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 TALES 
 
 C H A U C E B 
 
 IN PROSE. 
 
 DESIGNED CHIEFLY FOR THE USE OF YOUNG PERSONS. 
 BY 
 
 CHARLES COWDEN CLARKE, 
 
 AUTHOR OP ' THE RICHES OP CHAUCER ' ' SHAKESPEARE CHARACTERS ' 
 ' MOLIERE CHARACTERS ' ETC. 
 
 SECOND EDITION, CAREFULLY REVISED. 
 
 The Arms of Geoffry Chaucer. 
 
 231oob Cngrafongs. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 C. LOCKWOOD & CO., 7 STATIONERS'-HALL COUET 
 1870.
 
 rnoN: pniNTF.n BT 
 
 AND CO., ITEW-STBKBT SQUARI 
 PARLIAMENT STREET
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 PASE 
 
 DEDICATION v 
 
 ADVERTISEMENT ........ xi 
 
 MEMORIAL OF CHATJCEK 1 
 
 PROLOGUE TO THE CANTERBURY TALES . . .59 
 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: Palamon and Areite . . .91 
 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE: The Lady Constance . 142 
 THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE: Court of Kirfg Arthur . 172 
 
 THE CLERK'S TALE: Griselda 187 
 
 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : Cambuscan . . . .224 
 THE PARDONER'S TALE : The Death-Slayers . . 254 
 THE PRIORESS'S TALE : The Murdered Child . . 272 
 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : The Cock and the Fox . 282 
 THE CANON- YEOMAN'S TALE : The Alchymist . . 302 
 THE COOK'S TALE: Gamelin ... .324 
 
 2046965
 
 ADDRESS 
 
 MY YOUNG READEKS. 
 
 I HAVE endeavoured to put these Tales, written 
 by one of the finest poets that ever lived, into 
 modern language, and as easy prose as I could, 
 without at the same time destroying the poet- 
 ical descriptions, and strong natural expressions 
 of the author. My object in .presenting them 
 in this new form was, first, that you might 
 become wise and good, by the example of the 
 sweet and kind creatures you will find de- 
 scribed in them : secondly, that you might de- 
 rive improvement by the beautiful writing ; 
 (for I have been careful to use the language of 
 CHAUCEK whenever I thought it not too anti-
 
 VI ADDRESS. 
 
 quated for modern and young readers :) and, 
 lastly, I hoped to excite in you an ambition to 
 read these same stories in their original poetical 
 dress, when you shall have become so far ac- 
 quainted with your own language, as to under- 
 stand, without much difficulty, the old, and 
 now almost forgotten terms. 
 
 I can promise those among you, who possess 
 an ear for the harmony of verse, that when you 
 come to read the compositions of this great 
 poet, you will then feel how much they have 
 lost, by being reduced to my dull prose : 
 although I have laboured to render my nar- 
 ratives as much like poetical prose as I was 
 able ; and, more particularly, to give them the 
 air of ancient writing, newly dressed up. And 
 I believe I may say, that I have in no instance 
 omitted to introduce a beautiful or natural 
 thought, when I could do so with ease and 
 propriety, and without interfering with the 
 quick progress of the story. 
 
 In the original Tales are many long discus-
 
 ADDRESS. Vii 
 
 sions, which you would find uninteresting at 
 any age ; and there are, also, quaint or curious 
 expressions, which would not be pleasing to 
 your differently educated ears : these I have 
 omitted altogether, except when I felt that 
 they would preserve the old character of the 
 narration, and not be too old-fashioned to be 
 misunderstood by you. 
 
 Some of Chaucer's Tales, also, are of so 
 coarse and indelicate a character, as to be unfit 
 for perusal ; and this circumstance, more per- 
 haps than his antiquated dialect, has contri- 
 buted to raise so great a prejudice against his 
 writings in general, in the minds of parents 
 and instructors, as altogether to prohibit their 
 being read by young persons : but, as a distaste 
 for vice will assuredly keep pace with our love 
 of virtue, so a well regulated and delicately in- 
 structed mind will no more crave after and 
 feed upon impure writings, than a healthy and 
 natural stomach will desire and select carrion 
 or dirt.
 
 Vlll ADDRESS. 
 
 DRYDEN and POPE have recomposed some of 
 Chaucer's Tales in modern verse ; and, in doing 
 so, have failed to maintain that very simple 
 and vivid mode of description which renders 
 his poetry so charming to those who feel, as 
 they read, what he wished to describe : I need 
 not, therefore, recommend you to refrain from 
 reading any modern verse translation of him, 
 but to cultivate your taste for old poetry, till 
 you are able to read his as freely as you do the 
 present volume. 
 
 The following sentence from Mr. LAMB'S 
 preface to his prose tales from the plays of 
 SHAK.SPEARE a book every one of you should 
 read will explain all I would say upon the 
 present occasion. 
 
 ' Faint and imperfect images,' he says, 
 ' they must be called, (of the original Dramas) 
 ' because the beauty of his (Shakspeare's) 
 ' language is too frequently destroyed by the 
 ' necessity of changing many of his excellent 
 ' words into words far less expressive of his
 
 ADDRESS. IX 
 
 ' true sense, to make it read something like 
 ' prose ; and even in some places, where his 
 ' verse is given unaltered, as, hoping from its 
 ' simple plainness, to cheat the young readers 
 ' into a belief that they are reading prose, yet 
 ' still, his language being transplanted from 
 ' its own natural soil and wild poetic garden, 
 ' it must want much of its native beauty.' 
 
 May you, in reading these pages, experience 
 half the pleasure that the writing of them has 
 afforded 
 
 Your Countryman and Friend, 
 
 THE AUTHOE.
 
 ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 THE ADULT READER (should I be honoured with 
 such), who can scarcely fail to discern an 
 abrupt stiffness in the construction of the sen- 
 tences in the following Tales, will bear in mind 
 the complicated difficulties I have had to con- 
 t3nd with, in retaining, as much as possible, 
 Chaucer's antique quaintness and distinctive 
 character; in avoiding his repetitions, and 
 yet in incorporating every nervous expression 
 which constitutes the great charm of his 
 graphic descriptions. 
 
 The task I proposed to myself, was, to ren- 
 der my translations literal with the original ; to 
 preserve their antique fashion ; and withal to 
 give them a sufficiently modern air to interest
 
 Xll ADVERTISEMENT. 
 
 the young reader. I was to be at one and 
 the same time ' modernly antique,' prosaically 
 poetic, and comprehensively concise. He only 
 will appreciate my frequent perplexities who 
 shall attempt the same task, observing the 
 same restrictions.
 
 A 
 
 MEMORIAL 
 
 OF 
 
 GEOFFBY CHAUCEB. 
 
 CONSIDERABLE AGITATION has been excited by 
 the biographers of Chaucer regarding the 
 station that his family held in society. One, 
 Leland, says he was of noble stock ; another, 
 Pitts, that he was the son of a knight ; 
 Speght says that his father was a vintner ; 
 and Hearne, that he was a merchant. The 
 question, therefore, is a doubtful one ; thougli 
 for the following reasons we may rationally 
 infer that he was of gentle birth. First ; he 
 was bred at both universities ; he had travelled 
 through several of the countries of Europe, 
 and was a student in the Temple. Secondly, 
 
 (j B
 
 2 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 the circumstance of his being appointed to 
 the office of serving as one of the king's pages 
 warrants the conclusion that would be drawn 
 of the respectability of his family ; seeing that 
 in those days, birth was minutely required to 
 qualify a person for the station of page to the 
 king. Thirdly, his connection by marriage with 
 the family of John of Gaunt, the great Duke 
 of Lancaster ; the match being not merely 
 sanctioned, but recommended by that proud 
 nobleman, considerably strengthens the argu- 
 ment. Yet, after all the discussions that have 
 been expended upon this not very important 
 point, worthy men of his own time, and men 
 of all subsequent ages who have enquired 
 into his life and writings, unite in the opinion 
 that he possessed an extraordinary talent, and 
 a noble and incorruptible nature : these quali- 
 ties form the true aristocracy of humanity, 
 and they are the only ones indeed worthy of a 
 moment's consideration. His genius, his sensi- 
 bility, and his refinement, (allowing for the 
 age in which he lived), his generous deport- 
 ment while in adversity and exile ; his in- 
 dependence of principle, and steadiness of
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 3 
 
 attachment; all exhibit the true gentleman, 
 whatever may have been his father's worldly 
 occupation. 
 
 The sirname of our poet is evidently of 
 French origin, the old Norman word Chancier, 
 or Chaussier, signifying a shoemaker. The 
 word too, as applied to the article of dress, 
 must have been commonly used during his 
 life ; for, in the translation of the Grospel by 
 Mark by Richard of Hampole, the hermit, 
 who died in 1394, the following verse, 'There 
 cometh one mightier than I after me, the 
 latchet of whose shoes I ana not worthy to 
 stoop down and unloose,' is thus rendered : 
 ' A stalworther than I schal come eftar me, of 
 whom I am not worthi downfallande, or kne- 
 lande, to louse the thwonge of his CHAWCERS.' 
 An ancestor, however, of the poet's, and pro- 
 bably the founder of his family in England, 
 was a Knight, and came over with William 
 the Conqueror, his name appearing in the roll 
 of Battle Abbey. 
 
 This father of English poetry was born in 
 the second year of the reign of Edward III., 
 1328, and certainly in London, notwithstand-
 
 4 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 ing the contradictory accounts of his biogra- 
 phers ; since he himself, who must be the 
 surest authority upon this point, when speaking 
 of the troubles which were occurring in that 
 city, says, ' The City of London, that is to me 
 so dear and sweet, in which I was forth -grown ; 
 and more kindly love have I to that place 
 than to any other in earth, (as every kindly 
 creature hath full appetite to that place of his 
 kindly ingendure).' 
 
 The earliest account we have of Chaucer is, 
 that he was entered a student of the University 
 of Cambridge, of which college, however, no 
 record exists, none, at least, has hitherto 
 been discovered. But from the very accurate 
 description he has given of the distinct locality 
 of the place in his humorous tale of the Miller 
 of Trompington, Clare Hall, or Scholar, or 
 Solere Hall (for Speght pronounces them all 
 to be one and the same), may have been the 
 college of which he was entered. Here at 
 the age of eighteen he wrote his poem of the 
 ' Court of Love.' From Cambridge he went 
 to Oxford, but to which college is again as 
 much a matter of conjecture as the former
 
 GEOFFRT CHAUCER. 5 
 
 place of his abode. Here he completed his 
 studies, and became, says his biographer, 
 Leland, 'a ready logician, a smooth rhetori- 
 cian, a pleasant poet, a grave philosopher, 
 an ingenious mathematician, and a holy 
 divine.' 
 
 Being thus accomplished, he travelled into 
 France, Holland, and the Low Countries ; and 
 upon his return home, entered himself of the 
 Inner Temple, where he studied the municipal 
 laws of the land. Shortly after he had begun 
 to turn his mind to this branch of learning, 
 his lustrous talents made him known at the 
 court of Edward III., a prince as eminent for 
 his patronage of genius as for his romantic 
 valour. In this gay region of chivalry, mirth 
 and gallantry, surrounded by wit and beauty, 
 he started upon the full career of life : his 
 age, the prime of manhood, (nearly thirty,) 
 and person of just proportion, with a fair and 
 beautiful complexion, full and red lips, and a 
 graceful and dignified carriage ; to crown which 
 attractions may be added his newly-fledged 
 renown as a love-poet, all gave him the ad- 
 vantage over any competitors. A handsome
 
 G A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 and modest young poet moving about a gallant 
 court, is a beautiful picture for the mind to 
 contemplate. 
 
 His first preferment was to that of king's 
 page, at a yearly salary of twenty marks no 
 mean stipend at that period ; this act was 
 followed by appointment to the office of gentle- 
 man of the king's privy chamber, with an ad- 
 ditional gratuity of twenty marks ; and shortly 
 after we find him promoted to be shield-bearer 
 to the king, a post of signal honour, since, by 
 the fulfilment of its duties he was brought in 
 immediate vicinage to the royal person, and 
 upon occasions of victory was rewarded with 
 military honours. 
 
 In this gay sphere he was patronized and 
 courted by John of Graunt, who manifested a 
 more than ordinary esteem for him, and for 
 whom, in celebration of certain events in his 
 life, he wrote ' The Book of the Duchess,' ' The 
 Complaint of the Black Knight,' and ' The 
 Dreame of Chaucer : ' also, by the lovely Lady 
 Blanche, his duchess, at whose request he wrote 
 ' La Priere de Notre Dame : ' by the womanly 
 and heroic Queen Philippa ; and, lastly, by the
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 7 
 
 Lady Margaret, Countess of Pembroke, and 
 daughter of the king, who appears to have 
 justly appreciated his extraordinary genius, for 
 she is said to have frequently complimented 
 him upon his poems, as well as to have excited 
 him to familiar and intellectual intercourse, 
 seeing that she would rally him upon his 
 modest and silent habit. 
 
 The Duchess Blanche retained in her service 
 Catherine, the daughter of Sir Payne, or Pagan 
 Rouet, a native of Hainault, and guien king 
 at arms for that territory. This lady married 
 Sir Hugh Swinford, Knight at Lincoln, who 
 dying shortly after their union, the duke and 
 duchess renewed their protection, appointing 
 her governess of their children. Lady Swin- 
 ford, after the death of the Duchess Blanche, 
 became the duke's mistress, and subsequently 
 his third wife. She was a woman so eminent 
 for beauty, that the circumstance was recorded 
 upon her tomb in the cathedral of old St. 
 Paul. Her sister Philippa was recommended 
 to Chaucer by the Duchess Blanche, as one 
 with whom he might advantageously contract 
 a matrimonial alliance, and by this union it
 
 A MEMOEIAL OF 
 
 was that the poet became allied to the royal 
 family of England. 
 
 About the period of his marriage he received 
 another proof of royal favour in the grant of a 
 pitcher of wine, to be furnished to him daily ; 
 and this was quickly followed by his being ap- 
 pointed comptroller of the customs for wool, 
 woolfels, and hides, with an especial clause sub- 
 joined to the patent, that the duties of the 
 office should be performed in person, and even 
 that the accounts should be written with his 
 own hand. This proviso on the part of Edward 
 has been sneered at, and apparently not with- 
 out reason, by those who uphold the system of 
 creating places of emolument for the sole pur- 
 pose of maintaining persons who it is not in- 
 tended should fulfil the duties connected with 
 them. If the entire labour of an office be 
 performed by hirelings, these should either 
 derive the whole benefit attaching to it, or 
 the salary of the ostensible and inefficient 
 clerk becomes an absolute injustice inflicted 
 upon the people who are required to raise that 
 salary. Chaucer was no drone in the common 
 hive ; he filled this situation with unimpeached
 
 GEOFFRT CHAUCER. 9 
 
 honour and integrity, and at the time when 
 places of the same description, in the old age 
 and weakness of the king, were farmed out, 
 and the people compelled to pay for services 
 not performed, no shade of imputation for such 
 unworthiness attaches to this poet's memory. 
 No one, as he says of himself, could ' speak 
 evil of his administration ; ' also, that he ' never 
 defouled his conscience for any manner of 
 deed.' This life is too short, and too full of 
 sorrows, not of our own seeking, for us to add 
 to their number by acts of baseness and dis- 
 honour. 
 
 In the forty-seventh year of the poet's age, 
 and the forty-ninth of the king's reign, he 
 received from Edward a grant of the lands 
 and body of the son of Sir Edmond Staple- 
 gate, in the county of Kent, in ward, for which 
 he was subsequently paid one hundred and 
 four pounds; and in the following year the 
 royal patron bestowed upon him, by the title 
 of l Dilectus armiger noster,' (our beloved 
 knight) the sum of seventy-one pounds four 
 shillings and sixpence, being a forfeit of cus- 
 tom dues levied upon a citizen of London for
 
 10 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 non-payment upon a quantity of wool. These 
 casual benefits, together with his permanent 
 offices of emolument, contributed to render 
 him a very wealthy man ; Speght indeed, one 
 of his historians, states that he had at this time 
 almost one thousand pounds per annum. He 
 himself, in the ' Testament of Love,' acknow- 
 ledges his advanced fortunes, and says, ' I had 
 comfort to be in that plight, that both profit 
 were to me and my friends ; ' an unconscious 
 insinuation on his part that he was not a selfish 
 character. Again he avows that, ' in dignity 
 of office he made gathering of those goods, 
 and had a fair parcel for the time, in farther- 
 ing of his sustenance, riches sufficient to waive 
 necessity, dignity to be reverenced in worship, 
 power to keep from enemies ; ' so that, ' he 
 seemed to shine in glory of renown, as man- 
 hood asketh in men.' 
 
 The Duke of Lancaster, with all his noble 
 qualities, was a man of inordinate pride and 
 ambition ; and, as is usually the result, when 
 this quality once takes possession of the mind, 
 he did not permit the delicacies of honour 
 and justice to obstruct the accomplishment of
 
 GEOFFKT CHAUCEE. 11 
 
 his desires. Upon the death of his elder 
 brother, the Black Prince, he fixed a steady 
 and craving eye upon the crown, omitting no 
 available means to secure to himself the 
 succession, in the event of the demise of the 
 aged king his father. And indeed, so pas- 
 sionately was he in love with dominion, that, 
 rather than not be a king, he was content to 
 ally himself with the disreputable Peter the 
 Cruel, connecting himself with a ruined and 
 disjointed family, by marrying the daughter 
 Constance ; and this for the sole purpose of 
 succeeding to the title of King of Castile. 
 In order, however, to realize the darling object 
 of his ambition the inheritance of the 
 English crown, he moved every engine in his 
 power to lessen that of the established clergy, 
 knowing that they were opposed to his views, 
 and strenuous for the legitimate succession. 
 He therefore espoused the doctrines and cause 
 of the first great ecclesiastical reformer, Wick- 
 liffe, industriously exasperating against the 
 regular clergy the popular discontent, which 
 had at this early period become prevalent and 
 inveterate, by reason of their disgusting appe-
 
 12 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 tite for obtaining possession of all the places 
 of trust and honour. The following may be 
 received as a sample of the justice of the 
 nobles' and people's discontent. ' The Arch- 
 bishop of Canterbury was Lord Chancellor ; 
 the Bishop of Bath and Wells was Lord 
 Treasurer ; the Archdeacon of Lincoln, Privy 
 Seal ; David Weller, Parson of Summersham, 
 Master of the Eolls ; ten beneficed Priests, 
 Civilians, Masters in Chancery ; "William 
 Mulse, Dean of St. Martin's-le-Grand, Cham- 
 berlain of the Exchequer, Privy Purse, and 
 Master of the Jewel House ; William Ashton, 
 Archdeacon of Northampton, Chancellor of 
 the Exchequer ; William Dighton, Prebendary 
 of St. Martin's, Clerk of the Privy Seal ; John 
 de Troy, Priest, Treasurer of Ireland ; Snatch, 
 Parson of Oundle, Master of the Wardrobe ; 
 John Newham, Parson of Fenny Stanton, one 
 of the Chamberlains of the Exchequer ; John 
 Eousbic, Parson of Harwick, Comptroller and 
 Surveyor of the King's Buildings ; and Thomas 
 Britingham, Parson of Ashby, Treasurer for 
 Cruienne, and Marshal of Calais.' 1 Chaucer, 
 
 1 Life by Urry.
 
 GEOFFEY CHAUCEE. 13 
 
 no doubt from an honest impulse of opposition 
 to the same establishment, aided also by an 
 interested desire to promote the views of his 
 patron, became involved in his intrigues, and 
 essentially helped forward the cause of the 
 reformation by his formidable attacks upon 
 the weak and corrupt branches of the eccle- 
 siastical government. His innate love of 
 justice and liberality, however, would not 
 suffer him to become an undiscriminating and 
 malignant opposer ; if therefore he lashed the 
 whole body of the clergy in the ' Plowman's 
 Tale,' and in his treatise entitled 'Jack Up- 
 land,' he has rarely omitted availing himself 
 of the opportunity of eulogizing such indi- 
 viduals as were worthy of their calling; a 
 beautiful instance of this occurs in his cha- 
 racter of the Poor Parson in the Prologue to 
 the Canterbury Tales. Godwin, however, is 
 of opinion that the ' Plowman's Tale,' and 
 ' Jack Upland,' were not written by Chaucer ; 
 but that, 'both in language and sentiments, 
 they appear to belong to a later period.' l 
 But to return to the proceedings of our 
 
 1 ' Life of Chaucer,' vol. ii. 4to. p. 402.
 
 14 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 poet's patron, the Duke of Lancaster. Al- 
 though he numbered many partisans among 
 the nobility, and was tacitly countenanced by 
 the king himself (who favoured the doctrines 
 of Wickliffe) in his opposition to the clergy, 
 the sagacious old monarch was nevertheless 
 not blind to the motive which had roused his 
 son to that action ; he therefore promptly re- 
 solved upon the wise and just course of ob- 
 viating future discord and commotion, by 
 declaring Kichard of Bourdeaux, son of the 
 Black Prince, heir to the crown, to the no 
 small envy and mortification of the Duke of 
 Lancaster, whose restless ambition and jeal- 
 ousies, so far from being quenched by the 
 decision, kept the young monarch and his 
 court in perpetual excitement and uneasiness. 
 The next public employment in which we 
 find Chaucer engaged, is that of ambassador, 
 having been sent out to France in conjunction 
 with the Earl of Huntingdon and Sir Kichard 
 Sturry to negotiate a match between the 
 daughter of the French king, and the young- 
 Prince of Wales, afterwards Kichard II. The 
 mission, however, terminated only in obtain-
 
 GEOFFEY CHAUCEE. 15 
 
 ing a prolongation of a truce between the 
 two countries which had been infringed on 
 the part of the French, who had infested our 
 coasts, disturbing the course of trade. 
 
 Richard II. having succeeded to the crown 
 of his grandfather, June 21, 1377 ; among 
 other acts in the first year of his reign, con- 
 firmed to our poet the grant of twenty marks 
 per annum made by the late king ; also the 
 grant of the daily pitcher of wine : and in 
 the following year he is discovered under the 
 immediate protection of Eichard with regard 
 to his lands and possessions, probably from 
 some embarrassment in his circumstances. 
 Speght infers that his troubles arose from his 
 having sided with the common people in their 
 political contentions, but that era in his life 
 had not yet occurred. Whether his troubles 
 at this time arose from his disregard of 
 economy, loss of patronage at court, or muni- 
 ficent spirit when engaged in foreign em- 
 bassies, it would be difficult at this distant 
 period to determine. 
 
 In the fourth year of the reign of Richard 
 II., that prince confirmed to Chaucer and his
 
 16 A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 wife Philippa the annuity grants that had 
 been made to them. About the same time 
 too the poet's son Thomas married Maud, 
 daughter of Sir John Burghershe ; she was 
 one of the wealthiest heiresses of that time. 
 
 The opinions of Wickliffe that had for 
 years been gathering heat and strength, now 
 exploded in the rebellion under the celebrated 
 Wat Tyler. The doctrines of the great re- 
 former, however, were not uniformly propa- 
 gated in the pure spirit of the heavenly 
 promulgator of Christianity ; for, one of Wick- 
 liffe's disciples, named Smith, was supported 
 by men of substance and title, who always 
 attended him armed. In their zeal for the 
 cause therefore, Knighton, a mild writer of 
 that time, says, that 'what they could not 
 convince by reason, they terrified into opinion.' 
 This Mahometan mode of propagating re- 
 ligion, however, does not attach to the head 
 of the new sect ; but the coarser-minded 
 followers, as Tyler and his exasperated com- 
 panions, wreaked their full vengeance upon 
 the church dignitaries who fell under their 
 power. They beheaded the Archbishop of
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 17 
 
 Canterbury, 1 and the prior of St. John's near 
 Smithfield, (who was Lord Treasurer,) burn- 
 ing the fine priory itself, and sacked several 
 abbeys ; among others those of Bury and St. 
 Albans. The oppressions of the government, 
 it is true, were the chief cause of Wat Tyler's 
 rebellion, but it must be remembered that 
 churchmen constituted the majority of the 
 governors ; and though that unsuccessful rebel 
 was .doubtless guilty of many outrages, and 
 innocent men suffered with guilty ones by the 
 ' wild justice ' of himself and followers, (the 
 unfailing result of an injured and irritated 
 people clutching the sword of administration,) 
 yet, upon reading the terms he stipulated for 
 on behalf of himself and fellow commoners, 
 they will be found, in the main, so just and 
 rational as to sanction the resistance of the 
 governed in the event of their not being 
 complied with. 
 
 Neither Chaucer nor any of the heads of 
 the reforming party can be included in this 
 rebellion, since the members of it made no 
 
 1 See page 12. 
 C
 
 18 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 exception in favour of the Duke of Lancaster, 
 whose palace in the Savoy they burnt down. 
 Our poet, indeed, it appears, ceased to take 
 any prominent part in the new doctrines when 
 he saw them and their authors abandoned by 
 his patron ; whose desertion of the cause 
 bears date about the period that his hopes of 
 success against the clergy for the furtherance 
 of his own political views were dissipated. 
 The part which Chaucer acted throughout this 
 memorable struggle is somewhat difficult to 
 be reconciled with great strength of mind and 
 consistency, since in the ' Testament of Love ' 
 he acknowledges the real presence in the 
 sacrament ; and in his retractation renounces 
 all he may have written detrimental to the 
 interests of the Eoman Catholic hierarchy. 
 In a question of faith, a man is at full liberty, 
 it is true, to change his opinions ; but the 
 doing so at the last period of life is not 
 entitled to high consideration, when neither 
 mind nor body can be in its full condition of 
 elasticity. Retractation in a question of re- 
 ligious creed at such a moment must be 
 lightly regarded .by the philosophical mind ;
 
 GEOFFEY CHAUCER. 19 
 
 indeed, at any period of life, till the pointed 
 question of Pilate ' What is TRUTH ? ' be de- 
 cided, it is of little more importance (always 
 providing that the motive be pure and con- 
 scientious) than changing the fashion of one's 
 garment ; for to use the homely but apt illus- 
 tration of Selden ; ' one wears his doublet 
 plain, and another slashed, but every man 
 wears a doublet ; so every man has a religion : 
 we only differ about the trimmings.' 
 
 We now come to the period of the poet's 
 adversity and troubles. In the year 1384, the 
 Duke of Lancaster having been charged by a 
 friar, named Latimer, with an attempt to 
 murder the King, the informant was secretly 
 assassinated by Lord Holl and others, under 
 whose custody he was placed, before he could 
 clear his charge. However this black act may 
 reasonably compromise the innocence of the 
 Duke, the historians and biographers of the 
 period nevertheless agree in declaring the 
 whole affair to have been a plot framed by his 
 enemies ; and the King, knowing the supple 
 conscience of his infamous tool, Judge Tre- 
 silian, determined to bring him to trial. The 
 c 2
 
 20 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 Duke knowing the danger in which he would 
 be placed by trusting to the justice of his 
 enemies with such a man at their head, stood 
 upon his guard in the castle of Pontefract, 
 till, by the mediation of the Dowager Princess 
 of Wales, matters were arranged. His influence 
 and interest, however, from this moment faded 
 to a shadow, and when he deserted all his 
 adherents and personal friends, and passed 
 over sea, they, with the poet among the rest, 
 began to experience the full weight of party 
 animosity. The political opponents of the 
 Duke had long watched their occasion for 
 revenge, and when it arrived they made ample 
 use of it. By every possible means they 
 could devise they oppressed his adherents, 
 while these in turn resorted to the common 
 alternative of exciting popular commotions. 
 In one instance Chaucer himself was not an 
 unimportant engine. A man named John 
 Comburton, or John of Northampton, a par- 
 tisan of the Duke's, having been elected Mayor 
 of London, made strong interest to be a 
 second time returned to the office, upon the 
 ground that he would exert himself to reform
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 21 
 
 the abuses which had crept into the govern- 
 ment of the corporation. The contest ran so 
 strongly that the citizens broke out into open 
 insurrection, and Chaucer being at that time 
 Comptroller of the Customs, joined the party 
 of Northampton. The riot, however, was 
 quickly suppressed; one of the rioters was 
 beheaded, the candidate Northampton taken 
 into custody, and active search was made after 
 our poet; but he had made his escape into 
 Hainault, from whence he passed into France ; 
 and finding that the King was exerting every 
 means to entrap him, he removed into Zealand. 
 It appears from collateral circumstances, that 
 his wife, Philippa, accompanied him in his 
 exile. ' Prudence ' (says Godwin) ' would have 
 dictated their separation ; ' not if she were 
 mentally and personally worthy to be his wife. 
 The principal reason for his avoiding appre- 
 hension was, because he had heard it was the 
 determination of the court to make him 
 betray the authors of and principal agents in 
 the insurrection. 
 
 He had now become a wanderer upon the 
 earth, dreading to see the face of a stranger,
 
 22 A MEMOEIAL OP 
 
 lest he should prove an emissary from the court 
 of his own country to entrap him. Several 
 accomplices in the riot had also followed the 
 poet in his exile, and these he generously sup- 
 ported from his own reduced means ; and, as he 
 himself says, remained abroad and ' concealed 
 their privitie longer than he should' for his 
 own personal advantage ; for his partisans at 
 home had speedily made their peace with the 
 government, by submission and acknowledge- 
 ment of their offence : yet these with infinite 
 baseness and ingratitude not only proceeded to 
 blacken his character, but even contrived to cut 
 off the remittance of his supplies. They let 
 his apartments, and never accounted to him for 
 the rent, and in short hoped to accomplish his 
 death. He now deemed that farther mainte- 
 nance of delicacy towards such partisans would 
 be mere romance ; he therefore determined upon 
 returning home. We may here remark, as a 
 strong corroboration in evidence of Chaucer's 
 self-expatriation not having been altogether 
 undertaken from selfish motives, but that he 
 might screen his accomplices, the singular cir- 
 cumstance that during the whole period of his
 
 GEOFFRT CHAUCER. 23 
 
 retirement his situation of comptroller was 
 filled by deputy ; indeed, when he was finally 
 dismissed from office, neither Eichard nor his 
 ministers were the persons to offer him the 
 indignity, but the celebrated Thomas of 
 Woodstock, that King's bitter enemy, and for 
 some time lord and master. He was therefore 
 not wholly an exile in favour as well as in 
 person, and he must have been certain that a 
 voluntary confession and submission on his 
 part would at least prove equally advantageous 
 to him as to the other members of the insur- 
 rection who had not enjoyed the court favour. 
 He did return and had not long been home 
 before he was arrested by an order from the 
 King, and imprisoned, as it is supposed, in the 
 Tower. Here he was subjected to a severe ex- 
 amination on the part of the council, with the 
 design to draw from him the betrayal of his 
 associates : he, however, evaded their object 
 long, and with the utmost of his ingenuity, till 
 they at length informed him that his only 
 chance of obtaining the royal mercy was in 
 exposing the secrets of his party. His tenacity 
 of purpose now relaxed, and he disclosed all he
 
 24 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 knew, impeaching at the same time the persons 
 who had been connected with him. This act 
 in his life is the only one known, that has in 
 any degree tainted his memory ; yet is it not 
 ot be dismissed without extenuation ; and for 
 this end we shall prefer availing ourselves of 
 the cool, philosophical, and eloquent defence 
 of Mr. Godwin, to any arguments that we 
 could offer in behalf of one of the most eminent 
 as well as most estimable beings on ' Fame's 
 eternal bead-roll.' 
 
 ' This, undoubtedly, is the circumstance in 
 the life of Chaucer which conveys the most 
 unfavourable impression of him to modern 
 times. He stands here in the light of a person 
 who accepted the confidence of a certain party ; 
 who, from the persuasion that they might safely 
 trust him, was admitted into their secrets ; who 
 partook of their counsels, and shared their 
 attempts ; and who afterwards purchased his 
 safety by betraying his associates. Nothing 
 can justify such a conduct, but the supposi- 
 tion that the individual by whom it is adopted 
 has been deluded into some project of an ex- 
 ceedingly criminal nature, that he is afterward
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 25 
 
 led by his reflections to see it in its true enor- 
 mity, and that no way remains to prevent the 
 perpetration but by a judicial impeachment ; 
 such a situation is described in the person of 
 Jaflfier in Abbe St. Eeal's narrative of the con- 
 spiracy of Venice. In that case the treachery 
 employed may be admitted to be commendable, 
 and in some degree to atone for the weakness 
 and guilt incurred by the accuser in the begin- 
 ing of the transaction. 
 
 ' But the situation of Chaucer was by no 
 means of this sort. The confederacy into which 
 he had entered was probably a commendable 
 one ; and the end for which it had been formed 
 had passed by, and the confederacy been dis- 
 solved, before Chaucer gave information re- 
 specting his associates. 
 
 'What, then, were the motives of his con- 
 duct ? He has himself assigned one, in the in- 
 dignation which he conceived against them. 
 They had plotted to starve him, had cut off his 
 supplies, and embezzled his income. He pro- 
 bably thought that no measures were to be kept 
 with persons who had conducted themselves 
 towards him so basely. He was impatient of
 
 26 A MEMOEIAL OF 
 
 being any longer accounted their ally. All 
 that was resentful in his nature was stirred up 
 at the thought of the treatment he had en- 
 dured, and he felt as if it would be an offence 
 against morality and human nature to suffer 
 such villainy to go unpunished. These senti- 
 ments are undoubtedly congenial to the mind 
 of a man deeply injured ; and especially when 
 the injury proceeds from those for whom he 
 has sacrificed much, whom he has liberally as- 
 sisted in their difficulties, and for his connection 
 with whom he is even still suffering calamity 
 and distress. Such sentiments may extenuate 
 what is offensive in the conduct of Chaucer 
 in this instance, but cannot justify it. He who 
 pursues retribution for the offences of others 
 should firmly refuse to obtain it by any sacri- 
 fice of the dignity and rectitude of his own 
 character. 
 
 4 Perhaps, however, Chaucer was influenced 
 in his compliance with the importunities and 
 threats of the administration, by a certain 
 degree of timidity and irresolution. This is a 
 very common feature of human character; and 
 though it must be confessed to be a blemish, is
 
 GEOFFKY CHAUCER. 27 
 
 not destructive of the fundamental principles 
 of a virtuous temper. Chaucer, it may be, 
 was inaccessible to the attacks of corruption ; 
 he boasts very loudly, in the performance we 
 are considering, (the ' Testament of Love,') of 
 his unimpeachable integrity in the execution 
 of his functions as a servant of the crown. He 
 was not easily intimidated, or induced, by 
 calamity or fear, to turn aside from his course : 
 he was for a considerable period faithful to his 
 engagements with his associates, and, as he 
 tells us, 'conceled their privitie longer than 
 he should.' Such a man might be an excellent 
 member of private and domestic society, a true 
 patriot, and a genuine lover of mankind ; he 
 might be a stranger to the selfish passions, and 
 to that mutability which is so pernicious to the 
 best purposes of life ; generous, tender, affec- 
 tionate, warm-hearted, and charitable. With 
 such endowments a man might have passed 
 through life in twenty different stations, and 
 not a speck of soil have fastened upon the 
 whiteness of his actions ; had not that single 
 temptation occurred against which alone he was 
 not proof, had not fortune maliciously conspired
 
 28 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 to direct her attacks against the only imperfect 
 and vulnerable point in his nature. 
 
 ' In estimating the morality of Chaucer's 
 conduct on this occasion, it is also incumbent 
 upon us to take into the account the length of 
 his misfortunes and his imprisonment. From 
 the documents and the reasonings we have pro- 
 duced it seems clearly to follow, that his con- 
 finement in the Tower endured for no less a 
 period than three years. He had, perhaps, 
 been an exile for two years previously to his 
 imprisonment. He had passed through an ac- 
 cumulation of evils ; starved for want of remit- 
 tances abroad, and induced to sell the slender 
 pittance which remained to him in the form of 
 a pension, for subsistence. He whose resolu- 
 tion holds out during five years of calamity 
 and distress, is no fickle and effeminate charac- 
 ter. If Chaucer, who had witnessed the anar- 
 chy of his country, and the tragical scenes 
 which were transacted almost in his presence, 
 who had been reduced to barter his last re- 
 sources for bread, and who saw an affectionate 
 wife and a cherished offspring in danger to 
 perish for want, felt at length subdued and
 
 GEOFFET CHAUCEE. 29 
 
 willing to give up somewhat of the sternness 
 of his virtue, we may condemn him as moralists, 
 but we cannot fail in some degree to sympa- 
 thise with feelings which make an essential 
 part of our nature. 
 
 ' One idea arises in this place which cannot 
 fail to strike us as interesting and instructive. 
 Chaucer tells us that his conduct in this in- 
 stance involved him in a torrent of ill will, and 
 brought upon him the charge of being false, 
 lying, base, and ungrateful. It was principally 
 to defend himself against these charges, that 
 he composed his elaborate performance of the 
 " Testament of Love." 
 
 ' It is probable that the lapse of a single 
 generation would have blotted out from the 
 memory of his countrymen these censures upon 
 the "father of English poetry." Who now 
 appears as his accuser ? Chaucer : Chaucer 
 only. We have no evidence but what we draw 
 from this production, that he was ever con- 
 cerned in the turmoils of the city, that he was 
 an exile, a prisoner in the Tower, and that he 
 was finally led by resentment or by terror to 
 the dishonourable act of impeaching his con-
 
 30 A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 federates. Little did the poet think, when he 
 sat down to make this laborious apology for 
 his conduct, tha,fc he was hereby perpetuating 
 an imputation, which, without his interference, 
 Time was preparing to blot out for ever from 
 the records of memory, while his poetical com- 
 positions were destined to render him dear to 
 the lovers of the muse as long as the English 
 language shall endure. How feeble and erro- 
 neous are the calculations of the wisest of 
 mankind!' Shortly after this event, in the 
 year 1389, he was appointed to the office of 
 Clerk of the Works, at a salary of tivo shillings 
 per day, equivalent to about six hundred and 
 fifty pounds of modern money. The duty at- 
 tendant upon his commission was to ' super- 
 intend the erection, repair, and embellishment 
 of the King's mansions, parks, and domains. 1 
 
 It has been seen that by the retirement of 
 the Duke of Lancaster from the country, our 
 poet had almost wholly lost that patronage 
 which he had mainly derived from the political 
 influence of his powerful friend, and that he 
 
 1 Godwin's ' Life of Chaucer,' vol. ii. 4to. edition.
 
 GEOFFET CHAUCEE. 31 
 
 had also, from the same cause, become ex- 
 posed to the rage of his enemies. These had 
 multiplied since his late confession in the 
 Tower. The conscience of the Duke had also 
 upbraided him on account of his disreputable 
 connection with Lady Swinford ; he therefore 
 resorted to the conventional mode of expiating 
 his fault by separating himself from her. This 
 proceeding multiplied the sum of Chaucer's 
 perplexities, and naturally; for being con- 
 nected by marriage with the sister of that 
 lady, he was not merely deprived of those 
 numerous services which a woman who pos- 
 sesses any influence over the mind or affec- 
 tions of her lord is always enabled to render 
 to her relations and friends ; but her very 
 state of desertion afforded his opponents an 
 additional means of triumph. This double 
 abandonment on the part of the Duke (that of 
 his mistress and adherents) admits, however, 
 of defence upon both points ; upon the one, 
 that he afterwards made ample restitution to 
 an amiable and worthy woman for the false 
 position in which he had placed her in society, 
 by legally making her his wife; and on the
 
 32 A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 other, that he had passed over into Castile for 
 the purpose of claiming his right of succession 
 to that crown. His success in this expedition 
 appears to have been various and unequal ; for 
 although he failed in the main object of his 
 attempt, that of being created king, yet he 
 provided for his daughters ; the one succeeding 
 to be Queen of Castile, and the other Queen 
 of Portugal. Like a sagacious warrior and 
 politician both, he amply indemnified himself 
 for his disappointment in the chief object of 
 his ambition, by securing the next advantage 
 to be drawn from his expedition the accom- 
 plishment of wealth. Contemporary historians 
 relate that he was attended on his return home 
 by an accumulation of treasure that loaded 
 forty-seven mules. His return, and the pro- 
 sperous state of his revenue, gave new hopes to 
 the party attached to him : his credit at court 
 also had risen with his swollen fortune ; so 
 much so indeed, that the King, in full parlia- 
 ment assembled, created him Duke of Aqui- 
 taine, and commissioned him to go and preside 
 over that fine principality. 
 
 During the absence of Lancaster, Chaucer 1
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 33 
 
 had carefully secluded himself from the world 
 in the lovely retreat of Woodstock, since 
 become an object of deep interest from that 
 circumstance, and exalted into equal celebrity 
 with the Mantua of Virgil, the Vaucleuse of 
 Petrarch, and the Valle delle Dame of Bocca- 
 cio. Few persons not wholly indifferent to 
 the charm and sentiment of association, would 
 pass Blenheim without turning their steps to 
 this Mecca of our poet, there to offer the 
 simple homage of admiration and gratitude 
 due to extraordinary genius. Here may still 
 be traced in his lines, as by a chart, the walks 
 he was accustomed to take in the prime of the 
 day, when the sun looked ' ruddy and brode ' 
 through the morning vapour ; when the dew 
 4 like silver shining ' was upon the ' sweet 
 grass,' and his beloved daisy was beginning to 
 unfold its pinky lashes. Here is still the 
 rivulet by which he coasted, with its water 
 ' clear as beryl or crystal,' and the ' walled 
 park of greene stone : ' here is the ' fresh 
 hawthorn in white motley, that -so sweet doeth 
 ysmell ; ' and the birds are here cropping the 
 ' small buds and round blossoms ; ' and the
 
 34 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 ' little well under the hill, with its quick 
 streams and cold, and the gold gravel, and the 
 banks environing, soft as velvet.' How exqui- 
 site are these rural associations with the mind 
 and habits of a great poet, compared with 
 those of the artificial world ! Who in think- 
 ing of Chaucer connects him with the comp- 
 trollership of the Customs, or as page to 
 Edward III. ? yet these employments, with all 
 their temporal benefits, brought with them 
 much labour and anxiety ; while the bene- 
 ficent spirit of nature rewarded him during 
 life with untroubled calm and happiness for 
 his devotion at her shrine, and after death 
 with a crown of glory as fresh and vivid as the 
 recurring flowers that she sprinkles over her 
 green lap. 
 
 In this retreat he wrote (or perhaps com- 
 pleted) his learned ' Treatise on the Astrolabe,' 
 which he compiled for the use of his younger 
 son, Lewis, then only ten years of age, but 
 who was nevertheless so far advanced in learn- 
 ing as to desire his father's knowledge of the 
 principles of astronomy. 
 
 About four years after this point in the his-
 
 GEOFFET CHAUCER. 35 
 
 tory of our poet, his great patron returned 
 home, and made that restitution to Lady 
 Swinford already alluded to. The union in 
 the first instance gave high offence, it appears, 
 to the ladies connected with the royal family ; 
 but the good sense, placable demeanour, and 
 unaffected humility of their new relation, so 
 quickly smoothed the asperities of the whole 
 court, that the King carried her with the Duke 
 over to France when he married the daughter 
 of the French King, young Isabel, his second 
 consort, whom, on account of her slender age, 
 he placed under the education of this very 
 Duchess of Lancaster. 
 
 The change of affairs that at this period 
 had occurred in the family of Chaucer proved 
 of instantaneous advantage to himself. The 
 King renewed the grant of twenty marks per 
 annum, bestowed by his grandfather, Edward 
 III., and which in his distress the poet had 
 been compelled to dispose of. 
 
 In the following year we find him in the 
 receipt of a grant of a pipe of wine annually, 
 to be delivered from the Customs of the port
 
 36 A MEMOEIAL OF 
 
 of London by the chief butler, his son Thomas 
 having been appointed to that office 
 
 But these gleams of sun-favour again became 
 suddenly clouded by the death of his patron 
 and brother-in-law, John of Gaunt. The loss 
 of this good friend, and to whom he was sin- 
 cerely attached, from the ties of gratitude as 
 well as from personal motives of respect and 
 admiration, (for he was a prince possessing 
 many noble and generous qualities,) so deeply 
 affected Chaucer, that we find him again with- 
 drawing from public life and wholly retiring 
 to Donnington Castle, a noble estate (presented 
 to him by the Duke) situated near to the town 
 of Newberry, at a short distance from the high 
 road. As every place of residence connected 
 with our poet must be acceptable to the reader, 
 we give the following account of this mansion 
 by one of his biographers. < At present there 
 is nothing to be seen of this ancient structure 
 but what raises horror and concern : a battered 
 gateway with two towers, and some small part 
 of the shattered walls, being all the remains 
 thereof. The grounds about it and the ruins 
 of it are choked with brambles and overrun
 
 Gateway to Donnington Castle, the last country residence of 
 Chaucer.
 
 GEOFFRT CHAUCER. 37 
 
 with ivy: but lest the place of its situation 
 should in a few years more be forgot, I shall, 
 as plainly as I can, describe it. It lies half a 
 mile to the right of Spinhamland, (the ancient 
 Spina of Antonius,) a mile beyond Newberry, 
 on the same side. As you go from London 
 you pass over the river Kennet to the village 
 of Dunnington, from which there is a pretty 
 steep but pleasant ascent through a lane to a 
 hill under the castle, where stands a seat for- 
 merly belonging to the Countess of Sandwich : 
 from hence arises the castle-hill, very steep, 
 and not unlike that whereon the observatory 
 stands at Greenwich ; and from this hill there 
 is a very fine prospect of several counties. 
 On the back of the castle are level grounds, 
 woodlands, and enclosures. The castle itself 
 stands in a pleasant park, in which there was 
 a famous oak, called Chaucer's oak ; under 
 which, as tradition taught, he wrote several 
 poems. Mr. Evelyn gives a particular account 
 of this tree, and says there were three of them 
 planted by Chaucer : the king's oak, the queen's 
 oak, and Chaucer's oak.' 1 The one which he 
 
 1 Bell's edition of Chaucer, vol. i. Life ; p. 45.
 
 88 A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 himself planted cannot of course be the oak 
 under which ' tradition teaches that he wrote 
 several poems ; ' his residence at Donnington 
 Castle not having exceeded two or three 
 years. 
 
 During his abode in this retreat the great 
 revolution occurred, which placed upon the 
 throne the son of his brother-in-law, John of 
 G-aunt, young Henry of Lancaster, better 
 known as Henry IV. Although such an event 
 in a political point of view could not have 
 been an unwelcome one to Chaucer, yet it is 
 gratifying to reflect upon his conduct upon the 
 occasion. We do not find that with the world- 
 ling and courtier's insincerity he pressed for- 
 ward to congratulate the successful usurper ; 
 or, which is infinitely worse, that he chuckled 
 over the reverses and miseries of his late kind 
 and generous, if weak, benefactor ; yet this 
 execrable baseness attaches to the memory of 
 our poet's friend, Grower, who, with the callous 
 selfishness that not unfrequently accompanies 
 a blind old age, spurned the fallen patron 
 through whose munificence he had enjoyed a 
 larger share of favour than had fallen to the
 
 GEOFFEY CHAUCEE. 39 
 
 lot of Chaucer himself. We may conceive 
 how that generous and noble soul must have 
 revolted at such miserable ingratitude in a 
 brother poet and friend. 
 
 During the first year of his reign, however, 
 Henry confirmed to Chaucer, and of his own 
 free will, the annuities he had enjoyed from 
 his former master ; and in addition, partly 
 from admiration of his genius, and partly on 
 account of his near alliance to, and ancient 
 friendship with his own father, he confirmed 
 to him during the term of his life, an annuity 
 of forty marks per annum. 
 
 The short period in which he survived the 
 dethroning of Eichard was mainly occupied 
 in arranging his worldly affairs, which had 
 been thrown into disorder ; for all the public 
 acts of that unhappy monarch were, after his 
 deposition, annulled. Chaucer was, therefore, 
 compelled to leave the quiet of Donnington, 
 and plunge into the turmoil of business, a 
 change of habit that few aged men could 
 encounter with impunity to the poet, who 
 was stooping under the weight of years, it 
 proved fatal. His residence in London (whether
 
 40 A MEMOKIAL OF 
 
 at the present period of his life, or not, is 
 imcertain) was at the sign of the Eed Eose, 
 in Palace Yard, Westminster, on the site 
 where Henry VII.'s Chapel now stands. In 
 the full enjoyment of his clear faculties, but 
 with an exhausted frame, he died on the 
 25th of October, 1400, in the 72nd year of 
 his age. 
 
