The Canterbury Tales

THE PRIORESS'S TALE

Heere bigynneth the Prioresses Tale

In a great Asian and Christian city there once stood a Jewish ghetto. It was financed and supervised by a lord of that place, intent upon making as much profit as he could from the vile practice of usury. It is evil money, accursed by Christ and His saints. Yet the ghetto was open. There were no gates, and all the citizens could walk or ride through its main street.

There was a little Christian school at the end of this street, where its young pupils learned the rudiments of their faith. Year after year the children were taught how to read and how to sing, in the way of all small boys and girls. Among these children was a widow's son, some seven years old. He attended school every day.

His mother had taught him to kneel down and say a Hail Mary whenever he came across an image of the Virgin. His mother had told him that he must always pray to the blessed Lady, even in a crowded street. And of course he obeyed her. An innocent child learns quickly. When I think of him I cannot help but recall the image of Saint Nicholas, who, at the same young age, did reverence to Christ.

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER

This little boy was seated on his bench one day, studying his primer, when he heard some other children in the class singing out 'Alma Redemptoris' in praise of the Mother of our Saviour. He drew closer to them, listening very carefully, and after a while he had by heart the words and the notes of the hymn. He could sing the first verse by rote.

He was too young to know what the Latin words meant. But then he asked a schoolfellow to explain it to him, and to interpret it in simple language. He went down on his knees and begged him so many times that his young friend eventually agreed to translate it for him.

Then this fellow explained the hymn. 'I have heard that this song,' he said, 'was composed in honour of the blessed Virgin. It is meant to praise her, and to beseech her to come to our aid when we are about to die. That is all I know about it. I am a chorister, not a student of grammar.'

'So this hymn was written in honour of the Mother of God?' the innocent boy asked him. 'I am going to make sure that I have learned it by heart before the Christmas season. I don't care if I am scolded for not attending to my lessons. I don't care if I am beaten three times a day. I am going to learn this song in honour of Our Lady.'

So his comrade taught him the words, syllable by syllable, until he could repeat them without any mistakes. He began with the first verse:

As I lay upon a night,

My thought was on a maid so bright

That men call Mary, full of might,

Redemptoris mater.

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THE CANTERBURY TALES

He mastered the notes, and sang out the hymn boldly wherever he went. He sang it when he walked to school in the morning, and when he came home again in the afternoon. He was devoted to the praise of the Virgin.

As I have said before, this little boy always made his way through the ghetto on his way to school. So he sang out 'Alma Redemptoris' earnestly and brightly as he passed through the Jewish quarter. He was blissfully unaware of his surroundings. He simply wanted to honour Our Lady.

But then the enemy of mankind, Satan himself, rose up among the Jews. He was full of bitter poison. 'Oh people of the Old Testament!' he called out. 'Is this right? Is this fitting? Can you allow this child to walk among you uttering blasphemy? It is against your reverence. It is against your Law.'

So, from that time forward, the Jews of the neighbourhood conspired against the little boy's life. They hired a murderer, and told him to wait in a dark alley close to the route of the child on his way to school. This cursed man seized the boy and cut his throat; then he buried him in a pit.

It was a cesspit where the Jews were accustomed to squat and shit. Oh cursed people, children of Herod, what will be the consequence of your evil deeds? Murder will out. That is certain enough. The blood of the murdered boy will cry out. The children of God will hear the voice!

Oh holy Christian martyr, pure virgin child, you will now sing for ever in the halls of eternity. You will be the companion of the white celestial Lamb. You will be one of those seen in visions by the great evangelist Saint John of Patmos. You are one with the virgin martyrs who sing perpetually.

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER

The poor widow, the mother of the young boy, watched and waited all that night. But he did not return home. At first light she left the house and, with pale and careworn face, she searched the streets for any sign of him. She enquired after him at the school, and there she learned that he had last been seen singing in the ghetto.

So the poor woman followed the footsteps of her child and, half out of her mind with grief, she visited all those places where she hoped that he might still be found. She called out to the blessed Virgin and begged her for help. Then she began to walk among the Jews themselves, asking whether any of them had seen her small son. Of course they all denied even so much as glimpsing him.

