The Canterbury Pilgrims | Page 4

a mare.
The workers from the town included a Weaver, a Carpenter, a
Haberdasher, a Dyer, and an Upholsterer. All prosperous men they
were, as indeed you could tell from the silver trappings on their
pouches and knives, and fit to be aldermen of their boroughs. Their
wives would have liked it, I know! These men had brought their Cook
with them.
Some of the pilgrims had come from far afield. The Pardoner's home
was in Roncivale, while the Shipman hailed from Dartmouth. There lay
his little barque, "The Magdalene." His dagger hung on his lanyard and
he rode unsteadily, in sailor fashion, on a nag.
From Bath we had a buxom Wife--a champion cloth-weaver. I daresay
her Sunday head-dress weighed ten pounds. Even her riding-hat was as
broad as a shield. Her stockings were scarlet. Her shoes were cut in the
latest fashion and had sharp spurs attached. She had travelled far, even
to Jerusalem, and gossipped amusingly of herself and her numerous
adventures.
The Reeve of the company came from Baldeswelle in Norfolk.
A Miller, a Steward, a Doctor, a solemn Merchant, a Franklin and
myself completed the company The Doctor was one of the best of his
profession. He knew exactly when to make his images of wax, and
under what moon he should gather his herbs. He was very learned; I
could not tell you of all the authors he had read. He was rich too, for
the Black Death had brought him no little gain.
Now let me tell what happened at the inn.
At supper we made a merry party, for the wine was strong, and Harry
Bailey, our host, a jovial soul. Seeing us in good humour, he addressed

us thus "My friends, you are welcome here. Tomorrow you depart; but
surely it will be very dull if you ride silent and morose. I have a plan to
keep you merry all the way. What say you, shall I tell it?" We held up
our hands at once to vote that he should tell on. "This is my plan, then.
As you journey to Canterbury every one of you shall tell a tale, and as
you return every one shall tell another tale. He who tells the best shall
be given a supper at the expense of the rest of us--here at this inn, when
we come back. What say you? And indeed, to make you the jollier, I
myself will go with you, to be your guide and governor!" We heartily
agreed, begged him to be the judge of the tales, and promised to obey
him in all things. So with laughter and jollity we went to bed betimes to
rise early on the morrow;
Our host was as good as his word, and at day-break he roused us all and
gathered us together. Off we rode at a gentle pace, with the Miller
playing his bagpipes and the Summoner singing a loud bass to the
Pardoner's tenor. At St. Thomas's watering-place our host stopped and
called out, "Let's see now if you agree to last night's plan! Before we go
further, come, draw lots who shall tell the first tale. Come hither Sir
Knight, my Lady-Prioress, and you, you modest Clerk." He held out to
them grasses of different lengths, hiding the ends in his hands so that
they could not see which was the longest; and the Knight drew the
longest grass, and so had to begin the game. He was a worthy man, this
Knight, and loved truth and honour, freedom and courtesy. Although he
had won great praise in many foreign wars, he was gentle and modest
as a maid, perfect in manners and goodness. His clothes might have
deceived you as to his rank. His habergeoun was bespattered with the
mud of his latest journey, and his gipoun was but of fustian, yet his
horse was a fine one. As you would expect, his tale was of chivalry and
knighthood.

TALES OF THE FIRST DAY

THE KNIGHT'S TALE OF PALAMON AND ARCITE
Long ago, as old stories say, there was a great duke named Theseus,
renowned in fight and perfect in all chivalry. One day, as he was
returning from one of his most glorious battles, a great company of
women met him, weeping and wringing their hands in grief. They

besought Theseus that he would help them. "We are from Thebes," they
said, "and in the days of our prosperity were ladies of rank; but alas,
Creon, our foe, has sacked our city, slain our husbands and sons, and
now denies us even the right to bury our dead."
Theseus was moved to anger at their story, and swore that he would
punish Creon. Without more ado, he turned his horse and led his men
to