 As a proof of the activity and soundness of 
 his perceptive faculties, he composed a few 
 verses 'upon his death-bed, when he was in 
 great anguish,' exposing the vanity of human 
 wishes and endeavours, entitled ' Grode Coun- 
 saile of Chaucer;' and beginning 'Fly from 
 the press, 1 and dwell with sothfastness.' 2 
 
 He descended to his grave in the fullness of 
 a high reputation as an extraordinary genius, 
 and a generous and noble-minded man. He 
 was buried in the great south aisle of West- 
 minster Abbey that quarter now so well 
 known under the name of 'Poet's Corner.' 
 Some writers have described that he was first 
 laid in the Cloister, and afterwards removed ; 
 but Caxton, (who may be relied on as an 
 
 1 Crowd. 2 Truth.
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 41 
 
 authority,) in his edition of the poet's works, 
 states that he was buried in the Abbey church 
 of \Vestminster, before the chapel of St. 
 Bennet (or Benedict). This account was 
 written before the removal, alluded to above, 
 took place. 
 
 There appears to be a considerable difficulty 
 in ascertaining the exact depository of his 
 remains ; nor indeed does it seem clear that 
 the present monument of him was erected 
 over or even near to that spot ; moreover, it is 
 not the original monument placed to his 
 memory, which Speght says contained the 
 following verses, 
 
 ' Galfridus Chaucer, vates et fama poesis 
 Maternse, hac sacra sum tumulatus humo ; ' 
 
 ' I, Geoffry Chaucer, the Bard and glory of my mother 
 country, was buried in this sacred ground.' 
 
 but was erected by a Mr. Nicholas Brigham, 
 of Oxford, in the year 1556, a gentleman who 
 enthusiastically honoured the memory of the 
 poet. Upon this monument, as represented 
 at the conclusion of the present memoir, he 
 caused Chaucer's portrait to be painted from
 
 42 A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 that which was in Occleve, his scholar's book, 
 and added the inscription, the whole of which 
 is now obliterated. It is to be hoped that 
 there is truth in the report recently circu- 
 lated, of a proposal having been made to 
 restore this monument to its originally perfect 
 state. 
 
 M.S. 
 
 Qui fuit Anglorum vates ter maximus olim, 
 Galfridus Chaucer conditur hoc tumulo : 
 
 Annum si quseras Domini, si tempora vitse, 
 Ecce notse subsunt quse tibi cuncta notunt. 
 
 25 Octobris 1400. 
 JErumnarum requies mors. 
 N. Brigham hos fecit Musarum nomine sumptus. 
 1556. 
 
 TRANSLATION. 
 
 He who was the most eminent of English poets Geoffry 
 Chaucer lies beneath this tomb : if you require the term of 
 his life, and the year, the record is subscribed, which will in- 
 form you all. 
 
 25 October, 1400. 
 Death is the repose of sorrows. 
 
 N. Brigham placed these, in the Muses' name, at his own 
 cost. 
 
 1556.
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCEE. 43 
 
 Around the edge of the tomb the following 
 verses are said to have been inscribed, now 
 also obliterated. 
 
 1 Si rogites quis eram, forsan te fama docebit ; 
 Quod si fama negat, mundi quia gloria transit, 
 Haec monumenta lege." 
 
 ' Should you enquire who I was, mayhap Fame will in- 
 struct you ; but if Fame refuse, (since the glory of this world 
 passeth away,) read this monument.' 
 
 The person of Chaucer was of middle stature, 
 in advanced years, inclining to corpulency. In 
 his journey with the Pilgrims to Canterbury, 
 mine host of the Tabard takes occasion to jest 
 with him upon this point ; comparing both 
 their persons, he says ; 
 
 1 Now ware you sirs, and let this man have place ; 
 He in the waist is shaped as well as I ; 
 This were a poppet in armes to embrace,' &c. 
 
 His face was full and smooth, betokening 
 regular good health, and a serene and cheerful 
 frame of mind. His complexion was fair, 
 verging towards paleness : his hair was of a 
 dusky yellow, short and thin ; that of his beard 
 grew, or rather perhaps it was fashioned into a
 
 44 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 forked shape, and its colour was wheaten. He 
 had an expansive and marble-like forehead, 
 fair and unwrinkled ; his eyes constantly tended 
 towards the ground a habit he has likewise 
 given occasion in the host to notice : 
 
 ' What man art thou, (quoth he,) 
 
 That lookest as thou wouldest find a hare ; 
 
 For ever on the ground I see thee stare.' 
 
 The general expression of his countenance 
 combined a mixture of animation, of lurking, 
 good natured satire, of unruffled serenity, 
 sweetness, and close thought. As in the above 
 passages from his great poem we are let into a 
 lively portrait of some of his personal peculi- 
 arities, so in the ' Testament of Love ' as 
 perfect an idea of his actions and manner in 
 conversation are farther displayed; so that 
 one may almost fancy oneself in the prison 
 with him, listening to his discourses on philo- 
 sophy. ' The downcast look, (says Urry,) the 
 strict attention, the labouring thought, the 
 hand waving for silence, the manner of ad- 
 dress in speaking, the smooth familiar way of 
 arguing, the respectful way of starting his
 
 GEOFFET CHATJCEB. 45 
 
 objections, and, in short, every expression in 
 that dispute, figures a lively image of him in 
 the mind of the reader.' 
 
 His features, as in most instances of sincere 
 and transparent natures, were an index of his 
 temper, and this comprised a mixture of the 
 lively, grave, and modest. Yet was the gaiety 
 of his disposition more prominent in his writ- 
 ings than in his general demeanour, which, it 
 may be, was repressed by his modesty. This 
 bashfulness it was, which gave occasion to the 
 Countess of Pembroke often to banter him ; 
 declaring, that his absence was preferable to 
 his conversation, since the latter was naught, 
 on account of his reserve and distant respect ; 
 whereas, when he was away from her, the 
 chance was, he might be preparing some com- 
 position to afford her delight. His behaviour 
 with the pilgrims is uniformly in keeping 
 with this habit of silence and seclusion. He 
 scarcely appears in person, and when called 
 upon for his tale, endeavours to avoid the task 
 by singing a ballad ; the host, however, pro- 
 testing against this departure from the general 
 compact, his own story (or rather discourse) is
 
 46 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 one of the least interesting in the whole 
 series. 
 
 His youth was not altogether free from the 
 indiscretions natural to a man surrounded by 
 the beauty and wit of an admiring court ; that 
 he was not even tainted, however, with the 
 vacillation and heartlessness of the mere de- 
 bauchee and man of pleasure, is evident from 
 the single circumstance of his steady court- 
 ship of the lady who ultimately became his 
 wife, which continued for eight years. Be- 
 sides, his constant behaviour towards women, 
 and his exalted admiration of them, at once 
 exempt him from being a coarse or common 
 intriguer. Many of his tales are questionable 
 in their morality, (and these in after life he 
 repented having penned,) but it is strongly 
 doubtful, (coarse as they are,) whether they 
 would so surely sap the structure of a well- 
 educated young mind as many productions of 
 some modern writers, and which are never- 
 theless found in almost every book-case in the 
 kingdom. 
 
 During his relaxations from the duties of 
 public business, he continually retired to his
 
 GEOFFEY CHAUCEE. 47 
 
 study. Beading, indeed, was his chief delight, 
 as appears, by his own confession, in the in- 
 troduction to his ' Dreame,' and to the ' Legend 
 of (rood Women.' He preferred it to every 
 amusement, with the exception of a morning 
 walk in May-tide. He lived almost exclu- 
 sively in his own world of meditation, never 
 interfering, as he says of himself, in the con- 
 cerns of others. He was temperate and re- 
 gular in his diet ; he ' arose with the lark, and 
 lay down with the lamb : ' hence the marvel- 
 lous truth and freshness of his early morning 
 pictures, not inferior to the celebrated ' Castle 
 Landscape ' of Eembrandt ; and this is the 
 most perfect representation of a morning 
 twilight that, perhaps, ever was painted. 
 
 The career of Chaucer, from whichever point 
 we may view it, assumes a character greatly 
 elevated above that of ordinary men. He was 
 a poet, a philosopher, an astronomer, a logi- 
 cian, a linguist, a politician, a theologian, a 
 humanist, a gentleman in the modern accepta- 
 tion of the term, and a virtuous man. His 
 conduct as a man holding a public office 
 stands unimpeached for integrity. He was a
 
 48 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 gentleman, for he was the universal theme 
 of admiration in a refined court particularly 
 by the women, and they rarely err in making 
 a correct estimate of a man's temper and 
 habits. He was a humanist, for he has ever 
 at hand an apology for the frailties of our 
 nature ; above all, when he would atone for 
 the lapses of the most responsible and the 
 least excused of our race the women. Proofs 
 of this may be seen scattered over all his 
 works, but it shines forth most conspicuously 
 in his divine poem of Troilus and Cressida, 
 where his pleadings for the error of that too 
 light heart may without profaneness be ranked 
 with the conduct of HIM, who bade her sister 
 delinquent to ' go and sin no more.' 
 
 In his public capacity, as a politician and 
 theological controversialist, he appears to have 
 been an opponent of abuses rather from a spi- 
 rit of party than from an active principle of 
 justice, or from consciousness of the truth, for 
 we find that in the one instance he aided a 
 body of insurgents because they were the 
 partizans of his patron ; and in the other he 
 withdrew his opposition to the priesthood
 
 GEOFFRT CHAUCER. 49 
 
 when he found that the Duke himself no 
 longer made it a handle for promoting his 
 ambitious views with regard to the succession. 
 Indeed we do not find it confirmed that he 
 sided with Wickliffe upon points of faith or 
 doctrine, but in exposing the abuses of his 
 mother church. He was a reformer, not a 
 seceder ; he would have restored the catholic 
 worship to its primitive purity, but he would 
 not have removed one stone of the fabric. 
 This opinion is borne out by his confession of 
 faith, wherein he subscribes to the whole 
 rubric. Wickliffe applied his battering-ram 
 at one of its main corner-stones transub- 
 stantiation. For one of lively imagination, 
 strong sensitiveness, and of devotedness to the 
 gentler luxuries and enjoyments of life, Chaucer 
 was an active and steady partizan in the cause 
 of reform ; but a temperament like his was 
 not calculated to make thorough work in a 
 contest with the knitted phalanx of corrup- 
 tion. Such as he, are not the wedge to split 
 the ' gnarred and stubby tree ' of a full-grown 
 opinion. The man of imagination is seldom 
 calculated to maintain an up-hill struggle in 
 E
 
 50 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 the cause of reform ; and the most unflinching 
 and uncompromising soldiers, whether for an 
 opinion or for hire, are not always men of 
 excessive imagination ; the poets have not 
 been at any time the stubbornest of patriots. 
 MILTON, indeed, forms a sweeping exception 
 to this rule ; but he almost confirms it. 
 
 Many of the tales of Chaucer, which are 
 paraphrastical translations from the Latin and 
 Italian languages, prove him to have been a 
 linguist of no ordinary standard ; and his prose 
 essays stamp him a logician. It has been al- 
 ready shown that he was well versed in the 
 science of astronomy as much of it at least 
 as was known in that age. That he was a 
 philosopher in the most practical acceptation 
 of the term that of humanizing his fellow- 
 creatures, and making them happier as well 
 as wiser, we need only refer to the best and 
 most carefully written of his poems. 
 
 As a poet, his chief power lay in description, 
 and this was marvellous ; whatever object it 
 is his purpose to delineate, he inspects, and 
 probes, and twists, and turns it on every side, 
 as a botanist pores into a flower ; and then he
 
 GEOFFET CHAUCER. 51 
 
 presents it to you clothed in the minute per- 
 fection of a Dutch painting with the charms 
 of ease, grace, and freedom superadded. So 
 patiently did he study the characters of the 
 people he described, that he seems not to have 
 more closely examined their costumes, (ac- 
 curately as he did this,) than he did their 
 habits of thought. Hence, the speeches he 
 puts into their mouths are so truly in keeping, 
 that their great merit almost becomes neutral- 
 ized in the mind ; for we feel that he merely 
 put down what he heard as well as what he 
 saw when describing his characters. The first 
 remark made to us by one who had read for 
 the first time his Prologue to the Canterbury 
 Pilgrims, was, that ' it detracted materially 
 from Mr. Stothard's fame in illustrating it, 
 for that all was there, ready fashioned to his 
 hands.' In this very prologue the portrait of 
 the shipman is a striking likeness to this day. 
 His action on horseback is not yet more ac- 
 complished ; he still makes progress, as Butler 
 humorously describes him, as though he were 
 ' rowing the horse.' The doctor of physic 
 4 reading little in his bible ; ' playing into the 
 
 E 2
 
 52 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 apothecary's hands ; regulating his diet, and 
 eating that which is most nutritious. The 
 showy wife of Bath, so trim about the ankles, 
 with her new tight shoes, and stockings 
 gartered up without a wrinkle. The reeve, (or 
 steward,) contriving to lay his lord under 
 obligations by advancing him money in his 
 necessitous extravagance. The serjeant at law, 
 than whom no man was more busy, and yet 
 he seemed busier than he was ; ' are all as 
 truly pourtrayed as the reflections in a camera 
 lucida. Chaucer is one of the most matter-of- 
 fact poets that ever existed. He describes and 
 recapitulates, and describes and repeats, like 
 one who having beheld a wonder for the first 
 time, returns at every given opportunity to 
 the object of his admiration. He is sometimes 
 tedious in his descriptions ; and this appears 
 to arise from an anxiety on his own part, lest 
 the reader should not be able to keep pace 
 with him in feeling at once the full impression 
 of the object he is delineating. The late Mr. 
 Hazlitt, in his lectures on the poets, has most 
 happily in one pithy sentence (a remarkable 
 feature in his critical analyses) struck out
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 53 
 
 Chaucer's poetical faculty. He says : ' His 
 poetry reads like history. Every thing has a 
 downright reality; at least in the narrator's 
 mind. A simile, or a sentiment, is as if it 
 ivere given in upon evidence' Again : He 
 speaks of what he wishes to describe with the 
 accuracy, the discrimination of one who relates 
 what has happened to himself, or has had the 
 best information from those who have been 
 eye-witnesses of it. The strokes of his pencil 
 always tell. He dwells only on the essential, 
 on that which would be interesting to the 
 persons really concerned : yet as he never 
 omits any material circumstance, he is prolix 
 from the number of points on which he 
 touches, without being diffuse on any one ; 
 and is sometimes tedious from the fidelity 
 with which he adheres to his subject, as other 
 writers are from the frequency of their di- 
 gressions from it. The chain of his history 
 is composed of a number of fine links, closely 
 connected together, and riveted by a single 
 blow.' 
 
 He is contented to find grace and beauty
 
 54 A MEMORIAL OF 
 
 in truth. He exhibits for the most part the 
 naked object, with little drapery thrown over 
 it. His metaphors, which are few, are not 
 for ornament, but use, and as like as possible 
 to the things themselves. He does not affect 
 to show his power over the reader's mind, but 
 the power which the subject has over his own.' 
 
 ' There is no artificial pompous display, but 
 a strict parsimony of the poet's materials, like 
 the rude simplicity of the age in which he 
 lived.' 
 
 It has already been observed that Chaucer 
 was prone to be tedious in his descriptions. In 
 his rural walks he is just as tedious as a saun- 
 tering companion by a wood-side, who is a de- 
 voted admirer of nature. He who would be 
 impatient with the one for pausing at every 
 furlong to remark and admire the shifting ef- 
 fects of light in the morning clouds ; or to 
 hearken to the whistle of the early birds ; or 
 to notice the varieties of foliage, the smell of 
 wild blossoms, the juicy freshness and vivid 
 hue of tall plants that bow in graceful homage 
 over the ' huddling brook ' such a one may
 
 GEOFFRY CHAUCER. 55 
 
 easily be wearied with the description of the 
 other, for it is commonly an accurate journal of 
 his whole route. 
 
 The extraordinary fidelity of his portraits, 
 and the careful minuteness with which he lays 
 on tint after tint to heighten their effect, has 
 already been insisted. This in the main is 
 true ; yet will he at times, with one dash of his 
 pencil, (like a true genius,) give all the expres- 
 sion you can require. To take two or three 
 specimens at random, by way of example. 
 The appearance of Troilus striding across the 
 hall after his return from Cressida, when she 
 was taken from him and delivered up to the 
 Greeks : 
 
 ' To Troy is come this woful Troilus, 
 In sorrow, above all sorrow's smart, 
 "With felon-look, and with face despiteous ; 
 Then suddenly down from his horse he start, 
 And thro' his palace, with a swollen heart, 
 To chamber went.' 
 
 The love-worn Arcite, who, from the weak- 
 ness of his spirits, burst into tears if he heard 
 song or instrument about the house.' Shak- 
 speare himself could not have surpassed this 
 for the intensity of its truth.
 
 56 A MEMORIAL OP 
 
 To take a humourous picture, yet no less 
 vivid : the Pardoner, describing himself preach- 
 ing, says, 
 
 ' Then pain I me to stretchen forth my neck, 
 And east and west upon the people I beck, 
 As doth a dove sitting upon a barn.' 
 
 Here is the full length of a friar in one 
 line : 
 
 ' Fat as a whale, and walked as a swan.' 
 
 Chanticleer, the herald of the dawn, is thus 
 shortly, yet sufficiently described : 
 
 ' But when the cock, common astrologer, 
 'Gan on its breast to beat, and after crow.' 
 
 It were an easy, and a pleasant task too, to 
 go on multiplying examples of this great poet's 
 accurate eye in description ; after that, as 
 many more might be cited of his humour, and 
 keen satire ; and a moderate volume would 
 scarcely contain all the strokes of passion and 
 tenderness with which his poems abound. The 
 story of Troilus and Cressida alone, for pro- 
 found feeling, would honour any poet that
 
 GEOFFRT CHAUCER. 57 
 
 ever breathed. Every scene where the lovers 
 themselves are concerned is redolent with 
 sighs of ' such sweet breath ' as the following. 
 Cressida is absent from her lover, but has pro- 
 mised to return to him in a month : 
 
 ' And every night, as was his wont to do, 
 He stood, the bright moon shining to behold, 
 And all his sorrow to the moon he told, 
 And said " Surely when thou art horned new 
 I shall be glad if ALL THE AVOELB be true.'" 
 
 How beautiful the thought ! to make his love 
 the whole world, and the whole world to be 
 absorbed in the one idea of his love. 
 
 It is needless to say that the above hasty 
 references (single stones exhibited for samples 
 of the complete magnificent structure) have 
 not been addressed to the intimate acquain- 
 tance of Chaucer : the design of the present 
 little volume will be considered by such 
 readers ; and therefore that they are quoted 
 for the sole purpose of inducing the young 
 and the tasteful, to whom his poems are as yet 
 ' a sealed book,' to prepare themselves for 
 many an hour of delight and wonder. The
 
 58 
 
 A MEMOEIAL OP GEOFFEY CHATJCEE. 
 
 obsolete dialect and antiquated spelling will 
 for a time be sore stumbling blocks to their 
 progress ; but these overcome, great will be 
 their reward.
 
 The Procession of the Pilgrims to Canterbury.
 
 PKOLOGUE, 
 
 OH 
 
 INTRODUCTION 
 
 TO THE 
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 
 
 IN that pleasant season of the year when the 
 April showers and the soft west wind make the 
 grass and flowers to spring up in every mead 
 and heath, and birds welcome the shining days, 
 it is the custom with people from all parts of 
 the country to set forth on pilgrimages to fo- 
 reign lands, and more especially to pay their 
 vows at the shrine raised in Canterbury to the 
 holy martyr St. Thomas a Becket. 
 
 At this time of the year, I, GTEOFFET CHAU- 
 CER, the writer of these Tales, was remaining at
 
 60 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 the sign of the Tabard, in Southwark, ready 
 to set forth on my pilgrimage to Canterbury. 
 In the evening a company of about nine and 
 twenty persons, bound on the same errand, had 
 assembled in the inn ; with all of whom I had 
 made acquaintance before sun-set, and had 
 agreed to journey in their company the follow- 
 ing day. Before I enter upon my tale, the 
 reader may desire to know what were the cha- 
 racter, condition, and exterior accomplishments 
 of my fellow travellers. These, as they ap- 
 peared to me, I supply as follows. 
 
 The first in order was a worthy KNIGHT, a 
 worshipper from his youth of chivalrous and 
 all gallant deeds ; a lover of truth and honour, 
 frankness and courtesy. He had served with 
 renown in his Lord's wars against the Heathen, 
 the Eussian, and the Turk ; had fought in fif- 
 teen battles, and in three tilting matches had 
 slain his foe. With all these rough and un- 
 chamber-like accomplishments, he was in his 
 demeanour and address as meek as a young 
 maiden. No villainous or injurious speech was 
 ' ever heard to pass his lips in short, he was a 
 perfect knight of gentle blood. As regards his
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 61 
 
 furniture and equipment, he rode a good and 
 serviceable horse, which had become staid, and 
 somewhat the worse from hard campaigning. 
 His dress was a short fustian cassock, or 
 gaberdine, soiled and fretted with his armour ; 
 for he had newly arrived from foreign travel, 
 and was proceeding straight to the shrine of 
 our holy martyr at Canterbury. 
 
 He was accompanied by his son, a youth 
 about twenty years of age, who acted as his 
 SQUIRE. The person of this young man was 
 tall and well-proportioned, of great strength 
 and activity. Being a bachelor and a lover, he 
 was delicately attentive to his external ap- 
 pearance. His hair, which flowed in rich and 
 natural curls upon his shoulders, was carefully 
 disposed. Hoping to win his lady's favour, he 
 had behaved with bravery in three several ex- 
 peditions in Flanders, in Artois, and in Pi- 
 cardy. His gown, which was short, with long 
 open sleeves, was as fresh and gay as a spring 
 meadow embroidered with flowers. Singing 
 and piping all day long, he was as cheerful as 
 the month of May. In addition to all these 
 graces, he was a fine horseman, a tasteful writer
 
 62 PEOLOGUE TO THE 
 
 of songs, excelled in the tournament and the 
 dance, could write and draw with ease and 
 elegance ; and, what is esteemed a principal 
 accomplishment in a squire of high degree, he 
 was worthy to carve at table before his father. 
 Courteous, humble, and dutiful was this fair 
 young man ; and withal so devoted to his lady- 
 love, that he would outwatch the doting night- 
 ingale. 
 
 One other attendant, and no more, had our 
 Knight upon the present occasion ; a YEOMAN, 
 dressed in a green coat and hood. He had a 
 head like a nut, 1 and a face of the same colour. 
 In his hand he carried a sturdy bow, and at his 
 side under his belt a sheaf of bright sharp ar- 
 rows, winged with peacock feathers. His arm 
 was defended by a bracer ; 2 on one side hung 
 
 1 In the original, it is not-Tied. This may mean either a 
 ' head like a nut,' as Tyrwhitt has interpreted it, and which 
 seems appropriate to the character of the man described ; or 
 Jcnotte-hed, a name given to the knob at the end of a staff, 
 and which term still survives in the north of England. 
 
 2 A defence for the arm. 'A bracer,' says Ascham, 'serves 
 two purposes ; one, to save the arrow from the string when 
 loosed upon it, and the coat from creasing ; and the other, 
 that the string, gliding sharply and quickly off the bracer, 
 may make a sharper shoot.' He also adds, ' in a bracer three
 
 CANTEEBUEY TALES. 63 
 
 a sword and buckler, and on the other a well- 
 appointed dagger, keen as a spear. At his 
 breast hung a silver ornament, also a horn, the 
 girdle or baldrick of which was green. He was 
 a thorough forester, and skilful in all manner 
 of wood-craft. 
 
 There was also in our company a Xun, a 
 PRIORESS, called Madam Eglantine, a demure 
 and simply-smiling lady, whose sharpest speech 
 was, l By Saint Eloi ! ' She could chaunt by 
 heart the whole of the divine service, sweetly 
 twanging it through her nose. She was mis- 
 tress of the French language, as it is spoken 
 at the school of Stratford-le-Bow ; but the 
 French of Paris was to her unknown. Her 
 conduct at meals was precisely well-bred and 
 delicate, all her anxiety being to display a cour- 
 teous and stately deportment, and to be re- 
 garded in return with esteem and reverence. 
 So charitable and piteous was her nature, that 
 a dead or bleeding mouse in a trap would wring 
 her heart. She kept several little dogs, which 
 
 tilings should be particularly attended to ; that it should have 
 no nails in it, no buckles, and that it should be fastened 
 on with laces without tags.' Archer's Guide, 1833, p. 136.
 
 64 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 were pampered with roast meat, milk, and the 
 finest bread. Bitterly would she take on, if one 
 were ill-used or dead. In short, she was all 
 conscience and tender heart. 
 
 To speak of her features: her' nose was long 
 but well-shaped ; her eyes light, and grey as 
 glass; her mouth delicately small, soft and 
 red, and her forehead fair and broad. For 
 dress she wore a neatly-made cloak, and a care- 
 fully-crimped neckerchief; on her arm was a 
 pair of beads of small coral, garnished with 
 green, from which depended a handsome gold 
 brooch, with a great A engraved upon it, and 
 underneath, the motto, 4 Amor vincit omnia.' 
 (Love overcomes all things.) 
 
 In her train was another NUN, who acted as 
 her chaplain ; also three Priests. 
 
 The next in succession was a MONK, one well 
 calculated to rule his order. He was a bold 
 rider, and fond of hunting. A manly man, 
 and worthy to have been an abbot. Many a 
 capital horse had he in stall : and as he rode 
 along, one could hear his bridle gingling in the 
 whistling wind like the distant chapel bells. 1 
 
 1 It was the fashion in those days to hang bells to the
 
 CANTERBUKT TALES. 65 
 
 Our Monk set but little store by the strict 
 regulations of the good old saints ; holding ra- 
 ther with modern opinions. For instance, he 
 cared not the value of a straw for that one 
 which denies that a monk can be a hunter and 
 at the same time a holy man ; or, that out of 
 his cloister he is like a fish out of water. And, 
 indeed, there is some reason in his objection ; 
 for, as he would say, ' Why should he pore 
 all day over his books till his brain is turned, 
 or apply himself to handicraft labour as St. 
 Augustin ordains ? Let St. Augustin stick to 
 his day-labour!' For himself, he was a good 
 hard rider outright, and kept his greyhounds, 
 which were as swift as swallows before rain. 
 Coursing was his sole pleasure, and to gratify 
 it he spared no cost. 
 
 I noticed that his sleeves were embroidered 
 with the finest grey fur ; and his hood fastened 
 under his chin with a curiously chased gold 
 
 horses' bridles. In the Faery Quecne the caparison of alady's 
 steed is thus described : 
 
 ' Her wanton palfrey all was overspred 
 With tinsell trappings, -woven like a wave, 
 Whose bridle rung with golden bels and bosses brave.' 
 
 B. i. Canto ii. Stanza xiii. 
 F
 
 66 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 clasp, at one end of which was wrought a true 
 lover's knot. His head was bald, and shone 
 like glass ; his face too seemed as though it 
 had been anointed. His eyes were deeply set, 
 and kept rolling in his head, which glowed 
 and steamed like a furnace. He had any 
 thing but the air of a mortified and ghostly 
 father : indeed a roast swan was his favourite 
 dish. A fine and stately horse, as brown as a 
 berry, and boots supple and without a wrinkle, 
 completed the equipment of this choice speci- 
 men of a prelate. 
 
 There was a FRIAR, a limiter; 1 who, though 
 in appearance a solemn man, was a wanton and 
 merry wag. No man in all the four orders of 
 brotherhood was such an adept in dalliance 
 and smooth speech. Many a young girl had 
 he joined in wedlock free of expense. He was 
 the very prop and stay of his order. He was 
 a favourite with all the country round, and 
 especially cherished by the good dames of the 
 town ; for being a licenciate, 2 he was, by his 
 
 1 One licensed to beg alms for his convent, -within a certain 
 district. 
 
 2 One licensed by the Pope to hear confessions.
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 67 
 
 own account, as great in hearing confession as 
 a curate. Sweetly would he dispense the duties 
 of shrift, 1 and pleasant was his absolution. 
 Whenever he expected a handsome pittance, 
 the penance he enjoined was always light ; for 
 it is a sign a man has been well shriven when 
 he makes presents to a poor convent. 
 
 His tippet was constantly stored with articles 
 of cutlery and knick-knacks, which he distri- 
 buted among the good wives in his perambu- 
 lations. To these pleasant qualities, which 
 made him everywhere a welcome guest, he 
 added the grace of being a performer on the 
 lute and a merry singer. In figure he was as 
 well made and strong as a champion of wrest- 
 lers ; and the skin of his neck was as white as 
 the lady-lily. He was better acquainted with 
 all the taverns, tapsters, and hostlers in the 
 town than with the strolling beggars, the sick, 
 and the miserable : for a man of his worth and 
 calling, it was more convenient as well as 
 befitting, that he should cultivate the ac- 
 quaintance of the rich, and dispensers of good 
 
 1 Confession. 
 
 F2
 
 63 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 things, than with the diseased and the mendi- 
 cant. Wherever he spied a chance of profit 
 or advantage there did he direct all his cour- 
 tesy, and humbly ply his services. He was 
 the expertest beggar in the convent, and ob- 
 tained a grant that none of the brethren 
 should cross him in his haunts ; for if a widow 
 had barely a shoe to her foot, so sweet to her 
 ear was his, ' As it was in the beginning,' &c., 
 that he would extort a farthing from her 
 before his departure. Of him it might be 
 said that ' the labourer was of more worth than 
 his hire.' On settling days he was a man 
 of importance, not like a cloisterer, or poor 
 scholar with his threadbare cloak, but rather 
 as master of the order, or even like the Pope 
 himself. 
 
 He wore a short cloak of double-woven wor- 
 sted, round as a lady's dress, uncrushed. He 
 would lisp in his speech from wantonness, or 
 to give effect to his English : and while he 
 was singing, his eyes would twinkle like the 
 stars in a frosty night. The name of this 
 worthy limiter was Hubert. 
 
 There was a MERCHANT with a forked beard,
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 69 
 
 and dressed in a motley suit, with a Flemish 
 beaver hat. His boots were of the best manu- 
 facture, neatly clasped. He sat high upon his 
 horse, and delivered his opinions in a solemn 
 tone, always sounding forth the increase of his 
 winnings. He was for having the sea securely 
 guarded, for the benefit of trade, between 
 Middleburgh and Orwell. His skill and know- 
 ledge in the various exchanges of money were 
 remarkable ; and so prudently did he order 
 his bargains and speculations, that he was es- 
 teemed a man of credit and substance. 
 
 There was a CLERK, or scholar, of Oxford 
 also, who was deeply skilled in logic. His 
 horse was as lean as a rake, and he himself 
 was not overfed, but looked hollow and staidly 
 sober. His surtout cloak was of the thread- 
 bare class ; for he had hitherto obtained no 
 living, and not being a man of the world he 
 was unfit for an office. He had rather have 
 at his bed's head twenty books of Aristotle and 
 his philosophy than the costliest wardrobe and 
 furniture. Though a philosopher however, he 
 had not yet discovered the golden secret of 
 science ; but all that he could scrape from his
 
 70 PEOLOGUE TO THE 
 
 friends was forthwith spent in books of learn- 
 ing. Fervently would he pray for the souls 
 of those who would assist him to purchase 
 instruction ; for study was the sole care of his 
 life. In conversation he never uttered a word 
 more than was necessary, and that was said 
 with a modest propriety, shortly and quickly, 
 and full of meaning. His discourse was preg- 
 nant with morality, and he as gladly afforded 
 as received instruction. 
 
 A SERGEANT-AT-LAW, cautious and shrewd, 
 who had been often at consultation, was there 
 also. A prudent and deferential man. He 
 had been frequently appointed justice of assize 
 by patent and commission. Many were the 
 fees and robes with which he had been pre- 
 sented on account of his great legal knowledge 
 and renown. There was no purchaser like 
 him, and his dealings were above suspicion. 
 He was the busiest of men, and yet he seemed 
 more busy than he was. He had at his fingers' 
 ends all the terms, cases, and judgments from 
 the time of the Conquest ; and in his indict- 
 ments, the man was clever that could detect a 
 flaw. He knew all the statutes by heart. He
 
 CANTEEBUEY TALES. 71 
 
 rode in a plain coat of mixed cloth, fastened 
 with a narrow-striped silken girdle. 
 
 A country Gentleman, commonly called a 
 FRANKLIN, was in our company. He had a 
 fresh coloured rosy face, and a beard as white 
 as a daisy. A sop in wine was his favourite 
 morning beverage : for he was a true son of 
 Epicurus, believing that the most perfect hap- 
 piness consisted in perfect enjoyment. He 
 possessed a noble mansion, and was the most 
 hospitable of entertainers. He dined at qua- 
 
 ' lity hours always after one o'clock; and 
 so plenteously stored was his table, that his 
 
 'house may be said to have snowed meat and 
 drink fish, flesh, and fowl ; and of these the 
 daintiest. His suppers were furnished accord- 
 ing to the season. Many a fat partridge had 
 he in his preserve ; and stewed bream or pike 
 was a common dish at his board. Ill befel his 
 cook if the sauce were too pungent, or his 
 dinner not punctually served. He kept open 
 house, and the dining table in hall remained 
 covered the whole day. 
 
 He had been at several times justice of the 
 peace, sheriff, steward of the hundred court,
 
 72 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 and knight of the shire. Among all the 
 country gentlemen round, there was not his 
 compeer. At his girdle, which was as white 
 as morning milk, hung a dagger and a silken 
 purse. 
 
 A HABERDASHER and a CARPENTER, a WEAVER, 
 a DYER, and a worker of TAPESTRY, members of 
 a solemn and large fraternity, were all clothed 
 in the same costume. Their furniture was all 
 spick and span new. Their knives were not 
 of the common description, mounted with 
 brass, but wrought with pure silver. Their 
 girdles and pouches also were equally costly. 
 Each seemed to be of the respectable class of 
 burgesses, who take the uppermost seats 1 in 
 the G-uildhall. Their grave and sensible de- 
 meanour befitted them for the office of alder- 
 men. They were men of landed estate and 
 wealthy in cattle ; and this their wives had 
 no objection to, for it is a fine thing to be 
 styled ' Madam,' and to walk, with your train 
 supported like a queen, in the first ranks to 
 church. 
 
 1 The raised floor at the end of the hall was called a dais.
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 73 
 
 The company had a COOK with them upon 
 this occasion. He was the man of all others 
 to tell you a draught of London ale out of a 
 hundred. No one could match him in roast- 
 ing and boiling ; his made-dishes, potted beef, 
 raised pies, and blanc-mangers, were abso- 
 lutely eminent. 
 
 There was a SHIPMAN, or merchantman too, 
 a West-countryman ; I think he came from 
 Dartmouth : he rode upon a hack as well as 
 he was able : and wore a gown of coarse stuff, 
 which came down as low as his knee : also a 
 dagger suspended by a lace from his neck 
 under his arm. The hot summer had made 
 his face all brown he was a fine hearty look- 
 ing fellow. Many and many a cask of wine 
 had he brought from Bourdeaux while the 
 merchants were fast asleep in their beds. He 
 was not remarkable for tenderness of con- 
 science, seeing that if he were engaged at sea, 
 and had got the upper-hand, he always sent 
 his prisoners home by water. 1 But for skill 
 in reckoning his tides ; for knowing all the 
 
 1 This passage, \vhich in the original appears to be rather
 
 74 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 currents, shallows, and sandbanks ; the exact 
 place of the sun, the age of the moon, and for 
 the complete art of piloting, there was not his 
 equal between Hull and Carthage. He was a 
 brave, and prudent man ; whose beard many a 
 tempest had shaken. He was intimate with 
 every harbour from Gothland to Cape Finis- 
 terre, and every creek in Spain and Brittany. 
 His ship was called the Magdalen. 
 
 There was a DOCTOR of PHYSIC with us. 
 No one was like him for discoursing on medi- 
 cine and surgery ; for he was well grounded in 
 astronomy. He kept his patients principally 
 by his magic, and could render them fortunate 
 by the ascendant of his images. He was a 
 skilful practitioner, and knew the cause of 
 every malady; whether it were cold, heat, 
 moisture, or drouth ; where it originated, and 
 from what humour ; the cause and root of his 
 
 obscure, I think is intended to convey a sly little irony ; 
 for the poet, after saying, 
 
 ' Of nice conscience toke he no kepe' 
 adds, 
 
 ' If that he faught and hadde the higher hand, 
 
 By water he sent hem home to every land.' 
 In other words I conceive the meaning to be, that he drowned 
 his prisoners.
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 75 
 
 complaint being discovered, he would quickly 
 set the patient on his legs again. His apothe- 
 caries were ever at his beck and call, to pour 
 in their drugs and electuaries for they played 
 into each others* hands. Their friendship was 
 of long standing. He was well read in the 
 old authors Esculapius, Dioscorides, and Eufus ; 
 Old Galen, Halius, and Hippocrates, and a 
 host besides. He was very measured and 
 exact in his diet, avoiding superfluity, and 
 always selecting that which was most nourish- 
 ing and digestible. His Bible he studied but 
 little. His dress was a rose-coloured Persian, 
 lined with thin silk, or taffeta ; yet he was 
 but easy in his circumstances. He carefully 
 laid by all his gains during the pestilence ; 
 for gold is well known to be a cordial in 
 medicine ; gold therefore he held in especial 
 reverence. 
 
 A good WIFE OF BATH made one of our 
 company. She was unfortunately rather deaf, 
 and had lost some of her teeth. She carried 
 on a trade in cloth-making, which excelled 
 the manufactures of Ypres and Ghent. No 
 wife in all the parish could take precedence of
 
 76 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 her at mass ; and if one ever so presumed, she 
 was wroth out of all charity. The kerchiefs 
 which adorned her head on Sundays were of 
 the finest web, and I dare swear weighed a 
 pound. Her hose were of a brilliant scarlet, 
 gartered up without a wrinkle ; and her shoes 
 tight and new. She had been ever esteemed 
 a worthy woman, and had accompanied to 
 church five husbands in her time. Having 
 thrice travelled to Jerusalem, crossing many a 
 strange river, and having visited Eome, Saint 
 James's, 1 Cologne, with its three kings, and 
 passed through Gralicia, she had a world of 
 intelligence to communicate by the way. Her 
 dress consisted of a spruce neckerchief ; a hat 
 as broad as a target ; a mantle wrapping her 
 fair large hips, and on her feet was a pair of 
 sharp spurs. She rode upon an ambling pony. 
 In company she took her share in the laugh, 
 and would display her remedies for all com- 
 plaints in love : she could play a good hand 
 at that game. 
 
 There was also a religious man ; who was a 
 
 1 St. James's of Compostella, in Spain.
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 77 
 
 poor Village PARSON : yet was he rich in holy 
 thought and works, as well as in learning a 
 faithful preacher of the gospel of Christ ; full 
 of gentleness and diligence ; patient in ad- 
 versity, and forbearing. So far was he from 
 distressing for his tithes, that he disbursed his 
 offerings, and almost his whole substance 
 among his poor parishioners. A pittance suf- 
 ficed him. The houses in his parish were 
 situate far asunder, yet neither wind and 
 rain, nor storm and tempest could keep him 
 from his duty ; but, with staff in hand, would 
 he visit the remotest, great and small, rich 
 and poor. This noble example he kept before 
 his flock ; that first he himself performed, 
 what he afterwards preached, joining this 
 figure with his admonition : ' If gold will 
 rust, what will not iron do ? ' For, if a priest 
 in whom we confide become tarnished, a 
 wonder if the frail layman keep himself un- 
 polluted. The priest should set an example 
 of purity to his flock ; for how shameful a 
 sight is a foul shepherd and cleanly sheep ! 
 
 He did not let out his benefice to hire, and 
 desert his flock to run up to London for the
 
 78 PEOLOaUE TO THE 
 
 purpose of seeking promotion ; but steadily 
 kept home, and guarded well the fold. He 
 was the true shepherd, and no hireling. More- 
 over, holy and virtuous as he was, he turned 
 an eye of pity upon the sinful man, mingling 
 his lecture with discretion and benignity. It 
 was the business of his life, by good example, 
 to lead his fellow creatures gently to heaven. 
 The obstinate and stiff necked, however, 
 whether in high or low estate, were sure to 
 receive from him a severe rebuke. A better 
 priest I know not, far or near. He craved 
 neither pomp nor reverence, or betrayed any 
 affected scrupulousness of conscience : but the 
 doctrine of Christ and his apostles he taught 
 with simplicity, first following it himself. 
 
 He had a brother with him a PLOUGHMAN, 
 who had in his time scattered many a load of 
 dung: a thorough hard laboilrer, living in 
 peace and perfect charity with all men. Above 
 all things, and at all times, he best loved his 
 Grod and Creator, and then his neighbour as 
 himself. When it lay in his power he would 
 finish a job of threshing for a poor man with- 
 out hire. He paid his tithes fairly and punc-
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 79 
 
 tually, both of his produce and live stock. 
 He was dressed in a tabard, 1 and rode upon a 
 mare. There were also a REEVE, 2 and a MILLER ; 
 a SuMMONER, 3 a PARDONER, 4 a MANCIPLE, 5 and 
 myself. 
 
 The MILLER was a hardy churl, brawny and 
 large of bone. He always bore away the prize 
 ram in wrestling matches. He was short 
 shouldered, broad and stubby. Massive indeed 
 was the door that he could not heave from its 
 hinges, or crack with the butting of his head. 
 His beard was sandy, like a fox or a sow, and 
 cut broad and square in the shape of spade. 
 He had a wart on his nose, adorned with a 
 tuft, red as the bristles of a hog's ear. His 
 nostrils were wide and black ; and mouth 
 
 1 A jacket -without sleeves ; worn in the first instance by 
 noblemen in the wars: in later times, by heralds, and was 
 their coat of arms in service. From Chaucer's having clad 
 the ploughman in such a garment, he probably meant to con- 
 vey the hint that it was a cast-off dress. 
 
 2 A steward or bailiff. 
 
 3 An officer employed to summon delinquents to appear in 
 the ecclesiastical courts ; now called an apparitor. 
 
 4 A seller of pardons or indulgences from the Pope. 
 
 5 An officer who has the care of purchasing victuals for an 
 inn of court. The office still subsists in several colleges as 
 well as inns of court.
 
 80 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 gaped like a furnace. He was a roaring 
 roystering madcap ; who upon occasion would 
 try the strength of his conscience by niching 
 his customers' corn, and giving them false 
 tales. 1 Yet, withal, he had ' a thumb of gold,' 
 as the old saying goes respecting honest 
 millers ; and I believe was no worse than his 
 brethren. He wore a white coat with a blue 
 hood, and a sword and buckler at his side. 
 He was a performer on the bagpipe, and with 
 it marshalled us out of town. 
 
 There was a gentle MANCIPLE, who was a 
 pattern to all caterers and purchasers of pro- 
 vision ; for whether he paid in ready money 
 or went upon credit, he always so managed his 
 accounts as to have a surplus of cash in hand. 
 Now, this appears to me like a special gift 
 from heaven, that an ignorant man of this 
 stamp should be able to outwit a whole bevy 
 of learned clerks. He had more than thirty 
 masters, acute in the law, a dozen of whom 
 were fit to be stewards to any nobleman in the 
 
 The old term for reckoning, is a ' tale.' 
 
 ' And every shepherd tells his tale, 
 Under the hawthorn in the dale.' 
 
 Milton's Allegro.
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 81 
 
 land, and keep his estate free from debt and 
 incumbrance (if he had the brains to let 
 them) or assist him to live as frugally as he 
 might desire ; and even to order and arrange 
 the public affairs of a county : yet was this 
 manciple a match for them all. 
 
 The EEEVE was a slender choleric man ; his 
 beard was close shaven like stubble ; and hair 
 cropped round his ears, with a forelock like a 
 priest. His legs were long and straight as a 
 pike, without a hint of calf. He was an ex- 
 cellent manager of a granary, and no auditor 
 could catch him tripping in his accounts. He 
 could give a shrewd guess what would be the 
 produce of the land after rain or drouth. He 
 had been bailiff to his lord from the year of 
 his coming of age ; consequently had the care 
 and accounting of his whole stock. He was 
 alive to all the tricks and contrivances of the 
 labourers and other bailiffs, so that they stood 
 in awe of him as they would of death himself. 
 He had a handsome house upon a heath 
 ' bosomed high ' in green trees : and, in short, 
 was better provided than his master; for he 
 had secretly amassed considerable property, 
 G
 
 82 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 which he would upon occasion artfully lend to 
 his lord in his necessities, and thus confer an 
 easy obligation out of his own superfluity. In 
 his youth he had learned a handicraft, and 
 was a good carpenter and wheelwright. Our 
 Eeeve rode a well-conditioned dapple-grey 
 stallion, that he used to call Scot. He wore a 
 long surtout of light blue, and a rusty sword 
 at his side. I heard that the town of Balds- 
 well in Norfolk was his birthplace. His dress 
 was tucked up all round like a friar's, and he 
 always kept in the rear of our company. 
 
 There was a SUMMONER with us, whose face 
 was like one of the fiery cherubim ; for it was 
 studded with red hot carbuncles. He had 
 small puckered eyes, scurfy brows, and a black 
 scanty beard. The children were frightened 
 at the sight of him. No lotion or ointment 
 could rid his cheeks of those filthy knobs and 
 excrescences. His favourite food and beverage 
 were garlic, leeks, and onions, and the strongest 
 bodied red wine: then would he shout and 
 rave like a madman, speaking nothing but 
 Latin he had caught up a few terms out of 
 some law decree ; and no wonder, for he heard
 
 CANTEEBTJEY TALES. 83 
 
 nothing else all day ; and everyone knows that 
 a jay can speak what he has been taught, as 
 well as the Pope himself ; but let anyone try 
 him a little farther, and he would find his 
 philosophy quite spent. ' Questio quid juris?' 
 would then be his answer. He was, however, 
 a kind fellow in his way, and would, for a 
 quart of wine or so, wink at his neighbours' 
 delinquencies. But if he found one with a 
 good warm purse, he would tell him he need 
 not care for the Archdeacon's malediction just 
 as if a man's soul were in his purse ; for in 
 purse he should be punished. ' The purse,' 
 would he say, ' is the Archdeacon's hell : ' in 
 all which I pronounce him to be an arch 
 deceiver; since the guilty man should ever 
 stand in awe of a curse, which will destroy 
 the soul, as absolution will preserve it. Of 
 the ' significavit ' l also, let him beware. 
 
 He contrived to make himself acquainted 
 with all the cabals and little arrangements of 
 the young folks in the diocese, and kept them 
 upon their good behaviour. He had sur- 
 
 1 The beginning of the sentence of excommunication. 
 G 2
 
 84 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 mounted that extraordinary head of his with a 
 garland large enough for an alehouse sign at a 
 fair : a spacious cake also seemed to serve the 
 two purposes of buckler and provender. 
 
 A gentle PARDONER rode also with this wight 
 his friend and compeer. He was originally 
 from Eonceveaux, and had now newly arrived 
 from the Court of Eome. The burthen of the 
 song, ' Come hither, love, to me,' was con- 
 stantly running in his head, which he shouted 
 at the full stretch of his lungs ; the Sum- 
 moner all the while accompanying him with a 
 stiff bass, as if it had been a double clarion. 
 This Pardoner had smooth yellow hair, which 
 hung by ounces about him, like a strike of 
 flax, overspreading his shoulders. In the 
 gaiety of his heart he wore no hood, but kept 
 it packed up in his wallet ; so he rode with his 
 head bare, save and except a cap, in which was 
 fastened a vernicle. 1 He prided himself upon 
 
 1 A picture of Jesus Christ in miniature. It was usual with 
 persons returning from pilgrimages to bring with them certain 
 tokens of the several places which they had visited. The 
 Pardoner, therefore, had this vernicle in his cap in token of 
 his visit to Eome, where in the church of St. Peter was pre- 
 served the miniature in question, miraculously imprinted 
 upon a handkerchief.
 
 CANTEEBUEY TALES. 85 
 
 his sitting on horseback, as being after the 
 newest fashion. Before him lay his wallet 
 stuffed with pardons, all hot from Eome. He 
 had a full glaring eye, like a hare's ; a sneak- 
 ing voice like a goat's ; and a chin which never 
 owned the inheritance of a beard. 
 
 And now to speak of his profession. If you 
 were to search from Ware to Berwick-upon- 
 Tweed, you would not meet with such another 
 Pardoner. Among his relics he could produce 
 a pillow-covering, which he pronounced to be 
 the Virgin Mary's veil ; a small piece of the 
 seal which St. Peter had with him when he 
 walked upon the sea ; a brazen cross set with 
 brilliants ; and some pig's bones in a glass. 
 With these relics he would make in one day 
 more money among the poor country people 
 than the parson would in two months. Thus 
 with his flattery and his falsities he made fools 
 of both priest and people. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this, however, I must 
 acknowledge that he was a famous churchman. 
 He read the service with dignity and emphasis ; 
 though he shone to greater advantage at the
 
 86 PROLOGUE TO THE 
 
 Offertory ; l for he knew that the sermon would 
 then succeed, in which it behoved him to polish 
 up his tongue for the purpose of procuring a 
 handsome collection afterwards, wherein he was 
 successful. Therefore, in the anticipation of 
 it, he would sing like a blackbird after rain. 
 
