TRANSLATOR'S NOTE: Many of you may have heard recently that in a surprising twist of literary archaeology, the original manuscript of a lost part of the unfinished "Canterbury Tales" by Geoffrey Chaucer (c1342-1400) turned up in Oxford - discovered by accident in the vaults of the Bodleian Library stuck within the pages of another book. I have been lucky enough to be given the first opportunity to render a modern translation to a wider audience, which I dedicate most gratefully to Paulus the Woodgnome (well-known to regular readers of this site) and in which I have followed the example set by the late Professor Nevill Coghill, for which I give thanks and no few apologies.

"The Plowman's Prologue and Tale" appears to be set just after the rest of the extant work, and sheds an interesting perspective on school practices and accepted morality of the time. It is followed by an extended narrative passage of surprisingly explicit tone unlike anything else in the work found so far, which is being very eagerly studied by academics of all ages, and seems to be a fragment of what is being described as one of the earliest works of erotic fiction in English literature. Researchers are urgently searching archives for more... Needless to say, these discoveries have prompted renewed and feverish political and media discussion about discipline (or the lack of) in English schools.

THE PLOWMAN'S PROLOGUE

And as our little band that afternoon
Continued on to Canterbury, soon
Our Host beseeched us "Gentles, if you please,
Your joyful company does much to ease
This sacred journey, as we humbly tread
The pilgrims' path to honour that long dead
And blessed martyr Thomas, who they tell
Gives succour to the needy and unwell.
But silence, though it's worth a purse of gold
In solemn circumstance, will not make bold
And hearty fellows, so hear what I say:
'Tis time again for one to tell a lay
To lift our spirits. Come, Sirrahs, a tale
For livening weary travellers! Regale
Us now, before we find our rest this night,
God willing, at the tavern we'll soon sight."
Recalling then the contract we had made
Within his house, 'The Tabard', where we'd stayed
In Southwark as our journey started out,
In full accord we quickly fell about
To tallying the stories now related
As we rode through Kent. Now, as I've stated,
So far in the game that we'd agreed,
To Merchant and to Seaman we'd paid heed;
We counted tales from Clerk and Prioress
And Doctor too, and even my address
To all, upon our road; the Man of Law,
And Manciple and Franklin add to score,
Good Wife of Bath, and Pardoner and Friar,
Miller, Reeve and Cook, the Knight and Squire,
(The latter, as I think I've owned, his son),
And Summoner, and Priest and Monk and Nun.
.... Then we recalled the Parson for another,
And besides, the Plowman who's his brother.
Straight away we turned to him to call
For this stout fellow to repay us all
With his own sermon. "Sires, I do but toil
With plough and oxen, furrowing the soil,
And have small learning, therefore what know I
Of marvels and fine stories?" came his cry.
We shouted "Shame!", then Host and pilgrims both
Did bind our friend to stand upon the oath
We'd gladly made - each four good tales to tell,
Two on the way, two on return as well.
Then soon enough our Plowman did relent
And saying "Gentlefolk, I give assent
To our agreement, but I beg your leave:
My tongue is coarse, my manner you perceive
Is rude and roughly cut, so pray don't pale
At my best effort," so began his tale.

