Tales from Chaucer E-Book

Charles Cowden Clarke

• Herausgeber: E-BOOKARAMA
• Kategorie: Für Kinder und Jugendliche
• Sprache: Englisch

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

Written in 1833 by Charles Cowden Clarke, "Tales from Chaucer" is a modern retelling of the highlights of Chaucer's Canterbury Tales. 
While it is written for a younger audience, readers of any age can enjoy these timeless stories.

Leseprobe

Charles Cowden Clarke

Tales from Chaucer

Table of contents

TALES FROM CHAUCER

To My Young Readers

To An Adult Reader

Introduction

The Prologue

The Knight's Tale

The Lawyer's Tale

The Student's Tale

The Wife of Bath

The Squire's Tale

The Pardoner's Tale

The Nun's Priest's Tale

The Cook's Tale of Gamelin

The Canon's Yeoman's Tale

TALES FROM CHAUCER

Charles Cowden Clarke

To My Young Readers

I HAVE endeavoured to put these Tales, written by one of the finest poets that ever lived, into modern language and into as easy prose as I could, without at the same time destroying the poetical 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 described in them; secondly, that you might derive improvement by the beautiful writing (for I have been careful to use the language of Chaucer whenever I thought it not too antiquated 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 acquainted with your own language as to understand, 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 narratives 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 discussions 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 to be too old-fashioned to be misunderstood by you. The following sentence from Mr. Lamb's preface to his prose tales from the plays of Shakespeare—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 (Shakespeare's) language is too frequently destroyed by the necessity of changing many of his excellent words into words far less expressive of his 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

THE AUTHOR.

To An Adult Reader

THE adult reader (should I be honoured with such) , who can scarcely fail to discern an abrupt stiffness in the construction of the sentences in the following Tales, will bear in mind the many complicated difficulties I have had to contend 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 render my translations literal with the original, to preserve their antique fashion, and withal to give them a sufficiently modern air to interest 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.

Introduction

GEOFFREY CHAUCER, the father of English poetry, was born in the second year of the reign of Edward III, 1328, and almost certainly in London, notwithstanding the contradictory accounts of his biographers; 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. 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 place of his abode. Here he completed his studies and became, says his biographer Leland, "a ready logician, a smooth rhetorician, 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 advantage over any competitors. A handsome 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 gentleman of the king's privy chamber, with an additional 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.

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 appointed comptroller of the customs for wool, woolfels, and hides, with an especial clause subjoined 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. Chaucer was no drone in the common hive; he filled this situation with unimpeached 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." Other casual benefits, together with his permanent offices of emolument, contributed to render him a very wealthy man.

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 Richard Sturry to negotiate a match between the daughter of the French king and the young Prince of Wales, afterwards Richard II. The mission, however, terminated only in obtaining a prolongation of a truce between the two countries.

In the fourth year of the reign of Richard II, that prince confirmed to Chaucer and his 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.

But who in thinking of Chaucer connects him with the comptrollership of the customs or as a page? Yet these employments, with all their temporal benefits, brought with them much labour and anxiety; while the beneficent 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.

The short period in which he survived the dethroning of Richard II 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. In the full enjoyment of his clear faculties, but with an exhausted frame, he died on the 25th of October, 1400, in the seventy-second year of his age.

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 Westminster Abbey—that quarter now so well known under the name of "Poets’ Corner."

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 logician, a linguist, a politician, a theologian, a humanist, a gentleman in the modern acceptation of the term, and a virtuous man. His conduct as a man holding a public office stands unimpeached for integrity. He was a 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.

Many of the tales of Chaucer prove him to have been a linguist of no ordinary standard; and his prose essays stamp him a logician. It has been already 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 humanising 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 presents it to you clothed in the minute perfection 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 (accurately 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 neutralised 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 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 Chaucer's poetical faculty. He says, "His poetry reads like history. Everything has a downright reality, at least in the narrator's mind. A simile or a sentiment, is as if it were 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 eyewitnesses 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 a 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 digressions 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 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."

The Prologue

IN that pleasant season of the year when the April showers and the soft west wind make the grass and the 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 foreign lands, and more especially to pay their vows at the shrine raised in Canterbury to the holy martyr St. Thomas à Becket.

At this time of the year, I, Geoffrey Chaucer, the writer of these Tales, was remaining at 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 sunset and had agreed to journey in their company the following day. Before I enter upon my tale, the reader may desire to know what were the character, condition, and exterior accomplishments of my fellow-travellers. These, as they appeared 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 Russian, and the Turk, had fought in fifteen battles, and in three tilting matches had slain his foe. With all these rough and unchamber-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 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 appearance. 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 expeditions—in Flanders, in Artois, and in Picardy. 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 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 nightingale.

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 arrows, winged with peacock feathers. His arm was defended by a bracer; on one side hung 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 woodcraft.

There was also in our company a Nun, a Prioress, called Madam Eglantine, a demure and simply-smiling lady, whose sharpest speech was, "By Saint Eloi!" She could chaunt by heart the whole of the divine service, sweetly twanging it through her nose. She was mistress 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 courteous and stately deportment, and to be regarded 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 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 carefully-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, " 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 jingling in the whistling wind like the distant chapel bells. 2

Our Monk set but little store by the strict regulations of the good old saints, holding rather 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 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 anything 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 specimen of a prelate.

There was a Friar, a limiter, 3 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,4 he was, by his own account, as great in hearing confession as a curate. Sweetly would he dispense the duties of shrift,5 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 distributed among the good wives in his perambulations. 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 wrestlers, 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 acquaintance of the rich, and dispensers of good things, than with the diseased and the mendicant. Wherever he spied a chance of profit or advantage there did he direct all his courtesy and humbly ply his services. He was the expertest beggar in the convent, and obtained 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," etc., 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 worsted, 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, and dressed in a motley suit, with a Flemish beaver hat. His boots were of the best manufacture, 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 knowledge in the various exchanges of money were remarkable, and so prudently did he order his bargains and speculations that he was esteemed a man of credit and substance.

There was a Clerk, or student, 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 threadbare 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 friends was forthwith spent in books of learning. 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 pregnant 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 presented 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 indictments the man was clever that could detect a flaw. He knew all the statutes by heart. He 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 happiness consisted in perfect enjoyment. He possessed a noble mansion, and was the most hospitable of entertainers. He dined at quality 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 according 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, 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 6 in the Guildhall. Their grave and sensible demeanour befitted them for the office of aldermen. 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.

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 roasting and boiling; his made-dishes, potted beef, raised pies, and blanc-mangers were absolutely 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 carne 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-looking 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 conscience, seeing that if he were engaged at sea, and had got the upper-hand, he always sent his prisoners home by water. 7 But for skill in reckoning his tides, for knowing all 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 Finisterre, 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 medicine 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 complaint being discovered, he would quickly set the patient on his legs again. His apothecaries 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 Rufus; 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 nourishing 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 clothmaking, which excelled the manufacturers of Ypres and Ghent. No wife in all the parish could take precedence of her at mass, and if one ever so presumed she was wrath 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 Rome, Saint James's, 8 Cologne, with its three kings, and passed through Galicia, 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 complaints in love: she could play a good hand at that game.