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Title: The Canterbury pilgrims
A comedy
Author: Percy MacKaye
Release Date: April 11, 2023 [eBook #70526]
Language: English
Produced by: Mary Glenn Krause, Charlene Taylor, Krista Zaleski and the
Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CANTERBURY PILGRIMS ***
Transcriber’s Notes
Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected. Variations
in hyphenation and accents have been standardised but all other
spelling and punctuation remains unchanged.
Italics are represented thus _italic_.
The Canterbury Pilgrims
_A COMEDY_
[Illustration]
The Canterbury Pilgrims
_A COMEDY_
BY
PERCY MACKAYE
[Illustration: THE TABARD INN]
New York
THE MACMILLAN COMPANY
LONDON: MACMILLAN & CO., LTD.
1909
_All rights reserved_
COPYRIGHT, 1903,
BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY.
Set up and electrotyped. Published March, 1903. Reprinted
September, 1908; September, 1909.
Norwood Press
J. S. Cushing Co.--Berwick & Smith Co.
Norwood, Mass., U.S.A.
To
C. A. Sothern
In Friendship
“O KINDLY Muse! let not my weak tongue falter
In telling of this goodly company,
Of their old piety and of their glee;
But let a portion of ethereal dew
Fall on my head, and presently unmew
My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring,
To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.”
[KEATS: _Endymion_.]
[Illustration]
DRAMATIS PERSONÆ
1. CHARACTERS BASED ON “THE CANTERBURY TALES.”
_MEN_
GEOFFREY CHAUCER, Poet at King Richard’s Court, and Knight of the
Shire for Kent.
The KNIGHT (_Dan Roderigo d’Algezir_).
The SQUIRE (_Aubrey_), his son.
The YEOMAN, his servant.
The MONK.
The FRIAR (_Huberd_).
The MERCHANT.
The CLERK.
The MAN-OF-LAW.
The FRANKLIN.
The HABERDASHER, }
The CARPENTER, }
The WEAVER, } Members of a Guild.
The DYER, }
The TAPICER, }
The COOK (_Roger Hogge_).
The SHIPMAN (_Jack_).
The DOCTOR.
The PARSON (_Jankin_).
The PLOUGHMAN.
The MILLER (_Bob_ or _Robin_).
The MANCIPLE.
The REEVE.
The SUMMONER.
The PARDONER.
The HOST (_Herry Bailey_).
The CANON’S YEOMAN.
JOANNES, }
MARCUS, } The Prioress’s Priests.
PAULUS, }
_WOMEN_
The WIFE OF BATH (_Alisoun_).
The PRIORESS (_Madame Eglantine_).
A NUN, her attendant.
MISTRESS BAILEY, of the Tabard Inn.
II. CHARACTERS NOT BASED ON “THE CANTERBURY TALES.”
_MEN_
RICHARD II, King of England.
JOHN OF GAUNT, Duke of Lancaster, uncle of the King, brother-in-law
of Chaucer, and patron of Wycliffe.
The DUKE OF GLOUCESTER, his brother.
DE VERE, Duke of Ireland, Richard’s favourite.
The ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY.
JOHN WYCLIFFE, the religious reformer, founder of the “Lollards.”
BOTTLEJOHN, Host of the One Nine-pin inn, at Bob-up-and-down.
HIS PRENTICES (_Ned_ and _Dick_).
A KITCHEN-BOY.
A VENDER OF RELICS.
ANOTHER VENDER.
A BLACK FRIAR.
A GREY FRIAR.
A PRIEST OF CANTERBURY CATHEDRAL.
HERALDS.
CHOIR-BOYS.
_WOMEN_
JOHANNA, Marchioness of Kent.
CANTERBURY BROOCH-GIRLS.
SERVING-MAIDS.
NOTE.--Those designated as Alisoun’s “Swains” are the
Friar, Cook, Shipman, Miller, Manciple, Summoner, Pardoner.
ACT FIRST
“BIFEL that, in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay
Redy to wenden on my pilgrimage
To Caunterbury, with ful devout corage,
At night was come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a companye
Of sondry folk, by aventure y-falle
In felawshipe, and pilgrims were they alle,
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.”
ACT I
TIME: April 16th, 1387. Late afternoon.
SCENE: The Tabard Inn at Southwark, near London.
_When the scene opens, about half of the PILGRIMS have
arrived; the others come in during the first part of the
act. Those already arrived are the MILLER, SHIPMAN, COOK,
PARSON, PLOUGHMAN, FRANKLIN, DOCTOR, FRIAR, HABERDASHER,
CARPENTER, WEAVER, DYER, TAPICER, CLERK, and CHAUCER._
_At rise of curtain, the HOST is just moving to receive
the KNIGHT, SQUIRE, and YEOMAN at the door, back. Chaucer
sits with a big volume on his knee in the corner by the
fireplace, left; right front, the Miller and the Cook are
wrestling, while those near look on._
COOK
Now, masters, see a miller eat bran!
MILLER
Corpus!
I’d liever wrastle with a butterfly.
SHIPMAN
Tackle him aft.
FRANKLIN
Grip, mon.
[_They clutch each other._]
A SERVING-MAID
[_Aside to Friar._]
A diamond pin?
FRIAR
[_Lisps slightly._]
One of thy glances stickéd through my heart!
[_Offers her the pin._]
SERVING-MAID
The Master is not looking now.
FRIAR
A bargain?
[_Maid nods, takes the pin, and hurries off to serve at table. Friar
follows._]
HOST
Welcome, Sir Knight!
KNIGHT
Is this the Tabard Inn?
HOST
[_Points through the open door to his swinging sign._]
Lo yonder, sir, is Herry Bailey’s shirt
Flappeth in the wind; and this is Herry himself.
[_Claps his hands for a serving-boy._]
Knave!
WEAVER
[_Pounds on the table with a jug, while Carpenter tosses
dice._]
Ale, here! Ale!
[_A shout from the pilgrims, front._]
MILLER
[_Throwing the Cook._]
Down!
SHIPMAN
Jolly chuck!
COOK
[_Getting to his feet with a bloody nose and fisting._]
’Sblood! Thou--
FRANKLIN
Hold, Master Cook, sith thou hast licked the platter,
Go now and wash the gravy off thy nose.
Look to him, doctor.
DOCTOR
Here!
FRANKLIN
[_To the Miller._]
And thou shalt eat
A sop of wine with me. By God, thy hand!
PARSON
[_To Ploughman, drawing him away._]
He sweareth like Sathanas. Come!
PLOUGHMAN
Toot, brother!
A little swearing saveth from the gallows.
MILLER
[_Laughing at the Cook._]
His nose is like a tart.
CLERK
[_To Chaucer, feasting his eyes on his book._]
Grant pardon, sir.
In vanitate humanorum rerum,
I’ the world’s uproar, ’tis sweet to find a scholar.
CHAUCER
A book’s a mistress all the world may love
And none be jilted.
CLERK
Then am I in love.
What is the book?
CHAUCER
A medley, like its master,
Containing many divers characters,
Bound in one hide. Whoso shall read it through
He shall behold Troilus and Launcelot
Sighing in Cæsar’s face, and Scaramouche
Painting with grins the back of Aristotle.
CLERK
[_Sparkling._]
What!--Aristotle?
CHAUCER
[_Rising, hands him the volume._]
I prithee look it through.
CLERK
Grammercy--somewhat farther from the piping.
[_Draws farther away from the Squire, who is beginning to
play a few strains on his flute, in front of the fire._]
MAN OF LAW
[_Entering with_ MERCHANT.]
For this recognisance--
MERCHANT
The ship was wrecked.
MAN OF LAW
Depardieux! Then your property is flotsam
And liable to salvage. Therefore you
Will need me as your man-of-law.
KNIGHT
[_To Chaucer._]
I knew
You were a soldier by your bearing, sir.
You were at Cressy?
CHAUCER
Nay, Sir Knight, I played
With tin swords then. Though I have often fought
At Frenchmen’s heels, I was but six years old
When our Black Edward won his spurs.
KNIGHT
Runs time
So swiftly?--One and forty years ago!
HOST
[_To a serving-maid._]
Belive, wench!
FRIAR
[_Stealing a kiss from her._]
In principio--
HOST
What’s here?
MAID
The gentle friar!
HOST
Gentle flower-de-luce!
[_Makes after Friar, who dodges behind_ MISTRESS BAILEY.]
MISTRESS BAILEY
[_Shrewishly._]
Hold; goodman Herry! ’Tis a friend of mine.
[_Host retires; Friar mocks him._]
KNIGHT
I am returning from the Holy Land
And go to pay my vows at Canterbury.
This is my son.
CHAUCER
Go you to Canterbury
As well, Sir Squire?
[_The Squire, putting down his flute, sighs deeply._]
KNIGHT
My son, the gentleman
Accosts thee!
SQUIRE
Noble gentleman--Ah me!
[_He turns away._]
CHAUCER
[_Follows him._]
My dearest heart and best beloved foe,
Why liketh you to do me all this woe?
What have I done that grieveth you, or said,
Save that I love and serve you, high and low?
And whilst I live I will do ever so.
Wherefore, my sweet, do not that I be dead;
For good and fair and gentle as ye be,
It were great wonder if but that ye had
A thousand thousand servants, good and bad:
The most unworthiest servant--I am he!
SQUIRE
Sir, by my lady’s grace, you are a poet
And lover, like myself. We shall be brothers.
But pardon, sir, those verses are not yours.
Dan Chaucer wrote them. Ah, sir, know you Chaucer?
CHAUCER
Twelve stone of him!
SQUIRE
Would _I_ did! Is he not
An amorous divinity? Looks he
Like pale Leander, or some ancient god?
CHAUCER
Sooth, he is like old Bacchus round the middle.
SQUIRE
How acts he when in love? What feathers wears he?
Doth he sigh oft? What lady doth he serve?
Oh!
[_At a smile from Chaucer, he starts back and looks at him
in awe; then hurries to the Knight. Chaucer walks among the
pilgrims, talking with them severally._]
MILLER
[_To Franklin._]
Ten gallon ale? God’s arms! I take thee.
MAN OF LAW
What’s
The wager?
FRANKLIN
Yonder door; this miller here
Shall break it, at a running, with his head.
The door is oak. The stakes ten gallon ale.
SHIPMAN
Ho, then, I bet the miller shall be drunk.
MERCHANT
What bet?
SHIPMAN
Twelve crown upon the miller.
MERCHANT
Done.
[_At the door appears the_ PRIORESS, _accompanied by a_ NUN
_and her three_ PRIESTS, _one of whom_, JOANNES, _carries a
little pup. The Host hurries up with a reverence._]
HOST
Welcome, my lady dear. Vouchsafe to enter
Poor Herry Bailey’s inn.
PRIORESS
Merci.
HOST
[_To a serving-boy._]
Knave, show
My lady Prioress to the blue chamber
Where His Majesty, King Richard, slept.
PRIORESS
Joannes,
Mark, Paulus, stay! have you the little hound
Safe?
JOANNES
Yes, my lady.
PRIORESS
Carry him before,
But carefully.
MILLER
[_To Yeoman._]
Here, nut-head, hold my hood.
YEOMAN
Wilt try bareheaded?
FRIAR
’Mass!
FRANKLIN
Ho, for a skull!
Miller, thou art as tough a knot as e’er
The Devil tied. By God, mine ale is spilled.
[_The priests and Prioress have just reached the door, left
front, which the Miller is preparing to ram._]
PLOUGHMAN
The door is locked.
JOANNES
But, sir, the Prioress--
SHIPMAN
Heigh! Clear the decks!
[_The Miller, with clenched fists, and head doubled over, runs
for the door._]
YEOMAN
Harrow!
PARSON
Run, Robin.
GUILD-MEN
[_Rise from their dice._]
Ho!
[_With a crash, the Miller’s head strikes the door and
splits it. At the shock, he rebounds against Joannes, and
reaching to save himself from falling, seizes the puppy._]
MILLER
A twenty devils!
GUILD-MEN
[_All but the Weaver, clambering over the table._]
Come on!
PLOUGHMAN
[_To the Miller._]
What aileth thee?
MILLER
The priest hath bit my hand.
JOANNES
Sweet sir, the puppy--
It was the puppy, sir.
MILLER
Wring me its neck.
PRIORESS
Alas, Joannes--help!
MILLER
By Corpus bones!
Give me the cur.
PRIORESS
St. Loy! Will no one help?
CHAUCER
Madame, what may I do?
PRIORESS
My little hound--
The churl--My little hound! The churl will hurt it.
If you would fetch to me my little hound--
CHAUCER
Madame, I’d fetch you Cerberus from hell.
MILLER
Lo, masters! See a dog’s neck wrung!
CHAUCER
[_Breaking through the crowd, seizes the Miller by the throat._]
Which dog’s?
MILLER
Leave go!--’Sdeath! Take the whelp, a devil’s name.
CHAUCER
Kneel! Ask grace of this lady here.
MILLER
[_Sullenly._]
What lady?
CHAUCER
Of her whom gentles call St. Charity
In every place and time.--
[_Turns then towards Prioress._]
What other name
This lady bears, I have not yet been honoured
With knowing.--Kneel!
MILLER
[_Morosely; kneels._]
Lady, I axe your pardon.
CHAUCER
Madame, your little hound is safe.
PRIORESS
[_Nestles the little hound with tender effusiveness; then
turns shyly to Chaucer._]
Merci!
My name is Madame Eglantine.
[_Hurries out, left._]
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
Hold, Geoffrey!
Yon beastie’s quaking side thumped not as thine
Thumps now. And wilt thou ape a little hound?
Ah, Madame Eglantine, unless ye be
To me, as well as him, St. Charity!
FRANKLIN
Who is the man?
MILLER
The Devil, by his eye.
They say King Richard hath to court a wrastler
Can grip ten men. I guess that he be him.
COOK
Ho! milksop of a miller!
MILLER
[_Seizing him._]
Say it twice;
What?
COOK
Nay, thou art a bull at bucking doors.
FRANKLIN
Let ribs be hoops for twenty gallon ale
And stop your wind-bags. Come.
MILLER
[_With a grin, follows the Franklin._]
By Corpus bones!
SHIPMAN
Twelve crown.
MERCHANT
Twelve, say you? See my man-of-law.
WEAVER
[_Springs to his feet._]
The throw is mine!
DYER
A lie! When we were away
You changed the dice!
WEAVER
My throw was cinq and three.
DYER
A lie! Have it in your gullet!
[_Draws his knife. They fight._]
CARPENTER
Part them!
TAPICER
Back!
HOST
Harrow! Dick Weaver, hold! Fie, Master Dyer,
Here’s not a dyeing stablishment; we want
No crimson cloth--Clap hands now: Knave, more ale.
CHAUCER
[_To the Doctor._]
If then, as by hypothesis, this cook
Hath broke his nose, it follows first that we
Must calculate the ascendent of his image.
DOCTOR
Precisely! Pray proceed. I am fortunate
To have met a fellow-doctor at this inn.
CHAUCER
Next, treating him by magic natural,
Provide him well with old authorities,
As Esculapius, Diescorides,
Damascien, Constantinus, Averrois,
Hippocrates, Serapion, Razis,
Bernardus, Galienus, Gilbertinus--
DOCTOR
But, sir, the fellow cannot read--
CHAUCER
Why, true;
Then there remains but one sure remedy,
Thus: bid him, fasting, when the moon is wane,
And Venus rises in the house of Pisces,
To rub it nine times with a herring’s tail.
DOCTOR
Yea, Pisces is a fish.--I thank you, sir.
[_He hurries off to the Cook, whose nose he has patched._]
HOST
[_To the Reeve, who enters._]
God save thee, Osewold! What’s o’clock? Thou look’st
As puckered as a pear at Candlemas.
REEVE
There be too many folk i’ the world; and none
Is ripe till he be rotten.
[_Sits at table._]
Penny’orth ale!
SQUIRE
My lord, father!
KNIGHT
Well, son?
SQUIRE
[_Looking at Chaucer._]
Sir, saw you ever
So knightly, sweet, and sovereign a man,
With eyes so glad and shrewdly innocent?
O, when I laid my hand in his, and looked
Into his eyes, meseemed I rode on horse
Into the April open fields, and heard
The larks upsinging in the sun. Sir, have
You guessed who ’tis?
KNIGHT
To judge him by his speech,
Some valiant officer.
SQUIRE
Nay, _I_ have guessed.
[_A merry jingling of bells outside. Enter the Monk, holding
up a dead swan._]
MONK
Soft! Handle not the fat swan. Give it me.
Bailey, I’ll learn thy cook to turn a spit.
[_Exit, right. Enter, left, Joannes._]
CHAUCER
[_To Ploughman._]
Aye, man, but weather is the ploughman’s wife
To take for worse or better. If thy loam
Be thin, and little snow, which is the best
Manure, then thou must dung thy furrows twice
’Twixt Michelmas and March.
PLOUGHMAN
Aye, but but--
JOANNES
Sir Knight,
This letter....
CHAUCER
What! from whom?
PLOUGHMAN
Toot! Canst thou read, mon?
JOANNES
This letter, sir, my Lady Prioress--
CHAUCER
From Madame Eglantine? Waits she an answer?
JOANNES
So please you, sir.
CHAUCER
Sweet saints!
[_Takes the letter and reads, aside._]
PLOUGHMAN
[_Watches Chaucer curiously._]
Aye, ’e can read it.
[_Outside, is heard the distant voice of the Wife of Bath_
(ALISOUN), _joined in chorus by the_ PARDONER, MANCIPLE,
_and_ SUMMONER, _singing_.]
ALISOUN
When folk o’ Faerie
Are laughing in the laund,
And the nix pipes low in the miller’s pond,
Come hither, love, to me.
[_Chorus._]
With doe and with dove,
Come back to your love.
Come hither, love, to me.
CHAUCER
[_Reading the Prioress’s letter, as the song outside sounds nearer._]
“Monsieur l’inconnu Chevalier--
These greetings shall apprise you that the little hound
is convalescent, and now suffereth from nothing save a
sore necessity for nourishment. Wherefore, being cast in
holy pilgrimage upon this revelous inn, I appeal once
more, gentil monsieur, to your honourable chivalry, of
which I beseech you this favour, to wit; that you shall
see prepared and delivered into the hands of Joannes, my
priest, a recipe as follows:--
One ounce of wastel-bread, toasted a pleasant brown;
One little cup of fresh milk;
Soak the former in the latter, till the sand-glass shall be
run half out;
Then sprinkle sparingly with sweet root of beet, rubbed fine.
Serve neatly.
MADAME EGLANTINE.”
SHIPMAN
[_At the door, to Friar, who is starting to flirt with a third
serving-maid._]
Hist! Who’s yon jolly Nancy riding here,
With them three tapsters tooting up behind?
FRIAR
By sweet St. Cuthbert!
SHIPMAN
Ha! ye ken the wench.
FRIAR
The wench? Oho! Thou sayest well. List, sir;
List, gentle Mariner! Thy wench hath been
A five times wedded and five hundred woo’d;
Hath rode alone to sweet Jerusalem
And back more oft than Dick-the-Lion’s-Heart;
And in her right ear she is deaf as stone,
Because, she saith, that once with her right ear
She listened to a lusty Saracen.
She was not born a-yesterday, yet, by
The merry mass, when she comes in the door,
She maketh sweet-sixteen as stale as dough.
SHIPMAN
She looks a jolly Malkin. What’s her name?
FRIAR
Dame Alisoun, a cloth-maker of Bath.
CHAUCER
[_Reading._]
“P.S. Let not the under-side be toasted as brown as the
upper.
P.P.S. The milk should not be skimmed.”
[_Laughs to himself._]
“A little cup of milk and wastel-bread!”
Haha!--A gentle heroine for a tale!
My heart is lost.
[_To Joannes, who is trembling at the Miller._]
What, fellow, art thou scared?
Come with me to the kitchen.
JOANNES
[_Follows timidly._]
Ben’cite! [_Exeunt._]
[_Outside the song, “Come hither, Love,” bursts into
chorus. Enter the_ WIFE OF BATH, _astride a small white
ass, which is fancifully caparisoned like a fairy creature.
Spurs jingle on the Wife’s boots, and on her head is a
great round hat. Followed by the_ SUMMONER, PARDONER, _and_
MANCIPLE, _she rides into the middle of the floor and reins
up._]
ALISOUN
Whoa-oop!--God save this merry company!
[_A commotion._]
By God, I ween ye ken not what I am:
I am the jolly elf-queen, and this is
My milk-white doe, whereon I ride as light
As Robin Good-boy on a bumble-bee;
[_Indicating the ass’s ears._]
These be his wings.--
And lo--my retinue!
These here be choir-boys from Fairy-land.
