1. The Wife of Bath’s Prologue
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The Prologue to the Wife of Bath’s Tale
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Experience, though no authority
3
Ruled in this world, would be enough for me
4
To speak of the woe that is in marriage.
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For, lordings, since I twelve years was of age,
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Thanks be to God who eternally does thrive,
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Husbands at church-door have I had five –
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If it be allowed so oft to wedded be –
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And all were worthy men in their degree.
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But I was told, for sure, and not long since,
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That since Christ never went but once
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To a wedding, in Cana of Galilee,
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That by the same example He taught me
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That I should only be wedded once.
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Hark too, lo, what sharp words for the nonce
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Beside a well, Jesus, God and Man,
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Spoke in reproof of the Samaritan:
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‘You have had five husbands,’ quoth he,
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‘And that same man that now has thee
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Is not your husband’ – so he said for certain.
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What he meant by that, I can’t explain;
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But I ask you why the fifth man
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Was not husband of the Samaritan?
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How many was she allowed in marriage?
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I have never yet had despite my age
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Of that number any definition.
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Men may divine and gloss, up and down,
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But well I know, indeed, without a lie,
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God bade us all to wax and multiply.
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That gentle text I well can understand!
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And I know too He said that my husband
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Should leave father and mother and cleave to me;
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But of no number mention made He,
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Of bigamy or of octogamy.
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Why should men then speak of it evilly?
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Lo, here, the wise King, old Solomon,
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I think he had more wives than one!
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As would to God it were permitted me
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To be refreshed half so oft as he!
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A gift of God had he of all those wives!
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No man has such that’s in this world alive.
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God knows, that noble king, as I see it,
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The first night had many a merry fit
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With each of them, so happy was his life!
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Blessed be God, that I have wedded five,
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And they I picked out from all the best,
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Both for their nether purse and their chest.
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Diverse schools make perfect clerks,
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And diverse practice in many sundry works,
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Makes the workman perfect, certainly.
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Of five husbands have I made a study;
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Welcome the sixth, whenever he befall!
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Forsooth, I will not keep me chaste in all;
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When my husband from this world is gone,
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Some Christian man shall wed me anon.
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For then the Apostle says that I am free
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To wed, in God’s name, where it pleases me.
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He says to be wedded is no sin, I learn:
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‘Better to be wedded than to burn.’
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What care I if folk speak maliciously
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Of wicked Lamech and his bigamy?
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I know that Abraham was a holy man,
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And Jacob also, as far as ever I can,
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And each of them had more wives than two,
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And many another holy man had too.
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Where can you show me, in any age
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That God on high forbade our marriage
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By express word? I pray you, tell it me.
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Or where commanded he virginity?
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I know as well as you, what he said,
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The Apostle, when he spoke of maidenhead,
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He said that precepts for it he had none.
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Men may counsel a woman to live alone,
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But counselling is no commandment;
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He has left it to our own judgement.
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For had God commanded maidenhood,
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Then had he ended marriage and for good.
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And surely, if there were never seed sown,
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Virginity, where would that be grown?
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Paul did not dare command, not in the least,
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A thing of which his Master never preached.
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The spear, the prize, is there of virginity;
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Catch it who may, and who runs best let’s see!
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But this word is not said of every wight,
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Rather God’s pleased to grant it of his might.
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I know well that the Apostle was a maid,
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But nonetheless, though he wrote and said
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He wished that everyone was such as He,
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He was but counselling virginity,
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And to be wife he still gave me leave
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Of indulgence; so no reproof indeed,
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If my husband die, in wedding me,
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No objection on grounds of bigamy,
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Though it were good no woman for to touch –
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He meant in bed or on a couch or such –
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For peril it is, fire and tow to assemble –
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You know what this image does resemble!
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The long and short: he held virginity
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More perfect than marriage in frailty.
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Frailty I say, unless the he and she
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Would live all their life in chastity.
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I grant it well, I would have no envy,
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Though maidenhood devalue bigamy.
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They like to be clean in body and ghost.
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And of my state I will make no boast;
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For you well know, a lord in his household
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Has not ever vessel made all of gold.
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Some are of wood, and do good service.
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God calls folk in sundry ways like this,
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And everyone has from God his own gift,
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Some this, some that, as is in His wish.
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Virginity is a great perfection
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And continence also with devotion.
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But Christ, of perfection is the well,
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And bade not everyone to go and sell
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All that he had, and give it to the poor,
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And in that guise follow him, for sure.
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He spoke to those who would live perfectly;
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And, lordings, by your leave, that is not me!
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I will bestow the flower of my age
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On the actions and the fruits of marriage.
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Tell me then, to what end and conclusion
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Were made the members of generation,
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And in so perfect wise Man was wrought?
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Trust me right well, they were not made for naught.
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Gloss as you will and give the explanation
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That they were made merely for purgation
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Of urine, and both our things, so the tale,
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Made but to know the female from the male,
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And for no other purpose – say you no?
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Experience knows well it is not so.
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So long as the clerics with me be not wrath,
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I say this: that they are made for both –
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That is to say, for office and for ease
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Of procreation, that we not God displease.
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Why else is it in the books clearly set
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That a man shall pay his wife her debt?
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Now wherewith should he make his payment,
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If he did not use his blessed instrument?
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Thus were they added to the creature
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To purge urine, and continue nature.
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But I do not say every wight is told
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That has such tackle, as I unfold,
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To go and use it to engender there –
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Or men for chastity would have no care.
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Christ was a maid, yet formed as a man,
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And many a saint since the world began,
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Yet lived they ever in perfect chastity.
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I have no quarrel with virginity;
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Of pure wheat-seed let them be bred,
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And let us wives be dubbed barley-bread –
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And yet with barley-bread, as Mark can
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Remind you, Jesus fed full many a man.
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In such a state as God has called us,
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I will persevere; I am not precious.
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In wifehood will I use my instrument
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As freely as my Maker has it sent.
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If I be niggardly, God give me sorrow!
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My husband shall have it eve and morrow,
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When he would come forth and pay his debt.
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A husband I will have, I will as yet,
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Who shall be both my debtor and my thrall,
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And bear the tribulation withal
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On his own flesh, while I am his wife.
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I have the power during my whole life
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Over his proper body, and not he.
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Right thus the Apostle told it me,
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And bade our husbands for to love us well;
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On that saying I ever like to dwell.’
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Up started the Pardoner, and that anon:
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‘Now dame,’ quoth he, ‘by God and by Saint John,
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You are a noble preacher in this cause!
