I M.A

Prothalamion

BY EDMUND SPENSER

CALM was the day, and through the trembling air 

Sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play, 

A gentle spirit, that lightly did delay 

Hot Titan's beams, which then did glister fair; 

When I whose sullen care, 

Through discontent of my long fruitless stay 

In prince's court, and expectation vain 

Of idle hopes, which still do fly away 

Like empty shadows, did afflict my brain, 

Walked forth to ease my pain 

Along the shore of silver streaming Thames, 

Whose rutty bank, the which his river hems, 

Was painted all with variable flowers, 

And all the meads adorned with dainty gems, 

Fit to deck maidens' bowers, 

And crown their paramours, 

Against the bridal day, which is not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

There, in a meadow, by the river's side, 

A flock of nymphs I chanced to espy, 

All lovely daughters of the flood thereby, 

With goodly greenish locks, all loose untied, 

As each had been a bride; 

And each one had a little wicker basket, 

Made of fine twigs, entrailed curiously, 

In which they gathered flowers to fill their flasket, 

And with fine fingers cropt full featously 

The tender stalks on high. 

Of every sort, which in that meadow grew, 

They gathered some; the violet pallid blue, 

The little daisy, that at evening closes, 

The virgin lily, and the primrose true, 

With store of vermeil roses, 

To deck their bridegrooms' posies 

Against the bridal day, which was not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

With that, I saw two swans of goodly hue 

Come softly swimming down along the Lee; 

Two fairer birds I yet did never see. 

The snow which doth the top of Pindus strew, 

Did never whiter shew, 

Nor Jove himself, when he a swan would be 

For love of Leda, whiter did appear:

Yet Leda was they say as white as he, 

Yet not so white as these, nor nothing near. 

So purely white they were, 

That even the gentle stream, the which them bare, 

Seemed foul to them, and bade his billows spare 

To wet their silken feathers, lest they might 

Soil their fair plumes with water not so fair, 

And mar their beauties bright, 

That shone as heaven's light, 

Against their bridal day, which was not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

Eftsoons the nymphs, which now had flowers their fill, 

Ran all in haste, to see that silver brood, 

As they came floating on the crystal flood. 

Whom when they saw, they stood amazed still, 

Their wondering eyes to fill. 

Them seemed they never saw a sight so fair, 

Of fowls so lovely, that they sure did deem 

Them heavenly born, or to be that same pair 

Which through the sky draw Venus' silver team; 

For sure they did not seem 

To be begot of any earthly seed, 

But rather angels, or of angels' breed: 

Yet were they bred of Somers-heat they say, 

In sweetest season, when each flower and weed 

The earth did fresh array, 

So fresh they seemed as day, 

Even as their bridal day, which was not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

Then forth they all out of their baskets drew 

Great store of flowers, the honour of the field, 

That to the sense did fragrant odours yield, 

All which upon those goodly birds they threw, 

And all the waves did strew, 

That like old Peneus' waters they did seem, 

When down along by pleasant Tempe's shore, 

Scattered with flowers, through Thessaly they stream, 

That they appear through lilies' plenteous store, 

Like a bride's chamber floor. 

Two of those nymphs meanwhile, two garlands bound, 

Of freshest flowers which in that mead they found, 

The which presenting all in trim array, 

Their snowy foreheads therewithal they crowned, 

Whilst one did sing this lay, 

Prepared against that day, 

Against their bridal day, which was not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

'Ye gentle birds, the world's fair ornament, 

And heaven's glory, whom this happy hour 

Doth lead unto your lovers' blissful bower, 

Joy may you have and gentle heart's content 

Of your love's complement: 

And let fair Venus, that is queen of love, 

With her heart-quelling son upon you smile, 

Whose smile, they say, hath virtue to remove 

All love's dislike, and friendship's faulty guile 

For ever to assoil. 

Let endless peace your steadfast hearts accord, 

And blessed plenty wait upon your board, 

And let your bed with pleasures chaste abound, 

That fruitful issue may to you afford, 

Which may your foes confound, 

And make your joys redound 

Upon your bridal day, which is not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.' 

So ended she; and all the rest around 

To her redoubled that her undersong, 

Which said their bridal day should not be long. 

And gentle echo from the neighbour ground 

Their accents did resound. 

So forth those joyous birds did pass along, 

Adown the Lee, that to them murmured low, 

As he would speak, but that he lacked a tongue, 

Yet did by signs his glad affection show, 

Making his stream run slow. 

And all the fowl which in his flood did dwell 

Gan flock about these twain, that did excel 

The rest so far as Cynthia doth shend 

The lesser stars. So they, enranged well, 

Did on those two attend, 

And their best service lend, 

Against their wedding day, which was not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

At length they all to merry London came, 

To merry London, my most kindly nurse, 

That to me gave this life's first native source; 

Though from another place I take my name, 

An house of ancient fame. 

There when they came, whereas those bricky towers, 

The which on Thames' broad aged back do ride, 

Where now the studious lawyers have their bowers 

There whilom wont the Templar Knights to bide, 

Till they decayed through pride: 

Next whereunto there stands a stately place, 

Where oft I gained gifts and goodly grace 

Of that great lord, which therein wont to dwell, 

Whose want too well now feels my friendless case. 

But ah, here fits not well 

Old woes but joys to tell 

Against the bridal day, which is not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

Yet therein now doth lodge a noble peer, 

Great England's glory, and the world's wide wonder, 

Whose dreadful name late through all Spain did thunder, 

And Hercules' two pillars standing near 

Did make to quake and fear: 

Fair branch of honour, flower of chivalry, 

That fillest England with thy triumph's fame, 

Joy have thou of thy noble victory, 

And endless happiness of thine own name 

That promiseth the same: 

That through thy prowess and victorious arms, 

Thy country may be freed from foreign harms; 

And great Elisa's glorious name may ring 

Through all the world, filled with thy wide alarms, 

Which some brave Muse may sing 

To ages following, 

Upon the bridal day, which is not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song. 

From those high towers this noble lord issuing, 

Like radiant Hesper when his golden hair 

In th'Ocean billows he hath bathed fair, 

Descended to the river's open viewing, 

With a great train ensuing. 

Above the rest were goodly to be seen 

Two gentle knights of lovely face and feature 

Beseeming well the bower of any queen, 

With gifts of wit and ornaments of nature, 

Fit for so goodly stature; 

That like the twins of Jove they seemed in sight, 

Which deck the baldric of the heavens bright. 

They two forth pacing to the river's side, 

Received those two fair birds, their love's delight; 

Which, at th' appointed tide, 

Each one did make his bride 

Against their bridal day, which is not long: 

      Sweet Thames, run softly, till I end my song.

Prothalamion, the commonly used name of Prothalamion; or, A Spousall Verse in Honour of the Double Marriage of Ladie Elizabeth and Ladie Katherine Somerset, is a poem by Edmund Spenser( 1552-1599) , one of the important poets of the Tudor Period in England. Published in 1596, it is a nuptial song that he composed that year on the occasion of the twin marriage of the daughters of the Earl of Worcester; Elizabeth Somerset  and Katherine Somerset.

Prothalamion is written in the conventional form of a marriage song. The poem begins with a description of the River Thames  where Spenser finds two beautiful maidens. The poet proceeds to praise them and wishing them all the blessings for their marriages. The poem begins with a fine description of the day when on which he is writing the poem. "Calm was the day and through the trembling air/The sweet breathing Zephyrus did softly play." The poet is standing near the Thames River and finds a group of nymphs with baskets collecting flowers for the new brides. The poet tells us that they are happily making the bridal crowns for Elizabeth and Katherine. He goes on his poem describing two swans at the Thames, relating it to the myth of Jove and Leda.  According to the myth, Jove falls in love with Leda and comes to court her in the guise of a beautiful swan. The poet feels that the Thames has done justice to his nuptial song by "flowing softly" according to his request: "Sweet Thames run softly till I end my song." The poem is often grouped with Spenser's poem about his own marriage, the Epithalamion.  

Prothalamion, a spousal verse by Edmund Spenser is one of the loveliest wedding odes. The verse is essentially the wedlock of twin sisters; Lady Catherine and Lady Elizabeth with Henry Gilford and William Peter.

Conversely, on comparison with Epithalamion, the verse is considered less realistic and unappealing. Spenser incorporates classical imagery strongly with a beautiful atmosphere in the poem. The emphasis of renaissance on Prothalamion brings a tinge of mythological figures like Venus, Cynthia and Titan.

