The soth is this, the cut fil to the knight,
Of which full glad and blithe was every wight;
And telle he moste his tale as was resoun,
By forward and by composicioun,

As ye han herd; what needeth wordes moo?
And whan this goode man seigh that it was so,
As he that wys was and obedient

To kepe his forward by his fre assent,

He seyde: Syn I schal bygynne the game,
What, welcome be thou cut, a Goddus name!'
Now lat us ryde, and herkneth what I seye.'

And with that word we ridden forth oure weye; And he bigan with right a merie chere His tale, and seide right in this manere.

THE KNIGHTES TALE.

[THE outline of this tale is taken from the Theseida, an heroic poem in twelve books by Boccaccio. Tyrwhitt con. jectures that a literal translation of the Theseida had already appeared from the pen of Chaucer, who enumerates it along with his other works in the Legende of Gode Women, under the name of Al the Love of Palamon and Arcite. This translation, if it ever existed, is now lost; but it has reappeared, as he supposes, in the Canterbury Tales, concentrated and improved in this charming story of chivalry, so appropriately narrated by the perfight, gentil knight.'

The origin of the story is involved in obscurity. Tyrwhitt thinks it scarcely credible that it is of Boccaccio's own inven. tion; and the assertion of the novelist that he translated it into' vulgar Latin,' meaning Italian, from una antichissima storia, he conceives to be a mere literary fiction, after the manner of the French writers of romances, who almost always

It is characteristic of the Knight's good breeding and knowledge of the world to tell his tale frankly and cheerfully, and without endes vouring to excuse himself.

profess to have translated from some old Latin chronicle preserved at St. Denys. He inclines to the theory that it is of Greek original, and that it assumed its present form as a popular romance, after the Norman princes had introduced the manners of chivalry into their Sicilian and Italian dominions.

On the other hand, it should be remembered that the opening of the Theseida, as well as of the Knightes Tale, and many passages throughout both poems, are palpably taken from the Thebais of Statius; and therefore, in the absence of any evidence of the existence of such a romance as Tyrwhitt supposes, it does not seem to be claiming too much for Boccaccio's powers of invention, to suppose that he adapted to his conception of heroic times, derived from the Thebais, the very ordinary plot of rival lovers staking the possession of their mistress on the fortune of single combat. The incognito of Edipus at the court of Laius, and the sojourn of Polynices at that of Adrastus, might have sug gested the idea of Arcite's return in disguise to Athens: and if the Lady Emilia, in accordance with chivalrous ideas, be substituted for the kingdom of Thebes, and Palamon and Arcite for Eteocles and Polynices, the Thebais supplies the story at once. If this theory be tenable, the change which the story undergoes in its transition from the spirit of the old mythology, delighting in the contemplation of a family goaded, from generation to generation, by the decrees of fate to the commission of incest and murder in their most horrible forms, to that of Christianity, even when demoralized by hatred, jealousy, and war, is deeply suggestive.

In obedience to the literary canon which requires that every epic poem shall consist of twelve books, the Theseida is swelled by tedious descriptions, which the English poet, either from taste or the necessities of his plan, has happily curtailed, or wholly omitted. In the lines

His spiryt chaunged was, and wente ther

As I cam never, I can nat tellen wher;
Therefore I stynt.

Chaucer is supposed by Tyrwhitt to have intended to ridicule

Boccaccio's pompous description of the passage of Arcite's soul to Heaven, and the reader cannot but feel obliged to him for abridging the pedantic catalogue given in the Theseida of the heroes of antiquity who took part in the

tournament.

Although all readers must appreciate Tyrwhitt's extensive learning and zealous industry in illustrating The Canterbury Tales from every possible source, few will now agree with his criticism on the incongruity of Chaucer's treatment of heroic subjects. A story of heroic times, clothed in the costume of chivalry, appears to him as incongruous as Macbeth attired in the square-tailed coat and knee-breeches of the reign of George the Second. But if Chaucer, instead of giving us his own conception of how Theseus looked and spoke, and how Palamon and Arcite loved and fought, had searched the ancients for precedents of heroic speeches, and classic loves and combats, it may safely be affirmed that a new edition of The Canterbury Tales would not now be called for. The poet's aim should be to give an accurate picture, not necessarily of scenes as they actually took place, but of the concep tion he had of them in his own mind. In order to move the passions of his readers, it is necessary that his descriptions should be drawn direct from the stores of his own experience. What can be more insipid than a cento from the works of the ancients, in which no word or idea is permitted to appear unless it be authenticated, so to speak, by classical authority?

