(The Wife of Bath’s Tale)In the old days, the days of King Arthur10,He whom the Britons hold in great honour,All of this land was full of magic then.And with her joyous company the elf-queen Danced many a time on many a green mead.That was the old belief, as if have read:I speak of many hundred years ago.But now elves can be seen by men no more,For now the Christian charity and prayersOf limiters11 and other saintly friars12Who haunt each nook and corner, field and stream, Thick as the motes of dust in a sunbeam,Blessing the bedrooms, kitchens, halls, and bowers, Cities and towns, castles and high towers, Villages, barns, cattle-sheds and dairies,Have seen to it that there are now no fairies. Those places where you once would see an elfAre places where the limiter himselfWalks in the afternoons and early mornings, Singing his holy offices and martins,While going on the rounds of his district.Women may now go safely where they like:In every bush, and under every tree,They’ll find no other satyr13 there but he:And he’ll do nothing worse than take their honour. Now it so happened that this King ArthurHad in his court a bold knight-bachelorWho one day was hawking by the river,And it so chanced, as he was riding home,He met a maiden walking all alone,And thereupon, though she fought long and hard, The knight took by main force her maidenhood; And this outrage occasioned a great stir,So much petitioning of King Arthur,That the knight was, in due course of law, Condemned to death, and would have lost his head According to the law as it then stood,Had not the queen and many another lady Importuned the king so long for mercyThat in the end he granted him his lifeAnd gave him to the queen to dispose of:Either to execute, or spare his life.The queen gave the king thanks with all her heart,And some time afterwards spoke to the knight One day when she saw opportunity:‘Your fate is in the balance still,’ said she,‘You cannot yet be certain of your life,But you shall live if you can answer me, What is the thing that women most desire? Your neck is forfeit to the axe—beware!And if you cannot tell me here and nowI shall, however, give you leave to goA twelvemonth and a day, to seek and findAn answer that will satisfy my mind.And you must pledge, before you can depart, Duly to yield yourself up in this court.’Sad was the knight; sorrowfully he sighed; But there! It’s not as if he’d any choice.And so at long last he made up his mindTo go, and to come back at the year’s end, With whatever answer heaven might provide; And so he took his leave, and off he rode.He visited every house, and every spot Where he might have the luck to find out what The thing is that we women most desire;But could find in no country anywhereTwo people to agree with one anotherUpon this subject.巴斯妇人插叙Some said we love best Riches and wealth; and others said, honour; Some said it is the pleasures of the bed,And to be often widowed, often wed.And others said we’re happiest at heartWhen complimented and well cosseted14. Which is pretty near the truth, and that’s no lie.A man can win us best by flattery;And with attentiveness, assiduity15,We’re ensnared, one and all.Some say that we Love best to have our own way and be free,To have no one reprove us for our follies,But say how wise we are, how far from foolish. If someone touches on a tender spot,There isn’t one of us—indeed there’s not—Who won’t kick, just for being told the truth! Just try it, and you’ll find out soon enough. However faulty we may be within,We want to be thought wise, and free from sin.And others say that we take great delightIn being thought dependable and discreet,Able to hold steadfastly to one purpose,Never revealing what a person tells us.As for that notion, it’s not worth a button,Because we women can keep nothing hidden.Witness King Midas16—would you hear of him?Ovid17, among some other trifles, saidThat under his long hair King Midas hadTwo asses’ ears growing upon his head,Which blemish he kept hid, as best he might,Most artfully from everybody’s sight,So that, but for his wife, none knew of it.Above all things he loved and trusted her;And he implored her never to make mentionOf his deformity to anyone.No, not for anything in the world, she swore,Would she do such a mean and sinful thing,And bring discredit to her husband’s name.If only for her shame’s sake, she’d not tell.But none the less, she thought that she would dieIf she had to keep a secret for so long;So hard against her heart it seemed to swell,That she must speak or burst; till finallyAs she dared tell the secret to no man,Down to a marsh close by her home she ran—Till she got there, her heart was all afire—And, like a bittern when it makes its boom,Placing her mouth beneath the water’s surface,‘Do not betray me, water, with your noise,’Said she, ‘to you I tell it, no one else:My husband has got two long asses’ ears!I feel ever so much better now it’s out.I couldn’t keep it in another minute!’Which shows that though we may hold on a bit,Yet out it must; we can keep nothing secret.If you’d like to hear the ending of this tale,Read Ovid’s book: and there you’ll find it all.以上讲MIDAS的故事Now when the knight, the subject of my story,Found that he was no nearer the discoveryOf what it is that women love the best,How heavy was the heart within his breast!And home he went, for he could not remain;The day was come when he had to return.On his way home it happened that he rode,Much troubled, by the borders of a woodWhere he, all of a sudden, caught a glimpseOf four-and-twenty ladies in a dance;And eagerly drew nearer, on the chanceThat he would hear of something he could use.Lo and behold! Before he quite got there,The dance vanished, he could not tell where.No living creature was there to be seenSave for a woman sitting on the green—You couldn’t imagine an uglier.At the knight’s coming, this old woman rose.