“Blameth noght me”: Whatever you do, don’t read the Miller’s Tale (wink, wink)

The Chaucer Reading Challenge Continues

The portrait of the bagpipe-playing Miller that accompanies his tale in the Ellesmere Manuscript

While the end of The Knight’s Tale may not satisify the modern reader, with its quick wrap-up of the Palamon/Emelye marriage and Theseus’s grasping after elusive philosophical consolation as he struggles to make sense of Arcite’s death, the Knight’s fellow pilgrims find it to be a “a noble storye, / And worthy for to drawen to memorye” (lines 3111-3112). However we may feel about it, the Knight has provided an elegent tale that serves as a stately opening to the sequence. And we nod along with the Host as he turns to the Monk for the next tale.

But then something happens.

I say “something happens” in the story-craft sense. In a story, something must happen. And this is where the drama of the frame narrative begins. So far there has been no conflict: everyone has agreed to the Host’s plans for the tale-telling game, and the Knight has obliged with the first tale. If it were to keep going in this manner, Chaucer’s pilgrimage frame, while a pleasant conceit, would not arouse very much critical interest. So, what happens? The drunken Miller interrupts and insists on telling the next tale in response to the Knight’s effort. While the Host protests for a moment, he quickly gives in to the irrepressible Miller:

Oure Host answerde, “Tel on, a devele way!
Thou art a fool; thy wit is overcome.”
“Now herkneth,” quod the Millere, “alle and some,
But first I make a protestacioun
That I am dronke: I knowe it by my soun.
And therfore if that I misspeke or saye,
Wite it the ale of Southwerk, I you praye;
For I wol telle a legende and a lif
Bothe of a carpenter and of his wif,
How that a clerk hath set the wrightes cappe.” (lines 3134-3143)

Note the hilarious passing of the buck here: if I say anything wrong, blame it on the beer—as if he were not responsible for drinking it. Furthermore, it is, of course, fictional beer, and the Miller is Chaucer’s creation, and so the narrator’s forthcoming passing of blame to the readers for proceding with the tale even though they have been warned: “Blameth noght me” if you choose the wrong tale to read. This is, of course, brimming with irony.

What’s more, the type of tale that the Miller claims that he will tell is shocking in context. The phrase “a legende and a lif” implies that this will be a religious story. It is, specifically, a story about a carpenter and his wife, along with a clerk who has apparently cuckolded the carpenter. There is, of course, a religious story about a carpenter and his wife that we all know. Many of us hear it every Christmas. However, to suggest that the carpenter has been cuckolded puts a blasphemous spin on the story of the holy family.

But the conflict and the series of narrative shocks is only just beginning—for the Reeve has taken offense. We have been told in the General Prologue that the Reeve is choleric in temperament and is, therefore, paranoid—riding at the back of the company so that he can see what everyone is doing. He is, therefore, apt to take offense and to hold a grudge. Since, in addition to his duties as a Reeve (a supervisor of an estate), he is a carpenter, he assumes that the Miller is taking a shot at him in his choice of tales. Whether or not he may be hypersensitive on the issue of cuckoldry is another matter, but this is how the Miller takes the interruption, warning that a man should not be too curious about the secrets of God—or of his wife. Ignorance is bliss.

This claim, too, is ironic, if we consider the tale that follows, in which the remarkable ignorance of John the Carpenter results directly in his cuckolding and, ultimately, physical injury and humiliation.

This is the point at which the narrator breaks in and addresses the reader directly:

What sholde I more sayn but this Millere
He nolde his wordes for no man forbere,
But tolde his cherles tale in his manere.
M’athinketh that I shal reherce it here,
And therefore every gentil wight I praye,
Deemeth nought, for Goddes love, that I saye
Of yvel entente, but for I moot reherce
Hir tales alle, be they bet or werse,
Or elles falsen som of my matere. (Lines 3167-3175)

OK, let’s hold it right there. Chaucer here expresses his regret that he must repeat the Miller’s “cherles tale.” But, alas, he must, because he has promised to repeat everything that happened on the pilgrimage truthfully…

…in his fictional story.

Please don’t assume, he begs, that his intentions are dishonorable. This is the story that his (fictional) Miller told, and, therefore, he must repeat it. He goes on:

And therfore, whoso list it noght yhere,
Turne over the leef, and chese another tale,
For he shal finde ynowe, grete and smale,
Of storial thing that toucheth gentilesse,
And eek moralitee and holinesse:
Blameth noght me if that ye chese amis. (Lines 3176-3183)

Take note that our narrator shifts responsibility onto the reader: it is up to you to choose an appropriate tale to read, not to me. There are plenty of tales in this book, after all, and a number of them boast unassailable moral content, so it’s your fault if you choose to read the one about ilicit sex and giant farts. Note also the medial space between orality and literacy implied by these lines: if you do not wish to hear this tale, then turn the page. This admonition incorporates both private reading and public performance—suggesting that both are possibilities.

Of course, any reader with any curiosity is going to continue reading at this point. The Miller’s Tale has promised us a salacious reading experience.

And it does not disappoint.

Thanks for reading, from my fancy internet typewriter to yours.

Photo by Katrin Hauf on Unsplash