English Literature For Boys And Girls by H.E. Marshall

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Some of these stories you will like to read, but others are too
coarse and rude to give you any pleasure. Even the roughness of
these tales, however, helps us to picture the England of those
far-off days. We see from them how hard and rough the life must
have been when people found humor and fun in jokes in which we
can feel only disgust.

But even in Chaucer's day there were those who found such stories
coarse. "Precious fold," Chaucer calls them. He himself perhaps
did not care for them, indeed he explains in the tales why he
tells them. Here is a company of common, everyday people, he
said, and if I am to make you see these people, if they are to be
living and real to you, I must make them act and speak as such
common people would act and speak. They are churls, and they
must speak like churls and not like fine folk, and if you don't
like the tale, turn over the leaf and choose another.

"What should I more say but this miller
He would his words for no man forbear,
But told his churls tale in his manner.
Me thinketh that I shall rehearse it here;
And therefore every gently wight I pray,
For Goddes love deem not that I say
Of evil intent, but for I might rehearse
Their tales all, be they better or worse,
Or else falsen some of my matter:
And therefore, who so listeth it not to hear,
Turn over the leaf and choose another tale;
For he shall find enow, both great and small,
In storial thing that toucheth gentlesse,
And eke morality and holiness,--
Blame not me if that ye choose amiss.
This miller is a churl ye know well,
So was the Reeve, and many more,
And wickedness they tolden both two.
Advise you, put me out of blame;
And eke men shall not make earnest of game."

If Chaucer had written all the tales that he meant to write,
there would have been one hundred and twenty-four in all. But
the poet died long before his work was done, and as it is there
are only twenty-four. Two of these are not finished; one,
indeed, is only begun. Thus, you see, many of the pilgrims tell
no story at all, and we do not know who got the prize, nor do we
hear anything of the grand supper at the end of the journey.

Chaucer is the first of our poets who had a perfect sense of
sound. He delights us not only with his stories, but with the
beauty of the words he uses. We lose a great deal of that beauty
when his poetry is put into modern English, as are all the
quotations which I have given you. It is only when we can read
the poems in the quaint English of Chaucer's time that we can see
truly how fine it is. So, although you may begin to love Chaucer
now, you must look forward to a time when you will be able to
read his stories as he wrote them. Then you will love them much
more.

Chaucer wrote many other books beside the Canterbury Tales,
although not so many as was at one time thought. But the
Canterbury Tales are the most famous, and I will not trouble you
with the names even of the others. But when the grown-up time
comes, I hope that you will want to read some of his other books
as well as the Canterbury Tales.

And now, just to end this long chapter, I will give you a little
poem by Chaucer, written as he wrote it, with modern English
words underneath so that you may see the difference.

This poem was written when Chaucer was very poor. It was sent to
King Henry IV, who had just taken the throne from Richard II.
Henry's answer was a pension of twenty marks, so that once more
Chaucer lived in comfort. He died, however, a year later.

THE COMPLAYNT OF CHAUCER TO HYS PURSE

To yow my purse, and to noon other wight
To you my purse, and to no other wight
Complayne I, for ye by my lady dere;
Complain I, for ye be my lady dear;
I am so sorry now that ye been lyght,
I am so sorry now that ye be light,
For certes, but yf ye make me hevy chere
For certainly, but if ye make me heavy cheer
Me were as leef be layde upon my bere;
I would as soon be laid upon my bier;
For which unto your mercy thus I crye,
For which unto your mercy thus I cry,
Beeth hevy ageyne, or elles mote I dye.
Be heavy again, or else must I die.

Now voucheth-sauf this day or hyt by nyght
Now vouchsafe this day before it be night
That I of you the blisful sovne may here,
That I of you the blissful sound may hear,
Or see your colour lyke the sonne bryght,
Or see your colour like the sun bright,
That of yelownesse hadde neuer pere.
That of yellowness had never peer.
Ye be my lyfe, ye be myn hertys stere,
Ye be my life, ye be my heart's guide,
Quene of comfort, and of good companye,
Queen of comfort, and of good company,
Beth heuy ageyne, or elles moote I dye.
Be heavy again, or else must I die.