Prothalamion:

Stanza 1:

The poet walks along the banks of River Thames to forget the worries of his personal life. He was completely frustrated with the Job at the court and all he wanted is some mental peace. The cool breeze covered the heat of the sun by reflecting a shade of tender warmth. There are flowers everywhere and the birds chirp happily. The poet as a refrain requests the river to flow softly until he ends his song.

Stanza 2:

The poet happens to see a group of nymphs along the banks of the river. Here the poet makes use of first Mythological figure, the nymphs which are supernatural maidens known for their purity. Every nymph looked stunning and had loose strands of hair falling to the shoulders. Nymphs together prepared bouquets of flowers with primroses, white lilies, red roses, tulips, violets and daisies.

Stanza 3:

As the second mystic entity, Spenser introduces the swans. Swans that swam across the river looked holy and whiter than Jupiter who disguised as a swan to win his love, Leda. But, yes, what Spenser says next is that these swans are shinier than Leda herself. The River Thames requests its waters not to dirty the sacred wings of the swan.

Stanza 4:

The nymphs were all dumb struck watching the swans swim across the river. Swans are usually assigned to drawing the chariot of Venus, the goddess of love. The white lilies are matched to the purity or virginity of the nymphs.

Stanza 5:

As the next step, the nymphs prepare poises and a basket of flowers which look like bridal chamber adorned with flowers. The nymphs on excitement of the upcoming wedding throw the flowers over the River Thames and birds. The nymphs also prepare a wedding song. With all the fragrance of flowers, Thames exactly looked like the Peneus, the river of ancient fame flowing along the Tempe and the Thessalian valley.

Stanza 6:

The song of the nymph mesmerizes with an enchanting musical effect. Here Spenser wishes the couple live forever with swans’ contented heart and eternal bliss as these birds are the wonder of heaven. He also prays to Cupid and Venus to bless the couple with love and care lest they be safe from deceit and dislike. With endless affluence and happiness, their kids must be a sign of dignity and a threat to immoral people.

Stanza 7:

The river Lee, with headquarters at Kent, flows with happiness on such an occasion. As the birds flew above the swans, the sight looked like moon (Cynthia) shining above the stars.

Stanza 8:

Once the wedding starts at London, the poet begins to recollect his encounters at the mansion and the building where the wedding occurs.

Stanza 9:

The Earl of Essex lived in the mighty castle which actually was the venue of the wedding. He was so chivalrous that he served as a danger to foreign countries. His brave attack on Spain shot him to fame and entire Spain shook at his very name. Queen Elizabeth was so proud of him and he deserves to be celebrated with a poem.

Stanza 10:

The Earl of Sussex walked towards the river and he looked fresh with his lovely golden hair. He was accompanied by two young men who were brave, handsome and glorious. They resembled the Twins of Jupiter namely, Castor and Pollux. The men held the hands of the brides and their wedlock begun thereby.

With all the necessary ingredients for a successful verse, Prothalamion is embroidered with long lasting style and simplicity.
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The Canterbury Tales : Prologue

Here bygynneth the Book of the tales of Caunterbury	Here begins the Book of the Tales of Canterbury
1: Whan that aprill with his shoures soote 2: The droghte of march hath perced to the roote, 3: And bathed every veyne in swich licour 4: Of which vertu engendred is the flour; 5: Whan zephirus eek with his sweete breeth 6: Inspired hath in every holt and heeth 7: Tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne 8: Hath in the ram his halve cours yronne, 9: And smale foweles maken melodye, 10: That slepen al the nyght with open ye 11: (so priketh hem nature in hir corages); 12: Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages, 13: And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes, 14: To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes; 15: And specially from every shires ende 16: Of engelond to caunterbury they wende, 17: The hooly blisful martir for to seke, 18: That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.	When April with his showers sweet with fruit The drought of March has pierced unto the root And bathed each vein with liquor that has power To generate therein and sire the flower; When Zephyr also has, with his sweet breath, Quickened again, in every holt and heath, The tender shoots and buds, and the young sun Into the Ram one half his course has run, And many little birds make melody That sleep through all the night with open eye (So Nature pricks them on to ramp and rage)- Then do folk long to go on pilgrimage, And palmers to go seeking out strange strands, To distant shrines well known in sundry lands. And specially from every shire's end Of England they to Canterbury wend, The holy blessed martyr there to seek Who helped them when they lay so ill and weal
19: Bifil that in that seson on a day, 20: In southwerk at the tabard as I lay 21: Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage 22: To caunterbury with ful devout corage, 23: At nyght was come into that hostelrye 24: Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye, 25: Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle 26: In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle, 27: That toward caunterbury wolden ryde. 28: The chambres and the stables weren wyde, 29: And wel we weren esed atte beste. 30: And shortly, whan the sonne was to reste, 31: So hadde I spoken with hem everichon 32: That I was of hir felaweshipe anon, 33: And made forward erly for to ryse, 34: To take oure wey ther as I yow devyse.	Befell that, in that season, on a day In Southwark, at the Tabard, as I lay Ready to start upon my pilgrimage To Canterbury, full of devout homage, There came at nightfall to that hostelry Some nine and twenty in a company Of sundry persons who had chanced to fall In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all That toward Canterbury town would ride. The rooms and stables spacious were and wide, And well we there were eased, and of the best. And briefly, when the sun had gone to rest, So had I spoken with them, every one, That I was of their fellowship anon, And made agreement that we'd early rise To take the road, as you I will apprise.
35: But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space, 36: Er that I ferther in this tale pace, 37: Me thynketh it acordaunt to resoun 38: To telle yow al the condicioun 39: Of ech of hem, so as it semed me, 40: And whiche they weren, and of what degree, 41: And eek in what array that they were inne; 42: And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne.	But none the less, whilst I have time and space, Before yet farther in this tale I pace, It seems to me accordant with reason To inform you of the state of every one Of all of these, as it appeared to me, And who they were, and what was their degree, And even how arrayed there at the inn; And with a knight thus will I first begin.
The Knight's Portrait	THE KNIGHT
43: A knyght ther was, and that a worthy man, 44: That fro the tyme that he first bigan 45: To riden out, he loved chivalrie, 46: Trouthe and honour, fredom and curteisie. 47: Ful worthy was he in his lordes werre, 48: And therto hadde he riden, no man ferre, 49: As wel in cristendom as in hethenesse, 50: And evere honoured for his worthynesse. 51: At alisaundre he was whan it was wonne. 52: Ful ofte tyme he hadde the bord bigonne 53: Aboven alle nacions in pruce; 54: In lettow hadde he reysed and in ruce, 55: No cristen man so ofte of his degree. 56: In gernade at the seege eek hadde he be 57: Of algezir, and riden in belmarye. 58: At lyeys was he and at satalye, 59: Whan they were wonne; and in the grete see 60: At many a noble armee hadde he be. 61: At mortal batailles hadde he been fiftene, 62: And foughten for oure feith at tramyssene 63: In lystes thries, and ay slayn his foo. 64: This ilke worthy knyght hadde been also 65: Somtyme with the lord of palatye 66: Agayn another hethen in turkye. 67: And everemoore he hadde a sovereyn prys; 68: And though that he were worthy, he was wys, 69: And of his port as meeke as is a mayde. 70: He nevere yet no vileynye ne sayde 71: In al his lyf unto no maner wight. 72: He was a verray, parfit gentil knyght. 73: But, for to tellen yow of his array, 74: His hors were goode, but he was nat gay. 75: Of fustian he wered a gypon 76: Al bismotered with his habergeon, 77: For he was late ycome from his viage, 78: And wente for to doon his pilgrymage.	A knight there was, and he a worthy man, Who, from the moment that he first began To ride about the world, loved chivalry, Truth, honour, freedom and all courtesy. Full worthy was he in his liege-lord's war, And therein had he ridden (none more far) As well in Christendom as heathenesse, And honoured everywhere for worthiness. At Alexandria, he, when it was won; Full oft the table's roster he'd begun Above all nations' knights in Prussia. In Latvia raided he, and Russia, No christened man so oft of his degree. In far Granada at the siege was he Of Algeciras, and in Belmarie. At Ayas was he and at Satalye When they were won; and on the Middle Sea At many a noble meeting chanced to be. Of mortal battles he had fought fifteen, And he'd fought for our faith at Tramissene Three times in lists, and each time slain his foe. This self-same worthy knight had been also At one time with the lord of Palatye Against another heathen in Turkey: And always won he sovereign fame for prize. Though so illustrious, he was very wise And bore himself as meekly as a maid. He never yet had any vileness said, In all his life, to whatsoever wight. He was a truly perfect, gentle knight. But now, to tell you all of his array, His steeds were good, but yet he was not gay. Of simple fustian wore he a jupon Sadly discoloured by his habergeon; For he had lately come from his voyage And now was going on this pilgrimage.