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I was about to wed a wife: I pause!
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What! Should I pay, with my own flesh, so dear?
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I’d rather wed no wife, then, any year!’
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‘Abide,’ quoth she, ‘my tale’s not yet begun.
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Nay, you will drink from a different tun,
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Before I go, and savour worse than ale.
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And when I have told you all my tale
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Of tribulation in marriage,
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In which I am an expert at my age –
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That is to say, I have been the whip –
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Then please yourself whether you wish to sip
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Of this tun that I shall broach.
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Beware of it, before a close approach!
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For I shall give examples more than ten.
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‘Whoever will not be warned by other men,
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To other men shall an example be.’
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These very words writes Ptolemy;
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Read in his Almagest, and find them there.’
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‘Dame, I would pray you, if it is your care,’
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Said this Pardoner, ‘as you began,
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Tell forth your tale; spare not any man,
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And teach us young men of your practices.’
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‘Gladly,’ quoth she, ‘if you it pleases.
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But yet I ask of all this company,
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If I should chance to speak out of whimsy,
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Take no offence then at what I say,
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For my intention is but to play.
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Now sir, then will I tell you all my tale.
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If ever I might drink of wine or ale,
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I shall speak true: those husbands that I had
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Three of them were good, and two were bad.
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The three good men were rich and old.
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With difficulty only could they hold
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To the articles that bound them to me –
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You know well what I mean by that, I see!
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So help me God, I laugh when I think
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That sad to say they never slept a wink.
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And, by my faith, I set by it no store.
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They gave me land and treasure more;
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I had no need to show them diligence
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To win their love, or do them reverence.
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They loved me so well, by God above
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I had no need to set store by their love.
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A wise woman will busy herself anon
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To win her love, yes, if she has none.
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But since I held them wholly in my hand,
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And since they had given me all their land,
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Why should I be concerned to please,
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Except for my own profit and my ease?
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I set them so to work, by my faith,
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That many a night they sang “well-away!”
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But never for us the flitch of bacon though,
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That some may win in Essex at Dunmow.
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I ruled them so according to my law,
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That each of them was blissful and in awe,
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And brought me pretty things from the fair.
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They were full glad when I spoke them fair,
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For God knows, I chid them mercilessly.
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Now hearken how to act properly.
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You wise wives that will understand,
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Put them ever in the wrong, out of hand,
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For half so boldly there never was a man
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Could swear oaths and lie as woman can.
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I say this not for wives who are wise,
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Unless it be when they are mis-advised.
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A wise wife, if she knows good from bad,
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Will call the chattering magpies merely mad,
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And obtain the witness of her own maid
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To what she asserts – listen how I played:
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“Old sir dotard is this then your way?
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Why is my neighbour’s wife dressed so gay?
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She is honoured now wherever she goes;
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I sit at home; and lacking decent clothes.
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What are you doing at my neighbour’s house?
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Is she so fair? Are you so amorous?
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What do you whisper to the maid, benedicitee?
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Old sir lecher, away with your trickery!
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And if I have a gossip with a friend,
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All innocently, you chide like the fiend
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If I walk or wander to his house.
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Yet you come home drunk as a mouse,
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And preach from your chair, beyond belief!
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You tell me, then, how it’s a great mischief
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To wed a poor woman, the expense,
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And then if she’s rich, of good descent,
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Then you say it’s a torment, and misery
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To endure her pride and melancholy.
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And if she be fair, you proper knave,
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You say that every lecher has his way
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With her, since none in chastity abide,
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When they are assailed from every side.
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You say, that some desire us for our riches,
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Some for our shapeliness, some for our fairness,
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And some because we can sing or dance,
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And some for gentleness and dalliance,
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Some for our hands and arms so small –
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By your word, thus to the devil go us all!
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You say men never hold a castle wall,
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If it is long laid siege to, it will fall.
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And if she be foul, you say that she
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Covets every man that she might see,
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For like a spaniel she will at him leap
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Till she finds some man to take her cheap;
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Never a goose so grey swam on the lake
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That, say you, it will not find a mate.
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You say it’s a hard thing to control
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What no man willingly will hold.
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Thus say you, lord, on your way to bed,
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And that no wise man ever needs to wed,
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Nor no man that has his eye on Heaven –
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Wild thunderbolts and lightning-fire then
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Fall on your withered neck till it be broke!
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You say that leaking roofs, and thick smoke,
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And chiding wives can make men flee
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From their own house – ah, benedicitee,
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What ails the old man so to make him chide?
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You say we wives will all our vices hide
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Till we be wed, and then we show them you.
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That may well be the saying of a shrew!
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You say that oxen, asses, horse and hound,
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Can be tried over every sort of ground,
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Basins, bowls, before a man may buy;
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Spoons, stools, and all such things we try,
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And likewise pots, clothes, and finery,
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But wives must remain a mystery
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Till they be wedded, you old dotard shrew!
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And then, we will our vices show, says you.
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You say too that it displeases me
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Unless you forever praise my beauty,
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And every moment pore o’er my face,
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And call me “fair dame” in every place,
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And lay out for a feast upon the day
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When I was born, and make me fresh and gay,
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And do my old nurse every honour,
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And my chambermaid in my bower,
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And my father’s kin and his allies;
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So say you, old barrel-full of lies!
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And yet because of our apprentice, Jankin,
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And his crisp hair, that shines as gold so fine,
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And his squiring me both up and down,
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You harbour false suspicion, as I found;
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I would not want him if you died tomorrow!
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But tell me this, why do you hide, a sorrow,
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The keys of your chest away from me?
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They are my goods as well as yours, pardee!
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What, will you make an idiot of your dame?
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Now, by that lord who is called Saint James,
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You shall not both, whatever be your moods,
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Be master of my body, and my goods.
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One you shall forgo, so say I,
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What need have you to enquire or spy?
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I think you’d like to lock me in your chest!
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You should say: “Wife, go where you wish.
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Take your pleasure; I’ll believe no malice.
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I know you for a true wife, Dame Alice.”
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We love no man that keeps watch, takes charge
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Of where we go; we wish to be at large.
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Of all men the most blessed must be,
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That wise astrologer, old Ptolemy,
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That writ this proverb in his Almagest:
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“Of all men his wisdom is the highest
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That cares not who has this world in his hand.”
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By this proverb you must understand,
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If you’ve enough, why should you care
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How merrily other folks do fare?
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Be sure, old dotard, by your leave
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You shall have all you wish at eve.
