Part 2

Now if he woote that joie is transitorie, As every joie of worldly thynge mot fle, Thanne every tyme he that hath in memorie, The drede of lesyng maketh hym that he May in no parfyte selynesse be: And if to lese his joie, he sette not a myte, Than semeth it, that joie is worth ful lite.

(_Troylus and Cryseyde_, bk. iii. st. 111, 112, vol. iv. p. 258.)

(1) What man þat þis toumblyng welefulnesse leediþ, eiþer he woot þat [it] is chaungeable. or ellis he woot it nat. And yif he woot it not. what blisful fortune may þer be in þe blyndenesse of ignoraunce.

(2) And yif he woot þat it is chaungeable. he mot alwey ben adrad þat he ne lese þat þing. þat he ne douteþ nat but þat he may leesen it. . . . . . For whiche þe continuel drede þat he haþ ne suffriþ hym nat to ben weleful. Or ellys yif he leese it he wene[þ] to be dispised and forleten hit. Certis eke þat is a ful lytel goode þat is born wiþ euene hert[e] whan it is loost.

(_Chaucer’s Boethius_, pp. 43, 44.)

(1) Quem caduca ista felicitas vehit, vel scit eam, vel nescit esse mutabilem. Si nescit, quænam beata sors esse potest ignorantiæ in cæcitate?

(2) Si scit, metuat necesse est, ne amittat, quod amitti posse non dubitat; quare continuus timor non sinit esse felicem. An vel si amiserit, negligendum putat? Sic quoque perexile bonum est, quod æquo animo feratur amissum.

(_Boethius_, lib. ii. prose 4.)

XIII. FORTUNE.

----Fortune That semeth trewest when she wol bigyle, . . . . . . . . . . . . . And, when a wight is from hire whiel ithrowe, Than laugheth she, and maketh hym the mowe.

(_Troylus and Cryseyde_, bk. iii. st. 254, vol. iv. p. 299.)

She (Fortune) vseþ ful flatryng familarité wiþ hem þat she enforceþ to bygyle.

(_Chaucer’s Boethius_, p. 30.)

. . . . . . . She lauȝeþ and scorneþ þe wepyng of hem þe whiche she haþ maked wepe wiþ hir free wille . . . . Yif þat a wyȝt is seyn weleful and ouerþrowe in an houre.

(_Ib._ p. 33.)

In book v., stanza 260, vol. v. p. 75, Chaucer describes how the soul of Hector, after his death, ascended ‘up to the holughnesse of the seventhe spere.’ In so doing he seems to have had before him met. 1, book 4, of Boethius, where the ‘soul’ is described as passing into the heaven’s utmost sphere, and looking down on the world below. See _Chaucer’s Boethius_, p. 110, 111.

Ætas Prima is of course a metrical version of lib. ii. met. 5.

Hampole speaks of the wonderful sight of the Lynx; perhaps he was indebted to Boethius for the hint. --(See _Boethius_, book 3, pr. 8, p. 81.)

I have seen the following elsewhere:

(1) Value not beauty, for it may be destroyed by a three days’ fever.

(See _Chaucer’s Boethius_, p. 81.)

(2) There is no greater plague than the enmity of thy familiar friend.

(See _Chaucer’s_ translation, p. 77.)

* * * * *

Chaucer did not English Boethius second-hand, through any early French version, as some have supposed, but made his translation with the Latin original before him.

Jean de Méung’s version, the only early French translation, perhaps, accessible to Chaucer, is not always literal, while the present translation is seldom free or periphrastic, but conforms closely to the Latin, and is at times awkwardly literal. A few passages, taken haphazard, will make this sufficiently clear.

_Et dolor ætatem jussit inesse suam._ And sorou haþ comaunded his age to be in me (p. 4).

Et ma douleur {com}ma{n}da a vieillesse Entrer en moy / ains quen fust hors ieunesse.

_Mors hominum felix, quæ se nec dulcibus annis Inserit, et mæstis sæpe vocata venit._

Þilke deeþ of men is welful þat ne comeþ not in ȝeres þat ben swete (i. _mirie_). but comeþ to wrecches often yclepid. (p. 4)

On dit la mort des ho{m}es estre eureuse Qui ne vie{n}t pas en saiso{n} pla{n}tureuse Mais des tristes mo{u}lt souue{n}t appellee Elle y affuit nue / seche et pelee.

