The Shipman’s Tale
Heere bigynneth the Shipmannes Tale
Once upon a time a merchant dwelled in Saint-Denis, a town just north of Paris; he was rich enough to pass as a wise man, in the world’s eyes. He had a beautiful wife, too, who liked good company. She was gay and carefree. That sort of woman costs her husband a great deal of money. He had to spend more than she earned in compliments and admiring glances. She went to every feast and every dance, enjoying those pleasures that pass as swiftly as shadows on the wall. I feel sorry for the man who had to pay for them all. The poor husband has to clothe his wife, wrap her in furs and festoon her with jewels - and all for the sake of his own reputation! Meanwhile, she dances to her own tune. If he decides that he is not going to foot the bill, considering it to be a foolish waste of money, then the wife will just get someone else to pay. Or else she will borrow the money. And that is dangerous.
This good merchant, Peter by name, had a splendid house and welcomed more guests and visitors than he could count. He was generous, and she was beautiful. Do I need to say any more? I will get on with my story. Among these guests, of all types and degrees, there was a monk. He was about thirty years old, at a guess. He was good-looking, fresh-faced and virile. He was always under the merchant’s roof. He had been invited there in the first days of their friendship, and was now treated as a familiar companion. I will tell you the reason. This young monk and this merchant had both been born in the same village. Each one claimed the other as a cousin. They proclaimed their common bond all the time, and swore eternal friendship. They said that they were brothers as much as cousins. They were as happy in each other’s company as larks on the wing.
This monk, John, was generous to a fault and never failed to reward all of the servants in the house. He was agreeable to everyone, from the meanest serving-boy upwards, and spared no expense. He gave gifts all around. So of course he was always welcomed; the members of the household were as happy to see him as birds welcoming the rising of the sun. I am sure you get the idea.
It so happened one day that the merchant was preparing himself for a journey to Bruges, where he had some business to arrange. He was going to purchase some fine lace, I think. So he sent a message to John, who lived in Paris, inviting him to spend a day or two with him and his wife before he set out for Bruges. ‘Come to Saint-Denis,’ he said, ‘and be entertained.’
So the monk requested leave of his abbot to go on a journey. It was easily granted, since John himself already held the post of bailiff in the monastery. He was used to travelling and supervising the farms and granges of the house.
A day or two later he arrived at Saint-Denis, where he received a great welcome. Who was more cherished than ‘our dear cousin, John’? He brought a pitcher of Malmsey wine with him, from the monastery’s cellar, and some bottles of white wine. He brought with him, too, a brace of pheasants. So I will leave the merchant and the monk, for a day or two, to their meat and drink.
On the third day the merchant, before travelling to Bruges, was obliged to take stock of his financial affairs. So Peter secluded himself in his counting house to work out the income and expenditure of the last year. He needed to know the amount of his profit. He brought out all of his boxes of money and account books, laying them down carefully on the exchequer board. He was so rich, in coin and credit notes, that he made sure that he locked the inner door before he got down to business. He did not wish to be disturbed by anyone. So he sat there, doing his sums, all morning.
The monk had been awake since dawn, too. He had been walking up and down the garden, muttering the devotions of his morning office. The merchant’s wife came softly into the same garden, and greeted him demurely as she had so often done before. She had in her company a young girl who was in her care and under her charge. ‘Oh good John,’ she said, ‘what is the matter with you, rising so early?’
‘My dear cousin,’ he replied, ‘five hours’ sleep a night is sufficient. Of course that may not be enough for the old or the infirm, or for those poor married men who lie dozing in bed all day like weary hares who have just escaped from the hounds. But, dear cousin, why do you look so pale? Can it be that your husband has been keeping you busy all night, with one thing or another? You need to rest. I can see that.’ Then he laughed out loud. But he also had the good grace to blush at his thoughts.
The merchant’s wife shook her head. ‘God, who knows everything, knows this. That has nothing to do with it. As God gave me life, I swear that there is not a woman in France who is less interested in that sad game than me. Do you know the old song: “Alas and woe is me I am forlorn/ I curse the day that I was born”? But I dare not tell how things are with me. There are times when I think of leaving the country. Or of killing myself. I am so full of woe and fear.’
