'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.* 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.

* Mr. Wright says this place was situated at the second milestone on the old Canterbury road.

D

The Knight's Tale.

NCE upon a time, as old stories tell us, there was a duke named Theseus, lord and governor of Athens, in Greece, and in his time such a conqueror that there was none greater under the sun. Full many a rich country owned his sway.

And, certainly, if it were not too long to listen to, I would have told you fully how the kingdom of the Amazons was won by Theseus and his host. And of the great battle there was for the time between Athens and the Amazons; and how Ipolita-the fair, hardy queen of Scythia-was besieged; and about the feast that was held at the wedding of Theseus and Ipolita, and about the tempest at their home-coming. But all this I must cut short.

plough I have, God wot, a large feeld to ere;

weak

And wayke ben the oxen in my plough.

I have, God knows, a full wide field to sow,
And feeble be the oxen in my plough.

I will not hinder anybody in the company. Let every one tell his story in time, and let us see now who shall win the supper!

I will describe to you what happened as Theseus was bringing home his bride to Athens.

* Tyrwhitt.

woe

cease

caught

perturb

injured

black them

But such a cry and such a woo they make,
That in this world nys creature lyvynge,
That herde such another weymentynge,
And of that cry ne wolde they never stenten,
Til they the reynes of his bridel henten.

What folk be ye that at myn hom comynge
Pertourben so my feste with cryinge?
Quod Theseus; Have ye so gret envye
Of myn honour, that thus compleyne and crie?
Or who hath yow misboden or offendid?
And telleth me, if it may ben amendid ;
And why that ye ben clad thus al in blak?
The oldest lady of hem alle spak

This duke aforesaid, of deserved renown,
When he had almost come into the town
In all his splendour and in all his pride,
Perceivéd, as he cast his eyes aside,
A company of ladies, in a row,
Were kneeling in the highway-two by two,
Each behind each, clad all in black array;
But such an outcry of lament made they,
That in this world there is no living thing
That e'er heard such another outcrying;
Nor would they cease to wail and to complain
Till they had caught him by his bridle-rein.

"What folk are ye who at my home-coming
Perturb my festival with murmuring,"
Quoth Theseus. "Or do you envy me
Mine honour that ye wail so woefully ?
Or who hath injured you, or who offended?
Tell me, if haply it may be amended,
And why are all of you in black arrayed ?”
The oldest lady of them all then said—

"Lord, to whom fortune has given victory, and to live ever as a conqueror, we do not grudge your glory and honour, but we have come to implore your pity and help. Have mercy on us in our grief. There is not one of us that has not been a queen or duchess; now we are beggars, and you can help us if you will.

"I was wife to King Capaneus, who died at Thebes‡: and all of us who kneel and weep have lost our husbands there during a siege; and now Creon, who is king of Thebes, has piled together these dead bodies, and will not suffer them to be either burned or buried."

And with these words all the ladies wept more piteously than ever, and prayed Theseus to have compassion on their great sorrow.

The kind duke descended from his horse, full of commiseration for the poor ladies. He thought his heart would break with pity when he saw them so sorrowful and dejected, who had been lately of so noble a rank.

He raised them all, and comforted them, and swore an oath that as he was a true knight, he would avenge them on the tyrant king of Thebes in such a fashion that all the people of Greece should be able to tell how Theseus served Creon!

The duke sent his royal bride and her young sister Emelye on to the town of Athens, whilst he

Feste in this place means rather festival than feast, as Theseus was only on his way to the city.

† At this period, the personal pronoun you was used only in the plural sense, or in formal address, as on the Continent now; whilst thou implied familiarity. The Deity, or any superior, was therefore addressed as you:

intimates and inferiors as thou. Throughout Chaucer the distinction is noticeable: but as the present mode reverses the order, I have in my lines adhered to no strict principle, but have used the singular or plural personal pronoun according as it seemed most forcible.

Thebes, in Greece.

displayed his banner, marshalled his men, and rode forth towards Thebes.

For himself, till he had accomplished this duty, he would not enter Athens, nor take his ease for one half-day therein.

The duke's white banner bore the red statue of Mars upon it; and by his banner waved his pennon, which had the monster Minotaur (slain by Theseus in Greece) beaten into it in gold. Thus rode this duke-thus rode this conqueror and all his host-the flower of chivalry-till he came to Thebes.

To make matters short, Theseus fought with the King of Thebes, and slew him manly as a knight in fair battle, and routed his whole army. Then he destroyed the city, and gave up to the sorrowful ladies the bones of their husbands, to burn honourably after their fashion.

When the worthy duke had slain Creon and taken the city, he remained all night in the field. During the pillage which followed, it happened that two young knights were found still alive, lying in their rich armour, though grievously wounded. By their coat-armour the heralds knew they were of the blood royal of Thebes; two cousins, the sons of two sisters. Their names were Palamon and Arcite.

These two knights were carried as captives to Theseus' tent, and he sent them off to Athens, where they were to be imprisoned for life; no ransom would he take.

Then the duke went back to Athens crowned with laurel, where he lived in joy and in honour all his days, while Palamon and Arcite were shut up in a strong tower full of anguish and misery, beyond all reach of help.

And maketh him out of his sleepe sterte, arise, thine And seith, Arys, and do thin observaunce.†

A garment worn over the armour, on which the armorial bearings were usually embroidered, for the purpose of recognition. See tabard, p. 48.

The rites and ceremonies, observed on the approach of spring, from the earliest times in many countries, but which have now died out in England, are among the most natural and beautiful of all popular fêtes. I have already in the preface alluded to the custom of riding out into the fields at daybreak to do honour to May, the month which was held to be the symbol of spring-time. Rich and poor, the court and the commoners, all rode out with one impulse. Boughs of hawthorn and laburnum were brought home to decorate all the streets, and dancing round the maypole, and feasting, and holiday-making, were observed almost like religious rites. It was a great privilege to be elected queen of May, and one which every young maiden coveted. At a later time we read of Henry VIII.

Thus passeth year by year, and day by day,
Till it fell once upon a morn of May
That Emelye-more beauteous to be seen
Than is the lily on his stalk of green,
And fresher than the May with flowers new
(For with the rose's colour strove her hue
I know not which was fairer of the two)
Early she rose as she was wont to do,
All ready robed before the day was bright;
For May time will not suffer sloth at night;
The season pricketh every gentle heart,
And maketh him out of his sleep to start,

And saith, Rise up, salute the birth of spring!

and Queen Catherine of Aragon formally meeting the heads of the corporation of London, on Shooter's Hill, to 'go a maying.'

But one thing should be remembered when we see how many pleasures were referred to May, and how much more people seemed to count on the weather of a month nowadays proverbially disappointing. The seasons were not the same then as they are now. Not because the climate of the land has altered so much, though that may be fairly surmised; but because the seasons were actually arranged otherwise. In Chaucer's time, May began twelve days later than our May, and ended in the midst of June, and therefore there was a much better chance of settled weather than we have. This fact also accounts for the proverbial connection of Christmas and hard weather, snow, and ice, which we get as a rule in January, while December is foggy and wet. Twelfth Day was the old Christmas Day.