 Thus have I related to you briefly the list, 
 the calling, the array, and the purport of that 
 assembly's being collected at the above-men- 
 tioned inn in Southwark, called the Tabard, 
 adjoining the Bell. And now it behoves me 
 to inform you of certain arrangements we 
 made that night ; after which I shall proceed 
 to describe our journey, and the remainder of 
 our pilgrimage. 
 
 In the first place, however, let me here 
 apologise for any improprieties I may here- 
 after commit in relating each man's tale ; since 
 it is my design to rehearse them as nearly as 
 I can recollect, according to the style and man- 
 ner in which they were delivered by the 
 narrator. 
 
 1 That portion of the Eoman Catholic service which imme- 
 diately precedes the blessing of the bread and wine. It is 
 always sung.
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 87 
 
 Our host set before us at supper an excellent 
 entertainment ; the food and the wine were of 
 the best quality. He was a comely man, large 
 in person, with sunken eyes, and worthy to 
 have been created marshal in a hall. The 
 whole ward of Cheap cannot boast a fairer 
 citizen. Bold and manly, plain and sensible 
 in speech, at the same time merry withal, he 
 thus addressed the company after we had all 
 paid our reckonings. ' Now, my masters, per- 
 mit me to welcome you heartily to your inn ; 
 for, by my truth I have not this year seen so 
 honourable a company as is now assembled 
 beneath this roof. Fain would I contribute to 
 your amusement were it in my power. In proof 
 of which a thought has just struck me, which 
 will cost you nothing. You are all about to 
 journey to Canterbury Grod and the blessed 
 martyr reward you! Well, as you travel 
 along, you will be for whiling the way with 
 gossip and glee : for truly there is little com- 
 fort in journeying as dumb as a stone. If, 
 therefore, you will abide by my judgment, and 
 proceed to-morrow as I shall direct, by the 
 spirit of my father which is in heaven, whip off
 
 83 PEOLOGUE TO THE 
 
 my head if I do not make you a merry com- 
 pany. Without more ado, hold up your hands 
 if you agree to my proposal.' 
 
 Our consent was not long to seek, seeing 
 that there was no occasion for much delibera- 
 tion ; we therefore granted him his terms, and 
 bade him speak on. 
 
 6 To come to the point then, my masters : 
 each of you on his way to and from Canter- 
 bury shall relate two adventures, and whoso 
 shall acquit himself the best, that is, in tales 
 of most mirth and judgment, shall have a 
 supper here at the general expense, upon your 
 return from Canterbury. And to contribute 
 to your entertainment, I will myself ride with 
 you at my own cost, and be your guide. Far- 
 thermore, let me make a condition that who- 
 ever shall call my judgment in question, he 
 shall bear the whole cost of the journey. If 
 you grant me my conditions, say so at once, 
 and I will early prepare for my undertaking.' 
 
 We cheerfully bound ourselves to abide by 
 his terms, at the same time engaging him to 
 be our governor, to sit in judgment upon the 
 merits of our stories, also to provide our supper
 
 CANTERBURY TALES. 89 
 
 at a stated price per head ; and that we would 
 both high and low be ruled by his decision. 
 All this, and the wine at the same time, having 
 been discussed, without longer delay, we all 
 went to roost. 
 
 At day-spring up rose our host, and was 
 chanticleer to the whole company, collecting 
 us together in a flock ; and forth we rode at a 
 walking pace to the watering-place of St. 
 Thomas ; when he drew up his horse and said : 
 ' My masters, you bear in mind your covenant. 
 Now let us see who shall tell the first tale ; 
 and so sure as I drink ale or wine, whoever 
 shall rebel against my judgment, shall pay all 
 the costs of the journey. Before we proceed 
 farther, draw lots, and let him who draws the 
 shortest, begin.' 
 
 ' Sir Knight,' said he, ' my lord and master, 
 be pleased to draw : and come you near, my 
 Lady Prioress : and you, Sir Clerk, oblige us 
 by laying aside your bashfulness and your 
 studying : so every man lay hand.' 
 
 After each had drawn, the lot fell upon the 
 Knight, to the satisfaction of the whole com- 
 pany.
 
 90 PEOLOGUE TO THE CANTERBUEY TALES. 
 
 When this worthy man found he must abide 
 by the general covenant, he said : ' Since I 
 am fated to begin this sport, in Heaven's name 
 welcome be the lot. Let us ride on, and listen 
 to my tale.' 
 
 With cheerful countenance he then began, 
 and said as you shall hear.
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 THE STORY OF PALAMON AND ARCITE. 
 
 IN former days there lived a warrior named 
 Theseus ; he was King of Athens, and in his 
 time had been so famous in deeds of arms, that 
 he was the most renowned under the sun. He 
 had conquered many a wealthy kingdom, and 
 by his skill and knightly conduct had subdued 
 the whole territory of the Amazons, which for- 
 merly was called Scythia. He married the 
 young queen of that country (her name was 
 Ippolita), and brought her and her young sis- 
 ter, Emily, home with him to Athens in great 
 pomp and solemnity. And thus accompanied 
 by song and triumph I leave this valiant king, 
 riding into Athens, surrounded by his host in
 
 92 THE KNIGHT'S STORY : 
 
 And here, if it were not tedious to relate, I 
 would describe to you fully the manner in 
 which Theseus overcame the kingdom of the 
 Amazons ; also the great battle between the 
 Amazons and the Athenians ; how Ippolita, 
 the fair and valiant Queen of Scythia, was be- 
 sieged ; of the feast that was held at her wed- 
 ding ; and of the temple that was raised upon 
 her coming home to Athens : but I have other 
 matter in hand, for my story will be found long 
 enough ; and as I would not willingly prevent 
 every man in turn from telling his tale, I will 
 continue mine, and let us see who shall win 
 the supper. 
 
 This King of whom I made mention, riding 
 along in his pride and prosperity, as he ap- 
 proached near to Athens, perceived kneeling in 
 the highway a company of ladies, by two and 
 two, clad all in black, who made so doleful a 
 weeping and lamentation as the like was never 
 heard : neither would they cease till they had 
 laid hands upon his horse's bridle and stopped 
 his procession. 
 
 ' What people are ye,' said Theseus, ' who 
 at my return home thus interrupt my festival
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 93 
 
 with your grievous weeping ? Are you envious 
 of my honour and success, that you thus wail 
 and lament ? or hath any one offended you ? 
 Let me know, if your wrong can be repaired : 
 likewise the reason of your being clad in this 
 woful black.' 
 
 The eldest lady of the party, whom it was 
 ruth and pity to see and hear, then spake : 
 ' We do not grieve, my lord, at the success of 
 your victory, your glory, and your honour ; 
 but we beseech of your mercy help and suc- 
 cour : have compassion upon our woe and our 
 distress ! In thy gentle nature let fall one 
 drop of pity upon us wretched women ; for of 
 a truth, my lord, there is not one of us all but 
 she has been either a Duchess or a Queen ; 
 now, thanks to the falsehood of fortune, with 
 whom no lot is steadfast, we are both miser- 
 able and desolate. For fifteen days past have 
 we waited your home-coming, here in the 
 temple of the Goddess Clemency : let not our 
 errand fail, but aid us since you have the 
 power. 
 
 ' I, miserable creature, was formerly wife to 
 King Capaneus who perished at Thebes ; and
 
 94 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 all we who thus lament, lost our husbands 
 during the siege of that place : and yet old 
 Creon, who, alas ! is now King of Thebes, in 
 his wrath and wickedness, has wreaked his 
 spite and tyranny on the dead bodies of our 
 lords, which he ordered to be drawn together 
 in a heap, and with no entreaty will allow 
 them to be burned or buried, but has left 
 them a prey to the wild dogs.' And with that 
 speech, they grovelled on the ground piteously 
 weeping. 
 
 When this gentle conqueror heard them so 
 speak, his heart ached to think that those who 
 were then before him in such a plight had 
 been persons of high estate ; so, leaping from 
 his horse, he went and raised them from the 
 ground, bidding them be comforted, for that 
 upon the oath of a true knight he would 
 so avenge them upon the tyrant Creon, that 
 all Greece should acknowledge the deserved 
 death he would receive from the hand of The- 
 seus. 
 
 Whereupon, without delay, or even entering 
 Athens, he raised his banner, and with his host 
 rode forth towards Thebes ; the Queen, Ippo-
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 95 
 
 lita, and her young sister, the lovely Emily, 
 he left in Athens awaiting his return. His 
 broad white banner, embroidered in red with 
 the figure of the God Mars, and his ensign, 
 rich in gold tissue, embossed with that of the 
 Minotaur, slain by him in Crete, went glitter- 
 ing through the distant plains. So rode this 
 valiant chief, the flower of chivalry, till he 
 arrived before the walls of Thebes. To shorten 
 this part of my story, he fought with Creon 
 hand to hand, slew him in fair battle, and 
 routed his forces. Afterwards he carried the 
 city by assault, rased its walls, and finally 
 restored to the ladies the remains of their mur- 
 dered husbands, that they might inter them 
 with the customary rites and solemnity. I 
 pass over the account of the dirge and lament 
 made by those ladies at the funeral pyre, as 
 well as the knightly conduct observed towards 
 them by the noble Theseus when they took 
 their departure. 
 
 After the fight, Theseus remained all night 
 upon the field of battle, and disposed of the 
 conquered territory in vassalage according to 
 his pleasure. At the same time the plun-
 
 96 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 derers busied themselves in ransacking the 
 bodies of the slain, stripping them of their 
 armour and clothes. It so happened that in 
 one heap they found, grievously wounded, two 
 young knights lying side by side, both dressed 
 in the same armour, which was richly wrought. 
 Palamon was the name of one knight, and 
 Arcite that of the other. The heralds recog- 
 nised them as members of the royal family of 
 Thebes ; they were sons of two sisters. The 
 plunderers drew them forth from the heaps of 
 the slain, and bore them tenderly to the tent 
 of Theseus, who soon had them conveyed to 
 Athens, and strictly confined in prison, re- 
 jecting every offer that was proposed for their 
 ransom. The campaign being over, the king 
 returned home with his army, crowned with 
 the conqueror's laurels, and in joy and honour 
 passed the remainder of his days. But in 
 sorrow and anguish poor Palamon and Arcite 
 were kept close prisoners in a tower, without 
 hope of redemption ; the power of gold was 
 unavailing. 
 
 Thus passed day after day year after year ; 
 till, one May morning, it happened that Emily,
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 97 
 
 who was more beautiful to behold than the lily 
 upon its tall and slender stalk of green, and 
 fresher than the young flowers in May, (for her 
 complexion rivalled the blushing wild-rose) had 
 arisen according to her custom at break of day 
 to do honour to that sweet season of the year ; 
 for the slothful and ungentle heart claims no 
 kindred with the lovely May. Her dress was 
 elegant and precise ; and her golden hair, 
 braided in tresses, flowed down her back. As 
 the sun was climbing the neavens, she walked 
 up and down the garden, gathering the many- 
 coloured flowers to weave into a garland for 
 her head ; and like an angel she sang in the 
 clear air of morning. The thick and strong 
 walls of the tower, which formed the dungeon- 
 keep to the castle, that confined these knights, 
 adjoined the garden in which Emily was taking 
 her pleasure. 
 
 In that bright sun and clear morning, Pala- 
 mon, the woful prisoner, had, as was his 
 custom, with the permission of his gaoler, 
 been taking his walk in an upper chamber of 
 the castle, from whence he had a view of all 
 the noble city, and could look immediately
 
 98 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 down upon the garden and all its fresh ver- 
 dure. 
 
 The melancholy captive pacing his chamber 
 to and fro, bitterly regretting his fate, by 
 chance caught a sight of Emily through the 
 massy bars of his chamber window, and sud- 
 denly started as though stung to the heart. 
 This roused the attention of Arcite, who think- 
 ing that he was affected by some recollection of 
 his former fortune, tenderly enquired why he 
 had turned so pale. 'My beloved cousin,' 
 said he, ' for the love of heaven, take in pa- 
 tience our confinement ; it cannot be helped ; 
 fortune has laid this adversity upon us, and 
 we must endure it with constancy.' 
 
 Palamon replied, My dear cousin, you are 
 mistaken in the cause of my grief : the bitter 
 restraint of this prison has not wounded me 
 upon the present occasion, but the beauty of a 
 lady whom I see yonder walking in the garden 
 has so stricken my heart, that it will in all like- 
 lihood prove my bane. Whether she be woman 
 or goddess, I know not; but if, Venus,' 
 said he, (and then he sank passionately on his 
 knees,) ' it hath been thy will to be thus trans-
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. 99 
 
 figured before me, a wretched and sorrowful 
 creature, assist our escape from this prison : 
 but if the eternal word of fate has doomed us 
 here to die, have compassion upon our kindred, 
 brought so low by oppression and tyranny.' 
 
 At this moment Arcite also perceived the 
 lady, and was as much affected as Palamon, and 
 even more, by her surpassing beauty. ' If,' 
 said he, ' I may not be granted the blessing of 
 even looking upon her again, my doom is 
 fixed.' 
 
 When Palamon heard these words he turned 
 upon him fiercely, and answered, ' Is this said 
 in soberness or in jest ?' 
 
 ' Seriously by my truth,' said Arcite, ' or 
 evil befall me.' 
 
 ' Then,' replied Palamon, knitting his brows, 
 ' it were no great honour to you to be false, 
 and a traitor to me, your cousin and brother, 
 who have so deeply sworn to each other, that 
 nothing but death should separate us, and dis- 
 solve the pledge : that neither in love nor in 
 any event we should cross each other ; but that 
 upon all occasions you should as faithfully 
 serve me, as I should forward your good fortune.
 
 100 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 This was our oath, and which you dare not 
 gainsay. You are of my counsel, and yet 
 falsely would presume to love the lady whom I 
 love, and ever shall so long as I live. Truly, 
 therefore, Arcite, I first loved her, and made 
 you, my sworn brother, my confidant : as a 
 true knight, then, are you bound to assist me 
 according to the extent of your power ; or else 
 I dare to pronounce you false to your honour.' 
 Arcite haughtily retorted upon him, that he 
 was the false one : ' And false you are,' said 
 he; 'I tell you utterly false. I first loved 
 her. What ! you, who even now could not 
 say whether she were a woman or a goddess ! 
 Yours is a holy affection, mine for an earthly 
 creature ; and I therefore disclosed to YOU my 
 mind, as to my cousin and sworn brother. 
 Grant it even, that you first loved her, have 
 you forgotten that saying of the old writer 
 " Who shall give laws to a lover ? Love is it- 
 self a higher law than any framed by man ! " All 
 decrees, therefore, however stern, are daily 
 broken in favour of the more positive commands 
 of love. Whether maiden or widow, a man 
 must needs love in spite of his head ; he can-
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 101 
 
 not help himself. There is no likelihood that 
 you, any more than myself, shall ever stand in 
 her favour ; seeing that we are condemned to 
 perpetual imprisonment without hope of ran- 
 som. We are but like the two hounds striving 
 for a bone ; which, when they were spent with 
 rage, a kite bore away from both. At the 
 King's Court, therefore, my brother, " each man 
 for himself," say I : love, if you are inclined ; 
 for I love, and ever shall, Here in this prison 
 must we remain, and take what may befall us.' 
 
 Great was the strife between them, which 
 lasted longer than I have leisure to tell : but 
 to my story. It happened one day, that a 
 worthy king, named Perithous, who had been 
 the companion of Theseus from their childhood, 
 came to Athens upon a visit to his friend : for 
 so great was the affection between them, that, 
 according to the old tradition, when one died, 
 the other went down into Tartarus to seek him 
 there. But this is beside my tale. 
 
 King Perithous entertained a strong regard 
 for Arcite, and had known him some years in 
 Thebes. At the earnest entreaty, therefore, of 
 Perithous, Theseus granted the young prisoner
 
 102 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 his liberty without ransom, to go wherever he 
 pleased, with this express provision, that if he 
 ever after were discovered for one moment, by 
 day or by night, within any district of the ter- 
 ritory belonging to Theseus, that he should 
 lose his head without redemption. 
 
 Now were the perplexity and sorrow of Ar- 
 cite at their height. Eelease from affliction 
 had now become his bane : ' Had I never 
 known Perithous,' said he, ' I might still have 
 been dwelling with Theseus, though fettered in 
 his prison : I had then been in bliss ; for the 
 simple sight of her whom I serve, although I 
 might never have merited the favour of her 
 regard, would have been sufficient recompence 
 to me. Yours is the victory, my dear Pala- 
 mon, in this adventure : for you will remain in 
 this blessed prison : prison did I call it ? a 
 paradise. And now, since fortune has been so 
 adverse to me, that I am to endure the absence 
 from her, while you enjoy her sight, the possi- 
 bility is, that being an honourable and valiant 
 knight, you may hereafter by some farther fa- 
 vour of fortune, be placed in the full attain- 
 ment of all you desire, while I am exiled, and
 
 PALAMOX AND AECITE. 103 
 
 barren of her sweet favour. Farewell, dear 
 lady ! my life, my comfort, my gladness ! ' 
 
 Palamon, on the other hand, when he found 
 his companion in durance gone from him his 
 cousin, brother, counsellor, and friend griev- 
 ously lamented his own fate, and made the 
 great tower resound with lamentation: the 
 very fetters on his legs were wet with bitter 
 tears. ' Alas ! ' said he, ' Arcite, heaven knows 
 that you are now reaping the fruit of our con- 
 tention. You are now wandering at large in 
 your native Thebes, little heeding my distress. 
 You may, in your wisdom and manhood, assem- 
 ble all our kindred, and make so fierce an 
 attack upon this country, that either by chance 
 or treaty, you may be able to win my lady to 
 wife. For, since you are now from bondage 
 free, and a lord again, all the advantage is 
 yours ; while I am pining away in captivity. 
 
 With this the fire of jealousy burst forth, 
 and so maddened his brain, that his hue be- 
 came pale as dead ashes : and he cried aloud, 
 ' ye implacable gods ! that govern this world 
 by the bond of your eternal word, and whose 
 will and ordinances are graven on tables of
 
 ] 04 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 adamant, what more in your sight are the race 
 of mankind than sheep huddled in the fold ? 
 For, like another beast, man is slain ; and 
 pounded in prison, and tormented : he suffers 
 sickness, and great adversity, and often with a 
 guiltless and unupbraiding heart.' Many such 
 impatient complaints did he continue to pour 
 forth ; but I must leave him for a time, and 
 give you some tidings of Arcite. 
 
 The summer had passed away, and the long 
 nights increased the distresses both of the lover 
 and the prisoner. It were hard to say whose 
 condition was the more deplorable. Palamon 
 condemned to perpetual imprisonment, loaded 
 with chains and fetters : Arcite exiled evermore 
 from the country where his lady dwelt, and 
 never again to behold her face. I would put 
 the question to you, who are lovers, which of 
 these two had the harder lot ; the one who is 
 able to see his lady day by day, yet must ever 
 remain in prison ; or the other, who can go 
 whither he pleases, but must never again look 
 upon her whom he loves ? 
 
 When Arcite returned to Thebes, his loss so 
 pressed upon his heart that he became estranged
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. 105 
 
 from sleep and food : he grew lean and hollow- 
 eyed ; and his complexion was sallow and pale 
 as ashes. Comfortless and desolate, he always 
 remained alone ; and if he happened to hear a 
 song or instrument he would weep without 
 avail, so feeble were his spirits, and he alto- 
 gether so changed, that his voice was strange 
 to those who knew him. 
 
 After enduring for some time this distraction, 
 he one night, in sleep, thought that the winged 
 Mercury stood before him, and bid him be of 
 good cheer. The god was arrayed as when he 
 closed the eyes of Argus ; his sleep-compelling 
 wand he held upright before him, and upon his 
 shining locks he wore a winged cap. ' To 
 Athens,' said he, ' shall you go ; there will you 
 see an end to all your grief.' 
 
 With that word Arcite started and awoke. 
 ' Whatever ill befall me,' said he, ' to Athens 
 will I go : no dread of death shall prevent my 
 seeing the lady whom I love and serve : in her 
 presence I care not to die.' Then observing 
 how much he was changed, both in appearance 
 and colour, he thought that if he bore himself 
 in lowly condition, he might live unknown in
 
 106 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 Athens, and thus behold his lady almost every 
 day. With this he changed his suit for that of 
 a poor labourer ; and all alone, except with one 
 attendant, who knew his secret and all his for- 
 tune, and was disguised as poorly as himself, to 
 Athens he travelled straightway. One day he 
 went to Court, and at the gate proffered his 
 services to do such menial work as might be 
 required. To cut the matter short, he fell in 
 with the chamberlain to the Lady Emily, who 
 hired him to hew wood and draw water, being 
 young and large of bone. 
 
 Having served a year or two as page of the 
 chamber to the fair Emily, under the name of 
 Philostrate, he so wrought upon all who knew 
 him at the Court, by the gentleness of his con- 
 dition, that all said it would be advisable for 
 Theseus to raise him in his degree, and give 
 him honourable service, in which he might 
 prove his quality. And thus so enhanced was 
 the fame of his conduct and fair speech, that 
 Theseus promoted him to be near his person, 
 and appointed him squire of his chamber ; at 
 the same time giving him gold to maintain his 
 dignity. He also secretly received his rent
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 107 
 
 from his own country, but he used it honourably 
 and with such discretion, that no man wondered 
 how he had it. Three years he passed in this 
 manner, and so conducted himself both in peace 
 and war, that Theseus prized no one more 
 dearly than him. Having brought Arcite to 
 this state of happiness, I will now return awhile 
 to Palamon. 
 
 In a strong prison, and in horrible gloom, 
 Palamon had sat for seven long years, wasting 
 with love and sorrow. In the seventh year, 
 however, during a night of May, it happened 
 (whether by chance or destiny) that, through 
 the aid of a friend, he broke from prison soon 
 after midnight. He had so plied his gaoler 
 with wine, drugged with narcotics, that he 
 slept like death ; and thus he was enabled to 
 escape. 
 
 The night being short, and the day near at 
 hand, he was compelled to lie hidden ; his 
 purpose being to remain close all day, and in 
 the night to journey on towards Thebes ; where, 
 having arrived, he would rouse his friends to 
 help him war on Theseus, in which attempt he 
 resolved either to die, or win his Lady Emily.
 
 108 THE ENIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 To a grove, then hard by, Palamon stalked 
 with fearful foot. 
 
 The lark, the active messenger of day, had 
 welcomed the grey dawn with its song ; and 
 the naming sun had risen, rejoicing the whole 
 heaven, and drying up with his fiery streams 
 the silver drops that hung upon the leaves ; 
 when Arcite, who was then, as I have told you, 
 principal squire in the Eoyal Court of Theseus, 
 arose and looked upon the cheerful day. Ever 
 pondering on the object of his love, he mounted 
 his steed, restless and starting like flame, and 
 rode forth from Court a mile or two, till he 
 came to the grove already mentioned, for the 
 purpose of weaving a garland of woodbine and 
 hawthorn, in honour of the merry month ; and 
 all the way he sang a roundelay in the clear 
 sunshine. Having dismounted, he wandered 
 up and down the spot near where Palamon, 
 alarmed lest he should be discovered, lay 
 cowering in a bush. Little was he aware that 
 Arcite was so nigh at hand ; and the other was 
 as unmindful as his companion of the close 
 witness to all his words and actions that was
 
 PALAMOff AND AECITE. 109 
 
 there. Well may it be said that fields and 
 woods have eyes and ears. 
 
 When Arcite had roamed about to his satis- 
 faction, and finished his May-morning carol, 
 he suddenly lapsed into a thoughtful study. 
 These lovers, in their fantastic moods, are ever 
 wavering. One minute they are swaying and 
 dancing on the tip-top spray of ecstasy ; the 
 next, grovelling among the thorns and briars : 
 now up, now down, like a bucket in a well. 
 They are like Friday, which seldom resembles 
 the other days in the week now rain, now 
 shine. So the Goddess of Love overcasts the 
 hearts of her worshippers, and makes them as 
 variable as the complexion of the day devoted 
 to her worship. 1 
 
 When Arcite had sung his song he began 
 thoughtfully to sigh at the remembrance of his 
 native Thebes, warred on by the revengeful 
 Juno. ' Alas ! ' said he, ' the royal blood of 
 Cadmus and Amphion is confounded and scat- 
 tered abroad Cadmus, the founder of Thebes, 
 and its first crowned King ! and here, I, who 
 
 1 Friday -was devoted to the worship of the Goddess Venus. 
 The Komans entitled it ' The day of Venus ' ' Dies Veneris.'
 
 110 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 am descended from him, and am of the royal 
 stock, am now so thralled a wretch as to be the 
 mere Squire of my mortal enemy, and am more- 
 over compelled to conceal my real name. All 
 my lineage, alas ! are gone, with the exception 
 of poor Palamon, whom Theseus keeps a 
 martyr in bondage. And, to crown all my 
 griefs, love for the fair Emily has so possessed 
 my heart, that these would fade away could I 
 but render myself acceptable in her eyes.' 
 
 At these words up started Palamon, like one 
 who had suddenly felt a cold sword glide 
 through his heart. With a face pale from 
 rage (as a maniac's) he rushed from the thick 
 brake, and cried : ' Now you are caught, false 
 Arcite ! wicked traitor ! You, who are of my 
 blood, and my sworn counsellor, still hold your 
 affection for my Lady Emily, that has caused 
 my greatest sorrow. You have deceived King 
 Theseus, and changed your name. Either I 
 or thou shalt die ; for no one but myself, while 
 I live, shall love my lady. I, Palamon, your 
 mortal foe, swear this ; and though I have no 
 weapon in this place, having newly made my 
 escape from prison, either relinquish the Lady
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. Ill 
 
 Emily or die. Choose at once, for there is no 
 escape for you.' 
 
 When Arcite had recognised him, and 
 listened to his speech, with a lion's rage he 
 drew his sword, and said, ' By the great Jove, 
 who sitteth above us, were it not that you are 
 mad for love, and are weaponless, you should 
 never quit this grove alive. I deny the 
 pledge and bond which you pretend I made 
 with you. Fool ! again I tell you, love is 
 free; and, in your despite, love her I will. 
 But as you are a worthy Knight, and of gentle 1 
 blood, and desire to win her by battle, I here 
 give you my word of honour, that to-morrow, 
 without disclosing the affair to any other 
 being, I will not fail to be found here equipped 
 as a Knight, and I will bring accoutrements 
 for you, and you shall select according to your 
 pleasure. Moreover, I will now bring you 
 food and covering for the coming night. If, 
 in this wood, you slay me, and win my lady, 
 
 1 The ancient term ' gentle ' was used only to imply high 
 breeding. A gentle knight was a knight of high family. In 
 some parts of England, to this day, the best white bread is 
 called ' gentle bread,' to distinguish it from the brown or 
 common.
 
 112 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 the prize is your own.' Palamon accepted 
 his challenge, and so they separated until the 
 morrow. Truly is it said that neither love nor 
 royalty can endure fellowship in dominion : 
 and so found Palamon and Arcite. 
 
 The younger Knight had ridden back into 
 the town, and on the morrow, before daybreak, 
 having secretly provided two complete equip- 
 ments of armour, ready for their contest, he 
 rode forth alone, carrying the whole on his 
 horse before him. In the grove and at the 
 time and place appointed they met. The 
 colour fled from their faces at the first ex- 
 change of looks : like a Thracian hunter, who 
 
 o 
 
 stands in a gap with his spear, waiting for the 
 roused bear or lion, and hears him coming- 
 through the underwood, crushing boughs and 
 leaves in his passage, and thinks, ' Here comes 
 my mortal enemy, whom without fail I must 
 kill, or he will take my life : ' so it was with 
 these from the moment either caught sight of 
 the other. No salutation, no compliment, 
 passed at meeting, but each helped to arm his 
 antagonist as friendly as he would his own bro- 
 ther ; and then, with their sharp strong spears
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 113 
 
 they long lashed and strove for victory. Pala- 
 mon fared in the fight like a raging lion, and 
 Arcite a hungry tiger. They rushed together 
 with the obstinate fury of wild boars, panting 
 and foaming, while the blood flowed to their 
 feet. And so I leave them fighting while I 
 bring you the news of Theseus. 
 
 This famous King had so great a love for 
 hunting, that scarcely the day dawned which 
 did not find him ready with hounds and horn 
 to follow the stag of largest limb : it was his 
 chief delight. Having fulfilled his duty to the 
 god of battle, he joined the train of Diana. 
 
 On this same day, then, Theseus, with his 
 Queen Ippolita, and the fair Emily, all clad in 
 green, had ridden forth to the chace, and 
 towards this very grove where he had heard of 
 some game. He therefore made for an open 
 plain through which the deer was wont to take 
 flight, and over a brook, and so right on his 
 way. When the King had arrived at this open 
 space, he looked under the level beams of the 
 morning sun, and beheld the combatants, like 
 two bulls fighting furiously. Their bright 
 swords glanced to and fro like lightning, and 
 I
 
 114 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 fell with hideous might. He, ignorant of their 
 quality, put spurs to his horse, and at a start 
 was between them both. ' Ho ! ' cried he, 
 drawing his sword, ' no more, on pain of death. 
 By mighty Mars, he that strikes another blow 
 does it with penalty of his head. But say, 
 who are ye, who are thus boldly righting here, 
 as if in the actual lists, without judge or other 
 officer ? ' 
 
 To whom Palamon answered hastily : ' Sir, 
 there need few words. We have both deserved 
 death : we are two unfortunate wretches bur- 
 thened with our lives ; as, therefore, you are a 
 just judge, grant us neither refuge nor mercy. 
 Slay me first, but let him follow or rather let 
 him first die ; for, though you little know it, 
 this is Arcite your mortal foe, whom you 
 banished from Athens : this, his return, alone, 
 merits death. This same Arcite came to your 
 gate and passed under the name of Philostrate. 
 For years has he put this deceit upon you ; he 
 has been promoted to be your chief Squire, 
 and presumes to love the fair Lady Emily. 
 And since the day is come that I myself shall 
 die, I plainly confess that I am that woful
 
 Alii 
 
 THE KNIGHT'S TALE. 
 
 ' Then did the Queen, the Lady Emily, and their train, in their 
 womanly hearts, begin to weep. * * And when they looked upon 
 their gaping wounds, they implored his mercy upon their knees, till 
 his mood began to soften.'
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. 115 
 
 Palamon who has just broken from bondage 
 your mortal enemy, and the devoted lover of 
 the Lady Emily, in whose sight and service I 
 could at this moment yield my breath. Give 
 me therefore present judgment and death ; yet 
 let not my companion go free, for both merit 
 this reward.' 
 
 The King answered him, 'This matter has 
 been quickly concluded : the confession of your 
 own mouth has condemned you, and it shall be 
 so recorded. You shall not, however, die the 
 felon's death, but by the blood-red Mars, the 
 sword shall fulfil your destiny.'. 
 
 Then did the Queen, the Lady Emily, and 
 their train, in their womanly hearts, begin to 
 weep ; for they thought it a grievous chance to 
 befall two gentlemen of so high estate, whose 
 only misfortune was, that they had loved too 
 well. And when they looked upon their 
 gaping wounds, they implored his mercy upon 
 their knees, till his mood began to soften (for 
 pity soon finds its way to the noble heart) ; and 
 though he at first trembled for wrath, yet when 
 he shortly considered with himself the cause of 
 their trespass, his reason excused them, how-
 
 116 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 ever his anger had chafed at their offence. 
 He thought that every man will, if possible, 
 help himself in love ; and that he will seize 
 the chance of escape from prison. Moreover, 
 he had compassion on the weeping women, and 
 he concluded that it were a shame to a lord 
 of gentle heart, who will have no mercy, but 
 still maintains a lion-heart both in word and 
 deed, as well towards him who repents, as to 
 the unrelenting man that stiffly maintains his 
 first determination : he can have little discre- 
 tion who would confound pride and humility. 
 When therefore the clouds of his anger had 
 passed away, he looked up with light and 
 beaming eyes, and thus addressed the as- 
 sembly. 
 
 ' Hail to the mighty God of Love ! nothing 
 can withstand his power. The wonders he 
 achieves proclaim him a Grod, for he makes all 
 hearts subservient to his will. This Palamon 
 and Arcite, who had wholly escaped from my 
 prison, have lived here, in Athens, knowing me 
 to be their mortal enemy, and that their lives 
 were in my power ; yet hath love, in spite of 
 their heads, brought them both here to die.
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 117 
 
 Who but a fool would be in love ? Look at 
 their wounds, see how they bleed : thus hath 
 the god they worship rewarded them for their 
 service : and yet they, in their wisdom, will 
 obey his dictates, happen what may. But the 
 greatest folly of all is, that she, for whom there 
 has been all this hot fare, knew as little of it 
 as myself. But, young or old, man will at 
 one time be a fool. As I have myself, how- 
 ever, in times past, engaged in the same ser- 
 vice, and know the sore straits to which one 
 may be brought through love, I here, at the 
 request of my kneeling Queen, and dear sister 
 Emily, wholly acquit you, Knights, of your 
 trespass ; and, in return, you both shall swear 
 to me that you will never more disturb my 
 dominion by night or by day, but, to your 
 utmost, be my friends and allies.' They ac- 
 cepted his oath, and in granting their pardon 
 he thus said to them : 
 
 ' As regards my sister Emily, on whose 
 account you maintain this jealousy and strife, 
 though she were a Queen or Princess, either of 
 you, by virtue of royal descent or wealth, is 
 worthy to wed her. Since, however, she can
 
 118 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 marry but one, and that the other must be 
 doomed to pipe his loss under an ivy leaf, each 
 of you shall abide the fate destined for him, 
 and after the following fashion. You shall go 
 forth freely wherever you list, without ransom 
 or danger from me ; and by this day fifty 
 weeks, each shall have collected from far and 
 near a hundred Knights, armed ' all in proof ' 
 for the lists, ready to contend in battle for the 
 hand of the lady : and this promise I hold you 
 upon the truth of my knighthood, that which- 
 ever shall slay his opponent, or drive his 
 hundred from the lists, on him will I bestow 
 the hand of Emily to wife.' 
 
 Who was now light of heart, but Palamon ? 
 who bounded for joy but Arcite ? and who can 
 describe the rejoicings which were made when 
 Theseus granted this fair favour ? All, as well 
 as the two Thebans, went on their knees and 
 thanked him with grateful hearts. And so 
 blithely the Knights took leave, and rode 
 homeward towards old Thebes. 
 
 I must not omit to recount the great ex- 
 pense at which Theseus erected the lists. A 
 nobler theatre I may say the world never
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 119 
 
 beheld. It was a full mile in circuit, walled 
 with stone, and without the wall ran a moat. 
 The shape was circular, with seats all round, 
 sixty feet in height, raised one above another, 
 so that no one could deprive his neighbour 
 of beholding the spectacle. Eastward and 
 westward in the circle was erected a gate of 
 white marble. Every craftsman and artisan, 
 even to the sculptor of images, was employed 
 by Theseus to raise and adorn this structure ; 
 so that in the like space the earth did not 
 contain so fair a theatre. Upon the east gate 
 were raised an altar and an oratory to Venus, 
 the Goddess of Love ; and upon the western 
 one another in honour of Mars : northward 
 also, in a turret on the wall, was a rich oratory 
 of alabaster and white and red coral, in wor- 
 ship of Diana the chaste. 
 
 Nor should I leave out the noble carving 
 and the paintings in these three oratories. 
 First, in the temple of Venus might be seen 
 displayed upon the wall, personified in piteous 
 array, the broken sleeps, cold sighs, the sacred 
 tears and lamentings that love's servants en- 
 dure in this life : pleasure, hope, desire, fool-
 
 120 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 hardiness, youth and beauty, riches, jealousy, 
 and flattery ; feasting and dancing, carols and 
 instruments, and many more than I can enu- 
 merate. And there was painted her famed 
 dwelling on Mount Citheron : nor were for- 
 gotten the histories of fair Narcissus, the 
 folly of King Solomon, Hercules' might, the 
 enchantment of Medea and Circe, the fierce 
 courage of Turnus, or the base servitude of 
 Croesus. The figure of the goddess, glorious 
 to behold, was seen naked floating in the wide 
 sea : half her form hidden by the bright green 
 waves. In her hand she bore a harp, and on 
 her head a fresh garland of roses : above it 
 were her doves hovering. Before her stood 
 her son Cupid, winged and hoodwinked. He 
 carried a bow with bright and keen arrows. 
 
 The interior of the mighty Mars' temple was 
 painted like the famous one in Thrace, that 
 frosty region where the god holds his chief 
 dwelling. First upon the wall was depictured 
 a forest, that harboured neither man nor beast, 
 full of old barren trees, gnarred and stubby ; 
 through which a storm was roaring as if it 
 would crash every bough. At the bottom of a
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 121 
 
 hill stood the temple of the god, wrought of 
 tempered steel, the entrance to which was 
 long, narrow, and dreary. The light shone in 
 at the door, for there were no windows. The 
 door was of adamant, clamped with iron, and 
 the pillars were iron, massive and shining. 
 
 There was to be seen the dark imagining 
 and completion of Felony ; cruel Wrath, red 
 as a conflagration ; pale Fear ; the Smiler 
 with the knife under his cloak ; buildings in 
 flame ; murderings treacherously in bed ; open 
 war ; ghastly wounds ; contention with its 
 sharp menace, and bloody knife. There was 
 the suicide, his hair bathed in gore ; and cold 
 death, with the mouth upright, gaping. In 
 the midst of the temple, and over all, sat 
 Mischance, with sorry aspect. Madness was 
 also there, laughing in his rage ; injustice, 
 complaint, and fierce outcries : the tyrant 
 with his prey carried off by force : the town 
 destroyed, and nothing left. 
 
 The statue of Mars, armed and of grim 
 aspect, was standing upright in a chariot, and 
 at his feet was a wolf, with fiery eyes, eating 
 the body of a man.
 
 122 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 And now to finish shortly with the Temple 
 of the chaste Diana. The walls were adorned 
 with deeds of hunting and shamefaced chas- 
 tity. There was the unfortunate Calistope, 
 whom for wrath Diana changed into a bear, 
 and afterwards she became the polar star. 
 Dane, also, turned to a tree. Acteon, too, 
 changed by Diana to a deer, in punishment 
 for his having seen her naked. His own 
 hounds were worrying him, not knowing that 
 he was their master. Then followed the de- 
 scription of Atalanta hunting the wild boar, 
 with Meleager, and many besides, for which 
 Diana wrought them sore affliction. 
 
 The Goddess was seated on high upon a 
 hart, surrounded by a pack of hounds, and 
 underneath her feet was the moon. Her 
 statue was clad in bright green ; and she had 
 a bow in hand with a quiver of arrows. Her 
 eyes were bent downwards towards the dark 
 region of Pluto (of which dominion she was 
 also queen). A woman in labour lay before 
 her, imploring the aid of Lucina. 1 
 
 1 Diana, when presiding over childbirth, passed under the 
 name of Lucina.
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 123 
 
 The lists, with the temples and theatre being 
 finished at a great cost, I will leave speaking 
 of Theseus for a time, and turn to Palamon 
 and Arcite. 
 
 The day draws near for their returning, 
 when each should bring his hundred knights to 
 Athens to try the battle, as I have already 
 said. Those who accompanied Palamon were 
 variously appointed according to their several 
 fancies. Some were clad in a light coat of 
 mail, with a short cassock and breastplate : 
 some in two simple plates of armour, and a 
 shield : others well defended their limbs, and 
 were armed with an axe, or mace of steel. In 
 his train also was seen Lycurgus, the great 
 King of Thrace, of manly aspect, with thick 
 black beard and piercing eyes, that glowed in 
 his head like stars. He was large of limb, 
 broad-shouldered, and his arms were round, 
 long, and firm. Aloft upon a golden chariot 
 he stood, drawn by four white bulls, and as he 
 passed along he looked about him like an eagle. 
 Instead of coat-armour he wore a bear-skin, 
 coal-black. His long hair flowed behind his 
 shoulders and shone against the sun like a
 
 124 THE KNIGHT'S TALE; 
 
 raven's wing. A golden coronet of enormous 
 weight, studded with diamonds and rubies, 
 circled his brows. About his chariot went 
 twenty or more mastiff-hounds that he em- 
 ployed in lion-hunting. They followed in 
 leashes, muzzled, and collared with golden col- 
 lars. A hundred lords were in his company, 
 armed cap-a-pie and stout of heart. 
 
 The great Emetrius, King of India, accom- 
 panied Arcite. He came riding like the God 
 Mars, upon a bay steed clad in steel, covered 
 with cloth of gold : the saddle was inlaid with 
 finely wrought gold. His coat armour was 
 made of silk, trimmed with fair large pearls ; 
 and from his shoulders hung a short mantle 
 thickly embroidered with rubies glowing like 
 fire. His crisp yellow hair danced in ringlets 
 around his neck like sunbeams. He had a 
 high and arched nose, eyes of a bright hazel 
 colour ; full and round lips, and a sanguine 
 complexion. Moreover, his face was sprinkled 
 with a few freckles of a mingled dark and light 
 yellow hue. His manner of looking round him 
 was like that of a lion. His beard was young 
 and vigorous, (he appeared to be about five
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 125 
 
 and twenty years of age,) and the tone of his 
 voice pierced the air like a trumpet. He was 
 crowned with a fresh and lusty garland of lau- 
 rel ; and upon his fist sat a tame eagle, purely 
 white as a lily. A hundred knights attended 
 him, all richly caparisoned, and, save their 
 heads, in complete armour : for earls, dukes, 
 and kings joined in this train through love, and 
 for the increase of chivalry. Tame lions and 
 leopards also gamboled around the royal car. 
 After such fashion and order, did all these 
 nobles arrive at the city early in the morning, 
 and alight within its walls. 
 
 Theseus entertained them, each according to 
 his rank, with full honour and knightly cour- 
 tesy. If I did not wish to bring you to the 
 effect and point of my tale, I would describe to 
 you all the service at the high feasting ; the 
 minstrelsy ; the rich present and the largess to 
 both high and low ; the appointment and rich 
 array of the palace ; the falcons disposed around 
 on their perches, and the hounds lying here 
 and there upon the floor, quietly expecting the 
 feasters' casual superfluity: I would tell you 
 of the fairest dames, and the best dancers ; the
 
 126 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 songs, the gallantry, and the more earnest love- 
 making. 
 
 Before daybreak, and as soon as the lark 
 had begun to sing, Palamon, with a devout and 
 courageous heart bent his steps towards the 
 Temple of Venus that was erected in the lists : 
 where he knelt down and besought her help to 
 gain him possession of his Lady Emily, in whose 
 service he fain would die. ' And if, God- 
 dess ! mine,' said he, ' thou grant that I may 
 have my love, I will evermore worship in thy 
 temple, and offer daily sacrifice upon thine al- 
 tar. But if thou turn thy face from me, lady 
 sweet ! I pray that on the morrow Arcite's spear 
 may cleave my heart ; for, my life being gone, 
 I reck not his better fate in winning her to 
 wife.' When his prayer and sacrifice were 
 concluded, the statue of the Goddess shook, 
 and made a sign, which, although somewhat 
 delayed, he accepted as a boon that his prayer 
 had been heard favourably : so home he went, 
 light of heart. 
 
 At sunrise Emily arose, and attended by her 
 maidens, went forth to the Temple of Diana ; 
 taking with them the fire, and the incense, the
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 127 
 
 garments, and the horns of mead fit to perform 
 sacrifice. The preparation for the holy cere- 
 mony, by the purifying of her body at a well- 
 spring, being attended to, and the sacred place 
 being fumed with odorous gums, the maiden 
 princess (gentle and debonair of heart) having 
 her head crowned with a garland of oak, and 
 her bright hair untressed, and flowing down 
 her back, proceeded to kindle two fires on the 
 altar. After, she addressed the goddess of the 
 green woods, the protectress of maidenhood, 
 and queen of the deep dark realm of Pluto. 
 ' chaste Goddess ! ' said she, ' thou knowest 
 the desire of my heart, that I should all my 
 days remain a maiden, taking delight in the 
 wild woods and the cry of the hunters. Help 
 me now, lady queen of night, since thou canst 
 help ; send peace between this Palamon and 
 Arcite, who now strive for love of me. Quench 
 the busy torment and fire of their hearts, and 
 turn their love towards another. Behold, 
 Goddess of clean chastity, and consider the tears 
 upon my cheeks : I would still follow in thy 
 train, and end my life a maiden in thy service. 
 But if my destiny have so befallen, that I am
 
 128 THE KNIGHT'S TALE: 
 
 doomed to be the wife of one, then grant me 
 him who most sincerely loveth me.' 
 
 While she was in her prayer the fires upon 
 the altar were burning clearly : but, suddenly, 
 a strange sight arose to her view ; one of the 
 fires sank, and kindled again ; the other became 
 extinct, with a whistling noise like the burning 
 of moist brands, and at their ends ran forth as 
 it were drops of blood. Emily, aghast at the 
 sight, shrieked like one distracted, not knowing 
 how to divine the manifestation of the oracle. 
 At this moment the Goddess herself appeared, 
 with her bow in hand and dressed like a hun- 
 tress. ' Daughter,' said she, ' stay thy sorrow. 
 The eternal word of the great (rods hath con- 
 firmed that thou shalt be wedded to one of 
 those who for thy sake have undergone so much 
 care and pain. To which of them I may not 
 tell thee. The fires upon the altar have already 
 signified the conclusion and manner of thine 
 adventure.' 
 
 Thus having spoken, at the quick clattering 
 of her quivered arrows, she vanished from the 
 view of the astonished Emily, who, placing 
 herself under the protection of the Goddess,
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. 129 
 
 returned home pondering the mystery of the 
 oracle and of the vision. 
 
 Closely following upon Emily, Arcite went 
 to the Temple of Mars to perform his sacrifice. 
 Having finished all the rites, he intreated the 
 God of arms, whom he constantly served, to 
 grant him the victory on the ensuing day ; in 
 the event of which he vowed to offer at his 
 shrine his flowing hair and beard, that had 
 never felt the edge of shears or razor. ' This 
 will I dedicate to thee, ! strong Grod of arms ! 
 together with my banner, and the accoutre- 
 ments of all my company, which I will hang up 
 in thy temple, and until the day of my death 
 will I burn before thee eternal fire upon thine 
 altar.' 
 
 His petition being ended, the rings upon 
 the temple doors clattered, the fire upon the 
 altar burned with a strange brightness, and a 
 sweet smell steamed forth from the ground : 
 when in acknowledgment of the omen, having 
 cast fresh incense upon the flame, and per- 
 formed other rites, the statue of the god rang 
 upon his hauberk, after which a low dim 
 sound murmured ' Victory ! '
 
 130 THE KNIGHT'S TALE. 
 
 Arcite gave glory and honour to Mars, and 
 returned home as glad as a bird is of the 
 bright sun. 
 
 This day was passed in Athens in great 
 feasting, jousting, and dancing : but as the 
 revellers were to rise early on the morrow to 
 behold the fight, they were early at rest. 
 And by day-spring in the morning, the noise 
 of horses and harness was heard in every 
 quarter; and lords upon their palfreys were 
 thronging to the palace. 
 
 There might be seen the arranging of 
 armour, uncommon and rich, wrought with 
 steel and goldsmithry ; bright shields, head- 
 pieces, trappings, golden helmets, hauberks, 
 and coat-armoury ; lords in gay furniture on 
 their coursers ; knights and squires in retinue : 
 the fixing of spear-heads, and buckling of 
 helmets, polishing of shields, and lacing of 
 thongs : foaming steeds, gnawing their golden 
 bits. The armourers, too, riding hither and 
 thither with files and hammers ' to accomplish 
 the knights ; ' yeomen on foot, and commoners 
 in throngs with short staves : pipes, trumpets, 
 and clarions, that blow the bloody sounds of
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 131 
 
 war ; the palace full of people driving to and 
 fro, or standing in dozens, discussing the 
 merits of the Theban knights ; some favouring 
 him with the black beard, others with the 
 thick ; the one they said had a fierce look, 
 and would fight bravely ; and that the other 
 wielded an axe of twenty pounds weight. 
 
 Thus was the hall full of surmises and 
 conjectures long after sun-rise. The great 
 Theseus, who had been awakened by the music 
 and the thronging, remained in private till 
 the two Theban knights had been brought to 
 the palace, and both received due and equal 
 honours. 
 
