The Canterbury Tales · The Wife of Bath’s Tale · The Tale 2018 (1/2)

The Tale2018

In oldë dayës of the king Arthoúr,

Of which that Britons speakë great honoúr,

All was this land full fill’d of faërie;2019

The Elf-queen, with her jolly company,

Danced full oft in many a green mead.

This was the old opinion, as I read;

I speak of many hundred years ago;

But now can no man see none elvës mo’,

For now the great charitý and prayéres

Of limitours,2020 and other holy freres,

That search every land and ev’ry stream,

As thick as motës in the sunnë-beam,

Blessing halls, chambers, kitchenës, and bowers,

Cities and burghës, castles high and towers,

Thorpës2021 and barnës, shepens2022 and dairies,

This makes that there be now no faëries:

For there as2023 wont to walkë was an elf,

There walketh now the limitour himself,

In undermelës2024 and in morrownings,

And saith his matins and his holy things,

As he goes in his limitatioún.2025

Women may now go safely up and down,

In every bush, and under every tree;

There is none other incubus2026 but he;

And he will do to them no dishonoúr.

And so befell it, that this king Arthoúr

Had in his house a lusty bachelér,

That on a day came riding from rivér:2027

And happen’d, that, alone as she was born,

He saw a maiden walking him beforn,

Of which maiden anon, maugré2028 her head,

By very force he reft her maidenhead:

For which oppressión was such clamoúr,

And such pursuit unto the king Arthoúr,

That damned2029 was this knight for to be dead

By course of law, and should have lost his head;

(Paráventure such2030 was the statute tho),2031

But that the queen and other ladies mo’

So long they prayed the king of his grace,

Till he his life him granted in the place,

And gave him to the queen, all at her will

To choose whether she would him save or spill.2032

The queen thanked the king with all her might;

And, after this, thus spake she to the knight,

When that she saw her time upon a day.

“Thou standest yet,” quoth she, “in such array,2033

That of thy life yet hast thou no suretý;

I grant thee life, if thou canst tell to me

What thing is it that women most desiren:

Beware, and keep thy neck-bone from the iron.2034

And if thou canst not tell it me anon,

Yet will I give thee leavë for to gon

A twelvemonth and a day, to seek and lear2035

An answer suffisant2036 in this mattére.

And surety will I have, ere that thou pace,2037

Thy body for to yielden in this place.”

Woe was the knight, and sorrowfully siked;2038

But what? he might not do all as him liked.

And at the last he chose him for to wend,2039

And come again, right at the yearë’s end,

With such answér as God would him purvey:2040

And took his leave, and wended forth his way.

He sought in ev’ry house and ev’ry place,

Where as he hoped for to findë grace,

To learnë what thing women love the most:

But he could not arrive in any coast,

Where as he mightë find in this mattére

Two creatures accordíng in fere.2041

Some said that women loved best richéss,

Some said honoúr, and some said jolliness,

Some rich array, and some said lust2042 a-bed,

And oft time to be widow and be wed.

Some said, that we are in our heart most eased

When that we are y-flatter’d and y-praised.

He went full nigh the sooth,2043 I will not lie;

A man shall win us best with flattery;

And with attendance, and with business

Be we y-liméd,2044 bothë more and less.

And some men said that we do love the best

For to be free, and do right as us lest,2045

And that no man reprove us of our vice,

But say that we are wise, and nothing nice,2046

For truly there is none among us all,

If any wight will claw us on the gall,2047

That will not kick, for that he saith us sooth:

Assay,2048 and he shall find it, that so do’th.

For be we never so vicioús within,

We will be held both wise and clean of sin.

And some men said, that great delight have we

For to be held stable and eke secré,2049

And in one purpose steadfastly to dwell,

And not bewray a thing that men us tell.

But that tale is not worth a rakë-stele.2050

Pardie, we women cannë nothing hele,2051

Witness on Midas; will ye hear the tale?

Ovid, amongës other thingës smale,2052

Saith, Midas had, under his longë hairs,

Growing upon his head two ass’s ears;

The whichë vice he hid, as best he might,

Full subtlely from every man’s sight,

That, save his wife, there knew of it no mo’;

He lov’d her most, and trusted her also;

He prayed her, that to no creature

She wouldë tellen of his disfigúre.2053

She swore him, nay, for all the world to win,

She would not do that villainy or sin,

To make her husband have so foul a name:

She would not tell it for her owen shame.

