He was born in London about the year 1335, the son of a merchant vintner, and throughout his life London was to him "a city very deare and sweete." He was well educated, though where we know not, in classics, divinity, astronomy, philosophy, and chemistry, and naturally spoke French fluently, as its use was general. From his boyhood he loved reading only less than he loved nature.
"On bokës for to rede, I me delyte,
Save certeynly whan that the moneth of May
Is comen, and that I here the foulës synge,
And that the flourës gynnen for to sprynge,
Farwel my boke and my devocïoun."
And almost equally, too, he loved to see life, to travel in foreign countries, to study, in a kindly sympathetic spirit, human nature in all its forms, neither criticising harshly nor condemning impatiently, but just observing and understanding.
Those early years of his life marked a great epoch in England, for Edward III. made the land ring with the fame of his victories at Crecy and Poitiers; the valour of his knights and soldiers; the fair and famous deeds done in the name of that chivalry which was then at its height; and young Chaucer seems to have caught the reflection of all that enthusiasm and vigour. He was the child of his age, but he heard its sobs as well as its laughter, the rattling chains of its slaves as well as the clanking steel and the trumpet notes of its armed men. The Black Death and the revolt of the downtrodden peasants made a grim setting to the picture of heart-stirring triumphs in the battle-field, and Chaucer saw both the setting and the picture.
When he was about twenty he became attached to the court in a humble capacity, but his pleasant manners and conversation, his cheerfulness and his straightforward simplicity, soon won him promotion, so that he was made first gentleman-in-waiting, then esquire to King Edward, who more than once spoke of him as his "beloved valet," and who trusted him well enough to send him on many important missions to foreign countries as his messenger. But Chaucer's greatest and unchanging ally at court was the king's brother, John of Gaunt. For more than forty years their friendship remained unbroken through many ups and downs of fortune.
In 1369 John of Gaunt's first wife, Blanche, died, young, beautiful, and beloved. Chaucer had already shown his power of writing excellent verse by a translation he had made from a celebrated French poem "Le Roman de la Rose," so it was only natural that John of Gaunt should turn to him when in the sorrow of the moment he desired the goodness and charm of his lady to be commemorated. The result was the "Book of the Duchess," a story told as an allegory, for Chaucer was under the spell of French literature, which revelled in allegory. In this book he tells how one May morning, the sun shining in at his windows, and the sound of the "sweete foule's carolling," drew him forth into the forest, where, led thereto by a faithful dog, he found a knight dressed in black, mourning all in a quiet spot among the mighty trees. His hands drooped, his face was pale, he could not be consoled. But finding the poet a sympathetic listener, he told him the story of his sorrow.
"My lady bright
Which I heve loved with all my might,
Is from me deed, and is agone ...
That was so fair, so fresh, so free."
Years of happiness he had spent with her, this sweet lady, who yet was so strong and helpful.
"When I hed wrong and she the right,
She wolde alwey so goodëly
Forgive me so débónnairly.
In alle my youth, in alle chance,
She took me in her governaunce.
Therewith she was alwày so trewe,
Our joys was ever y-liche newe."
And now she was dead. Words of comfort were of no avail. The poet could no longer intrude on grief so overwhelming. He could only silently sympathise, and then leave the mourning knight alone in his sorrow, with the parting words