 The King was seated at a window, and 
 looked like a god enthroned. When the 
 people had assembled round, a herald com- 
 manded silence, and thus signified the royal 
 will. 
 
 ' To prevent the needless destruction of 
 gentle blood by fighting after the manner of 
 mortal battles, the King decrees that no man, 
 upon pain of death, shall take into the lists 
 any halberd, short sword, or knife; that no 
 one shall ride more than one course, with a 
 K 2
 
 4 
 
 132 THE KNIGHT'S TALE. 
 
 sharp spear, against his antagonist ; that if he 
 choose, he may defend himself on foot; and 
 anyone who by mischance shall be taken alive, 
 and brought to the stake, agreed upon by 
 both sides, shall remain there till the strife be 
 concluded: and lastly, if the chieftain on 
 either side be taken or slain, the tournament 
 shall straightway cease.' 
 
 Up went the trumpets, with their rousing 
 tones ; and the whole company rode forth to 
 the lists, which were hung all round with 
 cloth of gold. Theseus went first, and on 
 either side the two Thebans : the Queen and 
 Emily followed, and after them the company, 
 according to their rank. 
 
 When these were all seated, the populace 
 crowded in, and were ranged in order. Then 
 from the west gate, under Mars, entered 
 Arcite and his hundred partisans, bearing a 
 red banner : at the same moment, on the 
 east side, under Venus, and bearing a white 
 banner, Palamon entered, with confident and 
 courageous bearing. Never were two com-i 
 panics so matched, both in worthiness of deeds, 
 estate, and age. After they had been ar-
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 133 
 
 ranged in order, and their names called over 
 to prevent the taking of undue advantage, the 
 gates were shut, and the cry was made 
 'Now, young and proud Knights, do your 
 duty.' 
 
 The heralds ceased riding up and down ; 
 and now the trumpets and clarions sound to 
 the charge. In went the spears sadly x to 
 their rests, and the sharp spurs were dashed 
 into the horses' sides. Now might be seen 
 shaft handles shivered upon the bucklers, and 
 spears whirled aloft into the air. Out flew the 
 swords, gleaming like polished silver, and 
 helmets were hewn or rolled upon the earth. 
 Some force their passage through the thickest 
 ranks with mighty maces, smashing skulls and 
 limbs. Here lay one stark dead, pierced to 
 the heart; another sobbing out his life with 
 the stern tide of blood. The strongest chargers 
 are overthrown ; and men and horses are 
 hurtling together upon the ground, in mad 
 confusion. 
 
 Frequently during the conflict the two 
 Thebans encountered ; and like wild beasts 
 
 1 Firmly, fixedly.
 
 134 THE KNIGHT'S TALE. 
 
 bereft of their young, or mad with hunger, 
 thirsted for each other's blood. But while 
 they were engaged, the King Emetrius seized 
 hold of Palamon, whose sword had made a 
 bitter wound in Arcite's flesh, and with the 
 strength of twenty men was dragging him to 
 the stake : Licurgus, in rushing to his rescue 
 was borne down ; and Emetrius himself, not- 
 withstanding all his might, was borne a sword's 
 length from his saddle by a blow from Pala- 
 mon, before he could be taken. Yet all in 
 vain his hardy heart could not bestead him, 
 and he was brought by force to the stake. 
 
 When Theseus beheld this event, he arose 
 and put an end to the conflict, declaring that 
 Arcite of Thebes had won the fair Emily. 
 At this, the shouting of the multitude burst 
 forth, and seemed to rock the lists to their 
 foundations. When the noise of these, the 
 sounding of the trumpets, and the proclama- 
 tion of the heralds had ceased, a wondrous 
 event happened which changed the fortune of 
 the victor. 
 
 As Arcite, with his helmet off to show his 
 face, was pacing down the lists, and looking
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. 135 
 
 upward at his prize, the lovely Emily, who 
 on her side, by a favouring glance, gave him 
 to heed that she was all his own, both in heart 
 as well as by the fortune of battle, suddenly 
 a fury, sent from the infernal regions by Pluto, 
 started out of the ground before his horse, 
 which made him leap aside for fear ; and 
 foundering as he leaped, Arcite was thrown 
 upon his head, and his breast was crushed 
 with the saddle-bow. Being carried to the 
 palace of Theseus, and his armour cut off, he 
 was softly laid upon a bed; the name of 
 Emily all the while hanging upon his lips. 
 
 Meantime the King, with all his company, 
 returned to the city, and were feasted by him 
 three days ; during which time the wounded 
 were dressed ; and when the time for parting 
 arrived, he accompanied them a long journey 
 from his town, everyone turning his own way 
 home. 
 
 Arcite's injury continued to increase, for 
 the inward bleeding could not be stopped on 
 account of the bursting of the blood-vessels 
 in his lungs. When he found that his death 
 was near, he sent for Emily and his dear
 
 136 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 cousin, Palamon, and addressed to them the 
 following tender and noble farewell. 
 
 ' My woful heart cannot declare to you the 
 sum of the sorrows it has endured in your 
 behalf, my best beloved lady ! but I bequeath 
 to you, above all the world, my spirit's service, 
 since my life here may no longer remain. 
 Alas the woe ! alas the sharp' trials that I have 
 so long suffered for you ! alas the death ! alas 
 my Emily! alas the departing of our com- 
 pany ! alas, queen of my heart ! alas my wife ! 
 lady of my heart ! closer of my days ! What 
 is this world ? and what doth man desire ? 
 now with his love, and now in his cold grave 
 alone without any company. Farewell, my 
 sweet ! farewell my Emily ! And now, for the 
 love of heaven, take me softly in your arms, 
 and hearken to what I say. 
 
 ' For a long time I have been at strife and 
 rancour with my cousin Palamon here, and all 
 through love and jealousy on your account : 
 now, Jove guide my mind to speak properly 
 and truly of a rival, and with all circum- 
 stance : that is to say, with a feeling of all 
 that belongs to truth, honour, and knighthood,
 
 PALAMON AND AECITE. 137 
 
 wisdom, humility, estate, and lofty kindred ; 
 so Jove receive my spirit, as I know no man 
 now in this world so worthy to be beloved as 
 my cousin Palamon, who has served you, and 
 will do till his death : if therefore you ever 
 resolve to become a wife, do not forget Pala- 
 mon the gentleman.' 
 
 And with that word his speech began to 
 fail ; for the chill of death was rising from his 
 feet up to his breast. His arms too were 
 losing their vital power; the intellect alone 
 remained, when his sighing heart began to 
 fail with the sense of death : his breath short- 
 ened, his eyes became dim, yet still he kept 
 them fixed on her ; and his last words were, 
 'Mercy! Emily!' 
 
 Theseus bore his fainting sister from the 
 corpse. Palamon wept; and all the city 
 lamented the untimely death of this unfor- 
 tunate and brave young knight. 
 
 In due time the King gave orders for the 
 funeral, and commanded that the ceremony 
 should be performed at that same grove where 
 he and Palamon had striven for love of Emily. 
 A funeral pile was raised of many trees, felled
 
 138 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 for the purpose ; and upon a bier, covered 
 with cloth-of-gold, Arcite was laid, (his face 
 uncovered,) clad in a suit of the same material. 
 His head was crowned with green laurel ; his 
 white gloves were upon his hands, and one of 
 them held his own good sword. 
 
 Then came the mourner Palamon, with 
 dishevelled hair and beard, in a black suit 
 bedropped with his tears, and, excepting Emily, 
 the ruefullest of the train. 
 
 After these came three steeds, caparisoned 
 with glittering steel, adorned with the arms of 
 Arcite. Their riders bore his shield, his spear, 
 and his bow, the case and furniture of which 
 were of burnished gold. They rode forth to- 
 wards the grove at a solemn pace. The bier 
 was supported upon the shoulders of the 
 noblest Greeks ; and the great street of the 
 city through which they passed was hung with 
 black. Theseus, accompanied by old Egeus, 
 followed the train, bearing golden vessels con- 
 taining honey, milk, blood, and wine. Emily, 
 in accordance with the custom of the time, 
 carried the fire for the funeral service. I 
 need not tell you all that was done at the
 
 PALAMON AND ARCITE. 139 
 
 ceremony. Of the felling of the trees, of the 
 spicery and the garlands, the myrrh and the 
 incense : how Arcite lay among all this ; nor 
 what store of costliness was heaped about his 
 body ; and how Emily set fire to the pile ; nor 
 what she said, nor how she swooned ; nor of 
 the jewels, the shields, the spears, and the 
 vestments, the cups of wine, and milk, and 
 blood which were cast into the fire ; nor how 
 the Greeks with loud shouts rode three times 
 round the pile on the left hand ; three times 
 clashing their spears ; or the three wails of 
 the women ; the burning of the body to ashes, 
 and the funeral games of the Greeks when all 
 was over. Therefore, to bring my long story 
 to an end : After a decent process of time, 
 when the mourning for Arcite had ceased, 
 Theseus sent for Palamon, who, unmindful of 
 the cause, appeared in his sable dress. Emily 
 also came at the same message. After fixing 
 his eyes upon them for some time, and that 
 all the company was hushed, he made a grave 
 discourse, which he concluded in the following 
 manner. ' Why are we sad, that good Arcite, 
 the flower of chivalry, has departed with high
 
 140 THE KNIGHT'S TALE : 
 
 honour from the thraldom of life ? Why do 
 his wife and cousin here regret his welfare ? 
 they who loved him so well. My purpose 
 before we leave this place, is, to convert this 
 double sorrow into a perfect and lasting joy : 
 and therefore, dear sister, with the assent of 
 my whole council here, it is my full wish that 
 your own knight, the gentle Palamon, who, 
 from the time he first saw your face, hath 
 served you with good will and faithful heart, 
 receive your favour and become your lord and 
 husband. He is son to a King's brother, and 
 therefore not unworthy of you: but if he 
 were no more than a poor bachelor, since he 
 hath served you for so many years through 
 sharp adversity, you should consider and re- 
 compense his deserts. Give me here your 
 hand.' Then turning to Palamon, he said, 
 ' Methinks, there is little need to entreat your 
 assenting to my purpose. Draw near and take 
 your lady by the hand.' 
 
 Then was the bond of marriage drawn up 
 by the council, and Palamon wedded his 
 Emily. Long did he live in bliss, health, and 
 riches; Emily loving him tenderly, and he
 
 PALAMON AND AECTTE. 141 
 
 serving her with so much gentleness, that no 
 word of strife or jealousy was ever heard 
 between them. 
 
 So ends the history of Palamon and Arcite ; 
 and Grod save all this fair company.
 
 142 
 
 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 OUR worthy host perceived by the altitude of 
 the sun that it had performed one quarter of 
 its day's journey : so, suddenly turning his 
 horse round, he said : ' My masters ! it is 
 already ten o'clock ; my advice therefore is, 
 that you lose no time, but get forward on your 
 journey. Time is ever on the wane, and steals 
 away from us, both while we sleep, and during 
 our waking hours of negligence as the moun- 
 tain stream never returns from the plain to its 
 source. Sir Man of Law, since you have con- 
 sented to submit to my judgment, now tell 
 your tale according to agreement : abide by 
 the summons, and you will at least have ac- 
 quitted yourself of your duty.'
 
 THE STORY OF THE LADY CONSTANCE. 143 
 
 ' Mine host,' said he, ' I have no intention 
 to break my covenant :^ duty is a debt, and I 
 cheerfully perform my best I can say no more : 
 for the law by which man restrains his fellow, 
 he himself should abide by. Certain it is, 
 however, that I can tell you no tale of merit, 
 that this rogue CHAUCER has not been before- 
 hand with me : for, in one book or another, 
 he has told more love-stories than OVID him- 
 self, the great master of the art. Never- 
 theless, I care not, though I do come limping 
 with my prose after his rhymes.' Having 
 thus spoken, he in a sober style began the fol- 
 lowing tale. 
 
 THE STOEY OF THE LADY CONSTANCE. 
 
 IN Syria, in former days, there dwelt a com- 
 pany of rich merchants, who exported far and 
 near their cloth-of-gold, rich satins, and 
 spicery: their merchandise was so rare and 
 excellent, that all were eager to deal and bar- 
 ter with them. Now it happened that some 
 of these traders turned their course towards
 
 144 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE : 
 
 Eome, and remained there as long as suited 
 their pleasure and convenience. During their 
 stay they heard of little but the great renown 
 of -the Emperor's daughter, the Lady Con- 
 stance. The common talk of every one was ; 
 4 Our Emperor (rod preserve him has a 
 daughter, such as, for goodness and beauty, 
 the world never saw surpassed. She possesses 
 beauty without pride ; youth without folly or 
 inexperience : in all her actions, virtue is 
 her guide. In her, humility has overcome 
 tyranny : she is the mirror of gentleness and 
 courtesy : her heart is the very shrine of holi- 
 ness ; and her hand the minister of freedom in 
 almsgiving.' 
 
 After these merchants had freighted their 
 ships, and obtained a sight of this gifted 
 maiden, they made their way back to their 
 native country. 
 
 It happened that these merchants were in 
 high favour with the Sultan of Syria ; who, 
 when they returned from foreign and strange 
 places, would courteously entertain them, and 
 eagerly gain from them intelligence respect- 
 ing the various kingdoms they had traversed,
 
 THE STORY OF THE LADY CONSTANCE. 145 
 
 and the novelties they had observed. Among 
 other matters, the travellers detailed so seri- 
 ously the great beauty and virtue of the Lady 
 Constance, that the Sultan was unable to dis- 
 miss her from his thoughts, but fell in love 
 upon the bare report of her surpassing excel- 
 lence. Whereupon he summoned his privy 
 council, and commissioned them to ease his 
 heart by devising a plan which should obtain 
 for him in marriage the hand of the Lady 
 Constance. Many were the arguments and 
 the difficulties raised by the counsellors ; 
 among others, the great diversity in the reli- 
 gious institutions of the two countries : for 
 they rationally concluded that no Christian 
 prince would wed his child with a follower of 
 Mahomet. 
 
 This objection, however, he overruled by 
 declaring, that rather than be separated from 
 her, he would himself become a Christian. 
 
 There is no occasion to detail all the account 
 of the treaties and embassies which passed be- 
 tween the two courts : suffice to say, it was 
 agreed that the Sultan and his chief nobles 
 should receive baptism and embrace Christi- 
 L
 
 146 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE : 
 
 anity ; and that the Lady Constance should be 
 bestowed in marriage upon the former, with I 
 know not what portion of gold by way of 
 dowry. 
 
 Bishops, and other holy men, with lords, 
 ladies, and knights, were appointed to attend 
 in her train. Moreover, public prayers were 
 offered through the city, that this marriage 
 might be acceptable in the sight of heaven, as 
 well as for the preservation of the travellers on 
 their perilous voyage. 
 
 The day arrived for their departing the 
 woful day! and all were prepared. Con- 
 stance, who was overcome with sorrow, arose 
 with pale and anxious face and made ready to 
 depart ; for so the event was to be. Alas ! no 
 wonder she wept : a gentle and tender crea- 
 ture to be sent away from friends by whom 
 she had been carefully nursed, to sojourn 
 among strangers in a strange country, and 
 become subject to the will of one she knew 
 not. 
 
 ' Father,' said she, ' your wretched child, 
 Constance, your young daughter, so softly 
 fostered, and you, my mother, my sovereign
 
 THE LADY CONSTAXCE. 147 
 
 delight above all things in this world ; Con- 
 stance, your child, recommends herself to your 
 frequent prayers. I shall go into Syria, and 
 you will never more behold my face ; since it 
 is your will, alas ! that I must go to this bar- 
 barous nation : but HE, who suffered for our 
 redemption, give me grace to fulfil all his com- 
 mands. For me, wretched creature ! no matter 
 though I perish. Women are born to thral- 
 dom and penance, and to be subjected to the 
 dominion of man. 
 
 When Pyrrhus rased the walls of Troy and 
 burned the town ; when Thebes was levelled 
 with the ground ; when Hannibal three times 
 overcame the Romans, there was not heard 
 more piteous weeping than in this chamber at 
 the parting of Constance. 
 
 This fair and woful maid was brought to 
 the ship with every circumstance of solemnity. 
 ' Now, Jesus, our heavenly Saviour, be with 
 you all,' she said. There was no more, but, 
 ' Farewell, fair Constance ! ' she all the while 
 striving to put on a cheerful face. In this 
 manner she sailed away ; and now I will turn 
 to another part of my story. 
 
 L2
 
 148 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE: 
 
 The mother of the Sultan, who was a foun- 
 tain of every vice and treachery, having dis- 
 covered her son's intention to cast off his old 
 religion, suddenly and privately summoned 
 her privy council, whom she thus harangued. 
 
 ' My Lords, you are all apprised that my 
 son is on the point of deserting the holy laws 
 of our Koran, dispensed to vis by Mahomet 
 the Prophet of Grod. As respects myself, how- 
 ever, I here vow to that great Grod, that life 
 shall rather depart from this body than the 
 laws of Mahomet from my heart. What are 
 we to expect from this new faith but thraldom 
 and penance to our bodies here ; and for our 
 backsliding from Mahomet, hell hereafter? 
 Yet, my Lords, if you will pledge me your 
 assurance to abide by my counsel, I shall fully 
 provide for our future safety.' 
 
 Every man assented, and swore to live and 
 die with her. Each one also promised to exert 
 himself to strengthen her cause by every influ- 
 ence in his power. This compact being settled, 
 she thus explained the enterprise she had 
 taken in hand.' First, we will feign to em- 
 brace Christianity a little cold water will not
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 149 
 
 barm us. Then I will ordain such a feast and 
 revelry as, if I mistake not, will prove an 
 ample requital to the Sultan. As for his 
 wife, though she be christened pure and white 
 as morning milk, she will need a whole font 
 of water to wash away the red stains of that 
 hour.' 
 
 This Sultaness this root of iniquity, this 
 serpent under woman's form privately dis- 
 missed her council, to fulfil the agreement 
 made with her, while she rode to the Sultan, 
 and made confession to him of her repentance 
 for having so long remained in the bonds of 
 heathenism, with her resolution to renounce 
 her faith, and at the priest's hands to embrace 
 Christianity : entreating him at the same time 
 that the honour might be granted her to en- 
 tertain all the Christian strangers. The Sultan 
 granted her request, thanking her at the same 
 time on his knees for the mark of courtesy she 
 had offered to his friends. He was so rejoiced 
 he knew not what to say. She kissed her son, 
 and returned home. 
 
 These Christians, a large and solemn com- 
 pany, at length arrived in Syria. The Sultan
 
 150 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE : 
 
 immediately dispatched a message to his mo- 
 ther, and to his court all around, informing 
 them of his bride's arrival, requiring them, for 
 the honour and dignity of his crown, to ride 
 forth and meet the new queen. 
 
 The throng of mingled Syrians and Romans 
 formed a rich array. The Sultaness, splendidly 
 apparelled, received the young stranger as any 
 mother would a beloved child. I know not 
 whether the triumph of Julius, which Lucan 
 has described so magnificently, were more re- 
 markable than the assembly of this blissful 
 company : but this scorpion of a Sultaness, 
 notwithstanding her flattery and pleasant cheer, 
 had concealed under all a deadly sting. 
 
 Soon after, the Sultan arrived in such royal 
 pomp, that it was wonderful to behold, and 
 with gladness of heart welcomed her to a 
 second home ; and so I leave them in the full 
 enjoyment of mirth and bliss. 
 
 The time had now come when the old Sul- 
 taness had prepared the feast I spoke of, and 
 had invited to it all the Christians, both young 
 and old. There were they regaled with dain- 
 ties and luxuries more than I can describe
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 151 
 
 though all, alas ! bought at a dreadful price. 
 Too certainly does sudden woe succeed to 
 worldly bliss : the end of the joy of our labour 
 is sprinkled with bitterness, and grief follows 
 in the train of mirth. For your security's 
 sake, therefore, attend to this advice : in 
 the day of gladness think upon, and provide 
 against the evil which comes up behind. 
 
 Shortly to describe this event : the Sultan 
 and every Christian were murdered at table, 
 the Lady Constance alone being spared. The 
 old Sultaness, with her friends, compassed this 
 cursed deed, that she herself might rule the 
 kingdom uncontrolled. Not even one Syrian 
 of the Sultan's council who had been con- 
 verted, escaped the frightful massacre : and 
 Constance, who was wild with horror and 
 dismay, they hurried into a vessel that had no 
 rudder, bidding her find her way to Italy. A 
 certain treasure she had brought to Syria, and 
 store of provision, with clothing, they yielded 
 to her ; and forth she drifted on the salt sea. 
 The ruler of all events be thy Pilot, gentlest 
 and most forlorn of women ! She blessed her- 
 self, and with a piteous voice prayed to the
 
 152 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE : 
 
 holy Cross. ' Oh bright, oh blissful altar ! 
 holy Cross ! red with the blood of the Lamb 
 that washeth away the sin of the world ; keep 
 me from the snares of the Evil One in the day 
 that the deep sea shall swallow me.' 
 
 Day after day day after day the rising sun 
 found this tender creature floating hither and 
 thither upon the billows like an uprooted 
 weed, throughout the Gfreek sea, to the Straits 
 of Morocco : small and miserable was her fare ; 
 great and unceasing, whether awake or asleep, 
 was her fear of death. If you ask why she 
 was not drowned ? or who preserved her at the 
 feast? I answer, who saved Daniel in the 
 horrible den of lions ? when all, save him 
 alone, were torn limb from limb. In Con- 
 stance, the great and good Grod displayed a 
 wonderful miracle, that his mighty works 
 should be made known. For often by certain 
 means, which to us appear dark, he accom- 
 plishes certain ends, that our ignorance and 
 short sight cannot detect. She was preserved 
 by a miracle, she was fed by a miracle, and 
 so was she driven about the wide sea ; till, at 
 last, she was thrown ashore under a castle, far
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 153 
 
 up on the coast of Northumberland, and her 
 vessel remained so fixed in the sand that the 
 flood-tide could not move it. 
 
 The constable of the castle came down to 
 view the wreck, and having searched it over, 
 found this solitary and woe-worn woman, to- 
 gether with the treasure she had brought away. 
 In her language, which was a corrupted sort of 
 Latin, she besought him to have pity upon 
 her misery. The constable understood her 
 speech, and brought her to shore ; when she 
 knelt down upon the sand, and thanked the 
 Being who had preserved her through all her 
 trials. By no means, however, could she be 
 brought to tell who she was. Yet the con- 
 stable and his wife took pity on her, and wept 
 over the story of her sufferings. Moreover, so 
 desirous was she to serve and please every one 
 around her, that all loved her who had once 
 looked in her face. 
 
 The constable and Dame Hermegild, his 
 wife, with all the inhabitants of that country, 
 were Pagans ; but Hermegild had a deep affec- 
 tion for Constance; and Constance, so long 
 and so earnestly prayed, with tears and bit-
 
 154 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE: 
 
 terness, that Dame Hermegild was converted 
 through her grace. No Christian dared to 
 dwell in that country ; the believers were 
 compelled to fly before their Pagan con- 
 querors ; and the Christianity of Ancient 
 Britain took refuge in the strongholds of the 
 Welsh mountains. Yet were not the Christian 
 Britons so exiled but that some few remained 
 who secretly worshipped Jesus ; and three of 
 these were dwelling near the castle, one of 
 whom was blind. 
 
 One bright summer's day, the constable, 
 with his wife and Constance, were walking 
 towards the sea, that was a few furlongs dis- 
 tant ; and in their way they met this blind 
 man, who was also bowed down with age and 
 infirmity. ' In the name of Christ,' cried this 
 blind Briton, ' Dame Hermegild, give me my 
 sight again.' The Lady feared lest her hus- 
 band should hear the sound of that name ; till 
 Constance made her bold, by bidding her, as a 
 daughter of the holy church, perform the will 
 of Christ. The constable, astonished at the 
 sight, enquired how all this might be. Con- 
 stance answered him, that it was done by the
 
 THE LADY COXSTAXCE. lc-5 
 
 power of Jesus Christ, which can deliver those 
 who believe, from the snares of the Evil One. 
 And then she laid before him all the doctrine 
 of our holy law ; so that before even-song the 
 constable was converted, and professed himself 
 a true believer in Christ. 
 
 This worthy man was not lord of the place 
 I have described, but he held it under Alia, 
 King of Northumberland, who bore so strong 
 a hand against the Scots. But this is not the 
 matter of my story. Satan, who is ever on 
 the watch to entrap erring mortals, had cast 
 an evil eye on Constance and her perfections, 
 and sought ta requite her for all her godly 
 works. To this end he moved a young knight, 
 dwelling near the castle, to love her with a 
 foul and dishonest affection ; which, when he 
 found had no avail, (for no temptation could 
 bring her to sin and shame,) the villainous 
 heart of the youth, through spite and disap- 
 pointment, compassed his thought to make 
 her die a felon's death. Watching therefore 
 his opportunity, while the constable was away, 
 he crept privately by night to Hermegild's 
 chamber, who, with Constance had both fallen
 
 156 THE MAX OP LAW'S TALE : 
 
 asleep, weary with long waking and prayer. 
 Softly he went to the bed-side of Hermegilcl, 
 and, with the Devil's aid, at one plunge 
 severed her throat : then laying the bloody 
 knife by the Lady Constance' side, he went 
 his way. 
 
 Shortly after the constable returned, and 
 saw his wife mercilessly murdered, and by the 
 Lady Constance was found the bloody knife. 
 Here was piteous weeping and wringing of 
 hands ! and what, alas ! could she say, whose 
 wits were wild with woe and horror ? 
 
 The whole circumstance of the disaster was 
 laid before the King, together with all the 
 detail of time and place, where Constance was 
 discovered in the ship, which you have already 
 heard. The heart of the King shuddered with 
 compassion when he saw so benign a creature 
 fall into trouble and misfortune ; for, as a 
 lamb brought to the slaughter, so stood this 
 innocent before the King ; the traitor knight 
 at her side, and acting the part of accuser. 
 Notwithstanding all, however, there was great 
 murmuring among the people, who would not 
 believe that she had done this great wicked-
 
 THE LADY COXSTAKCE. 157 
 
 ness ; for they had known her to be ever 
 virtuous, and loving Hermegild as her own 
 life. Of this, all, save the murderer, bore tes- 
 timony. The King was strongly incited by 
 this witness, and determined to enquire more 
 deeply into the case, to search the truth of the 
 matter. 
 
 Ill-fated Constance ! no champion have you 
 to defend your right ; and, alas the day ! little 
 can you defend yourself. If HE who suffered 
 for our redemption be not your strong cham- 
 pion on this day, guiltless must you die. Be- 
 fore the assembled court she fell upon her 
 knees and cried aloud ' immortal God ! 
 who preserved Susanna from false accusation ; 
 and 0! merciful Virgin, to whose Son the 
 angels sing Hosannas, if I be guiltless of this 
 deed, grant me succour in this sharp hour of 
 my trial.' Have you not sometimes, in the 
 midst of a crowd, beheld the pale face of him 
 who has been leading to his death, without 
 even the hope of reprieve ; a face so ghastly 
 that it could at once be known from all the 
 rest? So stood Constance, and looked around. 
 You queens, and ladies, all, living in pros-
 
 158 THE MAX OP LAW'S TALE : 
 
 perity, think with ruth upon her state think 
 how she was bested : an emperor's daughter, 
 standing alone, with not a friend to whom she 
 could pour out her complaint. 
 
 The King had such compassion upon her 
 forlorn state (for the gentle heart ever leans 
 to the piteous side) that the tears flowed from 
 his eyes. 'Quickly, let a book be brought,' 
 said he, ' and if this knight will swear that she 
 slew this woman, we will yet consult who shall 
 be our justice in this case.' A British book 
 containing the gospel was produced, and on 
 this book he made oath that she was guilty. 
 Immediately an unseen hand smote him on 
 his neck, so that he fell like a stone, and, in 
 the sight of all, his eyes burst from his head. 
 Then in the general audience a voice followed, 
 saying: 'Thou hast slandered the guiltless 
 daughter of Holy Church in high presence 
 thus hast thou done.' All, save Con- 
 stance alone, stood aghast at this wonder, 
 each in dread of the divine wrath. All 
 who had wrongly suspected her made repent- 
 ance ; and, to conclude, the miracle, with 
 the mediation of Constance, wrought upon
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 159 
 
 the King and many more present, who were 
 converted. 
 
 Alia instantly condemned the traitor knight 
 to death ; and Constance, notwithstanding all 
 his untruth and perfidy, had pity on his fate. 
 After this the King wedded Constance with 
 great solemnity, and so this shining star of 
 holiness became a queen. All rejoiced in the 
 event but Donegild, the king's mother, a tyran- 
 nical and cruel woman : her wicked and proud 
 heart was wrung at the thought of her son's 
 marrying a creature whom no one knew, or 
 whence she came, or what she was. 
 
 After the lapse of some months, the King, 
 being compelled to march against his old ene- 
 mies the Scots, committed his wife, who was 
 in expectation of presenting him with a child, 
 to the protection of a bishop and his friend 
 the constable. The meek and humble Con- 
 stance in due course of time, and while her 
 lord was still away, brought into the world a 
 son and heir, who was christened' Maurice. 
 And the constable despatched a messenger 
 with a letter to the King, informing him of 
 the event. The messenger, however, thinking
 
 160 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE : 
 
 to gain for himself some advantage, rode strait 
 to the queen dowager, and under show of dili- 
 gence, with fair speech informed her that 
 Queen Constance had brought forth a son. 
 ' And this letter, madam, contains the intelli- 
 gence which I am to convey to Scotland ; if 
 your Highness have any commands to His 
 Majesty your son, I am your slave both night 
 and day.' Donegild commanded him to re- 
 main all night, and that in the morning he 
 should receive her despatches. 
 
 The messenger passed his time in eating and 
 drinking till his wits were gone ; so that, while 
 he was snoring like a swine, his letters were 
 secretly conveyed from his box, and another 
 letter wickedly indited, to the following purport, 
 was substituted for them. It described the 
 queen to have been delivered of so horrible and 
 fiend-like a creature, that no one in the castle 
 was hardy enough to remain with it : more- 
 over, that the mother had by her magic and 
 sorcery betrayed herself to be a witch, and that 
 the whole court avoided her company. The 
 receipt of this letter was a bitter stroke to the 
 King, yet he made no one acquainted with his
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 161 
 
 sorrows ; but with his own hand returned for 
 answer that he welcomed the will and ordin- 
 ance of Heaven. * For all this, however,' con- 
 tinued the letter, ' keep the child, be it foul or 
 fair, and my wife also till my return home. 
 The Saviour whom I serve will send me an 
 heir, more agreeable than this, at his own good 
 will.' This letter he sealed, secretly weeping, 
 and sent it to the messenger, who set forth on 
 his return home. 
 
 Having arrived at the Court of the Queen 
 Mother, that fiend-like woman received him 
 with much courtesy and favour, ordering him 
 the same entertainments as before ; and during 
 his drunken sleep his letters were again stolen, 
 and others, to the following purport, were sub- 
 stituted for them : viz. that the King com- 
 manded his constable, upon pain of certain 
 death, by hanging, not to suffer Constance to 
 remain three days in his kingdom after receiv- 
 ing that order ; but that she, with her infant 
 son, and all the store she had brought with her, 
 should be forthwith hurried into the same ship 
 in which the constable had discovered her, and 
 driven out from shore. 
 
 M
 
 162 THE MAN OP LAW'S TALE : 
 
 On the morrow the messenger made his way 
 to the constable's castle, and delivered to him 
 the letter : who, when he had read its contents, 
 grievously lamented the bitter wickedness of 
 the sentence, crying, ' Alas ! alas ! how can this 
 world continue, so. steeped in sin and cruelty is 
 every creature ! Gracious God ! if it be thy 
 will, how can it meet the righteousness of thy 
 judgment thus to suffer innocence to be be- 
 trayed, and wicked men to reign on in pros- 
 perity ? 0! blameless Constance ! deep is the 
 measure of my grief, that I must either be 
 your tormentor and your bane, or myself en- 
 dure a shameful death ! ' 
 
 Both young and old in the neighbourhood 
 wept at the news of this cursed letter ; and on 
 the fourth day Constance, with a deadly pale 
 face, went toward the vessel : and kneeling 
 down upon the strand, she said, ' Lord ! ever 
 welcome be thy decree;' and, she added, 'he 
 that shielded me from blame while I was 
 amongst you, can preserve me from harm in 
 the wide sea. He is now as strong as he ever 
 was : in Him I put my trust ; He will be my 
 sail and my load-star on the perilous deep.'
 
 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 
 
 ' On the fourth day, Constance, with a deadly pale face, went 
 oward the vessel ; and, kneeling down upon the strand, she said : 
 ' Lord! ever welcome be thy decree." '
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 163 
 
 Her little child lay weeping on her arm : 
 ' Peace, peace, little son,' said she, ' I will not 
 harm you : ' with that she took her kerchief 
 from her head and laid it over its little eyes, 
 lulling the babe in her arm against her bosom ; 
 and, casting her eyes up to heaven, ' 0, Mother ! ' 
 she continued, ' blessed Virgin Mary ! true it is 
 that through a woman's tempting, mankind 
 was lost, and doomed to perdition, for which 
 error the flesh of thy Son was torn upon the 
 cross : thy blessed eyes witnessed his torment ; 
 then is there no comparison between thine and 
 any woe man may sustain. Thou sawest thy 
 child slain before thine eyes my little child 
 yet liveth. 0, blessed Virgin ! to whom in 
 their griefs all woful creatures turn ; glory of 
 womanhood ! haven of refuge ! bright star of 
 day ! look down with ruth upon my babe ; thou 
 who in thy gentleness lookest with pity on the 
 miserable. 
 
 ' 0, little child ! what, alas ! has been thy 
 guilt, that, as yet, can have wrought no sin ? 
 Why will thy cruel father shed thy life?' and 
 then she said, ' in mercy, dear constable, let 
 my child dwell here with you: yet, if you 
 
 M 2
 
 164 THE MAN OP LAW'S TALE : 
 
 dare not preserve him from harm, in his father's 
 name bestow upon him one kiss.' With that 
 she looked backward toward the land, and said, 
 'Farewell, ruthless husband!' and then she 
 arose and walked down the beach towards the 
 vessel, the crowd following her, and she at 
 intervals hushed her weeping babe. After 
 blessing herself with devout intent, she took 
 leave of all around, and stepped into the ship. 
 The constable had taken good care to provide 
 it with abundant store, and every necessary for 
 a long voyage : and now may the Almighty 
 Grod protect her, for she is driving away upon 
 the sea. 
 
 Soon after this, King Alia returned home, 
 and went strait to the castle, enquiring for his 
 wife and child. At the sound of these words 
 a sudden cold about the heart seized the faith- 
 ful constable, who plainly laid before him the 
 whole event, showing him at the same time the 
 letter he had received, with his own seal affixed. 
 The messenger was put to the rack till he had 
 confessed distinctly where he had passed each 
 night between his departure from Scotland and 
 arrival at the royal castle. The hand that
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 165 
 
 wrote the letter was discovered, with all the 
 venom of this most cursed deed; and the ef- 
 fect of it was, that Alia, in the transport of 
 fury, slew his own mother. Thus ended the ill- 
 spent life of the traitress to her allegiance, 
 old Donegild. But no tongue can describe the 
 sorrow of Alia, who night and day bewailed 
 the loss of his Constance and their child ; 
 while they for many a moon, through heat and 
 cold, moist and dry, through many a windy 
 storm and tempest, had been preserved, till her 
 bark stranded, at last, under the walls of a 
 heathen castle, the name of which I do not 
 recall. 
 
 The people of the district came down, won- 
 dering at the appearance of the ship and at 
 Constance ; but during the night a steward of 
 the castle came alone into the ship, with the 
 intent of robbing the gentle voyager, and car- 
 rying her off. This wretched woman cried for 
 help, and the child wept piteously, but her 
 guardian, who was ever at hand, again brought 
 her off unharmed, for in her struggle of de- 
 spair the villain stumbled overboard and was 
 drowned. The vessel afterwards was borne off
 
 166 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE: 
 
 by the tide, and drifted away again for many a 
 weary day. 
 
 I must here change the thread of my story, 
 and inform you of the Eoman Emperor, who 
 by letters out of Syria had received intelligence 
 of the massacre of the Christians, with the dis- 
 honour offered to his daughter by the trea- 
 cherous and murderous Sultaness, for which 
 foul deed he sent forth a chosen senator, with 
 other lords and picked troops, to take ample 
 vengeance on those Syrians. They fulfilled 
 their embassy with a loyal zeal, burning and 
 destroying till wrath and justice were appeased. 
 These fulfilled, the senator returned home 
 crowned with victory, and in his voyage met 
 the vessel driving, in which Constance was 
 sitting, piteous and desolate. So changed was 
 she in look and array, that he had not the 
 slightest recollection of her, while she con- 
 cealed her name and degree. He brought her 
 home, however, with him to Eome, and placed 
 her, with the little Maurice, under the care of 
 his wife ; who, though her aunt, was as igno- 
 rant of the quality of her guest as the senator 
 himself.
 
 THE LADY COXSTANCE. 167 
 
 ' After she had resided for some time in this 
 manner, gladding the hearts of all around by 
 her gentleness and good works, King Alia, 
 her husband, came to Kome, for the purpose of 
 doing penance, and to obtain pardon for the 
 unholy deed of having slain his mother. The 
 fame of his pilgrimage having been noised about 
 the city, our senator, with his heralds and at- 
 tendants, went forth to receive him, according 
 to his quality. Each received the other with so 
 much courtesy and good will, that the King 
 invited the senator to a feast, who took the 
 little Maurice with him, to behold the com- 
 pany and grandeur of the entertainment ; and, 
 by the instruction of his mother, during the 
 intervals of the feasting, the child stood look- 
 ing in the King's face. Alia fixed his eyes 
 with wonder upon the boy, and said to the 
 senator, ' Whose child is that standing yonder ? ' 
 1 1 know no more of him,' was the nobleman's 
 answer, ' than that he has a mother, but, so 
 far as I can hear, no father ;' and with that he 
 briefly rehearsed to the King how he found the 
 child. ' But, Heaven knows,' added the senator, 
 ' that in all my life I never met or heard of
 
 168 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE : 
 
 a more virtuous woman, maiden, widow, or 
 wife, and I dare well say that she would go to 
 death rather than commit a wicked deed.' 
 
 Now this child was as like to Constance as it 
 was possible for one creature to resemble ano- 
 ther. Alia remembered the face of Constance, 
 and mused whether it might happen that the 
 mother of the child was his own wife. With 
 that thought he inwardly sighed, and hurried 
 away from table. ' It must,' thought he, ' be 
 the phantom of my brain ; for my sober judg- 
 ment would say my wife lies dead at sea ; and 
 yet, why may not the good God have guided 
 Constance hither, as safely as he led her to my 
 own country ? ' 
 
 After the feast, Alia went home with the 
 senator to see the end of all this wonder ; who 
 sent hastily for Constance to come into the 
 presence of the King : but when she knew the 
 cause of the message, she could scarcely stand 
 upon her feet. When Alia saw his wife, he 
 embraced her eagerly and tenderly, weeping 
 over her sweet and bitter tears : for at the first 
 look he fixed upon her, he knew it was she ;
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 169 
 
 while she stood dumb with sorrow, so closed 
 was her heart in her distress when she remem- 
 bered all his unkindness. . Twice she swooned 
 in his arms, and he weeping, piteously excused 
 himself. ' As Heaven shall have mercy on 
 my soul,' said he, ' I am as guiltless of your 
 harm as is my son here, Maurice so like your 
 own face.' Long was the sobbing, and the 
 bitter pain, before their hearts could cease ; 
 but when it was finally known that Alia was 
 guiltless of her persecution, they kissed a hun- 
 dred times, and such bliss was between them 
 that (unless it be the joy which will endure 
 hereafter and for ever) no one has seen or ever 
 will see the like. 
 
 She then meekly entreated her husband, in 
 relief of her long sorrow, that he would especi- 
 ally beseech the Emperor to dine with him on 
 a certain day, but on no account to make men- 
 tion of herself. Some have it, that the child 
 Maurice bore the invitation ; but it should 
 rather seem that Alia himself would perform 
 that honour to the flower of all Christendom : 
 yet the child went with him ; and when the
 
 170 THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE: 
 
 Emperor had accepted the invitation, he looked 
 steadily upon the face of Maurice, and thought 
 upon his daughter. 
 
 The morrow came, and Alia with his wife 
 prepared to meet the Emperor, riding out in 
 gladness of heart to receive him ; and when he 
 drew near, she alighted, and throwing herself 
 at his feet, said, 'Father, Constance, your 
 young and only child, is gone out of your re- 
 membrance. I am your daughter, your Con- 
 stance, whom long ago you sent into Syria. I 
 am she who was put alone upon the sea ; who 
 was condemned to death. Dear father! in 
 mercy send me no more among the heathen ; 
 but receive and thank this Lord and King, my 
 Lord, for all his kindness to me.' Who can 
 describe the joy of those three, who had so 
 strangely and happily met ? And now to make 
 a conclusion to my tale, this child, Maurice, 
 was afterwards anointed Emperor by the Pope, 
 and did high honour to the Christian church : 
 but my story is especially of Constance. 
 
 King Alia after due time returned to Eng- 
 land with his sweet and holy wife, where they 
 lived together in peace and happiness, although,
 
 THE LADY CONSTANCE. 171 
 
 alas ! but for a short, though blissful season : 
 happiness in this world is ever fleeting, and so 
 it was with Alia and Constance ; for, at the 
 end of a year, death removed him from her ; 
 and she, in grief and heaviness at his loss, re- 
 turned to the land of her birth. This divine 
 creature travelled back to Eome, where she 
 found her friends living and well. All her 
 adventures had come to an end. And, weep- 
 ing before her father's knees, with tender and 
 sad thoughts, she returned thanks to Grod for 
 her deliverance. Thus they lived in virtue and 
 deeds of alms-giving, till they were separated 
 for ever in this life. And now fare you well ; 
 my tale is over ; and may HE who protected 
 Constance, keep all here, and send them glad- 
 ness after sorrow-
 
 THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE: 
 
 THE STOEY OF 
 THE COURT OF KING ARTHUR. 
 
 IN the days of the renowned King Arthur, whom 
 Britons hold in high reverence, this land was 
 peopled with fairies. The Elf Queen with her 
 merry company have danced their roundels in 
 many a green mead. What I speak of happened 
 many hundred years ago : but now the elves 
 are seen no more ; for the charity and godly 
 prayings of the begging friars who go sniffing 
 into every corner of the land, as thick as motes 
 in the sunbeams, bestowing their blessings on 
 cities and towns, halls, chambers, and bowers, 
 dairies and kitchens, are the cause that the 
 fairies no longer remain : for where the elf
 
 COUET OP KING AETHUE. 173 
 
 was formerly, is now the friar, steadfastly pay- 
 ing his visits at morning and noontide meals, 
 not forgetting his matins and benedictions as 
 he makes his rounds of alms-begging. Now the 
 women can safely walk abroad, through brake 
 and copse, and sit under every green tree ; the 
 friar is your only incubus, 1 and he will offer 
 us no dishonour. 
 
 It happened that in the Court of this King 
 Arthur dwelt a handsome and vigorous young 
 bachelor Knight, who, on his return one day 
 from a hawking party of water-fowl, saw before 
 him a young maiden, whom in a transport of 
 wilfulness and brutality he ill-treated. The 
 unmanliness and violence of the deed raised 
 such a clamour, and so keen a pursuit of the 
 offender, that he was seized, tried, and con- 
 demned to lose his head. The Queen, how- 
 ever, and her ladies, so earnestly entreated his 
 pardon of the King, that he granted him his 
 life, and at the same time yielded him to his 
 
 1 The Incubus was a fairy of less innocent character than 
 his brethren. He succeeded the Fauni of the heathen mytho- 
 logy, and, like them, was supposed to inflict that oppression 
 which goes under the name of ephialtes, or night-mare.
 
 174 THE "WIFE OF BATH'S TALE : 
 
 Queen, for her to order his penance: who, 
 turning to the ravisher, said, ' Such is your 
 condition at this time, that you are in no surety 
 of preserving your life : yet this will I grant, 
 upon condition that you resolve me this ques- 
 tion, ' Wliat is that which women most de- 
 sire?' Beware ! and think of your penalty. I 
 allow you to depart for one twelvemonth and 
 a day, to prepare your answer ; and before you 
 quit this presence you shall produce full 
 security that at the given day you will yield 
 yourself up to our decision upon your reply.' 
 
 The Knight was sorely perplexed with the 
 condition of his sentence ; so after much con- 
 sideration, he resolved to leave the Court, and 
 travel till the year's end ; hoping that in the 
 course of his adventures he might receive the 
 help he required. From town to town, and 
 house to house he went, wherever he thought 
 to learn ' what women most desire : ' but with 
 all his pains he could not find two people of 
 one mind in the matter. Some said, women 
 love wealth better than anything else ; some 
 said honour ; others, mirth ; others again, splen- 
 dour of dress ; and some even thought their
 
 COUET OF KING AETHTJE. 175 
 
 greatest pleasure lay in being often widowed 
 and wedded. They came, perhaps, nearest to 
 the truth who said that we are best pleased 
 when we are nattered ; for one and all of us 
 (more or less) are soonest won by flattery. At- 
 tention and assiduity are the surest lime-twigs 
 to our hearts. Some said, we most love to be 
 free to follow our own inclinations ; moreover, 
 to be esteemed wise, and not to be reproved 
 for our faults ; for in truth, there is not one 
 of the sisterhood who, if she be fretted on a 
 tender point, will not turn again ; and the more 
 sharply for feeling that she deserves the re- 
 buke. He who may make the trial will prove 
 the truth of what I say. Be we never so faulty 
 within, we will be held wise and free from 
 offence. Some folks held the opinion, that we 
 delight in being thought stedfast, firm of pur- 
 pose, and close keepers of a secret ; but that 
 tale is not worth a straw ; for we women can 
 hide nothing : witness the folly of Midas's 
 wife ; will ye hear the story ? 
 
 Ovid, among other traditions, has related 
 that Midas had growing under his long shaggy 
 hair two ass's ears, which he concealed so
 
 176 THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE : 
 
 cleverly, that no one but his wife knew of the 
 fact ; and her he earnestly entreated to keep 
 the secret of his disfigurement. She made oath 
 to him that, for her own sake as well as his, 
 she would not bring so great a shame upon her 
 husband, even were it to gain the whole world. 
 Notwithstanding all this, she was ready to ex- 
 pire with the pain of keeping this secret ; she 
 had such a swelling of the heart, that some un- 
 lucky word she feared must necessarily slip out. 
 Since, therefore, she dared tell it to no one, she 
 ran down to a marsh hard by, her heart all on 
 fire till she arrived there, and then like a bit- 
 tern booming in the reeds, she laid her mouth 
 down, and said, ' Betray me not, water, to 
 you I tell it, and no one beside my husband 
 iias two long ass's ears. And now is my heart 
 at ease the secret is out, for I could keep it 
 no longer.' Thus you may perceive that, how- 
 ever stedfast we may remain for a time, out it 
 must come at last ; we cannot hide a secret. 
 The remainder of the tale, if you desire it, is 
 to be found in Ovid. 
 
 When this Knight, the hero of my story, 
 found he was no nearer to the meaning of the

 
 THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 
 
 ' The whole bevy of dancers had vanished, and no living soul 
 was left behind, except a hideous old woman, bent double, and sit- 
 ting on the green.'
 
 COURT OP KING ARTHUR. 177 
 
 riddle, he became very sorrowful ; and the day 
 having arrived when he must render up him- 
 self, he turned homeward. On his way, as he 
 was riding by a forest-side, he perceived a 
 company of more than twenty ladies dancing 
 upon the grass ; but as he eagerly drew near 
 to them, hoping in his distress to gain some 
 counsel from them, before he came up, the 
 whole bevy of dancers had vanished, and no 
 living soul was left behind, except a hideous 
 old woman, bent double, and sitting on the 
 green. This creature, more frightful than 
 can be described, arose and went to meet the 
 Knight ; and she said, ' Sir Knight, this is no 
 way to any place. Tell me, upon your faith, 
 what it is you seek ; it may, peradventure, be 
 to your advantage : we old folk know, and can 
 do much.' 
 
 ' Certain it is, dear mother,' answered the 
 Knight, * that I shall be doomed to die, unless 
 I am able to expound, " What it is that women 
 most desire ? " If you could instruct me I would 
 amply repay you.' ' Pledge me your truth,' 
 said she, < here in my hand, that if it be in 
 
 N
 
 178 THE WIFE OP BATH'S TALE. 
 
 your power, you will perform the next act I 
 require of you, and before night I will tell it 
 you.' 
 