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He is too great a niggard who will spurn
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A man who wants a light from his lantern;
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He will have no less light, pardee!
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If you’ve enough, don’t complain to me.
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You say too, if we make ourselves gay
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With clothing, and with precious array,
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It puts us in peril of our chastity.
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And yet – curse it – you make free
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With these words in the Apostle’s name:
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“In clothing made of chastity and shame
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You women shall adorn yourselves,” quoth he,
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“And not with braided hair, or jewellery,
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With pearls, or with gold, or clothes rich.”
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According to your text, as your tricks,
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I’ll not act, not as much as a gnat!
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You said then, that I was like a cat,
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For whosoever singes a cat’s skin
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Then will the cat keep to his inn;
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While if the cat’s skin be sleek and gay,
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She’ll not dwell in that house half a day.
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But out she’ll pad, ere any daylight fall,
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To show her skin, and go and caterwaul.
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That is to say, if I feel gay, sir shrew,
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I’ll run and show my old clothes to the view.
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Sir, old fool, what use to you are spies?
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Though you beg Argus with his hundred eyes
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To be my body-guard, since he best is,
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In faith, he shall not if it’s not my wish.
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Yet I will trim his beard, as I may thee!
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Then you said that there are things three,
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The which things trouble all this earth,
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And that no man may endure the fourth –
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Away, sir shrew, Jesus trim your life!
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You preach again and say a hateful wife
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Is reckoned to be one of these mischances.
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Are there then no other circumstances
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You could address your parables to,
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Without a poor wife acting one for you?
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You even liken woman’s love to Hell,
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To barren land, where water may not dwell.
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You liken it then, as well, to a wild fire:
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The more it burns, the more it has desire
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To consume everything that burnt can be.
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You say, that just as insects kill a tree,
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Just so a wife destroys her husband;
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This they know who to a wife are bound.”
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Lordings, like this it was, you understand,
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I kept my older husbands well in hand
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With what they said in their drunkenness;
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And all was false, but I had witnesses
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In Jankin, and in my niece also.
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O Lord, the pain I did them and the woe,
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Full innocent, by God’s sweet destiny!
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For like a horse I could bite and whinny.
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I could moan, when I was the guilty one
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Or else I’d oftentimes been done and gone.
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Who at the mill is first, first grinds their grain;
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So was our strife ended: I did first complain.
398
They were right glad and quick to apologise
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For things they never did in all their lives.
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For wenching I would take the man in hand,
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Though him so sick he could hardly stand.
402
Yet it tickled his heart, in that he
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Thought I was fond of him as he of me.
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I swore that all my walking out at night
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Was just to spy on the wenches that I cite;
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Flying that flag caused me many a mirth.
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For all such wit is given us at birth;
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Deceit, weeping, spinning, God gives
409
To woman by nature, while she lives.
410
And of one thing I can boast, you see:
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I had the better of them in high degree,
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By cunning, force, or some manner of thing,
413
Such as continual murmuring and grumbling.
414
And in bed especially they had mischance:
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There was my chiding and remonstrance.
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I would no longer in the bed abide,
417
If I felt his arm across my side,
418
Till he had paid his ransom to me;
419
Then would I let him do his nicety.
420
And therefore every man this tale I tell,
421
Win whosoever may, for all’s to sell!
422
With empty hand you will no falcon lure.
423
In winning would I all his lust endure,
424
And display a feigned appetite –
425
And yet in bacon I took no delight.
426
That was the cause ever I would them chide;
427
For though the Pope had sat down beside,
428
I would not spare them at their own board,
429
For, by my troth, I paid them word for word.
430
As may aid me God the Omnipotent,
431
Though I this minute make my testament,
432
I owe them not a word that was not quits!
433
I brought it about so by my wits
434
That they were forced to yield, for the best,
435
Or else we would never have found rest.
436
For though he might rage like a maddened lion,
437
Yet he would always fail in his conclusion.
438
Then would I say: “My dear, note how meek
439
The look that Willikin displays, our sheep!
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Come here, my spouse, let me kiss your cheek.
441
You should be as patient, and as meek,
442
And have as sweet and mild a conscience,
443
Since you preach so much of Job’s patience.
444
Practice endurance ever that you preach;
445
And if you don’t then certainly I’ll teach
446
How fair it is to have a wife at peace.
447
One of us two must yield, at least,
448
And since a man is more reasonable
449
Than a woman, you should be tractable.
450
What ails you, to grumble so and groan?
451
Is it you would possess my sex alone?
452
Why, take it all; lo, have it every bit!
453
Saint Peter damn you if you don’t enjoy it!
454
For if I were to sell my belle chose,
455
I could go as fresh as is the rose;
456
But I will keep it for your own use.
457
By God, you are to blame, and that’s the truth.”
458
Such manner of words have we on hand.
459
Now will I speak of my fourth husband.
460
My fourth husband was a reveller;
461
That is to say, he kept a lover.
462
And I was young, and my spirits high,
463
Stubborn and strong, and pert as a magpie.
464
How I danced to the harp, without fail,
465
And sang, indeed, like any nightingale,
466
When I had drunk a draught of sweet wine.
467
Metellius, the foul churl, the swine,
468
That with a stick robbed his wife of life
469
For drinking wine, though I had been his wife
470
Would never have frightened me from drink!
471
And after wine on Venus I would think,
472
For as surely as cold engenders hail,
473
A gluttonous mouth gets a lecherous tail.
474
A drunken woman has no true defence;
475
This lechers know from their experience.
476
But, Lord Christ, whenever in memory
477
I recall my youth and all my jollity,
478
It tickles me about my heart’s root.
479
To this day it does my heart good,
480
That I have had the world, in my time.
481
But age, alas, that poisons every clime,
482
Bereft me of beauty, vigour with it.
483
Let go, farewell; and the devil take it!
484
The flour is gone, what more is there to tell.
485
The bran, as best I can, now I must sell.
486
But yet to be right merry, I have planned!
487
Now will I tell you of my fourth husband.
488
I say, I felt at heart a deal of spite
489
If he in any other took delight;
490
But he was paid, by God and Saint Judoc!
491
I made him of the same wood a crook –
492
Not of my body, in some foul manner,
493
But was such friends with folk, by and by,
494
That in his own grease I made him fry,
495
For anger, and for very jealousy.
496
By God, on earth I was his purgatory!
497
For which I hope his soul is in glory.
498
For, God knows, he sat full oft in song,
499
When his shoe pinched him all along.
