souls of +the blessed are equal in happiness; each one is queen +or king. In <i>Sir Gawayne</i>, which is probably by the +same author, there is the same kind of definite thought, +never lost or confused in the details. <i>Piers Plowman</i>, +on the other hand, though there are a number of +definite things which the author wishes to enforce, +is wholly different in method. The method often +seems as if it were nothing at all but random association +of ideas. The whole world is in the author’s mind, +experience, history, doctrine, the estates and fortunes of +<span class="pb" id="Page_145">[145]</span> +mankind, ‘the mirror of middle-earth’; all the various +elements are turned and tossed about, scenes from +Bartholomew Fair mixed up with preaching or philosophy. +There is the same variety, it may be said, +in <i>The Pilgrim’s Progress</i>. But there is not the same +confusion. With Bunyan, whatever the conversation +may be, there is always the map of the road quite clear. +You know where you are; and if ever the talk is +abstract it is the talk of people who eat and drink and +wear clothes—real men, as one is accustomed to call +them. In <i>Piers Plowman</i> there is as much knowledge +of life as in Bunyan; but the visible world is seen only +from time to time. It is not merely that some part of +the book is comic description and some of it serious +discourse, but the form of thought shifts in a baffling +way from the pictorial to the abstract. It is tedious +to be told of a brook named ‘Be buxom of speech’, and +a croft called ‘Covet not men’s cattle nor their wives’, +when nothing is made of the brook or the croft by +way of scenery; the pictorial words add nothing to the +moral meaning; if the Ten Commandments are to +be turned into allegory, something more is wanted +than the mere tacking on to them of a figurative name. +The author of <i>Piers Plowman</i> is too careless, and uses +too often a mechanical form of allegory which is little +better than verbiage.</p> +<p>But there is more than enough to make up for that, +both in the comic scenes like the Confession of the +Seven Deadly Sins, and in the sustained passages of +reasoning, like the argument about the righteous +heathen and the hopes allowable to Saracens and +Jews. The Seven Sins are not abstractions nor +<span class="pb" id="Page_146">[146]</span> +grotesque allegories; they are vulgar comic personages +such as might have appeared in a comedy or a novel +of low life, in London taverns or country inns, figures +of tradesmen and commercial travellers, speaking the +vulgar tongue, natural, stupid, ordinary people.</p> +<p>Also there is beauty; the poem is not to be dismissed +as a long religious argument with comic interludes, +though such a description would be true enough, as +far as it goes. The author is no great artist, for he +lets his meaning overpower him and hurry him, and +interrupt his pictures and his story. But he is a poet, +for all that, and he proves his gift from the outset of +his work ‘in a May morning, on Malvern hilles’; +and with all his digressions and seemingly random +thought the argument is held together and moves +harmoniously in its large spaces. The secret of its +construction is revealed in the long triumphant +passage which renders afresh the story of the Harrowing +of Hell, and in the transition to what follows, down +to the end of the poem. The author has worked up +to a climax in what may be called his drama of the +Harrowing of Hell. This is given fully, and with a +sense of its greatness, from the beginning when the +voice and the light together break in upon the darkness +of Hell and on the ‘Dukes of that dim place’—<i>Attollite +portas</i>: ‘be ye lift up, ye everlasting doors’. After +the triumph, the dreamer awakes and hears the bells +on Easter morning—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">That men rongen to the resurrexioun, and right with that I waked</p> +<p class="t0">And called Kitte my wyf and Kalote my doughter:</p> +<p class="t0">Ariseth and reverenceth Goddes resurrexioun,</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_147">[147]</div> +<p class="t0">And crepeth to the crosse on knees, and kisseth it for a juwel,</p> +<p class="t0">For Goddes blessid body it bar for owre bote,</p> +<p class="t0">And it afereth the fende, for suche is the myghte</p> +<p class="t0">May no grysly gost glyde there it shadoweth!</p> +</div> +<p>This is the end of one vision, but it is not the end of +the poem. There is another dream.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">I fel eftsones aslepe and sodeynly me mette</p> +<p class="t0">That Pieres the plowman was paynted al blody</p> +<p class="t0">And come on with a crosse before the comune people</p> +<p class="t0">And righte lyke in alle lymes to oure lorde Jhesu</p> +<p class="t0">And thanne called I Conscience to kenne me the sothe:</p> +<p class="t0">‘Is this Jhesus the juster’ quoth I ‘that Jewes did to death?</p> +<p class="t0">Or is it Pieres the plowman? Who paynted him so rede?’</p> +<p class="t0">Quoth Conscience and kneled tho: ‘This aren Pieres armes,</p> +<p class="t0">His coloures and his cote-armure, ac he that cometh so blody</p> +<p class="t0">Is Cryst with his crosse, conqueroure of crystene’.</p> +</div> +<p>The end is far off; Antichrist is to come; Old Age and +Death have their triumph likewise. The poem does +not close with a solution of all problems, but with a +new beginning; Conscience setting out on a pilgrimage. +The poet has not gone wrong in his argument; the +world is as bad as ever it was, and it is thus that he +ends, after scenes of ruin that make one think of the +Twilight of the Gods, and of the courage which the +Northern heroes opposed to it.</p> +<p>It is not by accident that the story is shaped in this +way. The construction is what the writer wished it +to be, and his meaning is expressed with no failure in +coherence. His mind is never satisfied; least of all +with such conclusions as would make him forget the +distresses of human life. He is like Blake saying—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">I will not cease from mental fight</p> +<p class="t0">Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand.</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_148">[148]</div> +<p>The book of <i>Piers Plowman</i> is found in many +manuscripts which were classified by Mr. Skeat in his +edition of the poem as representing three versions, +made at different times by the author who twice +revised his book, so that there is an earlier and a later +revised and expanded version besides the first. This +theory of the authorship is not accepted by every one, +and attempts have been made to distinguish different +hands, and more particularly to separate the authorship +of the first from the second version. Those who wish +to multiply the authors have to consider, among other +things, the tone of thought in the poem; it is hard to +believe that there were two authors in the same reign +who had the same strong and weak points, the same +inconsistencies, wavering between lively imagination +and formal allegory, the same indignation and the +same tolerance. <i>Piers Plowman</i> is one of the most +impartial of all reformers. He makes heavy charges +against many ranks and orders of men, but he always +remembers the good that is to be said for them. His +remedy for the evils of the world would be to bring +the different estates—knights, clergy, labourers and +all—to understand their proper duty. His political +ideal is the commonwealth as it exists, only with each +part working as it was meant to do: the king making +the peace, with the knights to help him, the clergy +studying and praying, the commons working honestly, +and the higher estates also giving work and getting +wages. In this respect there is no inconsistency +between the earlier and the later text. In the second +version he brings in Envy as the philosophical socialist +who proves out of Plato and Seneca that all things +<span class="pb" id="Page_149">[149]</span> +should be in common. This helps to confirm what +is taught in the first version about the functions of the +different ranks. If the later versions are due to later +hands, they, at any rate, continue and amplify what is +taught in the first version, with no inconsistency.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_150">[150]</div> +<h2 id="c8"><span class="small">CHAPTER VIII</span> +<br />SERMONS AND HISTORIES, IN VERSE AND PROSE</h2> +<p>It is one of the common difficulties in studying ancient +literature that the things preserved are not always what +we would have chosen. In modern literature, criticism +and the opinion of the reading public have +generally sorted out the books that are best worth +considering; few authors are wrongfully neglected, +and the well-known authors generally deserve their +reputation. But in literature such as that of the +thirteenth century, or the fourteenth before the time +of Chaucer, not much has been done by the opinion of +the time to sift out the good from the bad, and many +things appear in the history of literature which are +valuable only as curiosities, and some which have no +title to be called books at all. The <i>Ayenbite of Inwit</i> +is well known by name, and passes for a book; it is +really a collection of words in the Kentish dialect, +useful for philologists, especially for those who, like +the author of the book, only care for one word at a +time. The <i>Ayenbite of Inwit</i> was translated from the +French by Dan Michel of Northgate, one of the monks +of St. Augustine’s at Canterbury, in 1340; it is +extant in his own handwriting; there is no evidence +that it was ever read by any one else. The method +of the author is to take each French word and give +the English for it; if he cannot read the French word, +or mistakes it, he puts down the English for what he +<span class="pb" id="Page_151">[151]</span> +thinks it means, keeping his eye firmly fixed on the +object, and refusing to be distracted by the other +words in the sentence. This remarkable thing has +been recorded in histories as a specimen of English +prose.</p> +<p>The <i>Ormulum</i> is another famous work which is +preserved only in the author’s original handwriting. +It is a different thing from the <i>Ayenbite</i>; it is scholarly +in its own way, and as far as it goes it accomplishes all +that the author set out to do. As it is one of the earliest +books of the thirteenth century, it is immensely +valuable as a document; not only does it exhibit the +East Midland language of its time, in precise phonetic +spelling (the three G’s of the <i>Ormulum</i> are now famous +in philology), but it contains a large amount of the +best ordinary medieval religious teaching; and as for +literature, its author was the first in English to use an +exact metre with unvaried number of syllables; it has +been described already. But all those merits do not +make the <i>Ormulum</i> much more than a curiosity in the +history of poetry—a very distinct and valuable sign of +certain common tastes, certain possibilities of education, +but in itself tasteless.</p> +<p>One of the generalities proved by the <i>Ormulum</i> is +the use of new metres for didactic work. The Anglo-Saxon +verse had been taken not infrequently for +didactic purposes—at one time for the paraphrase of +<i>Genesis</i>, at another for the moral emblems of the <i>Whale</i> +and the <i>Panther</i>. But the Anglo-Saxon verse was +not very well fitted for school books; it was too heavy +in diction. And there was no need for it, with Anglo-Saxon +prose established as it was. After the Norman +<span class="pb" id="Page_152">[152]</span> +Conquest, however, there was a change. Owing to +the example of the French, verse was much more +commonly used for ordinary educational purposes. +There is a great deal of this extant, and the difficulty +arises how to value it properly, and distinguish what +is a document in the history of general culture, or +morality, or religion, from what is a poem as well.