 'I accept,' said the Knight; 'and here is 
 my truth.' ' Then,' said she, ' I dare boast 
 that you are safe, for upon my life the Queen 
 will say as I do. Let us see the proudest she 
 that wears a kerchief, who will dare say nay 
 to what I shall tell you. So, without farther 
 parley, let us go forth.' She then whispered 
 in his ear a short sentence, and bade him cheer 
 up, and cast off all fear. 
 
 When they arrived at Court, the Knight said 
 he had kept his word and the day for deliver- 
 ing up himself, and was ready with his answer. 
 Many noble ladies had assembled to hear the 
 sentence, the Queen sitting as judge, when the 
 Knight was commanded to appear in Court : 
 and, silence being obtained, the question, 
 ' What is it that women love best ? ' was put 
 to him in due form and solemnity : when, in 
 the audience of the whole Court, and in a bold 
 manly voice, our knight answered ; ' My Liege 
 Lady, and most Royal Mistress, what women 
 desire above all things in this life is, to obtain
 
 COURT OF KING ARTHUR. 170 
 
 dominion over their lovers and husbands, and 
 in all matters to sway them to their will. This 
 is the nearest and dearest thought of your 
 hearts. Now, therefore, do with me as you 
 list ; I am in your power.' Throughout the 
 whole Court there was not a woman, whether 
 maid, wife, or widow, that contradicted him, 
 and farthermore, they pronounced that he had 
 fairly obtained his pardon. 
 
 At the moment the sentence was delivered, 
 up started the old woman whom the Knight 
 had seen sitting on the green-sward. ' Mercy ! 
 my sovereign Lady Queen,' said she, ' before 
 this court break up, I entreat to have justice 
 rendered to me. I taught the Knight this 
 answer, for which he, at the time, plighted me 
 his truth that he would grant me the first pe- 
 tition I might require at his hands, if it lay 
 in his power to grant it. Before this Court 
 then, Sir Knight, I pray you to take me for 
 your wife : I have preserved you from certain 
 death ; if I speak falsely, upon your faith of 
 knighthood gainsay my word.' 
 
 ' Alas ! ' answered the Knight, ' such indeed 
 was my promise : but for the love of heaven, I 
 
 N 2
 
 180 THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 
 
 charge you to remodel your petition. Take 
 all my wealth, but let me go free.' 
 
 ' Nay, then,' said she, ' may a curse alight 
 upon both of us, if I, though ugly, old, and 
 poor, would not for all the gold above and be- 
 neath the earth, rather become your wife aye ! 
 and your love too.' 
 
 ' My love ! ' said he, ' my perdition ! Oh ! 
 that any of my community should be so foully 
 brought into contempt ! ' All, however, was 
 of no avail ; he was compelled to wed this old 
 woman, and take her to bed and board ' for 
 better for worse.' 
 
 The joy, the display, and the feasting that 
 was made upon the marriage of these two is 
 soon told ; for, in good sooth, there was neither 
 joy nor feasting ; but heaviness instead, and 
 sullen sorrow. The Knight was married pri- 
 vately the next morning, and all the day, like 
 an owl, hid himself for vexation at the defor- 
 mity of his wife. And at night when they 
 were in bed he tossed and tumbled about in 
 disgust ; the old woman all the while lay smi- 
 ling by his side. 'My dear husband,' said 
 she, does every gallant Knight treat his newly 
 made wife in this kind and graceful manner ?
 
 COURT OF KING AETHUE. 181 
 
 Is this the custom of King Arthur's Court ? Is 
 every Knight in his train so sparing of courtesy 
 and tenderness ? I am your own love and your 
 wife ; I saved you from destruction ; and, of a 
 truth, never wronged you : why then behave 
 thus to me ? your conduct is like one insane. 
 What is my crime my offence ? Tell me, and 
 if I can, I will amend it.' 
 
 ' Amend it ! ' said the Knight, ' No ! no ! 
 you never can amend it. You are so old, so 
 loathsome, and born of so low degree, that 
 little should you wonder at my distress and 
 horror. Would to heaven my heart would 
 break at once ! ' 
 
 ' Is this then,' said she, ' the cause of your 
 uneasiness ?' 
 
 ' Certainly ; and what wonder that it is.' 
 
 'Now, Sir,' said she, 'in three days, if I 
 chose, I could amend all this, so that you would 
 bear yourself towards me as you ought. But 
 since you Knights speak of such high birth as 
 is descended from ancient wealth, and presume 
 that therefore you are Gentlemen ; l I tell you 
 
 1 The reader will recollect the note at page 111, explaining 
 the original meaning of the -word 'gentle?
 
 182 THE WIPE OP BATH'S TALE : 
 
 that such arrogance is not worth a straw. He 
 who secretly, and in the open face of day is 
 most virtuous, who seeks to perform all the 
 noble deeds in his power, is the most perfect 
 gentleman. Jesus Christ commands that we 
 claim our gentle birth from Him, who was 
 " meek and lowly of heart ;" not from our an- 
 cestors, because of their riches. For, though 
 they leave us the whole of their inheritance, 
 and to boast of our high kindred ; yet can they 
 not bequeath to us their virtuous lives which 
 procured them the title of Gentlemen. Inte- 
 grity of character seldom springs of its own 
 accord in a man's descendants. We derive our 
 gentle birth from the goodness of God only ; 
 from our ancestors we claim nothing but tem- 
 poral benefits, which man may destroy. If gen- 
 tleness of demeanour were implanted in a 
 certain lineage, then would no one of that 
 descent commit an act of villany. But we 
 know that the sons of Lords will often shame 
 their parentage. And he who demands praise 
 of his gentility because he comes of a high 
 family, having noble and virtuous ancestors, 
 yet himself performs no deeds of gentleness, is
 
 COURT OF KING ARTHUR. 183 
 
 no gentleman, duke or earl though he be ; for 
 deeds of villany constitute the base-born man. 
 Gentility is but the renown of your ancestors 
 on account of their signal goodness, and which 
 is foreign to your individual self. Your 
 gentility, like theirs, proceeds from God only. 
 He is nobly born who performs noble deeds. 
 Therefore, my beloved husband, I conclude 
 that although my ancestors were rustic, yet, as 
 I hope to live virtuously, then shall I become 
 of gentle blood. 
 
 ' And since you reprove me for my poverty, 
 bear in mind that the Saviour of the world 
 dwelt in wilful poverty; and the King of 
 Heaven would not choose a vicious living. 
 Cheerful poverty is doubtless an honest thing : 
 and I hold him rich who considers himself 
 repaid for his poverty in other gifts, although 
 he have no shirt to his back : while the 
 covetous man is really poor, for he would 
 possess that which he cannot attain : but he 
 who possesses nothing, yet covets nothing, is 
 rich, although you esteem him but a knave. 1 
 
 1 The original meaning of the word knave is a hireling or 
 servant.
 
 184 THE WIPE OP BATH'S TALE: 
 
 The poor man may go on his way and have no 
 dread of robbers. Poverty is a hateful good, 
 though the redeemer from the cares of life : 
 the improver of wisdom, to him who bears it 
 patiently. Poverty makes a man know him- 
 self and his Maker too. It is a glass in which 
 he may discover his true friends. Reprove 
 me, therefore, no more for my poverty. 
 
 'As for my great age though we had no 
 written authority for the command you men 
 of gentle blood have ever held that age, in 
 man or woman, is entitled to honour. 
 
 ' And, to conclude, since I am loathsome as 
 well as old, you will be in no danger that any 
 one will seduce away your wife. Now, there- 
 fore, choose one of these two things : to have 
 me old and ugly till my death ; to be to you a 
 true and humble wife, and never to displease 
 you during the whole course of my life : or to 
 have me young and beautiful, and to take 
 your chance of the temptation that will befall 
 me from the great resort that will throng to 
 your house on my account.' 
 
 The Knight bethought him, sighed; and 
 then said; 'My dear wife, I place myself
 
 COTJET OF KING AETHUE. 185 
 
 under your wise direction : choose that which 
 shall be most pleasant to yourself; at the 
 same time befitting my honour as well as 
 your own.' 
 
 ' Then have I gained the mastery,' said she, 
 ' since I may choose and govern according to 
 my inclination ! ' 
 
 ' Even so,' said he, ' I hold it best.' 
 
 'Now, then,' she replied, 'throw aside all 
 your anger against me, and kiss me, for by my 
 honour I will be to you both beautiful and 
 true. Moreover, may I be utterly condemned, 
 if I prove not as good and faithful a wife as 
 ever this world saw ; and, on the morrow, as 
 fair to see as any Lady or Empress betwixt 
 east and west. Draw the curtains, and behold 
 half my promise.' 
 
 When the Knight saw the fulfilment of this 
 marvel, that she was both young and exceed- 
 ingly handsome, for joy he took her in his 
 arms, and kissed her a thousand and a thou- 
 sand times. His heart was bathed in bliss ; 
 and so they lived to their lives' end; she 
 obeying him in all things, and making his 
 pleasure her happiness.
 
 136 THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE : 
 
 And so may we all have young and gentle 
 husbands ; and may such be quickly removed 
 as will not be governed by their wives. As 
 for your old and churlish niggards, Heaven 
 reward them with a pestilence.
 
 THE CLERK'S TALE. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 ' GOOD Master Clerk of Oxford,' said our host, 
 ' why, you ride there as still and coy as a 
 young maid at her bridal feast ! Not a word, 
 I vow, has passed your lips the whole of this 
 day. I would wager, now, that your brain is 
 weaving some sophism or other : but as Solo- 
 mon says, "There is a time for everything." 
 So cheer up, man ! t his is no time for studying. 
 You have consented to take a part in our 
 play, and therefore, needs must be thinking 
 of the character you have undertaken to per- 
 form. Come, then, tell us some merry tale ; 
 and for mercy's sake do not make it like a 
 Lent sermon, bidding us bewail in sackcloth 
 our sins and offences of the past year ; or like
 
 188 THE CLEEK'S TALE : 
 
 many other sermons, drone us to sleep. Give 
 us a lively history of adventures ; and, as for 
 your colouring and rhetorical nourishes, keep 
 them by you snug and warm till you are called 
 upon to indite some high style, as when men 
 address the presence of royalty. Upon the 
 present occasion I would beseech you to be 
 plain and simple in your matter, that the 
 homely part of your audience may understand 
 the whole of your discourse.' 
 
 Our worthy collegian courteously answered ; 
 1 (rood host, I acknowledge your power and 
 supremacy, and am prepared to obey you ac- 
 cording to my ability. I will tell you a tale, 
 which I learned at Padua, of a renowned and 
 noble scholar and poet the laureat PETRARCH, 
 (now, alas ! in his grave) who, with his choice 
 rhetoric and poetry, illumined all Italy ; as 
 the famous LINIAN J did with his philosophy. 
 But Death, " the common end of all, who will 
 come when he will come," has snatched them 
 both away, as it were in the twinkling of 
 an eye. 
 
 1 A.n eminent lawyer and philosopher, who lived in the 
 fourteenth century.
 
 STORY OF GEISELDA. 189 
 
 'To return, however, to this great man 
 (Petrarch) who taught me the story I propose 
 relating to you, he has prefaced it in a high 
 strain of eloquence by a description of the 
 territory of Piedmont, with the rich district 
 of Saluzzo, together with the swelling Ap- 
 penines, that form the boundary of West 
 Lombardy; including, in his account, the 
 Mount Viso, from whose region the river Po, 
 in a feeble spring, first takes its course east- 
 ward, towards the Emilian way, Verara and 
 Venice, gaining strength and magnitude as it 
 rolls along : all which, in the original work, 
 however beautiful in itself, appears to me 
 unconnected with the purpose in hand ; except, 
 indeed, that he skilfully contrives to make it 
 lead to the matter of his history : and, there- 
 fore it is that I have slightly alluded to his 
 description, because it forms the scene of the 
 tale you are now to hear.'
 
 190 THE CLERK S TALE : 
 
 THE STORY OF THE, 
 
 MAEQUIS OF SALUZZO AND HIS 
 WIFE G/KISELDA. 
 
 ON the west side of Italy at the foot of Mount 
 Viso is situated a fertile plain, interspersed 
 with thriving and populous towns, and fair 
 castles, built ages ago. The name of this 
 district is Saluzzo. It was formerly governed 
 by a Marquis, who held his dominion by a 
 long right of succession ; and his subjects, 
 both high and low, were bound in fealty to 
 attend his summons, whether in war or peace. 
 So discreet was he in his government (with 
 one or two exceptions in his conduct) that 
 he was beloved and feared by all, gentle and 
 simple. He was a man of graceful person, 
 vigorous constitution, in the prime of life 
 and full of honour and courtesy. His family 
 was of so pure and noble a descent, that not 
 one in all Lombardy could compare with him
 
 STORY OF GEISELDA. 191 
 
 in gentleness of blood. The name of this 
 young nobleman was Walter. 
 
 The indiscretions in his conduct to which I 
 have alluded, were, that he was too prone to 
 gratify the desires of the present moment, 
 without regard to the future : and so great 
 was his delight in hawking and hunting, that 
 the graver cares and duties of life were not 
 sufficiently regarded. But what, in the minds 
 of his subjects, gave cause for the greatest 
 uneasiness, was, that he could by no per- 
 suasions be induced to take a wife ; and, con- 
 sequently, they feared that the noble line in 
 which they took so great a pride, should 
 become extinct in case of his death, and that 
 the government, under which they had ever 
 lived in great felicity, might pass into the 
 hands of a stranger : they therefore petitioned 
 him to take the matter into his consideration ; 
 and that for the good of his people, he would 
 allow them to propose for him, or himself 
 select for wife, a lady, the best and gentlest 
 born in all the land. 
 
 The Marquis listened to their petition with 
 much kindness of manner, and answered, that
 
 192 THE CLEEK'S TALE : 
 
 although he had never thought to be restricted 
 within the bonds of matrimony, yet, for the 
 welfare and safe government of his people, 
 that he would consent to choose for himself a 
 wife upon the earliest occasion. 'And now,' 
 he concluded, ' I charge you on your lives to 
 assure me, that whoever I may think fit to 
 wed, you will, during her whole life, bear her 
 all honour and worship, both in word and 
 work, as though she were the daughter of an 
 Emperor. And farthermore,' said he, ' this 
 shall ye swear, that ye will never murmur at 
 the choice I may make, from what condition 
 soever of life she may be taken ; for since at 
 your requests I consent to forego my liberty, 
 wherever I fix my heart, there shall be my 
 partner for life. Grant me this condition, or 
 I dismiss the matter altogether.' They heartily 
 made oath to abide by his decree, and de- 
 parted, beseeching him to appoint an early 
 day for his nuptials, which request, to their 
 great satisfaction, he granted, and fixed a 
 certain day for the ceremony: at the same 
 time he gave orders to the officers of his 
 household to make full preparation in honour 
 of the solemnity.
 
 STORY OP GRISELDA. 193 
 
 Not far from the palace of the Marquis 
 stood a village, pleasantly situated, which sup- 
 plied ample provision both for the inhabitants 
 and cattle in its neighbourhood. Among the 
 poor folk of this village lived one, named 
 Janicola, who was accounted the poorest of 
 them all, and he had a fair daughter, called 
 Grriselda. Fair she was to behold; but if I 
 were to speak of virtuous beauty, then was 
 she the fairest under the sun. Poorly and 
 humbly brought up, her wants were all of the 
 simplest nature. Simple was her diet, and 
 constantly laborious was her life. Yet, though 
 this young creature was of a tender age, 
 within her virgin breast was enclosed a grave 
 and mature spirit. Her poor old father she 
 cherished with great love and reverence ; she 
 tended his sheep in the field, and her only 
 hours of idleness were her hours of sleep. 
 
 The Marquis, as he rode out hunting, had 
 frequently fixed his eyes upon Grriselda ; not 
 in an idle or wanton humour, but with a 
 grave and musing look ; commending in his 
 heart her womanly air and modest demeanour, 
 her goodness and dutiful conduct as a daughter :
 
 194 THE CLERK'S TALE : 
 
 and he thought that if ever he should wed at 
 all, he would marry her only. 
 
 The wedding day had arrived, and no one 
 could guess who was destined to be the bride ; 
 which made his subjects conclude that their 
 Lord was still beguiling them. Notwithstand- 
 ing their doubts and surmises, however, he had 
 given orders, on Grriselda's account, for various 
 ornaments and jewels, set in gold and azure, 
 such as rings and brooches meet for a bridal 
 array. And for her clothing, measure was 
 taken of a young maiden most resembling her 
 in height and shape. Towards noon of the 
 wedding-day, when the chambers of the palace 
 and the bridal feast were all prepared, the Mar- 
 quis, in rich apparel, with all the lords and 
 ladies in his company who were invited to the 
 feast, and all his retinue of knights, attended 
 by musicians, playing sweet melodies, took his 
 way to the village I have described. 
 
 Grriselda, perfectly innocent heaven knows 
 of the thought that all this display was pre- 
 pared for her, had been to a well for water, 
 and was returning home as quickly as she 
 could, in order that she might have sight of the
 
 STORY OF GEISELDA. 195 
 
 ceremony, and of the expected and unknown 
 Marchioness. So while she was standing on the 
 threshold of her own door, surrounded by her 
 village companions, the Marquis drew near and 
 called her out by name. Immediately she set 
 down her water-pot in an ox's stall close by the 
 threshold, and on her knees before the Lord, 
 with a s:>ber and steady look, waited his com- 
 mand. 
 
 The Marquis, in a sedate and thoughtful 
 tone, asked where her father was. ' My Lord,' 
 said she, ' he is ready here to do your will : ' 
 and, without farther delay, she led him forth. 
 Then, taking this poor man aside by the hand, 
 he said : ' Janicola ! I can no longer conceal 
 the pleasant wish of my heart : if you consent, 
 I will, before I leave this place, take your 
 daughter for my wife until my life's end. As 
 my faithful liegeman, I know your attachment 
 and love for me ; say then, do you accept my 
 proposal to become your son-in-law ? ' 
 
 The suddenness of this appeal so amazed 
 poor Janicola, that, blushing with confusion 
 and abashment, he stood trembling in the pre- 
 sence of his liege Lord ; and all he could answer 
 o 2
 
 196 THE CLEEK'S TALE : 
 
 was : ' My true and dear Lord ! I have no 
 will in this matter order according to your 
 own will and pleasure.' 'Then,' said the 
 Marquis in a low and mild voice, ' I wish to 
 have a conference with you both within doors ; 
 for I would know from her own mouth, and 
 before you, her father, whether it be her free 
 will to become my wife, and subject to my 
 dominion. All this shall be done in your pre- 
 sence ; and no word will I say to her out of 
 your hearing.' While the three were arranging 
 the conditions within, the neighbours flocked 
 about the house, talking together of the duti- 
 ful and loving behaviour of Grilselda towards her 
 father, and of her honest and simple bearing to 
 all, while she, unaccustomed to the presence 
 of such a guest, and in such a place, stood pale 
 and wondering at the event. To end the affair, 
 however, as shortly as possible, the Marquis 
 turned to this gentle and very faithful crea- 
 ture, and said : ' Griselda, it pleases your fa- 
 ther and myself that I should take you to be 
 my wife ; and I think you will not reject our 
 wishes. Yet, since our union must be con- 
 cluded hastily, bethink yourself whether you
 
 THE CLERK'S TALE, 
 
 ' The Marquis turned to this gentle and very faithful creature, 
 and said : " Griselda, it pleases your father and myself that I 
 should take you to be my wife ; and I think you will not reject our 
 wishes.'"
 
 STORY OP GRISELDA. 197 
 
 can assent to the following questions which I 
 would first ask of you. Are you prepared with 
 a good heart to yield yourself to my will and 
 pleasure, whether it bring you joy or sorrow ? 
 "Will you, without grudge, either by word or 
 look, gainsay the least or greatest of my com- 
 mands ? Pledge me this, and here I confirm 
 our alliance.' 
 
 Wondering at all this, and trembling with 
 fear and anxiety, she said, ' My Lord ! un- 
 worthy as I am of the high honour you intend 
 me, I here declare loth as I am to die that 
 I will endure that extremity rather than dis- 
 obey you willingly either in thought or deed.' 
 ' This is enough,' said he ; ' then are you my 
 own Griselda ; ' and leading her forth to the 
 people, he proclaimed her to them as his wife, 
 desiring all who were attached to his own per- 
 son and family to honour, love, and obey her. 
 And as it was his wish that she should not 
 appear at the palace in her mean attire, he 
 ordered some of the women in his retinue to 
 assist in spoiling her of those peasant's weeds, 
 a task the ladies were not blithe to execute, as 
 somewhat disdaining to handle her lowly gear ;
 
 198 THE GLEBE'S TALE : 
 
 notwithstanding, however, this fresh and lovely 
 maiden came forth from their hands, from head 
 to foot, both in mind and body worthy of her 
 strange advancement. With their courtly and 
 delicate ringers they tressed up her rudely flow- 
 ing hair, binding it with a richly-jewelled 
 crown, and all her robes and dresses were stud- 
 ded and knit together with precious stones and 
 ornaments of gold, so that the people scarcely 
 knew their poor companion in her splendid 
 transformation. 
 
 The Marquis confirmed his pledge upon the 
 spot by placing on her finger the bridal ring, 
 and forward they paced to the palace ; she 
 being mounted upon a snow-white palfrey, the 
 joyful populace following and welcoming; while 
 some held her horse's bridle, others looked 
 upon her face to see how she sustained her sud- 
 den honours : and so the day was passed in 
 gladness, feasting, and revelry. 
 
 I would not willingly delay the current of 
 my stoiy ; but it is to my purpose here to tell 
 you, that so bountifully had heaven showered 
 its grace and favour upon this new Marchio- 
 ness, that so far from betraying the lowliness of
 
 STORY OF GRISELDA. 199 
 
 her birth, her discreet deportment would have 
 honoured the daughter of an Emperor. They 
 who had known her from her infancy could 
 scarcely bring their minds to conceive that she 
 was the homely child of old Janicola ; and 
 though she was in her former condition ever 
 virtuous and kind, yet so had her excellent 
 qualities increased, so full of bounty, so dis- 
 creet, and sweet of speech, so courteous, and 
 worthy of reverence, and so ready to embrace 
 the hearts of all, that no one could look upon 
 her face and not love her. The fame of her 
 high bounty had spread so far and wide, that 
 all ranks, young and old, went to Saluzzo only 
 to behold her. 
 
 Thus, Walter, not lowly, but royally wed- 
 ded, lived in peace and honour ; and because 
 he had the sense to discern honest virtue in a 
 mean estate, he enjoyed the rare credit of being 
 esteemed by all a prudent man. Not only, 
 however, was the understanding of Grriselda 
 equal to every wifely accomplishment, but when 
 the case required it, she could dispose herself 
 for the common benefit. During her husband's 
 absence, every rancour and discord among the
 
 200 THE CLEEK'S TALE : 
 
 people she would with her sagacity, and placid 
 demeanour and persuasiveness, smooth into 
 peace and goodwill. So wise and ripe was her 
 discourse, and her judgment so equitable, that 
 the people would say, she was sent from heaven 
 to redress the wrongs of mankind. 
 
 To the great joy of all, in due time Gri- 
 selda presented her husband with a daughter. 
 
 During the suckling of this babe, it entered 
 the mind of the Marquis to put his wife upon 
 some severe trials that he might prove her 
 steadfastness of heart : a needless course, how- 
 ever some may praise its subtleness of purpose, 
 for he had already assayed, and found her ever 
 good and true : evil, therefore, must be the 
 thought, that, without cause, could put a wife 
 to the anguish of trial. Nevertheless, he acted 
 as you shall hear. One night, as she lay in 
 bed, he approached her with a stern and trou- 
 bled face, and said: 'I presume, Griselda, 
 you have not forgotten the day on which I 
 took you from your humble plight, and raised 
 you to the highest rank of nobility I say, you 
 have not lost sight of your former humbleness 
 of condition ; take heed, then, of what I am
 
 STOUT OF GEISELDA. 201 
 
 now about to say to you. You are yourself 
 aware how, not long ago, you entered this pa- 
 lace ; and though to my heart you have been 
 ever dear, yet are you not acceptable to my 
 nobles, who chafe at and grudge their becom- 
 ing subject to one of your low origin ; and 
 these heart-burnings have increased since the 
 birth of your child. Since, therefore, it has 
 ever been my care to live at peace with my 
 people, I cannot in the present case be regard- 
 less of that duty, but must dispose of your 
 child, not as I would, but as my nobles please. 
 Greatly, heaven knows, as I abhor this course, 
 yet I would do nothing without your know- 
 ledge ; although, at the same time, I require 
 the performance of your marriage vow, that 
 on this occasion you show the patience of your 
 spirit by yielding yourself to my will.' 
 
 When she had heard this dreadful speech, 
 with a steady voice and unshaken aspect, she 
 said, 'My Lord! my child and I, with full 
 obedience on my part, are all your own you 
 may cherish or abandon your own property. 
 And, as the good Grod shall protect me, I de- 
 clare that no creature wearing your form can
 
 202 THE CLEUK'S TALE : 
 
 ever distress or change my heart. I desire 
 nothing, and I dread to lose nothing, yourself 
 alone excepted ; this thought is rooted in my 
 heart, and it shall ever remain so : neither 
 length of time nor death itself can deface or 
 change the courage of my purpose.' 
 
 The Marquis secretly rejoiced at her answer, 
 but he feigned otherwise ; and leaving the 
 chamber with a sorrowful air, he privately con- 
 ferred with a dependant, whom he possessed of 
 his intention, and sent to the apartment of his 
 wife. This commoner was a sort of sergeant, 
 who had heretofore been found trustworthy in 
 important matters such agents, we know, can 
 also at times be equally faithful in a cruel 
 errand. The Lord well knew that he both 
 loved and feared him ; so when the fellow had 
 received his orders, he silently stalked into the 
 room. 
 
 'Madam,' said he, 'it is not for one like 
 me to inform you of our hard necessity to obey 
 in all things the will of our Lords ; and you 
 must forgive me, who am constrained to do 
 that which of my own free will I would re- 
 fuse. I am commanded to take away this
 
 STORY OP GEISELDA. 203 
 
 child.' He said no more, but roughly seizing 
 the babe, behaved as though he would have 
 slain it before its mother's face. Grriselda, who 
 was doomed to endure all, and to consent to all, 
 sat still and meek as a lamb, and let the cruel 
 sergeant pursue his course. At length, how- 
 ever, she gently entreated the man (as though 
 he had been one of noble birth) that she might 
 kiss her child before it died : and so, with 
 woful face, she laid its little body in her lap ; 
 and lulling it, and kissing it, and with a mo- 
 ther's heart yearning for the blessing of its 
 safety, she said with her soft and benign voice 
 ' Farewell, my child ! I shall behold you no 
 more. To that Father, with whose cross I have 
 marked you, do I commend your sinless soul.' 
 Then, turning to the sergeant, she meekly said, 
 ' Now take your infant charge, and follow my 
 Lord's commands ; but oh ! if they be for 
 death, one thing I entreat at your hands, that 
 you would bury its little body beyond the vio- 
 lation of beasts and carrion fowl :' so constant 
 was this mother in her adversity. The man 
 returned no answer to her petition, but, taking 
 up the child, went back to his Lord, and told
 
 204 THE CLEKK'S TALE : 
 
 him all he had heard and seen ; who, indeed, 
 began to repent his sternness ; but, with the 
 wilful steadiness of one who had never known 
 control, he persisted in his cruel purpose ; and 
 ordered the sergeant, upon pain of death, not 
 to disclose the least circumstance of the affair, 
 but carefully to take the infant to his sister, 
 the Countess di Panico, at that time living in 
 Bologna, beseeching her to foster it with every 
 regard to the gentleness of its birth ; bid- 
 ding her also, whatever might happen, to con- 
 ceal from every one the name of its parents. 
 The sergeant departed to fulfil his errand : and 
 now we will return to the Marquis, who was 
 busily curious to discover whether in word or 
 demeanour any change were wrought in his 
 wife ; but he still found her the same kind and 
 staid Grriselda; as humble, as ready both in 
 love and duty was she in all respects ; nor did 
 she even speak of her child. From that dread- 
 ful day no accident or sting of adversity could 
 bring the name of her daughter to pass her 
 lips. 
 
 Four years had now elapsed when Grriselda 
 gladdened the heart of her husband, and ful-
 
 STORY OP GRISELDA. 205 
 
 filled the wishes of his people, by giving them 
 an heir to the Marquisate. All went on pros- 
 perously, the child increased in strength and 
 beauty of form ; it was the delight of its pa- 
 rents, and the pride of its future subjects ; all 
 seemed satisfied all happy. All seemed, but 
 all were not happy; for at the age of two 
 years, when the nurse's duty had ceased, and 
 that this tender seedling had begun to shoot its 
 little roots deeply, and more and more firmly 
 every day to twine about the heart of its mo- 
 ther, the demon of temptation and mistrust 
 again possessed the mind of that wilful and 
 unrelenting husband. How hardly can men 
 restrain the wantonness of power when a pa- 
 tient creature is subjected to its control ! 
 
 ' Griselda ! ' said he, ' I have already made 
 known to you that the people look with an evil 
 eye upon our marriage ; and since the birth of 
 my sjii this discontent has increased. The 
 constant talk now is, ' When the reigning 
 Marquis dies, we shall have the blood of the 
 pauper Janicola to be our Lord, and to rule 
 over us.' These murmurs, as you may sup- 
 pose, cut me to the heart : I cannot but see
 
 206 THE CLERK'S TALE : 
 
 their dissatisfaction ; and though I do not hear, 
 I am made to know the cause of their offence. 
 As, therefore, it is the desire of my heart to 
 reign in peace, I have resolved to remove my 
 son and dispose of him as I formerly did of 
 his sister ; of which determination I give you 
 warning, in order that you may be prepared 
 for the event, and not give way to any sudden 
 grief, but endure all my decrees with your pro- 
 mised patience and steadfastness.' 
 
 ' I have said,' she replied, ' and I will never 
 repeal my oath, that nothing which you may 
 command will I gainsay. Though my children 
 be both slain, you are my Lord and their Lord, 
 and may do with your own as you list : their 
 mother has had no part in their lot, but pain 
 in the first instance, and unavailing sorrow 
 ever after. As when I first left my home to 
 come to you, I left my all, even to my cloth- 
 ing; so I then left my will and my liberty 
 when I put on your array. Follow, therefore, 
 the inclination of your heart. If I had the 
 prescience to know that my death would give 
 you ease, of a surety would I die forthwith 
 Death can bear no comparison with my love.'
 
 STORY OF GEISELDA. 207. 
 
 When he beheld the patience of his wife, he 
 cast down his eyes, wondering at her constancy, 
 yet glad at heart : with a show of sorrow, how- 
 ever, in his countenance, he left the room. His 
 place was supplied by the same ill-looking mi- 
 nion that had performed his master's former 
 hateful errand ; who seized her lovely child and 
 bore it away amid the blessings and embraces of 
 its mother ; yet carrying it tenderly, as he did 
 its sister, to the Countess at Bologna. 
 
 It is not to be supposed that these acts on the 
 part of the Marquis were executed in so secret 
 a corner but that the vileness of their odour 
 bewrayed itself. The slander against him had 
 begun to spread far and wide, that, wickedly, 
 and with a cruel heart, he had first taken to 
 wife a woman in poverty, and had afterwards 
 privately murdered her children. He then, 
 who had been the idol of his people, now 
 became the object of their abhorrence. Not- 
 withstanding all which fearful rumour (and 
 the stigma of murderer is the heaviest load that 
 can be thrown upon a man's conscience), such 
 was the cruelty of his purpose, and the deter- 
 mination of his obstinacy, that he would not
 
 208 THE CLEKK'S TALE: 
 
 relax a jot from pursuing to its utmost extent 
 the plan he had formed for proving the faith- 
 fulness of this gentle and already too mild- 
 conditioned woman. 
 
 When his daughter had reached the age of 
 twelve years, he privately commissioned the 
 same messenger to draw up papers, counterfeit- 
 ing a Bull from the Pope at Eome, sanctioning 
 a dissolution of the bonds of marriage between 
 himself and Griselda, upon the plea that it 
 had been the cause of rancour and dissension 
 between the people and him, their ruler. The 
 rude commonalty, who are seldom slow to be 
 deceived, gave ear to the proclamation, and 
 (no wonder) thought it was all true. But when 
 the tidings were brought to Grriselda, she was 
 smitten to the heart with the new and un- 
 looked for cruelty of the blow; yet, like a 
 lamb, she abided in dumb anguish the bitter- 
 ness of this unpitying storm, nor ever once 
 let a word of upbraiding fall from her lips. 
 
 To draw as shortly as possible to the conclu- 
 sion of my tale, the Marquis secretly sent a 
 letter to his brother-in-law, the Count di Panico, 
 requesting him to bring home again, openly,
 
 STOET OF GRISELDA, 209 
 
 and with all the pomp due to their estate, both 
 the children that had been placed under his 
 protection ; but on no account to disclose any 
 other circumstance respecting them, than that 
 the maiden was destined to become the new 
 bride of the Marquis di Saluzzo. 1 The Count 
 strictly fulfilled his brother's commission, and, 
 upon a day appointed, set forth towards Saluzzo 
 with his young charge and her brother, at that 
 time only seven years of age ; the former gor- 
 geously arrayed, and attended by a numerous 
 and honourable retinue. 
 
 Notwithstanding all this wicked usage, the 
 Marquis determined still farther to prove ut- 
 terly the courage and forbearance of his wife. 
 I need not ask the women whether she had not 
 given him sufficient proof of a virtuous love and 
 steady devotion ; but you will bear in mind 
 that in the opening of my story I told you, 
 when describing the faults in his character, 
 ' that he was too prone to gratify the desires 
 of the present moment, without regard to the 
 
 1 The young reader is doubtless aware that in Italy fetrales 
 are disposed in marriage at an age when in this country they 
 would scarcely have quitted the nursery. 
 P
 
 210 THE CLERK'S TALE: 
 
 future ; ' add to which, that he was as firm in 
 fulfilling the object of those desires, as she was 
 patient and constant in her oath of obedience. 
 Consequently, upon a certain day, in the open 
 audience of his whole Court, he delivered to her, 
 in a stern and boisterous tone, the following 
 declaration. 
 
 'Although I acknowledge, Ohiselda, the 
 great comfort I have experienced in your truth, 
 goodness, and obedience, since we have been 
 husband and wife (though not in the quality 
 of your lineage, or in the wealth I took with 
 you), yet now I find, of a sad truth, that 
 loftiness of birth and dignity of station are 
 burthened with a heavy and dreary servitude. 
 I may not act like the meanest hind in my 
 domains ; but all my people, strengthened by 
 this order from the Pope, daily require of me 
 to take another wife ; to which constraint I 
 have so far yielded, that it has become necessary 
 to inform you that my new bride, your suc- 
 cessor, is now on her road to Saluzzo. Be there- 
 fore strong of heart, and void her place. All 
 the dowry you brought me, I give back again 
 prosperity never flows in an unbroken cur-
 
 STORY OF URISELDA. 211 
 
 rent ; return, therefore, to your father's house, 
 and strive to bear with an even heart this 
 stroke of fortune.' 
 
 She answered him in a tone of patience that 
 was a marvel to the whole assembly : ' My 
 Lord, I know, and have always felt, that no 
 comparison can be drawn between my poverty 
 and your magnificence. At no time did I ever 
 esteem myself higher in degree of worth than 
 to be your chamber-woman : and in this palace, 
 of which you exalted me to be the lady, I take 
 heaven to witness, and am now glad I did so, 
 that I never considered myself the mistress of 
 it, but the dutiful minister to your worthiness : 
 and this, above every other earthly creature, I 
 shall ever continue to be. That in your graci- 
 ousness you so long retained me in a state of 
 honour and nobility, of which I was unworthy, 
 I thank both God and you, and hope he may 
 bountifully repay it you. I willingly return to 
 my father, and with him will end my days. In 
 that cot was I fostered from my tenderest child- 
 hood ; there will I pass the remainder of my 
 life a widow, clean in her conduct, and with 
 an unupbraiding heart. And since I gave to
 
 212 THE CLERK'S TALE : 
 
 you all I could give, and came a spotless mai- 
 den, and am your true wife, heaven forbid that 
 the wife of such a Lord should be united to 
 another husband. As regards your new bride, 
 I pray for your happiness and prosperity : I 
 freely yield her that place where I was wont 
 to be so blessed : for since it is your pleasure, 
 my Lord (who wert formerly the home in which 
 my heart had nestled), that I should depart, 
 I am ready to go when you command. But 
 when you offer to restore such dowry as I first 
 brought, too well do I bear in mind that it was 
 my wretched clothes Oh ! good Grod ! how gen- 
 tle and kind you seemed by your speech and 
 your countenance on the day of our marriage ! 
 True it is, and I find it so, for in myself I have 
 proved the effect, that love when old is not the 
 same as love when it is young. Yet, be sure, 
 my Lord, that for no adversity, even were it to 
 die upon this occasion, shall it ever be, that 
 either in word or deed, I repent of having 
 given you my whole heart, freely, and without 
 reserve. 
 
 4 My Lord, you know that in my father's 
 h,ut you stripped rne of my lowly weeds, and
 
 STORY OP GEISELDA. 213 
 
 clad me in an array suitable to my altered for- 
 tune : to you I brought nothing but faith, and 
 nakedness, and a maidenly purity : here again 
 I restore your clothing, and your wedding-ring 
 for ever. The remnant of your jewels are in 
 your chamber. Naked I came from my father's 
 house, and naked must I return. Yet I would 
 hope that it is not your intention to send me 
 forth utterly destitute : you could not do so 
 dishonest a thing as to expose her who had 
 borne your children to the stare of the ruthless 
 multitude let me not like a worm go by the 
 way remember, however unworthy, I was 
 your wife. Therefore, in return for that un- 
 spotted chastity the only dowry I could bring 
 to you vouchsafe to me the simple under gar- 
 ment I was wont to wear. And now, my Lord, 
 I take my leave.' 
 
 ' The under-coat,' said he, ' which is now 
 upon your back, you may take away with you : ' 
 but scarcely had he spoken the words than he 
 left the place, for he could not look upon her 
 for compassion. In the presence of the Court 
 she stripped herself of her noble robes, and in 
 her under-dress, bare-headed and bare-footed,
 
 214 THE GLEBE'S TALE: 
 
 set forward towards her father's house : the 
 people following, weeping, and cursing fortune 
 as they went along : while she maintained her 
 womanly courage, and with dry eyes never 
 once uttered a word. Her father, who heard 
 the tidings of her usage, bitterly lamented the 
 day of his birth. For this poor old man had 
 ever mistrusted their marriage ; suspecting, 
 from the first, that when the Lord was weary 
 of his fancy, he would begin to think it a 
 disparagement to his estate to have stooped 
 so low, and would dismiss her upon the first 
 occasion. He went out hastily to meet her, 
 for he knew by the coil of the populace that 
 she was coming, and covered her with her 
 peasant's dress, the tears all the while stream- 
 ing down his old face. 
 
 Thus dwelt for some time with her father 
 this flower of wifely patience ; who neither by 
 word or look, before the people, gave notice 
 of the offence she had received, or any token 
 that she remembered her former high estate ; 
 and no wonder, for even then she was ever 
 humble. She affected no delicacy or tender- 
 ness of person no pomp no show of royalty ;
 
 STORY OF GEISELDA. 215 
 
 but was full of patient kindness ; discreet and 
 honourable ; and meek and constant to her 
 husband. Our writers have praised Job above 
 all men for his humility; but though they 
 have said little in behalf of women for the 
 steadiness of their truth, no man can acquit 
 himself in humility like a woman ; or show 
 half a woman's constancy. 
 
 The Count di Panico having set out from 
 Bologna, the report was spread abroad that he 
 was bringing with him a new Marchioness in 
 such pomp and splendour as had never been 
 seen before in all West Lombardy. Before 
 the arrival of the Count, the Marquis sent for 
 poor Griselda ; who, with that never-failing 
 cheerfulness of countenance which sprang from 
 the excess of her love, and because she should 
 again see his face, and not from any swollen, 
 selfish thought of a favourable change in her 
 condition, instantly obeyed his summons, and 
 on her knees greeted him with reverence and 
 discretion. 
 
 ' Griselda,' said he, ' it is my will and plea- 
 sure that the lady, whom I am about to marry, 
 should be received to-morrow at my palace
 
 216 THE CLERK'S TALE: 
 
 with every distinction of royalty ; and there- 
 fore would I have each attendant, according 
 to his office and rank, perfect in the fulfilment 
 of his duty. As I have no female so well 
 acquainted as yourself with my taste and 
 fancy in the arranging of my apartments (for 
 you have long been accustomed to consult my 
 pleasure in that respect), I have sent for you 
 to superintend this part of the general prepa- 
 ration. And though the fashion and quality 
 of your dress is unsuited to the sphere of a 
 .Court, that may be excused, since it will not 
 interfere with the performance of that duty 
 which I know you will use for my satis- 
 faction.' 
 
 ' Not only my Lord,' said she, ' am I free 
 and willing to perform your commands ; but 
 it is the desire of my heart to serve and please 
 you without fainting and without repinement. 
 Neither in weal nor woe shall I ever cease to 
 love you with the truest intention, above the 
 whole world.' And with that word she set 
 about her task of ordering, superintending, 
 and arranging the suites of rooms. 
 
 About noon the Count, with the two children,
 
 STORY OF GRISELDA. 217 
 
 arrived before the palace gate, the populace 
 crowding round to see the cavalcade, and the 
 rich quality of all the furniture ; the greater 
 part of them talking among themselves in 
 praise of the Marquis's wisdom in changing 
 his wife ; ' for not only,' said they, ' is this 
 new one younger and more beautiful than 
 Griselda, but she is of gentle birth, and her 
 offspring will be more agreeable to us.' Then 
 the handsome face of her little brother de- 
 lighted them ; and, to crown all, they, who 
 shortly before traduced him as a murderer, 
 were now unanimous in applauding his govern- 
 ment. Thus has it ever been with you, mis- 
 judging multitude ! unstable as the veering 
 vane ! indiscreet, unfaithful ! ever seeking 
 something new. Your applause is purchased 
 dearly enough at the price of a mite : your 
 judgment is false and hollow ; and your con- 
 stancy a rope of sand. Fool, indeed, is he 
 who places confidence in you. So it was 
 with the poor gazing creatures of Saluzzo ; 
 the novelty of having another Marchioness 
 no matter the price of injustice at whicli 
 she was purchased changed at once their
 
 218 THE GLEBE'S TALE : 
 
 discontent to satisfaction. But I will turn to 
 a pleasanter subject the zeal and constancy 
 of Grriselda. 
 
 Active in everything that could tend to 
 forward the entertainment, she was the wonder 
 and astonishment of all the household, who 
 shortly before had received her commands as a 
 mistress, yet delivered in the same mild and 
 even tone. And when the guests arrived, she 
 was seen in her peasant's dress, receiving each, 
 according to their station, with a simple dig- 
 nity and discretion which surprised them all, 
 when they considered her poor appointment, 
 ignorant as they were of her former quality. 
 Nor did she even refrain from praising the 
 beauty of the young maiden and her brother. 
 At length, when the company had sat down to 
 the feast, the Marquis sent for her, and in a 
 sporting tone enquired how she approved of 
 the beauty of his new wife. ' My Lord,' said 
 she, ' I never beheld a fairer lady ; hap- 
 piness and prosperity attend you both to the 
 end of your lives. One thing allow me, I 
 beseech you ; which is, to warn you against 
 tormenting this tender maiden, as it has been
 
 STOUT OF GEISELDA. 219 
 
 your will to distress me ; for she has been 
 softly fostered, and cannot undergo the trials 
 of adversity like one who, in early life, had 
 striven with poverty and rude labour.' 
 
 At length, when Walter found that her 
 patient and untroubled spirit triumphed over 
 every offence that could be offered to her, and 
 that she remained firm in her innocence, and 
 unshaken as a wall, his sturdy heart began to 
 melt, in thinking of all her wifely steadfast- 
 ness; and breaking forth into a passionate 
 strain of admiration ' Enough ! enough ! my 
 own Griselda,' said he, ' no longer shall you be 
 terrified with violence and unkindness : I have 
 tried your faith and benignity, as never woman 
 was tried, both in high estate and in poverty. 
 Now do I, indeed, know that you are truth 
 itself.' And then he caught her in his arms, 
 and kissed her very affectionately ; while the 
 gentle creature herself appeared like one sud- 
 denly aroused from sleep ; she regarded not 
 his caresses ; she heard nothing of his speech ; 
 and when her senses had somewhat recovered, 
 he said to her ' Griselda ! by the great and 
 good God, who suffered for our transgressions,
 
 220 THE CLERK'S TALE: 
 
 you are still my wife I have no other have 
 had no other, and shall have no other. This 
 maiden whom you supposed to be my wife is 
 your daughter, and this, her brother, shall 
 inherit my kingdom. Truly and lawfully did 
 you bear them to me ; and all this time have 
 I kept them privately with my sister, at 
 Bologna. Take them again, and be assured 
 you have not been unnaturally bereft of your 
 offspring. And now, let those who have 
 deemed otherwise of my conduct be informed, 
 that with no malice or wilful cruelty have I 
 acted as I did, but to make trial of your 
 womanly virtue not to murder your children 
 Heaven forbid ! but to secrete them till I 
 knew the temper of your heart.' 
 
 When she had heard this speech, the great 
 flood of joy that burst upon her amazed senses, 
 together with the suddenness of the change, 
 so wrought upon her tender frame, that she 
 swooned at his feet. And when she recovered, 
 she called her children to her, and taking 
 them in her arms, piteously weeping, she 
 embraced them over and over again, tenderly 
 kissing them with those motherly lips ; and
 
 STOBY OF GEISELDA, 221 
 
 all the while the tears streamed over their 
 hair and faces. Oh ! it was an affecting thing 
 to have seen her helpless insensibility, and 
 then to hear again her meek and cordial 
 voice ! 
 
 ' Gramercy, my good Lord and husband ! 
 may Grod repay thee with thanks, that thou 
 hast spared to me our dear children. Seeing 
 that I thus stand in thy gracious favour, I feel 
 that I could joyfully give up my life ; and 
 if it be (rod's will, never at a more blissful 
 season than when I know that they, for whom 
 I sorrowed, have been saved from an early 
 grave. 
 
 ' Oh my dear young children ; your woful 
 mother had no other thought than that you 
 had been left a prey to some foul vermin ' 
 and with those words her senses failed again ; 
 yet, all the while, she held them so closely in 
 her embrace, that they were separated only 
 by force : while those who stood around wept 
 many a tear for pity. At length the voice of 
 her husband and the subsiding of her sorrow 
 restored her, and she arose, abashed at having 
 exposed the feebleness of her nature. All
 
 222 THE CLERK'S TALE : 
 
 strove to divert her thoughts by little cour- 
 tesies and speeches of kindness, till she re- 
 gained her benign and cheerful countenance. 
 Walter, too, let slip no occasion of redeeming 
 all his sternness and deeds of cruelty, by 
 pleasant looks and cherishings ; and as she 
 was so sweet a creature to behold in her hours 
 of adversity and trial, you may suppose how 
 fair a sight was her face of content and hap- 
 piness. 
 
 After a time the ladies in attendance con- 
 ducted her to her former chamber, where they 
 stripped off (and for ever) the peasant's garb, 
 and having arrayed her in a robe of cloth-of- 
 gold, and set upon her head a jewelled crown, 
 she returned to the hall amid the honours and 
 congratulations of the assembly. Such was 
 the joyous termination of this painful day : 
 and the revelry was kept up till the stars 
 shone at their brightest ; and the feast was 
 more costly and magnificent than that given 
 upon their marriage. 
 
 And so these two lived many years in pros- 
 perity and unbroken concord. The daughter 
 was married to a Lord, of the greatest worth
 
 STORY OF GKISELDA. 223 
 
 in all Italy ; and poor Janicola was furnished 
 with an asylum at Court, where he lived near 
 his daughter in peace and honour, till his 
 spirit gently crept from his body, and returned 
 to Him who gave it. The son succeeded to a 
 peaceful government after his father had left 
 his place. He was fortunate in his marriage, 
 although he did not prove his wife in imitation 
 of his father. The people of this world are 
 not so strong as they were in days of yore ; 
 and my author makes this apology for his tale. 
 ' This story,' he says, ' is not intended as a 
 recommendation that wives should imitate 
 Griselda in the plenitude of her humility 
 (for that were utterly impossible), but that 
 everyone should in his degree strive to be 
 patient under reverses and sharp strokes of 
 fortune : for as a woman was so patient to a 
 mortal man, how much more steadfastly should 
 we endure the trials that Grod may please to 
 inflict upon us. He daily proves our con- 
 stancy; and his government, however it may 
 appear at the moment, ultimately tends to 
 our advantage. Let us all, then, live in vir- 
 tuous sufferance.
 