500
There is none but God and he who knew
501
In how many ways I tortured him anew.
502
He died when I returned from Jerusalem,
503
And lies there buried under the rood-beam,
504
Albeit his tomb’s not so curious
505
As was the sepulchre of Darius,
506
That Apelles sculpted subtly;
507
It were a waste to bury him preciously.
508
May he fare well, God give his soul rest!
509
He is now in his grave and in his chest.
510
Now of my fifth husband will I tell.
511
God may his soul never come to Hell!
512
And yet to me he was the worst, I know –
513
I feel it on my ribs all in a row,
514
And ever shall, until my dying day.
515
But in our bed he was so fresh, I say,
516
And could cajole me so, God knows,
517
When that he would have my belle chose,
518
That though he’d beaten me on every bone,
519
He could still win my love to him anon.
520
I swear I loved him best, because he
521
Was in his love niggardly to me.
522
We women have, you’ll hear no lie from me,
523
In this affair a strange fantasy:
524
Whatever we may not easily get,
525
We cry all day and crave for it.
526
Forbid us aught, desire it then will we;
527
Press on us hard, and we will flee.
528
Reluctantly we show our goods at fairs;
529
Great crowds at market make for dear wares,
530
And what is cheap is held a worthless prize.
531
This knows every woman who is wise.
532
My fifth husband – God his soul bless! –
533
Whom I took for love, not for riches,
534
He sometime was a clerk of Oxford town,
535
And left the college, and seeking found
536
Lodgings with my friend, there made one –
537
God keep her soul! Her name was Alison.
538
She knew my heart, and my secrets she,
539
Better than our parish priest, trust me.
540
To her I revealed my secrets all;
541
For had my husband pissed against a wall,
542
Or done some crime that would cost his life,
543
To her, and to another worthy wife,
544
And to my niece, that I loved as well,
545
I would have told the secret, just to tell.
546
And so I did full often, God knows
547
It made his face full often like a rose,
548
Red hot for very shame, and sorry he
549
For telling me his secret privately.
550
And so befell it that one day in Lent –
551
For often to my friend’s house I went,
552
As ever yet I loved to laugh and play,
553
And to walk in March, April, and May,
554
To hear sundry tales among the alleys –
555
Jankin clerk, and I, and my friend Alice,
556
Into the fields about the city went.
557
My husband was in London all that Lent;
558
I had the greater leisure for to play,
559
And to see, and be seen, every day
560
By lusty folk. How did I know what grace
561
Might be my destiny, and in what place?
562
Therefore I made my visitations
563
Went to vigils, and also to processions,
564
To preaching too, and these pilgrimages,
565
To the miracle plays, and marriages,
566
And wore my gay scarlet as I might.
567
The worms, and the moths, and mites
568
Upon my soul, gnawed it never a bit;
569
And why? Well, I was never out of it.
570
I’ll tell you now what happened to me:
571
I say that in the fields around walked we,
572
Till truly we made such a dalliance,
573
This clerk and I, that at a chance
574
I spoke to him, and said to him that he,
575
If I became a widow, should marry me.
576
For certainly, with no false modesty,
577
I was never without a little surety
578
Of marriage, nor ever had far to seek.
579
I hold a mouse’s heart not worth a leek,
580
That only has one little hole to bolt to,
581
And if that fail, then everything is through.
582
I maintained he had enchanted me;
583
My mother taught me that subtlety.
584
And I said too, I dreamed of him all night;
585
He seemed to slay me as I lay upright,
586
And all my bed indeed was full of blood –
587
“But yet I hope that you will do me good,
588
For blood betokens gold as I was taught.”
589
And all was false; I never dreamed of aught,
590
But by way of following mother’s lore,
591
In things like that as well as others more.
592
But now, sir – let me see – what’s to explain?
593
Aha! By God, I have my tale again!
594
When my fourth husband was on his bier,
595
I wept for hours, and sorry did appear –
596
As wives must, since it’s common usage,
597
And with my kerchief covered up my visage.
598
But since I was provided with a mate,
599
I only wept a little, I should state.
600
To church was my husband borne that morrow,
601
With neighbours that wept for him in sorrow,
602
And Jankin, our clerk, was one of those.
603
So help me God, when I saw him go
604
After the bier, I thought he had a pair
605
Of legs and of feet so fine and fair,
606
That all my heart I gave to him to hold.
607
He was, I swear, but twenty winters old,
608
And I was forty, to tell the truth,
609
But yet I always had a coltish tooth.
610
Gap-toothed I was, and that became me well;
611
I’d the print of Venus’ seal, truth to tell.
612
So help me God, I was a lusty one,
613
And fair, and rich, high-spirited and young!
614
And truly, as my husbands told me,
615
I had the finest quoniam that might be.
616
For certain, I am all Venereal
617
In feeling, and my heart is Martial.
618
Venus gave me my lust, lasciviousness,
619
And Mars gave me rebellious boldness.
620
My ascendant Taurus, with Mars therein –
621
Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!
622
I always followed my inclination,
623
By virtue of my constellation.
624
It made me so I could never withhold
625
My chamber of Venus from a fellow bold.
626
Yet have I Mars’ mark upon my face,
627
And also in another private place.
628
For, God wisely be my salvation,
629
I never loved with any discretion,
630
But ever followed my appetite,
631
Whether he was long, or short, or black or white.
632
I cared not, so long as he liked me,
633
How rich he was, nor of what degree.
634
What can I say, but at the month’s end,
635
This jolly clerk Jankin, my godsend,
636
Wedded me with great solemnity,
637
And him I gave the land and property
638
All that had been given to me before.
639
But after I repented of it full sore;
640
He would allow me nothing I held dear.
641
By God, he smote me once on the ear,
642
Because I tore a page from his book,
643
So that my ear was deaf from the stroke.
644
Stubborn I was, as is a lioness,
645
And with a tongue nagging to excess,
646
And walk I would, as I had done before,
647
From house to house, something he deplored.
648
About which he often times would preach,
649
And of the old Roman tales he’d teach –
650
How Simplicius Gallus left his wife,
651
And forsook her for the rest of his life,
652
Because he saw her hatless in the way,
653
As he looked out his door one fine day.
654
Another Roman, he told me his names,
655
Because his wife went to the summer Games
656
Without him knowing, he forsook her too.
657
And then would he to his Bible go anew
658
And seek that proverb of the Ecclesiast,
659
Where he commands and forbids, aghast:
660
“Man shall not suffer his wife to gad about.”