Now purse that ben to me my lyves lyght
Now purse that art to me my life's light
And saveour as down in this worlde here,
And saviour as down in this world here,
Oute of this tovne helpe me thrugh your myght,
Out of this town help me through your might,
Syn that ye wole nat bene my tresorere,
Since that ye will not be my treasurer,
For I am shave as nye as is a ffrere;
For I am shaven as close as is a friar;
But yet I pray vnto your curtesye,
But yet I pray unto your courtesy,
Bethe hevy agen or elles moote I dye.
Be heavy again or else must I die.

L'ENVOY* DE CHAUCER

O conquerour of Brutes albyon,
O conqueror of Brutus' Albion
Whiche that by lygne and free leccion
Who that by line and free election
Been verray kynge, this song to yow I sende;
Art very king, this song to you I send;
And ye that mowen alle myn harme amende,
And ye that art able all my harm amend,
Haue mynde vpon my supplicacion.
Have mind upon my supplication.

*This is from a French word, meaning "to send," and is
still often used for the last verse of a poem. It is, as it
were, a "sending off."

In reading this you must sound the final "e" in each word except
when the next word begins with an "h" or with another vowel. You
will then find it read easily and smoothly.

BOOKS TO READ

Stories from Chaucer (prose), by J. H. Kelman. Tales from
Chaucer (prose), by C. L. Thomson. Prologue to the Canterbury
Tales and Minor Poems (poetry), done into Modern English by W. W.
Skeat. Canterbury Tales (poetry), edited by A. W. Pollard (in
Chaucer's English, suitable only for grown-up readers).

NOTE.-- As there are so many books now published containing
stories from Chaucer's Canterbury Tales, I feel it unnecessary to
give any here in outline.

Chapter XXV THE FIRST ENGLISH GUIDE-BOOK

AND now, lest you should say, "What, still more poetry!" I shall
give you next a chapter about a great story-teller who wrote in
prose. We use story-teller in two senses, and when we speak of
Sir John Mandeville we use it in both. He was a great story-
teller.

But before saying anything about his stories, I must first tell
you that after having been believed in as a real person for five
hundred years and more, Sir John has at last been found out. He
never lived at all, and the travels about which he tells us so
finely never took place.

"Sir John," too, used to be called the "Father of English Prose,"
but even that honor cannot be left to him, for his travels were
not written first in English, but in French, and were afterwards
translated into English.

But although we know Sir John Mandeville was not English, that he
never saw the places he describes, that indeed he never lived at
all, we will still call him by that name. For we must call him
something, and as no one really knows who wrote the book which is
known as The Voyages and Travels of Sir John Mandeville, we may
as well call the author by the name he chose as by another.

Sir John, then, tells us that he was born in St. Albans, that he
was a knight, and that in 1322 he set out on his travels. He
traveled about for more than twenty years, but at last, although
in the course of them he had drunk of the well of everlasting
youth, he became so crippled with gout that he could travel no
longer. He settled down, therefore, at Liege in Belgium. There
he wrote his book, and there he died and was buried. At any
rate, many years afterwards his tomb was shown there. It was
also shown at St. Albans, where the people were very proud of it.

Sir John's great book was a guide-book. In those days, as we
know, it was a very common thing for people to go on pilgrimages.
And among the long pilgrimages the one to the Holy Land was the
most common. So Sir John wrote his book to help people on their
way, just as Mr. Baedeker and Mr. Murray do now.

It is perhaps the earliest, and certainly one of the most
delightful, guide-books ever written, although really it was
chiefly made up of bits out of books by other people.

Sir John tells of many different ways of getting to Palestine,
and relates wonderful stories about the places to be passed
through. He wrote in French. "I know that I ought to write in
Latin," he says, "but because more people understand French I
have written in French, so that every one may understand it."
Afterwards it was translated into Latin, later into English, and
still later into almost every European language, so much did
people like the stories.

When these stories appeared it was something quite new in
Literature, for until this time stories were always written in
poetry. It was only great and learned books, or books that were
meant to teach something, that were written in prose.

Here is one of Sir John Mandeville's tales.

