The Pardoner.
The Pardoner[72] was a great cheat too, and so the friends were well matched; he had long thin hair, as yellow as wax, that hung in shreds on his shoulders. He wore no hood, but kept it in his wallet: he thought himself quite in the tip-top of fashion.
Dischevele, sauf his cappe, he rood al bare.except
Suche glaryng eyghen hadde he, as an hare.such, eyes
A vernicle[73] hadde he sowed on his cappe;
His walet lay byforn him in his lappe.before
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But trewely to tellen atte laste,truly
He was in churche a noble ecclesiaste.
Wel cowde he rede a lessoun or a storye,[74]
But altherbest he sang an offertorie:best of all
For wel he wyste, whan that song was songeknew, when
He moste preche, and wel affyle his tonge,preach, whet
To wynne silver, as he right wel cowde:win
Therfore he sang ful meriely and lowde.
Dishevell’d, save his cap, he rode barehead:
Such glaring eyes, like to a hare, he had!
A vernicle was sewed upon his cap;
His wallet lay before him, in his lap.
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But honestly to tell the truth at last,
He was in church a noble ecclesiast.
Well could he read a lesson or a story,
But ever best he sang the offertory:
For well he knew that after he had sung,
For preaching he must polish up his tongue,
And thus make money, as he right well could:
Therefore he sang full merrily and loud.
Now I have told you as much as I can what people came into the Tabard Inn that night, and why they were all travelling together, and where they were going.
Mine Host.
Our host made us very welcome, and gave us a capital supper. He was a thoroughly good fellow, our host—a large, stout man, with bright, prominent eyes, sensible and well behaved, and very merry.
After supper, he made us all laugh a good deal with his witty jests; and when we had all paid our reckonings, he addressed us all:—
And sayde thus: Lo, lordynges, trewelytruly
Ye ben to me right welcome hertily:
For by my trouthe, if that I schal not lye,shall, lie
I ne saugh this yeer so mery a companyesaw
At oones in this herbergh, as is now.inn (auberge)
Fayn wolde I do yow merthe, wiste I how.
And of a merthe I am right now bythought,
To doon you eese, and it schal coste nought.do, ease
And said to us: “My masters, certainly
Ye be to me right welcome, heartily:
For by my truth, and flattering none, say I,
I have not seen so large a company
At once inside my inn this year, as now!
I’d gladly make you mirth if I knew how.
And of a pleasant game I’m just bethought
To cheer the journey—it shall cost you nought!
“Whoever wants to know how, hold up your hands.” We all held up our hands, and begged him to say on.
“Well, my masters,” said he, “I say that each of you shall tell the rest four stories—two on the way to Canterbury, and two on the way home. For you know it is small fun riding along as dumb as a stone. And whichever in the party tells the best story, shall have a supper at this inn at the cost of the rest when you come back. To amuse you better, I will myself gladly join your party, and ride to Canterbury at my own expense, and be at once guide and judge; and whoever gainsays my judgment shall pay for all we spend by the way. Now, tell me if you all agree, and I will get me ready in time to start.”
We were all well pleased; and the next morning, at daybreak, our clever host called us all together, and we rode off to a place called the Watering of St. Thomas.[75] There we halted, and drew lots who should tell the story first, knight, clerk, lady prioress, and everybody.
The lot fell to the knight, which every one was glad of; and as soon as we set forward, he began at once.
Notes by the Way.
One of the things most deserving of notice in reading Chaucer is his singularly strong grasp of character. In the ‘Canterbury Tales’ this is self-evident, and the succinct catalogue of the thirty-one pilgrims, which in feebler hands would have been dry enough, is a masterpiece of good-humoured satire, moral teaching, and, above all, photographic portraits from life. You will notice that Chaucer meant to make his ‘Canterbury Tales’ much longer than he lived to do. His innkeeper proposes that each of the pilgrims shall tell four stories. Only twenty-four of these exist.
You will never find any character drawn by Chaucer acting, speaking, or looking inconsistently. He has always well hold of his man, and he turns him inside out relentlessly. He very seldom analyzes thought or motives, but he shows you what is so clearly, that you know what must be without his telling you.
The good-humoured naïveté of mine host, like all his class, never forgetful of business in the midst of play, is wonderfully well hit off; for the innkeeper clearly would be the gainer by this pleasant stratagem: and he prevents any one’s giving him the slip by going with them to Canterbury and back. The guests are glad enough of his company, for he could be especially useful to them on the way.
The stories, also, will be found perfectly characteristic of the tellers—there is no story given to a narrator whose rank, education, or disposition make it inconsistent. Each tells a tale whose incidents savour of his natural occupation and sympathies, and the view each takes of right or wrong modes of conduct is well seen in the manner as well as the matter.
Chaucer’s personal distrust of and contempt for the contemporary Church and its creatures was the natural and healthy aversion of a pure mind and a sincerely religious heart to a form of godliness denying the power thereof—a Church which had become really corrupt. It is significant of his perfect artistic thoroughness that, with this aversion, he never puts an immoral or unfitting tale into the mouth of nun or friar; for it would be most unlikely that these persons, whatever their private character might be, would criminate themselves in public.