661
Then would he speak like this, without doubt:
662
“Whoever builds his house of willows,
663
And spurs his blind horse o’er the fallows,
664
And sees his wife a pilgrim to All Hallows,
665
Is worthy to be hanged on the gallows!”
666
But all for naught – I cared never a haw
667
For his proverbs, and his old saw,
668
Nor would I by him corrected be.
669
I hate him who my vice tells to me;
670
And so do more, God knows, of us than I!
671
He was enraged with me, fit to die;
672
I could not stand him in any case, alas.
673
Now will I tell you true, by Saint Thomas,
674
Why I tore that page out of his book,
675
From which my ear was deafened by his stroke.
676
He had a book that gladly night and day,
677
For his pleasure he would read always.
678
He called it Theophrastus and Valerius –
679
At which he used to laugh fit to bust.
680
And then there was some clerk at Rome,
681
A Cardinal, named Saint Jerome,
682
Who made a book against Jovinian;
683
In which book bound up was Tertullian,
684
With Chrysippus, Trotula, Heloise,
685
That was abbess not far from Paris,
686
And the parables of Solomon,
687
Ovid’s Art of Love, and many a one.
688
And all of these bound in the one volume,
689
And every night and day it was his custom,
690
When he had leisure and vacation
691
From other worldly occupation,
692
To read in this book of wicked wives.
693
He knew of them more legends and lives
694
Than there are of good wives in the Bible.
695
For trust me well, it is impossible
696
For any clerk to speak well of wives
697
Unless it is of holy saints’ lives,
698
Never of any other woman though.
699
Who wrote the histories, tell me who?
700
By God, if women had written the stories
701
As clerics have within their oratories,
702
They’d have written of men more wickedness
703
Than all the sons of Adam could redress!
704
The children of Venus and Mercury
705
In all their workings are contrary:
706
Mercury loves wisdom and science,
707
And Venus loves spending, revelry, and dance.
708
And because of their diverse disposition,
709
Each is in fall in the other’s exaltation;
710
So, God knows, Mercury is helpless,
711
In Pisces where exalted is Venus,
712
And Venus falls when Mercury is raised.
713
Therefore no woman is by cleric praised.
714
The clerk, when he is old, and cannot do
715
Of Venus’ works the worth of his old shoe,
716
Then sits he down and writes in his dotage
717
That women cannot be true in marriage!
718
But now to my purpose, as I told you,
719
How I was beaten for a book, all true.
720
One night Jankin, that was our sire,
721
Read his book, as he sat by the fire,
722
Of Eve first, that through her wickedness
723
Brought all mankind to wretchedness,
724
For which indeed was Jesus Christ slain,
725
Who purchased us with his heart’s-blood again.
726
Lo here, expressed of women may you find,
727
That woman was the bane of all mankind!
728
Then he read to me how Samson lost his hair:
729
Sleeping, his lover cut it with her shears,
730
Through which treason he lost both his eyes.
731
Then he read me, for I’ll tell no lies,
732
Of Hercules, Deianira, and the pyre
733
Where, through her, he set himself on fire.
734
Nor did he miss the sorrow and woe too
735
That Socrates had with his wives two –
736
How Xantippe poured piss over his head.
737
The foolish man sat still, as he were dead.
738
He wiped his head; no more dare say again,
739
But: “Ere the thunder stops, comes the rain.”
740
– Of Pasiphae, that was the Queen of Crete;
741
Out of maliciousness he thought that sweet –
742
Fie, speak no more, it is a grisly thing,
743
Of her fierce lust, and perverse liking!
744
– Of Clytemnestra, for her lechery
745
That made her husband die by treachery;
746
He read all that with great devotion.
747
He told me also on what occasion
748
Amphiaraus at Thebes lost his life;
749
My husband had the legend of his wife,
750
Eriphyle, who for a necklace of gold
751
Secretly to all the Greeks had told
752
Of her husband’s private hiding-place,
753
For which at Thebes he did misfortune taste.
754
Of Livia he told me, and Lucilia:
755
They both killed their husbands there,
756
The one for love, the other out of hate.
757
Livia her husband one evening late
758
Empoisoned, because she was his foe.
759
Lucilia, lascivious, loved hers so
760
That, to make him always of her think,
761
She gave him such a manner of love-drink
762
That he was dead ere it was the morrow –
763
And thus in every way husbands have sorrow.
764
Then he told me how one Latumius
765
Complained to his comrade Arrius,
766
That in his garden there grew a tree
767
On which he said that his wives three
768
Hanged themselves, for spite it was.
769
“Oh dear brother,” quoth this Arrius,
770
“Give me a cutting from that blessed tree,
771
And in my garden planted it shall be!”
772
Of wives of later date he also read,
773
How some had slain their husbands in their bed,
774
And let their lovers pleasure them all night,
775
While the corpse lay on the floor upright;
776
And some had driven nails through their brain,
777
While they were sleeping, and thus them slain.
778
Some had given them poison in their drink.
779
He spoke more harm than heart could think,
780
And with all that he knew more proverbs
781
Than in this world grow grass or herbs.
782
“Better,” quoth he, “that your habitation
783
Be with a lion or a foul dragon,
784
Than with a woman who will always chide.
785
Better,” quoth he, “high on the roof to abide,
786
Than with an angry wife down in the house;
787
They are so wicked and cantankerous
788
They hate what their husbands love,” he’d say,
789
“A woman always casts her shame away
790
When she casts off her smock,” and lo,
791
“A fair woman unless she’s chaste also,
792
Is like a gold ring in a sow’s nose.”
793
Who would think, or who could suppose
794
The woe, that in my heart was, and pain?
795
And when I say he did begin again
796
Reading of that cursed book all night,
797
All suddenly three leaves then did I
798
Pluck from his book, as he read and, weak
799
As I am, my fist so took him on the cheek
800
That in our fireplace he fell backward down.
801
And started up as does a raging lion,
802
And with his fist he struck me on the head,
803
That on the floor I lay as I were dead.
804
And when he saw how still that I lay,
805
He was aghast, and would have fled away,
806
Till at last I came to and raised my head.
807
“Oh, have you slain me, false thief,” I said,
808
“And for my land thus have you murdered me?
809
Ere I be dead, yet will I kiss thee!”
810
And near he came and knelt right down,
811
And said: “Dear sister, my Alison,
812
So help me God, I shall thee never smite.
813
That I have done so was your fault outright;
814
Forgive me yet, and that I do beseech.”
