The only thing that might be puzzling about those famous, wonderful lines that begin the “General Prologue” of The Canterbury Tales is the statement in the last seven of them. Perhaps it would not occur to you to go on a pilgrimage for your spring break. But, like everyone else, you want to go somewhere and it might not be so difficult to accept an invitation to ride with an interesting and joyous company through the countryside of southern England, from dark, dirty London to the lovely cathedral town of Canterbury, with birds singing in the trees and flowers blooming in the fields along the way. That, at any rate, is the invitation that Chaucer tenders us. Hardly any reader has ever been anything but grateful.
The Canterbury Tales was Chaucer’s last and most ambitious work. It is unfinished; not half done, according to the plan he lays out in the “General Prologue.” That hardly matters. The poem could be longer or shorter and still be as good because it is mainly a collection of separate stories, most of them interesting, some of them among the funniest stories in English literature. Chaucer may not have made up any of them from scratch, but that doesn’t matter either. The genius of Chaucer was not originality.
He was a funny man who must have smiled easily and often. This was probably one reason why people liked him. And he liked them. Some thirty persons join him on his imaginary poetical pilgrimage to Canterbury and he likes almost all of them, although some more than others; the Pardoner he may not have liked at all. His favorite may have been the Prioress, who was called Madame Eglantyne and who spoke French “after the scole [school] of Stratford atte Bowe”—that is, with an English accent. She was a worldly ecclesiastic and wore about her neck a locket that revealed her motto: amor vincit omnia, “love conquers all,” a sentiment that indeed may be understood in a religious sense but probably not by Madame Eglantyne. Or Chaucer’s favorite may have been the Knight, with his ceremonial manners and deep solemnity, or the rambunctious Wife of Bath, still seeking Mr. Right after burying eight husbands. These are joined by a Reeve and a Priest and a Miller and … well, when you read the “General Prologue” you will know all who were there and you will wish you were of their number.
When you have finished the “Prologue” begin on the tales themselves. Read as many, or as few, as you wish. Chaucer would not have cared.
The Canterbury Tales was written before modern English came into existence. Chaucer wrote in the common, ordinary language of his day—although enriched by his learning and his wit—with no intent and certainly no desire to be antique or to pose problems for his readers. But the Middle English, so-called, of his time and place changed rapidly in the century after his death in 1400, and even learned Englishmen found it difficult to understand and appreciate his poetry two centuries later, to say nothing of six centuries later where we are today. It is therefore the better part of valor to begin reading Chaucer in a modern version (for example, the one by Nevill Coghill, which I quoted above) that smoothes out some of the roughest places and replaces obsolete words with familiar ones. If, however, you decide you really like Chaucer you may wish to try him in Middle English, preferably in an edition that prints the original text on one page and a modern redaction on the facing page. Also, try to find some learned person who knows how to read Middle English aloud so you can have an idea of what it sounded like. (It’s beautiful.) After a while, with a “pony” or glossary by your side, you will be able to do all this yourself.
Chaucer wrote many works besides The Canterbury Tales. Probably the best of them is his retelling of the classical love tragedy of Troilus and Criseyde. It is a superb story, superbly told by Chaucer, but again it was not original with him. He took it from Boccaccio, in many ways improving on it.
Troilus is a noble young Trojan, one of the many sons of King Priam; Criseyde is a charming Trojan widow, somewhat older than Troilus, considerably more experienced in the ways of the world, and even, be it said, a trifle flighty. Troilus falls passionately in love with her and, through the good offices of his close friend, Criseyde’s uncle Pandarus (from whose name we get the word “pander”), presents his suit and wins her favors. But as the war drags on and seems to go against the Trojans, Criseyde’s father deserts to the Greek enemy. Criseyde accompanies him into the Grecian camp. There, as one of the few women and almost the only pretty young one, she is vehemently wooed by several Greek warriors. Criseyde genuinely loves Troilus, but he is far away and she may never see him again. She finally becomes the mistress of Diomedes, one of the Greek generals.
Troilus, of course, is in despair. He sallies forth, not caring whether he lives or dies, and is killed in battle. He is swept up into heaven (he being a hero of love and thus having a special dispensation) and looks down upon the Earth. At the close of the poem he expresses his deep pity for mortal humankind.
Shakespeare also wrote a version of the story of Troilus and Criseyde. His play is remarkable for its cynicism and coldness; the heroes are all villains (especially the Greeks) and the lovers are fools. That is very far from the tone of Chaucer’s work, which possesses a sweetness that has endured for six centuries and is likely to endure for six more. The love of Chaucer’s Troilus for Criseyde is misguided, but then Troilus is really still only a boy. In happier circumstances Chaucer’s Criseyde would not have betrayed her young lover. That is why Chaucer’s version is a tragedy of love, while Shakespeare’s is a hard comedy that leaves a bitter taste in the mouth. Troilus and Criseyde is one poem I think you will definitely want to read if you find yourself becoming one of Chaucer’s devotees.
chapter five
The Renaissance,
Part One
It is an odd fact that some people do not know what the word “renaissance” really means. To them it is simply a term that describes a period in Western literary history—the period from Dante to Shakespeare, maybe. But the word has a definite meaning and it is important to know and remember it.
A renaissance is a “rebirth.” Perhaps most people more or less clearly recognize that. But the question is, what is the Renaissance a rebirth of?
At the beginning, in the fourteenth century, it meant the rebirth of Classical learning. It was not the birth of something entirely new, but instead the rebirth of something very old. Two men were among the first to realize that something that had been lost could be found again, and together they set out to find it.