But it may still be objected, why then lay the scene in the heroic, rather than in the chivalrous ages? And to this it may be answered, that the remoteness of the scene enables the poet to indulge his fancy with greater freedom, and to invest with some degree of verisimilitude adventures which, if assigned to the contemporary age, would be rejected as improbable. It may be added, also, that the shadowy and mysterious forms of periods anterior to authentic history predispose the mind to those emotions which it is the poet's object to awaken.

It must be acknowledged that Chaucer, like Shakespeare,

VOL. L

I

cared little from whence he obtained the raw material of his tales, provided he could impress them with the stamp of his own genius. He plagiarises, not only from others, but even from himself. This can hardly be attributed to poverty of imagination in the author of the House of Fame. It appears rather to be an instance of that economy of genius observable in the art of the middle ages, when every figure in a picture had its distinctive form and attitude, and when even the colour of each personage's dress was settled by tradition. The object of the artist, whether poet, painter, or architect, was to move the passions, not to display his own power of invention; he therefore, without scruple, adopted the historical form, or the well-known legend; and trusted to his mode of treatment, within the prescribed limits, for producing his effect. But, in truth, the interest of a poem is not in the least impaired by the knowledge that the incidents are not the product of the poet's own invention; on the contrary, if they are supposed to be founded on fact, the interest is increased. It is when the reader suspects that he is called upon to sympathise with feelings and passions which the poet himself never felt, and to picture to his imagination usages which the poet himself never realized, that he resents the attempt to impose upon him by fine words, and to harrow his soul with emotions at second-hand. Such is not Chaucer's plan; the leading incidents of the story he has received from others, but the conception and working out of the characters are all his own. The reader feels convinced that, in Theseus, the poet has given his own idea, probably derived from actual observation, of a chivalrous monarch, arbitrary from the habit of command, and hot-tempered, but generous and easily appeased; tenderly alive to the feelings and weaknesses of others, and endowed with that light-hearted gaiety and keen appreciation of numour, which are so often observed to accompany high reeding and a noble nature.

Tyrwhitt, in his matter-of-fact way, has noticed three principal circumstances in which Chaucer, departing from his original, has shown his superiority in the knowledge of

human nature and in poetical judgment. 1. By supposing Emilia to be seen first by Palamon, he gives him an advantage over his rival, which makes the catastrophe more consonant to poetical justice. 2. The picture which Boccaccio has exhibited of two young princes, violently enamoured of the same object without jealousy or rivalship, if not absolutely unnatural, is certainly very insipid and unpoetical. 3. As no consequence is to follow from their being seen by Emilia at this time, it is better, I think, to suppose, as Chaucer has done, that they are not seen by her.' He might have added, that a strict adherence to the Theseida in this last particular, would have deprived Theseus of one capital point in his witty reflections upon the folly of lovers.]

HILOM, as olde stories tellen us,

WHI

Ther was a duk that highte Theseus;
Of Athenes he was lord and governour,
And in his tyme swich a conquerour,
That gretter was ther non under the sonne.
Ful many a riche contre hadde he wonne;
That with his wisdam and his chivalrie
He conquered al the regne of Femynye,'
That whilom was i-cleped Cithea;

And weddede the queen Ipolita

And brought hire hoom with him in his contré
With moche glorie and gret solempnité,

And eek hire yonge suster Emelye.

And thus with victorie and with melodye
Lete I this noble duk to Athenes ryde,
And al his ost, in armes him biside.
And certes, if it nere to long to heere,
I wolde han told yow fully the manere,
How wonnen was the regne of Femenye
By Theseus, and by his chivalrye;
And of the grete bataille for the nones
Bytwix Athenes' and the Amazones;

3 Athenians.

Kingdom of the Amazons, so called from fœmina, a woman.

2 Scythia.