GENERAL PROLOGUE TO THE

CANTERBURY TALES
At the Tabard Inn, a tavern in Southwark, near London, the narrator joins a company of twenty-nine
pilgrims. The pilgrims, like the narrator, are traveling to the shrine of the martyr Saint Thomas Becket
in Canterbury. The narrator gives a descriptive account of twenty-seven of these pilgrims, including a
Knight, Squire, Yeoman, Prioress, Monk, Friar, Merchant, Clerk, Man of Law, Franklin, Haberdasher,
Carpenter, Weaver, Dyer, Tapestry- Weaver, Cook, Shipman, Physician, Wife, Parson, Plowman,
Miller, Manciple, Reeve, Summoner, Pardoner, and Host. (He does not describe the Second Nun or
the Nun’s Priest, although both characters appear later in the book.) The Host, whose name, we find
out in the Prologue to the Cook’s Tale, is Harry Bailey, suggests that the group ride together and
entertain one another with stories. He decides that each pilgrim will tell two stories on the way to
Canterbury and two on the way back. Whomever he judges to be the best storyteller will receive a
meal at Bailey’s tavern, courtesy of the other pilgrims. The pilgrims draw lots and determine that the
Knight will tell the first tale.
The "General Prologue" is the name given to the introductory text which opens The Canterbury Tales
by Geoffrey Chaucer. In common with most of the rest of the work, it is written in verse. The
"General Prologue" sets up the framing device which allows for the telling of several different short
stories of various different types. It also introduces the characters of many of the different pilgrims
who are the supposed narrators of those stories. To a certain extent, the different personalities and
backgrounds of those pilgrims are reflected in the stories which are attributed to them.
The Nun’s Priest is barely mentioned in the General Prologue, yet he gets to tell one of the most
memorable and lively of the Tales.

