e very best. She is a whole _Ecole des Maris_ in
herself.

The tales are of every sort,[535] and taken from everywhere. Chaucer
never troubled himself to invent any; he received them from all hands,
but he modelled them after his own fashion, and adapted them to his
characters. They are borrowed from France, Italy, ancient Rome; the
knight's tale is taken from Boccaccio, that of the nun's priest is
imitated from the "Roman de Renart"; that of "my lord the monk" from
Latin authors and from Dante, "the grete poete of Itaille." The miller,
the reeve, the somnour, the shipman, relate coarse stories, and their
licentiousness somewhat embarrasses the good Chaucer, who excuses
himself for it. It is not he who talks, it is his road-companions; and
it is the Southwark beer which inspires them, not he; you must blame the
Southwark beer. The manners of the people of the lower classes, their
loves, their animosities and their jealousies, are described to the life
in these narratives. We see how the jolly Absolon goes to work to charm
the carpenter's wife, who prefers Nicholas; he makes music under her
windows, and brings her little presents; he is careful of his attire,
wears "hoses rede," spreads out hair that shines like gold,

He kempte hise lokkes brode, and made him gay.

If on a feast-day they play a Mystery on the public place before the
church, he gets the part of Herod allotted to him: who could resist a
person so much in view? Alison resists, however, not out of virtue, but
because she prefers Nicholas. She does not require fine phrases to repel
Absolon's advances; village-folk are not so ceremonious:

Go forth thy wey, or I wol caste a ston.

Blows abound in stories of that kind, and the personages go off with
"their back as limp as their belly," as we read in one of the narratives
from which Chaucer drew his inspiration.

Next to these great scenes of noise there are little familiar scenes,
marvellously observed, and described to perfection; scenes of home-life
that might tempt the pencil of a Dutch painter; views of the mysterious
laboratory where the alchemist, at once duped and duping, surrounded
with retorts, "cucurbites and alembykes," his clothes burnt to holes,
seeks to discover the philosopher's stone. They heat, they pay great
attention, they stir the mixture;

The pot to-breketh, and farewel! al is go!

Then they discuss; it is the fault of the pot, of the fire, of the
metal; it is just as