But natheless her thoughtë that she died,

That she so longë should a counsel hide;

Her thought it swell’d so sore about her heart,

That needës must some word from her astart;

And, since she durst not tell it unto man,

Down to a marish fast thereby she ran,

Till she came there, her heart was all afire:

And, as a bittern bumbles2054 in the mire,

She laid her mouth unto the water down.

“Bewray me not, thou water, with thy soun’,”2055

Quoth she, “to thee I tell it, and no mo’,

Mine husband hath long ass’s earës two!

Now is mine heart all whole; now is it out;

I might no longer keep it, out of doubt.”

Here may ye see, though we a time abide,

Yet out it must, we can no counsel hide.

The remnant of the tale, if ye will hear,

Read in Ovíd, and there ye may it lear.2056

This knight, of whom my tale is specially,

When that he saw he might not come thereby⁠—

That is to say, what women love the most⁠—

Within his breast full sorrowful was his ghost.2057

But home he went, for he might not sojourn,

The day was come, that homeward he must turn.

And in his way it happen’d him to ride,

In all his care,2058 under a forest side,

Where as he saw upon a dancë go

Of ladies four-and-twenty, and yet mo’,

Toward this ilkë2059 dance he drew full yern,2060

The hope that he some wisdom there should learn;

But certainly, ere he came fully there,

Y-vanish’d was this dance, he knew not where;

No creaturë saw he that bare life,

Save on the green he sitting saw a wife⁠—

A fouler wight there may no man devise.2061

Against2062 this knight this old wife gan to rise,

And said, “Sir Knight, hereforth2063 lieth no way.

Tell me what ye are seeking, by your fay.2064

Paráventure it may the better be:

These oldë folk know muchë thing,” quoth she.

“My levë2065 mother,” quoth this knight, “certáin,

I am but dead, but if2066 that I can sayn

What thing it is that women most desire:

Could ye me wiss,2067 I would well quite your hire.”2068

“Plight me thy troth here in mine hand,” quoth she,

“The nextë thing that I require of thee

Thou shalt it do, if it be in thy might,

And I will tell it thee ere it be night.”

“Have here my trothë,” quoth the knight; “I grant.”

“Thennë,” quoth she, “I dare me well avaunt,2069

Thy life is safe, for I will stand thereby,

Upon my life the queen will say as I:

Let see, which is the proudest of them all,

That wears either a kerchief or a caul,

That dare say nay to that I shall you teach.

Let us go forth withoutë longer speech.”

Then rowned she a pistel2070 in his ear,

And bade him to be glad, and have no fear.

When they were come unto the court, this knight

Said, he had held his day, as he had hight,2071

And ready was his answer, as he said.

Full many a noble wife, and many a maid,

And many a widow, for that they be wise⁠—

The queen herself sitting as a justíce⁠—

Assembled be, his answer for to hear,

And afterward this knight was bid appear.

To every wight commanded was silénce,

And that the knight should tell in audience,

What thing that worldly women love the best.

This knight he stood not still, as doth a beast,

But to this questión anon answér’d

With manly voice, that all the court it heard,

“My liegë lady, generally,” quoth he,

“Women desire to have the sovereignty

As well over their husband as their love,

And for to be in mast’ry him above.

This is your most desire, though ye me kill,

Do as you list, I am here at your will.”

In all the court there was no wife nor maid,

Nor widow, that contráried what he said,

But said, he worthy was to have his life.

And with that word up start that oldë wife

Which that the knight saw sitting on the green.

“Mercy,” quoth she, “my sovereign lady queen,

Ere that your court departë, do me right.

I taughtë this answér unto this knight,

For which he plighted me his trothë there,

The firstë thing I would of him requere,

He would it do, if it lay in his might.

Before this court then pray I thee, Sir Knight,”

Quoth she, “that thou me take unto thy wife,

For well thou know’st that I have kept2072 thy life.

If I say false, say nay, upon thy fay.”2073

This knight answér’d, “Alas, and well-away!

I know right well that such was my behest.2074

For Goddë’s lovë choose a new request:

Take all my good, and let my body go.”

“Nay, then,” quoth she, “I shrew2075 us bothë two,

For though that I be old, and foul, and poor,

I n’ould2076 for all the metal nor the ore,

That under earth is grave,2077 or lies above,

But if thy wife I were and eke thy love.”

“My love?” quoth he, “nay, my damnatión,

Alas! that any of my natión

Should ever so foul disparáged be.”

