The Canterbury Pilgrims - M. Sturt and E. C. Oakden
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS
Being Chaucer's Canterbury Tales Retold for Children
By M. Sturt, BA and E.C. Oaken, MA
INTRODUCTION
Geoffrey Chaucer lived mere than five hundred years ago, when Edward
II. waged war in France, and the peasants rebelled in England
against his son, Richard II, Yet for all this, England was then
"Merrie England." Her trade prospered, men laughed and sang and
delighted in tales, in art, end in out-door life.
Chaucer was not a poet who lived apart from his fellows, but one who
dealt constantly with men and affairs, and loved his fellow-men. He
was an important person in his time. He began life as a page boy at
Court, where he saw great ladies and gallant courtiers, and heard
music and took part in pageants and processions. He fought for the
king in France and was taken prisoner by the enemy; but the king
sixteen pounds for his ransom and he returned to England. He went to
France again and to as ambassador on the king's business. Thus he met
famous men in foreign lands and saw the beautiful land of Italy,
where in his day lived two Italian poets whose names are as famous
as Chaucer's own, one of whom he makes his Clerk mention--Petrarch
of Padua. He saw, too, the fine buildings and paintings which Italian
artists were making, whose fame has spread abroad throughout world.
Chaucer loved all this colour and beauty, and carried it in his mind,
so that when he again came to London he remembered it and wrote of
it.
He was a member of Parliament, and a civil servant too, whose work it
was to collect the customs. He had to make long records of his
accounts all day; but at night returned with joy to his house above
the Aldgate in the walls of London. There he pored over his books,
and "dumb as any stone," he tells us, he read, and dreamed, and
wrote.
But when spring came, no more indoors for him! Away he went, out to
the fields, which then came to the edge of the Thames and to the very
walls of the city. There in the bright sunshine he sought his
favourite flower, the daisy, and met men in the open roads and lanes,
and because he liked men and respected them, they talked to him very
freely of their lives and doings. Often in April he saw motley
companies of men and women riding out of the stuffy narrow streets of
the town, away along country roads by hedgerow and meadow, to some
distant shrine, where they would pray to the saints for prosperity
and help.
Chaucer one day went with such a company, and he has left us his
record of it. The Canterbury Tales describe better than any history
book the people of Chaucer's time. You will find that in their dress
and manners they are often strangely different from ourselves; but in
much we are very like to them. All kinds and conditions of men are
there, good and bad. There is love for honour and beauty, laughter
for a jest, impatience for a dreary tale, ridicule for a worn-out
one, good-fellowship and joy in the open air, loose tongues and
travellers' stories, drinking by the way, and mishaps by the road.
Travelling was difficult, for the roads were full of holes and very
muddy and dirty, and a man must either walk or go on horseback. Some
of the party had bad horses and some were anything but expert riders,
so that it took four days to ride the fifty-six miles from London to
Canterbury. The nights were spent at inns where many shared one room,
and beds were not as clean as they might have been. But the pilgrims
made a happy party, as you will see, for they beguiled the way with
stories. Chaucer tells these stories in his account of his
pilgrimage. He never completed the account, however, but left some
gaps in the story. The general plan of the work is clear enough, and
in this little book the gaps have been bridged in a manner consistent
with Chaucer's account of the journey.
Chaucer's language is different from ours of today, and although easy
to read when one is used to it, is difficult at first. Therefore
these tales are retold in this little book in our present-day
language and in prose instead of verse. They lose much of Chaucer's
vivacity and spirit by this translation, but try and read the
originals for yourself one day, and learn to love one who has been
dear for his humanity, kindliness and humour to poets and ordinary
folk alike, from 1370 to now.
CONTENTS
INTRODUCTION
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS
Prologue
TALES OF THE FIRST DAY
The Knight's Tale of Palamon and Arcite
Talk between the Host and the Miller
The Miller's Tale of a Carpenter Outwitted
The Reeve talks
The Reeve's Tale of the Miller of Trumpington
The Cook begins his Tale
TALES OF THE SECOND DAY
The Man of Law's Tale of the Miraculous Journeyings of Constance
The Shipman tells his Tale
The Prioress's Tale of a Little Christian Martyr
Talk between the Host and Chaucer
Chaucer's Rime of Sir Thopas
Chaucer's Rime is stopped
Talk between the Host and the Monk
The Monk's Tales of Diverse Men who fell into Misfortune
Talk between the Host and the Monk whose Tale is stopped
The Nun's Priest's Tale of Chanticleer
TALES OF THE THIRD DAY
The Doctor tells his Tale
The Pardoner's speech
The Pardoner's Tale of the Men who would slay Death
Talk between the pardoner and the Host
The Wife of Bath's Speech
The Wife of Bath's Tale of the Queen's Riddle
The Friar's Tale of the Wicked Summoner
The Summoner talks
The Clerk's Tale of the Patient Wife
The Clerk sings
The Merchant tells his Tale
The Yeoman's Tale of Gamelyn
TALES OF THE FOURTH DAY
The Squire's Tale of Cambuskan and Canacee
Talk between the Host and the Franklin
The Franklin's Tale of Three Generous Souls
The Nun's Tale of St. Cecilia
The Canon and his Yeoman join he Pilgrims and introduce themselves.
