First published in 1400, The Canterbury Tales is a collection of 24 stories written in Middle English by the famed English poet Geoffrey Chaucer. “The Pardoner’s Tale,” which appears halfway through the collection, is an exemplum, a medieval literary and oratorical form often used in sermons to demonstrate a moral principle. “The Pardoner’s Tale” illustrates the precept found in 1 Timothy 6:10: “Greed is the root of all evils”—arguably the most succinct answer that can be given to the problem of evil. (“Corrupt is all this world from greed,” Chaucer writes.)
The tale is told by a Pardoner, a person who, in medieval times, travelled the countryside selling official church pardons. In the tale, the Pardoner is a talented but corrupt preacher, motivated in his work by the desire for money. The Pardoner provides his audience with an extended exemplum centering on three young men who set out to kill Death. On their way, the three encounter an old man who informs them that they will find their target under a nearby tree. When they reach the tree, they discover a hoard of gold coins, which causes them to abandon their initial purpose. Each then secretly conspires to murder at least one of the others for the sake of gaining more of the treasure for himself. Their greed ultimately causes all three to suffer and die.
The Pardoner’s Tale
Here begins the Pardoner’s Tale.
In Flanders once there was a company of young folk given to folly, through debauchery, gambling, brothels and taverns. There, with harps, lutes and guitars, they danced and played at dice both day and night, and ate and drank without limit, whereby they offered the Devil his sacrifice, with abominable superfluity, within the Demon’s own temple. They uttered oaths so blasphemous and damnable that it was dreadful for to hear them swear. Our blessed Lord’s body did they revile—they thought that the Jews had not rent Him enough—and each of them at the others’ Sin did laugh. And right anon did come dancing damsels, dainty and comely, and young girls peddling fruit, singers with harps, bawds, sellers of cakes, who do the very Devil’s offices to kindle and blow the fires of lechery, which is annexed to gluttony. I take the Holy Writ for my witness, that lechery comes from wine and drunkenness.
Lo, recall how that drunken Lot, unnaturally, lay with his daughters two, unwittingly. So drunk was he, that he knew not what he wrought.
Herod, as the histories relate so well, when he was glutted with wine at the feast, right at his own table, gave the command to slay John the Baptist, who was guiltless.
Seneca also says a good word, without doubt. He said he can no difference find betwixt a man who is out of his mind and one who is a drunkard, save that madness, in a miserable fallen wretch, perseveres longer than does drunkenness. O gluttony, full of cursedness! O first cause of our downfall! O origin of our damnation, till Christ redeemed us with His blood. Lo, how dearly bought, briefly for to say, was this accursed villainy. Corrupt is all this world from greed.
Adam, our Father, and his wife also, for that vice, were driven from Paradise to labor and to suffer, without doubt. For, while that Adam fasted, as I read, he was joyful in Paradise. And, when he ate of the forbidden fruit from the tree, anon was he cast out to woe and pain. O gluttony, of you well may we complain! O, if a man only knew how many maladies follow excess and gluttony, he would be more measured in his diet, sitting at his table. Alas, the avaricious throat, the hungry mouth, make men labor, East and West and North and South, in earth, in air, in water, to get tasty meat and drink. Of this matter, Saint Paul does well treat: “Meat unto belly, and belly unto meat, but God shall destroy both.” Alas, a foul thing it is, by my faith, to say this word, and fouler is the deed, when a man drinks so much of the white wine and red that, of his throat he makes a privy, because of this accursed excess.
The Apostle Paul, in tears, said most piteously, “There walk many of whom I have told you—I say it now weeping with a pitiful voice—who are enemies of Christ’s Cross, whose end is Death and Damnation. Their belly is their God.”
