THE STORY OF 
 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
\ 
 
 I I '. 
 
 A GOOD-WIFE FROM BATH PAGE 6 
 
THE STORY OF 
 THE 
 
 CANTERBURY 
 PILGRIMS 
 
 F 
 
 RETOLD FROM 
 
 CHAUCER 
 
 AMD OTHERS BY 
 * HARVEY BARTON 
 
Illustrations ctyyrtghted, 1914, 
 FREDERICK A. STOKES COMPAIW 
 
 reserved 
 
 * 
 
 Printed in the United States of America 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE FIRST DAY 
 AT THE TABARD: THE BEGINNING OF THE PILGRIMAGE . I 
 
 THE SECOND DAY 
 
 THE DEPARTURE FROM SOUTHWARK II 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: PALAMON AND ARCITA 
 
 I. PALAMON AND ARCITA FALL OUT 14 
 
 II. THE MEETING IN THE WOOD . 21 
 
 III. THE ANSWER OF THE GODS 28 
 
 IV. THE TOURNAMENT 35 
 
 "THE MILLER is A CHURL" . . 42 
 
 THE COOK'S TALE: SIR GAMELYN 47 
 
 THE THIRD DAY 
 
 A SERGEANT OF THE LAW 67 
 
 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE: FAITHFUL CONSTANCE 69 
 
 SIR GENTLE MASTER, GENTLE MARINER! 83 
 
 V*"HE PRIORESS'S TALE: THE BOY MARTYR 86 
 
 CHAUCER AND THE MONK 89 
 
 V<PHE NUN'S PRIEST'S ^TALE: THE COCK AND THE Fox .... 100 
 
 THE FOURTH DAY 
 
 SOME ENGLISH ROGUES 109 
 
 THE PHYSICIAN'S TALE: VIRGINIA 113 
 
 A GENTLE PARDONER OF ROUNCIVAL 116 
 
 vSPfiE PARDONER'S TALE: THE THREE REVELERS AND DEATH . . 120 
 
 "WHO'LL BUY MY PARDONS?" 125 
 
 DAME ALISON OF BATH 126 
 
 V^THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE: THE OLD WOMAN AND THE KNIGHT 129 
 
 HUBERT THE FRIAR 134 
 
 THE FRIAR'S TALE: THE SUMMONER AND THE FIEND .... 136 
 THE SUMMONER AND THE CLERK OF OXFORD 142 
 
 MS07* 
 
CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE CLERK'S TALE: PATIENT GRISELDA ....*.... 145 
 
 "GRISELDA is DEAD, AND HER PATIENCE TOO" . . . . . . .160 
 
 THE FIFTH DAY 
 
 THE SQUIRE 163 
 
 THE SQUIRE'S TALE: "THE STORY OF CAMBUSCAN BOLD" 
 
 I. THE MAGIC GIFTS AND THE FALSE TERCELET . . . .164 
 
 II. THE BRETHREN THREE 171 
 
 III. FIERCE WARS AND FAITHFUL LOVES 179 
 
 EPICURUS' OWN SON 188 
 
 THE FRANKLIN'S TALE: THE ROCKS REMOVED 190 
 
 THE SECOND NUN'S TALE: ST. CECILIE 201 
 
 THE COURTEOUS STRANGERS 208 
 
 THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE: THE ALCHEMIST 215 
 
 A QUARREL AND A MISHAP 221 
 
 THE MANCIPLE'S TALE: How CROWS BECAME BLACK .... 224 
 
 THE PARSON 226 
 
 AT CANTERBURY: THE CHEQUER OF THE HOOP 228 
 
 THE JOURNEY HOME: JOHN LYDGATE'S TALE . . . . . . . 240 
 
 THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 
 
 I. EDIPPUS THE PARRICIDE 242 
 
 II. THE TREACHERY OF ETHIOCLES 249 
 
 III. THE DOOM OF THEBES .257 
 
 "A GOOD TALE NEEDS A GOOD WILL" 264 
 
 THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE: BERYN 
 
 I. THE FOLLY OF BERYN 265 
 
 II. THE BURGESSES OF FALSETOWN 274 
 
 III. THE LAND OF LIES 284 
 
 IV. GEOFFREY THE MASTER-ROGUE 296 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PILGRIMS 310 
 
 Of the tales in this book, the following are taken from works not by 
 Chaucer: " Sir Gamelyri' (author unknown}; "The Story of Cam- 
 buscan Bold" Part II (from Spenser) , and Part IV (from an eight- 
 eenths entury writer who attempted to complete this tale entirely); 
 "The Chequer of the Hoop" and "Beryn" (author unknown); and 
 "The Destruction of Thebes' (from Lydgate). 
 
THE STORY OF 
 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 THE FIRST DAY 
 
 AT THE TABARD; THE BEGINNING OF 
 THE PILGRIMAGE 
 
 LONG ago, when Richard II. was King, the highways of 
 England must have been a far gayer and stranger sight 
 than they are nowadays. The roads themselves were 
 bad ones, little better than rough, muddy lanes, and often very 
 dangerous by reason of the robbers who lurked in the woods 
 which were so widely spread over the land. But on these roads, 
 bad as they were, traveled wayfarers who appear to us now no 
 more than the people of legends, who seem never really to have 
 lived except in songs and stories. Day after day men would 
 pass up and down in strange garments and on errands so strange 
 that, if we could look back and see them close at hand, we might 
 fancy ourselves, so far as outside appearances went, well on the 
 way to fairyland. Yet these were after all the ordinary English- 
 men of those days, living and thinking really not very differently 
 from ourselves, though we only know of them now through 
 books. 
 
 Imagine a highway of those times, and fancy the travelers go- 
 ing to and fro upon it. Here you might see a knight riding with 
 his squire to some tournament, or maybe merely roving in search 
 of adventures with other knight-errants like himself. Or round 
 
2 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 a bend in the road would appear some great lord, with a long 
 train of armed men and servants on horseback; even the ladies 
 would be riding, for carriages were rare and uncomfortable. 
 Here, again, was a wandering minstrel, or a troop of jugglers, 
 going to some castle near at hand, where they would be sure of a 
 welcome, rich and poor alike showing hospitality according to 
 their means. Perhaps a monk or a friar would pass on his way 
 to beg offerings from anyone he could find, meeting with a 
 response from most men, but a welcome from few, for many of 
 the officers of the Church bore a bad name, abusing their great 
 power, and winning the hatred of the poorer classes. 
 
 People were much more friendly, much gayer, and much more 
 outspoken and unrestrained. Travelers would gladly join to- 
 gether for a journey, partly for safety, but quite as much for the 
 pleasure of one another's company on the road. They willingly 
 helped each other, and few would pass on the road without ex- 
 changing greetings. But in spite of this friendliness among 
 strangers, there were very clear divisions between the rich and 
 the poor. The court and the great nobles thought themselves far 
 above the rich middle class, who imitated them in many ways, 
 and who in turn looked down on the lowest classes of all. The 
 nobles spent their time in fighting and learning to fight, in enter- 
 taining and feasting, in carrying on affairs of State; the middle 
 class in trade or agriculture ; while the lower classes were in many 
 cases little more than slaves, even when their condition was not 
 hopelessly bad. And apart from these social distinctions there 
 was, of course, much more discomfort, more violence, more op- 
 pression then than now. 
 
 But in spite of all hardships, men really loved gayety gay 
 clothes of every kind of bright color, gay trappings to their 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE PILGRIMAGE 3 
 
 horses, gay songs and dances (for everyone then was musical). 
 They loved also the open air and spring and the sun and flowers, 
 so that often young knights and ladies would spend their after- 
 noons in the pleasant walled gardens of the great castles, weav- 
 ing garlands of blossoms and singing and dancing merely for joy 
 in the fine day. Fighting, too, was an amusement; a man went 
 light-heartedly to his death in a tourney, as if to a joyful feast, 
 and ladies looked on gladly at a fight, and encouraged their faith- 
 ful knights to acts of prowess. As for the games and sports that 
 were played by all classes, they were without number. 
 
 People were more unrestrained, again, both in deed and in 
 word. If a man's wife disobeyed him, he beat her till she knew 
 better. Knights might be courteous and debonair in their man- 
 ners, but they could be brutal and harsh as well. Men talked 
 more freely, too, about all manner of things, and their ideas of 
 the mirth of which they were so fond were not always the same 
 as ours nowadays. But above all they were outspoken in regard 
 to sacred things. They were continually meeting, for good or 
 ill, one or other of the officers of the Church, and the Church 
 had a wide power over their daily life; and so they spoke very 
 familiarly both of the clergy and of religion. But though they 
 talked lightly and freely of these matters, as it seems to us now, 
 they did not think at all lightly of them, but deeply and seriously. 
 These thoughts they often carried out very openly in acts and 
 words, and thus, as the outcome of their readiness to do religious 
 deeds frankly and without constraint, almost the commonest 
 sight to be seen on an English roadside was the wayfaring pil- 
 grim. 
 
 A pilgrimage was one of the most popular of institutions. It 
 was the custom for men to go long journeys at certain seasons to 
 
4 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 the shrines of famous saints, or to cathedrals and abbeys where 
 relics of good and holy men were to be found, for it was be- 
 lieved that by traveling so far they showed their sorrow and 
 penitence for any evil they had done; and they sometimes en- 
 deavored to display still deeper repentance by going barefoot or 
 lightly-clad, or in some other painful way. They made special 
 vows at these shrines, for prayers at such places, by virtue of the 
 saints and martyrs who had lived or died there, were thought to 
 be of more power than those offered elsewhere. 
 
 The chief season for pilgrimages was spring, when the sweet 
 showers of April had put to flight the dryness and cold weather 
 of March. At that time of the year the west wind with his sweet 
 breath is giving new life to all the plants and flowers. The 
 young sun has just left the sign of the Ram in the heavenly 
 Zodiac^ and the little birds are beginning to sing again, and to 
 sleep all night with one eye open. Men, too, like the flowers 
 and birds, feel new strength in their veins, and early spring in 
 those far-off days, five centuries and more ago, seemed to bid 
 them leave their homes and use their fresh vigor in a journey to 
 some distant place, to renew their vows and repent of their sins. 
 
 Some pilgrims would go abroad, to sacred spots far distant in 
 foreign lands to the Holy Land, for instance, or to the shrine 
 of St. James of Compostella in Spain and they would come 
 back wearing a token of palm from Jerusalem, or a St. James's 
 scollop-shell, as a sign of their devotion. But there were also in 
 England itself many places which they visited, and the most 
 famous of all was the shrine of the martyr Thomas Becket in the 
 cathedral at Canterbury, to which men came from every part 
 of the country, and even from Europe itself. 
 
 Thus it was a frequent sight in the England of those days to 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE PILGRIMAGE 5 
 
 see a band of pilgrims slowly going on their way through Kent, 
 the country-folk staring at the noise and dust of the gayly-clad 
 little company, and all the dogs barking at their heels. Some- 
 times, indeed, a pilgrimage seemed nothing but an excuse for a 
 lively and pleasant holiday, and the travelers often made them- 
 selves very merry on the road, with their loud jests and songs, and 
 their flutes and fiddles and bagpipes. But there were very many 
 who went with high thoughts in their hearts, garbed outwardly 
 in accordance with the reverent purpose of their journey, wear- 
 ing the sober robe and hat, and carrying the staff and scrip which 
 were known as the proper "weeds" for a serious pilgrim. And 
 even those who turned the journey into a pleasant outing never 
 forgot their real purpose in going, and were moved by a real 
 religious feeling, in spite of all their light behavior. 
 
 It chanced one year that Geoffrey Chaucer, the poet who 
 wrote most of these "Canterbury Tales," made up his mind to go 
 on a pilgrimage to Canterbury; and accordingly he set out early 
 in April. On his way, he stopped one Tuesday evening at the 
 Tabard Inn, in Southwark, kept by a certain Harry Bailly, close 
 to the Bell. The Tabard (a tabard was a kind of sleeveless 
 coat), or a rebuilt inn on the same site, was still standing nearly 
 five hundred years later; but in Chaucer's time it was much more 
 important than in after days, because Southwark was a common 
 resting-place for Canterbury pilgrims, and here they usually got 
 fresh horses to take them on the road. A journey as far as Can- 
 terbury was no light matter in those days, if it seems no great dis- 
 tance from London now; the bad roads made traveling slow, and 
 though a man in a hurry might accomplish as much as forty 
 miles in one day, most people would be content with twenty or 
 so at the most. Sometimes great personages would get to Can- 
 
6 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 terbury and back in as little as four days. But a large body of 
 pilgrims, some of them unable to travel fast because of their 
 poor mounts, would have to go at the pace of the slowest mem- 
 ber of the company, and so would be very leisurely over the 
 journey. 
 
 There were many people already gathered at the Tabard when 
 Chaucer arrived a good-wife from Bath, for example, who had 
 just ridden up on an ambling nag; a clerk or student from Ox- 
 ford, riding a horse as lean as a rake, even thinner than he was 
 himself; a miller in a white coat and blue hood, with his bag- 
 pipes lying idle by his side, as he sat drinking great draughts of 
 the Tabard's ale; and many another one. More continually 
 came up from every quarter, knowing that the inn was a good 
 place at which to put up for the night and get food and rest. 
 
 The travelers belonged to all kinds of different ranks and 
 professions, and had come from many parts of England. Most 
 of them were of the middle class, and it was clear enough that 
 they were all bent on the same errand. The pilgrimage was a 
 bond of friendliness and good fellowship between them, and 
 before long Chaucer himself had spoken to everyone. They 
 soon agreed that it would be safer and easier for them if they 
 continued their journey all together in one band, and they re- 
 solved to get up betimes the next morning, in order to set out in 
 good time. Men rose and went to bed early in those days; if 
 they were up at six in the morning, they were usually asleep 
 again by nine or ten o'clock at night at the latest. 
 
 The Tabard was an inn of a very good repute, and both man 
 and beast were well cared for there. Harry Bailly, the host, 
 was a stout, bright-eyed man, of a fine imposing presence, a 
 merry, outspoken fellow, though quite wise and prudent with 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE PILGRIMAGE 7 
 
 all his jollity. He gave the pilgrims good cheer, with food and 
 wine of the best, and sat talking and joking with them as they 
 were eating their supper. 
 
 When they had paid their reckoning (which they did over- 
 night in order to save time in the morning) , they fell to asking 
 him about the coming journey, and the pleasures and amuse- 
 ments they would have on the way. They could not travel much 
 more than fifteen miles a day, they thought, as they were such 
 a mixed company, so that they would have to make the time 
 pass in some fashion or other. 
 
 Harry Bailly listened to their words, and talked and laughed 
 freely with them. At length he told them of a plan which their 
 questions had suggested to him. 
 
 "You are right welcome here, good sirs," he said. "I have 
 not seen such a merry company together in my house this year, 
 and I would gladly do something which I have just thought of 
 to serve you. Listen to me. You are about to go on your way 
 to Canterbury well, God speed you, say I, and may the saint 
 help you when you reach his shrine! On the journey you will 
 have many a cheerful tale and jest, I warrant; there is no mirth 
 in riding together all the way as dumb as stones. Now, I have 
 a plan for making you merry, if you will hear it. Hold up your 
 hands, if you wish me to explain it to you." 
 
 They were not long in deciding; they did not think they need 
 hesitate about the matter, and without more ado held up their 
 hands to show that they were ready to hear the Host's advice. 
 
 "Listen, then," he went on, "and do not look down on what 
 I shall say; I will speak plainly. Each of you shall tell a tale 
 to pass the time and make the journey seem short one or more 
 on the road to Canterbury, and the same on the way back. 
 
8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 When you have all done this, the tales shall be judged. Who- 
 ever is thought to have told the best shall have a supper given 
 him here at the Tabard by all of you when you come back on 
 your way home again. And to make you still merrier, I myself 
 will gladly ride with you, at my own cost, and be your guide and 
 captain; you shall promise to do what I tell you, and if anyone 
 disobeys me, he shall pay whatever is spent that day. That is 
 my plan, and if you agree to it, say so without any more words, 
 and I will get ready to go with you." 
 
 The guests were very glad to hear a device which would save 
 them so much trouble and make the journey more cheerful. 
 They soon agreed to do as the Host said to let him be ruler of 
 the whole company in all things, and judge of the stories. Then 
 they all went to bed for the night. 
 
 Thus a company was formed for the pilgrimage, and thus they 
 undertook to tell so many tales on the way to Canterbury. 
 
 Apart from Chaucer and the Host, there were some thirty 
 others, all of them men such as could be seen anywhere in Eng- 
 land at that day. They represented many different professions, 
 from chivalry to the humblest rank of freemen, and from the 
 most honorable orders of the Church to those who were bringing 
 it into disrepute and dislike. About some of them (if you do 
 not know what sort of men they were) you will learn more as 
 the journey goes on, because of the stories they told and their 
 behavior on the road. Their number was made up thus : 
 
 A Knight, who had just come back from the wars, and was 
 going to give thanks for his safety. His fustian doublet was 
 still travel-stained, and his horses were not gayly harnessed, but 
 good, steady, useful beasts. 
 
 The Knight's son, who acted as his Squire. 
 
THE BEGINNING OF THE PILGRIMAGE 9 
 
 A Yeoman, a crop-headed, brown-faced fellow, who came in 
 attendance upon the Knight and the Squire, and was their only 
 servant. He was a forester, and knew his craft well. He wore 
 a bright-green jacket and hood, and carried a sword, buckler, and 
 horn, and a bright, sharp-pointed dagger. He bore in his hand 
 a mighty bow, and always kept the peacock-feathered arrows at 
 his belt in good condition and ready for use. On his breast was 
 fastened a silver brooch, showing the figure of St. Christopher, 
 to save him from sudden death or harm. 
 
 A Prioress, attended by a Nun and three Priests. 
 
 A Monk and a Friar. 
 
 A Merchant, wearing a Flemish beaver hat and clad in motley. 
 
 The Clerk of Oxford, a Man of Law, and a Franklin. 
 
 A Haberdasher, a Carpenter, a Weaver, a Dyer, and a Carpet- 
 maker, all wearing the livery of a great Gild or company. They 
 seemed prosperous and well-kept citizens, every one of them, 
 the sheaths of their knives being newly tipped with polished 
 silver, and their girdles and pouches spick and span. They were 
 five good, honest men, likely and well fitted to become alder- 
 men ; and if that happened, their wives would be mightily proud 
 of them, for then the good ladies would be called "madam," and 
 walk in front of their neighbors at church and in public places. 
 
 A Cook and a Shipman. 
 
 A Doctor of Medicine, who knew the causes of all kinds of 
 diseases, and could cure every illness. He had some knowledge 
 also of astronomy, and was an able and prosperous physician; 
 yet he was very simple in his habits, and never took to spending 
 rashly the wealth he won in the plague years. His clothes were 
 of cloth of two colors bright red and blue-gray, lined with 
 taffety and sendal, two kinds of fine silk. 
 
10 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 The Good-wife from Bath, named Dame Alison. 
 
 A Parson, a poor man as far as money goes, but rich in holy 
 thoughts and deeds. A better shepherd of his flock you would 
 never find. He did not forget to visit and teach the poor of his 
 village, or to give alms, and he would never press hard upon 
 those who could not pay their tithes to him. He set an example 
 by doing good deeds first and teaching them afterwards, without 
 any pride or outward show, and he was not one of those who 
 used to leave their parish to others to look after, but himself 
 lived and worked among his own people, teaching and following 
 the word of Christ. 
 
 The Parson's brother, a poor farmer and plowman, a true, 
 good worker, who threshed and dug and ditched for himself, 
 earning his living by his own toil, and willingly giving his help 
 to his poorer friends whenever he could. He lived in peace 
 and perfect charity with all men, and loved God above all things, 
 and his neighbor as himself. 
 
 A Miller, a Manciple, a Reeve, a Summoner, and a Pardoner, 
 whose doings and professions will be seen later. 
 
 These, then, were the pilgrims who set out for Canterbury to- 
 gether from the Tabard Inn in Southwark, where they had met 
 (so we are told) on Tuesday, the sixteenth of April, in the year 
 thirteen hundred and eighty-seven. 
 
THE SECOND DAY 
 THE DEPARTURE FROM SOUTHWARK 
 
 THE next morning the Tabard was astir early. The Host 
 rose by daybreak, and collected the whole flock of pil- 
 grims together, like a cock calling his hens round him. 
 As soon as they were all ready they set out, riding at little more 
 than a foot-pace. Some of their horses were but sorry beasts, 
 and many of the pilgrims were bad riders. The Shipman had 
 much trouble in sticking on the great carthorse which he had 
 hired a strange beast for a sailor to be on. The Reeve, too, 
 was all behindhand, mounted upon a dapple-gray cob called 
 Scot, on whose flanks his rusty sword dangled awkwardly. 
 
 Indeed, they must have appeared an oddly mixed band, as 
 they started along the road toward Greenwich: the lean Clerk; 
 Dame Alison, the red-faced Wife of Bath, wearing a big round 
 hat as broad as a shield, and sitting easily on her gentle, ambling 
 nag; the Monk on a fat palfrey as brown as a berry, his harness 
 jingling as loudly as his own chapel-bell; the Merchant very 
 upright on his tall horse; the Summoner carrying a large cake 
 as a shield, with a garland on his head as big as those hung out 
 as the sign of an inn ; and all the rest in their different costumes, 
 riding anyhow together. The Pardoner was singing lustily a 
 song beginning "Come hither, love, to me," and the Summoner 
 joined in with a deep bass voice like a trumpet. The Miller, 
 though he was still a little sleepy, rode bravely at the head of 
 
 ii 
 
12 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 the procession, to lead them out of town, gaily blowing a tune 
 on his bagpipes. 
 
 This Miller was a large, brawny fellow, with huge shoulders, 
 like those of a good wrestler and fighting-man. He could heave 
 any door off its hinges, however big, or butt it open with his 
 head. His beard was as red as a fox's coat, and as broad as a 
 spade. He had a great wart on the tip of his nose, wide-open 
 nostrils, and a mouth like a furnace. He was a boastful talker 
 and ribald jester, but clever enough at stealing corn or getting 
 three times as much as was due to him. In fact, he was a coarse 
 and cunning rascal; but he could play the bagpipes right well, 
 and his merry tunes and rough jokes made the company start in 
 good spirits. 
 
 The pilgrims rode on until they came to the Watering of St. 
 Thomas, a place beside a brook about two miles from their start- 
 ing-point. Here the Host stopped his horse, and turned to the 
 others. 
 
 "Listen to me, sirs, if you please," he cried, "and remember 
 your promise to obey me. If you are still of the same mind, let 
 us see who is to tell the first tale. If anyone refuses to do as I 
 bid him, he must pay for all that is bought to-day, as we agreed. 
 Here are straws of different lengths; you shall each draw one, 
 and whoever draws the shortest must begin with the first tale. 
 Come near, my lady Prioress, and you, Sir Clerk, lay aside your 
 modesty. Draw, every one of you." 
 
 They drew as the Host bade them. The shortest straw fell to 
 the Knight, and everyone felt glad at the result. He was a very 
 brave and good man, an honorable Crusader, who ever since he 
 first rode abroad had loved honor and chivalry and truth. He 
 had done his duty well in his overlord the King's service, and had 
 
THE DEPARTURE FROM SOUTHWARK 13 
 
 fought thrice in the lists for the Christian faith in far-off lands, 
 and in fifteen mortal battles, winning fame throughout all Chris- 
 tendom. Many a time had he been put at the head of the high 
 table at feasts, to show in what esteem he was held. Yet, with 
 all his valor and high renown, he was as courteous and meek as 
 a maid, and a very perfect, gentle knight. It was fitting there- 
 fore that he should have the place of honor, and tell the first 
 tale. 
 
THE KNIGHTS TALE 
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITA 
 
 I. PALAMON AND ARCITA FALL OUT 
 
 THERE was once, as the old stories tell us, a noble duke 
 named Theseus. He was lord and governor of Athens, 
 and in his day the greatest conqueror under the sun. He 
 had fought battles and wars without end, winning many victories 
 and adding rich countries to his dominions. Chief among his 
 conquests was his defeat of the Amazons of Scythia. He over- 
 came their army in a great pitched battle, and took their Queen 
 Hippolyta prisoner, with her sister, the fair Emelie. 
 
 "After this victory he married Queen Hippolyta, amid great 
 feasting and revelry. I could tell you a long tale of all the 
 splendid feasts that were held at this wedding, or of the great 
 thunderstorm that broke over the Duke and his bride as they 
 began their journey home. But time is short, and my story is 
 long without that; I must forbear, and not keep another man 
 from having his fair chance of winning the supper. So now for 
 the tale of what happened soon after the wedding. 
 
 "The Duke, then, having taken Hippolyta to wife, set out in 
 state on the way home with her and her sister, full of joy and 
 pride in his victory and his marriage, and looking to meet with 
 rejoicing everywhere on his journey to Athens. But as he drew 
 near the city, he saw a band of ladies clad in black kneeling in 
 the road, two by two, weeping and wailing in a most pitiful man- 
 
 14 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 15 
 
 ner ; nor did they cease till Theseus reined in his horse and spoke 
 to them. 
 
 " 'Who are you that break in upon my joyful homecoming?' 
 he asked. 'Are you so jealous of my success that you try to mar 
 my rejoicings by your cries of sorrow? Or has any man ill-used 
 or harmed you? Why do you weep and wear mourning gar- 
 ments? Tell me what wrong has been done you, that I may 
 help and avenge you.' 
 
 " 'My lord Duke,' answered the lady who seemed to be chief 
 among the mourners, 'Fortune has given you victory and success. 
 We have no grudge against the glory and prosperity that you 
 have won, but we are here to beg you to pity our woe and help 
 us. All of us who thus beseech you were once great ladies, high 
 in rank and honor; and here we have awaited you these fourteen 
 days past, to pray your mercy on us. I was wife of King 
 Capaneus, who died at the siege of Thebes, and all these others 
 had great lords for their husbands, who fell with him. Creon 
 has taken Thebes and is king of it, and now in the hardness of 
 his heart he will not let the bodies of our husbands be buried, 
 but has piled them in a heap where they were slain in battle, so 
 that they lie exposed for birds and beasts to prey upon.' 
 
 "With that she and all the other distressed ladies threw them- 
 selves on their faces on the ground, and began to weep once more. 
 'Have pity on us unhappy women,' they wailed, 'and let our 
 sorrows touch your heart.' 
 
 "The gentle Duke was filled with pity when he saw their grief. 
 He leapt down from his horse and raised them up and com- 
 forted them. He swore a great oath, on his knighthood, to take 
 such vengeance upon the tyrant Creon that all Greece should 
 ring with it, and, while his anger was still hot within him, he 
 
16 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 cut short his return to Athens without entering the city. There 
 and then he set his army in array to march straight to Thebes ; 
 and he sent Hippolyta and Emelie and their ladies to Athens to 
 await his return. 
 
 "When he arrived at Thebes, with all the flower of his chivalry 
 in his train, he drew up his army for battle in a broad open space 
 near the city. There was a great fight, and Theseus kiUed Creon 
 in fair combat with his own hand. The Thebans were utterly 
 defeated, and their city taken by assault and sacked; and then 
 the bodies of the nobles whom Creon had left unburied were 
 given to the ladies, who buried them with great ceremony and 
 lamentation. Theseus stayed awhile near Thebes, ravaging the 
 country and doing with it as he pleased. 
 
 "After the great battle, the victorious soldiers went about 
 robbing and pillaging, stripping the dead of their armor and 
 clothes and anything else of value which they could find. A 
 party of these pillagers came upon the bodies of two youths, 
 very richly dressed, lying in the place where the fight had been 
 thickest, and pierced through and through with wounds. They 
 found that the young men were not quite dead, though grievously 
 wounded, and they took them to Theseus, seeing from their garb 
 that they were of noble birth. 
 
 "A herald skilled in blazonry and armor was sent for. He 
 announced that the coats of arms of the two captives showed them 
 to be of the royal family of Thebes ; and very soon it was found 
 that they were Palamon and Arcita, two cousins, both of the 
 royal house, the sons of two sisters. 
 
 "When Palamon and Arcita were healed of their wounds, the 
 Duke sent them to Athens to be kept in prison for the rest of 
 their lives ; for he had vowed vengeance on Creon's whole house, 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 17 
 
 and would take no ransom and show no mercy. So they were 
 thrown into prison, in a strong tower at Athens, close to the 
 palace of Theseus. Theseus himself after a little time returned 
 home in state as a conqueror, and reigned in joy and honor with 
 his queen Hippolyta. 
 
 "Several years passed, and Palamon and Arcita still lay un- 
 ransomed in their dungeon. At length, however, one day 'in 
 spring, the lady Emelie, fairer than the lily and fresh as May 
 flowers, rose at daybreak to walk in her garden. It was a morn- 
 ing in May, the month when spring will not suffer anyone to lie 
 abed after the sun has risen. In that bright sunlight Emelie's 
 beauty vied with the roses themselves, as she paced up and down 
 gathering flowers white and red to make a woven garland for 
 her fair yellow hair, which hung down her back, braided in a 
 tress; and as she walked she sang sweetly. 
 
 "It happened that the great tower of the castle where Palamon 
 and Arcita were confined joined the garden wall, so that they 
 could see the garden from their narrow window. That very 
 morning Palamon was awake with the sun, and roamed up and 
 down the chamber, lamenting that he had ever been born, if it 
 were only to spend his life in prison. 
 
 "Suddenly he heard a voice outside singing very sweetly. 
 He peered between the thick iron bars of the window, and looked 
 out from the gloomy dungeon on to the city, which lay below in 
 the fresh sunshine, and the pleasant garden just outside his 
 prison. The first thing he saw was Emelie, walking up and 
 down among the flowers. So fair was she that he fell in love 
 with her at the mere sight. He started back, and cried out as 
 though he were wounded to the heart. 
 
 "The cry roused Arcita, who shared the same dungeon. He 
 
i8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 got up quickly, saying: 'Cousin mine, what ails you, that 
 you turn so pale? Why did you cry out? Be patient; we 
 must bear our imprisonment as well as we can, for we shall 
 never escape. So the stars ordained for us when we were 
 born.' 
 
 " 'You are wrong, cousin. It was not the hardness of our fate 
 that made me cry out: I was wounded in my heart. The 
 beauty of the lady whom I see yonder roaming in the garden is 
 the cause of all my woe. Ah, how fair she is! Is she a woman, 
 or can she be some spirit in human form?' 
 
 "He thought that it might be a goddess who had taken the 
 form of a mortal woman, and he began to pray to Venus, the 
 goddess of love, not to mock them thus, but to help them to 
 escape. 
 
 "Then Arcita, hearing his words, also went to the window, and 
 saw Emelie walking in the sunshine. At the sight of her his 
 heart, too, was wounded as sorely as Palamon's, and with a sigh 
 he said: 'I am pierced to the heart by the beauty of her I see 
 yonder. If I cannot win her favor, I am naught but a dead 
 man. There is no more for me to say.' 
 
 "Palamon looked at him askance, and asked, 'Is this a jest, or 
 do you speak in earnest?' 
 
 " 'Nay, Palamon, in earnest, by my faith,' answered Arcita. 
 'I have no mind to jest now.' 
 
 "Palamon knit his brows in anger. 'It would bring you no 
 great honor to be false to me,' said he. 'I am your cousin, nay, 
 your brother and comrade, and we swore between ourselves a 
 great oath never till death parts us to stand in one another's 
 way, in love or in anything else. You were to help me, and I 
 you. And now you pretend to love this my lady, whom J will 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 19 
 
 serve until I die. You shall not do so, false Arcita! I saw and 
 loved her first, and told you of it before ever you looked upon 
 her. You are bound by your oath as a knight to help me, if it 
 lies in your power; else you are false to your word.' 
 
 " 'You will be false sooner than I,' answered Arcita proudly, 
 'and I tell you it is you who are false now. I loved her with a 
 true love before ever you did. You do not really love her; you 
 do not even know if she be a woman or a goddess. Your love is 
 the reverence that is given to holy things, but I love her as men 
 should love, not as they worship the gods. As for our oath, you 
 know the old saying, "Who can set a law on lovers?" Love is a 
 stronger power than any oath, and all other laws are daily broken 
 by it. But this is idle talk. It is not likely that you will win 
 her favor any more than I, for you know full well that you and 
 I are doomed to prison for the rest of our days. There can be 
 no ransom and no freedom for us. We are striving like the dogs 
 that fought for a bone, and as they were fighting, a kite came and 
 took it away. Love, if you like, cousin. I love her too, and 
 shall forever. That is all there is to do. Here in this prison 
 we must both endure, and each of us alike take his chance.' 
 
 "But Palamon would not hear a word of reason, and the strife 
 continued long between them, as I could show you if I had time. 
 But hear what came to pass next. 
 
 "There was a good Duke named Pirithous who had been a 
 dear friend and comrade of Duke Theseus ever since they were 
 children. He had known Arcita also when he was at Thebes, 
 and loved him well. It happened that he came about this time 
 to Athens, and hearing that Arcita was in prison, he begged 
 Theseus to set him free. Theseus could not refuse his friend this 
 boon, and at length, after many a prayer, he let Arcita go with- 
 
20 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 out ransom, but only on condition that he never again came into 
 any country ruled by the Athenians, on pain of death. 
 
 "Arcita was told that he would be set free on this condition, 
 and he accepted it. But it pleased him no more than it pleased 
 Palamon. 'Cousin Palamon,' he said, 'the victory is yours. 
 You are to stay here near the lady whom we both love, but I may 
 never come into any land which Theseus governs. Your prison, 
 near our lady's garden, is a paradise, for you can see her perhaps 
 every day; and who knows but that some unlooked-for chance 
 may even fulfil your desire for you? But I am exiled, and must 
 bid good-by to love and hope.' 
 
 "So Arcita went away home to Thebes, free, but full of sorrow 
 and discontent. He spent all his days in lamenting because he 
 could no longer see Emelie, and secretly sought some chance to 
 kill himself. 
 
 "But Palamon in his dungeon at Athens could not contain his 
 love in silence. All day long he mourned, till the great tower 
 echoed again and again with his cries. 'Alas! Arcita, my cousin, 
 it is you who have the best of all our strife. You can walk free 
 in Thebes, heedless of me and my griefs; and you can gather an 
 army of our folk, if it pleases you, and stir up war against 
 Theseus till you win our lady for your wife by force of arms. 
 But I have to linger on here imprisoned in this cage, with the 
 pains of love added to my other woe.' 
 
 "Thus Palamon increased his misery by jealousy, railing 
 against Heaven and his cruel fate. Summer with its bright days 
 and winter's long nights alike passed slowly over him as he lay 
 in prison. 
 
 "There I will leave Palamon for a little. But tell me," said 
 the Knight, looking round on the pilgrims, "which of these two 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 21 
 
 passionate lovers, Palamon or Arcita, do you think is the better 
 off Palamon, who can see his lady every day when she walks in 
 the garden, but must live in prison and cannot reach her; or 
 Arcita, who is free and may do as he wishes at Thebes, but can- 
 not even see Emelie?" 
 
 II. THE MEETING IN THE WOOD 
 
 "When Arcita had gone to Thebes, for many a day he mourned 
 as if he would never again see his lady. He grew as thin as the 
 shaft of an arrow; his cheeks became pale, his eyes hollow, and 
 he was forever wandering alone, weeping all night in the deep- 
 est misery and despair. 
 
 "After a year or more of this torment, he was so changed in 
 appearance that it would have been hard even for his friends to 
 know him. His spirits were so feeble and low from brooding 
 on his hopeless love that he did not think of trying to go back to 
 Athens. But one night in a dream he saw the god Mercury, who 
 bade him be merry, saying: 'You shall go to Athens. It is 
 fated that there you shall find an end to your woe.' 
 
 "Arcita woke with a start at these words. ( I will go back,' 
 he said, 'and see my lady again, even if I die for it.' 
 
 "He caught at a mirror that lay near his hand, and saw how his 
 face was changed by grief. He thought that perhaps if he bore 
 himself as one of low rank he might not be known at Athens, and 
 he made up his mind to carry out the words of the god. 
 
 "He clad himself as a poor laborer, and in this disguise he 
 journeyed back to Athens, alone except for one faithful squire 
 who knew all his secrets, and was also disguised. At Athens 
 he went up to the Court one day and offered himself at the gate 
 
22 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 for service under the name of Philostratus. It happened that 
 the lady Emelie's chamberlain needed a man such as Arcita 
 seemed to be, and he gave him the post. 
 
 "Arcita was young and strong, as well as prudent and wise. 
 He could hew wood or draw water, or do anything else that 
 was asked of him. He remained a year or two in this sort of 
 service, and he was so gentle and well-behaved that men were 
 amazed at his good manners, and his fame went throughout the 
 Court of Theseus. They said it would be but fitting if the Duke 
 were to raise him in station, and put him to more honorable 
 service. 
 
 "This at length came to pass. Theseus made him one of his 
 own squires of the bedchamber, and gave him money to keep up 
 his new rank honorably, though all this time Arcita had also had 
 money brought him secretly from Thebes year by year, so that he 
 could make a brave show whatever post he held. And now he 
 had succeeded in some part of his desire, for he was often near or 
 in the presence of the fair Emelie, though he dared not tell his 
 true name and rank. 
 
 "Meanwhile, seven years passed, and Palamon was still in 
 prison, enduring more woe than I can tell. But at length he 
 contrived to obtain some poison from a friend outside the prison. 
 He mixed it with wine, and gave it to his gaoler late in the night 
 of the third of May. The gaoler drank the draught, and was 
 soon sent fast asleep by the poison in it; no noise and no shaking 
 could rouse him. Then Palamon fled out of the prison as fast 
 as he could, taking the keys from the sleeping man's girdle. He 
 wished to escape to Thebes, and rouse his friends to make war on 
 Theseus, so that he might either win Emelie for his wife, or die 
 fighting. 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 23 
 
 "When he had gone a little way from the city, he found a thick 
 grove of trees, where he hid. It was growing light, and he 
 wished to travel only by night, for fear of being seen. So he lay 
 down in the brushwood to rest himself for the day. 
 
 "The busy lark was hailing the gray dawn with her song. 
 The fiery sun rose up bright, and all the east was laughing in his 
 light, as he dried the silver dewdrops on the trees with his rays ; 
 and Arcita, now chief squire to Theseus, rose and looked out 
 from his chamber window on the merry morning. It was 
 springtime, the fourth of May, and he made up his mind to ride 
 out in the early sunshine to do honor to the spring, as the custom 
 is. 
 
 "He mounted his courser and rode out of the city, till he came 
 by chance to the grove where Palamon lay hid. By the way he 
 picked flowers, with woodbine and hawthorn leaves, to make a 
 garland; and loudly he sang beneath the rising sun, 'O May, 
 fair fresh May, welcome art thou, with all thy green and all thy 
 flowers ! Ah, if thou didst but bring me fresh hope I' 
 
 "He dismounted and strode on into the grove, wandering up 
 and down a little path, hard by where Palamon lay hid in the 
 brushwood. Palamon saw him, but did not know him, so much 
 had his cousin been changed by the long months of sorrow at 
 Thebes. He lay quiet, therefore, behind a bush. 'Fields have 
 eyes, and the wood has ears,' says the proverb, and men often meet 
 in unexpected ways. 
 
 "After a little Arcita fell to musing, instead of rejoicing 
 aloud. Thus do lovers change quickly, their hopes rising up 
 and down like a bucket in a well. He sat down and began 
 once more to lament. 'Alas for the day that I was born! The 
 gods are the enemies of Thebes, and the royal city is fallen ; and 
 
24 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 here am I, Arcita, of the race of Cadmus and Amphion, serving 
 my mortal enemy Theseus. Once I was Arcita; now I am 
 Philostratus, the Duke's squire. Ah, fell Mars and Juno have 
 destroyed our house! And worse than all this evil that has 
 come upon our race, Love has pierced my heart through with 
 his burning, as if Fate meant to kill me altogether. It is you 
 who have slain me with your eyes, Lady Emelie! I would care 
 for nothing else, if only I could do your pleasure.' 
 
 "With that he was silent again. But when Palamon heard 
 what he was saying, he felt as though a cold sword had been 
 thrust into his heart. All his old anger against Arcita started 
 up again and mastered him. He leapt like a madman from 
 his hiding-place, and rushed out with his face all pale, crying, 
 'Arcita, false traitor! you that talk of your love for Emelie, 
 now you are caught you through whom I suffer all this pain 
 and woe! You are of the same blood as I; you have sworn an 
 oath to me all this I said to you before. You were untrue to 
 me, and now you are untrue to your new master Theseus, chang- 
 ing your name to get the better of me and him. You shall not 
 love my lady Emelie, but I alone will, and no other. I am 
 Palamon, your mortal foe. Though I have no weapon here 
 for it is but a little time since I escaped from prison you shall 
 none the less die by my hand, or give up your love for Emelie. 
 Choose which you will. You shall not escape.' 
 
 'When Arcita heard him speak, he knew who he was, and 
 drew his sword, fierce as a lion. 'By my faith,' cried he, 'were 
 you not ill and mad for love and unarmed, I swear you should 
 never go from this place alive! I would kill you with my 
 own hand. As for your talk of my oath to you, I defy it. Look 
 you, you madman, love is free, and I will love Emelie for all 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 25 
 
 that you can do. But since you are a knight of gentle birth 
 and fair fame, and are ready to fight for her, hear what I will 
 do. To-night I will bring you meat and drink; and to-morrow 
 I swear it upon my knighthood I will come hither alone at 
 this same time, with arms for you. You shall put on the armor, 
 and we will fight here in this wood for the lady Emelie. If 
 you win the victory and slay me, you may have her.' 
 
 " *I grant it,' Palamon answered. 
 
 "So the cousins parted, and Arcita went back to Athens, while 
 Palamon hid himself again. 
 
 "On the morrow, ere it was light, Arcita took two horses and 
 a spare suit of arms, and went out to the wood. He met Pala- 
 mon at the same time and place as on the day before. When 
 they met, their faces changed color, as a huntsman's does when 
 he hears the lion rushing on him through the bushes, and thinks, 
 'Here comes my enemy; he or I must die.' 
 
 "They said not a word, not even ''Good-day,' but each helped 
 the other to put on his armor, as friendly as if they had been 
 brothers. Then they fell to fighting. So fierce was their rage 
 against one another that you might fancy, to see them, that Pala- 
 mon was a forest lion and Arcita a cruel tiger. They fought till 
 they were ankle-deep in blood. And there let us leave them 
 while we go back to Theseus and the lady Emelie. 
 
 "The judgments of God are carried out surely and certainly 
 over all the earth. So strong is His word, that though the whole 
 world vowed that a thing should not happen, it would none the 
 less come to pass. Thus it was ordained that the great Duke 
 Theseus should desire to hunt that day in that very wood, it 
 being his custom to go a-hunting every morning in spring. 
 
 "The young day was clear and fine when Theseus, with Hip- 
 
&6 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 polyta, his fair Queen, and Emelie, clad all in green, rode out 
 royally to hunt They took their way to the grove, where men 
 said there was a hart, and they expected to find good sport that 
 fine spring morning. Suddenly Theseus shaded his eyes from 
 the bright sun; a little way off he had caught sight of Palamon 
 and Arcita, fighting furiously as two wild boars. Their gleam- 
 ing swords flashed to and fro so terribly that it seemed as if their 
 lightest blow would fell an oak. 
 
 "The Duke could not see clearly who they were, but he spurred 
 his horse forward and went between them with his sword drawn. 
 
 " 'HoidP he cried. 'No more of this, or you shall lose your 
 heads. Who are you, and why are you fighting here?' 
 
 "PaKamon answered quickly. 'Sire, what need of many words 
 is there? We have both deserved death. We are two poor 
 wretches who are weary of our lives. Have no mercy on us. 
 Slay me first, if it is your will, but slay my enemy as well ; or 
 slay him before me if you wish.' Then he told Theseus who 
 they wereo 'This is your deadly foe this is Arcita, who was 
 banished from your land, and is now by deceit your squire, 
 named Philostratus ; I am woeful Palamon, who have broken 
 out from the prison into which you cast me. He and I love the 
 Lady Emelie. I am ready to die now in her sight, and so I ask 
 you to judge and condemn me. But I pray you if you kill me, 
 kill Arcita also, for we both deserve death.' 
 
 " 'Out of your own mouths you are condemned,' said the Duke. 
 Tou shall both die.' 
 
 "Thereat the Queen Hippolyta and Emelie and all the ladies 
 of their company began to weep for pity. They saw the wounds 
 which the lovers had given one another, and thought it sad thai 
 young men so comely and so nobly born should die only for 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 27 
 
 loving so truly. They fell down on their knees before Theseus, 
 weeping and crying, 'Have pity, great lord,' and they would 
 have kissed his feet as he stood there, until he was moved to 
 mercy. But pity soon finds a way into noble hearts, and the 
 first anger of Theseus was speedily softened. He said to him- 
 self that every man in love tries to help himself, if he can, even 
 so far as to break out of prison; and his heart was touched when 
 he saw T the women weeping before him. 'Shame upon a lord,' 
 thought he, 'who will have no mercy, but is as cruel as a lion 
 both in word and in deed, and stands by his first judgment, how- 
 ever harsh it be.' 
 
 "He looked up with gentle eyes. What a tyrant is this god 
 of love!' he said, smiling. 'He can do with every heart as he 
 pleases. See how he has wrought with Palamon and Arcita, 
 and how, to crown it all, Emelie has heard no more of their love 
 than a cuckoo. I know his power well, and therefore I am 
 willing to forgive them the wrong they have done, since my 
 Queen and her dear sister ask it. Sirs, you must both swear to 
 me never more to be at enmity with me or make war upon my 
 country, but to be my friend in everything.' 
 
 "Palamon and Arcita took a solemn oath as he bade them. 
 
 " 'Listen, then,' the Duke went on, 'and hear what further 
 you must do. Doubtless you are both worthy in lineage to 
 marry Emelie; but both of you cannot do so, and you will not 
 agree about it. One of you must lose her, and put up with the 
 loss as best he may; and the matter shall be settled in this way: 
 Both of you shall go where you please for fifty weeks. At the 
 end of that time you must return, each with a hundred knights 
 armed for the lists. There shall be a great tournament between 
 you and the knights you bring on each side, and I swear to you 
 
28 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 by my troth as a knight, that whosoever of you with his hundred 
 men shall slay the other or drive him out of the lists shall wed the 
 Lady Emelie. The lists shall be held here in Athens. If you 
 think this is well, say so.' 
 
 "Palamon looked glad, and Arcita sprang up with joy on 
 hearing these words. They readily agreed to the conditions, 
 and went down on their knees to Theseus, and thanked him with 
 all their heart and might. 
 
 "Thus with good hope and blithe hearts they took their leave, 
 and rode away from Athens to rouse their friends and gather 
 'tach a hundred knights for the tournament." 
 
 III. THE ANSWER OF THE GODS 
 
 "You would think me careless and forgetful," the knight went 
 on, "if I did not tell you something of the lists or theater that 
 Theseus caused to be made ready for the tournament. It was 
 the most wonderful theater, I should think, that ever was seen, 
 and the Duke summoned all the most skilful workmen and 
 architects in the land to aid in building it. It was a mile round, 
 with stone walls, outside which ran a ditch. Inside for sixty 
 paces all round there rose up tiers of seats for the people to sit 
 on, raised one above the other, so that no man could prevent any- 
 one else from seeing. 
 
 "At the east end of the lists was a great gate of white marble, 
 with another gate like it opposite at the west end. Above the 
 eastern gate was built a shrine or little temple, with an altar to 
 Venus, the goddess of love. Over the western gate was one 
 dedicated to Mars; and Diana had a shrine of white alabaster 
 and red coral on the north side of the theater in a turret on the 
 
 ' 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 29 
 
 wall. These temples were filled with splendid pictures and 
 statues in honor of the gods to whom they were sacred. 
 
 "In the temple of Venus were paintings of all the passions 
 which love may rouse, and of Cithaeron, the mount sacred to 
 the goddess, and of the garden of love, which has Idleness for 
 its porter. Here, too, were shown the heroes who had met their 
 death through love: Hercules, who was slain by his wife; Nar- 
 cissus, who becarDe a flower; Medea, who killed her husband 
 Jason. And there was a statue of the goddess herself, rising 
 from the foam of the sea amid the glittering green waves, a gar- 
 land of fresh roses upon her head, and doves fluttering round 
 her. Before her stood her son Cupid, with wings on his shoul- 
 ders; he carried his bow and bright keen arrows, but his eyes 
 were blinded. 
 
 "On the wall of the temple of Mars, the red god of war, there 
 was painted first of all a forest, wherein dwelt neither man nor 
 beast; it was filled with old gnarled trees, through which the 
 wind seemed almost to sigh and rumble and tear at the branches. 
 Down below, at the foot of a hill, was shown the likeness of a 
 temple of Mars, wrought in burnished steel. The entrance was 
 long and narrow and gloomy, and there was no light within, 
 except what came in from the north, past great doors of iron 
 and adamant; there were no windows, and the place seemed full 
 of a sound of moaning. In this temple you could see the be- 
 ginnings of all manner of murders and deaths such as war be- 
 gets, and of anger and fear: here a man smiling falsely, with a 
 knife hidden under his cloak, ready to stab ; here a stable burn- 
 ing, and the black smoke rising up from it; there a man mur- 
 dered in his bed by treachery; there, again, one slain by his own 
 hand; in another place, open war. In the midst Mischance 
 
30 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 was painted with lowering face, and Madness, laughing in his 
 rage, and many another terrible scene of battle and violence. 
 There, too, were painted the craftsmen who supply the arms 
 of warfare the smiths, the armorer, and the like. Above all 
 sat Conquest in a tower, a sharp sword hanging over his head 
 by a single slender thread; and close by were shown the deaths 
 of famous conquerors. A statue of Mars himself stood in a 
 chariot, armed, and grim to look upon. Before him was a red- 
 eyed wolf devouring a man. 
 
 "Scenes of the chase were painted in Diana's temple, for she 
 was the goddess of hunters as well as of all those who would not 
 wed. Here you might see Callisto, who was turned into the 
 constellation called the Bear; Actaeon torn in pieces by his own 
 hounds for spying on Diana; Atalanta hunting the wild boar; 
 Daphne changed into a laurel, and many another. The god- 
 dess was shown riding a hart, her little hounds playing round 
 her; and beneath was a moon, almost at the full, ready to wane. 
 Her statue was clad all in green, and in her hand she held a bow 
 and arrows. 
 
 "Thus Theseus built the lists, and these were the temples set 
 up in them. 
 
 "The day at last came round when Palamon and Arcita were 
 to return with their knights, and fulfill their promise to the Duke. 
 Both of them came in good time, each bringing his hundred men, 
 well-armed and equipped, two companies as noble as you could 
 wish to see. 
 
 "The chief of Palamon's knights was Lycurgus himself, the 
 great King of Thrace. His beard was black, and his eyes glowed 
 yellow and red. Black also was his hair, hanging all rough 
 and unkempt over his forehead, but combed out behind on his 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 31 
 
 broad shoulders. On his head he wore a massy ring of gold, 
 set with fine rubies and diamonds. Over his arm&T, instead of 
 a coat of arms, hung a bear's skin, coal black and very old, with 
 yellow claws. He rode in a chariot of gold drawn by four 
 white bulls. Alongside ran a score or more of huge white 
 hounds, wearing golden collars ; with these hounds he was wont 
 to go lion-hunting. 
 
 "In the train of Arcita, it is said, came Emetreus, King of 
 India, riding on a bay steed trapped in steel, and covered all 
 over with cloth of gold, embroidered with a pattern; his saddle 
 also was of pure beaten gold. His coat of arms was of rich 
 silk, set with great round white pearls. On his shoulder he wore 
 a cloak studded thick with rubies which sparkled red as fire, 
 A wreath of fresh green laurels was upon his curled yellow hair, 
 which shone like the sun. His eyes were bright, his face ruddy, 
 and he had the look of a young lion. He was about five-and- 
 twenty years of age, and his beard was just beginning to spring. 
 When he spoke, his voice sounded like a trumpet thundering. 
 A tame eagle, white as a lily, sat on his hand, and all round him 
 ran tame lions and leopards. 
 
 "In this wise, about nine o'clock on a Sunday morning, these 
 lords rode into the city of Athens. Theseus lodged them in the 
 palaces of the town, and made great feasts in their honor, and 
 did everything which can be imagined for their entertainment. 
 
 "That Sunday night, two hours or so before dawn, just at the 
 time which the astrologers hold sacred to the goddess of love, 
 Palamon heard the lark singing outside his chamber. He rose 
 up and went to the temple of Venus to pay honor to her. Down 
 he knelt, and prayed with humble heart. 
 
 " 'Fairest of the fair, Lady Venus,' he said, 'have pity on my 
 
32 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 bitter tears. Suffer me to win my lady, Emelie, or let Arcita 
 kill me outright in the tournament. Give me my love, and I 
 will ever more offer sacrifice to you. I care nothing for my life, 
 if I cannot win Emelie. That is all my prayer: only give me 
 my love, Lady Venus.' 
 
 "Then he offered a sacrifice to the goddess, and looked to hear 
 an answer from her. Long did he wait, till at length the statue 
 of Venus which was in the shrine trembled all over, and seemed 
 to make a sign to him ; whereat he thought that his boon would 
 surely be granted, even though it might be after some delay. 
 
 "When the sun rose, up rose the fair Emelie, and went to the 
 temple of Diana with her maidens, who bore incense and fire 
 and horns filled with mead, to carry out the rites of the shrine. 
 She purified herself to offer sacrifice, and loosened her bright 
 hair and set upon it a garland of oak-leaves. Then she prayed 
 to Diana: 
 
 " 'Goddess of the green woods, by whom heaven and earth 
 and sea are seen, queen of the dark realms of Pluto, goddess of 
 maidens, you know that I long to serve you all my life and wed 
 no man. Help me now, lady. Send love and peace between 
 Palamon and Arcita, who love me so dearly; turn their hearts 
 away from me, and let their desires be quenched. Or if my 
 destiny be so shaped that I must needs have one of the two, give 
 me to him that most desires me.' 
 
 "There were two fires on the altar in the temple, which burnt 
 up clearly while the Lady Emelie prayed. But suddenly she 
 saw a strange sight. One of the fires died down, and blazed 
 up again; then the other fire died out altogether. As it went 
 out, there was a whistling sound, as of wet wood in the flames, 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 33 
 
 and at the ends of the branches there ran out drops which seemed 
 to be blood. 
 
 "Emelie was filled with fear at the sight, and began to weep, 
 not knowing what the sign meant. Suddenly the goddess Diana 
 appeared, clad as a huntress, her bow in her hand, and spoke to 
 her: 'Daughter, cease from your sorrow. Among the gods 
 on high it is decreed that you shall be wedded to one of those 
 two who have endured so much for your sake; but to which of 
 them you shall be given I may not tell you. Farewell, for I may 
 stay no longer. These fires burning on my altar shall be a sign 
 to you of what will befall.' 
 
 "With that, the arrows in the goddess's quiver clattered and 
 rang, and she vanished from sight. But Emelie was amazed, 
 and knew not what would happen. What means all this?' she 
 cried. 'O Lady Diana, I am in your power.' And with that 
 she went home, troubled in her heart about what she had seen. 
 
 "An hour afterwards, at the time which is sacred to the god 
 Mars, Arcita also was for doing sacrifice. He turned his steps 
 towards the temple of the terrible god of war, and prayed there 
 after he had performed all due rites. 
 
 " 'Strong god, holding in your hand power over all strife on 
 earth, giving victory or defeat at your will, accept my sacrifice 
 if I be deserving. I am young and unwise, maybe, but yet I 
 have had more sorrow in my love than any living man. She for 
 whom I endure all this woe cares not at all for me. Yet I may 
 win her by my might in the tournament, though I know that 
 without your aid my strength is of no avail. Help me, then, 
 lord of battles, and grant that I may have the victory. Let the 
 toil in the fight be mine, and yours the glory, for I will ever pay 
 
34 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 chief honor to you, and hang my armor for an offering in your 
 temple. Have pity on me, and give me victory.' 
 
 "His prayer ceased. The rings hanging on the temple doors 
 clanged, and the doors themselves clashed together. Fear and 
 wonder fell on Arcita at the sound. Then he saw the fires on 
 the altar flaming brightly, lighting up all the temple, and a 
 sweet smell arose from the ground. He lifted up his hand, and 
 cast more incense into the flames. At length the armor on the 
 statue of Mars began to shake with a sound of ringing metal, and 
 he heard a murmur, low and dim, whispering ' Victory I' 
 
 "Then Arcita gave honor and glory to the god of war, know- 
 ing that his prayer was answered; and he went home to his lodg- 
 ing full of joy and hope, as glad as a bird in the sunshine. 
 
 "But on Olympus, the abode of the gods, there was great 
 strife between Venus and Mars about this matter, for each of 
 them had promised victory, the one to Palamon, the other to 
 Arcita. Jupiter, king of the gods, could not check the dispute 
 till Saturn, the father of them all, calmed them with his words. 
 
 " 'Daughter Venus/ said he, Veep no more. In my power 
 lies the death that is met in the pale sea. I am lord of the 
 prison and the dungeon, strangling and hanging, poison and 
 murder and rebellions. Mine it is to take vengeance, and 
 punish. I will see to it that Palamon, your own knight, shall in 
 the end win his lady; yet Mars shall help his knight to success 
 in the tournament, and so be satisfied. Between you two there 
 must be peace.' 
 
 "Now I will leave the gods and the prayers that were offered 
 to them, and tell you as plainly as I can the end of all that I 
 set out to relate." 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 35 
 
 IV. THE TOURNAMENT 
 
 "There was high revelry among the people in Athens that 
 Monday. All through the bright spring day, from dawn till 
 eve, they danced and feasted. But they went to bed early at 
 night, so as to rise betimes to see the great fight on the morrow. 
 
 "In the morning, when day began to break, the inns and 
 streets began very early to be filled with the noise and clatter- 
 ing of horses and harness. Everywhere there could be seen 
 strange, rich, emblazoned armor, bright shields and trappings, 
 helmets and mail of gold, and golden coats of arms ; great lords 
 on their chargers, the steeds pawing the ground and champing 
 their bits; squires buckling on helmets, lacing up breastplates, 
 fitting straps to shields; armorers, yeomen on foot, pipers, 
 trumpeters, drummers the whole city was crowded with all 
 manner of peoples and sights. They stood in little groups here 
 and there, and all their talk ran on the wonderful tournament, 
 some saying Palamon would win, others Arcita; some thought 
 of the might of Emetreus, others feared the black-bearded King 
 of Thrace, whose battle-axe alone, so it was said, was twenty 
 pounds in weight. 
 
 "The turmoil roused Theseus in good time, but he waited till 
 the knights had all assembled at his palace. Then he took his 
 place at a window, seated on a throne where the crowd could 
 see him. A herald stood forth on a platform and proclaimed 
 silence ; when all the people were still, he cried the Duke's com- 
 mands : 
 
 " 'The great Duke has in his high discretion considered that 
 it would waste noble blood to let this tournament be like deadly 
 warfare. These, therefore, are the rules of battle which he or- 
 
36 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 ders: No man, on pain of death, shall bring into the lists a 
 knife, or a bow and arrows, or a pole-axe, or a short sword for 
 stabbing. No man shall ride more than one course with the 
 spear against his opponent. After that he is to thrust on foot, if 
 he wishes to go on fighting. He who is overcome shall be not 
 slain, but taken prisoner, and brought to the stakes which will be 
 set on either side; there he shall wait till the end of the tourna- 
 ment. If it so happens that the leader on either side be taken or 
 slain, the tournament shall cease thereat. God speed you! Go 
 forth, and lay on fast! Fight your fill with sword and mace. 
 This is the Duke's command.' 
 
 "A loud cry went up from all the people 'God save the good 
 Duke, who will not waste noble lives!' Blasts were blown upon 
 the trumpets, and the whole company rode to the lists in state. 
 Theseus sat on the ducal throne, and round him were Hippolyta 
 and Emelie and their ladies according to their degree. Then 
 from the west, by the gate whereon stood the temple of Mars, 
 Arcita rode in with his train, showing a red banner. On the 
 east, under Venus's shrine, came Palamon, with a white banner, 
 followed by all his chivalry. They ranged themselves in two 
 ranks, when their names and titles had first been read out. 
 