The Prioress' Portrait

THE PRIORESS

118: Ther was also a nonne, a prioresse, 119: That of hir smylyng was ful symple and coy; 120: Hire gretteste ooth was but by seinte loy; 121: And she was cleped madame eglentyne. 122: Ful weel she soong the service dyvyne, 123: Entuned in hir nose ful semely, 124: And frenssh she spak ful faire and fetisly, 125: After the scole of stratford atte bowe, 126: For frenssh of parys was to hire unknowe. 127: At mete wel ytaught was she with alle: 128: She leet no morsel from hir lippes falle, 129: Ne wette hir fyngres in hir sauce depe; 130: Wel koude she carie a morsel and wel kepe 131: That no drope ne fille upon hire brest. 132: In curteisie was set ful muchel hir lest. 133: Hir over-lippe wyped she so clene 134: That in hir coppe ther was no ferthyng sene 135: Of grece, whan she dronken hadde hir draughte. 136: Ful semely after hir mete she raughte. 137: And sikerly she was of greet desport, 138: And ful plesaunt, and amyable of port, 139: And peyned hire to countrefete cheere 140: Of court, and to been estatlich of manere, 141: And to ben holden digne of reverence. 142: But, for to speken of hire conscience, 143: She was so charitable and so pitous 144: She wolde wepe, if that she saugh a mous 145: Kaught in a trappe, if it were deed or bledde. 146: Of smale houndes hadde she that she fedde 147: With rosted flessh, or milk and wastel-breed. 148: But soore wepte she if oon of hem were deed, 149: Or if men smoot it with a yerde smerte; 150: And al was conscience and tendre herte. 151: Ful semyly hir wympul pynched was, 152: Hir nose tretys, hir eyen greye as glas, 153: Hir mouth ful smal, and therto softe and reed; 154: But sikerly she hadde a fair forheed; 155: It was almoost a spanne brood, I trowe; 156: For, hardily, she was nat undergrowe. 157: Ful fetys was hir cloke, as I was war. 158: Of smal coral aboute hire arm she bar 159: A peire of bedes, gauded al with grene, 160: And theron heng a brooch of gold ful sheene, 161: On which ther was first write a crowned a, 162: And after amor vincit omnia.

There was also a nun, a prioress, Who, in her smiling, modest was and coy; Her greatest oath was but "By Saint Eloy!" And she was known as Madam Eglantine. Full well she sang the services divine, Intoning through her nose, becomingly; And fair she spoke her French, and fluently, After the school of Stratford-at-the-Bow, For French of Paris was not hers to know. At table she had been well taught withal, And never from her lips let morsels fall, Nor dipped her fingers deep in sauce, but ate With so much care the food upon her plate That never driblet fell upon her breast. In courtesy she had delight and zest. Her upper lip was always wiped so clean That in her cup was no iota seen Of grease, when she had drunk her draught of wine. Becomingly she reached for meat to dine. And certainly delighting in good sport, She was right pleasant, amiable- in short. She was at pains to counterfeit the look Of courtliness, and stately manners took, And would be held worthy of reverence. But, to say something of her moral sense, She was so charitable and piteous That she would weep if she but saw a mouse Caught in a trap, though it were dead or bled. She had some little dogs, too, that she fed On roasted flesh, or milk and fine white bread. But sore she'd weep if one of them were dead, Or if men smote it with a rod to smart: For pity ruled her, and her tender heart. Right decorous her pleated wimple was; Her nose was fine; her eyes were blue as glass; Her mouth was small and therewith soft and red; But certainly she had a fair forehead; It was almost a full span broad, I own, For, truth to tell, she was not undergrown. Neat was her cloak, as I was well aware. Of coral small about her arm she'd bear A string of beads and gauded all with green; And therefrom hung a brooch of golden sheen Whereon there was first written a crowned "A," And under, Amor vincit omnia.

The Clerk's Portrait

THE CLERK

285: A clerk ther was of oxenford also, 286: That unto logyk hadde longe ygo. 287: As leene was his hors as is a rake, 288: And he nas nat right fat, I undertake, 289: But looked holwe, and therto sobrely. 290: Ful thredbare was his overeste courtepy; 291: For he hadde geten hym yet no benefice, 292: Ne was so worldly for to have office. 293: For hym was levere have at his beddes heed 294: Twenty bookes, clad in blak or reed, 295: Of aristotle and his philosophie, 296: Than robes riche, or fithele, or gay sautrie. 297: But al be that he was a philosophre, 298: Yet hadde he but litel gold in cofre; 299: But al that he myghte of his freendes hente, 300: On bookes and on lernynge he it spente, 301: And bisily gan for the soules preye 302: Of hem that yaf hym wherwith to scoleye. 303: Of studie took he moost cure and moost heede, 304: Noght o word spak he moore than was neede, 305: And that was seyd in forme and reverence, 306: And short and quyk and ful of hy sentence; 307: Sownynge in moral vertu was his speche, 308: And gladly wolde he lerne and gladly teche.

A clerk from Oxford was with us also, Who'd turned to getting knowledge, long ago. As meagre was his horse as is a rake, Nor he himself too fat, I'll undertake, But he looked hollow and went soberly. Right threadbare was his overcoat; for he Had got him yet no churchly benefice, Nor was so worldly as to gain office. For he would rather have at his bed's head Some twenty books, all bound in black and red, Of Aristotle and his philosophy Than rich robes, fiddle, or gay psaltery. Yet, and for all he was philosopher, He had but little gold within his coffer; But all that he might borrow from a friend On books and learning he would swiftly spend, And then he'd pray right busily for the souls Of those who gave him wherewithal for schools. Of study took he utmost care and heed. Not one word spoke he more than was his need; And that was said in fullest reverence And short and quick and full of high good sense. Pregnant of moral virtue was his speech; And gladly would he learn and gladly teach.

The Cook's Portrait

THE COOK

379: A cook they hadde with hem for the nones 380: To boille the chiknes with the marybones, 381: And poudre-marchant tart and galyngale. 382: Wel koude he knowe a draughte of londoun ale. 383: He koude rooste, and sethe, and broille, and frye, 384: Maken mortreux, and wel bake a pye. 385: But greet harm was it, as it thoughte me, 386: That on his shyne a mormal hadde he. 387: For blankmanger, that made he with the beste

A cook they had with them, just for the nonce, To boil the chickens with the marrow-bones, And flavour tartly and with galingale. Well could he tell a draught of London ale. And he could roast and seethe and broil and fry, And make a good thick soup, and bake a pie. But very ill it was, it seemed to me, That on his shin a deadly sore had he; For sweet blanc-mange, he made it with the best.

The Wife of Bath's Portrait

THE WIFE OF BATH

445: A good wif was ther of biside bathe, 446: But she was somdel deef, and that was scathe. 447: Of clooth-makyng she hadde swich an haunt, 448: She passed hem of ypres and of gaunt. 449: In al the parisshe wif ne was ther noon 450: That to the offrynge bifore hire sholde goon; 451: And if ther dide, certeyn so wrooth was she, 452: That she was out of alle charitee. 453: Hir coverchiefs ful fyne weren of ground; 454: I dorste swere they weyeden ten pound 455: That on a sonday weren upon hir heed. 456: Hir hosen weren of fyn scarlet reed, 457: Ful streite yteyd, and shoes ful moyste and newe. 458: Boold was hir face, and fair, and reed of hewe. 459: She was a worthy womman al hir lyve: 460: Housbondes at chirche dore she hadde fyve, 461: Withouten oother compaignye in youthe, -- 462: But therof nedeth nat to speke as nowthe. 463: And thries hadde she been at jerusalem; 464: She hadde passed many a straunge strem; 465: At rome she hadde been, and at boloigne, 466: In galice at seint-jame, and at coloigne. 467: She koude muchel of wandrynge by the weye. 468: Gat-tothed was she, soothly for to seye. 469: Upon an amblere esily she sat, 470: Ywympled wel, and on hir heed an hat 471: As brood as is a bokeler or a targe; 472: A foot-mantel aboute hir hipes large, 473: And on hir feet a paire of spores sharpe. 474: In felaweshipe wel koude she laughe and carpe. 475: Of remedies of love she knew per chaunce, 476: For she koude of that art the olde daunce.