THE PLOWMAN'S TALE

Not long ago I heard this from a preacher,
Telling of the woe that struck a teacher
In a shire not far flung from the village
Where I work the land in honest tillage.
Now, my lords and ladies, you'll agree
That oftentimes the truth is clear to see
In this belief, of masters everywhere,
That wisdom they most generously share
Yet by their boys is not willingly sought
Must needs with switch or strap be sternly taught!
But think on it, a bad example set
By master to his boys shall be ill-met
As in his care they learn by what is done.
Therefore, friends, pay close heed as I go on.
Soon you'll see the moral, clear advice
To those who'll listen, else forfeit the price!
.... This pedagogue of whom I am to tell
Was versed in French and Latin, Greek as well,
And knew his scripture verse, philosophy,
And mastered much mathematic theory,
For all the ancients' works he could construe -
Pyth-----s and noble Euclid too.
In robes of black he'd walk about the town,
From hood to hose and girdle, and his gown.
His eye was bright, his stature tall and lean,
Upon his face a hooked nose could be seen,
And curling lip, where scarce a hair did grow.
In truth he had the manner of a crow.
But prideful of his cleverness, in school
He had no patience with the boys, who'd fool
And rather play their merry pranks than learning
Grammar and arithmetic, thus earning
Wrathful and most vicious retribution
From their master, strict in his devotion
To their education at his hand.
For this I own, all up and down the land
There never was a teacher yet so quick
To follow that instruction with a stick
That comes from Solomon, and is begun
"For he that spares his rod doth hate his son."
His charges came well used to feel the switches
Of his pliant cane upon their britches
Every time they failed to make a sum
As, bent across his desk, that naughty bum
The young man would most mightily belabour,
Beating it like some street player's tabor.
Thrashing thrice and thrice again, no care
For how they cried, he'd send them to their chair
To writhe most sorrowful upon the wood,
And tell himself it was for their own good;
For thus he drummed upon their smarting rears
The knowledge they would not take through their ears.
.... Now of those most ungrateful pupils one,
Much cleverer than all the rest, had fun
Preparing rude surprises that would keep
The mirth of all his younger classmates steep
And render great discomfort to their master,
As he was the object of their laughter.
Thus despite the boy's most comely looks
He came into that fellow's blackest books;
Quite heedless of the lad's innocent wiles,
And never fooled by that blond cherub's smiles,
He waited for the chance to mend his pride
By taking vengeance on the tender hide
Of this most sly delinquent. So the man
In bitter mood began to make his plan
To see the trickster paid back all he'd earnt,
That lesson to be painful and well learnt.
.... It came to pass one morning at the start
That this young teacher thought he smelled a fart,
And stopped his text (some chronicle I heard)
To open up his desk and find a turd,
Most monstrous and with stench too foul to say,
Upon some papers from the previous day.
The sniggers from his class had him so riled
That swift he caught the culprit, that bad child,
And led him by the ear before the class.
Now knowing he'd be punished for the farce,
The lad was not too worried by the pain
He knew he'd get from whacking with a cane.
But this the teacher also realised,
And knew the boy would soon be most surprised!
Then ripping off his hose with fierce twists,
The master tied him firmly by the wrists
And ankles to the four legs of a stool
In front of all the pupils of that school,
And fetched the weapon that he'd kept prepared.
No longer laughing, with his tail now bared
From hip to knee, the youth was stretched quite double.
Seeing then the measure of his trouble,
He knew that upon his smooth fair skin
He'd now pay harsh repentance for his sin,
And uselessly he struggled in dread fear.
Then came a scratching at his up-thrust rear,
At which the lad pulled frantic at his ropes,
For in the rough twigs slapping at his slopes
He'd recognised the terrible first touch
Upon his naked buttocks of a birch!
But late in apprehension of his fate,
The sorry youth could only weep and wait
As his victorious teacher, in elation
At this most judicious fustigation,
Slowly raised the wicked rods up high
Then slashed them down upon that trembling thigh.
Splayed out, a mass of scarlet, stinging weals
Now overlaid the white, and with loud squeals,
In sharpest pain the boy cried out for mum;
For as the birch swished hard across his bum,
And on and on he was severely whipped,
Those biting branches tore his flesh and ripped
And pricked as he lay helpless, tightly bound.
His schoolmates, in some shock, made not a sound.
The lad could only bawl and plead remorse
As furious blows were laid on with full force;
For though he begged for mercy from his master,
Nothing came save whipping even faster,
As the man most pitilessly savaged
All that was exposed, and left it ravaged.
Then as twigs lay scattered on the floor,
The teacher dropped his shattered stump and saw
With pleasure how that wretch lay in a slump,
Now broken and with aching, bloody rump,
And left him sobbing there for all to see
As calmly he resumed his history.
.... Good gentles, I can see that this account
Does not surprise you, for any amount
Of wilful, naughty lads are daily beaten,
Early sent to bed, no supper eaten,
By their masters and their fathers too.
Why you, Sir Knight, you seem as if you knew
Of what I say, and by the reddening fire
Upon the cheeks of your fine son, this Squire
Does know it too. Why, clearly he recalls
Many a well-earned whipping in your halls!
But hark some more. Poor story this would be
If nothing more of note were left to me
To tell, and you must surely wonder how
This brutal pedagogue, in triumph now,
Is shortly brought to woe as I declared.
Well, by-and-by you'll see the man ensnared
In spite of all the wisdom in his head,
For was it not a Roman, long since dead,
Who told us that the consequence of fury
Far outstrips the cause? Be all my jury!
.... In a week or two the boy's sore rear,
Well-blistered for his folly, was nigh clear
And soft he vowed revenge upon the master,
Seeking means to bring it on the faster.
Late at night he'd follow him about,