The monk stared at her in alarm. ‘God forbid, dear niece, that in your grief you should do away with yourself. Tell me everything. I may be able to help or counsel you. Confide in me. I promise never to betray you. I swear on my breviary here that I will never repeat anything you say. I will remain as silent as any stone.’
‘I make the same oath,’ she replied. She put her hand upon his breviary. ‘May I be torn to pieces by wild men. May I be condemned to hell itself. I will never betray your confidence. Not because you are my cousin. But because you are my true and trusted friend.’ So they swore their oath, and gave each other the kiss of peace. Then they started to talk.
‘Dear cousin,’ she began, ‘if I had time and opportunity, I would tell you now the story of my married life. I have been a martyr to that man you call your cousin.’
‘No, no, you are wrong,’ he replied. ‘He is no more my cousin than the leaf on that tree. I only called him that so I had an excuse to visit this house. And to see you. I confess to you now that I have loved you from the first moment I saw you. I swear this on my profession as a monk. Explain to me now what you have suffered at his hands. Tell me quickly, before he returns.’
‘Oh dear John,’ she said, ‘my true love. I wish that I could keep all these things secret, but alas -’ She brushed a tear from her cheek. ‘I cannot stand the sight of him. He is the worst husband in the world. Yet, since I am his wife, I am not supposed to reveal the secrets of our marriage. Or of our marriage bed. God forbid I should do so. I am bound to honour and obey him.’ She paused for a moment. ‘But I have to tell you this. He isn’t worth as much as a fly. And what upsets me more than anything is his stinginess. You know well enough that a woman wants six things. I am no different. She wants a husband to be healthy and wise, wealthy and generous; she wants him to be obedient to his wife, and good in bed. Just those six things. Is that too much to ask? Yet, by Christ who shed His precious blood for our salvation, I have to find one hundred francs by next Sunday. Why? To pay for my new gowns. And I only bought them to bring credit on him! I would rather die than be shamed in public for bad debts. If my husband finds out about it, he will kill me anyway. So please, John, can you lend me the money? Otherwise, I am ruined. If I can borrow the hundred francs from you, I will be forever thankful to you. I will pay you back, of course, on a stated day, but I will also do whatever else you require of me. Anything at all. If I am untrue to my word, take any vengeance you wish. Tear me apart with horses. Burn me alive.’
The monk was very courteous in his reply. ‘I have so much pity for you, gentle lady, that I here plight my word to you. I swear that, when your husband has gone to Bruges, I will solve your problem. I will bring you the hundred francs.’ Saying that he fondled her thighs and buttocks, embraced her, and kissed her a hundred times. ‘Go upon your way,’ he said, ‘quietly and discreetly. Let us dine soon. I see from this sundial that it is past nine o’clock in the morning. So go now. Be as faithful to me as I am true to you.’
‘Of course. God forbid that I should behave in any other way.’
So she sets off as merry as a magpie, and instructs the cooks to prepare a good meal for the master and his guest. Then she went off to see h
er husband, and knocked boldly on the door of the counting house.
‘Who is it?’
‘It’s me. Don’t you think you ought to eat something, Peter? How much time are you going to spend with all your sums and calculations? Let the devil take all these account books! Surely you have enough of God’s blessings without having to count them all? Come out. Forget your bags of money for a while. Are you not ashamed that dear John has not had a meal all day? Let us go to mass. And then eat.’
‘My wife,’ the merchant replied, ‘you know nothing about men’s business. It is too complicated for you to understand, I suppose. But let me explain this to you. Take a group of twelve merchants. Only two of them will succeed and prosper. Only two will make a good profit in the course of their careers. We put on a brave face, of course, and make ourselves busy in the world. But we have to keep our affairs secret - until we are dead. The only alternative is to go on a pilgrimage. Or just disappear. That is the reason I pore over my books. I have to know how to master the tricks of the world. I am always in dread of failure, bankruptcy, and all the other hazards of business life.
