The Pardoner’s Tale 5
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The Pardoner’s Prologue My lords, “he said, “in churches where I preach I cultivate a haughty kind of speech And ring it out as roundly as a bell; I’ve got it all by heart, the tale I tell. I have a text, it always is the same And always has been, since I learnt the game, Old as the hills and fresher than the grass, Radix malorum est cupiditas. "But first I make pronouncement whence I come, Show them my bulls in detail and in sum, And flaunt the papal seal for their inspection As warrant for my bodily protection, That none may have the impudence to irk Or hinder me in Christ’s most holy work. Then I tell stories, as occasion calls, Showing forth bulls from popes and cardinals, From patriarchs and bishops; as I do, I speak some words in Latin)just a few) To put a saffron tinge upon my preaching And stir devotion with a spice of teaching. Then I bring all my long glass bottles out Cram-­‐full of bones and ragged bits of clout, Relics they are, at least for such are known. Then, cased in metal, I’ve a shoulder-­‐bone, Belonging to sheep, a holy Jew’s. 'Good men,' I say, 'take heed, for here is news. Take but this bone and dip it in a well; If cow or calf, if sheep or ox should swell From eating snakes or that a snake has stung, Take water from that well and wash its tongue, And it will then recover. Furthermore, Where there is pox or scab or other sore, All animals that water at that well Are cures at once. Take note of what I tell. If the good man)the owner of the stock) Goes once a week, before the crow of cock, Fasting, and takes a draught of water too, Why then, according to that holy Jew, He’ll find his cattle multiply and sell. "And it’s a cure for jealousy as well; For though a man be given a jealous wrath, Use but this water when you make his broth, And never again will he mistrust his wife, Though he knew all about her sinful life, Though two or three clergy had enjoyed her love. "Now look; I have a mitten here, a glove. Whoever wears this mitten on his hand Will multiply his grain. He sows his land And up will come abundant wheat or oats, Providing that he offers pence or groats. "Good men and women, here’s a word of warning; If there is anyone in church this morning Guilty of sin, so far beyond expression Horrible, that he dare not make confession, Or any woman, whether young or old, 60
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That’s cuckolded her husband, be she told That such as she shall have no power or grace To offer to my relics in this place. But those can acquit themselves of blame Can all come up and offer in God’s name, And I will shrive them by the authority Committed in this papal bull to me,’ "That trick’s been worth a hundred marks a year Since I became a Pardoner, never fear. Then, priestlike in my pulpit, with a frown, I stand, and when the yokels have sat down, I preach, as you have heard me say before, And tell a hundred lying mockeries more. I take great pains, and stretching out my neck To east and west I crane about and peck Just like a pigeon sitting on a barn. My hands and tongue together spin the yarn And all my antics are a joy to see. The curse of avarice and cupidity Is all my sermon, for it frees the pelf. Out come the pence, and specially for myself, For my exclusive purpose is to win And not at all to castigate their sin. Once dead what matter how their souls may fare? They can go blackberrying, for all I care!... "But let me briefly make my purpose plain; I preach for nothing but for greed of grain And use the same old text, as bold as brass, Radix malorum est cupiditas. And thus I preach against the very vice I make my living out of)avarice. And yet however guilty of that sin Myself with others I have power to win Them from it, I can bring them to repent; But that is not my principal intent. Covetousness is both the root and stuff Of all I preach. That ought to be enough. "Well, then I give examples thick and fast From bygone times, old stories from the past; A yokel mind loves stories from of old, Being the kind it can repeat and hold. What! Do you think, as long as I can preach And get their silver for the things I teach, That I will live in poverty, from choice? That’s not the counsel of my inner voice! No! Let me preach and beg from kirk to kirk And never do an honest job of work, No, nor make baskets, like St. Paul, to gain A livelihood. I do not preach in vain. Why copy the apostles? Why pretend? I must have wool, cheese, wheat, and cash to spend, Though it were given me by the poorest lad Or poorest village widow, though she had A string of starving children, all agape. No, let me drink the liquor of the grape 115