 THE SQUIRE'S TALE: 
 
 THE STORY OF CAMBUSCAN. 
 
 OUR host now called upon the young Squire 
 for his tale, who with great goodwill began 
 the following. 
 
 At Sarra, in the land of Tartary, there 
 dwelt a King who had often waged war upon 
 the country of Eussia. He was called Cam- 
 buscan, and had gained so famous a name for 
 all noble and knightly deeds, that no one in 
 those days could compare with him in renown. 
 He seemed to lack no grace that makes royalty 
 honourable. He was a strict observer of the 
 laws he had sworn to protect ; add to which, 
 he was brave, wise, just, and compassionate ; 
 true to his word, courteous, young, fresh, and 
 strong, and eager in arms as any bachelor of
 
 STORY OF CAMBUSCAN. 225 
 
 his court. To crown all, he was fair of person, 
 fortunate in all his adventures, and maintained 
 so sumptuous a display of regalities that there 
 was not such another King in all the East. 
 
 This imperial Tartar had by his wife Elfeta 
 two sons ; the one was named Camballo, and 
 the other Algarsife. He had also a daughter, 
 the youngest of the three, who was called Ca- 
 nace. My sober English, and more sober 
 fancy, are unequal to the description of her 
 rare beauty. No one could come worthily to 
 such a task, unless it were an orator, fully pro- 
 vided with the gay colours of his rhetoric : but 
 as I lack the eloquence due to such a theme, 
 you must be content to know that she was 
 esteemed the fairest maiden in her father's 
 dominions. 
 
 It was the custom with Cambuscan to give 
 a feast on the day of his nativity every year ; 
 and on the twentieth of his reign he made a 
 proclamation through all his city of Sarra, that 
 it would be observed with unwonted solemnity 
 and splendour. The sun was in the young and 
 lusty spring of the year, when the weather is 
 bright and shining ; when the birds and every 
 Q
 
 226 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 creature feel the coming forth of the tender 
 green, and all pour out their love and glad- 
 ness, as it were, both for the warm days, and 
 their protection against the cold and keen 
 sword of winter. 
 
 When the day arrived, Cambuscan, in his 
 royal robes and diadem, and seated aloft in 
 the banquetting hall of his palace, presented 
 to the nobles of the land so rich and solemn 
 an entertainment, that the like was never seen 
 before. It would occupy a summer's day to 
 describe to you all the array of the various 
 services the number and appointment of the 
 sewers and seneschals ; the rare daintiness of 
 the meats, and sum of the dishes ; the silver 
 and the gold, the spices, the wine, and the 
 odour steaming from lofty censers. I there- 
 fore pass them with no farther notice, and 
 follow the stream of my history. 
 
 It happened that after the third course, 
 while the King was hearkening to his min- 
 strels playing delicious melodies before him at 
 his board, suddenly there rode in at the hall 
 door a Knight upon a horse of brass, holding 
 in his hand a fair and broad mirror. Upon
 
 STOEY OF CAMBUSCAtf. 227 
 
 his thumb he wore a golden ring, and at his 
 side hung a naked sword. In this fashion 
 he rode straight towards the upper table. 
 Throughout the hall not a word was spoken 
 for astonishment at this Knight ; and every 
 eye was fixed upon him. 
 
 This sudden stranger, who was richly armed, 
 save that his head was bare, saluted the King 
 and Queen with all their nobles according to 
 their degrees, with so high a reverence and 
 dignity in speech and demeanour, that had old 
 Guwain returned from fairy-land, he could not 
 have amended his courtesy by the alteration 
 of a single word. Having fulfilled the cere- 
 mony of introduction with a sweet, yet manly 
 voice, he addressed himself to the high board 
 after the manner following : ' The King of 
 Arabia and of India, my liege Lord, offers to 
 you his salutation upon the event of this 
 solemn day ; and in honour of your feast, he 
 hath sent you, by me, (who am, at command, 
 your dutiful servant,) this horse of brass, which 
 possesses the power of conveying you to what- 
 ever quarter of the earth you may please to 
 ride, the within compass of a day. Or, if you 
 
 Q 2
 
 228 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 desire to soar like an eagle, it will evermore 
 bear you without danger through the region 
 of birds, to the place of your destination ; and 
 by the turning of a little pin, will convey you 
 home again. So staid and soft is it in pro- 
 gress, that you may, without fear, sleep upon 
 its back. The artist who accomplished this 
 wondrous mechanism had wrought many an 
 engine of miraculous power, and the finishing 
 of this, his last work, engaged him during the 
 revolving of many cycles of years. 
 
 ' The mirror which I hold in my hand pos- 
 sesses the power to make known to you any 
 approaching calamity, either to your own per- 
 son or your kingdom ; it will also discover who 
 are your friends, and who your foesj and, 
 above all, if any fair lady have disposed of her 
 heart to a Knight, and he be secretly unfaith- 
 ful 1 , this mirror will lay open all his treason, 
 however subtlely he may wear it concealed. 
 This, withi the ring of gold, my royal master 
 hath sent in honour of this occasion to your 
 most excellent and right worshipful daughter 
 here the Lady Canace. 
 
 ' The. virtue of the ring is this ; if my
 
 STOET OF CAMBTJSCAN. 229 
 
 Lady please to wear it on her thumb, or in 
 her purse, she will immediately comprehend 
 the language of every bird that flies, and have 
 the power of answering it again in its native 
 tongue. Also, it will give her the knowledge 
 of all herbs, with their virtues, for the cure of 
 wounds, be they ever so severe. 
 
 ' The naked sword, hanging by my side, is 
 of such a temper, that whomsoever it may 
 strike it will cleave his armour, although it 
 were thick as the knotted oak. And he that 
 is wounded with the blow, will never be whole 
 again, until, of your grace, you please to stroke 
 the smitten part with its flat side; when it 
 will straight close again and heal. This virtue 
 will never fail so long as the sword shall re- 
 main in your grasp.' 
 
 When the Knight had fulfilled his commis- 
 sion, he rode out of the hall and alighted. 
 His horse, which dazzled like the unclouded 
 sun, stood as still as a stone in the centre of 
 the Court. The Knight being conducted to 
 his chamber, was unarmed, and placed accord- 
 ing to his degree at the feasting board. The 
 presents that is to say, the mirror and the
 
 230 THE SQTJIBE'S TALE : 
 
 sword were given into the keeping of proper 
 officers, who conveyed them to a high tower 
 in the castle; and the ring was borne with 
 great state to the Lady Canace as she sate at 
 the table. The horse remained in the Court 
 fixed to the earth, and immoveable : no ma- 
 chinery, 'or any unskilful han,d, could stir it 
 from its place, till the Knight showed the 
 hidden manner of removing it, which will be 
 explained hereafter. 
 
 The populace crowded into the Court to see 
 this wonderful horse, murmuring round it like 
 a swarm of bees : and as they examined its 
 figure, each praised its fair proportion its 
 height, and exact length, and great breadth of 
 chest, all formed for swiftness and endurance 
 like that large breed of Lombardy; and, 
 withal, it was as quick of eye as a high-blood 
 courser of Apulia in short, all agreed, that 
 from hoof to head, and from head to tail, 
 neither nature nor art could supply an im- 
 provement. But what most raised their won- 
 der was, how it could move, being made of 
 brass. Some said it came from fairy land ; 
 others referred to their favourite old poets,
 
 STORY OF CAMBUSCAN. 231 
 
 and said it was like the winged Pegasus : or 
 that mayhap it was another Grecian horse, 
 which wrought the downfall of Troy. 'My 
 heart,' said one, ' misgives me I doubt that 
 there are armed men within, who at a given 
 signal will steal out and surprise our city by 
 stratagem. I consider it proper that the affair 
 should be enquired into.' Another whispered 
 to his neighbour, ' He's quite out there 'tis 
 more like some magical contrivance that jug- 
 glers frequently display at these high festivi- 
 ties.' And so they debated and questioned the 
 affair, like all ignorant and common minds, 
 that are ever blythe in imputing a bad motive 
 to inventions which are too subtle for their 
 gross perceptions. 
 
 Some were engaged in discourse upon the 
 wonders of the mirror, and how such things 
 could be perceived in it. One among the 
 number made the secret of it appear to the 
 satisfaction of every one, in stating that all 
 might be naturally accomplished by the com- 
 positions of angles and acute reflections ; and, 
 to display his reading, he said there were many 
 such in Eome ; and then referred to Alhazen,
 
 232 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 Vitellion, and Aristotle, who have written 
 upon curious mirrors and perspectives. 
 
 Others again wondered upon the sword, 
 which was said to pierce through every thing ; 
 and turned their conversation upon the re- 
 nowned King Telephus, and the marvellous 
 spear of Achilles, that could both wound and 
 heal, as with the one of which you now have 
 heard. They discoursed also of the tempering 
 of metal, how it was best hardened, and of the 
 medicines and ingredients used in the process; 
 of all which I am ignorant. 
 
 After this they turned to speak of the Lady 
 Canace's curious ring, saying, that they had 
 never heard of the like, unless it were the 
 ring of Moses or of Solomon, which possessed 
 a similar virtue. And so they continued won- 
 dering and jangling till the King arose from 
 the feast. Before him walked the loud min- 
 strelsy, marshalling his way to the presence 
 chamber, and all the while, till he was seated 
 upon his throne, sounding their instruments, 
 that it was a heaven to hear. When this 
 noble King was seated, he ordered the strange 
 Knight to be brought before him, and bids
 
 STORY OF CAMBUSCAN. 233 
 
 him lead the dance with the Princess Canace. 
 Now came the revel and the jollity, such as no 
 dull man can devise. Festive and fresh as 
 May, and well practised in love's mysteries 
 must he be who could worthily tell you of all 
 the dances so quaint in their figures ; of the 
 blithe countenances ; the subtle looks and dis- 
 semblings, for fear of the detection of jealous 
 rivals : no one could do honour to such a de- 
 scription but the perfect hand of Sir Launcelot, 
 and, therefore, I pass over all this mirth, and 
 leave them dancing till the supper was arrayed 
 and proclaimed. I need not rehearse the 
 variety of the spices and the wine, or the train 
 of ushers and squires ; suffice to say, all were 
 entertained from the highest to the lowest 
 with dainties more than I know of. 
 
 After supper the King, surrounded by all 
 his rout of Lords and Ladies, went down into 
 the court to look at this horse of brass ; and 
 the King enquired of the Knight as to the qua- 
 lities of this wondrous courser, and how it was 
 to be governed. When the Knight laid his 
 hand upon the rein, the horse began to trample 
 and caper. ' Sire,' said he, ' no other instruc-
 
 234 THE SQUIEE'S TALE: 
 
 tion is required as to the management of the 
 steed, than that when you desire to ride to any 
 place, you turn a pin that is fixed in his ear, 
 and which I will privately explain to you ; 
 when you may command him to what place or 
 country soever you choose to ride. And when 
 you wish to stop, you bid him descend and 
 turn another pin, (in this lies all your art,) 
 when, at your will, he will stoop from his flight 
 and remain quiet as a stone in that place, and 
 the whole world will not be able to remove 
 him. Or if you wish him to depart alone, turn 
 the pin again, and he will vanish from the sight 
 of every one, and return at command whether 
 by night or by day.' 
 
 When the King had learned from the Knight 
 all that was to be done he was glad at his heart 
 and returned to finish the revelry as before. 
 The bridle was carried to a tower in the palace, 
 and placed amongst the rarest jewelry. The 
 horse vanished, I know not whither, from the 
 sight of all. And so I leave this King Cam- 
 buscan with his lords feasting in their jollity 
 till day began to spring.
 
 THE SQUIRE'S TALE. 
 
 'A falcon, that, perched upon a withered tree, " as white as 
 chalk," was bewailing, with " a voice go piteous that all the wood 
 resounded with her cry," the cruelty and falsehood of her mate, 
 who had ill requited her love and fidelity by deserting her.'
 
 STOET OF CAMBTJSCAK-. 235 
 
 The second part of this story opens with an 
 account of the young Princess Canace rising 
 early on the following morning, the appearance 
 of which is described in Chaucer's own simple 
 and agreeable manner : ' The vapour (says 
 he) that glided up from the earth made the sun 
 look broad and ruddy ; nevertheless it was so 
 fair a sight that it inspired her with cheerful- 
 ness of heart, as well as on account of the sea- 
 son of the year, the early hour of the morning, 
 and the song of the birds, whose language by 
 means of her magic ring, she was enabled to 
 understand.' The narrative goes on to de- 
 scribe at great length a dialogue she held with 
 a falcon, that, perched upon a withered tree, 
 ' as white as chalk,' was bewailing with i a 
 voice so piteous that all the wood resounded 
 with her cry,' the cruelty and falsehood of her 
 mate, who had ill requited her love and fidelity 
 by deserting her. If the whole of this por- 
 tion of the story were transposed into prose, it 
 would, I fear, prove uninteresting to the young 
 reader. The original is clothed in nervous 
 and beautiful verse, and will, at some future 
 period, amply reward the youthful, imaginative
 
 236 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 mind that has overcome the not arduous toil 
 of comprehending freely the quaint and, unfor- 
 tunately, obsolete dialect of this very great and 
 beautiful poet. 
 
 After informing us that Canace, in pity of 
 the sorrow of her new acquaintance, takes her 
 home, and keeps her in a beautiful mew (or 
 cage) at her own bed's head ; ' here,' says the 
 narrator, ' I leave Canace tending her gentle 
 falcon ; and, for the present, shall say no more 
 about the ring, till my purpose suit to inform 
 you how the bird regained her repenting lover 
 through the mediation of Camballo, the King's 
 son. Henceforth my purpose is to speak of 
 adventures and battles so marvellous as never 
 before were heard. 
 
 ' First, I will tell you of Cambuscan, who 
 in his time had won many a fair city ; and 
 afterward of Algarsife, how he gained Theo- 
 dora as his bride ; for whose sake he was oft 
 in sharp perils, and was redeemed by the horse 
 of brass : and then of Camballo, who fought in 
 lists with the two brethren for Canace before 
 he could obtain her as his prize. 1 So, where I 
 
 1 There appears here some mistake either in the original
 
 STOET OP CAMBUSCAN. 237 
 
 left off I will begin again the course of my 
 tale.' And this hopeful promise the poet 
 never fulfilled. The tale of the young Squire 
 remains to be told and who will dare under- 
 take the task, when even Milton himself 
 would not venture, but says : 
 
 ' Call up him that left half told 
 
 The story of Cambuscan bold ; 
 
 Of Cambal and of Algarsife, 
 
 And who had Canace to wife 
 
 That own'd the virtuous ring of glass ; 
 
 And of the wondrous horse of brass, 
 
 Ori which the Tartar King did ride?' 
 
 In Book iv. of 'the Faery Queen,' Can- 
 tos ii. and iii., Spenser has endeavoured par- 
 tially to fulfil the task, incompleted by Chaucer. 
 The young reader may feel interested in seeing 
 how one renowned poet would follow in the 
 track of a revered predecessor ; I will therefore 
 give a short account of Spenser's continuation 
 of the story. 
 
 With that noble modesty that is ever in- 
 
 MS. as to the name mentioned, or Chaucer forgot that he had 
 already described Camballo as the brother of Canace. How 
 then could he fight 'the two brethren?' and which two, he 
 being one of the two, and only two named ? and how could 
 he win her to wife ?
 
 238 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 separable from great minds, he begins by a 
 fine compliment to the genius of his illus- 
 trious predecessor, whose poetry he calls, 'a 
 well (or spring) of English undefiled, 
 
 1 On fame's eternal bead-roll worthy to be filed.' 
 
 ' But wicked time,' says he, ' that all good 
 thoughts doth waste, and wears out the works 
 of noblest wits, has quite defaced that noble 
 monument ; how then may these my rude 
 rhymes hope to endure ! ' And then he con- 
 cludes with the following beautiful apostrophe : 
 'P.ardon, therefore, most sacred, happy 
 spirit ! that I thus strive to restore thy lost 
 labours, and rob thee of the reward due to 
 thy great merit an act no one dared attempt 
 whilst thou wert living, and, being dead, many 
 strive to do in vain ; and, but for the infusion 
 of thy own sweet spirit in me, I should, with 
 the like fruitless endeavour, hope to accom- 
 plish : and so I follow the footing of thy feet, 
 hoping that I may at last reach thy fail- 
 design.' And now to the conclusion (such as 
 it is) of our story. 
 
 The beautiful Princess Canace was greatly
 
 8TOET OP CAMBTJSCAN. 239 
 
 beloved by many Lords and Knights, who, 
 from her prudence and tardiness in selecting 
 the hand that she deemed the most worthy 
 to give to her all her worldly comfort, were 
 often times moved to envy and bickerings, 
 great quarrels, and bloody strifes ; which her 
 brother, Camballo, perceiving, who was a stout 
 and wise Knight, and fearing the peril which 
 might arise from an increase of such con- 
 tentions, determined, both for her honour and 
 his own, to end the contest in the following 
 manner. 
 
 One day, when the whole troop of warlike 
 wooers were assembled, for the purpose of 
 knowing who should be the chosen husband of 
 the Princess, he decreed that they should select 
 from among the company those three, who, by 
 general consent, were esteemed the hardiest 
 and most valiant knights : that these three 
 should combat with him, and the victor be 
 rewarded with the hand of his sister Canace. 
 
 The challenge was a bold one, and Camballo 
 was a bold Knight ; but his sister's skill and 
 forethought had given him confidence, for she 
 sent him the wondrous ring which possessed
 
 240 THE SQUIRE'S TALE: 
 
 the power to staunch the bleeding of all 
 mortal wounds. The great virtue of that ring 
 was known to all, so that the dread of its 
 redoubted might so appalled that youthful 
 rout, that none of them dared undertake the 
 fight. The delight of love they deemed a 
 wiser course to take, than to hazard life for a 
 fair lady's look. Yet amongst the company 
 were three brethren, all born of one mother, 
 and at one birth ; her name was Agape, and 
 their names were Priamond, Diamond, and 
 Triamond. They were all three men of ex- 
 ceedingly great might, and well skilled in the 
 knightly accomplishments of arms. Their 
 mother was a fairy, and possessed the skill of 
 secret things, and all the powers of nature, 
 which by her art she could ply to her own 
 purpose. A beautiful woman, too, she was, 
 and of goodly stature when she chose to dis- 
 cover her native form and face ; but, as is the 
 custom with fairies, she passed her days in 
 privacy, and in the wildest and most spacious 
 forests. In this savage chamber, and on this 
 rough couch, she bare and nursed the three 
 champions that have been described.
 
 STORY OP CAMBTJSCAN. 241 
 
 When these had grown into the ripeness of 
 man's estate, and had begun to show signs of 
 love for deeds of arms, and for the rash pro- 
 voking of perils, her motherly heart began to 
 doubt and fear for their safety : she therefore, 
 being desirous to know the end of all their 
 days, by her wondrous skill and power, sought 
 her way to the dwelling of the three fatal 
 sisters, who in the bottom of the deep abyss 
 sit in darkness, and round about the dreadful 
 distaff, draw out with unwearied fingers the 
 threads of human life. These fearful beings 
 she humbly accosted, desiring to see the 
 threads of her three sons' lives drawn forth, 
 which Clotho, one of the sisterhood, granting, 
 drew out, to her grief and amazement, threads 
 thin as the spider's web, and so short that 
 their ends seemed to come forth at once. 
 
 Having learned the decree of the fates, she 
 entreated, and obtained her request, that the 
 life of each as it terminated, might pass into 
 the next survivor ; so that when two were 
 dead, the life of the third might be trebly 
 enlarged. And so returning home with con- 
 tented heart, this careful fairy concealed from 
 B,
 
 242 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 her sons the knowledge of their destiny, warn- 
 ing them from time to time to be faithful 
 and true to each other, whatever might befall 
 them. And this they truly did all their days. 
 Discord never arose amongst them, which 
 greatly augmented their good fame. And now 
 they joined in love of Canace ; upon which 
 ground the great battle grew that is about to 
 be described. 
 
 Early on the morning of the day which was 
 to witness the event of this hardy challenge to 
 fight with Camballo for Canace, these warlike 
 champions were all assembled in the field. 
 The lists were enclosed, to bar out the press 
 of the assembled multitude. On one side six 
 judges were seated, who were to decide the 
 deeds of arms ; and on the other, fair Canace 
 upon a lofty stage, to witness the fortune of 
 the fray, and to be seen as the worthy reward 
 of him that could win her, with the adven- 
 turing of his life. Then Camballo first entered 
 the list with a stately step and undaunted 
 countenance, as if he surely knew the victory 
 to be his own. Immediately after came the 
 three brethren, in brave array and goodly
 
 STORY OP CAMBTJSCAN. 243 
 
 carriage, with gilded escutcheons and broad 
 banners displayed : and three times they lowly 
 bowed to the noble maid, all the while the 
 trumpets and clarions blowing loud notes of 
 defiance : which being done, the challenger 
 came forth all armed to point to confirm his 
 challenge ; against whom Sir Priamond, equally 
 prepared "and equipped, set forward. A trumpet 
 blew, and both rushed together with dreadful 
 force and furious intent, careless of danger, as 
 if they were reckless of sparing that life which 
 should be shortly quenched. 
 
 Sir Priamond was practised and thoroughly 
 skilled in the use of the shield and spear, and 
 Camballo was not behind him in the use of 
 his weapons, so that it was hard to decide who 
 was the superior knight. Many mighty strokes, 
 that seemed to carry death with them, were 
 delivered on both sides, but both were so 
 watchful and well eyed, that they were avoided 
 and passed by harmless. Yet one given by 
 Priamond was so strongly urged home, that 
 it struck through Camballo's shoulder, and 
 made him withdraw his shield. He was sorely 
 grieved at this mischance, yet no drop of 
 
 K 2
 
 244 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 blood issued from the wound, but uncommon 
 pain, which exasperated his haughty courage 
 and fell revenge. Pain never daunts the 
 mighty heart, but makes it swell the more. 
 With that he fiercely drove his spear close 
 underneath the shield of Priamond, so that it 
 entered his thigh through the mail, and the 
 blood gushed forth upon the green plain. 
 Priamond could not uplift himself, on account 
 of the bitterness of the wound, but reeled to 
 and fro in great bewilderment. When Cam- 
 ballo perceived him to be off his guard, he 
 drove at him again with double vehemence, so 
 that nothing could stay his weapon, till its 
 mortal point was entrenched in his side ; 
 where, being firmly fixed, as he was striving to 
 wrest it forth, the staff broke and left the 
 head behind. Then drawing his sworjd he 
 charged him afresh, and with a desperate 
 lunge it pierced through his beaver, and enter- 
 ing his brow, he fell backward with the force 
 of the stroke, his weary spirit quitting its 
 earthly tenement. Yet did it not vanish into 
 air, or flee as others are wont, to the dreary 
 realms of Pluto, but, according to the prayer
 
 STORY OF CAMBUSCAN. 245 
 
 of his mother, it quickly passed into his 
 brethren, and so lived anew. 
 
 When Diamond, the second born, beheld 
 the fate of his brother, grieving at the heavy 
 sight, he rushed forth with a generous feeling 
 of vengeance to resume the battle, as in re- 
 version of his brother's right ; and challenging 
 the virgin as his due, his foe was quickly pre- 
 pared, and the trumpets sounded the charge. 
 With that they fiercely met together, as 
 though each intended to devour his enemy, 
 and with their axes so heavily smote, that 
 neither plate nor mail could resist the storm, 
 but was shivered like rotten wood, whilst 
 through the rifts the blood poured forth, 
 filling the lookers on with ruth and wonder. 
 Many and many a stroke of mortal design 
 were interchanged and warily avoided ; till 
 Diamond, disdaining the long delay of fortune, 
 resolved to bring the event, one way or other, 
 to an issue ; and so with a mighty sweep he 
 heaved his murderous axe, and aimed a dreadful 
 blow, which, had it fallen as it was intended, 
 the strife would have quickly ceased ; but 
 Camballo, being nimbly on his guard, swerved
 
 246 THE SQUIRE'S TALE : 
 
 aside, while the other missing his aim, well- 
 nigh fell with the force of his stroke, an ad- 
 vantage not to be lost by the brother of 
 Canace, for before he could recover himself, 
 and get his exposed side under guard again, 
 with the full stretch of all his might, he 
 severed his head clean from his shoulders. 
 The headless trunk stood upright awhile, then 
 fell prone upon the earth. The spirit, which 
 had inhabited it, straight entering into Tria- 
 mond, filled him with double life and grief; 
 leaping therefore from his place, he rushed 
 forth into the field against Camballo, and 
 fiercely defied him, who, without delay, pre- 
 pared for the third onset. 
 
 Ye may well wonder how that noble Knight, 
 who had been so sorely pressed and wounded, 
 could thus stand on foot, and renew fight 
 after fight. But had ye then seen him ad- 
 vancing, you would have deemed him some 
 new-born champion, so fresh and fierce he 
 seemed. All this arose from the virtue of the 
 magic ring he wore, which not only prevented 
 the shedding of his blood, but renewed his 
 weakened powers, else could he not have
 
 STORY OF CAMBUSCAN". 247 
 
 matched three mighty champions, who were 
 equal to a host. 
 
 Triamond, naught dreading, or desperate of 
 so glorious a victory, sharply assailed him 
 with a storm of blows that rattled like hail ; 
 while the fire flashed from his sword fast as 
 spray from a rock. The blows fell so thickly, 
 and with such vengeance, that Camballo was 
 forced to retreat till the heat of his an- 
 tagonist's fury had somewhat spent itself, 
 which, as soon as he perceived it begin to 
 abate, through waste of breath, he charged 
 anew with might and main. And so the 
 battle wavered to and fro, yet each deemed he 
 should be the victor; until, at length, Sir 
 Triamond stood still, feeble and faint with 
 loss of blood. But Camballo waxed stronger 
 and stronger through the ring's virtue ; his 
 blood was not shed, nor were his powers 
 wasted. Through which advantage he rose in 
 his strength, and struck the other so stern a 
 blow, that it passed through the joint of his 
 hauberk into his throat, and he fell down dead 
 in the sight of all ; yet he was not dead, 
 although the living spirit forsook its nest ; one
 
 248 THE SQUIEE'S TALE : 
 
 soul only left his body, and winged its way 
 from human misery. 
 
 Nevertheless, while the people were gazing 
 on, thinking him dead as he appeared, he 
 started up unawares, like one roused from a 
 dream, and again prepared to assail his foe ; 
 who, half afraid of so uncouth a sight, stood 
 still holding idly his sword as though he had 
 seen a ghost, till repeated blows roused him 
 into self defence again. From this time, how- 
 ever, he resolved to fight warily, nor follow on 
 so fast, but rather seek to save himself; which 
 Triamond perceiving, thought he began to 
 faint, and that the victory was his own. 
 Therefore he raised his mighty hand, with 
 intent to make an end of all that should with- 
 stand the blow, which Camballo watching, was 
 not slow to avoid ; and at the same instant, 
 while the other's arm was raised to its height, 
 he struck him from behind his shield full in 
 the arm-pit, so that his sword passed through 
 his body. The dreadful stroke, however, held 
 on its way, and falling heavily upon Camballo'3 
 crest, smote him so hugely that it felled him 
 to the earth, and carved a ghastly wound in
 
 STOET OF CAMBUSCAN. 249 
 
 his head, and indeed had not the sword first 
 rested on the brim of his broad-plated shield, 
 it would have cloven him down to the breast. 
 Thus both fell dead at once, upon the field, 
 each giving his antagonist the victory. 
 
 When the multitude saw this event, they 
 surely deemed the war concluded : the judges 
 arose ; the marshals of the field broke up the 
 lists ; and Canace began to bewail her dearest 
 friend and brother. But, suddenly, both arose 
 again, the one from the swoon in which he 
 had lain, and the other breathing out another 
 spirit, and each commenced a fresh attack. 
 Long did they continue in this manner, as 
 though the battle had only then begun, de- 
 spising alike strokes, wounds, and weapons ; 
 so desirous were they to end the strife, that 
 neither cared to guard or to avoid danger ; 
 and so weary were they with fighting, that 
 life itself seemed irksome, and preservation 
 an evil. 
 
 Thus while the event hung doubtfully in 
 the balance, and all stood gazing in secret fear 
 of the fatal issue, suddenly they heard far 
 away the noise as of a dangerous tumult, con-
 
 250 THE SQUIEE'S TALE : 
 
 fused with the cries of women and shouts of 
 men. At which the champions stood still a 
 little to learn the meaning of the clamour, 
 when they perceived one in a strangely 
 fashioned car, driving towards them with the 
 fury of a storm. The car was bedecked in a 
 wondrous manner, with gold and many gor- 
 geous ornaments, after the fancy of the old 
 Persian monarchs ; and, strange to tell, it was 
 .drawn by two grim lions, whose cruel nature 
 was brought under subjection and made to 
 obey the rider's will. And in the car sat a 
 bright and surpassingly fair lady, who seemed 
 one of the company of angels. She was 
 deeply skilled in the subtle arts of magic, 
 having for many a year been well instructed 
 in such lore by the fairy her mother ; under- 
 standing, therefore, by her power, in how evil a 
 plight her beloved brother, Triamond, at that 
 time stood, she hastened to protect him and 
 pacify the strife which had caused such deadly 
 doings. So, as she passed through the press 
 of people who thronged to gaze upon her, her 
 angry team breaking their peaceful curbs, 
 dashed through the heaps as if they had been
 
 STOEY OP CAMBUSCAN. 251 
 
 folded sheep, rolling them in the dust. Some 
 shrieked with fear, others howled with pain ; 
 some laughed, and others shouted for wonder. 
 
 This beautiful lady bore in her right hand a 
 wand, about which were twined two serpents 
 crowned with an olive garland. It was like 
 the famous rod that Mercury bears when he 
 goes forth with some charge from the (rods. 
 In her other hand she held a fair cup filled 
 to the brim with nepenthe. Nepenthe is a 
 celestial cordial, ordained by the Grods to 
 assuage all grief of the heart ; to chase away 
 bitter contention, and anguish from rage and 
 strife, and to establish instead sweet peace in 
 the troubled mind. Few men but those who 
 are sedate and wise do the Gods permit to 
 taste of nepenthe ; such as drink, however, 
 find eternal happiness. 
 
 When she had arrived at the side of the 
 lists, she gently struck the rail with her wand, 
 and it flew open to give her entrance. Then, 
 stepping from her car, she gracefully saluted 
 all ; first, her brother, whom she tenderly 
 loved, and Camballo next, whose rueful look 
 made her change colour, for she was secretly
 
 252 THE SQUIRE'S TALE: 
 
 in love with that princely Knight. They 
 slightly returned her salutation, and instantly 
 prepared to renew the combat. When she saw 
 this, she threw herself down upon the bloody 
 field, and with tears and prayers besought 
 them to be at peace with each other. But, 
 finding that entreaties availed her nothing, 
 she struck them slightly with her powerful 
 wand ; when, suddenly, as if their hearts had 
 failed them, the swords fell from their hands, 
 and they remained fixed like men in a trance. 
 So, while their minds were bound by this 
 master spirit, she reached to them the golden 
 cup, of which, being parched with toil and 
 thirst, they drank a hearty draught. And 
 now behold another wonder ! No sooner had 
 they tasted the heavenly liquor, than all 
 their bitter enmity was changed into brotherly 
 love. They embraced and plighted hands in 
 eternal friendship. The multitude seeing this 
 sudden change, the friendly agreement of 
 such mortal foes, shouted for joy till the 
 heavens rang again. 
 
 All this when the gentle Canace beheld, she 
 hastily descended from her lofty seat to know
 
 STORY OP CAMBUSCAtf. 253 
 
 the cause of these strange tidings. And when 
 she saw how that cruel war was ended, and 
 those deadly foes turned into faithful friends, 
 with a lovely demeanour she greeted the lady 
 who had so well wrought that happy change, 
 entertaining her with suitable courtesies, and 
 professions of true friendship and affection. 
 
 So, when all was happily accorded, the 
 trumpets sounded, and in great glee the com- 
 pany arose to depart ; the champions choosing 
 to march home together, and the wise lady, 
 whose name was Cambina, taking by her side 
 into her car the fair Canace, fresh as a morn- 
 ing rose ; and so they went along cheered and 
 admired by the people. 
 
 And this fair party spent their days in 
 bands of mutual alliance, for Triamond had 
 Canace to wife, with whom he lived long and 
 happily ; and Camballo no less rejoiced in his 
 union with Cambina. So all loved and were 
 beloved alike, and no such lovers have been 
 found since their days.
 
 THE PARDONER'S TALE: 
 THE STOEY OF THE DEATH SLAYERS. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 ' Now, my good friend, Master Pardoner,' 
 said our host, ' let us have from you a right 
 merry tale of well-conceited jests.'' It shall 
 be done,' said he, 'by St. Ronion. But, first, 
 let me take a snack of cake, and a draught at 
 this ale-house.' Forthwith all the gentles in 
 the company began to cry, ' No, no, let us 
 have no ribaldry : tell us some moral thing, 
 that we may learn ; some sound sense, and we 
 will gladly listen to you.' 'Very well,' said 
 he, ' but give me time to think of an honest 
 
 tale while I take my liquor My Lords 
 
 and gentlemen,' said he, 'whenever I am about
 
 THE DEATH SLATERS. 2-55 
 
 to perform duty in church, my first care is to 
 learn by rote all I have to preach, and then to 
 pitch my voice in a full and high key, ringing 
 it out as round and clear as a bell. My theme 
 is always, and ever has been the same : " Eadix 
 malorum est cupiditas." (Covetousness is the 
 root of all evil.) First, I pronounce whence I 
 have come, and then display my letters of 
 authority from the Pope. 1 The seal of our 
 
 1 The young reader will not forget that the office of the 
 Pardoner consisted in selling indulgences from the Pope, for 
 sins committed. This was the chief source of scandal against 
 the Roman Catholic religion ; it formed one of the grounds of 
 Luther's tremendous attacks upon Popery, and, without doubt, 
 mainly contributed to bring about the Reformation. As men 
 began to increase in knowledge, they could not but feel the 
 wickedness, as well as absurdity, of any one human being's 
 presuming to have the power to pardon crimes committed in 
 the face of heaven, by the sacrifice of a few worthless pence. 
 Chaucer (who was a partisan of Wickliffe, the first eminent 
 Christian reformer, and who flourished 160 years before 
 Luther,) was fully alive to the gross corruption of the Romish 
 Church, and the infamous lives of its priests ; he therefore 
 never lets slip an opportunity of satirising them, and in the 
 present instance has, with delightful ingenuity, made his 
 grasping Pardoner preach against ' covetousness.' This hate- 
 ful vice has been the plague-spot of all priest-craft, and too 
 numerous instances occur which prove that the Protestant 
 teachers of Christianity give but little heed to the divine com- 
 mand, that its followers shall ' take no thought as to what 
 they shall eat, or what they shall drink, or wherewithal they 
 shall be clothed.'
 
 256 THE PAKDONER'S TALE : 
 
 liege lord upon my patent I display, to prove 
 my warrant ; that no man, whether priest or 
 clerk, may be so bold as to disturb me in 
 the exercise of Christ's holy work. After this 
 I enter upon my discourse, ever and anon 
 mixing up with it small scraps of Latin to 
 saffron 1 my preaching, and steer men to devo- 
 tion : then I draw forth my relics, crystals, 
 clouts, and bones ; the shoulder of a holy sheep 
 enclosed in brass, and say, " Good men and 
 brethren, take heed to my words ; if this Bone 
 be dipped in any well, and your cattle be in- 
 fected with the worm, or stung, take but the 
 water of that well and wash them, and forthwith 
 they shall be healed : or if your sheep have the 
 rot, let them drink one draught of the water 
 and they shall be cured. Lay up these words 
 of mine therefore in your hearts. If also any 
 good man who owns cattle will, every week 
 before cock-crow, drink a draught of that well, 
 fasting, his store shall multiply like the flock 
 of holy Jacob of old. Moreover, sirs, it healeth 
 jealousy ; for let a man fall into the most 
 
 1 An expressive term. Saffron was used to give colour as 
 well as favour to confectionaries.
 
 THE DEATH SLATERS. 257 
 
 grievous rage, mix but his potage with that 
 water, and he will never more suspect his wife 
 of deceit, even though he know the truth of 
 her fault. 
 
 " Behold this mitten ! He that will thrust 
 his hand into this glove, (if he offer a few groats 
 or pence to holy church,) shall find his corn 
 multiply in seed time. 
 
 ' " But of one thing I warn you, my 
 brethren : if any one now before me in this 
 congregation have committed a deadly sin, so 
 that he dare not for shame be shrived of it ; 
 or if any woman, young or old, have been 
 treacherous to her husband, such shall have no 
 power to offer to my relics. But whoso is aware 
 of such sin, let him come to me and offer up in 
 the name of God, and I will absolve him from 
 his crime by the authority of this Bull here, 
 granted to me by his Holiness at Rome." 
 
 ' By such tricks as these, my masters, have 
 I, year by year, made a hundred marks ever 
 since I followed the duty of a Pardoner. I 
 stand forth in my pulpit like any learned clerk, 
 and preach, as you have heard, to the ignorant 
 multitude, using a hundred other tricks than I
 
 258 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 have already told. And all the while I stretch 
 out my neck, east and west, becking upon the 
 people, like a dove sitting on a barn. My 
 hands and tongue I ply so briskly that it is a 
 joy to see me at work. All my discourse is 
 set against avarice and such cursedness, that 
 I may make the hearers free in offering their 
 pence namely, to me ; for gain is all my 
 care, and nothing for the correction of sin : I 
 reck not when once they are buried, although 
 their souls be gone to the dwelling of black- 
 
 1 For of a truth many a sermon springeth 
 oft-time from an evil intention : some to flatter 
 and please the hearer, and by hypocrisy to 
 advance one's own interest ; some through vain 
 glory, and others through private hate ; for 
 when I dare not in any other manner ply my 
 discourse, then do I sting the object of attack 
 with my tongue, and in such a way, that if he 
 have offended the brotherhood or myself, he 
 shall not start at being defamed falsely; for 
 though I do not call him forth by name, I take 
 good care, by signs and other circumstances, 
 that all his neighbours shall " place the saddle
 
 THE DEATH SLAYERS. 259 
 
 on the right horse." And after this fashion 
 am I even with those who offend us ; under 
 colour of religion and an appearance of piety 
 and truth, spitting out my venom upon them. 
 In short, I preach of nothing but covetousness ; 
 therefore the whole burthen of my song has ever 
 been " Kadix malorum est cupiditas." 
 
 4 Thus, you see, I can preach against this 
 same vice of which I myself am guilty, this 
 avarice. Although, however, I be steeped to 
 the lips in that sin, yet have I the wit to wean 
 others from the same offence, and bring them 
 to a sore repentance. Yet is not this my prin- 
 cipal intent ; but to root out covetousness ; I 
 preach naught else. 
 
 ' Farthermore, I tell them many examples of 
 old stories long ago ; for simple and ignorant 
 people delight in old tales they easily retain 
 and report them again. What! do you think 
 that while I teach and gather gold and silver 
 by my prayers, that I will myself live in wilful 
 poverty ? No, no, such matter never crossed 
 my brain ; my duty is to preach from land to 
 land, to collect all the wealth I can for mother 
 church ; I have naught to do with labour or 
 
 8 2
 
 260 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 handicraft I am no basket -maker no coun- 
 terfeit of the Apostles : money money and 
 provender will I have aye, even from the 
 sorriest hind, or poorest widow in the village, 
 although her children pine for it. Wine 
 and revelry for me ! and these I get in every 
 town. 
 
 ' But to conclude, my Lords and Gentlemen, 
 it is your wish to have my story. Now, having 
 drunk a draught of corny ale, I hope to tell 
 you one to your liking ; for, though no saint 
 myself, I can relate a moral tale, one that I 
 sometimes deliver from the pulpit, and so, 
 craving your silence, I thus begin.' 
 
 In Flanders, a long while ago, there was a 
 company of young men who committed every 
 act of riot and debauchery drinking, dancing, 
 playing, and throwing of dice ; night and day 
 this was evermore their game. With abomi- 
 nable superfluity also they ate and drank be- 
 yond their strength, sacrificing to the Devil in 
 his own temple, the scene of their wickedness 
 and debauchery. The oaths they uttered were
 
 THE DEATH SLAYERS. 261 
 
 great and heinous, that it was a dreadful thing 
 to hear them swear. The body of our blessed 
 Lord they horribly profaned, as though they 
 would outvie the blaspheming Jews of old ; 
 and then each would laugh at the other's sin. 
 Sometimes, while they were in their revelry, 
 dancing women, young and comely ; fruit-girls, 
 singers, and harp-players, sellers of wafer-cake 
 a wanton band would come in and minister 
 to their gluttony and luxury. The holy writ 
 bear me witness that gluttony and drunkenness 
 are the foundation of all luxury. 
 
 gluttony ! fellest curse ! first cause of 
 our confusion ! origin of our condemnation ! 
 till Jesus bought our redemption again with 
 his blood. How dearly, alas ! was this misdeed 
 purchased : the whole world became corrupt 
 through gluttony alone. For this vice were 
 Adam our forefather and his helpmate driven 
 out of Paradise to labour and sorrow. While 
 he abstained, he dwelt in that blest abode ; and 
 when he ate of the fruit of the forbidden tree, 
 he became an outcast to woe and pain. 
 gluttony ! well may we beshrew thy triumph. 
 Let a man think of the many maladies that
 
 262 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 follow upon the excess of gluttony, and he will 
 be more measurable of his diet. Alas ! the 
 short throat, the tender mouth, cause men to 
 labour in earth, and air, and water, from east 
 to west, that the glutton may be served daintily 
 with his meat and drink. Well hast thou 
 treated this matter, Paul, our Apostle. 'Meats 
 for the belly,' he says, ' and the belly for meats : 
 but (rod shall destroy both it and them.' A 
 foul thing is it to say, but fouler is the deed 
 when a man so drinks to excess that his throat 
 becomes the common-sewer to this detested 
 superfluity. The Apostle also says : ' Many 
 walk, of whom I have told you often, and now 
 tell you, even weeping, that they are the 
 enemies of the cross of Christ ; whose end is 
 destruction, whose God is their belly.' For 
 what is the cook's labour with the marrow 
 and the spicery, the herbs and leaves, the barks 
 and roots, but to make them go softly and 
 sweetly through the throat, and by their de- 
 lights to create a newer appetite ? yet, know, 
 of a surety, that he who haunts these dainties 
 is but dead while living in his vice. 
 
 And thou, too, drunken man ! disfigured
 
 THE DEATH SLATEKS. 263 
 
 is thy face, sour thy breath, and foul and odious 
 art thou to embrace. Thou fallest down like 
 a slaughtered swine : thy tongue is lost to thee, 
 and all thine honest care ; for drunkenness is 
 the very sepulchre of a man's wit and discre- 
 tion. He is unfit to keep counsel over whom 
 wine has dominion. Eefrain, therefore, from 
 the alluring white and red drink, and, above 
 all, from the strong drink of them of Spain, 
 whose country wines have crept subtlely into 
 our milder vintages of Eochelle and Bourdeaux ; 
 so that by the time a man has taken his three 
 draughts, he knows not whether he be at home 
 in Cheap, or rolling in fair Cadiz' Bay. 
 
 Having preached to you against gluttony 
 and drunkenness, I would also forbid you the 
 vice of gaming. Gaming is the mother of 
 lying, deceit, treachery, and perjury : the 
 gambler is a blasphemer of his Maker, a de- 
 stroyer of man of his own substance, and of 
 precious time. It is a reproof and a dishonour 
 to be held a common gambler ; and the higher 
 his condition the more abandoned is he 
 esteemed. In every good government, and in 
 all wise policy, the reputation of that Prince is
 
 264 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 ever held light if he be addicted to gaming. 
 Chilon, a wise ambassador, was sent from Lace- 
 demon to Corinth, to create an alliance with 
 that state ; and when he arrived there he found 
 the nobles of the place all infected with the 
 vice of gaming : so, with the least possible 
 delay, he stole home again to his own country : 
 for, said he, ' I will not lose my fair name, or 
 so dishonour myself as to ally you with a nation 
 of gamblers : send out, if you deem it meet, 
 other ambassadors, for by my truth, I would 
 rather die than frame for you such an alliance. 
 Ye who have ever been glorious in honour, 
 shall never, by any will or treaty of mine, be 
 connected with gamesters.' Such was the 
 speech of this true philosopher. One more 
 example and I have done. The King of Parthia, 
 in scorn of King Demetrius, who had been a 
 noted gambler, sent him a pair of golden dice, 
 signifying that he held his glory and renown 
 in no value or reputation. Our Lords may 
 find other diversion honest enough to drive 
 the day away. 
 
 A word or two I would say upon oaths, both 
 false and great. Swearing at all is an abomi-
 
 THE DEATH SLATERS. 265 
 
 nation, but false-swearing is infinitely more 
 reprehensible. Our Lord has forbade all 
 swearing, as we read in St. Matthew ; but 
 especially the holy Jeremiah has said : ' Thou 
 shalt swear in truth, in judgment, and in 
 righteousness : ' but idle swearing is a cursed 
 thing. The second command in the great 
 God's table of laws is : Thou shalt not take 
 the name of the Lord thy God in vain.' Such 
 swearing is forbidden before the commission 
 of homicide or any other crime. And, of a 
 surety, I declare to you that vengeance will 
 not depart from his house that is outrageous 
 in oaths. For the love of Him, therefore, who 
 died for us, forbear your oaths of any kind. 
 And, now sirs, I will go on with my tale. 
 
 These three rioters I spoke of, long before 
 the first chime of early bell, were drinking 
 together in a tavern ; and as they sat, they 
 heard a knell going before a corpse that was 
 being carried to the grave : when, one of them 
 calling to the tapster lad, ' Go, and enquire,' 
 said he, 'what corpse is that just passing by, 
 and bring us word.' ' Sir,' said the boy, c I 
 need not do that, for I heard two hours before
 
 266 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 you came here. He was an old companion of 
 yours : he was carried off suddenly last night 
 as he sat upon his bench drunk. There came 
 a private thief, called DEATH, who kills all the 
 people in this country, and with his spear 
 striking him to the heart, he went his way 
 without speaking a word. He has slain a 
 thousand people this pestilence : and, master, 
 before you come into his presence, I think it 
 proper that you should beware of such an 
 adversary. Be evermore ready to meet him. 
 So my mother taught me.' 
 
 ' By St. Mary,' said the tavern-keeper, ' the 
 child says true, for this year, in a great village, 
 about a mile hence, Death has killed both man, 
 woman, and child. I guess his dwelling must 
 be thereabouts. He were a wise man who 
 should be on his guard to prevent his doing 
 him some mischief.' 
 
 Then with a frightful oath, did this rioter 
 say ' Is there such peril in meeting with him ? 
 I vow to hunt him in every stile and street 
 in the neighbourhood. Hearken, comrades 
 let us all three join hands, as sworn brethren, 
 to seek out this traitor Death and slay him.'
 
 THE DEATH SLAYEKS. 267 
 
 And so, all stark mad and drunk, they stag- 
 gered forth towards the village of which the 
 taverner had spoken, swearing by the way 
 many a grisly oath, that if they met their 
 enemy he should not escape them. 
 
 They had scarcely reached half-a-mile from 
 home, when, getting over a stile, they met a 
 poor old man, who greeted them very meekly. 
 ' What, churl,' said the proudest of the three, 
 ' do you do here clouted up, and crawling about 
 at your age ? Why don't you die ? ' 
 
 This old man looked him steadily in the 
 face, and said : ' Because I cannot find a man, 
 although I were to walk to the Indies to seek 
 him, who will change his youth for my great 
 age ; and, therefore, must I bear my age as 
 long as it is the will of God I should do so. 
 Death, alas ! will not take my life : and thus 
 I walk about like a restless wretch, and on the 
 ground, which is my mother's door, early and 
 late I knock with my staff, and say to her, 
 " Dear mother, let me in. Behold how I dwin- 
 dle in my body. Alas ! when shall my weary 
 bones have rest ? With you, mother, would I 
 change my coffin, that has long been my
 
 268 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 chamber companion, for a hair-cloth to wrap 
 me in, and lie down in peace." Yet will she 
 not grant me this boon ; and, therefore, pale 
 and withered is my face. But, sirs, it is not 
 courteous in you to offer insult to an old man, 
 who trespasses neither in word nor deed. The 
 holy writ has taught you that " you shall rise 
 before the hoary head ; " and, therefore, harm 
 not an old man now, any more than you would 
 desire to be harmed in age, if you are allowed 
 so long to abide, (rod be with you, I must go 
 forth upon my travel.' 
 