‘I am going to Bruges tomorrow, as you know, but I will be back as soon as I can. While I am away I want you to be modest and courteous with everyone. Look after our property as carefully as you can. Keep the house neat and tidy. You have enough provisions, I am sure of that, so don’t overspend. You don’t lack meat or wine. You have all the clothes you need. But I’m feeling generous. Here is some silver for your purse.’ And with that he closed the door of the counting house and went down with his wife for luncheon. He had done enough work for the day. So they attended a quick mass and, as fast as they could, they sat down to eat. The tables were laid, the dishes come and gone in an instant. No one ate more than the monk.
Then, after the meal was over, John took the merchant to one side and spoke to him very seriously. ‘Dear cousin Peter,’ he said, ‘I know that you are about to take horse and travel to Bruges. God be with you and speed you on your journey. Ride carefully. And be careful of what you eat. Your health may be at risk in this hot weather. Be temperate in all things. What am I saying? There is no need for elaborate courtesies between cousins like ourselves. Farewell. God protect you! That’s all I need to say. If there is anything I can do for you, by day or night, just let me know. I am always here to help you.’ He was much affected, and put the sleeve of his habit to his eyes. ‘Oh. There is one other thing. I have a favour to ask of you before you go. Can you lend me one hundred francs, just for a week or two? I have to purchase some cattle for the monastery. Our stock is getting low. I will repay you promptly. You have my word as a monk on it. But can we keep the matter to ourselves? I have to buy the cattle today, you see, and I don’t want to be forestalled. Now farewell again, dear cousin Peter. Thank you for your kindness. And for the hundred francs.’
‘That is nothing,’ the merchant replied. ‘Consider it done. My gold is at your disposal, dear cousin John. In fact everything I have is yours. Take your pick. God forbid that I should deny you anything. I must tell you one thing, however. For us merchants money is the staff of life. We can get credit while our reputation is good. But to be without money - well, that is disastrous. Pay me back any time you like. There is no hurry. I want to help you in any way I can.’
So the merchant takes one hundred francs out of one of his chests, and gives the money secretly to the monk. The only people who knew of the loan were the lender and the borrower. Then they relaxed and enjoyed themselves until it was time for John to return to the monastery.
On the following morning Peter mounted his horse and, in the company of his apprentice, made his way to Bruges. He arrived safely, and at once got down to business. He dealt in cash and credit; he bought and sold. He did not dice. He did not drink or dance. He paid attention only to profit and to loss. He behaved exactly as a merchant should. So I will leave him in the market place.
On the Sunday following the merchant’s departure, dear cousin John presented himself at Saint-Denis. He was freshly shaven, smelling of soap; even his tonsure had been clipped. Everyone in the house saw him, and welcomed him. Even the serving-boys greeted him. But who was most pleased to see him? You have guessed. I will come straight to the point. The wife had agreed that, in exchange for the hundred francs, she would spend the night with him. She promised that she would give him value for money; and so she did, throughout the night. The monk was exhausted, but he was happy. He left at dawn, wishing a merry good day to the entire household. No one had the least suspicion of him. So he rode off to the monastery, as free from rumour as any innocent. There we will lose sight of him for the moment.
The merchant, having successfully completed his business at the fair in Bruges, came back home to Saint-Denis. He was greeted fondly by his wife, and together they celebrated his return. He told her that the price of merchandise had been so high that he had been forced to take out a loan of two thousand gold sovereigns; now he was obliged to travel to Paris in order to raise the money. He had some cash, of course, but he needed to raise the rest from his friends.
When he arrived in Paris, his first thought was of his dear cousin. So in the expectation of good wine and good conversation he called upon John in his monastery. He had no intention of asking him for money. He just wanted to catch up on all the gossip, and make sure that his friend was still in rude health. John welcomed him very warmly, and asked about his affairs. Peter replied that he had done well enough, thanks be to God, and had made a profit. ‘There is just one problem,’ he said. ‘I have to raise two thousand sovereigns by next week. Once I have repaid that, I will be laughing.’