And watch him close to see if he would flout
A by-law or a statute in the town.
Our Man of Law would surely never frown
On such a serjeant, vigilant as he.
And soon enough, while perching in a tree
He spied the teacher carry an affair
In private to the daughter of the mayor.
Not greatly past the lad's own tender age,
This charming girl was smitten with the sage
Who wooed her in great secrecy and stealth,
For fear of her proud father and his wealth;
For well they knew the match to be forbidden,
So they kept their dalliance well hidden.
(I should add that owing to her years
This girl lacked just a bit between the ears).
Then did the boy grasp full the man's raw heel,
That like Achilles could be made to feel
The poison of a well-aimed dart, and went
A cold and clever vengeance to foment.
.... Now as it stood, for all the artful dodging
Of his schoolwork, in the realm of forging
Written hands and letters this bright lad
Was quite the expert, and in fact his dad,
A most notorious blackguard in those parts,
Encouraged the young scoundrel in these arts.
And so this fiend, as sly as Ganelon,
Devised his plan, and it was quite well done,
To set a trail of lovers' notes, that found
Would lead to ruin for the master, bound
In slanderous snares, at mercy of the mayor.
Indeed, I own there was no detail spare.
That very night he crept into the school:
Paper and ink he stole, that as a rule
The master saved for his most private jottings,
Then to cast the seal upon these plottings,
Samples of his hand-writing as well.
The boy returned back home within short spell
With glee at all the mischief being wrought,
And thinking of the teacher being caught
As surely as a barb will hook a fish,
He sat down to prepare this evil dish.
With careful hand he wrote such false confessions,
Writing most uncouthly of their sessions,
That the lad assured his teacher's fate.
Then added he, to finish off the plate,
These _d_a_m_n_ing words: "Now you should never fear
That of our ardour your papa might hear,
For on my rear I'd rather feel the whips
Of ten stout bailiffs, than from my poor lips
Let slip some secret morsel of our love.
Until our next delightful meet, my dove!"
.... The trap was set - small effort now to spring;
So carefully the boy contrived the thing
Of making sure the letters reached the mayor.
In truth, my honoured lords and ladies, there
Was never heard more black and murderous rage
As fell that day upon the wretched sage,
When after being dragged throughout the town,
Before the alderman he was thrown down.
In great confusion he denied the charge
Most hotly, but it seemed a lie so large
Against the evidence of those false scrawls,
That scant regard was paid his pleas and calls.
Then all was settled when the girl was brought
And seeing how it lay told all the court,
In fear now for herself, a full profession
Of their fervent and illicit passion.
(Didn't I bring earlier to your mind
That it would not be difficult to find
A girl with better constancy and wits?
For silence under stress of legal writs
Might easily have saved her lover's hide.)
And so to save his family's lost pride
The furious mayor decreed upon the teacher:
"Though you say fine words like any preacher,
In your deeds you show a shameful face
And bring your high position in disgrace;
For in your lessons, you will not deny,
You teach the sacred text 'Thou shalt not lie'
And do impress upon your boys this sin,
Most mortal, with the harshest discipline.
As sauce for goose fits gander oftentime,
Then so your punishment shall fit the crime,
For though your letters _d_a_m_n_ you with the truth
You still deny the matter. Now in sooth,
A better judgement scarcely could be found
Than in your own rash words. Therefore be bound
By them, as in the stocks you'll soon be lashed
And by my strongest men you shall be thrashed,
Ten fellows as you wanted, have no fear.
And may God have sweet mercy on your rear!"
.... Thus was the young man led away, still wailing
Of injustice, all the townsfolk trailing
Close behind to see the sentence dealt,
As through the loathsome pillory he knelt.
And in that throng skipped merrily the knave
Whose chastisement for failing to behave
Had led this pedagogue to come so low,
Enjoying from the front this 'quid pro quo'.
Locked fast in place and pinned at wrist and neck,
The master squirmed in terror on the deck,
And kneeling there was fully stripped quite nude;
When came such jeering comments, coarse and crude,
About his hinder parts from all that crowd
(For truth to say, he was not well-endowed)
That in his shame his face turned crimson-red,
As shortly would his nether-cheeks instead!
For in two lines behind him, stoutly gripping
Supple leather lashes for his whipping,
Stood ten burly men picked for their strength.
And then, in turn, they struck at full arm's length
Upon his haunches, bent in harsh restraint,
Until in agony he fell to faint
Some half an hour from start of the proceeding.
This I own, you never saw such bleeding.
Even Marsyas got less crueller flaying
By Apollo for his boastful playing.
So did knave a tyrant's reign destroy,
And thus was master beaten by his boy.
.... And now, my friends, my tale is at a close.
From my account you doubtless see that those
Who take it on themselves to castigate
Should well beware their own deeds, lest their fate
Be equal to the fare they give to others,
For no man is better than his brothers
In the eyes of our dear Lord above.

EPILOGUE TO THE PLOWMAN'S TALE

Now at this end our Host cried out "God's love!
But for a simple Plowman you can tell
As fine a tale as any here as well,
And it bears ample fruit of moral laws
For all to sup on, so here's my applause!"
And of us all not one was in dissent,
But made agreement with the sentiment.
Then at that moment hove in view the tavern
(Known quite far and wide - 'St. George and Dragon')
Up to which our pilgrim trail had led
This April's eve, and so to welcome bed
And board we gladly rode, and thanked the Lord
For safe deliverance to this reward.

At this point, after the end of the Plowman's Tale and the Epilogue, Chaucer begins to tell a most surprising account of the events in the tavern that night, with quite vivid detail unseen in his other writings. For what occurred between the wily young Squire and the surprised narrator, and how the examples of the Plowman's story were applied most literally, read Part 2 of this posting.