 'Nay nay, old churl,' said another of the 
 gamblers, 'by St. John, we do not part so 
 lightly. You just now spoke of that traitor 
 " DEATH," that goes about this country killing 
 all our friends. By my truth, tell us where 
 he is, (for I take you to be his spy,) or you 
 shall dearly abide the consequences of your 
 refusal. I doubt not that you are leagued 
 with him to murder us youngsters you false 
 thief!' 
 
 ' Sirs,' said he, ' if it be your pleasure to find 
 out " DEATH," turn up yon crooked path ; for, 
 upon my faith, I left him in that grove under
 
 THE PARDONER'S TALE. 
 
 '"Sirs," said he, "if it be your pleasure to find out DEATH, 
 turn up yon crooked path. * * * Do you see that oak ? There 
 you will meet with him." '
 
 THE DEATH SLATERS. 26 1 J 
 
 a tree, and there he will remain for some time ; 
 neither will he attempt to hide himself in spite 
 of all your boasting. Do you see that oak? 
 There you will meet with him. Grod preserve 
 and mend you,' said this old man. 
 
 These three rioters ran ofif immediately till 
 they came to the tree ; and there they found 
 a large heap of fine gold florins. They sought 
 no longer after Death, so glad were they at the 
 sight of these fair and bright coins. And 
 down they sat by the precious hoard, when the 
 worst of the three proposed that as fortune had 
 sent them the treasure to live in mirth and 
 jollity, they should spend it as lightly as it 
 came. ' But,' said he, ' if we take all this gold 
 home to either of our houses, we shall run the 
 chance of being taken up for thieves, and 
 mayhap be hanged. We had, therefore, best 
 carry it home slyly at night ; and, in the 
 mean time, let us draw lots who shall go to 
 the next town and buy us bread and wine, 
 while the other two stay and watch the money.' 
 
 So, having drawn the lots, the youngest was 
 doomed to go to the town. As soon as he was 
 out of sight, one of the two said to the other :
 
 270 THE PARDONER'S TALE : 
 
 ' You know that we have long been sworn 
 brothers; now, if you will listen to me, I will 
 show how all this gold, which is to be divided 
 among three, shall become the property of us 
 two only.' The other said, he knew not how 
 that could be, for their companion was aware 
 that the money was with them two. 
 
 ' Well,' said the other, ' do not betray me, 
 and I will show you how we may bring it 
 about. We two are stronger than one : when, 
 therefore, he has sat down, you must get up 
 and pretend to play with him, and while you 
 are struggling as in game, I will yerk him 
 under the ribs, and see that with your dagger 
 you then do the same. Then all this gold 
 will be shared between you and me my dear 
 friend ! and we may do with it as we please.' 
 So these cursed wretches agreed to murder 
 the third. 
 
 The youngest, as he went towards the town, 
 cast about in his mind the beauty of the 
 florins. 4 Lord ! ' said he to himself, ' if I 
 could but have all this treasure to myself, not 
 a man under heaven would be happier than I.' 
 Then did the great enemy of mankind put it
 
 THE DEATH SLATEES. 271 
 
 into his head to buy poison with which 'he 
 might despatch his two companions ; and forth 
 he went to an apothecary in the town, who 
 sold him a confectionary, the smallest portion 
 of which, to the amount of a corn of wheat, 
 would strike a man dead before one could 
 walk a mile. 
 
 Then this cursed villain went and purchased 
 three bottles, into two of which he poured the 
 poison, filling them all three with wine, and 
 returned to his mates, thinking to carry away 
 the gold himself by night. 
 
 "What need I to proceed with my tale ? As 
 the two had contrived his death, so they mur- 
 dered him; and afterward sat down to feast, 
 proposing, when they had finished, to bury 
 him out of the way. It so happened, how- 
 ever, that they took one of the bottles con- 
 taining the poison, and no wretches suffered 
 more dreadfully in their death than they. 
 So ended the lives of these homicides, and 
 their poisoner. The old man they met was 
 ' DEATH.'
 
 THE PRIORESS'S TALE: 
 
 THE MIKACLE OP 
 
 A CHRISTIAN'S CHILD MURDERED BY THE JEWS. 
 
 'WELL SAID, my gentle master Pardoner,' 
 quoth our host ; ' and now, my Lady Prioress, 
 by your leave, and if it be pleasant to you, I 
 would that we should have your story. Will 
 you vouchsafe the request, dear Lady ? ' 
 ' Grladly,' said she, and told as you shall hear. 
 
 ' Lord ! our Lord ! how excellent is thy 
 name in all the world ! ' for not only is thy 
 praise sounded by men of dignity, but by the 
 mouth of babes and sucklings are thy goodness 
 and bounty made known. Wherefore, in praise
 
 THE MTJEDERED CHILD. 273 
 
 as I best can speak of thee, and of the white 
 lily-flower ' which bare thee, and is ever a 
 maiden pure and holy, I will strive to tell a 
 tale not that I may increase her honour, for 
 next to her son, our Blessed Kedeemer, she is 
 the root of all bounteousness, and our soul's 
 only help. 0, maiden mother! 0, bountiful 
 mother! 0, unscathed bush, that burned in 
 the sight of Moses, who in thine humbleness 
 broughtest down from the Deity the Holy 
 Spirit, which alighted upon thee, of whose vir- 
 tue was conceived the wisdom of the Heavenly 
 Father, help me to tell it in thy reverence. 
 
 No tongue, Virgin Lady ! can express thy 
 bounty, thy magnificence, thy virtue, and thy 
 great humility: for ofttimes when we pray, 
 thou goest before us in thy graciousness, giving 
 to us the light of thy prayer, to guide us to 
 thy dear and suffering Son. Weak is my 
 skill, blessed Queen "of Heaven, to declare 
 thy great worth, for I am but as a twelve- 
 month's babe ; and therefore, I pray thee to 
 
 1 The Virgin Mary was typified by the Catholics under the 
 lily-flower, as the emblem of innocence and purity. 
 
 T
 
 274 THE PEIOEESS'S TALE : 
 
 prompt and guide me in the tale I am now 
 about to tell to thine honour and glory. 
 
 In the suburbs of a great city in Asia ,there 
 Vas established in one quarter where the Chris- 
 tians dwelt, a Jewry, 1 which was maintained 
 by a Lord of that country, for the hateful 
 purpose of villainous lucre and usury. This 
 street was open at both ends, and at the 
 
 1 That quarter of any town or city, that the Jews inhabited, 
 was called a Jewry. After the destruction of their native city, 
 and that they had become scattered over the face of the earth, 
 prejudice ran sorely against that people ; above all, in Chris- 
 tian countries. They became literally ' a bye-word, a taunt, 
 and a curse.' They were sojourners in every place not natu- 
 ralised. They were rigorously punished for offences against 
 the laws ; and the laws of both God and man were constantly 
 set aside to persecute them. They had no rest for the sole 
 of their foot, for they could neither buy nor inherit land. 
 Their only resource, therefore, was to get gold, seeing that 
 they could carry that away, when the tide of injustice and 
 cruelty ran hard against them. They were ever keen in 
 amassing wealth, for persecution made them so ; and, contrary 
 to the commands of their own lawgiver, and of almost all 
 civilised nations, they derived their chief source of revenue 
 from lending money out at usurious interest ; which means, for 
 a larger return than five pounds for every hundred pounds 
 lent. The law of this country, and I believe of all commercial 
 countries, is, that no man can claim in a court of justice a 
 larger interest than five per cent., or 105/. for the loan of 100. 
 By ingenuity, however, this law is broken every day by per- 
 sons not Jews at least in name and religion.
 
 THE MURDERED CHILD. 275 
 
 farther end there stood a little school, in 
 which the children that came of Christian 
 parenfls were taught the doctrines of their 
 religion ; also to read and sing. 
 
 Among these children was a widow's son, 
 seven years old, who every day went to the 
 school; and on his road it was his custom 
 whenever he saw the image of the Virgin, to 
 kneel down as he had been taught, and repeat 
 his ' Ave Maria.' l And in this manner the 
 widow instructed her little son in the worship 
 of our Lady, the mother of Jesus ; for inno- 
 cent children readily receive religious precepts. 
 And ever, when I think on this matter, do I 
 remember thee, holy Nicholas ! and thy early 
 reverence of thy Saviour. 2 
 
 1 ' Hail, Marj' ! mother of Jesus ! ' the first words of a 
 prayer in the Roman Catholic Liturgy. 
 
 2 The following is the literal translation of an old legend 
 respecting the early indications of piety manifested by this 
 saint. ' This man's holiness, even as in future times it would 
 be, appeared in the very cradle. For, whereas the infant on 
 each of the other week-days sucked of the nurse's milk again 
 and again, he, on the fourth and the sixth, (Wednesdays and 
 Fridays), being days of abstinence, abstained, and sucked but 
 once, and that at even-tide.' St. Nicholas is called the patron 
 saint of children ; and on that day in the calendar dedicated 
 to his memory, it is customary with Catholics to make presents 
 
 T 2
 
 276 THE PRIORESS'S TALE : 
 
 This little child, as he sat in the school, 
 learning his primer, heard the children who 
 were practising their antiphones, 1 sing the 
 i Alma Eedemptoris.' 2 And as he dared, he 
 drew nearer and nearer, and hearkened to the 
 tone and the words, till he was able to sing 
 the first verse by heart. He was of so young 
 and tender an age, that he knew not the 
 meaning of the Latin language, in which it 
 was written : but one day he asked an elder 
 schoolfellow to explain the song to him in his 
 own tongue. His schoolmate told him that 
 he had heard say the hymn was composed in 
 honour of the Blessed Virgin ; also to entreat 
 her to become our help and succour when we 
 die. ' I cannot inform you any more of the 
 matter,' said he, ' for I myself am but a small 
 
 to, and give entertainments to their infant acquaintance a 
 pretty imitation of His wisdom and sweetness of heart, who 
 said, ' Suffer little children to come unto me, and forbid them 
 not, for of such is the kingdom of heaven.' 
 
 1 Antiphonal singing means, the singing of verses alter- 
 nately, as in the choirs of cathedrals. The word is of Greek 
 origin, and signifies to sing opposite to, or over-against. 
 
 2 ' Alma Eedemptoris mater !' ' Holy, kind, or cherishing 
 mother of the Eedeemer ! ' The beginning of one of the 
 prayers in the Eoman Catholic Liturgy.
 
 THE MURDERED CHILD. 277 
 
 grammarian.' 'And was this song made in 
 reverence of the mother of Christ ? ' said this 
 innocent : ' then will I be diligent to get the 
 whole by rote before Christmas come, though 
 I neglect my primer, and be beaten for it 
 three times in an hour. I will learn it in 
 worship of our Blessed Lady.' His school- 
 fellow taught him as they went homeward 
 from day to day, till he knew the whole ; and 
 then he sang it well and boldly from word to 
 word, and according with the tone. 1 Twice a 
 day did it come from his little pipe, as he 
 went to and from school. 
 
 As I have said, this simple child, going to 
 and fro through the Jewry, could not forbear 
 singing merrily by the way ' Alma Kedemp- 
 toris mater ! ' so strongly had the sweetness of 
 the subject touched his heart. But our first 
 enemy, and the enemy of all goodness Satan, 
 who makes his wasp's nest in Jewish hearts, 
 arose and said, Hebrews ! is it a fit thing 
 that such a boy should walk about at his plea- 
 sure, and in your despite, singing that which 
 
 1 The old word for chaunt. The chaunts attributed to 
 Pope Gregory were called the ' Gregorian tones.'
 
 278 THE PRIORESS'S TALE : 
 
 offends against our holy laws ? ' So from that 
 time, the Jews conspired to put this little 
 innocent out of the world ; for which purpose, 
 they hired a ruffian who lived in a low alley, 
 and as the child passed by the spot, this cursed 
 Jew seized him fast, and having cut his throat, 
 threw his body into a pit. 
 
 But ' murder will out,' and blood proclaimed 
 the cursed deed. The poor widow waited up 
 all that night for her little son, and as soon as 
 the daylight rose, she went forth, with busy 
 thought, and face pale with fear, to seek him 
 at his school, or where else he might perchance 
 have staid ; until, at length, she heard that he 
 was last seen in the Jewry. With motherly 
 yearnings, and half out of her mind, she went 
 to every place where she might in likelihood 
 find him, piteously praying every Jew she met 
 to tell her if they had seen her child pass by. 
 All told her they had not. But by the grace 
 of her heavenly Lord, it entered into her 
 heart that he must be cast into the pit hard 
 by, where she was calling him by name : and 
 Great Grod ! who soundest thy praises by 
 the mouth of innocents, behold thy power !
 
 THE MURDERED CHILD. 279 
 
 there, where they found this little gem of 
 martyrdom lying upright with his mangled 
 throat, he began to sing the Alma Redemp- 
 toris so loud, that the whole place rang again. 
 
 The Christian people, who were passing 
 through the street, came in to wonder upon 
 this strange event ; and hastily they sum- 
 moned the Provost, who came without delay, 
 and having given thanks and praise to the 
 Father of all, he ordered those Jews into con- 
 finement. 
 
 With piteous lamentation they took up the 
 child, and solemnly and with great honour 
 bore him to the next Abbey, he all the way 
 singing his little hymn. His mother swoon- 
 ing, lay by the body, nor could the people 
 remove this new Rachel from his bier. 
 
 The Provost promptly condemned every Jew 
 that was privy to the murder to a tormenting 
 and shameful death. 'Evil shall he have,' 
 said he, ' who evil will deserve ; ' therefore he 
 ordered them to be first drawn by wild horses, 
 and afterwards hanged. 
 
 During the celebration of mass the mur- 
 dered innocent lay upon his bier before the
 
 280 THE PRIORESS'S TALE: 
 
 altar ; and after, when the Abbot with his 
 convent prepared to bury him, and while the 
 holy water was being sprinkled upon his body, 
 he sang again, '0 Alma Eedemptoris.' The 
 Abbot, who was a holy man, began solemnly 
 to conjure the child, and said, ' dear child, 
 with reverence I enjoin thee, by virtue of the 
 Holy Trinity, to tell me the cause that thou, 
 to all appearance murdered, ceasest not to 
 sing.' ' My throat,' answered the little one, 
 'is hewn to the bone, and in the way of 
 nature, I should long since have died; but 
 Jesus hath ordained, for his honour and glory, 
 and that of his heavenly mother, that I should 
 sing the " Alma Eedemptoris mater." With 
 all my slender skill and might, I ever loved 
 the blessed mother of our Lord ; and when 
 my life was about to depart from me, she 
 came, and bade me sing this anthem, as you 
 have heard, in my dying ; and while I lifted 
 up my voice, methought she laid a grain upon 
 my tongue. Wherefore I sing, and needs 
 must sing, in honour of the Blessed Virgin 
 till that grain is taken off my tongue. And 
 "little child," she said "when that is taken
 
 THE PRIORESS'S TALE. 
 
 ' The Abbot, who was a holy man. began solemnly to conjure 
 the child, and said : " O dear child, with reverence I enjoin thee, by 
 virtue of the Holy Trinity, to tell the cause that thou, to all appear- 
 ance murdered, ceasest not to sing."
 
 THE MUKDEEED CHILD. 281 
 
 away, I will fetch thee away ; fear not I 
 will never forsake thee." ' 
 
 Then this holy Abbot gently laid hold of his 
 tongue and removed the grain, when instantly 
 and quietly he gave up the ghost. The worthy 
 man seeing this great miracle, wept many tears, 
 and fell flat upon the ground, amazed and con- 
 founded. The brethren also, upon their knees, 
 weeping, returned honour and praise to the 
 Blessed Virgin : after which they arose and went 
 forth, taking this infant martyr from his bier, 
 and enclosed his little sweet body in a tomb of 
 fair marble.
 
 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE: 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 
 
 A FABLE. 
 
 OUR host next called out, with a rough fami- 
 liarity, to the Nun's Priest, ' Now, Parson ! draw 
 near, Sir John, l and tell us something to 
 
 1 Sir John. I know not how it has happened that in the 
 principal modern languages, John (or its equivalent) is a name 
 of contempt, or at least of slight. So the Italians use Ctianni, 
 from whence Zani, the Spaniards Juan, as Bobo Juan, a fool- 
 ish John, the French Jean, with various additions ; and in 
 English, when we call a man a John, we do not mean it as a 
 title of honour. Chaucer uses Jack-fool as the Spaniards do 
 Bobo Juan, and I suppose Jackass has the same etymology. 
 The title of Sir, or Sire, was usually given, by courtesy, to 
 Priests, both secular and regular. Note to Tyrwhitfs Edition 
 of the Canterbury Tales, 1775. IF the host then used the title 
 John in an impertinent or contemptuous sense ; that of Sir 
 must also be understood as an additional piece of rudeness, 
 because of its affectation of courtesy and respect.
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 283 
 
 gladden our hearts. Although you do ride 
 upon a jade, man, and your beast is poor and 
 lean ; so long as he serves your turn, no matter. 
 See that you keep a merry heart that is the 
 chief care of this life.' 
 
 ' Yes, host,' said he, ' riding or walking, 
 blame me if I be not merry withal.' And 
 straightway this goodly Priest opened upon his 
 tale. 
 
 Long ago, a poor widow, somewhat stooping 
 with the weight of years, dwelt in a little 
 cottage, beside a grove, standing in a dale. 
 Ever since she had ceased to be a wife, she 
 earned her bread in patience and simplicity : 
 slender was her stock, and slender was her 
 rent. With careful husbandry she supported 
 herself and two daughters. She had three 
 hogs, three cows, and a ewe. Smoky was her 
 cabin, in which she ate many a frugal meal : 
 no pungent sauce to whet her appetite, or 
 dainty morsel entered her lips : her diet ac- 
 corded with her apparel, and both were humble. 
 She never ailed through repletion, and tem- 
 perance was her only medicine. Activity and
 
 284 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : 
 
 exercise were all her heart's delight ; no gout 
 prevented her from dancing, and apoplexy 
 made not her head to tremble. Wine formed 
 no part of her household store, but milk was 
 her beverage ; and her meals consisted of brown 
 bread, singed bacon, and, as it might happen, 
 an egg or two. 
 
 She had a little yard enclosed with sticks, 
 and, on the outside, a dry ditch. In this yard 
 she kept a cock, called Chanticleer ; a merrier 
 crow than his was not- to be heard in all the 
 country round. He was as true to his matin 
 hour as the abbey clock. He could tell by in- 
 stinct the ascension of the equinox ; and, when 
 it had risen fifteen degrees, then would he 
 crow so that it was a joy to hear him. His 
 comb was ruddier than the finest coral, and 
 embattled like a castle-tower. His bill was 
 black, and shone like jet; his legs and toes 
 were azure ; his nails were whiter than the 
 lily-flower ; and his neck and back were bur- 
 nished gold. 
 
 This gentle cock had seven hens in his train 
 his wives ; all of various colours, of which 
 the fairest about the throat and breast was
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 285 
 
 Dame Partlet. She was a most courteous, dis- 
 creet, debonair, and companionable lady ; con- 
 ducting herself withal so fairly, that since the 
 day she was a week old, she had held fast im- 
 prisoned the heart of Sir Chanticleer. What a 
 pleasure it was to hear them singing, in sweet 
 accord, as the bright sun began to arise : ' My 
 love, my joy, is far in land.' J For, in those 
 days, I have heard that birds and beasts could 
 both speak and sing as we do. 
 
 It happened one day, just before the dawn, 
 as Chanticleer sat upon his perch among his 
 wives, and next to him fair Partlet, he began 
 to groan in his throat like one sore troubled in 
 a dream. And when she so heard him roar, 
 she became alarmed, and said, ' My own dear 
 heart I what makes you groan in this manner ? 
 truly you are a fine sleeper ! fie, for shame ! ' 
 And, he answering her, said, 'Madam, I 
 entreat you not to be uneasy ; but, upon my 
 truth, I had just now fallen into such mischief, 
 that my heart still quakes with fear at the 
 thought of it. Heaven send me a clean quit- 
 
 1 The first -words of a song most probably familiar to thd 
 poet's readers.
 
 286 THE NUN'S PEIEST'S TALE : 
 
 tance of my dream, and keep me safe and 
 sound in body. Methought that I was walking 
 up and down our yard, when I saw a beast like 
 a hound, who would have seized upon me and 
 put me to death. His colour was a light tawny, 
 betwixt yellow and red, and both his ears and 
 tail were tipped with black ; his snout was 
 sharp, and he had two sparkling eyes. The 
 look of him still makes me ready to die. This, 
 most likely, occasioned my groaning.' 
 
 ' Away ! ' said she, ' fie on your faint heart ! 
 Alas ! by Heaven ! you have forfeited all my 
 affection. In faith, I cannot love a coward: 
 for be sure, that whatever a woman may say, 
 we all desire our husbands to be bold, wise, and 
 free ; neither a fool nor a niggard ; and, above 
 all, no braggart. How durst you for shame 
 say to your love that anything could make you 
 afraid ? Have you a man's beard, and not his 
 heart ? To be frightened at a dream ! which, 
 Heaven knows, is all vanity. Dreams fre- 
 quently arise from fume and repletion, when 
 the humours increase ; and, no doubt, this 
 dream which you have had to-night, came from 
 the great overflowing of your red choler, which
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 287 
 
 makes people dream of arrows, and of fire with 
 ruddy flames ; of red beasts that try to bite 
 them ; of contentions and strifes, and great and 
 small red wasps : as the humour of melan- 
 choly will cause a man to cry out in his sleep 
 for fear of black bulls and bears, and black 
 devils ready to snap them up. I could tell you 
 too of other humours, that cause one much 
 trouble in his sleep but let them pass. Does 
 not Cato, that wise man, say, " Pay no regard 
 to dreams ? " ' 
 
 'Now, sir,' said she, 'when you fly down 
 from the beam, let me urge you, for the love of 
 Heaven, to take some cooling herbs. Depend 
 upon it I give you good advice in recommend- 
 ing you to clear away both choler and melan- 
 choly : and that you may lose no time, as 'there 
 is not an apothecary in the town, I will inform 
 you of a few simples that I shall find in our 
 yard, which have the property of thoroughly 
 purifying your blood. You are of a very 
 choleric complexion, and must take great care 
 when the sun comes out in its strength that 
 you do not become full of hot humours ; else, 
 I lay a wager that you will be laid lip with an
 
 288 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : 
 
 ague or tertian fever. For a day or two, I 
 would recommend your eating some worms by 
 way of digestive before you take your altera- 
 tives l of laureola, centaury, or fumitory, of 
 hellebore, spurge, or dog-wood berries, or 
 ground-ivy, that is growing in the yard. Pick 
 them where they grow, and eat them. Come, 
 be merry, my dear husband ! for the sake 
 of your father's kindred do not be afraid of 
 dreams.' 
 
 ' Madam,' said he, ' gramercy of your great 
 learning : but, nevertheless, touching that same 
 Cato, who had such a reputation for wisdom, 
 although he told us to "take no heed of dreams," 
 I assure you that you may read in old books of 
 a higher authority than ever Cato possessed, 
 that the very reverse of his opinion is a matter 
 of well founded experience ; for that dreams 
 are warnings both of the joys and tribulations 
 that people are to endure in this life. The 
 thing needs no argument ; indeed the proof 
 of it carries conviction. One of the greatest 
 
 1 Alterative medicines are those, which, unperceived, re- 
 store the body from indisposition to clear health.
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 289 
 
 authors l we read of relates, that formerly two 
 men went forth upon a pilgrimage ; and it 
 happened that they came into a town where 
 there was such a congregation of people, and 
 the lodging so scanty, that they could not find 
 so much as a cottage in which they could 
 remain together ; they were, therefore, com- 
 pelled to part company for that night, and each 
 of them to go to his inn, and put up with such 
 entertainment as he might find. One of them 
 was lodged in an ox-stall ; and the other, by 
 that good luck which at times attends every one, 
 was comfortably provided. Now it happened 
 that during the night, he who was well-housed 
 dreamed that the other cried out to him foi 
 help, for that he was being murdered in an 
 ox's-stall, where he was lodged for the night. 
 " Hasten to help me, dear brother," said he, 
 " or I shall die." The man started from his 
 
 1 Cicero [De Divinatione, b. i. c. 27.] relates this and the 
 following story, but in a contrary order, and with so many 
 other differences, that one might be led to suspect that he was 
 here quoted at second hand, if it were not usual with Chaucer, 
 in these stories of familiar life, to throw in a number of natu- 
 ral circumstances not to be found in his original authors. 
 Note to Tyrwhitt's Edition. 
 
 U
 
 290 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : 
 
 sleep, but thinking it only a dream, he took no 
 heed of it ; so, turning round, went off again. 
 Twice, however, he dreamed the same ; and 
 the third time, his companion, as he thought, 
 came to him, and said, " I am now slain 
 behold my deep and wide gashes : arise up 
 early on the morrow, and go to the west gate 
 of the town, where you shall see a cart full of 
 dung ; in this my body is privately concealed. 
 Boldly arrest that cart. My gold was the cause 
 of my being murdered ; " and so he told him, 
 with a pale and piteous face, every point how 
 he was slain. And be sure that he found his 
 dream all true : for in the morning, as soon as 
 it was day, he went to his companion's inn, and 
 when he came to the ox-stall he enquired after 
 him. The ostler told him that his fellow-tra- 
 veller had left the town at day-break. The 
 survivor, bearing his dream in mind, began 
 to suspect, and immediately went to the west 
 gate, where he found a dung-cart exactly as the 
 dead man had described ; when he began to cry 
 out lustily for help and vengeance, saying, that 
 his companion lay murdered in that cart. 
 What more need I say ? The people rushed
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 291 
 
 out and overturned the cart, where, in the 
 midst of the dung, they found the dead man 
 newly murdered. 
 
 ' good, true, and blessed Grod ! behold, 
 how thou dost always cause murder to betray 
 itself ! Every day do we find the saying true 
 that " murder will out ; " so loathsome and 
 abominable to a just (rod is this crime, that he 
 will not suffer it to be hidden, though it remain 
 concealed for years. Straightway the magis- 
 trates of that time having seized the carter and 
 ostler, and put them to the rack, they confessed 
 their wickedness, and were both hanged. 
 
 ' Thus you may see that dreams are to be 
 feared. And in the very next chapter of the 
 same book you may read of two who were about 
 to take a voyage to a far country, but were de- 
 tained by reason of contrary winds. One day, 
 however, at eventide, the wind began to change ; 
 and gladly they retired to rest, thinking to set 
 sail early on the morrow. But a strange event 
 happened to one of the two. As he lay asleep 
 he dreamed that a man stood by his bed-side, 
 and ordered him to abide behind; "for if," 
 said he, "you go to-morrow, you will be 
 u 2
 
 292 THE NUN'S PEIEST'S TALE : 
 
 drowned." He awoke, and told his companion 
 what had happened to him, and entreated that 
 he would put off his voyage for that day. The 
 other, who lay by his bed-side, began to laugh 
 and scoff at him. " No dream," said he, " can 
 deter my heart from attending to my concerns. 
 I value not your dreams a straw, they are all 
 vanity. Men dream of things that never did 
 or will come to pass. But since I see you are 
 inclined to lose your tide, fare you well." And 
 so he took his leave and went away. But, 
 before he had gone half his course, I know not 
 by what chance it came about, the ship split, 
 and both vessel and man went to the bottom 
 in the sight of others sailing in company. 
 Therefore, dear Partlet, by these old examples 
 you may see that no one should be reckless of 
 dreams, for many a one is to be sorely dreaded. 
 ' But let us drop all this, and think only of 
 mirth and jollity. Madam Partlet, so happy 
 am I when I look upon the beauty of your 
 face you have so fine a scarlet round your 
 eyes, that it banishes all my fear ; for truly 
 may we say, " In principio mulier est hominis 
 confusio," (Madam, the meaning of this Latin
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 293 
 
 is, "Woman is man's joy and delight," 1 ) for 
 when I feel by night your soft side, as we are 
 seated upon our narrow perch, I am so full of 
 comfort and happiness, that I defy all dreams 
 and augury. And with that word he and all his 
 hens flew down from the beam, for it was day : 
 then with a chuck he began to call them round 
 him, for he had found some corn in the yard. 
 Eight royal he was, and had lost all his fear. 
 He looked about him as grimly as a lion, and 
 roamed up and down upon his toes, disdaining 
 to set his feet upon the ground. And when he 
 had discovered a grain of corn, he chucked, and 
 all his wives ran to him. 
 
 And so I leave our Chanticleer at his pasture, 
 like a royal prince in his banqueting hall, and 
 turn to relate his adventures. In the opening 
 of the month of May it happened, that, as 
 Chanticleer, in all the pride of his seven wives, 
 who were walking by his side, cast up his eyes 
 to the bright sun, who had made somewhat 
 
 1 The impudent -wag ! he knew that Dame Partlet was no 
 scholar, or she would have told him that the translation o 
 the saying was. ' In the beginning woman was man's con- 
 fusion.'
 
 294. THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : 
 
 more than twenty degrees in the sign of 
 Taurus, he knew by instinct that it was six 
 o'clock ; and then he sounded the hour with his 
 merry note. Madam Partlet,' said he, ' my 
 world's bliss, only hearken how those happy 
 birds are singing, and see the fresh flowers how 
 they grow ! all these things fill my heart with 
 such joy and comfort !' But, suddenly a sorrow- 
 ful mishap befel him, (for grief ever follows upon 
 the heels of joy,) and heaven knows that worldly 
 joy has soon fled a chronicler may safely note 
 this down for a sovereign truth. Now, hearken 
 to me, gentles all, and wise. The story I am 
 now telling is as true as that book of Sir Laun- 
 celot du Lake, which all the women hold in so 
 great reverence. 
 
 A Fox, full of sly iniquity, who for three 
 years had dwelt in the grove hard by, that 
 same night broke through the hedge into the 
 yard where fair Chanticleer, with his wives, 
 was accustomed to repair, and in a bed of cab- 
 bages he lay quietly till about nine o'clock, 
 watching his opportunity to fall upon him. 0, 
 Chanticleer I evil befall the morning on which 
 you flew from your perch into that yard. Full
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 205 
 
 well had you been warned in your dream that 
 this day was unpropitious to you but what 
 has been ordained, needs must come to pass. 
 You took counsel of your wife, and the advice 
 of women is apt to be hike-warm or cold. 
 Woman's advice first ' brought us all our woe, 
 with loss of Paradise ' to Adam, where he led 
 a merry life and at his ease. As I may offend 
 many, however, by my disparagement of wo- 
 men's discretion in giving advice, I pass the 
 matter over these are the Cock's words, not 
 my own : I can divine no harm in woman. 
 
 Dame Partlet and all her sisters were bath- 
 ing themselves in the dust against the sun, and 
 Chanticleer singing as merrily as a mermaid, 
 when happening to cast his eye upon a butter- 
 fly among the cabbages, he was aware of this 
 Fox crouching upon his belly. He had no idea 
 then of crowing ; but up he started and cried 
 out ' Cok ! cok ! cok ! ' like one heart-stricken 
 with fright : for it is natural in a beast to 
 flee from his enemy, although he had never 
 before set eyes on him. So Chanticleer would 
 have made off, but that the Fox said quickly, 
 ' Gentle Sir, what are you going to do ? Are
 
 296 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : 
 
 you afraid of me, who am your friend ? Worse 
 than a fiend were I, if I should offer you any 
 harm or villainy. I come not to pry into your 
 counsel, but only for the purpose of hearing you 
 sing ; for by my faith you have as merry a 
 note as any angel in heaven ; and withal you 
 have a finer feeling for music than Boethius 
 himself, or any songster. My lord, your fa- 
 ther, (heaven rest his soul !) and your mother 
 too, in her gentility, have both been at my 
 house, to my great delight, and most happy, 
 Sir, should I be to please you. But speaking 
 of singing, I will say, that, excepting yourself, 
 I never heard any one like your father in a 
 morning : he put his heart into every thing he 
 sang ; and to give his voice the more strength 
 he would strive so, that it made him wink his 
 eyes with the loudness of his note, standing 
 too upon tiptoe and stretching forth his long 
 small neck. And then he had such judgment 
 that no man any where could surpass him 
 either in song or wisdom. I have read in the 
 verses of Dan 1 Burnel the ass, of a cock, that, 
 
 1 Dan was formerly a title of distinction commonly given 
 to monks.
 
 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE. 
 
 Our chanticleer stood high upon his toes, stretching his neck, 
 and, holding close his eyes, began to crow with all his might. Up 
 starts Dan Russell, and catches him by the gorge.'
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 297 
 
 because a priest's son gave him a knock upon 
 his leg, he contrived to make him lose his bene- 
 fice : but certainly there is no comparison be- 
 twixt the wisdom and discretion of your father 
 and his subtlety. Now then, Sir, for charity's 
 sake be pleased to sing, and let us see if you 
 can counterfeit your father.' 
 
 This Chanticleer, like a man unconscious of 
 treachery, began to beat his wings, so ravished 
 was he with all this flattery. Alas ! for you 
 Lords ! many a false flatterer have you in your 
 courts, who please you more than he that will 
 tell you nothing but the truth. Beware, Lords, 
 of the treachery of such dependants. 
 
 Our Chanticleer, standing high upon his 
 toes, stretching his neck, and holding close his 
 eyes, began to crow with all his might. Up 
 starts Dan Russell 1 and catches him by the 
 gorge, bearing him off on his back toward the 
 wood, for as yet there was no one to follow him. 
 
 Fate, that may not be avoided ! alas that 
 Chanticleer flew from his perch ! alas, that 
 his wife had no faith in dreams ! On a Friday, 
 too, fell all this mischance. 
 
 1 Chaucer possibly calls the fox Russell, from his red, or 
 russet colour.
 
 298 THE NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE : 
 
 Greoffry, 1 dear, sovereign master of the 
 poetic art, who, when thy worthy King Richard 
 was slain, so sorely bewailed his death, why 
 have I not thy learning to chide as thou didst 
 this same unlucky day ? (for on a Friday also 
 was he killed.) Then would I show you how 
 to lament the painful fate of Chanticleer. 
 
 When Troy was sacked, and Pyrrhus with his 
 stern sword, having seized old Priam by his 
 grey beard, slew him, the ladies of the palace 
 made not so great cry and lamentation as did 
 all the hens in the close when they witnessed 
 the spectacle of their beloved Chanticleer. 
 Above them all shrieked Dame Partlet, louder 
 than the wife of Asdrubal at the death of her 
 husband, when the Romans burned Carthage. 
 So full of fury and torment was that noble- 
 minded woman, that with a stedfast heart she 
 wilfully rushed into the fire, giving herself for 
 a burnt-offering to her Lord. But to my tale 
 again. 
 
 The simple widow and her two daughters 
 heard the woful shouting of the hens, and out 
 
 1 Geoffry cle Vinsauf, author of a poem on the death of 
 B^hard the First.
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 299 
 
 they started, when they saw the Fox making 
 towards the wood bearing the cock upon his 
 back. 4 The fox ! the fox ! ' they cried, and 
 after him they scoured ; many neighbours also 
 came out with sticks. Out ran Col the dog, 
 and Talbot and Garland ; and Malkin with her 
 distaff in her hand : away ran the cow and calf; 
 the very hogs too scoured off, and ran ready to 
 break their hearts at the barking of the dogs 
 and the shouting of the people. They all 
 yelled like fiends in torment. The ducks 
 screamed the geese flew over the trees, and 
 even a swarm of bees scrambled out of their 
 hive. So hideous was the noise, that Jack 
 Straw 1 and his men, when they were going to 
 kill a Fleming, were not so outrageous as these 
 in pursuing the Fox. Horns and trumpets 
 they brought out, and shrieked and hooped as 
 if heaven and earth were coming together. 
 
 And now I pray you to mark how suddenly 
 Madam Fortune will, upon occasion, check the 
 hope and pride of her enemies ! This cock as 
 he lay upon the Fox's back, in a deadly fright 
 
 1 See the History of the Reign of Henry VI.
 
 300 THE NUN'S PKIEST'S TALE : 
 
 said to him, ' If I were you, Sir, I would turn 
 again upon these churls, and bid them sheer 
 off, with a pestilence ; for, having reached the 
 wood-side, you would make a meal of your 
 cock in spite of their heads.' 
 
 ' And so I will, i' faith,' answered the Fox ; 
 and as he opened his mouth in speaking, sud- 
 denly the cock broke away from him and flew 
 iip into a tree. 
 
 When he saw his prey was gone, * Alas ! 
 Chanticleer,' said he, ' I did you an ill turn in 
 frightening you so when I brought you out of 
 the yard ; but, Sir, I did not do it with a 
 wicked intention ; come down, and I will ex- 
 plain every thing.' 
 
 ' No no ! ' said the cock, ' beshrew us both 
 and hang me up body and bones, if ever you 
 cheat me a second time : your flattery shall no 
 more get me to sing and wink my eyes ; for, 
 ill betide him who winks when he should be 
 looking about him.' 
 
 ' Nay then, ' said the Fox, heaven send him 
 bad luck who will keep jangling when he 
 should be silent ' and off he brushed. 
 
 And here, gentlemen, you see the evil of
 
 THE COCK AND THE FOX. 301 
 
 thoughtlessness and trusting to flattery. You, 
 who look upon the fable of a fox, a cock, and 
 a hen as so much folly, will do well to give 
 heed to the moral of it, take the grain and 
 leave the chaff.
 
 THE CANON- YEOMAN'S TALE. 
 
 THE STORY OF THE ALCHYMIST. 
 
 PROLOGUE. 
 
 BEFORE we had ridden five miles after the con- 
 clusion of the last tale, a man overtook us at 
 Boughton-under-Blee, wearing a black cloak, 
 and under it a white surplice. His hack, 
 which was a dapple grey, was all in a lather ; 
 it seemed as though it had galloped hard 
 for three miles at the least. His Yeoman's 
 beast, too, was in the same condition ; the 
 foam stood so high upon its breast-plate, that 
 it was spotted like a magpie. The rider 
 seemed accoutred for a journey, for on the 
 crupper behind him he carried a double port- 
 manteau. The master rode light for summer
 
 THE ALCHYMIST. 303 
 
 travelling. I began to consider of what de- 
 scription was his quality, till I perceived that 
 his cloak was sewed to the hood, when I 
 guessed him to be some Canon. His hat hung 
 down his back by a lace, because he had ridden 
 at such a rate. He had put a dock-leaf under 
 his hood to keep it from the moisture of his 
 head, and that from the heat of the cloth. His 
 forehead dropped like the retort of a still. 
 When he had come up with us he called out, 
 ' Grod save this jolly company! I have ridden 
 at a sharp rate to overtake you in order that I 
 might join your society.' 
 
 His Yeoman was also equally courteous, and 
 said, ' Gentlemen, I saw you ride out of your 
 inn early this morning, and gave my master 
 notice of the circumstance, for he loves amuse- 
 ment.' ' Friend,' said our host, ' good luck 
 betide you for the warning you gave your 
 master : he looks to be a wise man, and, I 
 doubt not, is a jocund one. Tell me can he 
 tell us a merry tale or two to please our com- 
 pany?' 'Who, Sir? my master ? Aye truly, 
 Sir, he has anything but enough of mirth and 
 jollity ; and, Sir, if you knew him as well as I
 
 304 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 do, you would wonder to see in how many ways 
 and how craftily he can work. Many a great 
 undertaking has he taken in hand, which it 
 were full hard for any one here to bring about, 
 unless by his assistance. Simply and homely 
 as he there rides amongst you, his acquaintance 
 would turn to the profit of any one. I dare 
 lay all I am worth that not one of you would 
 forego his acquaintance for the good he could 
 bring you. He is a passing man, and of high 
 discretion ; and so I give you warning.' 
 
 ' Well but,' said our host, 'is he a clerk, 
 or what ? Tell us what he is.' 
 
 ' Nay he is greater than a clerk,' said the 
 Yeoman ; ' and in few words I will show you 
 some of his skill. My Lord, here, I say, is 
 master of such an art ; (I can't let you into the 
 whole secret of his craft, although I help him 
 in his work,) that all the ground we have ridden 
 over till we come to Canterbury he could pave 
 with silver and gold.' 
 
 ' Bless us ! ' said our host, ' but this is a 
 marvellous thing to me, that, with such a gift 
 your master should set so little store by his 
 worship. Why, his dress is so shabby and
 
 THE ALCHTMIST. 305 
 
 torn that it is not worth a farthing. If your 
 master's power is equal to your description, 
 why does he go about in so slovenly a 
 fashion?' 
 
 ' Why ? ' said the Yeoman, ' why do you 
 ask me ? The reason is, I believe that he is 
 too wise. As our clerks say, " That which is 
 overdone turns to a fault." So in this matter 
 I think him foolish ; for your men of over- 
 much sense are apt to misuse it ; and that 
 heaven mend him ! is the case with my 
 master.' 
 
 4 Well no matter for his dress,' said our 
 host, ' but, good Yeoman, since you know 
 somewhat of your Lord's skill, pray tell us 
 what and how he works : and where do you 
 live ? ' 
 
 In the suburbs of a town,' said he, among 
 corners and blind lanes ; where thieves and 
 those of their kind hold their fearful resi- 
 dence ; men who dare not show their faces by 
 day. In such places, if I must say the truth, 
 we live.' 
 
 ' Well, but again,' said our host, ' what 
 makes your face so discoloured ? ' 
 x
 
 306 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 ' Why, my complexion is changed with blow- 
 ing hot fires. I don't pass my time in looking 
 at myself in the glass, but in hard labour. We 
 are always poring over the furnace ; and yet 
 withal I do not find that we gain our desires. 
 We persuade people to lend us money and gold, 
 you see, and make them believe that we can 
 turn one pound into two. And yet, with all our 
 trying and groping, there's no such thing. That 
 science is so far beyond us, that, swear how we 
 may that we shall overtake it, it slips away, 
 and will make beggars of us at last.' 
 
 While the Yeoman was thus talking away, 
 the Canon drew near, and heard what he was 
 saying, for he was always suspicious when peo- 
 ple were in conversation : as Cato says, 4 He 
 that is guilty believes that every speech refers 
 to himself.' Therefore he said to his Yeoman, 
 ' Hold your peace, or you shall dearly abide 
 your folly. You are slandering me in this 
 company, and discovering what you ought to 
 conceal.' 
 
 'Tell on tell on,' said our host, 'what- 
 ever betide ; don't reckon his threats at a far- 
 thing.'
 
 THE ALCHYMIST. 307 
 
 Tfaith,' said he, 'I do but little.' And 
 when this Canon found that his Yeoman would 
 betray his secret, he fled away for very sorrow 
 and shame. 
 
 ' Aha ! ' said the Yeoman, ' now we'll have 
 some fun. Since he is off I'll tell you all I 
 know about him. The foul fiend catch him ; 
 for never more, I promise you, will I join with 
 him for a penny or pound. Shame and trouble 
 follow him that first brought me to that game. 
 I feel it, say what they will of me : and yet for 
 all my sorrow, and hard labour, and misdeeds, 
 I could not bring myself to leave the trade. 
 I wish I could tell you all that belongs to that 
 art ; some of it, however, I can tell ; and since 
 my master is gone, I will not spare but relate 
 all I know.' 1 
 
 1 It is worthy of remark, that in this early stage of science, 
 Chaucer should have had the good sense to see through the 
 folly of the art of Alchymy, or the power of turning baser 
 metals into gold ; which for ages deluded so many people, 
 shrewd ones as well as simple. So lately even as in the time 
 of Steele the wild pursuit was not wholly abandoned ; for the 
 author of the Tatler and Spectator, who was acute enough in 
 perceiving the weaknesses of his fellow mortals, could himself 
 be induced to lose that time in the attempt, which a steady 
 employment of his pen, and prudent economy of its proceeds,
 
 308 THE CANON- YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 THE CANON- YEOMAN'S TALE. 
 
 Although I lived with this Canon for seven 
 years, yet am I no nearer to the secret of the 
 art he practised. All that I possessed in the 
 world have I lost by it ; and so indeed have 
 many more than I. At that time I was accus- 
 tomed to be gay of heart, and fresh in my cloth- 
 ing : now may I go with a hose for the cover- 
 ing of my head. And whereas my colour was 
 fresh and rosy, now its hue is wan and leaden. 
 Hard labour, too, has bleared my eyes. Such 
 is the advantage of increase and multiplica- 
 tion 1 That slippery science has left me so 
 bare, that wherever I go I reap no benefit. So 
 deeply, too, am I in debt, from the gold I have 
 borrowed, that while I live I shall never be a 
 free man. Let every one take warning by my 
 error ; for, whoever enters upon the same pur- 
 would have superseded. Steele had the power of working a 
 greater miracle than that of turning lead into gold. He 
 needed but to write words upon paper. The leaden thoughts 
 of some writers, and their success in making account of them, 
 would lead one to conclude that the science of alchymy is no 
 other than an allegory.
 
 THE ALCHTMIST. 309 
 
 suit and follows it up, he may count his gain 
 for loss : empty will be his purse, and empty 
 his wits. And when, through his madness and 
 folly, he has hazarded and lost his own wealth, 
 then he excites others to the same headlong 
 course ; for joy is it to bad natures to have fel- 
 lowship in pain and disease. This saying was 
 taught me by a clerk : but let that pass ; and 
 now to speak of our handicraft. 
 
 When we enter upon our fantastic avocation, 
 we put on a face of prodigious wisdom, using 
 none but quaint and learned terms, and all the 
 while my business is to blow the fire till my 
 heart faints within me. I need not detail the 
 proportions of every material that we work 
 upon ; such as five or six ounces of silver, as 
 may be, or trouble myself and you with the 
 names, such as orpiment, 1 burnt bones, iron 
 scales and fragments, ground all together to a 
 fine powder ; and how all is placed in an earthen 
 pot ; putting in before hand salt and pepper, 
 the whole being well closed with a glass re- 
 ceiver that none of the air may escape : and of 
 
 1 A fossil of a bright and beautiful yellow colour, like pure 
 gold.
 
 310 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 the gentle fire that is made ; and of the care 
 and toil that we take in sublimating our mate- 
 rials, and in amalgamating and calcining quick- 
 silver, that is called crude mercury. For all 
 this, our sleights of hand come to no good con- 
 clusion : our orpiment and sublimated mer- 
 cury; our white lead ground on marble, cer- 
 tain ounces of each, are of no avail ; our labour 
 is all in vain. Neither our spirits' ascension 
 nor our materials may in our work avail us any 
 thing ; for lost is all our labour, and all the 
 cost expended upon it is gone too. 
 
 Many other matters also appertain to our 
 craft, though, being an unlettered man, I can- 
 not rehearse them in their proper order ; yet I 
 will tell them as they arise in my mind, as 
 bole ammoniac, verdigris, borax, and earthen 
 and glass vessels ; descensories, 1 vials, cruci- 
 bles, and sublimatories ; 2 cucurbites 3 and alem- 
 bics, and other such stuff, dear enough at the 
 price of a leek. Eubifying waters, ox-gall and 
 
 1 Vessels used in chemistry for the extracting of oils. 
 
 2 Vessels used in sublimation ; that is, separating certain 
 parts of a body, and driving them to the top of a vessel in the 
 form of a very fine powder. 
 
 3 A vessel shaped like a gourd, (so called from the Latin 
 for that fruit) used in distillation.
 
 THE ALCHYMIST. 311 
 
 arsenic, sal-ammoniac, and brimstone ; with 
 herbs a long list, as agrimony, valerian, and 
 moonwort, and a hundred others. Our lamps 
 burning night and day, and our calcining fur- 
 naces to bring about our craft if possible : 
 our waters of albification, with unslaked lime, 
 chalk, white of egg, various powders, ashes, 
 manure and clay, saltpetre and vitriol, salt of 
 tartar, alkali, and prepared salt ; clay made 
 with horse and man's hair ; oil of tartar, alum, 
 glass, yeast, wort, and argoil ; l red arsenic, and 
 other imbibing and incorporating materials ; 
 our silver citrination, our cementing and fer- 
 menting ; our ingots and vessels for assaying the 
 metals, and many other things besides. 
 
 I will tell you also, as I have heard my mas- 
 ter name them, of the four spirits and seven 
 bodies. The first spirit is called quicksilver, 
 the second orpiment, the third sal-ammoniac, 
 and the fourth brimstone. Of the seven bodies, 
 Sol is gold, Luna silver, Mars iron, Mercury 
 is quicksilver, Saturn lead, Jupiter is tin, and 
 Venus copper. But I forgot to speak of OUT 
 corrosive waters, and metal filings, of mollify- 
 
 1 Potter's clay.
 
 312 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 ing bodies, and of their induration ; oils, ablu- 
 tions, and fusible metal ; all which to enume- 
 rate would exceed the largest book that ever 
 was written. So let them be, for I must come 
 shortly to my story. 
 
