The Canterbury Tales: Week 5

The Wife of Bath's Tale (And the Real Origins of Nobility)

[The Tale of the Wife of Bath from The Kelmscott Chaucer by Sir Edward Coley Burne-Jones,

Bt ARA (1833-1898). Wood Engraving.]

"Absolutely unmixed attention is prayer.” – Simone Weil¹

The Wife of Bath’s Tale is fascinating in its own right as a standalone work. But it takes on even more layers when considered in light of the Wife of Bath herself as a character, along with the dynamics present within the rest of The Canterbury Tales as a whole (albeit an unfinished work).

We discussed earlier, very briefly, the way in which some of the drama of the entire work develops in the interactions of the pilgrims between their tales (or even in occasional interruptions within them) and in the rivalries or resentments between them that emerge. For example, the Friar complains at the end of the Wife’s prologue about how long-winded it is. In response, Alison takes a jab at friars in the opening of her tale. A later conflict develops between the Oxford Clerk and the Wife of Bath: the husband Alison has bested in her prologue is a clerk, and the Oxford Clerk (as we will later see) tells a tale that attempts to put women in their place.

If there is anything more fun and rewarding than reading Chaucer himself, it is perhaps discovering that he wasn’t writing in a vacuum (no writer ever is), but rather writing within a social and literary context, taking what is given, illuminating and commenting on it, and—in the case of geniuses like Chaucer—contributing to that context in ways that make—and sometimes even alter—history.

With The Wife of Bath’s Tale, Chaucer didn’t invent an original story but rather drew on a few traditions. One tradition is the “loathly lady tale,” a story found in various languages and forms in ancient and medieval myths and legends, as well as our own modern day Shrek.² A related tradition features the testing a suitor or lover, as similarly seen in Marie de France’s twelfth-century poem, Lanval. Another already-existing formula revolves around the quest to answer that (apparently) vexing question, “What do women most desire?” (a question whose groundwork is laid here in The Wife of Bath’s Prologue). The fulfillment of a quest in a year and a day is yet another traditional motif, one appearing most memorably in Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. Chaucer takes these traditions and forges his own unique version of them, suited both to the larger work of The Canterbury Tales and to the particular time (as described in previous installments of this series).

Perhaps the most prevalent and longstanding traditional story, one that takes countless forms (including in modern day Rom-Coms), is the damsel in distress, specifically in distress at the hands of some villain, and waiting to be rescued by a knight in shining armor. The Wife of Bath’s Tale presents an interesting (indeed, downright Chaucerian) twist on this trope by making the knight the villain.

[Content warning: in case you haven’t read the tale, I want to mention at this point that the story begins with a rape which will be discussed below.]

If this is your first go-round with Chaucer, it may be a bit of a shock when what starts out seeming like a fairy tale turns so suddenly to a scene of rape. (It might be shocking even if it’s not your first go-round!)

But it’s interesting to consider the fact that literary history is riddled with tales centering on rape. From the myth of Philomel to the legend of Lucretia, from the near-assault of Pamela in the novel of that name to the accomplished assault on Tess in Tess of the D’Urbervilles, many great works of literature deal with this most harrowing and morally significant violation of the human person. When you understand rape in terms of a violation of everything it means to be a human being—physically, spiritually, emotionally, sexually—it makes sense that such scenes would feature often in art that grapples with significant universal human themes.

Moreover, as the modern age encroaches in literary history, even here in waning of the Middle Ages during Chaucer’s day, rape begins to take on an additional meaning. For as the exercise of individual will—autonomy, self-sovereignty, and self-determination—becomes more attainable and therefore more desirable, rape becomes more emblematic of the thwarting of that possibility. Thus it is a fitting punishment—poetic justice, even—for the knight who has perpetrated this horrible act of violation to be sent (by a woman, no less) on a quest to learn what it is that women most desire. In other words, a person who violates another’s will is sent to learn what it is that others most desire (or want or will). These words don’t mean exactly the same thing, but their overlap brings together so many elements of this short but complicated tale.