</p> +<p>One of the earliest Middle English pieces is a Moral +Poem which is found in several manuscripts and +evidently was well known and popular. It is in the +same metre as the <i>Ormulum</i>, but written with more +freedom, and in rhyme. This certainly is valuable as a +document. The contents are the ordinary religion and +morality, the vanity of human wishes, the wretchedness +of the present world, the fearfulness of Hell, the +duty of every man to give up all his relations in order +to save his soul. This commonplace matter is, however, +expressed with great energy in good language and +spirited verse; the irregularity of the verse is not +helplessness, it is the English freedom which keeps the +rhythm, without always regularly observing the exact +number of syllables.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Ich am eldrè than ich was, a winter and eke on lorè,</p> +<p class="t0">Ich weldè morè than ich dyde, my wit oughtè be morè.</p> +</div> +<p>i.e.—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">I am older than I was, in winters and also in learning;</p> +<p class="t0">I wield more than I did [I am stronger than I once was], my wit ought to be more.</p> +</div> +<p>The first line, it will be noticed, begins on the strong +syllable; the weak syllable is dropped, as it is by +Chaucer and Milton when they think fit. With this +freedom, the common metre is established as a good +<span class="pb" id="Page_153">[153]</span> +kind of verse for a variety of subjects; and the <i>Moral +Ode</i>, as it is generally called, is therefore to be respected +in the history of poetry. One vivid thing in it seems +to tell where the author came from. In the description +of the fire of Hell he says—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Ne mai hit quenchè salt water, ne Avene stream ne Sture.</p> +</div> +<p>He is thinking of the rivers of Christchurch, and the +sea beyond, as Dante in Hell remembers the clear +mountain waters running down to the Arno.</p> +<p>Layamon’s <i>Brut</i> shows how difficult it might be for +an Englishman in the reign of King John to find the +right sort of verse. The matter of the <i>Brut</i> is Geoffrey +of Monmouth’s history, originally in Latin prose. +This had been translated into French, and of course +into rhyme, because nothing but rhyme in French +was thought a respectable form. Layamon has the +French rhyming version before him, and naturally +does not think of turning it into prose. That would +be mean, in comparison; once the historical matter +has been put into poetical form, it must not be allowed +to fall back into any form less honourable than the +French. Layamon, however, has no proper verse at +command. He knows the old English alliterative +verse, but only in the corrupt variety which is found +in some of the later Anglo-Saxon pieces, with an +increasing taste for rhyme; Layamon, of course, had +also in his head the rhymes of the French couplets +which he was translating; and the result is a most +disagreeable and discordant measure. The matter of +Layamon in many places compensates for this; much +of it, indeed, is heavy and prosaic, but some of it +<span class="pb" id="Page_154">[154]</span> +is otherwise, and the credit of the memorable passages +is at least as often due to Layamon as to the original +British history. He found the right story of the +passing of Arthur, and that makes up for much of his +uncomfortable verse and ranks him higher than the +mere educational paraphrasers.</p> +<p>The <i>Bestiary</i> and the <i>Proverbs of Alfred</i> are two +other works which resemble the <i>Brut</i> more or less +in versification, and are interesting historically. It +ought to be said, on behalf of the poorer things in this +early time, that without exception they prove a very +rich colloquial idiom and vocabulary, which might +have been used to good effect, if any one had thought +of writing novels, and which is in fact well used in +many prose sermons, and, very notably, in the long +prose book of the <i>Ancren Riwle</i>.</p> +<p>Looking at the <i>Ancren Riwle</i> and some other early +prose, one is led to think that the French influence, so +strong in every way, so distinctly making for advance +in civilization, was hurtful to the English, and a bad +example, in the literature of teaching, because the +French had nothing equal to the English prose. +French prose hardly begins till the thirteenth century; +the history of Villehardouin is contemporary with the +<i>Ancren Riwle</i>. But the English prose authors of that +time were not beginners; they had the Anglo-Saxon +prose to guide them, and they regularly follow the +tradition of Ælfric. There is no break in the succession +of prose as there is between Anglo-Saxon and +Plantagenet verse; Anglo-Saxon prose did not lose +its form as the verse did, and Ælfric, who was copied +by English preachers in the twelfth century, might +<span class="pb" id="Page_155">[155]</span> +have taught something of prose style to the French, +which they were only beginning to discover in the century +after. And there might have been a thirteenth-century +school of English prose, worthy of comparison +with the Icelandic school of the same time, +if the English had not been so distracted and overborne +by the French example of didactic rhyme. +French rhyme was far beyond any other model for +romance; when it is used for historical or scientific +exposition it is a poor and childish mode, incomparably +weaker than the prose of Ælfric. But the example and +the authority of the French didactic rhyme proved too +strong, and English prose was neglected; so much so +that the <i>Ancren Riwle</i>, a prose book written at the +beginning of the thirteenth century, is hardly matched +even in the time of Chaucer and Wycliffe; hardly +before the date of Malory or Lord Berners.</p> +<p>The <i>Ancren Riwle</i> (the <i>Rule of Anchoresses</i>) is a +book of doctrine and advice, like many others in its +substance. What distinguishes it is the freshness and +variety of its style. It is not, like so many excellent +prose works, a translation. The writer doubtless +took his arguments where he found them, in older +books, but he thinks them over in his own way, and +arranges them; and he always has in mind the one +small household of religious ladies for whom he is +writing, their actual circumstances and the humours +of the parish. His literary and professional formulas +do not get in his way; he sees the small restricted +life as it might have appeared to a modern essayist, +and writes of it in true-bred language, the style +in which all honest historians agree. The passages +<span class="pb" id="Page_156">[156]</span> +which are best worth quoting are those which are +oftenest quoted, about the troubles of the nun who +keeps a cow; the cow strays, and is pounded; the +religious lady loses her temper, her language is furious; +then she has to beseech and implore the heyward +(parish beadle) and pay the damages after all. Wherefore +it is best for nuns to keep a cat only. But no one +quotation can do justice to the book, because the +subjects are varied, and the style also. Much of it +is conventional morality, some of it is elementary +religious instruction. There are also many passages +where the author uses his imagination, and in his +figurative description of the Seven Deadly Sins he +makes one think of the ‘characters’ which were so +much in fashion in the seventeenth century; there is +the same love of conceits, though not carried quite +so far as in the later days. The picture of the Miser as +the Devil’s own lubberly boy, raking in the ashes till +he is half blind, drawing ‘figures of augrim’ in the +ashes, would need very little change to turn it into the +manner of Samuel Butler, author of <i>Hudibras</i>, in his +prose <i>Characters</i>; so likewise the comparison of the +envious and the wrathful man to the Devil’s jugglers, +one making grotesque faces, the other playing with +knives. Elsewhere the writer uses another sort of +imagination and a different style; his description of +Christ, in a figure drawn from chivalry, is a fine +example of eloquent preaching; how fine it is, may be +proved by the imitation of it called the <i>Wooing of Our +Lord</i>, where the eloquence is pushed to an extreme. +The author of the <i>Ancren Riwle</i> felt both the attraction +and the danger of pathos; and he escaped the error of +<span class="pb" id="Page_157">[157]</span> +style into which his imitator fell; he kept to the limits +of good prose. At the same time, there is something +to be said in defence of the too poetic prose which is +exemplified in the <i>Wooing of Our Lord</i>, and in other +writings of that date. Some of it is derived from the +older alliterative forms, used in the <i>Saints’ Lives</i> of +found something +Ælfric; and this, with all its faults and excesses, at +any rate kept an idea of rhythm which was generally +wanting in the alliterative verse of the thirteenth +century. It may be a wrong sort of eloquence, but it +could not be managed without a sense of rhythm or +beauty of words; it is not meagre or stinted, and it is +in some ways a relief from the prosaic verse in which +English authors copied the regular French couplets, +and the plain French diction.</p> +<p>One of the best pieces of prose about this time is a +translation from the Latin. <i>Soul’s Ward</i> is a homily, +a religious allegory of the defence of Man’s Soul. The +original Latin prose belongs to the mystical school of +St. Victor in Paris. The narrative part of the English +version is as good as can be; the mystical part, in the +description of Heaven and the Beatific Vision, is +memorable even when compared with the greatest +masters, and keeps its own light and virtue even when +set alongside of Plotinus or Dante. Here, as in the +<i>Ancren Riwle</i>, the figures of eloquence, rhythm and +alliteration are used temperately, and the phrasing is +wise and imaginative; not mere ornament. By one +sentence it may be recognized and remembered; where +it is told how the souls of the faithful see ‘all the redes +and the runes of God, and his dooms that dern be, and +deeper than any sea-dingle’.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_158">[158]</div> +<p>The greatest loss in the transition from Anglo-Saxon +to Norman and Angevin times was the discontinuance +of prose history, and the failure of the +Chronicle after the accession of Henry II. It made +a good end. The Peterborough monk who did the +reign of Stephen was much worse off for language +than his predecessors either in the time of Edward +the Elder or Edward the Confessor. His language is +what he chooses to make it, without standard or +control. But his narrative is not inferior in style to +the best of the old work, though it is weaker in spelling. +It is less restrained and more emotional than the Anglo-Saxon +history; in telling of the lawlessness under +King Stephen the writer cannot help falling into the +tone of the preachers. In the earlier Chronicle one is +never led to think about the sentiments of the writer; +the story holds the attention. But here the personal +note comes in; the author asks for sympathy. One +thinks of the cold, gloomy church, the small depressed +congregation, the lamentable tones of the sermon in +the days when ‘men said openly that Christ slept and +his saints’. With the coming of Henry of Anjou a +new order began, but the Chronicle did not go on; +the monks of Peterborough had done their best, but +there was no real chance for English prose history +when it had come to depend on one single religious +house for its continuance. The business was carried +on in Latin prose and in French rhyme; through the +example of the French, it became the fashion to use +English verse for historical narrative, and it was long +before history came back to prose.