The Nun’s Priest’s Tale

A WIDOW poor, somewhat advanced
in age,
Lived, on a time, within a small cottage
Beside a grove and standing down a
dale.
This widow, now, of whom I tell my
tale,
Since that same day when she’d been
last a wife,(5)
Had led, with patience, her straight
simple life,
For she’d small goods and little
income-rent;
By husbanding of such as God had sent
She kept herself and her young
daughters twain.
Three large sows had she, and no more,
’tis pain,(10)
Three cows and a lone sheep that she
called Moll.
Right sooty was her bedroom and her
hall,
Wherein she’d eaten many a slender
meal.
Of sharp sauce, why she needed no
great deal,
For dainty morsel never passed her
throat;(15)
Her diet well accorded with her cote.
Repletion never made this woman sick;
And no wine drank she,—either white
or red;
Her board was mostly garnished, white
and black,
With milk and brown bread, whereof
she’d no lack,(20)
Broiled bacon and sometimes an egg or
two,
For a small dairy business did she do.
A yard she had, enclosed all
roundabout
With pales, and there was a dry ditch
without,
And in the yard a cock called
Chanticleer.(25)
In all the land, for crowing, he’d no
peer.
His voice was merrier than the organ
gay
On Mass days, which in church begins
to play;
More regular was his crowing in his
lodge
Than is a clock or abbey horologe.(30)
And when fifteen degrees had been
ascended,
Then crew he so it might not be
amended.
His comb was redder than a fine coral.
And battlemented like a castle wall.
His bill was black and just like jet it
shone;(35)
This noble cock had in his governance
Seven hens to give him pride and all
pleasance,
Which were his sisters and his
paramours
And wondrously like him as to colours,
Whereof the fairest hued upon her
throat(40)
Was called the winsome Mistress
Pertelote.
Courteous she was, discreet and
debonnaire,
Companionable, and she had been so
fair
That truly she had taken the heart to
hold
Of Chanticleer, locked in every limb;
(45)
He loved her so that all was well with
him.
But such a joy it was to hear them sing,
Whenever the bright sun began to
spring,
In sweet accord, “My love walks
through the land.”
So it befell that, in a bright dawning,(50)
As Chanticleer ’midst wives and sisters
all
Sat on his perch, the which was in the
hall,
And next him sat the winsome
Pertelote,
This Chanticleer he groaned within his
throat
Like man that in his dreams is troubled
sore.(55)
And when fair Pertelote thus heard him
roar,
She was aghast and said: “O sweetheart
dear,
What ails you that you groan so? Do
you hear?
You are a sleepy herald. Fie, for
shame!”
And he replied to her thus: “Ah,
madame,(60)
I pray you that you take it not in grief,
By God. I dreamed I’d come to such
mischief,
Just now, my heart yet jumps with sore
affright.
I dreamed, that while I wandered up
and down
Within our yard, I saw there a strange
beast(65)
Was like a dog, and he’d have made a
feast
Upon my body, and have had me dead.
His snout was small and gleaming was
each eye.
Remembering how he looked, almost I
die;
And all this caused my groaning, I
confess.”(70)
“Aha,” said she, “fie on you, spiritless!
 Alas!” cried she, “for by that God
above,
Now have you lost my heart and all my
love;
I cannot love a coward, by my faith.
For truly, whatsoever woman saith,(75)
We all desire, if only it may be,
To have a husband hardy, wise, and
free.
How dare you say, for shame, unto
your love
That there is anything that you have
feared?
Have you not man’s heart, and yet have
a beard?(80)
Alas! And are you frightened by a
vision?
Dreams are, God knows, a matter for
derision.
Visions are generated by repletions
And vapours and the body’s bad
secretions.”
“Lo, Cato, and he was a full wise man,
(85)
Said he not, we should trouble not for
dreams?
Now, sir,” said she, “when we fly from
the beams,
For God’s love go and take some
laxative;
On peril of my soul, and as I live,
I counsel you the best, I will not lie.(90)
Be merry, husband, for your father’s
kin!
Dread no more dreams. And I can say
no more.”
“Madam,” said he, “gramercy for your
lore.
Nevertheless, not running Cato down,
Who had for wisdom such a high
renown,(95)
And though he says to hold no dreams
in dread,
By God, men have, in many old books,
read
Of many a man more an authority
Who say just the reverse of his
sentence,
And have found out by long
experience(100)
That dreams, indeed, are good
significations,
As much of joys as of all tribulations
That folk endure here in this life
present.
There is no need to make an argument;
The very proof of this is shown
indeed.”(105)
“One of the greatest authors that men
read
Says thus: That on a time two comrades
went
On pilgrimage, and all in good intent;
And it so chanced they came into a
town
Where there was such a crowding, up
and down(110)
Of people, and so little harbourage,
That they found not so much as one
cottage
Wherein the two of them might
sheltered be.
Wherefore they must, as of necessity,
For that one night at least, part
company;(115)
And each went to a different hostelry
And took such lodgment as to him did
fall.
Now one of them was lodged within a
stall,
Far in a yard, with oxen of the plow;
That other man found shelter fair enow,
(120)
As was his luck, or was his good
fortune,
Whatever ’tis that governs us, each
one.”
“So it befell that, long ere it was day,
This last man dreamed in bed, as there
he lay,
That his poor fellow did unto him call,
(125)
Saying: ‘Alas! For in an ox’s stall
This night shall I be murdered where I
