It will be observed that Mr. Corson, whose address deals primarily with literary training, speaks of these absolute qualities of the great masterpieces as the first object of study.  But his words, and Ruskin’s words, fairly support my further contention that they remain the most important object of study, no matter how far one’s literary training may have proceeded.  To the most erudite student of Chaucer in the wide world Chaucer’s poetry should be the dominant object of interest in connection with Chaucer.

But when the elaborate specialist confronts us, we are apt to forget that poetry is meant for mankind, and that its appeal is, or should be, universal.  We pay tribute to the unusual:  and so far as this implies respect for protracted industry and indefatigable learning, we do right.  But in so far as it implies even a momentary confusion of the essentials with the accidentals of poetry, we do wrong.  And the specialist himself continues admirable only so long as he keeps them distinct.

I hasten to add that Professor Skeat does keep them distinct very successfully.  In a single sentence of admirable brevity he tells us that of Chaucer’s poetical excellence “it is superfluous to speak; Lowell’s essay on Chaucer in ‘My Study Windows’ gives a just estimate of his powers.”  And with this, taking the poetical excellence for granted, he proceeds upon his really invaluable work of preparing a standard text of Chaucer and illustrating it out of the stores of his apparently inexhaustible learning.  The result is a monument to Chaucer’s memory such as never yet was reared to English poet.  Douglas Jerrold assured Mrs. Cowden Clarke that, when her time came to enter Heaven, Shakespeare would advance and greet her with the first kiss of welcome, “even should her husband happen to be present.”  One can hardly with decorum imagine Professor Skeat being kissed; but Chaucer assuredly will greet him with a transcendent smile.

The Professor’s genuine admiration, however, for the poetical excellence of his poet needs to be insisted upon, not only because the nature of his task keeps him reticent, but because his extraordinary learning seems now and then to stand between him and the natural appreciation of a passage.  It was not quite at haphazard that I chose just now the famous description of the Prioresse as an illustration of Chaucer’s poetical quality.  The Professor has a long note upon the French of Stratford atte Bowe.  Most of us have hitherto believed the passage to be an example, and a very pretty one, of Chaucer’s playfulness.  The Professor almost loses his temper over this:  he speaks of it as a view “commonly adopted by newspaper-writers who know only this one line of Chaucer, and cannot forbear to use it in jest.”  “Even Tyrwhitt and Wright,” he adds more in sorrow than in anger, “have thoughtlessly given currency to this idea.”  “Chaucer,” the Professor explains, “merely states a fact”