And you, tell me which you think was the most honourable in keeping faith, and most generous in giving up his rights. But beware of the folly that Dorigene committed, in making rash promises; for when you make a promise you must be prepared to keep it, and cannot always expect to be let off as she was. Notes by the Way. One of the most interesting illustrations of the singular morality which was the outcome of woman’s transition state from a position of slavery to one of equality with man, is to be found in this curious but beautiful tale: a tale which in any other age could scarcely have been popular. The Franklin tells us it was an old Breton lay; which, however, is now not known to exist. It is seen that woman, from being regarded as a mere chattel, like horse or dog, came to be unnaturally exalted; and, as new movements often outshoot their mark and go too far, she came to be held as something god-like and ideal, the moving spring of all heroic virtues. Valour, courtesy, self-control, obedience, were taught by her, and she could give no higher guerdon than herself. (See note to ‘Knight’s Tale,’ p. 45.) It is the young and inexperienced hound which outruns the scent, not the fully trained dog, and we must remember that society had then the virtues and vices of immaturity. The Franklin’s Tale, with its pathos and earnestness, passing at times into burlesque, is as quaint and instructive as an early effigy on some cathedral door. A certain soft and refined luxuriousness seems to hang like a gossamer veil over a sentiment of genuine and vigorous chivalry, carried too far for our 19th century notions, but, like the generous mistakes of youth, none the less touching. The moral of this striking tale points out the danger of giving even the smallest inlet to wrong dealing; since a condition apparently impossible to realize may after all work our ruin. The Pardoner’s Tale. Then mine host turned to the Pardoner: “Thou, pardoner, thou, my good friend,” he said-- Tel us a tale, for thou canst many oon. It schal be doon, quod he, and that anoon. But first, quod he, her at this ale-stake[175] I wil bothe drynke and byten on a cake. “Tell us a tale; thou knowest many an one.” “I will!” he said; “it shall at once be done. But first,” he added, “here at this ale-stake I’ll take a drink, and have a bite of cake.” When he had done so (for they were passing a roadside inn), he began, as you shall hear:-- There was in Flanders a company of young folk, who gave themselves up to folly and wrong-doing. They did nothing but gamble and riot, and drink wine, and dance, and swear; and their gluttony and idleness made them wicked, so that when they heard of other people committing sin they laughed and did as much wrong as ever they could.