The Canterbury Tales: The General Prologue Summary & Analysis

The General Prologue opens with a description of April showers and the return of spring. “Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote / The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,” he begins, and writes about the burgeoning flowers and singing birds. The sun has gone through the second half of the zodiacal sign Aires, the “Ram.” Budding, lust-filled springtime is also the time when people desire to go on pilgrimage, and travelers from all corners of England make the journey to Canterbury Cathedral to seek the help of the blessed martyr.

Chaucer, the narrator, who is preparing to go on pilgrimage, is staying at the Tabard Inn, a tavern in Southwark. A diverse company of twenty-nine other pilgrims enter the inn, and the narrator joins their group.

The narrator and the other pilgrims drink, and they decide they will start their journey together the next morning. But before they begin, the narrator pauses the story to introduce the reader to the array of travelers in the company, saying that he will describe how each one of them seemed to him.

The narrator begins by describing the Knight, a noble man who loves chivalry and fights for truth and honor. The knight has travelled through Christian and heathen territories––Alexandria, Prussia, Russia, Lithuania, Granada, Morocco, Turkey––and has been victorious everywhere and universally praised for his valor. But his exploits are always conducted for love of Christ, not love of glory.

In addition to being worthy and brave, says the narrator, the Knight is modest and meek as a maid. He never speaks ill of anyone. He wears modest clothes, and his mail is stained with rust.

The narrator next describes the Knight’s son, a Squire, who is a lively and lusty young knight in training. The Squire has curled hair and, though only of moderate height, is marvelously agile. He has taken part in chivalric expeditions in Flanders and northern France.

The Squire, says the narrator, wants to find favor with his lady. His tunic is embroidered with flowers, as if he had gathered a meadow and sewn it to his clothes, and his gown is short with wide sleeves. The Squire is constantly singing and playing the flute. He can also joust, dance, draw, and write well. The Squire is so passionately in love that he sleeps no more than a nightingale. He is always courteous, humble, and modest.

The only servant the Knight has with him is the Yeoman, who wears a green hood and coat. The Yeoman takes great care of his bow and sharp, keen peacock arrows. He has closely cropped hair and tanned skin. On his arm he wears a bright arm guard and carried a sword as well as a dagger. The Yeoman also wears a badge of St. Christopher. The narrator guesses that, according to the Yeoman’s dress, he is a forester.

The narrator next describes the Prioress, a nun named Madame Eglentyne. She sings the liturgy through her nose. She speaks French elegantly, though in an English accent. She has excellent table manners: she never lets a morsel of meat fall from her mouth onto her breast, nor does she dip her fingers into the sauce. She wipes her lips so clean that not a speck of grease remains after a meal. The Prioress takes pains to imitate courtly manners and to remain dignified at all times.

The Prioress is so charitable and compassionate, the narrator says, that whenever she sees a mouse caught and bleeding in a trap, she weeps. She keeps small dogs, feeding them roast meat, milk, and fine white bread, and she weeps if any of them are trampled or if men beat them with a switch.

The Prioress wears a wimple draped to show off her well-formed nose, gray eyes, and small red mouth. The narrator observes that she has a wide forehead and that she is hardly underfed. Her cloak is very elegant. She wears a coral rosary with green beads, on which there is a gilded A, for Amor vincit omnia: “Love conquers all.”

The narrator notes that a second nun rides with the Prioress as well as a chaplain and three priests; however, these characters are only mentioned in passing in the General Prologue.

Next there comes a handsome Monk who conducts business outside the monastery. When he rides through the country, men can hear his bridle jingling as loud as the chapel bell. This monk is of the old, somewhat strict Benedictine order, but he lets the old ideas pass away to follow new customs. The Monk scoffs at the notion that monks cannot be holy if they go hunting and scorns the text that claims that a monk out of his cloister is not worth an oyster. The narrator claims to agree: why waste away indoors, and do as Augustine ordained? Let Augustine do his own work!

The Monk is a good horseman and rides along with a pack of swift greyhounds. His sleeves are trimmed with expensive squirrel fur, and his hood is fastened with a gold pin into an elaborate knot. His head is bald, and his face glows as if he had been rubbed with oil. He is a plump, lively man whose eyes gleam like fire under a cauldron.