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And keep a jolly wench in every town! "But listen, gentlemen; to bring things down To a conclusion, would you like a tale? Now as I’ve drunk a draught of corn-­‐ripe ale, By God it stands to reason I can strike In Flanders once there was a company Of youngsters haunting vice and ribaldry, Riot and gambling, stews and public-­‐houses Where each with harp, guitar or lite carouses, Dancing and dicing day and night, and bold To eat and drink far more that they can hold, Doing thereby the devil sacrifice Within that devil’s temple of cursed vice, Abominable in superfluity, With oaths so damnable in blasphemy That it’s a grisly thing to hear them swear.... Seneca has a thought worth pondering on; No difference, he says, that he can find Between a madman who has lost his mind And one who is habitually mellow Except that madness when it takes a fellow Lasts longer, on the whole, than drunkenness. O cursed gluttony, our first distress! Cause of our first confusion, first temptation, The very origin of our damnation, Till Christ redeemed us with his blood again! O infamous indulgence! Cursed stain So dearly bought! And what has it been worth? Gluttony has corrupted all the earth. Adam, our father, and his wife on less, From Paradise to labour and distress Were driven for that vice, they were indeed. While she and Adam fasted, so I read, They were in Paradise; when he and she Ate of the fruit of that forbidden tree They were at once cast forth in pain and woe. O gluttony, it is to thee we owe Our griefs! O if we knew the maladies That follow on excess and gluttonies, Sure we would diet, we would temper pleasure In sitting down at table, show some measure! Alas, the filth of it! If we contemn The name, how far more filthy is the act! A man who swills down vintages in fact Makes a mere privy of his throat, a sink For cursed superfluities of drink!... Wine is a lecherous thing and drunkenness A squalor of contention and distress. O drunkard, how disfigured is thy face, How foul thy breath, how filthy thy embrace! And through thy drunken nose a stertorous snort Like "samson-­‐samson")something of the sort. Yet Samson never was a man to swig. You totter, lurch, and fall like a stuck pig, Your manhood’s lost, your tongue is in a burr. Drunkenness is the very sepulchre 120
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On some good story that you all will like. For though I am a wholly vicious man Don’t think I can’t tell moral tales. I can! Here’s one I often preach when out for winning; Now please be quiet. Here is the beginning.’’ The Pardoner’s Tale Of human judgement and articulation. He that is subject to the domination Of drink can keep no secrets, be it said. Keep clear of wine, I tell you, white or red, Especially Spanish wines which they provide And have on sale in Fish Street and Cheapside.... But seriously, my lords, attention, pray! All the most notable acts, I dare to say, And victories in the Old Testament, Won under God who is omnipotent, Were won is abstinence, were won in prayer. Look in the Bible, you will find it there. Or else take Attila the Conqueror; Died in his sleep, a manner to abhor, In drunken shame and bleeding at the nose. A general should live sober, I suppose.... Having put gluttony in its proper setting I wish to warn you against dice an betting. Gambling’s the very mother of robbed purses, Lies, double-­‐dealing, perjury, and curses, Manslaughter, blasphemy of Christ, and waste Of time and money. Worse, you are debased In public reputation, put to shame. "A common gambler’’ is a nasty name. The more exalted such a man may be So much the more contemptible is he. A gambling prince would be incompetent To frame a policy of government, And he will sink in general opinion AS one unfit to exercise dominion.... Now let me speak a word or two of swearing And perjury; the Bible is unsparing. It’s an abominable thing to curse And swear, it says; but perjury is worse. Almighty God had said, "Swear not at all,"... Behold and see the tables of the Law Of God’s Commandments, to be held in awe; Look at the third where it is written plain, "Thou shalt not take the name of God in vain." You see He has forbidden swearing first; Not murder, no, nor other thing accurst Comes before that, I say, in God’s commands. That is the order; he who understands Knows that the third commandment is just that. And in addition, let me tell you flat, Vengeance on him and all his house shall fall That swears outrageously, or swears at all. "God’s precious heart and passion, by God’s nails And by the blood of Christ that is at Hailes. Seven’s my luck, and yours is five and three; God blessed arms! If you play false with me 230