Come, Pardoner, toot up my praise anon.
PARDONER AND ALISOUN [_sing_]
When sap runs in the tree,
And the huntsman sings “Halloo!”
And the greenwood saith: “Peewit! Cuckoo!”
Come hither, love, to me.
SWAINS AND ALISOUN
With turtle and plover,
Come back to your lover.
Come hither, love, to me.
ALISOUN
Now, lads, the chorus!
[_The Swains and Alisoun, joined by several other pilgrims,
repeat chorus._]
MILLER
Nails and blood! Again!
FRIAR
Encore!
ALISOUN
Nay lads, the song hath dried my whistle.
The first that fetches me a merry jug
Shall kiss my lily-white hand.
[_The Swains, with a shout, scramble to get ale of the tapster._]
SWAINS
Here, ale here! ale!
HOST
Slow, masters! Turtle wins the rabbit race.
MILLER
[_Offers his tankard, tipsily._]
Give’s thy hand, girl.
ALISOUN
Thou art drunk! ’Tis empty.
MILLER
Well, ’tis a jug. Ye said “a merry jug.”
ALISOUN
Pardee! I’ll keep my word.
MILLER
[_Grinning, raises his face to her._]
A kiss?
ALISOUN
A smack!
[_Flings the tankard at his head._]
MILLER
[_Dodging it._]
Harrow!
THE OTHER SWAINS
[_Pell-mell._]
Here! here! Take mine!
FRIAR
Drink, sweet Queen Mab!
[_Re-enter Chaucer and Joannes. Chaucer carries in his
hand a crock._]
ALISOUN
[_To the Friar._]
What, Huberd, are ye there? Ye are too late,
All o’ ye! The elf-queen spies her Oberon.
[_Wheeling the ass to confront Chaucer._]
By God, sir, you’re the figure of a man
For me.--Give me thy name.
CHAUCER
Your Majesty,
This is most sudden. Dare I hope you would
Have me bestow my humble name upon you?
ALISOUN
Make it a swap, mon. Mine is Alisoun,
And lads they ken me as the Wife of Bath!
CHAUCER
My name is Geoffrey. When the moon is full,
I am an elf and skip upon the green;
By my circumference fairy-rings are drawn,
And lasses ken me as the Elvish Knight.
SQUIRE
[_Aside._]
Father, ’tis he--the poet laureate!
KNIGHT
Brother-in-law to John of Gaunt?
SQUIRE
The same.
SHIPMAN
[_Offers his mug again._]
Take this, old girl.
ALISOUN
The devil take a tar.
[_Snatches the crock from Chaucer’s hand._]
I’ll take a swig from Geoffrey’s.--Holy Virgin!
What pap is this here? Milk and wastel-bread?
CHAUCER
Nay, ’tis a kind of brew concocted from
The milky way, to nurse unmarried maids.
ALISOUN
[_Hands it back quickly._]
Saints! None o’ that for me.
CHAUCER
[_Aside to Joannes._]
Bear it to your mistress.
ALISOUN
[_Aside._]
Mistress? Aha!--A woman in the case.
[_Aloud._]
Give us your hand, Sir Knight o’ the Wastel-bread,
And help me light adown.--
What! Are ye afeared
To take me in your arms?
CHAUCER
Sweet Alisoun,
Thou art a vision of the ruddy Venus
Bright pommelled on the unspotted Pegasus,
And I am Ganymede, thy stable boy.
[_He helps her to alight._]
ALISOUN
Well swung! What think ye of my jolly heft?
CHAUCER
Thou art a very dandelion seed
And I thy zephyr.
MILLER
[_To the Swains._]
’Sblood! He steals our wench.
SQUIRE
[_Approaching Chaucer diffidently, speaks under his breath._]
Great Master Chaucer.
CHAUCER
Hush! Speak not my name.
[_Takes the Squire aside._]
ALISOUN
Halloa! what’s struck this jolly company?
Ye’re flat as stale ale. Master Summoner, what’s
The matter now? Ye should be glad at heart
To wear so merry a bonfire in your face.
SUMMONER
Was it for this I sang, “Come hither, Love”?
COOK
Aye, was it for this?
ALISOUN
What, Roger Hogge, yourself?
How long, bird, have you worn a gallows-warrant
Upon your nose?
[_The others hoot._]
COOK
As long, Dame Alisoun,
As you have had a hogshead for a sweetheart.
ALISOUN
Geoffrey, ye mean? Ho! Are ye jealous there?
[_To the Shipman._]
Jack, too, and hast a wife to home at Dartmouth?
Hark, lads! This Jealousy is but a ninny;
For though there be a nine-and-twenty stars,
Yet Jealousy stares only at the moon.
Lo! I myself have made a vow ’twixt here
And holy Thomas’ shrine to twig a husband;
But if I like this fellow Geoffrey, can’t
I like ye all? By God, give me your fists;
And I will tip ye a secret.
[_Mysteriously._]
I am deef!
Ye ken all great folks have some great defect:
Cupid is blind and Alisoun is deef;
But Cupid--he can wink the t’other eye,
And Alis--she can ope the t’other ear.
FRIAR
Sweet Alis, which is deaf?
ALISOUN
I said, the t’other.
FRIAR
Nay, but which ear, the right or left?
ALISOUN
Love, if
Ye guess the right ye won’t be left: how’s that?
So, fellows, ye can knock at either door;
And while Tom standeth scraping the front mat,
By God then, Dick, go rap at the side porch;
The t’other door is locked; I say not which.
[_Laughing and boxing their ears as they try, in turn, to
whisper to her, she leads them to the ale-barrel, where
they drink._]
FRIAR
Sweet brethren, drink with me to t’other ear!
ALISOUN
Here’s pot-luck to you all, lads!
PARDONER.
[_Who has spread out his relics in another part of the room._]
Pardons! pardons!
Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings:
Radix malorum est cupiditas.
CHAUCER
[_Aside to Squire._]
Pray, speak no word of who I am. I ride
To Canterbury now, to bid farewell
My kinsman, John of Gaunt. But on the road,
I travel here incognito.
SQUIRE
But, sir,
At least, beseech you, let me guard your person;
So mean an inn, such raw folk, must offend
King Richard’s royal poet.
CHAUCER
Not so, lad.
To live a king with kings, a clod with clods,
To be at heart a bird of every feather,
A fellow of the finch as well as the lark,
The equal of each, brother of every man:
_That_ is to be a poet, and to blow
Apollo’s pipe with every breath you breathe.
Therefore, sweet boy, don’t label me again
In this good company.
SQUIRE
I will not, sir--
[_Aside._]
A god! A very god!
PARDONER
Here’s relics! pardons!
Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings!
Lordings, step up! Pardons from Rome all hot.
[_A crowd gathers round him._]
PARSON
[_Lifting a relic._]
What’s this?
PARDONER
That, master, is the shoulder-bone
Of a sheep once slaughtered by a holy Jew.
Take heed, lordings, take heed! What man is here
That hath to home a well?
SEVERAL
I! I!
PARDONER
Pay heed!
Let any man take this same shoulder-bone
And chuck it in his well, and if he own
A cow, or calf, or ass, which hath the pox,
Take water from that well, and wash its tongue.
Presto! It shall be well again.
PLOUGHMAN
[_To the Parson._]
By Mary,
I’ll try it on Mol.
PARDONER
Hark, lordings, what I say!
If also the goodman that owns the beasts
Shall, fasting, before cock-crow, drink three draughts
Of that same well, his store shall multiply.
PARSON
My word!
FRANKLIN
Nay, that’s worth while.
PARDONER
List what I say!
Also, if any wife shall boil a broth
Of this same bone, it healeth jealousy.
ALISOUN
Ho! give it me! And every fellow here
Shall suck the marrow-bone.
PARDONER
What will you offer?
ALISOUN
[_Throws a kiss._]
That’s all ye get o’ me.
PARSON
I’ll give a florin.
PARDONER
Done, Master Parson. Listen, lordings, list!
This is a piece o’ the sail St. Peter had
When he walked on the sea; and lo! this cloth--
ALISOUN
A pillow-case!
PARDONER
This is the Virgin’s veil.
And in this crystal glass behold--
ALISOUN
Pig’s bones!
[_Slaps Chaucer on the shoulder._]
What, Geoffrey lad! Which will ye liever kiss,
A dead saint’s bones, or a live lass--her lips?
[_Enter, L., the Prioress._]
CHAUCER
Why, Alisoun, I say all flesh is grave-clothes,
And lips the flowers that blossom o’er our bones;
God planted ’em to bloom in laughter’s sunshine
And April kissing-showers.
[_Laughing, he kisses Alisoun and faces the Prioress._]
St. Charity!
ALISOUN
Haha! That time I had thee on the rump.
[_She calls the Friar aside, R._]
PRIORESS
[_Starting to go._]
Je vous demande pardong, Monsieur.
CHAUCER
Madame,
Qu’est ce que je puis faire pour elle?
PRIORESS
Rien, rien.
CHAUCER
Madame, mais si vous saviez comme je meurs
De vous servir--
PRIORESS
You speak patois,
Monsieur; _I_ studied French in Stratford-at-the-Bowe.
CHAUCER
Your accent is adorably--unique.
PRIORESS
[_Is about to melt, but sees Alisoun._]
And you a gentilhomme--at least I thought so
Whenas you saved my little hound--Ah, sir!
CHAUCER
Adam was our first father: I’m her brother.
PRIORESS
You meant no more?
CHAUCER
Her brother and your servant,
Madame. And for the rest, I ride to Canterbury:
I will absolve me at St. Thomas’ shrine.
PRIORESS
[_Eagerly._]
Go you to Canterbury?
CHAUCER
With the rest.
PRIORESS
Oh! I am glad--that is, I came to ask you.
Know you, Monsieur, where lies upon the way
A little thorp men call Bob-up-and-down?
CHAUCER
Right well--we pass it on the road.
PRIORESS
We do?
Merci.
[_Going._]
MILLER
[_Amid uproar, drinks to Alisoun._]
Lend me thy t’other ear.
[_Startled, the Prioress returns to Chaucer. Behind them,
the Friar, at a sign from Alisoun, listens unobserved._]
PRIORESS
You see--
I expect to meet my brother on the road.
He is returning from the Holy Land;
I am to meet him at the One Nine-pin,
A tavern at Bob-up-and-down. But--
CHAUCER
But?
PRIORESS
I have not seen him since I was a child.
I have forgotten how he looks.
CHAUCER
He is
Returning from the Holy Land?
PRIORESS
And has
His son with him, for squire. He is a knight.
CHAUCER
[_Aside, looking at the Knight and Squire._]
A son--his squire? Good Lord!
PRIORESS
And so, Monsieur,
I’m boldened by your courtesy to ask
Your help to find him at Bob-up-and-down,
Till which--your kind protection on the road.
[_More uproar, R._]
CHAUCER
But--
PRIORESS
Have I asked too much?
CHAUCER
Madame, I am honoured.
[_Hesitatingly._]
How, then, am I to recognise your brother?
PRIORESS
He wears a ring, on which is charactered
The letter “A,” and after, writ, in Latin,
The same inscription as is fashioned here
Upon my brooch. I may not take it off,
For I did promise him to wear it always.
But look, sir, here’s the motto. Can you read it?
[_She extends her hand, from the bracelet of which dangles a
brooch. The Friar draws nearer._]
CHAUCER
I thank you.
[_Reads._]
“Amor vincit omnia.”
[_Looking at her._]
“Love conquers all.”
PRIORESS
C’est juste, Monsieur. Adieu!
[_Exit, L._]
FRIAR
[_Making off to Alisoun._]
Hist! “Amor vincit omnia,” Sweet Alis!
[_After talking aside with Alisoun he goes to the Knight._]
CHAUCER
[_Aside, looking at the Knight and Squire._]
A morning’s canter to Bob-up-and-down!
“Till which--my kind protection on the road.”
When last they met, she was a little child;
Besides, I will make verses for his son.
A morning’s canter--time, the month of April--
Place, Merry England--Why not Lord Protector
Geoffrey? Her brother! What’s a suit of armor?
Nay! “Amor vincit omnia.”
[_Turns away._]
FRIAR
[_To the Knight, whose finger-ring he examines._]
How quaint, sir!
A crownèd “A” and underneath a motto.
KNIGHT
Quite so.
FRIAR
Merci!
[_Returns quickly to Alisoun._]
ALISOUN
Her brother--the One Nine-pin?
FRIAR
To-morrow.
ALISOUN
Good.
FRIAR
Sweet Alisoun--my pay?
ALISOUN
Saith holy Brother Huberd? Love’s reward
Is service.
[_Aside, eyeing Chaucer, who passes her._]
Corpus Venus! What a figure!
I’ll woo him. Ay; but first to rid me of
These other fellows.
[_To the Friar._]
Hist!
In Peggy’s stall--
Peggy’s my milk-white doe--in Peggy’s stall,
Thou’lt find another jolly beggar, waits
To dun me.
FRIAR
Ho! A rendezvous?
ALISOUN
A trysting.
Go, for my love, and play the wench for me,
And nab him by the ears until I come.
FRIAR
St. Cupid, I am game. In Peggy’s stall?
[_Exit._]
[_Alisoun whispers aside individually to the Shipman and Manciple, who
exeunt at different doors._]
CARPENTER
Sack? Sack in the cellarage?
WEAVER
Come on, let’s tap it.
[_Exeunt with a number of others._]
SUMMONER
[_At table, trying to rise._]
Qu--questio quid juris?
COOK
Now he’s drunk
You’ll get no more from him but “hic, hac, hoc.”
ALISOUN
[_Aside to the Miller._]
And hold him till I come.
MILLER
In Peggy’s stall?
His ears shall be an ell long!--Pull his ears!
[_Exit._]
CLERK
[_Dazedly to Chaucer, returning him his book._]
I thank you, sir. Is this the Tabard Inn?
So then I’m back again. Such mighty voyages
The mind sails in a book!
[_He walks slowly forth into the air. Chaucer sits again by
the fireplace, with the book on his knees._]
ALISOUN
[_Aside to the Cook._]
Hold fast, and wait.
COOK
In Peggy’s stall?
ALISOUN
Aye.
COOK
Ears for nose, Bob Miller.
[_Exit._]
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
In Peggy’s stall,
“Love conquers all.”
[_Except for the drunken Summoner, Alisoun and Chaucer
are now alone._]
ALISOUN
[_To the Summoner, lifting his head from the table._]
Ho, cockerel! Perk up thy bill.
SUMMONER
Quid juris?
ALISOUN
Cluck! Cluck! How pretty Red-comb chucketh. Hark!
[_Throwing her arms round his neck, she whispers in his ear._]
SUMMONER
A pax! What did a’ say? A pax upon him.
A’ said a’d pull my ears--in Peggy’s stall?
By questio! a brimstone-cherub--me!
[_Rising._]
Quid juris! Blood shall spurt. By quid! His nose
Shall have a pax. By nails! A bloody quid!
[_Seizing up from the table a round loaf for a shield and a
long loaf for a sword, he reels out._]
ALISOUN
[_Laughing._]
So, Peggy, they shall woo thy lily-white hoof,
While Alisoun doth keep her rendezvous.
[_Comes over to Chaucer._]
Ho, candle! Come out from thy bushel.
CHAUCER
[_Peering over the edge of his book._]
Nay,
’Tis a dark world to shine in; I will read.
ALISOUN
A book! Toot! My fifth husband was a clerk;
He catched more learning _on_ his head than in it.
What is’t about?
CHAUCER
The wickedness of woman.
ALISOUN
A man, then, wrote it. If you men will write,
We wives will keep ye busy. Read’s a snack.
CHAUCER
[_Pretending to read._]
“Whoso that builds his mansion all of mallows,
Whoso that spurs his blind horse over the fallows,
Whoso that lets his wife seek shrines and hallows,
Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows.”
ALISOUN
Chuck that to another dog. My man is dead.
CHAUCER
[_Imperturbably._]
“A lovely woman, chaste, is like a rose;
Unchaste, a ring of gold in a sow’s nose.”
ALISOUN
Lo, what a pretty preaching pardoner!
“Offer your nobles now; spoons, brooches, rings!”
Cork up thy froth, a devil’s name! Come, play.
CHAUCER
“Better it is to dwell high on the roof
Than down i’ the house where woman wields reproof.”
O what a list of ladies! What a world!
Hark, Alisoun! and after thou hast heard,
Repent, and cease to be a woman. Hark!
“Who first obeyed the snake’s advice, to thieve
The apple from God’s Eden?--Mother Eve.”
ALISOUN
That’s Adam’s whopper. He stole it and hid in’s throat:
Feel o’ your own; the apple sticks there yet.
CHAUCER
[_Dramatically._]
“Who from great Samson’s brow hath slyly shorn
His strength? Delila, answer to thy scorn.
O Hercules! What woman-shaped chimaera
Gave thee the poisoned cloak? Thy Deianira.
O pate of Socrates! Who from the steepy
Housetop upset the slop-pail? Thy Xantippe!
Yea, speeding her lover through the dark finestra,
Who hath her husband slain, but Clytemnestra!
Thou, too, O Cleopatra--”
ALISOUN
[_Tearing a page out of the book, boxes Chaucer on the cheek._]
Hold thy gab!
A devil fetch thy drasty book!
CHAUCER
Hold, hold,
Dame Alis! gentle Alisoun--
[_Recovers the torn page._]
ALISOUN
Hoot-toot!
Are ye so dainty with a dirty parchment
And so slipshod to smirch our reputations?
You men! God’s arms! What ken ye of true women?
You stuff one doll and name it Modesty,
And bid her mince and giggle, hang her head
And ogle in her sleeve; another poppet
You make of snow and name St. Innocence:
She sits by moonlight in a silver night-gown
And sighs love-Latin in a nunnery.
By Corpus bones! is not a mare a horse?
A woman is but man; and both one beast--
A lusty animal, for field or harness.
But no! ye sanctify a squeamish mule;
And when an honest wench, that speaks her mind,
Meets a fine lad and slaps him on the buttock,
And says out plat: “Thou art a man: I love thee--”
She is a sinner, and your doll a saint.
CHAUCER
Alis, thou speak’st like one in jealousy.
ALISOUN
Why, Geoffrey, so I am. To tell thee flat,
I’m jealous of thy Lady Prioress.
CHAUCER
Peace, dame. Speak not her name with mine.
ALISOUN
Aye, go it,
Miss Innocence and Master Modesty!
How’s that?
CHAUCER
Dame Alisoun, it is enough.
ALISOUN
Why, then, it is enough. Come, lad; clap hands.
I am a bud of old experience,
Whom frost ne’er yet hath nipped. In love, I’ve danced
The waltz and minuet. Therefore, sweet Geoffrey,
This Prioress wears a brooch upon her wrist.
CHAUCER
Well, what of that?
ALISOUN
Yea, “What of that?” Good soul!
She stops to-morrow at Bob-up-and-down.
CHAUCER
How knowest thou?
ALISOUN
Nay, t’other ear is wise.
At the One Nine-pin she shall meet--
CHAUCER
Her brother.
ALISOUN
What wilt thou bet she goes to meet her brother?
CHAUCER
Why, anything.
ALISOUN
Hear that! As though a veil
Were perfect warrant of virginity.
What wilt thou bet she goeth not to meet
Her leman--aye, her lover?
CHAUCER
Thou art daft.
ALISOUN
Lo, subtle man! He robs a poor wife’s wits
To insure his lady’s honour.
CHAUCER
Tush, tush, dame.
The very brooch she wears, her brother gave her,
For whose sake she hath even promised never
To take it off.
ALISOUN
Wilt _bet_ me?
CHAUCER
Bet away!
ALISOUN
Ho, then, it is a bet, and this the stakes:
If that my Lady Prioress shall give
Yon brooch of gold from off her pretty wrist,
Unto the man whom she expects to meet,
And that same man prove not to be her brother,
Then thou shalt marry me at Canterbury.
CHAUCER
A twenty of thee, dame. But if thou lose
The stakes, then thou shalt kneel a-down and kiss
Yon brooch of gold upon her pretty wrist,
And pray the saints to heal thy jealousy.
ALISOUN
Aye, man, it is a bet; and here’s my fist.
CHAUCER
And here’s mine, Alis; thou art a good fellow.
[_An uproar outside._]
What row is this?
ALISOUN
Here comes my rendezvous.
[_Enter in tumult, the Friar, Miller, Cook, Shipman,
Summoner, and Manciple, holding fast to one another’s ears.
They call out, partly in chorus._]
FRIAR
He’s nabbed, sweet Alisoun.
MILLER
Here is the lousel.
SUMMONER
I’ve got his quids.
COOK
I stalled him.
ALISOUN
Hang fast, hold him!
