People who read each other’s blogs sometimes make the mistake of thinking they know each other pretty well. But blogs are deceiving. What a blogger omits gets left out of the picture. Here, for instance, are a few oddments you may not have thought of in connection with the author of TGOB.
1. Geoffrey Chaucer was master of the English language circa 1400. (If you’re wondering what this has to do with me, read on.)
2. English 715 years ago (aka “Middle” English) wasn’t exactly a foreign language, but some — including me — might call it close to one.
3. “Middle” English pronunciation was also something else. It was spoken just before what linguists call “the great vowel shift” — an oddity occurring with all English speakers in the early 15th century (don’t ask me why) that moved our vowels a notch further forward in our mouths from the point where Europeans sound out the same vowels. Example: the color that you get by mixing blue and yellow used to be pronounced “grain” (and spelled “grene”); after the shift, it began being pronounced “green” and still is, except perhaps in Ireland. (In fact, Middle English does have a faint Irish lilt.)
4. Why am I telling you this?
- First, to take a break from sex, love and death, which I seem to have been writing about quite a bit lately.
- And second, because starting tomorrow I’m taking a six-week course in Chaucer designed for retired Princetonians. (Or non-retired ones who have their days free to do as they please.) Just Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. And just the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. It’s being given by a renowned Professor Emeritus from Princeton University named John Fleming who has no idea I’m blogging about him and his short course.
So many people have signed up for Professor Fleming’s course that it’s being held in the former courtroom of Princeton Boro. (That is, it was a courtroom before the Boro merged with Princeton Township to become just plain Princeton. But you don’t need to know all that local political history to understand this Chaucer thing must be a very popular subject here in Princeton to fill a courtroom, however small by courtroom standards.)
5. The subject seems to have been so popular there had to be a lottery for seats, and I won one of them!
6. In 1954 I took a course in Chaucer and everything he wrote, including The Canterbury Tales. I was in graduate school at USC. (Southern California, not South Carolina.) I still have the textbook and my notes for the exam but can’t read the notes or any of my marginal commentary anymore. So I bought the currently recommended text and will bring both to class, like the goody-goody I used to be.
7. My having had a course in Chaucer sixty-one years ago does give me a leg up on the pronunciation, believe it or not. I checked myself against an online spoken version of the first twenty-six lines of the Prologue, and I wasn’t bad at it. I missed the beat fairly often but got most of those retrograde vowels right. Here it is, if you’d like to try yourself: http://www.nativlang.com/middle-english/middle-english-canterbury-tales.php
8. Or, if you’d rather not bother with all those vowels, this is what the beginning looks like:
Whan that Aprille with his shoures soote |
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote, |
And bathed every veyne in swich licour |
Of which vertu engendred is the flour; |
Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth |
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth |
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne |
Hath in the Ram his halve cours yronne, |
And smale foweles maken melodye, |
That slepen al the nyght with open ye |
(So priketh hem nature in hir corages); | (
Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, |
And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, |
To ferne halwes, kouthe in sondry londes; |
And specially from every shires ende |
Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende, |
The hooly blisful martir for to seke, |
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke. |
Bifil that in that seson on a day, |
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay |
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage |
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage, |
At nyght was come into that hostelrye |
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye, |
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle |
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle, |
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde,
The chambres and the stables weren wyde,
And wel we weren esed atte beste.
So hadde I spoken with hem everichon
That I was of hir felaweshipe anon,
And made forward erly for to ryse,
To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.
9. What saddens me is that I can’t remember the name or face of the Chaucer professor back in 1954. I liked him quite a bit, perhaps because he admired a proto-feminist paper I wrote about Criseyde in Troilus and Criseyde, centered on her declaration that she was her own woman. And now he’s gone, gone with the wind — blown clear out of my mind, both the look of him and any way of identifying him. I didn’t even write his name in the textbook, perhaps because I thought I might sell it again afterwards, although how I could have sold it with all those handwritten illegible notes in it I can’t imagine. I think his last name began with a W, but I’m not sure.
10. And if all this messing about in the faraway past sounds too odd for you, think of it this way: Maybe after our seemingly endless freezing winter of Northeastern discontent, I just can’t wait for those soote (sweet) shoures (showers) of Aprille and those smale foweles (birds) to maken melodye. Reading about it in Chaucer, even in Middle English, speeds it up. By the time the course is over, the shoures and foweles will really be here.