The merry, wanton Friar is licensed to beg in a certain district. Of all the orders of Friars, his is the most inclined to gossip. The Friar has arranged and paid for many marriages of young ladies. He is well known to all the rich landowners and wealthy women in town, as he has full powers of confession and could absolve any sins sweetly and pleasantly. Many a man is so hard of heart, says the narrator, that he cannot weep for his sins: instead of tears and prayers, these men give silver to poor friars.

The Friar is an excellent singer and knew every innkeeper and barmaid in every town. He disdains lepers and beggars as unworthy: instead, he deals with rich men with whom he can make a profit. Whenever he can make money, there is no man so virtuous. On days when conflicts are resolved, the Friar behaves not like a cloistered cleric but like a master or pope, donning an expensive cloak and frolicking. This friar, whose name is Hubert, also has a lisp.

A Merchant with a forked beard is also among the company. He is dressed in a multicolor cloak, fur hat, and boots. He speaks slowly, weighing the profit of expressing his opinions. He is good at borrowing money and was so dignified in business that no one can tell he was in debt, the narrator claims.

The Clerk is an Oxford University student, thin and dressed in threadbare clothes. He would rather have books than fine clothes or money. Though he is a philosopher, he has not found the philosopher’s stone: what little money he has, he spends on books. He takes his studies very seriously, and whenever he speaks, his speech is full of moral virtue.

The wise and prudent Man of Laws is very well respected and highly sought after for his legal assistance. He is an excellent buyer of land. The Man of Laws is extremely busy and pretends to be even busier than he is. No one could ever find a flaw in his legal documents.

Next in the company comes the Franklin, a white-bearded, cheerful landowner whose main goal in life is pleasure and delight. He gives such elaborate meals that it seems to snow meat and drink in his house. He offers any dainty treat that men could think of. The food changes with the seasons, but it is always abundant.

Five guildsmen are among the company: a Haberdasher, a Carpenter, a Weaver, a Dyer, and a Tapestry-Maker. They are dressed well, with brightly polished belts and knives. Any one of them, says the narrator, could have been an alderman, as their wives would agree.

The guildsmen hired a Cook for the journey. The Cook, Roger de Ware, is very skillful, but the narrator is repulsed by the pus-filled ulcer on his shin.

A Shipman rides as well as he could on a carthorse. He wears a dagger around his neck. When he was on his ship, he stole wine from the merchant, whose goods he was transporting, while the merchant slept. The Shipman knows all about navigation and the tides: his beard has been shaken with many a tempest.

The Physician bases his medical practice on principles of astronomy and diagnoses the cause of every malady based on the four humors: hot, cold, moist, and dry. He can quote all the ancient medical texts but knows very little about the Bible. The Physician practices moderation in his diet. Though he wears taffeta robes, he saved much of what he earned: gold is the best medicine, the narrator says, and the Physician therefore loves gold best.

The slightly deaf Wife of Bath, an excellent seamstress, is always first in line at parish offerings. If anyone brings alms before her, she becomes extremely angry. On her way to Sunday mass, she wraps her head in scarves that the narrator says must weigh ten pounds. Her stockings are as bright red as her face.

The Wife of Bath has been married five times (not to mention her other “company”) and has gone on three pilgrimages to Jerusalem; she has also visited Rome, Cologne, and other foreign pilgrimage sites. She is gap-toothed; sits easily on her horse; and wears a wimple, an overskirt over her broad hips, and sharp spurs. The Wife of Bath gives excellent advice in matters of love, having a great deal of expertise.

A Parson from a small town is also among the company. He is poor in wealth but rich in holy thoughts and deeds. The Parson devotedly teaches the members of his parish, but he is loathe to tithe them. Neither rain nor thunder nor sickness prevents him from visiting his parishioners: he picks up his staff and walk to all corners of his parish. In words and deeds, he gives his flock a noble example. He is even kind to sinners. He is a shepherd, not a mercenary. The Parson wants to draw people closer to God through graciousness and kindness. He never adopts a fussy manner and always stays true to Christ’s teachings.

The Parson’s brother, the Plowman, is a faithful worker who worships God and loves his neighbor as he loves himself. He threshes hay for Christ’s sake and always pays his tithes fully; he wears a loose workman’s tunic and rides on a mare.