Ho! fetch him down. [_Laughing._] O Geoffrey, here’s a wooing!
CHAUCER
Yea; “Amor vincit omnia.”
ALL THE SWAINS
Here he is!
ALISOUN
Leave go.
[_They let go ears._]
Where is the knave?
ALL
[_Pointing at one another._]
There.
ALISOUN
Which one?
ALL
[_Pointing at one another._]
Him!
ALISOUN
So, so! Hath Peggy jilted all of ye,
That took such pains to grow you asses’ ears?
Fie! Peg’s a jade--come back to Alisoun;
She’ll learn ye the true dance of love.
ALL
The devil!
CHAUCER
Nay, Robin Huberd, Roger--lads, chirk up.
These be the thorny steps of Purgatory
That lead ye to your Beatrice of Bath.
When ye attain unto her t’other ear--
[_They groan._]
FRIAR
We have attained unto it.
ALISOUN
[_To Chaucer._]
Go thy ways!
[_Draws them aside._]
Come here, sweethearts! Hark! I have made a bet
With goodman Geoffrey yonder. Him as helps
Me best to win my bet, by God! he shall
Make merry for my marriage. Come, which fellow
Will help me?
ALL
I!
ALISOUN
The best shall make me bride.
[_A kitchen-boy blows a horn._]
BOY
[_Shouts._]
Meat!
[_Servants enter with steaming trenchers; the other
pilgrims come in and seat themselves at the table. The
Prioress stands hesitating. Chaucer goes to meet her._]
HOST
[_Rises on a bench._]
Lordings, who goes to Canterbury?
ALL
I!
CHAUCER
[_Offers his arm to the Prioress._]
Madame, will you vouchsafe to me the honour?
PRIORESS
[_With a stately courtesy._]
Merci.
ALISOUN
[_Imitating the Prioress, takes his other arm._]
Merci!
[_Chaucer escorts them both to the table, where he sits between
them._]
HOST
Lordings! Now hearkneth to a merry game.
To-morrow when you canter by the way
It is no mirth to ride dumb as a stone.
I say--let every fellow tell a tale
To short the time, and him as tells the best
You’ll give a supper here when ye return.
Lo! I myself will ride with you and judge.
If ye assent, hold up your hands.
ALL
Aye! Aye!
HOST
To-morrow then to Canterbury!
ALL
To Canterbury!
[_Amid the babbling din of eating, drinking, and laughter,
Alisoun leans across Chaucer’s trencher towards the
Prioress._]
ALISOUN
Who is the lean wench, Geoffrey?
PRIORESS
By St. Loy!
=Explicit pars prima.=
ACT SECOND
“Whan that Aprille with his shoures sote
The droghte of Marche hath perced to the rote,
And bathed every veyne in swich licour,
Of which vertu engendred is the flour;
Whan Zephirus eek with his swete breeth
Inspired hath in every holt and heeth
The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne
Hath in the Ram his halfe cours y-ronne,
And smale fowles maken melodye,
That slepen al the night with open ye,
(So pricketh hem nature in hir corages):
Then longen folk to goon on pilgrimages.”
ACT II
TIME: April 19th. The afternoon.
SCENE: Garden of the One Nine-pin inn at the little hamlet
of Bob-up-and-down, en route to Canterbury.
_Right, the inn, with door opening into garden. Back, a
wall about chin-high in which is a wicket gate. The wall is
newly greened over with honeysuckle and rose-vines, which
are just beginning to blossom. Left, an arbour of the same.
Right front, a rough table and chair. Behind the garden
wall runs the highway, beyond which stretches a quiet
rolling landscape, dotted with English elms and hedgerows._
_When the curtain rises, the scene is empty. There is no
sound except the singing of birds, and the hum of a loom
inside the inn. Then, away to the left, is heard a bagpipe
playing. It draws nearer. Behind the wall, then, against
the green background of Spring, pass, in pageant, the_
CANTERBURY PILGRIMS _on horseback. Among the last, astride
her ambler, rides the_ WIFE OF BATH, _telling her tale, in
the group with_ CHAUCER _and the_ PRIORESS. _Behind her
follow the Swains, the_ MILLER _playing the bagpipe. Last
rides the_ REEVE.
_Behind the scene, they are heard to stop at the inn and
call for hostlers. The bustle of arrival, horses led
across a stone court, laughter and abuse,--these sounds
are sufficiently remote to add to the reigning sense of
pleasant quietness in the garden. Through the door of the
inn enters_ CHAUCER, _alone; in his hand, some parchments.
He enters with an abandon of glad-heartedness, half reading
from his parchments_.
CHAUCER
“When that April with his sunny showers
Hath from the drought of March the dreamy powers
Awaked, and steeped the world in such sweet wine
As doth engender blossoms of the vine;
When merry Zephirus, with his soft breath,
In every hedge and heath inspireth
The tender greening shoots, and the young Sun
Hath half his course within the Ram y-run,
And little birds all day make melody
That, all night long, sleep with an open ee,
(So Nature stirs ’em with delicious rages)
Then folk they long to go on pilgrimages--”
SQUIRE
[_Comes from the inn._]
Dan Chaucer! Master Chaucer!
CHAUCER
Signorino!
SQUIRE
Sir, what a ride! Was ever such a ride
As ours from London? Hillsides newly greened,
Brooks splashing silver in the small, sweet grass,
Pelt gusts of rain dark’ning the hills, and then
Wide swallowed up in sunshine! And to feel
My snorting jennet stamp the oozy turf
Under my stirrup, whilst from overhead
Sonnets shook down from every bough. Oh, sir,
Rode Cæsar such a triumph from his wars
When Rome’s high walls were garlanded with girls?
CHAUCER
Boy, let me hug thee!
SQUIRE
Noble sir!
CHAUCER
[_Embracing him._]
A hug!
Spring makes us youths together. On such a day
Old age is fuddled and time’s weights run down.
Hark!
[_A cuckoo sounds; they listen._]
The meadow is the cuckoo’s clock, and strikes
The hour at every minute; larks run up
And ring its golden chimes against the sun.
SQUIRE
Sir, only lovers count the time in heaven.
Are you in love, too?
CHAUCER
Over head and heart.
SQUIRE
Since long?
CHAUCER
These forty years.
SQUIRE
Nay, is your mistress
So old?
CHAUCER
She’s still kind.
SQUIRE
Kind, yet old! Nay, what’s
Her name?
CHAUCER
Hush, she will hear thee.
SQUIRE
Hear me?
CHAUCER
[_Mysteriously._]
Hush!
Mine own true mistress is sweet Out-of-doors.
No Whitsun lassie wears so green a kirtle,
Nor sings so clear, nor smiles with such blue eyes,
As bonny April, winking tears away.
Not flowers o’ silk upon an empress’ sleeve
Can match the broidery of an English field.
No lap of amorous lady in the land
Welcomes her gallant, as sweet Mistress Earth
Her lover. Let Eneas have his Dido!
Daffydowndilly is the dame for me.
PRIORESS
[_Within._]
Joannes!
SQUIRE
You are happy, sir, to have
Your mistress always by you. Mine’s afar
Turning the Italian roses pale with envy.
CHAUCER
She dwells in Italy?
SQUIRE
In Padua.
CHAUCER
In Padua? Why, there I knew Dan Petrarch,
Whose sonnets make the world love-sick for Laura.
SQUIRE
Would I could make it sigh once for my lady!
Sir, will you help me?
CHAUCER
Gladly; what’s her name?
SQUIRE
Alas! Her name is not poetical:
Johanna! Who can sonnetize Johanna?
CHAUCER
Invent her one to please you.
SQUIRE
Euphranasia--
How like you Euphranasia, sir?
FRIAR
[_Aside, popping his head from behind the wall._]
Qui la?
[_Dodges down again._]
PRIORESS
[_Within, singing._]
Laudate, pueri, Dominum; laudate nomen Domini! Nay, Paulus, I
_will_ sing: ’tis pretty weather.
SQUIRE
Euridice or Helena?
PRIORESS
[_Sings within._]
A solis ortu usque ad occasum, laudabile nomen Domini.
SQUIRE
Or, Thisbe?
CHAUCER
[_Lifting a sprig of honeysuckle on the wall._]
Nay, boy, this spray shall name her.
[_The Friar peeps over the wall again._]
SQUIRE
Eglantine!
Music itself! Methinks I have an aunt
Named Eglantine. What matter?--Eglantine!
CHAUCER
I’ll match that name against the Muses nine.
[_Takes out his parchments._]
SQUIRE
What! verses?
CHAUCER
Scraps of prologue to a book
I think to call “The Canterbury Tales.”
Good boy, leave me a bit; I have the fit
To rhyme for a time thy Donna Eglantine.
Come back at chapel-bell, or send someone
To fetch the verses.
SQUIRE
Sir, I will.
[_Exit left._]
FRIAR
Me voila!
[_Exit right, behind wall._]
CHAUCER
[_Reading from one of his parchments, crosses over by the
arbour._]
“There was also a nun, a prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
The greatest oath she swore was ‘by St. Loy!’
And she was clepèd Madame Eglantine;
Full daintly she sang the psalms divine;
And French she spake (St. Patrick taught her how),
After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bowe.
Full prettily her wimple pinchèd was,
Her nose piquante; her eyes as grey as glass;
Her mouth full small, and thereto soft and red;
In very sooth she had a fair forehead;
And dangling from her dainty wristlet small,
A brooch of gold she wore, and therewithal
Upon it there was writ a crownèd A,
And after--
[_Enter, right, the Prioress, carrying her little hound. Chaucer
sees her._]
Amor vincit omnia.”
[_He enters the arbour._]
PRIORESS
Joannes, stay indoors and tell your beads.
[_To her little hound._]
Jacquette, ma petite, it is a pretty day.
See you those clouds? They are St. Agnes’ sheep;
She hath washed their wool all white and turned ’em loose
To play on heaven’s warm hillside. Smell that rose?
Sweet-sweet! n’est ce pas, ma petite? Hast ever heard
The Romance of the Rose?
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
Saints!
PRIORESS
’Tis a tale
As lovely as the flower,--writ all in verses
Dan Chaucer made at court. Hush, hush, don’t tell:
I’ve read it. Ah! Jacquette! Jacquette! Jacquette!
When Mary was a girl in Joseph’s garden,
Were there such pretty days in Palestine?
[_Picks a rose._]
CHAUCER
Gods! must I hand her over--to a brother!
Alas! the sands of dreams, how fast they slip
Till Geoffrey lose his Lord-protectorship.
PRIORESS
[_Plucking the rose’s petals till the last petal falls._]
Pater noster (our Father), qui es in cœlis (which art
in heaven), sanctificetur nomen tuum (hallowed be thy
name). Adveniat regnum tuum (thy kingdom come);
fiat voluntas tua--thy will be done!
CHAUCER
Amen! I must resign!
[_He is about to step out from the arbour and discover himself,
but pauses as the Prioress continues._]
PRIORESS
Alas! We must go seek my brother and so
Quit the protection of this noble stranger.
You know, Jacquette, we must be fond of him.
He saved your life--we mustn’t forget that.
And though the wastel-bread was underdone,
He was most kind at table, and inquired
After your health, petite. And though he kissed
The ale-wife--oui, ma pauvre Jacquette!--yet he
Is contrite, and will seek St. Thomas’ shrine
For absolution.
CHAUCER
Forgive us our trespasses!
PRIORESS
He was so courteous, too, upon the road
I’m sure he is a gentleman. Indeed,
I hope my brother proves as true a knight,
When he arrives.
CHAUCER
Deliver us from temptation!
[_A shout from the pilgrims within._]
PRIORESS
Would he were here now.--Nay, I mean--the other.
This April day flowed sweet as a clear brook
Till these hoarse frogs jumped in to rile its silver.
SWAINS
[_Sing, within._]
The Wife of Bath
She’s a good fellow,
A maiden mellow
Of Aftermath.
PRIORESS
Vite, vite, ma petite.
[_She hastens to the arbour, where Chaucer quickly pretends
to be absorbed in writing. As she is withdrawing hastily,
however, he turns round._]
Monsieur, excusez moi!
CHAUCER
Madame, the fault is mine; I crave your pardon.
PRIORESS
What fault, Monsieur?
CHAUCER
[_Breaks a spray from the arbour and hands it to her._]
I trespass in _your_ bower.
Permettez.
PRIORESS
Honeysuckle?
CHAUCER
So ’tis called;
But poets, lady, name it--eglantine.
PRIORESS
M’sieur!
CHAUCER
May I remain and call it so?
PRIORESS
M’sieur--this is Jacquette, my little hound.
[_Chaucer takes the pup; they retire farther into the
arbour, as the_ WIFE OF BATH _enters from the inn. She
is accompanied by the_ FRIAR, MILLER, COOK, SUMMONER,
PARDONER, MANCIPLE, _and_ SHIPMAN, _who enter singing. They
lift her upon the table, and form a circle round her._]
SWAINS
The Wife of Bath
She’s a good fellow,
A maiden mellow
Of Aftermath.
She cuts a swath
Through sere-and-yellow;
No weeping willow
Bestrews her path.
Her voice in wrath
Is a bullock’s bellow;
For every good fellow
Eyes she hath.
She’s a good fellow,
The Wife of Bath!
ALISOUN
Sweethearts, your lungs can blow the buck’s horn.--Robin,
Ye sing like a bittern bumbling in the mire.
MILLER
By Corpus, ’twas a love-toot.
FRIAR
Prithee, sweet dame,
Finish your tale.
ALL
Finish the tale.
[_Other pilgrims enter from the inn._]
ALISOUN
Shut up, lads. Sure, my wits are gone blackberrying.
Where was I?
FRIAR
Where King Arthur’s knight came home,
You said, and--
ALISOUN
Will you let me say it then?
FRIAR
Sweet dame, you said--
ALISOUN
A friar and a fly
Will fall in every dish, that’s what I said.
Lads, will ye hear this church-bell ring, or me?
ALL
You--you--
SUMMONER
I’ll muffle his clapper.
ALISOUN
Hark my tale:
This knight rode home a-whistlin’ to himself,
Right up the castle-hall, where all the lords
And ladies sat. “Your majesties,” quoth he,
“Though I be hanged, this is my true reply:
Women desire to do their own sweet wills.”
[_The Swains clap._]
“Ho!” cried King Arthur, “that’s the best I’ve heard
Since I was first henpecked by Guinevere.
Depart! Thy neck is free!”
But at that word,
Up sprang an old wife, sitting by the fire,
And says: “Merci, your Majesty, ’twas I
That taught this answer to the knight; and he
Hath sworn to do the next thing I require.
Therefore, sweet knight, before this court I pray
That ye will take me to your wedded wife.
Have I said false?”
“Nay, bury me,” quoth he.
“Then I will be thy love.”
“My love?” quoth he.
“Nay, my damnation!”
“Take your wife to church,”
Cries out the King, “and look ye treat her well,
Or you shall hang.”
MILLER
Ho! What a roast!
PRIORESS
[_Aside._]
Poor man!
ALISOUN
The knight he spake no word, but forth he takes
His grizzly bride to church, and after dark
He leads her home. “Alas! sweet husband mine,
What troubleth you?” quoth she. “Nothing,” quoth he.
“Perchance that I am old?” “Nay, nay,” quoth he.
“Ugly and old,” quoth she, “cures jealousy.”
“It doth indeed,” quoth he. “What then?” quoth she.
“Are ye content?” “More than content,” quoth he;
“And will ye let me do my own sweet will
In everything?” “In everything,” quoth he,
“My lady and my love, do as you please.”
“Why, then, so please me, strike a light,” quoth she.
And when the knight had lit the candle, lo!
His grizzly bride--she was the Fairy Queen.
[_Loud acclamation._]
PRIORESS
[_Aside._]
Praise heaven!
FRIAR
[_Into whose arms Alisoun jumps._]
Bravo, Queen Mab, it was thyself.
COOK
I’ll bet
The knight was her fifth husband.
ALISOUN
Welcome the sixth!
God made me the King Solomon of wives.
SHIPMAN
[_To the Miller, who begins to play his pipes._]
God save thee, Robin! Bust thy pigskin.
ALISOUN
Aye!
Let’s have an elf dance. Come!
[_To the Summoner._]
Thy arm, sweet Puck!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_To Herry Bailey, who is looking on._]
Tarry ye all to-night?
HOST
Aye, till to-morrow.
BOTTLEJOHN
’Twill be a pinch for room.
HOST
[_Laughs._]
But not for reckonings.
[_The Miller, sitting on the wall, plays his bagpipe,
while Alisoun dances with her Swains, each of whom is
jealous of the rest. Chaucer and the Prioress still remain
out of sight in the arbour. As the music grows merrier,
the Prioress begins to click the beads of her rosary
rhythmically._]
CHAUCER
Why do you tell your beads, Madame?
PRIORESS
To keep
The fairies from my feet.
CHAUCER
The fairies?
PRIORESS
Yes,
The bagpipe sets them free. I feel them twitch me.
CHAUCER
Why drive them away?
PRIORESS
Monsieur!
CHAUCER
See you the birds?
St. Francis taught that we should learn of them.
PRIORESS
What do they?
CHAUCER
Sing, and dance from bough to bough.
The Muses sing; and St. Cecilia danced.
PRIORESS
Think you she danced, sir, of her own sweet will?
CHAUCER
Nay, not in April! In April, ’tis God’s will.
PRIORESS
Monsieur--
[_Gives Chaucer her hand shyly._]
’tis April.
[_They dance, in stately fashion, within the arbour.
Forgetting themselves in the dance, however, they come a
little too far forward; Alisoun spies them, and clapping
her hands, the music stops._]
ALISOUN
Caught! Ho, turtle-doves
Come forth, Sir Elvish Knight, Sir Oberon!
Fetch forth thy veilèd nymph, that trips so fair.
[_Chaucer steps forth from the arbour. The Prioress,
within, seizes up her little hound from a settle and hides
her face._]
ALL
Hail!
CHAUCER
Silence, loons! And thou, wife, hold thy tongue
And know thy betters. As for you, ye lummocks,
You need be proud as water in a ditch
To glass this lady’s image even in your eyes,
So, look ye muddy not her sandal-tips.
Begone! And mind when next you laugh the same,
That all the saints, to whom you bumpkins pray,
Dance with the Virgin round the throne of God.
Begone, and do your reverences.
[_Some of the pilgrims retire; others remain staring and
bow as the Prioress, veiled, crosses over to the inn door
with her little hound._]
ALISOUN
[_To the Cook._]
Hist, Roger!
What is the man?
COOK
No cheap dough.
PRIORESS
O Jacquette!
[_Exit._]
ALISOUN
[_Approaches Chaucer tentatively._]
God save thee, man! I ken not who thou art,
But him’s can curry down a ticklish mare
Like me, he hath a backbone in his bolster;
I love thee better for’t.--Ay, gang thy gait;
But, bully Geoffrey, mind, we have a bet:
Yea, if I fry thee not in thine own grease
And cry thee tit for tat, call me a man.
Man lives _for_ wit, but woman lives _by_ it.--
These dancing virgins!
[_Exit, followed by Friar._]
CHAUCER
Clods and bumpkins all!
MILLER
[_Gets in Chaucer’s way defiantly._]
Sir Oberon--
CHAUCER
Stand by!
MILLER
Lord Rim-Ram-Ruff!
He plays the courtier.
[_Bitterly._]
Harkee, Monsieur Courtier,
“When Adam delved and Eve span,
Who was then the gentleman?”
CHAUCER
Why, Monsieur Snake; he cherished the family tree
As the apple of his eye. In view of which,
Go drink a pot of cider.
[_Throws the Miller a coin._]
MILLER
[_Ducking._]
’Save your Worship!
[_Exit with Swains._]
CHAUCER
[_Solus._]
“When Adam delved”--who was court-poet then?
Adam. Who was Bob Clodhopper? Why, Adam.
Which, then, in that close body politic
Perked high his chin? Which doffed and ducked the knee?
Which tanned and sweat in the lean furrow? Which
Spat on the spade--and wore it in his crest?
Which was the real Adam? Sly Dame Clay,
If paradox died not in Genesis,
Let me not fancy Richard’s laureate
Alone’s incognito. Incognito
Are all that pass in nature’s pilgrimage,
For thou, with loamy masks and flesh-tint veils,
Dost make us, in this timeless carnival,
Thy dupes and dancers, ushering the courtier
To kiss beneath thy glove the goose-girl’s hand,
Or snub, behind the poor familiar rogue
And clown, some god that hides in Momus’ mask.
Nay, but not she--my gentle Prioress!
Though all the rest, in born disguisements, be
Basted and togg’d with huge discrepancy,
_She_ wears the proper habit of her soul.
