The Canterbury Tales (NHB Modern Plays)

Geoffrey Chaucer

• Publisher: Nick Hern Books
• Year: 2010
• ISBN:
  9781780016740
• Topic: Literatur
• Subtopic: Britisches Drama

A landmark dramatisation for the Royal Shakespeare Company of one of the foundation stones of English literature. This two-play adaptation of Chaucer'sCanterbury Tales encompasses all 23 stories. All the famous characters are here - as well as many less well-known but equally full of life. Each of the stories has its own style - heroic verse for the Knight's Tale, vernacular rhymes for the Miller's Tale etc. - echoing the many narrative voices employed by Chaucer himself. The plays can be performed either together or separately. 'Rumbustious and passionate... this is quite simply a glorious compendium of stories and poetry' -Daily Mail 'Scintillating... Poulton's admirable version... what takes one's breath away is the range of styles and emotions on display' -Guardian 'Mike Poulton's superb adaptation is both faithful and accessible, comfortably inhabiting the middle ground between Middle English and the modern vernacular' -The Times

PLAY ONE

PART ONE

One: Prologue

CHAUCER.

When that April with his showrers sweetë

The drought of March hath piercéd to the root

And bathéd every vein in such licower –

Of which virtue engendréd is the flower –

When Zephirus eek with his sweetë breath

Inspiréd hath in every holt and heath

The tender crops – And the young Sun

Hath in the Ram his halfë-course yrun –

And smallë fowlës maken melody

That sleepen all the night with open eye

(So priketh ’em Nature in their courages)

Then longen folk to go on pilgrimages –

PILGRIMS sing ‘When the Nightingale’ offstage.

And palmers for to seeken strangë strands

To fernë halwes, kowth in sundry lands;

And specially from every shire’s end

Of Engerland – To Canterb’ry they wend

The holy, blissful martyr for to seek

That them hath helpen when that they were sick

Befell that in that season on a day

In Southwark at The Tabard – as I lay

Ready to wenden on my pilgrimage

To Canterb’ry with full devout couráge –

At night was come into that hostelry

Well nine-and-twenty in a company

Of sundry folk, by áventure yfall

In fellowship … And pilgrims were they all

That tóward Canterb’ry would ride.

The PILGRIMS burst in, led by the low-life.

SONG.

When the nightingale is singing

The woods wax white and green

With leaf and with blossom springing

In April well I ween

And Love my poor heart is stinging

Pierced with his arrows keen

All the night my sighs go winging

In April well I ween.

The KNIGHT and the SQUIRE come in leading the richer sort, and are greeted by the HOST and his PEOPLE. They sit down to dinner.

CHAUCER.

A knight there was, and that a worthy man

That from the time that he at first began

To know the world, he worshipped chivalry –

Truth, and honour, freedom and courtesy.

He’d proved his worth in wars fought for his lord

Through Christendom and heathen lands abroad.

In mortal battles had he been – fifteen –

And championed our faith at Tramyssene.

With him there was his son, a brave young squire,

A lad in love with love, with youth on fire –

Singing he was, or whistling all the day –

As fresh and green as is the month of May.

Courteous he was – modest, and able –

HOST.

To board, sir! Supper time –

He hands him a drink, which CHAUCER drains.

CHAUCER.

And served his father when he came to table.

They brought no other servant but this yeoman –

An English archer – afraid of no man.

I rather like his silver Christopher –

You’d guess, by trade he is a forester,

And – here – we have a nun – a prioress –

An educated lady … more or less –

Most careful in her manners – sim’pring, coy –

And if she swears it’s only –

SQUIRE steps on her LAPDOG which yelps.

PRIORESS.

By Saint Loy!

SQUIRE.

Oh, I’m so very sorry!

PRIORESS.

Oh mon p’tee chien! Poverino! Venez au maman! Pauvre p’tee! O la! La!

CHAUCER.

What French she’s learned, in Convent-school inland,

In Paris they’d be pushed to understand.

MONK.

Let not my hounds see it, Lady. They’d bite its head off –

WIFE OF BATH.

Here – give it a bit of sausage –

PRIORESS.

Oh non, non, Madame! Its little stomach is tres, tres delicate. Vous comprenez?

CHAUCER.

Then there’s a reeve, a miller and a cook –

A crowd of holy folk – and then, just look –

This woman here’s a widow four times over –

WIFE OF BATH.

Five times, in truth. And who are you, sir?

CHAUCER.

O, I’m just – well – nobody – that is, nobody you’d know …

WIFE OF BATH.

Come sit by me, then. Come, sir will ye go?

CHAUCER.

As for the rest of this ebullient throng

I’ll introduce them as we ride along –

HOST.

To board! To board! The meat will burn –

CHAUCER.

Great cheer made us our Host – good meats, wine strong –

And to our supper set us down anon –

HOST.

Lordings! –

CHAUCER.

Quoth he –

HOST.

You’re going to Canterb’ry? Well God speed y...