There was a housewife come from Bath, or near, Who- sad to say- was deaf in either ear. At making cloth she had so great a bent She bettered those of Ypres and even of Ghent. In all the parish there was no goodwife Should offering make before her, on my life; And if one did, indeed, so wroth was she It put her out of all her charity. Her kerchiefs were of finest weave and ground; I dare swear that they weighed a full ten pound Which, of a Sunday, she wore on her head. Her hose were of the choicest scarlet red, Close gartered, and her shoes were soft and new. Bold was her face, and fair, and red of hue. She'd been respectable throughout her life, With five churched husbands bringing joy and strife, Not counting other company in youth; But thereof there's no need to speak, in truth. Three times she'd journeyed to Jerusalem; And many a foreign stream she'd had to stem; At Rome she'd been, and she'd been in Boulogne, In Spain at Santiago, and at Cologne. She could tell much of wandering by the way: Gap-toothed was she, it is no lie to say. Upon an ambler easily she sat, Well wimpled, aye, and over all a hat As broad as is a buckler or a targe; A rug was tucked around her buttocks large, And on her feet a pair of sharpened spurs. In company well could she laugh her slurs. The remedies of love she knew, perchance, For of that art she'd learned the old, old dance.

Introduction

Chaucer’s original plan for The Canterbury Tales was for each character to tell four tales, two on the way to Canterbury and two on the way back. But, instead of 120 tales, the text ends after twenty-four tales, and the party is still on its way to Canterbury. Chaucer either planned to revise the structure to cap the work at twenty-four tales, or else left it incomplete when he died on October 25, 1400. Other writers and printers soon recognized The Canterbury Tales as a masterful and highly original work. Though Chaucer had been influenced by the great French and Italian writers of his age, works like Boccaccio’s Decameron were not accessible to most English readers, so the format of The Canterbury Tales, and the intense realism of its characters, were virtually unknown to readers in the fourteenth century before Chaucer. William Caxton, England’s first printer, published The Canterbury Tales in the 1470s, and it continued to enjoy a rich printing history that never truly faded. By the English Renaissance, poetry critic George Puttenham had identified Chaucer as the father of the English literary canon. Chaucer’s project to create a literature and poetic language for all classes of society succeeded, and today Chaucer still stands as one of the great shapers of literary narrative and character.

General Prologue

At the Tabard Inn, a tavern in Southwark, near London, the narrator joins a company of twenty-nine pilgrims. The pilgrims, like the narrator, are traveling to the shrine of the martyr Saint Thomas Becket in Canterbury. The narrator gives a descriptive account of twenty-seven of these pilgrims, including a Knight, Squire, Yeoman, Prioress, Monk, Friar, Merchant, Clerk, Man of Law, Franklin, Haberdasher, Carpenter, Weaver, Dyer, Tapestry-Weaver, Cook, Shipman, Physician, Wife, Parson, Plowman, Miller, Manciple, Reeve, Summoner, Pardoner, and Host. (He does not describe the Second Nun or the Nun’s Priest, although both characters appear later in the book.) The Host, whose name, we find out in the Prologue to the Cook’s Tale, is Harry Bailey, suggests that the group ride together and entertain one another with stories. He decides that each pilgrim will tell two stories on the way to Canterbury and two on the way back. Whomever he judges to be the best storyteller will receive a meal at Bailey’s tavern, courtesy of the other pilgrims. The pilgrims draw lots and determine that the Knight will tell the first tale.

General Prologue: Introduction

Fragment 1, lines 1–42

Summary

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote
The droghte of March hath perced to the roote . . .

)

The narrator opens the General Prologue with a description of the return of spring. He describes the April rains, the burgeoning flowers and leaves, and the chirping birds. Around this time of year, the narrator says, people begin to feel the desire to go on a pilgrimage. Many devout English pilgrims set off to visit shrines in distant holy lands, but even more choose to travel to Canterbury to visit the relics of Saint Thomas Becket in Canterbury Cathedral, where they thank the martyr for having helped them when they were in need. The narrator tells us that as he prepared to go on such a pilgrimage, staying at a tavern in Southwark called the Tabard Inn, a great company of twenty-nine travelers entered. The travelers were a diverse group who, like the narrator, were on their way to Canterbury. They happily agreed to let him join them. That night, the group slept at the Tabard, and woke up early the next morning to set off on their journey. Before continuing the tale, the narrator declares his intent to list and describe each of the members of the group.

Analysis

The invocation of spring with which the General Prologue begins is lengthy and formal compared to the language of the rest of the Prologue. The first lines situate the story in a particular time and place, but the speaker does this in cosmic and cyclical terms, celebrating the vitality and richness of spring. This approach gives the opening lines a dreamy, timeless, unfocused quality, and it is therefore surprising when the narrator reveals that he’s going to describe a pilgrimage that he himself took rather than telling a love story. A pilgrimage is a religious journey undertaken for penance and grace. As pilgrimages went, Canterbury was not a very difficult destination for an English person to reach. It was, therefore, very popular in fourteenth-century England, as the narrator mentions. Pilgrims traveled to visit the remains of Saint Thomas Becket, archbishop of Canterbury, who was murdered in 1170 by knights of King Henry II. Soon after his death, he became the most popular saint in England. The pilgrimage in The Canterbury Tales should not be thought of as an entirely solemn occasion, because it also offered the pilgrims an opportunity to abandon work and take a vacation.

In line 20, the narrator abandons his unfocused, all-knowing point of view, identifying himself as an actual person for the first time by inserting the first person—“I”—as he relates how he met the group of pilgrims while staying at the Tabard Inn. He emphasizes that this group, which he encountered by accident, was itself formed quite by chance (25–26). He then shifts into the first-person plural, referring to the pilgrims as “we” beginning in line 29, asserting his status as a member of the group.

The narrator ends the introductory portion of his prologue by noting that he has “tyme and space” to tell his narrative. His comments underscore the fact that he is writing some time after the events of his story, and that he is describing the characters from memory. He has spoken and met with these people, but he has waited a certain length of time before sitting down and describing them. His intention to describe each pilgrim as he or she seemed to him is also important, for it emphasizes that his descriptions are not only subject to his memory but are also shaped by his individual perceptions and opinions regarding each of the characters. He positions himself as a mediator between two groups: the group of pilgrims, of which he was a member, and us, the audience, whom the narrator explicitly addresses as “you” in lines 34 and 38.

On the other hand, the narrator’s declaration that he will tell us about the “condicioun,” “degree,” and “array” (dress) of each of the pilgrims suggests that his portraits will be based on objective facts as well as his own opinions. He spends considerable time characterizing the group members according to their social positions. The pilgrims represent a diverse cross section of fourteenth-century English society. Medieval social theory divided society into three broad classes, called “estates”: the military, the clergy, and the laity. (The nobility, not represented in the General Prologue, traditionally derives its title and privileges from military duties and service, so it is considered part of the military estate.) In the portraits that we will see in the rest of the General Prologue, the Knight and Squire represent the military estate. The clergy is represented by the Prioress (and her nun and three priests), the Monk, the Friar, and the Parson. The other characters, from the wealthy Franklin to the poor Plowman, are the members of the laity. These lay characters can be further subdivided into landowners (the Franklin), professionals (the Clerk, the Man of Law, the Guildsmen, the Physician, and the Shipman), laborers (the Cook and the Plowman), stewards (the Miller, the Manciple, and the Reeve), and church officers (the Summoner and the Pardoner). As we will see, Chaucer’s descriptions of the various characters and their social roles reveal the influence of the medieval genre of estates satire.

Fragment 1, lines 43–330

Summary

The narrator begins his character portraits with the Knight. In the narrator’s eyes, the Knight is the noblest of the pilgrims, embodying military prowess, loyalty, honor, generosity, and good manners.The Knight conducts himself in a polite and mild fashion, never saying an unkind word about anyone. The Knight’s son, who is about twenty years old, acts as his father’s squire, or apprentice. Though the Squire has fought in battles with great strength and agility, like his father, he is also devoted to love. A strong, beautiful, curly-haired young man dressed in clothes embroidered with dainty flowers, the Squire fights in the hope of winning favor with his “lady.” His talents are those of the courtly lover—singing, playing the flute, drawing, writing, and riding—and he loves so passionately that he gets little sleep at night. He is a dutiful son, and fulfills his responsibilities toward his father, such as carving his meat. Accompanying the Knight and Squire is the Knight’s Yeoman, or freeborn servant. The Yeoman wears green from head to toe and carries an enormous bow and beautifully feathered arrows, as well as a sword and small shield. His gear and attire suggest that he is a forester.

Next, the narrator describes the Prioress, named Madame Eglentyne. Although the Prioress is not part of the royal court, she does her best to imitate its manners. She takes great care to eat her food daintily, to reach for food on the table delicately, and to wipe her lip clean of grease before drinking from her cup. She speaks French, but with a provincial English accent. She is compassionate toward animals, weeping when she sees a mouse caught in a trap, and feeding her dogs roasted meat and milk. The narrator says that her features are pretty, even her enormous forehead. On her arm she wears a set of prayer beads, from which hangs a gold brooch that features the Latin words for “Love Conquers All.” Another nun and three priests accompany her.