Dear God! how harmony like hers unchains
Delight from the lugg’d body of Desire
To sing toward heaven like the meadow-lark,
Till, with her parting, it drops dumb again
In the old quag of flesh.
Flesh, Geoffrey! Fie!
What need to guard from sight the poet in thee
When nature thus hath hoop’d and wadded him
With barracoons of paunch? What say, thou tun?
Will Eglantine mistake thee for Apollo,
Thou jewel in the bloated toad; thou bagpipe
Puff’d by the Muse; thou demijohn of nectar;
Thou grape of Hebe, over-ripe with rhyme;
Thou lump of Clio, mountain of Terpsichore;
Diogenes, that talkest in thy tub!
Fie, Mother Earth!--Cling not about my waist
As if I were a weanling sphere. Fall off!
Ye gods! that kneaded this incongruous dough
With lyric leaven, sweat me to a rake-handle
Or let the Muse grow fat!
[_Exit._]
FRIAR
[_Outside, sings._]
Ye pouting wenches, pretty wives,
That itch at weddings, fairs, and wakes,
For trothal-rings and kissing-cakes,
For wristlets, pins, and pearlèd knives,
Hither trip it!
To peep i’ the friar’s farsèd tippet,
Who gently for sweet sinners’ sakes--
[_Enter the Friar and Alisoun._]
ALISOUN
Hush!
[_Going to the cellar door, she opens it and ponders._]
FRIAR
Ben’cite!
(Thus singeth he.)
Bene--benedicite!
ALISOUN
Hold thy cock-crow! My wit’s working.
FRIAR
Nay,
Thy jealousy, sweet dame.
[_Sings._]
Ye lasses jilted, lovers droopèd,
Rose-lip--
ALISOUN
Shut up!
FRIAR
[_Sings on._]
Rose-lip, White-brow, Blue-eye, Brown-tress,
Confide your pretty hearts! Confess
To the pleasant friar: trust not Cupid--
ALISOUN
By Peter!
I have the plan!
FRIAR
[_Sings._]
Love is a liar,
But lovers love the pleasant friar,
Who, making of their burdens less--
[_Here he approaches Alisoun caressingly, and deftly steals a
gold pin from her head-dress._]
ALISOUN
[_Laughing to herself._]
Ha! that shall win my bet!
What, Huberd!
FRIAR
[_Secreting the pin._]
Ben’cite!
(Thus singeth he.)
Bene--benedicite!
ALISOUN
Wilt thou hear my plan?
FRIAR
Fair Alis,
I would console thy jealousy.
ALISOUN
Me jealous!
Blest be thy breech! Who of?
FRIAR
[_Imitating Chaucer in his former speech._]
“And, thou, wife, hold
Thy tongue and know thy betters.”
ALISOUN
Ho! my betters?
That little snipper-snapper of a saint
He praised for dancing ring-around-the-rose-tree,
When honest wives are damned for showing their ankles?
A fig for her!--What, him! a walking hay-cock
That woos a knitting-needle of a nun!
And me! that when I was to home in Bath
Walked into kirk before the beadle’s wife:
My betters? Wait until I win my bet!
FRIAR
What bet?
ALISOUN
Canst thou be mum?
FRIAR
Dame, I have been
A bishop’s valet, a nun’s confidant,
A wife’s confessor, a maid’s notary;
As coroner, I’ve sat in Cheapside inns
When more than wine flowed. This breast can be dark
As Pharaoh’s chamber in the pyramids.
ALISOUN
List then: Ye wot I made a bet last night
With Geoffrey. This was it: Dame Eglantine,
Here at this inn, expects to meet her brother--
FRIAR
You mean--Dan Roderigo.
ALISOUN
Aye; but as
She hath not seen him since she was a child,
She hath not recognised him. He, ye ken,
Doth wear a ring wi’ a Latin posy in’t.
FRIAR
I know; ’tis “Amor vincit omnia,”
The same as on her brooch.
ALISOUN
There hangs my bet.
For if Dame Eglantine shall give yon brooch
Into the hands of any but her brother,
Then Geoffrey marries me at Canterbury.
FRIAR
Diable! _Marries_ thee?
ALISOUN
What then, dear friend?
Wouldst thou forswear thy celibate sweet vows
To buckle on a wife?
FRIAR
Nay, dame, a sister.
ALISOUN
A sister of St. Venus’ house? Go pray!
A husband is my holy pilgrimage,
And Geoffrey is my shrine.
FRIAR
Et moi?
ALISOUN
“Et moi?”
Thou art a jolly incubus. Thou shalt
Help me to catch my bird.
[_Enter the Miller by the wicket gate._]
FRIAR
Et donc?
ALISOUN
“Et donc?”
Why, then, I’ll give a farthing to the friars.
FRIAR
Nay, dame, the coin of Cupid is a kiss.
[_Pleading._]
One kiss pour moi.--At Canterbury--un baiser!
MILLER
[_Seizing the Friar._]
One pasty, eh? thou shorn ape!
FRIAR
[_Screams._]
Alisoun!
MILLER
By Corpus bones, I’ll baste thee!
ALISOUN
Let him be!
Shame! Wouldst thou violate a modest friar?
MILLER
He asked thee for a--
ALISOUN
Baiser. Baiser means
In Latin tongue a blessing. Not so, Huberd?
FRIAR
Dame, from thy lips, it meaneth Paradise.
MILLER
[_Imitating him._]
Doth it in thooth, thweet thir?--Thou lisping jay!
Thou lousy petticoats!
ALISOUN
[_Suddenly embracing the Miller; whispers to him._]
Whist! Robin, thou
Art just in the nick. I have a plan. Run fast;
Fetch here the other lads, and bring a gag.
MILLER
A gag? For him?
ALISOUN
Run quick.
MILLER
[_Going._]
By Corpus arms!
FRIAR
[_Taunting._]
Mealy miller, moth-miller,
Fly away!
If Dame Butterfly doth say thee nay,
Go and court a caterpillar!
MILLER
[_Laughing, shakes his fist._]
Ha, ha! By Corpus bones!
[_Exit at gate._]
ALISOUN
Now, bird; the plot.
I’ve sent him for a gag.
FRIAR
A gag? What for?
ALISOUN
To win my bet, of course. ’Tis for this knight.
FRIAR
Thou wilt not gag a knight--the Prioress’
Brother!
ALISOUN
Hast thou forgot I bet with Geoffrey
The man that wears the ring will prove to be
Dame Virtue’s lover?
FRIAR
He that wears the ring?
Methinks I smell: but who’s your man?
ALISOUN
Sweet owl,
The sunlight hurts thine eyes, thou starest too hard.
[_Blindfolding his eyes with her hands, she whirls him thrice
round._]
Behold him.
FRIAR
[_Dizzily._]
Where?
[_Alisoun slaps her own shoulder._]
What, thou? O ecce homo!
Thou wilt enact the lover and the knight
And woo Dame Eglantine?
ALISOUN
Who else? Forsooth,
I am a shapely crusader. This leg
Hath strode a palfrey thrice to Palestine.
I’ve won my spurs.
FRIAR
Thou wit of Aristotle.
O Helen of Troy! O Amazon! I catch:
Thou gaggest the _real_ knight and bear’st him off
Where thou mayst steal his ring and togs.
ALISOUN
And borrow
A false beard from thy tippet. Thou shalt be
My valet, and retouch the Wife of Bath
To play the Devil in the Mystery.
FRIAR
But where’ll be thy boudoir?
ALISOUN
The cellar yonder.
Bob Miller and the other lads shall gag
And tie him there.
FRIAR
Why, this is merrier than
Nine wenches ducking in a Hallow-een bowl.
[_Doubling over with laughter, he almost knocks against
Chaucer, who enters, left, meditative._]
Whist! Geoffrey! Come away.
CHAUCER
[_Reads from a parchment._]
“April, May,
Cannot stay;
We be pilgrims--so are they,
And our shrine,
Far away--”
[_A bell sounds outside; Chaucer pauses, and draws out a
pocket sun-dial._]
The chapel bell!
Four, by my cylinder. My signorino
Will claim his verses!
[_Reads on._]
“And our shrine,
Far away,
Is the heart of Eglantine.”
[_Pauses and writes._]
ALISOUN
[_Aside to Friar._]
Eglantine! What’s this?
FRIAR
Love verses. He hath writ them for the Squire
To give unto his lady-love Johanna.
ALISOUN
But he said “Eglantine.”
FRIAR
Aye, dame; he dubs
Her Eglantine to be poetical.
ALISOUN
A poet! Him?
FRIAR
Why not? Jack Straw himself
Could ring a rhyme, God wot, till his neck was wrung.
CHAUCER
[_Reads._]
“Eglantine,
O to be
There with thee,
Over sea,
In olive-shaded Italy.”
Too rough. “Shaded” is harsh. H’m! “Olive-silvered.”
“In olive-silvered Italy.”--That’s better.
FRIAR
[_To Alisoun._]
Hide there!
ALISOUN
What now?
FRIAR
Watch.
[_The Friar approaches Chaucer obsequiously._]
CHAUCER
[_Reads._]
“There to pray
At thy shrine--”
FRIAR
Benedicite!
The blissful martyr save you, sir.
CHAUCER
And you.
FRIAR
The gentle Squire sent me for--
CHAUCER
His verses? They are just finished.
[_Folds them up._]
FRIAR
Sir, you see, he hailed me
Passing upon the road. He lies out yonder
Along a brookside, sighing for his lady.
CHAUCER
[_Handing the parchment to the Friar._]
Bid him despatch her these. Here, wait; this spray
Of eglantine goes with them.
FRIAR
Save you, sir.
[_The Friar starts for the wicket gate. Chaucer,
absent-minded, passes on to the inn door. As he does so,
the Friar, treading tip-toe behind him, steals another
parchment, which is sticking from his pouch._]
CHAUCER
“April, May,
Cannot stay;
We be pilgrims--so are they.”
[_Exit._]
FRIAR
[_Stands holding the second parchment, from which he reads._]
“There was also a nun, a prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
The greatest oath she swore--”
Blessed be larceny!
This rhyme is slicker to have up my sleeve
Than five aces of trumps.
ALISOUN
[_Joining him._]
What’s up?
FRIAR
List, dame!
Of human hearts I am an alchemist.
To stir them in the crucible of love
Is all my research and experiment;
And but to find a new amalgam makes
My mouth to water like a dilettante’s.
ALISOUN
Well?
FRIAR
Geoffrey wrote these verses for the Squire
To give his lady; therefore, _I_ will give them
To Eglantine, and watch the _tertium quid_;
That is to say, whether the resultant be
A mantling _coleur rose_, or--an explosion.
ALISOUN
What’s in the verses? Nay, man, read ’em out;
I am no clerk.
FRIAR
_I_ am a master-reader.
“Sigh, Spring, sigh,
Repine
Amid the moon-kissed eglantine,
For so do I.”
[_The Friar sighs._]
ALISOUN
No more o’ that.
FRIAR
Sweet Alis, ’tis the art.
When I look thus,--’tis moonlight. When I sigh
Thus,--’tis a zephyr wooing apple blossoms.
ALISOUN
Wooing a sick goat! Read ahead.
FRIAR
Ahem!
[_Reads._]
“April, May,
Cannot--”
[_Enter, from the inn, the Knight; from the wicket gate, the Swains,
with ropes and a gag._]
ALISOUN
Quit; here’s our knight. Go find the Prioress.
And when you’ve given her the verses, join
Me and the other fellows in the cellar.
[_Jerking her thumb at the Knight._]
_He_’ll be with us.
FRIAR
Thy valet comprehends.
KNIGHT
[_To Friar._]
Good fellow, have you seen my son, the Squire?
FRIAR
My lord, that dame can tell you.
[_Throwing a kiss to Alisoun._]
Au revoir!
[_Then throwing another to the Miller, he sings as he skips out._]
Ma douce gazelle,
Ma gazelle belle,
Bon soir!
MILLER
[_To the Shipman._]
Quick! Head him off, Jack!
[_Exit Friar into inn._]
ALISOUN
Let him go.
[_To the Miller._]
Thine ear!
MILLER
But--
ALISOUN
Shh!
[_Draws him aside and whispers._]
Art thou afeard?
MILLER
Nay, dame, but ’tis
A lord. Mayhap we’d catch the whipping-post.
ALISOUN
But mayhap me along with it, sweet Bob.
[_They whisper aside._]
KNIGHT
This woman tell me of my son! ’Tis strange.
ALISOUN
[_Aside to Miller._]
Ye ken!
MILLER
Aye, aye.
[_Looking pleased, he speaks to the others aside. During
the following scene, all of them approach the Knight
cautiously with the ropes and gag, while Alisoun,
distracting the Knight, warns or urges them in pantomime._]
KNIGHT
Good woman, have you seen--
ALISOUN
And do mine eyes behold him once again?
O sir! The blissful saints requite you, sir!
KNIGHT
For what, good dame?
ALISOUN
His voice! That I should hear
His voice once more! The vision bursts again
Upon my brain: the swords, the sweated horse,
The lifted battle-mace, and then his arms,
His arms around me--saved!
[_Falling at his feet._]
Oh, can it be?
KNIGHT
Madame, arise. We met last night, methinks,
At Master Bailey’s inn, in Southwark, but
Never before.
ALISOUN
[_Rising._]
Hold! Gallop not so fast,
Ye steeds of Memory!--Was it perchance
A lonely damsel by the Coal Black Sea,
Forsaken save by him; or was it by
The walls of old Granada, at the siege,
When, dazzled by the white star of my beauty,
He raised his cross to smite the lustful Moor,
And cried, “Don Roderigo dies for thee!”
KNIGHT
[_To the Miller._]
The woman is ill. You had best call a leach.
ALISOUN
Call no one, sir. Forgive my sentiment.
Small wonder is it, though the lordly falcon
Forget the dove he succoured from the crows.
But ah! how can the tender dove conceal
The flutterings of her snow-white breast to meet
Her lord once more?
KNIGHT
[_Going._]
Madame, I wish you better.
ALISOUN
Dear lord, when last we met at Algezir--
KNIGHT
Pray to the Virgin!
ALISOUN
Sweet lord!--
KNIGHT
By St. George,
I know you not.
ALISOUN
Alas! Alas! The faithless!
Was this the chivalry ye promised me
That night ye kissed me by the soldan’s tent?
KNIGHT
Off me, thou wife of Satan!
ALISOUN
Heard ye that?
Lads, to the rescue!
KNIGHT
Sorcery!
[_The Miller and Alisoun gag the Knight, while the others
assist in binding him._]
ALISOUN
Quick, Roger!
Take off his finger-ring. Mum, sweethearts! In, now!
[_Exeunt omnes, carrying the Knight into the inn cellar._]
[_Enter the Squire and Johanna. Passing along behind the
wall, they enter the garden by the wicket gate._]
SQUIRE
Lady, I cannot yet believe my eyes
That you are here, and not in Padua.
JOHANNA
’Tis sweet to hear your voice discredit mine,
And yet I pray you, sir, believe in me;
I would not prove a rich Lombardian dream
To be more fair--even than I am.
SQUIRE
You could not.
JOHANNA
Grazie!
SQUIRE
For you authenticise yourself
With beauty’s passport. This alone is you;
But how come hither?
JOHANNA
Like the Spring, because
I heard the snows had thawed in Merry England.
SQUIRE
As ever, you’re fellow-travellers, dear lady;
I might have guessed it from the little birds,
Your gossipy outriders. But with what
Less winged chaperones came you?
JOHANNA
Nay, with none!
Some flighty ladies of King Richard’s court
That oped their beaks--but not like nightingales--
To prate of love. For my part when I saw them
This morning trot away toward Canterbury
With that dull Gaunt and silly Duke of Ireland,
I sighed “sweet riddance.” True, the king is different,
But he is married.
SQUIRE
You are not alone?
JOHANNA
No, sir. I travel with a world-stormed priest,
Whom all who love him call “Good Master Wycliffe”;
And those who love him not, “Old Nick,” for writing
The gospels in dear English.
SQUIRE
You--a Lollard!
JOHANNA
Wait till you know him. He rides now to assist
High mass at the Cathedral, for Duke John
Who sails to claim his kingdom in Castile.
But I ride with him, not so much to absolve
My sins,--which frankly, since they are so few
And serviceable, I hate to part with--as
I go to look on one shall grace that service--
The man I best admire.
SQUIRE
Sweet lady, whom?
JOHANNA
Dan Chaucer--laureate of chivalry.
SQUIRE
Chaucer! Why he--
[_Checks himself._]
Alas!
JOHANNA
Scarce do I wonder
To see you bite your lip at that great name:
You, sir, who once, unless my memory fail,
Did promise me some verses of your own.
SQUIRE
Nay, you shall have them.
JOHANNA
What? The verses?
SQUIRE
Yes.
JOHANNA
Prithee, what are they? Rondeaux, amoretti,
Ballads? Why did you send them not? Odes? Sonnets?
Which?
SQUIRE
Nay, I know not.
JOHANNA
Know not?
SQUIRE
Not as yet.
JOHANNA
Know not as yet!
SQUIRE
I mean--O Donna mine!
I have a friend, whom but to call my friend
Sets all my thoughts on fire, and makes the world
A pent-up secret burning to be told.
Whose slave to be, I would roll Sisyphus’ stone;
Whom to clasp hands withal, I’d fight Apollyon;
For whom but to be Pythias, I would die.
JOHANNA
What amorous Platonics! Pythias?
Sure, Troilus were an apter choice. Well, sir,
Who is this paragon?
[_Aside._]
Heaven send her freckles.
SQUIRE
Nay, if it were allowed me but to name--
If you could guess the Olympian pedigree--
[_Enter Chaucer from the inn._]
Ah! Here he comes!
JOHANNA
Pray, sir, _who_ comes?
SQUIRE
My friend.
CHAUCER
[_Scanning the ground._]
I would not for good twenty pound have lost it.
JOHANNA
Is this your Damon?
SQUIRE
Lady, ’tis my friend.
CHAUCER
[_To himself._]
If Madame Eglantine should find it, read it!
Nay, not for forty pound.
SQUIRE
He does not see us.
May I present him?
JOHANNA
[_Nods carelessly, then aside._]
Saints! Must I essay
To circumvent a rival of such scope?
SQUIRE
Great sir!
JOHANNA
“Great sir” ’s a proper epithet.
SQUIRE
[_Touching Chaucer’s sleeve._]
I prithee--
CHAUCER
Ah, boy, well met! Did I perchance--
[_Seeing Johanna._]
Pardon!
SQUIRE
[_Whispers to Chaucer, then aloud to Johanna._]
Permit me to present to you--
Lady Johanna, Marchioness of Kent--
This gentleman, my friend.
JOHANNA
[_Bows slightly._]
A nameless knight?
SQUIRE
[_Embarrassed._]
His name--ah!
CHAUCER
Master Geoffrey, and your servant.
JOHANNA
[_To Chaucer._]
We saw you searching. Was it for a sur-name?
SQUIRE
Have you lost something? Let us help you find it.
A purse?
JOHANNA
I trust your loss was not in pounds.
CHAUCER
Sooth, I have lost what fair your ladyship
Could least, methinks, supply--a piece of wit
Without a tongue; that is, a piece of parchment
Writ o’er with verses.
SQUIRE
Verses! Sir, a word.
[_Draws Chaucer aside to the arbour and whispers._]
JOHANNA
A clever rogue! He’d make an apt court-fool.
CHAUCER
[_Aside to Squire._]
No; these lost verses were a mere description--
To fit my prologue--of a dainty nun,
Poking some gentle mirth at her; of use
To none save me; but faith! I grudge ’em dearly.
SQUIRE
Did you find time to write--the other verses?
CHAUCER
The others?
SQUIRE
To my lady.
CHAUCER
Those you sent for?
Did not you like them?
SQUIRE
I? I sent for none, sir.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
Still whispering? Faith! Hath my Aubrey lost
Both heart and manners to this tavern rhymester?
I will not have it.
SQUIRE
[_To Chaucer._]
But I sent no friar!
CHAUCER
He took your mistress’s verses, saying you
Had sent for them by him.
JOHANNA
Excuse me, sirs:
That arbour-seat has room for two to sit,
Providing we choose wisely from us three.
CHAUCER
Your choice is fate.
SQUIRE
[_Aside to Chaucer as they enter the arbour._]
The friar must have stolen them.
[_Johanna and the Squire sit; Chaucer stands talking with
them, his back toward the arbour’s entrance._]
[_Enter, right, from inn, the Prioress and Friar, the former
reading a parchment._]
PRIORESS
The verse is very beautiful.
FRIAR
Is’t not
Enough to make the Muse weep amber? Zipp!
’Tis honey’d moonbeams stored in lachrymals.
PRIORESS
[_Reads._]
“Eglantine,
O to be
There with thee,
Over sea;
In olive-silvered Italy.”