O stomach! O belly! O stinking gut, full of dung and corruption! Foul is the sound from either end of you. How great is the labor and the cost to feed you. These cooks, how they stamp and strain and grind, and turn substance into appearance to fulfill all your gluttonous desire. Out of the hard bones do they knock the marrow, for they cast naught away that may go through the gullet soft and sweet. Of the spices of leaf and bark and root shall be seasoned his sauce for delight, to make him yet a better appetite. But, truly, he who hungers for such delicacies is the same as dead, while that he lives wallowing in these vices.
A lecherous thing is wine, and drunkenness is full of strife and wretchedness. O drunk man, disfigured is your face, sour is your breath, foul are you to embrace, and through your drunken nose seems to come the sound as though you would say, “Samson, Samson!” And yet, God knows, Samson never drank wine. You fall down like a skewered swine. Your tongue is lost, and all your self-respect, for drunkenness is the very sepulcher of man’s wit and his discretion. In him over whom drink has domination, he can no counsel keep secret, without doubt. Now, my friends, keep you from the white and from the red, and especially from the white wine of Spain that is for sale in the streets of London. This wine of Spain creeps subtly into other wines, which are grown nearby, from which there rise such fumes to the head that, when a man has drunk three draughts and thinks he is at home in London, he is in Spain, right at the town of Lepe—not in La Rochelle, nor at Bordeaux town—and then will he drunkenly say, “Samson, Samson!”
But hearken, my Lords, unto one word, I pray you. All the greatest deeds, dare I say, of victories in the Old Testament, through the Grace of Almighty God, Who is Omnipotent, were achieved in abstinence and in prayer. Look in the Bible, and there you may learn it.
Look at Attila, the great Conqueror, who died in his sleep, with shame and dishonor, bleeding from his nose in drunkenness. A Captain should always live in soberness. And above all this, bethink yourself right well, of what was commanded unto Lemuel—not Samuel, but Lemuel, say I. Read the Bible and find it expressly written therein forbidding the giving of wine to those who dispense Justice. No more of this, for it may well suffice.
And now that I have spoken of gluttony, now will I enumerate the hazards of gambling. Playing at dice is the very mother of lies, and of deceit, and of accursed perjuries, blaspheming of Christ, manslaughter, and waste also of chattel and time. And, furthermore, it is a reproach and the contrary of Honor to be held a common gambler. And ever the higher a man is in Estate, the more is he held to be desolate. And, if a Prince should hazard a risk in his governance and policy, he is, by common opinion, held the less in reputation.
Chilon, who was a wise Ambassador, was sent unto Corinth in full great honors from Sparta to make an alliance. And, when he arrived, it happened, by chance, that he found all the greatest men of that land playing at dice. For which, as soon as he could, he stole home again to his country. And he said, “I will not dishonor my name, nor will I take unto me such great shame, as to ally my country to those gamblers. Send you other wise Ambassadors. For, by my truth, I would rather die than that I should align you with such miscreants. My country, which has been so glorious in Honors, will make no alliance with gamblers by my agency, nor by my treaty.” This sage Philosopher, thus said he.
Look also to King Demetrius, to whom the King of Persia, as the Book tells us, sent a pair of golden dice in scorn, for he had the reputation of a gambler. Because of this, it was commonly believed that the King of Persia held Demetrius’ glory and his renown to be of no value. Surely Kings may find another manner of play honest enough to fill their days.
Now will I speak a word or two of oaths false and great, of which the old books treat. Swearing is a thing abominable, and false swearing is yet more hateful. Almighty God forbade swearing at all, witness Saint Mathew, but Holy Jeremiah, the Prophet, says especially of swearing, “You shall swear truthfully your oaths, and you shall not lie, and you shall swear in judgment and in righteousness.” But idle swearing is a cursedness. Behold and see that, in the Ten Commandments of God on High, the second Commandment is this: “Take not My Name in vain.” Lo, you see, He forbade such swearing before homicide or many another cursed thing. I say, in that order, thus it stands. He knows this, he who His Commandments understands, that the second Commandment of God is such. Furthermore, I shall tell you plainly that vengeance will not spare the house of him whose oaths are too outrageous: “By God’s precious heart” and “By His nails” and “By the blood of Christ, seven is my call, and yours is five and three!” “By God’s arms, if you roll false dice with me, this dagger shall through your heart go!” These are the fruits of those accursed dice—swearing, wrath, cheating, homicide. Now, for the love of Christ, Who for us died, forego your oaths, both great and small. But, Sirs, now will I tell forth my tale.
