The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

The Parson’s Prologue

Here folweth the myrie words of the Parsoun

By the time that the Manciple had finished his story, the sun was low in the sky. It was by my calculation no more than twenty-nine degrees in height, and my shadow stood out before me. It was four o’clock, and a spring evening was about to descend upon us travellers. We were riding through the outskirts of a village when the Host reined in his horse and addressed us.

‘Good lords and ladies,’ he said, ‘our work is almost done. We lack only one tale, according to my reckoning. We have heard from every class, and every degree, in the course of our journey. My ordinance has almost been fulfilled. There is only one person left to entertain us. I hope he does it well.’ He turned to the Parson, who rode a little behind him. ‘Sir priest,’ he asked him, ‘are you a vicar or a parson? Do you have your own church or do you serve another? Speak the truth, please. It doesn’t matter what rank you hold, as long as you can tell a good story. You are the last. Open up. Sing for your supper. Let us see what you are made of. I can tell by your appearance, and your expression, that you are good at this kind of thing. Tell us a good old-fashioned fable, will you?’

‘You will get no fable from me, Mr Bailey,’ the Parson replied. ‘Do you not recall the words of Paul to Timothy? He condemns those who stray from the path of truth and who invent lies or fantasies. Why should I give you chaff when I can offer you good wheat? So if you wish to hear morality and virtuous matter, I am your man. If you are willing to give me an audience I will do my best to mix instruction with delight. But I am a man of the south. I ca

‘There is one other thing. I am no scholar. I am sure that there are some among you who are more learned and able than I am. I can offer you only the substance, the essential meaning, and I am perfectly willing to be corrected.’

We all agreed to this. It seemed good to us that we should end our journey with some virtuous text. We were happy to hear the Parson’s soft voice at the end of the day. So we asked our Host to entreat him to continue.

‘Sir priest,’ he said, ‘God be with you. Give us the fruit of your contemplations. But you must hurry. The sun is sinking in the sky. Give us much matter in a short space. May God help you in your task, good man. Now please begin.’

So the Parson rode before us, and began his story. We had entered a forest. ‘Our sweet Lord God of heaven, who wills that all men have full knowledge of His godhead and live in the sweet bliss of eternity, admonishes us with the wise words of the prophet Jeremiah. Stand upon the old paths and find from old scriptures the right way which is the good way, on this pilgrimage upon the earth…’

I held my horse back as the pilgrims made their way among the trees. The evening fell and the birds of the forest were silent. I could still hear him speaking of ‘the right way to Jerusalem the Celestial’ when I dismounted and walked into a small grove. There I went down on my knees and prayed.

Chaucer’s Retractions

Here taketh the makere of this book his leve

‘I make this request to all of those who hear or read this little treatise. If there be anything here that pleases them, they should thank our Lord Jesus Christ from whom proceeds all virtue and all wisdom. If there be anything here they dislike I beg them to ascribe the fault to my ignorance and not to my will. I would have written better if I possessed the gift of eloquence. The Bible tells us that words must be used to instruct us. That has always been my intention.

‘So I beseech you, for the mercy of God, to pray for me to Christ our Saviour. Plead with Him to forgive my sins, and especially my transgressions in the writing and translation of books of worldly vanity. I now revoke and condemn these books: Troilus and Criseyde, The Book of Fame, The Legend of Good Women, The Book of the Duchess, The Parliament of Fowls, and those stories of The Canterbury Tales that may be construed as sinful. I also recant The Book of the Lion and, if I could remember them, many other books. I renounce the songs and lecherous lays that I have written down, in the hope that Christ will forgive my trespasses. Grant me mercy, oh Lord. But for the translation of The Consolation of Boethius, for all the saints’ lives, for all the homilies and moral tales that tend to virtue – for all these I thank Christ and His blessed Mother, beseeching them and all the saints of heaven to pray for me now and at the hour of my death. Send me grace so that I may repent my sins and save my soul. Grant me true penitence, confession and absolution. In the merciful name of our Saviour, Jesus Christ, king of kings and priest of priests, who redeemed the world with His precious blood, may I be one of those saved on the day of doom. Qui cum Patre et Spiritu Sancto vivit et regnat Deus per omnia secula. Amen.’

I rose to my feet, and walked back to my horse.

Heere is ended the book of the tales of Canterbury, compiled by Geoffrey Chaucer, of whos soule Jhesu Crist have mercy. Amen.