But, gentle friar, why in Italy
When I’m in England?
FRIAR
Dame, ’tis poetry.
In poetry, all ladies have blue eyes
And live in Italy.
PRIORESS
And is this truly
For me?
FRIAR
He bade me give it with this spray.
PRIORESS
[_Taking the sprig of eglantine._]
He is so chivalrous! But I must finish.
“In olive-silvered Italy.
There to pray
At thy shrine,
There to lay
This green spray
Of our English eglantine.
At thy feet.
Lady mine,
Then wouldst thou say:
‘Pilgrim sweet
In Padua,
Take it; it is thine.’”
Is Padua short for Bob-up-and-down?
FRIAR
Yes, dame.
[_Aside._]
And now to watch my experiment
Precipitate rose-colour.
PRIORESS
[_Sighs._]
Almost finished!
[_Reads._]
“Say not nay!
Fairest, dearest, far away,
Donna Eglantine.”
FRIAR
Alas, Madame, I did but do my duty.
He bade me bring them.
PRIORESS
From my heart, I thank you.
They’re very beautiful.
FRIAR
But amorous,
I fear; they are _love_-verses.
PRIORESS
Are they? Sure,
I thought them sweet. He is so chivalrous.
FRIAR
[_Aside, takes out his stolen parchment._]
Soft, then, I’ll try the other. This should bring
The explosion.
[_Rattles the parchment._]
PRIORESS
[_Eagerly, laying the first parchment on the table._]
Did he send more verses?
FRIAR
Nay,
He sent no more, though from his pouch there fell
This parchment; but methinks he would desire you
Not to peruse it.
[_Turning as if to leave, he discovers the three conversing in
the arbour._]
PRIORESS
Me!
FRIAR
Yes, dame, for it
Describes you.
PRIORESS
How?
FRIAR
Alas! In different vein
From the other.
PRIORESS
Different?
[_Demanding it with a gesture._]
Quickly!
FRIAR
’Tis my duty.
[_Hands her the manuscript._]
PRIORESS
[_Snatching it; reads._]
“There was also a nun, a prioress,
That of her smiling was full simple and coy;
The greatest oath she swore was ‘by St. Loy!’”
O ciel! O quel outrage!
[_While she reads on to herself, changing visibly to pique
and tears, the Friar, purloining the first parchment from
the table, trips over to the arbour’s entrance and bows._]
FRIAR
Diner est servi!
Messieurs, you are awaited by a lady.
[_Runs off._]
CHAUCER
[_To Squire._]
Quick! Catch him!
JOHANNA
[_To Squire._]
Stay! “A lady?”
[_Pursued, the Friar drops his parchment, and, as the Squire
stops to pick it up, escapes at the garden gate._]
PRIORESS
[_Holding her parchment, confronts Chaucer._]
Stay, Monsieur.
[_Reads._]
“And French she spake (St. Patrick taught her how!)”
You hear, Monsieur--“St. Patrick taught her how!”
Oh, where is my Jacquette!
SQUIRE
[_Joyfully; glancing at the other parchment._]
These are the verses!
[_Hands the parchment eagerly to Johanna._]
CHAUCER
Madame, be calm. I will explain.
PRIORESS
Non, non.
JOHANNA
[_Reads._]
“Eglantine,
O to be
There with thee--”
[_To Squire._]
Wrote you these verses, sir? Who’s Eglantine?
SQUIRE
Why, lady, she--
PRIORESS
[_To Chaucer._]
How could you write them?
CHAUCER
Patience,
Dear Madame Eglantine--
JOHANNA
Ha! Eglantine!
CHAUCER
[_To Prioress, distracted._]
Which verses do you mean? I wrote them not
To you!
PRIORESS
What, not to me? Those gracious lines,
So exquisite?
CHAUCER
Good God!
SQUIRE
[_To Johanna._]
Upon my truth,
These verses are for you. Let me explain--
JOHANNA
Nay, let your friend.
[_Showing her parchment to Chaucer._]
Sir, did you write these verses?
CHAUCER
I did!
PRIORESS
[_Showing her parchment._]
And these, Monsieur?
CHAUCER
I did.
JOHANNA
And pray,
To whom did you write _these_?
CHAUCER
To you.
JOHANNA
O Heaven!
PRIORESS
To her!
[_Unseen, save by the audience, the cellar door is opened,
part way, and Alisoun peers out, dressed in the Knight’s
clothes, but still without a make-up. She winks to Huberd,
whose head bobs up a moment from behind the wall._]
SQUIRE
[_To Johanna._]
Sweet mistress--
JOHANNA
I demand to know
Who is this rhyming man? Who was his father?
CHAUCER
My father was a vintner, dame, in London.
PRIORESS
A vintner?
SQUIRE
[_With pleading deprecation._]
Sir--
JOHANNA
Small marvel that his son
Should be a cask.
ALISOUN
[_Aside, jubilantly._]
God save my betters!
JOHANNA
[_To Squire._]
“If
You could but guess the Olympian pedigree--”
Saints! Take me to my guardian, sir.
PRIORESS
[_To Chaucer._]
Ah! bring
Me to my brother! O Monsieur! How false!
FRIAR
[_From behind the wall, sings._]
Love is a liar,
But lovers love the pleasant friar,
Who, making of their burdens less--
CHAUCER AND SQUIRE
That friar!
FRIAR
[_Popping his head above the wall with a mock gesture of benediction,
sings._]
Ben’cite!
(Thus singeth he.)
Bene--benedicite!
Explicit pars secunda.
ACT THIRD
“Wite ye nat wher ther stant a litel toun
Which that y-clepèd is Bob-up-and-doun,
Under the Blee, in Caunterbury weye?”
ACT III
TIME: Evening of the same day.
SCENE: The hall of the One Nine-pin.
_At the opening of the act all the Pilgrims are on the
stage, except the following_: MILLER, SHIPMAN, COOK,
MANCIPLE, SUMMONER, KNIGHT, ALISOUN, CHAUCER, _and_
WYCLIFFE.
_Owing to the overcrowding of the little inn, the hall is
arranged, for the night, as a common sleeping-room. Up
stage, right, is a great canopied bedstead, with steps to
climb into it. Along the right wall are truckle-beds. As
the curtain rises, a clear bell is heard ringing outside,
slow and musical. By the light of a single torch, the
Pilgrims are seen, some putting on their cloaks and hoods,
some peering from behind the bed-curtains, others taking
links from a tap-boy, who distributes them. These, as they
are lit, throw an ever stronger light upon the grouped
faces and contrasted garbs of the company. The PARSON is
just waking the PLOUGHMAN, who drowses on a truckle-bed._
PARSON
Up, brother; yon’s the chapel bell.
PLOUGHMAN
It rings
For thee; thou art the parson, Jankin.
PARSON
Nay,
The preacher will be Wycliffe, old good Master
De Wycliffe.
MERCHANT
Old good Master Weak-liver!
PARSON
[_Turns angrily._]
Sir!
MAN-OF-LAW
Old good Master Black-sheep!
PARSON
[_Turns._]
Sir!
MONK
Old Nick!
PARSON
[_Turns._]
Whom name you thus?
MONK
Your preacher. Faugh! The pope
Hath bann’d him with five bulls for heresy.
PLOUGHMAN
The old man hath a good grip, if he can
Hold five bulls by the horns.
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Aside to Priest._]
An ignoramus!
BOTTLEJOHN
Dick, fetch a pint of moist ale from the cellar
For Master Bailey here.
[_Aside._]
A small pint, mind,
And notch his tally.
DICK
[_Takes a stick from wall, notches it with his knife, and shows
it to Bottlejohn._]
Sixpence, sir, three farthings.
[_Dick then goes to the cellar door. As he opens it, he
is grabbed within by the Miller, handed breathlessly to
the Shipman, who claps his hands over the boy’s mouth, and
disappears with him below. The door then is closed, but at
intervals it opens and the Miller’s head is seen cautiously
to emerge._]
MERCHANT
This Wycliffe’s gab hath hurt good trade. ’Twas him,
Six year ago, whose preaching made the poor folk
March up to London-town with Wat the Tyler,
And burn the gentry’s houses.
DYER
Served ’em right!
PLOUGHMAN
God save Wat Tyler!
MONK
Peasant! Spit upon thee!
PARSON
Thou son of Antichrist!
MONK
Thou unhang’d Lollard!
BOTTLEJOHN
Sst! Sst! Good masters! Pray, sweet lordings, here
Comes Master Wycliffe.
[_Enter, in conversation, WYCLIFFE and CHAUCER, followed
by JOHANNA, who seeks to draw WYCLIFFE away. The Pilgrims
greet the last, some with shouts of welcome, others with
hisses._]
WYCLIFFE
[_To Chaucer._]
Certes, sir, it may
Be as you say.--Good folk! good children!--Yet
To me this England is a gorgeous tabard,
Blazon’d with shining arms and kingly shields;
A cloth of gold, blood-dyed with heraldries
Of knightly joustings, presbyterial pomps,
And red-wine revellings; cunningly, i’ the fringe,
Chaced round with little lutes and ladies’ Cupids
To snuggle the horse-hair lining. This brave shirt,
This inward-goading cloth of gaiety,
The poor, starved peasant wears on his bare back--
A ghost, that plays the bridegroom with’s despair.
PLOUGHMAN
[_Amongst sneers and applause._]
Right!
WYCLIFFE
[_To Chaucer._]
Friend, how seems it thee?
CHAUCER
Sir, with your pardon,
To me, our England is still “Merry England!”
Which nature cirqued with its green wall of seas
To be her home and hearth-stone; where no slave,
Though e’er he crept in her lap, was nursed of her;
But the least peasant, bow’d in lonely fief,
Might claim his free share in her dower of grace;
The hush, pied daisy for’s society,
The o’erbubbling birds for mirth, the silly sheep
For innocence.--Mirth, friendship, innocence:
Where nature grants these three, what’s left for envy?
These three, sir, serve for my theology.
MAN-OF-LAW
Parfoi! What is this man--a Papist? Is’t
Some courtier?
FRANKLIN
Naw! He rings true Lollard, him.
They’re friends.
PARDONER
[_Sniffs._]
They say it is a London vintner.
WYCLIFFE
[_Aside, to Johanna, indicating Chaucer._]
Not speak with him?
JOHANNA
On no account.
WYCLIFFE
But--
JOHANNA
’Tis
A villain. Pray, sir, come to chapel.
[_She hurries Wycliffe toward the door, where she is accosted,
beseechingly, by the Squire._]
SQUIRE
Mistress!
JOHANNA
Am I beset?
[_Indicating Chaucer._]
Join your conspirator,
Signore!
[_She sweeps out._]
SQUIRE
[_Following._]
Grace, Madonna, grace!
[_Enter, right, Eglantine, with her priests._]
CHAUCER
[_Aside, sees her._]
My lady!
PARSON
[_To Ploughman._]
Quick, mon, and light the way for Master Wycliffe.
[_Exeunt._]
MERCHANT
[_To Man-of-Law._]
Go you?
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Smiles ironically._]
Hein? When an ass comes out of Oxford,
His braying charms great ears.
[_Lower._]
They say he hath
A patron in John Gaunt.
[_They go out._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Calls._]
Dick! Drat thee, Dick!
Ned, fetch Dick from the cellar with that ale
For Master Bailey.
NED
[_Goes slowly._]
Can I ’ave a candle?
[_The Host gives him such a look that he hastens on._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_To Bailey._]
These ’prentices!
BAILEY
Haw! Haw!
MONK
[_To Pardoner._]
Come, we’ll go twit him.
[_Exeunt toward chapel._]
[_As Ned is about to open the cellar door, a black face looks
out at him._]
NED
[_Running back._]
Ow! Ow! A devil’s head! I seed a spook!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Seizing a ladle, drives him back._]
Scat! And the devil swallow thee! Skedaddle!
Feared o’ the dark!
NED
[_Goes whimpering._]
’E’ll drub me wi’ his thigh-bones.
[_Opening the door, he feels his way down. As the door
closes, a faint scream comes from within._]
CHAUCER
[_To Prioress, who, preceded by her three priests, is about to go out._]
Madame, goes she to chapel?
PRIORESS
Paul, Joannes,
Keep close.
CHAUCER
Si chère Madame--if dear my lady
Would vouchsafe but a moment, till--
PRIORESS
[_Pausing, but not looking at Chaucer._]
Eh bien?
CHAUCER
[_Confused._]
The night is very beautiful.
PRIORESS
Joannes!
CHAUCER
That is--I bring you tidings of your brother.
JOANNES
What would Madame?
CHAUCER
The moon--
PRIORESS
[_To Joannes._]
Go, go--to chapel.
JOANNES
But will Madame--
PRIORESS
Va! Va!--
[_Exeunt priests; she turns shyly to Chaucer._]
Alors, Monsieur,
Vous dites mon frère?--
CHAUCER
Your brother--
[_Aside, as they go out._]
Drown her brother!
WEAVER
[_To Dyer._]
Come on!
[_Exeunt omnes._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Blowing out a candle._]
This preaching saveth tallow.
[_Calls._]
Dick!
Ned! Slow knaves!
[_Exit right._]
[_Cautiously, the cellar door is opened, and enter the
Miller. He whistles softly; some one within whistles in
answer._]
MILLER
Be all gagged below there?
SHIPMAN
[_His head appearing._]
Aye,
All’s tight beneath the hatches. Is the deck clear?
[_Miller nods; Shipman disappears for an instant. Then the
Miller bows low._]
MILLER
This way, your lordship--
COOK
[_Appearing with Shipman._]
’Save your Worship!
[_Enter SUMMONER, MANCIPLE, and HUBERD, the latter
disguised as a chimney-sweep. Lastly, ALISOUN in the dress
of the Knight._]
ALL THE SWAINS
Hail,
Dan Roderigo!
ALISOUN
[_While the Swains assist in adjusting her disguise._]
Good my squires and henchmen,
I thank you.-- Roger, sweetheart, lace my boot there.--
Our journey hath been perilous and dark--
Bob, chuck, how sits my doublet?--but praise Mary,
I am preserved to greet my virgin sister;--
God send _she_ like the flavour of my beard
Better than me.
FRIAR
Let me amend it, sweet!
[_Kisses her._]
ALISOUN
Avaunt, vile chimney-sweep! Beshrew thee, Huberd
Love, wouldst thou swap complexions?
[_Looks in a pewter plate, while the Cook holds a candle._]
Thy smut nose
Hath blotched the lily pallor of my brow
Like a crushed violet. Some powder, quick,
And touch it off.
FRIAR
[_From his robe and cowl, which the Shipman holds, extracts
a rabbit’s foot and touches up Alisoun’s face, while the
Manciple helps her on with a scarlet-lined mantle._]
Sweet love, how liketh you
This cloak I stole?
ALISOUN
’Twill serve.
FRIAR
[_Bowing._]
Your valet is
Your abject Ethiop slave.
MILLER
[_Kicks him._]
Your nincumpoop!
Scarecat! Thou blacks thy friar’s skin to save it,
Lest the fat vintner and the young squire catch thee
And flay it off.
FRIAR
Even so.
SUMMONER
By quid, let’s blab, then.
He kissed her, and we’ll blab.
COOK, MANCIPLE, AND SHIPMAN
Aye!
ALISOUN
Wo betide ye,
Then! Down! Kneel down--the batch of ye--and swear,
As ye have hopes to win this lily-white hand,
Ye will be brothers, till I win my bet.
Out with your oaths, now. Kiss my foot and say,
By Venus’s lip,
And Alis’s hip,
I swear to keep
This fellowship!
ALL
[_Severally trying to kiss her extended foot._]
By Venus’s lip,
And Alis’s hip,
I swear to keep--
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Calls outside._]
Ned! Dick!
ALISOUN
[_In low voice, to Swains._]
Get out! Back to your cellar; guard
The knight and the two knaves. Whoever enters
Gag ’em and tie.
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Entering._]
Dick! Ned! The devil take
All ’prentices!
ALISOUN
[_Retaining Friar._]
Hist!
[_Staying the Miller._]
Bob!
[_To the others._]
Go! Go!
BOTTLEJOHN
I wonder
Was it a spook he saw! ’Tis dark.
[_Takes up an unlit candle._]
ALISOUN
Mind, when he strikes
A light, I am the devil, and your feet
Are hoofs.
BOTTLEJOHN
Folk say they dwell in cellars.
FRIAR
Soft!
I’ll sprinkle a pinch of this sal volatile
I’ the candle flame.
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Lights candle._]
I’ll take my crucifix.
[_He is about to go toward the priedieu, when the Friar
thrusts his hand over the candle flame. A vivid flash of
light reveals his black face to Bottlejohn._]
FRIAR
Succubus! Incubus!
Praestare omnibus!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Drops the candle, which goes out._]
Help!
ALISOUN
Silence!
[_On the hearth the Friar lights a dull red flame, which throws
a flickering glow about the room._]
BOTTLEJOHN
[_To Alisoun._]
O! what art thou? Dost thou laugh?
What is thy name?
ALISOUN
My name is Lucifer.
These be my urchins, Belial and Moloch.
Salaam! Salaam!
FRIAR AND MILLER
[_Salaaming._]
Hail, Mephistophilis!
ALISOUN
[_To Host._]
What thing art thou?--Duck!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Ducks as the Miller pricks him with a dirk._]
I be Bottlejohn,
The host o’ the One Nine-pin.
ALISOUN
Bottlejohn,
Thee and thy One Nine-pin I damn. For know,
Thy cellar is the attic over hell,
And hath been leaking bad ale through my ceiling
This seven year, and made a puddle deep
As Proserpina’s garter in her bridal
Chamber, where thy two knaves--
BOTTLEJOHN
What! Ned and Dick?
ALISOUN
Came plumping through head-downwards into hell
Like bullfrogs in a tarn.
MILLER
And drowned! and drowned!
Shalt _thou_ in thine own ale.
[_Leads him toward cellar._]
BOTTLEJOHN
O Virgin!
FRIAR
[_At door, back._]
Whist!
One comes.
BOTTLEJOHN
Help! help!
ALISOUN
[_To Miller._]
Quick, Belial, lug thine ass
Into his stall. Instruct him with thy whittle
What manner devils we are, and when I clap
My hands thus and cry “Host!” then lead him forth.
[_Exeunt Miller and Bottlejohn into cellar. To Friar._]
Meantime, my pixy, hide we here.
FRIAR
Sweet lord--
[_They hide in the cupboard. Enter, left, Chaucer and
Prioress._]
PRIORESS
Parlez toujours, Monsieur!
Parlez toujours!
CHAUCER
How silver falls the night!
The hills lie down like sheep; the young frog flutes;
The yellow-ammer, from his coppice, pipes
Drowsy rehearsals of his matin-song;
The latest swallow dips behind the stack.
What beauty dreams in silence! The white stars,
Like folded daisies in a summer field,
Sleep in their dew, and by yon primrose gap
In darkness’ hedge, St. Ruth hath dropped her sickle.
PRIORESS
Nay, yonder’s the new moon.
CHAUCER
But here’s St. Ruth,
Whose pity hath reprieved a vintner’s son.
Your nephew’s verses--
PRIORESS
Pray speak not of them;
That wicked Friar Huberd was to blame.
But now--
[_Turning to the casement._]
The moon, Monsieur; parlez, Monsieur!
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
“Parlez, Monsieur.” How shall I trust myself?
[_Aloud._]
I may not, dear Madame. If I should speak,
My heart would run in passages too sweet
For this cloy’d planet.
PRIORESS
[_Pointing through casement to the sky._]
Mais--parlez, Monsieur.
CHAUCER
Yea, if perchance there were some _other_ star--
PRIORESS
Some other star--
CHAUCER
Some star unsurfeited,
Some blessed star, where hot and lyric youth
Pours not swift torment in the veins of age;
Where Passion--gorgeous cenobite--blurs not
With fumid incense of his own hot breath
The hallow’d eyes of sweet Philosophy;
Where body battens not upon the soul,
But both are Reason’s angels, and Love’s self--
Pontifical in daisy-chains--doth hold
High mass at nature’s May-pole;--if such star
There were in all God’s heaven, and such indeed
Were ours, there would I speak and utter, not
“Dear Eglantine, I love you,” but “We love.”
PRIORESS
Monsieur, ’tis true.
CHAUCER
The simple truth, once said,
Is very sweet, Madame.
PRIORESS
Merci, Monsieur.
ALISOUN
Whist, Huberd; are they gone?
FRIAR
Nay.
ALISOUN
Did he kiss her?
Bones! Are they dumb!
FRIAR
Art jealous, dame?
ALISOUN
Shut up!
CHAUCER
[_At the window._]
Some other star! Choose, lady, which is ours?