After telling about the tomb of St. John at Ephesus, Sir John
goes on: "And then men pass through the isles of Cophos and
Lango, of the which isles Ipocras was lord. And some say that in
the isle of Lango is Ipocras's daughter in form of a Dragon. It
is a hundred foot long, so men say. But I have not seen it. And
they say the people of the isles call her the lady of the
country, and she lieth in an old castle and sheweth herself
thrice a year. And she doeth no man harm. And she is thus
changed from a lady to a Dragon through a goddess whom men call
Diana.

"And men say that she shall dwell so until the time that a knight
come that is so hardy as to go to her and kiss her mouth. And
then shall she turn again to her own kind and be a woman. And
after that she shall not live long.

"And it is not long since a knight of the island of Rhodes that
was hardy and valiant said that he would kiss her. But when the
Dragon began to lift up her head, and he saw it was so hideous,
he fled away. Then the Dragon in her anger bare the knight to a
rock and cast him into the sea, and so he was lost.

"Also a young man that wist not of the Dragon went out of a ship
and went through the isle till he came to a castle. Then came he
into the cave and went on till he found a chamber. And there he
saw a lady combing her hair, and looking in a mirror. And she
had much treasure about her. He bowed to the lady, and the lady
saw the shadow of him in the mirror. Then she turned towards him
and asked him what he would. And he answered he would be her
lover.

"Then she asked him if he were a knight, and he said 'Nay.' She
said then he might not be her lover. But she bade him go again
to his fellows and make him knight, and come again on the morrow.
Then she would come out of the cave and he should kiss her on the
mouth. And she bade him have no dread, for she would do him no
harm. Although she seemed hideous to him she said it was done by
enchantment, for, she said, she was really such as he saw her
then. She said, too, that if he kissed her he should have all
the treasure, and be her lord, and lord of all these isles.

"Then he departed from her and went to his fellows in the ship,
and made him knight, and came again on the morrow for to kiss the
damsel. But when he saw her come out of the cave in the form of
a Dragon, he had so great dread that he fled to the ship. She
followed him, and when she saw that he turned not again she began
to cry as a thing that had much sorrow, and turned back again.

"Soon after the knight died, and since, hitherto, might no knight
see her but he died anon. But when a knight cometh that is so
hardy to kiss her, he shall not die, but he shall turn that
damsel into her right shape and shall be lord of the country
aforesaid."

When Sir John reaches Palestine he has very much to say of the
wonders to be seen there. At Bethlehem he tells a story of how
roses first came into the world. Here it is:

"Bethlehem is but a little city, long and narrow, and well walled
and enclosed with a great ditch, and it was wont to be called
Ephrata, as Holy Writ sayeth, 'Lo, we heard it at Ephrata.' And
toward the end of the city toward the East, is a right fair
church and a gracious. And it hath many towers, pinnacles and
turrets full strongly made. And within that church are forty-
four great pillars of marble, and between the church the Field
Flowered as ye shall hear.

"The cause is, for as much as a fair maiden was blamed with
wrong, for the which cause she was deemed to die, and to be burnt
in that place, to the which she was led.

"And as the wood began to burn about her, she made her prayer to
our Lord as she was not guilty of that thing, that He would help
her that her innocence might be known to all men.

"And when she had this said she entered the fire. And anon the
fire went out, and those branches that were burning became red
roses, and those branches that were not kindled became white
roses. And those were the first roses and rose-trees that any
man saw. And so was the maiden saved through the grace of God,
and therefore is that field called the Field of God Flowered, for
it was full of roses."

Although Sir John begins his book as a guide to Palestine, he
tells of many other lands also, and of the wonder there. Of
Ethiopia, he tells us: "On the other side of Chaldea toward the
South is Ethiopia, a great land. In this land in the South are
the people right black. In that side is a well that in the day
the water is so cold that no man may drink thereof, and in the
night it is so hot that no man may suffer to put his hand in it.
In this land the rivers and all the waters are troublous, and
some deal salt, for the great heat. And men of that land are
easily made drunken and have little appetite for meat. They have
commonly great illness of body and live not long. In Ethiopia
are such men as have one foot, and they walk so fast that it is a
great marvel. And that is a large foot that the shadow thereof
covereth the body from sun and rain when they lie upon their
backs."

Sir John tells us, too, of a wonderful group of islands, "and in
one of these isles are men that have one eye, and that in the
midst of their forehead. And they eat not flesh or fish all raw.