</p> +<p>Of all the rhyming historians Robert of Gloucester +<span class="pb" id="Page_159">[159]</span> +in the reign of Edward I is the most considerable by +reason of his style. Robert Manning of Brunne was +more of a literary critic; the passage in which he deals +severely with the contemporary rhyming dunces is +singularly interesting in a time when literary criticism +is rare. But Robert of Brunne is not so successful as +Robert of Gloucester, who says less about the principles +of rhyme, but discovers and uses the right kind. +This was not the short couplet. The short couplet, +the French measure, was indeed capable of almost +anything in English, and it was brilliantly used for +history by Barbour, and not meanly in the following +century by Andrew Wyntoun. But it was in danger of +monotony and flatness; for a popular audience a longer +verse was better, with more swing in it. Robert of +Gloucester took the ‘common measure’, with the +ordinary accepted licences, as it is used by the ballad +poets, and by some of the romances—for example, +in the most admirable <i>Tale of Gamelyn</i>. He turns the +history of Britain to the tune of popular minstrelsy, +and if it is not very high poetry, at any rate it moves.</p> +<p>The same kind of thing was done about the same +time with the <i>Lives of the Saints</i>—possibly some of +them by Robert of Gloucester himself. These are +found in many manuscripts, with many variations; +but they are one book, the Legend, keeping the order +of Saints’ Days in the Christian Year. This has been +edited, under the title of the <i>South English Legendary</i>, +and there are few books in which it is easier to make +acquaintance with the heart and mind of the people; +it contains all sorts of matter: church history as in the +lives of St. Dunstan, St. Thomas of Canterbury and +<span class="pb" id="Page_160">[160]</span> +St. Francis ‘the Friar Minor’; and legend, in the +common sense of the word, as in the life of St. Eustace, +or of St. Julian ‘the good harbinger’. There is the adventure +of Owen the knight in St. Patrick’s Purgatory; +there is also the voyage of St. Brandan. In one place +there is a short rhyming treatise on natural science, +thoroughly good and sound, and in some ways very +modern. The right tone of the popular science lecture +has been discovered; and the most effective illustrations. +The earth is a globe; night is the shadow of +the earth; let us take an apple and a candle, and +everything is plain. Astronomical distances are given +in the usual good-natured manner of the lecturer who +wishes to stir but not to shock the recipient minds. +The cosmography, of course, is roughly that of Dante +and Chaucer; seven spheres beneath the eighth, which +is the sphere of the fixed stars and the highest visible +heaven. The distance to that sphere from the earth +is so great that a man walking forty miles a day could +not reach it in eight thousand years. If Adam had +started at once at that rate, and kept it up, he would +not be there yet—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Much is between heaven and earth; for the man that mightè go</p> +<p class="t0">Every day forty mile, and yet some deal mo,</p> +<p class="t0">He ne shoulde nought to the highest heaven, that ye alday y-seeth</p> +<p class="t0">Comen in eighte thousand year, there as the sterren beeth:</p> +<p class="t0">And though Adam our firstè father had begun anon</p> +<p class="t0">Tho that he was first y-made, and toward the heaven y-gon,</p> +<p class="t0">And had each day forty mile even upright y-go</p> +<p class="t0">He ne had nought yet to heaven y-come, by a thousand mile and mo!</p> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_161">[161]</div> +<p>Encyclopedias and universal histories are frequent +in rhyme. The Northern dialect comes into literary +use early in the fourteenth century in a long book, the +<i>Cursor Mundi</i> or <i>Cursor o Werld</i>, which is one of the +best of its kind, getting fairly over the hazards of +the short couplet. In the Northern dialect this type of +book comes to an end two hundred years later; the +<i>Monarchy</i> of Sir David Lyndsay is the last of its race, +a dialogue between Experience and a Courtier, containing +a universal history in the same octosyllabic +verse as the <i>Cursor Mundi</i>. The Middle Ages may be +dated as far down as this; it is a curiously old-fashioned +and hackneyed form to be used by an author so original +as Lyndsay, but he found it convenient for his anti-clerical +satire. And it may be observed that generally +the didactic literature of the Middle Ages varies +enormously not only as between one author and +another, but in different parts of the same work; +nothing (except, perhaps, the <i>Tale of Melibeus</i>) is +absolutely conventional repetition; passages of real +life may occur at any moment.</p> +<p>The <i>Cursor Mundi</i> is closely related to the Northern +groups of <i>Miracle Plays</i>. The dramatic scheme of the +<i>Miracle Plays</i> was like that of the comprehensive +narrative poem, intended to give the history of the +world ‘from Genesis to the day of Judgement’. It +is impossible in this book to describe the early drama, +its rise and progress; but it may be observed that its +form is generally near to the narrative, and sometimes +to the lyrical verse of the time.</p> +<p>The <i>Cursor Mundi</i> is one of a large number of works +in the Northern dialect, which in that century was +<span class="pb" id="Page_162">[162]</span> +freely used for prose and verse—particularly by Richard +Rolle of Hampole and his followers, a school whose +mysticism is in contrast to the more scholastic method +of Wycliffe. The most interesting work in the Northern +language is Barbour’s <i>Bruce</i>. Barbour, the Scottish +contemporary of Chaucer, is not content with mere +rhyming chronicles; he has a theory of poetry, he has +both learning and ambition, which fortunately do not +interfere much with the spirit of his story.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_163">[163]</div> +<h2 id="c9"><span class="small">CHAPTER IX</span> +<br />CHAUCER</h2> +<p>Chaucer has sometimes been represented as a French +poet writing in English—not only a ‘great translator’ +as his friend Eustache Deschamps called him, but so +thoroughly in sympathy with the ideas and the style +of French poetry that he is French in spirit even when +he is original. This opinion about Chaucer is not +the whole truth, but there is a great deal in it. Chaucer +got his early literary training from French authors; +particularly from the <i>Romance of the Rose</i>, which he +translated, and from the poets of his own time or a +little earlier: Machaut, Deschamps, Froissart, Granson. +From these authors he learned the refinements of +courtly poetry, the sentiment and the elegant phrasing +of the French school, along with a number of conventional +devices which were easier to imitate, such as the +allegorical dream in the fashion of the <i>Roman de la Rose</i>. +With Chaucer’s poetry, we might say, English was +brought up to the level of French. For two or three +centuries English writers had been trying to be as +correct as the French, but had seldom or never quite +attained the French standard. Now the French were +equalled in their own style by an English poet. English +poetry at last comes out in the same kind of perfection +as was shown in French and Provençal as early as the +twelfth century, in German a little later with narrative +poets such as Wolfram von Eschenbach, the author of +<i>Parzival</i>, and lyric poets such as Walther von der +<span class="pb" id="Page_164">[164]</span> +Vogelweide. Italian was later still, but by the end +of the thirteenth century, in the poets who preceded +Dante, the Italian language proved itself at least the +equal of the French and Provençal, which had ripened +earlier. English was the last of the languages in +which the poetical ideal of the Middle Ages was +realized—the ideal of courtesy and grace.</p> +<p>One can see that this progress in English was determined +by some general conditions—the ‘spirit of the +age’. The native language had all along been growing +in importance, and by the time of Chaucer French was +no longer what it had been in the twelfth or thirteenth +centuries, the only language fit for a gentleman. At +the same time French literature retained its influence +and its authority in England; and the result was the +complete adaptation of the English language to the +French manner of thought and expression. The +English poetry of Gower is enough to prove that what +Chaucer did was not all due to Chaucer’s original +genius, but was partly the product of the age and the +general circumstances and tendencies of literature +and education. Gower, a man of literary talent, and +Chaucer, a man of genius, are found at the same time, +working in the same way, with objects in common. +Chaucer shoots far ahead and enters on fields where +Gower is unable to follow him; but in a considerable +part of Chaucer’s work he is along with Gower, equally +dependent on French authority and equally satisfied +with the French perfection. If there had been no +Chaucer, Gower would have had a respectable place +in history as the one ‘correct’ English poet of the +Middle Ages, as the English culmination of that +<span class="pb" id="Page_165">[165]</span> +courtly medieval poetry which had its rise in France +and Provence two or three hundred years before. The +prize for style would have been awarded to Gower; +as it is, he deserves rather more consideration than he +has generally received in modern times. It is easy +to pass him over and to say that his correctness is flat, +his poetical art monotonous. But at the very lowest +valuation he did what no one else except Chaucer +was able to do; he wrote a large amount of verse in +perfect accordance with his own critical principles, +in such a way as to stand minute examination; and +in this he thoroughly expressed the good manners of +his time. He proved that English might compete with +the languages which had most distinguished themselves +in poetry. Chaucer did as much; and in his +earlier work he did no more than Gower.</p> +<p>The two poets together, different as they are in +genius, work in common under the same conditions +of education to gain for England the rank that had +been gained earlier by the other countries—France +and Provence, Germany and Italy. Without them, +English poetry would have possessed a number of +interesting, a number of beautiful medieval works, +but nothing quite in the pure strain of the finest +medieval art. English poetry would still have reflected +in its mirror an immense variety of life, a host of +dreams; but it would have wanted the vision of that +peculiar courteous grace in which the French excelled. +Chaucer and Gower made up what was lacking in +English medieval poetry; the Middle Ages did not +go by without a proper rendering of their finer spirit +in English verse.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_166">[166]</div> +<p>But a great many ages had passed before Chaucer +and Gower appeared, and considered as spokesmen for +medieval ideas they are rather belated. England never +quite made up what was lost in the time of depression, +in the century or two after the Norman Conquest. +Chaucer and Gower do something like what was done +by the authors of French romance in the twelfth +century, such as Chrestien de Troyes, the author of +<i>Enid</i>, or Benoît de Sainte More, the author of the +<i>Romance of Troy</i>. But their writings do not alter the +fact that England had missed the first freshness of +chivalrous romance. There were two hundred years +between the old French romantic school and Chaucer. +Even the <i>Roman de la Rose</i> is a hundred years old when +Chaucer translates it. The more recent French poets +whom Chaucer translates or imitates are not of the +best medieval period. Gower, who is more medieval +than Chaucer, is a little behind his time. He is +mainly a narrative poet, and narrative poetry had been +exhausted in France; romances of adventure had been +replaced by allegories (in which the narrative was little +worth in comparison with the decoration), or, more +happily, by familiar personal poems like those in which +Froissart describes various passages in his own life. +Froissart, it is true, the contemporary of Chaucer, +wrote a long romance in verse in the old fashion; but +this is the exception that proves the rule: Froissart’s +<i>Meliador</i> shows plainly enough that the old type of +romance was done. It is to the credit of Gower that +although he wrote in French a very long dull moralizing +poem, he still in English kept in the main to narrative. +It may have been old-fashioned, but it was a success.