PRIORESS
Yonder cool star that hides its winking light
Like a maid that weeps--but not for heaviness.
CHAUCER
Ha! If I were Prometheus now, I’d filch it
From out the seventh crystal sphere for you
And ’close it in this locket.
[_Seizes her hand._]
PRIORESS
Nay, that holds
My brother’s hair.
CHAUCER
[_Dropping her hand, looks away into the night._]
We dream.
PRIORESS
Of what, Monsieur?
CHAUCER
We dream that we are back in Eden garden
And that the gates are shut--and sin outside.
PRIORESS
Why, such in truth is love.
CHAUCER
Yes, such in truth
But not in fact, dear lady. Such sweet truth
Grows only on God’s tree; we may behold
And crave immortally, but may not pluck it
Without the angel’s scourge.--“When Adam delved”--
Aye, then he dragged both heaven and earth and hell
Along with him.--O God! this suzerain mansion
Where saints and crown’d philosophers discourse
Familiarly together as thy guests--
This ample palace of poesie, the mind--
Hath trap-doors sunk into a murky vault,
Where passion’s serfs lie sprawling.
PRIORESS
I am afraid!
CHAUCER
Forgive me, O sweet lady! I seem not
All that I am.
PRIORESS
[_Timidly._]
What are you?
CHAUCER
Do you ask?
Why, then, for this dull, English bulk, ’tis true
A London vintner gat it; but for this
My moving soul, I do believe it is
Some changeling sprite, the bastard of a god,
Sprung from Pan’s loins and white Diana’s side,
That, like a fawn, I fain must laugh and love
Where the sap runs; yet, like an anchorite,
Pore on the viewless beauty of a book:
Not more enamoured (when the sun is out)
O’ the convent rose, than of the hoyden milkweed
Bold in my path. Life, in whatever cup,
To me is a love-potion. In one breath,
My heart hath pealed the chimes above St. Paul’s
And rung an ale-wife’s laughter.
ALISOUN
[_Aside to the Friar._]
Bless his heart
And waistband! Heard ye that?
PRIORESS
[_Who has listened, lost._]
To hear you speak
Is sweeter than the psalter. Do not stop.
CHAUCER
[_Aside, smiling._]
Dear Lady Dreams!--
[_Aloud._]
Hark! Footsteps from the chapel.
[_Goes to the door._]
It is your nephew and his lady-love.
Let’s step aside before I introduce you,
And profit by these pangs of “lyric youth.”
[_Chaucer and the Prioress step aside, as enter, left, Johanna
and the Squire._]
SQUIRE
Stay!
JOHANNA
Leave me!
SQUIRE
Hear me!
JOHANNA
Is the house of prayer
No sanctuary that you drag me from it?
SQUIRE
Donna, the cloudy-pillar’d dome o’ the air
Alone can roof a lover’s house of prayer.
JOHANNA
More verses? Send ’em to your lady nun.
SQUIRE
O heartless bosom! Cold concave of pity!
Whet thy disdain upon the heart-shaped stone
Lodged, like a ruby, in that marble breast,
And slay me with the onyx of thine eye.
JOHANNA
Pray, did your Geoffrey write that?
SQUIRE
Do not scorn him.
He named you “Eglantine” because “Johanna”
Was not euphonious.
JOHANNA
Because “Johanna”
Was not--
SQUIRE
Euphonious. But “Eglantine”--
JOHANNA
But “Eglantine” was all symphonious.
“Johanna”--ha?--was not mellifluous
Enough to woo me! So a honeysuckle,
An eglantine, must be my proxy--ha?
Go! go! Hide in the night--Go! Kill thyself!
SQUIRE
[_At the door._]
O sky! thy noon was a broad, glorious mirror,
Which now hath fallen from its frame and shattered;
And little stars, like points of glass, they prick me
That gather back my grains of crushèd joy.
JOHANNA
[_At the window._]
O starry night! thou art Fortune’s playing-card,
All bright emboss’d with little shining hearts
That dash our own with destiny. Oh, false!
[_Turns._]
Go!--to your Eglantine!
SQUIRE
Johanna!
CHAUCER
[_Speaks from the darkness._]
Hide, Cleopatra, thy Egyptian hair!
JOHANNA
Hark!
CHAUCER
Esther, let melt thy meekness as the snow.--
JOHANNA
[_Draws nearer to Squire._]
What is’t?
CHAUCER
Hide, Ariadne, all thy beauties bare!
SQUIRE
Who speaks?
CHAUCER
Penelope and Marcia Cato,
Drown all your wifely virtues in the Po.--
JOHANNA
Good Aubrey, strike a light.
CHAUCER
Isold and Helen, veil your starlit eyes--
_Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise!
[_The Squire lights a candle, revealing Chaucer._]
JOHANNA
O monster! It is he.
[_Chaucer takes the candle from the Squire’s hand, and,
holding it high, approaches Johanna, thereby throwing the
Prioress into his own shadow._]
SQUIRE
Nay, gentle sir!
CHAUCER
Laodamia, Hero, and Dido,
And Phyllis, dying for thy Demophon,
And Canace, betroth’d of Cambalo,--
Polixena, that made for love such moan,
Let envy gnaw your beauties to the bone;
Yea, Hypermnestra, swoon in envious sighs--
_Johanna_ comes, that doth you jeopardise!
JOHANNA
Oh, thank you--both. Squire, I congratulate
Your cunning chivalry on luring me
From church to bait me in this bear-trap.
SQUIRE
Lady,
Upon my honour--
[_To Chaucer._]
Good sir--
[_To Johanna._]
Nay, fear nothing.
Indeed, if you but knew--
JOHANNA
[_Catching sight of Prioress._]
If I but knew!
St. Ann! I know too much.
SQUIRE
You would be proud
To have him rhyme your name. Sir, I protest
Had I conceived how fair “Johanna” sounds
In verse--
CHAUCER
[_Sternly._]
Hold, signorino! Was it thus
You bade me sonnetise your Eglantine?
You said yourself--
SQUIRE
In sooth, that “Eglantine”
Is sweeter.
JOHANNA
Ugh!
CHAUCER
There you were false. For know
As ocean-shells give back the mermaid’s sigh,
The conches of a lover’s ears should hold
Eternal murmurs of his mistress’ name.
“Johanna” should have been thy conjure-word
To raise all spirits; thy muses’ _nom de plume_;
“Johanna” should have learnt thy brook to purl,
Thy pine to sorrow, and thy lark to soar;
And nightingales, forswearing Tereus’ name,
Have charmed thy wakeful midnight with “Johanna.”
JOHANNA
[_To Chaucer._]
Roland of Champions! Ringrazio!
Now, pray, what says the other lady?
SQUIRE
The other?
JOHANNA
[_To Prioress._]
Dame Eglantine, your most obsequious.
PRIORESS
Votre servante.--I also, Mademoiselle,
Have been at court.
JOHANNA
Does not Madame applaud, then,
This vintner’s courtly eloquence?
PRIORESS
I think
Monsieur will soon explain how this good youth
And I are dearly tied unto each other.
SQUIRE
What! I--and you, Madame?
JOHANNA
It seems the trap
Hath caught the hunters.
[_Aside._]
Oh, my heart!
SQUIRE
I swear
I do not know this lady.
JOHANNA
What! you swear!
[_Aside._]
Not perjury?
SQUIRE
I swear that we are strangers;
Of no relationship, and least of love.
JOHANNA
Oh, Aubrey, is this true?
SQUIRE
Why, Mistress--
CHAUCER
[_Aside to Squire._]
Soft!
Walk with this nun a moment.
SQUIRE
Sir?
CHAUCER
Dost trust me?
SQUIRE
Yes, but--
CHAUCER
[_Indicating Johanna._]
I’ll reconcile her.
[_Aside to Prioress._]
Tell him all,
Madame. Leave us alone a moment.
SQUIRE
But--
CHAUCER
[_Aloud._]
I will not play the hypocrite.
PRIORESS
[_To Squire, as they go out._]
Dear Aubrey--
JOHANNA
“Dear Aubrey!” Gone! gone! and with her. O base
Conspiracy!--To leave me!
[_To Chaucer._]
Stand aside!
CHAUCER
Nay, do not follow.
JOHANNA
I? I follow _her_?
Follow the lost Francesca into Limbo!
She’s damned. I seek my ward, De Wycliffe.
CHAUCER
Stay!
JOHANNA
St. Winifred! You’ll force--?
CHAUCER
Donna, my heart
Bleeds tears for you.
JOHANNA
Stand by!
CHAUCER
That one so young,
So seeming virtuous--
JOHANNA
“So seeming”--thanks!
CHAUCER
As this young squire should, at one look from his--
Should, at one look, forsake your ladyship
For his--alas! But such is man! The bonds
Which nature forges chain us to the flesh,
Though angels pry the links.
JOHANNA
The bonds which nature?--
CHAUCER
Yes, nature: ’tis not love. Had it been love,
Would he have turned, even in his vows of truth,
And left you with his--ah! it chokes me. Nay,
Go, go, great marchioness, seek out your ward;
I crave your pardon.
[_Bowing, he steps aside. Johanna, passing disdainfully to
the door, there pauses, and turns to Chaucer, as though he
had spoken._]
JOHANNA
Well?
[_Chaucer retires right._]
’Tis very dark.
[_Returning._]
I will wait here.
CHAUCER
In sadness, honoured lady,
I take my leave.
[_He goes to the door; Johanna rises uneasily._]
Yet I beseech your grace
Will never hint to that poor youth, my friend,
The secret I let slip.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
“Let slip!” The booby!--
He thinks he’s told me who she is. Soft! _now_
I’ll worm it out.
[_Aloud._]
Wait; if I promise never
To hint the thing we know--you understand.
CHAUCER
That’s it.
JOHANNA
One moment, Master Geoffrey. I
Have rallied you somewhat on your paternal
Vintage.
CHAUCER
To be hit by your Grace’s wit
Is to die smiling.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
How the big fish bites!
[_Aloud, effusively._]
But you’ll forgive me? ’Tis my nature, those
To banter whom I best adore.
[_Detaching a knot of ribbon from her gown, she offers it to
Chaucer._]
Pray, sir,--
CHAUCER
For me?--A love-knot! By your Grace’s favours
I am bewildered.
JOHANNA
Keep it as a pledge--
For you are Aubrey’s friend, my Aubrey’s friend--
As pledge that I will never, so help me Heaven,
Reveal to him my knowledge of his secret,
How Eglantine is his--oh, word it for me,
For I am heartsick.
CHAUCER
Trust me, honoured lady,
You have done bravely. For did he suspect
That I have even whispered to you how
That nun, whose sensuous name he bade me rhyme
In verses meant for you, that Prioress,
Whose cloistral hand even now, lock’d in his palm,
Leads here your Aubrey, how that vestal maid
Hath lived for months, nay years, your lover’s--oh!
JOHANNA
[_Seizes Chaucer’s arm._]
His _what_? In God’s name, speak it! His--
CHAUCER
His aunt!
[_Blows out the candle._]
JOHANNA
His _aunt_?
CHAUCER
[_Going off in the dark._]
O shire of Kent! thou shire of Kent!
To sit with thee in parliament
Doth not content
Me, verayment,
Like laughing at lovers after Lent.
Haha! Hahaha!
[_Exit._]
Ho! Shire of Kent!
JOHANNA
So--Kent? He mocks my title, doth he?
O gall! If he have made a fool of me--
Yet, if he’ve made a fool of me, O sweet,
Sweet gall!
SQUIRE
[_Outside._]
Johanna!
JOHANNA
Aubrey!
SQUIRE
[_Returning with Prioress._]
He hath told thee?
JOHANNA
Nay, hath he told me _true_?
SQUIRE
This is my aunt,
Dame Eglantine, my father’s sister.
ALISOUN
[_Aside._]
Death!
We must be quick.
FRIAR
[_Aside._]
I’ll win thy wager for thee.
[_Exit Friar at door, front left._]
PRIORESS
[_Extending her hand to Johanna._]
My nephew tells me you and he--
JOHANNA
Madame,
I blush to think of my late rudeness; ’twas
My jealousy. Yet you should pardon it;
For you that wear St. Chastity’s safe veil
Can never know how blind St. Cupid plagues
The eyes of worldlings.
PRIORESS
No?
SQUIRE
Love, you forgive me?
[_Reënter Chaucer._]
JOHANNA
Forgive you? By my heart--I’ll think about it.
Here comes our fool. Come hither, What’s-your-name.
CHAUCER
[_Coming forward with the love-knot._]
Your Grace’s secret-monger.
JOHANNA
Tut! tut!
[_Embarrassed, motions him to put it away._]
Rhymester,
If thou wilt come to court, I’ll have thee made
Court-fool.
SQUIRE
[_Aside._]
O mistress, hush!
JOHANNA
A cask of thy
Diameter should keep King Richard drunk
With laughter for a twelvemonth. Cask, I swear it,
Thou shalt be made court-fool.
SQUIRE
[_Aside to Chaucer._]
She doth not mean it.
PRIORESS
[_Aside to Squire._]
Nephew, I cannot quite approve your choice.
JOHANNA
Nay, keep my knot; my favour is renewed.
I’ll sue the king myself at Canterbury
To swaddle thee in motley.
[_Chaucer laughs aside._]
--Well, no thanks?
CHAUCER
Lady, pray God I live to see that day.
JOHANNA
Amen. Now, Aubrey, where’s your father? Let’s
Make merry all together.
PRIORESS
True, my brother;
Went he to chapel?
SQUIRE
Ladies, I am ’shamed
To make confession of my selfishness:
To-day, all day, in the sweet day and night
Of my own thoughts I have been wandering.
I have not seen my father since this morning.
I’ll go and seek him now.
CHAUCER
Nay, boy, remain.
Doubtless he’s gone to chapel. I will find him
And bring him to you here. First, though, let me
Anticipate my fool’s prerogative
And play the father to another’s bairns,
This vixen girl and boy.
[_With an affectionate smile he draws Johanna and Aubrey
together and kisses them._]
God bless ’em both!
PRIORESS
[_Aside._]
St. Loy! No more?
JOHANNA
Dear fool, thou’rt not so old.
Come now, how old?
CHAUCER
Ah, lass, my crop is rowen.
When grey hairs creep like yarrow into clover,
Farewell, green June! Thy growing days be over.
[_Aside._]
Bewitching Eglantine!
[_Exit left._]
PRIORESS
[_At the casement, aside._]
Some other star!
[_Aloud._]
Nephew!
[_The Squire and Johanna stand absorbed in their own whisperings._]
Nephew!
SQUIRE
Madame!
PRIORESS
I pray you, tell
Your father, when he comes, I am retired
A moment to my room.
SQUIRE
I will, Madame.
[_Exit Prioress, right._]
My lady, we’re alone.
JOHANNA
Alas, then come,
Sit and be sad.
[_She sits in the niche by the fireplace._]
SQUIRE
Sad? Must I wear a mask, then?
Mistress! Mistress, masks fall away from love
Like husks from buds in April. By love’s light
Lovers can look through mountains to their joy
As through these black beams I see heaven. Nay,
Hear me! When I have won my spurs--
FRIAR
[_Sings within._]
What, ho! What, ho!
Dan Cupido!
A spurless knight usurps thy halls.--
JOHANNA
What’s that?
SQUIRE
The friar! ’Tis his voice.
FRIAR
[_Sings within._]
Thy fortress falls,
And all her rosèd charms--
JOHANNA
Is’t in the cellar?
SQUIRE
Or the wall?
[_They look up the chimney._]
FRIAR
[_Sings within._]
To arms, Dan Cupido! To arms,
Dan Cupido!
[_With a rush of soot, he falls into the fireplace._]
Bon soir!
JOHANNA
’Od’s fiends!
SQUIRE
[_Seizing Friar, drags him forth._]
Sneak thief, at last I have thee--What!
A chimney-sweep?
FRIAR
Did scare the ladykin?
SQUIRE
Was’t thou that sung?
FRIAR
Sung-la?
JOHANNA
[_Brushing herself off._]
My taffeta!
SQUIRE
Sing! Didst thou sing?
FRIAR
Oh, sing! You mean the friar, sir.
SQUIRE
[_Peremptorily._]
Where?
FRIAR
In the cellar. He’s a-hiding, sir.
SQUIRE
I warrant him. Here--
[_Gives Friar a coin._]
Come, show me the scoundrel.
FRIAR
[_Examining coin._]
A noble!
[_Sings._]
Oh, rare
Sweet miller,
Lady-killer,
Not there, not there!
SQUIRE
[_Eyeing Friar with suspicion._]
What?
[_The Miller slips stealthily from the cellar door and
joins Alisoun in the cupboard._]
FRIAR
Was’t so he sung, sir?
SQUIRE
Yes.
JOHANNA
[_Still brushing her gown._]
Ruined!
FRIAR
Sir, follow, sir. I know him well.
A begging friar?
SQUIRE
Yes.--One moment, Mistress.--
I’ll flay the beggar. Now!
FRIAR
[_The Friar opens cellar door; Squire snatches his candle
and precedes him._]
A sneaking friar--
A noble!--a swindling, skulking, lying friar.
[_Aside to Bob Miller, who joins him from the cupboard._]
O rare Bob-up-and-down!
[_Exeunt; Alisoun leaves the cupboard and exit stealthily at
door, left front._]
JOHANNA
Stay; are they gone?
Mass! mass! I’m spotted worse than ink. And kneel
In Canterbury kirk in such a gown!
I’ll eat it first. Oh, Lord! Lord, now who comes?
[_Enter, left back, the Canon’s Yeoman and the Carpenter;
after whom the Wife of Bath, disguised._]
ALISOUN
Good fellow, you there, can you propagate
Unto my vision--a young prioress?
CANON’S YEOMAN
No, sir, I cannot.
ALISOUN
Or a marchioness?
[_The pilgrims pass on._]
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
A marchioness!
ALISOUN
[_Twirling her sword-scabbard._]
Hum! Hum!
CARPENTER
How went the sermon?
CANON’S YEOMAN
God’s blood! Old Wycliffe hammered the pope flat.
The pulpit rang like a hot anvil.
CARPENTER
Aye,
There’ll be skulls cracked yet.
[_Exeunt right._]
ALISOUN
[_To Johanna._]
Amorous Minerva!
JOHANNA
Signor!
[_Aside._]
My left sleeve’s clean.
ALISOUN
I have a son,
Whose aunt--
JOHANNA
Are you the Knight of Algezir?
ALISOUN
I am--Dan Roderigo d’Algezir.
JOHANNA
My Aubrey’s father.
ALISOUN
Bones! Are you Johanna?
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
Bones!
ALISOUN
Corpus arms! it sticks me to the heart
To gaze on your sweet face, my dear.
JOHANNA
[_Aside._]
My dear!
ALISOUN
Ah! the fat rogue! He said your face was worth
Unbuckling an off eye to pop it in;
But such a pretty finch!
JOHANNA
Finch! Sir, perhaps
You are deceived in me.--Who sent you here?
ALISOUN
Yon chum of that sweet spindle-shanks, my son--
Yon rhymester, Master Geoffrey.
JOHANNA
Yes; ’twas he.
[_Aside._]
Saints! is _this_ Aubrey’s father?
[_Aloud._]
Doubtless, sir,
There’s no mistake. Your sister left you word--
ALISOUN
O villain! Aye, though I ha’ bred him! What
Though ’tis my own son--villain! God’s teeth!
JOHANNA
Sir!
ALISOUN
Your pardon, dainty dame. Before I speak
I do not rinse my mouth in oleander.
I am a blunt knight. Nay, I cannot sigh
A simoon hot with sonnets like my son.
I am a blunt knight who, on Satan’s heel,
Hath rode it and strode it, wenched it, wived it, and knived it,
Booted and footed ’t, till--by Venus’ shoestring,
I be a blunt and rough but honest soldier.
JOHANNA
Signore, I believe it.
ALISOUN
Blunt’s the word, then;
And here’s the blunt point. You’re deceived.
JOHANNA
By whom?
ALISOUN
By Aubrey.
JOHANNA
What!
ALISOUN
Aye, by my smiling son
Wi’ the pretty curls. Where is he now?
JOHANNA
Why, he--
He’s gone to find the friar.
ALISOUN
Aye.
JOHANNA
Good Heaven!
Can he have harmed him?
ALISOUN
Who--the friar? The friar’s
His pal--his pal; and so is Geoffrey; aye,
And that lascivious, Latin-singing nun--
JOHANNA
What! Eglantine?
ALISOUN
Yes, she; those four! Child, child,
Wouldst not believe it, how they’ve sneaked and schemed,
Plotted my life, aye, for my money. But
’Twas lust, lust egged him on. Oh God! my son!