_Querimoniam lacrymabilem._ Wepli compleynte (p. 5). Fr. ma complainte moy esmouuant a pleurs.

_Styli officio._ Wiþ office of poyntel (p. 5). Fr. (que ie reduisse) p{ar} escript.

_Inexhaustus._ Swiche . . . þat it ne myȝt[e] not be emptid (p. 5). Fr. inconsumptible.

_Scenicas meretriculas._ Comune strumpetis of siche a place þat men clepen þe theatre (p. 6). Fr. ces ribaudelles fardees.

_Præcipiti profundo._ In ouer-þrowyng depnesse (p. 7).

[L]As que la pensee de lomme Est troublee et plongie comme En _abisme precipitee_ Sa propre lumiere gastee.

_Nec pervetusta nec incelebris._ Neyþer ouer-oolde ne vnsolempne (p. 11). Fr. desquelz la memoire nest pas trop ancienne ou no{n} recitee.

_Inter secreta otia._ Among my secre restyng whiles (p. 14). Fr. entre mes secrettes {et} oyseuses estudes.

_Palatini canes._ Þe houndys of þe palays (p. 15). Fr. les chiens du palais.

_Masculæ prolis._ Of þi masculyn children (p. 37). Fr. de ta lignie masculine.

_Ad singularem felicitatis tuæ cumulum venire delectat._ It deliteþ me to comen now to þe singuler vphepyng of þi welefulnesse (p. 37). Fr. Il me plait venir au singulier monceau de ta felicite.

_Consulare imperium._ Emperie of consulers (p. 51). Fr. le{m}pire consulaire.

_Hoc ipsum brevis habitaculi._ Of þilke litel habitacle (p. 57). Fr. de cest trespetit habitacle.

_Late patentes plagas._ Þe brode shewyng contreys (p. 60).

QVico{n}ques tend a gloire vaine Et le croit estre souueraine Voye _les regions pate{n}tes_ Du ciel . . . . . .

_Ludens hominum cura._ Þe pleiyng besines of men (p. 68).

Si quil tollist par doulz estude Des hommes la solicitude . .

_Hausi cœlum._ I took heuene (p. 10). Fr. ie . . . regarday le ciel.

_Certamen adversum præfectum prætorii communis commodi ratione suscepi._ I took strif aȝeins þe prouost of þe pretorie for comune profit (p. 15). Fr. ie entrepris lestrif a lencontre du prefect du parlement royal a cause de la commune vtilite.

_At cujus criminis arguimur summam quæris?_ But axest þou in somme of what gilt I am accused? (p. 17). Fr. Mais demandes tu la somme du pechie duquel pechie nous so{m}mes arguez?

_Fortuita temeritate._ By fortunouse fortune (p. 26). Fr. par fortuite folie.

_Quos premunt septem gelidi triones._ Alle þe peoples þat ben vndir þe colde sterres þat hyȝten þe seuene triones (p. 55). Fr. ceulx de septentrion.

_Ita ego quoque tibi veluti corollarium dabo._ Ryȝt so wil I ȝeue þe here as a corolarie or a mede of coroune (p. 91). Fr. semblablement ie te donneray ainsi que vng correlaire.

_In stadio._ In þe stadie or in þe forlonge (p. 119). Fr. ou (for au) champ.

_Conjecto._ I coniecte (p. 154). Fr. ie coniecture.

_Nimium . . . adversari ac repugnare videtur._ It semeþ . . . to repugnen and to contrarien gretly. Fr. Ce semble chose trop contraire et repugnante.

_Universitatis ambitum._ Envirounynge of þe vniuersite (p. 165). Fr. lauironnement de luniuersalite.

_Rationis universum._ Vniuersite of resoun (p. 165). Fr. luniuersalite de Raison.

_Scientiam nunquam deficientis instantiæ rectius æstimabis._ Þou shalt demen [it] more ryȝtfully þat it is science of presence or of instaunce þat neuer ne fayleþ (p. 174). Fr. mais tu la diras plus droittement et mieulx science de instante p{re}sentialite non iamais defaillant mais eternelle.

Many of the above examples are very bald renderings of the original, and are only quoted here to show that Chaucer did not make his translation from the French.

Chaucer is not always felicitous in his translations:--thus he translates _clavus atque gubernaculum_ by _keye and a stiere_ (p. 103), and _compendium_ (gain, acquisition) by _abreggynge_ (abridging, curtailment), p. 151. Many terms make their appearance in English for the first time,--and most of them have become naturalized, and are such as we could ill spare. Some few are rather uncommon, as _gouernaile_ (gubernaculum), p. 27; _arbitre_ (arbitrium), p. 154. As Chaucer takes the trouble to explain _inestimable_ (inæstimabilis), p. 158, it could not have been a very familiar term.