The Monk is the next pilgrim the narrator describes. Extremely handsome, he loves hunting and keeps many horses. He is an outrider at his monastery (he looks after the monastery’s business with the external world), and his horse’s bridle can be heard jingling in the wind as clear and loud as a church bell. The Monk is aware that the rule of his monastic order discourages monks from engaging in activities like hunting, but he dismisses such strictures as worthless. The narrator says that he agrees with the Monk: why should the Monk drive himself crazy with study or manual labor? The fat, bald, and well-dressed Monk resembles a prosperous lord.

The next member of the company is the Friar—a member of a religious order who lives entirely by begging. This friar is jovial, pleasure-loving, well-spoken, and socially agreeable. He hears confessions, and assigns very easy penance to people who donate money. For this reason, he is very popular with wealthy landowners throughout the country. He justifies his leniency by arguing that donating money to friars is a sign of true repentance, even if the penitent is incapable of shedding tears. He also makes himself popular with innkeepers and barmaids, who can give him food and drink. He pays no attention to beggars and lepers because they can’t help him or his fraternal order. Despite his vow of poverty, the donations he extracts allow him to dress richly and live quite merrily.

Tastefully attired in nice boots and an imported fur hat, the Merchant speaks constantly of his profits. The merchant is good at borrowing money, but clever enough to keep anyone from knowing that he is in debt. The narrator does not know his name. After the Merchant comes the Clerk, a thin and threadbare student of philosophy at Oxford, who devours books instead of food. The Man of Law, an influential lawyer, follows next. He is a wise character, capable of preparing flawless legal documents. The Man of Law is a very busy man, but he takes care to appear even busier than he actually is.

Analysis

The Canterbury Tales is more than an estates satire because the characters are fully individualized creations rather than simple good or bad examples of some ideal type. Many of them seem aware that they inhabit a socially defined role and seem to have made a conscious effort to redefine their prescribed role on their own terms. For instance, the Squire is training to occupy the same social role as his father, the Knight, but unlike his father he defines this role in terms of the ideals of courtly love rather than crusading. The Prioress is a nun, but she aspires to the manners and behavior of a lady of the court, and, like the Squire, incorporates the motifs of courtly love into her Christian vocation. Characters such as the Monk and the Friar, who more obviously corrupt or pervert their social roles, are able to offer a justification and a rationale for their behavior, demonstrating that they have carefully considered how to go about occupying their professions.

Within each portrait, the narrator praises the character being described in superlative terms, promoting him or her as an outstanding example of his or her type. At the same time, the narrator points out things about many of the characters that the reader would be likely to view as flawed or corrupt, to varying degrees. The narrator’s naïve stance introduces many different ironies into the General Prologue. Though it is not always clear exactly how ironic the narrator is being, the reader can perceive a difference between what each character should be and what he or she is.

The narrator is also a character, and an incredibly complex one at that. Examination of the narrator’s presentation of the pilgrims reveals some of his prejudices. The Monk’s portrait, in which the narrator inserts his own judgment of the Monk into the actual portrait, is the clearest example of this. But most of the time, the narrator’s opinions are more subtly present. What he does and doesn’t discuss, the order in which he presents or recalls details, and the extent to which he records objective characteristics of the pilgrims are all crucial to our own ironic understanding of the narrator.

The Knight, the Squire, and the Yeoman

The Knight has fought in crusades the world over, and comes as close as any of the characters to embodying the ideals of his vocation. But even in his case, the narrator suggests a slight separation between the individual and the role: the Knight doesn’t simply exemplify chivalry, truth, honor, freedom, and courtesy; he “loves” them. His virtues are due to his self-conscious pursuit of clearly conceived ideals. Moreover, the Knight’s comportment is significant. Not only is he a worthy warrior, he is prudent in the image of himself that he projects. His appearance is calculated to express humility rather than vainglory.

Whereas the narrator describes the Knight in terms of abstract ideals and battles, he describes the Knight’s son, the Squire, mostly in terms of his aesthetic attractiveness. The Squire prepares to occupy the same role as his father, but he envisions that role differently, supplementing his father’s devotion to military prowess and the Christian cause with the ideals of courtly love (see discussion of courtly love under “Themes, Motifs, and Symbols”). He displays all of the accomplishments and behaviors prescribed for the courtly lover: he grooms and dresses himself carefully, he plays and sings, he tries to win favor with his “lady,” and he doesn’t sleep at night because of his overwhelming love. It is important to recognize, however, that the Squire isn’t simply in love because he is young and handsome; he has picked up all of his behaviors and poses from his culture.

The description of the Knight’s servant, the Yeoman, is limited to an account of his physical appearance, leaving us with little upon which to base an inference about him as an individual. He is, however, quite well attired for someone of his station, possibly suggesting a self-conscious attempt to look the part of a forester.

The Prioress, the Monk, and the Friar

With the descriptions of the Prioress, the Monk, and the Friar, the level of irony with which each character is presented gradually increases. Like the Squire, the Prioress seems to have redefined her own role, imitating the behavior of a woman of the royal court and supplementing her religious garb with a courtly love motto: Love Conquers All. This does not necessarily imply that she is corrupt: Chaucer’s satire of her is subtle rather than scathing. More than a personal culpability, the Prioress’s devotion to courtly love demonstrates the universal appeal and influence of the courtly love tradition in Chaucer’s time. Throughout The Canterbury Tales,Chaucer seems to question the popularity  of courtly love in his own culture, and to highlight the contradictions between courtly love and Christianity.

The narrator focuses on the Prioress’s table manners in minute detail, openly admiring her courtly manners. He seems mesmerized by her mouth, as he mentions her smiling, her singing, her French speaking, her eating, and her drinking. As if to apologize for dwelling so long on what he seems to see as her erotic manner, he moves to a consideration of her “conscience,” but his decision to illustrate her great compassion by focusing on the way she treats her pets and reacts to a mouse is probably tongue-in-cheek. The Prioress emerges as a very realistically portrayed human being, but she seems somewhat lacking as a religious figure.

The narrator’s admiring description of the Monk is more conspicuously satirical than that of the Prioress. The narrator zeroes in on the Monk with a vivid image: his bridle jingles as loud and clear as a chapel bell. This image is pointedly ironic, since the chapel is where the Monk should be but isn’t. To a greater degree than the Squire or the Prioress, the Monk has departed from his prescribed role as defined by the founders of his order. He lives like a lord rather than a cleric. Hunting is an extremely expensive form of leisure, the pursuit of the upper classes. The narrator takes pains to point out that the Monk is aware of the rules of his order but scorns them.

Like the Monk, the Friar does not perform his function as it was originally conceived. Saint Francis, the prototype for begging friars, ministered specifically to beggars and lepers, the very people the Friar disdains. Moreover, the Friar doesn’t just neglect his spiritual duties; he actually abuses them for his own profit. The description of his activities implies that he gives easy penance in order to get extra money, so that he can live well. Like the Monk, the Friar is ready with arguments justifying his reinterpretation of his role: beggars and lepers cannot help the Church, and giving money is a sure sign of penitence. The narrator strongly hints that the Friar is lecherous as well as greedy. The statement that he made many marriages at his own cost suggests that he found husbands for young women he had made pregnant. His white neck is a conventional sign of lecherousness.

The Merchant, the Clerk, and the Man of Law

The Merchant, the Clerk, and the Man of Law represent three professional types. Though the narrator valiantly keeps up the pretense of praising everybody, the Merchant evidently taxes his ability to do so. The Merchant is in debt, apparently a regular occurrence, and his supposed cleverness at hiding his indebtedness is undermined by the fact that even the naïve narrator knows about it. Though the narrator would like to praise him, the Merchant hasn’t even told the company his name.

Sandwiched between two characters who are clearly devoted to money, the threadbare Clerk appears strikingly oblivious to worldly concerns. However, the ultimate purpose of his study is unclear. The Man of Law contrasts sharply with the Clerk in that he has used his studies for monetary gain.

Themes, Motifs & Symbols

Themes

Themes are the fundamental and often universal ideas explored in a literary work.