lie.
Now help me, brother dear, before I
die.
Come in all haste to me. ’Twas that he
said.
This man woke out of sleep, then, all
afraid;(130)
But when he’d wakened fully from his
sleep,
He turned upon his pillow, yawning
deep,
Thinking his dream was but a fantasy.
And then again, while sleeping, thus
dreamed he.
And then a third time came a voice that
said(135)
(Or so he thought): ‘Now, comrade, I
am dead;
Behold my bloody wounds, so wide
and deep!
Early arise tomorrow from your sleep,
And at the west gate of the town,’ said
he,
‘A wagon full of dung there shall you
see,(140)
Wherein is hid my body craftily;
Do you arrest this wagon right boldly.
They killed me for what money they
could gain.’
And told in every point how he’d been
slain,
With a most pitiful face and pale of
hue.(145)
And trust me well, this dream did all
come true;
For on the morrow, soon as it was day,
Unto his comrade’s inn he took the
way;
And when he’d come into that ox’s
stall
Upon his fellow he began to call.”(150)
“The keeper of the place replied anon,
And said he: ‘Sir, your friend is up and
gone;
As soon as day broke he went out of
town.’
This man, then, felt suspicion in him
grown,
Remembering the dream that he had
had,(155)
And forth he went, no longer tarrying,
sad,
Unto the west gate-of the town, and
found
A dung-cart on its way to dumping-
ground,
And it was just the same in every wise
As you have heard the dead man
advertise;(160)
And with a hardy heart he then did cry
Vengeance and justice on this felony:
‘My comrade has been murdered in the
night,
And in this very cart lies, face upright.
I cry to all the officers,’ said he(165)
‘That ought to keep the peace in this
city.
Alas, alas, here lies my comrade
slain!’”
“Why should I longer with this tale
detain?
The people rose and turned the cart to
ground,
And in the center of the dung they
found(170)
The dead man, lately murdered in his
sleep.”
“O Blessed God, Who art so true and
deep!
Lo, how Thou dost turn murder out
alway!
Murder will out, we see it every day.
Murder’s so hateful and
abominable(175)
To God, Who is so just and reasonable,
That He’ll not suffer that it hidden be;
Though it may skulk a year, or two, or
three,
Murder will out, and I conclude
thereon.
 Immediately the rulers of that town,
(180)
They took the carter and so sore they
racked
Him and the host, until their bones
were cracked,
That they confessed their wickedness
anon,
And hanged they both were by the
neck, and soon.
And therefore, pretty Pertelote, my
dear,(185)
By such an old example may you hear
And learn that no man should be too
reckless
Of dreams, for I can tell you, fair
mistress,
That many a dream is something well
to dread.
Upon this point I say, concluding here,
(190)
That from this vision I have cause to
fear
Adversity; and I say, furthermore,
That I do set by laxatives no store,
For they are poisonous, I know it well.
Them I defy and love not, truth to
tell.”(195)
“But let us speak of mirth and stop all
this;
For when I see the beauty of your face,
You are so rosy-red beneath each eye,
It makes my dreadful terror wholly die.
For when I feel at night your tender
side,(200)
I am so full of joy and all solace
That I defy, then, vision, aye and
dream.”
And with that word he flew down from
the beam,
For it was day, and down went his hens
all;
And with a cluck he them began to call,
(205)
For he had found some corn within the
yard.
Regal he was, and fears he did discard.
He looked as if he were a grim lion
As on his toes he strutted up and-down;
He deigned not set his foot upon the
ground.(210)
He clucked when any grain of corn he
found,
And all his wives came running at his
call.
Thus regal, as prince is in his hall,
I’ll now leave busy Chanticleer to feed,
And with events that followed I’ll
proceed.(215)
Since March began, full thirty days and
two,
It fell that Chanticleer, in all his pride,
His seven wives a-walking by his side,
Cast up his two eyes toward the great
bright sun.
“The sun, my love,” he said, “has
climbed anew.(220)
My lady Pertelote, whom I adore,
Mark now these happy birds, hear how
they sing.
And see all these fresh flowers, how
they spring;
Full is my heart of revelry and grace.”
But suddenly he fell in grievous case;
(225)
For ever the latter end of joy is woe.
God knows that wordly joys do swiftly
go.
But now I must take up my proper
theme.
A brant-fox, full of sly iniquity,
That in the grove had lived two years,
or three,(230)
Now by a fine premeditated plot
That same night, breaking through the
hedge, had got
Into the yard where Chanticleer the fair
Was wont, and all his wives too, to
repair;
And in a bed of greenery still he
lay(235)
Till it was past the quarter of the day,
 Waiting his chance on Chanticleer to
fall.
O Chanticleer, accursed be that morrow
When you into that yard flew from the
beams!
You were well warned, and fully, by
your dreams(240)
That this day should hold peril
damnably.
But that which God foreknows, it needs
must be.
Whether the fact of God’s great
foreknowing
Makes it right needful that I do a thing
(By needful, I mean, of necessity);(245)
Or else, if a free choice he granted me,
To do that same thing, or to do it not,
Though God foreknew before the thing
was wrought;
Or if His knowing constrains never at
all,
Save by necessity conditional.(250)
I have no part in matters so austere;
My tale is of a cock, as you shall hear,
That took the counsel of his wife, with
sorrow,
Now women’s counsels oft are ill to
hold;
A woman’s counsel brought us first to