Our translator evidently took note of various readings, for on p. 31 he notes a variation of the original. On p. 51 he uses _armurers_ (= armures) to render _arma_, though most copies agree in reading _arva_.

There are numerous glosses and explanations of particular passages, which seem to be interpolated by Chaucer himself. Thus he explains what is meant by the _heritage of Socrates_ (p. 10, 11); he gives the meaning of _coemption_ (p. 15); of _Euripus_ (p. 33); of the _porch_ (p. 166).[I-11] Some of his definitions are very quaint; as, for instance, that of Tragedy--‘_a dité of a prosperité for a tyme þat endiþ in wrechednesse_’ (p. 35). One would think that the following definition of Tragedian would be rather superfluous after this,--‘_a maker of dites þat hyȝten_ (are called) _tregedies_’ (p. 77).

_Melliflui . . . oris Homerus_

is thus quaintly Englished: _Homer wiþ þe hony mouþe, þat is to seyn. homer wiþ þe swete dites_ (p. 153).

* * * * *

The present translation of the _De Consolatione_ is taken from Additional MS. 10,340, which is supposed to be the _oldest_ manuscript that exists in our public libraries. After it was all copied out and ready for press, Mr Bradshaw was kind enough to procure me, for the purpose of collation, the loan of the Camb. University MS. Ii. 3. 21, from which the various readings at the foot of the pages are taken.

Had I had an opportunity of examining the Cambridge MS. carefully throughout before the work was so far advanced, I should certainly have selected it in preference to the text now given to the reader. Though not so ancient as the British Museum MS., it is far more correct in its grammatical inflexions, and is no doubt a copy of an older and very accurate text.

The Additional MS. is written by a scribe who was unacquainted with the force of the final _-e_. Thus he adds it to the preterites of strong verbs, which do not require it; he omits it in the preterites of weak verbs where it is wanted, and attaches it to passive participles (of weak verbs), where it is superfluous. The scribe of the Cambridge MS. is careful to preserve the final _-e_ where it is a sign (1) of the definite declension of the adjective; (2) of the plural adjective; (3) of the infinitive mood; (4) of the preterite of weak verbs; (5) of present participles;[I-12] (6) of the 2nd pers. pret. indic. of strong verbs; (7) of adverbs; (8) of an older vowel ending.

The Addit. MS. has frequently _thilk_ (singular and plural), and _-nes_ (in _wrechednes_, &c.), when the Camb. MS. has _thilke_[I-13] and _-nesse_.

For further differences the reader may consult the numerous collations at the foot of the page.

If the Chaucer Society obtains that amount of patronage from the literary public which it deserves, but unfortunately has yet not succeeded in getting, so that it may be enabled to go on with the great work which has been so successfully commenced, then the time may come when I shall have the opportunity of editing the Camb. MS. of Chaucer’s Boethius for that Society, and lovers of Early English Literature will have two texts instead of one.

[Footnote I-11: See pages 39, 50, 61, 94, 111, 133, 149, 153, 159.]

[Footnote I-12: In the Canterbury Tales we find participles in _-yngë_.]

[Footnote I-13: It is nearly always _thilkë_ in the Canterbury Tales.]

APPENDIX TO INTRODUCTION.

The last of the ancients, and one who forms a link between the classical period of literature and that of the middle ages, in which he was a favourite author, is Boethius, a man of fine genius, and interesting both from his character and his death. It is well known that after filling the dignities of Consul and Senator in the court of Theodoric, he fell a victim to the jealousy of a sovereign, from whose memory, in many respects glorious, the stain of that blood has never been effaced. The _Consolation of Philosophy_, the chief work of Boethius, was written in his prison. Few books are more striking from the circumstances of their production. Last of the classic writers, in style not impure, though displaying too lavishly that poetic exuberance which had distinguished the two or three preceding centuries, in elevation of sentiment equal to any of the philosophers, and mingling a Christian sanctity with their lessons, he speaks from his prison in the swan-like tones of dying eloquence. The philosophy that consoled him in bonds, was soon required in the sufferings of a cruel death. Quenched in his blood, the lamp he had trimmed with a skilful hand gave no more light; the language of Tully and Virgil soon ceased to be spoken; and many ages were to pass away, before learned diligence restored its purity, and the union of genius with imitation taught a few modern writers to surpass in eloquence the Latinity of Boethius. --(Hallam’s _Literature of Europe_, i. 2, 4th ed. 1854.)

