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A
new world of thought and imagination had dawned upon it; and a new
literature, that of Italy, was spread before it. Yet who shall say
that the facts answer to these expectations? In the writings of Chaucer
himself a keen eye, it is true, may discern the faint beginnings of
the critical spirit. No poet has written with more nicely calculated
art; none has passed a cooler judgment upon the popular taste of his
generation. We know that Chaucer despised the "false gallop" of
chivalrous verse; we know that he had small respect for the marvels
of Arthurian romance. And his admiration is at least as frank as his
contempt. What poet has felt and avowed a deeper reverence for the
great Latins? What poet has been so alert to recognize the
master-spirits of his own time and his father's? De Meung and Granson
among the French--Dante, Petrarch and Boccaccio of the Italians--each
comes in for his share of praise from Chaucer, or of the princely
borrowings which are still more eloquent than praise.
Yet, for all this, Chaucer is far indeed from founding the art of
criticism.


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