But the grace of Jesus entered her heart and guided her to the place where her son had died. She came into the alley where the cesspit had been dug, in which his little body was buried.

Oh great God, whose praises are sung in the mouths of the innocent, how great is Thy power! This is what happened. This jewel of chastity, this emerald of innocence, this ruby of martyrdom, sat up in his filthy grave and, with his throat cut from ear to ear, began to sing. He sang 'Alma Redemptoris' in a clear strong voice that could be heard throughout the ghetto.

All the Christian people in the neighbourhood gathered together to watch this miracle. They called for the magistrate at once, and he arrived very quickly. He heard the boy singing. He gave thanks to Christ, and to our Saviour's heavenly Mother, before ordering that all the Jews of the quarter should be arrested.

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THE CANTERBURY TALES

The child was borne on the shoulders of the crowd and carried in procession to the abbey; he sang all the way. His mother was carried, fainting, beside him. No one could persuade her to leave the side of her small son. She was another Rachel, inconsolable for loss of her child.

The magistrate ordained that the Jews with knowledge of the murder should be put to death immediately in the most shameful and terrible way. He could not countenance their unholy crime. Some of them were torn apart by horses. Some were hanged, drawn and quartered. 'Evil shall they have,' he said, 'that evil deserve.'

The little child lay upon a bier before the high altar, where a mass was said for the sake of his soul. After the service was over the abbot and the monks made haste to bury the child in consecrated ground. And, as they sprinkled holy water over the bier, the child once more rose up and sang 'Alma Redemptoris'.

The abbot was a saintly man. The monks were holy, too, or ought to have been. So the reverend father began to question the boy. 'Dear child,' he said to him, 'I beseech you. I call upon you in the name of the blessed Trinity. Why are you singing? How can you sing, when your throat is cut from side to side?'

'My throat is cut as deep as my neck bone,' the child replied. 'In the course of nature, I would be long dead. But Jesus Christ has deemed it fit that His power should be known to the world. He has performed this deed in honour of His sacred Mother, the blessed Virgin. That is why I am able to sing "Alma Redemptoris".

415

SIR THOPAS

Heere bigynneth Chaucers Tale of Thopas

THE FIRST FIT

Listen carefully, please, to me And I will tell the company A funny little story.

At some time in history There was a knight and gent

Good at battle and at tournament. What was his name?

Sir Thopas.

He lived in a far, no, distant country Not very near the sea.

He dwelled in a city called Hamelin Famous for its porcelain.

His father was a rich man, and grand. In fact he ruled the entire land. What was his name?

I don't know.

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THE CANTERBURY TALES

Now Sir Thopas was a brave knight. His hair was black, his face was bright. His lips were red as a carnation.

But then so was his complexion. I could have said, red as a rose,

But I will confine that to his nose. How big was his nose? Enormous.

His hair was as yellow as mustard paste, And he wore it right down to his waist. His shoes were from the Vendôme And his clothes were made in Rome. They were so expensive

That his father looked pensive. How much did they cost? Thousands.

He could hunt for wild rabbit

And had acquired the habit

Of hawking for game.

He could wrestle and tame

The most ferocious ox.

He could whip the bollocks

Off any contestant.

He was no maiden aunt.

There were many young virgins

Happy to slake his urgings

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GEOFFREY CHAUCER

When they should have been asleep. But he did not so much as peep

At them. He was chaste as a lily And stayed so willy-nilly.

So it befell that on one morning Just as the light was dawning Sir Thopas rode out on his steed In hope of doing daring deeds. He held his lancet like a lord,

And by his side there hung a sword. He made his way through forests dark

Where wolves howl and wild dogs bark. He himself was after game,

Which once more I rhyme with tame. But listen while I tell you more

Of how Sir Thopas almost swore With vexation.

Around him sprang weeds of every sort, The flea-bane and the meadow-wort. Here were the rose and primrose pale, And nutmeg seeds to put in ale Whether it be fresh or stale

Or only good as slops in pail.

The birds were singing sweetly enough, Among the nightingales a chough. Was that a chaffinch on the wing,

Or was it a dove just chattering?

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