These reprobates three of which I tell, long before the first ring of the morning bell, were sitting in a tavern for to drink. And, as they sat, they heard a bell clink sounding a corpse being carried to his grave. Whereupon, one of them began to call to his servant, “Go swiftly,” said he, “and ask what corpse is this that passes hereby. And look that you report his name well.”
“Sir,” said this boy, “there is no need to enquire. It was told to me ere you came here two hours ago. He was, by God, an old fellow of yours. And, suddenly, he was slain last night, while quite drunk, as he sat on his bench upright. There came a silent thief that men call Death, who in this country slays all the people, and, with his spear, smote his heart in two, and went on his way without another word. He has a thousand slain in this pestilence. And, Master, ere you come into his presence, methinks it would be necessary to beware of such an adversary. Be ready for to meet him evermore. Thus taught me my mother. I say no more.”
“By Saint Mary!” said the tavern-keeper. “This child says the truth, for Death has slain this year, over a mile from here, within a great village, both man and woman, child and laborer and servant boy. I believe his habitation must be there. To be so advised, as this lad has spoken, is good wisdom, ere that Death does you a dishonor.”
“Yea, by God’s arms!” said this wastrel. “Is it such peril with Death to meet? I shall him seek by the highway and by the street, hereby do I make a vow upon God’s worthy bones! Hearken, my fellows, we three be as one. Let each of us hold up his hand to the other, and each of us become the other’s brother, and we will slay this false traitor Death. He shall be slain, he who has slain so many, by God’s dignity, ere that it be night!”
Together did these three pledge their troth, to live and die, each for the other, as though he were his own born brother. And up they started, full of drunken rage, and forth they went toward that village of which the tavern-keeper had spoken before. And many a dreadful oath did they swear, and Christ’s blessed body did they revile once more. “Death shall be dead,” they said, “if only we may catch him.”
When they had gone not fully half a mile, just as they were about to cross a field, they did chance to meet a poor old man. This old man did meekly greet them and said thus, “My Lords, may God save you.”
The haughtiest of these profligates three replied, “What, wretch, ill Fortune to you. Why are you all wrapped up in rags, save for your face? Why live you so long, at your advanced age?”
The old man looked upon his visage and said thus, “Because I can not find a man, though I should walk as far as India, neither in city nor in village, who would exchange his youth for mine old age. And, therefore, I must still keep mine old age, for as long a time as it is God’s will. Not even Death, alas, will have my life. Thus walk I, like a restless wretch. And, upon the ground, which is my Mother’s gate, I knock with my staff, both early and late, and say, ‘Dear Mother, let me in! Lo, how I waste away, flesh and blood and skin. Alas, when shall my bones be at rest? Mother, I would gladly exchange all my worldly possessions for a haircloth shroud to wrap myself in.’ But yet unto me she will not grant that Grace, for which full pale and withered is my face.
“But, Sirs, you show no courtesy to speak in such an unkindly manner to an old man, unless he trespass in word or in deed. In Holy Writ you may yourself read, ‘Before an old man with hoary head, you should arise.’ Therefore, I counsel you now not to do harm unto an old man, if you would not have men do harm unto you in your old age, if you so long abide. And God be with you, where you go or ride. I must wander thither, as I have to go.”
“Nay, old fool, by God, you shall not so,” said another reprobate anon. “You depart from us not so lightly, by Saint John! You spoke right now of that traitor Death, who in this country kills all our friends. Listen to my truth, as you are his spy, tell us where he is or you shall die, by God and by the Holy Sacrament! For surely you are in league with Death to slay us young folk, you traitorous thief!”