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_167">[167]</div> +<p>Gower should always be remembered along with +Chaucer; he is what Chaucer might have been without +genius and without his Italian reading, but with his +critical tact, and much of his skill in verse and diction. +The <i>Confessio Amantis</i> is monotonous, but it is not +dull. Much of it at a time is wearisome, but as it is +composed of a number of separate stories, it can be +read in bits, and ought to be so read. Taken one at +a time the clear bright little passages come out with a +meaning and a charm that may be lost when the book +is read too perseveringly.</p> +<p>The <i>Confessio Amantis</i> is one of the medieval works +in which a number of different conventions are used +together. In its design it resembles the <i>Romance of +the Rose</i>; and like the <i>Romance of the Rose</i> it belongs +to the pattern of Boethius; it is in the form of a +conversation between the poet and a divine interpreter. +As a collection of stories, all held together in one frame, +it follows the example set by <i>The Book of the Seven Wise +Masters</i>. Like the <i>Romance of the Rose</i> again it is an +encyclopaedia of the art of love. Very fortunately, +in some of the incidental passages it gets away from +conventions and authorities, and enlarges in a modern +good-tempered fashion on the vanities of the current +time. There is more wickedness in Gower than is +commonly suspected. Chaucer is not the only +ironical critic of his age; and in his satire Gower +appears to be, no less than Chaucer, independent of +French examples, using his wit about the things and +the humours which he could observe in the real life +of his own experience.</p> +<p>Chaucer’s life as a poet has by some been divided +<span class="pb" id="Page_168">[168]</span> +into three periods called French, Italian and English. +This is not a true description, any more than that which +would make of him a French poet merely, but it may +be useful to bring out the importance of Chaucer’s +Italian studies. Chaucer was French in his literary +education, to begin with, and in some respects he is +French to the end. His verse is always French in +pattern; he did not care for the English alliterative +verse; he probably like the English romance stanza +better than he pretended, but he uses it only in the +burlesque of <i>Sir Thopas</i>. In spite of his admiration +for the Italian poets, he never imitates their verse, +except in one short passage where he copies the <i>terza +rima</i> of Dante. He is a great reader of Italian poems +in the octave stanza, but he never uses that stanza; +it was left for the Elizabethans. He translates a sonnet +by Petrarch, but he does not follow the sonnet form. +The strength and constancy of his devotion to French +poetry is shown in the Prologue to the <i>Legend of Good +Women</i>. The <i>Legend</i> was written just before the +<i>Canterbury Tales</i>; that is to say, after what has been +called the Italian period. But the ideas in the Prologue +to the <i>Legend</i> are largely the ideas of the <i>Roman +de la Rose</i>. As for the so-called English period, in +which Chaucer is supposed to come to himself, to +escape from his tutors, to deal immediately in his own +way with the reality of English life, it is true that the +<i>Canterbury Tales</i>, especially in the Prologue and the +interludes and the comic stories, are full of observation +and original and fresh descriptive work. But they are +not better in this respect than <i>Troilus and Criseyde</i>, +which is the chief thing in Chaucer’s Italian period.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_169">[169]</div> +<p>The importance of Chaucer’s Italian reading is +beyond doubt. But it does not displace the French +masters in his affection. It adds something new to +Chaucer’s mind; it does not change his mind with +regard to the things which he had learned to value in +French poetry.</p> +<p>When it is said that an English period came to +succeed the Italian in Chaucer’s life, the real meaning +of this is that Chaucer was all the time working for +independence, and that, as he goes on, his original +genius strengthens and he takes more and more of +real life into his view. But there is no one period in +which he casts off his foreign masters and strikes out +absolutely for himself. Some of his greatest imaginative +work, and the most original, is done in his adaptation +of the story of Troilus from an Italian poem of +Boccaccio.</p> +<p>Chaucer represents a number of common medieval +tastes, and many of these had to be kept under control +in his poetry. One can see him again and again +tempted to indulge himself, and sometimes yielding, +but generally securing his freedom and lifting his +verse above the ordinary traditional ways. He has +the educational bent very strongly. That is shown in +his prose works. He is interested in popular philosophy +and popular science; he translates ‘Boece’, +the Consolation of Philosophy, and compiles the +Treatise on the Astrolabe for ‘little Lewis my son’. +The tale of <i>Melibeus</i> which Chaucer tells in his own +person among the Canterbury pilgrims is a translation +of a moral work which had an extraordinary reputation +not very easy to understand or appreciate now +<span class="pb" id="Page_170">[170]</span> +Chaucer took it up no doubt because it had been +recommended by authors of good standing: he translates +it from the French version by Jean de Meung. +The <i>Parson’s Tale</i> is an adaptation from the French, +and represents the common form of good sermon +literature. Chaucer thus shared the tastes and the +aptitudes of the good ordinary man of letters. He was +under no compulsion to do hack work; he wrote those +things because he was fond of study and teaching, like +the Clerk of Oxford in the <i>Canterbury Tales</i>. The +learning shown in his poems is not pretence; it came +into his poems because he had it in his mind. How +his wit could play with his science is shown in the +<i>Hous of Fame</i>, where the eagle is allowed to give a +popular lecture on acoustics, but is prevented from +going on to astronomy. Chaucer dissembles his +interest in that subject because he knows that popular +science ought not to interfere too much with the +proper business of poetry; he also, being a humorist, +sees the comic aspect of his own didactic tastes; he +sees the comic opposition between the teacher anxious +to go on explaining and the listener not so ready to +take in more. There is another passage, in <i>Troilus</i>, +where good literary advice is given (rather in the style +of Polonius) against irrelevant scientific illustrations. +In a love-letter you must not allow your work for the +schools to appear too obviously—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Ne jompre eek no discordant thing y-fere,</p> +<p class="t0">As thus, to usen termes of physik.</p> +</div> +<p>This may be fairly interpreted as Chaucer talking to +himself. He knew that he was inclined to this sort of +<span class="pb" id="Page_171">[171]</span> +irrelevance and very apt to drag in ‘termes of physik’, +fragments of natural philosophy, where they were out +of place.</p> +<p>This was one of the things, one of the common +medieval temptations, from which he had to escape +if he was to be a master in the art of poetry. How +real the danger was can be seen in the works of some +of the Chaucerians, e.g. in Henryson’s <i>Orpheus</i>, and +in Gawain Douglas’s <i>Palace of Honour</i>.</p> +<p>Boethius is a teacher of a different sort from +Melibeus, and the poet need not be afraid of him. +Boethius, the master of Dante, the disciple of Plato, +is one of the medieval authors who are not disqualified +in any century; with him Chaucer does not require +to be on his guard. The <i>Consolation of Philosophy</i> may +help the poet even in the highest reach of his imagination; +so Boethius is remembered by Chaucer, as he is +by Dante, when he has to deal solemnly with the +condition of men on earth. This is not one of the +common medieval vanities from which Chaucer has +to escape.</p> +<p>Far more dangerous and more attractive than any +pedantry of the schools was the traditional convention +of the allegorical poets, the <i>Rose</i> and all the attendants +of the <i>Rose</i>. This was a danger that Chaucer could +not avoid; indeed it was his chief poetical task, at +first, to enter this dreamland and to come out of it +with the spoils of the garden, which could not be won +except by a dreamer and by full subjection to all the +enchantments of the place. It was part of Chaucer’s +poetic vocation to comprehend and to make his own +the whole spirit and language of the <i>Roman de la Rose</i> +<span class="pb" id="Page_172">[172]</span> +and also of the French poets who had followed, in +the century between. The <i>Complaint to Pity</i> shows +how he succeeded in this; also the <i>Complaint of Mars</i> +and the poem called the <i>Complaint of Venus</i>, which +is a translation from Oton de Granson, ‘the floure of +hem that maken in France’. Chaucer had to do this, +and then he had to escape. This sort of fancy work, +a kind of musical sentiment with a mythology of +personified abstract qualities, is the least substantial +of all things—thought and argument, imagery and +utterance, all are of the finest and most impalpable.</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Thus am I slayn sith that Pité is deed:</p> +<p class="t0">Allas the day! that ever hit shulde falle!</p> +<p class="t0">What maner man dar now holde up his heed?</p> +<p class="t0">To whom shall any sorwful herte calle,</p> +<p class="t0">Now Crueltee hath cast to sleen us alle</p> +<p class="t0">In ydel hope, folk redelees of peyne?</p> +<p class="t0">Sith she is deed, to whom shul we compleyne</p> +</div> +<p>If this sort of verse had not been written, English +poetry would have missed one of the graces of medieval +art—a grace which at this day it is easy to despise. It +is not despicable, but neither is it the kind of beauty +with which a strong imagination can be content, or +indeed any mind whatsoever, apart from such a tradition +as that of the old ‘courtly makers’. And it is +worth remembering that not every one of the courtly +makers restricted himself to this thin, fine abstract +melody. Eustache Deschamps, for example, amused +himself with humorous verse as well; and for Froissart +his ballades and virelais were only a game, an occasional +relief from the memoirs in which he was telling the +story of his time. Chaucer in fact did very little in the +<span class="pb" id="Page_173">[173]</span> +French style of abstract sentiment. The longest of +his early poems, <i>The Book of the Duchess</i>, has much of +this quality in it, but this does not make the poem. +<i>The Book of the Duchess</i> is not abstract. It uses the +traditional manner—dream, mythology, and all—but +it has other substance in it, and that is the character +of the Duchess Blanche herself, and the grief for her +death. Chaucer is here dealing with real life, and the +conventional aids to poetry are left behind.</p> +<p>How necessary it was to get beyond this French +school is shown by the later history of the French +school itself. There was no one like Chaucer in +France; except perhaps Froissart, who certainly had +plenty of real life in his memoirs. But Froissart’s +Chronicles were in prose, and did nothing to cure the +inanition of French poetry, which went on getting +worse and worse, so that even a poetic genius like +Villon suffered from it, having no examples to guide +him except the thin ballades and rondeaux on the +hackneyed themes. R. L. Stevenson’s account of +Charles d’Orleans and his poetry will show well +enough what sort of work it was which was abandoned +by Chaucer, and which in the century after Chaucer +was still the most favoured kind in France.