The rest of the company is a Reeve, a Miller, a Summoner, a Pardoner, a Manciple, and the narrator himself: besides these, “ther were namo.”

The Miller is a burly workman who always wins prizes at wrestling. He has a head and beard of thick red hair and a hairy wart on his nose. His nostrils and mouth are enormous. The Miller is a buffoon who told dirty stories and played the bagpipes; he steals corn, yet has a “thombe of gold.”

The Manciple, a businessman who supplies a school of law with provisions, is always ahead in his dealings: even though he is uneducated, he is more clever than the lawyers he serves and is able to deceive them all.

The Reeve is a slender, choleric man with a closely cropped beard and stick-thin legs. No auditor can ever catch him: he knows the accounts of his lord’s estate extremely well, and all the farm-managers, herdsmen, and servants fear him. The miserly Reeve has hoarded so much money that he is wealthier than his lord. He is a talented carpenter, and he always rides last among the company.

The Summoner has a disease that makes his face bright red and pimpled, gives him scaly skin, and makes his beard fall out. No medicine or ointment can treat the pustules. He loves onions and garlic, and when he drinks, he speaks only in Latin––at least, the few Latin phrases he knows. He is a buffoon, a good fellow: for a quart of wine, he will allow a man to keep his mistress for a year and excuse him in full.

The Summoner also knows how to swindle people. If a man’s soul is in his purse, he says, in his purse he should be punished. But the narrator knows that wicked men need to fear execution as well. The Summoner also is the sole counselor for all the young women of his diocese. His staff is the sign of an ale-house, and his shield is a cake of bread.

The Pardoner, coming straight from the court of Rome, rides with the Summoner. He has thin yellow hair that he loops over his shoulders in long, elaborate strands, and to show it off, he rides bareheaded. His voice is as high as a goat’s. The Pardoner has a wallet stuffed full of pardons from Rome as well as many religious trinkets, such as veils, goblets, and decorated crucifixes. He also has pigs’ bones in a glass reliquary, which he tells poor people are relics from holy saints. He uses false flattery to make fools of both priests and laypeople. However, the Pardoner is a good singer and storyteller.

After providing descriptions of all the pilgrims who have assembled at the tavern in Southwark, the narrator begs the reader’s forgiveness for anything unseemly in the tales, as the narrator is simply trying to report the pilgrims’ words and characters as plainly and truthfully as he can. Whoever tells a tale about a man, he says, must repeat it word for word so that he does not tell falsehoods or make up words. As Plato says––for those who can read Plato––the word must be cousin to the deed. The narrator says that he has described the people to their full degree in plain language so that the reader will understand.

The narrator returns to the story of the first night he spent with the pilgrims. The merry Host, an excellent master of ceremonies and a fine citizen of Cheapside, puts everyone in a cheerful mood by serving a merry supper. After supper, when everyone has paid their bills, the host tells the pilgrims that they are the merriest company he has had under his roof all year and that he will add to their mirth free of charge.

The Host proposes that instead of riding dumb as a stone to Canterbury, the pilgrims should tell each other tales along the way to keep each other amused. The Host says that he would judge the tales, and that if they play the game he has invented, he sears by his dead father’s soul that they will be entertained. By a unanimous show of hands, the company agrees to take his advice.

Delighted, the Host explains the game: Each pilgrim will tell two tales on the way to Canterbury and two more on the way home. Whoever tells the best stories––that is to say, the ones that give the most significance and most pleasure––will have a free meal at the tavern upon his return, paid for by all the rest of the pilgrims. The Host decides that he will ride with the pilgrims, at his own cost, to serve as their guide in this merriment. Any pilgrim that disagrees with his judgment will have to pay all the expenses of the journey.

The pilgrims agree to the plan and beg the Host to serve not only as their guide but as governor, tale judger, and record-keeper.

The next morning, the Host, like a rooster, wakes up all the pilgrims and gathers them together. After they ride a mile or two, the Host reminds them of the agreements of the night before. The Host says that they must draw straws to see who will tell the first tale. He gives the privilege of drawing the first straw to the Knight, in deference to his rank. The Knight draws the short straw and nobly accepts the challenge.