Chaucer and His Times

by Grace E. Hadow

Sir Thopas wex a doghty swayn,
Whyt was his face as payndemayn[54]
His lippes red as rose;
His rode[55] is lyk scarlet in grayn,
And I you telle in good certayn
He hadde a semely nose,

drones the poet, and no wonder after bearing a couple of hundred lines, the host breaks in with,

“No more of this, for goddes dignitee
······
Myn eres aken of thy drasty[56] speche;
Now swiche a rym the devel I biteche!
This may wel be rym dogerel,” quod he.

Considerations of space make it impossible to take in detail Chaucer’s treatment of all his various sources. Like Shakespeare, he rarely troubles to invent a plot for himself, and Professor Skeat’s table shows but one of all the Canterbury Tales for which no original has yet been found. In the brief consideration of his treatment of romance as a whole two points stand out conspicuously: in the first place his skill in simple narration, and in the second his interest in action as revealing character rather than for its own sake. In the Canterbury Tales he shows greater certainty in the delineation of character, greater readiness to trust to his readers’ discrimination. Instead of describing characters at length, he gives us an occasional comment, or leaves us to see for ourselves the meaning of some significant action, and the consequence is that every addition or omission that he makes is worthy of careful attention. Three typical instances may be taken as illustrating his method: the Man of Lawes Tale, the Nonne Preestes Tale, and the story of Count Hugo of Pisa in the Monkes Tale.

The story of Constance is taken from the Anglo-Norman chronicle of Nicholas Trivet. Trivet’s version, which is in prose, is considerably longer than Chaucer’s. It begins, undramatically, by speaking of the virtue and prosperity of Maurice, “a very gracious youth, and wondrously strong for his age, and wise and sharp of wit. According to the history of the Saxons aforesaid, he was the son of Constance, the daughter of Tiberius, by a king of the Saxons, Alle,”[57]—thus doing away with all suspense as to Constance’s fate, and showing at the outset that the story is to have a happy ending. The chronicle then goes on to lay stress on the learning of the princess, who was instructed not only in the Christian faith but also in the seven sciences, logic, physics, morals, astronomy, geometry, music, and perspective,[58] and in various tongues. When she was thirteen, there came to her father’s court certain Saracen merchants, and Constance, hearing of the rich merchandise they had brought, went down to inspect it and to question them concerning their land and creed. Finding that they were heathen, she at once proceeded to convert them, and such was her eloquence that before returning to their own land, they were all baptised. Nor were they content with this, for on their arrival in Saracenland, they began to preach the new doctrine. The Sultan sent for them, that his wise men might rebuke them, but they refuted the arguments of the heathen, and then “began to praise the maid Constance, who had converted and fully instructed them, for very high and noble wit and wisdom, and great marvellous beauty, and gentleness, and nobleness of blood.” So deep an impression did they make on their lord that he was “greatly overcome with love for the maiden” and promptly dispatched these same merchants, and with them a heathen Admiral, to demand her in marriage. Tiberius sent back the messengers with great honour, giving his consent if his prospective son-in-law on his part would agree to become a Christian. “And the Admiral, before the Sultan and all his council, vowed himself to the Christian faith, if the Sultan should consent.” The impatient lover soon agreed, and Constance accordingly set sail for Saracenland under escort of “a cardinal bishop, and a cardinal priest, with a great number of clergy, and a senator of Rome, with noble chivalry and great and rich array, and with a great number of Christians who went thither, some on pilgrimage, others to take possession of Jerusalem.” The Sultan’s mother, seeing her religion in danger, determined to rid the land of these invaders. Having made a covenant with seven hundred Saracens, who swore to aid her, she invited all the Christians to a great feast, professing that she herself desired to embrace their religion. At a given signal the seven hundred Saracens fell upon the unarmed guests, and of the whole number there escaped but three young men and Constance herself. The Sultan, the Admiral, and the other converts were involved in the general massacre. The three young men fled to Rome, where they told the Emperor that his daughter had perished with the rest. Constance, having refused to renounce her faith, “for no fair promise of wealth or honour, nor for any threat of punishment or death,” is set adrift in an open boat, with provision enough to last her for three years, and also with all the treasure which she had brought with her as a bride. For three whole years she drifts about on the great ocean. “Then, in the eighth month of the fourth year, God who steered the ship of the holy man Noah in the great flood, sent a favourable wind, and drove the ship to England, under a castle in the kingdom of Northumberland, near Humber.” Elda, the warden of the castle, goes down to ask her of her condition. “And she answered him in Saxon ... as one who was learned in divers languages, as is aforesaid.” The good warden receives her hospitably, and his wife Hermingild becomes so enamoured of the maiden “that nothing could happen to her that she would not do according to her will.” Then follows the conversion of Hermingild and Elda owing to a miracle wrought by Constance upon a blind man. Elda tells Alle, King of Northumberland, of the wonderful maiden at his castle, and Alle is about to visit her when dire distress falls upon the three friends. A felon knight, to whose suit Constance has turned a deaf ear, murders Hermingild and contrives that suspicion shall fall upon Constance. Elda cannot believe her capable of such treachery, whereupon the accuser swears upon the gospels and upon his baptism, “which he had already lately received,” that Constance is the criminal. Scarcely had he ended the word, when a closed hand, like a man’s fist, appeared before Elda and all who were present, and smote such a blow on the nape of the felon’s neck, that both his eyes flew out of his head, and his teeth out of his mouth; and the felon fell smitten down to the earth. And thereupon a voice said in the hearing of all, “Against Mother Church thou wert laying a scandal: this hast thou done, and I have held my peace.” On Alle’s arrival the felon is condemned to death, and so struck is the king by what has passed that he is himself baptised, and then marries Constance. Six months later he is called away by a border raid. During his absence the queen is delivered of a fair boy, and letters are sent to the king to tell him the good news. Once again, however, Constance is unfortunate enough to possess a mother-in-law who hates her: “For she had great disdain that King Alle had, for the love of a strange woman whose lineage was unknown to him, forsaken his former religion.” The messenger rests at her house at Knaresborough, and the queen-mother gives him an evil drink, and then alters his letters, telling King Alle that his wife is an evil spirit in the form of a woman, “Whereto witnesseth the child born of her, which resembles not a human form, but a cursed form hideous and doleful.” With rare justice and self-restraint Alle writes back to his lords, bidding them take no steps against the queen or her child until he himself can return and inquire into the matter. Again the foolish messenger stays the night at Knaresborough, and again the queen-mother tampers with the letters. Under the king’s seal she writes to the lords and bids them set Constance and her child adrift in an open boat, that she may leave the land in like manner that she came to it. The king’s word is obeyed, and amidst the lamentations and tears of all the people Constance is put on board a ship “without sail or oar or any device.” The ship is driven to the coast of Spain, where a certain heathen Admiral befriends her. His seneschal, a renegade knight named Thelous, persuades Constance that he wishes to repent of his sins and return to the Christian faith, and prays her to take him with her, that he may come to a land of Christians. Once alone with her, he reveals his true purpose. Constance begs him to look out and see if there is no land in sight, and then comes privily behind his back and thrusts him into the sea. Meanwhile Alle, having discovered his mother’s treachery, puts her to death, and vows never to marry again. Constance is eventually rescued by mariners and brought to Rome. She learns that her father has avenged her supposed death upon the Saracens, but instead of revealing her identity she lives for twelve years with a noble couple called Arsemius and Helen. At the end of that time Alle visits Rome, and Constance’s son, Maurice, is invited to be present at the feast in his honour. Constance bids the youth make a point of serving the King of England. Alle, struck by Maurice’s likeness to Constance, inquires what his origin may be, and by this means recovers his wife and child. Tiberius proclaims Maurice his heir and “companion in the Empire.” Constance returns to England with her husband, but six months later, hearing that her father is dying, she comes back to Rome, where she herself dies a year later.