</p> +<p>It should not be forgotten that Chaucer, though he +went far beyond such poetry as that of his French +masters and of his own <i>Complaint to Pity</i>, never +turned against it. He escaped out of the allegorical +garden of the Rose, but with no resentment or ingratitude. +He never depreciates the old school. He +must have criticized it—to find it unsatisfying is to +criticize it, implicitly at any rate; but he never uses +<span class="pb" id="Page_174">[174]</span> +a word of blame or a sentence of parody. In his later +writings he takes up the devices of the Rose again; +not only in the Prologue to the <i>Legend of Good Women</i>, +but also, though less obviously, in the <i>Squire’s Tale</i>, +where the sentiment is quite in harmony with the old +French mode.</p> +<p>Chaucer wrote no such essay on poetry as Dante <i>de +Vulgari Eloquentia</i>; not even such a practical handbook +of versification as was written by his friend +Eustache Deschamps. But his writings, like Shakespeare’s, +have many passages referring to the literary +art—the processes of the workshop—and a comparison +of his poems with the originals which suggested +them will often bring out what was consciously in his +mind as he reflected on his work—as he calculated and +altered, to suit the purpose which he had before him.</p> +<p>Chaucer is one of the greatest of literary artists, and +one of the finest; so it is peculiarly interesting to +make out what he thought of different poetical kinds +and forms which came in his way through his reading +or his own practice. For this object—i.e. to bring out +Chaucer’s aims and the way in which he criticized his +own poetry—the most valuable evidence is given by +the poem of <i>Anelida and the False Arcite</i>. This is not +only an unfinished poem—Chaucer left many things +unfinished—it is a poem which changes its purpose +as it goes on, which is written under two different +and discordant influences, and which could not possibly +be made harmonious without total reconstruction from +the beginning. It was written after Chaucer had gone +some way in his reading of the Italian poets, and the +opening part is copied from the <i>Teseide</i> of Boccaccio, +<span class="pb" id="Page_175">[175]</span> +which is also the original of the <i>Knight’s Tale</i>. Now +it was principally through Boccaccio’s example that +Chaucer learned how to break away from the French +school. Yet here in this poem of <i>Anelida</i>, starting +with imitation of Boccaccio, Chaucer goes back to the +French manner, and works out a theme of the French +school—and then drops it, in the middle of a sentence. +He was distracted at that time, it is clear, between two +opposite kinds of poetry. His <i>Anelida</i> is experimental +work; in it we can see how he was changing his mind, +and what difficulty he had with the new problems +that were offered to him in his Italian books. He +found in Italian a stronger kind of narrative than he +had been accustomed to, outside of the Latin poets; +a new kind of ambition, an attempt to rival the classical +authors in a modern language. The <i>Teseide</i> (the +<i>Theseid</i>) of Boccaccio is a modern epic poem in twelve +books, meant by its author to be strong and solid and +full; Chaucer in <i>Anelida</i> begins to translate and adapt +this heroic poem—and then he turns away from the +wars of Theseus to a story of disappointed love; +further, he leaves the narrative style and composes for +Anelida the most elaborate of all his lyric poems, the +most extreme contrast to the heavy epic manner in +which his poem is begun. The lyrical complaint of +Anelida is the perfection of everything that had been +tried in the French school—a fine unsubstantial beauty +so thin and clear that it is hardly comprehensible at +first, and never in agreement with the forcible narrative +verse at the beginning of the poem.</p> +<p>Chaucer here has been caught escaping from the +Garden of the Rose; he has heard outside the stronger +<span class="pb" id="Page_176">[176]</span> +music of the new Italian epic poetry, but the old +devotion is for the time too strong, and he falls back. +His return is not exactly failure, because the complaint +of Anelida, which is in many respects old-fashioned, a +kind of poetry very near exhaustion, is also one of the +most elaborate things ever composed by Chaucer, such +a proof of his skill in verse as he never gives elsewhere.</p> +<p>The <i>Teseide</i> kept him from sleeping, and his later +progress cannot be understood apart from this epic of +Boccaccio. When Chaucer read the Italian poets, he +found them working with a new conception of the art +of poetry, and particularly a fresh comprehension of +the Ancients. The classical Renaissance has begun.</p> +<p>The influence of the Latin poets had been strong all +through the Middle Ages. In its lowest degree it +helped the medieval poets to find matter for their +stories; the French <i>Roman d’Eneas</i> is the work that +shows this best, because it is a version of the greatest +Latin poem, and can be easily compared with its +original, so as to find out what is understood and what +is missed or travestied; how far the scope of the <i>Aeneid</i> +is different from the old French order of romance.</p> +<p>But neither here nor generally elsewhere is the debt +limited to the matter of the stories. The sentiment, +the pathos, the eloquence of medieval French poetry +is derived from Virgil and Ovid. The Latin poets are +the originals of medieval romance, far beyond what +can be reckoned by any comparison of plots and +incidents. And the medieval poets in their turn are +the ancestors of the Renaissance and show the way to +modern poetry.</p> +<p>But the old French poets, though they did much for +<span class="pb" id="Page_177">[177]</span> +the classical education of Europe, were inattentive to +many things in classical poetry which the Italians +were the first to understand, even before the revival of +Greek, and which they appropriated for modern verse +in time for Chaucer to be interested in what they were +doing. Shortly, they understood what was meant by +composition, proportion, the narrative unities; they +appreciated the style of Latin poetry as the French did +not; in poetical ornament they learned from Virgil +something more spiritual and more imaginative than +the French had known, and for which the term +‘ornament’ is hardly good enough; it is found in the +similes of Dante, and after him in Chaucer.</p> +<p>This is one of the most difficult and one of the most +interesting parts of literary history—the culmination +and the end of the Middle Ages, in which the principles +of medieval poetry are partly justified and partly +refuted. As seen in the work of Chaucer, the effect +of this new age and the Italian poetry was partly +the stronger and richer poetical language and (an +obvious sign of this strengthening) the similes such as +were used by the classical authors. But far more than +this, a change was made in the whole manner of devising +and shaping a story. This change was suggested +by the Italian poets; it fell in with the change in +Chaucer’s own mind and with the independent growth +of his strength. What he learned as a critic from +study he used as an artist at the time when his imaginative +power was quickest and most fertile. Yet before +his journey to Italy, and apparently before he had learnt +any Italian, he had already gone some way to meet the +new poetry, without knowing it.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_178">[178]</div> +<p>His earlier narrative poems, afterwards used for the +tales of the Second Nun, the Clerk of Oxford and the +Man of Law, have at least one quality in which they +agree both with the Italians and with Chaucer’s +maturest work. The verse is stately, strong, <i>heroic</i> in +more senses than one. Chaucer’s employment of the +ten-syllable line in the seven-line stanza for narrative +was his own discovery. The decasyllabic line was an +old measure; so was the seven-line stanza, both in +Provençal and French. But the stanza had been +generally restricted to lyric poetry, as in Chaucer’s +<i>Complaint to Pity</i>. It was a favourite stanza for +ballades. French poetry discouraged the stanza in +narrative verse; the common form for narrative of all +sorts, and for preaching and satire as well, was the +short couplet—the verse of the <i>Roman de Troie</i>, the +<i>Roman de Renart</i>, the <i>Roman de la Rose</i>, the verse of +the <i>Book of the Duchess</i> and the <i>Hous of Fame</i>. When +Chaucer used the longer verse in his <i>Life of St. Cecilia</i> +and the other earlier tales, it is probable that he was +following a common English opinion and taste, which +tended against the universal dominion of the short +couplet. ‘Short verse’ was never put out of use or +favour, never insulted or condemned. But the English +seem to have felt that it was not enough; they wanted +more varieties. They had the alliterative verse, and, +again, the use of the <i>rime couée</i>—<i>Sir Thopas</i> verse—was +certainly due to a wish for variety. The long +verse of Robert of Gloucester was another possibility, +frequently taken. After Chaucer’s time, and seemingly +independent of him, there were, in the fifteenth +century, still more varieties in use among the minstrels. +<span class="pb" id="Page_179">[179]</span> +There was a general feeling among poets of all degrees +that the short couplet (with no disrespect to it) was +not the only and was not the most powerful of instruments. +The technical originality of Chaucer was, +first, that he learned the secret of the ten-syllable line, +and later that he used it for regular narrative and made +it the proper heroic verse in English. The most +remarkable thing in this discovery is that Chaucer +began to conform to the Italian rule before he knew +anything about it. Not only are his single lines much +nearer to the Italian rhythm than the French. This is +curious, but it is not exceptional; it is what happens +generally when the French decasyllable is imitated in +one of the Teutonic languages, and Gower, who knew +no Italian, or at any rate shows no sign of attending to +Italian poetry, writes his occasional decasyllabic lines +in the same way as Chaucer. But besides this mode +of the single verse Chaucer agrees with the Italian +practice in using stanzas for long narrative poetry; +here he seems to have been led instinctively, or at +least without any conscious imitation, to agree with +the poet whom he was to follow still further, when once +Boccaccio came in sight. This coincidence of taste +in metre was one thing that must have struck Chaucer +as soon as he opened an Italian book. Dante and +Boccaccio used the same type of line as Chaucer had +taken for many poems before ever he learned Italian; +while the octave stanzas of Boccaccio’s epic—the +common verse, before that, of the Italian minstrels +in their romances—must have seemed to Chaucer +remarkably like his own stanza in the <i>Life of St. +Cecilia</i> or the story of <i>Constance</i>.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_180">[180]</div> +<p>This explains how it was that Chaucer, with all his +admiration for Italian poetry, never, except in one +small instance, tries to copy any Italian verse. He did +not copy the Italian line because he had the same line +already from another source; and he did not copy +Boccaccio’s octave stanza because he had already +another stanza quite as good, if not better, in the same +kind. One need not consider long, what is also very +very probable, that Chaucer felt the danger of too +great attraction to those wonderful new models; he +would learn what he could (so he seems to have thought +to himself), but he would not give up what he had +already gained without them. Possibly the odd change +of key, the relapse from Italian to French style in +<i>Anelida</i>, might be explained as Chaucer’s reaction +against the too overpowering influence of the new +Italian school. ‘Here is this brand-new epic starting +out to conquer all the world; no question but that +it is triumphant, glorious, successful; and we cannot +escape; but before we join in the procession, and it is +too late to draw back, suppose we draw back <i>now</i>—into +the old garden—to try once more what may be +made of the old French kind of music’. So possibly +we might translate into ruder terms what seems to be +the artistic movement in this remarkable failure by +Chaucer.