815
And once again I hit him on the cheek,
816
And said: “Thief, my vengeance thus I wreak!
817
Now will I die; I may no longer speak.”
818
But in the end, with care and much ado,
819
We came to an agreement did we two.
820
He gave the bridle all into my hand,
821
To me the governance of house and land,
822
And of his tongue and of his hand also,
823
And I made him burn his book of woe.
824
And when that I had gotten unto me
825
By mastery all the sovereignty,
826
And that he said: “Mine own true wife,
827
Do as you wish through all your term of life;
828
Guard your honour, and my good estate,”
829
After that day we had no more debate.
830
God help me so, I was as kind to him
831
As any wife from Denmark unto Inde,
832
And also true, and so was he to me.
833
I pray to God that sits in majesty,
834
To bless his soul, of His mercy dear!
835
Now will I say my tale, if you will hear.’
836
Behold the words between the Summoner and Friar
837
The Friar laughed when he had heard all this;
838
‘Now dame,’ quoth he, ‘so send me joy and bliss,
839
This is a long preamble to a tale!’
840
And when the Summoner heard the Friar rail,
841
‘Lo,’ quoth the Summoner, ‘God’s arms two,
842
A Friar will interfere whatever you do!
843
Lo, good men, a fly and then a friar
844
Will fall in every dish and every fire!
845
What do you mean by your ‘preambulation’?
846
Come, amble, or trot, or sit, or stay in motion!
847
You’re hindering our sport in this manner.’
848
‘You think so, Sir Summoner,’ quoth the Friar.
849
‘Now, by my faith, I shall, before I go
850
Tell of a summoner a tale or so,
851
That all the folk shall laugh in this place.’
852
‘Now if not, Friar, I will curse your face,’
853
Quoth the Summoner, ‘and then curse me,
854
If I do not tell a tale or two or three,
855
Of Friars, ere I come to Sittingborne,
856
That will make your very heart go mourn,
857
For well I know your patience is all gone.’
858
Our Host cried: ‘Peace, and that anon!’
859
And said: ‘Let the woman tell her tale.
860
You bicker like folk full drunk on ale.
861
Come, dame, tell forth your tale, that will be best.’
862
‘All ready, sir,’ quoth she, ‘just as you wish,
863
If I have licence of this worthy Friar.’
864
‘Yes, dame,’ quoth he, ‘tell forth and I will hear.’
865
Here ends the Wife of Bath’s Prologue and her Tale begins
2. The Wife of Bath’s Tale
1
In the olden days of King Arthur,
2
Of whom Britons speak with great honour,
3
All this land was filled full with faerie.
4
The Elf-Queen with her fair company
5
Danced full oft in many a green mead.
6
That was the old opinion, as I read –
7
I speak of many hundred years ago.
8
But now no man sees elves I know,
9
For now the endless charity and prayers
10
Of limiters and other holy friars,
11
Who search every field and every stream
12
As thick as are the motes in a sun-beam,
13
Blessing halls, chambers, kitchens, bowers,
14
Cities, boroughs, castles and high towers,
15
Thorps, barns, cattle-sheds, and dairies –
16
This is why there are no longer faeries.
17
For wherever there used to walk an elf,
18
There walks now the limiter himself
19
In the noon-time and in the mornings,
20
And says his matins and his holy things
21
As he goes round his limitation’s bounds.
22
Women may go safely up and down;
23
In every bush or under every tree,
24
There is no incubus about but he,
25
And he will only do them dishonour.
26
And it so befell that this King Arthur
27
Had in his house a lusty bachelor
28
Who one day came riding from the river,
29
And it chanced that, alone as he was born,
30
He saw a maiden walking there at dawn,
31
Of which maid, no matter how she pled,
32
By very force he stole her maidenhead;
33
Which oppression raised so great a clamour
34
And such petitions to King Arthur
35
That this knight was condemned as dead
36
Bu court of law and set to lose his head –
37
Peradventure, such was the statute though –
38
But that the Queen and other ladies so
39
Prayed the King for so long for his grace
40
That he his life granted him in its place,
41
And gave him to the Queen, to do her will,
42
To choose whether she would save or kill.
43
The Queen thanked the King with all her might;
44
And after thus she spoke to the knight,
45
When she thought it right, upon a day,
46
‘You yet stand,’ quoth she, ‘in such array
47
That of your life you yet shall have no surety.
48
I grant you life though, if you can tell me
49
What thing it is that women most desire.
50
Beware and keep your neck from axe’s ire!
51
And if you cannot tell me now anon,
52
Yet I will give you leave to be gone
53
A twelve-month and a day, and everywhere
54
Seek answer sufficient to this matter there.
55
And surety will I have, before you ride a pace,
56
That you return in person to this place.’
57
Woe was this knight, and sorrowfully mired,
58
But then, he might not do as he desired.
59
And at the last he chose to go and wend,
60
And come again, right at the year’s end,
61
With such answer as God would him purvey;
62
And so took leave and wended on his way.
63
He sought at every house in every place
64
Wherever he had hopes of finding grace,
65
To learn what thing women love the most;
66
But could not find by inland field or coast
67
Any one solution to this matter
68
On which two creatures agreed together.
69
Some said women had most love of riches;
70
Some said honour, some said happiness;
71
Some rich array, some said lust abed,
72
And oft times to be widowed and to wed.
73
Some said that our heart is most eased
74
When we are flattered most and pleased.
75
(I cannot lie! He’s very near reality;
76
A man may win us best by flattery;
77
And with attention, all the business,
78
Are we best snared, the great and less.)
79
And some said that we love best
80
To be free, and do as we’re possessed,
81
And that no man reprove us of our vice,
82
But claim we are not fools but somewhat wise.
83
For truly there is none at all among us,
84
If anyone on some sore spot will rub us
85
That will not kick if he tells the truth.
86
Try, and you will find it so, in sooth.
87
For, be we ever so vicious within,
88
We would be held as wise and free of sin.
89
And some said that great delight have we
90
In being thought dependable, discreet,
91
Steadfastly maintaining our purpose well,
92
And not betraying things that some might tell –
93
But value that at less than a rake-handle!
94
Woman’s discretion isn’t worth a candle;
95
Witness old Midas – will you hear the tale?
96
Ovid, amongst his great and small ale,
97
Says Midas had, under his long hair,
98
Upon his head two ass’s ears there;
99
The which deformity he hid from sight
100
Of every man, as subtly as he might,
101
That save his wife, none knew it was so.