The Canon's Yeoman's Tale of a cunning Alchemist
The Steward tells his Tale
The Parson's Homily on Penitence
The Entry into Canterbury
The Author takes Leave of his Readers
MAP SHOWING THE COURSE OF THE PILGRIMAGE
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS
PROLOGUE
When April comes, and with her gentle showers has banished the dreary
month of March, when in every copse, and valley the young trees bud
and flowers show their heads, when birds make melody in the fresh
morning time, then men's hearts long for the wide air and joys of
the open roads. It is the time for pilgrims. Forth they ride through
wood and lane, by, stream and meadow, to seek the shrines of saints
and worship God in distant fanes. Many journey to Canterbury to do
honour to the tomb of the great St. Thomas and to enjoy the fields
and sunshine along the roads of Kent. As they go they make merry
their journey with songs, tales, and joking.
It chanced, as it was also my intention to ride thither, that I lay
one night at the Tabard Inn, in Southwark, ready to start on my way
next morning. Towards nightfall a company of twenty-nine other
pilgrims arrived. They had met by chance and were people of all
sorts and kinds. The inn is large with roomy apartments and good
fare, so that all the guests were soon in friendly mood, and I
talked with them all.
There was a Knight and his son a Squire, not yet entered into the
full glory of knighthood, but yet experienced in war--for he had
fought in Flanders and in Picardy. He was about twenty years of age,
with fair curly hair so neatly dressed that you would have said it
had been waxed. He could make songs and poetry, draw, write and
dance. All day he sang or played his flute. Yet for all his grace and
cleverness he was lowly, and carved at table for his father. His
tunic matched his gaiety of heart, for it was embroidered all over,
as full of red and white flowers as is a meadow.
With the Knight and Squire was their servant, a Yeoman Forester.
He was dressed in hood and cloak of green, with a green baldric for
his horn. His sheaf was full of arrows feathered with gay peacock
plumes, and in addition he carried a sword and buckler and a sharp
dagger. He was a fine figure, with skin browned by life in the woods.
He was skilled too, owing all the secrets of woodcraft.
A Prioress was of the company. She spoke in soft coy tones, and
smiled gently on all; but Madame Eglantine was chiefly attractive
because of her charming manners. No morsel ever fell from her lips,
neither did she dip her fingers too deeply in the sauce, nor drop
her meat as her dainty fingers carried it from her plate to her
mouth. She seemed ever at pains to show her courtly behaviour, and
may have kept a small school, for she spoke French (as they speak it
in London, however, not as they speak it in Paris). She had brought
her small dogs with her and fed them carefully on best wheaten bread
and roasted meat. If anyone smote one of them Madame Eglantine wept
bitterly, for she was full of tenderness and pity, and had been known
to cry if a mouse were caught in a trap. With her were a nun, and her
three priests.
As you would expect, many other members of the Church were among our
company. The Monk was a manly fellow who loved hunting and good
living. Many a horse he had in his stables, and many greyhounds for
hunting the hare. A fat swan was his favourite dish. His looks told
of his ample fare, for he was fat and rosy, and rode merrily along
with his bridle bells jingling clearly in the wind. "Some say that
hunters can't be holy men," he said, "but I can't agree with those
that would make monks madden themselves with study and tire
themselves with labour. What good comes of it all?" "What good
indeed?" said I.
The Friar, Hubert, was a gay fellow too. I daresay that in all
the Four Orders of Friars you would not find a more pleasing
talker--especially in matters of love. He sang lustily, played the
harp, and kept us merry with his jesting.
