GOWER.
In the church of St. Saviour in Southwark may be viewed an ancient monument with its sculptured and Gothic canopy; pictured on its side the three visionary virgins, Charity, Mercy, and Pity, solicit the prayer of the passenger for the soul of the suppliant whose image lies extended on the tomb, with folded hands, and in his damask habit flowing to his feet. His head reposes on three mighty tomes, and is decked with a garland, either of roses which proclaim his knighthood, or the wreath of literature which would more justly distinguish the wearer,—John Gower, the poet.
In the life of this poet, almost the only certain incident seems to be his sepulchral monument: and even this it had been necessary to repair after the malignity of the Iconoclasts; and of the three sculptured volumes which support the poet’s head, a single one only has been opened by the world, for the tomb has perpetuated what the press has not.
The three tomes on the tomb of Gower represent his three great works; but what is remarkable, and shows the unsettled state of our literature, each of these great works is written in a different language, though equally graced with Latin titles. The first, in French, is the “Speculum Meditantis;” the moral reflections relieved by historical examples. The second, in Latin verse, is “Vox Clamantis;” this “Voice” comes not from the desert, for it is that of the clamours of the people; a satire on all ranks, and an exhortation to the youthful monarch to check his own self-indulgence; it includes a chronicle of the insurrection of the populace, or “the clowns,” as they were called in Richard the Second’s reign. The vernacular style, rather than Latin verse, would have more aptly celebrated the feats of Wat Tyler, or Bet and Sim, Gibbe and Hyke, Hudde and Judde, Jack and Tib. The reporter had no doubt been present at the active scene. The swarm rush on to the call of one another, in hexameters and pentameters. The singularity of the subject, which gives no bad picture of the hurry of a disorderly mob, and the felicity of an old translation, induce me to preserve a partial extract from the manuscript. Our own age has witnessed similar scenes.
| Watte vocat, cui Thome venit, neque Symme retardat, Betteque, Gibbe simul Hyke venire jubent. Colle furit, quem Gibbe juvat nocumenta parantes, Cum quibus ad dampnum Wille coire vovet. Grigge rapit, dam Dawe strepit, comes est quibus Hobbe, Lorkin et in medio non minor esse putat. Hudde ferit, quos Judde terit, dum Tebbe juvatur, Jacke domos que viros vellit, et ense necat. |
| Tom comes, thereat, when called by Wat, and Simon as forward we find; Bet calls as quick to Gibb, and to Hyck that neither would tarry behinde. Gibbe, a good whelp of that litter, doth help mad Coll more mischief to do, And Will he doth vow, the time is come now, he’ll join with their company too. Davie complains whiles Grigg gets the gains, and Hobb with them doth partake; Lorkin aloud, in the midst of the crowd, conceiveth as deep is his stake. Hudde doth spoil, whom Judde doth foile, and Tebbe lends his helping hand, But Jack, the mad-patch, men and horses doth snatch, and kills all at his command. |
The third and greater work, and the only printed one of Gower, is the “Confessio Amantis,” an English poem of about thirty thousand lines; a singular miscellany of allegory, of morality, and of tales. It is studded with sententious maxims and proverbs, and richly diversified with narrations, pleasant and tragic; but the affectation of learning, for learning in its crude state always obtrudes itself, even in works of recreation, has compressed the Aristotelian philosophy, to edify and surprise the readers of the poet’s fairy or romantic tales. Robert de Brunne, to illustrate monachal morals, interspersed domestic stories; and amidst the prevalent penury of imagination, that rhyming monk affords the most ancient specimens of English tales in verse: and as Gower’s single printed work is of the same species of composition, a system of ethics illustrated by tales, it has been thought that the monk who rhymed in 1300 was the true predecessor of the poet who flourished at the close of that century, however Gower may have purified the “rime doggrel,” and elevated the puerile tale. The straw-roof must be raised before the cupola. Genius in its genealogy must not blush at its remote ancestor; the noblest knight may often go back to the mill or the forge. If this rude moralising rhymer really be the poetical father of Gower, then is this antiquated monk the inventor of that narrative poetry which Chaucer, Spenser, Dryden, and even some of our contemporaries, have so delightfully diversified. But story-telling has been of all periods.
There is a portion in this volume which concerns the personal history of the poet.
This work was composed at the suggestion of Richard the Second himself, who among other luxuries loved Froissart’s romance and Chaucer’s rhymes, and was even willing to be taught the grave lessons which he could not practise. As Gower one day was rowed in his boat on the Thames, he met his “liege lord” in the royal barge, who commanded the poet to enter, and, in a long unrestrained conversation, desired him “to book some new thing in the way he was used.” Probably the youthful monarch alluded to the “Vox Clamantis,” in which the poet had exhorted his “liege lord” to exercise every kingly virtue, and had without reserve touched on too many imperfections of a court-life. It was to be “a book,” added the young monarch, “in which he himself might often look.” The poet aspired to fix the honour which he had received, and resolved, in his own words,
| To write in such a manner-wise, Which may be wisdom to the wise, And play to them that list to play. |