"And in another isle dwell men that have no heads, and their eyes
are in their shoulders and their mouth is in their breast. . . .

"And in another isle are men that have flat faces without nose
and without eyes, but they have two small round holes instead of
eyes and they have a flat mouth without lips. . . .

"And in another isle are men that have the lips about their mouth
so great that when they sleep in the sun they cover all their
face with the lip."

But I must not tell all the "lying wonders of our English
knight."* for you must read the book for yourselves. And when
you do you will find that it is written with such an easy air of
truth that you will half believe in Sir John's marvels. Every
now and again, too, he puts in a bit of real information which
helps to make his marvels seem true, so that sometimes we cannot
be sure what is truth and what is fable.

*Colonel Sir Henry Yule, The Book of Sir Marco Polo.

Sir John wandered far and long, but at last his journeyings
ended. "I have passed through many lands and isles and
countries," he says, "and now am come to rest against my will."
And so to find comfort in his "wretched rest" he wrote his book.
"But," he says, "there are many other divers countries, and many
other marvels beyond that I have not seen. Also in countries
where I have been there are many marvels that I speak not of, for
it were too long a tale." And also, he thought, it was as well
to leave something untold "so that other men that go thither may
find enough for to say that I have not told," which was very kind
of him.

Sir John tells us then how he took his book to the holy father
the Pope, and how he caused it to be read, and "the Pope hath
ratified and affirmed my book in all points. And I pray to all
those that read this book, that they will pray for me, and I
shall pray for them."

BOOKS TO READ

The Voyages and Travels of Sir John Mandeville, edited

Chapter XXVI BARBOUR--"THE BRUCE," THE BEGINNINGS OF A
STRUGGLE

WHILE Chaucer was making for us pictures of English life, in the
sister kingdom across the rugged Cheviots another poet was
singing to a ruder people. This poet was John Barbour,
Archdeacon of Aberdeen. An older man than Chaucer, born perhaps
twenty years before the English poet, he died only five years
earlier. So that for many years these two lived and wrote at the
same time.

But the book by which Barbour is remembered best is very
different from that by which we remember Chaucer. Barbour's
best-known book is called The Bruce, and in it, instead of the
quiet tales of middle-class people, we hear throughout the clash
and clang of battle. Here once again we have the hero of
romance. Here once again history and story are mingled, and
Robert the Bruce swings his battle-ax and wings his faultless
arrow, saving his people from the English yoke.

The music of The Bruce cannot compare with the music of the
Tales, but the spirit throughout is one of manliness, of delight
in noble deeds and noble thoughts. Barbour's way of telling his
stories is simple and straightforward. It is full of stern
battle, yet there are lines of tender beauty, but nowhere do we
find anything like the quiet laughter and humor of Chaucer. And
that is not wonderful, for those were stern times in Scotland,
and The Bruce is as much an outcome of those times as were the
Tales or Piers Ploughman an outcome of the times in England.

But if to Chaucer belongs the title of "Father of English
Poetry," to Barbour belongs that of "Father of Scottish Poetry
and Scottish History." He, indeed, calls the language he wrote
in "Inglis," but it is a different English from that of Chaucer.
They were both founded on Anglo-Saxon, but instead of growing
into modern English, Barbour's tongue grew into what was known
later as "braid Scots." All the quotations that I am going to
give you from the poem I have turned into modern English, for,
although they lose a great deal in beauty, it makes them easier
for every one to understand. For even to the Scots boys and
girls who read this book there are many words in the original
that would need translating, although they are words still used
by every one who speaks Scots to this day. In one page of
twenty-seven lines taken at random we find sixteen such words.
They are, micht, nicht, lickt, weel, gane, ane, nane, stane,
rowit, mirk, nocht, brocht, mair, sperit at, sair, hert. For
those who are Scots it is interesting to know how little the
language of the people has changed in five hundred years.

