Slowly and carefully they wended their way down to London Bridge, crossed, and stopped for a moment before the site of the old Tabard Inn.
“I’m going to take you to Canterbury by the very road which Chaucer’s pilgrims in all probability traveled, and I thought that to make the illusion as perfect as possible, we really should halt here in Southwark. This is where the pilgrims met, you know, and from here they set out in the lovely month of April: the ‘verray perfight, gentil knight,’ his son, the gay young squire, the stout Wife of Bath, the dainty prioress, the pale clerk (or scholar), the merchant with his fine beaver hat, the parson, the plowman, the pardonner, the summoner, the cook, and all the rest! They traveled on horseback, you remember, and to beguile the tedious hours when they advanced slowly along the dusty road, they took turns in telling the stories which Chaucer gives us in the wonderful ‘Canterbury Tales.’”
“I never did know just why they went,” Betty ventured, in some confusion lest they should laugh at her.
“Neither did I!” John promptly seconded. “Please tell us, Mrs. Pitt.”
“Dear me, yes! I certainly will, for you must surely understand that!” After pausing a moment in order to think how best to make her meaning clear, Mrs. Pitt went on in her pleasant voice. “You see, pilgrimages were always made to some especial shrine! We’ll take Becket’s for an example. After his terrible murder, Becket was immediately canonized (that is, made a saint), and for many years a very celebrated shrine to him existed at Canterbury Cathedral. In those days, sumptuous velvets and abundant jewels adorned the shrines, and if a person journeyed to one, it meant that his sins were all atoned for. It was a very easy thing, you see. If a man had committed a wrong, all he had to do was to go to some shrine, say certain prayers there, and he thought himself forgiven. Such trips cost men practically nothing, for pilgrims might usually be freely cared for at the monasteries along the route; a man was quite sure of good company; and altogether, it was very pleasant to see the world in this way. The numerous terrible dangers to be met with only added the spice of excitement to many. In short, such numbers of poor men started off on these religious pilgrimages, leaving their families uncared for, that the clergy finally were forced to interfere. Laws were then made which compelled a man to procure a license for the privilege of going to a shrine, and these permits were not granted to all. You understand then, that toward noted shrines such as St. Thomas à Becket’s, pilgrims singly and in companies were always flocking, and among these was the little group which Chaucer has made so familiar and real to us all.”
“Here’s Deptford,” announced John by and by, seeing the name upon some sign. “What went on here?”
“What makes you think anything ‘went on here’!” Mrs. Pitt exclaimed. “Fancy! What a curious boy!”
“Oh!” John burst out. “That’s easy enough! I haven’t seen more than about two or three places in all this country where some fellow didn’t do something, or some important thing go on.”
Mrs. Pitt pushed up her veil, removed her glasses, and wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes. “I think you are about right, John. And something did happen here in Deptford; in fact, there were several things. First, I’ll tell you that it was here that Queen Elizabeth came in 1581 and visited the ship in which Drake had been around the world. The Queen dined on board the vessel and knighted Drake while there. Event number two was the death of Christopher Marlowe, one of the greatest of all England’s dramatists. Marlowe was only thirty years old when he was killed in a vulgar fight in a tavern. Fancy! Poor Anne of Cleves, after the early divorce from her royal husband, lived near Deptford, at Place House. Writers say that she used often to go up to London, and visit the Court, just as though she had not been (for a few short days, to be sure) the ‘first lady of the land,’ as you Americans say. Poor Anne! She always seemed a pitiful character to my mind. She couldn’t help it if Henry VIII didn’t find her good to look upon!”
Beyond Deptford, as they were smoothly gliding along, all at once there came a loud report.