In sum, I seriously protest that no man ever had, or can have, a greater veneration for Chaucer, than myself.

I have translated some part of his works, only that I might perpetuate his memory, or at least refresh it, amongst my countrymen.

If I have alter'd him anywhere for the better, I must at the same time acknowledge that I could have done nothing without him: _facile est inventis addere_,[31] is no great commendation; and I am not so vain to think I have deserv'd a greater.
I will conclude what I have to say of him singly, with this one remark: a lady of my acquaintance, who keeps a kind of correspondence with some authors of the fair sex in France, has been inform'd by them, that Mademoiselle de Scudery, who is as old as Sibyl, and inspir'd like her by the same God of Poetry, is at this time translating Chaucer into modern French.

From which I gather that he has been formerly translated into the old Provencal (for how she should come to understand old English I know not).

But the matter of fact being true, it makes me think that there is something in it like fatality; that, after certain periods of time, the fame and memory of great wits should be renewed, as Chaucer is both in France and England.