As of many another of our early poets, we know little of
Barbour's life. He was Archdeacon of Aberdeen, as already said,
and in 1357 he received a safe-conduct from Edward III to allow
him to travel to Oxford with three companions. In those days
there was not as yet any university in Scotland. The monasteries
still held their place as centers of learning. But already the
fame of Oxford had reached the northern kingdom, and Barbour was
anxious to share in the treasures of learning to be found there.
At the moment there was peace between the two countries, but hate
was not dead, it only slumbered. So a safe-conduct or passport
was necessary for any Scotsman who would travel through England
in safety. "Edward the King unto his lieges greeting," it ran.
"Know ye that we have taken under our protection (at the request
of David de Bruce) John Barbour, Archdeacon of Aberdeen, with the
scholars in his company, in coming into our kingdom of England,
in order to study in the university of Oxford, and perform his
scholastic exercises, and in remaining there and in returning to
his own country of Scotland. And we hereby grant him our safe-
conduct, which is to continue in force for one year."

Barbour was given two other safe-conducts, one to allow him again
to visit Oxford, and another to allow him to pass through England
on his way to France. Besides this, we know that Barbour
received a pension from the King of Scotland, and that he held
his archdeaconry until his death; and that is almost all that we
know certainly of his life.

The Bruce is the great national poem, Robert the Bruce the great
national hero of Scotland. But although The Bruce concerns
Scotland in the first place, it is of interest to every one, for
it is full of thrilling stories of knightly deeds, many of which
are true. "The fine poem deserves to be better known," says one
of its editors.* "It is a proud thing for a country to have
given a subject for such an Odyssey, and to have had so early in
its literature a poet worthy to celebrate it." And it is little
wonder that Barbour wrote so stirringly of his hero, for he lived
not many years after the events took place, and when he was a
schoolboy Robert the Bruce was still reigning over Scotland.

*Cosmo Innes.

In the beginning of his book Barbour says:--

"Stories to read are delightful,
Supposing even they be naught but fable;
Then should stories that true were,
And that were said in good manner,
Have double pleasantness in hearing.
The first pleasantness is the telling
And the other is the truthfulness
That shows the thing right as it was.
And such things that are likand
To man's hearing are pleasant;
Therefore I would fain set my will,
If my wit may suffice thereto,
To put in writ a truthful story,
That it last aye forth in memory,
So that no time of length it let,
Nor gar it wholly be forgot."

So he will, he says, tell the tale of "stalwart folk that lived
erst while," of "King Robert of Scotland that hardy was of heart
and hand," and of "Sir James of Douglas that in his time so
worthy was," that his fame reached into far lands. Then he ends
this preface with a prayer that God will give him grace, "so that
I say naught but soothfast thing."

The story begins with describing the state of Scotland after the
death of Alexander III, when Edward I ruled in England.
Alexander had been a good king, but at his death the heir to the
throne was a little girl, the Maid of Norway. She was not even
in Scotland, but was far across the sea. And as this child-queen
came sailing to her kingdom she died on board ship, and so never
saw the land over which she ruled.

Then came a sad time for Scotland. "The land six year and more
i-faith lay desolate," for there was no other near heir to the
throne, and thirteen nobles claimed it. At last, as they could
not agree which had the best right, they asked King Edward of
England to decide for them.

As you know, it had been the dream of every King of England to be
King of Scotland too. And now Edward I saw his chance to make
that dream come true. He chose as King the man who had, perhaps,
the greatest right to the throne, John Balliol. But he made him
promise to hold the crown as a vassal to the King of England.

This, however, the Scots would not suffer. Freedom they had ever
loved, and freedom they would have. No man, they said, whether
he were chosen King or no, had power to make them thralls of
England.

"Oh! Freedom is a noble thing!
Freedom makes a man to have liking,
Freedom all solace to man gives,
He lives at ease that freely lives.
A noble heart may have no ease,
Nor nothing else that may him please,
If freedom faileth; for free delight
Is desired before all other thing.
Nor he that aye has lived free
May not know well the quality,
The anger, nor the wretched doom
That joined is to foul thraldom."

So sang Barbour, and so the passionate hearts of the Scots cried
through all the wretched years that followed the crowning of John
Balliol. And when at last they had greatest need, a leader arose
to show them the way to freedom. Robert the Bruce, throwing off
his sloth and forgetfulness of his country, became their King and
hero. He was crowned and received the homage of his barons, but
well he knew that was but the beginning.

"To maintain what he had begun
He wist, ere all the land was won,
He should find full hard bargaining
With him that was of England King,
For there was none in life so fell,
So stubborn, nor so cruel."