 " 'Do now your duty, proud young knights,' proclaimed the 
 herald. 
 
 "The gates were shut, the trumpets sounded, the herald rode 
 out of the lists, and the tournament began. 
 
 "Now was the time to see who was the best at jousting and 
 riding. Shafts were shivering on stout shields, spears bristling 
 twenty feet or more in length, swords gleaming and crashing 
 through helmets and armor. Now a horse would fall, and his 
 rider roll underfoot like a ball ; now he leaps up and fights on 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 37 
 
 foot with his mace. Now one is overcome, and led to the stake 
 to await the end of the tourney; then another is captured from 
 the opposite side, so that they are even again. 
 
 "After a time a short space was given them for rest, and then 
 they fell to again. Arcita and Palamon had already met many 
 times; they had unhorsed one another, but no more; and 
 Palamon was raging up and down like a tiger whose cubs have 
 been stolen. But at length they drew to an end. King 
 Emetreus the strong smote Palamon, who was fighting with 
 Arcita, and pierced his side deep with his sword. A score of 
 others leapt upon him, to drag him to the stake as a prisoner. 
 King Lycurgus tried vainly to rescue him; he was borne down 
 by the press of men. But Emetreus, for all his strength, was 
 carried out of his saddle to the ground, and fell a sword's length 
 behind his horse, so fiercely did Palamon strike him as he was 
 dragged off. 
 
 "So Palamon was led to the stake where other prisoners stood; 
 there, perforce, he had to remain. But Theseus, when he saw 
 Palamon taken, started up. 
 
 "'Hold! no more!' cried he; 'the tourney is ended. Arcita 
 of Thebes shall have the Lady Emelie, for he has won her fairly 
 in the fight.' 
 
 "At that the people raised such a shout that it seemed as 
 though the lists would fall with the sound. 
 
 "But on Olympus, among the gods, strife began anew, for 
 Saturn had promised Venus that her knight Palamon should 
 win his lady. When the goddess saw Palamon defeated, and 
 Emelie given to Arcita, she fell to weeping and upbraiding the 
 father of the gods. 
 
 " 'Daughter, hold your peace,' answered Saturn. 'Mars has 
 
3 8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 his will now, and the victory is Arcita's; but your turn will 
 
 come.' 
 
 "The trumpets were sounding, the noise of minstrelsy was 
 everywhere heard in praise of Arcita. He took off his helmet 
 to show his face, and rode proudly up to the place where Emelie 
 sat. She cast her eyes upon him not unwillingly, for she had 
 seen his brave deeds in the tournament. And now his horse was 
 prancing and curvetting before her, when suddenly from out 
 of the ground there started a Fury, which Saturn had asked 
 Pluto, god of the underworld, to send, in order to fulfil his 
 promise to Venus. 
 
 "Arcita's horse reared and turned aside terrified, and fell in 
 turning. Before Arcita could save himself, he pitched forward 
 on his head, and lay where he fell as if dead, his breast crushed 
 by the saddle-bow. His friends ran to help him, and lifted him 
 up and carried him away to Theseus' palace. There he was 
 laid on a bed and tended carefully. He did not seem to be 
 very severely hurt, and men said that he would live to marry 
 Emelie. 
 
 "Duke Theseus and all his company went to the palace after 
 the tournament. When care had been taken that Arcita should 
 fare well, the knights on both sides were royally entertained, 
 and those that were hurt had their wounds tended. No one had 
 been killed, though many were wounded. For three days great 
 rejoicings were held, and at the end of that time the knights 
 went to their own homes, each with a splendid escort and gifts, 
 given them by the Duke's command. 
 
 "Thus ended the great tournament, and I need speak of it no 
 more. Let us return to the story of Palamon and Arcita. 
 
 "Arcita's wound grew worse instead of better, in spite of all 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 39 
 
 the care that was bestowed upon him. Drugs and physicians 
 were of no avail, and soon it was clear that he would not live 
 long. He sent for Emelie and his cousin Palamon to see him. 
 
 " 'Dear lady,' said he, 'I have not time in my life to tell you 
 of my sorrow, because I must leave you. Alas! my queen, my 
 heart's lady, take me in your arms softly, and hear what I say. 
 For love of you there has been strife between my cousin Palamon 
 and me for many a long day. There is no man so worthy to be 
 loved for his truth and honor, for his wisdom, his humble spirit, 
 and his gentle birth, as this my cousin, who serves you and will 
 serve you always, all his life. I pray you, forget him not.' 
 
 "His breath failed him, his eyes grew dim, as he spoke his 
 last words, 'Have pity on me, Emelie.' So his spirit changed 
 its home, and went to the place that I know not, for I have not 
 yet come thither. And thus were the promises of Saturn ful- 
 filled; for Mars had given Arcita success, but Venus could yet 
 have hope for her knight Palamon, since Arcita was dead. 
 
 "There was great mourning all over the city when the news 
 was told. Endless were the tears of the old folk, and of those 
 of tender years; children and men alike lamented his fate. 
 Why should he die?' cried the women, 'when he had won 
 Emelie with such great glory?' There was no one, too, who 
 could give comfort to Theseus, except his aged father Egeus. 
 'My son,' said the old man, 'all men must die; this world is but 
 a road of woe, and we are all pilgrims passing to and fro upon 
 it. Death is the end of every worldly trouble.' And he said 
 many more wise words to comfort him. 
 
 "The Duke cast about to find a fit place to give Arcita seemly 
 burial. At last he decided that, since Palamon and Arcita had 
 fought first in the little wood or grove near the town, he would 
 
40 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 cut down the whole wood, and make there a funeral pyre of it, 
 to burn the body of Arcita, according to the custom of the coun- 
 try. 
 
 "They set the body on a bier covered with cloth of gold. Be- 
 fore it three great white horses walked, trapped in glittering 
 steel ; mounted on them were men carrying Arcita's shield, his 
 spear, and his bow and bright golden quiver. Behind came 
 Palamon, mourning, clad all in black, and Emelie, ruefullest of 
 all the company. On one side of the bier rode Theseus, on the 
 other Egeus, each bearing in his hand a vessel of fine gold filled 
 with honey and blood and milk and wine. The bier was borne 
 by the noblest of the Athenians ; and so, with slow and solemn 
 pace, they went through the streets, all hung with black, till they 
 came to the grove. 
 
 "But I will not tell you now, for it would be too long a tale, 
 of the rich gifts that were cast upon the pyre, according to old 
 custom; nor how the flames of the great fire blazed so furiously 
 that the lady Emelie swooned at the sight, and the brightness of 
 the sunlight itself seemed dimmed; nor of the costly spices 
 thrown upon the pyre, and the rich clothes in which they decked 
 the body of Arcita; nor of the ceremony at the burning; nor of 
 the long funeral games which were held afterwards, according 
 to the Athenian rites. I will go shortly to the point, and make 
 an end of my long tale. 
 
 "Time wore on, and a few years passed, till the grief for 
 Arcita was less keenly felt. At length a council was held, at 
 the end of which Theseus sent for Palamon and Emelie. They 
 came and stood before him, but he was silent for a little time 
 before any word fell from him. With a sad face, he sat mo- 
 tionless, until at length he said his will thus : 
 
THE KNIGHT'S TALE 41 
 
 " 'The great Maker of all things, when first He caused the 
 world to be, with life and hate and love in it, knew well His 
 own intent. He ordained laws and seasons as seemed good to 
 Him. Lo, the oak, that has so long a life from the time when 
 it first springs up, is yet wasted and dies in the end. Consider 
 also the hard stone under our feet, on which we tread, how in 
 time it is worn away. Of men and women also, in the same 
 way, we see that they must all die, king no less than page. So 
 it seems to me wisdom to make a virtue of necessity, and take in 
 good part that which we cannot escape. Whosoever does not 
 so does folly, and is a rebel against the Ruler of the world. And 
 surely a man has greatest honor when he dies at the height of 
 his excellence, sure of his own good name, and having done his 
 friends no wrong. Why, then, should we complain if Arcita, 
 the flower of chivalry, has honorably escaped from the sorrow- 
 ful prison of this life? Let us, before we go from this place, 
 make out of two sorrows one perfect joy. Thus shall it be: 
 Sister, you of your grace shall take for your lord and husband 
 this gentle Palamon, your own, knight, who serves you with 
 heart and might and will. He is son of a king's brother, and 
 were he but a poor novice in knighthood, he has deserved well. 7 
 
 "Then he said to Palamon, l l trow there is little need of 
 more words to make you consent to this. Come hither, and 
 take your lady by the hand.' 
 
 "Thus with all joy Palamon wedded Emelie, and won his 
 lady whom he had bought so dearly. They dwelt together in 
 unceasing happiness, and riches, and wealth ; Emelie loved him 
 so well, and he served her so tenderly, that there was never a 
 word of quarrel or jealousy between them ; and they lived long, 
 contented and prosperous. 
 
42 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Thus ends the story of Palamon and Arcita and Emelie; and 
 may God save all this fair company." 
 
 "THE MILLER IS A CHURL" 
 
 WHEN the Knight had told his tale, in all the company 
 there was not one who did not say it was a noble story, 
 worthy to be kept in memory. As soon as they had praised and 
 thanked the Knight for it, the Host spoke again. 
 
 "We are doing well," he said, with a laugh. "Our wallet 
 of stories is opened, and the game is fairly begun. Now who 
 will come next? You, Sir Monk, tell us somewhat to vie with 
 the Knight's tale." 
 
 But before the Monk could answer the Miller broke in. He 
 would not show courtesy to anyone, being still quarrelsome and 
 sleepy, hardly able to sit upright on his horse. 
 
 "I can tell a noble tale to pay back the Knight," he roared in 
 a great voice. 
 
 "Nay, Robin Miller," answered the Host, "wait your turn. 
 Let some better man have his say first, good brother, that we 
 may profit by it." 
 
 "I swear I will not," the Miller cried. "I will tell a tale, 
 or else leave you and go the rest of the way alone." 
 
 "Tell on, then, and a plague on you," said the Host. "You 
 are a fool, and your wits have gone astray." 
 
 The Miller would not be silent or orderly. 
 
 "Listen to me, all of you," he shouted. "I will tell you a 
 tale about a carpenter who was tricked and made to look a fool 
 by a clerk." 
 
"THE MILLER IS A CHURL" 43 
 
 "Stop your noise," said Oswald the Reeve, who did not like 
 a carpenter being thus laughed at. "It is wrong and foolish to 
 slander other men." 
 
 The Miller, however, heeded neither him nor anyone else, 
 but told a rude and churlish tale about a carpenter of Oxford. 
 
 This carpenter, so the story said, was persuaded by a clerk 
 that there would be a second great flood, and that if he wished 
 to be safe from drowning he must make himself an ark. So he 
 used his kneading-trough as a sort of boat, and was hoisted in 
 it up to the ceiling of the kitchen. When the water began to 
 rise, the clerk told him he was to cut the cords that held the 
 ark, and drop into the flood, and sail safely away. He did 
 exactly as he was told, and for a little while hung quietly up in 
 the air, close to the roof, waiting for the deluge in a state of 
 great fear and wonder. Suddenly he heard someone crying, 
 "Water 1" He cut the cords, thinking that the flood had come, 
 and down he fell to the hard floor, breaking his arm, and get- 
 ting nothing but laughter for his folly. 
 
 When the tale was ended, the pilgrims were not sure whether 
 to be angry with the Miller for his rudeness or to laugh. But 
 Oswald the Reeve was much offended by the story, for he was 
 a quick-tempered man, and, besides, he had done work as a 
 carpenter when he was young. That had been his first trade, 
 but he had prospered greatly since then. He was Reeve to a 
 great landowner at Baldswell in Norfolk, and he had charge of 
 the whole of his master's estate sheep, cattle, dairy, swine, 
 horses, poultry, stock, and all. He knew his business well, and 
 could always tell what sort of crops he would have according 
 as the season was wet or dry. He had been a faithful servant 
 ever since his lord had been twenty years of age, and no one 
 
44 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 could ever prove him short in his accounts, though maybe he 
 was not really over-honest. The bailiffs and herdsmen all feared 
 him, and he had contrived to do very well for himself. He 
 had a good store of wealth laid by at home in his pleasant house, 
 which stood on a heath in the shadow of some green trees. 
 
 He was a tall, thin man, and his legs were like sticks, with no 
 calf at all to be seen on them. His beard was shaved as close 
 as could be, and his hair cropped short round his ears, with a 
 bald patch on the top of his head. He wore a long blue sur- 
 coat, and rode with it tucked up round his waist, like a friar's 
 gown. 
 
 He took the Miller's tale very amiss, though the rest of the 
 company speedily resolved not to mind it. 
 
 "I could tell you a story about a proud miller who was be- 
 fooled," he said angrily, "if I wished to pay you back. But I 
 am an old man now, with gray hair, and I have no love for rude 
 jesting. Many a year has passed since first the stream of my 
 life began to run, and now the vessel is almost empty. The 
 
 stream " 
 
 "Enough of your sermons, Oswald," the Host broke in, for 
 the Reeve seemed likely to go on with his moralizing. "Tell a 
 tale 2 and do not waste time. Look, here we are in sight of 
 Deptford and Greenwich, and it is half-past seven. It is time 
 for you to begin your story." 
 
 "Well, sirs," answered the Reeve, "you have heard this 
 Miller's rude tale about a carpenter: now hear one about a 
 miller." 
 
 With that he began the story of Simkin, the miller of Trump- 
 ington, who was cheated and laughed at, in spite of all his 
 cunning, by two students from Cambridge. 
 
"THE MILLER IS A CHURL" 45 
 
 "That was a good trick they played upon the miller," said 
 the Cook, clapping Oswald on the back when the tale was 
 ended. "But let us not stop our tales here. If you will listen 
 to a poor man, sirs, I will tell you a little jest that happened in 
 our city." 
 
 "I give you leave," said the Host. "Tell on, Roger Cook, 
 and let the story be better than your pasties. I warrant many 
 a pie of yours is more than one day old, and many a man has 
 eaten jack-puddings of yours which have been cooked and grown 
 cool twice over. But do not heed my jests or grow angry. Tell 
 your tale." 
 
 "True jokes are not always good jokes," answered Roger the 
 Cook. "But you, too, must not be angry, Harry Bailly, if my 
 story turns out to concern an inn-keeper." 
 
 The Cook had left his shop in London in order to go on this 
 pilgrimage, and was very useful to the travelers. He could 
 roast meat, seethe it, fry it, or broil it as well as any man, and 
 make good soup, too, or bake a fine pie. Now, with a laugh, he 
 began his tale. 
 
 "An apprentice once lived in our city," he said "a proper 
 little man, gay as a goldfinch and brown as a berry, with well- 
 trimmed black hair. He was a good dancer, too, and they 
 called him Perkyn the Reveller, because he loved the tavern 
 better than his master's shop. He was an idle rogue. When- 
 ever there was any stir in Cheapside, out of the shop he ran, 
 and saw all that there was to be seen. He gathered a band of 
 others like himself, and they would dance, sing, and play with 
 the dice for hours together. Perkyn found his pockets empty 
 more often than not, for all his skill and cunning, and his mas- 
 ter was forever chiding him, until at length he turned him 
 
46 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 out of his house for good, bidding him go and riot as much as 
 he pleased at his own expense." 
 
 Here the Cook stopped short. "Plague on it! I will tell no 
 further," he said. "The tale is a bad one, not fit to be heard by 
 you. But I will give you instead a story of a knight's three 
 sons." And at once he started a new tale. 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 
 SIR GAMELYN 
 
 LISTEN, Gentles, and hearken to me," began the Cook 
 again. "There was once a doughty knight named Sir 
 John of Bounds. He had three sons, Sir John, Sir Ote 
 and Sir Gamelyn. They all loved their father well, but the 
 eldest, Sir John, was grasping and miserly. 
 
 "At length the old knight fell ill, and knowing that his end 
 was near, he wished to divide his lands among his sons, for he 
 was anxious that they should live well and prosperously after 
 he was gone. He sent letters, therefore, to certain wise knights 
 of his county, asking them to haste and come if they desired 
 to learn his wishes before he died; and as soon as they heard 
 that he lay ill, they did not rest day or night until they reached 
 his house. 
 
 "When they were all assembled round him, he said: 'Sirs, 
 I warn you I can live but a little longer. It is God's will that 
 death should soon take me.' 
 
 "They grieved sorely at his words. 'Be not dismayed, sir,' 
 said they. 'God is able to bring good out of evil.' 
 
 " 'It is true,' said Sir John. 'But I beseech you, sirs, for the 
 love you bear to me, go and divide my land among my three 
 sons, and for the love of Heaven do it aright. Forget not 
 Gamelyn, my youngest son. Take heed to him as well as to 
 his brothers.' 
 
 47 
 
48 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "The knights went out, and took counsel about the division. 
 They divided all the land into two portions, leaving none for 
 Gamelyn, the youngest son, but saying that his brothers would 
 give him a share when he was old enough. When they had 
 done this, they went back to Sir John, and told him how they 
 had made the division. 
 
 "Sir John liked it not at all. 'By St. Martin P he cried, 'for 
 all your division the land is still mine, and I will divide it as I 
 wish. John, my eldest son, shall have the five plow-lands which 
 my father inherited. Sir Ote, my second son, shall have also 
 five plow-lands out of that which I have won for myself. " All 
 the rest, and my parks and my deer, and the horses that I have 
 bought, shall go to my son Gamelyn. And I beseech you, sirs, 
 you who are skilled in the law, to see that this my bequest is 
 made good, for Gamelyn's sake.' 
 
 "Thus spoke the old knight; and a little while after he lay 
 still forever in death. 
 
 "As soon as his father was gone, Sir John, the eldest son, 
 thrust Gamelyn aside, and took all his lands and horses for him- 
 self, letting the parks and woods and houses go to ruin. 
 Gamelyn himself was brought up meanly in his household. 
 But in spite of his unjust brother, he grew so lusty and well built 
 that when he became a young man few dared lay hands on him 
 or provoke him to anger. His brothers themselves feared him, 
 knowing well that he was the strongest of them all. 
 
 "He was standing one day in Sir John's courtyard, stroking 
 his young beard and thinking of the lands that were his, the 
 parks all broken down, the deer stolen, the horses used up by 
 his brother, when Sir John strode in, and said roughly to him: 
 'Is our meat readv?' 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 49 
 
 "Gamelyn's anger burst out. 'Go and be your own baker P 
 he cried. 'I will not cook for you!' 
 
 "'How is this, brother Gamelyn?' asked Sir John. 'How 
 come you to answer me thus? Never have you dared to speak 
 so before.' 
 
 " 'Have I not?' answered Gamelyn. 'By my faith, I am 
 thinking that I have never yet heeded enough the wrong that 
 has been done me. My parks and my deer are all wasted by 
 you for your own good pleasure all that my father left to be 
 mine!' 
 
 " 'Hold your peace!' cried Sir John, in a rage. 'You shall 
 be glad to have your food and clothing, you good-for-noth- 
 ing!' 
 
 " 'Good-for-nothing! I am the son of a gentle knight, and 
 woe to him that calls me good-for-nothing!' 
 
 "Sir John dared not face Gamelyn himself. He called in- 
 stead to his men. 'Go and beat the boy, and stop his jests. 
 Teach him to answer me fitly another time.' 
 
 " 'A pretty brother you are to me!' cried Gamelyn. 'Who is 
 going to beat me? Why do you not do it yourself?' 
 
 "The men took up clubs, and would have obeyed Sir John's 
 orders. But Gamelyn saw what they were about, and casting 
 his eye round, he spied a pestle lying in a mortar by the wall. 
 He sprang to it quickly, being light of foot as well as strong of 
 body, and seizing it, used it so well that he drove all the serv- 
 ants in a crowd before him, laying on right heartily. His 
 brother fled up into a loft, and shut the door fast. 
 
 "When he had put them all to flight, Gamelyn began to 
 search for Sir John, looking like a wild lion in his anger. He 
 saw him at the loft window. 
 
jo THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Brother,' said he, 'come near, and I will teach you the 
 sword and buckler game!' 
 
 " While you have that club in your hand,' answered Sir 
 John, 'I will not come near you. Throw it away, and let us 
 make our peace, and give up our anger.' 
 
 " 'I do well to be wroth,' said Gamelyn. 'You would have 
 had your men beat me, and they had done it but for my strength 
 of arm.' 
 
 " 'Gamelyn, do not be angry,' went on Sir John. 'I did it 
 only for a test, to see if you were as strong for your age as you 
 seemed.' 
 
 " 'Come down to me, then,' said Gamelyn, 'and grant me a 
 boon. I will only ask one thing.' 
 
 "Down came Sir John, with fair and friendly words, for he 
 was sore afraid of the pestle ; but he hid treachery in his heart. 
 
 " 'You shall have it, whatever it is,' he said. 'What is it that 
 you ask? Hold me to blame if I do not soon perform it.' 
 
 " 'We shall be at one again, brother, if you will only restore 
 to me my lands and deer and horses which my father left for 
 me. Do this, and our strife is at an end.' 
 
 " 'You shall have them all back, Gamelyn,' replied his crafty 
 brother. 'I swear it.' 
 
 "But he was trying to think of some deceit as he spoke, though 
 Gamelyn was too simple to suspect it. 
 
 "They made friends again, and went on living together. But 
 Sir J-ohn did not at once give his brother back his inheritance, 
 and Gamelyn was not anxious to begin the quarrel afresh, so 
 that for a time he said no more about it. 
 
 "Soon after this a great fair was held in a town near at hand. 
 ; A champion wrestler came to it, and had it proclaimed that he 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 51 
 
 would try a fall with all who liked to come. The prize for any- 
 one who overthrew him was to be a ram and a ring. 
 
 "Gamelyn, feeling himself young and active, wished to go 
 and prove his strength against the champion. 'Brother, lend 
 me a horse,' he said to Sir John. 'I must go on an errand.' 
 
 " 'Go and choose the best in the stable,' answered his brother. 
 'But whither would you ride?' 
 
 " 'There is a wrestling match in the town, and I am going to 
 try for the ram and the ring, which are to be the prize for who- 
 ever defeats the champion. It would bring great honor to our 
 house if I could win them.' 
 
 "So a horse was saddled, and Gamelyn put his spurs on and 
 rode off with his servant to the fair. Sir John was not sorry to 
 see his brother go, for he hoped that he would get his neck 
 broken by the champion. 
 
 "As Gamelyn drew near to the fair, and was about to get off 
 his horse to go to the wrestling, he saw a franklin wringing his 
 hands and making a great lamentation. 
 
 " 'What is the matter, good man?' he asked. 'Can I help 
 you?' 
 
 "'Alas that ever I was born!' said the other. 'I had two 
 sons, strong and stalwart; but now a champion wrestler at the 
 fair yonder has thrown them and half slain them. I would 
 gladly lose ten pounds and more if I could only find a man to 
 give him some rough handling.' 
 
 " 'Good man, hold my horse,' said Gamelyn, 'and help my 
 man to guard my clothes, and I will go and see what success I 
 may have with this champion.' 
 
 " 'I will do it,' answered the man. 'I will second you, and 
 hold your clothes.' 
 
52 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "So Gamelyn stripped for the fray, and went to the place 
 where the wrestling was held. All the people there wondered 
 that he dared face the champion. 
 
 "Up started the great wrestler when he saw Gamelyn coming 
 towards him. 
 
 " Who is your sire?' said he. 'You must be mad to come 
 here.' 
 
 " 'You knew my father well when he was alive,' replied 
 Gamelyn. 'He was Sir John of Bounds, and I am his son 
 Gamelyn.' 
 
 " 'I knew your father well, my fine fellow, and I knew you, 
 too, Gamelyn, when you were a child and an unruly cub you 
 were!' 
 
 " 'Now that I am older, you shall find me something more 
 than that,' answered Gamelyn. 
 
 " 'Welcome, then, to my arms,' said the champion. 'Once 
 you come into my grip, you will fare ill!' 
 
 "With that they fell to. The champion tried all his tricks, 
 and put forth all his strength, but he could not throw Gamelyn, 
 who stood firm, and mockingly bade him do his best. 
 
 " 'Now that I have made trial of one or two tricks of yours,' 
 said Gamelyn at length, 'you must see one of mine.' 
 
 "He closed fiercely with his enemy, and cast him on his left 
 side, breaking three of his ribs and his arm in the fall. 'Is it a 
 fair throw?' he asked. 
 
 " 'Whether it is that or not,' answered the champion, 'I know 
 that whoever comes into your hands will not come well out of 
 them again.' 
 
 " 'Blessed be the day you first saw the light, Gamelyn!' cried 
 the franklin whose sons had been hurt by the wrestler. 'Young 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 53 
 
 Gamelyn has taught you the game,' he added, turning to the 
 champion. 
 
 " 'He is an evil master, and his play is rough,' answered the 
 latter, who did not like his defeat. 'It is long since first I 
 learned to wrestle, but never yet have I been so rudely handled.' 
 
 "Gamelyn stood forth after his victory and cried: 'If there 
 are any more, let them come to work with me. The champion 
 does not desire another bout.' 
 
 "But no one else was anxious to wrestle with him when they 
 saw how he had treated the champion. 
 
 " Tut on your coat again, Gamelyn,' said the two gentlemen 
 who had charge of the place, coming up to him. 'The fair is 
 over now.' 
 
 " 'But I have only sold half my wares,' replied Gamelyn, 
 who was ready to go on wrestling with anyone who would come. 
 
 " 'I have bought enough of them,' said the champion. 'You 
 sell too dear, and he is a fool who buys of you at such a cost.' 
 
 " 'I wish you had paid dearer for what you got,' grumbled 
 the franklin. 
 
 "But Gamelyn put on his clothes again, and began to set out. 
 The judges of the wrestling brought him the ram and the ring, 
 saying, 'Here are the ram and the ring, a prize for the best 
 wrestler who has ever been seen here.' 
 
 "Thus Gamelyn won the ram and the ring, and went home 
 with them, a great crowd shouting and singing in his train, 
 But Sir John saw them coming in the distance, and told the 
 porter to shut the gate of his house fast, and keep Gamelyn out- 
 side. 
 
 "The porter did as he was bid, and Gamelyn found the gate 
 shut when he arrived. 
 
54 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Porter, undo the gate,' he shouted. 'Many a good man's 
 son is waiting outside to enter with me.' 
 
 " 'By my beard,' answered the porter, 'I swear you shall not 
 come in at this gate, Gamelyn!' 
 
 " 'You lie,' said Gamelyn, and smote the little wicket-gate at 
 the side of the main one with his foot, and broke away the bolt 
 that fastened it. The porter, seeing that he could do no more, 
 took to his heels and fled. 
 
 " 'Faith! you run in vain,' said Gamelyn. 'I am as light of 
 foot as you.' 
 
 "He could no longer contain his anger, but sprang after the 
 porter, and caught him by the neck, so that the bone was broken, 
 and he died. Then Gamelyn took the body with one hand, 
 and cast it into a well which I have heard men say was seven 
 fathoms deep. 
 
 "After this the men in the yard shrank away before Gamelyn, 
 and did not try to stop him. He went to the gate, and threw it 
 open wide. 
 
 "'Welcome!' he said to the crowd which came pouring in. 
 'We will be masters here, without any man's leave. Yesterday 
 I left in my brother's cellar five tuns of good wine. Let it be 
 brought, and you shall all have your fill of it. My brother is 
 a niggard; we will spend his savings for him, and if anyone 
 withstands me, he shall go to join the porter in the well.' 
 
 "Meanwhile Sir John had fled to a little turret of the house. 
 He saw his brother and the guests wasting his goods, but dared 
 not come down to stop them. Seven days and seven nights they 
 feasted, and on the morning of the eighth day they went away, 
 though Gamelyn would have had them stay longer. Then Sir 
 John came down, and found Gamelyn standing all alone. 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 55 
 
 "Who made you so bold as to waste my stores?' he asked, 
 going close up to him. 
 
 " 'You need not be angry,' Gamelyn answered. 'Long ago 
 I paid for what I have now taken. For sixteen years you have 
 had the use of my fifteen plowlands, and of my horses that my 
 father left me on his death-bed. All the profits during those 
 years on the goods of mine which you have never yielded up to 
 me do I now give you, without any more claim on them, in 
 exchange for what we wasted at our feast.' 
 
 " 'Hearken, brother Gamelyn,' said the false Sir John, wish- 
 ing to put Gamelyn in a good temper; 'hear what I will do for 
 you. I have no son, and I will make you my heir.' 
 
 " 'So be it, if you think as you say,' answered Gamelyn, who 
 suspected no evil. 
 
 " 'But there is one thing, brother,' Sir John went on, 'that I 
 must tell you: you threw my porter into the well, and in my 
 anger I swore a great oath that I would bind you hand and foot 
 for that deed. Do not let me be false to my oath, but suffer me 
 to bind you for a little time, just to keep my vow.' 
 
 " 'Brother,' answered Gamelyn, 'you shall not break your 
 word or be forsworn if it is only I who stand in your way.' 
 
 "So Gamelyn let himself be bound hand and foot, thinking it 
 was but a form, to let his brother keep the words of his vow. 
 But as soon as he was secured, Sir John added fetters, and made 
 him fast to a post in the great hall. He told all who came 
 that his brother was mad, and there Gamelyn stood fettered to 
 a stake for two days and two nights without food or drink. 
 
 "At the end of that time he contrived to speak to Adam the 
 butler. 'Adam Butler, I have been fasting too long. I beseech 
 you for the love my father bore you to free me from my bonds, 
 
56 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 if you can anyhow come at the keys of these fetters. If you 
 will do this, I will give you a gift of land.' 
 
 "Then said Adam the butler: 'I have served your brother 
 these sixteen years. If I were to let you go, he would say that 
 I am a traitor.' 
 
 " 'Adam, you will find my brother false in the end,' replied 
 Gamelyn. 'I beseech you to free me. I will give you a gift of 
 my lands.' 
 
 " 'If you will vow to keep that promise, I will do all that 
 lies in my power,' said the butler. 
 
 " 'I shall keep my word,' promised Gamelyn, 'if you help me 
 to get free.' 
 
 "The butler agreed to help Gamelyn. When Sir John had 
 gone to bed that night he stole the keys and unlocked Gamelyn's 
 fetters, and gave him food and drink in a quiet room, to bring 
 back his strength again, for he was faint and weak with hunger. 
 
 " 'What is your advice, Adam?' asked Gamelyn, when he had 
 refreshed himself. 'Shall I go and cut off my brother's head?' 
 
 " 'Not so,' Adam replied. 'I can tell you a plan worth two 
 of that. To-morrow your brother gives a feast to the abbots 
 and priors and other churchmen of the country round. You 
 shall stand up by the post as if you were still bound, and I will 
 leave the fetters unlocked. When the guests have eaten well, 
 you must beg them all in turn to free you; and if any of them 
 will stand up for you, you will be freed, and I shall escape any 
 blame. But if not, we must try another way : you and I will each 
 take a good staff, and woe be to that one of us who fails the 
 other!' 
 
 " 'Evil come on me if I fail!' said Gamelyn. 'But warn me, 
 Adam, when we are to begin.' 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 57 
 
 " 'I will warn you, Gamelyn. When I wink at you, cast away 
 the fetters and come to me.' 
 
 " 'It is a good plan, 7 said Gamelyn, 'and I will lay on well if 
 they refuse to free me. 7 
 
 "When the next day arrived, the abbots and priors were wel- 
 comed to the feast. As they came in at the door, they cast their 
 eyes upon young Gamelyn, who stood at the stake as if bound 
 fast. The false knight, Sir John, full of treachery, told them 
 all manner of shameful things about him. 
 
 "When they had feasted well, and were in a good humor, 
 Gamelyn began to play his part. 
 
 " 'Why do you serve me thus, brother John?' he asked. M 
 stand here fasting while the other men feast. 7 
 
 "But Sir John only told his guests to pay no heed to Gamelyn, 
 for he was mad, and needed chains to restrain his fury. 
 
 "Gamelyn was silent again for a little. Then, according to 
 the plan which Adam had made, he cried to the guests: 'Sirs, I 
 pray you help me out of my bonds.' 
 
 "Then answered an abbot: 'Woe to him who pledges him- 
 self to set you free! May he prosper who does you harml' 
 
 " 'I would have your head cut off, even though you were my 
 brother,' another called out. 
 
 " 'It is a grievous wrong, boy, that you are alive at all,' added 
 a third, a prior. 
 
 " 'You all refuse? I see that I have no friends,' cried 
 Gamelyn. 'Bad luck to anyone who ever does a good turn to 
 a prior or abbot 1' 
 
 "Adam the butler was watching him as he took up the cloth, 
 and saw that his anger was roused. He put two great staves 
 near the hall-door, and gave Gamelyn a quick look, which he 
 
58 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 understood at once. Gamelyn slipped off his loosened fetters, 
 and together they went and laid hold of the staves, and strode 
 back into the body of the hall, looking around with eyes of 
 terrible anger. 
 
 "Then they fell to work. The common people standing in 
 the room had little love for Sir John's guests, and would not lift 
 a finger to help them. The two scattered and drove the monks 
 in a crowd before them, Adam at one end, Gamelyn at the 
 other, paying them all in full for the wrongs Gamelyn had 
 suffered. 
 
 " 'Give them good measure, Gamelyn!' cried Adam. 'I will 
 keep the door.' 
 
 " 'Keep it well, Adam,' he answered. 'Do not let any pass, 
 and we will see how many there are of them.' 
 
 " 'Do no harm to them! Draw no blood, and have mercy on 
 their shaven crowns, but break their arms and legs!' said the 
 butler grimly. 
 
 "Thus Gamelyn and Adam worked quickly and with a will, 
 till the monks who had ridden there with rejoicing and merri- 
 ment were glad to be carried back in carts and wagons, unable 
 to walk or ride. 
 
 " 'Alas! Sir Abbot,' said a prior, 'we had been better at home 
 with our bread and water than at a feast like this!' 
 
 "Sir John had been looking on with a glum face while 
 Gamelyn laid hands on his guests. As soon as they were all 
 gone, Gamelyn smote him on the back of the neck with his great 
 staff, and knocked him down. Then he took him and tied him 
 up with fetters to the stake. 
 
 " 'Sit there, brother, to cool your blood, as I did,' said he. 
 
 "When Adam and Gamelyn had done their work, they 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 59 
 
 washed themselves and sat down to eat, the servants waiting on 
 them gladly. But the Sheriff lived only five miles away, and 
 word was very soon brought to him of what had been done, and 
 how Gamelyn and the butler had broken the King's peace. He 
 cast about in vain for someone to go and take the two wrong- 
 doers prisoners, till at last four-and-twenty young men came to 
 him and said that, if he agreed, they would bring Gamelyn and 
 Adam before him. He gave them leave, and they set out at 
 full speed to do their task. 
 
 "When they came to the gate they knocked, for they found it 
 shut. The porter looked out, and asked their errand. He had 
 seen them coming, and was afraid of treachery, for he loved 
 Gamelyn. 
 
 " 'Undo the gate, porter,' cried one of them. 
 
 " 'You must say your errand before I let you in,' answered 
 the porter. 
 
 " 'Tell Gamelyn and Adam that we wish to speak two or 
 three words to them.' 
 
 " 'Stand there awhile, fellow,' the porter replied, 'and I will 
 go to Gamelyn and find out his wishes.' 
 
 "He came to Gamelyn and said: 'Sir, I warn you that the 
 Sheriff's men are at the gate to take you both, and to see that 
 you do not escape.' 
 
 " 'Go to the gate, porter,' said Gamelyn, 'and stay there, and 
 you will soon see something. Adam, look, we have foemen at 
 our gate, and not one friend to help us. It is the Sheriff's men 
 who are come to take us.' 
 
 " 'We will give the Sheriff's men such a welcome,' answered 
 Adam, 'as that some of them will be glad to sleep here to-night 
 in the mud!' 
 
60 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "They went out quietly at a little postern-gate, each with a 
 great staff in his hand, and from behind set on the men waiting 
 by the main gate. Gamelyn felled three, Adam two; the rest 
 turned and fled. 
 
 " 'Do not haste away,' cried Adam after them. 'I have some 
 good wine here; drink some before you go!' 
 
 " 'Your wine is too strong for us, 7 they answered, as they ran 
 off in a panic. 
 
 "In a little while the Sheriff himself, hearing the news, set 
 out with a great body of men to take them by force. 
 
 " What shall we do, Adam?' asked Gamelyn. 'Here comes 
 the Sheriff I' 
 
 " 'We can stay here no longer, or we shall fare amiss. Let us 
 go away before they catch us.' 
 
 "So they took their horses and went on their way. Soon after 
 they had gone the Sheriff arrived with his men, and found that his 
 birds had left the nest. He got down from his horse, and went 
 into the hall, where Sir John was still bound to the pillar; and 
 he set him free, and sent for a doctor to tend him. 
 
 "Now let us leave the false knight and the Sheriff, and see 
 how Gamelyn is faring. He and Adam rode away into the 
 woods, ill content with their fortunes. 
 
 " 'Now I know that I like better to be a butler, and carry the 
 keys,' said Adam, 'than to walk in these wild woods, tearing my 
 skin and clothes on the thorn-bushes.' 
 
 " 'Never despair, Adam,' answered Gamelyn. 'Many a good 
 man's son has been in trouble before this, and has come out of it 
 safely.' 
 
 "Even as they were speaking, they heard the voices of men 
 talking near at hand, as it seemed. Gamelyn looked warily be- 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 61 
 
 tween the trees, and saw a little way off some seven score of young 
 men sitting down on the greensward for a meal. 
 
 " 'Adam, we need have no doubts,' said Gamelyn. 'By the 
 grace of Heaven, after evil good comes. I think we can see 
 meat and drink before us.' 
 
 "Adam, too, looked at the company of men, and was glad 
 enough at the sight, for he longed sorely for food. But just 
 then the chief of the band happened to see them, and spoke to 
 his comrades. 
 
 " 'Young men,' said he, 'I have to be cautious with chance 
 guests, I am aware of two standing yonder amid the trees. 
 They are well dressed, and maybe there are more of them. Go, 
 some of you, and fetch them to me.' 
 
 "Up started seven of the outlaws for this company thus as- 
 sembled in the wood was a great band of outlaws, who had 
 broken the laws of the land, and fled to the forest for safety 
 and came to Gamelyn and Adam, bidding them give up their 
 bows and arrows. 
 
 " 'He would be a poor creature who yielded to you,' answered 
 Gamelyn. 'Bring another five, and I will fight the twelve of 
 you.' 
 
 "When they heard his words, they did not feel very willing to 
 oppose him. 
 
 " 'Come before our master, and tell him what you wish,' they 
 said humbly. 
 
 " 'Who is your master?' asked Gamelyn. 
 
 " 'He is the crowned king of the outlaws,' they replied. 
 
 " 'Adam, we will go to him,' said Gamelyn. 'He cannot, for 
 shame, deny us food and drink, and he may do us some good, if 
 he is of gentle blood.' 
 
62 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "So they went to the king of the outlaws, and greeted him. 
 He asked them what they wanted in the greenwoods. 
 
 " 'He must needs walk in the woods who may not walk in 
 the town,' answered Gamelyn. 'We do not come here to do any 
 harm, but if we meet with a deer, we would shoot it just as any 
 man would who is hungry, and can find no meat.' 
 
 "The outlaw chief listened to their words, and had pity on 
 them. 'You shall have plenty here,' he said, and bade them sit 
 down and rest themselves, while they feasted on food and wine 
 of the best. 
 
 "As they sat there, one of the outlaws recognized Gamelyn. 
 He told the master who it was, for Gamelyn's deeds were by 
 now well known in the country round. When the captain heard 
 this, and had been told by Gamelyn how he had been turned out of 
 his home, he made him his chief lieutenant, second in command of 
 the whole band. 
 
 "A little while afterwards, word was brought that a pardon 
 had been granted to the captain of the outlaws, and he went back 
 free to his own estate. But before he left them he said to his men : 
 'Now that I can no longer stay with you here, I leave you in 
 charge of Gamelyn. I am pardoned, and must go home again.' 
 
 "So Gamelyn was crowned king of the outlaws in his stead, 
 and lived for a while in the greenwoods. 
 
 "But in the meantime, his false brother, Sir John, had been 
 made Sheriff, and had sent out a writ against Gamelyn, pro- 
 claiming him a wolf's-head and outlaw. Gamelyn's old friends 
 and servants were filled with grief and anger at this deed, and 
 sent word of it to him in the greenwoods. The messenger with 
 the news came and fell on his knees before him. 
 
 " 'Sir,' he said, 'be not angry at the evil tidings which I bring. 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 63 
 
 Your brother is Sheriff, and has proclaimed you a wolf's-head.' 
 
 "Gamelyn waxed wrathful at the message, for he knew that 
 his goods would be plundered, and his tenants oppressed, and 
 that any man who met him was free to capture and kill him if 
 he could. 
 
 " 'Alas that I left Sir John without breaking his neck!' said 
 he. 'I vow that I will go to the next assizes and speak with my 
 brother the Sheriff, even if it cost me my life!' 
 
 "When the time for the assizes came, Gamelyn strode into the 
 hall where his brother sat as lord and master. He pulled his 
 hood down boldly, to show them all his face. 
 
 " 'God save you, sirs!' he cried. 'But as for you, Sir Sheriff, 
 evil befall you ! Why have you had me, your brother, cried as 
 an outlaw?' 
 
 "But Sir John the Sheriff thought it high time to stop Game- 
 lyn's mouth, and he had him seized there and then, and bound 
 and thrown into prison. 
 
 "Gamelyn's other brother, Sir Ote, was as good a knight as 
 might well be, and when a messenger came to him with the news 
 that Sir Gamelyn had been cast into prison by his brother the 
 Sheriff, he saddled a horse, and rode straight to Sir John. 
 
 " 'How is this, Sir John?' he asked. 'We are but three 
 brothers, and you have thrown the best one of us all into prison!' 
 
 " 'He shall fare the worse for your words, Sir Ote,' answered 
 Sir John. 'He is in the King's prison, according to the law, and 
 there he shall abide till justice can be done on him.' 
 
 " 'I know a better way than that,' said Sir Ote. 'I demand 
 that you let him out on bail. I will be surety for him, and an- 
 swer for it that he shall appear before the court on the appointed 
 day.' 
 
64 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'On that condition I grant your request. But if he does not 
 come, you must be given up to justice in his stead.' 
 
 "So Gamelyn was set free, and went away with Sir Ote. On 
 the morrow he prepared to leave his brother, saying, 'Brother, 
 I must now go to the woods to see how my young men are faring 
 without me. They may be quarreling or doing wrong by now, 1 
 
 " 'Ah, brother! 7 said Sir Ote, 'that is a hard word for me to 
 hear. Now I see that all the trouble will fall on my head. It 
 is I who will have to go before the court, and be cast into prison 
 in your stead, if you do not appear.' 
 
 " 'Do not fear/ answered Gamelyn. 'If I am alive, I will be 
 ready in good time.' 
 
 " 'Heaven shield you from shame P said his brother. 'Return 
 when it is time, and save us both from dishonor.' 
 
 "Gamelyn bade him farewell, and returned to his band in the 
 greenwoods. He found his young men glad to have him back, 
 and he told them what had been done, and how he had to appear 
 at the assizes on a certain day. Then for a time they betook them- 
 selves to collecting toll of the rich who passed through the wood. 
 
 "Meanwhile, Sir John was doing his best to get together a 
 judge and jury who would obey his wishes and have his brother 
 hanged, and he soon found enough men ready to his hand. They 
 all came to the court on the day fixed for the trial, but Gamelyn 
 had not returned, and Sir Ote was brought in to undergo justice 
 from them in his stead. 
 
 "But Gamelyn had not forgotten his promise. 
 
 " 'Get ready,' he said to his men. 'We must all go together 
 to these assizes. I swore to my brother that I would not let him 
 suffer for me.' 
 
 "They set out in a body for the court, and Adam was sent on 
 
THE COOK'S TALE 65 
 
 to see what had been done by the Sheriff. He came to the court- 
 house, and found Sir Ote bound, and the jury of Sir John's men 
 making ready to have him hanged. 
 
 "When Gamelyn was told this he was very wroth, and said: 
 'You hear this, friends Sir Ote is fettered, and about to be sen- 
 tenced in the court-house. By Heaven's aid, he who brought 
 him thither shall rue it! We will slay those who are guilty, and 
 let the rest go. Let none escape by the doors. I will be justice 
 to-day. Adam, come you with me; you shall be my clerk.' 
 
 "His men bade him do his best. { You will find us ready when 
 you need us. We will stand by you as long as we live.' 
 
 " 'I will be as true to you as you to me,' answered Gamelyn ; 
 and with that he went into the justice-hall. 
 
 "The judge was sitting in state, fearing nothing, when in strode 
 Sir Gamelyn amongst them all. He went straight to Sir Ote, 
 and set him free from his bonds. 
 
 " 'You were almost too late, Gamelyn,' said Sir Ote. 'The 
 verdict was against me, and I was to be hanged.' 
 
 " 'Brother,' answered Gamelyn, 'those who will be hanged to- 
 day are the men who have condemned you judge and jury, and 
 the Sheriff through whom this was done.' 
 
 "Then he turned to the justice. 'Now is your power come to 
 an end, Sir Judge 1' he cried. 'You have given evil judgments. 
 I will sit in your place, and set them right.' 
 
 "The judge remained still in his seat, and did not move. Then 
 Gamelyn broke his cheek-bone with one great blow, saying never 
 a word, and took him and threw him over the bar of the court, 
 so that his arm also was broken. The rest looked on in fear, and 
 durst not resist. 
 
 "Gamelyn sat down in the judge's seat, Adam at his feet and 
 
66 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Sir Ote by his side. The false judge and Sir John the Sheriff 
 were bound and brought to the bar as prisoners, and he asked 
 which were the jurymen whom Sir John had bribed to deal un- 
 justly. When they were found, they too were all brought to the 
 bar alongside of Sir John and the judge. 
 
 " 'You have judged unjustly, you and the jurymen that sat in 
 your court,' said Gamelyn to the judge. 'You shall all be hanged 
 this day.' 
 
 "'I beg your mercy, sir!' cried Sir John. 'You are my 
 brother!' 
 
 " 'Yes,' said Gamelyn, 'and if you were still my master, I 
 should fare worse than I do now.' 
 
 "So, to make my story short, they hanged them all, Sheriff, 
 judge, and jurymen ; and thus ended the false knight, Sir John, 
 and all his treachery. 
 
 "Sir Ote and Sir Gamelyn went with their friends to the King, 
 and told him all that had been done, and made their peace with 
 him. The King loved Sir Ote well, and made him a justice of 
 his peace. Soon afterwards he appointed Gamelyn chief lord 
 of all his forests, and forgave his young men for the unlawful 
 deeds they had done when they were outlaws in the greenwoods. 
 
 "Thus Sir Gamelyn won back his lands, and dwelt in peace, 
 having paid his enemies their due in full. After a little time he 
 took a wife, and, being made Sir Ote's heir, when that worthy 
 knight died, he lived in great prosperity and happiness to the end 
 of his days." 
 
 The Cook's was the last tale that day. We are told that very 
 soon- after it the pilgrims came to Dartfqrd, where they stayed 
 the night. 
 
THE THIRD DAY 
 
 A SERGEANT OF THE LAW 
 
 THE next morning the bright sun had run a quarter or 
 more of his course before the travelers began to carry 
 on their stories. It was about ten o'clock when the 
 Host, after calculating the time from the length of the shadows 
 cast by the trees, suddenly turned round on his horse and spoke 
 to his companions. 
 
 "I warn you, sirs, a full quarter of the day is gone. Lose no 
 time, for the hours waste day by day, stealing from us while we 
 Asleep, and even while we are awake, all by our own neglect. 
 Time is like a stream running from a mountain to a plain, and 
 it can never be called {>ack again. So let us go on with our 
 tales. Sir Man of Law, tell us a story, according to the promise 
 that the whole company has made. You know that you agreed 
 to obey me. Do your duty." 
 
 The Man of Law was one who studied the law as his profes- 
 sion, a careful and discreet man, as, indeed, he seemed to be by 
 the wisdom of his words whenever he spoke. He was very 
 learned, being held in great honor for his skill in the law. He 
 had often been appointed judge at the assizes, and knew all the 
 decrees and judgments which had been made since the time of 
 William the Conqueror. There never was such a busy man as 
 he, and yet he seemed to be busier than he really was. 
 
 "Sir Host," he answered, "I will obey, for I would fain dtf 
 
 67 
 
68 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 all my duty. But I am no clever story-teller, like friend 
 Chaucer here, who has already told many a tale in his books. 
 He indeed knows how the task should be carried out. Never- 
 theless, I do not find that he has ever written the story of Con- 
 stance; and that I will tell you, if I may. It was taught me long 
 ago by a merchant whom I knew." 
 Thereupon he quietly began his tale. 
 
THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE 
 FAITHFUL CONSTANCE 
 
 THERE once lived in Syria a company of rich merchants. 
 They were very prosperous, and traveled with their 
 wares far and wide over the world, trading in spices, 
 cloth of gold, and fine satins ; and all men were glad to deal with 
 them when their ships came into port. 
 
 "It happened that in one of their voyages some of the chief of 
 them went to Rome, where they stayed a little time for business 
 and pleasure. While they were in the city they were continually 
 hearing the praises of the Emperor's daughter, the Lady Con- 
 stance. Every day new tales of her virtue and beauty were told 
 to them. 'Our Emperor of Rome, whom may God keep from 
 harm,' men said, 'has a daughter whose like for loveliness and 
 wisdom has never been seen since the world began. She is the 
 mirror of courtesy; her heart is a very chamber of holiness, her 
 hand ever open to give alms freely. Would that she were Queen 
 of all Europe!' 
 
 "The merchants remained in Rome as long as they wished, 
 and then went back to Syria, well satisfied with the business they 
 had done. But they did not forget what they had heard about 
 Constance. 
 
 "The Sultan of Syria used to show these merchants great 
 favor, and always sent for them, and entertained them when they 
 returned from a voyage, in order to learn what they had seen 
 
 69 
 
70 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 and done in their travels. He summoned them this time as 
 usual, and they told him where they had been and how they had 
 fared. Above all, they spoke so earnestly of the fame of Con- 
 stance that the Sultan was moved by a great curiosity about her; 
 and when he had heard everything that they could tell him of 
 her, he was filled with a desire to have her for his wife. 
 
 "He sent for his counselors, and told them his wishes, bidding 
 them say what should be done. They talked and argued long 
 about the matter, but in the end could see nothing for it but to 
 send an embassy to Rome to ask plainly for the hand of the Em- 
 peror's daughter in marriage. But the Sultan was not a Chris- 
 tian, and they said that no Christian king would let his daughter 
 wed a heathen. 
 
 " 'Rather than lose Constance,' answered the Sultan, 'I will 
 be baptized and become a Christian. I cannot live without 
 her.' 
 
 "Why should I make a long story of it? Ambassadors were 
 sent with rich presents to Rome to ask for the hand of Constance, 
 and the Sultan and all his nobles promised to become Christians. 
 The Emperor of Rome gave his consent to the marriage, and 
 bishops and lords and ladies and knights of high renown were 
 chosen to go with Constance to her new home. 
 
 "The appointed day at length came, and all was ready for 
 departure. But it grieved Constance to leave her dear country 
 to go to the strange, far-off land of Syria. She obeyed her 
 father's wishes in all things; but what wonder that she wept and 
 was full of sorrow? 
 
 " * Father and you, dear mother,' she cried, 'give me your 
 blessing before I go to this barbarous country. I will go, for 
 
THE MAN OF LAWS TALE 71 
 
 you wish it, but Heaven keep me safe among the barbarians I 
 Alas ! I shall never see you again.' 
 
 "But she was to see them again, though not yet; nor could 
 she foresee what she must suffer before that would come to pass. 
 
 "So she went forth from them weeping. 'God be with you 
 allT she said. They could but answer 'Farewell!' And so she 
 sailed away in a ship over the sea, with a splendid escort and a 
 great train of friends and attendants with her. 
 
 "The old Sultaness, the mother of the Sultan of Syria, had 
 heard of her son's wish, and knew that he would give up heathen 
 worship and sacrifices now that he was to take a Christian 
 princess to wife. She made up her mind to be revenged on Con- 
 stance, and to get rid of her if she could. She summoned a 
 council of her own friends, and when they had come together 
 spoke thus to them : 
 
 " 'Lords, you know well that my son will give up our religion 
 and become a Christian, all for the sake of this wife who is com- 
 ing to him from Rome. Why should we suffer this? Shall we 
 submit to his new laws? Will you promise to obey me, my 
 lords, if I try to make our religion and ourselves safe for ever- 
 more?' 
 
 "They swore, every one of them, to stand by her and strengthen 
 her in every way they could. 
 
 " 'Then let us first pretend to become Christians and be bap- 
 tized,' she continued, 'and I will make such a feast in honor of 
 Constance as will give the Sultan his due. Let his wife be chris- 
 tened never so white, she will need much water to wash away all 
 the red flood that will soon flow.' 
 
 "Thus the old Sultaness laid her plans. Before Constance 
 
72 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 had arrived in Syria, she went to the Sultan, and told him that 
 she would take back her refusal to become Christian (for she 
 had indeed refused at first, in her rage). She repented of being 
 heathen so long, she said, and wished to have Christian bap- 
 tism. 
 
 " 'Let me also bid the Christians to a feast, my son,' she added. 
 *I will strive to entertain them well.' 
 
 " Tour wish shall be granted/ answered the Sultan. 
 
 "The Sultaness knelt and thanked him for his gracious leave. 
 He knew not what to say, for he was full of joy at her words and 
 her desire to be baptized. Then she kissed him, and went home 
 to set about her plot. 
 
 "Constance and her escort of Christian ladies and nobles at 
 last arrived in Syria. The Sultan caused his mother to be told 
 the news at once, and sent word through all his kingdom, calling 
 on his subjects to come and welcome his wife, and uphold the 
 honor of their land. Great was the press of people and rich 
 the array when he went down to the shore to greet Constance; 
 and the Sultaness received her with gladness, bidding her a lov- 
 ing welcome. 
 
 "The time came for the feast to which the Sultaness had asked 
 the Christians. They thronged to the noble cheer that was set 
 before them the Sultan and Constance and all the Christian 
 knights. And, to tell you shortly in a few words what happened, 
 they w r ere all stabbed and murdered there as they sat at the feast, 
 except Constance, and there was not a Christian left alive in all 
 Syria. 
 
 "But as for Constance, the heathens took her and set her in 
 a ship without a rudder, telling her to seek the way back to Italy 
 for herself. In the boat (for it was no more) they put all the 
 
THE MAN OF LAWS TALE 73 
 
 gifts that had come with her, and a great store of food and rai- 
 ment. And thus she sailed forth into the salt sea. 
 
 "O gentle Constance, dear princess, may He who is Lord of 
 man's fate steer you!" said the Man of Law, breaking off his 
 story for a moment. "Earnestly did she pray to God to have 
 pity on her and save her, and her prayers were heard ; for His 
 power guided and watched over her continually. Who else but 
 God could have kept her unharmed? 
 
 "The boat was driven far, through the Greek Sea and past 
 the Straits of Gibraltar, right into the ocean itself, till at length 
 it was cast upon the coast of Northumberland, where it stuck 
 fast on the shore. The Constable of a castle which stood near 
 chanced to find the wreck, and saw Constance lying in it, weary 
 and in despair, her treasure beside her. 
 
 "She besought him to slay her, to free her from her woe. But 
 when the Constable heard her words (for he understood the 
 Latin tongue, which she used), he helped her out of the boat on 
 to dry land, and she knelt down and thanked God for her safety. 
 But when she was asked about herself, never a word of her name 
 or estate would she say to anyone. She told them she was so 
 dazed by the sea that she had forgotten all that happened to her 
 before. 
 
 "The Constable and Dame Hermengild, his wife, took pity on 
 her, and she went to live with them. She was so gentle and so 
 willing to serve and please them that everyone who looked on her 
 face loved her. 
 
 "The Constable and his wife were heathens, and so were the 
 people of the country round. But Constance grew to be so 
 loved by Hermengild that the Constable's wife became a Chris- 
 tian through her teaching. In all that land there were no other 
 
74 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Christians except three who dwelt near the castle ; the rest, be- 
 cause of the pagans who so often ravaged those regions, had fled 
 to Wales, where they could keep their own worship without fear. 
 
 "One of the three who were left was a blind man, old and 
 bent; who saw nothing with the eyes of his face, but much with 
 the eyes of his mind. It chanced that one bright summer's day 
 Constance, Hermengild, and the Constable were walking by the 
 sea, when they met him. He was told who they were, and was 
 moved to speak in such a manner that the Constable himself 
 should have knowledge of the word of God. 
 
 " 'In Christ's name,' he cried in a loud voice, 'give me my 
 sight again, Dame Hermengild!' 
 
 "Hermengild was filled with terror lest her husband should 
 slay her, for he did not know till now that Constance had con- 
 verted her. But Constance gave her courage. 
 
 "The Constable was amazed at what he heard. 'What means 
 this, wife?' he asked. 
 
 " 'Sir, it is the work of Christ,' answered Constance for her. 
 'He it is who helps men against Satan.' And with that she ex- 
 plained to him the Christian faith till he was convinced. 
 
 "Thus the Constable became a Christian. He was not, I 
 would have you know, sole lord of this district, but keeper of the 
 castle only, subject to Ella, the wise King of Northumberland 
 who warred so mightily against the Scots. But I must turn to 
 my tale again. 
 
 "Ere long a young knight of that country fell madly in love 
 with Constance; but she cared nothing for all his wooing, know- 
 ing him to be bad at heart. Then his love was turned into bitter 
 hatred, and he cast about for some way to bring her to a shameful 
 end 
 
THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE 75 
 
 "At length he laid a plan. He waited till the Constable was 
 absent from his home, and then crept up secretly one night into 
 Hermengild's chamber, where Constance lay sleeping by the side 
 of the Constable's wife. 
 
 "They were in a deep slumber, and he did not wake them. 
 Softly he went up to the bed, and without a sound cut Hermen- 
 gild's throat as she slept. Then he laid the blood-stained knife 
 by the side of Constance, and went his way. 
 
 "Soon after this the Constable came home again, bringing 
 King Ella with him. They found the Lady Hermengild foully 
 slain, and Constance was accused of the evil deed, for the knife 
 had been discovered all blood-stained at her side. 
 
 "King Ella was told the whole story of her coming how 
 she had been found drifting in an open boat, and how the Con- 
 stable and his wife had taken pity on her. His heart was over- 
 come with pity when he heard the tale, and he would not believe 
 that Constance had done the murder. Neither could anyone be 
 found to swear an accusation against her, until the base knight 
 himself came forward to bring the charge. 
 
 "A court was held before the King, who thought that there 
 might be something further hidden in the knight's accusation, 
 and wished to inquire more fully. The charge was read, and 
 there seemed no help for it but to believe that Constance had 
 done the crime. 
 
 "There was no champion there to uphold her cause for her, 
 and she fell down on her knees before them all, and prayed: 
 'Immortal God, if I be guiltless of this murder, help me, for else 
 I must die.' 
 
 "Have any of you ever seen in a great press of people the 
 face of a man being led to his death, with no hope of grace a 
 
76 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 white, pale face that you would know among all the other faces 
 in the crowd? Even so did Constance look, turning her gaze in 
 despair upon the court. 
 
 "King Ella's gentle heart was touched with pity for her, and 
 tears ran down his cheeks. 'Let someone bring a Bible quickly,' 
 he said, 'and if this knight will swear on it that Constance slew 
 the Lady Hermengild, we will consider how justice may be 
 done.' 
 