Not so the Clerk from Oxford. He was a serious student. For many
years he had devoted himself to logic and philosophy, yet little gold
had got thereby! His horse was lean as a rake, and he himself was by
no means fat. His threadbare cloak hung limply on his shoulders. Had
he been more worldly-minded, he might have gained a rich benefice;
but all his treasure was in the twenty red and black books at his
bedside, where he found the rich thought of Aristotle--more
satisfying to the Clerk than gold, or robes or sweet music. All the
money he was given he spent on books, praying eagerly for the souls
of them that helped him to buy more. He spoke but little. His speech
then was quick and packed with thought, and he loved best to talk of
moral virtue. Glad he was to learn, and glad to teach.
One man among the company was terrible to look upon. His face was
fiery red with black brows and scabbed skin. He had crowned himself
with a great garland. It was no wonder that even children were afraid
of him. This man, I learned, was a Summoner, who brought up
offenders before the Church courts.
His friend was the Pardoner--just arrived from the court of Rome
with his wallet packed full of pardons and relics. You shall hear
what he did with these later. He had long straight oily yellow hair,
spread thinly around his shoulders. He had packed his hood in his
wallet, for it seemed more festive to him to ride bare-headed. His
eyes shone like a hare's. He had no beard, and his small, piping,
goat-like voice made him seem very youthful.
He was said to be a very successful Pardoner; for he could not only
read and sing delightfully (especially when asking for the
offertory), but his manner was so persuasive that in one day he
could win more silver than the parson earned in two or three months.
A fine Pardoner, this! No wonder he sang so merrily and loud!
A poor Parish Priest was there also. He was too occupied in holy
works, in teaching and diligently tending the sick to have time to
hunt for high positions in London. To him, all that mattered was that
his parishioners should know the true Gospel, and never, for rain,
thunder, sickness, nor danger did he to visit his people, scattered
as they were over the wide country-side. Often he gave them of his
own poor substance, for he was the true shepherd who gives all for
his sheep. A better priest, I warrant, could nowhere be found. He
taught Christ's lore, but first he followed it himself that his
followers might find an example in him, and learn by his practices,
as well as by his words.
This Priest had brought his brother, a strong good-hearted
Ploughman. He too was a true Christian. Many a time had he dug and
threshed for a poor widow to help her pay her rent, and would take
no reward for it. He wore a loose tabard, and rode on a mare.
The workers from the town included a Weaver, a Carpenter, a
Haberdasher, a Dyer, and an Upholsterer. All prosperous men
they were, as indeed you could tell from the silver trappings on
their pouches and knives, and fit to be aldermen of their boroughs.
Their wives would have liked it, I know! These men had brought their
Cook with them.
Some of the pilgrims had come from far afield. The Pardoner's home
was in Roncivale, while the Shipman hailed from Dartmouth. There lay
his little barque, "The Magdalene." His dagger hung on his lanyard
and he rode unsteadily, in sailor fashion, on a nag.
From Bath we had a buxom Wife--a champion cloth-weaver. I daresay her
Sunday head-dress weighed ten pounds. Even her riding-hat was as
broad as a shield. Her stockings were scarlet. Her shoes were cut in
the latest fashion and had sharp spurs attached. She had travelled
far, even to Jerusalem, and gossipped amusingly of herself and her
numerous adventures.
The Reeve of the company came from Baldeswelle in Norfolk.
A Miller, a Steward, a Doctor, a solemn Merchant, a Franklin and
myself completed the company The Doctor was one of the best of his
profession. He knew exactly when to make his images of wax, and under
what moon he should gather his herbs. He was very learned; I could
not tell you of all the authors he had read. He was rich too, for the
Black Death had brought him no little gain.
Now let me tell what happened at the inn.
At supper we made a merry party, for the wine was strong, and Harry
Bailey, our host, a jovial soul. Seeing us in good humour, he
addressed us thus "My friends, you are welcome here. Tomorrow you
depart; but surely it will be very dull if you ride silent and
morose. I have a plan to keep you merry all the way. What say you,
shall I tell it?" We held up our hands at once to vote that he should
tell on. "This is my plan, then. As you journey to Canterbury every
one of you shall tell a tale, and as you return every one shall tell
another tale. He who tells the best shall be given a supper at the
expense of the rest of us--here at this inn, when we come back. What
say you? And indeed, to make you the jollier, I myself will go with
you, to be your guide and governor!" We heartily agreed, begged him
to be the judge of the tales, and promised to obey him in all things.