The Senator Boethius is the last of the Romans whom Cato or Tully could have acknowledged for their countryman. As a wealthy orphan, he inherited the patrimony and honours of the Anician family, a name ambitiously assumed by the kings and emperors of the age; and the appellation of Manlius asserted his genuine or fabulous descent from a race of consuls and dictators, who had repulsed the Gauls from the Capitol, and sacrificed their sons to the discipline of the Republic. In the youth of Boethius the studies of Rome were not totally abandoned; a Virgil is now extant, corrected by the hand of a consul; and the professors of grammar, rhetoric, and jurisprudence, were maintained in their privileges and pensions by the liberality of the Goths. But the erudition of the Latin language was insufficient to satiate his ardent curiosity; and Boethius is said to have employed eighteen laborious years in the schools of Athens, which were supported by the zeal, the learning, and the diligence of Proclus and his disciples. The reason and piety of their Roman pupil were fortunately saved from the contagion of mystery and magic, which polluted the groves of the Academy, but he imbibed the spirit, and imitated the method, of his dead and living masters, who attempted to reconcile the strong and subtle sense of Aristotle with the devout contemplation and sublime fancy of Plato. After his return to Rome, and his marriage with the daughter of his friend, the patrician Symmachus, Boethius still continued, in a palace of ivory and [glass] to prosecute the same studies. The Church was edified by his profound defence of the orthodox creed against the Arian, the Eutychian, and the Nestorian heresies; and the Catholic unity was explained or exposed in a formal treatise by the _indifference_ of three distinct though consubstantial persons. For the benefit of his Latin readers, his genius submitted to teach the first elements of the arts and sciences of Greece. The geometry of Euclid, the music of Pythagoras, the arithmetic of Nicomachus, the mechanics of Archimedes, the astronomy of Ptolemy, the theology of Plato, and the logic of Aristotle, with the commentary of Porphyry, were translated and illustrated by the indefatigable pen of the Roman senator. And he alone was esteemed capable of describing the wonders of art, a sun-dial, a water-clock, or a sphere which represented the motions of the planets. From these abstruse speculations, Boethius stooped, or, to speak more truly, he rose to the social duties of public and private life: the indigent were relieved by his liberality; and his eloquence, which flattery might compare to the voice of Demosthenes or Cicero, was uniformly exerted in the cause of innocence and humanity. Such conspicuous merit was felt and rewarded by a discerning prince: the dignity of Boethius was adorned with the titles of consul and patrician, and his talents were usefully employed in the important station of master of the offices. Notwithstanding the equal claims of the East and West, his two sons were created, in their tender youth, the consuls of the same year. On the memorable day of their inauguration, they proceeded in solemn pomp from their palace to the forum amidst the applause of the senate and people; and their joyful father, the true Consul of Rome, after pronouncing an oration in the praise of his royal benefactor, distributed a triumphal largess in the games of the circus. Prosperous in his fame and fortunes, in his public honours and private alliances, in the cultivation of science and the consciousness of virtue, Boethius might have been styled happy, if that precarious epithet could be safely applied before the last term of the life of man.

A philosopher, liberal of his wealth and parsimonious of his time, might be insensible to the common allurements of ambition, the thirst of gold and employment. And some credit may be due to the asseveration of Boethius, that he had reluctantly obeyed the divine Plato, who enjoins every virtuous citizen to rescue the state from the usurpation of vice and ignorance. For the integrity of his public conduct he appeals to the memory of his country. His authority had restrained the pride and oppression of the royal officers, and his eloquence had delivered Paulianus from the dogs of the palace. He had always pitied, and often relieved, the distress of the provincials, whose fortunes were exhausted by public and private rapine; and Boethius alone had courage to oppose the tyranny of the Barbarians, elated by conquest, excited by avarice, and, as he complains, encouraged by impunity. In these honourable contests his spirit soared above the consideration of danger, and perhaps of prudence; and we may learn from the example of Cato, that a character of pure and inflexible virtue is the most apt to be misled by prejudice, to be heated by enthusiasm, and to confound private enmities with public justice. The disciple of Plato might exaggerate the infirmities of nature, and the imperfections of society; and the mildest form of a Gothic kingdom, even the weight of allegiance and gratitude, must be insupportable to the free spirit of a Roman patriot. But the favour and fidelity of Boethius declined in just proportion with the public happiness; and an unworthy colleague was imposed to divide and control the power of the master of the offices. In the last gloomy season of Theodoric, he indignantly felt that he was a slave; but as his master had only power over his life, he stood without arms and without fear against the face of an angry Barbarian, who had been provoked to believe that the safety of the senate was incompatible with his own. The Senator Albinus was accused and already convicted on the presumption of _hoping_, as it was said, the liberty of Rome.