 "They fetched a Bible. On it the knight swore that Con- 
 stance was guilty. Even as he spoke an unseen hand smote him 
 on the back of his neck, so that he fell down suddenly like a 
 stone, his eyes bursting out of his head ; and a voice was heard, 
 saying, 'Thou hast slandered an innocent daughter of the Chris- 
 tian faith P 
 
 "The crowd in the court was aghast at the marvel. They 
 saw in it the finger of Constance's God helping her. Great was 
 their fear and deep their penitence for having wronged her by 
 a false charge ; and the King and many of his nobles were con- 
 verted, and became Christians at the sight of this sign from God. 
 The base knight was straightway put to death by Ella's orders, 
 and Ella himself took Constance to wife amid great rejoicing. 
 
 "But Ella's mother, Donegild, when she heard the news, was 
 filled with anger. She would not give up her pagan gods, but 
 hated Constance for making her son the King a Christian. 
 
 "After a time Ella went away to fight against the Scots, and 
 left Constance once more in the care of the Constable. While 
 he was absent Constance gave birth to a son, who was christened 
 Maurice. The Constable wrote a letter to the King, telling him 
 that an heir to his throne was born, and gave it to a messenger to 
 take to him. 
 
THE MAN OF LAWS TALE 77 
 
 "The messenger's way lay near a castle belonging to Donegild, 
 the King's mother, who was still eager for vengeance on Con- 
 stance for stealing her son from her, as she said, by marriage 
 with him. The man stopped at the castle to rest, for he reached 
 it late at night; and when Donegild heard this she caused him to 
 be brought into her presence. 
 
 " 'My lady, you may rejoice and be glad,' said the messenger, 
 when she asked him his errand and what news he was carrying, 
 'Our lady the Queen has borne a son to bless this kingdom. I 
 have here sealed letters about the matter, which I must take to 
 your son the King with all speed. If you wish me to give any 
 message from you to him, I am your servant now and always.' 
 
 " 'I will give you no message now,' answered Donegild. 'But 
 rest here to-night; I will tell you to-morrow what I wish.' 
 
 "The messenger ate and drank heartily, and slept soundly after 
 it. While he was asleep the letter was taken out of his wallet 
 and given to Donegild. She wrote a cunning imitation of it, 
 telling Ella that Constance had indeed brought a child into the 
 world, but that it was a horrible, misshapen creature which no 
 one could bear to look upon, and it was clear from this that Con- 
 stance was a witch who had cast a spell upon them all. 
 
 "This false letter was sealed up and directed so as to look like 
 the old one, and the messenger went on his way with it in the 
 morning. Donegild bade him tell the King how glad she was 
 that an heir to the throne had been born. 
 
 "When Ella read the awful news which the wicked Queen 
 had put into the letter he was filled with grief. But he thought 
 that the letter was indeed true, and so submitted to the will of 
 Heaven, writing back to the Constable: 'God's will be donel 
 Keep both the mother and the child till I return home. If it is 
 
78 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 the wish of Heaven, I shall one day have a true heir born to 
 me.' 
 
 "The answer was given to the same messenger. On his way 
 back he stopped again for the night at Donegild's castle. Again 
 he ate and drank heavily; again the letter was stolen while he lay 
 snoring, and a new one written thus : 
 
 " 'The King commands his Constable, on pain of hanging, not 
 to let Constance remain in his kingdom more than three days 
 longer, but to put her and her young son and all the treasure she 
 brought with her into the same boat in which she came, and 
 drive her forth from the land, charging her never more to re- 
 turn.' 
 
 "The messenger gave this letter to the Constable, who was 
 amazed when he saw it. 'How can this be?' cried he. 'Will 
 God let an innocent life be lost so cruelly? Woe is me that I 
 must do this evil! Why do the guiltless suffer and the wicked 
 prosper?' 
 
 "When he told what had to be done all the people wept, young 
 and old alike. Nevertheless, the King's command prevailed, 
 and on the appointed day Constance, with her face deadly pale, 
 walked down to her boat. She knelt on the shore and prayed: 
 'He that kept me safe from the false charge before can keep me 
 now from harm on the salt sea as surely as ever He has helped 
 me. In Him I trust!' 
 
 "Her little child lay in her arms weeping. It was piteous to 
 hear her say to him, as she knelt down, Teace, little son! I will 
 do you no harm.' 
 
 "With that she laid her kerchief over his face, and rocked him 
 in her arms, and cast her eyes up to heaven again. 'Little child,' 
 she cried ; 'what guilt is there in you who never yet did evil? 
 
'SHE WAS DRIVEN FORTH INTO THE OCEAN" PAGE 79 
 
THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE 79 
 
 Why will your cruel father slay you? Mercy, dear Constable! 
 Let my little child dwell here with you. Or, if you dare not 
 save him for fear of punishment, kiss him but once, in his father's 
 name!' 
 
 "Then she looked back at the land she was leaving. 
 
 " 'Farewell, cruel husband!' she said, and rose up and walked 
 down the beach to the ship, all the multitude following her. She 
 took leave of them and blessed them, hushing the child's cries the 
 while, and got into the boat. Food for a long time and all other 
 necessary things were put on board, and she was driven forth into 
 the ocean. 
 
 "Soon after this King Ella came home, and asked where his 
 wife and child were. The Constable's heart grew cold at the 
 question, as he told the King all he had done, and what letters he 
 had received. 
 
 " ( My lord, I did as you bade me do on pain of death,' he 
 said ; and Ella saw that the fault was not his. 
 
 "The messenger was called, and forced by torture to tell all 
 that had happened on his journeys, and how he had stopped and 
 slept a night each time at Donegild's castle. In the end Ella 
 found out what had taken place, and put the wicked Queen to 
 death with his own hand. He searched far and wide on the seas 
 and neighboring coasts for Constance, but found her not, and 
 after a great while he gave her up for dead. 
 
 "But Constance all this time was being carried far out into 
 the ocean in her little boat. She drifted long over the sea with- 
 out ever coming near land. She was not in want, for there was 
 a vast store of food on board. 
 
 "At last she was driven on shore near a heathen castle. The 
 boat was soon seen by the people of the place, and great crowds 
 
8o THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 flocked to the beach to look at the stranger. The steward of the 
 castle, also, when he heard of her coming, came down to see 
 her. 
 
 "As soon as he beheld her he desired her for his wife, and 
 asked her to come with him to his castle. But she knew his 
 mind, and would not come. Then he tried to take her by force, 
 but Constance resisted, and cried piteously to Heaven for aid, 
 and the child began to wail. As they struggled, the wicked 
 steward fell suddenly over the side of the boat and was drowned. 
 
 "Thus did Heaven a second time by a miracle save Constance 
 from her enemies. Once more she set out into the open sea in 
 her little boat, and drifted for many a league, past the Straits 
 of Gibraltar again, and into the Mediterranean. There she was 
 long tossed about in the waves ; but the end of her troubles was at 
 hand. 
 
 "Now let us leave Constance for a little, and go back to her 
 father, the Emperor of Rome. He learnt by letters that the 
 Christian folk in Syria had all been killed by the wicked old 
 Sultaness, and he sent a certain great senator with a large body 
 of men to take vengeance. 
 
 "The senator and his troops burnt, and slew, and harried all 
 over Syria for many a day. At length they made an end, and 
 set out on their journey home again. On their way they fell in 
 with the little boat in which Constance and her son Maurice 
 were drifting. They did not know who she was, but they 
 brought her to Rome, and the senator himself told her to live 
 with his wife. The senator's wife was Constance's aunt, but 
 she did not recognize her, and Constance would not say who 
 she was or whence she came. With them she dwelt for a few 
 years happily, doing good deeds, and loved by all who saw her. 
 
THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE 81 
 
 "Meanwhile King Ella was overcome with remorse for having 
 put Donegild, his mother, to death, though in her wickedness she 
 had deserved it. He thought that he was himself to blame for 
 the fate of Constance, whom he believed to be dead, and he re- 
 solved at length to go to Rome and do penance. 
 
 "The report soon spread in Rome that King Ella was come 
 on a pilgrimage, and he was entertained honorably by the Em- 
 peror and his nobles. Among others, the senator in whose house 
 Constance was living was asked to feast with him. He came 
 bringing with him the little boy Maurice, Constance's son, who, 
 while they feasted, stood near Ella, watching him. 
 
 "The King wondered at the child's beauty, and said to the 
 senator, Whose is that fair child that stands yonder?' 
 
 " 'I know not,' answered he. We do not know his father.' 
 Then he told the story of the finding of Constance. 'Never 
 lived a woman so good and so fair as she whom we found in the 
 sea,' he said at the end of his tale. 
 
 "The child was as like Constance as could be. Ella remem- 
 bered well his dear wife's face, and wondered greatly at the story 
 he had just heard. But he thought it not possible that Constance 
 should be still living. 'I am dreaming,' he said to himself. 'Yet 
 might not God send my wife hither as easily as He sent her to my 
 own country?' 
 
 "He soon made an excuse to leave the feast, for the sight of 
 Maurice had brought back all his remorse and sorrow for the loss 
 of Constance. 
 
 "A few days afterwards he went to the senator's house to see 
 her of whom such a wonderful story was told. As soon as he 
 came face to face with Constance, at the first look he knew truly 
 who she was. But she for sorrow stood still and dumb as a tree, 
 
82 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 remembering that he had sent her adrift into the sea. Then sud- 
 denly she fell down in a swoon. 
 
 "Ella wept at the sight. 'Heaven have mercy on me!' he said. 
 'I vow that I am guiltless of harm towards you and my son, dear 
 Constance.' 
 
 "Long was their sobbing and bitter their pain ere their grief 
 came to an end. But I am weary of telling you of weeping and 
 sorrow. When each had heard the other's tale there began to 
 grow up between them such a true and perfect joy that there was 
 none ever like it, nor will there be while the world lasts. 
 
 "But the Emperor did not yet know that his daughter was 
 found. So Constance asked her husband to pray him to dine 
 with them, without telling him what had happened. 
 
 "When the Emperor came, they went forth together to the 
 gate to greet him, and as soon as Constance saw her father in the 
 street before her she fell at his feet. 
 
 " 'Father,' she cried, 'have you forgotten your daughter Con- 
 stance? I am she whom you sent to Syria long ago, and after 
 many wanderings I have come back to you and to this my dear 
 husband.' 
 
 "Thus at last they were all come into happiness. After a little 
 while Ella and Constance went to England together; but when 
 a year had passed Ella died, and Constance came back again 
 to Rome, where she was known far and wide for her virtue and 
 good works. After many years her son Maurice was crowned 
 Emperor, and ruled well and wisely, as you will find in the 
 chronicles of Rome. 
 
 "My tale is ended. May God, who of His might sends joy 
 after woe, keep us in His grace and help all this company!" 
 
SIR GENTLE MASTER, GENTLE MARINER 83 
 
 SIR GENTLE MASTER, GENTLE MARINER! 
 
 A GOOD tale, sirs," said the Host, standing up in his stir- 
 rups and looking round on the company, when the Man 
 of Law had finished speaking. "Now, Sir Parish Parson, you 
 must tell a tale. I warrant you are learned enough, .by Heaven !" 
 
 "What ails the man, that he speaks so lightly of Heaven? 1 ' 
 answered the Parson gently. He did not like Harry Bailly's 
 rude words. 
 
 "Ho, ho! what is that you say, Jack Priest?" cried the Host. 
 "Look you, friends, be quiet now, for the Parson is going to 
 preach us a sermon." 
 
 "No, that he is not," said the Shipman, interrupting, as he 
 jolted along on his cart-horse. He was dressed in a long gown 
 of rough cloth which reached to his knees. His face was all 
 browned by sunshine and rain and wind, for he had seen fair and 
 foul weather in many a sea, and knew every haven from Gott- 
 land to Cape Finisterre. He had a dagger under his arm, hang- 
 ing by a lace round his neck. 
 
 He had come all the way from Dartmouth, then a great sea- 
 port, and was the master-mariner of a ship called the Maude- 
 layne. He was a worthy man and a fine seaman, something of a 
 pirate, after the fashion of his time. He made no bones about 
 throwing his prisoners overboard after a victory, so that the 
 merchant had good reason for his endless talk about the need for 
 keeping the sea safe in the straits between Middelburgh, in Hol- 
 land, and the mouth of the river Orwell. 
 
 "We will not have any sermons now," he cried, "or the Parson 
 
84 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 will sow a great crop of arguments for us. I will wake you all 
 up with a tale like a peal of bells." 
 
 He began his story without any more words. It was about 
 a merchant, his wife, and his cousin John, a monk. The wife 
 had run into debt, and was afraid to tell her husband. She went 
 privately to the monk, and told him of her trouble, saying that 
 she had to pay a hundred francs before the next Sunday, and had 
 no money to discharge the debt. The monk consoled her, and 
 promised to lend her the money, if he could get it. When she 
 had gone away he went to the merchant and told him that he 
 wanted to buy some cattle, but was short of money; would he 
 lend him a hundred francs for a week or two? The merchant 
 (who was about to go a long journey) gladly did him this serv- 
 ice, bidding him pay back the loan whenever he could. The 
 monk took the money, and gave it to the merchant's wife, not 
 telling her from whom he had received it; and she paid her 
 debt. When the merchant came home again, the monk went 
 to him and spoke of the money he had borrowed. He said he 
 had paid it back a day or two before to the merchant's wife, as 
 the merchant himself was away from his home. The wife, of 
 course, had said nothing to her husband about the money, and 
 she was very surprised when he asked her about it. tBy way of 
 excuse for not telling him, she said she thought that it was a 
 present from the monk, not the payment of a debt, and so she had 
 spent it in buying herself clothes; but she offered to pay it back 
 gradually, and asked him to forgive her. The merchant saw 
 that, whatever had happened, it was no use to chide her, and so 
 he pardoned her. Thus the cunning monk paid the wife's debt 
 out of the merchant's money, and taught her that it was best not 
 to hide anything from her husband. 
 
SIR GENTLE MASTER, GENTLE MARINER 85 
 
 "Well told," said the Host when the Shipman ceased. "Long 
 may you live to voyage along our coasts, gentle Sir Master-mar- 
 iner! Now let us pass on, and seek about to see who will tell the 
 next tale." 
 
 With that he turned to Madame Eglantyne the Prioress, speak- 
 ing to -her as gently as a girl, for she was all feeling and tender 
 heart; she would weep if she saw a mouse caught in a trap, or 
 if ever a man whipped one of her little lap dogs, which she fed 
 on roast meat or milk and cake. But in spite of her gentleness 
 and good nature, she tried to mimic the manners of the Court 
 and stand on her dignity. She sang Divine Service vastly well, 
 intoning through her nose in a very seemly way; and she spoke 
 French excellently, in an English fashion, after the manner of 
 the school at Stratford-at-Bow, for she did not know the French 
 of Paris. 
 
 She was of a good height, with a comely face, a well-shaped 
 nose, gray eyes, little red lips, and a broad, fair forehead. On 
 her arm she wore a set of red coral-beads, with green ones here 
 and there, and a golden brooch hanging from them, with a motto 
 on it "Love conquers all/' 
 
 "My lady Prioress," said the Host very courteously, "by your 
 leave for I would not offend you I think you should tell us 
 the next tale, if you will. Will you grant us this favor, dear 
 lady?" 
 
 "Gladly," she answered, and told a story about a little boy 
 who was murdered by some Jews. The Jews were greatly hated 
 by the Christians of Europe, and were often cruelly persecuted. 
 People were ready to believe almost anything evil of them, so 
 that it was neither strange nor painful to the pilgrims to hear the 
 tale which the gentle Prioress now began. 
 
THE PRIORESS'S TALE 
 THE BOY MARTYR 
 
 THERE was once in a great city of Asia a Jews' quarter, 
 a street where all the Jews lived. The Jews who dwelt 
 there were usurers and money-lenders, kept there by a 
 lord of that country for his own purposes. They were always 
 quarreling with the Christians of the city, whom they hated, for 
 Jews and Christians are very bitter enemies, wherever they are. 
 
 "At one end of the street stood a little school of Christian 
 folk, at which there were a great number of children of the 
 Christian faith, learning year by year to sing and read, as chil- 
 dren do when they are young. Among them was a widow's son, 
 a little chorister-boy, seven years of age, who went day by day to 
 the school. His mother had taught him to reverence above all 
 the Virgin Mary, the mother of Christ, and he forgot none of her 
 teaching, for, like St. Nicholas, he began to reverence Christ 
 when he was yet very young. 
 
 "This little child, learning from his book as he sat at school, 
 heard a hymn sung in praise of the Virgin, beginning, 'Gentle 
 mother of the Redeemer,' and it sounded so sweet that he drew as 
 near as he dared to hear it better. He listened to the words and 
 the notes till he had the first verse by heart. 
 
 "He knew nothing of what the hymn meant, for it was written 
 in Latin, and he was too young to understand it. But one day 
 he asked another boy, older than himself, to tell him the meaning 
 
 of it 
 
 86 
 
THE PRIORESS'S TALE 87 
 
 " 'This song,' the boy answered, 'was made in praise of the 
 Virgin Mary, so I have heard, to pray her to help us. I can tell 
 you no more; I learn the song, but I do not know grammar 
 enough to understand the words. 7 
 
 " 'And is this song made in reverence of Christ's mother?' 
 said the little child. 'I will do my best to learn it all ere Christ- 
 mas comes. Even though I be beaten for not heeding my books 
 I will learn it, to honor the Virgin.' 
 
 "His friend taught him from day to day, till he knew it all by 
 heart. Then he sang it out well and boldly from word to word, 
 according to the right notes ; and he loved it so well that he could 
 not stop singing it. Twice a day did the hymn come from his 
 lips, as he went to school and as he came back home through the 
 long street of the Jews' quarter. 
 
 "Thus for a little while he sang sweetly every day. But Satan 
 entered into the hearts of the Jews among whom the boy passed 
 on his way to the little Christian school. 'People of the Jews,' 
 said he, tempting them, 'is it to your credit that every day this 
 boy should walk and sing as he pleases in your midst, defying 
 the honor which is due to your law, in spite of you?' 
 
 "Thenceforth the Jews plotted to drive this innocent child out 
 of the world. They hired a murderer, who lay hid secretly in 
 a dark alley. As the boy came by, singing his hymn, the man 
 leapt out upon him and held him fast; then he cut his throat, and 
 cast the dead body into a pit. 
 
 "The poor widow waited all that night for her little child, but 
 he did not come. As soon as it was daylight, she went out to 
 seek him, her face pale with fear and her mind busy with ter- 
 rible thoughts. She searched at the school and all over the city, 
 till at length she found that he had last been seen in the Jews' 
 
88 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 quarter. Half out of her mind with grief and terror, the poor 
 mother went to every place where she thought she might find 
 her child, and at last dared to ask the Jews themselves about him. 
 
 "She prayed piteously to every Jew who dwelt there to tell 
 her if her child had been seen to pass that way; but they all an- 
 swered 'No.' But God in His mercy soon led the widow near 
 the pit where her son's body had been cast. O Almighty God, 
 dost Thy wonders through the mouths of innocents, how 
 great AS Thy might! 
 
 "Hear now the marvel that was wrought. As the widow, 
 calling her son by name, drew near the spot where the dark pit 
 lay, the dead child began to sing in a sweet, clear voice his little 
 hymn, so that all the place rang with the sound. 
 
 "Tb Christian folk passing by ran to see this wonder, and 
 sent for the Provost of the city. He came in haste, and when 
 he had given thanks to God for the miracle, he ordered the Jews 
 of the neighborhood to be seized and bound. They were tor- 
 tured till they confessed who had planned and done the crime. 
 The murderers were drawn by wild horses, and then hanged ac- 
 cording to the law. 
 
 "The child was taken up with mourning and lamentation and 
 carried to the nearest abbey, the voice still singing. The poor 
 mother was so bowed down with grief that she had hardly 
 strength to follow her little son's body as it was borne through 
 the city on a bier, and laid upon the great altar of the abbey. 
 The Abbot was sent for to read the Burial Service, but the voice 
 of the dead boy still sang 'Gentle mother of the Redeemer.' 
 
 "The Abbot was a good and holy man, and began to exhort 
 the child, saying, 'Dear child, I conjure you, in Christ's name, 
 to tell me why you sing thus, your throat being cut, as we see?' 
 
THE PRIORESS'S TALE 89 
 
 / 
 
 " 'My throat is cut to the neck-bone,' the boy answered, 'and 
 I should have died from it straightway, after the manner of men. 
 But our Lord Christ, to keep me mindful of His glory, grants 
 that I may still sing "Gentle mother of the Redeemer" loud and 
 clear. Ever did I love the mother of Christ as well as I was 
 able, and when I was about to yield up my life, she came to me 
 and bade me sing as I lay dying this hymn which you have heard ; 
 and when I had sung a little, I thought that she laid a grain 
 or seed on my tongue. Therefore I sing, and I must still sing in 
 her honor till the grain is taken from my tongue ; for when she 
 had put it there, she said, "My little child, I will fetch you when 
 the grain is taken from your tongue. Be not afraid; I will not 
 forsake you." 
 
 "The Abbot caught the boy's tongue in his fingers, and took 
 away the grain which he saw lying there. Then the spirit 
 seemed to pass suddenly out of the child, and softly he gave up his 
 life. The good Abbot's eyes filled with tears, and he fell down 
 in a swoon on the altar-steps, and lay there as if dead. 
 
 "They took the martyr's body from the abbey, and built a tomb 
 of clear marble for him. There he is now. May we meet him 
 in Heaven, and may God grant us sinful folk His mercy!" 
 
 CHAUCER AND THE MONK 
 
 WHEN the lady Prioress had finished her tale of this 
 miracle, all the rest were silent, no one liking to speak. 
 At last the Host broke in in his jesting way. He gave a glance 
 at Chaucer, who was riding as if he saw and heard no one, and 
 said: "What sort of a man are you, Master Chaucer? You are 
 for ever staring at the ground, as if you were trying to spy a hare 
 
90 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 crouching. Come near, and look up merrily. See, friends, he 
 has a waist as large and finely-shaped as mine" the Host was 
 a stout, round man "and is well enough to look at. Yet he will 
 not speak to anyone, but always wears an absent look on his face. 
 Now, sirs, let him have place, and you shall tell us a tale of mirth 
 right quickly, Master Chaucer, as the others have done." 
 
 "Do not be discontented if you get a poor reward from me, 
 Host," was the answer. "I can tell no story, except an old rhyme 
 I learnt long ago." 
 
 "That is good enough," said the Host. "We shall hear a 
 dainty tale, to judge by your looks." 
 
 At that Chaucer began a wordy, rambling legend, after the 
 manner of the feeble minstrels and story-tellers of his daj^ mak- 
 ing fun of the rhymes they sang. 
 
 "Listen, lords, and I will tell you a tale of mirth and com- 
 fort. Once there lived a fair knight of great prowess, whose 
 name was Sir Topaz. He was born in a far country, at Poper- 
 ing in Flanders beyond the sea, and his father was lord of that 
 land. 
 
 "Sir Topaz was a doughty knight, his face as white as the 
 finest bread, his lips as red as roses, and he had a seemly nose, 
 I tell you. His hair and beard were saffron-yellow, hanging 
 down as far as his waist. His shoes were of Cordovan leather, 
 his brown hose of Bruges stuff, his robe of costly cloth; and he 
 could hunt the wild deer, hawk with a gray goshawk, wrestle, or 
 shoot with the bow as well as any man. 
 
 "It befell one day, as I will tell you, that Sir Topaz went 
 a-riding on his gray steed, a lance in his hand, a long sword by 
 his side. He rode through a fair forest, wherein was many a 
 fierce wild beast, such as the buck and the hare. There grew 
 
CHAUCER AND THE MONK 91 
 
 also in that forest trees and plants of every kind, and the birds 
 were singing merrily the sparrow-hawk, the popinjay, the 
 thrush, and the wild dove. At the sound of their song Sir Topaz 
 grew wild with delight, and spurred his horse till the beast's 
 sides ran with blood. 
 
 ///"At length he grew a-weary of riding, and lay down on the 
 
 /grass, while his horse fed and was rested. As he lay idle, he 
 
 r/ bethought him of a d/eam which he had had the night before. 
 
 In his sleep he had seen the Elf-Queen, the Queen of Fairyland. 
 
 So lovely had she seemed to him that when he awoke he swore 
 
 he would wed none other than the Queen who had appeared to 
 
 him in the dream. 
 
 "Into his saddle he climbed again, at this thought, and rode 
 on over hill and dale till he found the country of Fairyland so 
 wild. There came forth to meet him a great giant, whose name 
 was Elephant, a very terrible warrior. 
 
 " 'Here dwells the Queen of Faery,' cried the giant. 'Sir 
 Knight, if you haste not hence, by Termagant! I will slay your 
 steed with my mace.' 
 
 " Wait till to-morrow. To-morrow I will meet you,' quoth 
 Sir Topaz, 'when I have my armor. To-morrow I will pierce 
 you through and through with my lance. Here shall you be 
 slain to-morrow morning.' 
 
 "He drew back quickly, and turned his horse and fled. The 
 giant cast great stones at him with a sling, but he escaped un- 
 hurt. 
 
 "Listen, lordings, to my tale, how Sir Topaz came home again 
 in haste over hill and dale, and commanded his men to make 
 merry because he must needs fight a giant with three heads for 
 love of a bright lady. 
 
92 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Come hither, my minstrels and story-tellers,' he said, 'and 
 tell me tales as I put on my armor tales of romance, of kings 
 and cardinals.' 
 
 "They came and sang to him, and made him a drink of sweet 
 wine, royal spices, gingerbread, licorice, and sugar, all mixed 
 in a great wooden bowl. Then he put on his shirt of fine linen, 
 his jacket, and his suit of mail, his hauberk of Jewish work, and 
 his coat-armor, white as a lily-flower. He took his shield of red 
 gold, his helmet, his sword in its ivory sheath, his sharp cypress 
 spear, and his leggings of boiled leather; he mounted his dapple- 
 gray steed, with its ivory saddle and its bridle as bright as the 
 sun or moon, and he swore a great oath 'By ale and bread, the 
 giant shall die, come what may!' 
 
 "Men tell in romances of Sir Bevis or Sir Guy and other brave 
 knights, but Sir Topaz was the flower of chivalry. He bestrode 
 his good steed, and rode forth upon his way like a spark from a 
 firebrand. In his helmet he stuck a lily-flower. 
 
 "That night he would not sleep in a house, but lay in the open 
 air, his helmet for his pillow, while his horse cropped the grass 
 ;hearby. Himself he drank water from the well, like Sir Per- 
 cival " 
 
 Thus far had Chaucer got in the tale, which did not seem 
 likely ever to come to any point, when the Host broke in : 
 
 "No more of this!" cried he. "I am weary of it, and my ears 
 ache with your worthless tale." 
 
 "Why do you stop me more than anyone else?" asked Chaucer. 
 "I tell you the best tale I know." 
 
 "You do but waste time with your empty babbling," answered 
 the Host. "Let us see if you can tell us a true story of adven- 
 
CHAUCER AND THE MONK 93 
 
 ture, or at least one in which there is some mirth or some profit 
 for our minds." 
 
 "Gladly," said Chaucer. "I will tell you a little tale that you 
 will like. It is a virtuous moral tale, in which you will find 
 many good proverbs and sayings, though perhaps they will be 
 wrapped in new words." 
 
 He told them therefore the tale of Melibeus, a story full of 
 learning and piety. A certain Melibeus and his wife Prudence 
 had a daughter named Sophia. One day Melibeus went out, 
 leaving his wife and daughter alone at home. Three of his ene- 
 mies found out that he was absent, and came and tried to enter 
 his house; but the doors were fast shut, and they could not enter 
 until they found a ladder and climbed in. When at last they got 
 in, they beat Dame Prudence, and wounded her daughter, and 
 went away leaving them both for dead. Melibeus came back 
 and found what they had done, and swore to be avenged terribly. 
 He was for going after the villains at once and slaying them, but 
 his wife, being revived from the swoon into which she had 
 fallen, persuaded him not to act hastily in his anger. So he held 
 a council of his friends, and then asked his wife's advice again. 
 She was ever anxious for peace, and proposed that he should 
 leave the matter to her to settle quietly; and this at length he 
 did. Dame Prudence sent for the three enemies, and spoke with 
 them sensibly and calmly about peace and friendship. They 
 were so pleased with her words that they agreed to do as she 
 wished, and she bade them come on a certain day to ask mercy of 
 Melibeus. They did so, and by his wife's advice he forgave 
 them all the wrong they had done him. 
 
 This, then, was the second tale Chaucer told, but he filled it 
 
94 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 out so with texts and sentences from famous writers of old that it 
 ^became a kind of sermon or moral argument, such as men in 
 r those days liked to hear; and the pilgrims were pleased with 
 the lesson taught by the story \Do nothing in haste?} 
 
 Harry Bailly especially liked Chaucer's description of Dame 
 Prudence. "I wish my wife could have heard that tale," he 
 said. "She is not so patient as your Prudence. Whenever I 
 have to beat my servants, she comes out with great knotted clubs, 
 /crying, 'Kill the knaves! Break all their bones!' And if any 
 one of our neighbors will not bow to her at church, or offends 
 her, she comes home and flies out at me, raging because I do not 
 go and beat him. 'Give me your knife^ you coward!' she cries, 
 'and you take my distaff and go spin!' Day and night she talks 
 on : 'Alas that I was ever wedded to a milksop, a cowardly ape 
 who lets every one browbeat him! You dare not stand up for 
 your wife.' Then I have to go out and rage like a lion against 
 my friend who has roused her anger. Some day she will make 
 me do one of the neighbors a mischief, for I am a dangerous man 
 to meet when I have my knife in my hand, though it is true that 
 I dare not withstand my own wife. She is terrible to fall out 
 with, as anyone will find who tries. But enough of this. Here 
 we are n^ar Rochester^jjid we must have another tale. My lord 
 the Monk, be merry. You shall tell us a story next. You must 
 not be too proud. I do not know whence you come or to what 
 order you belong, but you have a fair skin, and feeal in a good 
 pasture, I warrant. You must be some officer of the Church 
 a sexton, or a cellarer, perhaps. You are a master at home, I 
 vow no poor dweller in a cloister, no novice, but a governor 
 wise and cunning. That is why you are such a brawny, well- 
 fed-man, while we poor laymen are but dwarfs beside you. You 
 
CHAUCER AND THE MONK 95 
 
 holy men take all the corn, and leave us only the chaff. But do 
 not be angry, my lord, at my jokes. Many a true word is spoken 
 in jest." 
 
 , .The worthy Monk took the Host's words very patiently. It 
 V ( %as a great complaint of the day against his order that they 
 lived too well and freely, and spent in luxury the great sums 
 which were often given them. It is true that they showed great 
 charity and hospitality to any beggars or travelers who came to 
 their monasteries; but that, too, was a cause of complaint, be- 
 cause many idlers lived entirely at their expense, and never tried 
 to work for a living. But the monks were certainly very rich, 
 and most likely deserved a good many of the charges brought 
 against them, and our friend the pilgrim was no worse than many 
 of his fellows. He was no believer in the saying that a monk 
 outside his cloister is like a fish out of water. Why should he be 
 always poring over his books, thought he, or toiling with his 
 hands, as so many monks did? He was far more eager to hunt 
 with his swift greyhounds, or ride out on the splendid horses he 
 kept in his stable. He left the strict old rules of his monastery 
 to go their own way, and himself went out into the newer world. 
 How else, he asked, could the world be helped by him? 
 
 His head was bald and shiny as glass, like his smooth round 
 face. His eyes sparkled as he rolled them round. He was no 
 thin, pale, ghost-like man, but as fat and well-kept as the swans 
 he loved to eat. His sleeves were edged at the wrist with rich 
 gray fur, the finest that could be got. He wore a hood fastened 
 under his chin with a pin of gold, beautifully worked, with a 
 love-knot for its head. His boots were soft and easy, and even 
 his palfrey looked prosperous, for it was as sleek as its master. 
 
 "I will do my best," he answered the Host, "as far as is right; 
 
96 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 to give you a tale, or even two or three. If you will listen, I will 
 
 tell you the life of St. Edward, or perhaps, first, some of my 
 
 ^tragedies, of which I have a hundred. A tragedy is the story of 
 
 / a man who is in great prosperity, when suddenly he falls out of 
 
 his high degree into misery, and ends wretchedly. Listen, then, 
 
 if you wish to hear them, and pardon me for my ignorance if I do 
 
 not tell you them in the right order as they happened." 
 
 He went straight on without giving the pilgrims time to say 
 anything, reeling out his short tales or tragedies of the great 
 men of the world one after another. He told them how Lucifer 
 was cast out of heaven, how Adam was driven from Eden, how 
 Samson was taken by the Philistines, against whom he had done 
 such great things. 
 
 "And Hercules, also," he continued, "slew many a tyrant, like 
 Antaeus, Cacus, Busiris, and many a monster, such as the grisly 
 boar and the Lernaean hydra, or many-headed serpent. He was 
 the strongest man in the world at that time, but in the end he was 
 killed by his wife Deianira with a poisoned shirt which, I am 
 told, was made by Nessus. 
 
 "Nebuchadnezzar, too, having been the greatest king on earth, 
 was struck with madness from heaven, and became as a beast of 
 the field, eating grass, his hair like an eagle's feathers, his nails as 
 long as a bird's claws. Belshazzar also fell greatly, as you will 
 find in the Scriptures. 
 
 "We see Zenobia, moreover, the Queen of Palmyra, a great 
 warrior and Huntress, subdued and led in chains by the Roman 
 Emperor Aurelian. Peter, the King of Spain, was slain by his 
 brother, and Peter, King of Cyprus, was killed in his bed. 
 
 "It is piteous also to tell the fate of Ugolino, Earl of Pisa. 
 A little way out of Pisa is a tower in whichlie was shut up with 
 
CHAUCER AND THE MONK 97 
 
 his three little sons; for Roger, the Bishop of Pisa, had laid a 
 false charge against him, and the people rose and threw him into 
 this prison. They left with him food and drink, but very little 
 of it, and that poor and bad. When they had finished it one day, 
 the hour came when more was usually brought; but Ugolino 
 heard the jailer outside shutting the great doors of the tower and 
 going away. At the sound he said nothing, but into his heart 
 there fell the thought that they would be let die of hunger, and 
 he began to weep. 
 
 " 'Father, why do you weep?' asked one of the little children. 
 He was but three years old, and the eldest was only five. When 
 will the jailer bring our food? Have you no morsel of bread 
 left over? I am so hungry that I cannot sleep. Ah, if I might 
 sleep forever! Then hunger would no longer creep upon meP 
 
 "Thus day by day the children begged him for food, until 
 the youngest put himself in his father's arms, and kissed him and 
 died. When Ugolino saw it, he began to gnaw his arms for 
 woe; but the two children who yet lived thought that he did it 
 "through hunger, and prayed him to eat them and live. But 
 in a little time they too lay dead in his arms, and soon he also 
 starved to death. That is the tragedy of Ugolino of Pisa, and 
 if you wish to hear it more fully, read the great poet of Italy, 
 Dante." 
 
 Many other little stories were told by the Monk, all about 
 great men whose deaths have been famous Barnabo of Lom- 
 bardy, Nero, Holof ernes, Antiochus, Alexander^ Julius Caesar, 
 and Croesus. 
 
 "Croesus," he said, never stopping for a moment, "was the rich 
 King of Lydia, who in the midst of his pride and wealth was 
 taken prisoner, and brought to a great fire to be burnt; but such 
 
9 8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 heavy rain fell on the fire that it was quenched, and he escaped 
 for that time. 
 
 "But when he was free once more, he began again new wars 
 and schemes of conquest. He thought that, since he had been 
 once wonderfully saved, nothing more would harm his greatness, 
 and he was still further puffed up because of a dream which he 
 had one night. He fancied that he was set upon a tree, where 
 Jupiter, the king of the gods, came and washed him, and Apollo, 
 god of light, brought a towel to dry him. 
 
 "His daughter was very skilled in interpreting dreams, and he 
 asked her what this vision meant. 
 
 " 'The tree,' said she, 4s the gallows. Jupiter means rain and 
 snow, Apollo the sun's warm beams. You will be hanged, 
 father, and the rain shall wash you and the sun dry you.' 
 
 "Thus was Croesus warned by his daughter, and her words 
 came to pass, for Fortune, hiding her bright face behind a 
 cloud" 
 
 But here the Knight at last cut the talkative Monk short. 
 "No more of this, good Sir Monk," said he. "You have said 
 enough, and more than enough. Most men do not lore to hear 
 many of these gloomy tales of sudden misfortunes and miserable 
 deaths. It is more pleasant and comforting to be told of some 
 one who climbs up from a poor estate to prosperity, and there 
 abides in good fortune. That is the kind of story which we 
 should tell, because it makes us glad." 
 
 "Yes," said the Host, "you speak the truth. The Monk talks 
 loud of his 'tragedies,' and 'fortune hidden behind a cloud,' and 
 I know not what else ; and all that comes of it is grief for such 
 heavy woes. Sir Monk, no more. Your tales annoy the com- 
 pany. Such talk is not worth a butterfly, for there is in it nothing 
 
CHAUCER AND THE MONK 99 
 
 to amuse us. Tell us something else, for if it had not been for 
 the tinkling of the bells on your bridle, I should have fallen 
 asleep long ago during your tragedies. Let us have instead a 
 story of hunting." 
 
 "No," answered the Monk, "I have no liking for jests. Let 
 someone else speak. I have told my tale." 
 
 The Host turned to one of the Priests who came with the 
 Prioress, and addressed him boldly and rudely, for he was not so 
 grand a personage as the lordly Monk. 
 
 "Come near, John Priest, come hither. Tell us something to 
 make our hearts glad, and be blithe, even though you ride a 
 poor jade of a horse. What if the beast is lean and ill-groomed, 
 so long as he serves you well? Let your heart be merry, and tell 
 us a good story." 
 
 "Yes, Sir Host," he answered readily, "I will be merry." 
 
 With that he began his tale. 
 
THE NUN'S PRIESTS TALE 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX 
 
 A POOR widow, well on in years, once lived in a tiny cot- 
 tage beside a copse, in a little valley. She had had a 
 very toilsome life ever since she became a widow, for 
 her stock of cattle and her money were both scanty; but she 
 bore her lot simply and patiently, and kept herself and her two 
 daughters by hard work and thrift. She had three large swine, 
 three cows, and a sheep called Moll. Her cottage was a smoky 
 little cabin, just big enough for her wants, and many a frugal 
 meal had the poor woman eaten in it with only hunger for her 
 sauce. 
 
 "Outside this little house lay a yard with a wooden fence and 
 a dry ditch round it. Here dwelt her cock, Chanticleer by name. 
 In all the land of crowing there was not his equal to be found. 
 His voice was as sweet as a church organ, and the time of his 
 crowing was surer than any clock. He had a comb redder than 
 fine coral, notched like the battlements of a castle wall. His 
 bill was black, shining like jet, his legs and toes azure blue; his 
 nails were whiter than the lily-flower, his plumage like burn- 
 ished gold. 
 
 "Under his rule Chanticleer had seven fair hens, all won- 
 drously like him in color and beauty; but the fairest hues of all 
 were those on the throat of her who was called the Demoiselle 
 Partlet, a courteous, discreet, and debonair lady, who from the 
 
 100 
 
THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE' ioi 
 
 first week of her life had won and kept the heart of her* lord 
 Chanticleer. I vow it was a great joy when the sun began to rise 
 to hear them sing together so sweetly their song, 'My dear love is 
 i far away' (for in those days, as I am told, beasts and birds could 
 speak and sing as men do). 
 
 "It chanced that one dawn, as Chanticleer sat dozing on 
 his perch among his wives, with Dame Partlet by his side, he 
 began to groan in his throat like a man troubled with bad 
 dreams. 
 
 "When Partlet heard the sound, she was afraid, and said: 
 'Dear heart, what ails you that you groan thus? You are a bad 
 sleeper ! Fie, for shame I' 
 
 " 'Madam,' replied Chanticleer, 'I pray you do not take it 
 amiss. My heart is still alarmed from the terror I felt in my 
 sleep. May my dream turn out aright, and no harm come to me ! 
 is is what I dreamed: I thought that as I roamed up and 
 down in our yard I saw a beast like a hound, who tried to seize 
 and slay me. His color was between yellow and red, his tail and 
 his ears tipped with black; his nose was small, and his eyes 
 glowed like fire. I die of fear even now at the thought of his 
 look. That is the cause of my groaning, I do not doubt.' 
 
 "'Fie on you, coward!' quoth Partlet. 'Now you have lost 
 my heart and my love. I cannot love a coward. I want a hus- 
 band who is wise and brave, not a boaster who is dazed with 
 fear at any trifle! Why should you be afraid because of a 
 dream? Doubtless it comes from your ill-health. You have 
 eaten food which is not good for you, and must take physic. I 
 pray you, before you eat the herbs which I will search out from 
 among those that grow in our yard, swallow a worm or so, to 
 make your digestion fit for the plants that will restore you to 
 
102 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 health. Do not fear your dreams. That is all I have to say to 
 you.' 
 
 " Wife,' answered Chanticleer, *I thank you for your learning 
 and counsel. But I find in learned authors many things which 
 show that dreams are often true. One tells a story of two travel- 
 ers who went on a pilgrimage together, and came to a town 
 which was so full of travelers already that there was no room for 
 both of them at the same inn. So for that night they parted com- 
 pany. One found a good enough place in an inn, but the other 
 could only get a cattle-stall in a stable for a bed. In the night, 
 long before day dawned, the one who was sleeping in the inn 
 dreamed that his comrade called him, saying, "Alas! I shall be 
 murdered this night as I lie in an ox's stall! Help me, dear 
 brother, or I die. Come to me quickly!" He started up in his 
 sleep in fear, but when he was thoroughly awake he took no heed 
 of it, thinking it only a dream. But as soon as he was asleep 
 again he dreamed the same thing once more. Again he woke, 
 and again he took no notice. But when he was asleep for the 
 third time, his comrade seemed to come to him, and say, "I am 
 slain now; look at my wounds! Arise early in the morning, and 
 go to the west gate of the town. There you will see a cart full 
 of rubbish, which you must stop boldly, for in it lies my body. 
 I have been killed for the sake of my gold." As soon as it was 
 day the traveler went to the stable where his comrade had slept, 
 and called him. But he could not find him, and when he asked 
 the hostler, the answer was: "Sir, your friend is gone. At 
 daybreak he rose, and left the town." Then he began to fear 
 lest his dream should really prove true. He hurried to the west 
 gate of the town, and found the rubbish-cart just as he had been 
 told in his dream. Now no longer did he doubt, but cried out 
 
THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE 103 
 
 boldly: "My friend has been murdered this very night that is 
 just past, and his body lies in this cart! Where are the rulers of 
 the city? My comrade is slain!" What more need I tell you, 
 Partlet? They had the cart emptied, and there, in the midst of 
 the rubbish, they found the murdered man ; and when the dream 
 was told they hanged the hostler who had done the murder, with 
 his accomplices. Thus we learn that dreams may come true, 
 and that murder will out, as we can see any day of our lives, 
 God will not suffer it to be hidden. 
 
 " 'Again,' Chanticleer went on, to prove his point more fully, 
 'the same author tells another tale of a dream. Two men wished 
 to go over the sea into a far country, but were forced to stay in 
 a certain seaport by reason of contrary winds. At length, how- 
 ever, towards eventide one day the wind changed, and blew just 
 as they wished, and they made ready to start early the next 
 morning. But in the night, about dawn, one of them had a 
 dream. He thought that a man stood by his bedside and ordered 
 him not to leave that town, saying, "If you go on your journey 
 to-morrow you will be drowned." He woke up, and told his 
 comrade the dream, and begged him to put off the voyage for a 
 day. But his friend laughed. "No dream shall make me fear 
 so much as to change my plan," said he. "I care not a straw for 
 your visions. Dreams are all folly. Stay you here if you like: 
 I go my way." He said no more. When the time came he took 
 his leave and started on his journey without his companion. 
 But he had not sailed half his voyage when the ship struck a rock, 
 and sank straightway with all on board. 
 
 " 'Thus, dear Partlet,' finished the cock, 'you may see that we 
 cannot wholly set dreams aside as vain.' And he gave her 
 also other examples of dreams which had come true the^ visions 
 
104 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 of St. Kenelm, Daniel, Joseph, of Croesus and Andromache, and 
 many others. 'I am sure/ he ended, 'that I shall meet with some 
 misfortune. Now let us talk of something mirthful, and lay 
 aside all these fears. When I see the beauty of your face, dear 
 Partlet, and look on your scarlet eyes, all my dread is driven 
 away. By your side I am so full of joy and hope that I can defy 
 my dreams.' 
 
 "With that he flew down from the perch with all his hens, for 
 it was by now broad day, and with a 'Chuck, chuck P called them 
 to him, having suddenly found a grain of corn lying in the yard. 
 He was no longer afraid, but looked as bold and grim as a lion, 
 roaming proudly up and down on the tips of his toes, and not 
 deigning to set the sole of his foot on the ground at all. When- 
 ever he found any corn he chucked loudly, and up ran all his 
 faithful hens. 
 
 "A little after, it being then past the month of March, Chanti- 
 cleer was stalking about in a very grand manner, casting 
 his eyes up to the bright sun, and holding high converse with his 
 seven wives, who were strutting by his side. 
 
 " 'The sun has climbed up in heaven forty-one degrees and 
 more, Dame Partlet,' said he. 'Hear how the happy birds sing, 
 and see the fresh flowers blowing! My heart is full of mirth and 
 high spirits.' 
 
 "But his joy was destined to end in woe, for suddenly a ter- 
 rible thing came to pass. A fox, full of treachery and wicked- 
 ness, who had lived in the copse near the cottage for three years 
 past, had the night before broken through the hedge into the 
 yard where Chanticleer and his wives dwelt. He had been ly- 
 ing quietly in a patch of herbs till it was well advanced in the 
 morning, waiting for his chance to fall upon the cock. Shame 
 
THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE 105 
 
 upon you, false murderer, lurking in your den falser than the 
 traitor Ganelon who betrayed Roland! Ah, Chanticleer, woe 
 upon that morning when you flew so proudly down from your 
 perch! You should have taken warning from your dreams. 
 
 "Fair Partlet lay in the yard with her sisters, bathing herself 
 in the bright sun, and Chanticleer near by was singing as merrily 
 as a mermaid. Suddenly, as he cast his eyes upon a butterfly 
 among the herbs, he spied the fox lying there, and his dream 
 came back into his mind with a rush. Not much desire had he 
 then for crowing and singing. He started back aghast, and all 
 he could do was to cry, 'Cok, cokP like one sore afraid. He was 
 about to flee, when the fox spoke and stopped him. 
 
 " 'Gentle sir, alas! why would you go? Are you afraid of me? 
 I am your friend, and I should be base indeed if I wished you 
 any harm. I did not come to spy upon you, but truly I am here 
 only to hear you sing, for your voice is like an angel's. My lord 
 your father (bless his soul!) and your mother of their grace gave 
 me once the great joy of paying a visit to my house, and I would 
 gladly do you, too, some service. I have been told much of 
 what people say about good singing, but I vow that I never heard 
 any man except you sing as well as your father did every morn- 
 ing. What he sang came right from his heart. He would so 
 strain himself to make his voice stronger and clearer that his 
 eyes winked with the loudness of his song, as he stood on tiptoe 
 stretching out his long slender neck. And he was withal so dis- 
 creet a man that we shall never again find his equal in wisdom. 
 I have read in stories of a very famous cock who was clever 
 enough to punish a man who had injured him, but he could not 
 be compared with your father. Now, sir, sing, I pray you, and 
 let me judge if you are really as good as your sire.' 
 
106 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Chanticleer was so pleased with this flattery that he did not 
 see what treachery lay hid in it. He flapped his wings, stood up 
 on tiptoe, stretched out his neck, shut his eyes tight, and crowed 
 lustily. But as soon as he had begun, and was intent on his 
 song, Master Russell the fox started up and caught him by the 
 throat, threw him over his shoulder, and ran off with him to- 
 ward the woods. 
 
 "You never heard such lamentation as was raised by Chanti- 
 cleer's wives when they saw their lord carried off. Not even 
 when the famous city of Troy was taken did the mourners make 
 so great an outcry. Dame Partlet lifted up her voice and wailed 
 more loudly than HasdrubaPs wife, who in grief for her husband 
 threw herself into a fire and was burnt. 
 
 "The widow and her two daughters heard the clamor, and 
 ran out from the cottage, just in time to see the fox bearing the 
 cock away to the woods. They hurried after him, and all the 
 neighbors rushed out with sticks and stones to join in the chase. 
 Forth came Colle the dog, and his friends Talbot and Garland, 
 and Malkin the maid, with her distaff still in her hand. The 
 cow ran, the calf ran, and even the very hogs, roused by the bark- 
 ing of the dogs, the shouting of the men and women, and the din 
 of trumpets and horns and drums, trotted about squealing as if 
 their hearts would break. The ducks quacked, the geese in 
 terror flew away over the tree-tops, the swarm of bees came buzz- 
 ing out of their hive. Jack Straw himself and his merry men 
 never made such a noise as arose when Chanticleer the cock was 
 stolen. 
 
 <r 
 
 But see now how Fortune sometimes overthrows the hope and 
 pride of victorious conquerors. The cock, lying helpless with 
 
THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE 107 
 
 fear on the fox's back, suddenly bethought himself of a plan. 
 He began to speak to Master Russell. 
 
 " 'Sir, if I were you I should turn and mock at those who are 
 chasing us, and say, "Go back, you proud rascals, and do not 
 think to catch me. Look, here I am at the wood-side, and now 
 the cock will stay with me in spite of all you can do, plague 
 take you ! and I will surely eat him very soon.' 
 
 "With such words the cock worked on the fox's vanity, and at 
 last succeeded in his wish. 
 
 " 'Faith, I will do it,' said the fox. 
 
 "With that he made as if to call out to the pursuers. But no 
 sooner had he opened his mouth to do so than in a trice the cock 
 had broken away from him, and was perched up in a tree safely 
 out of his reach. 
 
 "Master Russell saw that he had lost his prey, and fell to his 
 old tricks again. 'Alas, Chanticleer!' he said; 'I should not have 
 made you afraid of me at first, when I took you from your yard. 
 I vow I did it with no wicked purpose. Come down, and I will 
 tell you the whole truth about what I really meant to do, I 
 promise you.' 
 
 " 'No, no, Sir Fox,' answered Chanticleer, more wary after his 
 
 escape. 'You do not deceive me twice. You shall not flatter me 
 
 into shutting my eyes and singing again. A man who shuts his 
 
 ^eyes when he ought to be looking about him deserves to have his 
 
 sight taken away from him. 
 
 " 'Nay,' answered the fox sadly, turning to flee, as Chanti- 
 ^cleer's friends began to draw near: 'if a man talks when he ought 
 to hold his peace he deserves to lose what he has gained.' 
 
 "Thus Chanticleer's dream came true, and you can learn from 
 
io8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 v <T"*T 
 
 it what it is to be careless and easily flattered. Thisjs the rp^oral 
 of my story: Take the ripe grain, and let the chaff go.' Now 
 may Heaven make us all good men, and bring us to happiness." 
 
 "A good tale, John Priest, bless youl" said the Host. "The 
 Priest himself is very like a fine cock, is he not?" he added, turn- 
 ing to the others. "Look at his deep chest and his muscles and 
 his long neck! His eyes, too, are as keen as a sparrow-hawk's, 
 and as for his color, he needs no red dye to make him brighter in 
 the face! Well, you have told us a good story, Sir Priest, and 
 thank you for it!" 
 
 No more tales were told that day. The pilgrims were now 
 quite close to Rochester, and there they are said to have stopped 
 for the night. 
 
THE FOURTH DAY 
 SOME ENGLISH ROGUES 
 
 AT the time of this pilgrimage the lower offices of the 
 Church had in many cases fallen into the hands of very 
 unworthy men, who lived by whatever they could get 
 from the people amongst whom they found themselves ; and there 
 were three classes especially who had a bad name the begging 
 friars, the pardoners, and the summoners. 
 
 The friars were supposed to go about teaching and doing good, 
 and to live on what was honestly and freely given them; and of 
 course many of them were good men, who really were poor, 
 and who really did set out to teach the common people a better 
 way of life. But there were, perhaps, as many who were noth- 
 ing of the sort, and the Friar who joined our Canterbury pil- 
 grims seems to have been one of them. He was one of those 
 who were limited to a certain district, within which they were 
 allowed to collect what money they could, generally on condi- 
 tion of paying a fixed sum to the order to which they belonged; 
 anything over that amount they kept for themselves. Others 
 went all over the country begging alms on any pretext they cared 
 to invent, using all sorts of cunning tricks to get gold, because 
 the poor people were often very ignorant, and believed most of 
 the lies that these impostors told. 
 
 ' In every village the friar might be seen, with his scrip and 
 tipped staff and his rotes tucked up for the road. He would 
 
 109 
 
no THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 poke and pry into all the houses, and beg anything, even a 
 morsel of meal or cheese or corn. Sometimes they went in 
 couples, and one would collect while the other took down on a 
 tablet of ivory the names of those who gave anything, so that 
 he might be able, so he said, to reward them by his prayers. 
 
 "Give us a bushel of wheat, of malt, of rye," they would ask 
 unblushingly, and then go on to beg for anything they saw 
 "a little cake, or a piece of cheese. Just a halfpenny for a prayer 
 or two! Or let us have a corner of a blanket, dear lady. Look 
 here, I write your name on my list! Give us some bacon or 
 beef, or anything you can find." 
 
 But as soon as they had left the house the names would be 
 rubbed off the tablets, and nothing would be left to show for 
 their fine words except their own winnings, which went into a 
 large sack carried by a servant who trudged patiently behind 
 them. And thus, when all the villagers had been fleeced, the 
 the parish parson, who really worked for their good, would find it 
 very hard to hold his own. 
 
 . The pardoners were a bolder kind of rogue. It was believed 
 that pardon after death for sins committed in life could be 
 won by doing a certain penance, and that part or the whole of 
 this penance could be exchanged or bought off for a sum of 
 money down. Certain men were given power by the Pope to sell 
 "pardons" of this kind, which by-and-by were thought to have 
 the power of remitting the actual sins themselves. But many of 
 the pardoners and there were a very great number of them all 
 over England had not had leave given them to carry on this 
 trade, and they proved such rascals that the Pope himself had to 
 send out letters warning people against them. They imitated 
 the properly licensed pardoners, and pretended to come from 
 
SOME ENGLISH ROGUES in 
 
 Rome with their pardons and relics of the saints. As often as 
 not most of their story was false ; they had never been to Rome, 
 and their letters and pardons werejorged, in spite of the bulky 
 rolls of parchment and the big red seals which they showed to 
 the people who were foolish enough to believe them. They 
 would say that old nails or stones picked up from the wayside 
 had once belonged to famous holy men of old, and had the power 
 of working cures of all sorts. 
 
 The Pardoner who was going with Harry Bailly and the rest 
 from Southwark to Canterbury was very like many of this class, 
 as he showed his comrades later on in the day. 
 A summoner was the officer whose duty it was to summon men 
 before the court of the Archdeacon, who had power to punish the 
 people in his district for offenses against religion or Church law, 
 or for not paying their debts to the clergy. If the summoner was 
 dishonest, or the Archdeacon, or both, the poor would be badly 
 off indeed. They would be threatened with a summons before 
 the court, and if they did not pay a heavy bribe they would most 
 likely be found guilty of some trifling offense, and made to pay a 
 still heavier fine. 
 
 There was also another kind of rascal, a layman, with whom a 
 district at that time might sometimes be plagued the reeves 
 or bailiffs, who were often unjust and extortionate rather tTTah 
 downright cheats. A reeve like our friend Oswald, who had 
 quarreled with the Miller, in his post as steward or overseer to 
 a great lord could easily find plenty of chances to take bribes or 
 deal harshly with poor tenants. Of course, not every reeve was 
 dishonest, any more than every summoner; but most likely a good 
 many of them were not over-particular. 
 
 The Pardoner, the Summoner, and the Friar played a great 
 
112 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 part in the doings of the fourth day of the pilgrimage. But 
 the first to be asked for a story when the company set out that 
 morning from Rochester was the Doctor of Medicine. 
 
 "Worshipful master physician," said the Host, turning to him, 
 "I pray you tell us a good tale." 
 
 "That I will, if you will listen to me," answered the Doctor, 
 "Here is a tale which I once read in a history of the olden times." 
 
 Therewith he began a story of ancient Rome. 
 
THE PHYSICIAN'S TALE 
 VIRGINIA 
 
 \ 
 
 THERE was once a knight named Virginius, a man of 
 honor and repute, blessed with many friends and great 
 riches. He had but one child, a daughter, Virginia by 
 name, fairer than all other maidens of her time. It seemed as if 
 Nature had been at pains to form her perfect in every way, so as 
 to say, 'Thus can I make my creatures when it pleases me. Who 
 can do better?' 
 
 "To see Virginia was like looking upon roses and lilies, and 
 her hair shone like the bright beams of the sun himself. And if 
 her beauty was great, greater still was her goodness. She was 
 worthy of her high birth ; all her words and deeds made for virtue 
 and nobility, and she shunned always the company of the foolish 
 and careless, being industrious and right-hearted. 
 
 "There was a certain judge in the town where she lived named 
 Appius, the governor of that district. It chanced that one day, 
 as Virginia passed by him in the street, his eye fell on her, and 
 he was so taken with her beauty that he swore in his heart to make 
 her his wife. But Virginia, when she heard of his wishes, would 
 have none of him, for she knew him to be wicked and unjust 
 
 "When Appius found that she did not care for him, but rather 
 hated him more, his desire was only increased. Evil thoughts 
 came into his heart, and he made up his mind to get her into his 
 power by foul means, 
 
ii 4 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Force alone would not avail, for Virginius was powerful, 
 and had many great men among his friends. Appius therefore 
 had recourse to a cruel and cunning plan to gain his ends. He 
 sent for a dependent of his called Claudius, a man whom he 
 knew to be bold and crafty, willing to tell any lie if well paid for 
 it. Together they made a plot to take Virginia by treachery 
 away from her father; and when they had agreed what to do, the 
 villain went away to carry out his part. 
 
 "A little while afterwards Appius was sitting in his court of 
 justice to try any cases that were sent before him. Suddenly this 
 false rogue Claudius came in with the lying story which they had 
 planned together. 
 
 " 'My lord/ he cried, 'I claim justice against one Virginius, a 
 knight of this town. I can prove my claim by witnesses.' 
 
 " 'I cannot give my judgment in his absence,' said Appius. 
 'Let Virginius be called, and I will gladly hear you. If he has 
 done you any wrong, you shall surely be righted. There is no 
 injustice done in this court.' 
 
 "Virginius was sent for, and came in haste to hear what was 
 amiss, and the charge was brought against him just as Appius 
 and Claudius had agreed. 
 
 " 'This knight, Virginius, my lord,' said Claudius, 'against all 
 law and all justice, has stolen a female slave who is mine by 
 right. She was taken from my house by night when she was but 
 a child, and Virginius still keeps her, pretending that she is his 
 daughter. I can prove by witnesses that she is not his daughter, 
 by my slave. I beseech you to get her back for me, my 
 lord.' 
 
 "Virginius looked at the man in amazement. But before he 
 could say anything, or try to call his witnesses (for of course he 
 
THE PHYSICIAN'S TALE 115 
 
 could have proved the charge false), Appius hastened to give 
 judgment, cutting him short without hearing another word. 
 
 " 'I judge that the girl belongs to Claudius,' he said, 'and she 
 must no longer stay in the household of Virginius. Go and bring 
 her forth, and give her into my charge. This fellow shall have 
 his slave back.' 
 
 "Virginius saw that his daughter must be given up, and that 
 she would be in the power of the wicked judge for a time, at 
 least until he could get justice done by the aid of his powerful 
 friends; and he thought that anything would be better than the 
 shame she would endure at the hands of Appius. His mind was 
 soon made up. He went home, and sat down in his hall, and 
 called Virginia to him. As he spoke to her, his face was the 
 hue of cold, dead ashes, and great pity rose up in his heart, though 
 he would not swerve from the purpose on which he was now 
 bent. 
 