So with laughter and jollity we went to bed betimes to rise early on
the morrow;
Our host was as good as his word, and at day-break he roused us all
and gathered us together. Off we rode at a gentle pace, with the
Miller playing his bagpipes and the Summoner singing a loud bass to
the Pardoner's tenor. At St. Thomas's watering-place our host stopped
and called out, "Let's see now if you agree to last night's plan!
Before we go further, come, draw lots who shall tell the first tale.
Come hither Sir Knight, my Lady-Prioress, and you, you modest Clerk."
He held out to them grasses of different lengths, hiding the ends in
his hands so that they could not see which was the longest; and the
Knight drew the longest grass, and so had to begin the game. He was a
worthy man, this Knight, and loved truth and honour, freedom and
courtesy. Although he had won great praise in many foreign wars, he
was gentle and modest as a maid, perfect in manners and goodness. His
clothes might have deceived you as to his rank. His habergeoun was
bespattered with the mud of his latest journey, and his gipoun was
but of fustian, yet his horse was a fine one. As you would expect,
his tale was of chivalry and knighthood.
TALES OF THE FIRST DAY
THE KNIGHT'S TALE OF PALAMON AND ARCITE
Long ago, as old stories say, there was a great duke named Theseus,
renowned in fight and perfect in all chivalry. One day, as he was
returning from one of his most glorious battles, a great company of
women met him, weeping and wringing their hands in grief. They
besought Theseus that he would help them. "We are from Thebes," they
said, "and in the days of our prosperity were ladies of rank; but
alas, Creon, our foe, has sacked our city, slain our husbands and
sons, and now denies us even the right to bury our dead."
Theseus was moved to anger at their story, and swore that he would
punish Creon. Without more ado, he turned his horse and led his men
to Thebes. There he killed Creon and his followers, and the mournful
ladies were able to wash the bodies of their lords and give them
honourable burial. Now it chanced that among those whom Theseus
fought were two young knights, Palamon and Arcite. They were sorely
wounded in the fight and had been I left for dead; but after the
battle they were discovered wounded, and taken back to Athens as
Theseus' prisoners.
For many a day they were shut up in a room in a high tower
overlooking Theseus' garden. Very woeful were they, until one May
morning Palamon looked through his barred window and saw a lovely
maid walking in the garden below. It was early morning, with the dew
still on the flowers and the first beams of the sun glistening on all
things. The maid was as fair as the flowers that she gathered to make
her garland. Her hair was golden and hung in a long plait, and the
blossoms she gathered for her garland were red and white. For very
joy she sang so sweet a song that Palamon beholding her loved her
with all his heart, yet thought she was too beautiful to be a maid of
earth. He looked long, and sighed, "O goddess, if thou wilt but help
me to be free, I will be always thy trusty servant." Hearing him thus
speak, Arcite also looked out, and he too at once loved the wondrous
beauty of the maid. "May I die unless I have her," he said, and
sighed too. At this Palamon was angry. "Traitor," he said, "do you
now break the vow we made each other long ago--never to betray each
other, and never to cross each other in love? I saw and loved the
maid first. She must be _mine_."
"No," answered Arcite. "You thought she was a goddess; I loved her
first as a woman. She must be _mine._" So they fell to quarrelling
loudly and cruelly. At last Arcite said, "We waste our time to
quarrel thus. Neither of us can ever win her. Poor prisoners we are,
and doomed to die here without a thought from happier men. Some rich
lord will carry her away. Ours she cannot be." And they were very
sad.
Now it chanced that a certain duke who was a friend of Arcite came to
visit Theseus, and persuaded him to set young Arcite free. Theseus
did so, but only on condition that Arcite should leave Athens for
ever. "If from this time forth you are found in this land," he said,
"your head will be forfeit." So Arcite went to Thebes, very
heavy-hearted, because although he was now free, he might never more
see the maid of the garden. Palamon's case was equally hard, for
although he might see his beloved, never might he speak to her nor
woo her, for he must remain a poor neglected prisoner, high up in the
castle tower. Now tell me, you lovers, if you can, whose lot was the
worse? Is it better to be free and never see one's lady, or to be a
prisoner and see her every day?--Judge for yourselves. I must go on
with my story.
Arcite lived in Thebes, so sorrowfully that he fell a-weeping
whenever music was played, and soon grief had so changed his
countenance that no man would have recognised him. At last he could
bear this state no longer, but made up his mind to go to Athens, and
there seek his lady. He came therefore to the palace of Theseus and
hired himself as a servant. He was strong and able to draw water and
hew wood. In course of time he was made a chamberlain, and at length,
since he was always mannerly and courteous and obedient, Theseus
promoted him, and he became a squire and one of his best beloved
followers.
