While it's a bit silly to go hunting for contradictions in a work infamous for tonal inconsistencies, the line, "But nevertheless, our author tells us, that Cupid, who is the god of Love, as the prayer of his mother on high had taken on the likeness of the child, to enamor this noble queen of Aeneas. (But as to that text, be it as it may, I pay no attention to it.)" (11) still leapt out at me. The other instance of god infusion (for lack of better phrase) we encountered was in Ceyx and Alcyone, a moment that seemed emblematic of Chaucer's theory of personality. I might be making too much of it, but Chaucer's choice to have the Legend of Good Women's narrator voice skepticism seems an odd move indeed.

The other ways in which Chaucer animates the narrator make more sense-- for instance, his constant fastforwarding is a comic touch that punctures any sense of the epic. But I'm not sure quite what to make of this. Narrator and author are, of course, not necessarily the same being, but this casual parenthetical remark does seem to undermine Chaucer's reliance on tropes of mimicry.

The legend of Good Women

H.C. Goddard was right on the money.

 "In Goddard's view, the Legend was to read as a satire upon women, a misogynist satire that said, in effect, "You want  a good woman- here, I'll give you good women." (Chaucer's Heroidies 165) 

From the onset  we are shown a series of women that descend from the powerful Cleopatra, to the easily manipulated Hypermenstra. Dido, who presides over a land "where maidens walk with arrow and bow in this manner" (991), becomes mad for Aneaus and bemoans that her pride and achievement have been sullied by this rogue. "O unfortunate woman, innocent full of pity, faith and tenderness, why did you so trust men?" (1254) The first stories present the women as failed and given to emotion and folly no matter their worldly status, but the repetition of the stories and the redundancy that is employed is easily read as Chaucer's sly smirk as he praises women while laughing at them. 

Stepping away from this particular story I couldn't help but be reminded of the numerous, almost countless, female protagonists that meet the same end as all the women in Chaucer's tale. (i,e Edna Pontelier, Ophelia, Anna Karrenina) What I find particularly interesting is that those women are seen in full figure and examination, and in the end meet their fate for a variety of reasons, chief among them a lack of freedom and choice, but they are examined.  Chaucer merely presents them as unwitting victims who fall prey to the cunning snares of men. Chaucer's completion of the task put forth by Alceste is misogyny under the guise of a wink and a smile. 

Hypsipyle and Medea

Although there are various parts of Chaucer's The Legend of Good Women that serve as points of contention, part IV, "The Legend of Hypsipyle and Medea," seems to me to be the most questionable. The first peculiarity is that Chaucer does not seem to fault Hercules at all, though he was just as wicked and deceitful (if not moreso!) than Jason in fooling Hyipsipyle. Even more strangely, however, is that Chaucer calls Hypsipyle a "trew" (line 1576) and "chast" (line 1577) wife whose custom it was "to give pleasure to all," "motivated by true generosity and courtesy" (footnote to lines 1476-8) in light of how she reacts to Jason's departing. True, what he did was terrible indeed, but it seems harsh to wish that all other women "that suffreth him his wille" should be fated to slay their own children (lines 1574-5), and certainly evidence contrary to her wishing "to give pleasure to all."

The character of Medea, however, is even more debatable. Although Chaucer decides to leave these parts out of his retelling of the story of Jason and Medea, in truth she actually committed some wicked deeds herself. To Jason's new bride she sends a robe as a wedding gift, but when she puts it on, it engulfs her in flames and she dies. This robe also kills the girl's father, Creon, the king. Obviously it was wrong for Jason to take a new wife, but I doubt that the bride had much say in the matter, and probably could have been spared. Also, perhaps because of Hypsipyle's curse, Medea also slays her own children as a way of avenging what Jason did to her-- which seems both cruel, unnecessary, un-motherly, and transgressive. True, she suffered greatly due to Jason's immorality, but I would hardly call her a good woman, as the title of the poem implies.

The legend of good women

By means of the Prologue, which lauds female purity, Chaucer sets us up for the shock that portraying women as "pure maidens and faithful wives...steadfast until death" (287) is equally, if not more tragic than portraying them as villians, as he did in Troilus and Criseyde.