 " 'Daughter,' he said, 'you must suffer one of two things 
 shame or death. Either you must be given up to Appius the 
 judge, and be in his power, or you must die. Dear daughter, 
 whom I have brought up so tenderly, and borne ever in my mind, 
 my last joy and my last sorrow in life, choose death of these two. 
 Alas that Appius ever saw you!' 
 
 "Then he told her the whole story of the false charge and the 
 judgment of Appius. 
 
 " 'Mercy, dear father,' cried she at the end, throwing her arms 
 about his neck, the tears streaming from her eyes. 'Must I 
 die? Is there no escape?' 
 
 " 'None, my daughter.' 
 
 "After a little, when she had mourned awhile, she said : 'Give 
 me death, and save me from shame. Do with your child as you 
 
n6 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 will.' And she prayed him to strike her gently with his 
 sword. 
 
 "Then her father cut off her head, and took it to the court, and 
 gave it to Appius there before the whole assembly. When 
 Appius saw it, he ordered the knight to be seized and hanged 
 there and then. But the people rose at this command, and a 
 great crowd broke into the place and set Virginius free. 
 
 "When the news of what had happened spread over the city, 
 suspicion was soon roused, because Claudius was known to be in 
 the pay of Appius ; and in a little while the whole plot was found 
 out. Appius was cast into prison, where he slew himself through 
 fear of what might be done to him. Claudius also was taken, 
 and would have been hanged if Virginius had not nobly begged 
 that his sentence should be changed into one of exile for the rest of 
 his life. The rest of the conspirators, who had plotted to sup- 
 port Claudius' claim by false witness, were all hanged." 
 
 A GENTLE PARDONER OF ROUNCIVAL 
 
 THUS do we see," said the Physician at the end of his 
 tale, "how sin will be found out and meet with its re- 
 ward. Take this counsel from my tale: 'Leave your sins, ere 
 they themselves leave you in the lurch.' ' 
 
 "Alas!" cried the Host, in a rage, "what a false rascal Clau- 
 dius was, and what a false judge! Virginia paid too dear for her 
 beauty. It is what I am always saying the gifts of fortune 
 or of nature may bring great sorrow or may even be the cause 
 of death to those who have them. Truly that was a pitiful tale 
 to hear. Good Master Physician, you will have to use all your 
 
A GENTLE PARDONER OF ROUNCIVAL 117 
 
 medicine to set me up in health again, if I do not at once hear 
 some merry story. Now, Sir Pardoner, tell us a tale of mirth." 
 c^he Pardoner was one whose match you could not find in 
 all England, from Berwick to Ware. He had a voice like a 
 goat's ; his eyes were staring out of his head like a hare's, and his 
 chin had no beard, nor ever would have ; it was as smooth as if 
 it had just been shaved. He wore no hood, but only a little cap, 
 so that his lank hair, yellow as wax, hung disheveled over his 
 shoulders in long thin tails. He had a vernicle a kind of token 
 worn by those who had been to Rome sewed in his cap, and he 
 thought himself dressed in quite the newest fashion. 
 
 His wallet lay in his lap before him, brimful of pardons all 
 hot from Rome. In his hand he bore a pewter cross set with 
 jewels, and he always carried with him pebbles and bones and 
 the like, which he said were relics able to work miracles. If 
 ever he found some poor man who lived by his own labor on his 
 scanty farm, he would wheedle more money out of him in a day 
 with the help of these relics than the parish parson could get 
 from him in a couple of months. He be-fooled parson and peo- 
 ple alike with pretended flattery and jests. But it was in church 
 that he was seen at his best. He could read a lesson well, and 
 would sing out merrily and loudly, knowing that after it he 
 must make his tongue smooth to preach a begging sermon, to get 
 as much money as he could. 
 
 "I will tell you a merry tale," said he in answer to the Host. 
 "But here is an ale-stake. I must stop and drink some ale and 
 eat a cake first, and when I am refreshed I will tell you a 
 story." 
 
 They were passing a small wayside inn as he spoke. It was 
 called an "ale-stake" because it was the custom to show the busi- 
 
u8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 ness of the house by means of a long stake or pole, which stuck 
 out straight from the wall over the road, parallel with the 
 ground, with a bush or a bunch of leaves or a garland fastened 
 at the end by way of a sign. 
 
 The rest of the company cried out against any more rude jests 
 such as the Miller's and the Reeve's tales. 
 
 "Tell us some honest tale," they said, "from which we may 
 learn something, and then we will listen." 
 
 "I grant it," answered the Pardoner; "but I must have time to 
 think of a proper story." 
 
 So the pilgrims stopped, and the Pardoner had his cakes and 
 ale. The refreshment seemed to loosen his tongue, for before 
 he began his story he let out a great many tricks and secrets of 
 his trade. 
 
 "You must know, sirs," he said, "that when I preach my voice 
 rings out loud and clear like a bell, for I know by heart all that 
 I have to say. My text was and is always the same 'Greed is 
 the root of all evil.' I tell the people whence I come, showing 
 the letters which give me my authority, and talking at large about 
 popes and cardinals and patriarchs; I add a few words in 
 Latin, just to flavor my discourse, and then I bring out my 
 relics of the saints, promising all kinds of good from them. 
 If a man puts his hand in this mitten, which once belonged- to 
 such-and-such a martyr, I cry, his crops shall prosper. Or I 
 show them a shoulder-bone taken from some Jew's sheep. 
 'Good men,' I say to them, 'if your oxen fall ill of a snake-bite, 
 wash this bone in a well, and pour a little of the water on their 
 tongues, and they shall be healed. And if the goodman of the 
 house fasts until cock-crow, let him then drink the water of that 
 well, and all his cattle will increase and multiply. Or if any 
 
A GENTLE PARDONER OF ROUNCIVAL 119 
 
 of you have done any great sin, I have pardons here for them.* 
 By such means as this I have won a hundred marks * or so every 
 year since first I became a pardoner. I stand up in my pulpit, 
 and stretch out my neck over the people who sit below, nodding 
 at them like a dove on the roof of a barn. Then I tell them all 
 these stories about my relics, and warn them that greed is the 
 root of all evil, my arms and my tongue wagging so fast that it 
 is a joy to see me; and thus I persuade them to yield up their 
 pence to me instead of saving and hoarding. If anyone has 
 offended me or my fellow-pardoners, I lash him well with my 
 tongue from the pulpit, taking my revenge under cover of pious 
 advice. I only want men's money, and give no thought to the - 
 forgiveness of their sins as long as my greed is satisfied. Of 
 course, I am guilty of avarice myself, but I prevent others from 
 it, for my text is always the same, with old stories worked in to 
 make it clear. And what if I do cheat people? Would you 
 have me remain poor when I can get silver and gold by my 
 preaching? No, I will do no labor with my hands. I will not 
 beg idly; I must have money, clothes, cheese, wheat, even if I 
 have to get them from the poorest widow in a village, whose 
 children may be starving with hunger. But you wish me to tell 
 you a story, sirs, and I hope I shall tell you one to your liking; 
 for though I like an evil life, I can yet give you a good tale, with 
 my text for a moral 'Greed is the root of all evil.' Now hold 
 your peace, and I will begin." 
 
 *A coin worth about 
 
THE PARDONER'S TALE 
 THE THREE REVELERS AND DEATH 
 
 THERE was once in Flanders a company of young men 
 who spent much time in drinking and rioting among 
 the taverns, wasting their lives in gambling and danc- 
 ing day and night. Such men only come to a bad end, and I 
 could give you many a story to prove it." 
 
 The Pardoner was unable to forget his business. He broke 
 off to warn the pilgrims at great length about the wickedness of 
 evil living. When he had said enough on the point he went on 
 gravely and soberly: 
 
 a Now to my story. I will tell you of a certain three of these 
 revelers, who were the worst of all the band. 
 
 "Early one morning these three were sitting in a tavern drink- 
 ing, and making a great noise with their horrible oaths. As they 
 talked idly to one another, they heard a bell tolling outside for a 
 dead man who was about to be buried. 
 
 " 'Run quickly,' one of them called to his servant-boy, 'and ask 
 the name of the man whose body is being carried out to burial. 
 Take care to tell it us aright.' 
 
 " 'I need not go, sirs,' answered the boy. 'I heard two hour? 
 before you came here that this man who is now dead was an old 
 comrade of yours, slain last night as he lay in a drunken sleep. 
 There came to him a stealthy old thief named Death, who kills 
 many folk in this country; he pierced your comrade's heart with 
 
 1 20 
 
THE PARDONER'S TALE 121 
 
 a spear, and went his way without a word. He has slain a thou- 
 sand or more in the pestilence here. I think it would be well for 
 you, my masters, to beware of coming into the presence of such a 
 foe, and to be ready to meet him.' A 
 
 " 'Yes/ said the keeper of the tavern, 'the boy speaks truly. 
 Death has this year slain men, women, and children, pages and 
 peasants, throughout the whole of a great village a mile from 
 here. I think he dwells in that place. It would be wise to be 
 prepared before he does one any evil.' 
 
 " 'Is it so great a danger to meet him, then?' cried one of the 
 revelers with an oath. 'I will go myself, and seek him high and 
 low in the streets and lanes. Listen, comrades: there are three 
 of us ; let us join together and slay this false traitor Death. We 
 will swear to be true to one another, and before night-time we 
 will slay him who kills so many others.' 
 
 "The other two agreed, and the three swore to be to one another 
 as brothers. Up they started, and went forth towards the village 
 where Death was said by the innkeeper to live. 
 
 " 'Death shall die,' they cried, with many a boastful oath, 'if 
 we once lay hold of him!' 
 
 "They had not gone half a mile on their way when they met 
 an old, poor-looking man, who greeted them meekly and bade 
 them God-speed. 
 
 " 'Who are you, you ragged old beggar?' cried the proudest of 
 the rioters to him. 'Why are you so well wrapped up, except 
 for your face? Why is an old man like you allowed to live so 
 long?' 
 
 "The old man looked him in the face, and said : 'I must needs 
 keep my old age myself. I can find no man anywhere no, not 
 even if I walked to India who would exchange his youth for 
 
122 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 my age. Death himself refuses to take my life. So I walk rest- 
 lessly up and down the world, old and weary, tapping the ground 
 with my staff early and late, and begging Mother Earth to take 
 me to her again. "Look how I am slowly vanishing," I cry to 
 her; "I feel myself wasting, flesh and skin and blood and all. 
 Receive me into the dust again, Mother Earth, for my bones are 
 tired." But the earth will not hear my prayer yet, and I must 
 wander on. I beseech you, therefore, do not harm an old man, 
 good sirs, and may the blessing of Heaven be upon youP 
 
 " 'Nay, old churl,- said one of the revelers, 'you shall not get 
 off so lightly. You spoke just now of the traitor Death, who 
 slays all our friends in this district. Tell us where he is to be 
 seen, or you shall rue it. I believe that you must be one of his 
 friends yourself, and anxious to slay us young folk, since you talk 
 so lovingly of him.' 
 
 " 'Sirs,' answered the old man, 'if you are so eager to find 
 Death, turn up this crooked path. In that grove yonder, upon 
 my faith, I left him, under a tree. There he will await you. He 
 will not hide himself from you for all your boasts. Do you see 
 the oak? You shall find Death there. God save you and make 
 you better men P 
 
 "Thus spoke the old stranger. They paid no more heed to 
 him, but ran off straightway to search for Death by the oak-tree. 
 There they found, not Death himself, but a great heap of fine 
 golden florins piled up, well-nigh eight bushels of them. No 
 longer had they any thought about Death, but were so glad at the 
 sight of the fair bright florins that they sat down there by the 
 precious heap to think what should be done. 
 
 "The worst of the three was the first to speak. 'Listen to me, 
 brethren. I am no fool, for all that I spend my life in folly. 
 
THE PARDONER'S TALE 123 
 
 Fortune has given us this great treasure, so that we can live the 
 rest of our lives in mirth and jollity. It has come to us easily, 
 and easily we will spend it. But there is one thing which we 
 must do to make our happiness sure: we must get the gold away 
 from this place to my house, or else to one of yours for, of 
 course, the treasure is ours. But we cannot do this by day; men 
 would say that we were thieves, and we should be hanged for 
 stealing our own treasure. It must be done by night, as secretly 
 and carefully as we can, and we must wait here all day. Let us 
 therefore draw lots, to see which of us shall go to the town and 
 bring food and drink hither as quickly as he can for the other 
 two. The others must stay by the treasure, for we cannot leave 
 it unguarded. Then, when night comes, we will carry it all 
 away safely.' 
 
 'They agreed to this, and drew lots. The lot fell on the young- 
 est of them, who left them at once and went towards the 
 town. 
 
 "As soon as he was gone, one of those who remained with the 
 gold said to the other : 'You know that we have sworn to be true 
 to one another like brothers. Hear, then, how we can win profit 
 for ourselves: our comrade is gone, and has left us here with this 
 gold, of which there is great plenty. We are to divide it among 
 the three of us, by our agreement. But if I can contrive that we 
 divide it between us two alone, will not that be doing you a 
 friendly turn?' 
 
 " 'How can it be?' asked the other. 'He knows that the gold 
 is with us ; what could we say to him?' 
 
 " 'Will you keep a secret?' said his comrade. *If so, I will tell 
 you in a few words what we must do.' 
 
 Tes,' answered the other ; 'trust me not to betray you.' 
 
 u r 
 
124 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Look you, then, there are two of us, and two are stronger 
 than one. When he comes back and sits down, do you rise and 
 go to him as if for a friendly wrestling bout. I will stab him in 
 the side as you struggle in play: see that you also do the like with 
 your dagger. Thus shall the treasure be divided between us two, 
 dear friend, and we shall live in ease and plenty for the rest of our 
 lives.' 
 
 "The two rogues agreed on this plan for getting rid of their 
 comrade ; but he, as he went on his way to the town, could not take 
 his mind away from the bright golden florins. 
 
 " 'If only I could have this treasure all for myself,' he thought, 
 'no man on earth would live so merrily as I.' And at last the idea 
 of poisoning his comrades came into his head. 
 
 "When he reached the town, he went without hesitating any 
 more to an apothecary, and asked him to sell him some poison to 
 kill the rats in his house; and there was a polecat also, he said, 
 which ate his chickens. 
 
 " 'You shall have the poison,' answered the apothecary, 'the 
 like of which is not to be found on earth. It is so strong that if 
 a man does but taste a little piece of it, the size of a grain of wheat, 
 he shall die at once; before you can walk a mile he will be dead, 
 so strong and violent is this poison.' 
 
 "The man took the poison in a box and went into the next 
 street. There he borrowed three large bottles, and into two he 
 put the poison ; the third he kept clean for his own drink, think- 
 ing that he would be working hard that night, carrying the gold 
 all by himself to his own house. Then he filled all the bottles up 
 with wine, and went back to his comrades. 
 
 "Why should I make a long tale of it? When he came back 
 the other two set upon him, and killed him as they had planned. 
 
"WHO'LL BUY MY PARDONS?' 125 
 
 " 'Now let us eat and drink,' said one to the other. 'When we 
 have made merry we will bury him.' 
 
 "With that word, he took one of the bottles ; it happened to be 
 one of those containing the poisoned wine. He drank, and gave 
 it to his fellow ; and in a little while they both fell dead beside 
 the body of their comrade. 
 
 "Thus the three revelers met Death, whom they set out to 
 kill." 
 
 "WHO'LL BUY MY PARDONS?" 
 
 GOOD Men," the Pardoner went on, not missing any chance 
 of plying his trade and wringing a few pence out of his 
 companions, "you have heard my tale, which deals, as you have 
 seen, with the sin of covetousness. What a terrible thing is avar- 
 ice! May Heaven keep you from it! Yet my pardons will save 
 you all, if you will but give me your nobles * for them. Or, if 
 you do not wish to give money, your silver brooches or spoons or 
 rings will serve as well for payment. Come, then, bow before 
 the power which has been given me. I will not deceive you, 
 but will enter your names in my roll, so that in return you will 
 be sure of the bliss of Heaven. But I am forgetting one other 
 thing: I would have you know that here in my bag I have relics 
 as good as any in the land, given me by the Pope himself. If 
 any of you, then, wish to make an offering and receive forgive- 
 ness from me, come forth and kneel down, and be pardoned here. 
 Nay, if you prefer it, you can take a pardon at every town we 
 come to, all new and fresh, so long as you give me your nobles 
 and pence. It is an honor for every one of you to have so good 
 
 *A coin worth $1.60 
 
126 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 a Pardoner with you, to forgive your sins on the way whenever 
 you wish it; and think how terrible a thing it would be if any 
 one of you were to fall from his horse and break his neck, and 
 die unpardoned! Now for it! Our Host shall be the first, for 
 he is the most wrapped up in sin. Stand forth, Sir Host! Give 
 me your offering, and for a groat you shall kiss the relics, every 
 one of them. Open your purse!" 
 
 "No," cried the Host, "I will have none of your false relics. 
 You would swear a rag of your old clothes had belonged to some 
 saint, and make me kiss it." 
 
 The Pardoner answered never a word, but rode on speechless 
 with anger. 
 
 "I will keep company with you no longer," the Host went on, 
 seeing his wrath, "nor with any other angry man." 
 
 But the good Knight interposed, seeing that all the pilgrims 
 were laughing at the dispute. 
 
 "No more of this," said he; "that is enough. Sir Pardoner, 
 be glad and merry once more, and you, my very good friend, Sir 
 Host, make peace with the Pardoner, and let us go on our journey 
 once more with joy and laughter." 
 
 So the two made up their quarrel, and the pilgrims went on 
 their way peaceably for a little while. 
 
 DAME ALISON OF BATH 
 
 THE little company had ridden some way without interrup- 
 tion, when suddenly the Wife of Bath broke the silence. 
 "I will tell next," she said in a loud voice, being herself a little 
 deaf. 
 The good wife had journeyed far from her home in the West 
 
DAME ALISON OF BATH 127 
 
 Country, where she was famous for her skill in making fine 
 cloth such as that part of England manufactured. She knew a 
 great deal about traveling, for she had seen many a distant land 
 and noble city. She had visited Boulogne, Cologne, Rome, and 
 Spain, and had been as far as Jerusalem three times. She was a 
 good and worthy woman, well pleased with herself and charita- 
 bly-minded, unless her neighbors tried to set themselves above 
 her or take precedence of her at church; if they did that, she : 
 grew so angry that she forgot all her Christian charity. 
 
 She was gayly dressed for the pilgrimage, with bright scarlet 
 hose and head-kerchiefs of the finest linen, weighing, perhaps, 
 some ten pounds or more. Her shoes, too, were soft and new, 
 and she wore a large riding skirt. 
 
 She had been married five times, she now told the pilgrims, 
 by way of introduction to her tale. She had done with all her 
 husbands just as she wished, but the fifth, a student from Oxford, 
 put her to some pains before she subdued him. He was always 
 poring over books, she said, and now and again would read out 
 aloud to her a story about the wickedness of some woman. But 
 one day when he did this she lost her temper, and tore some leaves 
 out of his book, and caught him such a buffet that he fell off 
 his stool into the fireplace; whereupon he got up in a rage and 
 knocked her down. When, however, he saw that she lay quite 
 still, as if dead, he was sorry, and knelt down by her side and 
 begged her forgiveness. But she started up out of her swoon and 
 hit him a great blow on the side of the head, and ever after that 
 she had no more trouble with him. 
 
 All this she told the pilgrims at great length, without ever 
 coming near her story, and the whole burden of her talk was the 
 way to rule a husband. The Friar at last grew impatient. 
 
128 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Now, dame," said he, "this is a roundabout way to tell a tale." 
 
 There was no love lost between this Friar and the Summoner. 
 The Friar was a good man at his own trade of begging a jolly 
 rascal who could wring money out of anyone. Besides, he was 
 an authorized beggar, so to speak, so that he looked with dislike 
 and contempt on such persons as the Pardoner, his great rival 
 in the collection of alms. The Summoner was the Pardoner's 
 great friend, and himself something of a rascal, so that he prob- 
 ably felt much the same hatred towards the Friar as the Par- 
 doner did, and he did not let slip any chance of jeering at his 
 enemy. 
 
 "Roundabout!" he cried. "However long the way is, you will 
 always find a meddling friar somewhere. Now, Sir Friar, trot 
 on, or stop and rest, or go where you please, but do not check our 
 merriment." 
 
 "I check your merriment, Sir Summoner?" said the Friar, lisp- 
 ing a little in his speech, as was his habit, in order to make his 
 English sound sweet. "By my faith! before I leave you I will 
 tell a tale about a summoner which will give all this company 
 good enough cause for merriment." 
 
 "Before we reach Sittingbourne," retorted the Summoner, "I 
 will tell two or three tales about friars which will make you sorry 
 that you have lost your patience thus." 
 
 But the Host stopped the quarrel. "Peace !" he cried ; "let the 
 good-wife tell her tale. Speak on, dame." 
 
 "I am ready, sir," said Dame Alison. "I will do your bidding 
 if the worthy Friar will give me leave," she added, not liking 
 the interruption. 
 
 "Yes, dame, tell on," answered the Friar; "I will listen 
 quietly." 
 
THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE 
 THE OLD WOMAN AND THE KNIGHT 
 
 IN the old days of King Arthur all the land was filled with 
 fairies, and the elf-queen and her merry company held many 
 a dance in the green meadows where now you will see never 
 one of them. But that was many hundred years ago, as I am 
 told, and since then the friars -have spread over all the land as 
 thick as motes in a sunbeam, searching and sniffing in every nook 
 and corner till there is not a fairy left. Wherever the elves were 
 once wont to walk you will now meet friars peering and poking 
 into every hole and cranny, morning and evening. 
 
 "It happened that there was at King Arthur's Court a young 
 knight, in the full vigor and pride of his strength, who one day, 
 as he was riding out, came upon a maiden walking all alone. She 
 was very beautiful, and the sight of her made him forget his 
 knighthood. He went up to her, and tried to carry her off with 
 him by force. But before he could succeed help came, and he 
 was seized and taken before the King. 
 
 "The King sentenced him to die, according to the law at that 
 time, and he would surely have been put to death if the Queen 
 and her ladies had not long and earnestly prayed for mercy. The 
 King at last relented and granted him his life, and left it to the 
 Queen to say what punishment should be given him. 
 
 "When the Queen had thanked King Arthur she sent for the 
 
 knight. She did not wish to let him go wholly free. 
 
 129 
 
130 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'You are still in danger of losing your life,' she said to him. 
 'But I will give you your freedom on one condition: you must 
 find me the answer to this question "What is it that women most 
 desire?" If you cannot now give me the answer that I have in 
 my mind, you shall have a year and a day in which to learn it. 
 Do your best, and take great care, for if at the end of that time 
 you still cannot answer, you must die.' 
 
 "The knight pondered awhile, but he could not guess the an- 
 swer at once. So he pledged himself to return to the Court at 
 the end of a year and a day, and went away very sorrowfully. 
 
 "How was he to find the answer to the riddle? He thought 
 for a long time by himself, and then asked everyone he met what 
 it was that women loved best. But nowhere could he discover 
 two people who agreed in saying the same thing. Some told 
 him the answer was Honor; some, Riches; others, Fine Clothing; 
 others, again, Flattery. But none of these replies pleased the 
 knight, and he could not guess anyhow what it was that the Queen 
 had in her mind as the right answer. 
 
 "He wandered far and wide in his mournful search for some- 
 one wise enough to help him. At length the time came when 
 he had to turn homewards again, in order to return to the Queen 
 by the appointed day. His way lay through a forest, and he 
 was riding along sadly enough when suddenly he saw a strange 
 sight. In a little glade just in front of him was a ring of fair 
 ladies dancing, four- and- twenty or more of them; but as he drew 
 nigh eagerly to look at them more closely, and see if by chance 
 he might gain an answer from them, they all vanished. 
 
 "In the place where they had been not a living thing remained, 
 except an old woman sitting on the grass. When he came near 
 
THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE 131 
 
 to her, he saw that she was withered and ugly, and as horrible a 
 sight as could be imagined. 
 
 " 'Sir Knight,' she said to him, standing up, 'this road leads 
 to no place. Whither are you going? Tell me your errand, 
 and perchance I can help you. We old folk have knowledge of 
 many things.' 
 
 " 'Mother,' he said, 'my trouble is this : I am as good as dead 
 if I cannot discover what it is that women love best. If you could 
 help me, I would reward you well.' And he told her the condi- 
 tions on which his life was spared. 
 
 " 'Give me your word here and now that you will do the next 
 thing that I ask of you, whatever it is, if it is in your power,' said 
 the hag when she heard the story, 'and I will tell you the an- 
 swer.' 
 
 " 'I give my word,' the knight replied. 
 
 " 'Then your life is safe. I promise you that my answer will 
 be that which the Queen wishes to have, and the proudest lady 
 of all her Court will not dare gainsay it. Let us go on our jour- 
 ney without any more talking.' 
 
 "She whispered a word or two in his ear, and bade him pluck 
 up heart; and together they rode to the Court. 
 
 "The knight came before the Queen, and said that he was ready 
 to give his answer, and a great company of noble ladies gathered 
 to hear what he would reply to the riddle. Silence was pro- 
 claimed, and he was called upon to speak. 
 
 " 'I have kept my word faithfully,' he said in a manly voice 
 that was heard all over the hall, 'and I am here on the day ap- 
 pointed, prepared to answer the Queen's question. The answer 
 she desires was that women love Power best, whether it be over 
 
1 3 2 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 husband or lover. If that is not the right answer, do with me 
 as you wish. I am here ready to die, if you so will it.' 
 
 "They all agreed that he had saved his life by his reply. But 
 when their verdict was made known, up started the old hag who 
 had told the knight the answer. 
 
 " 'Give me justice, lady Queen, before your Court departs,' 
 she cried. 'I told the knight that answer, and he gave me his 
 word that he would do the first thing that I asked of him, if it 
 lay in his power. Now, before all this Court, I ask you, Sir 
 Knight, to take me to be your wife; and remember it is I who 
 have saved your life.' 
 
 " 'Alas!' said the knight; 'truly I gave my word, but will you 
 not ask some other thing of me? Take all my riches, and let me 
 
 go.' 
 
 " 'No,' insisted the old woman. 'Though I be old and poor 
 and ugly, I would not let you go for all the gold on earth. I will 
 be your wife and your love.' 
 
 " 'My love !' he cried ; 'nay, rather my death ! Alas that any of 
 my race should suffer such dishonor!' 
 
 "All the knight's prayers and entreaties were of no avail. He 
 had to keep his word and marry the hideous old hag; and a 
 mournful wedding he made of it. 
 
 "He took his new bride home to his house, not feeling like a 
 happy lover; and his woe was increased by her first words to 
 him. 
 
 " 'Dear husband, will you not kiss me? Is this the custom of 
 the King's Court, for every knight to neglect his wife? I am 
 your own love, who saved you from death, and I have done you 
 no wrong. Yet you act towards me like a madman who has lost 
 
THE WIFE Of BATH'S TALE 133 
 
 his senses, with your groans and your glum looks. Tell me what 
 I have done amiss, and I will set it right. 7 
 
 " 'You cannot set it right,' said the knight sorrowfully. 'Do 
 you wonder that I am ashamed to have married one of such mean 
 birth, so old, so ugly?' 
 
 " 'Is that the cause of your grief?' she asked. 
 
 " 'Yes,' answered he. 
 
 " 'I could set it right,' said his wife. 'But you speak so proudly 
 of your high birth and old family. Such pride is worth nothing, 
 for poverty and low birth are no sin. Look rather at him who 
 leads the best life both in secret and in the open, who strives al- 
 ways to do gentle and honorable deeds; take him for the truest 
 gentleman, and be sure that a noble nature like his is not made 
 only by high birth or the wealth of his fathers. But you say that 
 I am low-born, old, and ugly. Well, choose now which you 
 would desire me to be as I am, poor, old, and ugly, but a true 
 and faithful wife who will obey you always ; or young and fair, 
 but fickle and fond of vain pleasures, always emptying your 
 purse and wounding your love?' 
 
 "The knight did not know which to choose. He was moved 
 to shame by his wife's words, and after long thought he said : 
 'My lady, my dear wife, I put myself in your hands. Choose 
 for yourself; that will do honor to you, and what you wish is 
 enough for me.' 
 
 " 'Then I have gained the mastery! I have power over you/ 
 said she, 'if I may choose as I please.' 
 
 " 'Yes, dear wife,' he answered, 'I think that best' 
 
 " 'Kiss me,' she said, 'and let us quarrel no longer. I will be 
 both to you both fair and true. I will be as good a wife as 
 
134 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 ever there was since the beginning of the world; and if I am not 
 as beautiful as any lady, queen, or empress in the whole earth, 
 from east to west, then slay me or do with my life as you wish.' 
 
 "The knight looked up at her again. But, instead of the with- 
 ered old crone he expected to see, his eyes fell upon the most 
 beautiful wife that could be imagined; for the old woman was a 
 fairy, and had wished to give him a lesson before he knew her as 
 she really was. No longer now was he ashamed of her, and they 
 lived together happily to their lives' end. And may all of us 
 women find such husbands, who will be ready to be ruled by their 
 wives' authority in everything I" 
 
 HUBERT THE FRIAR 
 
 THE Friar, who found it so hard to keep the peace with the 
 Summoner, was a well-kept knave, by name Hubert a 
 great strong fellow who looked like a fighting man, but with a 
 neck as white as a lily. His clothes were not threadbare like 
 those of some poor cloister-monk, but lordly as an abbot's. All 
 the inns and innkeepers in every town the pilgrims reached were 
 known to him, for he thought that so fine a man as himself could 
 not mix with the poor and the beggars in the ale-shops, but must 
 go to the best houses. He was a good talker and a great gossip, 
 and had many a friend among the rich farmers of the country- 
 side, because he forgave sins very easily and pleasantly, and al- 
 ways kept his hood well stuffed with knives and pins for their 
 wives. He was ever courteous and polite when he thought he 
 could get any profit out of it, being the best beggar in all his 
 order. 
 
"HE COULD PLAY CLEVERLY ON A ROTE AND SING A BALLAD VERY 
 MERRILY" PAGE 135 
 
HUBERT THE FRIAR 135 
 
 He was a good companion to have, for he could play well and 
 cleverly on a rote, or small fiddle, which he carried, and could 
 sing a ballad very merrily. His little eyes would twinkle like 
 stars on a frosty night as he strummed on his rote at the end of a 
 song. 
 
 But his good temper had all gone after his quarrel with the 
 Summoner, and he sat scowling furiously at his foe. He had 
 kept silence, out of courtesy, while the Wife of Bath told her 
 tale, but when she had finished he hastened to have his say. 
 
 "Long life to you, dame!" said he. "You have touched upon 
 a very hard matter in this question of authority or power; but 
 we must leave that now, for we wish only for merriment. If 
 the company please, I will tell a merry tale of a summoner which 
 will satisfy you well, I hope. You can guess that nothing good 
 can be said of summoners; they are men who run up and down 
 every town with their lying writs, and get well beaten for their 
 pains " 
 
 This was unhappily so true of what sometimes happened to 
 summoners that the Host thought it time to interfere again. 
 
 "You should be more gentle and courteous, sir," he said, "con- 
 sidering that you yourself beg for money. We must have no 
 quarreling. Tell your tale, Hubert, and let the Summoner 
 alone." 
 
 "Nay," said the Summoner, "let him say what he likes. I will 
 pay him back every jot of it when it comes to my turn. I will 
 tell a story to show what a great honor it is to be a smooth-tongued 
 begging friar." 
 
 "Enough," said the Host "Tell your tale, dear Master 
 Friar." 
 
 With that the Friar began his story. 
 
THE FRIAR'S TALE 
 THE SUMMONER AND THE FIEND 
 
 THERE was once in my country an archdeacon, a man 
 of high degree and great justice. He was very upright 
 in his dealings, and boldly punished the evil-doers over 
 whom he had authority, excommunicating and fining them with- 
 out mercy. Indeed, so strict was he, and so many little fines and 
 punishments did he inflict upon his people, that they were in a 
 sorry case, and had a very hard life of it. 
 
 "The archdeacon had in his service a summoner, who used to 
 collect the debts and force the people of the parish to pay their 
 tithes and other dues. This summoner was as great a rascal as 
 any in England. He had spies in every corner to tell him where 
 he was likely to get money, and he knew more about bribery than 
 I could tell you in a couple of years. He " 
 
 The Summoner here interrupted the Friar, but the Host 
 silenced him, saying, "Peace! Let him tell his tale. Go on, 
 Friar, and do not heed the Summoner's words." 
 
 "This false thief of a summoner," the Friar continued ma- 
 liciously, "made a great profit out of his tithes and extortions, 
 and was forever seeking someone fresh to plunder. He would 
 summon a sinner on his own authority, without any command 
 from the archdeacon ; men were glad to fill his purse with bribes, 
 or give great feasts in his honor, hoping thereby to escape his 
 greedy clutches. He often forgot to tell his master how much he 
 
 136 
 
THE FRIAR'S TALE 137 
 
 had really collected, and the archdeacon did not get more than 
 half his proper due. 
 
 "One day, as he was riding through the greenwoods on his 
 way to wring some money out of a poor widow by a threat of 
 some false charge or other, the summoner met a yeoman, gayly 
 dressed in a green jacket and a hat with a black fringe, and bear- 
 ing a bow and arrows. 
 
 " Well met, sirP he said courteously. 
 
 " 'Good-day to you/ answered the stranger. 'Whither are you 
 going in this forest? Have you far to travel to-day? 7 
 
 " 'No,' replied the summoner; 'I have only to go and get my 
 lord's rents from a tenant who lives close at hand.' 
 
 " 'Are you, then, a bailiff?' asked the yeoman. 
 
 " 'Yes,' answered the summoner; for it is less disgraceful to 
 be a bailiff than a summoner, and he was ashamed to confess his 
 real trade. 
 
 " 'That is a good thing, dear brother,' said the other, 'for I, 
 too, am a bailiff, though a stronger to this country. In my own 
 land I have great wealth, and gold and silver in plenty, if ever 
 you should come that way. I am glad to meet you, and I pray 
 you give me your friendship.' 
 
 "The summoner was as spiteful and full of chatter as a shrike, 
 and was glad to meet one of his own trade. He swore undying 
 friendship with the stranger on the spot, and then went on to ask 
 him inquisitive questions, according to his custom. 
 
 " 'Where do you live, brother,' he asked, 'in case I should one 
 day wish to find you?' 
 
 " 'Far away,' answered the other softly and courteously. 'I 
 hope I shall see you there one day. Before I leave you I will 
 tell you the way thither so carefully that you cannot miss it.' 
 
138 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Thank you, brother/ said the summoner. 'Now, as you, 
 too, are a bailiff, perhaps to pass the time you can tell me some 
 new tricks to get money out of the people here. Tell me, as a 
 brother-bailiff, how your own trade prospers.' 
 
 " 'I will tell you the truth. My profits are small indeed. My 
 master is very hard upon me, and I have to spend much toil to 
 get a living. I must extort every penny I can, and I take all that 
 men will give me. Still, by trickery or force I keep myself from 
 year to year.' 
 
 " 'So it is with me,' said the summoner. 'I do not scruple to 
 take whatever I can get, without making any bones about it; else 
 I could not live. But tell me your name, dear brother.' 
 
 "The yeoman had been smiling a little as the summoner spoke. 
 'Shall I tell you, my friend?' he asked slyly and softly. 'I am 
 a fiend, and my dwelling is below the earth. I ride about taking 
 whatever men are willing to give me, just as you do. You win 
 what you can, without caring by what means ; even so do I, and 
 I would ride to the world's end to gain my prey.' 
 
 " 'What!' cried the summoner in surprise, 'you a fiend I I 
 thought you were an ordinary mortal; your figure is as good as 
 a man's. Is not your shape fixed? Need you not keep to one 
 form?' 
 
 " 'No, we can take any shape we like. Sometimes we appear 
 as a man, sometimes as an angel, or sometimes, perhaps, as a 
 monkey; and no one can tell that we are not what we seem to 
 be.' 
 
 " 'But why do you not abide by one shape?' 
 
 " 'We take whatever form seems to be the best for catching our 
 prey, as you will see,' answered the fiend. 
 
 'But why do you take all this trouble over your gains?' 
 
 U f 
 
THE FRIAR'S TALE 139 
 
 " 'Never mind now, dear Sir Summoner,' the fiend replied. 
 'It is getting late; the days are short, and I have not yet won 
 anything this morning. We fiends are sent to the earth for vari- 
 ous purposes, which you would not understand even if I made 
 them known to you. You shall hear all about our shapes pres- 
 ently, when you come to a place where you can learn by yourself 
 far more than I could tell you. Now let us ride on quickly; I 
 will not forsake you till you leave me of your own accord.' 
 
 " 'That will never be, brother. I am a man well known in 
 these parts, and I have given my word to be your friend; I will 
 keep to it so long as you too are true. Let us go about our busi- 
 ness together, you taking whatever men freely give you, and I 
 whatever is bestowed on me. Thus we shall both make a living, 
 and if either of us gains more than the other he can give him 
 some of the profit.' 
 
 " 'Very well,' said the fiend; and so they rode on to do their 
 business together, the summoner quite content with his new 
 friend. 
 
 "Presently, as they drew near the place which the summoner 
 wished to visit, they saw a cart, loaded with hay, stuck fast in 
 the mud. The driver was trying in vain to make the horses drag 
 it out. 
 
 " 'Come up, Brock! Come, Scot I' he shouted. 'What is the 
 matter with you? May the fiend fly away with you both, cart 
 and all!' 
 
 "The summoner heard these words, and thought to himself, 
 'Here is a fine chance to trick the carter!' 
 
 " 'See, brother,' he whispered to the fiend, 'did you not hear 
 what the driver said? Take it all, hay and cart and horses ; you 
 heard him give it to you.' 
 
140 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'No, no,' answered his friend, 'I cannot take it, because he 
 did not really mean to give it me. Ask him yourself if he did; 
 or wait a moment, and see what happens/ 
 
 "The carter patted and encouraged his horses. They strug- 
 gled forward, straining hard, and at length drew the cart out of 
 the mud. 
 
 " 'A good pull, thanks be to Heaven!' said the driver. The 
 cart is free again 1' 
 
 " 'You see, brother? What did I tell you?' said the fiend; 
 'the driver said one thing, and meant another, so that I get noth- 
 ing out of him. Let us go on.' 
 
 "Soon they came to the poor widow's house. The summoner 
 told his comrade in a whisper what he was going to do. 
 
 " 'There lives here an old woman,' he said, 'who would rather 
 lose her head than give up a penny to save herself. But whether 
 she likes it or not, she must pay what I ask, or I will hale her 
 before the archdeacon's court. Take a lesson from me in the way 
 to win money, my friend, as you have just failed to get your due 
 from the carter.' 
 
 "With that he knocked at the widow's door. 'Come out, old 
 hag !' he cried. 'Make haste 1 I expect you have got some priest 
 or friar in there. Come out to me!' 
 
 " 'Who is that knocking?' said the widow, looking out. 'Bless 
 you, sweet sir! what do you want?' 
 
 " 'I have here a writ,' answered the summoner, 'which says 
 diat to-morrow you must come before the archdeacon to answer 
 certain charges.' 
 
 " 'Heaven help me!' said the poor old woman; 'I cannot go so 
 far. I have been ill for many a day past, and must not move. 
 
THE FRIAR'S TALE 141 
 
 Can I not be told the charge, and have someone to defend me be- 
 fore the court?' 
 
 " 'Let me think about the matter,' said the summoner, pre- 
 tending to consider. 'Yes ; if you pay me twelve pence * down $ 
 you need not appear. Of course, I shall make but little profit 
 thereby; my master the archdeacon gets all the gains. But give 
 it me quickly, and I will see that you do not suffer. I cannot w^ait 
 much longer.' 
 
 " 'Alas I have not twelve pence in the whole world. You 
 know that I am poor and old. Have pity on me!' 
 
 " 'May the fiend take me if I abate one jot!' answered the sum- 
 moner. 'Give me the money, or, by Saint Anne! I will take 
 away your new pan to pay for that old debt of yours which 
 you owe me for saving you from punishment several years 
 ago.' 
 
 "'It is a lie!' cried the old woman. 'I have never before 
 been summoned to the court, and there is no such debt. The 
 fiend take you, and my pan and all!' 
 
 "When the fiend heard this he said softly to her, 'Tell me, 
 old mother, do you mean what you say in earnest?' 
 
 " 'The fiend take him, pan and all, if he will not have mercy 
 on me!' repeated the woman. 
 
 " 'You old hag, it is not my way to show mercy!' said the sum- 
 moner. 'Take care I do not take everything you have.' 
 
 " 'Softly, brother,' said the fiend; 'do not be angry. You see 
 that you and this pan are both mine by right, a free gift from 
 the widow. You shall come with me now, and learn more about 
 us fiends than all the masters of divinity know.' 
 
 *A penny, of course, meant a much greater sum then than nowadays. 
 
142 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "With that he seized the summoner, and carried him off with 
 him to the place of fiends, which is the proper dwelling for sum- 
 
 moners." 
 
 THE SUMMONER AND THE CLERK OF 
 OXFORD 
 
 THE Summoner was boiling over with anger during the 
 Friar's tale. He was a fierce-looking, fiery-faced man, 
 with knobby cheeks, narrow eyes, thin black eyebrows, and a 
 scraggy beard; children were always afraid at the sight of him. 
 He was as hot-tempered as a sparrow, but good-natured after a 
 fashion, none the less, though ready enough to cheat any simple- 
 ton. For a bottle of wine or so he would let any friend of his 
 live loosely a year or more without summoning him, and he used 
 to say that no man, unless his soul was in his purse, need fear 
 the archdeacon's judgment; for it was his money, not his soul, 
 which had to be punished. He tried to carry this saying out in 
 practice, being always quite willing to take a bribe to let a man 
 off a summons. In court he would bring out the few words of 
 Latin which he knew one or two law terms and repeat them 
 over and over again, like a jay which has learnt some phrase or 
 other, and is always babbling it; but if you pressed him further 
 his knowledge ran dry. 
 
 At the end of this tale about the fiend and the summoner he 
 stood up in his stirrups, trembling all over like an aspen-leaf 
 with rage. 
 
 "Let me tell you just one tale, sirs," he cried. "You have 
 heard this lying Friar's story; suffer me to have my say. The 
 Friar has told you something about fiends, and he should know 
 
THE SUMMONER AND THE CLERK 143 
 
 well enough how to do so; there is a special place among the 
 fiends kept for all the friars when they die." 
 
 He described this place, and went on : "Well, so much I say 
 by way of preface. Now to my tale, and Heaven bless you all 
 except the Friar!" 
 
 With that, though he was interrupted by his enemy, he told 
 a story about the cheating of a friar by a Yorkshireman, who ex- 
 cited his covetous greed with the promise of a very precious 
 jewel; but when the jewel was discovered, it turned out to be 
 worthless. 
 
 The Friar was of course very angry at this tale, and the two 
 might have gone on quarreling had it not been that as the Sum- 
 moner's story ended the pilgrims were almost at the town of 
 Sittingbourne, about forty miles from London. Here they 
 stopped for a short time to rest, and when they went on again the 
 Host prevented any more quarrels by asking the Clerk of Ox- 
 ford for a tale. 
 
 The poor Clerk's life was a hard one, as his threadbare cloak 
 showed. In those days many poor men's sons such as he used to 
 beg the money for their education, and often by their own ability 
 rose to high rank. But he was so fond of his studies that every 
 penny he could get was spent on books ; he would rather sleep 
 with his head pillowed on a score or so of Aristotle's works than 
 wear the richest robes in the world. He had not yet been made 
 a parson or got a living, nor was he worldly enough to take any 
 other office, so that he was badly off indeed. His face wore a 
 hollow and sober look, and he spoke but little, though when he 
 did open his mouth what he said was wise and pointed, and full 
 of true goodness. He was ever ready either to learn or to teach. 
 
 "Sir Clerk of Oxford," said the Host to him when the pil- 
 
,144 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 grims were well on their way again, "you ride along as shy and 
 quiet as a maid at her bridal feast. You have not spoken a word 
 all day. I suppose you are thinking over something very deep 
 and wise. But there is a time for all things, says Solomon^ and 
 it is not time for your studies now. Rouse up and be merry. 
 Tell us a tale something cheerful, not a sermon or a learned 
 speech full of strange terms and long words ; keep that sort of 
 thing for higher affairs than this, and tell us a tale that we can 
 easily understand." 
 
 "I am under your command, Host," answered the Clerk 
 meekly, "and I must obey you. I will tell you a story I heard at 
 Padua from Francis Petrarch, the great poet of Italy, who now, 
 alas I is dead." 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 
 PATIENT GRISELDA 
 
 THERE is on the western side of Italy," began the 
 Clerk, "a large and fertile plain, wherein you may be- 
 hold many a tower and town founded long ago by the 
 men of the olden days. The name of this noble country is 
 Saluzzo. A worthy marquis called Walter was once lord of it, 
 as his fathers had been before him. His subjects obeyed him 
 willingly and well, and he was loved by all, lords and common 
 people alike. His family was very ancient and of high rank in 
 Italy. He himself was young, strong, and handsome, and dis- 
 creet enough in the government of his country. But he had 
 several faults for which he was to blame: he took no thought 
 for the future, but in his youth liked to do nothing but hawk 
 and hunt all day, and let all other cares go unheeded. And the 
 thing which seemed to the people of Saluzzo to be worst of all 
 was that he would not marry. 
 
 "At length his subjects came to him in a body to urge him to 
 take a wife. The wisest of them spoke on behalf of the rest. 
 
 " 'Noble marquis,' he said, 'you are ever kind to us, and so 
 we now dare to come to you and tell you our grief. Of your 
 grace, my lord, listen to our complaint. I speak for all of us, 
 and have no more and no less concern in the matter than any 
 other one here. This is our plea: We know how good is your 
 rule over us, and there is only one thing which would make your 
 subjects happier, and that is that you should take a wife. Bow 
 
 145 
 
146 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 your head under the happy yoke of marriage, my lord, which 
 gives you not slavery, but joy and power. Bethink you how 
 quickly our lives pass, and that no man can stop the swift course 
 of time. You are in your youth now, but age will creep upon 
 you in a day which you cannot foresee. We pray you therefore 
 to marry, that you may leave an heir to rule over us when you 
 are gone. If you will do this, lord marquis, we will choose you 
 a wife from among the noblest in the land. Grant our boon, 
 and deliver us from our fears, for we could not live under a lord 
 of a strange race.' 
 
 "Their distress and grief filled the marquis with pity. 'My 
 own dear people/ he answered, 'you are asking of me that which 
 I thought never to do. I rejoice to be free, and like not to have 
 my freedom cut short by marriage. But I see that your prayer 
 is just and truly meant, and that it is my duty to take a wife. 
 Therefore I consent to marry as soon as I may. But as for your 
 offer to choose a wife for me, of that task I acquit you. The 
 will of God must ordain what sort of an heir I shall have, and be 
 your choice of a wife never so wise, the child may yet be amiss, 
 for goodness is of God's gift alone. To Him, therefore, I trust 
 to guide my choice. You must promise also to obey and rever- 
 ence my wife, and not to rebel against her so long as she lives, 
 whosoever she may be. As my heart is inclined, so will I choose 
 and wed her, and if you will not agree to what I say, speak to 
 me no more of the matter.' 
 
 "With hearty goodwill they promised to do as he bade them, 
 and obey his wife, being glad that he should have heard their 
 prayer so graciously. But before they went away they begged 
 him to fix a day for the wedding, for they were still doubtful 
 lest he might not marry after all. 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 147 
 
 "Walter granted this boon also, and appointed a day for his 
 marriage, saying that this, too, he did because they wished it; 
 and they fell on their knees and thanked him, and went away to 
 their homes again, while he gave orders to his knights and of- 
 ficers to prepare a great wedding-feast, with every kind of 
 splendor and magnificence. But he told no one who was to be 
 his bride. 
 
 "Near the great palace of the marquis there stood a small 
 village, where a number of poor folk dwelt. Among them lived 
 a man called Janicola, the poorest of them all. But Heaven can 
 give grace even to the meanest things, Janicola had a daughter 
 named Griselda, the fairest maiden under the sun, and the best. 
 She had been brought up simply, knowing more of labor than of 
 ease, and she worked hard to keep her father's old age in com- 
 fort. All day long she sat spinning and watching sheep in the 
 fields ; when she came home to their poor cottage in the evening 
 she would bring with her a few herbs, which she would cut up 
 and cook, to make herself a meal before she lay down to rest on 
 her hard bed; and she had not a moment idle till she was asleep. 
 Thus she lived from day to day, tending her old father with 
 kindness and reverence. 
 
 "Walter had often seen this maiden as he rode out a-hunting, 
 and he was filled with pleasure at the sight of her loveliness and 
 her gentle, kindly life. In his heart he had vowed to marry 
 none other than her, if ever he did marry. 
 
 "The day appointed for the wedding came, but still no one 
 knew who would be the bride. Men wondered and murmured 
 and gossiped secretly. 'Will our lord never give up his idle 
 way of living? Will he never marry? Why does he betray us 
 by breaking his word?' 
 
148 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "But the marquis had ordered all kinds of costly gems, 
 brooches, and rings to be made ready, and rich dresses were pre- 
 pared for the bride (for there was a maid in his service about 
 Griselda's stature, so that they knew how to measure the cloth for 
 the wedding-garments). Yet still, when the very hour for the 
 marriage arrived, no one but Walter knew who would be the 
 bride. 
 
 "All the palace was put in array, and the board set for the 
 feast. The bridal procession started as if to fetch the bride, the 
 marquis at its head, dressed in gay attire, and attended by all his 
 lords and ladies. They set out in all their pomp and magnifi- 
 cence, to the sound of joyful music, and rode until they came to 
 the little village where Griselda lived. 
 
 "Griselda, all ignorant of what was to happen, went that 
 morning to the well to draw water, according to her wont, for 
 she had heard of the procession which would take place in honor 
 of the wedding. 
 
 " *I will do my work as soon as I can, and go and stand at the 
 door as the other maidens do,' she thought, 'to watch the marquis 
 and his bride pass, if they come this way to the castle.' 
 
 "Just as she went to the door the procession reached the cot- 
 tage, and the marquis called her. She set down her waterpot by 
 the threshold in the ox's stall (for they were so poor that their 
 one ox lived in the hut with them) , and fell on her knees to hear 
 what the marquis wished to say to her. 
 
 " Where is your father, Griselda?' he asked soberly and 
 gravely. 
 
 " 'My lord, he is within,' she answered humbly, and went in 
 and brought Janicola before him. 
 
 "Walter took the old man by the hand, and led him aside. 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 149 
 
 'Janicola,' he said, 'I can no longer hide the desire of my heart. 
 If you will grant me your daughter, I will take her with me to 
 be my wife to my life's end. You are my faithful liege subject, 
 and I know that you love and obey me. Will you, then, consent 
 to have me for your son-in-law?' 
 
 "The sudden question so amazed the old man that he turned 
 red and confused, and stood trembling before the marquis. All 
 he could say was: 'My lord, my will is as your will, and you 
 are my sovereign. Let it be as you wish.' 
 
 " 'Let us talk privately a little,' said the marquis, 'and after- 
 wards I will ask Griselda herself to be my wife, and we three 
 will speak of the matter together.' 
 
 "So they went apart to confer privately about it. Meanwhile 
 the courtiers were in the yard of the mean little cottage, marvel- 
 ing at the care and kindness which Griselda showed in tending 
 her old father. But their wonder was not so great as hers, for 
 she had never before seen so splendid a sight as these richly- 
 dressed lords and ladies, nor received such noble guests; and she 
 stood in their presence pale with astonishment. 
 
 "But her father and the marquis called her. 'Griselda,' said 
 Walter, 'your father and I desire that you shall become my wife. 
 I wish to ask you whether you give your consent now, or whether 
 you would like to think further of it. If you marry me, will you 
 be ready to love and obey me, and never to act against my will, 
 even so much as by a word or a frown?' 
 
 " 'My lord,' Griselda answered, fearing and wondering at his 
 words, 'I am all unworthy of so great an honor; but as you wish, 
 so will I do. Here and now I promise that I will never will- 
 ingly disobey you in deed or thought no, not if I die for it.' 
 
 " 'That is enough, my Griselda,' said the marquis ; and with 
 
150 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 that he went gravely to the door, with Griselda following him. 
 
 " ( This is my bride,' he cried to all the people. 'Honor and 
 love her, I pray you, if you love me.' 
 
 "Then, that she might not enter his palace poorly dressed in 
 her old clothes, he bade the women robe her fitly and honorably; 
 and though these ladies did not like even to touch the old rags 
 which Griselda wore, still, at his orders, they took them off her, 
 and clad her afresh from head to foot. They combed her hair,, 
 and set a crown on her head, and decked her with precious 
 stones and jeweled clasps, so that they hardly knew her again ; 
 and in this rich array she seemed more lovely than ever. The 
 marquis put a ring on her finger, she was set on a snow-white 
 horse, and they all rode to the palace, where they feasted and 
 reveled till the sun set. 
 
 "Thus Griselda was married to Walter. By her marriage her 
 gentleness and beauty seemed only to increase, so that folk who 
 had known her many a year would not believe that she was the 
 same Griselda, the daughter of Janicola, who had lived in a 
 mean hut in a poor village. Everyone who looked on her loved 
 her, and her fame spread all over Walter's realm, so that young 
 and old used to come to Saluzzo merely to see her, or maybe 
 to lay their wrongs before her; for in her simple goodness she 
 could often settle a quarrel where the wisest judges had failed. 
 
 "Thus for a time Walter and Griselda lived together in great 
 happiness. At length Griselda had a daughter, and though they 
 would have liked a son better, Walter and Griselda were very 
 glad and joyful at the event, and so were all their subjects. 
 
 "But when the child was still quite young, a strange desire 
 came upon the marquis to try his wife's goodness and obedience, 
 though he had tested it in many ways times enough already, and 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 151 
 
 had discovered no faults in her. It was a cruel deed to put her 
 to such pains for no need, but he could not rid himself of the 
 wish, and he set about carrying it out. 
 
 "One night, as she lay alone, he came to her with a stern, 
 grave face. 'Griselda,' he said, 'I think you have not forgotten 
 the day when I took you from your poor home and set you high 
 in rank and nobility. This present dignity which you now en- 
 joy must not make you unmindful of your former low estate. 
 Take heed to my words, therefore, now that we are alone, with 
 none to hear what I am going to say. You must know that you 
 are very dear to me, but not to my people. They say that it is 
 shameful to be subjects of one of such mean birth; and since your 
 daughter was born their grumbling has not grown less. Now, I 
 wish to live my life with them in peace, as I have always done, 
 and I cannot but give ear to their words. I must deal with your 
 child as seems best, not for my own sake, but for my people's. 
 Yet I am very loth to do what must be done, and I will not do it 
 unless you consent. Show me, therefore, the obedience and pa- 
 tience which you promised at our marriage.' 
 
 "Griselda never moved when she heard all this false tale. 
 She did not reveal her grief in look or word, but simply an- 
 swered: 'My lord, it is in your power to do as you please; my 
 child and I are yours, willingly enough. Do with us as you 
 wish. Whatever you do cannot displease me, for all my desire 
 is to obey you, and no length of time can change it no, not even 
 death itself nor move my heart from you.' 
 
 "Walter was filled with gladness at this gentle answer, but he 
 hid his joy, and went mournfully out of her room. 
 
 "A little while after this he told his plan to a faithful servant, 
 a harsh and fierce-looking officer, whom he had often before 
 
152 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 trusted greatly; and when this man understood what was to be 
 done he went to Griselda, and stalked into her chamber, silent 
 and grim. 
 
 " 'My lady^' he said bluntly, 'I must obey my lord, and you 
 must forgive me for doing that which I am ordered to do. I 
 am commanded to take away your daughter.' 
 
 "Not a word more did he say, but seized the child and made as 
 if to slay it there and then. Griselda sat obedient to the com- 
 mands which she thought to be those of her lord, and uttered no 
 sound, The man's looks, his words, his manner, his very pres- 
 ence, were full of dread foreboding to her, and she feared that 
 he would kill the babe before her eyes. Nevertheless she en- 
 dured r and waited meek and still as a lamb. 
 
 "At last she spoke, and gently prayed him to let her kiss her 
 child before it was slain; and he granted her prayer. She 
 clasped her little daughter to her bosom, kissing it and lulling it 
 to rest, and saying softly, 'Farewell, my child; never again shall 
 I see you. May the kind Father above receive your soulP 
 
 "Then she spoke again to the officer, so meekly and humbly 
 that it would have stirred any mother's heart to see her. 'Take 
 the little child again, and go and do whatever my lord has 
 bidden you. Only one thing more I ask you of your grace 
 that, unless my lord forbid it, you bury the babe so that no birds 
 of prey and carrion creatures can reach her little body.' 
 
 "But he would promise nothing. He took the child, and 
 went his way again to Walter, and told him all that Griselda 
 had said and done. 
 
 "The marquis was touched a little by remorse when he heard 
 of his wife's gentle obedience, but none the less he held to his 
 cruel purpose like a man who is resolved to have his own way. 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 153 
 
 He bade the officer take the babe with all care and secretly to his 
 sister, who was Countess of Bologna, and tell her the whole 
 story, asking her to bring the child up honorably, without saying 
 whose it was. 
 
 "The man carried out his orders, and the little babe was taken 
 to Bologna, and brought up there. But Walter's mind was not 
 yet softened from his wicked intent. He looked eagerly to see 
 if what he had done would make his wife show in her face any 
 signs of grief or anger. But Griselda did not seem to be 
 changed in the least. She was always gentle and kind, and still 
 as glad, as humble, as ready to obey him as she had ever been ; 
 and not a word either in jest or earnest did she say of her little 
 daughter. 
 
 "Thus there passed four years or so more, until Griselda had a 
 little son, at which Walter and all his subjects were overjoyed, 
 giving thanks to God because now there was an heir to the king- 
 dom. 
 
 "But when the boy was some two years old Walter's heart 
 again became cruel and perverse, and he made up his mind to 
 test his wife's patience once more. Her gentle obedience 
 seemed only to make him wish to torment her still further. 
 
 " Wife,' he said to her, 'I have told you that my subjects did 
 not like our marriage, but now, since our son was born, their 
 murmuring has been worse than ever before, so that I am greatly 
 afraid of what they may do. They speak openly of the matter. 
 "When Walter dies," they say, "we shall be ruled by Janicola's 
 grandson." I cannot but hear their words, and I fear them. 
 So, in order to live in peace, I am resolved to serve our son as I 
 did his sister before ; and I warn you now, so that you may have 
 patience to bear his loss when the time comes. 7 
 
154 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'I have always said, and always will say/ answered Griselda, 
 'that I will do nothing but what you wish. I am not grieved that 
 both my son and my daughter are slain, if it is you who order it. 
 You are my lord, and can do with me as you will. When I left 
 my home and my poor rags I left there my freedom also, and 
 took your clothing, and became obedient to your commands. 
 Therefore do as you will ; if I knew beforehand what you wished 
 I would do it, and if my death would please you I would gladly 
 die/ 
 
 "When Walter heard these words he cast down his eyes, 
 wondering at the patience of his wife. Yet he went away from 
 her with a stern and cruel face, though his heart was full of joy 
 at her goodness. 
 
 "The fierce officer came to her again in a little while, and 
 seized her son. Again she prayed him to give the babe proper 
 burial, and kissed its little face, and blessed it, without a word 
 of complaint or bitterness. Again the child was taken to 
 Bologna, to be brought up there. 
 
 "The marquis watched for signs of grief in his wife, but found 
 none, and the more he regarded her the more he wondered. If 
 he had not known how she loved the children he would have 
 thought her gentleness was a pretense to hide some evil plot or 
 other. But he knew that she loved her son and daughter next to 
 himself, and he could only marvel at her courage. Between the 
 two of them there was but one will, and that his own; whatever 
 he wished, that she too desired. 
 