“Now, Sirs,” said the old man, “if it be your desire to find Death, turn up this crooked way, for in that grove I left him, by my faith, under a tree, and there he does yet remain. He will not hide in fright from your boast. See you that oak? Right there you shall find him. God save you, Who redeemed mankind. May He redeem you!” Thus said this old man.
And all these wastrels ran till they came to that tree. And there they found, of fine gold coins, well-nigh eight bushels full, as they believed. No longer for Death did they seek, since each of them was so glad of that sight, for the coins were so fair and bright, that down they seated themselves by this precious hoard. The worst of them spoke the first word.
“Brethren,” said he, “take heed of what I say. My wit is sharp, though I jest and play. This treasure has Fortune given unto us, so that we may live our lives in merrymaking and pleasure. And, as lightly as it comes, just as lightly shall we spend it. Eh, by God’s precious dignity! Who knew today that we should have so fair a turn of Luck? But might this gold be carried from this place home to mine house, or else unto yours—for well you know this gold belongs to all of us—and then will we live in high felicity. But, truly we must not carry it home in daylight. Men will say that we are arrant thieves and, for our treasure, would hang us. This treasure must be carried by night, as carefully and as slyly as we might. Therefore, I advise that we draw lots and see to whom the shortest straw shall fall. And he who draws the shortest straw will, with blithe heart, swiftly run unto the town and bring us bread and wine. The other two of us shall remain here and guard this treasure well. And, if he does not tarry on his way back from town, when it is night, then will we this treasure carry, by one assent, unto where all of us think best.”
That fellow gathered three straws in his fist and bade them draw lots, to see where the choice would fall. And it fell upon the youngest of them all. So forth toward the town he went anon. As soon as he was gone, one of them spoke thus unto the other: “You know well that you are my sworn brother. So for your profit will I tell you anon. You know well that our friend is gone. Here is gold, and in full great plenty, to be divided amongst us three. But, nevertheless, if I can contrive it so that it is divided betwixt us two, have I not done a friendly turn to you?”
The other answered, “I know not how that may be. He knows that the gold is with us two. What shall we do? What shall we to him say?”
“Let it be our secret,” said the first reprobate, “and I will tell you in a few words what we must do to bring it well about.”
“I so swear,” said the other, “without doubt, that, by my troth, I will not betray you.”
“Now,” said the first, “you know well that we be two, and two of us will be stronger than one. Look you when he sits himself down, and right anon arise as though you would with him play. And then I shall stab him in the side, whilst that you struggle with him as in a game. And, with your dagger, see that you do the same. Then shall all this gold divided be, my dear friend, betwixt you and me. Then may we both all our lusts fulfill, and play at dice as much as we will.” And thus accorded were these two villains to slay the third, as you have heard me say.
The youngest of the three, who went to the town, turned over full oft in his mind the beauty of those gold coins, new and bright. “O Lord,” said he, “if only it were so that I might have to myself all this treasure alone, there is no man who lives under the Throne of God who would be as merry as I!”
And, at last, the Devil, our enemy, put into his thoughts that he should buy poison, with which he might slay his fellows two. For Satan found him in such a state of sinful living that the Fiend had leave to bring him to sorrow and ruin. This was utterly the fellow’s foul intent, to kill them both and never to repent. And so forth he went, no longer would he tarry, into the town, unto an Apothecary, and prayed him that he would sell him some poison, that he might kill some rats. And, also, there was a weasel in his yard, that, as he said, had slain his capons, and he would fain get rid of it, if he might, and also the vermin that wreaked havoc on him by night.
The Apothecary answered, “You shall have a potion that, as surely as God may save my soul, in all this world, there is no creature which eats or drinks of this confection, no more than the amount of a grain of wheat, that shall not its life anon forfeit. Yea, die it shall, and that in less time than you can walk a mile. This poison is so strong and violent.”