As a result of choosing to remain true to their gentle, feminine values, women in the various stories in the poem neglect the lord Danger(2), and are eventually cheated and exploited by men. In Chaucer's accounts, women fail to see that "there are many flatterers, and many artful, tattling accusers, who drum many things in your ears out of hatred or jeolous imaginings, or to have friendly talk with you" (4). Ironically, these words are the advice of Alceste herself, the epitomy of the feimine figure. Perhaps this is Chaucers way of saying that while women of are aware of the double-edgedness of love, in the attempt to enshrine their purity, they turn a blind eye and become meek to the devious acts of males. As such, portraying women as the absolute victims of love, and men the oppressors, in line with the god of love's request, may result in an even more tragic and miserable image of women.

Furthermore, such an image also fails to reflect the indiscriminate harm love can inflict on both women and men(as in the case of Medea and Dido) . The god of Love is depicted as one who possesses 2 incongruously "fiery arrows" (3) and is embroidered in green (presumably symbolizing the envy which promulgates the turmoil arising out of jealousy in the later stories of the poem). Such a figure does not bear any traits to one which seems inclined to only victimizing women.

In The Legend of Good Women, the narrator appears anxious to complete his story rapidly. He writes, for instance, that to “describe the wedding and the festival would take too long” (7). He also writes that he “could follow Virgil word for word,” but that “it would take entirely too long” (10). Similarly, he writes: “But because I am already oversupplied with writing about men false in love, and so that I may also hasten myself in my legend (may God grant me grace to finish it), therefore I pass on quickly this way” (22). And on page 23, he writes: “But I cannot write all her letter, point by point, for it would be a burden to me; her letter was very long and broad.” In addition, he repeatedly claims that he will keep his story brief and touch only on the crucial points. Why does the narrator stress his desire to reach the end of the story as quickly as possible? Is it really the case that he wishes to highlight only the most important aspects? Or is his impatience related to the fact that he is writing about an assigned topic? Alceste says: “But just as you shall direct, so shall [the narrator] write of women ever faithful in love, maidens or wives, whatsoever you wish” (5). Does his impatience suggest that he resents the task imposed upon him by Alceste? 

I find it curious that the artificiality of the Ceyx puppet is more pronounced in the Ovid. "These words spoke Morpheus and that, too, in a voice she might well believe her husband's; he seemed also to weep real tears and his hands performed the gestures of Ceys." (Ovid 671-672) The 'seems,' 'performed,' 'real,' 'might well believe,' etc all work to ensure that the reader doesn't lose sight of the 'possession,' for lack of better word, gripping Ceyx's body. Alcyone also goes on to clutch at empty air, further highlighting the falsity of the apparition. She notes that he "had not, to be sure, his wonted features, nor did his face light as it used to do." (Ovid 688-690)

Chaucer's omission of any reaction on Alcyone's part is striking. That we only see that he called her by her very name (Chaucer 201) implies that pseudo-Ceyx's words have been thoroughly convincing to his very wife; in other words, that verbal tics alone can, perhaps, constitute the self in the eyes of the rest of the world, to the point that the actual origin of the voice ceases to matter. Even the physical presence of the corpse is waved aside, while in Ovid, the corpse conspicuously comes to shore before the Alcyone/Ceyx reunion.

Morpheus's Dwelling

The alternative versions of the story of Ceyx and Alcyone reveal many of Chaucer's aberrations from the traditional tale. Aside from the ending in which the two lovers are immortalized as birds, another stark difference is the scene in which Iris (or the Messenger) arrives at Morpheus's dwelling. The first contrast is the description of his lair: whereas the earlier versions call it "marvelously beautiful" (Machaut, line 595) or just plain "merveilous" (Gower line 2990), Chaucer describes it as a "derke valey" (line 155) with a cave "as derk / As helle pit overal aboute" (lines 170-1). It is strange that Chaucer decides to transform what others describe as quite a dream-like location with a babbling stream (Ovid p. 163) to a dark, dank cave.

The second stark contrast, as Clemen notes, is the language of Iris the Messenger. Whereas in Machaut, Iris is "gentle" and "charming," and addresses Morpheus with "polished" and "elegant" speech, in Chaucer, the Messenger's speech "has an everyday, colloquial quality, at times even rough and drastic" (Clemen p. 35). But Iris is not only more formal in Machuat; in Ovid, she is similarly eloquent, as she addresses Morephus with various epithets ("mildest of the gods, balm of the soul, who puttest care to flight soothest our bodies worn with hard ministries, and preparest them for toil again!" [Ovid, p. 165]).

