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The Canterbury pilgrims

Chapter 9: ACT III
By Percy MacKaye
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About This Book

Set in late fourteenth-century England, the comedy assembles Chaucer as a participant and observer among a lively company of pilgrims and additional historical figures gathered at an inn before a shrine-bound journey. The drama presents a sequence of character sketches and comic set-pieces—tavern brawls, bargains over relics, songs, and diversions—while interweaving debates about piety, social custom, and religious reform. Acts and musical antiphons structure shifts from boisterous caricature to moments of reflection, and the ensemble dynamic exposes contrasting social types and tensions between ritual, politics, and personal folly.

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,