 "Meanwhile rumors crept about among the people that 
 Walter had murdered his two children secretly because their 
 mother was nothing but a poor village maiden of low birth. 
 The report spread far and wide, so that the marquis began to be 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 155 
 
 hated by the subjects who had formerly loved him so well. 
 Nevertheless, he did not change his purpose, but sought to try 
 his wife's obedience to the utmost. Very soon he sent a secret 
 message to Rome, asking that a decree from the Pope should be 
 forged, which would allow him for the good of his subjects to 
 put away his wife Griselda and wed another. 
 
 "In due time the false decree arrived. It said that, since great 
 strife had arisen between the Marquis of Saluzzo and his people 
 because he had married a poor wife of humble birth, he was to 
 put away this wife, and be free to marry another if he pleased. 
 
 "The common people believed these lying orders, but when 
 the news came to Griselda her heart was full of woe. Yet she 
 resolved to endure patiently whatever was done by the husband 
 whom she loved so dearly. 
 
 "But she did not yet know all Walter's plan. He sent a letter 
 secretly to Bologna to the Count who had married his sister, ask- 
 ing him to bring to Saluzzo Griselda's son and daughter, openly 
 and in state, but without saying to any man whose children they 
 really were, and to proclaim that the young maiden was soon to 
 be married to the Marquis of Saluzzo. 
 
 "The Count did as he was asked. He set out with a great 
 train of lords and ladies in rich array, bringing the girl with her 
 brother riding beside her. She was decked in bright jeweled 
 robes, as if for marriage, and the boy, too, was nobly and fittingly 
 dressed. Thus they started to go to Saluzzo, which was distant 
 a journey of many days. 
 
 "When all this plan was being carried out, the marquis, ac- 
 cording to his wicked design, put yet another trial upon Gri- 
 selda's patience by saying to her boisterously, before all his 
 Court: 'Griselda, I was once glad to marry you for your good- 
 
156 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 ness and obedience not for your birth or your wealth. But 
 now I know that great rulers have duties and hardships of many 
 kinds; I am not free to do as every plowman may, and marry 
 whom I please. Every day my people urge me to take another 
 wife, and now I have got leave ^o do so to stop the strife between 
 me and them. I must tell you that even now my new wife is on 
 her way hither. Be brave, then, and give place to her, and of 
 my grace I will restore to you again the dowry you brought me 
 when I married you. Return again to your father's house ; re- 
 member that no one is always happy, and bear steadfastly the 
 buffeting of misfortune.' 
 
 " 'My lord,' answered Griselda patiently, 'I knew always how 
 great was the distance between your high rank and my poverty. 
 I never deemed myself worthy to be your wife, nor even to be 
 your servant. May Heaven be my witness that in this house 
 whither you led me as your wife I have always tried to serve 
 you faithfully, and ever will while my life lasts. I thank God 
 and you that of your kindness you have so long held me in honor 
 and dignity when I was so unworthy. No more will I say; I 
 will go to my father gladly, and dwell with him to my life's end. 
 With him I lived since I was a babe, with him I will live from 
 now henceforth till I die, and never will I wed any other man 
 than you. May God of His grace grant you and your new wife 
 happiness and prosperity! I give place to her readily, since it 
 pleases you, my lord, to whom I have ever given all my heart 
 But as for the dowry which you say I brought with me, I re- 
 member well what it was : it was my poor clothes that I wore in 
 my father's house. Let me, then, go in my old smock back to 
 him. Ah, how gentle and how kind you were when you took 
 me from him! Love when it is old is not the same as when it is 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 157 
 
 new; nevertheless, though I have lost your love, I will never in 
 word or deed repent that I gave you my heart.' 
 
 " 'You may take the old smock and go,' said Walter. Scarcely 
 another word could he speak, but went away with great pity in 
 his heart. 
 
 "Before them all Griselda stripped off her fine clothes, and 
 went forth clad only in her smock, barefoot and bareheaded. 
 The people followed her weeping and railing at her hard lot, 
 but she made no complaint, and spoke never a word. Her 
 father met her at his door, lamenting the day that he saw her 
 cast off thus. He had ever looked askance at the marriage, and 
 thought that as soon as the marquis had wearied of Griselda he 
 would begin to despise her, and would in the end send her 
 away. 
 
 "So Griselda went home and lived for a while with Janicola 
 as though she had never left him. She was as gentle and humble 
 as of old, and never showed that she remembered the days of her 
 high estate. 
 
 "At length the Count drew near from Bologna with Griselda's 
 son and daughter. The news spread among the people, and 
 everyone talked of the grand wife who was coming to be married 
 to the marquis with such splendor as had never been seen in all 
 West Lombardy. 
 
 "When Walter heard of their approach, he sent for Griselda. 
 She came humbly and reverently, and knelt before him. 
 
 " 'Griselda,' said he, 'I desire that the lady whom I am to wed 
 shall be received to-morrow as royally as may be. I have no 
 woman who can make all the preparations for this, and arrange 
 that every one shall be placed according to his proper rank, and 
 I have sent for you to do it, since you know my ways of old. 
 
158 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Your garments are poor and mean, but you will do your duty as 
 well as you can.' 
 
 " 'I am glad always to do your will, my lord,' she answered. 
 With that she turned to her task of setting the house in order for 
 the guests of the marquis. 
 
 "The next morning the Count of Bologna arrived with 
 Griselda's son and daughter. All the people ran out to see the 
 fine sight, and when they looked at the girl, whom they supposed 
 to be Walter's new wife, they thought that he had done well and 
 made a change for the better. She was younger and even fairer 
 than Griselda, and the fickle people, ever changeable as a 
 weathercock, were full of praises for the choice of the marquis. 
 
 "Griselda had made everything ready, and went into the court- 
 yard of the palace with the other folk to greet the marquis and 
 his bride. When the procession reached the banquet-hall, she 
 took no shame in her torn old clothes, but went busily about her 
 work with a cheerful face, showing the guests each to his ap- 
 pointed place. They wondered who it was that was so prudent 
 and courteous and skillful in spite of her poor appearance. 
 
 "At length, when they were all sitting down to the feast, 
 Walter called out to her as she busied herself in the great 
 hall. 
 
 " 'Griselda,' he cried, as if in jest, 'what think you of my wife?' 
 
 " 'Never have I looked upon a fairer maiden, my lord,' she 
 answered. 'I pray that you may have all prosperity to your 
 lives' end. One thing only I ask of you that you do not tor- 
 ment her as you did me; for she is tenderly brought up, and 
 could not bear hardship as well as I, who was poorly bred.' 
 
 "When Walter heard her gentle answer, and saw that even 
 now she had no discontent or malice for all the wrong he had 
 
THE CLERK'S TALE 159 
 
 done her, he relented at last, and blamed himself sorely for his 
 cruelty. 
 
 " 'Enough, Griselda,' he said, 'be not ill at ease any longer. I 
 have tried and tested your faithfulness and goodness, and I know 
 your true heart, dear wife.' 
 
 "He took her in his arms and kissed her, but she was so filled 
 with wonder that she hardly heard what he said till he spoke 
 again. 
 
 " 'Griselda, you are my wife, and I will have no other. This 
 is your daughter, who you thought was my new bride, and this 
 your son, who shall be my heir; they have been kept and brought 
 up secretly at Bologna. Take them again, and see for yourself 
 that your children are safe. Let no one think evil of me for my 
 cruelty; I did it but to make trial of my wife's goodness and show 
 it the more brightly.' 
 
 "Griselda swooned for joy at his words. When she came to 
 her senses again, she thanked Heaven for restoring her children 
 to her. 'And I thank you, too, my lord. Now I fear nothing, 
 not even death itself, since I have truly won your love. Dear 
 children, God of His mercy has brought you back to me.' 
 
 "But suddenly she swooned again. Walter raised her up and 
 comforted her till everyone wept at the touching sight. Then 
 the ladies of the Court took her into a chamber apart, and dressed 
 her in splendid robes again, and set a golden crown on her head, 
 and brought her back into the banquet-hall, where she was hon- 
 ored as she deserved with feasting and rejoicing that lasted all 
 that day. 
 
 "Full many a year Walter and Griselda lived together in hap- 
 piness and peace. Janicola, too, was brought to the Court, and 
 dwelt there with them till at last the soul crept out of his body. 
 
160 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Their daughter was married to one of the greatest lords in all 
 Italy, and their son succeeded Walter at his death, and ruled 
 well and prosperously; but when he married he never put his 
 wife to such a test as Walter did Griselda." 
 
 "GRISELDA IS DEAD, AND HER PATIENCE 
 
 TOO" 
 
 I HAVE told you this story," the Clerk went on at the end 
 of his tale, "not to prove that all wives should be so very 
 humble as Griselda was, nor to contradict the Good-wife of 
 Bath's opinion that women should rule their husbands, but to 
 show you a noble example of courage and patience under mis- 
 fortune. If Griselda could endure so much at the hands of her 
 husband, how much the more ought we to bear patiently what- 
 ever God sends us ! Yet I think, sirs, that it would be hard to 
 find in any town nowadays even so few as two or three Gri- 
 selda's." 
 
 Then the Clerk sang the pilgrims a little song which he had 
 made about the duty of wives. 
 
 When he had at last made an end, the Host praised the moral 
 of the tale, and said he would be glad if that one also could be 
 told to his wife to teach her gentler manners. 
 
 "Yes," said the Merchant, whose solemn face, with its forked 
 beard, showed how grave and wealthy a man he was "yes, we 
 have many troubles. I, too, have a shrew for a wife, as unlike 
 patient Griselda as well could be. Look you, Host, I have only 
 been wedded these two months, but a man who had lived single 
 all his life long would not have such a tale of sorrow to tell as I 
 , and all through my wife's cruelty." 
 
"GRISELDA IS DEAD" 161 
 
 'Well, since you know so much, tell us a story on this sub- 
 ject," said the Host, perhaps surprised at such words from the 
 Merchant, whose talk usually ran all upon his money and his 
 profits. 
 
 But that worthy man was very skilled at hiding his real 
 thoughts and doings; he was so grand and overbearing in his 
 way of doing business that no one ever guessed that he was 
 really deep in debt. 
 
 "Gladly," answered the Merchant; "but it would give me very 
 great pain to tell you my story. Listen to a tale of a young 
 wife who tried to cheat her old husband." 
 
 The tale which followed was about an old knight named 
 January, who married a fair and false young wife called May. 
 January was blind, and May at length plotted to take advantage 
 of his blindness, and run away with her true lover, one Damian; 
 for she did not love January, but only married him for the sake 
 of his wealth. One day, then, as she walked with her husband in 
 their garden, she ran off to Damian, who was hidden close by. 
 But by a strange miracle the old knight's sight was suddenly re- 
 stored to him, so that he saw her going; and though she made a 
 clever excuse, he took her home again, and kept her more safely. 
 
 The Merchant and the Host, as you see, were completely ruled 
 by their shrewish wives ; and the Host's thoughts, now that he 
 was for a little while away from home and free from this tyr- 
 anny, were continually running on the subject. He broke out 
 again at the end of the Merchant's tale. 
 
 "I am glad to think that my wife would not do such a thing 
 as that," he said; "but she has a tireless tongue, and many an- 
 other bad habit which it would be foolish of me to tell you, for 
 she would be sure to hear of it from some one of this company. 
 
i62 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 And, besides, I am not clever enough to reveal all her faults to 
 you, so that I must hold my peace; but I tell you that I am sorry 
 I ever married her." 
 
 It was now growing late, and the pilgrims ceased story-telling 
 for that day. They stopped for the night, so we are told, at 
 Ospringe. 
 
THE FIFTH DAY 
 THE SQUIRE 
 
 THE knight's son was a fine, well-built young man, about 
 twenty years of age, and as fresh as the month of May 
 itself. His hair was curled, his clothes embroidered all 
 over with red and white flowers, like a meadow. All day long 
 he was singing or whistling on his flute, for his mind was always 
 running on his ladylove, and at night he was as wakeful as a 
 nightingale through thinking of her. He was very strong and 
 active, and had been to the wars in Flanders, Artois, and Picardy, 
 where he had borne himself well in the hope of winning his 
 lady's favor by his prowess. 
 
 He was wearing a short gown with long wide sleeves, and 
 showed himself a skillful rider, sitting his horse well ; and he was 
 ever courteous and gentle in his mien. 
 
 It was to him that the Host first turned for a tale on the fifth 
 morning of the pilgrimage, knowing that he was clever at mak- 
 ing songs and ballads, as well as at jousting and dancing. 
 
 "Come nearer, Squire," said Harry Bailly, "and tell us some 
 love-story, if you will. You must know as much of love as any 
 
 man." 
 
 "Nay, sir," answered the Squire. "I will tell you the best 
 that I can, with hearty good-will. I cannot rebel against your 
 orders. Hold me excused if I speak amiss, for I can but try to 
 do well. Here is my tale." 
 
 163 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 
 'THE STORY OF CAMBUSCAN BOLD" 
 
 I. THE MAGIC GIFTS AND THE FALSE TERCELET 
 
 AT Sarray, in the land of Tartary, there once dwelt a king 
 who made war on Russia, and did many other deeds of 
 valor. His name was Cambuscan, and he was the most 
 famous monarch of his time. Nowhere was there so good a 
 ruler to be found, for he was just, wise, and prosperous, as well 
 as strong and manly, and he lacked nothing that a king should 
 have. 
 
 "His wife's name was Elpheta, and they had two sons and one 
 daughter. The elder of the sons was called Algarsif, and the 
 younger Camballo. The daughter was named Canacee, and she 
 was the youngest of them all ; but I know no words good enough 
 to tell you of her beauty. 
 
 "When Cambuscan had reigned twenty years, he made up his 
 mind that the feast which was every year held upon his birth- 
 day should this year be more splendid than ever before. He 
 caused a holiday to be proclaimed throughout his kingdom, and 
 made everything ready for a great festival on the fifteenth of 
 March, just at the time when spring is beginning and men (like 
 birds in the sunshine) are rejoicing in being free from the keen 
 sword of cold winter. 
 
 "It would take me a full summer's day if I were to tell you of 
 
 all the marvels of this birthday's feast, all the dainty dishes that 
 
 164 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 165 
 
 were served up, the swans and herons that were cooked with all 
 kinds of wonderful sauces. But it is nigh upon nine o'clock, and 
 I must turn to my story. 
 
 "Cambuscan was sitting on a high dais in the great hall w r here 
 the feast was being held, clad in royal robes, with a diadem upon 
 his head. The third course was done, and the minstrels were 
 playing their sweetest music, when suddenly the doors were 
 thrown open, and a strange knight rode in all alone. He was 
 mounted upon a steed of brass; in his hand he carried a broad 
 mirror of glass; on his thumb was a golden ring, and a naked 
 sword hung at his side. He was fully armed, save that his head 
 was bare. 
 
 "He rode straight up to the dais where King Cambuscan sat. 
 In all the hall not a word was spoken; old and young alike stood 
 silent, marveling at the sight, and watching to see what the 
 knight would do. When he reached the dais he saluted the king 
 and queen, and then all the knights and ladies in the hall in turn, 
 so honorably and reverently that not even Sir Gawain the 
 Courteous could better it, if he were to come back from Fairy- 
 land. Then he turned again to the king, and in a clear, manly 
 voice told his errand. 
 
 " 'My liege lord the King of Arabia and India greets you on 
 this your birthday, sire,' he said, 'and sends by my hand these 
 gifts in honor of it: first, this Horse of Brass, which will carry 
 you whithersoever you please, however far, within the space of 
 twenty-four hours; or if you wish to fly in the air as high as a 
 soaring eagle, this Horse will carry you thither without harm, 
 and take you back again at the mere turning of a pin. On his 
 back you are always safe, even if you go to sleep. 
 
 " 'This Mirror that I have in my hand has the power of show- 
 
166 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 ing when any misfortune is about to fall on you or your king- 
 dom. In it also you can see who is your friend and who your 
 foe. Or if any lady has set her heart on a lover, and he is false 
 to her, she will see in the mirror all his treachery. 
 
 " 'The Mirror, with this Ring, my lord sends as gifts to honor 
 your fair daughter the Lady Canacee. The Ring has this 
 power that if she puts it on her thumb, or carries it in her purse, 
 she can understand the voice of every bird under the sun, and 
 know all plants that grow, and which of them will heal the 
 deadliest wounds. 
 
 " 'This Sword hanging by my side has such strength that it 
 will cut and bite through any armor, even if it be as thick as oak; 
 and whoever is wounded with it will never be healed till his 
 wound be stroked with the flat of the blade. If that be done, the 
 place will close instantly.' 
 
 "When the knight had thus told his tale, he rode the horse out 
 of the hall and again dismounted, and was taken to a chamber 
 to array himself for the feast. The Mirror and the Sword were 
 put in a high tower under charge of a guard, and the Ring was 
 given to Canacee then and there. 
 
 "But the Horse of Brass remained in the courtyard where 
 the knight had left it after dismounting. No one could move it; 
 it stood stock-still, as if glued to the ground. The people 
 swarmed round to gaze on the wonderful gift, and marveled at 
 its beauty, for it was as well-fashioned as the finest Lombard 
 steed, and tall and strong as well. They pressed to see it, mur- 
 muring like a swarm of bees, and there were as many opinions 
 about it as there were people. Some guessed that it had been 
 made by magic ; others recalled old legends about famous horses. 
 
 " *I am terribly afraid,' said one. 'I think there must be men- 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 167 
 
 at-arms hidden inside the beast, as there were in the Greek horse 
 by means of which Troy was taken.' 
 
 " 'Nay, not so,' said another. 'It is no horse at all, but some 
 shape made by magic to deceive us.' 
 
 " 'I think it is Pegasus, the winged horse of Bellerophon,' said 
 a third. 
 
 "And so they went on guessing about the horse and the other 
 gifts until the king was ready to leave the feast, which was being 
 renewed and continued more joyously than ever. 
 
 "When at length the great banquet was ended, Cambuscan 
 went down from the dais, with his minstrels playing before him, 
 to his council-chamber, where they danced and reveled all the 
 afternoon. After the dancing, they went to a temple to worship, 
 and then came back to a great supper; and last of all, in the 
 evening, when the supper was done, the king and all his lords 
 and ladies came down to see the horse go through its paces. 
 
 "The knight laid his hand on the beast's rein, and it began to 
 prance and paw the air. 
 
 " 'That is all you need to do, sire,' said the knight. 'If you 
 wish to ride anywhere, turn a pin which is hidden in his ear. I 
 will show it to you exactly in secret. You must tell the horse to 
 what country you wish to go, and when you get there bid him 
 descend, and turn another pin. He will do as you command 
 him, and will stay there until you order him to go again. Or, 
 if you do not wish him to be seen, turn this pin, and he will 
 vanish altogether from sight; but he will come back again, be it 
 day or night, whenever you call him in a way which I will tell 
 you.' 
 
 "So the king was given the horse and kept it, and thus his 
 birthday came to an end. The knight took his leave and went 
 
168 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 back to his master, and when all the merriment was ended every- 
 oie went to bed. 
 
 "The day had been a long one, and the people, wearied after 
 their revelry, slept soundly far into the next morning. But 
 Canacee had such joy iri her curious Ring and her Mirror that 
 she could hardly take her eyes of! them, and as soon as she slept 
 she dreamed of them. So her slumber was light, and she awoke 
 early, and called her old governess, who slept beside her. 
 
 " 'I wish to rise,' she said, when she had roused the old woman ; 
 *I can sleep no longer, but would walk about.' 
 
 " Why so early?' asked the nurse; 'all other folk are still rest- 
 ing.' 
 
 u But Canacee would have her way, and she went forth with 
 five or six of her maidens about the time when the bright sun was 
 beginning to show. They walked down a little path in the park 
 of the palace, playing and talking together all the way; Canacee 
 was as fresh and lovely as the light itself. The sun seemed red 
 and swollen through the mist which was gliding from the earth 
 as the day broke; none the less his beams filled their hearts with 
 gladness as they heard the little birds greeting the morn. 
 
 "Canacee could understand all that the birds were saying, for 
 she was wearing the Magic Ring, and she delighted to listen to 
 their merry notes. But suddenly she heard a voice which struck 
 her with deep sorrow. 
 
 "Right before her, on a bough of a withered tree, sat a pere- 
 grine falcon, as white as chalk, and seemingly from some far-off 
 land, wailing and weeping most pitifully. She was beating her 
 wings and pecking her breast till the blood ran down on to the 
 tree, so that even a tiger would have been moved to compassion 
 at the sight. 
 
r 
 
 
 'WHAT is THE CAUSE OF YOUR SORROW?' ASKED THE PRINCESS 
 GENTLY" PAGE 169 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 169 
 
 "Canacee heard and understood the falcon's lamentations, and 
 went and stood under the tree, with the lap of her dress held out 
 to catch the bird if she swooned and fell from weariness and loss 
 of blood. 
 
 " What is the cause of your sorrow?' asked the princess gently, 
 speaking in the falcon's own language, by virtue of her Ring. 
 Why do you thus wound yourself? Come down from the tree, 
 and, on my word as a king's daughter, if you will tell me the 
 reason of your distress, I will aid you if it is in my power, and 
 will choose herbs to cure your wounds.' 
 
 "But the falcon only cried the more bitterly, and fell down 
 from the tree in a swoon. Canacee caught her and comforted 
 her, and at length the bird was able to speak again. 
 
 " 'I see that gentle hearts are easily moved to pity, as the 
 proverb tells us,' she said. 'Though your help can avail me 
 little, I will reveal to you my story and the wrong that has been 
 done me, that others may take warning by it.' 
 
 "Canacee was weeping for very compassion, but the falcon 
 bade her dry her tears, and told her tale thus : 
 
 " 'Once I dwelt (alas for that sorrowful day!) by a marble 
 rock in a far-off land, living tenderly and honorably, with no 
 knowledge of adversity; there I had lived all my life, and there 
 it was that I loved another falcon, a tercelet, whose dwelling was 
 hard by. He seemed to be gentle and noble, but in truth he was 
 full of treason and falsehood, which he hid skillfully under a 
 mien so humble and courteous that none would have thought his 
 love feigned. . To me he was a serpent lurking unseen amid 
 flowers, for by his arts he won my love, and I gave him all 
 my heart. And when he saw that I thought of nothing else than 
 himself, he did but add to his loving ways and gracious tender- 
 
i 7 o THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 ness, so that my whole life seemed to hang upon him. Thus 
 for a year or two we continued, until one day it was needful for 
 him to depart and go to another place. I cannot tell you my 
 woe thereat, but surely it was as the pains of death. So one 
 day he took leave of me, so sorrowfully that I believed he felt as 
 much grief as I. I thought that he was true, and that he would 
 come back to me again in a little while; and since honor bade 
 him go, I made a virtue of necessity, and bore as well as I could 
 what could not be helped. Why should I tell you all that he 
 said to me? Who sups with a fiend needs a long spoon, they 
 say, and I was easily beguiled. When he was absent from me, 
 for all that he was nobly born, and fresh and gay and courteous 
 enough to me, his love for me all vanished clean away at the 
 sight of a kite whom he saw flying one day. Thus he has been 
 false to his troth, and I know not where he is now.' 
 
 "With that the falcon fell to weeping once more. Canacee 
 told her maidens the story, and they, too, wept at the tercelet' s 
 cruelty. Then Canacee took the falcon home with her, and 
 bound up her wounds with herbs such as she knew by virtue of 
 the Ring to have healing powers. A little nest was made for 
 the bird close by her bed, and it was lined inside with blue velvet, 
 for blue is the color of constancy such as the falcon's ; but all out- 
 side it was painted green, to signify the treachery of her lover. 
 
 "Now for a time I will leave the falcon, and speak of the wed- 
 ding of Canacee, whereat Camballo fought in the lists with three 
 brothers; and afterwards I will tell you how the tercelet was 
 found again, and how Algarsif won the Princess Theodora for 
 his wife, and other marvelous adventures." 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 171 
 
 II. THE BRETHREN THREE* 
 
 "Canacee was the loveliest and wisest princess of her time, 
 well seen in every science and every secret work of nature, in 
 prophecy, and in the powers of herbs and the notes of birds and 
 beasts (for she knew many of these things even without her 
 Ring) , and many great lords and knights had sought to win her 
 hand. But all in vain. In spite of all her beauty and wisdom 
 and gentleness she would neither marry nor give any of them so 
 much as a word or even a look of hope. Yet the more she re- 
 fused to love any one of them the more they sought to win her, 
 so that unquiet strife moved often among them, and brought 
 about great quarrels, and many a time they fought deadly battles 
 for her sake. 
 
 "Camballo, her brother, was a knight of prudence and cour- 
 age, and he feared that some mischief would spring from their 
 jealousies. At length he bethought him how to prevent the peril 
 that might arise, and to turn their quarrels to account, so as to 
 bring honor both to Canacee and to himself. He ordered it to 
 be proclaimed to the suitors, as they were all assembled one day 
 together to dispute about the hand of the princess, that he would 
 hold a great tournament: the suitors were to choose the three most 
 valiant knights out of their number, who should fight with him 
 one after another, and the victor should wed Canacee if he could 
 overcome Camballo. 
 
 "The challenge was bold, for Camballo himself was a bold 
 knight, but he had good hope of victory, for Canacee lent him the 
 
 * Part II. of this story is taken from Spenser's continuation of the Squire's tale, which 
 Chaucer left unfinished. 
 
[172 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Magic Ring, by whose aid he would be able to heal his wounds 
 in a moment. 
 
 "The Ring's power was well known to all, and it struck such 
 fear into the suitors that none of them would essay the fight, for 
 it seemed to them that they could not possibly conquer against 
 such odds. So they all withdrew, one after another, and gave up 
 their hopes of winning the princess until only three were left 
 who dared take up Camballo's challenge. 
 
 "These three knights, whose great love for Canacee made 
 them disdain all dangers, were named Priamond, Diamond, and 
 Triamond. They were brothers, the sons of a fairy named 
 Agape. 
 
 Diamond was stronger than Priamond, but not so won- 
 drously brave, though brave enough, but Triamond was braver 
 and stronger than either. Triamond liked best to fight on horse- 
 back with spear and shield; Priamond, on foot with a sword; 
 but Diamond did battle either on foot or mounted, with spear 
 or sword. 
 
 "These three brothers loved one another dearly, and were 
 bound together by such firm affection that it seemed as if they 
 had but one mind and one heart between them. Their mother 
 the fairy had brought them up with her in the forest where she 
 dwelt, and taught them ever to stand by one another in love and 
 friendship, because she herself knew how soon their lives might 
 end, having learnt their fates in this wise. 
 
 "As they grew to be young men she had seen how fond they 
 were of war and arms; they were always seeking new dangers 
 and rash adventures wherever they could be found, so that she 
 feared they might meet with sudden death in some chance fight. 
 She made up her mind to go below the earth to the regions of 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 173 
 
 the dead, where live the Fates who spin the threads of men's 
 lives, and inquire of them concerning her sons. 
 
 "Her magic arts led her safely down the dark abyss where 
 Demogorgon dwells, far from the sight of gods and mankind. 
 There she found the home of the Three Sisters whom men call 
 the Fates. They were sitting with the distaff of Fate in their 
 midst, drawing out from it with unwearying fingers the threads 
 of life, which no mortal man can know. Sad Clotho held the 
 distaff, grim Lachesis spun the thread, and Atropos ever and 
 again cut the lines short with her cruel knife. When a man's 
 thread was cut, then it was fated for him to die. 
 
 "Agape saluted the dread Sisters and stood silent, watching 
 the threads spun out. When she had looked her fill she began 
 to tell the reason of her coming, trembling at heart, her face 
 pale and wan. 
 
 " 'Bold fay,' answered Atropos, 'are you come here to see the 
 secret of man's life? You deserve that your children's thread 
 should be broken for your daring!' 
 
 "Agape was sore afraid, yet nevertheless she besought the 
 Fates to grant her boon, and let her see her sons' threads, and 
 know the span of their lives. 
 
 "The Sisters yielded, and Clotho drew out the three threads. 
 But when she saw them Agape was filled with woe, for they were 
 as thin as spiders' webs, and so short that they seemed to come to 
 an end almost at once. She fell to begging and praying the 
 Fates to draw them out further, and twine them more strongly, 
 so that her sons might live longer. 
 
 " 'Nay,' answered Lachesis, 'these are not human things that 
 can be altered at will. What the Fates once decree not all the 
 gods can alter, not even great Jove himself.' 
 
174 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Then if the term of no man's life may be lessened or made 
 longer, grant me this one thing,' said Agape 'that when you cut 
 with your deadly knife my Priamond's thread, which I see is 
 the shortest, his life and strength may pass into Diamond, and 
 when Diamond's turn comes also, that Triamond may have the 
 lives of both joined on to his own.' 
 
 "They granted it, and she went away content. Ever after 
 she strove to increase the love the three brothers bore to one an- 
 other, though she told them nothing of what she knew of their 
 fates. And thus through all their days discord never came be- 
 tween them, not even when they all three loved Canacee. 
 
 "Priamond, Diamond, and Triamond, then, made up their 
 minds to fight Camballo for Canacee. A day was fixed for the 
 tournament, and the knights gave pledges that they would be 
 present and obey the judges, and at length the time came. 
 
 "A barrier was set all round the lists to keep back the press 
 of people who had come to see the combat. On one side sat the 
 six knights who were to be the judges of the deeds of arms done 
 that day; on the other Canacee was seated in fresh array on a 
 richly-decked throne, waiting to see who would prove his right 
 to her by his valor in the fray. 
 
 "Camballo came first into the lists, with fearless mien and 
 stately steps, as if sure of victory. A little afterwards the three 
 brothers advanced, bearing themselves nobly and proudly, with 
 escutcheons brightly gilt and banners displayed. They did each 
 a low reverence to Canacee, while shrill trumpets and loud 
 clarions filled the air with music. 
 
 "The challenger, Camballo, stood forth fully armed to up- 
 hold his challenge, and Sir Priamond came out to oppose him. 
 A trumpet sounded, and the tournament began. 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 175 
 
 "The two knights were doughty and well matched, and it was 
 hard to tell which would prove the stronger. Many a mighty 
 blow did they aim at one another, but for a long time without 
 avail, until at last a fierce thrust of Priamond's spear pierced 
 Camballo's armor on the shoulder, and caused him to lower his 
 shield. The pain filled him with mad rage, and he drove his 
 spear so terribly against Priamond's shield that it passed it and 
 ran deep into his side, and the blood began to pour from the 
 wound. 
 
 "Priamond staggered and reeled like an old withered oak 
 in a storm, and Camballo, seeing his distress, drove at him again 
 and wounded him in the side once more. The spear stuck, and 
 Camballo broke the shaft off short, leaving the head in the 
 wound. 
 
 " ' Villain I' cried Priamond, 'you shall have your desert! So 
 far I have spared you not for your own sake, but for your sister's. 
 Take now the reward of your proud challenge!' 
 
 "With that he thrust at Camballo with his spear. The point 
 struck him full in the lower part of his helmet and became fixed 
 in the joints of the metal, and the shaft broke in half. Cam- 
 ballo bent back with the force of the blow, but recovered, and 
 tore the broken point fiercely out of his helmet, and cast it back 
 at Priamond with such might that it clove right through his 
 throat armor and pierced deep into his neck, slitting the wind- 
 pipe in its course. Priamond fell back and sank to the ground, 
 the blood rushing from his wounds, and in a few moments he 
 was dead. 
 
 "But though he was slain his life and strength passed into 
 Diamond, who came forward next to oppose Camballo. Can> 
 baflo was soon ready afresh, the trumpets sounded once more., 
 
176 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 and the two knights fell furiously upon one another with great 
 axes, for they had chosen those weapons for the second combat. 
 
 "They fought like two tigers, and soon their armor was cut 
 and hewed to pieces under their tremendous blows; each had the 
 blood streaming from his wounds, but none were mortal, and 
 the spectators looked on in wonder and terror. 
 
 "At length Diamond resolved to end it one way or the other. 
 He heaved his great ax up, and aimed a terrible blow at his 
 enemy. But Camballo contrived to ward it off, and the ax 
 glanced aside and fell harmlessly. Diamond overbalanced him- 
 self with the force he put into the stroke, and his foot slipped. 
 He stumbled and hardly recovered himself, and as he strove to 
 stand upright Camballo let drive at him with all his power, 
 leaving his own side unguarded to do it; his ax swung round 
 and struck Diamond on the neck, and shore his head clean off 
 his shoulders. For a moment the headless body stood upright; 
 then it fell, and the brave knight's life and strength passed to 
 the third brother, Triamond. 
 
 "Camballo, by the aid of the Ring, stanched his own wounds, 
 and was soon able to continue the fight. Triamond leapt lightly 
 forth to meet him, and poured blows on him as thick as hail 
 till the sparks flew from his sword like drops of water dashing 
 against a rock. Camballo had to give way before his attack 
 until he had spent his strength a little, and then it was Tria- 
 mond's turn to retreat, and he began to grow faint and feeble 
 after his former fury. 
 
 "But Camballo only seemed to grow stronger as Triamond 
 grew weaker; he pressed him hard, and at length drove his 
 sword through the joint at the top of his armor into his throat. 
 Triamond fell, and lay seemingly lifeless, but his brothers' 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 177 
 
 strength was still in him, and suddenly he started up again with 
 his second life, like one waking out of a dream, and attacked 
 Camballo fiercely once more. 
 
 "And now Camballo could do little more than defend himself, 
 for he was growing weary. When Triamond saw this he swung 
 his sword up over his head to end the fight by one great blow, 
 and the blade came crashing down on Camballo's helmet; but 
 Camballo at the same time drove his sword into Triamond's 
 side, under his guard, as his arms were lifted to strike. Never- 
 theless he could not avoid the other's blow, and though he broke 
 its force with his shield it crashed heavily on his head, and the 
 two knights both fell to the ground together. 
 
 "They lay for a time insensible, and the judges were beginning 
 to declare the end of the tournament. Suddenly, almost at the 
 same moment, they both started up again Triamond with his 
 new life, and Camballo recovered from the swoon into which 
 Triamond's blow had thrown him. In a moment they fell to as 
 furiously as ever. 
 
 "While the issue still hung in the balance, and all men's eyes 
 and hearts were busy with the combat, watching every stroke, 
 and eagerly waiting to see which would conquer, a noise was 
 heard as of some tumult, mingled with the cries of women and 
 children. 
 
 "The two knights stood still for a space to learn what the 
 sudden clamor meant, and when they looked towards the quar- 
 ter whence the noise arose they saw a strangely-equipped chariot 
 whirling towards them in great haste. It was bedight with 
 gorgeous ornaments of gold, and drawn by two grim lions. In 
 it sat a lady passing fair, in whom beauty seemed to vie with 
 wisdom; she was the daughter of a fay, the daughter, in fact, of 
 
178 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Agape herself, and knew all magical lore, and by these acts she 
 had learnt the sore danger in which her brother Triamond lay. 
 
 "She came to still the deadly strife of Triamond and Cam- 
 ballo, and as she urged her chariot towards the lists the people 
 scattered and fled headlong in terror before her lions, thinking 
 that she would deal death among them. But soon their fear 
 abated, for in her right hand she carried a rod of peace, whereon 
 two serpents were entwined, crowned with a peaceful olive- 
 wreath, and in her other hand was a cup filled to overflowing 
 with nepenthe a drink of sovereign grace devised by the gods 
 to assuage grief and rage and set up peace in the troubled mind. 
 
 "When the fairy, whose name was Cambina, reached the bar- 
 rier of the lists she smote the rail lightly with her wand, and it 
 straightway flew open and let her ride through. She hailed 
 her brother and then Camballo, for whom she had secretly in 
 her heart deep love. 
 
 "The two knights returned her greeting none too readily, for 
 they were both eager to continue the battle. But when she saw 
 their passion she began to pray them earnestly to cease from 
 strife, and last, finding her entreaty vain, she smote each one 
 lightly with her magic wand. 
 
 "At the stroke a wonderful change befell them : their swords 
 dropped helplessly from their hands, and they stood dumb and 
 amazed. Then she offered them her cup to drink, and they 
 quaffed the nepenthe. As soon as they had tasted it they lost 
 all thought of fighting. Instead they hastened to embrace one 
 another, and plighted their troth to be fast friends for evermore, 
 and when the multitude saw peace made between these two who 
 had but now been mortal foes they shouted aloud for joy till the 
 sky rang. 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 179 
 
 "Canacee descended from her throne and greeted Cambina 
 courteously when she saw that the strife was ended, and then all 
 the four, the two knights and the two princesses, went together 
 to Cambuscan's palace, where Camballo married Cambina, and 
 Triamond married Canacee; and never were such lovers any- 
 where as these two knights and their brides." 
 
 III. FIERCE WARS AND FAITHFUL LOVES * 
 
 "When Canacee was wedded, Triamond, her husband, per- 
 suaded her to go with him and roam over the world in quest 
 of adventures, and with them there also went Camballo and his 
 bride Cambina. Thus only Algarsif was left at Sarray with his 
 father King Cambuscan, whose power and prosperity still con- 
 tinued unbroken. 
 
 "After a time Algarsif also desired to see the world. He 
 begged Cambuscan to let him go for a long ride on the Brazen 
 Horse, and by dint of much entreaty he won his father's consent. 
 He mounted the horse, turned the peg, and in a moment the 
 steed had borne him out of sight. 
 
 "From Tartary he turned towards Persia, and was flying high 
 over that country, when suddenly he saw far below him in a 
 spacious plain two armies engaged in a fierce battle; each side 
 seemed to win or be defeated alternately, and the issue was doubt- 
 ful. Algarsif turned his course downward towards the plain 
 to view the fight more nearly. 
 
 "As he descended his eye fell upon a richly-dight pavilion 
 
 * Part III. is taken from an inferior writer of the eighteenth century named Stirling. 
 It is given here so as to provide some sort of end for the tale, which both Chaucer and 
 Spenser left unfinished. 
 
i8o THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 not far from the field of battle. Over it a royal standard floated, 
 and in the shade of an awning just outside it Algarsif could see 
 slaves hurrying to and fro in attendance upon some royal per- 
 sonage, to whom messengers continually brought news from the 
 battle. 
 
 "Algarsif turned towards the tent to pay his duty towards this 
 king, if king it were. But when he drew near he saw, not a 
 king, but the most beautiful princess he had ever set eyes on. 
 He fell in love with her at the mere sight, and hastened to get 
 off his horse to address her. He fastened the steed to a tree, 
 and went up to the awning, and fell on his knees before the 
 princess, declaring to her his name and rank; nor did he stop 
 there, but poured out his love in a torrent of passionate words. 
 
 "The princess wa*s deeply moved, for she, too, had been struck 
 with love at the sight of the handsome young prince. Her name 
 was Theodora, and she was the daughter of one of the Sultans 
 engaged in the battle which Algarsif had already seen. All 
 this she told him, and would have said more, but suddenly a 
 messenger arrived from the fight bringing the terrible news that 
 the Sultan, her father, was slain by the enemy, and his army in 
 full retreat. 
 
 "Theodora was almost overcome by the news, and implored 
 Algarsif to save her. He bade her farewell hastily, and rushed 
 off, with the messenger as guide, to join the defeated troops. 
 
 "He soon found them, and putting himself at their head, led 
 them back to the fray. Himself he did marvelous feats of valor 
 (for he had with him the Magic Sword), and slew the opposing 
 Sultan with his own hand; but it was all in vain: the enemy 
 outnumbered his new allies by four to one, and even his valor 
 could do nothing against such odds, while his comrades were 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 181 
 
 soon being driven again to headlong flight. He remembered 
 that he had still the Brazen Horse, and he retreated, fighting 
 still, towards the tree where he had left it. 
 
 "Not far from the tree was Theodora's pavilion; he ran to 
 her, told her in a few words how hopeless was the battle, and 
 begged her to fly with him. In a moment they were safe on 
 the back of the horse, and as he turned the peg the good steed 
 mounted high into the air far from the pursuit of the enemy. 
 
 "For a little time they were silent, having hardly recovered 
 from their sudden flight. The Brazen Horse meanwhile was 
 bearing them east with incredible swiftness when suddenly a 
 tremendous shape, black and threatening, arose in the air before 
 them. 
 
 " 'Who art thou, rash mortal, that darest invade the home of 
 trie genies?' cried the monster. 'Know that I am Eblis, chief 
 of those evil spirits whom Suleiman the Great imprisoned in 
 this spot! Go hence, or be slain I' 
 
 "Theodora shrank in fear from the sight of the terrible winged 
 genie, who bore in his hand a flaming knotted mace. But Al- 
 garsif faced him undauntingly, and attacked him at once. 
 
 "Long and fierce was the combat, but the magic gifts in the 
 end prevailed. The Brazen Horse mounted and descended so 
 swiftly, wheeled so quickly, and seemed to have such clear fore- 
 sight of the genie's tremendous blows, that the blazing mace 
 struck nothing more than air in spite of all the efforts of Eblis; 
 and presently, when the genie seemed to be growing weary, Al- 
 garsif put all his strength into one terrible sweep of the Magic 
 Sword. The blade flashed in the air, beat down the mace, and 
 cut deep into the side of the evil spirit, who with a howl of rage 
 and pain vanished into the depths below. 
 
182 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "The lovers hastened to leave the accursed spot, and the horse 
 was soon bearing them still further east, over Thibet and Kash- 
 gar. At length they drew near a high mountain with pleasant 
 trees growing on its sides and a stream flowing from a waterfall 
 at the foot. 
 
 " 'Let us alight here and rest, dear princess,' said Algarsif. 
 *I am weary from my fighting, and would sleep. To-morrow 
 we will cease our wandering, and go back to my father in Sar- 
 ray.' 
 
 "Theodora agreed, and they got off the horse and went to a 
 little grove some distance up the mountain-side. Here they lay 
 down to sleep, all ignorant of the terrible place to which they 
 had come, for they were on the Dismal Mountain, in the 
 power of the wicked enchanter Demshack, by whose arts the 
 trees and woods and flowers seemed to travelers at first very 
 lovely and inviting, but in a little while became withered and 
 poisonous. 
 
 "Algarsif and Theodora were soon asleep, for their weari- 
 ness was great. But their slumbers were short, and broken by 
 terrible visions of awful shapes and strange deaths, and each 
 dreamed that the other was dead. They awoke shivering with 
 fear, and looked round. Instead of the pleasant green shady 
 trees and soft grass, they saw gnarled withered trunks and bare 
 branches, which rattled and creaked in a moaning wind. The 
 ground was hard and stony, and at the foot of the mountain the 
 little stream had become a dark eddying river, from whose 
 waters rose a poisonous mist. 
 
 "They ran up and down seeking some way to escape from the 
 mountain, for the Brazen Horse was nowhere to be seen, and 
 in this enchanted place Algarsif had forgotten the magic word 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 183 
 
 which would recall it. But the gloomy river ran round the 
 foot of it on all sides. They turned in despair, and hastened up 
 towards the summit in the hope that there they might find some 
 relief from the numbness that was now creeping over them. As 
 they ran they grew weaker and weaker; their steps tottered and 
 became languid, and all strength left their limbs. Last of all, 
 the bloom of their cheeks and the light of their eyes faded, their 
 lips and tongues turned black and shriveled, and they fell down 
 unconscious, forgetful of one another and of all else. 
 
 "Meanwhile Cambuscan heard nothing of either of his sons 
 and daughter, and knowing the powers of Camballo and Al- 
 garsif, he did not dream of any evil befalling them. He was 
 happy with his queen Elpheta, and spent his days in the gov- 
 ernment of his people, secure in prosperity, and not looking for 
 ill fortune. 
 
 "But one day the great seer Chosroes came to him and bade 
 him give up his kingdom. 
 
 " 'Sire,' he said, 'great misfortunes await you. Leave your 
 realm, and go on a pilgrimage to Mecca.' 
 
 "Cambuscan was amazed at the words of the seer, and at first 
 would pay no heed to him. But Elpheta heard what was said, 
 and went to look at the Magic Mirror. Then she brought the 
 Mirror to Cambuscan. 
 
 " 'See, my lord, 7 she said, 'the seer speaks truth. Look in the 
 Mirror and know your fate.' 
 
 "Cambuscan looked, and saw himself reflected in the Mirrar 
 surrounded on all sides by a great host of enemies, who were 
 pressing him hard. Then he believed Chosroes, and did as he 
 was bidden. He gave over the cares of state to his chief officers, 
 and joined a caravan of pilgrims who were on their way to 
 
184 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Mecca. He believed that by going he would avert the danger 
 of Heaven from his kingdom, and so he robed himself humbly 
 for the pilgrimage, and set out with Elpheta and the rest of the 
 pilgrims across the desert. The Magic Mirror he left in the 
 charge of Chosroes. 
 
 "The caravan traveled slowly and laboriously for many days 
 across the barren sands. Suddenly, when they were in the midst 
 of the desert, they saw far off a cloud of dust on the horizon, 
 and as the cloud drew nearer they perceived that it was a band 
 of fierce Arab robbers who. were swooping down to attack them. 
 Hastily they prepared to defend themselves, and had only just 
 time to make ready when the Arabs were upon them. They 
 resisted bravely, and there I will leave them fighting while I 
 tell you how it came about that they were rescued in the end. 
 
 "Camballo and Triamond with their princesses were at this 
 time not far from the very spot where Cambuscan and the pil- 
 grims were being attacked. They had had many adventures 
 in their wanderings, and were now on their way home to Sarray, 
 after having restored Canacee's falcon to her false love; for 
 Canacee had begged them to try to find the faithless tercelet be- 
 fore turning homewards, and they had succeeded, as you shall 
 now hear. 
 
 "They could not at first discover where the tercelet was likely 
 to be found, although Canacee, by the aid of the Magic Ring, 
 asked all the birds they met if they had seen him. But at length, 
 when they were about to give up the search, Camballo bethought 
 him that perhaps the Ring might have other powers which they 
 did not yet know; he wondered who had given it its magic vir- 
 tues, and what spirits it obeyed. He took it in his hand, and 
 solemnly called on the spirit of the Ring to appear. 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 185 
 
 "Even as he finished speaking a huge genie stood before them. 
 
 " 'I know your wish/ said the spirit, 'and can tell you where 
 the tercelet may be found. He has flown to the Paradise of 
 Shedad, which Shedad built by magic so that no mortal can 
 enter save the wearer of that Ring. Put on the Ring, and I will 
 lead you thither.' 
 
 "Camballo put the Ring on his finger, and the genie took him 
 by the arm. In a moment he found himself on the outside of 
 Shedad's Paradise. Before him he saw the enchanted palace 
 of Shedad himself, built of silver and gold and precious stones, 
 which blazed like the sun and all the stars. Round about were 
 enchanted gardens, where it was always summer and the flowers 
 always blossomed ; grassy walks ran among the trees, and little 
 streams rippled past flowery banks with a noise like that of 
 tinkling silver bells. 
 
 "Camballo entered the lovely garden, and soon found the 
 tercelet sitting on a tree, all alone and very sad, for he was be- 
 ginning to long for his old love again. Camballo told his er- 
 rand, saying how piteous was the falcon's state, how cruel it 
 would be to let her pine away, how well she loved him, and 
 how readily she would forgive his faithlessness. In the end the 
 tercelet begged Camballo to take him back to the falcon. The 
 genie of the Ring was bidden to carry them both to the place 
 where the others had been left, and in a few moments the tercelet 
 and the falcon were lovingly making up the quarrel. 
 
 "Thus by the aid of the Magic Ring the falcon's love was 
 restored to her, and the two flew away, to live happily together 
 for the rest of their lives. 
 
 "The two knights and their ladies now set out for Tartary, 
 and their way lay, as I have said, right across the desert where 
 
186 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 the Arabs were attacking the caravan of pilgrims. They soon 
 reached the scene of the fight, and seeing that Cambuscan and 
 his friends were hard pressed, Camballo and Triamond rushed 
 into the fray, and turned their swords against the robbers. The 
 combat was now more even, but the Arabs outnumbered the 
 pilgrims, and would have proved victorious but for the sudden 
 arrival of yet another knight. 
 
 "This was no other than Algarsif on the Brazen Horse. His 
 help changed the day, and the Magic Sword soon put the rob- 
 bers to flight. Then for a day or more the pilgrims and the 
 knights rested, no longer fearing an attack, and thankful for 
 their safety. The next day Chosroes also arrived with Theo- 
 dora, and, in answer to the questions of Cambuscan, told how 
 it was that they and Algarsif were there, for Algarsif so far had 
 refrained from telling his story. 
 
 " When you left the Magic Mirror with me, sire,' began 
 Chosroes, 'I looked into it and saw the terrible danger in which 
 Algarsif and Theodora were placed. They lay on the Dismal 
 Mountain enchanted by the wicked magician Demshack, and 
 I knew not how to reach them. Nevertheless I trusted in 
 Heaven, and set out to wander over the earth in the hope of 
 finding some means to save them ; and my hopes were fulfilled. 
 I came one day to a lovely grove, where I lay down and was 
 resting, when suddenly I saw before me a maiden of the most 
 surpassing beauty. 
 
 " ' "I am Alzobah, the fairy of this grove," she said, "and I 
 know the object of your wanderings, and will aid you. Take 
 this apple, and go to the Dismal Mountain, at the top of which 
 you will find a talisman to break the enchantment. I can tell 
 you no more. The mountain you will find easily while you have 
 
THE SQUIRE'S TALE 187 
 
 the apple, which also will help you when you least expect it." 
 " With that she vanished, leaving the apple in my hand. I 
 rose, and began my wanderings afresh. In a little time I found 
 myself at the foot of the Dismal Mountain, which I had seen 
 reflected in the Mirror. But it was in vain I tried to climb its 
 sides; they had become as smooth as glass, and after many at- 
 tempts and failures I flew into a passion, throwing away the 
 apple in my anger. But it was my rage which helped me, for 
 the apple, flying from my hand, was broken to pieces on the hard 
 ground, and out of it there fell the most perfect silken ladder, 
 which, when I cast it up the mountain-side, held fast, and thus 
 I speedily reached the top, and seized the talisman which I 
 found there. The mountain trembled and rocked, and a rum- 
 bling noise was heard ; then the trees and shrubs bloomed again, 
 the glassy sides became good firm earth, the murky river van- 
 ished, and I saw Algarsif and the Princess Theodora coming 
 towards me with the Brazen Horse. When we had heard each 
 other's adventures I looked again in the Mirror, which I had 
 still with me, and saw that the king Cambuscan was surrounded 
 by the Arabs in the desert. We agreed that Algarsif should 
 go to his aid at once with the Horse and Sword, while Theodora 
 and I followed as quickly as we could; and thus it came about 
 that the pilgrims were saved. 
 
 " 'And now, sire,' added the seer, 'you can return to your king- 
 dom. The will of Heaven is once more favorable to you. Re- 
 turn, therefore, and drive out the enemies who are now on your 
 borders.' 
 
 "The whole party now turned back to Sarray, where they 
 arrived without further adventure. They found the kingdom 
 being attacked by enemies on all sides, as Chosroes had said, 
 
i88 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 but the valor of the knights and the power of the magic gifts 
 soon put them all to flight, and Cambuscan once more reigned 
 with Elpheta in peace and prosperity to their lives' end. When 
 he died the kingdom was divided between Camballo, Algarsif, 
 and Triamond, who lived long and happily with the ladies they 
 had won in such strange fashion.'' 
 
 EPICURUS' OWN SON 
 
 FAITH, Squire, you have quit yourself well," said the Frank- 
 lin at the end of the tale of Cambuscan. 
 
 The Franklin was one of those who held their land free 
 without any rent or dues, and were no man's tenant or servant 
 but the King's. He was very well-to-do and prosperous, and 
 kept open house in his own county, where he had been both 
 sheriff and knight of the shire. He loved comfort and fine 
 living, and his house overflowed with meat and drink and every 
 good thing that could be imagined. He changed his dainties 
 according to the seasons of the year, and to that end had many 
 a fat partridge cooked up for eating, while his fish-ponds were 
 always full of bream and pike. Woe be to the cook if the sauces 
 were not piquant and sharp, or the meal not properly spread at 
 the right time I He had a great fixed table standing always in 
 his hall a sign of great wealth in those days, when all but 
 the very rich were content with a board put on trestles and taken 
 away again after use. 
 
 He was a rosy-faced man, with a beard as white as a daisy, 
 and he wore at his girdle a dagger and a pouch of milk-white 
 silk. 
 
EPICURUS' OWN SON 189 
 
 "You are a young man, Squire," he went on, for he was not 
 a very clever or well-educated man in spite of his wealth, "and 
 you have spoken very well, I must say. If you live you will 
 one day far surpass all of us here in eloquence, in my opinion. 
 I like your words vastly well. I have a son myself about your 
 age, and I would give twenty pounds' worth of land yes, 
 twenty pounds' worth to see him a young man like you. 
 Wealth and ease are no great things unless they have goodness 
 to back them. I am always having to rebuke him for his idle 
 ways ; he does nothing but play with the dice and spend money, 
 and he would rather talk to our page-boys than to a man of good 
 birth from whom he might learn something of gentle manners." 
 
 "A fig for your 'gentle manners,' Franklin," cried the Host, 
 with a rough laugh. "Remember that you have all got to tell 
 tales, and do not waste time." 
 
 "I know, good sir," answered the other. "Do not laugh at 
 me for saying a word or two to the Squire." 
 
 "Tell a tale, and do not talk," ordered the Host. 
 
 "Of course I will gladly obey you," the Franklin replied. 
 "I will do as you ask, so far as my poor wits allow me, and I 
 hope that I shall please you. The tale I will tell is one of those 
 which the ancient folk who dwelt in Brittany used to sing to 
 their musical instruments. But remember that I am only a rude 
 and unlettered man, sirs, and excuse my rough and ready words. 
 I never was taught to speak well, and I know nothing about 
 Cicero or the 'colors of rhetoric' which scholars talk of. The 
 only colors I know are those which I see in the fields, and those 
 with which men dye or paint. But now for my tale." 
 
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 
 THE ROCKS REMOVED 
 
 THERE once dwelt near Penmarch Point, in Armorica, the 
 ancient Brittany, a knight named Arviragus, who loved 
 a lady of that country, and did his best to serve her and 
 show her honor. Many a toil did he undertake and many a 
 perilous enterprise did he carry out in the hope of winning the 
 favor of Dorigen (for that was her name) ; but she was the 
 fairest lady under the sun, and of high birth, so that the knight 
 hardly dared to tell her of his love; and when he did so she 
 would not at first give him any hope of success in his suit. 
 
 "Nevertheless he was not discouraged, and at length, because 
 of his knightly conduct and his constancy, Dorigen at last con- 
 sented to take him for her husband; and he, in order to make 
 their lives still happier, of his own free will swore on his honor 
 as a knight that he would never force her to do anything against 
 her wish, but would obey her in all things as a lover should, 
 except that for the sake of his knighthood's honor he must keep 
 the name of being her lord and master, according to custom. 
 
 " 'Sir,' answered Dorigen, when he made this promise, 'since 
 of your gentleness you offer me such freedom, I pray to God that 
 nothing may ever come between us through my fault, and I vow 
 to be your humble and true wife to my life's end.' 
 
 "Thus they plighted their troth and were married, and lived 
 
 for a time happily and in peace; for Arviragus had no desire 
 
 190 
 
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 191 
 
 to constrain his wife's love to obedience, since patience and en- 
 durance profit a man more than all else; and so these two kept 
 their word to one another honorably, and dwelt in all joy to- 
 gether in the knight's castle. 
 
 "But when they had been married a year or more it fell to the 
 lot of Arviragus to go to England for a year or two to seek honor 
 in arms, and he left Dorigen, and was away from her two years. 
 She loved her husband as her own life, and at first wept and 
 mourned sorely when he was gone. But ever and again she 
 received tidings and letters from him, and her friends also came 
 to her and begged her to join them in their mirth and play, so 
 that at last she began to be comforted, and to go with them in 
 their walks, and take part in their pleasures once more. 
 
 "But the castle of Arviragus lay near the sea-coast, and very 
 often the company of ladies would wander along the high cliffs 
 by the shore; and in spite of all her brave endeavors to be merry 
 and cheerful as her friends were, Dorigen could not but sigh for 
 her dear husband when she saw the vessels sailing far out at sea. 
 
 " 'Is there no ship among all those that I see which is bringing 
 my lord home to me?' she would think. 'Ah, if there were my 
 grief would speedily be gone!' 
 
 "Or perhaps she would stand on the edge of a cliff, and look 
 down on the grim, black rocks far below till her heart quaked 
 with fear, and she could no longer stand upright on her feet, 
 but sank on to the grass, crying piteously, 'Alas ! what cruel rocks ! 
 Does not God, who made the wind to blow, know what harm 
 they do to mankind, and how they wreck ships and destroy the 
 crews utterly? Can my Arviragus escape them? The sight of 
 them strikes dread into my very heart; would to Heaven that 
 they were all sunk into the depths beneath!' 
 
1 9 2 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Her companions soon saw that she was distressed whenever 
 they walked by the sea, and thenceforth they went with her only 
 in the gardens of their castles, and by rivers and fountains, and 
 in like places of many delights, where they could pass the time 
 in playing chess and backgammon and other games. 
 
 "One morning they were all in a fair garden, gay with green 
 trees and fresh flowers, for it was the sixth of May. The garden 
 was laid out like Paradise itself, so that the ladies and the young 
 knights and squires with them took great joy in its beauty, and 
 after dinner fell to singing and dancing, all for lightness of 
 heart. Dorigen alone held aloof from their mirth, for her 
 husband was not among the dancers. 
 
 "Among the young knights who were dancing was a certain 
 squire named Aurelius, who could sing and dance better than 
 any man since the world began. He was young and strong and 
 honorable, rich, wise, and held in great honor; and, to cut my 
 story short, he had long loved Dorigen, even from the time be- 
 fore she was wedded to Arviragus. He had ever kept his love 
 hidden, like an honorable knight, and all the more since she 
 was married ; but now, since he could no longer hope to win her, 
 his life had become wearisome to him, and he was overcome 
 with despair; only in the songs he made and sang could he show 
 his sorrow, and in all else he had to hide and keep down his 
 love, which did but grow stronger the more hopeless it became. 
 
 "But to-day, in that fair garden, as he looked on its delights 
 and the happiness of his friends, his passion mastered him, and 
 he resolved to speak to Dorigen. Perhaps it was because he 
 looked at her so beseechingly, like a man who asks for grace, 
 that she was moved to a certain compassion of him; at any rate, 
 though Dorigen knew nothing of his intent, they fell in talk 
 
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 193 
 
 together that evening, for he was her neighbor, and a man of 
 worship and honor, and they had long been friends. 
 
 " 'Madam,' said the poor squire, 'would to Heaven that when 
 Arviragus went over the sea I too had gone and never come 
 back; for I love you, knowing that my love is in vain, and that 
 all I could do to serve you would be but for the breaking of 
 my own heart. Have pity on me, dear lady, for with a word you 
 can slay or save me!' 
 
 "Dorigen looked on him with deep pity, and strove to show 
 him how hopeless and impossible it was that she should be un- 
 true to Arviragus and give herself to him. 
 
 " 'I knew not that your mind lay thus,' she said; 'but now that 
 I know I can but tell you the truth. I can never be untrue to 
 my dear lord in word or deed; I am his now and always, and 
 that will ever be my answer to you. Lay aside this folly; I 
 could as soon give you my love, Aurelius,' she went on, hoping 
 to turn his thoughts with a jest, 'as that those grim rocks which 
 are all along the coast could be removed, every one, stone by 
 stone, till not one is to be seen. Cause that to be done, and I 
 will he yours.' 
 
 "Thus she spoke, knowing that what she said was impossible, 
 and saying it only in jest. But Aurelius, thinking that she meant 
 it in all seriousness, was only filled with blacker despair, and 
 went away from her sorrowfully, leaving her with her friends 
 to revel out the day until the horizon stole away the sun's light. 
 
 "When Aurelius reached his home he was half mad with dis- 
 tress. He fell on his knees, and began to pray to the ancient 
 gods, to Apollo, the god of the sun, and his sister Diana, queen 
 of the night, begging them to bring a great flood which would 
 rise high above the tallest rocks round Brittany, and hide them 
 
194 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 so long that Dorigen would believe them to be removed. But 
 his prayers were vain, and his frenzy grew so violent that he 
 fell down in a swoon, which lasted till his brother found him and 
 nursed him back into health again; and then for two years or 
 more he dwelt quietly at home, with grief raging at his heart. 
 