‘There’s no road on from here, Sir Knight,’ she says,‘But tell me what you’re looking for. Who knows,You’ll do yourself a good turn, it may be;We old folks know so many things,’ says she.‘My dear good mother,’ said the knight, ‘for sure,I am as good as dead, if I can’t tellWhat the thing is that women most desire.If you could tell me that, I’d pay you well.’‘Put your hand in mine and pledge your word,’ said she, ‘That you will do the first thing I requireOf you, so be that it lies in your power,And I shall tell it to you before night.’‘Agreed: you have my promise,’ said the knight.‘Then,’ said she, ‘I’ll go so far as to sayYour life is safe: for I will stake my headThat what I say is what the queen will say.Now let’s see if the proudest of them allThat wears a headkerchief or jeweled snoodWill have the face to deny or refuteWhat I’ll teach you. Say no more; let’s go on.’Then, whispering a few words in his ear,She told him to cheer up and have no fear.The knight, on his arrival at the court,Said he had kept, according to his word,His day, and that he had his answer ready.Many a maiden, many a noble lady,And many a widow (widows are so wise),The queen herself in the chair of justice,Had all assembled in the court to hear;And then the knight was ordered to appear.All were commanded to observe silence,And the knight to tell, in formal audience,What it is mortal women love the most.Instead of standing there dumb as an ox,The knight resolved the riddle there and thenIn ringing tones, so the whole court heard him:‘In general, my liege lady,’ he began,‘Women desire to have dominionOver their husbands, and their lovers too;They want to have mastery over them.That’s what you most desire—even if my lifeIs forfeit. I am here; do what you like.’In the whole court there was no wife nor maid Nor widow who’d contradict what he said,But all declared that he deserved his life.Upon this, the old woman whom the knight Encountered sitting on the forest green, Jumped up and cried: ‘My sovereign lady queen, Before the court disperses, do me right!It was I who taught his answer to the knight.For which he gave his promise on the spotThat he would do the first thing that I asked,If so be that it lay within his might.And so before the court I ask, Sir Knight,’Said she, ‘that you take me to be your wife.For well you know that I have saved your life.If this be false, deny it upon oath!’‘Alas!’ replied the knight, ‘alack, alas!I know too well that such was my promise.So for the love of God, choose something else! Take all my goods and let my body go.’‘Never! A curse on us both if I do!For though I may be ugly, old and poor,I’d not, for all the gold and metal oreThat’s buried under ground, or lies above,Be other than your wife, and your true love!’‘My love?’ cried he. ‘You mean my damnation! Alas! That ever any of my familyShould undergo such foul degradation!’But it was all for nothing; finallyHe was compelled to see he needs must wed; And, taking his aged wife, goes off to bed.Now some of you will say of me, perhaps, That I don’t trouble, out of laziness,To tell of all the gaiety and joySeen at the feat upon that marriage-day:To which I’ll give a short and simple answer, There was no feasting and no fun whatever, Nothing at all but misery and mourning,For he married her in secret in the morning,And all that day hid himself like an owl, Moping because his new wife looked so foul. And now what bitter thoughts oppressed knight When he was brought to bed with his aged wife! He tossed and twisted back and forth, the while His wife lay there and never ceased to smile,But said, ‘My dearest husband! Bless me! DoAll knights who marry wives behave like you?Is this the custom in King Arthur’s house?Is every knight of his so hard to please?I am your own true love, also your wife,And I am also she who saved your life.And surely I have never wronged you yet?So why behave like this on our first night? You’re acting like a man who’s lost his wits. What have I done? Now tell me, for God’s sake, And if I can, I shall soon set it right.’‘Set it right! Never, never!’ cried the knight,‘Nothing can ever set it right again!You are so hideous, so old and plain,And what is more besides, so basely born,It’s little wonder if I toss and turn.I only wish to God my heart would burst.’‘Is that’, she asked, ‘the cause of your distress? ‘Indeed yes, and no wonder,’ said the knight. ‘Now sir,’ said she, ‘all this I could put right Before three days are up,—that’s if I liked,And you were to behave more courteously.‘But since you talk of such gentilityAs is derived from ancient wealth; and claimOn that account to be a gentleman—Such affection isn’t worth a bean.Look for the man who’s always virtuousIn private and in public, does his bestAlways to do what gentle acts he can,And count him for the greatest gentleman.For Christ wants us to claim nobilityFrom Him, and not from our rich ancestry,For though they may have left us all their wealth,For which we claim to be of gentle birth, They are by no means able to bequeathTheir goodness, or their virtuous way of life Which earned for them the name of gentlemen, And points to us to follow in their steps.