Chaucer's England (1958)

[Music] One that April with his shest sort the droo of merch hath pierced to the rot. As soon as April pierces to the root the drought of March, and bathes each bud and chute through every vein of sap with gentle showers from whose engendering liquor spring the flowers, when zephers have breathed softly all about, inspiring every wood and field to sprout, and in the zodiac the youthful son, his journey halfway through the ram has run. When little birds are busy with their song, who sleep with open eyes the whole night long, life stirs their hearts and tingles in them souls. On pilgrimages people long to go and palmers to set out for distant strands and foreign shrines renowned in many lands and especially in England. People ride to Canterbury from every countryside to visit there the blessed martyed saint who gave them strength when they were sick and [Music] faint. And especially in England, people ride to Canterbury from every countryside. [Music] The religious pilgrimage during the Middle Ages was something on which every pious man and woman hoped to go. In England, the destination of most pilgrims was the shrine of the murdered Archbishop of Canterbury, St. Thomas of Beckett. Such a pilgrimage from every Shire's end was part of that colorful tapestry which made up life in Jeffrey Chaucer's England. [Music] Chaucer, portrayed here in a 14th century manuscript, reading his poems to a courtly audience, was born about the year 1340. Thus his life spanned the last years of the colorful 14th century. And no man knew better the conditions of English life during this period than Chaucer himself. He knew the rhythms of country life and the people who worked the soil. [Music] He knew the terrible violence of the [Music] period. He knew English knights and bow. He himself had once served in a campaign against the French in the Hundred Years War. He knew the town's people of England, the merchants, weavers, craftsmen. He held many government posts during his lifetime. Controller of customs, commissioner of roads, member of parliament, and traveled about the country meeting and dealing with the English men and women he was later to write about in his tales of Canterbury. One that Afriel with his shest softer the droo of merch hath ped to the ro and Chaucer wrote his tales of Canterbury in the language of his time. It is called middle English. befell that in that season on a die in sod at the tabar as he lie ready to wendon on me pilgrimage to contemporary with full devout kurage at nish was kum into that oelia well knen and 20 in a companyia of sundry folk aventural in fellowship and pilgrims where they are that toward Conte Walden reader and translated into modern English in Soduk at the Tabard one spring day. It happened as I stopped there on my way. Myself, a pilgrim with a heart devout, ready for Canterbury to set out. At nightfall, to that very inn resorted no less a group than 29 assorted people, a company that chanced to fall in fellowship together, for they were all pilgrims who meant to ride to Canterbury. Chaucer's pilgrims set out for Canterbury, 59 miles distant from London. And to pass the time, they decided to tell stories as they wrote. The storytellers are the English men and women Chaucer knew so well. They are a cross-section of medieval England. A knight was with us and an excellent man who from the earliest moment he began to follow his career loved chivalry, truth, openhandedness and courtesy, the wife of Bath. She had been an excellent woman all her life. Five men in turn had taken her to wife. The miller. He was a thick, squatshouldered lump of sins. The pardoner is one of Chaucer's finest characterizations. Pardners were familiar figures in medieval England, going about the country selling pardon for sins. But Chaucer's pardon, though in church a noble ecclesiast, is without doubt one of English literature's strangest creations. The tale that we have heard has made me sick. Good partner, tell us a merry one and be quick. But nothing coarse or ribble. Let him tell some moral story and we'll listen. Well, I will and gladly. But while I try to think of something edifying, I'll take a drink. The tale which the pardoner finally tells has been called one of the great short stories of the English language. But in telling it, the pardoner frankly reveals himself to his fellow pilgrims as a hypocrite. In churches, when my moment comes to preach, I use my lord's a lofty style of speech and ring it out as roundly as a bell, knowing by wrote all that I have to tell. Allow me in a few words to explain my method. I never preach except for gain. Oh, for that my text is always and ever was radicorum escapid. Radics meorum escupitas. The root of all evil is avarice. What? Preach against the same vice he indulges. That's why his purse is so fat that it bulges. But don't forget, though I myself may burn with greed, I can make other people turn from avarice and teach them to repent. Still, that is not my principal intent. What do you think? While I have power to preach and take in silver and gold for what I teach, I shall ever live in willful poverty. No. No, that was never my thought. Certainly. So I bring in old stories, many a one. Tales and examples drawn from days long down. Plain folk love tales that come down from of old. Such things their minds can well report and hold. Your tale, good partner, but not of sin. The story. Now for my story. Keep quiet and I'll begin. There was a company of young folk living one time in Flam who were bent on giving their lives to follys and extravagances. They haunted robbers, taverns, held wild dances with loots, harps and guitars, gambled for hours, and also at drank beyond their powers, paying the devil's sinful sacrifice in the devil's temple with their drink and dice. These three young royers, of whom I tell, long before prime had rung from any bell, were seated in a tavern at their drinking. And as they sat they heard my life bell goes clinking before a corpse being carried to his grave. Boy. Boy. [Music] Boy, boy, here. Good sir, what is your will? Go out and try to learn whose corpse is being carried by. Get me his name and get it right. Take heed. Sir, I tell you there isn't any need. I learned before you came here by two hours. He was, as it happens, an old friend of yours. And all at once, there on his bench upright as he was sitting drunk, he was killed last night. A sly thief, death men call him, who deprivives all the people in this country of their lives, came with his spear, and smiting his heart in two, went on his business with no more ado. A thousand have been slaughtered by his hand during his plague. Now by St. Peter, the boy speaks truth. man, woman, laborer, servant, and child this death have slain this year in a big village a mile or more from here. I think it is his place of