woe,(255)
And Adam caused from Paradise to go,
Wherein he was right merry and at
ease.
But since I know not whom it may
displease
If woman’s counsel I hold up to blame,
Pass over, I but said it in my game.(260)
Read authors where such matters do
appear,
And what they say of women, you may
hear.
These are the cock’s words, they are
none of mine;
No harm in women can I e’er divine.
All in the sand, a-bathing merrily,(265)
Lay Pertelote, with all her sisters by,
There in the sun; and Chanticleer so
free
Sang merrier than mermaid in the sea
(For Physiologus says certainly
That they do sing, both well and
merrily).(270)
And so befell that, as he cast his eye
Among the herbs and on a butterfly,
He saw this fox that lay there,
crouching low.
Nothing of urge was in him, then, to
crow;
But he cried “Cock-cock-cock” and did
so start(275)
As man who has a sudden fear at heart.
For naturally a beast desires to flee
From any enemy that he may see.
He would have fled but that the fox
anon
Said: “Gentle sir, alas! Why be thus
gone?(280)
Are you afraid of me, who am your
friend?
Now surely, I were worse than any
fiend
If I should do you harm or villainy.
I came not here upon your deeds to spy;
But, certainly, the cause of my
coming(285)
Was only just to listen to you sing.
For truly, you have quite as fine a voice
As angels have that Heaven’s choirs
rejoice.
Save you, I never heard a man so sing
As did your father in the grey dawning;
(290)
Truly ’twas from the heart, his every
song.
And that his voice might ever be more
strong,
He took such pains that, with his either
eye
He had to blink, so loudly would he
cry,
A-standing on his tiptoes therewithal,
(295)
Stretching his neck till it grew long and
small.
And such discretion, too, by him was
shown,
There was no man in any region known
That him in song or wisdom could
surpass.
I have well read, in Dan Burnell the
Ass,(300)
Among his verses, how there was a
cock,
Because a priest’s son gave to him a
knock
Upon the leg, while young and not yet
wise,
He caused the boy to lose his benefice.
But, truly, there is no comparison(305)
With the great wisdom and the
discretion
Your father had, or with his subtlety.
Now sing, dear sir, for holy charity,
See if you can your father counterfeit.”
This Chanticleer his wings began to
beat,(310)
As one that could no treason there espy,
So was he ravished by this flattery.
Alas, you lords! Full many a flatterer
Is in your courts, and many a cozener,
That please your honours much more,
by my fay,(315)
Than he that truth and justice dares to
say.
Go read the Ecclesiast on flattery;
Beware, my lords, of all their
treachery!
This Chanticleer stood high upon his
toes,
Stretching his neck, and both his eyes
did close,(320)
And so did crow right loudly, for the
nonce;
And Russel Fox, he started up at once,
And by the gorget grabbed our
Chanticleer,
Flung him on back, and toward the
wood did steer,
For there was no man who as yet
pursued.(325)
O destiny, you cannot be eschewed!
Alas, that Chanticleer flew from the
beams!
Alas, his wife recked nothing of his
dreams!
This simple widow and her daughters
two
Heard these hens cry and make so great
ado,(330)
And out of doors they started on the run
And saw the fox into the grove just
gone,
Bearing in his mouth the cock away.
And then they cried, “Alas, and
weladay!
Oh, the fox!” and after him they ran,
(335)
And after them, with staves, went many
a man;
Ran Coll, our dog, and Talbot and
Garland,
Ran cow and calf and even the very
hogs,
So were they scared by barking of the
dogs
And shouting men and women all did
make,(340)
They all ran so they thought their hearts
would break.
And now, good men, I pray you
hearken all.
Behold how Fortune turns all suddenly
The hope and pride of even her enemy!
This cock, which now lay in the fox’s
mouth,(345)
In all his fear unto the fox did clack
And say: “Sir, were I you, as I should
be,
Then would I say (as God may now
help me!),
‘Turn back again, presumptuous
peasants all!
A very pestilence upon you fall!(350)
Now that I’ve gained here to this dark
wood’s side,
In spite of you this cock shall here
abide.
I’ll eat him, by my faith, and that
anon!’”
The fox replied: “In faith, it shall be
done!”
And as he spoke that word, all
suddenly(355)
This cock broke from his mouth, full
cleverly,
And high upon a tree he flew anon.
And when the fox saw well that he was
gone,
“Alas,” quoth he, “O Chanticleer, alas!
I have against you done a base
trespass(360)
Inasmuch as I made you afeared
When I seized you and brought you
from the yard;
But, sir, I did it with no foul intent;
Come down, and I will tell you what I
meant.
I’ll tell the truth to you, God help me
so!(365)
“Nay then,” said he, “beshrew us both,
you know,
But first, beshrew myself, both blood
and bones,
If you beguile me, having done so
once,
You shall no more, with any flattery,
Cause me to sing and closeup either
eye;(370)
For he who shuts his eyes when he
should see,
And wilfully, God let him ne’er be
free!”
“Nay,” said the fox, “but God give him
mischance
Who is so indiscreet in governance
He chatters when he ought to hold his
peace.”(375)
But you that hold this tale a foolery,
As but about a fox, a cock, a hen,
Yet do not miss the moral, my good
men.
For Saint Paul says that all that’s
written well
Is written down some useful truth to
tell.(380)
Then take the wheat and let the
chaff lie still.
And now, good God, and if it be Thy
will,
As says Lord Christ, so make us all
good men
And bring us into His high bliss. Amen.

Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales

Key Facts
Full title- The Canterbury Tales
Author · Geoffrey Chaucer
Type of work · Poetry (two tales are in prose: the Tale of Melibee and the Parson’s Tale)
Genres · Narrative collection of poems; character portraits; parody; estates satire; romance;
fabliau
Language · Middle English
Time and place written · Around 1386–1395, England
Date of first publication · Sometime in the early fifteenth century
Publisher · Originally circulated in hand-copied manuscripts
Narrator · The primary narrator is an anonymous, naïve member of the pilgrimage, who is
not described. The other pilgrims narrate most of the tales.
Point of view · In the General Prologue, the narrator speaks in the first person, describing
each of the pilgrims as they appeared to him. Though narrated by different pilgrims, each of
the tales is told from an omniscient third- person point of view, providing the reader with the
thoughts as well as actions of the characters.
Tone · The Canterbury Tales incorporates an impressive range of attitudes toward life and
literature. The tales are by turns satirical, elevated, pious, earthy, bawdy, and comical. The
reader should not accept the naïve narrator’s point of view as Chaucer’s.
Tense · Past
Setting (time) · The late fourteenth century, after 1381
Setting (place) · The Tabard Inn; the road to Canterbury
Protagonists · Each individual tale has protagonists, but Chaucer’s plan is to make none of
his storytellers superior to others; it is an equal company. In the Knight’s Tale, the
protagonists are Palamon and Arcite; in the Miller’s Tale, Nicholas and Alisoun; in the Wife
of Bath’s Tale, the errant knight and the loathsome hag; in the Nun’s Priest’s Tale, the rooster
Chanticleer.
Major conflict · The struggles between characters, manifested in the links between tales,
mostly involve clashes between social classes, differing tastes, and competing professions.
There are also clashes between the sexes, and there is resistance to the Host’s somewhat
tyrannical leadership.
Rising action · As he sets off on a pilgrimage to Canterbury, the narrator encounters a group
of other pilgrims and joins them. That night, the Host of the tavern where the pilgrims are
staying presents them with a storytelling challenge and appoints himself judge of the
competition and leader of the company.
Climax · Not applicable (collection of tales)
Falling action · After twenty-three tales have been told, the Parson delivers a long sermon.
Chaucer then makes a retraction, asking to be forgiven for his sins, including having written
The Canterbury Tales.
Themes · The pervasiveness of courtly love, the importance of company, the corruption of
the church
Motifs · Romance, fabliaux
Symbols · Springtime, clothing, physiognomy
Foreshadowing · Not applicable (collection of tales)

Context
The Canterbury Tales is the most famous and critically acclaimed work of Geoffrey Chaucer, a late-
fourteenth- century English poet. Little is known about Chaucer’s personal life, and even less about
his education, but a number of existing records document his professional life. Chaucer was born in
London in the early 1340s, the only son in his family. Chaucer’s father, originally a property-owning
wine merchant, became tremendously wealthy when he inherited the property of relatives who had
died in the Black Death of 1349. He was therefore able to send the young Geoffrey off as a page to
the Countess of Ulster, which meant that Geoffrey was not required to follow in his ancestors’
footsteps and become a merchant. Eventually, Chaucer began to serve the countess’s husband, Prince
Lionel, son to King Edward III. For most of his life, Chaucer served in the Hundred Years War
between England and France, both as a soldier and, since he was fluent in French and Italian and
conversant in Latin and other tongues, as a diplomat. His diplomatic travels brought him twice to
Italy, where he might have met Boccaccio, whose writing influenced Chaucer’s work, and Petrarch.
In or around 1378, Chaucer began to develop his vision of an English poetry that would be
linguistically accessible to all—obedient neither to the court, whose official language was French, nor
to the Church, whose official language was Latin. Instead, Chaucer wrote in the vernacular, the
English that was spoken in and around London in his day. Undoubtedly, he was influenced by the
writings of the Florentines Dante, Petrarch, and Boccaccio, who wrote in the Italian vernacular. Even
in England, the practice was becoming increasingly common among poets, although many were still
writing in French and Latin. That the nobles and kings Chaucer served (Richard II until 1399, then
Henry IV) were impressed with Chaucer’s skills as a negotiator is obvious from the many rewards he
received for his service. Money, provisions, higher appointments, and property eventually allowed
him to retire on a royal pension. In 1374, the king appointed Chaucer Controller of the Customs of
Hides, Skins and Wools in the port of London, which meant that he was a government official who
worked with cloth importers. His experience overseeing imported cloths might be why he frequently
describes in exquisite detail the garments and fabric that attire his characters. Chaucer held the
position at the customhouse for twelve years, after which he left London for Kent, the county in which
Canterbury is located. He served as a justice of the peace for Kent, living in debt, and was then
appointed Clerk of the Works at various holdings of the king, including Westminster and the Tower of
London. After he retired in the early 1390s, he seems to have been working primarily on The
Canterbury Tales, which he began around 1387. By the time of his retirement, Chaucer had already
written a substantial amount of narrative poetry, including the celebrated romance Troilus and
Criseyde.

