Volume I Part 9 (1/2)

thinking on his mistress--all her goodness and all her sweetness, and marvelling how heaven had formed her so exceeding fair,

And in so litel s.p.a.ce Made such a body and such a face; So great beauty, and such features, More than be in other creatures!

He falls into a dream as usual, and in the conclusion fancies himself present at the splendid festivities which took place at the marriage of his patron. The ladye of his affection is described as the beloved friend and companion of the bride. She is sent to grace the marriage ceremony with her presence; and Chaucer seizes the occasion to plead his suit for love and mercy. Then the Prince, the Queen, and all the rest of the Court, unite in conjuring the lady to have pity on his pain, and recompence his truth; she smiles, and with a pretty hesitation at last consents.

Sith his will and yours are one, Contrary in me shall be none.

They are married: the ladies and the knights wish them

----Heart's pleasance, In joy and health continuance!

The minstrels strike up,--the mult.i.tude send forth a shout; and in the midst of these joyous and triumphant sounds, and in the troubled exultation of his own heart, the sleeper bounds from his couch,--

Wening to have been at the feast,

and wakes to find it all a dream. He looks around for the gorgeous marriage-feast, and instead of the throng of knights and ladies gay, he sees nothing but the figures staring at him from the tapestry.

On the walls old portraiture Of hors.e.m.e.n, of hawks and hounds, And hurt deer all full of wounds; Some like torn, some hurt with shot; And as my dream was, _that_ was not![49]

He is plunged in grief to find himself thus reft of all his visionary joys, and prays to sleep again, and dream thus for aye, or at least ”a thousand years and ten.”

Lo, here my bliss!--lo, here my pain!

Which to my ladye I complain, And grace and mercy of her requere, To end my woe and all my fear; And me accept for her service-- That of my dream, the substance Might turnen, once, to cognisance.[50]

And the whole concludes with a very tender ”envoi,” expressly addressed to Philippa, although the poem was written in honour of his patrons, the Duke and d.u.c.h.ess. It has been well observed, that nothing can be more delicate and ingenious than the manner in which Chaucer has complimented his mistress, and ventured to shadow forth his own hopes and desires; confessing, at the same time, that they were built on air and ended in a dream: it may be added, that nothing can be more picturesque and beautiful, and vigorous, than some of the descriptive parts of this poem.

There is no reason to suppose that Philippa was absolutely deaf to the suit, or insensible to the fame and talents of her poet-lover. The delay which took place was from a cause honourable to her character and her heart; it arose from the declining health of her royal mistress, to whom she was most strongly and gratefully attached, and whose n.o.ble qualities deserved all her affection. It appears, from a comparison of dates, that Chaucer endured a suspense of more than nine years, during which he was a constant and fervent suitor for his ladye's grace. In this interval he translated the Romaunt of the Rose, the most famous poetical work of the middle ages. He addressed it to his mistress; and it is remarkable that a very elaborate and cynical satire on women, which occurs in the original French, is entirely omitted by Chaucer in his version; perhaps because it would have been a profanation to her who then ruled his heart: on other occasions he showed no such forbearance.

In the year 1369, Chaucer lost his amiable patroness, the d.u.c.h.ess Blanche; she died in her thirtieth year; he lamented her death in a long poem, ent.i.tled the ”Booke of the d.u.c.h.esse.” The truth of the story, the virtues, the charms, and the youth of the Princess, the grief of her husband, and the simplicity and beauty of many pa.s.sages, render this one of the most interesting and striking of all Chaucer's works.

The description of Blanche, in the ”Booke of the d.u.c.h.esse,” shows how trifling is the difference between a perfect female character in the thirteenth century, and what would now be considered as such. It is a very lively and animated picture. Her golden hair and laughing eyes; her skill in dancing, and her sweet carolling; her ”goodly and friendly speech;” her debonair looks; her gaiety, that was still ”so womanly;”

her indifference to general admiration; her countenance, ”that was so simple and so benigne,” contrasted with her high-spirited modesty and consciousness of lofty birth,

No living wight might do her shame, _She loved so well her own name_;

her disdain of that coquetterie which holds men ”in balance,”

By half-word or by countenance;

her wit, ”without malice, and ever set upon gladnesse;” and her goodness, which the Poet, with a nice discrimination of female virtue, distinguishes from mere ignorance of evil--for though in all her actions was perfect innocence, he adds,

I say not that she had no knowing What harm was; for, else, she Had known no good--so thinketh me;

are all beautifully and happily set forth, and are charms so appropriate to woman, as _woman_, that no change of fas.h.i.+on or lapse of ages can alter their effect. Time

”Can draw no lines there with his antique pen.”

But afterwards follows a trait peculiarly characteristic of the women of that chivalrous period. She was not, says Chaucer, one of those ladies who send their lovers off

To Walachie, To Prussia, and to Tartary, To Alexandria, ne Turkie;