 "Meanwhile Arviragus came home again, and Dorigen was 
 right glad to see him; and now that they were once more to- 
 gether, all their days were full of mirth and rejoicing. 
 
 "But poor Aurelius pined and languished in despair, and his 
 brother, who was a great student, began to have fears for his 
 life; he knew all Aurelius's sorrow, but could find no remedy 
 for it. At last he bethought him that once, when he was study- 
 ing at Orleans, his fellow-student had by chance left upon his 
 desk a great book of magic and spells ; for the young students 
 loved to pore over strange subjects and curious knowledge which 
 they had no business to learn. He remembered also tales of 
 what had been wrought by necromancy; how magicians could 
 make a lake and barges rowing upon it appear in a banquet- 
 hall, or a grim lion come roaring in, or flowers spring into life 
 and blossom as in a meadow, or a vine grow with red and white 
 grapes, or could build a lordly castle of marble and stone, and 
 destroy it again in a moment. 
 
 " 'If I could find one of these magicians at Orleans,' he 
 thought to himself, 'perhaps he would help my brother; and 
 thus, perchance, he might bring it about that all the rocks round 
 Brittany should vanish, and ships sail over the place where 
 they stood; and then my brother could claim the Lady Dorigen 
 according to her word.' 
 
 "Why should I make a long story of it? He told Aurelius 
 about the book of magic he had seen, and they started together 
 
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 195 
 
 for Orleans, full of hope, for Aurelius was still bent on doing 
 as Dorigen had jestingly bidden him. 
 
 "When they drew near their journey's end, and were only 
 two or three furlongs from the city, they met a young student 
 roaming by himself, who greeted them courteously in Latin, 
 and then said a strange thing ( I know the cause of your coming 
 hither.' 
 
 "Aurelius and his brother were astonished at these words, and 
 still more when the stranger went on to tell them who they were 
 and what they had in their minds. Neither of them had ever 
 seen him before, and they knew in a moment that he must be a 
 magician, and that their journey would not be in vain. They 
 returned his greeting gladly, and followed him to his house, 
 for he was in truth a student of magic and a great wizard. 
 There they were entertained well with every kind of food and 
 dainty, and the magician showed them the wonders of his art. 
 
 "He made forests, and parks full of wild deer appear before 
 them, and harts with the largest horns that ever were seen ; and 
 there came huntsmen with hounds and slew a hundred or more 
 of the deer in the chase. Then the scene vanished, and they 
 saw instead men hawking and hunting herons by a river; and 
 next they were shown knights jousting in a plain, and then a 
 dance in which the magician himself seemed to be taking part. 
 But in the midst of it he clapped his hands, and lol the revel 
 vanished suddenly, and they were alone again in the wizard's 
 study, where they had been sitting all the time without ever 
 having to move to see these wonderful sights. 
 
 "Then they sat down to supper and feasted again, and after 
 that Aurelius began to treat with the magician about the price 
 to be paid for the removal of all the rocks round the coast of 
 
196 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Brittany, from the Gironde to the Seine. The wizard vowed 
 that he must have a thousand pounds for the task, and Aurelius 
 in his eagerness made light of the sum. 
 
 " What is a thousand pounds?' he cried. 'If I had the whole 
 wide world, I would give it you. It is a bargain, and you shall 
 surely be paid! We will set out to-morrow.' 
 
 "So they agreed about it, and went to bed. Aurelius slept 
 soundly that night, for now he thought that his woe was likely 
 to be ended at last. 
 
 "The next day all three went straight back to Brittany. It 
 was the cold, frosty season of December, when all the green 
 land is destroyed by sleet and rain; and the rocks looked grimmer 
 than ever that bitter Christmastide. Aurelius hurried the wiz- 
 ard with prayers and threats to carry out his promise; and 
 he set to work with all haste, toiling night and day at his spells 
 and incantations and magic tables and calculations of the sun 
 and stars, until he hit upon the right moment to work his charms ; 
 and then at length he accomplished his task, and all the rocks 
 round Brittany seemed to have vanished. 
 
 "Aurelius had been doubtful and impatient while the spell 
 was yet working, but now, when he saw the rocks really gone, 
 he went straight to Dorigen, and fell at her feet, saluting her 
 humbly and courteously. 
 
 " 'Dear lady,' he said, 'whom I love and honor above all the 
 world, have pity on me ere I perish for love, and remember your 
 word that you gave me. Not that I ask anything of you as by 
 right, for you are my sovereign lady, and your will is mine; but 
 in a garden here you made me a certain promise. I have car- 
 ried out your commands. Do as you will, but remember your 
 word f for lo! all the rocks are removed.' 
 
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 197 
 
 "With that he went away, leaving Dorigen amazed; all the 
 bright color fled from her face when she saw that the rocks 
 were indeed removed, and knew into what a trap she had so 
 innocently fallen. 'Alas! that this should ever have come to 
 pass!' she cried. 'I never dreamed that such a wonder could 
 happen.' 
 
 "She went home, almost unable to walk through fear; but 
 Arviragus was away, and would not return for some days, and 
 she had to wait and bear her grief in silence, for she dared not 
 tell it to any but her husband; and thus for a day or two she 
 mourned by herself, thinking of all the famous ladies who had 
 been given up against their will to those they did not love. At 
 last, however, Arviragus returned, and as soon as he saw her 
 asked her why she wept so sorely. 
 
 "Dorigen did but weep more bitterly. 'Alas! that I was ever 
 born!' she said. 'Thus and thus have I said and promised/ 
 And she told him all about her rash words, and how Aurelius 
 had caused the rocks to be removed, so that she must go to 
 the garden and give herself over to him. 
 
 "Her husband heard her gently and patiently, and at the end 
 asked, 'Is there aught else but this, Dorigen?' 
 
 "'No,' she answered; 'Heaven knows it is too much.' 
 
 " 'Let us not raise up for ourselves any further evil,' Arviragus 
 said. 'You must keep your word; I would rather die than that 
 you should be held in dishonor for breaking your promise, such 
 is the love I bear to you. Truth is the highest thing that man 
 can keep.' 
 
 "But with that word he burst into tears at the thought of what 
 a loss this cleaving to truth and honor would bring them. 'I 
 forbid you, on pain of death,' he said, 'to tell anyone else of this 
 
198 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 matter. Let me endure my woe as well as I can without any 
 open show of grief, or any sign which may bring your name into 
 ill repute.' 
 
 "Then he called a squire and a maiden. 'Go forth with 
 Dorigen,' he bade them, 'and take her to such-and-such a place.' 
 But he said no word of why she was going; and thus he kept his 
 promise to her, that he would never act against her will, and 
 refused to make her break her word. 
 
 "Do you think him hard and cruel to put his wife in such 
 peril?" asked the Franklin of the pilgrims, breaking off for a 
 moment. "Remember that it would be dishonorable for her to 
 break her word, however lightly given, and that he, too, was 
 but keeping strictly to his own word in letting her go. More- 
 over, hear the end of the tale; she may fare better than you 
 expect. When you have heard all the story, think what you 
 will. 
 
 "The squire Aurelius happened by chance to meet Dorigen as 
 she was bound for the garden where she had given him her word, 
 in order to give herself up to him. He greeted her gladly, and 
 asked her whither she went. 
 
 " 'To the garden, to keep my troth, as my husband has bidden 
 me. Woe is me!' she answered, weeping and distracted with 
 grief. 
 
 "Aurelius felt great pity in his heart for the distress which he 
 now saw that he had brought about, and he honored her and 
 the worthy knight Arviragus for their constancy and truth; and 
 as he went by her side to the garden he began to think that he, 
 too, would do well to be generous and give up his desire, rather 
 
THE FRANKLIN'S TALE 199 
 
 than keep Dorigen to her troth, and so wrong his knightly gentle- 
 ness and honor. 
 
 " 'Madam/ he said when they were come into the garden, 
 'hear how I will carry out my share of our bond. Go to your 
 lord Arviragus, and say to him that I see his great nobleness of 
 heart and your distress, and how he would rather have the shame 
 and sorrow of sending you away than that you should break 
 your word; and therefore I would liefer suffer woe all my life 
 than destroy the love that is between you two, and I here free 
 you wholly of our agreement, and take my leave of you, for you 
 are the best and truest lady that ever I knew. Only let all 
 wives beware how they give their word, seeing to what a pass 
 you came. Say thus to Arviragus; for surely I who am but a 
 squire can do a gentle deed as well as any knight.' 
 
 "Dorigen fell on her knees and thanked him; and then she 
 went back to Arviragus, and told him all that Aurelius had said, 
 and how he had generously freed her from her word. And I 
 need tell you no more of those two, save that Arviragus loved 
 and honored Dorigen as his queen, and she was ever true and 
 constant to him; and so they lived happily to their lives' end. 
 
 "But Aurelius, when he came to think of what he had done, 
 saw that for all his generosity he was in a strait. 
 
 " 'Alas! I promised the magician a thousand pounds of gold!' 
 he lamented. What shall I do? I must sell my possessions 
 and turn beggar to get the money; I cannot stay here and dis- 
 grace all my kindred. I must beg for grace, and pay my debt 
 by degrees, and keep my word to him honorably.' 
 
 "He collected all the money which he had by him, some five 
 hundred pounds or so, and took it to the student of magic, beg- 
 ging him of his gentleness to grant him time to pay the rest. 
 
200 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 'I have never yet failed in my word/ he said, 'and I will quit 
 myself of my debt, if I have to go a-begging in a threadbare 
 tunic to do it. Will you grant me two or three years if I give 
 security? Else I must sell my inheritance to get the money.' 
 
 " 'Have I not fulfilled my covenant to you? 7 asked the magi- 
 cian gravely. 
 
 " 'Yes, well and truly,' answered Aurelius. 
 
 " 'Have you not won your lady, as you desired?' asked the 
 other, not yet knowing what had happened. 
 
 " 'No, no,' replied Aurelius with a sigh, and told him all that 
 he had done. 'I could not but have pity,' said he; 'for Arvira- 
 gus wished rather to die in sorrow and distress than that his 
 wife should be false to her troth; and I saw Dorigen sad and 
 forlorn, yet keeping to her word ; and so I sent her back freely 
 to her husband, as he had freely let her fulfill her promise to me." 
 
 " 'Dear friend,' said the magician, 'each of you has dealt nobly 
 by the other. You are a squire, and he is a knight; but God 
 forbid that I, a humble student of magic, should be below you 
 in gentle and generous ways. I, too, can do an honorable deed 
 as fearlessly as any of you, and here I release you of the whole 
 of your debt as freely and utterly as though you had but this 
 moment crept out of the ground and never before set eyes on me. 
 I will not take a penny of you for all my labor, sir; you have 
 paid well for my living here, and it is enough. Farewell, and 
 God be with you!' 
 
 "With that he took his horse and rode on his way. And now, 
 which of them, Arviragus, Aurelius, the magician, or Dorigen, 
 was the truest and most generous, do you think?" 
 
THE SECOND NUN'S TALE 
 ST. CECILIE 
 
 THE Franklin ended his tale, and the pilgrims thanked 
 him heartily for it ; for they liked to hear stories which 
 dwelt particularly on some one single virtue, such as 
 truth-keeping in this tale, or patience and obedience in the 
 Clerk's tale, or constancy and endurance in the Man of Law's. 
 
 The next tale was told by the Nun, who came as attendant 
 upon the Prioress Eglantyne. But before beginning, she spoke 
 to her companions at some length about Idleness, "who," said 
 she, "is the doorkeeper of the Garden of Delights; and to keep 
 us from idleness, which is the cause of much confusion, I will 
 give you the story of St. Cecilie, the maiden martyr." Then she 
 explained to them the meaning and derivation of the name 
 Cecilie, as she understood it, and at last began her tale. 
 
 ST. CECILIE 
 
 CILIE was a maiden of Rome, of noble birth, and she 
 had been brought up as a Christian from her cradle, though 
 it was then the early days of Christianity, and those who held 
 that faith were persecuted and hated. But Cecilie was steadfast 
 in her belief, and ever bore Christ's Gospel in her heart, never 
 ceasing to pray to God and fear Him. 
 
 "As soon as she was of age to marry she was betrothed to a 
 
 201 
 
202 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 youth named Valerian. But when the day appointed for their 
 wedding came, she had made up her mind to give her life to 
 the service of God only, and not to marry; and she called Val- 
 erian and spoke thus to him: 'Beloved, there is a certain secret 
 which concerns me, and I am to tell it you ; you must swear not 
 to betray it.' 
 
 "Valerian vowed that, come what might, he would never 
 betray the secret, and she went on : 
 
 " 'I have an angel who loves me with a great love, and guards 
 me at all times, sleeping or waking; and if ever he perceives 
 that your love towards me is base or dishonorable, he will 
 straightway slay you, and you shall die then and there. But if 
 your love is true and honorable, then he will love you as he does 
 me, and will show you all his joy and brightness.' 
 
 "This she said, meaning to persuade Valerian to become a 
 Christian, for he was not yet of that faith. But he was amazed 
 at her words, and did not know how to understand them. 
 
 " 'If I am to trust you,' he said, 'let me see that angel and 
 look upon him ; and if he is a very angel, then I will keep your 
 secret; but if he is another man whom you love, I will slay you 
 both with this sword.' 
 
 " 'If you wish it, you shall see the angel,' said Cecilie; 'but 
 you must believe on Christ and be baptized. Go forth three 
 miles upon the Appian Way, and say to the poor folk who dwell 
 there that I, Cecilie, send you to them to find good Urban the 
 Old, for a secret purpose; and when you see this Saint Urban, 
 tell him what I have told you, for as soon as he has purified you 
 from your sin you shall see the angel.' 
 
 "Valerian went to the place as she bade him, and found there 
 
THE SECOND NUN'S TALE 203 
 
 the holy Urban living secretly, for fear of persecution, in the 
 Catacombs where the saints are buried; and he told him his 
 errand, and Urban, when he heard it, lifted up his hands in joy, 
 with tears falling from his eyes. 
 
 "Thanks be to Almighty God!' he said. <O Lord Christ, 
 Shepherd of us all, what good fruit is borne by Thy seed in 
 Cecilie! Lo, her spouse whom she was to marry, who was like 
 a fierce lion, now comes here to us to seek Thee, as meek as any 
 lamb! 7 
 
 "As he spoke there appeared suddenly the form of an old man, 
 clad in clear white robes, bearing in his hand a book with letters 
 of gold; and he stood before Valerian, who fell down as if 
 dead. But the old man raised him up, and began to read to 
 him from the golden letters of the book concerning the one 
 Lord Christ, one faith, one God, one baptism, one Father of all 
 things who is above all and over all everywhere. 
 
 "When he had read thus he asked Valerian, 'Believest thou 
 this thing?' 
 
 "And he answered, 'I believe it all, for no man can think of 
 any truer word under heaven.' 
 
 "Then the old man vanished, and Urban christened Valerian 
 there upon that spot. 
 
 "As soon as he was baptized, Valerian went back, and found 
 Cecilie in his chamber, with an angel standing by her side. The 
 angel had in his hands two garlands, the one of roses, and the 
 other of lilies ; one he gave to Cecilie, and the other to Valerian, 
 saying thus : 'Keep these garlands with pure hearts and bodies. 
 I have brought them to you from Paradise, and never more shall 
 they fade, nor lose their scent, neither shall any man be able to 
 
204 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 see them who is not pure and honorable. And thou, Valerian, 
 since thou hast so readily believed the faith, ask a boon, and it 
 shall be given thee.' 
 
 " 'I have a brother,' answered Valerian, 'whom I love better 
 than any man on earth. I pray that my brother may have grace 
 to know the truth as I do.' 
 
 " 'Thy prayer is pleasing to God,' said the angel, 'and both 
 of you shall come into His peace with the palm of martyrdom.' 
 
 "Even as the angel was speaking, Tiburce, Valerian's brother, 
 came into the chamber, and immediately was aware of the scent 
 of lilies and roses; and he wondered, for he saw no flowers, 
 and it was not the season for them. 
 
 " 'Whence at this time of the year comes that sweet savor of 
 roses and lilies which I smell?' he said. 'If I had the flowers 
 in my hands, I could not perceive the scent more clearly; and 
 with that scent I too seemed to be all changed in another way.' 
 
 " 'Two garlands have we,' answered Valerian, 'snow-white 
 and rose-red, that shine brightly, though your eyes have no might 
 to see them. And since through my prayer you smell their scent, 
 you shall also see them, dear brother, if you will straightway 
 believe aright and know the true faith.' 
 
 " 'Do you say this to me really, or do I dream?' asked Tiburce. 
 
 " 'Formerly we dwelt in dreams, brother,' Valerian replied, 
 'but now we live only in the truth.' 
 
 " 'What mean you by this?' asked Tiburce. 
 
 " 'I will tell you. An angel of God taught me the truth, and 
 you too shall know it, if you will renounce your false idols and 
 be pure in heart.' 
 
 "Then Cecilie showed him plainly that all idols are vain, for 
 they are but deaf and dumb images ; and she charged him to give 
 
THE SECOND NUN'S TALE 20$ 
 
 them up and become a Christian. He marveled at the truth 
 of her words, and at length answered that he believed; and 
 Cecilie, full of joy, bade him be baptized at once. 
 
 " 'Go now with your brother,' said she, 'and be baptized and 
 purified of your sins, that you too may look upon the angel whom 
 your brother has seen.' 
 
 " 'Tell me now, dear brother,' said Tiburce, 'whither and to 
 what man I must go.' 
 
 "To what man?' replied Valerian. 'Be of good heart; I 
 will take you to Urban.' 
 
 " 'To Urban?' said Tiburce in surprise. 'Do you mean that 
 Urban who has so often been condemned to death, and who is 
 always lurking in dark corners, not daring to show his face? 
 He would be burnt to death if he could be caught, and if we 
 join him and seek this God who is hidden from us in Heaven, we 
 too shall suffer for it in this world!' 
 
 " 'Nay, but men might well fear to lose this life if there were 
 no other to come after it,' said Cecilie. 'But there is a better 
 life in another place which none can lose.' And she explained 
 to him more fully the Christian faith, until he was convinced and 
 went with Valerian to seek Urban. 
 
 "Urban thanked God for his coming, and baptized him; and 
 he so increased in the grace of God that every day he saw the 
 angel, and every boon he asked of Heaven was granted. 
 
 "It would be a long story to tell you how many wonders 
 were wrought in Rome through the holy lives of Cecilie and the 
 two brothers; but at last the rulers of the city grew angry at 
 their teaching and the numbers they converted, and they were 
 sent for, and brought before the prefect Almachius. 
 
 "The prefect questioned them long and severely, and learnt 
 
206 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 what faith it was that they taught; and in the end he set them 
 before an image of Jupiter, the king of the Roman gods, pro- 
 claiming, Whosoever will not do sacrifice to Jupiter, his head 
 shall be struck off!' 
 
 "The Christians would not bow down to the idol, and they 
 were seized by one Maximus, an officer of the prefect; but when 
 he laid hands on them he could not but weep for pity. They 
 began to teach both him and the executioners, so that very soon 
 these hard-hearted Romans themselves began to lose their old 
 heathen faith, and to learn the teaching of Christ; and in a little 
 while they were all baptized and became Christians. 
 
 "The next day the three were once more led to the image of 
 Jupiter, and ordered to worship it or to burn incense before it; 
 but they refused, and fell on their knees, and prayed humbly to 
 God; and thereupon the heads of Valerian and Tiburce were 
 cut off, and they died. 
 
 "But Maximus, who had been present at their death, spread 
 the news of it far and wide, and said that as they perished he had 
 seen their souls gliding up to Heaven in the care of bright 
 angels ; and with his words he converted many. But when this 
 came to the ears of Almachius, he commanded Maximus also 
 to be seized, and beaten with whips of lead till he was 
 dead. 
 
 "Cecilie caused his body to be buried beside that of Valerian 
 and Tiburce, and herself (for she had been let go free) continued 
 teaching and doing good. But soon the prefect again sent his 
 servants to seize her; and, though she converted them also to 
 Christianity, she was nevertheless brought before Almachius. 
 
 " 'Do you care nothing for my power ?' he asked her, when 
 he had questioned her about her faith. 
 
THE SECOND NUN'S TALE 207 
 
 u r 
 
 Tour might is little to be feared/ she answered. 'All 
 mortal power is but as a bladder full of wind that is emptied 
 and shrunk at the prick of a needle's point.' 
 
 " 'You persevere in wrong-doing,' said the prefect. 'Do you 
 not know that our emperors have commanded that Christians 
 shall be punished unless they renounce their faith?' 
 
 " 'The wrong-doing is yours, and your emperors and nobles 
 err grievously. It is you who make us commit a crime; yet, 
 because we know the name of Christ to be good, we cannot deny 
 it.' 
 
 " 'Choose one or the other do sacrifice, or deny your faith 
 and so go free,' said Almachius impatiently. 
 
 "Cecilie laughed a little. 'Over-subtle judge, 1 she cried, 'do 
 you fancy that I shall give up my innocence, and save my life by 
 wickedness?' 
 
 " 'You know not how far my power stretches,' said Almachius. 
 'Life and death are in my hands ; why, then, do you speak so 
 proudly to me?' 
 
 "But Cecilie would not yield, and began to show the judge 
 the Christian faith, till he grew angry and cried, 'Take her 
 home to her house, and burn her in a bath of flame.' 
 
 "It was done as he ordered. Cecilie was put in a bath, and 
 night and day they heated a great fire underneath. But a great 
 miracle came to pass, for, in spite of all the flames, she suffered 
 no hurt, nor even was warmed by them. 
 
 "Nevertheless her fate was to die. Almachius heard what 
 happened, and sent a servant to slay her as she still lay in the 
 bath. The man came, and smote her neck with a sword; three 
 times he struck, wounding her at every stroke, and yet failed to 
 sever her head from her body; and with that his courage failed 
 
208 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 him, and he durst lift his sword no more, but went away, leaving 
 her wounded to death. 
 
 "But there was one more marvel before she died, for in this 
 state she remained alive three days, teaching the Gospel and 
 exhorting her household to faith and hope ; and on the last day 
 she sent for Urban, and spoke thus to him: 
 
 " 'I prayed the King of Heaven to grant me these three days 
 of life, that I might strengthen and comfort my friends and 
 brethren in faith ; and now I commit them to your charge, with 
 all my possessions.' 
 
 "Thus she died, and Urban and his deacons fetched her body 
 secretly, and buried it with those of the other saints; and her 
 house was consecrated, and became the Church of St. Cecilie." 
 
 THE COURTEOUS STRANGERS 
 
 BY the end of the Nun's tale the pilgrims had ridden some 
 five miles or more, and were at Boughton-under-Blean. 
 Here two travelers overtook them. The foremost of 
 them, who seemed to be the other's master, wore a long black 
 cloak with a white surplice underneath. His horse, a dapple- 
 gray hackney, was steaming and almost tired out, as if from a 
 hard ride, and his servant's was in no better case. He himself 
 was splashed with foam till he looked like a magpie, and his 
 hat was dangling by a string at his back, for it had blown off as 
 he rode. He had a wallet, nearly empty, folded double behind 
 him on the crupper, and he seemed to be traveling in light array, 
 being dressed as if it were summer, and in threadbare garments 
 at that. He must have been riding like a madman, for he was 
 in a wonderful heat, in spite of a burdock-leaf which he had 
 
THE COURTEOUS STRANGERS 209 
 
 under his hood to keep him cool. The pilgrims could not make 
 out his rank till they saw that this hood, which was fastened at 
 the back of his cloak, was sewed on, and then they knew that he 
 was a canon, a member of a properly-registered body of clergy, 
 because that was the dress ordained for them to wear when away 
 from home. 
 
 He drew near, and addressed the travelers very politely. 
 
 "God save all this merry company!" he cried. "I have rid- 
 den fast to overtake you, because I wanted to go with you on 
 your way." 
 
 His yeoman, or servant, joined in: 
 
 "Yes, sirs, I saw you starting from your inn this morning, and 
 told my master. He would like very much to ride with you 
 and share your merriment. He loves mirth." 
 
 "Thank you, friend," answered Harry Bailly. The Host 
 desired to find out a little more about these polite strangers. 
 The Yeoman was riding by his side, the Canon having fallen in 
 among the other pilgrims. "Your master shows his wisdom in 
 joining us. I dare say he is a cheerful enough man himself. 
 Could he tell us a tale or two to amuse us?" 
 
 "A tale? My master tell a tale? Yes, sir, he is the man for 
 merry stories! Trust me, you would be amazed at his skill and 
 cleverness if you knew him as well as I do. He does many a 
 great work which all of you here would find it hard to do unless 
 you learnt the way from him. Look at him now; he is riding 
 among you now so humbly and quietly like any ordinary man, 
 and yet if you knew him well you would not fail to get great 
 profit thereby. I will wager all I have that you would not 
 forego his friendship for a good deal. He is a great and wise 
 man, I tell you a man a long way out of the common." 
 
210 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Well," said the Host, growing rather suspicious of all this 
 fine talk, "who is he? Tell me, is he a scholar?" 
 
 "He is a greater man than that," answered the Yeoman. "You 
 shall hear a little about his business. Of course I cannot tell you 
 everything, though I myself am able to help him a good deal 
 in his work. You see this road on which we are riding? Well, 
 I tell you my master is so clever that he could turn it clean up- 
 side down from here to Canterbury, and pave it all with silver 
 and gold!" 
 
 "Bless mel" said the Host, now certain that the Canon had 
 joined the pilgrims only in order to cheat money out of them 
 somehow or other. "I wonder that such a clever man, one to 
 whom men should look up with such reverence, thinks so little 
 of his position ; his cloak is all dirty and torn and useless. Why 
 does your master go so poorly clad, tell me, if he can do such 
 wonders as you say?" 
 
 The Yeoman began to think that he was found out, and the 
 Host's question startled him. The thought of the life which he 
 was praising so boldly, but which was really one of endless hard- 
 ship, overwhelmed him for the moment, and he lost his presence 
 of mind. 
 
 "Why do you ask me such questions?" he said hastily. 
 "Heaven help me, my master will never make a living for us!" 
 Then he collected his senses, and tried to undo what he had said. 
 "But you must not believe every word I say, and so I beg you to 
 keep our poverty a secret, if you can. The reason why we seem 
 so poor is that my master is too clever. He has great wisdom 
 too much, indeed, for he misuses it. It grieves me that he does 
 so, but I can 'do no more than pray that he may become a better 
 
 i man." 
 
THE COURTEOUS STRANGERS 211 
 
 "Never mind that, good Yeoman," said Harry Bailly, "but 
 since you know your master's business, tell us how he uses this 
 cunning of his. Where do you live?" 
 
 "In the suburbs of a town," replied the Yeoman, giving up 
 the attempt to deceive the Host any longer, "lurking in terrible 
 dark corners and blind alleys, where robbers and thieves who 
 dare not show their faces are hidden. That is where we live, 
 if you must have the truth." 
 
 "Very well. Now another thing: why is your face so pale?" 
 
 "From blowing the furnace. I do it so much that it has 
 changed my color. We are alchemists, if you must know, al- 
 ways seeking to turn everything into gold; and hard work I have 
 over it. We cram our heads with calculations till we are stupid, 
 and then pore over the fire endlessly, but nothing ever comes of 
 it. We borrow money a pound or so, or ten or twelve, or even 
 more, and tell the people we will make them two pounds out of 
 every one which they lend us. Yet we always fail, though we 
 are forever groping and searching hopefully after success. We 
 cannot do as we promise, and the money slips away so fast that 
 we are beggars in the end." 
 
 While the Yeoman was talking the Canon drew near. He 
 had a guilty conscience, and was always suspicious of what men 
 said out of his hearing. As soon as he caught a few words he 
 guessed what was happening. 
 
 "Hold your peace, knave 1" he burst out. "Not a word more, 
 or you shall rue it! You are slandering me to this company, 
 and revealing all our secrets." 
 
 "Tell on, Yeoman," said the Host, "and never heed his 
 threats." 
 
 "Faith, there is little more to tell," said the Yeoman. 
 
212 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 The Canon saw that he was betrayed, and that his servant 
 would let the pilgrims into all his secrets. He turned his horse 
 round angrily, and rode away in a fury of shame and rage, and 
 they saw no more of him. 
 
 "Now I will speak freely, and give you something to laugh 
 at," said the Yeoman. "I will tell you all I can now that he is 
 gone. Bad luck to him! I hope he will be well paid out for 
 taking me into his trade. I would not go back to serve him 
 again for any wages you could give me. All the tricks I had to 
 play in his service were deadly earnest for me, for our living 
 hung upon them, and I never had a chance to leave him before 
 in spite of all my toil and misery. But now that he is gone I will 
 not spare him. You shall learn something about the secrets 
 of alchemy. 
 
 "I was with the Canon seven long years, and am none the 
 better off after it all. All that I had I have lost, and so has 
 mariy another man who trusted him. When I first went to him 
 I was fresh and red-cheeked and gayly clad; now my face is pale 
 and lead-colored, and my eyes all sore from the fire, and I have 
 to use an old stocking to cover my head. I have toiled un- 
 ceasingly, and have got no good out of it, and I shall never be 
 free from the debts for the gold I have borrowed. So much for 
 the profits of the slippery science of alchemy! Anyone who be- 
 comes an alchemist first of all loses his own money, and then 
 tries to make others do the same. 
 
 "This is how we would set to work. We talked to everyone 
 very wisely and glibly about our wonderful science,' using strange 
 terms, though for my part all I had to do was to blow the fire till 
 I was tired out. We kept our furnace burning all day and all 
 night too, and made use of all sorts of drugs and powders. We 
 
THE COURTEOUS STRANGERS 213 
 
 ourselves, as well as our dupes, were always full of fresh hope 
 after each failure. Men grow so eager in this kind of learning 
 that if they had but one coat to cover their bodies with they 
 would sell it in order to he able to continue their search." 
 
 Then the Yeoman gave a long list of all the strange mixtures 
 they had to buy and make up. But it was all in vain ; they never 
 succeeded in turning other metals into gold. And when they 
 had done everything according to their calculations, "the pot 
 would blow up and burst all over the room, and good-by to 
 all our labor and all our money! Pieces of metal would fly into 
 every corner, and some would even break holes in the wall with 
 the force of the explosion. Then the people who had lent us 
 the money or metal would be discontented and blame us. One 
 said that the metal was too long in the furnace; another, that 
 the fire was not properly blown, and that would make me feel 
 a little afraid, for the blowing was my share of the work; but a 
 third would laugh at such a reason, and say that it was because 
 the heat was not properly regulated, or because the fire was 
 made of beech-wood. 
 
 " 'Well,' my master would answer them, 'there is nothing to 
 be done. The pot must have been cracked; I will be more care- 
 ful in future. Pluck up your spirits, and let us sweep the 
 pieces together.' 
 
 "The pieces would be collected, and each one would search 
 them and think that he had come upon a little piece of his own 
 particular metal among them (they used to bring us bars of 
 metal to turn into gold, besides paying for our acids and drugs). 
 'Never mind that,' my master used to say; 'if I do not set it 
 all right next time put the blame on me. Trust me, sirs, there 
 must have been some little mistake, I am sure.' 
 
214 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "It was all of no avail. Yet we kept to it like madmen in 
 spite of failure, and we were all as wise as so many Solomons 
 when we talked about it together. 
 
 * Well, all that glitters is not gold, they say, and he who seemed 
 to be the wisest of us often turned out a fool when it came to 
 the work, while the most honest-seeming might after all be a 
 thief, as you will see by the tale I will now tell you." 
 
THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE 
 THE ALCHEMIST 
 
 THERE is a certain canon of whom I have heard whose 
 cunning would be great enough to corrupt a whole town, 
 though it were as big as Nineveh or Rome, or Troy, or 
 Alexandria, or any other three put together. No man, even 
 if he wrote for a thousand years, could tell of all this canon's 
 subtlety and falseness. He has only to speak to a man to wheedle 
 him out of his senses, and though he has beguiled many a one ere 
 now, and will beguile many more, nevertheless people are still 
 ignorant enough to flock to make his acquaintance and be taken 
 in by him. 
 
 "But you must not think," said the Yeoman gravely, breaking 
 off for a moment, "that I mean this canon to stand as a type of 
 all canons ; God forbid that a whole community should get a bad 
 name from one man's folly! I do not mean to slander canons 
 in general, but only to show what is amiss, for you know that 
 there may be one traitor even among the best of men. As for 
 this canon who is the subject of my tale, my tongue is too feeble 
 to describe all his wickedness ; still, I will do my best that it may 
 be a warning to you." 
 
 "Is this canon of whom you tell your master who has just left 
 us?" asked the Host. 
 
 "No, my master was a cunning and treacherous rogue, as even 
 my poor discolored cheeks show by blushing when you speak of 
 him; but this canon was a hundred times more subtle than he, 
 
 215 
 
216 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 and what I will tell you is only one little one of all his tricks. 
 
 "There was a certain salaried priest living in London who 
 was very well off for money. He made himself so pleasant to 
 the good-wife of the house where he lodged that she charged him 
 nothing for board, and let him take whatever clothes he liked 
 from her store, however rich or gay, so that he had enough silver 
 and to spare for spending as he wished. 
 
 "One day the crafty canon came into his chamber. 
 
 " 'Lend me a mark,' * he asked, 'for just three days. I will 
 be sure to pay you back in good time. If I do not, why, I give 
 you leave to hang me by the neck.' 
 
 "The priest was nothing loth, and gave him a mark with all 
 speed, and he took his leave and went away. On the third 
 day he brought the money punctually and repaid the priest, who 
 was very glad to have it back again. 
 
 " 'I am always ready,' he said in his joy, 'to lend a friend a 
 noble or two, especially when he is so true to his promise as 
 never to put off the day of payment; I can never refuse such a 
 man.' 
 
 " 'I would not be so false as to delay in repaying you,' said the 
 crafty canon. 'That would be against my nature, for truth is a 
 thing that I will always hold by until the day when I creep into 
 the grave. No man was ever sorry for lending me gold or silver, 
 and I have never been untrue to anyone. And now,' he added, 
 'since you have been so good to me, and have treated me so 
 kindly, I will show you some of my secrets to repay you, and 
 if you care to learn them, I will teach you some of the ways of 
 science. I will do a master-stroke ere I leave you.' 
 
 " 'Indeed,' said the priest, 'will you? Pray do so.' 
 
 * A coin worth about $3.25. 
 
THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE 217 
 
 " 'As you will,' answered the canon. 'I will not do anything 
 against your wish.' 
 
 " The priest knew nothing of the canon's roguery, and was al- 
 together deceived by his artful politeness and promises, and his 
 cunning offers of friendly service. 
 
 " 'Let your servant go and fetch some quicksilver as speedily 
 as possible,' said the canon 'two or three ounces of it. When 
 he has brought it I will show you a marvel the like of which you 
 never yet saw.' 
 
 " 'It shall be done as you say, sir,' answered the priest, and 
 sent his man in haste on the errand. When the quicksilver 
 arrived the servant was set to work to bring coals to make a fire, 
 and the canon produced a little crucible from the folds of his 
 garments. 
 
 " 'Take this vessel,' he said to the priest, 'and put in it an 
 ounce of quicksilver, for now it is time for you to learn science 
 and become a philosopher. There are not many men to whom 
 I would show so great a secret as this, for what I am going to do 
 is to work upon this quicksilver in such a manner that it will 
 turn before your very eyes into real refined silver, as pure and 
 good as any you carry in your purse; and I shall accomplish 
 this by means of a certain powder, very dear and rare, which I 
 have with me. Let your man leave the room, and shut the door 
 fast, for we can have no spies upon such a secret as this.' 
 
 "Everything was done as the canon ordered, and the priest set 
 the crucible with the quicksilver in it on the fire, and fell to 
 blowing up the flames busily. The canon cast into the crucible 
 a powder made of chalk or powdered glass, or something else 
 quite worthless, for it was only meant as a blind to deceive the 
 priest 
 
218 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 U I 
 
 Tile the coals and charcoal all round and over the crucible/ 
 he said. 'To show the regard I have for you, you shall yourself 
 with your own hands do the greater part of this marvel.' 
 
 " 'Thank you,' answered the priest, glad to be taken into the 
 canon's confidence, as he thought. 
 
 "But while the priest was busily tending the fire the canon 
 took out of his pocket a carefully-prepared lump of beech-wood 
 charcoal, which had a hole in it containing about an ounce of 
 silver filings. The hole was stopped up with wax. 
 
 " 'You are not arranging the fire aright,' said the canon, hold- 
 ing the lump of charcoal concealed in his hand. *I will soon 
 see to it. Let me come for a moment, for I see you are hot 
 with your work, and would like to wipe your face.' 
 
 "As the priest was wiping his face, and could not see clearly 
 what was done to the fire, the canon laid his charcoal well over 
 the crucible, and covered it up with other pieces of coal and 
 charcoal. Then he began to blow the fire vigorously till it 
 flamed and burnt up furiously, so that the wax in the beechen 
 charcoal was melted, and the silver filings fell out* of the hole 
 into the crucible. 
 
 "Meanwhile the canon and the priest sat down and feasted, 
 so as to let the fire cool, and at length they looked at the result 
 of their work. The priest was amazed when he saw the silver 
 filings, for of course he had noticed no difference between the 
 extra piece of charcoal and the rest. 
 
 "As soon as the canon saw that the time was ripe for another 
 trick, he said to the priest: 'I know that you have not such a 
 thing as a silver ingot. Go out now and get a piece of chalk, 
 and I will make you an ingot out of it. Bring also a bowl or 
 pan full of water. But perhaps to prevent you thinking that I 
 
THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE 219 
 
 am preparing some trick in your absence, I had best come with 
 you.' 
 
 "So they went out together, and presently came back with all 
 that was required. The canon took the chalk and scraped it 
 into the shape of an ingot which he had hidden in his robes ; the 
 real ingot was of silver, an ounce or so in weight. He threw 
 the chalk-stone into the crucible, and managed to put in the 
 silver ingot also without the priest observing it. Then after 
 a time he turned the whole contents of the crucible into the pan 
 of water, and called to the priest: 'Look in the bowl! Put 
 your hand in and grope, and you will find silver, I expect.' 
 
 "The priest put his hand in, and of course brought out the bar 
 of silver. 
 
 " 'A blessing on you, Sir Canon I' he cried joyously. 'If you 
 will be so kind as to teach me all this noble science and its sub- 
 tlety, I will serve you as well as ever I can.' 
 
 " 'Well,' said the canon, 'try this experiment a second time, 
 that you may watch it and learn it carefully, and some other day, 
 when I am not here, you may try it for yourself. Take another 
 ounce of quicksilver, and do as you did the first time.' 
 
 "The covetous priest needed no second order, but fell to blow- 
 ing the fire again, having put the crucible and quicksilver in the 
 midst. Meanwhile the canon brought out a long stick which he 
 had ready for the purpose; the end of it was hollow, and in it 
 were put silver filings, the hole being stopped up with wax. 
 The canon cast in a powder, and began to poke the fire with the 
 stick till the wax was melted and the silver dropped out. 
 
 "Once more the poor deluded priest was overjoyed, and of- 
 fered himself as a servant for life to the canon. 
 
 " 'Yes,' said the canon complacently, but with a meaning 
 
220 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 which the priest could not then understand, 'though I am poor 
 I am clever; but there is more to come. Have you any copper?' 
 
 " 'Yes, sir, I think so,' answered the priest. 
 
 " 'If not, buy some,' said the canon. 
 
 "The priest procured some copper, and they weighed it; it 
 came to about an ounce. It was put in the crucible, and the 
 canon cast in a powder while the priest tended the fire, stoop- 
 ing low over the coals. The canon slipped a piece of silver 
 into the crucible, and afterwards turned the whole again into 
 the pan, and once more the priest groped and found the silver. 
 
 "The canon thought that he had done enough to get what he 
 wanted out of the priest; he had worked each trick twice, and 
 it only remained to test the silver which he had pretended to 
 make. 
 
 " 'Let us go to some silversmith with this metal,' he said to 
 the priest, 'and find out if it really is silver.' 
 
 "So they went and had the silver tested, and were told that it 
 was good metal. And now the priest was at the height of his 
 joy; he was as glad as a nightingale in May or a bird at sunrise, 
 and no gay knight was ever more eager to do deeds of prowess 
 for the honor of his lady than this priest was to get from the 
 canon the recipe for making the powder which had done such 
 wonders, and he begged him to say how much he should pay to 
 learn it. 
 
 " 'Well,' answered the canon, 'it is very expensive, I warn 
 you, for except myself and a certain friar no one else in England 
 knows how to make the powder.' 
 
 " 'No matter,' said the priest, 'for Heaven's sake tell me what 
 I am to pay.' 
 
 " 'It is very dear, as I said,' replied the other, 'but if you will 
 
THE CANON'S YEOMAN'S TALE 221 
 
 have it you must pay me forty pounds for the secret; and if it 
 were not that you have done me a kindness you would have had 
 to pay much more.' 
 
 "The priest somehow collected forty pounds and gave them to 
 the canon, who in return provided him with a long parchment, 
 which he said contained the recipe. "I do not wish to lose any- 
 thing/ he added, 'and so I beg you to keep this secret. If men 
 knew that I could do these wonders they would be so jealous 
 that they would kill me.' 
 
 "'Heaven forbid!' answered the priest. 'I would rather 
 spend all I have, and not use this precious recipe, than that you 
 should meet with such a fate!' 
 
 " Well, good luck befall you, and farewell!' said the canon. 
 
 "With that he went his way, and the priest never set eyes on 
 him again. But when the priest came to examine his recipe and 
 tried to make silver with its aid, all his toil came to nothing, 
 and he found that he had been tricked. 
 
 "Let this, then, be a warning to you all," ended the Yeoman, 
 "never to meddle with alchemy, or with those who are forever 
 seeking to find the philosopher's stone which will turn all things 
 into gold. It is Heaven's will that that stone shall not be found, 
 and if you search for it you will never thrive. My tale is 
 ended." 
 
 A QUARREL AND A MISHAP 
 
 SOON after this the pilgrims reached a little town close 
 under Blean Forest, near Canterbury, called Bob-up-and- 
 Down. As they were passing through it the Host caught sight 
 of the Cook, who was overcome with sleep, rolling from side 
 to side on his horse, and in great danger of falling off. 
 
222 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Ho, ho!" cried the Host, "will someone wake our comrade 
 behind there? He is asleep; he will fall from his horse, and 
 any thief might rob. him. Can it be a Cook of London that I 
 see sleeping thus? Make him come forward, and let us look 
 at him. He shall tell us another tale, or pay the penalty which 
 he knows well enough. Wake up, Cookl Why are you slum- 
 bering in the day-time?" 
 
 The Cook's face was all pale, and he answered drowsily: "I 
 am so heavy with sleep that I would rather have a nap than any- 
 thing you could give me." 
 
 "Well," the Manciple broke in, "I acquit you of your tale, 
 Cook. Who wants to hear a story from him? Look at his 
 dazed eyes, and his mouth gaping as if he would swallew us all ! 
 See how unsteady he is on his horse! How would you like to go 
 tilting at the quintain now, Cook? You would fall off before 
 you reached it, I warrant!" 
 
 The quintain was a cross-bar with a broad, flat surface at one 
 end and a sand-bag at the other; it spun on a pivot at the top of a 
 pole, and men used to tilt at the broad end (or fan) with lances, 
 showing their skill in avoiding the sand-bag as it swung round 
 when the fan was struck; it was a common pastime in Chaucer's 
 day. A quintain is still to be seen at Offham, in Kent, some 
 thirty miles or so from where the pilgrims now were. 
 
 The Cook was so angry at the Manciple's taunting words that 
 his rage made him speechless, and he could find no words to 
 answer him, but only nodded his head furiously, and in his 
 wrath he swayed to and fro so violently that the horse threw 
 him, and he fell to the ground. 
 
 The pilgrims picked him up, and got him on horseback again 
 with great pains, shoving him this way and that to make him 
 
A QUARREL AND A MISHAP 223 
 
 stay on. At last they got his unwieldy body fixed in the saddle, 
 and the Host turned to speak to the Manciple. 
 
 A manciple, you must know, was an officer who had charge 
 of the food of a college or of one of die Inns of Court, and had 
 to order victuals for all their meals. The one who went with 
 the pilgrims was a model of what such men could be, and his 
 accounts were always correct, with a balance on the right side, 
 whether he paid ready money or took his goods on credit. Many 
 of his masters for he had thirty or more of them, all of whom 
 he found time to serve were clever enough to manage any sort 
 of business, and yet this manciple contrived to befool them all. 
 
 "It is no use to ask the Cook for a tale," said Harry Bailly 
 to him, when the Cook was once more safely on his horse ; "he 
 will have trouble enough to stay where he is, and, besides, he has 
 a cold in his head, and does nothing but grunt and puff. But 
 you should not have spoken so rudely to him, Sir Manciple. 
 Remember, he is a cook, and may be able to pay you back some 
 day, when you come to buy the food which he is to roast or 
 bake. He might speak up about little things in your business, 
 and make you be careful to spend your money honestly." 
 
 "That would be a great misfortune," answered the Manciple. 
 "No, I must not quarrel with him; I would rather pay for that 
 great horse of his than make an enemy of him. See, I have 
 here some very good wine in a flask. Perhaps the Cook will 
 drink some of it; he would not say no." 
 
 The Cook was nothing loth. He drank the wine, and thanked 
 the Manciple as well as he could; and so the quarrel ended. 
 Then the Host asked the Manciple for a tale, which he began 
 forthwith. 
 
THE MANCIPLE'S TALE 
 HOW CROWS BECAME BLACK 
 
 WHEN Phoebus, the god of light, dwelt formerly on 
 earth (as old books tell us) , he was the finest and come- 
 liest man in all this world, and the best archer. He 
 slew the serpent Python as it lay asleep in the sun, and did 
 many another noble deed with his good bow; moreover, he could 
 play on every instrument of music so surpassingly that it was a 
 delight to hear his melody. In fact, he was the seemliest man 
 that ever was since the world began, full of gentleness and honor 
 and perfect uprightness. 
 
 "He kept at home in his house a crow, in a cage, and taught 
 it to speak, as men sometimes teach jays. This crow was white 
 as a snow-white swan, and could imitate any man's speech and 
 talk well himself ; and he could also sing as merrily and well as 
 any nightingale. 
 
 "Phoebus had a wife whom he loved more than life itself, 
 and night and day did his best to please her and do her rever- 
 ence, thinking that he was high in her favor, and that she loved 
 no one else. But he was deceived in her, for, in spite of his 
 comeliness, she really loved another, a man of little repute, 
 worth nothing by comparison with Phoebus, whom she had 
 married only for his position, though in truth she pretended to 
 be loving enough to him. 
 
 "It happened that the white crow one day saw the woman 
 
 and her lover conversing very fondly together when Phoebus was 
 
 224 
 
THE MANCIPLE'S TALE 225 
 
 absent. He made no sign, and said never a word to them then; 
 but when Phoebus came home he began crying out loudly and 
 calling him names. 
 
 " 'What evil song is that that you are singing, bird?' asked 
 Phoebus, startled. 'You used to sing so merrily that my heart 
 rejoiced to hear you; but what is this?' 
 
 " 'I sing aright,' answered the crow. Thoebus, for all your 
 uprightness, for all your beauty and gentleness, for all your 
 songs and minstrelsy, you are deceived; you are despised by 
 your wife, who loves a mean fellow of poor estate, not worth a 
 gnat by comparison with you!' 
 
 "The crow made Phoebus know for sure that his words were 
 true, and Phoebus, his heart full of sorrow and anger, set an ar- 
 row in his bow, and shot his wife ; and then in his woe he broke 
 up all his instruments of music his harp, lute, cittern, and 
 psaltery and then his bow and arrows. But when he had done 
 this in the heat of his anger, he grew cool again, and turned to 
 the crow (who was watching the effect of his rash words), and 
 spoke thus : 
 
 " 'Traitor! with your scorpion's tongue you have brought me 
 to confusion. Dear wife you who were so true to me you are 
 lying dead, all guiltless, I vow. Why did I trust such a hasty 
 rumor as this false crow told me? Where was my wit? where 
 my discretion? You false thief of a bird, I will pay you out! 
 You used to sing like a nightingale ; now you shall lose all your 
 song, and with it every one of your white feathers. Never in 
 your life shall you be able to speak again; you and your off- 
 spring forever shall be black, and shall have no sweet voice, but 
 shall only cry as a warning against tempests and rain, in token 
 that it was through you that my wife was slain.' 
 
226 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "With that he laid hold of the crow, and pulled out every 
 one of his white feathers, and took away his voice and speech, 
 and made him black, and flung him out of doors; and for that 
 reason all crows have ever since been black and harsh-voiced. 
 
 "Take heed, therefore, how you speak about other people, 
 sirs. Just as a sword cuts an arm off, so does a sharp tongue 
 sever friendship; keep a guard on it, then, and remember the 
 
 crow." 
 
 THE PARSON 
 
 BY the end of the Manciple's tale the afternoon was drawing 
 to a close, and with it the journey to Canterbury. It was 
 nearly four o'clock when the pilgrims reached a little village 
 through which their road lay, and the Host spoke again to 
 them. 
 
 "We want only one tale more now, sirs," he said. "My task 
 is nearly over for this half of our journey. Sir Priest," he went 
 on, turning to the Parson, "it is time that you told a story. Open 
 your wallet of learning, and let us see what you can give us. 
 You ought to be able to tell a fine tale." 
 
 But the Parson would not fall in with the jests and mirth of 
 which the other pilgrims were so fond. "You get no tale out 
 of me," he answered. "Why should I sow chaff for you when 
 I could as well sow wheat? If you would like an honest dis- 
 course on virtue and goodness, to show you the way on that 
 perfect, glorious pilgrimage to the heavenly Jerusalem, I can 
 give it you ; but as for a story, I am a man of the South Country, 
 and you know that we Southerners cannot spin out sounding 
 rhymes 'rum, ram, ruf ' as endlessly as you others do." 
 
THE PARSON 227 
 
 The good Parson meant that in his part of the country men 
 did not want to hear or sing the jingling poems, all filled with 
 words beginning with the same letter, which many folk liked so 
 much. But the pilgrims were willing to hear him, none the less. 
 
 "Say what you like, Parson," the Host told him, "but lose no 
 time in beginning. The sun will go down in a little while." 
 
 Then the Parson spoke to them as he had wished. He gave 
 them a noble sermon to remind them to repent of their sins, and 
 remember the purpose for which they had come on this pil- 
 grimage; and this was a fit ending to their journey, for they 
 saw the spires and battlements and city walls of Canterbury 
 itself before them as he was finishing it. 
 
AT CANTERBURY 
 THE CHEQUER OF THE HOOP 
 
 WHEN the pilgrims reached Canterbury, they entered 
 the city gate, and made their way to a well-known 
 inn called the Chequer of the Hoop. Here they 
 stopped for the night, meaning to go the next morning to the 
 Cathedral, and pay their vows at the shrine of St. Thomas. 
 
 On the morrow they rose in good time, and all had breakfast 
 together. But the Pardoner found that he fared very badly, 
 because the inn-servants paid such respect to rank that the poorer 
 members of the company were neglected, and a Pardoner was not 
 a very great person socially. He was passed over by the at- 
 tendants, while the grander people avoided him and did not 
 speak to him. Only one person seemed at all willing to serve 
 him, and that was the tapstress, the girl who drew the ale and 
 wine for the guests; and even she was too busy to do much for 
 him, for the innkeeper was all in a bustle at receiving so many 
 customers, and rated his servants soundly if they were not quick 
 and diligent in their duty. 
 
 At last she managed to beckon to the Pardoner to follow her 
 into the little taproom. 
 
 "This is my room," she said, "and here I sit by myself all 
 alone since my husband Jenkyn Harper died. Did you know 
 him? Ah, he was a fine man, from top to toe, and you would 
 
 never find a better dancer anywhere!" 
 
 228 
 
AT CANTERBURY 229 
 
 She began to weep at the thought of him, and wiped tears as 
 big as millstones from her eyes with a corner of her clean white 
 apron. She made such a show of grief, wailing and sighing and 
 wringing her hands, that the Pardoner might well have been 
 suspicious of her; but even a clever rogue can sometimes be 
 taken in. 
 
 "You make as much noise as if you were going to die your- 
 self," was all that he said, however. But he soon began to be 
 overcome by her bright eyes, and presently made her a fine long 
 speech, saying how much he admired her. 
 
 "Thank you, sir," she answered at the end of it. "You must 
 be a very great and noble man to talk so grandly! Sit down, 
 and let me pour you out some drink." 
 
 "Nay, it is not drink that I want," he said. "I am hungry; 
 I have had nothing to eat yet." 
 
 "Nothing to eat!" she cried. "Ah, I can soon put that right." 
 
 With that she ran out quickly into the town, and brought back 
 a pie, all hot, and set it before him. While he was eating it, 
 they conversed together; she told him that her name was Kit, 
 and talked to him so artfully that the silly Pardoner quite lost 
 his head in admiration of her. 
 
 He looked up at her and sighed, and muttered to himself, 
 and began to hum a love-song "Now, love, do thou me right." 
 
 "Eat and be merry," said she, not wishing to encourage him 
 too far. "It is only waste of time to wait for more company. 
 Why are you so low-spirited and dull? Are you thinking of 
 your lady-love at home?" 
 
 "Nay, my dear, it is for you only that I am sighing." 
 
 "You eat your breakfast; time enough to talk of love pres- 
 ently," said she. 
 
230 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 So the Pardoner finished his meal in silence. When he had 
 done, he rose, and threw down a groat by way of payment. 
 
 "What is this for, gentle sir?" asked the artful tapstress. 
 "You shall not pay a penny for this little breakfast." 
 
 The Pardoner vowed that he would pay no less than a groat, 
 good payment for those days. 
 
 "It is too much," she said, with a curtsey; "but, since you wish 
 it, I will put the money in my purse, lest you take it amiss that 
 I refuse your kindness." 
 
 "It is you who are kind," said the Pardoner. "If you had 
 charged me strictly, I should have thought you unkind and dis- 
 dainful and likely to forget me; but now I know that you care 
 for me." 
 
 "You are a very good and wise man," said Kit admiringly. 
 "I am moved to ask you a favor: I wish you could interpret a 
 dream I had last night. I thought that I was praying in church 
 when the parson and his clerk came up, and angrily bade me 
 begone, and turned me out. What does that mean?" 
 
 "May it fall out well for you!" said the Pardoner fervently. 
 "I will interpret it as well as I can. You know that very often 
 dreams go by opposites; well, yours means that you will soon 
 find a gay lover to console you. Pluck up heart; you shall have 
 a husband who will wed you and love you with all his heart. 
 The parson who put you out of church will lead you in again, 
 and help you with all his might and main to marry. That is 
 your dream, Kit: how do you like it?" 
 
 "Wonderfully well, i' faith; a blessing on you for explaining 
 it!" 
 
 Then the Pardoner took his leave of her, and rejoined the 
 other pilgrims, thinking over in his mind various plans for see- 
 
AT CANTERBURY 231 
 
 ing more of her, while she, on the other hand, was anxious to 
 get more money out of him somehow before he left Canter- 
 bury. 
 
 The pilgrims were now all ready to go to the Cathedral to 
 pay their vows and make offerings of silver brooches and rings 
 and the like, according to their means and their piety; and they 
 set out together very decorously. At the church-door a dispute 
 arose as to who ought to take the place of honor and enter first ; 
 but it was settled by the Knight putting forward the good Parson, 
 who therefore went in first, followed by the rest. 
 
 The Knight and the better disposed of the company went at 
 once to the shrine to do that for which they had come ; but the 
 Pardoner and the Miller and some others of the more disorderly 
 pilgrims clearly had not learnt the way to conduct themselves 
 in a church. They loitered along like stray goats, staring at 
 the rich gifts stored in the Cathedral, and peering up at the 
 stained-glass windows with loud exclamations of wonder and 
 surprise. 
 
 "Look at the man in that window," said the Pardoner; "he 
 has a quarter-staff." 
 
 "No," cried Robin Miller, "it is a spear; you can see the 
 point." 
 
 "Peace," said the Host; "let the windows alone. Go up and 
 give your offerings, and now that you are in good company in 
 a sacred place, let your bad manners disappear for a little." 
 
 So they went up to the shrine, some of them still audibly dis- 
 puting about the windows, and pretending to read the coats of 
 arms emblazoned on them, after the fashion of the gentlefolk, 
 whose duty it was to have a good knowledge of such things. 
 
 They all kissed the relics one after the other, a monk standing 
 
232 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 by and explaining everything to them; and after the service they 
 went round the Cathedral, and saw other famous treasures. 
 When they had seen all the sights it was getting towards noon and 
 nearly dinner-time, and they began to think of returning to the 
 Chequer of the Hoop. But first they had to buy pilgrims' tokens 
 to put in their caps and show as a sign of their journey little 
 flasks said to contain water mixed with the tiniest drop of blood 
 of the martyred Thomas a Becket, or stamped images of his 
 head, or the small bells from which the flower called "Canter- 
 bury bell" takes its name, or Canterbury brooches, and the like. 
 
 The Miller, always a dishonest knave, contrived to fill his 
 cloak with a number of tokens which he stole from those who 
 were selling them ; and as soon as possible he and the Pardoner 
 divided the spoils, and put them in their pouches, without any- 
 one seeing them, as they thought. 
 
 Suddenly the Miller was startled to hear a voice whispering 
 in his ear, "I want half." 
 
 He looked round, and saw the Summoner. "Hush!" he said, 
 in terror; "do not speak so loud. Look at our friend the ras- 
 cally Friar, how he is lowering at us under his hood! It must 
 indeed be a secret that he would not find out, bad luck to him!" 
 
 "Amen to that!" said the Summoner. "You heard the tale 
 he told about a Summoner. If we tell more stories on the way 
 home, I will have no mercy on him. But I want my share in 
 your brooches, or I will betray you." 
 
 The Miller had to give up part of his winnings, which he did 
 with an ill grace; and they all went on proudly displaying their 
 new tokens (the honest ones, at least) till they reached their inn, 
 where basins were brought, and they washed in due order before 
 sitting down to dinner. 
 
AT CANTERBURY 233 
 
 The Host was standing for a few moments in the doorway of 
 the house, when a stranger came riding up on a tall lean horse 
 with a rusty bridle; he was wearing a black cloak instead of the 
 more usual green one, and seemed thin and worn. 
 
 "Ho! Sir Dominic, Sir Clement, or whatever you call your- 
 self!" cried the noisy Host, bluff and headstrong as ever, "you 
 are welcome into Kent, even though your hood is threadbare and 
 your bridle and bit poor ones, without bells or trappings. I 
 pray you tell me your name and whence you come, and why 
 you look so pale and worn." 
 
 "My name is John Lydgate," he answered, "and I am a monk 
 of Bury, nearly fifty years of age. I came hither as a pilgrim 
 for the good of my health, and to return thanks to God for the 
 preservation of it. I am nowise ashamed of myself or my 
 
 name." 
 
 The Host thanked him for his answer, and asked him to have 
 dinner with the company from Southwark. "You are all alone," 
 he said; "join us, and eat your fill of pudding and haggis, and, 
 if you will, be our companion on our return to-morrow. If you 
 will go with us, do not trouble about waking yourself early in 
 the morning, when you go to bed ; I will be sure to call all my 
 flock in good time. That is my business, for you must know that 
 everyone here obeys me and dares not gainsay me ; and we have 
 made a custom of telling tales on the journey, so that if you join 
 us when we set out, you too must take your part." 
 
 Lydgate agreed, and joined the rest at their meal, which was 
 an exceedingly merry one. The table was a large board set 
 on trestles, well spread with food and drink. The Squire, ac- 
 cording to the usual custom, carved before his father, and did 
 it very dextrously. The Franklin thoroughly enjoyed his food, 
 
234 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 and the Monk's eyes sparkled as he did his share in the feasting. 
 The Prioress was noticeable for her delicate way of eating; she 
 was very clean and dainty over it not a very common thing in 
 those days, when there were no knives and forks, and people 
 used their fingers for their food. They ate off trenchers large, 
 flat plates of bread which could be themselves eaten or bestowed 
 on the poor when done with and the scraps were thrown freely 
 to the dogs hanging about in expectation of them. 
 