Chaucer’s personal life is less documented than his professional life. In the late 1360s, he married
Philippa Roet, who served Edward III’s queen. They had at least two sons together. Philippa was the
sister to the mistress of John of Gaunt, the duke of Lancaster. For John of Gaunt, Chaucer wrote one
of his first poems, The Book of the Duchess, which was a lament for the premature death of John’s
young wife, Blanche. Whether or not Chaucer had an extramarital affair is a matter of some
contention among historians. In a legal document that dates from 1380, a woman named Cecily
Chaumpaigne released Chaucer from the accusation of seizing her (raptus), though whether the
expression denotes that he raped her, committed adultery with her, or abducted her son is unclear.
Chaucer’s wife Philippa apparently died in 1387.
Chaucer lived through a time of incredible tension in the English social sphere. The Black Death,
which ravaged England during Chaucer’s childhood and remained widespread afterward, wiped out
an estimated thirty to fifty percent of the population. Consequently, the labor force gained increased
leverage and was able to bargain for better wages, which led to resentment from the nobles and
propertied classes. These classes received another blow in 1381, when the peasantry, helped by the
artisan class, revolted against them. The merchants were also wielding increasing power over the legal
establishment, as the Hundred Years War created profit for England and, consequently, appetite for
luxury was growing. The merchants capitalized on the demand for luxury goods, and when Chaucer
was growing up, London was pretty much run by a merchant oligarchy, which attempted to control
both the aristocracy and the lesser artisan classes. Chaucer’s political sentiments are unclear, for
although The Canterbury Tales documents the various social tensions in the manner of the popular
genre of estates satire, the narrator refrains from making overt political statements, and what he does
say is in no way thought to represent Chaucer’s own sentiments. Chaucer’s original plan for The
Canterbury Tales was for each character to tell four tales, two on the way to Canterbury and two on
the way back. But, instead of 120 tales, the text ends after twenty-four tales, and the party is still on its
way to Canterbury. Chaucer either planned to revise the structure to cap the work at twenty-four tales,
or else left it incomplete when he died on October 25, 1400. Other writers and printers soon
recognized The Canterbury Tales as a masterful and highly original work. Though Chaucer had been
influenced by the great French and Italian writers of his age, works like Boccaccio’s Decameron were
not accessible to most English readers, so the format of The Canterbury Tales, and the intense realism
of its characters, were virtually unknown to readers in the fourteenth century before Chaucer. William
Caxton, England’s first printer, published The Canterbury Tales in the 1470s, and it continued to
enjoy a rich printing history that never truly faded. By the English Renaissance, poetry critic George
Puttenham had identified Chaucer as the father of the English literary canon. Chaucer’s project to
create a literature and poetic language for all classes of society succeeded, and today Chaucer still
stands as one of the great shapers of literary narrative and character.

Language in The Canterbury Tales

The Canterbury Tales is written in Middle English, which bears a close visual resemblance to the
English written and spoken today. In contrast, Old English (the language of Beowulf, for example)
can be read only in modern translation or by students of Old English. Students often read The
Canterbury Tales in its original language, not only because of the similarity between Chaucer’s
Middle English and our own, but because the beauty and humor of the poetry—all of its internal and
external rhymes, and the sounds it produces—would be lost in translation.
The best way for a beginner to approach Middle English is to read it out loud. When the words are
pronounced, it is often much easier to recognize what they mean in modern English. Most Middle
English editions of the poem include a short pronunciation guide, which can help the reader to
understand the language better. For particularly difficult words or phrases, most editions also include
notes in the margin giving the modern versions of the words, along with a full glossary in the back.
Several online Chaucer glossaries exist, as well as a number of printed lexicons of Middle English.