‘I am so pleased that you have come back to us in good health,’ the monk replied. ‘If I were a rich man, I would gladly give you two thousand sovereigns. I haven’t forgotten your kindness to me the other day, when you lent me one hundred francs. But I have repaid you. Two days ago I brought back the money and gave it to your wife. I put it down on your counter. She knows all about it. I gave her a double entry.’ He coughed. ‘Now, if you will excuse me, I have to go. Our abbot is about to leave town, and I have to ride with him. Give your wife my fondest regards, won’t you? What a darling! Farewell, dear cousin, until we meet again.’
This merchant was as careful as he was astute. He raised the money and handed the two thousand sovereigns to some Lombard bankers, who gave him a bond in recognition of full payment. Then he rode back as cheerful as a chaffinch. He knew that he had made a profit of a thousand francs on the deal. No wonder he sang and whistled as he returned home.
His wife met him at the gate, as was her custom, and all that night they celebrated their good fortune with some amorous turns in bed. The merchant was out of debt. The merchant was rich. At break of day he embraced her, and began kissing her again. At the same time he fucked her hard.
‘No more,’ she pleaded with him. ‘Haven’t you had enough?’ Still she played with him for a little longer.
The merchant turned on his side after she had pleased him, and whispered to her. ‘Well, wife,’ he said, ‘I am a bit annoyed with you. I don’t want to be, but I am. Do you know why? You have come between myself and my dear cousin. You have sown a little seed of division between me and John.’
‘How? Tell me.’
‘You never mentioned to me that he had paid back the money I lent to him. He gave you cash in hand, I believe. But he feels aggrieved that I did not know about it. As soon as I started talking about loans and repayments, I realized that there was something wrong. Yet I swear to God that I wasn’t referring to him. Do me a favour, dear wife. Always tell me, in future, if I have been repaid in my absence. Otherwise I might start asking debtors for money that they have already given me. Do not be remiss in this.’
The wife was not at all put out by his rebuke, but answered him boldly enough. ‘By the holy Mother of God I defy that false monk, that so-called cousin John! I didn’t pay any attention to this bond, or repayment, or whatever you call it. I know that
he brought some cash to me, but I assumed that he was giving it to me for your sake. I thought that he wanted me to dress up, to entertain and be entertained in your honour. He has been given hospitality here often enough. I thought he wanted to repay me in kind. May God’s curse fall upon our dear cousin. But since I see you are displeased with me, I will come to the point. You know well enough that I always pay my debts on time. I pay you your just tribute night after night. I am running out of double entries. Should I ever fall behind in payment, you may chalk it up. I will soon honour the debt. I swear to you that I have spent everything on fine clothes and on hospitality. Not a penny has been wasted. Don’t I look a credit to you? So don’t be angry. Let us laugh and play. You can play on my body, if you wish. Bed is the best payment of all. Forgive me, my dear husband, and come beneath the sheets. You will not regret it.’
The merchant realized that there was no alternative. It would have been madness to criticize her any further. What was done was done. ‘I forgive you, dear wife,’ he said. ‘But, in future, try not to overspend. Keep your money in your purse, I beg of you.’
So ends my story. God be with you. And may you always be worthy of credit!Heere endeth the Shipmannes Tale
Bihoold the murie wordes of the Hoost to the Shipman and to the lady Prioresse
‘Well spoken, Shipman,’ Harry Bailey said. ‘By the body of Christ, I enjoyed that tale. May you sail around the coasts for ever and a day, master mariner! But may that false monk, cousin John, have nothing but bad luck for the rest of his life! Let this story be a lesson to all of us. A monk is nothing but an ape in a man’s hood. The monk made a monkey of the merchant, and of the merchant’s wife. Never let one of those rogues enter your house.
‘Now let us go on. Who is it to be? Who is going to tell the next story?’ He rode up to the Prioress and, with as much modesty as a young maid, addressed her. ‘My lady Prioress, by your leave - if it doesn’t offend you - I wonder if you would be so good as to entertain us all with another tale? Only if you wish to, naturally.’
The Canterbury Tales Page 32