companies him as far as possible, and is not shocked. On the contrary, he makes fun out of it. At the critical moment, with transparent hypocrisy, he shelters himself behind his "author." If you find the particulars free, he says, it is not my fault; “sc writen clerks in hir bokes old," and "I mote, aftir min auctour, telle..." Not only is he gay, but he jests throughout the whole tale. He sees clearly through the tricks of feminine modesty; he laughs at it archly, knowing full well what is behind; he seems to be saying, finger on lip: "Hush! let the grand words roll on, you will be edified presently." We are, in fact, edified; so is he, and in the nick of time he goes away, carrying the light: "For ought I can aspies, this light nor I ne serven here of nought." "Troilus," says uncle Pandarus, "if ye be wise, sweveneth not now, lest more folke arise." / Troilus takes care not to swoon; and Cressida at last, being alone with him, speaks wittily and with prudent delicacy; there is here an exceeding charm, no coarseness. Their happiness covers all, even voluptuousness, with a profusion and perfume of its heavenly roses. At most a slight spice of archness flavors it: "and gode thrift he had full oft.' Troilus holds his mistress in his arms: "with worse hap God let us never mete." The poet is almost as well pleased as they: for him, as for the men of his time, the sovereign good is love, not damped, but satisfied; they ended even by thinking such love a merit. The ladies declared in their judgments, that when people love, they can refuse nothing to the beloved. Love has become law; it is inscribed in a code; they combine it with religion; and there is a sacrament of love, in which the birds in their anthems sing matins.1 Chaucer curses with all his heart the covetous wretches, the business men, who treat it as a madness:

"As would God, tho wretches that despise
Service of love had eares al so long

As had Mida, ful of covetise, . . .

To teachen hem, that they been in the vice

And lovers not, although they hold hem nice,

...

God yeve hem mischaunce,

And every lover in his trouth avaunce.'

He clearly lacks severity, so rare in southern literature. The

The Court of Love, about 1353, et seq.
See also the Testament of Love.
2 Troilus and Cressida, vol. v. iii. pp. 44, 45.

Italians in the middle age made a virtue of joy; and you perceive that the world of chivalry, as conceived by the French, expanded morality so as to confound it with pleasure.

IV.

There are other characteristics still more gay. The true Gallic literature crops up; obscene tales, practical jokes on one's neighbor, not shrouded in the Ciceronian style of Boccaccio, but related lightly by a man in good humor;1 above all, active roguery, the trick of laughing at your neighbor's expense. Chaucer displays it better than Rutebeuf, and sometimes better than La Fontaine. He does not knock his men down; he pricks them as he passes, not from deep hatred or indignation, but through sheer nimbleness of disposition, and quick sense of the ridiculous; he throws his gibes at them by handfuls. His man of law is more a man of business than of the world:

"No wher so besy a man as he ther n'as,
And yet he semed besier than he was.'

His three burgesses:

"Everich, for the wisdom that he can

Was shapelich for to ben an alderman.
For catel hadden they ynough and rent,
And eke hir wives wolde it wel assent.' 773

Of the mendicant Friar he says:

"His wallet lay beforne him in his lappe,

Bret-ful of pardon come from Rome al hote." 4

The mockery here comes from the heart, in the French manner, without effort, calculation, or vehemence. It is so pleasant and so natural to banter one's neighbor! Sometimes the lively vein becomes so copious that it furnishes an entire comedy, indelicate certainly, but so free and life-like! Here is the portrait of the Wife of Bath, who has buried five husbands:

"Bold was hire face, and fayre and rede of hew,

She was a worthy woman all hire live;

Housbondes at the chirche dore had she had five,
Withouten other compagnie in youthe...

In all the parish wif ne was ther non,

I The story of the pear-tree (Merchant's Tale), and of the cradle (Reeve's Tale), for in

yance, in the Canterbury Tales.

Canterbury Tales, prologue, p. 10, 1. 323.

a Ibid. p. 12, l. 373.

A Ibid. p. 21, 7. 688.

That to the offring before hire shulde gon,
And if ther did, certain so wroth was she,
That she was out of alle charitee."