Consider how many ways in which will (or power) plays a role in this tale (I’m sure I am missing some in this list):

·        The knight violates the will of the maid by force (line 894).

·        The king suspends the usual punishment of death for such a violation and grants the queen the power to determine the knight’s fate (lines 895-904).

·        The knight’s fate depends upon learning what it is women desire or will most (lines 905-18).

·        The old woman offers to provide the answer to the knight if he promises to do as she wills if it is in his power to do so. (And, as it turns out, it is in his power, which she knew it would be, LOL!) (lines 1015-18).

·        The answer to the question is that women most desire sovereignty (fulfillment of their will) over men (lines 1043-46).

·        The knight then gives himself over to the queen’s will (lines 1047-48).

·        The old woman gives the knight a choice—his will—between his wife being foul, old, but faithful or her being young, fair, and taking his chances on her fidelity (lines 1225-33).

·        When the knight chooses to let her decide, she grants him what he would desire most: a wife young, beautiful, and true (lines 1234-47).

·        Finally, as they go on to enjoy their marital bliss, she “obeyed him in every thing” that would please him, and they lived in perfect joy (lines 1261-64).

The tale has a very “neat” ending: the old trope (that what women want most is power over men) is upheld—and the man gets what he wants, too.

It’s not exactly a feminist take. But the story gives just enough winks and nods to various points of view that nearly every perspective on the question is acknowledged and even affirmed. The layers, complexities, and even the contradictions are what give the tale its texture and timelessness. It has a little something for everyone.

But there’s one other essential part of this story that is, I think, its heart. And what makes it revolutionary.

It’s the section that starts the quiet marriage of the knight and the old woman, when he complains that she must come from poverty to be so ugly, something that makes her unfit for one of such noble lineage as he.

The key word in the lecture his wife gives him following his complaint (and he is so dramatic in all his tossings and turnings, isn’t he?) is “gentilesse.” This word is often translated into modern English as “nobility.” As I noted in an earlier post, the etymology of this word entails the ancient understanding that nobility is passed down through family lineage, blood, and genes. The knight believes that he is noble because he comes from a noble line of ancestors. But his new wife corrects him through her speech. She explains the most virtuous person is the one who, both publicly and privately, tries to do the noblest deeds he can. Take such a person for the greatest gentleman, she says. It is not our human ancestors or our bloodlines that bestow such riches on us, she continues, but Christ who is the source of all our virtue (lines 1115-24).

The wife’s speech culminates in this key line: “he is gentil that dooth gentil deedes” (line 1176). In other words, the noble person is the one who acts nobly.

The Knight’s response to the speech of the old woman, now his wife, proves his nobility: he allows her to determine who she will be. The Riverside Chaucer puts it this way: “He becomes gentle in accord with the courtly dictum that love makes the lover virtuous, and she becomes beautiful in accordance with the doctrine that to the eyes of a true lover his lady is always beautiful.”³

And this is the heart of The Wife of Bath’s Tale. Nestled within traditional types and tropes, ribald humor, and plenty of both sexism and feminism to go around, we find a radically modern understanding⁴ of gentility (or nobility). True nobility resides not in one’s blood or genes, but in one’s character or virtue.

******

Next readings in this series:

·        The Clerk’s Tale

·        The Pardoner’s Prologue

·        The Pardoner’s Tale

1. Simone Weil, Gravity and Grace, trans. By Emma Crawford and Mario von der Ruhr (London: Routledge, 2002), 117.

2. Marion Turner, The Wife of Bath: A Biography. (Princeton University Press, 2023), 43.

3. The Riverside Chaucer, 3rd ed. (Houghton Mifflin, 1987), 11.

4. In fact, this understanding was still being worked out in the nineteenth century by writers like John Henry Newman and Charles Dickens. The central theme of Great Expectations revolves around the question of what constitutes a real gentleman. (Answer: it’s not money.)