Meanwhile Palamon languished in prison, till, made desperate by
despair, he one night drugged his jailer and escaped. When day came
he sought refuge in a wood, intending to wait there for the dark to
cover his escape. As Fortune willed it, that very morning, Arcite
(now calling himself Philostratus) rode out into the wood to enjoy
the fresh sweet air of the May morning, and dismounted from his horse
near the very bush where Palamon lay hid. There he paced up and down,
restless, and spoke aloud to himself of all his sorrows. "I am
royally born," he said, "yet I must pretend to serve Theseus, my
mortal enemy. Palamon my brother is a captive. Unhappy are we
both--better to die of love for my lady than live this miserable
life." At this mention of his love, Palamon's heart was stirred to
wrath, and forth he rushed from his hiding-place. "Traitor Arcite,"
he cried, "do you still dare to love my lady? Will you still break
our vow of fealty, one to the other? Now you have deceived Theseus!
But beware! I am Palamon! You must give up your love or die!" Saying
this he rushed at Arcite. As it happened Arcite was armed, and drew
his sword, but seeing that Palamon had no weapon, he stayed his hand
and said, "If you will do combat for your love, wait here till
tomorrow. I cannot fight you unarmed as you are. At dawn I will
bring you armour, and a sword, and food. Then let the best warrior
have the fair lady of the garden!" And so they parted.
Arcite kept his word and brought the armour at daybreak. As soon as
it was light those two armed themselves in the wood, and fell on each
other like a lion and a tiger when they wage mortal combat in the
thick forest. Neither shrank himself nor spared his adversary. Their
shields were dinted, sparks flew from their helmets, and down their
breastplates many a stream of blood flowed.
Amid the din of their blows on the armour and the fury of combat,
they did not hear the hunting horn nor the baying of the hounds, and
so, before they knew it, Theseus and all his court were around them,
and had called on them to cease their clamour and explain why they
strove so fiercely together. They dropped their weapons in amazement,
and saw that with Theseus were his queen, and the lady for whose love
they fought, Emily the Fair, the niece of Theseus. She was dressed in
green, as befitted a huntress on so bright a morning. Palamon spoke
at once. "Show us no mercy, Lord Theseus. Better it is that we should
both die, for well have we deserved death. I, Palamon, am your
captive, escaped from prison but yesterday, and this man here is
Arcite, who for many years has deceived you. This our quarrel is for
the love of Emily, the bright maid at your side. Slay us both, and
let our sorrow have an end." Theseus was wroth, and would indeed have
slain them, but the queen and Emily pleaded so well for their lives
that the duke relented. "You art foolish, both of you," he said; "but
lovers are ever thus. This is my judgment. For fifty weeks you shall
be free, and then shall you appear, each with a hundred knights, to
do battle for Emily in a tournament. Whoso wins that day shall have
her for his bride." Palamon and Arcite leapt up with joy at this; and
all the court praised Theseus for his chivalrous behaviour and
knightly courtesy.
Those fifty weeks were busy times in Athens. The lists prepared for
the tournament were the most wonderful ever seen. The walls were
circular and a mile round. At the east and west ends were marble
gateways over which were temples. On the east gate was a temple to
Venus, the Goddess of Love, and on the west gate a temple to Mars,
God of War. On the north side was a temple in honour of Diana, the
Goddess of Maidens. Every man in the kingdom who could carve or paint
or build had been summoned to work on these lists and make them
beautiful. I wish I could describe to you all their magnificence. On
the walls of the temple of Venus were painted the stories of the
great lovers of fable and history. The statue of the goddess herself
seemed to float in a grass-green sea, and on her head she wore a
garland of roses. Mars' temple was dark and gloomy, with pictures of
battle and murder on the walls. The statue of Mars himself was
guarded by a wolf of stone. In Diana's temple was the statue of the
goddess riding upon a hart, with small hounds about her feet. Her
dress was green and she carried a bow and quiver of arrows. A waxing
moon, her symbol, was painted below her statue.
On the Sunday appointed for their meeting, Arcite and Palamon entered
Athens with their companies. Bold knights and noble princes were
assembled from every land to do battle in honour of so fair a maid.
With Palamon came the great King of Thrace, wearing a crown of gold
set with rubies and diamonds. His armour was covered with a
coal-black bear-skin, and he was carried in a chair of gold.