</p> +<p>Chaucer spent a long time thinking over the Italian +poetry which he had learned, and he made different +attempts to turn it to profit in English before he +succeeded. One of his first complete poems after +his Italian studies had begun is as significant as +<i>Anelida</i> both with respect to the difficulties that he +<span class="pb" id="Page_181">[181]</span> +found and also to the enduring influence of the French +school. In the <i>Parliament of Birds</i>, his style as far +as it can be tested in single passages seems to have +learned everything there was to be learned—</p> +<div class="verse"> +<p class="t0">Through me men goon into the blisful place</p> +<p class="t0">Of hertès hele and dedly woundès cure;</p> +<p class="t0">Through me men goon unto the welle of Grace,</p> +<p class="t0">There grene and lusty May shal ever endure;</p> +<p class="t0">This is the way to all good aventure;</p> +<p class="t0">Be glad, thou reader, and thy sorrow offcaste!</p> +<p class="t0">All open am I; passe in and hy thee faste!</p> +</div> +<p>And, as for composition, the poem carries out to the +full what the author intends; the digressions and the +slackness that are felt to detract from the <i>Book of the +Duchess</i> have been avoided; the poem expresses the +mind of Chaucer, both through the music of its solemn +verse, and through the comic dialogue of the birds in +their assembly. But this accomplished piece of work, +with all its reminiscences of Dante and Boccaccio, is +old French in its scheme; it is another of the allegorical +dreams, and the device of the Parliament of Birds is in +French older than the <i>Romaunt of the Rose</i>.</p> +<p>Chaucer is still, apparently, holding back; practising +on the ground familiar to him, and gradually working +into his poetry all that he can readily manage out of his +Italian books. In <i>Anelida</i> Italian and French are +separate and discordant; in the <i>Parliament of Birds</i> +there is a harmony, but as yet Chaucer has not matched +himself thoroughly against Boccaccio. When he +does so, in <i>Troilus</i> and in the <i>Knight’s Tale</i>, it will be +found that he is something more than a translator, +<span class="pb" id="Page_182">[182]</span> +and more than an adapter of minor and separable +passages.</p> +<p>The <i>Teseide</i> of Boccaccio is at last after many +attempts—how many, it is impossible to say—rendered +into English by Chaucer, not in a translation, but with +a thorough recasting of the whole story. <i>Troilus and +Criseyde</i> is taken from another poem by Boccaccio. +<i>Troilus</i> and the <i>Knight’s Tale</i> are without rivals in +English for the critical keenness which has gone into +them. Shakespeare has the same skill in dealing with +his materials, in choosing and rejecting, but Shakespeare +was never matched, as Chaucer was in these works, +against an author of his own class, an author, too, who +had all the advantages of long training. The interest—the +historical interest at any rate—of Chaucer’s dealings +with Boccaccio is that it was an encounter between an +Englishman whose education had been chiefly French, +and an Italian who had begun upon the ways of the +new learning. To put it bluntly, it was the Middle +Ages against the Renaissance; and the Englishman +won on the Italian ground and under the Italian rules. +Chaucer judged more truly than Boccaccio what the +story of Palamon and Arcite was worth; the story of +Troilus took shape in his imagination with incomparably +more strength and substance. In both cases +he takes what he thinks fit; he learned from Boccaccio, +or perhaps it would be truer to say he found out for +himself in reading Boccaccio what was the value of +right proportion in narrative. He refused altogether +to be led away as Boccaccio was by the formal classical +ideal of epic poetry—the ‘receipt to make an epic +poem’ which prescribed as necessary all the things +<span class="pb" id="Page_183">[183]</span> +employed in the construction of the <i>Aeneid</i>. Boccaccio +is the first modern author who writes an epic in twelve +books; and one of his books is taken up with funeral +games, because Virgil in the <i>Aeneid</i> had imitated +the funeral games in Homer. In the time of Pope +this was still a respectable tradition. Chaucer is not +tempted; he keeps to what is essential, and in the +proportions of his story and his conception of the +narrative unities he is saner than all the Renaissance.</p> +<p>One of the finest passages in English criticism of +poetry is Dryden’s estimate of Chaucer in the Preface +to the <i>Fables</i>. Chaucer is taken by Dryden, in the +year 1700, as an example of that sincerity and truth to +Nature which makes the essence of classical poetry. +In this classical quality, Dryden thinks that Ovid is far +inferior to Chaucer. Dryden makes allowance for +Chaucer’s old-fashioned language, and he did not fully +understand the beauty of Chaucer’s verse, but still +he judges him as a modern writer with respect to his +imagination; to no modern writer does he give higher +praise than to Chaucer.</p> +<p>This truth to Nature, in virtue of which Chaucer +is a classic, will be found to be limited in some of his +works by conventions which are not always easy to +understand. Among these should not be reckoned +the dream allegory. For though it may appear strange +at first that Chaucer should have gone back to this +in so late a work as the Prologue to the <i>Legend of Good +Women</i>, yet it does not prevent him from speaking his +mind either in earlier or later poems. In the <i>Book of +the Duchess</i>, the <i>Parliament of Birds</i>, the Prologue to the +<i>Legend</i>, one feels that Chaucer is dealing with life, +<span class="pb" id="Page_184">[184]</span> +and saying what he really thinks, in spite of the conventions. +The <i>Hous of Fame</i>, which is a dream poem, +might almost have been written for a wager, to show +that he could bring in everything traditional, everything +most common in the old artificial poetry, and +yet be original and fresh through it all. But there are +some stories—the <i>Clerk’s Tale</i>, and the <i>Franklin’s Tale</i>—in +which he uses conventions of another sort and is +partially disabled by them. These are stories of a +kind much favoured in the Middle Ages, turning each +upon one single obligation which, for the time, is +regarded as if it were the only rule of conduct. The +patience of Griselda is absolute; nothing must be +allowed to interfere with it, and there is no other moral +in the story. It is one of the frequent medieval +examples in which the author can only think of one +thing at a time. On working out this theme, Chaucer +is really tried as severely as his heroine, and his patience +is more extraordinary, because if there is anything +certain about him it is that his mind is never satisfied +with any one single aspect of any matter. Yet here +he carries the story through to the end, though when +it is finished he writes an epilogue which is a criticism +on the strained morality of the piece. The plot of the +<i>Franklin’s Tale</i> is another of the favourite medieval +type, where the ‘point of honour’, the obligation of a +vow, is treated in the same uncompromising way; +Chaucer is here confined to a problem under strict +rules, a drama of difficulties without character.</p> +<p>In the <i>Legend of Good Women</i> he is limited in a +different way, and not so severely. He has to tell +‘the Saints’ Lives of Cupid’—the Legends of the +<span class="pb" id="Page_185">[185]</span> +Heroines who have been martyrs for love; and as in +the Legend of the Saints of the Church, the same +motives are repeated, the trials of loyalty, the grief and +pity. The Legend was left unfinished, apparently +because Chaucer was tired. Yet it is not certain that +he repented of his plan, or that the plan was wrong. +There may possibly have been in this work something +of the formalism which is common in Renaissance art, +the ambition to build up a structure in many compartments, +each compartment resembling all the others in +the character of the subject and its general lines. But +the stories are distinct, and all are beautiful—the +legends of Cleopatra Queen and Martyr, of Thisbe +and Ariadne, and the rest. Another poem which may +be compared with the <i>Legend of Good Women</i> is the +<i>Monk’s Tale</i>—an early work to which Chaucer made +later additions—his book of the <i>Falls of Princes</i>. The +Canterbury pilgrims find it too depressing, and in +their criticism of the Monk’s tragedies Chaucer may +possibly have been thinking also of his unfinished +<i>Legend of Good Women</i>. But what has been said of +the Legend may be repeated about the <i>Monk’s Tale</i>; +there is the same kind of pathos in all the chapters, +but they are all varied. One of the tragedies is the +most considerable thing which Chaucer took from +Dante; the story of Ugolino in the <i>Inferno</i>, ‘Hugelyn +Erle of Pise’.</p> +<p>It is uncertain whether Chaucer knew the <i>Decameron</i> +of Boccaccio, but the art of his comic stories is very +like that of the Italian, to whom he owed so much in +other ways. It is the art of comic imagination, using +a perfect style which does not need to be compared +<span class="pb" id="Page_186">[186]</span> +with the unsophisticated old French ribaldry of the +<i>fabliaux</i> to be appreciated, though a comparison of that +sort will show how far the Middle Ages had been left +behind by Boccaccio and Chaucer. Among the interludes +in the <i>Canterbury Tales</i> there are two especially, +the monologues of the Wife of Bath and the Pardoner, +where Chaucer has discovered one of the most successful +forms of comic poetry, and the Canon’s Yeoman’s +prologue may be reckoned as a third along with them, +though there, and also in the <i>Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale</i>, +the humour is of a peculiar sort, with less character +in it, and more satire—like the curious learned satire +of which Ben Jonson was fond. It is remarkable that +the tales told by the Wife of Bath and the Pardoner +are both in a different tone from their discourses about +themselves.</p> +<p>Without <i>Troilus and Criseyde</i> the works of Chaucer +would be an immense variety—romance and sentiment, +humour and observation, expressed in poetical +language that has never been equalled for truth and +liveliness. But it is only in <i>Troilus</i> that Chaucer uses +his full powers together in harmony. All the world, +it might be said, is reflected in the various poems of +Chaucer; <i>Troilus</i> is the one poem which brings it all +into a single picture. In the history of English poetry +it is the close of the Middle Ages.</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_187">[187]</div> +<h2 id="c10"><span class="small">NOTE ON BOOKS</span></h2> +<p>For the language: Anglo-Saxon can be learned in Sweet’s +<i>Primer</i> and <i>Reader</i> (Clarendon Press). Sweet’s <i>First Middle +English Primer</i> gives extracts from the <i>Ancren Riwle</i> and the +<i>Ormulum</i>, with separate grammars for the two dialects. But +it is generally most convenient to learn the language of +Chaucer before attempting the earlier books. Morris and +Skeat’s <i>Specimens of Early English</i> (two volumes, Clarendon +Press) range from the end of the English Chronicle (1153) +to Chaucer; valuable for literary history as well as philology. +The nature of the language is explained in Henry Bradley’s +<i>Making of English</i> (Clarendon Press), and in Wyld’s <i>Study of +the Mother Tongue</i> (Murray).