102
He loved her best, and trusted her also;
103
He begged her that to no creature
104
She would tell of this sad feature.
105
She swore ‘no’, for all the world to win,
106
She would not do such villainy and sin,
107
As to gain her husband so foul a name;
108
She would not tell she said out of shame.
109
But nevertheless she almost died
110
At having this secret so long to hide.
111
She felt it swell so sore about her heart
112
That some word was sure from her to start.
113
And since she dared tell it to no man,
114
Down the marsh close nearby she ran –
115
Till she reached it her heart was all afire –
116
And as a bittern booms in the mire,
117
She laid her mouth to the water down.
118
‘Betray me not, water, with your sound!’
119
Quoth she, ‘I tell it now, but just to you:
120
My husband has long ass’s ears two!
121
Now is my heart all whole; now is it out.
122
I could no longer hide it, have no doubt.’
123
Here you see, that we can for a time abide,
124
Yet out it must; we can no secret hide.
125
The remainder of the tale, if you would hear,
126
Read Ovid, and you will find it there.
127
The knight of whom my tale tells specially,
128
When he saw he could not find out easily –
129
That is to say, what women love the most –
130
Within his breast full sorrowful was his ghost.
131
But home he goes; he could not make sojourn;
132
The day was come when homeward he must turn.
133
And on his way back he happened to ride,
134
Full of his cares, under a forest side,
135
Where he saw dancing on woodland floor
136
Of ladies four and twenty, and yet more.
137
Towards the which dance he began to turn,
138
In hope that some wisdom he might learn.
139
But certainly, before he was fully there,
140
Vanished was the dance; he knew not where.
141
No creature saw he that showed sign of life,
142
Save, sitting on the green, an old wife –
143
A fouler one than her might none devise.
144
Against the knight this wife began to rise
145
And said: ‘Sir knight, here there lies no way.
146
Tell me what you are seeking, by your faith!
147
Peradventure it might be better thus for thee;
148
This old woman knows many things,’ quoth she.
149
‘My dear mother,’ quoth the knight, ‘for certain
150
I am a dead man, unless I can show plain
151
What thing it is that women most desire.
152
Should you enlighten me, I’d pay your hire.’
153
‘Plight me your troth, here by my hand,’ quoth she,
154
‘That the next thing I require of thee
155
You shall do, if it lies within your might,
156
And I will tell you of it ere it be night.’
157
‘Here, by my truth!’ quoth the knight, ‘Agreed.’
158
‘Then,’ quoth she, ‘I dare boast readily
159
Your life is safe, for I will stand thereby.
160
Upon my life, the Queen will speak as I.
161
Let’s see if then the proudest of them all
162
That wears a head-cloth or a gemmed caul
163
Dare say nay to that which I shall teach.
164
Let us go on without longer speech.’
165
Then she whispered something in his ear,
166
And bade him to be glad and have no fear.
167
When they had reached the court, this knight
168
Declared he had kept his promise, to the night,
169
And ready was his answer, as he said.
170
Full many a noble wife and many a maid
171
And many a widow – since they are wise –
172
And the Queen herself, sitting in justice high,
173
Were assembled his answer there to hear;
174
And in a while the knight was bade appear.
175
Of everyone demanded was their silence,
176
And that the knight should tell his audience
177
What thing that worldly women love the best.
178
The knight forbore to stand there like a beast,
179
But to her question swiftly answered her
180
In manly voice, so all the court could hear.
181
‘My liege lady, generally,’ quoth he,
182
Women desire the self-same sovereignty
183
Over a husband as they do a lover,
184
And to hold mastery, he not above her.
185
That is your great desire, though you me kill;
186
Do as you wish; I am at your will.’
187
In all the court there was nor wife nor maid
188
Nor widow who could challenge what he said,
189
But said that he was worthy to have his life.
190
And at that word up started the old wife
191
Whom the knight had found sitting on the green.
192
‘Mercy, ‘quoth she, ‘my sovereign lady queen;
193
Ere that your court depart, see me aright.
194
I taught this answer to this same knight,
195
For which he plighted me his troth entire,
196
That the first thing I should of him require
197
He would do, if it lay within his might.
198
Before the court then, pray I you, sir knight,’
199
Quoth she, ‘that you take me as your wife,
200
For you know well that I have saved your life.
201
If I say false, say so, upon your faith.’
202
The knight answered, ‘Alas and well-away!
203
I know right well that such was my behest.
204
For God’s love, now choose a fresh request!
205
Take all my goods, and let my body go.’
206
‘Nay, then,’ quoth she, ‘A curse upon us two!
207
For though that I be foul and old and poor,
208
I wish not, for all the metal and the ore
209
That is buried under earth or lies above,
210
For aught but to be your wife, and your love.’
211
‘My love!’ quoth he, ‘nay, my damnation!
212
Alas, that any of my nation
213
Should ever be disgraced so foully!’
214
But all for naught; the end is this, that he
215
Had little choice; he needs must her wed,
216
And take his old wife, and go to bed.
217
Now some men would say, peradventure,
218
That in my negligence I make no feature
219
Of all the joy there was and the array
220
That at the feast appeared that very day.
221
To which thing briefly I answer shall:
222
I say, there was no joy or feast at all;
223
There was only heaviness and much sorrow.
224
For secretly he wedded her that morrow,
225
And all day after hid him like an owl;
226
Such woe was on him – with a wife so foul.
227
Great was the woe the knight had in his thought
228
When he was with his wife to bed there brought;
229
He thrashed about and twisted to and fro.
230
His old wife lay smiling broadly though,
231
And said: ‘O dear husband, benedicitee!
232
Does every knight do with his wife as thee?
233
Is this the law about King Arthur’s house?
234
Is every knight of his so mean a louse?
235
I am your own love, and then your wife;
236
I am she who has saved your life,
237
And, for sure, I have served you right.
238
Why do you thus with me this first night?
239
You act as would a man who’d lost his wit!
240
What is my sin? For God’s love, tell me it,
241
And it shall be amended, if I may.’
242
‘Amended,’ quoth the knight, ‘Alas, nay, nay!
243
It cannot be amended evermore.
244
You are so ugly, and so old, and more
245
You come also of such a lowly kin,
246
That little wonder is I thrash and spin.
247
God, would the heart but burst in my breast!’
248
‘Is this,’ quoth she, ‘the cause of your unrest?’
249
Yes,’ quoth he, what wonder all’s amiss?’