‘Upon this Dante18, that wise Florentine Poet, has spoken with great eloquence;Now listen: Dante’s verses go like this:“It’s rarely man climbs to excellence byHis own thin branches; God in His goodness Wills us to claim from Him nobility.”For from our forebears we can only claim Material things, which may injure and harm. ‘And everybody know as well as I,Were Nature to implant gentilityIn any single family, so the lineInherited it—why then, they’d never ceaseIn private and in public from behavingLike gentlemen; moreover, they would be Incapable of villainy or crime.‘Take fire, convey it to the darkest house That’s between here and coldest Caucasus19, And shut the doors on it, and go away;As brightly will that fire blaze and burn,As if a thousand folk were looking on;I’ll stake my life, that fire will performIts natural function always, till it die.Thus you can plainly see that noblenessHas no connection with ancestral riches; People aren’t always on their best behaviour As fire is—for fire is always fire.And God knows one can often enough findA lord’s son who behaves just like a fiend. And he who prizes his gentilityBecause descended from a noble house,From ancestors both noble and virtuous,Yet who himself performs no noble deed,Like his own noble ancestor who’s dead,He is not noble, be he duke or earl;For churlish actions are what make the churl. For nobility’s no more than the renownOf your forebears, by their great virtue won, Your nobility comes from God alone.Thus our true nobility comes by grace,Is not bequeathed along with our position.‘And think how noble, as Valerius20 says,Was Tullus Hostilius21, who roseFrom poverty to the highest rank of all.Read Seneca22, and Boethius23 as well,And there you will find that it’s made quite plainIt’s noble deeds that make the nobleman.And therefore, my dear husband, I conclude,That though my ancestors were rough and rude,I might be granted yet, by God on high(And so I hope) grace to live virtuously.I’m truly noble then, if I beginTo live in virtue and to cast off sin.‘As for my poverty, which you reprove,The Lord on high, in Whom we both believe, Willingly chose a life of poverty.To every man, matron, and maid, surelyIt’s plain as day that Jesus, Heaven’s King,Would never choose a vicious way of life.As Seneca and others say, in truthCheerful poverty is an honest thing.Whoever is contented with his lot,Poor as it is, I count him to be rich,Though he may have no shirt upon his back; Whoever covets anything is poor,Because he wants what isn’t in his power.The man with nothing, who would nothing have,Is rich, though you may count him as a slave.The nature of true poverty is to sing;On this Juvenal24 has a happy saying—“The poor man, when he goes a-journeying,Can laugh at thieves.” Poverty’s a hated boon, And, as I’d guess, an efficient expellerOf anxieties; also a great improverOf wisdom, when it is patiently borne.That is poverty, hard as it may seem:It is an asset no one wants to claim.Poverty will often, if you’re humble,Teach you to know God, and yourself as well. Poverty’s like an eyeglass, I declare,Through which you can see who your real friends are. In this I am not harming you; thereforeYou can’t go on complaining I am poor.‘And as for your reproach that I am old,Were there no book whatever to upholdAuthority for it, yet all the sameIt’s said by honourable gentlemenJust like yourself, that people should respectAn old man, call him “sir” for manners’ sake:I could find texts that say so, I expect.‘As for your point that I’m loathsome and old,You’ve then no fear of being made cuckold;For ugliness and age, it seems to me,Are the best bodyguards for chastity.But, since I know what gives you most delight,I’ll satisfy your sensual appetite.‘Choose now, choose one of these two things,’ said she, ‘T o have me old and ugly till I die,And be to you a true and faithful wife,And never to displease you all my life;Or else to have me beautiful and young,And take your chances with a crowd of menAll flocking to the house because of me,Or to some other place, as it may be.Choose for yourself which of the two you please.’He turns it over in his mind, and sighs,And in this way the knight at last replies:‘My lady and my love, my dear wife too,I place myself in your wise governance;Choose for yourself which ever’s the most pleasant, Most honourable to you, and me also.All’s one to me; choose either of the two;What pleases you is good enough for me.’‘Then I’ve the mastery of you,’ said she,‘Since I may choose and decide as I wish?’‘Yes, certainly,’ said he, ‘I think it best.’‘Kiss me, and we won’t quarrel any more,For I’ll be both to you, upon my honour!That’s to say, beautiful as well as good.May death and madness be my lot,’ she said,‘If I am not a wife as good and trueAs ever wife was since the world was new.And if I’m not as pretty as a queen,As any empress that was ever seenFrom east to west, before tomorrow’s dawn,Then you can deal just as you like with me.And now, lift up the curtain: look and see.’And when the knight saw it was really so,And that she was as lovely as she was young, He caught her up in both his arms for joy,With his whole heart bathed in a bath of bliss; They kiss; a thousand thousand times they kiss. And she obeyed him in all things that might Afford him satisfaction or delight.To their lives’ end they lived in perfect joy; And may Christ Jesus send us husbands who Are meek and young, and spirited in bed;And send us grace to outlive those we wed; And I pray Jesus to cut short the livesOf those who won’t be governed by their wives; And as for all old and ill-tempered skinflints, May heaven rain upon them pestilence!。