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I’ll stab you with my dagger!" Overthrown By two small dice, two bitching bits of bone, They reach rage, perjury, cheating, homicide. O for the love of Jesu Christ who died For us, abandon curses, small or great! But, sirs, I have a story to relate. It’s of three rioters I have to tell Who long before the morning service bell Were sitting in a tavern for a drink. And as they sat, they heard the hand-­‐bell clink Before a coffin going to the grave; One of them called the little tavern-­‐knave And said "God and find out at once)like spry!) Whose corpse is in that coffin passing by; And see you get the name correctly too." "Sir," said the boy, "no need, I promise you; Two hours before you came here I was told. He was a friend of yours in days of old, And suddenly, last night, the man was slain, Upon his bench, face up, dead drunk again. There came a privy thief, they call him Death, Who kills us all round here, and in a breath He speared him through the heart, he never stirred. Into a neighbouring street, and found a man Who lent him three large bottles. He withdrew And deftly poured the poison into two. He kept the third one clean, as well he might, For his own drink, meaning to work all night Stacking the gold and carrying it away. And when this rioter, this devil’s clay, Had filled his bottles up with wine, all three, Back to rejoin his comrades sauntered he. Why make a sermon of it? Why waste breath? Exactly in the way they’d planned his death They fell on him and slew him, two to one. Them said the first of them when this was done, "Now for a drink. Sit down and let’s be merry, For later on there’ll be the corpse to bury." And, as it happened, reaching for a sup, He took a bottle full of poison up And drank; and his companion, nothing loth, Drank form it also, and they perished both. There is, in Avicenna’s long relation Concerning poison and its operation, Trust me, no ghastlier section to transcend What these two wretches suffered at their end. Thus these two murderers received their due, So did the treacherous young poisoner too. O cursed sin! O blackguardly excess! O treacherous homicide! O wickedness! O gluttony that lusted on and diced! O blasphemy that took the name of Christ With habit-­‐hardened oaths that pride began! Alas, how comes it that a mortal man, That thou, to thy Creator, Him that wrought thee, That paid His precious blood for thee and bought thee, 285 Art so unnatural and false within? Dearly beloved, God forgive your sin And keep you from the vice of avarice! My holy pardon frees you all of this, Provided that you make the right approaches, 290 That is with sterling, rings, or silver broaches. Bow down your heads under this holy bull! Come on, you women, offer up your wool! I’ll write your name into my ledger; so! Into the bliss of Heaven you shall go. 295 For I’ll absolve you by my holy power You that make offering, clean as at the hour When you were born....That, sirs, is how I preach And Jesu Christ, soul’s healer, aye, the leech Of every soul, grant pardon and relieve you 300 Of sin, for that is best, I won’t deceive you. One thing I should have mentioned in my tale, Dear people. I’ve some relics in my bale And pardons too, as full and fine, I hope, As any in England, given me by the Pope. 305 If there be one among you that is wiling To have my absolution for a shilling Devoutly given, come! and do not harden Your hearts but kneel in humbleness for pardon; 310 Or else, receive my pardon as we go. You can renew it every town or so Always provided that you still renew Each time, and in good money, what is due. It is an honour to you to have found 315 A pardoner with his credentials sound Who can absolve you as you ply the spur In any accident that may occur. For instance)we are all at Fortune’s beck) Your horse may throw you down and break your neck. 320 What a security it is to all To have me here among you and at call With pardon for the lowly and the great When soul leaves body for the future state! And I advise our Host here to begin, 325 The most enveloped of you all in sin. Come forward, Host, you shall be first to pay. And kiss my holy relics right away. Only a groat. Come on, unbuckle your purse!" "No, no,’’ said he, "not I, and may the curse 330 Of Christ descend upon me if I do! You’ll have me kissing your old breeches too
And swear they were the relic of a saint….”
The Pardoner said nothing, not a word;
He was so angry that he couldn’t speak.
335 “Well,” said our Host, “if you’re for showing pique,
I’ll joke not more, not with an angry man.”
The worthy Knight immediately began,
Seeing the fun was getting rather rough,
And said, “No more, we’ve all had quite enough.
340 Now, master Pardoner, perk up, look cheerly!
And you, Sir Host, whom I esteem so dearly,
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I beg of you to kiss the Pardoner.
“Come, Pardoner, draw nearer, my dear sir.
Let’s laugh again and keep the ball in play.”
345 They kiss, and we continued on our way.
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