</p> +<p>The following books should be noted: Stopford Brooke, +<i>Early English Literature</i> (Macmillan); Schofield, <i>English +Literature from the Norman Conquest to Chaucer</i> (Macmillan); +Jusserand, <i>Literary History of the English People</i> (Fisher +Unwin); Chambers’ <i>Cyclopædia of English Literature</i>, I; +Ten Brink, <i>Early English Literature</i> (Bell); Saintsbury, +<i>History of English Prosody</i>, I (Macmillan); Courthope, +<i>History of English Poetry</i>, I and II (Macmillan).</p> +<p>Full bibliographies are provided in the <i>Cambridge History +of English Literature</i>.</p> +<p>The bearings of early French upon English poetry are +illustrated in Saintsbury’s <i>Flourishing of Romance and Rise +of Allegory</i> (Blackwood). Much of the common medieval +tendencies may be learned from the earlier part of Robertson’s +<i>German Literature</i> (Blackwood), and Gaspary’s <i>Italian +Literature</i>, translated by Oelsner (Bell). Some topics have +been already discussed by the present author in other works: +<i>Epic and Romance</i> (Macmillan); <i>The Dark Ages</i> (Blackwood); +<i>Essays on Medieval Literature</i> (Macmillan).</p> +<p>The history of medieval drama in England, for which +there was no room in this book, is clearly given in Pollard’s +<i>Miracle Plays, Moralities and Interludes</i> (Clarendon Press).</p> +<div class="pb" id="Page_188">[188]</div> +<h2 id="c11"><span class="small">SUPPLEMENTARY NOTE</span></h2> +<p class="center">By R. W. <span class="sc">Chambers</span></p> +<p><i>Many years have passed since the publication of Ker’s +volume in the</i> Home University Library, <i>yet there is hardly +a paragraph in it which demands any serious addition or +alteration. It is a classic of English criticism, and any attempt +to alter it, or ‘bring it up to date’, either now or in future +years, would be futile</i>.</p> +<p><i>Ker deliberately refused to add an elaborate bibliography. +But his</i> Note on Books <i>reminds us how, though his own work +remains unimpaired, the whole field of study has been altered, +largely as a result of that work</i>.</p> +<p class="tb">Sweet’s books mark an epoch in Anglo-Saxon study, and +have not lost their practical value: to his <i>Primer</i> and <i>Reader</i> +(Clarendon Press) must be added the <i>Anglo-Saxon Reader</i> +of A. J. Wyatt (Cambridge University Press, 1919, etc.). +The earlier portion of Morris’s <i>Specimens of Early English</i>, +Part I (1150-1300), has been replaced by Joseph Hall’s +<i>Selections from Early Middle English</i>, 1130-1250, 2 vols. +(Clarendon Press, 1920); Part II, <i>Specimens</i> (1298-1393), +edited by Morris and Skeat, has been replaced by <i>Fourteenth +Century Verse and Prose</i>, edited by Kenneth Sisam (Clarendon +Press, 1921). To Wyld’s <i>Study of the Mother Tongue</i> must +now be added his <i>History of Modern Colloquial English</i> and +Otto Jespersen’s <i>Growth and Structure of the English Language</i> +(Blackwell, 1938).</p> +<p><i>The Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records</i>, edited by G. P. Krapp +and others (Columbia Univ. Press and Routledge, 6 vols, +1931, etc.), provide a corpus of Anglo-Saxon poetry.</p> +<p>It is impossible to review editions of, or monographs on, +individual poems or authors, but some work done on <i>Beowulf</i> +and Chaucer may be noted: editions of <i>Beowulf</i>, by Sedgefield +(Manchester Univ. Press, 1910, etc.), by Wyatt and Chambers +(Cambridge Univ. Press, 1914, etc.) and by Klaeber (Heath +& Co., 1922, etc.); R. W. Chambers, <i>Beowulf, an Introduction</i> +<span class="pb" id="Page_189">[189]</span> +(Cambridge Univ. Press, 1921, etc.), and W. W. Lawrence, +<i>Beowulf and Epic Tradition</i> (Harvard Univ. Press, 1928, etc.); +G. L. Kittredge, <i>Chaucer and his Poetry</i> (Harvard Univ. +Press, 1915); J. L. Lowes, <i>Geoffrey Chaucer</i> (Oxford Univ. +Press, 1934); F. N. Robinson, <i>The Complete Works of +Geoffrey Chaucer</i> (Oxford Univ. Press, 1933).</p> +<p>Fresh aspects of medieval literature are dealt with in +G. R. Owst’s <i>Preaching in Medieval England</i> (Cambridge +Univ. Press, 1926) and <i>Literature and the Pulpit in Medieval +England</i> (Cambridge Univ. Press, 1933); R. W. Chambers, +<i>The Continuity of English Prose</i> (Oxford Univ. Press, 1932); +C. S. Lewis, <i>Allegory of Love</i> (Clarendon Press, 1936); Mr. +Owst’s books serve to remind us that Ker’s work can still +be supplemented by minute study of fields which he, with +his vast range over the literatures of all Western Europe, +had of necessity to leave unexplored, when he closed his +little book with Chaucer. The two most startling new +discoveries in Medieval English Literature fall outside the +limits which Ker set himself; they are <i>The Book of Margery +Kempe</i>, edited in 1940 for the Early English Text Society by +Prof. S. B. Meech and Miss Hope Emily Allen, and the +Winchester manuscript of Malory’s <i>Morte Darthur</i>, upon +which Prof. Eugene Vinaver is now engaged.</p> +<p>The student will find particulars of the books he wants +by consulting the new bibliography of the <i>Cambridge History +of English Literature</i> or <i>A Manual of the Writings in Middle +English, 1050-1400</i>, by Prof. J. E. Wells (Yale and Oxford +Univ. Presses, 1916, with supplements).</p> +<h2 id="footnote">FOOTNOTES</h2> +<div class="fnblock"> +<div class="fndef"><sup><a id="fn_1" href="#fr_1">[1]</a></sup><div class="verse"> +<p class="t">The Cædmon MS. in Oxford.</p> +<p class="t">The Exeter Book.</p> +<p class="t">The Vercelli Book.</p> +<p class="t">The book containing the poems <i>Beowulf</i> and <i>Judith</i> in the Cotton Library at the British Museum.</p> +</div> +</div> +</div> +<div class="pb" id="Page_190">[190]</div> +<h2 id="c12"><span class="small">INDEX</span></h2> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Ælfric, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_42">42</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>, <a href="#Page_155">155</a>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></dt> +<dt>Alexander the Great, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a></dt> +<dt>Alfred, King, <a href="#Page_17">17</a>, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a></dt> +<dt><i>Amadace, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></dt> +<dt><i>Amadas et Ydoine</i>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a></dt> +<dt><i>Ancren Riwle</i>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a>-7</dt> +<dt>Andersen, Hans, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_128">128</a></dt> +<dt><i>Anelida and Arcite</i>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_180">180</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a></dt> +<dt><i>Apollonius of Tyre</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a></dt> +<dt>Arnold, Matthew, <a href="#Page_8">8</a></dt> +<dt>Arthur, King, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></dt> +<dt><i>Auchinleck MS.</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a></dt> +<dt><i>Ayenbite of Inwit</i>, <a href="#Page_150">150</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Ballads, <a href="#Page_116">116</a>-23</dt> +<dt>Barbour, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></dt> +<dt>Bede, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></dt> +<dt>Bentham on the Middle Ages, <a href="#Page_10">10</a></dt> +<dt><i>Beowulf</i>, <a href="#Page_23">23</a>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></dt> +<dt><i>Bestiary</i>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></dt> +<dt><i>Bevis of Southampton, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_25">25</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></dt> +<dt>Boccaccio, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></dt> +<dt>Boethius, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_41">41</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a></dt> +<dt><i>Book of the Duchess</i>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></dt> +<dt><i>Book of the Duchess Blanche</i>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a></dt> +<dt>Britain,’ ‘Matter of, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>-1, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a></dt> +<dt><i>Bruce</i>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></dt> +<dt>Bunyan, John, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a>, <a href="#Page_138">138</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>, <a href="#Page_145">145</a></dt> +<dt>Burne, Minstrel, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></dt> +<dt>Burns, Robert, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a></dt> +<dt>Byrhtnoth, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Cædmon, <a href="#Page_34">34</a>, <a href="#Page_35">35</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></dt> +<dt><i>Canon’s Yeoman’s Tale, The</i>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></dt> +<dt>Canute, his boat song, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></dt> +<dt><i>Canterbury Tales, The</i>, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></dt> +<dt><i>Carole, The</i>, <a href="#Page_61">61</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a></dt> +<dt><i>Chansons de Geste</i>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a></dt> +<dt>Charlemagne, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a></dt> +<dt>Chaucer, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_140">140</a>, <a href="#Page_141">141</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>-86</dt> +<dt><i>Chevelere Assigne</i>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></dt> +<dt>Chrestien de Troyes, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a>, <a href="#Page_81">81</a>, <a href="#Page_82">82</a>, <a href="#Page_85">85</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a></dt> +<dt>Chronicle, The English, <a href="#Page_41">41</a></dt> +<dt><i>Clerk’s Tale, The</i>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></dt> +<dt>Clopinel, Jean, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></dt> +<dt><i>Cockayne, Land of</i>, <a href="#Page_132">132</a></dt> +<dt><i>Complaint to Pity</i>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></dt> +<dt><i>Confessio Amantis</i>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></dt> +<dt>Courtly Poets, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a></dt> +<dt><i>Cuckoo Song</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a></dt> +<dt><i>Cursor Mundi, The</i>, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></dt> +<dt>Cynewulf, <a href="#Page_37">37</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Dante, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>, <a href="#Page_160">160</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_177">177</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></dt> +<dt><i>Deor’s Lament</i>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></dt> +<dt>Deschamps, Eustace, <a href="#Page_174">174</a></dt> +<dt class="pb" id="Page_191">[191]</dt> +<dt><i>Dream of the Rood, The</i>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></dt> +<dt>Dryden on Chaucer, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Emaré</i>, quoted, <a href="#Page_97">97</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Fabliaux</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a>-32</dt> +<dt><i>Faerie Queene, The</i>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a></dt> +<dt><i>Fall of the Angels, The</i>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></dt> +<dt>Faroese Ballads, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></dt> +<dt><i>Ferabras, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a></dt> +<dt><i>Finnesburgh, The Fight at</i>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></dt> +<dt><i>Floris and Blanchefleur</i>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></dt> +<dt>France,’ ‘The Matter of, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>-1, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></dt> +<dt><i>Franklin’s Tale, The</i>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></dt> +<dt>French