250
‘Now, sire,’ quoth she, ‘I could amend all this,
251
If I wished, before we have seen days three,
252
If you would but bear yourself well towards me.
253
If you all think by speaking of nobleness
254
Such as has descended from old riches,
255
That therefore it makes you noble men,
256
Such arrogance is not worth a hen.
257
Look for the most virtuous man always,
258
In private and public, who sees his way
259
To doing the noblest deeds that he can,
260
There will you find the greatest gentleman.
261
Christ wills we take from him our gentleness,
262
Not from our ancestors, despite their riches.
263
For though they leave us all their heritage,
264
From which we claim noble parentage,
265
Yet can they still bequeath us nothing
266
Not one of us, of their virtuous living,
267
That made them gentlemen in name to be,
268
Who bade us follow them in that degree.
269
Well has the wise poet of Florence,
270
Dante, I mean, spoken in this same sense –
271
Lo, in such verse Dante’s tale advances:
272
“Seldom arises by his slender branches
273
Man’s prowess, for God, of his goodness,
274
Wills that of him we claim our gentleness.”
275
For from our elders we can nothing claim
276
But temporal things, which may hurt and maim.
277
And everyone knows this as well as me:
278
If nobility were implanted naturally
279
In a certain lineage down the line,
280
Publicly, privately then the vine
281
Of noble work would be evergreen;
282
They would enact no vice or villainy.
283
Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house
284
Between here and the distant Caucasus,
285
And let men shut the doors and return,
286
Yet will the fire remain there and burn
287
As if twenty thousand did it behold.
288
Its natural office it will ever hold,
289
On peril of my life, until it die.
290
Thus you may see how the noble eye
291
Is not wedded to possession,
292
Since folk do not maintain its function
293
Forever, as does fire, lo, of its kind.
294
For, God knows, men will often find
295
A lord’s son acting shameful villainy.
296
And he who wants to claim nobility
297
Because he was born of a noble house,
298
His ancestors noble and virtuous,
299
And yet himself has done no noble deeds,
300
Nor followed his noble ancestors deceased,
301
He is not noble, be he duke or earl,
302
For base sinful deeds make the churl.
303
While mere renown makes gentility,
304
Your ancestors and their great bounty,
305
Which is external and not your own;
306
Your nobility comes from God alone.
307
Thus comes our own nobility by grace;
308
Not bequeathed to us by rank and place.
309
Think how noble, as says Valerius,
310
Was that Tullius Hostilius,
311
Who rose from poverty to high status,
312
Read Seneca and read Boethius,
313
There is it both expressed and agreed
314
That he is noble who does noble deeds.
315
And therefore, dear husband, I conclude
316
Although my ancestry is rough and rude,
317
Yet may God on high, I hope, may He
318
Grant me the grace to live virtuously.
319
Thus am I noble, when I first begin
320
To live in virtue, and abandon sin.
321
And in that you my poverty reprove,
322
The God whom we believe in and love,
323
In wilful poverty chose to live his life.
324
And surely, every man, maid or wife
325
Understands that Jesus, Heaven’s King,
326
Could yield of his life no vicious thing.
327
Honest poverty is fine, that’s certain:
328
This, Seneca and other clerks maintain.
329
The man content with poverty, I assert
330
That man is rich, although he lacks a shirt.
331
He that covets wealth is all the poorer
332
For he would have what is not in his power.
333
But he who has naught, yet does not crave,
334
Is rich, although you hold him but a knave.
335
True poverty sings, in reality.
336
Juvenal says of poverty appositely:
337
“The poor man, as he goes on his way
338
Beside the thief, may ever sing and play.”
339
Poverty though hateful’s good nonetheless
340
In that it is a great release from business;
341
A great augmenter too of sapience,
342
To the man accepting it with patience.
343
Poverty, though it seems second best,
344
Is a possession no man can contest.
345
Poverty, often, when a man is humble
346
Leads him to God, and to himself as well.
347
Poverty is a glass, it seems to me,
348
Through which he may his true friends see.
349
And thus, sire, since I wish no grief to you,
350
Of my poverty show no more reproof.
351
Now, sire, of being old you reprove me;
352
And certainly, though no authority
353
Were found in books, yet men of honour
354
Say that you should show an old man favour,
355
And call him father, out of courteousness;
356
And authors too say so, as I would guess.
357
Now then you say that I am foul and old,
358
Well then you need not fear to be cuckold.
359
For poverty and old age, you must agree,
360
Are great guardians of chastity.
361
Yet nonetheless, since I know your delight,
362
I shall fulfil your worldly appetite.
363
Choose now,’ quoth she, ‘which of these to try:
364
To see me old and ugly till I die,
365
And be to you a true and humble wife,
366
Who never will displease you all my life,
367
Or else you may have me young and fair,
368
And take the risk that all those who repair
369
To our house are there because of me,
370
And to other places, it well may be.
371
Now choose, yourself, just as you like.’
372
The knight thought deeply and with a sigh
373
At last he replied to her in this manner:
374
‘My lady and my love, and wife so dear,
375
I place myself in your wise governance.
376
Choose yourself which is the most pleasant,
377
And brings most honour to me and you.
378
I do not care which it is of the two,
379
For as you like it, that suffices me.’
380
‘Then have I won the mastery,’ quoth she,
381
‘Since I may choose and govern as I wish?’
382
‘Yes, surely, wife,’ quoth he, ‘I hold that best.’
383
‘Kiss me,’ quoth she, ‘and no more wrath.
384
For, by my troth, I to you will be both –
385
That is to say, both fair and good.
386
I pray to God I shall die mad, and would,
387
If I be not to you both good and true
388
As ever wife was, since the world was new.
389
And if I be not tomorrow as fair to see
390
As any lady, Empress or Queen may be,
391
Who lives between the east and the west,
392
Do what you wish touching my life and death.
393
Lift the curtain; see what already is.’
394
And when the knight swiftly saw all this,
395
That she was young, and lovely too,
396
For joy he took her in his arms two.
397
His heart was bathed in a bath of bliss;
398
A thousand times in a row they kiss,
399
And she obeyed him in everything
400
That pleased him and was to his liking.
401
And thus they lived to their lives end
402
In perfect joy – and Jesus Christ us send
403
Husbands meek, young, and fresh abed,
404
And grace to outlive those that we wed.
405
And also I pray Jesus, trim the lives
406
Of those who won’t be governed by their wives,
407
Those old and angry, grudging all expense,
408
God send them soon indeed the pestilence!
409
The End of the Wife of Bath’s Tale
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