Chaucer long remained a favourite in the most polite circles; Aubrey, at the close of the seventeenth century, in his “Idea,” recommends the study of Chaucer, as the poet in full reputation. At a later period, the days of Dryden and Pope, our versifiers were continually renovating his humour and his more elegant fictions. Ogle, with others, attempted to modernize Chaucer; but it is as impossible to give such a version of Chaucer as to translate the Odes of Horace. They corrupted by their interpolations, and weakened by their diffusion; Chaucer was not discernible in the dimness of their paraphrase. The great beauties of Chaucer spring up from the soil in which they lie embedded; and the most skilful hand will discover that in gathering the flower it must cease to live without its root.
We never possessed a tolerably correct edition of this master-poet; and the very circumstance of the continued popularity of the poems with the many has occasioned their present wretched condition. When works circulated in their manuscript state, before the era of printing, the popularity of a poet made his text the more liable to corruption. Multiplied transcripts were produced by heedless or licentious scribes, whose careless omissions, and whose perpetuated blunders and even interpolations can only be credited by the collators of the manuscripts of Chaucer. This happened with the very first printed edition by Caxton. Our patriarchal publisher discovered that he had printed from a very faulty manuscript, and, in that primitive age of simplicity and printing, nobly suppressed the edition which dishonoured the author, and substituted an improved one. Doubtless Gower, a grave and learned poet, whose copies are remarkably elegant, has descended to us in a purer condition than Chaucer, for he was rarely transcribed. Speght was the first editor who gave a more complete edition of Chaucer, with the useful appendage of a glossary, the first of its kind, and which has been a fortunate acquisition for later glossographers. But Speght, with the aid of Stowe, who was equally industrious, was so deficient in critical acumen, as to have impounded any stray on the common stamped with the initials of Chaucer. Thus our poet has suffered all the mischances of faithless scribes, unintelligent printers, and uncritical editors. To make the bad worse, the last modern edition of Chaucer, by Urry, though recommended by the white letter, offering this bland relief to a modern reader, is a showy volume, of which we are forbidden to read a line! The history of this edition is an evidence how ill our scholars, at no remote period, were qualified to decide on the fate of a great vernacular author. Urry, the pupil of Dean Aldrich, and the friend of Bishop Atterbury, appears to have been one of that galaxy or confederacy of wits called “the Wits of Christ Church.” The “Student of Christ Church, Oxon,” offered a title and a place which would sanction an edition of Chaucer; one object of which was to contribute five hundred pounds to finish Peckwater Quadrangle. The pompous folio appeared heralded by the queen’s licence for the exclusive sale for fourteen years. Our editor at first seems to have been reluctant and modest, till instigated by his great patrons to divest himself of all fear of the author. In his innocence conceiving that the strokes of his own pen would silently improve an obsolete genius, this merciless interpolator, changing words and syllables at pleasure, has furnished a text which Chaucer never wrote![7] If the worst edition that was ever published contributed to finish Peckwater Quadrangle, it is amusing to be reminded that causes are often strangely disproportionate to their effects.
The famous portion of Chaucer’s Miscellaneous Volume has been fortunate in the editorial cares of Tyrwhit. Tyrwhit, a scholar as well as an antiquary, was an expert philologer; his extensive reading in the lore of our vernacular literature and our national antiquities promptly supplied what could not have entered into his more classical studies; and his sagacity seems to have decided on the various readings of all the manuscripts, by piercing into the core of the poet’s thoughts.[8]
It is remarkable that some of the most lively productions of several great writers have been the work of their maturest age. Johnson surpassed all his preceding labours in his last work, the popular Lives of the Poets. The “Canterbury Tales” of Chaucer were the effusions of his advanced age, and the congenial verses of Dryden were thrown out in the luxuriance of his later days. Milton might have been classed among the minor poets had he not lived to be old enough to become the most sublime. Let it be a source of consolation, if not of triumph, in a long studious life of true genius, to know that the imagination may not decline with the vigour of the frame which holds it; there has been no old age for many men of genius.
We must lament that at such an early period in our vernacular literature, we have to record that the two fathers of our poetry, congenial spirits as they were, too closely resembled most of their sons—in one of the most painful infirmities of genius. I have said elsewhere that jealousy, long supposed to be the offspring of little minds, is not, however, confined to them. We do not possess the secret history of the two great poets, Chaucer and Gower; but we are told by Berthelet in his edition of Gower’s “Confessio Amantis,” when he quotes the commendatory lines on Gower by Chaucer, that the poets “were both excellently learned, both great friendes together.” Ancient biographers usually fall into this vague style of eulogy, which served their purpose rather than a more critical research. True it is that “they were both great friends,” but, what Berthelet has not told, they became also “both great enemies.” We know that Chaucer has commemorated the dignified merits of “the moral Gower,” and that Gower has poured forth an effusion not less fervid than elegant from the lips of Venus, who calls Chaucer “her own clerk, who in the flower of his youth had made ditees and songes glad which have filled the land.” Did this little passion of poetic jealousy creep into their great souls? Else how did it happen that Chaucer, who had once solicited the correcting hand of his friend, in his latest work, reprehended the sage and the poet, and that Gower, who had not stinted the rich meed of his eulogy which appeared in the first copies of his “Confessio Amantis,” erased the immortality which he had bestowed. The justice of their reciprocal praise neither of these rivals could efface, for that outlives their little jealousies.
[1] After Godwin had sent to press his biography of Chaucer, a deposition on the poet’s age in the Herald’s College detected the whole erroneous arrangement: as the edifice so ingeniously constructed had fallen on the aërial architect, he alleged truly that the deposition “contradicted the received accounts of all the biographers;” in fact, they had repeated original misstatements. The appendix, therefore, to the history of this modern biographer stands as a perpetual witness against its authenticity;—there are some histories to which an appendix might prove to be as fatal. In this dilemma, our bold sophist was “absurd and uncharitable enough” to add one more conjecture to his “Life of Chaucer,”—that “the poet, from a motive of vanity, had been induced to state on oath that he was about forty when, in truth, he was fifty-eight!”—Hippisley’s “Chapters on Early English Literature,” 85.
[2] It has been alleged by more than one writer, that this mysterious affair relates to the election for the mayoralty of John of Northampton, a Wickliffite and a Lancastrian. But Mr. Turner, whose researches are on a more extended scale than any of his predecessors, truly observes that—“There are other periods besides the one usually selected to which the personal evils which Chaucer complains of are applicable.”—“Hist. of England,” v. 296. It is as likely to have occurred when Nicholas Brambre, a confidential partisan of government in the City, appointed to the mayoralty by his party, caught “the Freemen” by ambushes of armed men, and turned the Guildhall into a fortress. At such a time “Free Elections” might have been considered by Chaucer as something “noble and glorious for all the people.”
[3] Dreams.
[4] Better.