Geoffrey Chaucer - The Canterbury Tales: A Retelling by Peter Ackroyd

Table of Contents

The General Prologue

When the soft sweet showers of April reach the roots of all things, refreshing the parched earth, nourishing every sapling and every seedling, then humankind rises up in joy and expectation. The west wind blows away the stench of the city, and the crops flourish in the fields beyond the walls. After the waste of winter it is delightful to hear birdsong once more in the streets. The trees themselves are bathed in song. It is a time of renewal, of general restoration. The sun has passed midway through the sign of the Ram, a good time for the sinews and the heart. This is the best season of the year for travellers. That is why good folk then long to go on pilgrimage. They journey to strange shores and cities, seeking solace among the shrines of the saints. Here in England many make their way to Canterbury, and to the tomb of the holy blissful martyr Thomas. They come from every shire to find a cure for infirmity and care.

It so happened that in April I was lodging at Southwark. I was staying at the Tabard Inn, ready to take the way to Canterbury and to venerate the saint. There arrived one evening at the inn twenty-nine other travellers and, much to my delight, I discovered that they were all Canterbury pilgrims. They came from various places, and from various walks of life, but they all had the same destination. The inn was spacious and comfortable enough to accommodate us all, and we were soon at ease one with another. We shared some ale and wine, and agreed among ourselves that we would ride together. It would be a diversion, a merry journey made in good fellowship. Before the sun had gone down, we had determined to meet at dawn on the following day to make our way along the pilgrims road.

Before we begin our travels, however, I want to introduce you to the men and women who made up our company. If I describe their rank, and their appearance, you may also acquire some inkling of their character. Dress, and degree, can be tokens of inward worth. I will begin with the Knight.

The KNIGHT, as you might expect, was a man of substance and of valour. From the start of his career as a warrior he had fought for truth and honour, for freedom and for dignity. He had proved himself in warfare in many lands; he had ridden through the territories of the Christians and the countries of the infidel, and had been universally praised for his military virtues. He had been present when Alexandria was won from the Turks; he had taken the palm of valour from all the knights of Prussia; he had mounted expeditions in Russia and Lithuania. He had proved himself in Granada and Morocco and Turkey. Where had he not travelled, and where had he not been victorious? He had fought fifteen battles, and taken part in three tournaments. These exploits were not for love of glory, however, but for love of Christ. Piety guided his sword. He considered himself no more than an instrument for God.

That is why he was, despite his reputation for bravery, modest and prudent. In appearance he was meek as any maid, and no oath or indecency ever passed his lips. He was never insolent or condescending. He was the very flower of chivalry, in this springtime of the year; he was a true and noble knight. Do you see him in front of you? He did not wear the robes of office but a tunic of coarse cloth that would have better suited a monk than a soldier; it was discoloured, too, by the rust from his coat of mail. He had a good horse but it was not festooned with bells or expensive cloths. It was the horse of a pilgrim. He told me that he had come from an expedition in order once more to pledge his faith. He asked me about myself then - where I had come from, where I had been - but I quickly turned the conversation to another course.

He was travelling with his son, a young SQUIRE, a lusty and lively young man who also aspired to knighthood. He was of moderate height, but he was strong and agile. It is said that the hair is a token of vitality; the more virile a man is, the more hair he will have. His was knit in tight blond curls that flowed down his neck and across his shoulders. He was about twenty years of age, and had already taken part in cavalry expeditions in northern France. In that short time he had made a good impression on his comrades, but the only person he really wished to impress was a certain lady of his acquaintance. I did not discover her name. His tunic was embroidered with flowers, white and red and blue; it was as if he had gathered up a sweet meadow and placed it upon his shoulders. He wore a short gown, with wide sleeves, as suited his rank. He rode well and easily with the grace of a natural horseman. He was always singing, or playing the flute. He wrote songs, too, and I learned that he could joust, and write, and draw, and dance. All the finer human accomplishments came naturally to him. In his company it was always May-time. He had good cause for high spirits. He was so passionately in love that he could scarcely sleep at night; he enjoyed no more rest than a nightingale. Yet he never forgot his manners. He had been instructed in all the arts of courtesy, and carved the meat for his father at the table. When he spoke to me, he took off his hat; he did not glance down at the ground, but looked at me steadfastly in the face without moving his hands or feet. These are good manners.

The Knight in fact had only one servant with him, a YEOMAN, who was dressed in the customary hood and coat of green cloth. Green is the colour of faithfulness and service. He carried under his belt a sheaf of dainty peacock arrows, keen and bright, while in his hand he carried a bow. He knew how to take good care of his equipment, because the feathers were upright and the arrows flew to their target. His hair was closely cropped, and his visage was as brown as a smoked ham. On his arm he wore a glittering arm-guard, and by his right side hung a sword and small shield. On his left side was a dagger in its sheath, its handle richly ornamented and its blade exceedingly sharp. This was a young man ready for combat. Yet he had a silver badge of Saint Christopher, the saint of travellers as well as archers, shining on his tunic. I guessed that this Yeoman, when not dressed for battle, worked as a forester on the Knights estates. He had a horn hanging at his hip from a broad belt of green. I have often seen such a horn, I told him, in the woods and forests. Yes, he said, it rouses the buck. Then he rode on. He was not a chatterer.

The PRIORESS, of course, rode before him. She was an exemplary nun who put on no airs of excessive piety. She was amiable and modest, and in the course of our pilgrimage she occasionally invoked the name of Saint Eligius; since he is the patron saint of horses and of smiths, she must have been wishing for good speed and a comfortable journey. I should have asked her. Her name was Madame Eglantine, and she was as fragrant as any sweetbriar or honeysuckle. She sang the divine service with perfect pitch, and intoned the sacred verses in a deft and sonorous manner. She spoke French elegantly enough, although her accent was closer to Bow than to Paris. What does it matter if we do not speak the exact language of the French? They are no longer our masters. English is even spoken in the parliament house now. The table manners of the Prioress were of the best. She never let any meat fall from her lips, and she did not dip her hands too deeply into the sauce; not a drop of it fell upon what I must call, if she will forgive me, her breasts. She wiped her lips so carefully that not one smudge of grease was to be found on the rim of her cup, after she had drunk from it, and she was careful never to grab at the food on the table. She knew that the manners of the table reflect the manner of a life. She deported herself very well, in other words, and was amiable and pleasant in all of her dealings. She tried very hard to imitate courtly manners, and remained very dignified on all occasions; she deemed herself to be worthy of respect and, as a result, came to deserve it.