lf, with his deep
voice and his peremptory decisions, does not always succeed in making
himself obeyed. After the knight's tale, he would like another in the
same style to match it; but he will have to listen to the miller's,
which, on the contrary, will serve as a contrast. He insists; the miller
shouts, he shouts "in Pilates vois," he threatens to leave them all and
"go his wey" if they prevent him from talking. "Wel," says the host,

"Tel on, a devel wey!
Thou art a fool, thy wit is overcome,"

What would Donna Pampinea and Donna Filomena have said, hearing such
words?

At other times the knight is obliged to interfere, and then the tone is
very different. He does not have to scream; a word from him is enough,
and the storms are calmed. Moreover, the host himself becomes more
gentle at times; this innkeeper knows whom he has to deal with; with all
his roughness, he has a rude notion of differences and distances. His
language is the language of an innkeeper; Chaucer never commits the
fault of making him step out of his role; but the poet is too keen an
observer not to discern _nuances_ even in the temper of a jovial host.
One should see with what politeness and what salutations and what
embarrassed compliments he informs the abbess that her turn has come to
relate a story:

"My lady Prioresse, by your leve,
So that I wist I sholde yow nat greve,
I wolde demen that ye telle sholde
A tale next, if so were that ye wolde.
Now wol ye vouche-sauf, my lady dere?"
--"Gladly," quod she, and seyde as ye shal here.

The answer is not less suitable than the request.

Thus, in these little scenes, we see, put into action, the descriptions
of the prologue; the portraits step out of their frames and come down
into the street; their limbs have become immediately supple and active;
the blood courses through their veins; life fills them to the end of
their fingers. No sooner are they on their feet than they turn
somersaults or make courtesies; and by their words they charm, enliven,
edify, or scandalise. Their personality is so accentuated that it makes
them unmanageable at times; their temper rules them; they are not
masters of their speech. The friar wants to tell a story, but he is so
blinded by anger that he does not know where he is going; he stammers,
he chokes, and his narrative remains shapeless; the pardoner is so
closely bound to his profession that he cannot for a moment move