THE PERVASIVENESS OF COURTLY LOVE

The phrase “courtly love” refers to a set of ideas about love that was enormously influential on the literature and culture of the Middle Ages. Beginning with the Troubadour poets of southern France in the eleventh century, poets throughout Europe promoted the notions that true love only exists outside of marriage; that true love may be idealized and spiritual, and may exist without ever being physically consummated; and that a man becomes the servant of the lady he loves. Together with these basic premises, courtly love encompassed a number of minor motifs. One of these is the idea that love is a torment or a disease, and that when a man is in love he cannot sleep or eat, and therefore he undergoes physical changes, sometimes to the point of becoming unrecognizable. Although very few people’s lives resembled the courtly love ideal in any way, these themes and motifs were extremely popular and widespread in medieval and Renaissance literature and culture. They were particularly popular in the literature and culture that were part of royal and noble courts.

Courtly love motifs first appear in The Canterbury Tales with the description of the Squire in the General Prologue. The Squire’s role in society is exactly that of his father the Knight, except for his lower status, but the Squire is very different from his father in that he incorporates the ideals of courtly love into his interpretation of his own role. Indeed, the Squire is practically a parody of the traditional courtly lover. The description of the Squire establishes a pattern that runs throughout the General Prologue, and The Canterbury Tales: characters whose roles are defined by their religious or economic functions integrate the cultural ideals of courtly love into their dress, their behavior, and the tales they tell, in order to give a slightly different twist to their roles. Another such character is the Prioress, a nun who sports a “Love Conquers All” brooch.

THE IMPORTANCE OF COMPANY

Many of Chaucer’s characters end their stories by wishing the rest of the “compaignye,” or company, well. The Knight ends with “God save al this faire compaignye” (3108), and the Reeve with “God, that sitteth heighe in magestee, / Save al this compaignye, grete and smale!” (4322–4323). Company literally signifies the entire group of people, but Chaucer’s deliberate choice of this word over other words for describing masses of people, like the Middle English words for party, mixture, or group, points us to another major theme that runs throughout The Canterbury Tales. Company derives from two Latin words, com, or “with,” and pane, or “bread.” Quite literally, a company is a group of people with whom one eats, or breaks bread. The word for good friend, or “companion,” also comes from these words. But, in a more abstract sense, company had an economic connotation. It was the term designated to connote a group of people engaged in a particular business, as it is used today.

The functioning and well-being of medieval communities, not to mention their overall happiness, depended upon groups of socially bonded workers in towns and guilds, known informally as companies. If workers in a guild or on a feudal manor were not getting along well, they would not produce good work, and the economy would suffer. They would be unable to bargain, as a modern union does, for better working conditions and life benefits. Eating together was a way for guild members to cement friendships, creating a support structure for their working community. Guilds had their own special dining halls, where social groups got together to bond, be merry, and form supportive alliances. When the peasants revolted against their feudal lords in 1381, they were able to organize themselves well precisely because they had formed these strong social ties through their companies.

Company was a leveling concept—an idea created by the working classes that gave them more power and took away some of the nobility’s power and tyranny. The company of pilgrims on the way to Canterbury is not a typical example of a tightly networked company, although the five Guildsmen do represent this kind of fraternal union. The pilgrims come from different parts of society—the court, the Church, villages, the feudal manor system. To prevent discord, the pilgrims create an informal company, united by their jobs as storytellers, and by the food and drink the host provides. As far as class distinctions are concerned, they do form a company in the sense that none of them belongs to the nobility, and most have working professions, whether that work be sewing and marriage (the Wife of Bath), entertaining visitors with gourmet food (the Franklin), or tilling the earth (the Plowman).

THE CORRUPTION OF THE CHURCH

By the late fourteenth century, the Catholic Church, which governed England, Ireland, and the entire continent of Europe, had become extremely wealthy. The cathedrals that grew up around shrines to saints’ relics were incredibly expensive to build, and the amount of gold that went into decorating them and equipping them with candlesticks and reliquaries (boxes to hold relics that were more jewel-encrusted than kings’ crowns) surpassed the riches in the nobles’ coffers. In a century of disease, plague, famine, and scarce labor, the sight of a church ornamented with unused gold seemed unfair to some people, and the Church’s preaching against greed suddenly seemed hypocritical, considering its great displays of material wealth. Distaste for the excesses of the Church triggered stories and anecdotes about greedy, irreligious churchmen who accepted bribes, bribed others, and indulged themselves sensually and gastronomically, while ignoring the poor famished peasants begging at their doors.

The religious figures Chaucer represents in The Canterbury Tales all deviate in one way or another from what was traditionally expected of them. Generally, their conduct corresponds to common medieval stereotypes, but it is difficult to make any overall statement about Chaucer’s position because his narrator is so clearly biased toward some characters—the Monk, for example—and so clearly biased against others, such as the Pardoner. Additionally, the characters are not simply satirical versions of their roles; they are individuals and cannot simply be taken as typical of their professions.

The Monk, Prioress, and Friar were all members of the clerical estate. The Monk and the Prioress live in a monastery and a convent, respectively. Both are characterized as figures who seem to prefer the aristocratic to the devotional life. The Prioress’s bejeweled rosary seems more like a love token than something expressing her devotion to Christ, and her dainty mannerisms echo the advice given by Guillaume de Loris in the French romance Roman de la Rose, about how women could make themselves attractive to men. The Monk enjoys hunting, a pastime of the nobility, while he disdains study and confinement. The Friar was a member of an order of mendicants, who made their living by traveling around and begging, and accepting money to hear confession. Friars were often seen as threatening and had the reputation of being lecherous, as the Wife of Bath describes in the opening of her tale. The Summoner and the Friar are at each other’s throats so frequently in The Canterbury Talesbecause  they were in fierce competition in Chaucer’s time—summoners, too, extorted money from people.

Overall, the narrator seems to harbor much more hostility for the ecclesiastical officials (the Summoner and the Pardoner) than he does for the clerics. For example, the Monk and the Pardoner possess several traits in common, but the narrator presents them in very different ways. The narrator remembers the shiny baldness of the Monk’s head, which suggests that the Monk may have ridden without a hood, but the narrator uses the fact that the Pardoner rides without a hood as proof of his shallow character. The Monk and the Pardoner both give their own opinions of themselves to the narrator—the narrator affirms the Monk’s words by repeating them, and his own response, but the narrator mocks the Pardoner for his opinion of himself.

Motifs

Motifs are recurring structures, contrasts, and literary devices that can help to develop and inform the text’s major themes.

ROMANCE

The romance, a tale about knights and ladies incorporating courtly love themes, was a popular literary genre in fourteenth-century literature. The genre included tales of knights rescuing maidens, embarking on quests, and forming bonds with other knights and rulers (kings and queens). In particular, the romances about King Arthur, his queen, Guinevere, and his society of “knights of the round table” were very popular in England. In The Canterbury Tales, the Knight’s Tale incorporates romantic elements in an ancient classical setting, which is a somewhat unusual time and place to set a romance. The Wife of Bath’s Tale is framed by Arthurian romance, with an unnamed knight of the round table as its unlikely hero, but the tale itself becomes a proto-feminist’s moral instruction for domestic behavior. The Miller’s Tale ridicules the traditional elements of romance by transforming the love between a young wooer and a willing maiden into a boisterous and violent romp.

FABLIAUX

Fabliaux were comical and often grotesque stories in which the characters most often succeed by means of their sharp wits. Such stories were popular in France and Italy in the fourteenth century. Frequently, the plot turns or climaxes around the most grotesque feature in the story, usually a bodily noise or function. The Miller’s Tale is a prime experiment with this motif: Nicholas cleverly tricks the carpenter into spending the night in his barn so that Nicholas can sleep with the carpenter’s wife; the finale occurs when Nicholas farts in Absolon’s face, only to be burned with a hot poker on his rear end. In the Summoner’s Tale, a wealthy man bequeaths a corrupt friar an enormous fart, which the friar divides twelve ways among his brethren. This demonstrates another invention around this motif—that of wittily expanding a grotesque image in an unconventional way. In the case of the Summoner’s Tale, the image is of flatulence, but the tale excels in discussing the division of the fart in a highly intellectual (and quite hilarious) manner.

Symbols

Symbols are objects, characters, figures, and colors used to represent abstract ideas or concepts.

SPRINGTIME

The Canterbury Tales opens in April, at the height of spring. The birds are chirping, the flowers blossoming, and people long in their hearts to go on pilgrimages, which combine travel, vacation, and spiritual renewal. The springtime symbolizes rebirth and fresh beginnings, and is thus appropriate for the beginning of Chaucer’s text. Springtime also evokes erotic love, as evidenced by the moment when Palamon first sees Emelye gathering fresh flowers to make garlands in honor of May. The Squire, too, participates in this symbolism. His devotion to courtly love is compared to the freshness of the month of May.