Why would Chaucer rewrite these scenes so differently? As Clemen surmises, perhaps Chaucer's more colloquial and urgent speech "makes his narration seem not only livelier, more 'true to life', but also more keenly personal" (p. 35). It also definitely adds drama: between the urgent speech and the fearful description of Morpheus's lair, the Messenger seems much more brave and the task more daunting. Since Chaucer was likely to be reading his Book of the Duchess aloud, these changes serve quite well to increase the drama and make the tale more interesting and gripping to an audience.

Foucalt, Ovid and Chaucer

"The second theme, writing's relationship with the death, is even more familiar. This link subverts an old tradition exemplified by the Greek Epic, which was intended to perpetuate the immortality of the hero: if he was willing to die young it was so that his life, consecrated and magnified by death, might pass into immortality; the narrative then redeemed this accepted death." (Foucalt 102)

After reading Ovid's tale of Alcyone and Ceyx  and their ascension into the skies I was brought back to the link that Foucalt refers to and how Chaucer subverts it.  Ovid's conversion of the couple to birds clearly means to procure the immortality that Foucalt speaks of in this passage for "still do they mate and rear their young." (Ovid 745) Chaucer's Ceyx suffers a much crueler fate. In Chaucer's telling Ceyx dies three days after her husbands body has been reanimated. I found this subversion ( as Foucalt would call it) to be interesting as it shows Chaucer's use of pastiche and progression. Chaucer de-emphasizes the importance of immortality and presents death as the more heroic end to unrequited love.  Foucalt mentions the shift from immortality to death, but offers no explantation for the shift, stating only that philosophers have long ago made this connection.  But indeed this moment of Ceyx death does show the reader that this shift has in fact been made.  I suppose that this shift is made in part due to the influence of Christianity and it's view of death as a portal to a better life.  Yet while I find that this supposition of Christian influence is effective, it is slightly weakened by the use of a Greek myth involving Gods.  

After reading Ovid's Alcyone and Ceyx I was intrigued by Chaucer's presentation of the story. One thing that was particularly striking was some of the details which Chaucer chose to incorporate in his own tale. In his recounting of the story he states that Alcyone "died within the third morning" while in Ovid's tale she and Ceyx are transposed into birds and in a sense given eternal life. This may be part of Chaucer's work to color the poet narrator as a bit of a fool. I got this sense because after recounting the touching and tragic story of Alcyone and Ceyx the narrator was most struck by "gods that could make people sleep...".

This somewhat differing portrayal of the text in Chaucer, as well as his narrator's seemingly misplaced emphasis raised an interesting question. Foucault raised the concept of the ownership of texts. Using this framework I question how does this concept regarding ownership affect the use of texts within texts? What duty if any is there for a recounting author to be true to the original text? Is Chaucer's work diminished for 'sampling' from other works, or does this patchwork help to create a magnificent work?

After Ceyx’s death in Ovid’s Metamorphoses, Alcyone and her deceased husband transform into birds: “And at last, through the pity of the gods, both changed to birds. Though thus they suffered the same fate, still even thus their love remained, nor were their conjugal bonds loosened because of their feathered shape. Still do they mate and rear their young; and for seven peaceful days in the winter season Alcyone broods upon her nest floating upon the surface of the waters” (173). The transformation reunites the married couple and provides them with a life after death. It thus turns a story about unbearable loss into a consoling tale. In The Book of the Duchess, Chaucer does not include the consoling transformation of Ceyx and Alcyone. Following the husband’s death, Alcyone simply dies of grief: “‘Alas!’ she said for sorrow, and died within the third morning” (2).  There is no suggestion of an afterlife, of a realm in which her sorrow will be appeased. And yet the birds, so notably absent from Chaucer’s story, appear in a new context, as the narrator dreams of being awakened by song: “I was waked by a great heap of small birds that had startled me out of my sleep through the sound and sweetness of their song” (3). Perhaps the transformative power of the birds is here transposed onto the Dreamer, a melancholy character in need of a cure.