The story is worth telling in some detail because it shows how closely Chaucer keeps to his original when it suits his purpose. The Man of Lawe does not alter a single point of any importance. He makes no attempt to soften down the improbabilities of the story or reduce the miraculous element. After all, he is himself going on a pilgrimage to the wonder-working shrine of St. Thomas à Becket, and shrewd man of the world as he is, there is nothing in the history of Constance to strain his credulity. But whereas in Trivet the characters are mere lay figures set up to illustrate the power of Christianity and the evil fate which befalls the opponents of Mother Church, in Chaucer they have an individuality of their own. Instead of alienating our sympathy at the outset by insisting on the learning and missionary enterprise of a child of thirteen, Chaucer omits all this and follows the more natural path of making the foreign chapmen so struck by the good report which they hear of the emperor’s daughter, that having once seen her, and proved her beauty for themselves, when after their custom they go to tell the Soldan what wonders they have met with on their travels, they in turn inflame his imagination by their description. The brief dialogue between Constance and her father, when the marriage has been arranged, is Chaucer’s own interpolation, and its note of despair prepares us for what is to follow:—

Allas! unto the Barbre nacioun[59]
I moste anon, sin that it is your wille;
But Crist, that starf[60] for our redempcioun
So yeve me grace his hestes[61] to fulfille;
I, wrecche womman, no fors though I spille[62]
Wommen are born to thraldom and penance,
And to ben under mannes governance.

Here we have no priggish and self-righteous virgin setting forth with smug self-satisfaction to convert Saracenland, but a lonely, timid girl, whose heart misgives her at the thought of leaving her parents and going to meet an unknown husband. Equally vivid and effective is Chaucer’s picture of the Soldan’s wicked mother, who not only professes readiness to accept baptism herself but advises her fellow-conspirators to do the same on the ground—

Cold water shal not greve us but a lyte,[63]

and adds with savage humour that by the time she has done with her son’s wife,