CLOTHING

In the General Prologue, the description of garments, in addition to the narrator’s own shaky recollections, helps to define each character. In a sense, the clothes symbolize what lies beneath the surface of each personality. The Physician’s love of wealth reveals itself most clearly to us in the rich silk and fur of his gown. The Squire’s youthful vanity is symbolized by the excessive floral brocade on his tunic. The Merchant’s forked beard could symbolize his duplicity, at which Chaucer only hints.

PHYSIOGNOMY

Physiognomy was a science that judged a person’s temperament and character based on his or her anatomy. Physiognomy plays a significant role in Chaucer’s descriptions of the pilgrims in the General Prologue. The most exaggerated facial features are those of the peasants. The Miller represents the stereotypical peasant physiognomy most clearly: round and ruddy, with a wart on his nose, the Miller appears rough and therefore suited to rough, simple work. The Pardoner's glaring eyes and limp hair illustrate his fraudulence.

The Wife of Bath

One of two female storytellers (the other is the Prioress), the Wife has a lot of experience under her belt. She has traveled all over the world on pilgrimages, so Canterbury is a jaunt compared to other perilous journeys she has endured. Not only has she seen many lands, she has lived with five husbands. She is worldly in both senses of the word: she has seen the world and has experience in the ways of the world, that is, in love and sex.

Rich and tasteful, the Wife’s clothes veer a bit toward extravagance: her face is wreathed in heavy cloth, her stockings are a fine scarlet color, and the leather on her shoes is soft, fresh, and brand new—all of which demonstrate how wealthy she has become. Scarlet was a particularly costly dye, since it was made from individual red beetles found only in some parts of the world. The fact that she hails from Bath, a major English cloth-making town in the Middle Ages, is reflected in both her talent as a seamstress and her stylish garments. Bath at this time was fighting for a place among the great European exporters of cloth, which were mostly in the Netherlands and Belgium. So the fact that the Wife’s sewing surpasses that of the cloth makers of “Ipres and of Gaunt” (Ypres and Ghent) speaks well of Bath’s (and England’s) attempt to outdo its overseas competitors.

Although she is argumentative and enjoys talking, the Wife is intelligent in a commonsense, rather than intellectual, way. Through her experiences with her husbands, she has learned how to provide for herself in a world where women had little independence or power. The chief manner in which she has gained control over her husbands has been in her control over their use of her body. The Wife uses her body as a bargaining tool, withholding sexual pleasure until her husbands give her what she demands.

Character List

The Pilgrims

The Narrator -  The narrator makes it quite clear that he is also a character in his book. Although he is called Chaucer, we should be wary of accepting his words and opinions as Chaucer’s own. In the General Prologue, the narrator presents himself as a gregarious and naïve character. Later on, the Host accuses him of being silent and sullen. Because the narrator writes down his impressions of the pilgrims from memory, whom he does and does not like, and what he chooses and chooses not to remember about the characters, tells us as much about the narrator’s own prejudices as it does about the characters themselves.

The Knight -  The first pilgrim Chaucer describes in the General Prologue, and the teller of the first tale. The Knight represents the ideal of a medieval Christian man-at-arms. He has participated in no less than fifteen of the great crusades of his era. Brave, experienced, and prudent, the narrator greatly admires him.

The Knight rides at the front of the procession described in the General Prologue, and his story is the first in the sequence. The Host clearly admires the Knight, as does the narrator. The narrator seems to remember four main qualities of the Knight. The first is the Knight’s love of ideals—“chivalrie” (prowess), “trouthe” (fidelity), “honour” (reputation), “fredom” (generosity), and “curteisie” (refinement) (General Prologue, 45–46). The second is the Knight’s impressive military career. The Knight has fought in the Crusades, wars in which Europeans traveled by sea to non-Christian lands and attempted to convert whole cultures by the force of their swords. By Chaucer’s time, the spirit for conducting these wars was dying out, and they were no longer undertaken as frequently. The Knight has battled the Muslims in Egypt, Spain, and Turkey, and the Russian Orthodox in Lithuania and Russia. He has also fought in formal duels. The third quality the narrator remembers about the Knight is his meek, gentle, manner. And the fourth is his “array,” or dress. The Knight wears a tunic made of coarse cloth, and his coat of mail is rust-stained, because he has recently returned from an expedition.

The Knight’s interaction with other characters tells us a few additional facts about him. In the Prologue to the Nun’s Priest’s Tale, he calls out to hear something more lighthearted, saying that it deeply upsets him to hear stories about tragic falls. He would rather hear about “joye and greet solas,” about men who start off in poverty climbing in fortune and attaining wealth (Nun’s Priest’s Prologue, 2774). The Host agrees with him, which is not surprising, since the Host has mentioned that whoever tells the tale of “best sentence and moost solaas” will win the storytelling contest (General Prologue, 798). And, at the end of the Pardoner’s Tale, the Knight breaks in to stop the squabbling between the Host and the Pardoner, ordering them to kiss and make up. Ironically, though a soldier, the romantic, idealistic Knight clearly has an aversion to conflict or unhappiness of any sort.

The Wife of Bath -  Bath is an English town on the Avon River, not the name of this woman’s husband. Though she is a seamstress by occupation, she seems to be a professional wife. She has been married five times and had many other affairs in her youth, making her well practiced in the art of love. She presents herself as someone who loves marriage and sex, but, from what we see of her, she also takes pleasure in rich attire, talking, and arguing. She is deaf in one ear and has a gap between her front teeth, which was considered attractive in Chaucer’s time. She has traveled on pilgrimages to Jerusalem three times and elsewhere in Europe as well.

One of two female storytellers (the other is the Prioress), the Wife has a lot of experience under her belt. She has travelled all over the world on pilgrimages, so Canterbury is a jaunt compared to other perilous journeys she has endured. Not only has she seen many lands, she has lived with five husbands. She is worldly in both senses of the word: she has seen the world and has experience in the ways of the world, that is, in love and sex.

Rich and tasteful, the Wife’s clothes veer a bit toward extravagance: her face is wreathed in heavy cloth, her stockings are a fine scarlet color, and the leather on her shoes is soft, fresh, and brand new—all of which demonstrate how wealthy she has become. Scarlet was a particularly costly dye, since it was made from individual red beetles found only in some parts of the world. The fact that she hails from Bath, a major English cloth-making town in the Middle Ages, is reflected in both her talent as a seamstress and her stylish garments. Bath at this time was fighting for a place among the great European exporters of cloth, which were mostly in the Netherlands and Belgium. So the fact that the Wife’s sewing surpasses that of the cloth makers of “Ipres and of Gaunt” (Ypres and Ghent) speaks well of Bath’s (and England’s) attempt to outdo its overseas competitors.

Although she is argumentative and enjoys talking, the Wife is intelligent in a commonsense, rather than intellectual, way. Through her experiences with her husbands, she has learned how to provide for herself in a world where women had little independence or power. The chief manner in which she has gained control over her husbands has been in her control over their use of her body. The Wife uses her body as a bargaining tool, withholding sexual pleasure until her husbands give her what she demands.

The Prioress -  Described as modest and quiet, this Prioress (a nun who is head of her convent) aspires to have exquisite taste. Her table manners are dainty, she knows French (though not the French of the court), she dresses well, and she is charitable and compassionate. called 'Madame Eglantine' (or, in modern parlance, Mrs. Sweetbriar). She could sweetly sing religious services, speaks fluent French and has excellent table manners. She is so charitable and piteous, that she would weep if she saw a mouse caught in a trap, and she has two small dogs with her. She wears a brooch with the inscription 'Amor vincit omnia' ('Love conquers all'). The Prioress brings with her her 'chapeleyne' (secretary), the Second Nun.

The Host -  The leader of the group, the Host is large, loud, and merry, although he possesses a quick temper. He mediates among the pilgrims and facilitates the flow of the tales. His title of “host” may be a pun, suggesting both an innkeeper and the Eucharist, or Holy Host.

The Clerk -  The Clerk is a poor student of philosophy. Having spent his money on books and learning rather than on fine clothes, he is threadbare and wan. He speaks little, but when he does, his words are wise and full of moral virtue.  A student of Oxford university, he would rather have twenty books by Aristotle than rich clothes or musical instruments, and thus is dressed in a threadbare short coat. He only has a little gold, which he tends to spend on books and learning, and takes huge care and attention of his studies. He never speaks a word more than is needed, and that is short, quick and full of sentence (the Middle-English word for 'meaningfulness' is a close relation of 'sententiousness').

The Cook -  The Cook works for the Guildsmen. Chaucer gives little detail about him, although he mentions a crusty sore on the Cook’s leg. A Cook had been brought along to boil the chicken up with marrow bones and spices, but this particular Cook knows a draught of ale very well indeed, according to the narrator.The Cook could roast and simmer and boil and fry, make stews and hashes and bake a pie well, but it was a great pity that, on his shin, he has an ulcer.