The accursed youth took, in his hand, the poison in a box, and swiftly he ran into the next street unto a man, and borrowed from him three large bottles, and into two his poison poured he. The third he kept clean for his own drink. For, all that night, he intended to labor in carrying the gold from out of that place. And, when this reprobate, with evil intent, had filled with wine his bottles three, to his fellows again repaired he.
What need is there to discourse upon it more? For, just as they had plotted his Death before, just so did they slay him, and that anon. And, when that this was done, thus spoke one, “Now let us sit and drink and make us merry, and afterward we will his body bury.” And, with that word, it befell, by chance, that he took up the bottle wherein the poison was and drank, and gave his fellow to drink also, for which anon they both fell dead.
Now, for certain, I believe that Avicenna never wrote, in his Canon of Medicine, of more dreadful agonies of poisoning than suffered these wretches two, ere their demise. Thus ended these two murderers, and also the traitorous poisoner.
O dreadful Sin, full of all accursedness! O treacherous homicide! O wickedness! O gluttony, lechery and gambling! You villainous blasphemers of Christ, swearers of false oaths, guilty of luxury and pride! Alas, mankind, how may it betide that, to your Creator, Who wrought you and, with His heart’s blood, redeemed you, you are so false and so unworthy?
Now, good men, God forgive you your trespass, and keep you from the Sin of avarice! Mine holy pardons will save you, if you do give me gold or silver, or else brooches, spoons or rings. Bow your heads before this Holy Bull! Come up, you wives, and give me your wool. Your names will I enter here in my prayer roll anon and into the bliss of Heaven shall you go. I will absolve you, by the high power vested in me, those of you who make an offering unto me, and I will make you as clean and as pure as the day you were born.
“And, lo, Sirs, thus I preach. And Jesus Christ, Who is our soul’s Physician, grant you His pardon to receive. For that is best; I will not you deceive.
“But, Sirs, one word forgot I in the telling of my tale. I have relics and pardons in my pouch, as fair as those of any in England, which were given unto me by the Pope’s hand. If any of you will, from devotion, make an offering and receive my absolution, come forth anon and kneel down here and meekly receive my pardon. Or else you may receive pardons as we wend our way, pardons all new and fresh at every mile’s end, as long as you offer silver or copper, which are good and true coins. It is an honor to every one who is here that you have a suitable Pardoner to absolve you, as you ride through the country, for any mishaps which may betide. Peradventure it may happen that one or two of you fall down from his horse and break his neck. Look what a surety it is to you all that I am among your fellowship, for I can absolve you, both greater and lesser folk, when the soul shall from your body pass.
“I advise that our Host here should begin, for he is the most enveloped in Sin. Come forth, Sir Host, and offer first anon, and you shall kiss the relics, every one. Aye, for only a few pence! Unbuckle swiftly your purse.”
“Nay, nay,” said the Host. “If I do so, may I have Christ’s curse! It shall not be so, I vow! You would have me kiss your old soiled breeches and swear it was the relic of a Saint, though it was stained by your arsehole! But, by the Cross which Saint Helen found, I wish I had your balls in mine hand, in the stead of relics in a reliquary. Let us cut them off, and I will help you carry them. They should be enshrined in a hog’s turd!”
This Pardoner answered not a word. So wrathful was he, no word would he speak.
“Now,” said our Host, “I will no longer play with you, nor with any other angry man.”
But right anon the worthy Knight said, when he saw all the people laugh, “No more of this, for it is enough! Sir Pardoner, be glad and merry of cheer. And you, Sir Host, who are to me so dear, I pray you that you kiss the Pardoner. And, Pardoner, I pray you, draw you near and, as we did before, let us laugh and play.”
And so, anon, they did kiss and then ride forth on their way.
Here is ended the Pardoner’s Tale.
Geoffrey Chaucer, The Canterbury Tales, trans. Gerald J. Davis.