And ’twas a cherub ’fore this Geoffrey warped him!
JOHANNA
[_To herself._]
They whispered here: and there she said “Dear Aubrey.”
ALISOUN
And their disguises; oh, you’d not believe it!
That devil friar plays the chimney-sweep.
And--
JOHANNA
Chimney-sweep! ’Twas he, then, sung? Oh, come;
Help!
ALISOUN
Where?
JOHANNA
They’re in the cellar.
ALISOUN
Like enough;
They’re plotting, plotting. God’s wounds! ’Tis a trap.
Where be they all? Geoffrey to send me here--
My son to leave you with the friar--Ha!
They’re with that sly, deceptive Prioress;
’Tis she--
JOHANNA
Why, she’s your sister.
ALISOUN
[_As if taken back._]
What--my sister!
Is _she_ the Prioress? _She_ Eglantine?
JOHANNA
Yes, yes; and she, too, left upon a pretext.
Sir Roderigo, say, what shall we do?
ALISOUN
My sister--and my son!
JOHANNA
[_Calls._]
Aubrey!--no answer?
Aubrey!
ALISOUN
My son and sister!
JOHANNA
Oh, poor soldier!
ALISOUN
Oh, monstrous brood, hatched in a vampire’s nest!
But I will be revenged. Go to your room;
Lock fast the door; but when I call, “A brooch,
A brooch!” come forth and raise the house.
JOHANNA
Why “brooch”?
ALISOUN
A watchword. Quick; go! I hear footsteps. Go!
[_Urges her toward door, right back._]
Blunt is the word; your presence dangers me--
Your room. No, no, I fear not.
JOHANNA
Poor Sir Roderick!
[_Exit; Alisoun shuts door; voices outside, left._]
ALISOUN
A miss is as good’s a mile.
REEVE
[_Outside._]
Where went your knight?
[_Enter Reeve, Doctor, and Chaucer._]
CHAUCER
To chapel.
REEVE
Na, na, na; I saw him not.
CHAUCER
[_To Doctor._]
Nor you?
DOCTOR
A knight, say you, from the Holy Land?
CHAUCER
Yes, a crusader.
DOCTOR
[_Points at Alisoun._]
Is that he?
CHAUCER
Ah, thank you;
[_Starts forward, but sees he is mistaken._]
Nay, ’tis another man.
DOCTOR
Good even, sir.
REEVE
[_To Doctor._]
’Twas the first time I heard the devil preach
In chapel.
DOCTOR
Wycliffe?
REEVE
[_Nods._]
Curse him and his Lollards!
[_Exeunt, right front._]
CHAUCER
[_Follows them to door, and calls._]
Aubrey!
ALISOUN
[_Claps her hands._]
Host!
CHAUCER
Signorino!
ALISOUN
Host here!
[_Enter from cellar the Miller and Bottlejohn. As the door
is closing, the chink is filled with the faces of the
Swains, threatening Bottlejohn._]
MILLER
[_His dagger drawn, aside to Bottlejohn._]
Mum!
Quick! Be thy ribs good whetstones?
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Ducking to Alisoun._]
Here, sweet lording.
ALISOUN
Thou’rt slow.
MILLER
[_Aside._]
Ribs!
BOTTLEJOHN
Slow, sweet lording.
ALISOUN
Tell me, host,
Hast thou residing in this hostelry
A gentle prioress?
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
What?
MILLER
[_Aside to Bottlejohn, sharpening his dagger on an ale mug._]
Whetstones!
BOTTLEJOHN
Aye,
Sweet lording.
ALISOUN
Good; go tell her that her brother
Awaits her here.
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
Her brother!
[_Draws nearer._]
HOST
Aye, sweet lording.
[_Starts for door, right back, Miller following._]
ALISOUN
Her brother, say--Dan Roderigo.
BOTTLEJOHN
Aye,
Sweet lording.
MILLER
Host, hast thou a whetstone in
Thy pocket?
BOTTLEJOHN
Aye, sweet lording.
MILLER
[_Winking at Alisoun._]
“Aye, sweet lording.”
[_Exeunt Bottlejohn and Miller._]
[_Alisoun ignores Chaucer’s presence._]
CHAUCER
[_Approaching her._]
Your pardon, sir, I trespass. By your cross
You come--
ALISOUN
From Palestine. Well met. You, friend?
CHAUCER
Nay, I’m a door-mouse, sir; a doze-at-home.
My home’s near by at Greenwich. You have friends--
Friends at the inn?
ALISOUN
A friend, sir; a fair friend;
By Jupiter, a sweet friend.
CHAUCER
Ah!
ALISOUN
A sister.
She is a nun.
CHAUCER
Good God!
ALISOUN
A prioress.
CHAUCER
It cannot be!
ALISOUN
Signor!
CHAUCER
Her name? Her name?
ALISOUN
What’s that to you--her name?
CHAUCER
[_Disconcerted._]
It may be--
ALISOUN
Ah!
Perhaps you know her--what? ’Tis Eglantine.
CHAUCER
Impossible!--Sir, pardon me; I must
Have made some strange mistake.
ALISOUN
Nay, friend; I guess
’Tis I have made the blunder.
CHAUCER
You, sir?
ALISOUN
Sooth,
I might as well stick both feet in the mire
And wade across my blushes. We old lads
With beards, who sees our blushes, what? So, then,
This prioress, she is not just my sister.
CHAUCER
No?
ALISOUN
No.
CHAUCER
What then?
ALISOUN
Vous savez bien, these nuns,
When they would have a friend, they clepe him “brother.”
Especially on holy pilgrimage
It hath a proper sound: “My _brother_ meets me;
My _brother_ is a knight.” You cannot blame ’em;
’Tis more discreet; we men must humour ’em.
Therefore this little honeysuckle nun
Doth take delight to call me _brother_.
CHAUCER
Liar!
[_As Chaucer lifts his hand about to strike Alisoun, she
raises hers to guard; seizing it, he beholds her ring._]
What!--“Amor vincit omnia.”--Even her!
ALISOUN
Take back your lie!
CHAUCER
That ring--tell me--that ring!
ALISOUN
St. Madrian! It is my love-ring. She,
My sweet nun, gave it me. She wears a brooch
To match it, on her wrist.
[_Enter, right, Bottlejohn and Miller._]
BOTTLEJOHN
The Prioress,
Sweet lording.
[_Enter the Prioress._]
PRIORESS
Brother! Welcome, brother!
CHAUCER
No!
God! God! I’ll not believe it. Aubrey! Aubrey!
[_Exit, left._]
ALISOUN
My pretty virgin sister!
PRIORESS
[_Gives her hand, reticently._]
Roderigo!
[_Looking after Chaucer._]
He need not, sure, have gone.
ALISOUN
Put up thy chin,
My snow-white dove. Aha, but thou art grown!
The silver slip o’ girlhood that I kissed
Good-by when I set out for Palestine
Hath mellowed into golden womanhood.
Give me thy lips.
PRIORESS
Nay, brother, nay; my vows!
I may not kiss a man.
ALISOUN
Toot! never fear, then;
Thou shalt not break thy vows against _my_ beard.
What, I’m thy brother; come!
PRIORESS
Adieu, mon frère.
ALISOUN
Soft, soft, my startled fawn. You need not jump
Because your brother is a true crusader.
Or didst thou fancy I was cut in stone,
With my cold gauntlets crossed above my breast,
Like a dumb, marble knight upon a tomb?
Art not thou glad to see me, sister?
PRIORESS
Yes,
Mon frère. Forgive me, I had thought--You see,
My nephew--’tis a pretty mannered youth;
You’re not alike, are you?
ALISOUN
[_Laughing._]
By Peter’s toe,
I hope not. Saints deliver me from being
A new-hatched chicken’s feather.
PRIORESS
What! your son?
ALISOUN
Next, thou’ll be wishing I were like that fellow
That fetched me here--yon what’s-his-name, yon Geoffrey.
PRIORESS
Why, ’tis a noble gentleman.
[_Enter, from cellar door, Summoner, Shipman, Cook, Friar,
and Manciple; they look on._]
ALISOUN
Hoho!
Your noble gentleman! Why, harkee, sweet;
He told me he’s betrothèd to an ale-wife.
PRIORESS
He told you--when?
ALISOUN
Just now, coming from chapel.
PRIORESS
Her name?
ALISOUN
[_Ruminating, winks at the Swains._]
What was her name, now?--Alisoun,
The Wife of Bath, they call her.
PRIORESS
O gran Dieu!
That _person_!
ALISOUN
Person! God wot, ’twas not so
Your Geoffrey called her. “Alisoun,” quoth he;
“My lily Alisoun, my fresh wild-rose,
My cowslip in the slough of womankind,
Bright Alisoun shall be my bride.”
PRIORESS
[_Throwing herself into Alisoun’s arms._]
Mon frère!
Oh, keep me safe, mon frère!
[_She hides her face._]
MILLER
[_Laughing._]
By Corpus bones!
SUMMONER
Look!
SHIPMAN
Hold me up!
BOTTLEJOHN
[_Whispers._]
Lady, beware!
MILLER
Mum!
PRIORESS
What
Are these?
ALISOUN
Begone, you varlets!
COOK
[_Bowing._]
Yes, sweet lord.
SUMMONER
We know our betters.
[_They withdraw a little._]
ALISOUN
Come, what cheer, my girl?
Hath that churl Geoffrey wronged thee?
PRIORESS
No, no, no!
ALISOUN
Nay, if the churl hath wronged thee, by this locket--
PRIORESS
Swear not by that. _He_ swore by that.
ALISOUN
O vile!
He swore by this--the brooch that holds my hair,
Thy brother’s hair?
PRIORESS
But, Roderigo--
ALISOUN
What!
Give’t here! Or maybe thou hast promised it
To him?
PRIORESS
No, no, mon frère. Here, take it--keep it.
ALISOUN
So! By this brooch--
[_Aside._]
Now, lads, learn how to woo!
Now, by this golden brooch of Eglantine,
And by this little, slender wrist of pearl,
Where once it hung; and by the limpid eyes
Of Eglantine, and by her ripe, red mouth,
Yea, by the warm white doves which are her breasts
And flutter at the heart of Eglantine,
I swear I will be ever Eglantine’s
And lacerate the foes of Eglantine.
PRIORESS
Brother, such words--
ALISOUN
Call me not brother, sweet;
A brother’s blood is lukewarm in his limbs,
But mine for thee is lightning. Look at me!
Was Jove a finer figure of a man
Than me? Had Agamemnon such an arm,
Or Hector such a leg?
PRIORESS
Forbear! Forbear!
ALISOUN
Alack, she scorns me. Stay, Venus of virgins!
Why dost thou wimple all the lovely dawn
Of thy young body in this veil of night?
Why wilt thou cork thy sweetness up, and, like
A mummy, wrapped in rose and ivory,
Store all thy beauty till the judgment-day?
God did not paint thee on a window-glass.
Step down from thy cold chapel, rosy saint,
And take thy true-knight in thine arms.
PRIORESS
Help! help!
BOTTLEJOHN
Pray, lady, pray! It is Satanas! They
Be devils all!
ALISOUN
Love--Eglantine--I kneel.
PRIORESS
Joannes! Marcus!
[_Seizing her crucifix._]
Tibi, Domine!
[_Enter, right, Joannes, Marcus, and Paulus. They are
immediately driven back by the Summoner, Shipman, and
Cook._]
JOANNES
Madame.
SHIPMAN
Come on!
PRIORESS
Help! Save me!
[_Enter Chaucer, left._]
ALISOUN
[_To Prioress._]
Lovely nymph,
Come to my arms--
CHAUCER
[_To Alisoun, with his sword drawn._]
Embrace me.
PRIORESS
[_Goes to his protection._]
Cher monsieur!
ALISOUN
God save you, Master Geoffrey.
CHAUCER
Draw!
FRIAR
[_Aside._]
Lord! Lord!
The pot boils. Now to add the salt and pepper.
[_Exit down cellar._]
[_Enter, left back, in quick succession, all the pilgrims, returning
with their links from chapel._]
PRIORESS
[_To Chaucer._]
Monsieur--
CHAUCER
[_To Alisoun._]
Draw!
PRIORESS
Do not fight, Monsieur!
CHAUCER
Wilt draw, I say?
ALISOUN
Draw what? Draw _you_? Merci,
I’m not a dray-horse.
CHAUCER
Is this man your brother?
PRIORESS
Oh, sir, I know not; but he hath insulted--
CHAUCER
Insulted you? Enough. By all the devils,
Defend yourself!
ALISOUN
[_Drawing._]
To arms then, sweet Achilles.
[_They fight. Re-enter right, Shipman, Summoner, and Cook.
They rush to Alisoun’s aid._]
SHIPMAN
Boardside the fat churl.
PILGRIMS
Come! A fight!
FRANKLIN
[_Entering._]
Who are they?
MERCHANT
A Lollard and Papist.
PRIORESS
Stay them! Stop them!
PILGRIMS
Down with the Papists!
PRIORESS
Oh, St. Loy!
CHAUCER
[_To the crowd._]
Stand off!
PILGRIMS
Down with the Lollards!
[_They close in and fight confusedly with staves._]
ALISOUN
[_Holding up the locket._]
Hold! A brooch! A brooch!
CHAUCER
I’ll make thee yield it, ruffian.
[_From the cellar enter the Friar and the Squire, the
latter sword in hand, fragments of cut ropes still clinging
to him._]
SQUIRE
[_To Chaucer--plunging at Alisoun._]
Sir, I’m with you.
[_Enter, right, Johanna._]
ALISOUN
[_To Squire._]
Unnatural son!
JOHANNA
Help!
[_Throws herself between them._]
Brave Sir Roderick!
[_To Squire._]
Shame! Shame! Your father’s blood?
SQUIRE
You, lady?
[_Enter, left, Wycliffe._]
WYCLIFFE
[_To the pilgrims._]
Peace!
CHAUCER
You, marchioness! What does this mean?
ALISOUN
[_Stripping off her beard and wig--her own hair falling
over her shoulders--snatches a warming-pan from the
chimney, and confronts Chaucer._]
Sweet Geoffrey,
It means this pan shall warm our wedding sheets.
MILLER
What devil!
CHAUCER
Alisoun!--My bet is lost.
FRANKLIN
The Wife of Bath!
[_The pilgrims crowd round and laugh._]
JOHANNA
[_Turning away._]
Impostors!
ALISOUN
[_To Chaucer._]
Come, sweet chuck,
And kiss the brooch that hath betrothed our hearts.
PRIORESS
M’sieur, is this true?
[_As Chaucer turns to the Prioress in a kind of blank
dismay, enter, from the cellar, swathed in a long gown, the
real Knight and the Friar._]
KNIGHT
[_To Friar._]
Where?
[_Friar points to Prioress; he advances._]
Eglantine!
PRIORESS
[_Aghast at this apparition, runs to the priedieu._]
No more!
CHAUCER
[_Struck, at a flash, by this medley of incongruities, bursts into
laughter, and seizing an ale mug, lifts it high._]
Alis, I drink to thee and woman’s wit.
FRIAR
God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath!
PILGRIMS
[_Shout._]
God save the vintner and the Wife of Bath!
ALISOUN
[_Sharing the ale mug with Chaucer._]
Sweetheart!
Explicit pars tertia.
ACT FOURTH
“And specially, from every shires ende
Of Engelond, to Caunterbury they wende,
The holy blisful martyr for to seke,
That hem hath holpen whan that they were seke.”
ACT IV
TIME: The next day.
SCENE: Before the west front of Canterbury Cathedral,
gorgeously decorated with tapestries, hatchments, and cloth
of gold. Grouped nearby are temporary booths of venders,
gaily trimmed.
_Many pilgrims are assembled; others keep arriving from
different directions, talking, praying, and sight-seeing.
At the Cathedral door a Priest blesses, with a sprengel,
those who enter._
FIRST VENDER
Relics! Souvenirs!
SECOND VENDER
Blood of the blissful martyr!
A BLACK FRIAR
[_To Bailey, the Host._]
A guide, Sir Hosteler?
HOST
Be off!
SECOND VENDER
[_To the Guild-men._]
Ampulles?
WEAVER
What are they?
SECOND VENDER
Leaden bottles; look!
DYER
What’s in ’em?
SECOND VENDER
Drops from the holy well: St. Thomas’ well,
That turned four times to blood and once to milk;
Good for the humours, gout, and falling-sickness.
WEAVER
[_Buys some._]
Here.
SECOND VENDER
Eightpence.
[_The Guild-men buy, and arrange the leaden vials in their hats._]
FIRST VENDER
Vernicles! St. Peter’s keys!
CARPENTER
[_Examining a purchase._]
What’s written on this brooch, sir?
CLERK
“Caput Thomæ.”
PLOUGHMAN
[_Staring at a statue in a niche of the Cathedral._]
Is he alive?
FRANKLIN
Naw; he’s just petrified.
BLACK FRIAR
[_To Merchant._]
A guide, sir?
MERCHANT
No.
BLACK FRIAR
Show you the spot, sir, where
The four knights murdered Becket, in the year
Eleven hundred seventy, at dusk,
The twenty-ninth day of December--
A GREY FRIAR
Nay, sir,
I’ll show you the true statue of the Virgin
That talked to holy Thomas when he prayed.
BLACK FRIAR
St. George’s arm, sir! Come; I’ll let you kiss it.
GREY FRIAR
This way; the tomb of Edward the Black Prince.
[_Both seize Merchant and tug him._]
MERCHANT
[_Struggling._]
Mine host!
HOST
[_Coming up._]
Pack off!
PARSON
[_To Ploughman._]
What May-day queen comes here?
[_Outside, left, are heard girls’ voices singing; enter,
dressed richly and gaily_, CHAUCER, _surrounded by a bevy
of Canterbury brooch-girls, who have wreathed him with
flowers and long ribbons, by which they pull him; plying
him with their wares, while he attempts to talk aside with
the Man-of-Law, who accompanies him_.]
CANTERBURY GIRLS
[_Sing._]
High and low,
Low and high,
Be they merry,
Be they glum,
When they come
To Canterbury,
Canterbury,
Canterbury,
Some low,
Some high,
Canterbury brooches buy.
CHAUCER
Sweet ladies--nay, sweet Canterbury muses,
Not Hercules amid the Lydian nymphs
Was ravished by more dulcet harmonies.
[_To Man-of-Law._]
You sergeants-of-the-law are subtle men.
MAN-OF-LAW
We have a knack--a knack, sir.
A GIRL
Pull his sleeve.
ANOTHER
They say you are a bridegroom. Is it true, sir?
CHAUCER
Your Canterbury skies rain compliments.
[_To Man-of-Law._]
Pray!--
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Taking money from Chaucer._]
If you insist, my lord.
CHAUCER
Nay, not “my lord.”
How stands the case?
MAN-OF-LAW
You say this wife hath been
Some eight times wedded?
CHAUCER
Five times.
A GIRL
Stop their gossip,
He’s talking business.
ALL THE GIRLS
Brooches! Souvenirs!
CHAUCER
[_Examining their wares._]
How much?
A GIRL
This? Two-pence.
MAN-OF-LAW
Five times--five times. Well!
CHAUCER
[_To Man-of-Law, giving more money._]
Prithee--
MAN-OF-LAW
If you insist.
A GIRL
[_To Chaucer._]
Mine for a penny.
MAN-OF-LAW
Why, then, the case stands thus: By English law,
No woman may be wedded but five times.
By law, sir, a sixth husband is proscribed.
CHAUCER
You’ll vouch for that? By law?
MAN-OF-LAW
Sir, I will quote
You precedents from William Conqueror.
CHAUCER
Alas, my nuptials! And I would have made
So neat a bridegroom!
A GIRL
Come, sir, will you buy?
ANOTHER
Take mine!
ALL THE GIRLS
Mine! Mine! Mine!
CHAUCER
Nay, fresh goddesses,
Your graces are more heavenly souvenirs!
Sell to me your glances
For a poet’s fancies!
[_To a girl with yellow hair._]
You, Midas’ daughter, how much for this gold?
THE GIRL
’Tis not for sale, sir.
CHAUCER
[_To another._]
How much for that rose?
THE GIRL
What rose?
CHAUCER
Your smile.
THE GIRL
Gratis--for you, sir.
[_Enter Alisoun, attired gorgeously as a bride._]
ALL THE GIRLS
Oh-h!
CHAUCER
How much, Olympians, for your nectar’d lips?
ALL THE GIRLS
A kiss! A kiss!
ALISOUN
Hold! Give the bride first licks.
ALL THE GIRLS
The bride!
ALISOUN
[_After kissing Chaucer._]
Now, lasses, take your turns.
A GIRL
The shrew!
ALISOUN
Lo! what a pot of honey I have won
To lure the village butterflies. Come, pretties,
Sip, sip, and die o’ jealousy.