What a tongue she has! Impertinent, full of vanity, bold, chattering, unbridled, she silences everybody, and holds forth for an hour before coming to her tale. We hear her grating, highpitched, loud, clear voice, wherewith she deafened her husbands. She continually harps upon the same ideas, repeats her reasons, piles them up and confounds them, like a stubborn mule who runs along shaking and ringing his bells, so that the stunned listeners remain open-mouthed, wondering that a single tongue can spin out so many words. The subject was worth the trouble. She proves that she did well to marry five husbands, and she proves it clearly, like a woman who knew it, because she had tried it :

"God bad us for to wex and multiplie;

That gentil text can I wel understond;

Eke wel I wot, he sayd, that min husbond
Shuld leve fader and moder, and take to me;
But of no noumbre mention made he,

Of bigamie or of octogamie;

Why shuld men than speke of it vilanie?
Lo here the wise king dan Solomon,

I trow he hadde wives mo than on,

(As wolde God it leful were to me

To be refreshed half so oft as he,)

Which a gift of God had he for alle his wives? ...
Blessed be God that I have wedded five.

Welcome the sixthe whan that ever he shall.

He (Christ) spake to hem that wold live parfitly,

And lordings (by your leve), that am nat I;

...

I wol bestow the flour of all myn age
In th' actes and the fruit of mariage.
An husbond wol I have, I wol not lette,
Which shal be both my dettour and my thrall,
And have his tribulation withall

Upon his flesh, while that I am his wif." 2

Here Chaucer has the freedom of Molière, and we possess i no longer. His good wife justifies marriage in terms just as technical as Sganarelle. It behooves us to turn the pages quickly, and follow in the lump only this Odyssey of marriages. The

1 Canterbury Tales, ii. prologue, p. 14, l. 460.
Ibid. ii. Wife of Bath's Prologue, p. 168, l. 5610-5739-

experienced wife, who has journeyed through life with five husbands, knows the art of taming them, and relates how she persecuted them with jealousy, suspicion, grumbling, quarrels, blows given and received; how the husband, checkmated by the continuity of the tempest, stooped at last, accepted the halter, and turned the domestic mill like a conjugal and resigned ass :

"For as an hors, I coude bite and whine;
I coude plain, and I was in the gilt. . . .
I plained first, so was our werre ystint.
They were ful glad to excusen hem ful blive
Of thing, the which they never agilt hir live.
I swore that all my walking out by night
Was for to espien wenches that he dight.
For though the pope had sitten hem beside,
I wold not spare hem at hir owen bord.
But certainly I made folk swiche chere,
That in his owen grese I made him frie
For anger, and for veray jalousie.
By God, in erth I was his purgatorie,

...

For which I hope his soule be in glorie." 1

She saw the fifth first at the burial of the fourth:

"And Jankin oure clerk was on of tho:

As helpe me God, whan that I saw him go
Aftir the bere, me thought he had a paire
Of legges and of feet, so clene and faire,
That all my herte I yave unto his hold.
He was, I trow, a twenty winter old,
And I was fourty, if I shal say soth.
As helpe me God, I was a lusty on,

...

And faire, and riche, and yonge, and well begon."

Yonge," what a word! Was human delusion ever more happily painted? How life-like is all, and how easy the tone. It is the satire of marriage. You will find it twenty times in Chaucer. Nothing more is wanted to exhaust the two subjects of French mockery than to unite with the satire of marriage the satire of religion.

We find it here; and Rabelais is not more bitter. The monk whom Chaucer paints is a hypocrite, a jolly fellow, who knows good inns and jovial hosts better than the poor and the hospitals:

■ Canterbury Tales, Wife of Bath's Prologue, ii. p. 179, l. 5968-6072.
2 Ibid. p. 185, Z. 6177-6188.

This lively irony had an exponent before in Jean de Meung. But Chaucer pushes it further, and gives it life and motion. His monk begs from house to house, holding out his wallet:

"In every hous he gan to pore and prie,
And begged mele and chese, or elles corn.
'Yeve us a bushel whete, or malt, or reye,
A Goddes kichel, or a trippe of chese,
Or elles what you list, we may not chese;
A Goddes halfpeny, or a masse peny;
Or yeve us of your braun, if ye have any,

A dagon of your blanket, leve dame,

Our suster dere (lo here I write your name).'. .

And whan that he was out at dore, anon,

He planed away the names everich on." 2

He has kept for the end of his circuit, Thomas, one of his most liberal clients. He finds him in bed, and ill; here is excellent fruit to suck and squeeze :

"God wot,' quod he, ‘laboured have I ful sore,
And specially for thy salvation,

Have I sayd many a precious orison...
I have this day ben at your chirche at messe
And ther I saw our dame, a, wher is she?'"3

1 Canterbury Tales, prologue, ii. p. 7, l. 208 et passim.
2 Ibid. The Sompnoures Tale, ii. p. 220, 1. 7319-7340.
2 Ibid. p. 221, Z. 7366.