 For a little while the pilgrims were rather silent, being, per- 
 haps, too busy to talk; but very soon their spirits became more 
 lively, and they made good cheer. The Host at length thought 
 it time to speak. 
 
 "I thank you all, sirs," he said, "for being so courteous and 
 obedient on the road to this town; you have been very good 
 subjects to me. But you must not forget that we have to tell 
 tales on the way back." 
 
 "And you, too, must remember, Host, that we are all to sup 
 with you at Southwark," cried the Friar. "That is true, is it 
 not, Sir Knight?' 7 
 
 "True enough," the Host at once agreed. "No witnesses to 
 that are needed: you hold to your promise, I to mine." 
 
 "Well said, Host!" said the Knight. "I am satisfied." 
 
 "Now that we have all dined," continued the Host, "let us 
 amuse ourselves till it is time for supper. We must go to bed 
 early to-night, to start in good time to-morrow." 
 
 They rose from the table, and all who had fresh clothes witl 
 them put them on, and then they scattered to various plac< 
 The Knight and his son the Squire, with a few others, went 
 look at the fortifications of Canterbury. The Knight carefully 
 
AT CANTERBURY 235 
 
 explained everything to his son, and pointed out the loopholes 
 and points of vantage in the wall; and the Squire listened, and 
 took it all in, for, though his thoughts still ran on his lady-love, 
 he was interested and skilled in everything connected with war 
 and arms. 
 
 As they were walking about, the Clerk took occasion to speak 
 to the Summoner about his quarrel with the Friar. 
 
 "You ought not to be offended," said he. "All men and all 
 trades are not perfect. There is a great deal to be said for both 
 of you ; and, besides, if the Friar knows the evils about which 
 he speaks, he is therefore able to avoid them." 
 
 "What a good thing it is to be a Clerk!" said the Knight slyly; 
 "he can favor both sides alike." 
 
 As for the other pilgrims, the Monk had gone off with the 
 Parson and the Friar to visit an acquaintance of his who had 
 long ago asked him to come and see him at Canterbury. The 
 Wife of Bath, on the other hand, was so weary that she had no 
 wish for further wanderings, and she went up to the Prioress and 
 took her by the hand, saying, "Madam, will you walk with me in 
 the inn garden to look at the flowers? Afterwards we can talk 
 to the mistress of the house in her parlor." 
 
 So they went into the garden, which was pleasant and neatly 
 kept, and there they talked and amused themselves all the after- 
 noon. And now, out of all the pilgrims, only the Pardoner was 
 left in the inn, and he had stayed behind on purpose. He went 
 straight to the taproom as soon as the others were out of the way, 
 and found Kit lying down. 
 
 She pretended at first not to see him, and then started up as if 
 angry. 
 
236 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "You should have coughed when you came in," she cried, 
 "to let me know that you were coming. Where are your man- 
 ners?" 
 
 "Never mind, Kit," answered the Pardoner. "How have you 
 been since I saw you last? It would go to my heart if you had 
 not been well." 
 
 "Ah, you clever men!" sighed Kit. "By a mere look you can 
 make us do as you please!" 
 
 They went on talking, and very soon the Pardoner told her 
 why he had come. He wanted her to have supper with him that 
 evening privately, and he left her his purse to provide for it. 
 He was rather reluctant to part with his money, but consoled 
 himself with the thought that very likely he could pick her 
 pocket and steal it back again. Then he left her, and soon found 
 some of the other pilgrims, whom he joined without saying 
 where he had been. 
 
 It was a very cheerful company that sat down to supper that 
 night. The Knight was appointed by the Host marshal of the 
 hall, and it was his duty to see that the pilgrims sat down at table 
 in their proper rank, without undue noise or brawling. They 
 ate a good, hearty meal, and after it most of them went to bed. 
 But the Miller and the Cook and a few others sat up late drink- 
 ing the good ale of the inn, and the Pardoner thought that he 
 would never be able to get away to his own supper; for he had 
 sat down and eaten a little with the rest to avoid any awkward 
 questions. 
 
 He began to sing at length, hoping that Kit would hear his 
 merry note and not grow impatient. But his friend the Sum- 
 moner, and the Reeve, the Yeoman, and the Manciple as well, 
 all joined in, and their merriment increased into an uproar, un- 
 
AT CANTERBURY 237 
 
 til at length the Host and the Merchant came down and hurried 
 them all off to bed. 
 
 And now at last the Pardoner managed to slip away by hid- 
 ing himself behind a chest till the lights were out, the others 
 thinking that he had gone to bed. Then he made his way in 
 the dark to the tapstress's room ; he could see a light under the 
 door, and longed for the good supper which was awaiting him 
 within. 
 
 But Kit had tricked him, as she had intended all along. His 
 supper was already being eaten by her and two of her friends 
 her real lover and Jack the ostler and they were making merry 
 over a fine goose which the Pardoner's money had bought. Kit 
 had told the others that the Pardoner might presently appear. 
 "But if he comes up here making a noise," she added, "I pray 
 you dub him a knight with your cudgel." 
 
 "I will give him a supper he will not want to have again," 
 said the ostler. 
 
 The Pardoner came groping upstairs in the dark, and tried to 
 open the door, but found it shut. Then he fell to making a 
 noise like the whining of a dog, to let Kit know that he was there. 
 A man's voice shouted to him from inside to go away. He 
 guessed by the voice that something had gone amiss with his 
 scheme and knocked again, vowing vengeance secretly the while 
 if he had been cheated. 
 
 "What dog is that whining?" said Kit's lover, pretending not 
 to understand the strange noises, and enjoying his meal. 
 
 "It is that false thief of a Pardoner," said the tapstress. 
 
 "I am no thief," cried the Pardoner outside. "Give me my 
 staff ; I left it in this room." He meant to get inside by an ex- 
 cuse which would serve. 
 
238 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Go to bed quietly," said the lover. Then he opened the 
 door quickly, and struck at the Pardoner with his staff, hitting 
 him two great blows on the forehead and the back. 
 
 "Who is that?" called out Jack Ostler, pretending to hear the 
 noise for the first time. 
 
 "There is a thief here," answered the other. 
 
 "A thief? Well done! Have you caught him? Break his 
 bones if you have. I will hold the door so that he will not get 
 
 out." 
 
 "If we had a light, we might catch him," said Kit's lover, for 
 the Pardoner had slipped away in the dark. 
 
 "Yes, but we must not wake the mistress ; she would be terribly 
 angry," answered the ostler. "You go and look for him; he 
 cannot have gone far. Try the dust-heap." 
 
 But the other did not want to leave the ostler alone with Kit 
 and the supper. 
 
 "No, you go," he replied; "you know the way better than 
 I." 
 
 "No, you hit him ; it is none of my business. But look, let us 
 (both go you one side of the house, I the other. Mind the 
 pots and pans which are on your side." 
 
 "Oho!" thought the Pardoner, overhearing this for he had 
 not gone far, and dared not seek his own room, for fear of 
 jrousing the other pilgrims who shared it with him "are there 
 pots and pans about? It is well to know that." 
 
 He groped about, and soon found a huge ladle. Presently 
 Kit's lover came stealing along in the dark. The Pardoner 
 swung his ladle round, and hit him such a blow on the nose that 
 his eyes watered for a week afterwards. The ostler heard the 
 
AT CANTERBURY 239 
 
 noise, and came in a hurry to help his friend ; but he trod on the 
 edge of a pan, which tilted up and broke his shin. 
 
 "By St. Amyas!" he muttered, as loud as he dared, "I will not 
 spare the rogue when I catch him!" 
 
 "Where is the thief?" asked the other. 
 
 "I know not," answered the ostler. "How shall we find him?" 
 
 They searched a little longer, but were unsuccessful. Hap- 
 pily for the Pardoner, there was no moon, and the house was 
 very dark. 
 
 "Let us go to bed," said the tapstress's lover at length. "Make 
 the gate fast. iWe can catch him to-morrow; besides, I hit him 
 twice." 
 
 "Very well," answered the ostler; and they went to bed, leav- 
 ing the Pardoner in peace. But he dared not go upstairs again, 
 for fear of rousing the whole house and being suspected of theft. 
 His face was bleeding and his back very sore from the blows he 
 had received, and he was very hungry and tired. He wandered 
 about trying to find some safe place to lie down for the night, 
 and at length came upon the dog-kennel, where a huge Welsh 
 dog was kept. He crept in, hoping that the beast would let him 
 lie quietly there; but the dog was a fierce, bad-tempered brute, 
 and in spite of a big log which was tied to him to keep him still, 
 he flew at the Pardoner, and bit him in the thigh. However, 
 the poor man stayed where he was, only moving a little farther 
 from the dog; and there he spent a most uncomfortable night. 
 
THE JOURNEY HOME 
 JOHN LYDGATE'S TALE 
 
 THE next morning the Host's rallying cry was heard 
 early, and the Pardoner, you may be sure, was not late 
 in rising. He got out of the kennel, and managed to 
 wash and make himself tidy at the pump without being seen; 
 he joined the rest as though nothing had happened, though he 
 had a terrible headache, and his notes, when he sang, were weak 
 and low. As they left the inn, he got well into the middle of 
 the company, and kept his face turned away from the ostler, 
 who was on the watch; and so he got away safely, with only the 
 loss of his purse and a few bruises. 
 
 It was a lovely spring morning when the pilgrims rode away 
 from the Chequer of the Hoop. Most of them were in the high- 
 est spirits, but the Pardoner was very uneasy till they had passed 
 the city gates. He might have been sure that Kit and her friends 
 would be quite satisfied with merely keeping his purse, but he 
 was not over-brave, and fancied that everyone in the inn was 
 still looking for him. 
 
 The sun was shining, and the birds were singing merrily as 
 they set out. They had hardly ridden a bowshot beyond the 
 walls of Canterbury when Harry Bailly leaned forward and 
 caught at Lydgate's bridle, calling on the new member of the 
 
 company for the first tale of the return journey. 
 
 240 
 
JOHN LYDGATE'S TALE 241 
 
 "Now, Master John," he cried, "make merry and tell us a 
 story no sermon, but a tale of mirth and gladness." 
 
 Lydgate complied a little unwillingly. 
 
 "Sirs," said he, "since you have let me join you, and your 
 ruler, the Host, bids me do my duty and give you a tale, I will 
 tell you one as well as my poor wit will let me. It shall be 
 about the royal city of Thebes, and how it was destroyed in the 
 days when Greece was filled with famous heroes and warlike 
 kings." 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 
 
 I. EDIPPUS THE PARRICIDE 
 
 THE mighty town of Thebes was begun and built in times 
 of great antiquity. Some say that it was the handiwork 
 of the good King Amphion, and that he wrought it only 
 by the power of his music, for he played so sweetly and harmoni- 
 ously upon his harp that the stones moved of themselves, and the 
 walls were raised without the craft of any man's hand. But 
 others aver that this story means nothing more than that Am- 
 phion was very eloquent and smooth-tongued, so that the 'song' 
 of his fair and gentle speech, as one might say, built the city by 
 persuading neighboring kings to lend him aid. And that may 
 well be true, for by humble and courteous words a prince can 
 win love from the hearts of his people more readily than by 
 gold or pride or tyranny. 
 
 "There are yet others who say that long before Amphion came 
 King Cadmus built the city, obtaining the land by bargaining for 
 as much earth as a bull's hide would enclose ; for he took a hide, 
 and cut it into thin strips, which, when they were laid end to 
 end, enclosed a space great enough for a city. And they say that 
 the name of the whole country in which Thebes is to wit, 
 Boeotia arose from this device of its first king.* Cadmus, 
 however (so this story runs), could not keep his kingdom, for 
 Amphion came and, by his valor, drove him out. 
 
 "But all this is none of my story. You will find the whole 
 
 * Because the name "Boeotia" resembles the Greek word for a bull. 
 
 242 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 243 
 
 matter in books written by learned clerks, and to them I leave it, 
 for my purpose is to tell of the destruction of Thebes many 
 generations after its foundation. 
 
 "After the reign of Amphion, whether he founded Thebes 
 or not, the kingdom was handed down from father to son, one 
 after another, in an unbroken line, and the city grew continually 
 more glorious and powerful and proud, until there came to the 
 throne a king named Lai'us ; and in his day men might have seen, 
 had they known it, the first signs of the downfall of Thebes. 
 
 "Laius and his wife Jocasta reigned wisely and prosperously, 
 but for many a long year they had no son. At length, however, 
 Laius did sacrifice humbly to the gods Apollo and Jupiter, and 
 to the three goddesses Pallas and Juno and Diana. His prayer 
 was granted, and a son was born. But it was thought necessary 
 at the birth of the child to consult all the philosophers and wise 
 men and magicians, that they might by their arts foretell the 
 boy's fate ; and when these augurs and diviners had cast his horo- 
 scope and made their calculations, they found at last that the 
 child, if he lived, was fated to kill his own father Laius; nor 
 was there any escape from this doom. 
 
 "King La'ius, when he heard this dread prophecy, was bowed 
 down with grief and fear; he knew not how to provide against 
 the terrible death which was to come upon him by the hands of 
 his own son, and at length he made up his mind to do what was 
 wont to be done in those days with deformed or sickly children 
 who would be a trouble to rear to take the babe and leave him 
 all helpless and alone in some wild spot where either he would 
 soon die of cold and hunger or the wild beasts would devour 
 him. 
 
 "Lams could find no other way to save his own life and the 
 
244 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 honor of his kingdom, and the cruel deed was carried out. The 
 boy was taken from Jocasta, who obeyed the king's command 
 with woeful heart and piteous looks, and he was carried without 
 delay to a forest not very far away, and there left exposed. But 
 at the last the men who had charge of the matter, moved by the 
 beauty of the little babe, pierced his feet, and tied him by a 
 cord put through the wounds to a bough of a tree, beyond the 
 reach of wild beasts ; for they might not slay him outright, and 
 they thought that thus he would either die more speedily or per- 
 haps be found by some stranger before any animal could succeed 
 in reaching him. 
 
 "It fell out as they hoped. King Polibon of Arcadia chanced 
 to come that way while hunting, and his attendants heard the 
 child's cries. They cut the thongs which bound him, and 
 brought him before the king, who took him home to Arcadia. 
 There the boy was brought up at the king's Court, and the name 
 Edippus, or Swollenfoot, was given to him, because the cords 
 had injured his feet and made him lame. 
 
 "Edippus was treated as the King's heir, for Polibon had no 
 son of his own, and as he grew up he became proud and over- 
 bearing, not knowing that he was an outcast whose lineage no 
 man could discover, but thinking that he was really the offspring 
 of the great King of Arcadia. But one day he quarreled fiercely 
 with a companion, who at length turned on him and upbraided 
 him. 
 
 " What reason have you to be so proud, Edippus?' he asked 
 scornfully. 'You act as though you were lord and master of 
 us all, and descended of royal blood, whereas you are in truth no 
 kin to Polibon at all, but only a babe unknown, found in a forest 
 long years ago.' 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 245 
 
 "Edippus turned pale, and was so amazed that he could give 
 no answer, for he had never yet been told the true tale of his 
 birth. He went to the King, and spoke with him secretly, beg- 
 ging him to tell him whose son he was. Polibon at first, out of 
 the kindness of his heart, tried to evade the questions, but 
 Edippus vowed that if he were not told he would straightway 
 go and roam over all the world till he discovered the truth. 
 And at length Polibon told all that he knew how Edippus was 
 found abandoned and tied by the feet to a tree, with no sign or 
 mark to show whose son he was, or why he was treated thus. 
 
 "When Edippus heard this story he could no longer bear to 
 stay in Arcadia, but longed to go forth and learn more. Polibon 
 prayed him to stay, and succeed to the kingdom at his death, but 
 all in vain. Edippus left him, and rushed to the temple of 
 Apollo to ask how he should unravel the secret of his birth. 
 
 "In the temple of Apollo there was set a statue of the god, 
 mounted in a chariot of gold, fiery bright and glistening, and 
 within this statue dwelt an unclean spirit, which by false and 
 wicked arts gave cruel answers to all prayers. This spirit it was 
 that drove Edippus upon his fate, for when he had prayed and 
 done the customary rites he was bidden by the spirit in a terrible 
 voice to go to Thebes ; there he would learn for certain what 
 was his lineage. 
 
 "Edippus did as he was told. He set out for Thebes at once, 
 and journeyed day after day till he came to a rich castle named 
 Pilotes, not far from Thebes. There King Laius chanced to be 
 holding a tournament with his own knights and any others who 
 wished to throw down or take up a challenge. Edippus was 
 willing enough to do battle, and there, at the gate of the lists, in 
 a great press of men, he unwittingly slew Laius, his own father, 
 
246 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 and thus began the woes which ended in the destruction of the 
 great city of Thebes. 
 
 "Edippus knew that he had killed the king, but not that it 
 was his own father; and though no one could tell for certain, 
 except Edippus himself, whose hand it was that dealt the blow 
 which slew Lams, he deemed it well to withdraw himself, and 
 remain hidden for a time until the anger of the people at the 
 death of their king should have abated. So while the Thebans 
 held solemn funeral rites, and burnt the body of Laius according 
 to custom, and built him a rich sepulcher, Edippus was going 
 thence with all speed; and being a stranger to that country, in a 
 little time he had lost himself in a wild waste desert that lay near 
 a mountain upon the sea-coast. 
 
 "In this place there was the lair of a terrible monster called 
 the Sphinx, which had the head and face of a maiden, but the 
 body and feet of a fierce lion. This Sphinx ravaged all the 
 country round Thebes and struck terror into the city, for when- 
 ever a man passed it came down from its mountain lair and set 
 him a riddle to answer, and if the man could not find the answer 
 the Sphinx tore him in pieces. 
 
 "Edippus knew nothing of this. Suddenly as he rode by the 
 mountain he was aware of the monster rushing down upon him. 
 
 " 'It is a great joy to me,' said the Sphinx, for she could speak 
 like any other human being, 'that you have come to my home 
 to try your skill. Be wise and wary, and win the prize, for life 
 and death are staked between us.' 
 
 "Then the monster set Edippus this riddle: 
 
 " 'There is a beast upon the earth 
 Which goes on four legs at its birth; 
 But as it grows in years and might 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 247 
 
 It walks and stands on two upright, 
 
 And as it ends its little day 
 
 On three. What beast is this, I pray.' 
 
 "Edippus set his wits to work, and thought deeply over thu 
 riddle, and at length gave this answer: 
 
 " 'This beast is man, who at his birth 
 Goes crawling four-legged on the earth; 
 But as he grows in years and might 
 He walks and stands on two upright; 
 While as he ends his little day 
 A staff helps two-legs on his way/ 
 
 "The monster was all amazed to find a man skillful enough to 
 answer her cunning question, and as she stood dismayed and dis- 
 consolate Edippus drew his sword and smote off her head. 
 
 "The news soon spread over the land that the Sphinx was slain, 
 and when Edippus, according to his plan, returned to Thebes, it 
 became known that it was he who killed the monster. He was 
 welcomed royally, and when the people saw that he was a seemly 
 knight, well-favored in the sight of all men, they were fain to 
 make him their king, for Laius had left no son behind him that 
 anyone knew of. The lords of Thebes held a parliament, and 
 set to work to treat with the Queen Jocasta to know if she would 
 continue to reign, and wed the stranger-knight who had deliv- 
 ered them from the Sphinx. 
 
 "Jocasta consented, and great preparations were made for 
 the marriage ceremony. But one day, as Edippus talked with 
 the queen, he perceived that she had some great sorrow hidden 
 secretly in her heart, and he asked her what it was. 
 
 "She sighed and turned away. At last she spoke sadly: SMy 
 
248 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 lord,' she said, 'now that Laius, my king, is dead and has left 
 no heir, I am filled with sad memories of my dear son who should 
 have been reigning now.' And she told him how her only son 
 had been left to die in the wilds by reason of the prophecy which 
 said that he should kill his own father. 
 
 "At that Edippus gave a great cry, and fell a-trembling. He 
 knew that he, too, had been exposed as this child was, and now 
 he knew also that he had taken his father's life in the tourna- 
 ment at Pilotes. Jocasta saw shame and terror rising in his 
 face, and asked him what ailed him ; and at length he burst out 
 into the whole story, saying that the oracle had truly told him 
 that he should discover his lineage at Thebes. 
 
 "I cannot tell you all that passed between these two when they 
 learnt thus the awful doom that had befallen them, nor will I 
 repeat to you how Edippus very soon, bowed down with grief, 
 fell into a kind of madness, and how his sons afterwards despised 
 him and mocked him, until at length, when he was become an old 
 man, in despair and rage he plucked out his own eyes, and they 
 set upon him and killed him. 
 
 "Thus Edippus died, and his sons Ethiocles and Polimite took 
 the kingdom ; and now the doom of Thebes was coming swiftly 
 upon the city, as I will show you when we get to the other side 
 of this little valley." 
 
 Lydgate broke off his tale here, as the pilgrims were going 
 downhill into Boughton-under-Blean. At the village they 
 stopped and rested, and about nine o'clock took the road again. 
 The sun was well up in the heavens by now, shining like silver 
 through the little pearls of dew on the green leaves, and a soft 
 west wind made the air fresh and cool for the pilgrims as they 
 listened to the monk of Bury continuing his tale. 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 249 
 
 II. THE TREACHERY OF ETHIOCLES 
 
 "When Edippus was dead his sons Ethiocles and Polimite 
 fell out as to who should succeed him, and neither would abate 
 one jot of his claims, though all the lords and commons of the 
 land strove to assuage their quarrel. At length, however, peace 
 was made between them on condition that each should reign in 
 turn for a year. While one was king the other could go where 
 he pleased, so as he came not to Thebes. With this they were 
 fain to be content, and Ethiocles began to reign for the first 
 year, he being the elder of the two. 
 
 "Polimite took his way out of Thebes all alone, armed from 
 head to foot, and riding a royal steed. He went by byways and 
 secret paths, for he feared that his brother Ethiocles, now that 
 he was in power, might treacherously waylay and slay him. As 
 he rode in a wild forest by the sea, full of hills and high moun- 
 tains and cruel rocks, where fierce beasts lay hid, a great storm 
 suddenly came on; the sea roared, a wind and tempest arose, and 
 the rain beat down mercilessly, and Polimite, uncertain of his 
 way in that deserted land, terrified, too, by the beasts which, 
 maddened by the storm, were raging all around him, spurred his 
 horse on recklessly, and rode without knowing whither until 
 at last he came to the gate of a great city, where he drew 
 rein. 
 
 "The city to which he had come thus blindly was Argos, and 
 its king at this time Adrastus, son of Cholon, the wisest and best 
 king in all Greece. He had no son, but two daughters, named 
 Argive and Deiphile, and his hope was that he should win for 
 them noble husbands who would strengthen his kingdom and 
 rule when he was dead. But of late he had been troubled by a 
 
250 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 strange dream, in which he seemed to see his daughters wedded 
 to a wild boar and a fierce lion both on one day. 
 
 "Polimite, as I have told, came to the gate of Argos, and rode 
 through the town till he came to the entrance of the king's pal- 
 ace, a great arched portal built of huge stones, whereon were 
 written the dooms or laws decreed by the king. The porter was 
 asleep, and Polimite could not wake him because of the howling 
 of the tempest; so he alighted from his steed and lay down there 
 in the porch and slept. 
 
 "While he slept there came to the palace gate yet another 
 knight seeking refuge from the storm. The new-comer's name 
 was Tideus, son of the King of Callidoine, a most valorous, 
 gentle, and courteous knight. He was exiled from his country 
 because he had slain his brother Menelippe by letting an arrow 
 slip carelessly from his bow. 
 
 "Tideus strode into the porch of the gate as Polimite had 
 done. 
 
 "But the noise of his entrance woke Polimite, who started up 
 fiercely, and cried out to know who it was. 
 
 " 'I am driven here by the stress of the storm and the night,' 
 answered Tideus humbly and graciously. 'I come here because 
 I can go nowhere else. I have no evil intent, and mean you no 
 harm.' 
 
 "But Polimite fell into a rage. 
 
 " 'You shall not abide here!' he cried angrily. 'I was here 
 before you, and I will keep this lodging all night for all that 
 you can do.' 
 
 " 'It is not courteous, but rather it is ungentle, to keep me out,' 
 Tideus replied, showing no resentment at Polimite's rough 
 words. 'You seem a knight of gentle birth, and I think that 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 251 
 
 you have no more right to this place for a lodging than I. It 
 can do you no hurt to let me shelter here.' 
 
 "But fair words were of no avail. The more gently Tideus 
 spoke the more Polimite's passion grew, and there was nothing 
 for it but that they should fight. 
 
 "They rode a course on horseback, and at the first shock both 
 their spears were broken. Then they fell to with swords, fight- 
 ing so furiously that the whole palace was roused by the clash 
 and din of their arms. King Adrastus himself awoke, and hear- 
 ing the noise, called in haste for his chamberlains and squires, 
 and bade them find the cause of it. 
 
 "When the two knights were discovered fighting the King 
 came down and ordered them to cease, saying that it was folly 
 to put two lives in jeopardy over so little a thing, and all the 
 more on such a dark, stormy night when neither could see fairly. 
 
 "When Tideus and Polimite or rather Polimite alone, for 
 Tideus had only fought to save his life grew calmer, they saw 
 how rash and hotheaded their quarrel had been, and at the king's 
 bidding they made peace, and from that day they were friends, 
 true as steel to one another to their lives' end. 
 
 "When they were reconciled, Adrastus, having heard from 
 them their noble lineage, held a great feast in their honor, and 
 they reveled far into the night. But when the feasting was over 
 Adrastus began to think further of these two knights, and then 
 again of his daughters. In his sleep that night his dreams were 
 troubled, and he continually called to mind his former vision 
 of the boar and the lion. 
 
 "On the morrow, full of uncertain thoughts, he went to the 
 temple of Apollo in Argos to pray and to seek advice, and the 
 god bade him hie homeward at once, and look at the shields of 
 
252 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 the two knights, for thus he should learn what he wished to know. 
 He hastened back and did as he was commanded, and there on 
 the shields he saw the interpretation of his dream, for on Poli- 
 mite's shield was the sign of a fierce lion, and on Tideus's that 
 of a wild boar. Adrastus doubted no longer, but sent for the 
 knights, and spoke to them apart. 
 
 " 'I do not doubt, sirs,' he began, 'that it is fresh and green in 
 your thought how God's ordinance has brought you both to this 
 land together, and I see that there is a special purpose in your 
 coming.' He told them of his dream and the answer of the 
 god, and went on: 'My desire is to make an alliance in mar- 
 riage between you and my daughters, if your hearts are in accord 
 with this plan. You shall have half of my kingdom while I 
 live, and when I am in the grave the whole shall be divided 
 between you. I am old now, and long for rest and ease ; younger 
 men than I must defend this realm against its foes. If, then, my 
 purpose is pleasing to you, delay not to answer me.' 
 
 "Tideus replied, as became a gentle knight, with bowed head 
 and courteous words, thanking Adrastus, and agreeing with his 
 desire, and Polimite did the same. Then Tideus made Polimite 
 choose which of the princesses he would wed, and Polimite chose 
 Argive. 
 
 "So Tideus married Deiphile and Polimite Argive, and the 
 wedding was royally celebrated with great rejoicings and splen- 
 dor. But when Ethiocles at Thebes heard of it he became jeal- 
 ous and afraid, fearing that Polimite, now grown so powerful, 
 would drive him out of Thebes utterly, and he called all his 
 vassals and allies and retainers, and told them plainly that he 
 would not rest content till his brother Polimite was slain; and he 
 began to take counsel to that end. 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 253 
 
 "In the meanwhile his year of rule ran out, and Polimite con- 
 sidered how he should best take over his succession in Thebes. 
 He did not wish to go armed with a great force, for thus the 
 citizens might become suspicious of him; but he feared to go 
 alone, knowing that his brother was treacherous and crafty. 
 Therefore he consulted King Adrastus, who held that it were 
 best to send another knight first, to be, as it were, a herald of his 
 coming, and to discover whether Ethiocles was minded to leave 
 Thebes peaceably; let someone go, therefore, and speak with 
 Ethiocles for him. 
 
 "Tideus, hearing this, said that he would gladly do his brother 
 (for so he considered Polimite) this service; but Adrastus and 
 Polimite were both anxious to dissuade him, for the task was 
 likely to be full of peril to any knight, however valiant. Never- 
 theless Tideus persisted, and having persuaded them, made ready 
 to set out. But Deiphile, his wife, mourned sorely when she 
 saw him go. 
 
 "He journeyed to Thebes with all speed, and in a few days' 
 time saw the high towers of the city before him. He entered 
 the gates, and having asked where the King's palace stood, went 
 straight thither. He strode bold as a lion into the hall where 
 Ethiocles and all his council were sitting. 
 
 " 'Sir,' he said to the king, 'you doubtless have in mind that 
 when the old king Edippus died you and your brother strove for 
 the crown, and that you agreed in the end to rule each in turn for 
 a year. Since your year's reign now draws to its end, Polimite, 
 your brother, requires you of right to acquit yourself as a true 
 knight, and by keeping your oath to avoid strife and war. You 
 are to leave this city, therefore, and let Polimite reign in your 
 stead for a year. Do this, and all Greece will praise you for 
 
254 THE CANTERBURY, PILGRIMS 
 
 your truth-keeping. I have said my message, and I look for 
 your answer.' 
 
 "When Tideus had thus told his tale, Ethiocles, downcast 
 and pale, angry at heart but courteous in outward mien, an- 
 swered him: 'I marvel that my brother desires to reign in 
 Thebes, seeing the great plenty and power which he has won 
 for himself in Argos. I think the lordship and dominion of 
 this little town of Thebes should be of small account with him 
 now. I trust to him as a brother to help me in any time of 
 need, and I look to him, of his graciousness, not to deprive me of 
 this my poor possession. 7 
 
 "Thus far he spoke smoothly and courteously, but now he 
 could contain his jealous anger no longer, and broke out furi- 
 ously: 'There is no bond between Polimite and me; there is 
 no pledge that he should govern as he claims either for a year 
 or for a day. He shall not have so much as half a foot of land 
 in Thebes. Let him keep what he has won for himself, for I 
 will reign in Thebes till I die, even though all my enemies should 
 strive together against me. Let him call together all his friends 
 and councilors: I dread him not. You show yourself proud 
 and bold to take upon you this haughty message, but I say to 
 you that it is folly and presumption, and he shall have no land 
 nor rule here while the walls of this city stand. That is my 
 answer ; take it to him.' 
 
 "Tideus was amazed at this rough and treacherous reply. 
 For a while he stood silent and sad, but presently answered 
 calmly: *I know now that you are untrue to your word, fickle 
 and forsworn. Whatever be the cause of it, I say to you that 
 you will rue this perjury. All Greece shall rise up against you 
 for it, and King Adrastus will lead the host of his lords and 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 255 
 
 allies until you are utterly defeated and your falsehood stands 
 proved before the whole world. Here and now I defy you on 
 my brother Polimite's behalf. And you lords that are present, 
 I call on you to witness that your king has broken his word which 
 he gave before you, and to remember that you yourselves vowed 
 to obey Polimite in his year of rule which is now due. Let 
 no time pass before you come and escort him hither as your right 
 and lawful king.' 
 
 "With that he turned and went away, not as one afraid or 
 overcome, but proudly, with hand on sword, ready to resist any 
 who would prevent him. Thus he strode sternly down the hall, 
 and mounted his horse and rode away with all speed. 
 
 "When he had gone Ethiocles was left staring angrily upon 
 his council, too amazed at his valor to stop his going. At length 
 he broke out into furious speech, and ordered the chief con- 
 stable of his chivalry to pursue Tideus with fifty of his bravest 
 knights and waylay and kill him. 
 
 "Fifty knights set out, armed all in stout, glittering steel, and 
 rode quickly by a short path to the Sphinx's hill, where they lay 
 in ambush hard by the road by which Tideus must pass. 
 
 "Very soon Tideus came riding along with no suspicion of 
 treachery. But it chanced that as the moon was rising (it being 
 then evening) the light glanced upon the armor of the knights 
 in ambush, and caught his eye. He guessed at once that there 
 was some plot against him, but nevertheless he went boldly on, 
 holding his shield before him, with his spear in the rest, ready 
 for attack. 
 
 "In a few minutes the knights were to be seen clearly, stand- 
 ing full in his path. He charged them, undaunted, and un- 
 horsed and slew their leader at the first shock. Then they fell 
 
256 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 upon him all at once, but he laid about him so manfully with 
 his sword that he cut his way clear through them to a narrow 
 passage where they could come at him only one at a time. But 
 they dared not let him go so easily, for they feared the wrath 
 of Ethiocles if they returned with the tale of how one man had 
 put fifty of them to flight, and they attacked him one after the 
 other, hoping soon to weary him. But he fought like a wild 
 boar at bay, and kept them off, killing some and wounding others, 
 till at length he saw a huge overhanging stone close at hand, 
 which by a sudden jerk he loosened so that it fell upon them 
 and crushed ten of them to death. Then he set upon the re- 
 mainder with such a will that they were all slain save one, who 
 fled. This one, wounded and faint, made his way as best he 
 could back to Thebes and told Ethiocles how grievously his 
 knights had fared at the hands of Tideus. 
 
 "Tideus, too, was faint and weary with his fighting, but when 
 his enemies were all got rid of he made a shift to mount his 
 horse, and rode on at a gentle pace. 
 
 "It was a moonlight night, but nevertheless he wandered from 
 the road, and all unknowingly strayed into the country of King 
 Lycurgus. He came at length to a great castle on a hill, and 
 hastened to go up to it, for by now he was well-nigh fainting 
 from his journey and from loss of blood. He entered at a little 
 gate and found himself in a garden, wherein was a pleasant 
 arbor, sweet and fresh. Here he alighted, and left his horse 
 to pasture on the soft grass of the garden, and himself lay down 
 in the arbor and slept till he was roused by the song of the lark 
 as it flew up high into the clear heaven the next morning. Even 
 as he woke he heard footsteps, and there came into sight a prin- 
 cess walking amid the fresh flowers in the garden. 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 257 
 
 "The princess was the daughter of Lycurgus, and when she 
 saw Tideus all wounded and untended she was filled with pity. 
 She went up to him and bound his wounds, and had him carried 
 within the castle and cared for till he was rested. 
 
 "But Tideus would stay no longer than a bare day. When he 
 learnt where he was, and was refreshed, and his wounds bound 
 up, he desired immediately to set out for Argos, and he did so 
 as soon as he had thanked the princess, and vowed to be her true 
 knight, and serve her in whatsoever way she commanded. 
 
 "When he reached Argos, having met with no further adven- 
 ture, Adrastus and Polimite were enraged at the treatment he 
 had received, and swore to be avenged. But first of all they 
 must wait till he was wholly healed of his wounds, and then at 
 length a great armament was prepared to overcome Ethiocles." 
 
 III. THE DOOM OF THEBES 
 
 "And now the doom of Thebes began to draw nigh indeed. 
 The cruel god of war had marked the city out for destruction, 
 and strife and hatred were to possess it. All Greece was stirred 
 up into battle by the quarrel between the two brothers who were 
 rightful lords of Thebes. 
 
 "Adrastus sent letters and messengers to all the kings and 
 princes of the land telling them of the wrong-doing of Ethiocles, 
 and calling them to arms, and they came readily and gladly to 
 take service under him in so just a cause. Prothonolope, and 
 Gilmichenes, and Ipomedoun, Campaneus, Genor, Meleager, 
 Locris, Pirrus, and Tortolonus, and Palenon all these were 
 kings who took the side of Polimite, with many another knight 
 and lord. Tideus also, and Polimite himself, summoned their 
 
258 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 friends to their aid. All the flower of Greek chivalry was gath- 
 ered together against Thebes, so that it seemed as if on the one 
 side were all the Greeks and on the other the Thebans only. 
 
 "But Ethiocles also made great preparations, knowing what 
 a host was coming against him. He called together his allies, 
 and gave presents to many doughty knights to persuade them to 
 join him. He repaired the fortifications of Thebes, and laid 
 in a vast store of food and provisions and arms, so that if the city 
 were taken it should be only after a long and stout defense. 
 
 "When the Greeks were ready to begin the war they held a 
 council, and decided that it would be well to consult some great 
 seer who could foretell the future and give them his advice ; and 
 they sent for a certain bishop named Amphiorax, an aged and 
 wise man, who had great knowledge of magic and the stars and 
 the decrees of the gods. 
 
 "But Amphiorax by his arts knew that the expedition would 
 end in terrible destruction, and that all the noblest kings and 
 princes of Greece would come to a violent end therein; he him- 
 self also would be swallowed up alive in the earth. Therefore 
 when he heard that the Greeks were about to seek him he hid 
 himself, telling no one except his wife where his place of refuge 
 was. 
 
 "The messengers of the Greeks arrived, and could not find 
 the seer; but they asked his wife, and questioned her so long and 
 so closely that at last she revealed to them that he had shut him- 
 self up in a certain tower. Thither they went, and found Am- 
 phiorax. Then they took him and set him in a rich chariot, and 
 led him to their host to be their chief counselor. 
 
 "But when the kings held a parliament together, and asked 
 Amphiorax his advice, they were dismayed and surprised, for he 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 259 
 
 told them all that he knew how the leaders of the host would 
 fall by the sword, and he himself be swallowed in the earth. 
 Nevertheless, though he told them this, and warned them not to 
 go against Thebes, they would not listen, but set out into the 
 enemy's country, taking Amphiorax with them. 
 
 "They sat down before Thebes and besieged the city. But the 
 country round was rocky and barren, and very soon they began 
 to suffer terribly for want of water, and all the more that it was 
 a very hot season. Many died outright of thirst and heat, and 
 others in despair threw themselves upon their swords and killed 
 themselves. 
 
 "At length Tideus and King Campaneus rode out to try to 
 find some place where there was enough water for the host. 
 They rode this way and that over the land till they reached the 
 neighboring country of King Lycurgus, whither Tideus had 
 wandered before. There they came suddenly upon a green, 
 shady arbor, where sat a lady passing fair, having in her arms 
 a little child. Her name they discovered to be Isophile, and 
 she was a king's daughter who had left her own country because 
 she would not agree to a plot of the other women to slay their 
 husbands and all the other men in that land. She had fled thence 
 to King Lycurgus, who, knowing her to be noble and of royal 
 blood, had given his little son into her charge, and this son was 
 the child which lay in her arms when Tideus and Campaneus 
 first saw her. Lycurgus, you must know, was the same who after- 
 wards fought for Palamon against Arcita. 
 
 "Tideus told Isophile their sore straits, and she answered him 
 that she could show him where there was water abundant enough 
 to supply the whole host for a long time. The two knights 
 were overjoyed at these tidings, and begged her to take them to 
 
260 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 the place at once. The child could be left safely in the arbor, 
 for no harm would come to it there. 
 
 "Isophile at length consented, though sadly unwilling to leave 
 the child alone. She went with Tideus and Campaneus, and 
 very soon the Greek host was rejoicing in the flowing streams of 
 cool fresh water which she showed them. 
 
 "Thus the Greeks were helped by Isophile, and not long 
 after they were able to reward her by aiding her in turn in her 
 sore need, as I will tell you briefly, though it bears but little 
 upon the story of the fall of Thebes. 
 
 "When Isophile returned to the arbor, she found the child 
 where she had left him, half hidden on a flowery bank; but, 
 alas! the boy was dead. A foul serpent or dragon, huge and 
 venomous, had bitten him as he slept, and he lay there slain, his 
 face turned up to the light. Then Isophile hastened back to 
 the Greeks, and told them that because she had left her charge 
 to aid them she would die, for the son of Lycurgus was slain, 
 and the king would surely kill her in his wrath. The Greeks 
 were filled with pity, and vowed that she should not die for their 
 sakes, and all the kings and princes went to Lycurgus and begged 
 him to spare her. But he and his queen in their sorrow for the 
 loss of their son found it hard to show mercy, yet at the earnest 
 entreaty of the Greeks they said that they would pardon Isophile 
 if the serpent were slain. Then King Prothonolope was sent 
 to seek out and kill the monster, and after a long search he found 
 it lurking, grim and terrible, under a rock by a river's bank; 
 there he set upon it boldly and slew it, and sent the head to 
 Lycurgus, who straightway pardoned Isophile. Thus did the 
 Greeks reward her for her kindness to them. 
 
 "And now they set to work to besiege Thebes yet more vig- 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 261 
 
 orously. They ravaged all the country round, and slew all the 
 beasts and destroyed the crops, but still they could not take the 
 city. But strife had arisen in Thebes itself ; the lords who fought 
 for Ethiocles could not agree together, and quarrels often arose 
 at their councils. Jocasta, also, the old queen, told Ethiocles 
 plainly that his conduct was unknightly and unkingly. 
 
 " 'Let us try to end the matter while there is yet time,' she 
 said. 'Maybe both you and your brother will repent it if you 
 continue in arms.' 
 
 "In short, Ethiocles was pressed on every side to endeavor to 
 make terms with Polimite; but he would yield only so far as 
 to allow Jocasta to go to Adrastus and offer these conditions 
 that Ethiocles should be acknowledged King of Thebes for the 
 rest of his life, except for one year, during which Polimite 
 should reign. When that year was ended Polimite was to leave 
 the city, and never approach it again. 
 
 "Jocasta came weeping to Adrastus and his council and laid 
 these terms before him, but Polimite raised her up and com- 
 forted her, and then they debated what answer they should give. 
 Tideus said outright that the terms should be refused, and that 
 nothing would be accepted except the conditions which Polimite 
 and Ethiocles had agreed upon together at first. But Amphi- 
 orax, the bishop, was against this, for he said that thus the war 
 would be continued, and they would all come to a miserable 
 end. Then Jocasta, in her turn, was beginning to pray them to 
 make peace, when suddenly a strange thing happened which 
 cut short their council. 
 
 "There had once been sent from Egypt to Imeine and Anti- 
 gone, the sisters of Polimite and Ethiocles, a tame tiger, very 
 swift of foot, with a body almost like a lion's, a head and nose 
 
262 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 like a greyhound's, eyes red as fire, and a hide of as many hues 
 and colors as a panther's. But instead of being fierce and cruel 
 this tiger was tame and gentle as any roe, and it chanced that 
 while the council was being held the beast escaped out of Thebes 
 and ran among the Greeks. 
 
 "It did no harm, but the Greeks feared its terrible looks, and 
 very soon set upon it and killed it. Then the men of Thebes, 
 furious with wrath at the death of their pet, sallied out from 
 the walls and engaged the enemy. Ethiocles himself donned 
 his armor, and came forth and did great slaughter, and in a few 
 moments a fierce battle was raging. For some time the fight 
 was equal, but at length the valor of Tideus forced the Thebans 
 to retreat within their walls again. But before that many were 
 slain on both sides, and there was no longer any hope of peace. 
 Jocasta was courteously escorted back to the city, and Greeks 
 and Thebans alike made preparations for a great battle on the 
 morrow. 
 
 "The next day the Greeks rode out in battle array to bid 
 defiance to the enemy. Adrastus was at their head, and by his 
 side in a rich chariot came Amphiorax. Suddenly the earth 
 opened beneath their feet and swallowed Amphiorax, chariot, 
 and horse and all ; then the chasm closed again over him, and he 
 was seen no more, but fell down to the nether regions. Thus 
 was part of his own prophecy fulfilled. 
 
 "But the Greeks did not stop the war because of this, though 
 they were sorely disheartened at the fate of their seer, and though 
 the Thebans from the city walls taunted them with having taken 
 a false prophet for their guide. They selected instead of the 
 bishop two other diviners, Menalippus and Tredimus by name, 
 and of these they chose Tredimus for their chief adviser; and 
 
THE DESTRUCTION OF THEBES 263 
 
 then, after scattered righting for a few days, the last great strug- 
 gle began. The Thebans issued from the city, and the Greeks 
 at once joined battle. 
 
 "The first great prince to be slain was Tideus himself, but 
 he died before the main battle began, for every day, in the little 
 skirmishes, he was wont to put the enemy to flight, and drive 
 them headlong before him to the very gates of the city, until in 
 the end he was pierced by an arrow shot from the wall at close 
 range. No leech nor surgeon could save him, for the wound was 
 mortal, and so he met his death fighting in his friend's cause. 
 
 "But when the battle became general the like of it was never 
 seen in Greece. Long and fiercely the struggle raged, till all 
 the chiefs on either side were killed except Adrastus. Polimite 
 and Ethiocles slew one another in single combat, and the rest 
 fell in different parts of that awful field; and when the battle 
 was ended Adrastus drew off the remainder of the Greek army 
 and gave up the siege. 
 
 "Thus the royal house of Thebes came to an end. But the 
 Thebans, now that the two brothers were slain, and they had no 
 king to reign over them, chose for their governor a tyrant named 
 Creon, who, as you heard in the Knight's tale (so I am told), 
 would not suffer the dead kings to be buried. But in a little 
 while there came Theseus, who utterly destroyed the whole city 
 and slew Creon, as you have learnt. The ladies whose lords had 
 been slain in the end took refuge at the court of Adrastus in 
 Argos, and Adrastus himself reigned peaceably till old age and 
 death came upon him. 
 
 "So Thebes was destroyed and its kingly line cut off. And 
 may God send us peace in our lives, not war like that of Thebes, 
 and after our deaths eternal joy I My tale is ended." 
 
264 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "A GOOD TALE NEEDS S GOOD WILL" 
 
 THE pilgrims thanked Lydgate heartily for his tale, and the 
 Host began to think who ought to tell the next. 
 
 "Was there ever so fair and glad a morning as this?" he cried 
 gayly. "What a sweet season is this of Mayl Look at the trees 
 now fresh and green, and but a little while ago bare, and at the 
 flowers of different hues all lovely and delightful to a man's 
 sight; it makes my heart light to see them. Hark! hear the love- 
 notes of the nightingale. And now that Heaven has given us 
 so fair a day we ought all to be eager to take up a share in our 
 merriment. Remember the proverb, 'He who would tell a tale 
 must have a good will thereto.' Who will tell next? I dare 
 say some of you cannot think of a story so early in the morning, 
 and perhaps if we drew lots the turn might fall to some sleepy 
 fellow who would only waste our time; but surely one of you 
 is ready to speak without being called upon?" 
 
 The Merchant was greatly pleased with the Host's jovial 
 words, and readily volunteered to tell the next tale. 
 
 "Far as I have traveled," said he, "I have never yet seen a 
 man who could rule a company so well as this our Host Harry 
 Bailly. His words are very true and very delightful to me to 
 hear ; they quite overcome me, and you shall not find me falling 
 short of my duty. I will gladly give you the next tale, though 
 you must forgive my rough and ready way of telling it." 
 
 With that he began his second tale. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 
 
 BERYN 
 I. THE FOLLY OF BERYN 
 
 LONG ago, in the old days, Rome was the greatest city on 
 earth. There was no place like it, and the Emperor was 
 the most powerful monarch in the world. Now, of course, 
 Rome has fallen, and is not so mighty, just as many other cities 
 are changed. Have not Rye and Winchelsea, here in England, 
 not so far from us now, lost most of their old wealth and power? 
 But that is not my story. Come nearer, sirs, you that are all be- 
 hind, and listen to me. 
 
 "In the time of the Emperor Augustinus (in whose reign lived 
 the famous Seven Sages) there dwelt a little way outside the 
 walls of Rome a rich and prosperous senator named Faunus. 
 He was valiant and of noble birth, and had married a wife 
 named Agea, who was famous for her wisdom and beauty. 
 
 "For a long time fifteen years or more they had no child, 
 though they prayed earnestly for one. But at length their pray- 
 ers were answered : a son was born, to their great joy, and the 
 name of Beryn was given to him. 
 
 "The little Beryn was brought up with the utmost care and 
 comfort. He had four nurses to look after him, and his father 
 loved him so dearly that- he would not let him go out of his 
 sight. Whatever the boy set eyes on, or asked for, was given to 
 him. 
 
266 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "But it would have been better for him if he had been taught 
 good manners and gentle behavior, for he grew up unruly and 
 bad-tempered. If he disliked any one of the boys with whom 
 he played, he would beat him, or stab him with a knife; and 
 he would rush savagely at the knights of his father's house if 
 they contradicted him or withstood him in any way. 
 
 "When he became a young man he grew worse instead of 
 better. He took to gambling and playing with the dice, wast- 
 ing his father's money endlessly, for he never won. Sometimes 
 he would come home from some street brawl with his clothes 
 all torn, knowing well that his fond mother would give him new 
 ones only for the asking. Often his father had to appease as 
 best he could the men whom Beryn in a riotous mood had 
 wronged. 
 
 "At length Agea fell ill, and sent for her husband Faunus, 
 knowing that her end was near. Faunus came in haste, and 
 when he saw her, he perceived that he would soon lose her; he 
 was filled with a great sorrow, and tears came to his eyes, until 
 he thought that his heart would break. But he tried to speak 
 gayly and cheerfully. 
 
 " 'Husband, this is no time to grieve,' said Agea. 'Let us 
 speak of other things, for death is very near me.' 
 
 " 'Say on,' answered Faunus. 'But I will never forget you 
 no, not to my dying day.' 
 
 " 'You have been a kind husband to me, Faunus ; never was a 
 kinder. Be kind still, when I am gone; be true to me, and wed 
 no other wife. Do not give our son a stepmother, for stepmoth- 
 ers love not the children of a first wife. That is all I ask of 
 you, dear husband, and all I have to say.' 
 
 " 'I will never take another wife,' answered Faunus solemnly. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 267 
 
 "Agea's kin were all sent for to bid her good-fay, and among 
 them she asked for Beryn. But he was away from home, play- 
 ing hazard with his friends, according to his custom. When 
 Agea saw that he did not come, her heart broke, and she died 
 without looking on her son again. 
 
 "One of Agea's maidservants, though too late now, had already 
 gone to seek Beryn. She found him gambling; he had lost all 
 his money, and was staking his gown as she came in. 
 
 " 'Sir, you must come home,' said the maid. 'Unless you 
 hasten, your mother will die before you can see her again.' 
 
 " Who told you to come for me, girl?' asked Beryn. 
 
 " 'Your father, sir.' 
 
 " 'Get along home! Have you nothing better to do than come 
 here and take me from my pastime? I had rather my mother 
 and you as well were both dead than lose this game!' 
 
 "With that he gave her a cuff on the side of the head. He 
 cared nothing for his mother's illness, but went on playing like 
 a madman. 
 
 "The news of Agea's death spread all over Rome, and she 
 was mourned far and wide; but Beryn took no heed of the 
 mourning. He still spent his time with bad companions, and 
 cared nothing for his father's sorrow and anger. Faunus tried 
 to persuade him to quit this evil way of life, but all in vain. He 
 grew worse every day, and Faunus began to pine away with 
 grief for the loss of Agea and the wickedness of his son. 
 
 "The Emperor soon heard of Faunus's sad state, and was 
 greatly moved by the news. He summoned the Seven Sages, 
 and took their advice about the matter ; and they were of opinion 
 that the only way to take away Faunus's sorrow was to give him 
 a fresh wife to take the place of Agea. So, to make a long 
 
268 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 story short, the Emperor bestowed upon him the hand of Raine, 
 a lady of his Court, noted for her loveliness. 
 
 "Faunus could not disobey the Emperor's wish. He married 
 Raine, and in a little while forgot all about Agea and his promise 
 to her. He grew to love his new wife so much that he seemed 
 to spend all his days in looking at her; so the people of Rome 
 said; he never did anything without asking her, and obeyed her 
 in all things. 
 
 "It fell out as Agea had expected. Raine took a dislike to 
 Beryn, and strove to raise a quarrel between him and Faunus. 
 But at first she pretended to be kind to him, and gave him money 
 and clothing, as much as he liked to ask for. 
 
 "One evening when Faunus was with her he noticed that she 
 seemed sorrowful and overcast. 
 
 " 'Dear wife, my heart's delight, why are you sad?' he asked. 
 'I am yours always, and if there is anything in my power which 
 I can do, I will do it.' 
 
 "Raine began to sigh, thinking it a good time to draw upon her 
 store of plots against Beryn. 
 
 " 'No wonder that I am sad,' she answered, 'since I became 
 your wife. But I must put up with my fate.' 
 
 "By her artful words, using many a little trick of voice and 
 look, she whetted her husband's curiosity, and set him half mad 
 with grief for her distress. At last she let him know her pre- 
 tended sorrow. 
 
 " 'Alas that I ever married you !' she cried. 'Suppose we have 
 a son and he grows up like Beryn! I had rather he died than 
 spend all his days playing hazard as Beryn does. Fifteen times 
 within this month have I given your son new clothes when he 
 came back with his own lost by gambling or torn in some riot- 
 
THE MERCHANTS SECOND TALE 269 
 
 ous brawl. The half of our possessions would not be enough 
 to keep him. If I were you, I would refuse to give him any 
 more clothes unless he keeps them better and gives up his folly.' 
 
 " 'I thank you for telling me, wife/ answered Faunus. 'I 
 will speak to him, and will not give him any more till he lives 
 a better life.' 
 
 "The next morning Beryn, when he rose, found that he wanted 
 new clothes. He asked for them, but in vain ; not a man in all 
 the house would give him anything. 
 
 "Faunus heard the uproar Beryn made at this discovery, and 
 went into his son's room. He had forgotten nothing of what 
 Raine had said, but was boiling over with anger. He sat down 
 in a chair and began to speak. 
 
 " 'Son Beryn, I must give you a lesson, and teach you to look 
 after yourself. You are a man now, twenty years of age, and you 
 know nothing. Yet you could win back my love, and come into 
 honor and esteem, as well as profit, if you would only leave your 
 evil ways. Give up your gaming and profligacy, and join the 
 company of good, honest men. Else I promise you that you will 
 have to stand on your own feet in the future. I will no longer 
 buy you fresh clothes every day to wear to rags ; but if you will 
 give up bad companions and live steadily, you shall have your 
 fair share of what Heaven has been pleased to give me. If not, 
 you shall have nothing, my son, and so I tell you now.' 
 
 "Beryn scowled. 
 
 " 'Is this a sermon? Have you taken to preaching? You 
 have never treated me thus before. Give me some clothes, and 
 let me go back to my friends. They are waiting for me, and 
 I will not give them up, nor my dice-playing either, for all 
 that you can leave me in your will. Do your best with your 
 
270 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 goods while you have them, for when they fall to me I shall do 
 as I please. Who has been talking to you and setting you against 
 me ? But I know who it is your wife, plague take her 1 Fancy 
 a man letting his wife do as she pleases with his wisdom 1 You 
 love Raine so much that she has stolen your wits from you, and 
 all Rome laughs at your silly fondness. Now I know what it is 
 to have a stepmother P 
 
 "Faunus started out of his chair in anger at this brutal speech, 
 and swore that Beryn should repent it. But Beryn took no 
 heed to his words ; he only asked for a new shirt. 
 
 "But when he came to put on what clothes he could find, he 
 began to be uneasy in his mind. He had nothing but rags to 
 wear, so old and torn that his bare skin showed through in many 
 places. He went to his father, and begged him to give him 
 some new clothes ; but Faunus would not answer him a word. 
 
 "At last Beryn began to see that he was in a bad way, and 
 all through his own fault. 'Now I know indeed that my mother 
 is dead,' thought he the first time he had even brought her to 
 mind since he refused to see her. He was filled with shame 
 and sorrow, and could not bear to go into Rome again to join his 
 old comrades. He strode out of his father's house, half mad, 
 and, wandering he knew not whither, came at length to the 
 churchyard where Agea lay buried. 
 
 "When he saw his mother's grave he turned pale. 
 
 " 'Alas ! gentle mother, how kind and true you were to me P 
 he cried, and fell down in a swoon. 
 
 "When he came to his senses again he fell to weeping once 
 more, repenting bitterly of his unkindness and evil life. 'May 
 God, who made heaven and earth,' said he, 'grant me mercy 
 and grace that I may live better, and keep me from sin! By 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 271 
 
 my own wickedness I have lost my mother's life, my father's 
 love, and my own happiness; only my own life is left me, to pass 
 in suffering.' 
 
 "Meanwhile Raine had heard what Faunus had done, and 
 rejoiced to find her plot so successful. But she pretended to be 
 sorry that her words had been carried out. 
 
 " 'Dear husband,' she said to Faunus, 'I spoke but in jest to 
 you about Beryn. What is this that you have done to him? He 
 has left the house in rags, and everyone knows that you have 
 quarreled. They will say that I, his stepmother, stirred up 
 strife between him and you. I pray you, fetch him back home 
 again.' 
 
 " 'Nay, he shall not come back yet at my asking,' replied her 
 husband. 'He took no notice of my words, and I will take no 
 notice of him. Everyone knows his evil ways, and will think 
 them the cause of his going in rags; it is not your fault, dear 
 wife.' 
 
 " 'Yes, but I know that they will say it is my doing,' she said. 
 'I beg you, for your love of me, send for Beryn at once, and 
 clothe him again, and make up your quarrel.' 
 
 " 'Since it is your will, then, he shall come home. But it is 
 for your sake alone; if you had not asked it, the grass should 
 grow all over the pavements ere I would stir out to fetch him. 
 But now I will be your messenger myself, and will go and find 
 him.' 
 
 "Raine's plan had succeeded, and Faunus felt now such anger 
 against Beryn that no penitence would ever make them friends 
 again. But he could not disobey his wife. He went out and 
 asked everywhere for Beryn, in all the old haunts and places 
 where he used to make merry. But Beryn was in none of them, 
 
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 and Faunus almost gave up the search, when he heard that his 
 son was in the churchyard. He went thither, and saw Beryn 
 by Agea's grave, crying out bitterly against his own folly. 
 
 "When Faunus came to the grave of his first wife, he remem- 
 bered that he, too, had not kept his word to her, and he grew sad 
 at the thought. 'Ah, Agea, my old love yes, and my new love 
 still, alas that ever we had to parti When you were with me, 
 I never knew sorrow or trouble, but all our days were glad- 
 ness.' 
 
 "He drew near to Beryn, heavy at heart; but when Beryn saw 
 that it was his father, shame would not let him go to meet him, 
 and he sought to slink away unseen. But Faunus contrived to 
 reach him, and told him why he came. 
 
 " We have sought all over the town for you, dear son, and 
 could not find you. Forget what I said to you : I meant it only 
 as a gentle reproof, and now that I know you have taken it 
 so much to heart I will say no more. Come home with me, and 
 mend your ways, for I see that your sorrow is true. If you will 
 come, I will give you everything you desire, clothes and money 
 and horses, and I will ask the Emperor to knight you. What- 
 ever you need shall be bought for you, and you shall lack nothing 
 so long as I have anything to give you.' 
 
 " Thank you for your goodness to me, dear father,' answered 
 Beryn, 'but I cannot take what you offer. I care nothing for 
 knighthood, and as for the rest, hear what I have to say. You 
 love your wife dearly, and soon she will give you sons and daugh- 
 ters. If I come back, she will forever be trying to make her 
 children your heirs, and we shall quarrel again and again. She 
 will not let you give me anything, even for my own good, and 
 she will always be reproaching you bitterly for your kindness 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 273 
 
 to me. But if you wish to help me, let me be a merchant and 
 have five ships, well loaded, for my inheritance. With them I 
 will sail away, and never trouble you again.' 
 
 "Faunus was glad to hear Beryn's words, for thus peace would 
 be restored to his home, and his son would be provided for. 
 But he did not show his joy to Beryn for fear he should change 
 his mind. 
 
 " 'I wonder how such a plan came into your head,' he said. 
 4 You will give up the honors and the inheritance which are 
 yours by law, in order to lead a life of toil and wandering P 
 
 "But secretly he was overjoyed to be rid of his son, for Beryn's 
 conduct had killed all real love between them. 
 
 "When Raine heard Beryn's plan, in her joy she kissed Faunus, 
 and coaxed him and cuddled him as she had never done before. 
 But she did not forget to carry out her plan to the end. 
 