 Before the pot is placed upon the fire, my 
 master (and no one but himself) tempers the 
 metals; and though he has such a name for 
 skill (now he is gone I will say it boldly), he 
 sometimes makes sore blunders ; for it often 
 happens that the vessel will burst, and then 
 good-bye to all our labour. These metals are 
 so violent in their operation, that stone walls 
 cannot resist them. Some are blown into the 
 ground, or scattered about the floor, or fly 
 through the roof, and in this way have we 
 lost many a pound. Then comes the disap- 
 pointment and chiding of the adventurers, some 
 complaining that the metal was too long upon 
 the fire ; others of the blowing : (then would 
 I begin to quake, for that was my office.) 
 Pshaw ! cries a third, you know nothing about 
 it : it was not properly tempered. The cause 
 of it all, says a fourth, is, that the fire was 
 not made with beechwood. All I know of the
 
 THE ALCHTMIST. 313 
 
 matter, myself, was, that there was a terrible 
 outcry and strife among us. Then would my 
 master say, ' Come, come, there is no more 
 to do, but to pluck up our hearts and sweep 
 the floor. I am sure the pot was cracked ; but 
 I can soon remedy all this mischief.' 
 
 The rubbish being all swept into a heap and 
 put into a canvas and sifted, one of them would 
 say, ' Here is some of our metal, though not all 
 of it ; and though this misfortune has befallen 
 us, another chance may prove a lucky one. 
 We must put out our money to a venture ; the 
 merchant is not always prosperous ; one time 
 his wealth is swallowed by the sea, and another 
 it comes safely to land.' 
 
 ' Peace, peace ! ' would my master then say ; 
 ' the next time I will contrive better only 
 trust to my wits there was some mistake 
 somewhere.' Then again, one would say the 
 fire was too hot ; but, too hot or too cold, this 
 I know, that we were all at fault, and never 
 got what we were seeking : and so in our mad- 
 ness every one seemed to himself a Solomon : 
 but all is not gold that shines like gold ; nor 
 is every apple, fair to the eye, good at heart :
 
 314 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE: 
 
 and so it was amongst us ; he that seemed the 
 wisest, proved the greatest fool ; and he a thief, 
 who appeared most true ; all which you will 
 find by the time I have concluded my tale. 
 
 There was a Canon dwelt among us, who 
 would have infected a whole city, be it as large 
 as Nineveh, or any three such. His tricks and 
 infinite falseness no one could describe, though 
 he were to live a thousand years : he was peer- 
 less, in this world, of falsehood and treachery. 
 So artfully would he wind his words, that he 
 would beguile any one of his senses, although 
 he were a fiend like himself; and therefore 
 men have ridden miles to make his acquain- 
 tance, not knowing the treachery of his nature. 
 In London, too, lived a Priest, an annualler, 1 
 and had resided there many years. So pleasant 
 and serviceable was he to the good woman 
 where he lodged, that she would suffer him 
 to pay nothing for his board and clothes, how- 
 ever gaily he might appear. He had plenty of 
 money to spend, and this brought our false 
 Canon to him one day, who entreated that he 
 
 1 A Priest employed solely to sing annuals, or anniversary 
 masses for the dead, without having any cure of souls.
 
 THE ALCHYMIST. 315 
 
 would lend him a certain sum, a mark or so, 
 promising to pay it again. 'In three days,' 
 said he, ' I will restore it, and if you find me 
 false, hang me up by the neck.' 
 
 The Priest gave him the mark, and the 
 Canon, thanking him over and over again, took 
 his leave. On the third day he brought back 
 the money, and gladdened the heart of the 
 Priest. ' It is no inconvenience to me,' said 
 he, ' to lend whatever I have to one who is so 
 punctual to his promise in returning it ; I 
 could never say nay to such a man.' 
 
 ' What !' answered the Canon, ' shall I break 
 my word ! No, no, Sir, truth is a thing I shall 
 ever hold sacred to the day that I creep into 
 my grave : Grod forbid it should be other- 
 wise. Believe this as surely as your creed; 
 and I thank Grod to be enabled to say it : never 
 was the man ill paid that at any time lent me 
 his silver or gold, and never falsehood found 
 shelter in my heart. And now, Sir, since you 
 have been so kind to me ; to quit you of your 
 gentleness, I will show you, if you are inclined 
 to learn, how I work in philosophy.' 
 
 'You, Sir!' said the Priest 'will you?
 
 316 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 Most heartily do I accept your offer, and thank 
 you.' 
 
 ' Doubtless, at your command, Sir,' answered 
 the Canon. How true is the old saying, that 
 ' Preferred service hath an ill intent ;' and that 
 I shall soon verify in this Canon. 
 
 Perhaps you may be thinking, Sir Host, that 
 this man was my own master, but indeed it 
 was another Canon ; my lord had not a hun- 
 dredth part of his subtlety : many are the folks, 
 it is true, that he has betrayed ; and whenever 
 I speak of his falsehood, my cheeks burn with 
 shame : redness I know I have little enough, 
 for the fumes of the metals have discharged 
 the colour from my face. 
 
 ' Sir,' said this Canon, ' let your man go and 
 purchase two or three ounces of quicksilver; 
 and when he returns, you shall behold a more 
 wonderful sight than ever met your eyes.' 
 The servant went, and soon brought the quick- 
 silver ; when the Canon took the three ounces, 
 and bid the man bring coals that he might 
 begin his work. The fire being properly laid, 
 the Canon took a crucible from his bosom, and 
 showed it to the Priest. 'Take this instru-
 
 THE ALCHYMIST. 317 
 
 ment,' said he, 'and put into it an ounce of 
 the quicksilver, and begin the labour of a 
 philosopher. There are very few men to 
 whom I would show so much of my science ; 
 but you shall see that I will destroy this metal, 
 and turn it into as fine silver as that which is 
 in your purse. Here is a costly powder that 
 will make all good, for it is the cause of all 
 the craft that I shall show you. Send your 
 man out qf the room, and shut the door, that 
 no one may see us at our philosophy.' The 
 master having dismissed his servant, and shut 
 the door, they both went busily about their 
 work. 
 
 The Priest, at the Canon's bidding, set the 
 crucible on the fire, and began to blow it, and 
 the Canon threw into the crucible a powder, 
 made up of I know not what, chalk or glass 
 not worth a fly, to blind the priest, at the 
 same time bidding him heap the coals above 
 the crucible ; ' for, as a proof of my love for 
 you,' said the Canon, 'your own hands shall 
 achieve the whole work that is to be done.' 
 
 Grlad was the simple Priest, and attended to 
 all he was bidden. So, while he was busy, his
 
 318 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE: 
 
 treacherous companion took out from his 
 bosom a beech coal, which he had privately 
 hollowed out, and put into it some silver 
 filings, stopping them in with wax. This he 
 kept concealed in his hand, and while the 
 Priest was busily heaping the coals ; ' My good 
 friend,' said he, ' the fire is not piled as it 
 should be, let me manage it, while you wipe 
 the moisture from your face.' And as the 
 Priest was using the cloth, the Canon slipped 
 the coal into the crucible, and began to blow 
 the fire. ' Now let us sit down,' said he, ' and 
 have something to drink, and I answer for it, 
 that all will soon be right.' When the beech 
 coal was burnt, the filings naturally fell down 
 into the crucible, the Priest all the while 
 perfectly innocent of the trick passed upon 
 him. 
 
 When the Alchymist saw his time, he 
 desired the Priest to rise up, and stand by 
 him : ' And, as I suppose,' said he, ' you have 
 no ingot by you, go and bring me a piece of 
 chalk, and I will make it into the same form 
 as an ingot. Bring also a bowl or pan full of 
 water, and you shall see how our undertaking
 
 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE. 
 
 ' " My good friend," said he, " the fire is not piled as it should 
 be : let me manage it, while you -wipe the moisture from your 
 face.'"
 
 THE ALCHTMIST. 319 
 
 will thrive. Yet, in order that you may en- 
 tertain no suspicion of me, during your absence, 
 I will not leave your side, but go and return 
 with you.' So they fastened the chamber door, 
 taking with them the key. 
 
 When they returned, our Canon took the 
 chalk, and fashioned it into the shape of a thin 
 plate of silver that lay concealed in his sleeve, 
 which he cunningly contrived, undetected by 
 the Priest. This he slipped into the crucible 
 on the fire, and after due time turned the 
 whole into the water, desiring his dupe to put 
 in his hand and search, for that he hoped he 
 might find some silver : and what else should 
 there be ? A plate of silver is a silver plate, 
 all the world over ! 
 
 The Priest did as he was told, and certainly 
 brought out the metal which the Canon had 
 put there. Who was so happy, now, as this 
 poor deluded man ? ' Heaven's choice blessings 
 reward you, Sir Canon,' said he, 'and misfor- 
 tune cleave to me but I will be yours in every 
 thing, if you do but vouchsafe to teach me this 
 noble craft.' 
 
 * I will make a second trial,' said the Canon,
 
 320 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 * that you may take notice, and become expert 
 in the art, and at your need, essay to do the 
 same at any future time during my absence. 
 Take an ounce of quicksilver, and proceed ex- 
 actly as you have done with this, which has 
 now become pure silver metal.' 
 
 The Priest blithely set about his work as 
 the Canon directed him, who in the meanwhile 
 had ready in his hand a hollow stick, at the 
 end of which was enclosed just an ounce, and 
 no more, of silver filings. These, as before 
 with the coal, were stopped in with wax. And 
 while the Priest was busied about his work, 
 the Canon, with stick in hand, began to cast 
 the powders into the fire. Then stirring up 
 the materials in the crucible, the wax naturally 
 melted, and the contents quickly dropped out. 
 
 When the Priest, suspecting nothing but 
 truth, was '"a second time beguiled, he was so 
 rejoiced, that I cannot describe his mirth and 
 gladness ; and, forthwith, he proffered his all 
 to the Canon body and goods. ' Aye, aye ! ' 
 said the cheat, ' poor though I am, you will 
 find me very skilful. There is still more 
 behind. Have you any copper in the house ? '
 
 THE ALCHTMIST. 321 
 
 Yes, Sir,' said he, < I believe there is.' Else 
 go and buy some quickly.' He went his way, 
 and returned with the copper, of which the 
 Canon weighed out an ounce. This he placed 
 in the crucible, and set on the fire, casting 
 in the powder, and made the Priest blow the 
 coals, and cower down over his work as before. 
 Afterwards he turned it all into the water, and 
 put in his own hand. In his sleeve, as you 
 have heard me tell already, he had another 
 plate of silver; this he slily took out, and 
 left at the bottom of the pan ; and as he 
 groped and rumbled about in the water, he 
 privately took out the ounce of copper, con- 
 cealing it away. ' Now,' said he, ' stoop down, 
 and help me as I did you the last time, put 
 your hand in, and see what is there.' The 
 Priest, of course, took out the piece of silver. 
 Then the Canon said, 'Let us now go with 
 these three plates to some goldsmith, and know 
 if they be worth any thing ; for, by my hood, 
 I hold that they will prove to be fine silver.' 
 The pieces were put to trial by the goldsmith, 
 and pronounced to be what they ought to be. 
 No one was now more glad than this besotted 
 
 T
 
 322 THE CANON-YEOMAN'S TALE : 
 
 Priest. The roosting bird was not happier at 
 the approach of day ; the nightingale at May- 
 tide was never better inclined to sing ; or lady 
 more mirthful in her caroling, or to speak of 
 love and womanhood ; or knight in arms to 
 achieve a hardy deed, that he might stand in 
 his lady's grace, than was our Priest to be 
 taught this craft. ' Tell me I beseech you,' 
 said he, ' for the love of heaven, what will be 
 the cost of this receipt ? ' 
 
 ' By our Lady,' said the Canon, ' it's dear. 
 I assure you that no man in England but my- 
 self and a Friar can do what you have seer..' 
 
 ' No matter, Sir,' said the Priest, ' but tell 
 me, for heaven's sake, what I shall pay you.' 
 
 ' Well then, I tell you again the secret is a 
 dear one ; but Sir, since you desire to possess 
 it, in one word, you shall pay me forty pounds ; 
 and I should have charged you more, but for 
 your former friendship towards me.' 
 
 The Priest quickly brought out the forty 
 pounds in nobles, 1 and gave them to the Canon 
 for his receipt. 
 
 1 A noble was worth 6s. 8d.
 
 THE ALCHTMIST. 323 
 
 ' Now, Sir Priest,' said he, ' I am only de- 
 sirous to have my craft kept close ; as you love 
 me, therefore, let it remain a secret ; for if it 
 were made public, people would so envy me 
 and my philosophy, that they would certainly 
 take my life.' 
 
 ' Heaven forbid what you say,' replied the 
 Priest; 'I had rather spend all the wealth I 
 have (I were mad else), than you should fall 
 into such mischief.' 
 
 'For your good will, Sir,' answered the 
 Canon, 'may you have a prosperous trial of 
 your skill ; and so farewell, and many thanks.' 
 He went his way, and from that day forth 
 the Priest never saw him more. And when he 
 proved the value of his receipt farewell ! it 
 was naught. So was he befooled and cheated. 
 Thus ends my tale ; and God grant to every 
 one an end of his troubles. 
 
 T 2
 
 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 GAMELIN. 
 
 LISTEN to me, Lords, and you shall hear tell of 
 a doughty Knight whose name was Sir John 
 of Bounds. He owned large store of game, 
 with three sons. The eldest was of an evil 
 disposition, and early began to give proof of it. 
 His brothers loved their father, and stood in 
 awe of him ; but the eldest deserved his curse, 
 and, at the last, he received it. Although 
 this good old Knightf had lived to a great age, 
 death overtook, and sorely handled him. 
 "While he lay in his last sickness he was much 
 perplexed to think how his children should 
 fare when he was gone. 
 
 All the land he possessed was his own by
 
 THE COOK'S TALE OP GAMELIN. 325 
 
 purchase ; and earnestly he wished that it 
 should be equally divided among the three. 
 He therefore sent, by word of letter, to skilful 
 Knights in the country, desiring them to help 
 him. parcel out his lands, and apportion them 
 fairly; adding, moreover, that if they would 
 see him alive, they must set forth quickly. 
 
 As soon as the Knights heard of his sickness, 
 they rested neither night nor day till they 
 came, where he lay quietly abiding the will of 
 God. 
 
 ' My Lords,' said the good old Knight, * I 
 may no longer remain here, for, by the will of 
 (rod, death is drawing me down to the ground.' 
 
 They all pitied him in his helpless plight, 
 telling him not to be cast down, for that he 
 might still see the end of his suffering. 
 
 ' An end of my suffering God may send,' 
 said he, ' but I shall not see it ; for the love 
 you bear me, therefore, Lords, divide my lands 
 among my three sons ; and deal them not 
 amiss, my friends : and forget not Gamelin, 
 my youngest : regard him equally with his 
 elders ; for it is seldom that you see an heir 
 who will help his brother as he ought.'
 
 326 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 The Knights left the sick man, and went in 
 to counsel upon the division of his land, which 
 they portioned out to the two eldest, and to 
 Gamelin they awarded nothing, saying, that 
 his brothers could give him his due when he 
 came of age. Having so dealt out the pro- 
 perty, they returned and told the Knight how 
 they had decided, who liked not their judg- 
 ment, but said angrily, ' By Saint Martin ! I 
 swear, for all that you have done, the land is 
 still mine, and I shall deal it according to my 
 own will. John, my eldest son, shall have my 
 father's inheritance, amounting to five ploughs 
 of land : my second shall also have five ploughs, 
 which I myself acquired by the labour of my 
 own right hand ; and all my other purchases 
 of ground, with my good steeds, I bequeath to 
 Gamelin : and I beseech you, who know the 
 law regarding landed property, that, for the 
 love of Gamelin, this my bequest may stand.' 
 Soon after this he lay as still as a stone, and 
 when his hour came, he died. 
 
 No sooner was the old Knight laid beneath 
 the grass, than the eldest brother beguiled the 
 young one, and took into his hands the manage-
 
 OF GAMELIN. 327 
 
 ment of all his inheritance, and Gfamelin him- 
 self, to clothe and feed. Barbarous and savage 
 was his fare ; his lands and houses, parks and 
 woods, were let away, and nothing that be- 
 longed to him went on well. 
 
 So long did young Gramelin dwell in his 
 brother's hall that he had reached the age of 
 manhood ; when the strongest in the place 
 began to fear his prowess. Neither young nor 
 old, however courageous, cared to anger him. 
 One day as he was standing in his brother's 
 premises, thoughtfully handling his beard, he 
 remembered how all his lands lay waste and 
 desolate, and his fair large oaks were hewn 
 down ; his parks broken in, and deer all rived ; 
 and how, of all his good steeds, not one was 
 left to him : his houses too, were going to 
 ruin ; and young Gfamelin thought to himself, 
 ' All this cannot be right.' 
 
 At this moment his brother came walking in 
 with a proud and stately air, and said to him, 
 ' Is the dinner ready ? ' Then poor Gfamelin's 
 wrath arose, and he swore a bitter oath ; ' You 
 shall go and bake your meats yourself,' said 
 he, * for I will not be your cook.' ' What !
 
 328 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 brother Gramelin,' said the other, ' do you 
 answer me so ? why, you never spoke such a 
 word as this before ! ' 
 
 ' By my faith,' said Gramelin, ' I find the 
 need to do so ; I have never yet heeded all the 
 injuries I have received : my parks are broken 
 up, and my deer taken away ; none of my good 
 horses with their furniture is left ; all that my 
 father bequeathed to me is gone to rack and 
 ruin ; a curse, therefore, light upon you, bro- 
 ther John ! ' 
 
 4 Stand still, and hold your peace, you gad- 
 ling,' l answered John, ' you shall be glad 
 enough to have your food and clothing ; what 
 have you to do with lands ?' 
 
 ' Evil befall him,' said Gramelin, * who calls 
 me gadling. Brother John, I am no worse 
 gadling than yourself, and am no worse man ; 
 I was born of a lady, and my father was a 
 Knight.' 
 
 John dared not stir one foot nearer to him, 
 but he called his men, and desired them to ' go 
 
 1 Gadling an idle vagabond. The brother calls him this 
 name on account of its similarity to that of Gamelin, as well 
 as through contempt.
 
 OF GAMELIN. 329 
 
 and beat that boy, and teach him to answer 
 better another time.' 
 
 ' If I must needs be beaten,' said Gamelin, 
 ' you shall be the one to do it.' Yet his bro- 
 ther in furious passion ordered his men to bring 
 their staves. Gamelin was aware of their 
 coming, and, looking about him, saw a stake 
 under a wall ; and, being nimble, he leaped 
 towards them, and drove all his brother's men 
 in a heap. He looked like a wild lion, and laid 
 on in good earnest ; which, when his brother 
 saw, he ran away, and locked himself in a gar- 
 ret ; so Gamelin with his staff made them all 
 aghast. Then he sought his brother where he 
 had fled, and saw him looking out of the win- 
 dow. ' Come down, brother,' said he, ' and I 
 will teach you to play at buckler.' But while 
 he held that staff he would not come near him. 
 'Throw away your weapon,' said he, 'and I 
 will make peace with you and never anger 
 you more.' 'I must needs be wroth,' said 
 Gamelin, ' seeing that you would make your 
 men break my bones. If it had not been for 
 the strength of my own arm to drive them be- 
 fore me, they would have done me a mischief.'
 
 830 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 ' I meant you no harm,' said John, ' but only 
 to try your strength who are so young : do 
 not, therefore, be angry, for I were loth to see 
 you hurt.' 
 
 ' Come down, then,' said Ofamelin, ' and grant 
 me my boon ; but one thing will I demand, 
 and we shall be quickly agreed.' So down 
 came the fickle and treacherous brother, but 
 he stood in awe of Gamelin's trusty staff. ' Ask 
 me now your boon,' said John, ' and blame me 
 if it be not quickly granted.' 
 
 4 Brother of mine,' answered Gamelin, ' if we 
 are to be one, you must restore all that my 
 father bequeathed to me : you must do this if 
 we are to have no more strife.' 
 
 'That you shall have, Gamelin, I pledge 
 you my oath, all and more than your father's 
 bequest if you desire it. Your land, that now 
 lies fallow, shall be well cropped, and your 
 houses raised again.' So spoke the Knight, 
 but only with his mouth ; he thought only of 
 falsehood, as was his nature ; but Gamelin had 
 no guile. His brother kissed him, and they 
 were friends. 
 
 Alas for young Gamelin ! he little knew of
 
 OF GAMELIN. 331 
 
 the treason that his brother was plotting against 
 him with that kiss. 
 
 There happened to be in that quarter a 
 wrestling match for a prize ram and a ring : 
 and Gamelin had a mind to go to it and prove 
 his strength. ' Brother,' said he, ' you must 
 lend me a horse to-night, fresh at the spurs ; 
 I must go on an errand here beside.' 
 
 ' Choose the best horse in my stall, brother ; 
 but tell me where you are going.' Gamelin 
 told him his intent, adding, ' how much worship 
 will it be to us if I could bring home to the 
 hall the prize ram and ring." 
 
 A fleet horse was saddled, and Gamelin, 
 having buckled on his spurs, bestrode him 
 and hied away to the wrestling. When he had 
 gone, his false brother locked the gate, and 
 prayed heaven that he might break his neck 
 at the match. 
 
 As soon as he arrived at the wrestling place, 
 he alighted and stood upon the grass. And 
 there he heard a Franklin lamenting and 
 bitterly wringing his hands. Gamelin asked 
 the cause of his grief, and if any one could help 
 him out of his care.
 
 332 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 ' Alas !' said the Franklin, ' that ever I was 
 bora ; for I have lost two brave sons. The 
 champion here has slain them. I would give 
 ten pounds, and more, could I meet with a man 
 to handle him in kind. 
 
 'My good man,' said Gramelin, 'will you 
 have this well done ? Hold my horse while my 
 man draws off my shoes ; and do you help him 
 to keep my clothes and my horse, and I will go 
 into the place and look how I may speed.' 
 
 ' So be it,' replied the Franklin, ' and I will 
 be your man to draw off your shoes : and take 
 no thought of your clothes or your horse : go 
 forth, and heaven speed you.' 
 
 Barefoot and ungirt, Gramelin came into the 
 ring, and all wondered, that knew him, how he 
 dared adventure against so doughty a champion ; 
 who, starting up, advanced quickly towards him 
 and said, ' Who is your father, youngster ? 
 forsooth, you are a great fool to come here.' 
 
 ' You knew my father full well ; his name 
 was Sir John of Bounds, and I am Gfamelin.' 
 
 'Eight well I knew your father,' answered 
 the champion, ' and yourself, while you were a 
 young boy, for a turbulent fellow.'
 
 OF GAMELIN. 333 
 
 ' Now, then, that I am older, you shall find 
 me more.' 
 
 ' Welcome,' said the champion ; ' come once 
 within my gripe, and you shall not escape.' 
 
 It was night, and the bright moon was shining, 
 when the two wrestlers came together. The 
 champion cast about to throw his fellow, but he 
 stood still, and bade him do his best. ' Now 
 that I have proved many of your turns,' 1 said 
 Gamelin, ' you must prove one or two of mine.' 
 With that he went briskly in to his antagonist, 
 and of all the turns he was master of he showed 
 him but one. He threw him on his left side, 
 and broke three of his ribs : his left arm too 
 gave a great crack. ' Shall it hold for a cast 
 or not ? ' said the youth gaily. ' Whatever it 
 be,' replied the other, 'he that comes under 
 your hand shall not escape.' 
 
 Then the Franklin, who had lost his two 
 sons, blessed the conqueror, and jeeringly told 
 the champion he had been taught how to play ; 
 who, liking nothing at that time passing well, 
 pronounced Gamelin to be master of them all, 
 
 1 Turn a sleight in wrestling.
 
 334 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 and his play to be fatal. ' Since first I wrestled, 
 (now yore ago) I never was so handled as to- 
 day.' 
 
 The young champion now stood alone in the 
 place, fearless, and cried, ' If there be any 
 more, let them come to work ; for my fellow 
 here, judging by his countenance, does not seem 
 desirous to go on.' But not one answered the 
 challenge when they beheld his rough handling. 
 Two gentlemen, owners of the place, then came 
 forward, and told him to put on his hose and 
 shoes, for that the fair was over. Yet Gramelin 
 wished to continue, ' for,' said he, ' I have not 
 half sold my ware.' ' He is a fool who buys 
 of you,' replied the conquered champion, ' for 
 you sell your wares so dear.' ' Why do you 
 want so much of his goods ? ' said the Franklin, 
 ' by St. James, you have bought them a great 
 deal too cheap.' Then the wardens came forth 
 and brought Gamelin the prize ram and the 
 ring ; and in the morning he set forwards to his 
 home with joy and triumph. 
 , His brother saw him coming with all the 
 crowd, and ordered the porter to shut the gate 
 and keep him outside. So, when he arrived
 
 OP GAMELIN. 335 
 
 and found the door fastened, be told the fellow 
 to open it and let in many a good man's son. 
 The hireling, however, insolently refused, and 
 swore he should not enter the yard. ' You 
 lie ! ' said Gamelin ; and with that word he 
 smote the wicket with his foot, and broke away 
 the bolt. When the porter saw it might be no 
 better, he set foot to earth and fled away as fast 
 as he could. But Gramelin was as light of foot 
 as he, and having overtaken him, he girt him 
 full upon the neck and broke the bone. Then 
 with the same arm he took up the carcass and 
 threw it into a deep well. The other servants 
 in the yard made off, dreading his vengeance 
 and the company he had brought with him. 
 
 Afterwards he threw wide open the gates, 
 and welcomed his attendants, saying, ' We 
 will be masters here, and ask no man's leave. 
 It was but yesterday that I left in my brother's 
 cellars five tuns of right good wine, and we will 
 not part company while a sup remains. And 
 if my brother grudge, or make us a foul cheer, 
 I am the caterer, and for his grudging he shall 
 have our holy Lady's curse. He is but a nig- 
 gard, and we will spend largely what he has
 
 336 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 hoarded. And whoever else here dares gainsay 
 our will, shall keep company with the porter.' 
 
 Seven days and seven nights Gramelin held 
 his feast, and all the while his brother lay close 
 in a little turret, seeing him waste his goods, 
 and feared to speak. 
 
 Early on the morning of the eighth day the 
 guests prepared to depart from their host, who 
 grieved that they should go before the wine was 
 spent ; but they bade him farewell, and went 
 their way. All the while he was in possession 
 of the store, his brother thought how he could 
 wreak upon him his treachery. So, when the 
 guests had left, Gamelin stood alone, and with- 
 out a friend : and, shortly after, he was taken 
 by surprise, and bound. Then came the false 
 Knight from his hiding place, and, drawing 
 near to his brother, asked who made him so bold 
 as to waste and destroy his store ? ' Brother,' 
 answered Gamelin, ' spare your wrath ; for 
 many a day since, the whole was purchased with 
 my money. Fifteen ploughs of land have you 
 had for full sixteen years ; and of all the beasts 
 you have bred, that my father bequeathed to 
 me, I give you the profit for the meat and drink 
 hat we have now spent.'
 
 OF GAMELIN. 337 
 
 ' Hearken, then, brother Gamelin,' said the 
 false Knight, what I will give you. Since I 
 have no heir, I will make you the heir of my 
 whole possession.' The guileless youth, not 
 suspecting his brother, yielded to his terms. 
 
 ' One thing, then, I must needs tell you,' 
 said he ; ' when you threw my porter into the 
 well, I vowed in my wrath that you should be 
 bound both hand and foot. Let me not, there- 
 fore, I beseech you, brother Gamelin, be fore- 
 sworn ; but consent to be confined, only for the 
 maintenance of my oath.' 
 
 ' You shall not be foresworn for me,' replied 
 the youth : so they bound him hand and foot, 
 and the Knight, knowing and fearing his 
 strength, added great fetters to the bonds. 
 They fastened him to a post in the hall, and 
 the Knight told those who came in and looked 
 upon him, that he was mad. 
 
 ' Now, by my head brother,' said Gamelin, 
 ' I see that you are a false one.' And when 
 he had remained there two days and two nights, 
 without food, he said at last to Adam le Dis- 
 penser, 1 'Adam, I have fasted over long; I 
 
 1 The dispenser was the steward of the store-room. 
 Z
 
 338 THE COOK'S STORY 
 
 beseech you, therefore, of the great love which 
 my father bore you, if you can come by the 
 keys, that you will release me from bondage, 
 and I will divide my inheritance with you.' 
 
 Adam Spenser answered him, ' I have served 
 your brother full sixteen years, and if I were to 
 set you free, he would afterwards account me 
 traitor.' 
 
 ' Adam,' said Gamelin, ' by my head, 
 shall prove my brother at the last to be righ 
 false. Loosen me, therefore, out of prison, and 
 I will part with you my own free lands.' 
 
 ' Upon so good a promise,' said he, ' I will 
 do all that in me lies.' 
 
 'As you hold by me, I will maintain my 
 covenant with you,' said Gramelin. 
 
 Anon after this, when his Lord had gone to 
 bed, Adam took the keys and set him free. He 
 loosed him hand and foot, hoping for the ad- 
 vancement that he had been promised. 
 
 ' Heaven be praised,' said Gramelin, ' now 
 am I at liberty. Had I but eaten and drank a 
 meal, there is none in this house that should 
 bind me to-night.' 
 
 Then Adam took him hastily, and as still as
 
 OF GAMELIN. 339 
 
 a stone, to the store-room, and set him blithely 
 at his supper. When he had eaten well, and 
 drunk well too of the red wine, ' Adam,' said 
 he, ' give me now your advice, shall I go and 
 strike off my brother's head ? ' 
 
 ' Xo,' said the other, ' I will give you coun- 
 sel worth two of that. On Sunday we are to 
 have a feasting of Abbots and Priors, and many 
 other holy churchmen. You shall stand up by 
 the post as before, bound hand and foot, and I 
 will leave your fetters unlocked, that you may 
 cast them off at will. When they have finished 
 eating, and washed their hands, you shall be- 
 speak them all to release you from your bonds : 
 and if they become your security, so much the 
 better fare ; you will be out of prison, and I out 
 of blame. But if each of them deny us, then 
 do I swear to do another thing. You shall 
 have a good staff, and I will have one too ; and 
 evil befall him who is untrue to the other.' 
 
 * And if I fail on my side,' said Gramelin, 
 1 evil attend me. So, do you give me warning 
 when to begin, and we will assoil them of their 
 sins.' 
 
 ' When I wink at you,' answered Adam, ' look 
 z 2
 
 340 THE COOK'S STOET 
 
 to be off; cast away your fetters, and come 
 straight to me.' 
 
 ' Bless your bones, Adam, but that is right 
 good advice. Only let them refuse to free me 
 from prison, and I will handsomely pound their 
 loins.' 
 
 The Sunday came, and all the folks sat down 
 to the feast. As each passed in at the hall 
 door, he cast an eye upon Gamelin ; for they 
 had been set against him by the foul slander of 
 his brother, the Knight. And when they had 
 been served with two or three messes, the pri- 
 soner called aloud, ' In what manner have I 
 been provided ? Is it well that I should sit 
 here fasting, while others, in my own home, are 
 taking their fill, and making glad ? ' Then the 
 false Knight told them all that he was a mad- 
 man. But Gramelin remained still and answered 
 nothing, for he held all Adam's words in his 
 thought. Some time after he dolefully im- 
 plored the great Lords, who were sitting there 
 in hall, to help him out of his bondage : and 
 one of the Abbots answered, ' 111 betide the 
 man who shall become your pledge, and release 
 you from prison; and all worship wait upon
 
 OF GAMELIN. 341 
 
 him, who shall meet you with sorrow.' A 
 second wished his head were off, although he 
 were his own brother. A third a Prior, said 
 that it was a great sorrow and care to have him 
 alive. 
 
 ' On on ! ' said young Gramelin : * so is my 
 petition broken ; now have I found out that 
 I have no friends in the world. May no good 
 follow him, who would bestow any upon Abbots 
 or Priors.' 
 
 Adam had now taken away the cloth, and 
 watching his young master, saw that his rage 
 was running high ; so thinking, at that time, 
 little about the pantry, he brought two good 
 stakes to the hall door, and looked the signal to 
 Gramelin, who threw off his fetters, and walked 
 forth. Then Gramelin, with Adam Spenser by 
 his side came into the hall, and, looking fiercely 
 round, both set to work. The one sprinkled 
 the holy water with his good oak cudgel, and 
 many a one bowed to the dispensation ; some to 
 the ground ; others tumbled into the fire : 
 Abbot and Prior, Monk and Canon, all that he 
 overtook felt his supremacy ; and not one of 
 the hirelings the while, who waited in the hall,
 
 342 THE COOK'S STORY 
 
 wished him any thing but good ; so they stood 
 by, and let the two work on, for none had pity 
 on the churchmen. All who came within reach 
 of Gramelin' s staff he overthrew, and was quit 
 of his debt. ' Pay them good wages,' said 
 Adam, ' for love of me ; I will guard the door, 
 and may I never hear mass again, if any go out 
 unassoiled.' 
 
 < Doubt nothing,' said Gramelin, ' while we 
 hold together ; you keep well the door, and I 
 will work here.' 
 
 4 Do them every thing but good,' rejoined 
 Adam, for they are churchmen ; draw no 
 blood from them save their crowns, but crack 
 their arms and legs.' So Gramelin and Adam 
 played away upon the Monks, and made them 
 all aghast ; and they who had come riding there 
 jollily were carried home again in carts and 
 waggons. * Alas ! alas ! my lord Abbot,' said 
 a grey Friar, what did we do here ? We had 
 better have been at home with our bread and 
 water.' 
 
 All this while the Knight remained quite 
 still, and made a dismal appearance. Then 
 Gamelin up with his staff, and by one blow on
 
 THE COOK'S TALE OF GAMELIN. 
 
 ' All who came within reach of Gamelin's staff he overthrew. 
 anil was quit of his debt.'
 
 OF GAMELIN. 343 
 
 his neck upset him ; and ended with laying him 
 in the same fetters, where he had been before. 
 ' Sit you there, my brother John,' said he, 'and 
 cool your hot blood, as I did mine.' 
 
 After they had well finished their task with 
 their enemies, they asked for water to wash 
 themselves ; and all the servants yielded obe- 
 dience, some for love and some for fear. 
 
 The Sheriff, who lived about five miles off, 
 was quickly told how Gfamelin and Adam had 
 bound and wounded many persons, against the 
 King's peace. Strife awoke at the outrage, and 
 he was casting about to take the author of it, 
 when a score of bold young fellows came to the 
 Sheriff, and gained his leave to bring them away 
 by force. They started off at full speed, nor 
 once rested till they arrived at the house : and 
 when they knocked at the gate, the porter who 
 served Gramelin with loving faithfulness, looked 
 slily out of a hole at them for a little time, and 
 dreading some treachery, kept the wicket fast, 
 and asked their will. One only of the company 
 spoke, desiring that they should be let in. 
 ' Before I do that, I must know your errand,' 
 said the porter. ' Then tell Adam and Gramelin
 
 344 THE COOK'S STOET 
 
 that we would speak two or three words with 
 them.' ' You stand quietly there, then,' 
 said the Porter, ' and I will go and know his 
 will.' He went to his master and warned him 
 that his enemies were without. ' The Sheriff's 
 men, Sir,' said he, ' are now all at the gate to 
 take you both ; you cannot escape !' Gramelin 
 answered him, ' My good porter, as I may 
 prosper you, I will allow your words when I 
 see my time for it.' Then turning to Adam, 
 ' Look to be gone enemies are at the gate ; the 
 Sheriff's men have come, and sworn together to 
 take us.' ' Go forth briskly,' said Adam, 
 ' and evil follow me if I leave you this day. 
 We will so welcome these Sheriff-fellows, that 
 some of them, I guess, will make their beds in 
 the fen.' 
 
 So the two, with each a good sturdy quarter- 
 staff in hand, went out of the postern gate, and 
 began laying about them ; Adam felled his two, 
 and Gramelin brought three to the ground ; the 
 rest set foot to earth, and began to scour off. 
 ' Hollo ! ' said Adam, ' stay and take a cup of 
 wine with us.' ' No no,' said they, ' we don't
 
 OF GAMELIN. 345 
 
 like your drink ; it will lay a man's brains in 
 his hood.' 
 
 Then Gramelin stood still, and looking about 
 him, saw the Sheriff coming with a great crowd. 
 ' \Ve must stay here no longer,' said he, ' un- 
 less we would have ugly fare. It is better to be 
 at liberty in the woods than bound in a town.' 
 So each took the other's hand, and drank a 
 draught of wine together, and afterwards pur- 
 sued their course. The Sheriff came up and 
 found the nest, but the birds had flown. So he 
 alighted, and went into the hall, where the 
 Lord lay fettered, whom he released, and after 
 sent for a surgeon to come and heal his wound. 
 And here we will leave the false Knight, lying 
 in trouble, and look after Gramelin, to see how 
 he fares. 
 
 The outcast wandered, in silence, about the 
 wild wood, and Adam little liked the prospect 
 before them ; but thought it was a merrier thing 
 to be a dispenser. ' Now,' said he, ' would I 
 much rather be handling my keys, than walk- 
 ing up and down these woods, and tearing my 
 clothes.'
 
 346 THE COOK'S STORY 
 
 ' Do not be cast down, Adam,' replied his 
 friend, ' many a good man's child is brought 
 into trouble.' 
 
 While they were talking in an under-breath, 
 they heard voices near to them ; and looking 
 below the boughs, perceived full seven score 
 young men, well clad, all seated at meat. 
 ' Now, cast aside all your doubts,' said Grame- 
 lin ; ' help comes after sorrow, and if I see 
 right, there is good meat and drink.' Adam 
 looked under the bough, and was glad enough 
 when he surely saw the fare, for sorely did he 
 long after a good meal. Just at that moment, 
 the master of the band noticed the two, stand- 
 ing under the shaw, 1 and desired his men to 
 go and bring them to him, that he might 
 enquire who they were. And quickly at the 
 word, seven started up from their dinner, and 
 coming near to the wanderers, claimed that 
 they should yield their bows and arrows. 
 ' Sorrow be to them,' said Gramelin, * who yield 
 to you ; though you may fetch five more, and 
 then there will be twelve of you.' They 
 thought by his speech that he could trust in 
 
 1 Shaw : a shade of trees.
 
 OF GAMELIN. 347 
 
 the strength of his arm; not one, therefore, 
 came forth to make the trial : but all mildly 
 entreated him to come before their master, 
 and tell his will. < Upon your loyalty, young 
 man,' said Gramelin to one of the company, 
 'tell me who is your master?' All of them 
 answered him sincerely, ' Our master is the 
 crowned king of the outlaws.' Then said 
 Gramelin to Adam, ' Ofo we, in heaven's name ; 
 he cannot, for shame, refuse us meat and drink : 
 and if he be courteous, and come of gentle 
 blood, we shall fare well.' ' By St. James,' 
 answered Adam, ' whatever harm I get, I will 
 adventure to the very door, for some food.' 
 
 So both went forth together, and greeted the 
 master of the band ; who asked of them what 
 they were seeking, under the woody shaws. 
 4 He must needs walk the forest,' said young 
 Gamelin, ' who dare not keep the town. Sir, 
 we design no harm here, unless peradventure to 
 shoot the deer we may meet, as men who are 
 hungry, and have no food, and are hard bestead 
 in the forest wilds.' Then the master had pity 
 on him for his words, and told the two to sit 
 down, and fare of the best.
 
 348 THE COOK'S STORY 
 
 While they were eating, it became known to 
 one and another, that their new guest was 
 young G-amelin. So the master was summoned 
 to council, and the thing was told to him : 
 whereupon the new outlaw was made master of 
 the troop under their king. 
 
 Within the third week after this, tidings 
 came to the head master that he might return 
 home, for that his peace was made : upon which 
 young Gramelin was crowned King of the Out- 
 laws, in his place ; and for a while he held sway 
 under the woody shaws. 
 
 The false Knight, his brother, was now cre- 
 ated Sheriff, and through hatred and revenge, 
 he issued out an indictment against him. 
 Then were all the bondmen of the Knight 
 sorry, that the hue and cry of ' Wolf's Head ' ' 
 should be proclaimed against their young Lord, 
 and they sent messengers to seek him in the 
 wilds, and inform him of the event ; also that 
 all his goods were forfeit and taken away, and 
 
 1 This term evidently took its origin from the well-known 
 proclamation of King Edgar, who, to clear the country of 
 wolves, set a price upon every head that should be brought 
 into the hundred or tithing court.
 
 OF GAMELIN. 349 
 
 his hirelings scattered. Alas ! ' said Gamelin, 
 ' that my hand was so slack, as not to have 
 broken his neck. Go, and tell all my friends, 
 that as (rod shall have my life, so will I be 
 present at the next county meeting.' 
 
 True to his appointment, he came boldly 
 into the hall, and courteously putting aside 
 his hood, greeted the Lords assembled; 'but 
 as for you broken-back Sheriff, evil be your 
 portion ! Why have you done that shame and 
 villainy, as to send forth against me the 
 wolf's-head hue and cry ? ' The other made 
 no reply, but ordered him to be seized, and 
 thrown into prison, where he was heavily 
 fettered. 
 
 Gamelin had a brother, named Sir Ote, a 
 courteous and good man. A messenger came, 
 and informed him altogether, how evilly the 
 youngest of his mother's sons was used. The 
 gentle Knight was grieved at the news, and 
 quickly saddling his horse, came straight to 
 his two brothers. ' Sir,' said he to the Sheriff, 
 ' there be only three of us, and you have im- 
 prisoned the best of all. Evil follow such a 
 brother as you are ! '
 
 350 THE COOK'S STORY 
 
 ' Sir Ote,' said the false Knight, ' spare your 
 curses, for he shall only fare the worse for your 
 big words. He has been legally taken to the 
 King's gaol, and there he shall remain till the 
 Judge arrives.' 
 
 ' But,' said the other, ' it were better to 
 bail him ; I therefore require that you take 
 my pledge for his deliverance at the next 
 session, and then let Gramelin fairly stand his 
 chance.' 
 
 ' Brother,' said the Knight, * I take your 
 promise ; and by the soul of my father, if 
 he be not ready to appear when the court is 
 sitting, you shall endure the penalty of the 
 sentence.' 
 
 The two parties agreed to the terms proposed, 
 when Gamelin was delivered to Sir Ote, and 
 that night both dwelt together. 
 
 On the morrow Gramelin desired to go and 
 see how his company fared in the woods. 
 ' Nay then,' said Sir Ote, * I now see that all 
 the care will fall on my own head : for if you 
 be not found when the Judge is sitting, I 
 shall be taken, and shall suffer in your place.' 
 'Brother,' said Gamelin, 'be not afraid to trust
 
 OF GAMELIN. 351 
 
 me ; for, by St. James, if (rod do but grant me 
 life and wit, I will be ready in court when the 
 Judge arrives.' ' God shield you from shame, 
 Gamelin, my brother,' said the good Knight, 
 4 come when you see the fit time, and bring us 
 out of reproach.' So the young outlaw went 
 his way to the free woods, where he found all 
 his young men, to whom he related how he 
 had been bound ; and they in return, recounted 
 to him their adventures during his thraldom. 
 All the while that Gamelin was an outlaw, no 
 man fared the worse for his deeds ; no curse 
 clave to him, except it were that of the Abbots, 
 Priors, and all the fraternity of Monks : with 
 them, indeed, he left naught that could be 
 reft away. So he and his jolly company carried 
 on their game of free booty, and mirth grew 
 rife among them ; but at the same time, the 
 false Knight was plying every art to gain over 
 the jury, that he might hang his brother. 
 
 At length, on a certain day, as Gamelin stood 
 and surveyed the shadowy woods within the 
 wild field, he thought upon Sir Ote, his good 
 brother, how that he had promised him to be 
 ready when the Justice was seated, and that he
 
 352 THE COOK'S STORY 
 
 would, without more delay, hold his word, and 
 come up to judgment. He therefore told his 
 young men to be prepared quickly, for that he 
 must needs go, or his brother, who had become 
 bail for him, would be thrown into prison. 
 So he, and all his bold compeers, came away 
 to the town, where they found that the false 
 Knight had basely suborned the jury to con- 
 demn whichever brother might be brought 
 before them. 'The court is seated, Adam,' 
 said Gramelin, 'do you go in and see what 
 process they make.' He went, and soon re- 
 turned, bringing word that he saw the space 
 filled with great Lords and stout, and his 
 brother, Sir Ote, standing in the midst of the 
 court, fettered. ' Grod grant us success in our 
 undertaking,' said the young chieftain, ' and 
 he shall sorely abide who brought my brother 
 to that pass.' ' Then,' said Adam, ' if you will 
 follow my advice, there is not one in that hall 
 who shall bear away his head.' ' Not so, 
 Adam,' answered his Lord, 'we will slay the 
 guilty only, and let the rest go free. I will 
 myself go into the hall and hear the cause go 
 on ; and woe betide the doers of false judg-
 
 OF GAMELIN. 353 
 
 ment. Let none escape at the door, for I will 
 be Justice to-day, and award the doom. 
 Heaven speed me in this my new work ! 
 Adam, you shall come with me, and be my 
 clerk of the court.' His men all promised to 
 do their best, and be at hand should he need 
 their help : For we will stand by you so long 
 as we may endure, and if we work not mainly, 
 pay us no wages.' 'As ye abide by me, so 
 shall you find me a trusty master,' said Grame- 
 lin. So when the whole Court were assembled, 
 in he went, and boldly stood amongst them 
 all. 
 
 First he unfettered his brother Sir Ote, who 
 said, ' Gramelin, you have staid away almost 
 too long, for the quest has gone out against me 
 that I should be hanged.' 
 
 ' Brother,' said Gramelin, ' Heaven grant 
 me success, but this good day they who have 
 been upon your trial shall themselves suffer a 
 felon's death; both they and the Judge, together 
 with our brother, for through him all this 
 began.' 
 
 Then said the youth to that false Judge, 
 ' Arise, and void your place, your power is at 
 A A
 
 354 THE COOK'S TALE 
 
 an end : you have given an unjust doom ; I, 
 therefore, will take your place, and set all 
 right.' But the Judge kept his seat and would 
 not arise for his words ; when Gramelin with 
 his sword clave his cheek bone, and after 
 seizing him in his arms, without any more 
 speech threw him over the bar and broke his 
 worship's arm. No one dared say aught but 
 good to Gramelin, for fear of the great company 
 who stood without the doors. He then sat 
 down in the judgment seat, Sir Ote was at 
 his side, and Adam took his place at his foot- 
 stool. 
 
 First he ordered the Judge and his false 
 brother to be placed side by side at the bar ; 
 after which he made enquiry who were upon 
 the quest to doom that his good brother should 
 be hanged : and when they were pointed out, 
 he ordered them all to be fettered and placed 
 also at the bar. Then, addressing himself to 
 the unrighteous Judge, he told him that he 
 had passed a foul and unlawful sentence : ' you 
 and the twelve jurymen,' said he, ' shall cer- 
 tainly be hanged this day.' The Sheriff now 
 began piteously to entreat his mercy, and to
 
 OF GAMELIN. 355 
 
 call to mind that he was his brother. * And, 
 therefore,' said Gramelin, < may evil dog your 
 footsteps ; had you been master still, I should 
 have fared the worse.' 
 
 To make short my tale, he ordained a jury 
 of his own strong young fellows ; and, at their 
 sentence, the Judge and Sheriff, together with 
 the twelve jurymen, were all hanged up, and 
 left to wave and dry in the wind. 
 
 So ended the false and treacherous life of the 
 Knight ; and this was his father's curse, which 
 followed him to the last. 
 
 Sir Ote was now the eldest, and Gramelin 
 still young ; so, with their friends they went 
 to court, and made their peace with the King. 
 The King loved Sir Ote well, and made him a 
 Justice of Assize ; and Gramelin he ordained 
 head warden of all his free forests. The act 
 of outlawry passed against his young men was 
 repealed, and all were appointed to good offices 
 about the Court. 
 
 And so young Gramelin regained all his lands, 
 and quitted himself with his enemies. Sir 
 Ote also made him his heir, and afterwards our 
 hero married a good and fair wife, with whom
 
 356 THE COOK'S TALE OP GAMELIN. 
 
 he lived in bliss till he was gathered to mother 
 earth. And all here shall do the like no man 
 may escape. May our Lord bring us to that 
 joy which endureth for evermore. 
 
 LONDON : PRINTED BT 
 
 3POTTISWOOBE AND CO., NEW-STREET 8QUAI 
 AND PAULIAMENT STBEET
 
 
 
 
 
 8*tfir L
 
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