25302. ‘Te dourra craie pour fourmage.’
27867. ‘qui bien ayme point n’oublie.’
28597. ‘De la proverbe me sovient,
Q’om dist que molt sovent avient
Apres grant joye grant dolour.’
Akin to the proverbs are the illustrations from Natural History, real or fictitious, of which there is a considerable number in the Mirour. These are of very various classes, from simple facts of ordinary observation to the monstrous inventions of the Bestiaries, which were repeated by one writer after another with a faith which rested not on any evidence of the facts stated, but upon their supposed agreement with the fitness of things, that is, practically, their supposed aptness as moral lessons, the medieval idea of the animal world being apparently that it was created and kept in being largely for the instruction of mankind. In taking the glow-worm as an illustration of hypocrisy (1130), the lark of joyous thankfulness (5637), the grasshopper of improvidence (5821), the lapwing of female dissimulation (8869), the turtle-dove of constancy (17881), the drone of indolence (5437), the camel of revengeful malice (4417), and the blind kitten of drunken helplessness (8221), the author is merely making a literary use of every-day observation. There are however, as might be expected, plenty of illustrations of a more questionable character. Presumption is like the tiger beguiled with the mirror (1561); the proud man who is disobedient to law is like the unicorn, which cannot be tamed (2101); the devil breaking down the virtue of a man by raising him high in his own conceit is like the osprey, which carries bones high in the air and breaks them by dropping them upon rocks (1849); Envy, who destroys with her breath the honour of all around her, is like the basilisk which kills all vegetation in the place where it is found (3745); the man-faced bird, which pines away because it has slain a man, is produced as a lesson to murderers (5029); the bad father, who teaches his sons to plunder the poor, is like the hawk, which beats its young and drives them from the nest in order that they may learn to kill prey for themselves (7009); the partridge is a lesson against stinginess (7671); the contagiousness of sin is illustrated by the fact that the panther infects other animals with his spots (9253), and yet in another place (12865) the sweetness of the human voice when it utters praise is compared to the fragrance of the panther’s breath. Contemplation is like the ‘chalandre,’ which flies up at midnight to the sky, and when on the earth will not look upon a dying person (10705); the fight between Arimaspians and griffons for emeralds is an image created for our instruction of the contest between the soul of man and the devil (10717); Devotion, who opens herself secretly to heaven and thus attains to the divine contemplation, is like the sea-shell which opens to the dew by night and from it conceives the pearl (10813); the spittle of a fasting man (according to Ambrose) will kill a serpent, and the fast itself will no doubt be effectual against the old serpent our enemy (18025). The bee does not come off well on the whole in these comparisons: he is chosen as the likeness of the idle and luxurious prelate, but this is for reasons which are not in themselves at all obvious, except that he has a sting and is unduly fond of sweets (19345). The prelate who protects his flock from encroachments of the royal or other authority is like the big fish which takes the smaller into its mouth to shelter them from the storm (19909); Humility is like the diamond, which refuses a setting of gold, but is drawn to the lowly iron, a confusion with the load-stone, arising from the name ‘adamant’ applied to both (12463). These are some of the illustrations which are drawn from the domain of Natural History, not original for the most part, but worth noting as part of the literary baggage of the period.
The Author and his Times.—We may gather from the Mirour some few facts about the personality of the author, which will serve to supplement in some degree our rather scanty knowledge of Gower’s life. He tells us here that he is a layman (21772), but that we knew already; and that he knows little Latin and little French,—‘Poi sai latin, poi sai romance’ (21775), but that is only his modesty; he knows quite enough of both. He has spent his life in what he now regards as folly or worse; he has committed all the seven deadly sins (27365); moreover he has composed love poems, which he now calls ‘fols ditz d’amour’ (27340); but for all this it is probable enough that his life has been highly respectable. He comes late to repentance (27299), and means to sing a song different from that which he has sung heretofore (27347), to atone, apparently, for his former misdeeds. We may assume, then, that he was not very young at the time when he wrote this book; and we know that he considered himself an old man when he produced the Confessio Amantis (viii. 3068*) in the year 1390. Men were counted old before sixty in those days, and therefore we may suppose him to be now about forty-six. We may perhaps gather from ll. 8794 and 17649 that he had a wife. In the former passage he is speaking of those who tell tales to husbands about their wives’ misconduct, and he says in effect, ‘I for my part declare (Je di pour moi) that I wish to hear no such tales of my wife’; in the second he speaks of those wives who dislike servants and other persons simply because their husbands like them, and he adds, ‘I do not say that mine does so,’ ‘Ne di pas q’ensi fait la moie.’ If the inference is correct, then his union with Agnes Groundolf in his old age was a second marriage, and this is in itself probable enough. We cannot come to any definite conclusion from this poem about his profession or occupation in life. It is said by Leland that Gower was a lawyer, but for this statement no evidence has ever been produced, and if we may judge from the tone in which he speaks of the law and lawyers in the Mirour, we must reject it. Of all the secular estates that of the law seems to him to be the worst (24805 ff.), and he condemns both advocates and judges in a more unqualified manner than the members of any other calling. He knows apparently a good deal about them and about the ‘customs of Westminster,’ but, judging by his tone, we shall probably be led to think that this knowledge was acquired rather in the character of a litigant than in that of a member of the legal profession. Especially the suggestion of a special tax to be levied on lawyers’ gains (24337 ff.) is one which could hardly have come from one who was himself a lawyer. Again, the way in which he speaks of physicians, whom he accuses of being in league with apothecaries to defraud patients, and of deliberately delaying the cure in order to make more money (24301, 25621 ff.), seems to exclude him quite as clearly from the profession of medicine, the condemnation being here again general and unqualified.
Of all the various ranks of society which he reviews, that of which he seems to speak with most respect is the estate of Merchants. He takes pains to point out both here and in the Vox Clamantis the utility of their occupation and the justice of their claim to reasonably large profits on successful ventures in consideration of the risks which they run (25177 ff.). He makes a special apology to the honest members of the class for exposing the abuses to which the occupation is liable, pleading that to blame the bad is in effect to praise the good (25213 ff., 25975 ff.), and he is more careful here than elsewhere to point out the fact that honest members of the class exist. These indications seem to suggest that it was as a merchant that Gower made the money which he spent in buying his land; and this inference is supported by the manner in which he speaks of ‘our City,’ and by the fact that it is with members of the merchant class that he seems to be most in personal communication. He has evidently discussed with merchants the comparative value of worldly and spiritual possessions, and he reports the saying of one of them,
‘Dont un me disoit l’autre jour,’
to the effect that he was a fool who did not make money if he might, for no one knew the truth about the world to come (25915 ff.). He feels strongly against a certain bad citizen who aims at giving privileges in trade to outsiders (26380 ff.), and the jealousy of the Lombards which he expresses (25429 ff.) has every appearance of being a prejudice connected with rivalry in commerce. ‘I see Lombards come,’ he says, ‘in poor attire as servants, and before a year has passed they have gained so much by deceit and conspiracy that they dress more nobly than the burgesses of our City; and if they need influence or friendship, they gain it by fraud and subtlety, so that their interests are promoted and ours are damaged at their will and pleasure.’