But the quarrels of lovers are the renewal of love; and when the husband had been brought, half by violence and half by cajolery, to give his wife her own way in everything, then—
| After that day we never had debate. God help me so, I was to him as kind As any wife from Denmark unto Ind. |
For all social purposes, as we have said, this was the only woman of the company; and where there is one woman there are always two men as ready to quarrel over her as if she were Helen of Troy. Moreover, in this case, professional jealousies were also at work. Already in the middle of her prologue the Summoner had fallen into familiar dialogue with this merry wife; and now, at the end—
| The Friar laughed when he had heard all this; | |
| ‘Now, dame,’ quoth he, ‘so have I joy or bliss, | |
| This is a long preamble of a tale!’ | |
| And when the Summoner heard the Friar gale | [cry out |
| ‘Lo,’ quoth the Summoner, ‘Goddës armes two! | |
| A friar will intermit him ever-mo. | [interfere |
| Lo, goodë men, a fly, and eke a frere | |
| Will fall in every dishë and matère. | |
| What speak’st thou of a “preambulation”? | |
| What? amble, or trot, or peace, or go sit down! | |
| Thou lettest our disport in this manère.’ | |
| ‘Yea, wilt thou so, sir Summoner?’ quoth the Frere; | |
| ‘Now, by my faith, I shall, ere that I go, | |
| Tell of a Summoner such a tale or two | |
| That all the folk shall laughen in this place.’ | |
| ‘Now ellës, Friar, I beshrew thy face, | [curse |
| Quoth this Summoner, ‘and I beshrewë me, | |
| But if I tellë tales, two or three, | |
| Of friars, ere I come to Sittingbourne, | |
| That I shall make thine heartë for to mourn, | |
| For well I wot thy patience is gone.’ | |
| Our Hostë crièd ‘Peace! and that anon;’ | |
| And saidë: ‘Let the woman tell her tale; | |
| Ye fare as folk that drunken be of ale. | |
| Do, dame, tell forth your tale, and that is best.’ | |
| ‘All ready, sir,’ quoth she, ‘right as you list, | |
| If I have licence of this worthy Frere.’ | |
| ‘Yes, dame,’ quoth he, ‘tell forth, and I will hear.’ |
The lady, having thus definitely notified her choice between the rivals (on quite other grounds, as the next few lines show, than those of religion or morality), proceeds to tell her tale on the theme that nothing is so dear to the female heart as “sovereignty” or “mastery.” Then the quarrel blazes up afresh, and the Friar (after an insulting prologue for which the Host calls him to order) tells a story which is, from first to last, a bitter satire on the whole tribe of Summoners. Then the Summoner, “quaking like an aspen leaf for ire,” stands up in his stirrups and claims to be heard in turn. His prologue, which by itself might suffice to turn the tables on his enemy, is a broad parody of those revelations to devout Religious which announced how the blessed souls of their particular Order (for the Friars were not alone in this egotism) enjoyed for their exclusive use some choice and peculiar mansion in heaven—under the skirts of the Virgin’s mantle, for instance, or even within the wound of their Saviour’s side. Then begins the tale itself of a Franciscan Stiggins on his daily rounds, and of the “oldë churl, with lockës hoar,” who at one stroke blasphemed the whole convent, and took ample change out of Friar John for many a good penny or fat meal given in the past, and for much friction in his conjugal relations. The whole is told with inimitable humour, and it is to be regretted that we hear nothing of the comments with which it was received. At this point comes another gap in Chaucer’s plan.
| His eyen twinkled in his head aright As do the starrës in a frosty night. |
THE FRIAR
(From the Ellesmere MS.)
Then suddenly our Host calls upon the Clerk of Oxford—
| Ye ride as still and coy as doth a maid, Were newly spousëd, sitting at the board; This day ne heard I of your tongue a word ... For Goddës sake, as be of better cheer! It is no timë for to study here. |