And the wife of Bath is still more repulsive.  She tells us, in the prologue to her story, that she has buried five husbands, and, buxom still, is looking for the sixth.  She is a jolly compagnon de voyage, had been thrice to Jerusalem, and is now seeking assoil for some little sins at Canterbury.  And the host’s wife, as he describes her, is not by any means a pleasant helpmeet for an honest man.  The host is out of her hearing, or he would not be so ready to tell her character: 

I have a wif, tho’ that she poore be;
But of her tongue a blabbing shrew is she,
And yet she hath a heap of vices mo.

She is always getting into trouble with the neighbors; and when he will not fight in her quarrel, she cries,

            ...  False coward, wreak thy wif;
    By corpus domini, I will have thy knife,
    And thou shalt have my distaff and go spin.

The best names she has for him are milksop, coward, and ape; and so we say, with him,

Come, let us pass away from this mattere.

THE PLAN PROPOSED.—­With these suggestions of the nature of the company assembled “for to don their pilgrimage,” we come to the framework of the story.  While sitting at the table, the host proposes

    That each of you, to shorten with your way,
    In this viage shall tellen tales twey.

Each pilgrim should tell two stories; one on the way to Canterbury, and one returning.  As, including Chaucer and the host, there are thirty-one in the company, this would make sixty-two stories.  The one who told the best story should have, on the return of the company to the Tabard inn, a supper at the expense of the rest.

The host’s idea was unanimously accepted; and in the morning, as they ride forth, they begin to put it into execution.  Although lots are drawn for the order in which the stories shall be told, it is easily arranged by the courteous host, who recognizes the difference in station among the pilgrims, that the knight shall inaugurate the scheme, which he does by telling that beautiful story of Palamon and Arcite, the plot of which is taken from Le Teseide of Boccacio.  It is received with cheers by the company, and with great delight by the host, who cries out,

    So mote I gon—­this goth aright,
    Unbockled is the mail.

The next in order is called for, but the miller, who has replenished his midnight potations in the morning, and is now rolling upon his horse, swears that “he can a noble tale,” and, not heeding the rebuke of the host,

    Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome,

he shouts out a vulgar story, in all respects in direct contrast to that of the knight.  As a literary device, this rude introduction of the miller breaks the stiffness and monotony of a succession in the order of rank; and, as a feature of the history, it seems to tell us something of democratic progress.  The miller’s story ridicules a carpenter, and the reeve, who is a carpenter, immediately repays him by telling a tale in which he puts a miller in a ludicrous position.