A GIRL
[_To Chaucer._]
Who is
This woman?
CHAUCER
Nymphs, this is the gentle Thisbe
That wooed and won me. Judge then, goddesses,
How I must weep to lose her.
ALISOUN
Lose me, love?
Nay, honey-pot, I am too stuck on thee.
Thy bosom is my hive, and I queen-bee.
A GIRL
I’d rather lose my heart to a ripe pumpkin.
ANOTHER
Or a green gourd.
[_They go off, in piqued laughter._]
ALISOUN
[_Calls after them._]
What devil doth it matter
Whether he be a pumpkin or a rose,
So be that he rings sound.--Give me the man
That keeps his old bark grafted with new buds
And lops away the dead wood from his trunk,
And I will hug him like the mistletoe.
Geoffrey, thou art the man.
CHAUCER
[_As Alisoun is about to embrace him, turns to the Man-of-Law._]
Cold-blooded knave!
The flower of women and the wit of wives--
Yet I must lose her!
MAN-OF-LAW
Blame not me, sir; blame
The law.
CHAUCER
O heartless knave!
MAN-OF-LAW
By English law,
No woman may be wedded but five times.
ALISOUN
What’s that?
CHAUCER
But is there no exception?
MAN-OF-LAW
None.
By law, sir, a sixth husband is proscribed.
ALISOUN
Hey, what! What devil? Say’t again. I’m deef.
MAN-OF-LAW
By law, dame, a sixth husband is proscribed.
ALISOUN
Prescribed? Ho, then, art thou a doctor?
MAN-OF-LAW
No,
I am a sergeant-of-the-law.--“Proscribed”
Is to say, dame, “inhibited,” “forbidden.”
ALISOUN
How! you forbid me to take Geoffrey here
For my sixth husband?
CHAUCER
Nay, the law forbids it.
ALISOUN
Pish! What’s the fine?
MAN-OF-LAW
To hang, dame, by the neck
Till thou art dead.
ALISOUN
Aye, man, by _Geoffrey’s_ neck.
Get out!
CHAUCER
Canst quote the law?
MAN-OF-LAW
The statute, sir,--
The forty-ninth doom of King Richard--saith:
“One woman to five men sufficeth,” or
“Quid tibi placet mihi placet,” sir.
ALISOUN
Hog-gibberish!
CHAUCER
[_Aside._]
Nay, ’tis a man-of-law.
But soft! we’ll bribe him.
ALISOUN
[_Aside._]
Do, duck.
CHAUCER
Sergeant--hist!
[_Whispers aside and gives him money, as if covertly. Then
aloud._]
This statute, is there no appeal from it?
MAN-OF-LAW
A special dispensation from the king;
That’s all, sir.
ALISOUN
Break his head!
CHAUCER
Nay, Alis, here’s
Good news. The king himself is here to-day
In Canterbury. I will beg him grant
This special dispensation for our marriage.
ALISOUN
Thou--ask the king?
CHAUCER
Why not?
ALISOUN
Give me a vintner
For cheek! Sweet duck, I do believe thou lov’st me.
[_Enter the Miller, with the other Swains._]
CHAUCER
I am unworthy, love, to match thy wit.
MILLER
Thou art unworthy, fool, to latch her shoe.
CHAUCER
Even so.
MILLER
Thou likes to play the gentleman;
Come, then; I’ll duel you.
CHAUCER
Good Bob, I love thee.
MILLER
Come: knives or fists?
CHAUCER
Kind Bob, thou shalt this day
Shed tears and vow I love thee.
MILLER
Wilt not fight?
Then--
ALISOUN
[_Intercepting a blow at Chaucer._]
Hold there, Robin Sweetheart, art thou jealous?
MILLER
Aye, dame.
ALISOUN
What for?
MILLER
[_To Swains._]
She axes me what for!
Axe her, who gagged the Knight?
SHIPMAN
Who tied the Squire?
MANCIPLE
Who watched in the wet cellar?
SUMMONER
Tied thy doublet?
FRIAR
Who stole thy scarlet cloak?
COOK
Who kissed thy toe?
MILLER
Axe her, what made us do all this? Mayhap
To get our backs flayed--what? Mayhap to make
Our wench a wedding with this vintner here?
SHIPMAN
Revenge!
FRIAR
Remember Peggy’s stall.
[_They surround Chaucer threateningly._]
COOK
Vile tub!
PRIORESS
[_Entering, left._]
O Roderigo, help him!
KNIGHT
Whom? That churl!
SQUIRE
Father, let me!
KNIGHT
You are deceived in him.
SQUIRE
But, sir, these are the rogues that bound you.
KNIGHT
He
Is one of them. They are beneath our notice.
MANCIPLE
Death to the vintner!
SUMMONER
Hit him!
ALISOUN
Stand away!
CHAUCER
[_As Alisoun, with her fists, keeps them at bay._]
Happy, bridegroom, be thy stars
When thy Venus turns to Mars!
[_Enter heralds._]
HERALDS
Make way! Room for King Richard! Way! The King!
CLERK
[_In the crowd._]
Shall we see Chaucer now?
PARSON
He’s sure to come.
[_The heralds force back all the pilgrims, except those of
high degree, showing, at the great door of the Cathedral, a
procession of priests and choir-boys about to emerge._]
PRIEST
Peace, folk! Stop wrangling. Kneel! His Reverence,
Archbishop of Canterbury, meets the King.
PRIORESS
[_To Squire._]
Chaucer, you say?
SQUIRE
A little patience more.
[_A silence falls on the pilgrims as, within the Cathedral,
choir-boys begin to chant a hymn. Issuing from the door
and forming against one side of the massed, kneeling
pilgrims, enters a procession, headed by splendid-vested
priests, carrying pictured banners of St. Thomas and
his shrine, followed by choir-boys, and lastly, by the
Archbishop of Canterbury with regalia._]
THE PROCESSION
[_Sings._]
“Tu, per Thomæ sanguinem
Quem pro te impendit,
Fac nos, Christe, scandere
Quo Thomas ascendit.
[_Chants._]
Gloria et honore coronasti eum Domine
Et constituisti eum supra opera manuum tuarum
Ut ejus meritis et precibus a Gehennæ incendiis liberemur.”
[_At the climax of the chant, as the Archbishop appears in
the doorway, the chimes of the Cathedral peal forth from
high above the kneeling crowd; cheers, beginning from the
right, swell to a tumult, and as the people rise, enter,
right, King Richard on horseback, the Dukes of Lancaster,
Gloucester, and Ireland on ponies, and their train, among
whom are Wycliffe and Johanna on foot. Six mules, laden
with offerings, bring up the rear. The shouts of “God save
the King!” “God save John Gaunt!” etc., continue till the
King and nobles descend from their steeds._]
PILGRIMS
God save King Richard!
KING RICHARD
Thanks, good gaffers, thanks!
[_To John of Gaunt._]
Sweet Uncle Jack, thou hast a spanking pony.
Take her to Spain with you, and all the Dons
Will kiss her fetlock. N’est ce pas, bel ami?
DE VERE
They will, my Dick. Par charity! Haha!
ARCHBISHOP
[_Saluting gravely._]
God save your Majesty!
KING RICHARD
God save you, too!
Your Reverence is looking in fine feather.
Here are some trinkets for the holy martyr.
These mules bear spices from Arabia;
These--tapers; and these--Persian tapestries.
Here’s a neat statue of myself in gold;
And so, and so, so.--
[_To the Duke of Gloucester._]
Pretty Uncle Tom,
I wish my ruffs were puckered like your brows.
Dost thou pick faults, eh? in my Paris gown?
GLOUCESTER
My liege, this is the shrine of holy Becket.
KING RICHARD
Lord, save our souls!
[_To De Vere._]
Lend me a looking-glass.
DE VERE
[_Takes one from his sleeve._]
Ha! Dick, par charity!
[_Richard and De Vere look in the glass and make faces in
imitation of Gloucester and the others._]
PARSON
[_In the crowd to the Clerk._]
Yonder’s the Duke
Of Lancaster: John Gaunt.
CHAUCER
[_Who has been held back with the crowd by the heralds,
pushes through, and hastening forward, kneels to Johanna,
who is talking with Wycliffe._]
A boon! a boon!
JOHANNA
[_To Wycliffe._]
Protect me, sir!
CHAUCER
[_Holds up Johanna’s love-knot._]
Lady, once more, your pledge!
JOHANNA
Unmannered loon!
A HERALD
[_Seizes Chaucer roughly by the shoulder._]
Get back!
JOHN OF GAUNT
What, brother Geoffrey!
CHAUCER
Well met, old friend!
[_They embrace._]
KING RICHARD
God’s eyes! Our laureate.
Halloa there, Chaucer!
JOHANNA
Chaucer!
ALISOUN
Chaucer!
PRIORESS
Chaucer!
[_Chaucer bows to the King._]
SQUIRE
[_To Knight._]
Father, I said so.
GAUNT
You are late, my poet
What make you here?
CHAUCER
Blunders, your Grace.
GAUNT
How, blunders?
CHAUCER
Taxing the memory of a gracious lady.
JOHANNA
Signor, the place of fool I should have sued
For you, hath been already filled--by me.
I crave your pardon.
CHAUCER
And I kiss your hand.
KING RICHARD
Ho, Chaucer!
ALISOUN
[_Struggling with a herald._]
Let me out!
CHAUCER
Your Majesty?
KING RICHARD
When April comes, there’s not a man in England
But thinks on thee and love. While thou art England’s
And England Richard’s, thou art Richard’s own.
[_As the King embraces Chaucer, Alisoun breaks away from
the herald._]
ALISOUN
Hold up, your Majesty! The man is mine.
KING RICHARD
What’s this?
CHAUCER
My liege--another blunder.
[_Chaucer whispers aside to the Man-of-Law._]
KING RICHARD
So?
The blunder was not God’s in making her.
ALISOUN
The man is mine.
KING RICHARD
What, Geoffrey, art thou tripped?
Have love and April overflowed thy verse
To fill thy veins?
CHAUCER
Your Majesty--
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Aside to John of Gaunt._]
Dan Chaucer
Bid me explain to you--
[_They talk aside._]
CHAUCER
Your Majesty,
This is that fair-reputed fay, Queen Mab,
Who, having met amid the woods of Kent,
Hath so enamoured me, as you have said,
With love and April, that--to speak it short--
We are betrothed.
KING RICHARD
Betrothed!
DE VERE
Par charity!
MILLER
[_To a herald, who restrains him._]
Leave go!
GAUNT
[_Aside to Man-of-Law._]
A miller?
MAN-OF-LAW
[_Aside._]
Yes, that fellow there.
ALISOUN
[_Nudging Chaucer._]
Speak on, sweet chuck.
CHAUCER
“Betrothed,” your Majesty:
’Tis a sweet word which lovers’ law hath hallow’d,
But which your law, King Richard, hath envenom’d.
“No woman may be wedded but five times:”
Thus saith the law.
KING RICHARD
What! Where?
GAUNT
[_Laughingly aside._]
My liege!
[_They whisper._]
CHAUCER
And so,
Because this queen of wives hath scarce been knit
Five times in wedlock, therefore--saith the law--
Our bosoms must be sundered.
MILLER
[_In the crowd._]
God be praised!
CHAUCER
But knowing, King, how nobly wit and mercy
Are mixed in your complexion, I presume
To ask your greatness to outleap your laws
And grant, by special dispensation, to
This woman--a sixth husband.
KING RICHARD
By my fay, sir,
You ask too much. My laws are sacred.
[_Aside to John of Gaunt, who whispers him._]
Hein?
ALISOUN
Dig him again there, Geoffrey.
CHAUCER
King, have grace!
KING RICHARD
The Duke of Lancaster advises me
There may be one exception.
[_Aside._]
What? What’s that?
[_Aloud._]
But only one. My law is sacred.--Woman,
I grant to thee the right to wed once more
On one condition. Mark it; thy sixth husband
Must be a miller.--Herald, sound the verdict.
[_As the herald blares his trumpet, Alisoun shakes her
fist at Chaucer, who eyes her slily; then both burst into
laughter._]
HERALD
If any miller here desire this woman,
Now let him claim her.
MILLER
[_Rushes up._]
Here, by Corpus bones!
ALISOUN
Thou sweet pig’s eye! I take thee.
[_Extending her hand to Chaucer._]
Geoffrey, quits!
CHAUCER
Quits, Alisoun!
FRIAR
[_Bobbing up between them._]
Et moi?
ALISOUN
Et toi.
[_Kisses him._]
MILLER
[_Grabbing him._]
Hold, friar!
That pays thee to perform the ceremony.
KING RICHARD
[_Seated, to Chaucer._]
Come now, our prodigal Ulysses! Tell us;
What dark adventures have befallen thee since
Thou settest forth from Priam-Bailey’s castle?
What inland Circe witched our laureate
To mask his Muse among this porkish rabble?
CHAUCER
My liege, may I have leave to tell you bluntly?
KING RICHARD
Carte blanche, carte blanche, mon cher. I’ll be as mute
As e’er King Alcinous i’ the Odyssey.
CHAUCER
My Muse went masked, King Richard, from your court
To learn a roadside rhyme. Shall I repeat it?
KING RICHARD
Carte blanche, j’ai dit. Say on!
CHAUCER
Your Majesty,
“When Adam delved and Eve span,
Who was then the gentleman?”
MILLER
By Corpus bones!
KING RICHARD
[_Starts up._]
Mort Dieu!
CHAUCER
“Carte blanche,” my liege!
Six years ago in London, when the mob
Roared round your stirrups, Wat the Tyler laid
His hand upon your bridle. “Sacrilege!”
Cried the Lord Mayor, and Wat Tyler fell
Dead.
[_The crowd murmurs._]
GLOUCESTER
[_To Richard, remonstratingly._]
Nephew!
[_The King, sitting again, motions Gloucester silence._]
CHAUCER
Whereat you, your Majesty--
God save you, a mere boy, a gallant boy--
Cried out: “Good fellows, have you lost your captain?
I am your King, and I will be your captain.”
[_The pilgrims cheer._]
Have you forgotten how they cheered? Then hark!
Once more that “porkish rabble” you shall hear
Make music sweeter than your laureate’s odes.
[_Turning to the crowd._]
Pilgrims and friends, deep-hearted Englishmen,
This is your King who called himself your captain.
PILGRIMS
[_Shout._]
God save the King!
CHAUCER
My liege, my dear young liege,
Are these the dull grunts of the swinish herd,
Or are they singing hearts of Englishmen?
Where is _the gentleman_, whose ermined throat
Shall strain a nobler shout? “When Adam delved”--
Sire, Adam’s sons are delving still, and he
Who scorns to set his boot-heel to the spade
Is but a bastard.
KING RICHARD
[_Jumps up again._]
’Swounds!
PILGRIMS
God save Dan Chaucer!
KING RICHARD
[_To Chaucer._]
Give me thy hand. God’s eyes! These knaves cheer you
Louder than me. Go tell the churls I love ’em.
CHAUCER
[_To the pilgrims._]
His Majesty bids me present you all
Before him, as his fellow Englishmen.
KING RICHARD
[_As the pilgrims approach._]
Fellows, God bless you!
[_To Chaucer._]
Thanks.
[_Snatching away his looking-glass from the hand of De
Vere, who is making a comic face at Chaucer, he smashes it
upon the ground._]
DE VERE
Sweet Dick!
ARCHBISHOP
My liege,
The holy canopy is being raised.
[_A medley of sweet bells is heard from within the Cathedral.
The pilgrims crowd about Chaucer._]
CHAUCER
Give me your hands, my friends. You hear the bells
Which call us to the holy martyr’s shrine.
Give me your hands, dear friends; and so farewell:
You, honest parson--sly Bob--testy Jack--
Gentle Sir Knight--bold Roger--Master Franklin--
All, all of you!--Call me your vintner still,
And I will brew you such a vintage as
Not all the saps that mount to nature’s sun
Can match in April magic. They who drink it--
Yes, though it be after a thousand years,
When this our shrine, which like the Pleiades
Now glitters, shall be bare and rasèd stone,
And this fresh pageant mildewed history--
Yet they who drink the vintage I will brew
Shall wake, and see a vision, in their wine,
Of Canterbury and our pilgrimage:
These very faces, with the blood in them,
Laughter and love and tang of life in them,
These moving limbs, this rout, this majesty!
For by that resurrection of the Muse,
Shall you, sweet friends, re-met in timeless Spring,
Pace on through time upon eternal lines
And ride with Chaucer in his pilgrimage.
[_A deep bell sounds._]
ARCHBISHOP
My liege, St. Thomas will receive his pilgrims.
[_The King, lords, and people, forming in procession, begin
to move toward the entrance of the Cathedral._]
CHAUCER
[_To Prioress._]
Madame, will you walk in with me?
PRIORESS
Monsieur,
If you will offer this at Thomas’ shrine.
CHAUCER
Your brooch!
PRIORESS
Our brooch.
CHAUCER
When shall we meet again?
PRIORESS
Do you forget our star?
CHAUCER
Forget our star!
Not while the memory of beauty pains
And _Amor vincit omnia_.
[_The heralds blare their trumpets; the priests swing their
censers; the choir-boys, slowly entering the Cathedral,
chant their hymn to St. Thomas, in which all the pilgrims
join. Just as Chaucer and the Prioress are about to enter,
the curtain falls._]
Explicit pars quarta.
FINIS.
[Illustration: In lauđibus Aña.
Aña.
Granum cadit copiam germinat frumenti: alabastrum
frangitur fragrat vis unguenti. ps̅̅. Dñs regnavit
Aña.
Totus orbis martyris certat in amorem: cujus
signa singulos agunt in stuporem. ps̅̅. Jubilate.
Aña.
Aqua thome quinquies varians colorem
in lac semel transiitquater in cruorem. ps̅̅. De’ de’ me’
Aña
Ad thome memoriam quater lux descendit: et
in sancti gloriam cereos accendit. ps̅̅. Benedicite
Aña.
Tu per thome sanguinẽ quem pro te impendit: fac
nos christe scandere quo thomas ascendit. ps̅̅. Laudate
]
ADDENDA
1. The accompanying reproduction of the original Hymn to St. Thomas,
of which the last verse only is sung by the pilgrims in Act IV, is
authentic in words and music.
The author is sincerely indebted to Professor Kittredge, of Harvard
University, for tracing and securing, through the various courtesies of
Mr. Albert Matthews (of Boston), Mr. Frank Kidson (of Leeds), Mr. J.
E. Matthew (of S. Hampstead, London), and Mr. Wilson (of the British
Museum Library), a copy of this almost inaccessible document.
The words are taken from Vol. 13, p. 240, of Dreves’ “Collection
of Sequences and Latin Hymns.” The music is copied from the “Sarum
Antiphonal” of 1519.
In regard to the music, Mr. Wilson writes: “Each of these Antiphons
(_i.e._ each verse of the hymn) is sung once before, and once after,
each psalm. Here there are five; and at the end of each is the
catchword of the psalm. The first is ‘_Dominus regnavit_’; the second,
‘_Jubilate_,’ and so on.”
Mr. J. E. Matthew writes: “The catchword is not sufficient, in every
case, to identify the psalm, but I have indicated all the psalms having
such beginnings.[1] The lines ‘Gloria et honore coronasti,’ etc.
(part, of course, of the 8th Psalm: ‘Thou hast crowned him with glory
and honour’), form no part of the service in the ‘Sarum Antiphonal.’”
2. For valuable information and advice regarding the chronology of
the “Canterbury Tales” as affecting this play, the author also gives
sincere thanks to his friend, Mr. John S. P. Tatlock, of the University
of Michigan.
3. The following dates will reveal certain anachronisms in the text of
his play, which the writer, for dramatic purposes, has ignored:--
Oct. 1, 1386: Chaucer was elected Knight of the Shire for
Kent, which office he still held in April, 1387.
Dec. 31, 1384: Wycliffe died.
1386: John of Gaunt left England for Castile.
4. According to Chaucer scholars, the third wife of John of Gaunt was
probably a sister of Chaucer’s wife. Upon this probability, though
it could not have been a fact until after 1387, the author bases his
dramatic license of referring to Chaucer and the Duke of Lancaster as
brothers-in-law.
PERCY MACKAYE.
NEW YORK, March, 1903.
FOOTNOTES:
[1] The psalms, as indicated by Mr. Matthew, are as follows: Beginning
_Deus regnavit_, xxiii, xcix; _Jubilate_, c, lxvi; _Deus, Deus, meus_,
xxii, lxiii; _Benedicite_, The Song of the Three Children? (Apocrypha.)
_Laudate_, cxiii, cxvii, cxxxiv, cxlvii, cxlviii.
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