But all for nought; the end is this, that he

Constrained was, that needs he must her wed,

And take this oldë wife, and go to bed.

Now wouldë some men say paráventure,2078

That for my negligence I do no cure2079

To tell you all the joy and all th’ array

That at the feast was made that ilkë2080 day.

To which thing shortly answeren I shall:

I say there was no joy nor feast at all,

There was but heaviness and muchë sorrow:

For privily he wed her on the morrow;

And all day after hid him as an owl,

So woe was him, his wifë look’d so foul.

Great was the woe the knight had in his thought

When he was with his wife to bed y-brought;

He wallow’d, and he turned to and fro.

This oldë wife lay smiling evermo’,

And said, “Dear husband, benedicite,

Fares every knight thus with his wife as ye?

Is this the law of king Arthoúrë’s house?

Is every knight of his thus dangerous?2081

I am your owen love, and eke your wife,

I am she, which that saved hath your life,

And certes yet did I you ne’er unright.

Why fare ye thus with me this firstë night?

Ye farë like a man had lost his wit.

What is my guilt? for God’s love tell me it,

And it shall be amended, if I may.”

“Amended!” quoth this knight; “alas, nay, nay,

It will not be amended, never mo’;

Thou art so loathly, and so old also,

And thereto2082 comest of so low a kind,

That little wonder though I wallow and wind;2083

So wouldë God, mine heartë wouldë brest!”2084

“Is this,” quoth she, “the cause of your unrest?”

“Yea, certainly,” quoth he; “no wonder is.”

“Now, Sir,” quoth she, “I could amend all this,

If that me list, ere it were dayës three,

So well ye mightë bear you unto me.2085

But, for ye speaken of such gentleness

As is descended out of old richéss,

That therefore shallë ye be gentlemen;

Such arrogancy is not worth a hen.2086

Look who that is most virtuous alway,

Prive and apert,2087 and most intendeth aye

To do the gentle deedës that he can;

And take him for the greatest gentleman.

Christ will,2088 we claim of him our gentleness,

Not of our elders2089 for their old richéss.

For though they gave us all their heritage,

For which we claim to be of high parage,2090

Yet may they not bequeathë, for no thing,

To none of us, their virtuous living

That made them gentlemen called to be,

And bade us follow them in such degree.

Well can the wisë poet of Florence,

That hightë Dante, speak of this senténce:2091

Lo, in such manner2092 rhyme is Dante’s tale.

‘Full seld’ upriseth by his branches smale

Prowess of man, for God of his goodness

Wills that we claim of him our gentleness;’2093

For of our elders may we nothing claim

But temp’ral things that man may hurt and maim.

Eke every wight knows this as well as I,

If gentleness were planted naturally

Unto a certain lineage down the line,

Prive and apert, then would they never fine2094

To do of gentleness the fair offíce;

Then might they do no villainy nor vice.

Take fire, and bear it to the darkest house

Betwixt this and the mount of Caucasus,

And let men shut the doorës, and go thenne,2095

Yet will the fire as fair and lightë brenne2096

As twenty thousand men might it behold;

Its office natural aye will it hold⁠—2097

On peril of my life⁠—till that it die.

Here may ye see well how that gentery2098

Is not annexed to possessión,

Since folk do not their operatión

Alway, as doth the fire, lo, in its kind.2099

For, God it wot, men may full often find

A lordë’s son do shame and villainy.

And he that will have price2100 of his gent’ry,

For2101 he was boren of a gentle house,

And had his elders noble and virtuoús,

And will himselfë do no gentle deedës,

Nor follow his gentle ancestry, that dead is,

He is not gentle, be he duke or earl;

For villain sinful deedës make a churl.

For gentleness is but the renomée2102

Of thine ancéstors, for their high bounté,2103

Which is a strangë thing to thy persón:

Thy gentleness cometh from God alone.

Then comes our very2104 gentleness of grace;

It was no thing bequeath’d us with our place.

Think how noble, as saith Valerius,

Was thilkë2105 Tullius Hostilius,

That out of povert’ rose to high nobless.

Read in Senec, and read eke in Boece,

There shall ye see express, that it no drede2106 is,

That he is gentle that doth gentle deedës.

And therefore, levë2107 husband, I conclude,

Albeit that mine ancestors were rude,

Yet may the highë God⁠—and so hope I⁠—

Grant me His grace to live virtuously:

Then am I gentle when that I begin

To live virtuously, and waivë2108 sin.