The Order of The Canterbury Tales

The line numbers cited in this SparkNote are based on the line numbers given in The Riverside
Chaucer, the authoritative edition of Chaucer’s works. The line numbering in The Riverside Chaucer
does not run continuously throughout the entire Canterbury Tales, but it does not restart at the
beginning of each tale, either. Instead, the tales are grouped together into fragments, and each
fragment is numbered as a separate whole.
Nobody knows exactly in what order Chaucer intended to present the tales, or even if he had a
specific order in mind for all of them. Eighty-two early manuscripts of the tales survive, and many of
them vary considerably in the order in which they present the tales. However, certain sets of tales do
seem to belong together in a particular order. For instance, the General Prologue is obviously the
beginning, then the narrator explicitly says that the Knight tells the first tale, and that the Miller
interrupts and tells the second tale. The introductions, prologues, and epilogues to various tales
sometimes include the pilgrims’ comments on the tale just finished, and an indication of who tells the
next tale. These sections between the tales are called links, and they are the best evidence for grouping
the tales together into ten fragments. But the Canterbury Tales does not include a complete set of
links, so the order of the ten fragments is open to question. The Riverside Chaucer bases the order of
the ten fragments on the order presented in the Ellesmere manuscript, one of the best surviving
manuscripts of the tale. Some scholars disagree with the groupings and order of tales followed in The
Riverside Chaucer, choosing instead to base the order on a combination of the links and the
geographical landmarks that the pilgrims pass on the way to Canterbury.
Summary: The Nun’s Priest’s Tale
A poor, elderly widow lives a simple life in a cottage with her two daughters. Her few
possessions include three sows, three cows, a sheep, and some chickens. One chicken, her
rooster, is named Chanticleer, which in French means “sings clearly.” True to his name,
Chanticleer’s “cock-a-doodle-doo” makes him the master of all roosters. He crows the hour
more accurately than any church clock. His crest is redder than fine coral, his beak is black as
jet, his nails whiter than lilies, and his feathers shine like burnished gold. Understandably,
such an attractive cock would have to be the Don Juan of the barnyard. Chanticleer has many
hen-wives, but he loves most truly a hen named Pertelote. She is as lovely as Chanticleer is
magnificent.

A poor widow lives a simple life in a little cottage with her two daughters. Her greatest
possession is her noble rooster, Chaunticleer, who is the best singer in the land. Chaunticleer
crows the time more accurately than the church clocks. His coxcomb is red as coral, his beak
black as jet, and his feathers shine like burnished gold. Chaunticleer has seven hens, and his
favorite is the lovely Pertelote.
The Nun’s Priest’s Tale is a beast fable. The most direct source text of the Tale is a fable by
Marie de France. Although it appears to be a simple animal fable with a moral, the Tale ends
up being much more complicated, with lots of allusions and plot twists.
One morning, Chaunticleer awakens from a terrible nightmare. He tells Pertelote that a
savage, reddish, beast was about to swallow him. Pertelote chides him, saying that she cannot
love such a coward. The Roman philosopher Cato, she says, tells men not to be scared of
dreams. She says that the dream comes from some physical melancholy and urges him to take
a laxative to get rid of this black bile.
Chaunticleer and Pertelote argue over the correct interpretation of dreams, each citing literary
authorities to back up their claims. Pertelote says that bad dreams are simply a physical
reaction and that Chaunticleer should just take some medicine to set his humors in order.
Chaunticleer argues that men of even greater authority than Cato argue that dreams are
extremely important. He sites authors who describe premonitions of murders in dreams in
order to prove to Pertelote that “Mordre wol out” through dreams that show the truth.
Chaunticleer continues to cite many books and legends that tell about men who have
portentous dreams, referring to Macrobius, Scipio, Joseph, and Croesus, among others.
Chaunticleer cites many different textual sources to prove to Pertelote that dreams are matters
that should be taken seriously. He uses complex literary allusions to make his point.
However, in the end, Chaunticleer doesn’t follow his own advice, foolishly abandoning his
own wisdom for the sake of his wife.
Chaunticleer praises Pertelote’s beauty, saying that “In principio, mulier est hominis
confusion,” which he translates as “Womman is mannes joye and al his blis.” Therefore, in
spite of all his evidence that dreams are important, Chaunticleer decides to abide by his
wife’s advice and ignore his dreams. He then makes love to Pertelote.
Chaunticleer completely mis-translates the Latin that he quotes, which really means “In the
beginning, woman is man’s ruin.” His misinterpretation of the Latin foreshadows his
misinterpretation of his dream and the negative ramifications of listening to his wife.