“If Albinus be criminal,” exclaimed the orator, “the senate and myself are all guilty of the same crime. If we are innocent, Albinus is equally entitled to the protection of the laws.” These laws might not have punished the simple and barren wish of an unattainable blessing; but they would have shown less indulgence to the rash confession of Boethius, that, had he known of a conspiracy, the tyrant never should. The advocate of Albinus was soon involved in the danger and perhaps the guilt of his client; their signature (which they denied as a forgery) was affixed to the original address, inviting the emperor to deliver Italy from the Goths; and three witnesses of honourable rank, perhaps of infamous reputation, attested the treasonable designs of the Roman patrician. Yet his innocence must be presumed, since he was deprived by Theodoric of the means of justification, and rigorously confined in the tower of Pavia, while the senate, at the distance of five hundred miles, pronounced a sentence of confiscation and death against the most illustrious of its members. At the command of the Barbarians, the occult science of a philosopher was stigmatized with the names of sacrilege and magic. A devout and dutiful attachment to the senate was condemned as criminal by the trembling voices of the senators themselves; and their ingratitude deserved the wish or prediction of Boethius, that, after him, none should be found guilty of the same offence.

While Boethius, oppressed with fetters, expected each moment the sentence or the stroke of death, he composed in the tower of Pavia the _Consolation of Philosophy_; a golden volume not unworthy of the leisure of Plato or Tully, but which claims incomparable merit from the barbarism of the times and the situation of the author. The celestial guide, whom he had so long invoked at Rome and Athens, now condescended to illumine his dungeon, to revive his courage, and to pour into his wounds her salutary balm. She taught him to compare his long prosperity and his recent distress, and to conceive new hopes from the inconstancy of fortune. Reason had informed him of the precarious condition of her gifts; experience had satisfied him of their real value; he had enjoyed them without guilt; he might resign them without a sigh, and calmly disdain the impotent malice of his enemies, who had left him happiness, since they had left him virtue. From the earth, Boethius ascended to heaven in search of the SUPREME GOOD; explored the metaphysical labyrinth of chance and destiny, of prescience and free-will, of time and eternity; and generously attempted to reconcile the perfect attributes of the Deity with the apparent disorders of his moral and physical government. Such topics of consolation, so obvious, so vague, or so abstruse, are ineffectual to subdue the feelings of human nature. Yet the sense of misfortune may be diverted by the labour of thought; and the sage who could artfully combine in the same work the various riches of philosophy, poetry, and eloquence, must already have possessed the intrepid calmness which he affected to seek. Suspense, the worst of evils, was at length determined by the ministers of death, who executed, and perhaps exceeded, the inhuman mandate of Theodoric. A strong cord was fastened round the head of Boethius, and forcibly tightened till his eyes almost started from their sockets; and some mercy may be discovered in the milder torture of beating him with clubs till he expired. But his genius survived to diffuse a ray of knowledge over the darkest ages of the Latin world; the writings of the philosopher were translated by the most glorious of the English kings, and the third emperor of the name of Otho removed to a more honourable tomb the bones of a Catholic saint, who, from his Arian persecutors, had acquired the honours of martyrdom and the fame of miracles. In the last hours of Boethius, he derived some comfort from the safety of his two sons, of his wife, and of his father-in-law, the venerable Symmachus. But the grief of Symmachus was indiscreet, and perhaps disrespectful; he had presumed to lament, he might dare to revenge, the death of an injured friend. He was dragged in chains from Rome to the palace of Ravenna; and the suspicions of Theodoric could only be appeased by the blood of an innocent and aged senator.--Gibbon’s _Decline and Fall_, 1838, vol. vii. p. 45-52 (without the notes).

INDEX

_(Giving the first line of each Metre, the first words of each Prose, and the corresponding page of the translation)._

Book Metre Prose Page