 " 'I know you can do one thing more for me, husband,' she 
 said, 'and that is, secure your possessions so that you can give 
 them to whom you please.' 
 
 "Beryn by law could claim a share in Faunus's property, and 
 would succeed him as his heir. Raine wanted to get him disin- 
 herited, and have his inheritance for herself and her own chil- 
 dren. 
 
 "Faunus promised to do as she wished, and she thanked him 
 heartily for his goodness. When he left her, he went straight 
 to Beryn, and began cunningly to try to get his own way. 
 
 " Tut away your mad plan, my dear son,' he said, taking him 
 by the hand, 'and do as I advise you. You are sensible now, and 
 of man's estate. Why should you be a merchant? Think of my 
 sorrow if you lost all your goods at seal And if I died while 
 you were absent you would most likely lose your share in the 
 
274 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 inheritance. Besides, I shall have to raise a loan on my lands, 
 if I am to give you five ships and merchandise to fill them. But 
 still, if your heart is set on it, I will do as you wish, whatever it 
 cost me.' 
 
 "Faunus guessed rightly that the way to persuade Beryn to 
 go was to pretend to wish the reverse. Beryn was so eager to 
 venture as a merchant that he was willing even to give up all 
 claim on his father's property if only he could have his ships 
 and cargo. 
 
 "To cut a long story short, they went before the Emperor, and 
 Beryn legally gave up his inheritance in exchange for a deed 
 giving him five ships full of merchandise. The bargain was 
 written down and signed and sealed before the Emperor and 
 senators, and the parchment was given to a third person for safe 
 keeping. 
 
 "You may be sure Raine was joyful when she heard that the 
 matter was finally settled. Faunus, too, was glad to give Beryn 
 his ships at once, and Beryn's only wish was to set sail imme- 
 diately. So they were all satisfied ; and now you shall hear no 
 more of Faunus and his wife, but only of Beryn and his adven- 
 
 tures." 
 
 II. THE BURGESSES OF FALSETOWN 
 
 "As soon as he got a fair wind, Beryn set sail from Rome for 
 Alexandria with all his five ships and their cargo, and a full 
 ci?ew in each. They sailed with fine weather for two days and 
 a night, but then there fell on the sea a thick mist and shut them 
 in. The mist continued for three whole days without a break, 
 and the ships were so hidden in it that one could not be seen from 
 another. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 275 
 
 "At the end of that time a great wind arose, clearing the fog 
 away and almost destroying Beryn's fleet with its force. Beryn 
 and his crew gave themselves up for lost; the wind howled and 
 roared, the sea raged and broke over them, and every man com- 
 mended himself to Heaven, thinking his last hour was come. 
 Thus they continued for a day and a night, being driven they 
 knew not whither, right out of their course. But on the morrow, 
 just when they thought all was over with them, the storm began 
 to abate; the wind dropped, and in a little while the sea became 
 calm again. 
 
 "Beryn called one of the sailors to him. 'By the grace of 
 Heaven we are saved,' said he. 'Go up to the masthead, and 
 see if the other four ships are anywhere near us. 1 
 
 "The man went aloft, and when he had been there a little while 
 called down to Beryn: 'Cheer up, sir! Your ships are coming 
 sailing up all safe and sound. You will see them in a moment 
 What is more, I spy land. Turn our course eastward, and we 
 shall reach it.' 
 
 " 'Heaven be praised!' cried Beryn. 'We have come through 
 the storm with our cargo all safe, and it is good merchandise 
 that I could ill afford to lose. Helmsman, steer for the land, 
 and when the other ships catch us up, clap on all sail!' 
 
 "He called the chief seamen out of each ship to a council, 
 when the little fleet was once more united, and told them that 
 land was near. But none of them could guess what country 
 it was for which they were then making, and they debated what 
 they had best do. 
 
 " 'The town which we can see on yonder coast seems fair and 
 prosperous in appearance,' said Beryn ; 'but I think it would be 
 well if I were to land alone by myself, and go over it, to see what 
 
276 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 sort of place it really is. What say you, sirs? Do you think 
 that a good plan?' 
 
 "They agreed, and said that if it seemed likely to profit them 
 they would put in at this port; if not, they would gladly go else- 
 where. 
 
 "But they knew nothing of what the town really was. In all 
 the world there was no city so false as this, no people so deceitful 
 and dishonest as the inhabitants of this country. And the most 
 cunning of all their tricks was this that when any ships of an- 
 other nation came into port, they hid themselves in their own 
 houses, and left the streets quite empty; no one rode about, no 
 one walked on the paths, there was nobody in the shops. If a 
 stranger found them, and spoke of trading with them, they pre- 
 tended to be utterly ignorant of merchandise. In fact, there 
 were no such rogues as they in the whole earth, as you will very 
 soon see. 
 
 "Beryn put on his best clothes, as became a rich merchant, and 
 mounted a splendidly-harnessed horse, and rode into the town, 
 with a page running alongside. He went right through the city, 
 but saw not a soul in the streets or shops, all the house-doors and 
 windows being closed. At length, however, he came to a fine 
 house, whose gate stood open. Here there lived (though Beryn 
 did not know it then) a manciple, the most slippery cheat of all 
 the burgesses in that false town. 
 
 "Beryn entered, and found the master of the house playing 
 chess. But as soon as the burgess saw him, he put the chess 
 aside, and started up, crying, 'Bless me! what wind has blown 
 you hither? I wish I could give you a better welcome, but you 
 must take the will for the deed, and put up with the best I can 
 do for vou.' 
 
THE MERCHANTS SECOND TALE 277 
 
 "He saw from Beryn's dress that he was a rich man, and 
 probably the owner of the ships which had just come into harbor ; 
 and he brought all his cunning to bear upon him, welcoming him 
 with the greatest kindness, and showing him every imaginable 
 courtesy. 
 
 " 'It is a day to be thankful for when I see you here in my 
 country safe and sound/ said he, pretending to remember Beryn 
 as an old friend, though he had as yet no idea even of his name. 
 'Tell me, now what brings you here? Can I serve you in any- 
 way? If there is anything in my power that I can do to please 
 you, I will do it.' 
 
 "The other citizen who had been playing chess with the bur- 
 gess of the house now rose up, as if out of respect to Beryn, and 
 fell in with his comrade's crafty plan in a moment. 
 
 " Tray, who is this worshipful gentleman?' he asked, inno- 
 cently enough; 'you seem to know him. Have you met him 
 before?' 
 
 " 'Know him!' said the other ( I have seen him hundreds of 
 times! I will treat him like a brother, and do everything for 
 him that I can. I tell you, in his own country he is a man of 
 rank and wealth.' 
 
 " Well, then, there are a thousand in this town who would be 
 ready to do him a service for your sake.' 
 
 "The master of the house, whose name was Syrophanes, now 
 asked his friend to entertain Beryn for a few moments while he 
 went to look after his guest's horse. 'A gentle heart cares for 
 his beast when he has seen to his own welfare,' he said. 'I will 
 look to your steed, and then find some of my choicest wine for 
 you.' 
 
 "With that he went out, and left Beryn with his friend. 
 
278 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Beryn was a little confused at the warm welcome he had re- 
 ceived, and hardly knew what to think, though he suspected no 
 deceit. When the host's friend asked him about himself, he an- 
 swered quite frankly. 
 
 " 'My name is Beryn, and I have come from Rome with five 
 ships filled with merchandise. The ships are in your harbor 
 now. But I am filled with wonder at your friend's kind wel- 
 come of me, and I do not know why he is so willing to entertain 
 
 me.' 
 
 " 'It is not surprising, sir,' answered the other. 'He has often 
 been to Rome ; indeed, I think he was born there.' 
 
 " 'Ah, no wonder,' said the simple Beryn. 'I expect he has 
 seen me there. Yes, his welcome proves it.' 
 
 "Meanwhile Syrophanes had gone to the stable and found 
 Beryn's page-boy tending his master's horse. He asked the boy 
 a few questions, and in a few minutes had got out of him every- 
 thing about Beryn his name, home, parents, the death of Agea, 
 and all. Then he went back into the house with a well-feigned 
 look of friendly grief on his face. 
 
 "'Ah, Beryn!' he cried, coming into the room, 'I am sorry 
 that your dear mother Agea is dead. Heaven rest her! Never 
 had I a warmer welcome anywhere than from her no, nor 
 half so good a one. And so you are a merchant, and have come 
 all this way oversea from Rome! You have left your inherit- 
 ance to come here ! Well, you might have fared ill indeed, and 
 you must put up with the best you -can get. I must go down to 
 the harbor with you and see your ships when we have dined.' 
 
 "So they all three sat down and had a good dinner together. 
 The burgess was a wealthy man, and knew how to provide a 
 fine feast. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 279 
 
 "When they had done their dinner, a chess-board and men 
 were brought out. They were of ivory and the men most beauti- 
 fully wrought and polished, and colored white and blue. Beryn 
 was delighted at the sight of them. 
 
 " 'I dare say you would find your match, and be checkmated 
 in a very short time,' said Syrophanes to him jestingly, meaning 
 to make him play. 
 
 " That may well be,' answered Beryn. 'But now I must go 
 and see to my ships.' 
 
 " There is no need of that,' said the other. They arc not 
 settled down properly in the harbor yet; I sent three messengers 
 while we dined to find out. Let us have a game. I will be the 
 first foe on whom you shall try your skill.' 
 
 "Beryn agreed, and they began to play. Beryn won four 
 games one after the other, and grew weary of such an easy vic- 
 tory. 
 
 " 'I do not want to play any more,' he said. Where we are 
 so unequal the game is poor. I must go, and I thank you very 
 heartily for your good cheer and the games we have played.' 
 
 "The burgess had allowed Beryn to win in order to encourage 
 him, arid he did not want him to go away. 
 
 " 'Nay, Beryn, do not go,' he pleaded. 'Let us make the game 
 better by laying a wager on it. Suppose we agree to this : who- 
 ever is checkmated must do whatever the other bids him, or else 
 drink up all the salt water in the sea.' 
 
 "It was a strange wager, but the silly Beryn yielded and agreed 
 to the terms, thinking himself sure of victory, though some of 
 the citizens who were looking on were certain that he would lose, 
 for Syrophanes was the best chess-player in the country. But 
 Beryn knew nothing of that. 
 
2 8o THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "They fell to the game again, and Beryn played very carefully. 
 But for all his skill he got the worst of it. In an hour or so his 
 pieces were nearly all taken or utterly blocked, and he was well- 
 nigh mated. 
 
 "Meanwhile the burgess, seeing victory in his grasp, took coun- 
 sel with his friends, and sent for the sergeants of the town, who 
 came and walked up and down the hall just as if they were there 
 by chance, though Syrophanes had taken care to let them know 
 his purpose. 
 
 "By this time a great many people had gathered round to see 
 the end of the game. Beryn turned his eyes away from the 
 board for a moment and saw them, and knew then that he was 
 betrayed. 
 
 "T(ay on, Beryn,' said his host; 'you are getting the worst 
 of it!' 
 
 "The lookers-on began to talk to one another about the wager. 
 Beryn overheard something of what they said, and was so con- 
 fused at the thought of what might happen that he let Syro- 
 phanes capture a rook very easily. The loss only made his dis- 
 may greater; his heart sank, and he turned pale with distress 
 and anger. 
 
 " 'Look, Beryn,' said the burgess suddenly: 'you see that piece 
 there? I can mate your king when I please 1' 
 
 "With that he moved one of his chessmen and cried, 'Check- 
 mate !' 
 
 "The sergeants by this time were standing behind Beryn. One 
 of them plucked him by the sleeve, saying, 'What are you going 
 to do now, sir?' 
 
 "'Why do you lay hands on me, sirs?' answered Beryn* 
 'What have I said or done that is wrong? 7 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 281 
 
 " 'It is no use to resist,' the sergeants replied. 'You must come 
 with us to the steward of the town, whether you wish it or not. 
 He will hear what you have to say.' 
 
 " 'You need not drag me so roughly,' objected Beryn. 
 
 " 'Come with us,' they answered; 'we cannot listen to you.' 
 
 " 'I beg you to hear me,' Beryn pleaded. 'I have played chess 
 with my good host here, and he has won the wager we laid on the 
 game. But that is between him and me; what have you to do 
 with it?' 
 
 "Syrophanes gave a great cry at that, and, setting his arms 
 akimbo, began to protest loudly. 
 
 " 'Would you think to browbeat me?' he said angrily to Beryn. 
 'None of your lying tales. Go with the sergeants, and be quick 
 over it. You shall tell your story to the steward.' 
 
 " 'Do you mean this, sir?' asked Beryn. 'You are my host, 
 and you know my country and family, as you have yourself told 
 me a dozen times already to-day.' 
 
 " 'What if I did say so?' answered the false burgess, following 
 him, as the sergeants forced him to go with them. 'You will 
 believe what I say a little less next time. I only spoke to you in 
 order to get you into trouble, and now that I have my way, I 
 will not spare you.' 
 
 "Thus they quarreled all through the streets till they came to 
 the hall where the steward was sitting. His name was Evander, 
 and he was crafty and wicked; but he had with him a burgess as 
 provost to advise him, called Hanybald, who was still more cun- 
 ning. 
 
 "Beryn's host told what had happened, and all about the terms 
 of the wager; he did not add or hide anything, for in that town 
 it was not necessary to conceal deceit. 
 
282 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'Now, Beryn,' said the steward, 'you have heard this good 
 burgess's tale. You must fulfill your part in the wager, and do 
 anything that he likes to order, or else drink all the water that 
 is salt in the sea. Which do you choose? I care not, but you 
 must do one or the other.' 
 
 "Beryn was well-nigh speechless with dismay, and no wonder, 
 for he had not expected to meet with a host so treacherous and 
 crafty as Syrophanes. He begged Evander to grant him one day 
 in which to make up his mind. 
 
 " 'But if I allow you a day,' said the steward, 'you must give 
 some pledge or surety that you will appear in court to-morrow.' 
 
 " 'I have a plan,' broke in Hanybald. 'He has five ships lying 
 yonder in the harbor. Let us take them as surety. I am your 
 provost, and will seize them to execute justice.' 
 
 " 'He must give his consent,' answered Evander. 
 
 " 'I agree,' said Beryn; 'there is no other way.' 
 
 "So Beryn was set free, and went down to the guay with Hany- 
 bald to look at the ships. 
 
 " 'Beryn,' said Hanybald, as they were talking on the way, 'I 
 give you my word that I can do you a good turn. If you listen 
 to me, you need fear nothing. Look you, the steward said that 
 your ships were to be seized, but he said nothing about the car- 
 goes in them ; and when I have to seize the ships, I shall not be 
 obliged to take the merchandise. Sell me the goods, then ; I will 
 pay a high price for them, and give you a written agreement, if 
 you wish. Or come and see what I could give you in exchange. 
 I have two or three warehouses full of some of the best mer- 
 chandise in all this great city. We can certainly come to a bar- 
 gain between us, if you think well of it.' 
 
 " 'A fair offer,' said Beryn. 'I thank you, sir, and I will do 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 283 
 
 as you say, if you assure me that I do not break the law thereby.' 
 
 " 'I give you my word for it,' answered Hanybald. 
 
 "With that they rode together to Hanybald's warehouses, 
 where Beryn found, as he had been told, a great store of costly 
 merchandise, richer than any to be found elsewhere in that city. 
 When they had looked carefully at all this, they went down to 
 Beryn's ships, and Hanybald inspected the goods there. 
 
 " 'Your merchandise is very fine, Beryn/ he said at length. 
 'Let us come to terms. I will give you, in exchange for your 
 five shiploads, five loads of whatever goods you can find any- 
 where in my warehouses. That is what I offer; if you think it 
 a good bargain, talk it over with your men, and let me know soon 
 what you decide, for I have no time to waste.' 
 
 "Beryn called the captains of his ships, and told them all that 
 had happened. They agreed that the best that they could do 
 was to take Hanybald's offer. 
 
 "But now hear what that rascal Hanybald had done. When 
 he left Beryn to make up his mind, he went straight to his ware- 
 houses, and emptied them of everything; nothing was left except 
 the walls and the roof and the beams. When Beryn came with 
 his men to fetch whatever goods they could find in the ware- 
 house, according to the agreement, Hanybald bade them go in 
 and choose. But as soon as they saw the bare, empty rooms they 
 knew that Beryn had once more been cheated. 
 
 "Beryn rushed out of the warehouse like a madman, and hur- 
 ried down to his ships to stop the unloading of his goods. But 
 he was too late. Three hundred men were busy carrying the 
 bales and cases out of each ship to Hanybald's house; for the 
 crafty citizen had laid his plans well, and had ordered the men 
 to start work as soon as Beryn and his captains left the ships. 
 
284 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Beryn ran off again to Hanybald, no one daring to stop him. 
 But Hanybald greeted him with a careless smile. 
 
 " ( It is no use, Beryn,' he said. 'Lay aside your anger. You 
 know well enough that I have seized your ships according to the 
 law, and the goods are mine, since you have just exchanged them 
 for five loads of whatever you can find in my warehouses. You 
 keep your word, and I keep mine. What do you want here? I 
 never saw a man like you : one moment you wish to sell, and the 
 next you refuse. If you are not satisfied, let us go to the steward 
 and lay the matter before him.' 
 
 " 'No, indeed P cried Beryn, who knew enough of Evander the 
 steward by now. 
 
 " 'You will have to go, whether you like it or not,' said Hany- 
 bald. 'I am the steward's provost, and I have power to compel 
 you. Come, get on your horse, and do not let us fall out about 
 it.' 
 
 "So Beryn sorrowfully mounted his horse, saying to his men, 
 'Take no heed of me ; I will come back to you when I can. You 
 see that I can do nothing else.' 
 
 "When they came to the steward, to cut a long story short, 
 it was decided that Beryn should have a day in which to pre- 
 pare his defense, and give reasons why Hanybald should not 
 seize his cargoes. And thus there were two cases in which 
 Beryn had to appear before the steward on the morrow." 
 
 III. THE LAND OF LIES 
 
 "Beryn left the steward's court ruefully, and turned to go to- 
 wards his ships. But the fame of his misfortunes had by this 
 time run throughout the town, and he soon found a great crowd 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 285 
 
 at his heels pressing eagerly to catch sight of this new dupe 
 whom Syrophanes and Hanybald had cheated so successfully. 
 Every rogue in the town that is to say, every single inhabitant 
 wished to have his turn at plundering poor Beryn. 
 
 "Beryn made his way angrily through the mob with his page 
 beside him. He had not ridden a stone's throw when a blind 
 man met him, and saying nothing, laid hold of him by the coat 
 and held him till he stopped. 
 
 " 'Not so fast, sir,' cried the stranger when he had made Beryn 
 stand still. 'Do not try to escape.' 
 
 "Beryn thought that it was a joke, and made as if to free 
 himself. But the blind man only clutched him more tightly 
 with both hands. 
 
 " 'You shall not get off, for all your wealth,' he cried, 'until 1 
 have had the law on you. It is through you that I have lost my 
 sight' 
 
 "Beryn could not get past him, for he stood right in his path, 
 and the crowd was closing in round him on every side. They 
 were all trying to prevent his going, and speaking up for the 
 blind man. 
 
 " 'You must stop and go and submit to the law,' they said, 
 'however great a man you may be.' 
 
 " 'I would do so readily enough,' answered Beryn, 'if there 
 was any cause for it, but I know none.' 
 
 " 'No?' said the blind man. 'I will tell you what you have 
 done.' 
 
 " 'Say on, then.' 
 
 " 'Nay, this is no place for my plea,' answered the man. 
 'There is no judge here of power enough to give me justice. We 
 will go before Evander the steward, and he shall decide between 
 
286 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 us. When I have told my tale and you have answered it, men 
 will be able to see if you are guilty or not. Thank Heaven for 
 this dayl At last I have found you, and can show you to be my 
 old partner who cheated and robbed me! You thought that you 
 would never be found out, but there is something more to be 
 said about that, as you shall see. Truth will out, as the saying 
 is.' 
 
 "As they were talking the crowd had been moving them in the 
 direction of the hall of justice, where the steward was. When 
 they reached it the blind man was sworn, and hastened to make 
 his plea. 
 
 " 'Sir Steward, I beg you to hear me for a short time. I have 
 seized a fellow who has done me more wrong than any man on 
 earth, and I desire the aid of the law. You know how often I 
 have complained to you of the way in which I was betrayed and 
 ill-used by a man who long ago exchanged eyes with me. This 
 is he who did it. I lent him my eyes for his just for a little time, 
 and he found mine better than his own and kept them, to my 
 great sorrow and pain, as you know. I have not got my own, 
 and I cannot see with his. But whenever I came to you before 
 you told me that you could do nothing unless I brought the man 
 who had wronged me into court. Well, here he is now. Don't 
 let him go until he has given me back my eyes!' 
 
 " 'Beryn,' said Evander, 'do you hear how exact and well- 
 drawn is this accusation?' 
 
 "Beryn was speechless with surprise and anger, which was a 
 good thing for him, for by the law of that country whatever a 
 man swore on oath was regarded as proved and true, so that if 
 Beryn had denied the charge he would have been cast into prison 
 at once for falsehood. The citizens, taking advantage of this 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 287 
 
 custom, were forever going to law with strangers, who seldom 
 got off without losing something. 
 
 " 'You will be condemned if you do not answer, Beryn,' 
 Evander went on, seeing that Beryn was silent. 
 
 " 'It would be of little use, sir,' Beryn replied, 'if I answered 
 thus by myself without any man's advice. Surprise has taken 
 away my wits. I pray you give me a day in which to make my 
 answer ready.' 
 
 " 'Very well,' said the steward, 'come here again to-morrow.' 
 
 "Beryn took his leave and went out of the court. He was 
 mounting his horse to ride away when a woman, carrying a child 
 in her arms, ran up weeping and seized his bridle. 
 
 " 'Softly, sir,' she cried, 'do not hurry away. You must wait 
 and hear me. You are my husband ; you villain ! why did you 
 leave me? Come before the steward and hear what I have to say 
 to you. Alas, that I ever married you! This two years have I 
 suffered grief and hardship, and all because of youl But now 
 men shall see who it is that has done wrong.' 
 
 "The crowd had gathered all round, and Beryn had to go back 
 into the steward's court again. The woman stood up with her 
 face all wan and pale, and made a great show of sorrow and 
 misery as she began her tale. 
 
 " 'Sir, I have often come before you and complained that my 
 husband, the father of my child here, deserted me and left me 
 all alone. I am ashamed to say how poor I have been since he 
 went away. I have had to sell my clothes and often go without 
 food or drink, so great has been my distress, and I had hard 
 work to keep alive at all. This is he who is the cause of all my 
 woe! It is time he paid for my keep and made amends for his 
 neglect, and I challenge him to prove my words false!' 
 
288 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'A piteous tale, sad enough to move a man's heart,' said 
 Evander softly. 'I know that it is true in part, for many a time 
 has the woman come to me and told me her grief. But of course 
 she could do nothing until her husband was found. Now that 
 you are here, Beryn, make your defense as well as you can.' 
 
 "Beryn again was silent. 
 
 " 'Are you asleep ?' asked the steward. ' S ay something. Does 
 she tell the truth or not?' 
 
 " 'What is the good of my speaking among so many wise men 
 without first taking counsel?' said Beryn. 'Grant me, I pray 
 you, till to-morrow for my answer.' 
 
 " 'I grant it,' answered the steward. 'But to-morrow you must 
 answer all the charges without any more delay.' 
 
 "Beryn went away, his heart almost breaking with sorrow; 
 and no wonder. He got on his horse and rode out of the city 
 with his page-boy, no one hindering him now. He pondered 
 over his misfortunes, and thought that they all sprang from his 
 unkindness to his mother. But he had not yet come to the end 
 of them. 
 
 "Very soon he sent his page away with his horse and went on 
 walking afoot alone by himself. As he walked he lamented his 
 folly aloud, and called on Heaven to bring down vengeance on 
 the rogues who had tricked him. 
 
 "It happened that a sheriffs bailiff, or catchpole named Ma- 
 caigne, who had been told about the misfortunes of the stranger 
 who had that day arrived in the town, overheard Beryn as he 
 talked to himself, and he immediately made up his mind to take 
 him in afresh, if possible. 
 
 " 'Heaven bless you, sir!' he said, going up to him in a friendly 
 way. 'You seem to be unhappy, and no doubt have good cause. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 289 
 
 But will you not tell me your distress? Perhaps I may be able 
 to help you in it. Nothing is so bad that there is no remedy, 
 and my advice has often done others a good turn.' 
 
 " 'Thank you, sir,' answered Beryn. 'I know not whom to 
 trust. Even my host, who gave me dinner to-day, deceived me 
 and had me arrested.' 
 
 " 'Oh, are you that man?' said the catchpole, pretending to 
 recognize him at once. 'I have heard of you. You need not 
 fear me ; it is true that there are many rogues among our citizens, 
 but I will give you the best advice I can. The wisest thing that 
 you could do would be to speak privately to the steward, and 
 lay out a penny or two to save your pounds. The steward is a 
 covetous man, and has long wished to possess a knife which I 
 have. I will sell you this knife, if you agree, for five marks; 
 with it you can bribe the steward to be on your side, and you 
 had better promise him twenty pounds as well. It is worth 
 while to spend a little money in order to save the rest. Come to 
 the steward now; I will go with you and kneel before him, and 
 speak for you, pretending that I am your cousin. When I have 
 had my say, then give him the knife.' 
 
 "Beryn thanked him heartily, trusting him entirely. They 
 went together to Evander, Macaigne comforting Beryn on the 
 road. Beryn carried the knife, and relied on his new friend for 
 help. 
 
 "But as soon as they came into the presence of the steward 
 the catchpole threw himself on the ground before him, and 
 began to pour out a loud complaint against Beryn. 
 
 "'Sir Steward,' he cried, 'now show yourself a just judge! 
 Look at this false traitor standing beside me I He slew my father 
 Melan, whose death I formerly laid before you for justice. 
 
290 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 Melan went to Rome with seven swift ships full of merchandise 
 seven years ago, and since then I have heard no more of it until 
 to-day, in spite of all my diligence in asking. But now I know 
 too well what has happened. Alas! alas!' And with that he 
 fell a-weeping. 
 
 "When Beryn heard this he thought, What am I to do?' and 
 turned and tried to flee. But Macaigne started up and caught 
 hold of him. 
 
 " 'No, you shall not escape,' he cried ; 'my tale is not done. 
 If I let you escape, I should be sorry for it all my life.' 
 
 "Then, holding Beryn fast by the arm, he addressed the stew- 
 ard again. 'Hear me, good sir. Murder will out, and this 
 villain is caught at last. Search him, and you will find on him 
 a knife which used to be my father's. I know it well, and the 
 cutler of this town made it, and will swear to it.' 
 
 "Beryn was full of anger and fear, and gave up the knife to 
 the steward without a word. 
 
 " 'See, my friend, this is a foul deed to have done!' said 
 Evander. 'You will not get off unless you give satisfaction for 
 the body of Melan before you go, and for his goods as well. 
 Come before me to-morrow to answer this charge.' 
 
 "So Beryn had yet another trial awaiting him on the morrow, 
 when he was to be accused by Syrophanes, by Hanybald, by the 
 blind man, by the woman who claimed to be his wife, and, last 
 of all, by Macaigne the catchpole. 
 
 "But now he was near the end of his troubles, though he did 
 not suspect it, for by this time he was ready to distrust every- 
 one, and was at his wits' end to know what to do. 
 
 "'Never was a man worse betrayed than I have been!' he 
 mourned, looking back on the hall of justice when he had left 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 291 
 
 it. 'I have no friends here, and all those who offer to help me 
 turn out to be cheats. Yet it is my own fault. I brought my 
 mother to her grave by my wicked life, and then in my folly 
 I turned merchant! If I had not been so foolish I might now 
 have been rich at Rome, enjoying my inheritance and the com- 
 pany of my friends.' 
 
 "He was lamenting thus, when suddenly he saw coming to- 
 wards him at a wonderful speed a cripple, with a wooden leg 
 and a crutch, and arms all deformed and distorted. 
 
 " 'Is there another trial in store for me?' thought Beryn, and 
 he began to be filled with fear. But the cripple stretched out 
 his hand and caught him by the sleeve. 
 
 "This was too much for Beryn. He turned like a startled 
 hare, and took to his heels. But the cripple knew the paths 
 better than he, and soon caught him up. Beryn stopped when 
 he saw that it was in vain to run, and stood staring stupidly at 
 the stranger, without saying a word. 
 
 " 'You would not doubt my good faith if you knew me, sir,' 
 said the cripple; 'and, whether you like it or not, you shall not 
 part from me till I have come to terms with you. I know that 
 you are in misfortune, but I desire to hear all your story. You 
 were a fool when you first landed here; I could have told you 
 everything about the wicked treachery of the merchants of this 
 city.' 
 
 "Beryn sighed; he was too despondent and sad at heart to 
 say much. 
 
 " 'Good sir,' he begged, 'I pray you do me no more harm. 
 Have some pity on me, and leave me now. Come to me again to- 
 morrow, and I will give you anything I have left.' 
 
 "While he was talking, the cripple had laid hands upon his 
 
THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 cloak. But when Beryn saw this, he undid the fastening, and 
 let the cloak slip off his shoulders, preferring to lose it rather 
 than be taken before Evander again. The cripple, however, 
 caught him by the sleeve when he saw the cloak loosened. 
 
 " 'Now I am cornered,' thought Beryn. 'I must run for it.' 
 
 "With that he fled as fast as he could. But the cripple, though 
 he was very aged (being, indeed, more than a hundred years 
 old), was amazingly swift-footed, and set to work at once to 
 overtake him, saying to himself, The man will be ruined for- 
 ever unless he takes my advice. I will help him, for he comes 
 from Rome, which is my own country.' 
 
 "The cripple's name was Geoffrey, and he was no cheat, but 
 a true friend, who really wished to do poor Beryn a good turn. 
 His face was worn and old, and half covered with a long white 
 beard, but it was manly and spirited to look at. 
 
 "Beryn was so frightened that he fled till he came to the water- 
 side without ever looking back. But when he reached the sea 
 he could go no further, and Geoffrey caught him up. 
 
 " Why do you try to avoid me?' asked Geoffrey. l l swear to 
 you that I mean you no harm. Sit down here upon the seashore, 
 and if you fear anything, call your men to come and stand by 
 you. Let them be with us and hear all we say, for I will not lie 
 to you. Cheer up, and listen to me!' 
 
 "Beryn began to be less afraid when he heard Geoffrey's kind 
 words; but he could not quite get over his suspicions after so 
 many misfortunes. 
 
 " 'I know not whom I can trust,' he said. 'Nevertheless, if 
 you will come on board one of my ships, I will hear what you 
 have to say.' 
 
 " 'Very well, I will come aboard, and put myself into your 
 
THE MERCHANTS SECOND TALE 293 
 
 power. But if by my advice you are able to get the better of 
 your enemies, and give their pride a fall, what reward shall I 
 have?' 
 
 " 'I will reward you truly and honestly, I promise you, 5 said 
 Beryn. 
 
 " 'Then I will join you, and tell you what to do.' 
 
 " 'But what is your name, friend?' asked Beryn as they went 
 on board together. 
 
 " 'Geoffrey,' replied the cripple. 'I am not a citizen of this 
 place, but come from Rome. But I have dwelt for many years 
 here among these people, and have suffered far worse than you. 
 I would not put up with their lies, and I paid dearly for my 
 boldness. They are the vilest set of rogues on earth, and they 
 have never had an honest thought among them. They robbed 
 me of a thousand pounds' worth of merchandise, and I hardly es- 
 caped with my life. To save myself, I had to pretend to be a 
 cripple, such as you see me now. Yet my limbs are whole and 
 sound enough, and I need no crutches.' 
 
 "With that he threw away his wooden leg and crutch and 
 leaped and danced and ran up and down the deck to show his 
 strength. 
 
 "At length he and Beryn and the captains of the ships sat down 
 to hold a council. Beryn told them all everything that had 
 happened, and said to Geoffrey, 'If you know anyone who could 
 really help me, and defend me to-morrow in court, I vow I 
 would become his liege-man and servant!' 
 
 " 'That would be too much to do,' said the late cripple. 'But 
 if you will promise me one thing I will save you. Will you, if 
 I defeat your enemies and win your case, carry me in one of your 
 ships to Rome?' 
 
294 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "Beryn took his men's advice, and at length promised to do as 
 Geoffrey asked. Then Geoffrey began to show Beryn how to 
 escape his false accusers. 
 
 " 'You must tell me all about your accusers and the charges 
 they bring against you,' he said, 'because I mean to take advan- 
 tage of their customs, and turn the tables on them by appealing 
 to the king. You know how treacherous they are, like all the 
 rest of the people of this country. In their law the only proof 
 required is that enough witnesses shall swear that a thing is true, 
 no matter what be said against it; and it is no use to plead that 
 your side of the case is true, because they all stand by one an- 
 other, and every accuser will get a hundred or more to back him 
 with the same tale. The reason of this is that Isope, their king, 
 hates lying, and punishes it with death, so that, to save one an- 
 other, they agree to stand by the lies they have told, in order to 
 escape a charge of falsehood. The only way, therefore, to beat 
 them is to tell bigger lies, which is what we must do to-morrow.' 
 
 " 'Heaven grant me aidl' said Beryn. 'If I can only save my- 
 self by lying, then lie I must.' Then he told Geoffrey all the 
 different charges that had been brought against him. 
 
 ' f 'I will not fail you,' Geoffrey said, when he had heard the 
 whole story. 'Now, listen to me.' 
 
 "With that he told Beryn how to approach King Isope; for 
 that, he said, was the only way of escape. 
 
 " 'Isope, though he has been blind for more than sixty years, 
 is the wisest king on earth, and will have no evil-doing among 
 his citizens, though, as I have showed you, he cannot always find 
 out what is amiss, because they all lie alike. He is very learned 
 more learned than even the Seven Sages of Rome and he 
 speaks all manner of tongues ; and though he has reigned for seven 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 295 
 
 score years, his spirit is as strong and active as ever. Now you, 
 Beryn, must go to Isope. He lives in a great palace, which you 
 must not enter by the big main gate, where there are men on 
 guard who would stop you, but by a window in the wall to the 
 right of the gate. When you are inside, you will see in front 
 of you a portcullis ; pass by that, and you will come to a great 
 hall paved with gold. There there are set two huge stones, one 
 for ever blazing, so hot that it burns all who come near, and the 
 other so cold that it freezes everything. You must walk very 
 warily and lightly, or you will not get past. At the end of the 
 hall is a door, guarded by two leopards, which will spring out at 
 you to seize you. But there is nothing they hate so much as a 
 man's breath, and if you blow in their faces just at the right 
 moment they will let you leave the hall unhurt. On the other 
 side of this door you will come into the loveliest garden in the 
 whole world, containing every plant and shrub and flower that 
 blows, and birds of pure gold singing and flying. In the middle 
 stands the fairest tree that was ever seen, with leaves of silver 
 and gold. The garden is watched by eight Magicians, four of 
 them sleeping, while the other four keep guard ; they cause the 
 forms of horrible dragons to appear, loathly and terrible enough 
 to frighten the bravest man unless he were warned in time. 
 There is also a white lion, which in its time has eaten five hun- 
 dred or more men. But all these dangers you will pass in safety 
 if you go to the tree in the middle and touch it; whoever does 
 that need fear nothing. Last of all, when you have gone right 
 through the garden, you will see a narrow path, which, as you go 
 along it, grows wider and wider, until you come to Isope's own 
 chamber. There you must tell the King your story as best you 
 can, and have the charges against you properly read, so as to 
 
296 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 know clearly of what you are accused. [Then come back to me, 
 when you know exactly what will bo brought against you, and we 
 will take counsel again together. 
 
 " 'No,' said Beryn, 'I would rather lose all my merchandise 
 than go such a journey as you ask!' 
 
 " 'Then, for your sake I will go myself,' replied Geoffrey. 'I 
 will return by cock-crow. Be of good cheer while I am gone.' 
 
 "With that he set out for the wonderful palace of King Isope." 
 
 IV. GEOFFREY, THE MASTER-ROGUE 
 
 "When Geoffrey was gone, Beryn and his men fell into low 
 spirits again. They feared that he might betray them by some 
 new trick, and all night long they did nothing but rail against 
 their unhappy fate, crying out that their goods would be taken 
 and themselves sold as slaves. When it began to dawn, and 
 cocks were heard giving their earliest crow, a still deeper de- 
 spair seized them. Still Geoffrey did not return, and at last they 
 made up their minds to try and escape by sailing away. 
 
 "They trimmed the sails in a hurry, and made all ready for 
 setting out, and were just about to start when they saw Geoffrey 
 racing to the waterside with his crutch, which he had taken up 
 again to deceive the citizens. He stood on the shore calling 
 loudly to them, and Beryn ordered a boat to be sent to fetch him 
 on board. His men distrusted Geoffrey, but nevertheless they 
 obeyed and brought him before Beryn. 
 
 " Why have you lost heart, Beryn ?' asked Geoffrey as soon as 
 he arrived. 'If you are low-spirited, your men will follow your 
 example. Cheer up, and trust me; I heard all about the law of 
 the case from King Isope, and I will outwit your enemies ay, 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 297 
 
 and make them pay you heavy damages, too. You know, the 
 law is that if the accuser does not prove his charge, or fulfill his 
 part of the contract, he must pay the accused the same sum that 
 he sued him for. Now let us have some food.' 
 
 "It was by now nearly nine o'clock in the morning, and Beryn 
 and Geoffrey ate and drank, and Beryn felt his spirits reviving. 
 But his men were still distrustful and despondent, and were for 
 throwing Geoffrey overboard; and in their discontent and fear 
 they forgot that their sails were set all ready for departure. 
 
 "Hanyb.ald, however, happened to come down to the town 
 bridge, near the quay, and saw the ship trimmed as if for sail- 
 ing. He began to be terribly afraid that Beryn might escape 
 with his merchandise, leaving him in the lurch, which would be 
 a great loss; for, as provost of Evander's court, he had charge 
 of Beryn's five ships. He hastened, therefore, to call his fellow- 
 citizens together, and roused the whole town till a body of a 
 thousand or so came down to the shore, all armed, to stop 
 Beryn's flight. 
 
 "Now was the time for Geoffrey to show his skill, for, though 
 Beryn did not mean to sail away, the mob might not believe his 
 word, and in their anger they might do great harm. 
 
 "The cripple ordered the men to shave his beard and hair, so 
 that he should look like a fool ; and when they had done this, he 
 went and stood in the prow of one of the ships, capering and 
 bowing and grimacing like a madman. 
 
 "'Bless you, sir!' he cried to Hanybald. 'Beryn! Beryn! 
 come here and see the pretty people! Look at all my children 
 dressed up in armor! They have come to help us ; a blessing on 
 you all, my dear children V 
 
 "He spoke thus in a high, shrill voice, dancing and making 
 
298 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 faces the while, so that Hanybald thought he really was a mad- 
 man, and the mob laughed heartily at him. 
 
 "When Beryn and his men saw that there was no danger, but 
 that the townsmen were satisfied that they would not escape, they 
 landed, and went with Geoffrey towards the court-house. On 
 the way Beryn asked Hanybald, who joined them, why all those 
 armed men had come down to the quay. 
 
 " 'You were going to run away,' answered the provost. 'You 
 had your sails ready trimmed.' 
 
 " 'You are too wise,' said Geoffrey, still pretending to be half- 
 witted. What do you know about ships? Our sails were set so 
 that we might grease the masts 1' 
 
 " 'But why were you hauling up the anchors?' 
 
 " 'That was to make the tempest cease and the sun shine.' 
 
 " 'Why were the portholes shut?' 
 
 " 'To wake the master.' 
 
 "Hanybald saw that Geoffrey was talking nonsense, and his 
 suspicions died away, and still more when the cripple went on 
 to laugh at Beryn too. 
 
 " 'Beryn, send your men away. What is the good of going 
 to the court? I shall stay on shipboard.' 
 
 " 'Nay,' said Hanybald, taking him by the hand, 'we have no 
 such fools as you among us, and you must stay. You will do 
 well to plead Beryn's cause.' 
 
 " 'What do you say, Beryn? Shall I speak for you?' 
 
 "'Hold your peace, fool!' said Beryn angrily. 'You may as 
 well go back to the ship!' For Beryn, too, began to think Geof- 
 frey mad, which was just what the cripple wished. If everyone 
 laughed at him, they would be too surprised to object when he 
 stood up for Beryn before the steward. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 299 
 
 u c 
 
 ; Remember I was your partner once in Rome, Beryn,' he 
 went on, 'though you have taken all the goods to yourself since 
 we arrived here. I will stand hy you and help you!' 
 
 " 'You help me!' cried Beryn, in a rage. 'You are mad! Go 
 back to your ship ; I want none of you.' 
 
 " 'I will go with you, and plead for you, whether you want me 
 or not, Beryn.' 
 
 "'So you shall,' said Hanybald, clapping him on the back; 
 and he took him by the hand and led him towards the steward's 
 court. 
 
 "Thus they talked and wrangled till they reached the court. 
 By that time Beryn was thoroughly angry and miserable, Hany- 
 bald thoroughly satisfied and unsuspicious, and Geoffrey thor- 
 oughly pleased with the success of his plan so far. It remained 
 to be seen whether his pretended madness would deceive the 
 people so much that they would allow him to plead for Beryn. 
 
 "The accusers were already in court, quarreling among them- 
 selves as to who should have Beryn's goods. Beryn was given 
 a seat, with his men, and he said that he had come to answer the 
 charges against him. 
 
 " 'Do me justice, Sir Steward,' he asked; 'I want no more than 
 that' 
 
 " 'That you shall have,' answered Evander. 
 
 " 'Of course he shall,' said Geoffrey, 'whether he likes it or not. 
 If not, I will go to my cousin the Emperor of Rome. Many a 
 cup of wine he and I have drunk together, and shall again. He 
 is always glad to see me.' 
 
 "Then he stood upon a bench, as if to get a better view, and 
 turned his shaven head all round to look at the people; and 
 when they saw him they thought him madder than ever. 
 
300 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "The crier called the burgess Syrophanes, who got up quickly 
 and told his tale glibly. He recounted how Beryn had strayed 
 into his house, had been entertained, and had finally played and 
 lost a game of chess, on which they had laid a wager that the 
 loser should either drink up all the salt water which was in the 
 sea, or else do whatever the other bade him. 
 
 "Ten other burgesses appeared to support Syrophanes, and 
 swore that what he said was true, as indeed it was. Then the 
 steward asked Beryn for his answer. Beryn sat silent, but Geof- 
 frey stood up and spoke for him. 
 
 " 'I wonder that you ask us to reply,' he said. 'It is true I 
 am quite ready to do so, unless my mouth is too dry. But let us 
 hear all the accusers first. I am wiser than you think, for no 
 one of you knows exactly what I mean when I speak.' 
 
 "They all laughed at his words. But Beryn did not know in 
 the least what to do. Nevertheless, he let Geoffrey's opinion 
 prevail. 
 
 " 'Sir Steward, I understand this charge,' he said. 'Let me 
 hear the rest, that I may answer them all at once.' 
 
 " 'I grant it,' answered Evander. 'If you wish to let this 
 madman rule you, you may ; he is a wise sort of man to have by 
 you in your need!' 
 
 "Then Hanybald the provost stood up and stated his case: 
 he had seized Beryn's ships as pledges, he claimed, by the stew- 
 ard's order, and he had agreed to exchange five loads of the 
 goods in his warehouses for their cargoes. 
 
 " 'That was our bargain,' he ended, 'and I am ready to let 
 Beryn take his five shipfuls of what he can find in my ware- 
 houses whenever he likes.' 
 
 "More burgesses swore to this story, which also was true. 
 
THE MERCHANTS SECOND TALE 301 
 
 'Then the blind man claimed his eyes back from Beryn, and 
 four burgesses swore to his truth. 
 
 " 'It is a good thing that you have not got your own eyes,' said 
 Geoffrey; 'for you live honestly now with Beryn's. If you had 
 your own, you would be at your old trade of stealing.' 
 
 "The people all laughed at this sally, except poor Beryn and 
 his men, who were at a loss to know how to escape the false 
 charges which so many burgesses swore to be true. 
 
 "Next came the woman, with fifteen of the citizens to back her. 
 She had her child in her arms, and told a long tale of the wrong 
 her husband Beryn had done her; and her friends swore that 
 she spoke the truth. 
 
 " 'Bless me!' said Geoffrey jestingly; 'Beryn, have you a wife? 
 Why do you not go and kiss her and your child? Do not be 
 ashamed of them. I never heard of this wedding; but now they 
 shall come back with us to Rome, and I will teach your son 
 some honest trade!' 
 
 "All this was part of his cunning plan for outwitting the ac- 
 cusers; but he had told no one what he meant to do, and Beryn 
 was amazed when he saw him step towards the child as if to 
 kiss him. 
 
 "At that the mother looked angry, and stood in the way to 
 prevent him from reaching her son. 
 
 " 'You must be mad!' said Geoffrey. 'Let me speak to him. 
 I will teach him the way to earn his living.' Then he saw how 
 glum Beryn and his men were looking. 'Cheer up, Beryn! 
 What is the matter? Have I not promised to help you?' 
 
 " 'Cease your foolish prating,' said Beryn. 'It does no good. 
 Have you nothing better to do than jeer at the woman?' 
 
 "Last of all came the catchpole Macaigne, with his tale about 
 
302 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 his father Melan. Beryn had done the murder, he said, and he 
 showed the knife as proof of it. 
 
 " 'The cutler who made this knife can swear to it,' he added. 
 'There is no other like it: the hilt is studded with precious 
 stones.' 
 
 "The cutler came forward and supported Macaigne, and a 
 great many other burgesses swore to the same story. 
 
 "There were no more accusers, and Beryn and his friends left 
 the court for a time to decide on their answer; Geoffrey re- 
 mained behind for a little while. Beryn had lost all heart; he 
 knew not what to reply -or how to escape his accusers, nor were 
 his men any more cheerful. They did nothing but weep and 
 lament, and forgot that they had to give an answer. iWhen 
 Geoffrey came in to them, smiling and hopeful, he found that 
 they were in the depths of despair. But nothing could well be 
 worse than their present state, and Beryn at length said, We can 
 do nothing ourselves ; we trust wholly in you, Geoffrey. Help 
 us as well as you can, and we will contradict nothing that you 
 say.' 
 
 " That I will!' answered Geoffrey. 
 
 "Meanwhile in the court the accusers were quarreling about 
 Beryn's goods. 
 
 " 'I do not want his life,' said Macaigne. 'He is rich enough 
 for us all to have a share.' 
 
 " 'True,' said the blind man. 'We all brought our charges 
 to get something out of him.' 
 
 "Hanybald bit his lips. 'That is all very well,' he said. 'But 
 you have little share in his goods. They are mine, by my bar- 
 gain with him.' 
 
 ,' said Syrophanes, getting up quickly; 'the law is clear 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 303 
 
 on that point, Hanybald. They are mine, because I was the first 
 to arrest him. You simply held the goods in charge for me, as 
 pledges that he should not escape.' 
 
 " 'First come, first served, I suppose,' cried the woman. 'But 
 I trust to your honors, sirs, to give me my share. Remember 
 that I am his wife.' 
 
 "Thus they wrangled till Geoffrey and Beryn came back into 
 court, ready to give their answer. Geoffrey entered like a mad- 
 man, barefooted and grimacing, playing with a little stick, and 
 whistling at every step. The steward and the burgesses all 
 laughed heartily at the strange sight, mocking him for a fool; 
 but he very soon showed them that it was they who were the 
 fools. 
 
 " 'Now, enough of these jokes,' he said. 'You have let me 
 plead for Beryn, and I am going to speak now, whether I do 
 it well or ill. Look to yourselves, and judge fairly, for I have 
 been to your king Isope, and I warn you against his wrath! 
 Now for the accusers, one by one!' 
 
 "With that he gave his answer on each charge separately, not 
 denying the accusation for that was impossible in this city of 
 lies but meeting it with a bigger lie or a countercharge. 
 
 " 'First of all, Syrophanes,' he said, 'the loser of the wager 
 was to drink all the salt water which was in the sea, unless he 
 did what the winner ordered. Is not that the plea? Answer me !' 
 
 "Evander and the rest of the court sat silent. They began to 
 see that Geoffrey was not the fool they had believed him to be, 
 and they showed their uneasiness by their looks. Geoffrey has- 
 tened to drive his nail right home. 
 
 "'Yes, you do not answer! Your silence means consent. 
 That was the plea that Beryn must obey Syrophanes, or drink 
 
3 04 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 up all the salt water which is in the sea. Well, hear now how 
 Beryn came to make that wager. He did it on purpose, and he 
 lost it on purpose, too. He could have won the game, had he 
 wished, for there is no one in this city who can play chess better 
 than he. Better, do I say? No, nor half so well. And the 
 reason why he lost was this. When we were at sea, a terri- 
 ble storm of thunder and lightning, wind and rain, fell upon 
 us ; we drove before it for fifteen days, and had given up all hope, 
 when suddenly a voice was heard speaking to us out of the storm, 
 saying, "If you wish to be saved, your master Beryn must vow 
 to drink up all the salt water which is in the sea; but no fresh 
 water must be mixed with it." The voice also told Beryn how 
 to separate the salt water in the sea from the fresh. Beryn, to 
 save us, made this vow ; but he was not rich enough to carry out 
 this separation by himself, and so, when he reached your city, 
 he gladly agreed to the wager with Syrophanes, who is rich, and 
 can easily afford to take the salt water away from the fresh. 
 You see, then, that it is Syrophanes who is at fault, and not 
 Beryn. Beryn will willingly perform his share of the wager, 
 and drink all the salt water in the sea ; but Syrophanes must first 
 separate it from the fresh, because Beryn never agreed to drink 
 any of the fresh.' 
 
 "Syrophanes turned pale when he heard this speech, and asked 
 the steward what he should do. 
 
 " 'The Romans are too cunning for you,' answered Evander, 
 'and you will have to suffer for your wager. You know that the 
 law orders you to pay damages if you do not fulfill your part. 
 You had better let Beryn go, if he will agree to it.' 
 
 " 'It is a very clever answer of his,' said Syrophanes, 'and I 
 must do as you say.' 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 305 
 
 "With that he withdrew his charge. But Geoffrey would 
 have none of it; he was going to exact all his full due, and de- 
 manded damages as well, unless Syrophanes could carry out the 
 strict terms of the wager, and separate the salt water from the 
 fresh. 
 
 " 'You know that that is the law, Sir Steward,' he said. 'My 
 master will perform his share if Syrophanes does his.' 
 
 " 'But, Geoffrey,' answered Evander, 'how is it possible to 
 divide the salt from the fresh?' 
 
 " 'You can do it easily if you are rich enough. But we will 
 not insist on it if Syrophanes will pay us heavy damages. Do 
 not try to stand in our way. We have been to Isope, and we 
 know that he will see justice done!' 
 
 "So Syrophanes had to give pledges that he would pay heavy 
 damages, and Geoffrey went on to the next case. 
 
 " 'Now for Hanybald. Five shiploads of whatever goods 
 Beryn could find in his warehouses! Well, let us go and look 
 at the warehouses, to see if there is anything in them that we 
 want.' 
 
 "The steward and Hanybald and the rest went to the ware- 
 houses, and saw the big empty rooms. 
 
 " 'Beryn will not get much out of Hanybald,' said the steward, 
 seeing nothing that could be taken away as merchandise. The 
 houses were swept clean, and Beryn was at a loss to think how 
 Geoffrey would get him off. 
 
 " 'Leave it to me,' said Geoffrey to him quietly; 'they will get 
 the worst of it, for all their cleverness.' 
 
 " 'Well, Syrophanes has good reason to hate these Romans, 1 
 said Evander to Hanybald, 'but I think that you will get the 
 better of ih&^ ' 
 
306 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 " 'I will make them pay, too,' said the blind man. 'No mercy 
 for Beryn.' 
 
 " 'Now that I have seen how he has served Syrophanes, I vow 
 I will have his life for murdering my father,' added Macaigne. 
 
 "But Geoffrey was too cunning for them. He had brought 
 with him two butterflies, as white as snow, which he let loose 
 on the sly and then pretended to see suddenly as they settled on 
 a wall. 
 
 "'Look, sirs,' he cried; 'here is our merchandise! We have 
 made our choice of what we can find here! Look, Sir Hany- 
 bald look at the white butterflies on the wall. You must give 
 us five shiploads of those. White butterflies were the very things 
 that we wanted to buy when we left Rome! There is a doctor 
 there who makes a wonderful ointment out of them to cure blind- 
 ness and other ailments, and we wish to sell some to him. Now 
 then, Sir Hanybald, make haste and give us your answer. We 
 have a long day's work before us.' 
 
 " 'I shall have to pay,' whispered Hanybald to the steward. 
 
 " 'Yes,' answered he ; 'there are not enough white butterflies 
 in all the world to fill five ships. See if he will release you 
 from the agreement.' 
 
 "So Hanybald went to Beryn, and said, 'We are all sorry that 
 you only came here for butterflies, for there are not enough to 
 fill your ships. Will you, therefore- let me off our agreement 
 if I give you back your cargoes?' 
 
 "But Geoffrey would not let Beryn yield. 'No, no!' he said; 
 'keep your word, and we will keep ours. The law is on our side, 
 and we fear nothing while King Isope is alive.' 
 
 "So Hanybald also had to pledge himself to pay. Then 
 Geoffrey went on. 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 307 
 
 " 'Now as to this blind man who says that Beryn has his eyes. 
 It is quite true: Beryn has got the blind man's eyes; but the 
 blind man also has Beryn's. They exchanged eyes long ago. 
 They were merchants together, partners, and had everything in 
 common. One year a great famine came on their land, which 
 was followed by great plenty; and in the rejoicings then held a 
 famous juggler appeared, whom all the country round went to 
 see. Beryn and this blind man, his partner, set out among the 
 rest to see him; but on the way the blind man fell ill. He was 
 very eager to see the juggler, but was too ill to move ; so he 
 asked Beryn to take his eyes to the theater to see the show, while 
 he remained ill in bed with Beryn's eyes. Beryn agreed, and 
 they exchanged eyes. Beryn went to the show, and the blind 
 man's eyes saw the juggler. But when Beryn came back he 
 found the blind man on his hands and knees, groping about for 
 Beryn's eyes, which he pretended had fallen out of his head and 
 were lost ; and from that day to this he has never given Beryn back 
 his eyes, but fled away, and was not discovered till yesterday. 
 Now, Beryn's eyes were a much better pair than his ; make him, 
 therefore, restore them; he can have his own back when he does 
 that. Give us justice, Sir Steward. It is not fair that Beryn 
 should have lost his good sight just because of his kindness in 
 taking this fellow's eyes to see the juggler.' 
 
 "The blind man saw that he was outwitted, and wanted to 
 withdraw his suit But Geoffrey pressed him hard, and he, too, 
 had to give pledges that he would pay damages. 
 
 "The woman who claimed to be Beryn's wife was soon got 
 rid of. 
 
 " 'Of course she is Beryn's wife,' said Geoffrey; 'but must not 
 a wife obey her husband, Sir Steward?' 
 
3o8 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "As he spoke he looked hard at the woman. She turned pale 
 and flinched, and he went on : 'Yes come with us. You must 
 join your husband, for weal or woeF 
 
 "But that was not at all what the woman desired ; she had only 
 wanted to get money out of Beryn by her charge, and had no 
 wish to become his wife really. So she, too, gave security. 
 
 "By this time the court was all amazed. The accusers were 
 utterly put to confusion, for Geoffrey had tricked them all, and 
 more, for he made them pay heavily as well. Only Macaigne 
 now remained, and everyone began to think that he would fare 
 no better than the rest. 
 
 " 'Macaigne says his knife was found on Beryn,' Geoffrey 
 continued. 'That also is quite true. There can be no doubt 
 about the knife. But hear how Beryn came to have it. Seven 
 years ago, on the Tuesday before Easter, Beryn's father meant 
 to go early to church. He therefore slept in a little room apart, 
 by himself, so as not to disturb the rest of his household when 
 he rose. Beryn, too, went to church early, but his father was 
 not there; and when he went to the little room to find him r 
 saw him lying on the floor, murdered. The bedclothes were all 
 torn off the bed, and in the dead man's heart this knife of 
 Macaigne's was buried. Macaigne swears it is his knife, and his 
 friends back him. He must answer for the murder. From that 
 Tuesday up to yesterday we had no suspicion of who was the 
 murderer, but now we know.' 
 
 " 'I withdraw my plea,' cried Macaigne, starting up pale with 
 terror. 
 
 " 'Thank you,' said Geoffrey; 'but we have been put to trouble 
 and vexation in this matter, and we want amends. Sir Steward, 
 give us judgment, or we will go straight to Isope. State the 
 
THE MERCHANT'S SECOND TALE 309 
 
 law on all these five charges, and make an end of the matter by 
 giving us justice.' 
 
 "The steward took counsel of twenty-four burgesses, skilled in 
 the law, and asked them for a true judgment; and they said that 
 Geoffrey was right in demanding damages in each case, and 
 that the accusers must all pay a heavy fine to Beryn. 
 
 "So Beryn and Geoffrey and their men went back rejoicing to 
 their ships, with all their goods restored to them and a large sum 
 of money as well ; Beryn wanted to give Geoffrey half his riches, 
 but Geoffrey only asked to be taken back to Rome, as they had 
 agreed together. And as for Hanybald and his friends, they 
 were left to think over their losses, and make up their minds 
 never to meddle with Romans again. 
 
 "But that was not all. Beryn's luck had at last turned, and 
 fresh good fortune was in store for him. As he was holding a 
 great feast with Geoffrey, in honor of their victory, five 
 maidens, splendidly attired, came to him from King Isope, 
 bringing gifts: a cup of gold and azure; a sword in a sheath 
 wrought with fine pearls; a purple robe lined with rich fur; 
 a cloth of gold, the like of which was never before seen ; and a 
 palm in token of peace and friendship. 
 
 "The maidens knelt and gave the gifts. 'Our lord Isope 
 greets you and sends these presents,' said the first of them, 'and 
 prays that you will visit him to-morrow in his palace, with all 
 your company.' 
 
 "Beryn took up the splendid sword, and thanked the maidens, 
 and made a feast for them. Then he said that he would visit 
 Isope on the morrow, if the King would grant him an escort and 
 safe conduct, that being the custom of his country. (Geoffrey 
 had bidden him ask this, to increase his dignity.) 
 
310 THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS 
 
 "The next day twelve barons came and escorted Beryn to the 
 King. He stayed three days in the palace, making merry and 
 feasting royally; and Isope liked him so well that he asked him 
 to stay always in that country. If he would remain, he should 
 wed the King's daughter, a maiden as wise and lovely as could 
 be imagined. 
 
 "Beryn was willing to agree to this. * So he married Isope's 
 daughter, and was very happy with her. He and the King and 
 Geoffrey, who stayed with them, instead of going back to Rome, 
 together ruled the country, and by their wise government led 
 the citizens away from their lying customs and evil habits." 
 
 THE LAST OF THE PILGRIMS 
 
 HERE the Merchant's second story came to an end, and here, 
 too, must end the tales told by these Canterbury pilgrims. 
 The great English poet, Geoffrey Chaucer, died without hav- 
 ing time to round off the pilgrimage completely, and though a 
 few stories were afterwards written by other writers to fill up 
 gaps, no one has ever since been able to finish the whole as 
 Chaucer himself might perhaps have done if he had lived. And, 
 as we do not know when the pilgrims got back to the Tabard 
 again, or what stories they told during the rest of their journey, 
 we can never find out who had the fine supper promised by the 
 Host. Was it the honorable Knight, or the young Squire, or 
 the gentle Prioress, or the merry rascal of a Pardoner, or any 
 one you like of the others? That you must guess for yourself; 
 and perhaps when you have made up your mind, you will be able 
 toJ^CLcy^lJiejviiiner supping happily at the Tabard with his 
 friends, after their journey through Kent so long ago. 
 
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