habitation. It would be wise to make some preparation before a man brings himself to this grace. Now, by the holy saint, so that's the case. Is it so dangerous with this thief to meet? I'll look for him by every path and street. Hear me, my friends. We are all one, we three. Let each of us hold out his hand for the other. Let each of us become his fellow's brother. We'll slay this death who slaughters and betrays. He shall be slain whose hand so many slays by the dignity of God before. And in their drunken frenzy, up they get, and toward the village, off at once they said, which the inkeeper had spoken of before. And many were the grizzly oaths they swore. [Music] But when they had hardly gone the first half mile, watch this. [Music] Oh, beggar, I hope you meet with evil grace. Why all wrapped up except your face? What you alive so many a year? Because I can, though I should walk to India, find no man in any village or any city or town who for my age is willing to lay down his youth. So I must keep my old age still for as long a time as it may be God's will. Nor will death take my life from me alas. Thus, like a restless prisoner I pass, and on the ground, which is my mother's gate, I walk, and with my staff, both early and late, I knock and say, "Dear mother, let me in. See how I vanish flesh and blood and skin. Alas, when will my bones be laid to rest? But sir, you do yourselves small courtesy to split to an old man so churnishly. I charge you therefore no harm or wrong here to an old man do. No more than you would have men do to you in your old age. No voice in John, no old beggar. As for me, you won't be let off so easily. You spoke just now of that false traitor death who in this land robs all our friends of breath. Tell where he is since you must be his spy or you will suffer for it. So say I. You are in league with death force thief and bent on killing us young folks. That's clear to my mind. If you are so impatient sir as to find this death. I we are. Turn up this crooked way. For in that grove I left him, truth to say, beneath a tree, and there will he abide. No boast of yours will make him run and hide. You see that oak tree? There you will find this death. And God, whose grace redeems mankind, save and amend you. [Music] And promptly each of these three gamblers ran until he reached the tree. And there they found gold. [Music] Lawrence and them break. Go. [Music] [Laughter] [Applause] Now, my sworn brothers, listen to what I say. My head is sharp for all I yoke and blame. Fortune has given us this pile of treasure to set us up in lives of ease and pleasure. Lightly come. Likely we'll make it go. By my soul, salvation, who was to know we'd ever tumble on such luck today? If we could only carry this gold away home to my house, or either one of yours. For well, we know that all this gold is ours. We touch the summit of Felicity. But still, by daylight, how is that to be? People would think thieves, too bold for stealth. And they'd have us hang for our own wealth. It must be done at night. That's our best plan. As prudently and slightly as we can. Hence, my proposal is that we should all draw lots, and let us see on whom the lot will fall. And the one of us who draws the shortest stick shall run back to the town and make it quick and bring us bread and wine here on the sly. And two of us will keep a watchful eye over this gold. And uh if he doesn't stay too long in town, we'll carry this gold away wherever we all agree it's best. [Music] [Laughter] [Music] Hey, papa. [Music] But now the youngest starting off to town within his heart kept rolling up and down the beauty of those Florence new and bright. Oh Lord, if by some strategium I might have all this treasure to myself [Music] alone. So off he sent to an apothecary and begged for poison. [Music] [Laughter] [Music] touch. You know that by sworn oath you are my brother. I'll tell you something you can profit by. Our friend is gone. That's clear to any eye. And here is gold abundant as can be which we propose to share a light. We three. But if I worked it out as I could do so that it might be shared between us two, wouldn't that be a favor? A friendly one? Well, true enough. But how that could be done, I don't quite see. He knows we have the gold. What should we do? What shall he be told? Will you keep the secret tucked inside your head? Oh, I won't betray you. That you to believe. Now we are two. As you can well see, and two of us must have more strength than one. When he sits down, get up as if in fun and wrestle with him. While you play this game, I'll run him through the ribs. You do the same with that dagger there. And then this gold shall be divided, my dear friend, between you and me. [Music] [Music] Well, brother, you brought the wine, I see. I The wine and the bread as you told me. But I have little stomach for it now. Ah, what you need, my friend, is play. Come, I'll show you how. Oh god. Oh dear. [Music] juice. Good go. [Music] [Music] [Music] Now let's sit down and drink and we can bury his body later on. First we'll be married. Did I tell you something to profit by? Our friend is gone. That's clear to any eye. Now all that we desire we can fulfill and the two of us can roll the dice at will. Drink and drink well. [Music] [Music] Hey, please. Thus they both perished for their homicide. And thus the treacherous poisoner also died. Oh sin, the curse above all cursedness. Oh treacherous murder, oh foul wickedness. And oh good men, your sins may God forgive and free from wretched avarice may you live. Sir, thus I preach. But now one word forgot I in my tail. I have relics in my pouch that cannot fail. As good as England ever thought, I hope to which I got by kindness of the Pope. It is an honor for each one that's here that you should have a competent pardoner to give you absolution as you ride because of mishaps that may still be tied. There may be falls from horses, one or two, or broken necks, you know. It might be you. Step up, the host, and offer. you begin. For you're the one who's most consumed in sin. Come kiss the relics and loosen up your purse. Not so, my friend. I should have Christ's curse. What? Kiss your relics? Not for love riches. You'd make me kiss a piece of your old britches. Good friends. This has gone far enough. Sir Pardner, be glad and merry here. And you, sir host, who are to me so dear. I pray you forgive the pardon. That I will my hand in turn, good host. And now may God, our soul's great healer, show you how within his pardon ever more to rest. For that I do not lie. Good friends is best. And so Chaucer's pilgrims united in good fellowship once again take leave of the inn and continue on their way. And as they ride they tell each other stories. Stories which taken all together make up one of the great monuments of English literature. Jeffrey Chaucer's Tales of Canterbury. [Music]