One day in May, just as Chaunticleer has declared his perfect happiness, an inexplicable
wave of sorrow comes over him. That very night, Russell the fox comes into the yard and lies
in wait till morning. The Nun’s Priest laments the inevitable fate of the rooster to the
murderous fox, but says it is his duty to tell the tale. Just like Adam, the cock has obeyed his
wife’s counsel at his own peril.
The Nun’s Priests uses many of the conventions of both courtly romance and Homeric epic to
describe his barnyard scene, lifting his story from a simple fable to the genre of mock epic
and social satire. By taking noble concepts and ideas and putting them in mouths of chickens
and foxes, the tale suggests that perhaps these high ideas, or those who talk about them, are
not as noble or serious as they seem.
The next morning, Chaunticleer is watching a butterfly when he sees the fox watching him.
Terrified, the cock is about to run away, but the sweet-talking fox flatters him. The fox says
that Chaunticleer’s father was the best singer he ever heard, and he coaxes Chaunticleer to
sing for him. Chaunticleer puffs out his chest, beats his wings, closes his eyes, and stretches
out his throat, and just as he begins to sing, Russell darts out and grabs him by the throat.
The fox uses Chaunticleer’s own powers against him: Chaunticleer is the best singer in the
barnyard, and the fox crafts his own sort of song to coax the rooster to lose his focus. The
reference to Chaunticleer’s father also places this story in the tradition of many cock-and-fox
beast fables.
The hens in the barnyard wail louder than the woman of Troy did when their city was
captured. When the widow and her daughters hear the crying, they rush in to the barnyard.
Together with all the farm animals, they all run after the fox, just like Jack Straw leading the
peasants in rebellion.
The Nun’s Priest uses mock-Homeric similes in his comparison of the hens to the Trojans’
wives. In one of the only direct allusions to current events, Chaucer compares the barnyard to
the 1381 peasant’s revolt in England, lead by Jack Straw.
Chaunticleer suggests to the fox that he stop and taunt his pursuers. The fox likes this idea.
But as soon as the fox opens his mouth to do so, Chaunticleer flies away and perches in a
high tree. The fox tries to flatter the rooster again, but Chaunticleer has learned his lesson.
The moral of the story, says the Nun’s Priest, is never to trust flatterers.
Usually, the clever fox defeats the rooster in this type of beast fable, but here, Chaunticleer
tricks the fox at his own game and foils Russell. The moral of the story, says the Nun’s Priest,
is to never trust flatterers––perhaps a subtle jab at some of his fellow pilgrims. Though it is
also worth noting that there is a moral of not trusting women or wives, either, that the Nun's
Priest does not explicitly mention here.

As Chanticleer, Pertelote, and all of Chanticleer’s ancillary hen-wives are roosting one night,
Chanticleer has a terrible nightmare about an orange houndlike beast who threatens to kill
him while he is in the yard. Fearless Pertelote berates him for letting a dream get the better of
him. She believes the dream to be the result of some physical malady, and she promises him
that she will find some purgative herbs. She urges him once more not to dread something as
fleeting and illusory as a dream. In order to convince her that his dream was important, he
tells the stories of men who dreamed of murder and then discovered it.

His point in telling these stories is to prove to Pertelote that “Mordre will out” (3052)—
murder will reveal itself—even and especially in dreams. Chanticleer cites textual examples
of famous dream interpretations to further support his thesis that dreams are portentous. He
then praises Pertelote’s beauty and grace, and the aroused hero and heroine make love in
barnyard fashion: “He fethered Pertelote twenty tyme, / And trad hire eke as ofte, er it was
pryme [he clasped Pertelote with his wings twenty times, and copulated with her as often,
before it was 6 a.m.” (3177–3178).
One day in May, Chanticleer has just declared his perfect happiness when a wave of sadness
passes over him. That very night, a hungry fox stalks Chanticleer and his wives, watching
their every move. The next day, Chanticleer notices the fox while watching a butterfly, and
the fox confronts him with dissimulating courtesy, telling the rooster not to be afraid.
Chanticleer relishes the fox’s flattery of his singing. He beats his wings with pride, stands on
his toes, stretches his neck, closes his eyes, and crows loudly. The fox reaches out and grabs
Chanticleer by the throat, and then slinks away with him back toward the woods. No one is
around to witness what has happened. Once Pertelote finds out what has happened, she burns
her feathers with grief, and a great wail arises from the henhouse.

The widow and her daughters hear the screeching and spy the fox running away with the
rooster. The dogs follow, and pretty soon the whole barnyard joins in the hullabaloo.
Chanticleer very cleverly suggests that the fox turn and boast to his pursuers. The fox opens
his mouth to do so, and Chanticleer flies out of the fox’s mouth and into a high tree. The fox
tries to flatter the bird into coming down, but Chanticleer has learned his lesson. He tells the
fox that flattery will work for him no more. The moral of the story, concludes the Nun’s
Priest, is never to trust a flatterer.