Poetry, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_54">54</a>, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_70">70</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></dt> +<dt><i>Friars of Berwick</i>, <a href="#Page_130">130</a></dt> +<dt>Froissart, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Gawain, Sir, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></dt> +<dt><i>Gawain and the Green Knight</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_101">101</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a></dt> +<dt><i>Genesis</i>, Anglo-Saxon poem, <a href="#Page_35">35</a></dt> +<dt>Geoffrey of Monmouth, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a></dt> +<dt><i>Germania, The</i>, <a href="#Page_18">18</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></dt> +<dt>Giraldus Cambrensis, <a href="#Page_62">62</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a></dt> +<dt>Godric, St., <a href="#Page_107">107</a>, <a href="#Page_108">108</a>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></dt> +<dt>Gower, John, <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a>, <a href="#Page_134">134</a>, <a href="#Page_164">164</a>, <a href="#Page_165">165</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></dt> +<dt>Grimm, <a href="#Page_13">13</a>, <a href="#Page_129">129</a></dt> +<dt>Guillaume de Lorris, <a href="#Page_140">140</a></dt> +<dt><i>Guy of Warwick</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Hampole, Richard Rolle of, <a href="#Page_63">63</a>, <a href="#Page_162">162</a></dt> +<dt>Harleian MS., the, <a href="#Page_110">110</a>-3, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>,116</dt> +<dt><i>Havelock the Dane</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a></dt> +<dt>Henryson, Robert, <a href="#Page_125">125</a></dt> +<dt><i>Hous of Fame, The</i>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></dt> +<dt>Huchoun, <a href="#Page_106">106</a></dt> +<dt>Huon of Bordeaux, Sir, <a href="#Page_25">25</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Ipomedon, Romance of, <a href="#Page_76">76</a>, <a href="#Page_77">77</a>, <a href="#Page_78">78</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Kerry Recruit, The</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a></dt> +<dt><i>King Horn</i>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_89">89</a>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></dt> +<dt><i>Knight’s Tale, The</i>, <a href="#Page_175">175</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Lais</i>, Breton, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a></dt> +<dt><i>Launfal, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a></dt> +<dt>Layamon’s <i>Brut</i>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a>, <a href="#Page_154">154</a></dt> +<dt><i>Legend of Good Women, The</i>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_174">174</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a>, <a href="#Page_184">184</a></dt> +<dt>Lewes, Song on the Battle of, <a href="#Page_111">111</a></dt> +<dt><i>Libeaus, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_102">102</a></dt> +<dt><i>Luve Ron</i>, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></dt> +<dt>Lydgate, John, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></dt> +<dt>Lyndsay, Sir David, <a href="#Page_161">161</a></dt> +<dt>Lyric poetry, <a href="#Page_56">56</a>-63, <a href="#Page_107">107</a>-23</dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Maldon, Battle of, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a></dt> +<dt>Malmesbury, William of, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></dt> +<dt>Malory, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_88">88</a></dt> +<dt><i>Man in the Moon</i>, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></dt> +<dt>Map, Walter, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_87">87</a></dt> +<dt>Marie de France, <a href="#Page_83">83</a>, <a href="#Page_84">84</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a></dt> +<dt><i>Melibeus</i>, <a href="#Page_169">169</a></dt> +<dt>Michael of Kildare, Friar, <a href="#Page_113">113</a></dt> +<dt>Minnesingers, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></dt> +<dt>Minot, Laurence, <a href="#Page_95">95</a>, <a href="#Page_112">112</a></dt> +<dt><i>Monk’s Tale, The</i>, <a href="#Page_185">185</a></dt> +<dt><i>Moral Ode</i>, <a href="#Page_152">152</a>, <a href="#Page_153">153</a></dt> +<dt><i>Morte Arthure</i>, in alliterative verse, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_60">60</a>, <a href="#Page_86">86</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a>, <a href="#Page_106">106</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Nibelungenlied</i>, <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a></dt> +</dl> +<div class="pb" id="Page_192">[192]</div> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Odyssey, The</i>, <a href="#Page_24">24</a></dt> +<dt>Ohthere, <a href="#Page_19">19</a>, <a href="#Page_20">20</a></dt> +<dt><i>Orfeo, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_91">91</a>, <a href="#Page_92">92</a>, <a href="#Page_93">93</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_117">117</a></dt> +<dt><i>Ormulum</i>, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_151">151</a></dt> +<dt>Osborne, Dorothy, <a href="#Page_81">81</a></dt> +<dt>Ovid, read by French poets, <a href="#Page_72">72</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></dt> +<dt><i>Owl and the Nightingale, The</i>, <a href="#Page_64">64</a>, <a href="#Page_133">133</a>-6</dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Parliament of Birds</i>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_183">183</a></dt> +<dt><i>Pearl</i>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></dt> +<dt>Petrarch, <a href="#Page_49">49</a>, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a></dt> +<dt><i>Piers Plowman</i>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>, <a href="#Page_31">31</a>, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_143">143</a>, <a href="#Page_144">144</a>-9</dt> +<dt>Provençal poetry, <a href="#Page_67">67</a>, <a href="#Page_68">68</a>, <a href="#Page_69">69</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Reynard the Fox, <a href="#Page_124">124</a>-7</dt> +<dt><i>Riddles</i>, Anglo-Saxon, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></dt> +<dt><i>Rime of Sir Thopas</i>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></dt> +<dt>Robert of Brunne, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></dt> +<dt>Robert of Gloucester, <a href="#Page_158">158</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></dt> +<dt>Robin Hood, <a href="#Page_122">122</a></dt> +<dt>Roland, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a></dt> +<dt><i>Roman d’Eneas</i>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_176">176</a></dt> +<dt><i>Roman de Troie</i>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_52">52</a>, <a href="#Page_53">53</a>, <a href="#Page_71">71</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></dt> +<dt>Rome,’ ‘The Matter of, <a href="#Page_50">50</a>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a></dt> +<dt><i>Rood, Dream of the</i>, <a href="#Page_36">36</a>, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></dt> +<dt><i>Rose, Roman de la</i>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a>-43, <a href="#Page_163">163</a>, <a href="#Page_166">166</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a>, <a href="#Page_171">171</a>, <a href="#Page_173">173</a></dt> +<dt><i>Ruin, The</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></dt> +<dt>Ruskin, <a href="#Page_8">8</a>, <a href="#Page_9">9</a></dt> +<dt>Ruthwell verses, the, <a href="#Page_37">37</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>St. Cecilia, Life of</i>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></dt> +<dt><i>Saints, Lives of the</i>, <a href="#Page_43">43</a>, <a href="#Page_159">159</a></dt> +<dt><i>Salomon and Saturnus</i>, <a href="#Page_40">40</a></dt> +<dt>Saxo Grammaticus, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_66">66</a></dt> +<dt>Science, popular, <a href="#Page_160">160</a></dt> +<dt><i>Scottish Field, The</i>, <a href="#Page_30">30</a></dt> +<dt><i>Seafarer, The</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></dt> +<dt><i>Seven Wise Masters of Rome</i>, <a href="#Page_137">137</a>, <a href="#Page_167">167</a></dt> +<dt>Sidney, Sir Philip, <a href="#Page_72">72</a></dt> +<dt>Sigfred (Sigurd, or Siegfried the Volsung), <a href="#Page_21">21</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_27">27</a></dt> +<dt><i>Sirith, Dame</i>, <a href="#Page_127">127</a></dt> +<dt><i>Soul’s Ward</i>, <a href="#Page_157">157</a></dt> +<dt>Spenser, <a href="#Page_65">65</a>, <a href="#Page_73">73</a>, <a href="#Page_75">75</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_139">139</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Tacitus, <a href="#Page_18">18</a></dt> +<dt>Thomas de Hales, Friar, <a href="#Page_109">109</a></dt> +<dt><i>Thopas, Rime of Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_96">96</a>, <a href="#Page_97">97</a>, <a href="#Page_103">103</a>, <a href="#Page_104">104</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a></dt> +<dt><i>Tristrem, Sir</i>, <a href="#Page_90">90</a>, <a href="#Page_94">94</a>, <a href="#Page_99">99</a>, <a href="#Page_100">100</a>, <a href="#Page_120">120</a></dt> +<dt><i>Troilus and Criseyde</i>, <a href="#Page_51">51</a>, <a href="#Page_168">168</a>, <a href="#Page_170">170</a>, <a href="#Page_181">181</a>, <a href="#Page_182">182</a>, <a href="#Page_186">186</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Verse, Anglo-Saxon, <a href="#Page_30">30</a>-40</dt> +<dd>—later alliterative, <a href="#Page_45">45</a>, <a href="#Page_46">46</a></dd> +<dd>—rhyming, <a href="#Page_57">57</a>, <a href="#Page_58">58</a>, <a href="#Page_59">59</a>, <a href="#Page_79">79</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a>, <a href="#Page_115">115</a>, <a href="#Page_178">178</a>, <a href="#Page_179">179</a></dd> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt>Voltaire, <a href="#Page_49">49</a></dt> +<dt><i>Vox and the Wolf, The</i>, <a href="#Page_124">124</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Waldere</i>, Anglo-Saxon poem, <a href="#Page_16">16</a>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_29">29</a></dt> +<dt><i>Wanderer, The</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></dt> +<dt>Wayland Smith, <a href="#Page_34">34</a></dt> +<dt>Welsh poet writing English, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></dt> +<dt><i>Widsith</i>, <a href="#Page_22">22</a>, <a href="#Page_26">26</a>, <a href="#Page_33">33</a>, <a href="#Page_38">38</a>, <a href="#Page_119">119</a></dt> +<dt><i>Wife’s Complaint, The</i>, <a href="#Page_39">39</a></dt> +<dt>William of Malmesbury, <a href="#Page_28">28</a>, <a href="#Page_44">44</a></dt> +<dt><i>William of Palerne</i> (or <i>William and the Werwolf</i>), <a href="#Page_55">55</a>, <a href="#Page_105">105</a></dt> +<dt>William of Poitiers, <a href="#Page_47">47</a>, <a href="#Page_48">48</a>, <a href="#Page_114">114</a></dt> +<dt>Wycliffe, <a href="#Page_42">42</a></dt> +</dl> +<dl class="index"> +<dt><i>Ypotis</i>, <a href="#Page_98">98</a></dt> +<dt><i>Ywain and Gawain</i>, <a href="#Page_80">80</a></dt> +</dl> +<p class="tbcenter"><span class="smaller">PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN BY THE RIVERSIDE PRESS, EDINBURGH</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's Medieval English Literature, by William Paton Ker + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MEDIEVAL ENGLISH LITERATURE *** + +***** This file should be named 37342-h.htm or 37342-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/3/4/37342/ + +Produced by Barbara Watson, Stephen Hutcheson, Mark Akrigg +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Canada Team at 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