Hotel du Lac
Anita Brookner
1984

Author Biography

Novelist and art historian Anita Brookner was born on July 16, 1928, in London, the only child of Newson and Maude Brookner. Her father, who was born in Poland and was Jewish, was a company director, and her mother, also Jewish, was a former professional singer. Her father encouraged her to read, and she was reading the novels of Charles Dickens from the age of seven.

Brookner was raised in the London suburb of Herne Hill and attended James Allen's School for Girls in Dulwich. Her adolescence was not a happy one, however. Not only was her parents' marriage a stormy one, but she grew up in the shadow of the Nazi persecution of the Jews, since the family home was often filled with Jewish refugees from Europe.

Brookner attended King's College, London, from which she graduated with a bachelor of arts in history in 1949. She received a Ph.D. from Courtauld Institute of Art, London, in 1953. After this she spent three years studying in Paris on a French government scholarship before teaching art history at Reading University from 1959 to 1964 and at the Courtauld Institute from 1964 to 1988, where she specialized in eighteenth- and nineteenth-century French art. In 1967, Brookner became the first female Slade Professor of Art at Cambridge University. She has written a number of books about art history, including Watteau (1968), The Genius of the Future (1971), Greuze (1972), Jacques-Louis David (1980), and the essays contained in Soundings (1997) and Romanticism and Its Discontents (2000).

Brookner did not turn to novel writing until she was in her fifties. She once told an interviewer, Olga Kenyon, that she began to write fiction out of boredom and the wish to review her life. Her first novel, A Start in Life, was published in 1981. (In the United States it was published as The Debut.) Since then, Brookner has published novels at the rate of one novel a year. Her fourth novel, Hotel du Lac (1984) won the Booker Prize, Britain's most coveted literary award, and established her reputation on both sides of the Atlantic.

Brookner's novels include Family and Friends (1985); A Misalliance (1986), published in the United States as The Misalliance (1987); A Friend from England (1987); Latecomers (1988); Lewis Percy (1989); Brief Lives (1990); A Closed Eye (1991); Fraud (1992); A Family Romance (1993), published in the United States as Dolly (1994); A Private View (1994); Incidents in the Rue Laugier (1995); Altered States (1996); Visitors (1997); Falling Slowly (1998); Undue Influence: A Novel (1999); The Bay of Angels (2001); The Next Big Thing (2002), which won the Booker Prize and was published in the United States as Making Things Better (2003); and The Rules of Engagement (2003).

Brookner was made a Commander, Order of the British Empire (CBE) in 1990. She is a Fellow of New Hall, Cambridge, and has received an honorary doctorate from Smith College in the United States. As of 2005 she lives in Chelsea, in West London.

Summary

Edith Hope, a fiction writer, arrives at the Hotel du Lac at the urging of friends after a failed marriage attempt. The first people she meets are Iris and Jennifer Pusey, a wealthy mother and daughter who are staying at the hotel solely to shop for luxuries in the nearby towns. Edith is slightly in awe of the Puseys, especially the mother, Iris, who possesses an air of confidence about her at all times. Edith is also jealous of the close, loving relationship the two share because this is something that Edith herself never experienced. Jennifer is close in age to Edith but she does not attempt to befriend Edith; she is entirely devoted to her mother and the two are inseparable.

Edith also becomes acquainted with Monica, a tall, thin, attractive woman who is at the hotel to recuperate from an eating disorder (although she seems to be making little effort to do so).

Throughout her stay, Edith writes letters to David, a married man with whom she is having an affair. She seems to care for him very deeply and refers to him lovingly in her letters. During their relationship, Edith had accepted a marriage proposal from Geoffrey Long, a nice man to whom she was introduced by her close friend and neighbor, Penelope Milne.

On her wedding day, Edith dresses and enters the waiting car; but instead of going directly to the Registry Office, she instructs the driver to circle around the park first to give her a chance to clear her head. When the time for the ceremony arrives, Edith tells the driver to keep going, horrifying the members of the wedding party as the car passes by without stopping. Her friends are shocked at Edith's behaviour and Geoffrey refuses to speak to her. Because of this event, Edith's friends urge her to get away and so she has arrived at the Hotel du Lac, where the bulk of the story takes place.

During her stay, Edith meets a man by the name of Mr. Neville. He takes a liking to her and they go on a few outings together. Just before Mr. Neville plans to leave the hotel, the two enjoy a boat ride and Mr. Neville asks Edith to marry him. Although he admits that he does not love Edith and Edith does not love him, Mr. Neville insists that his life and hers would fit perfectly together; she could stay at home and work on her novels while he is away. Since they are both unattached, it simply makes sense for them to wed. Edith is surprised by his proposal and takes some time to consider it.

By that evening, Edith decides to accept. That night she goes up to her room to write a letter to David to inform him that she will be marrying a man she met at the hotel and will no longer be seeing him. The following morning, Edith wakes early to mail the letter; as she exits her room, she sees Mr. Neville quietly slipping out of Jennifer Pusey's room. Edith realizes that they have been having an affair and is not surprised. Instead of mailing the letter, Edith goes back to her room, tears it up and throws it away. She then goes downstairs and sends a one-word telegram back home to England: "Returning."

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Hotel du Lac, by British novelist Anita Brookner, was published in 1984. Brookner's fourth novel, it won the Booker Prize, Britain's most prestigious literary award. As a result of her first three novels, Brookner had won a reputation for writing about the difficulties faced by middle-aged, single, lonely women, and Hotel du  Lac follows this pattern. It also owes something to the genre of popular romance novels; its heroine, Edith Hope, is a successful writer of such novels. She has been dispatched by her friends in London to a hotel in Switzerland because of an unfortunate lapse on her part, although the reader is not initially informed about what the lapse was. Edith intends to use her temporary stay to finish her latest romance novel, but instead she spends much of her time observing and interacting with the other hotel guests, who include a rich and glamorous but self-centered elderly widow and her daughter; an upper-class young woman who suffers from an eating disorder; a lonely, old and deaf countess; and an enigmatic man named Mr. Neville. The self-effacing, quiet Edith, a romantic soul whose relationships with men are less than satisfactory, spends much time thinking about how a woman ought to behave in order to satisfy her longings for love, as well as recalling in painful detail the reasons for her banishment. In the end, Edith receives a proposition from Mr. Neville that forces her to think deeply about what she really wants in life and whether she is prepared to compromise her ideals.

Plot Summary

Chapters 1-4

Hotel du Lac begins in late September at a quiet, respectable hotel in Switzerland, where Edith Hope, a thirty-nine-year-old English writer of romantic novels, has just arrived. Edith's friends have persuaded her to take a month's break away from her home in London, since they consider her, for some reason as yet undisclosed to the reader, to be in disgrace.

Edith hopes to be able to finish her latest novel while staying at the hotel, although her first act upon arrival is to write to David, the married man with whom she is having an affair. At dinner that night she observes the hotel guests. She notices a slender Englishwoman and her small dog, Kiki; a silent countess, Mme de Bonneuil; and a glamorous, energetic English lady who appears to be in her sixties (it later transpires that she is seventy-nine) and her daughter. Edith's observations of and interactions with these and other guests, and her consequent reflections on her own life, form the substance of the novel.

After dinner, the glamorous lady invites Edith to join them. Mrs. Iris Pusey is a wealthy widow from London who regularly comes to the Hotel du Lac with her daughter Jennifer for the sole purpose of going on shopping expeditions for luxury items, such as fine clothes and jewelry. The conversation between Mrs. Pusey and Edith is entirely one-sided, since the older lady talks only about herself. Edith does not mind this, however, since she has no desire to share information about herself. Edith's observation of Mrs. Pusey sparks her reflections about what kind of behavior is most becoming to a woman, since the outgoing, confident Mrs. Pusey is the complete opposite of the quiet, self-effacing Edith.

Edith also notices the closeness and affection between Mrs. Pusey and Jennifer, and this observation leads her to recall her own very different relationship with her mother, Rosa. In her youth in Vienna, Rosa had been beautiful and flirtatious. But soon after her marriage to a university professor she became bored and frustrated. However, when her husband died in his early fifties, Rosa went to pieces, becoming even more unhappy and unreconciled to her fate.

Edith also recalls David, and how they met at a party given by her friend, Penelope. Edith and David exchanged very few words at the party, but David then came to her house several hours later, as she guessed he would, and they almost immediately went to bed together.

Chapters 5-8

That night, Edith does not sleep well. In the morning, she talks to Monica, the slender Englishwoman, for the first time. She wonders why Monica is staying at the hotel and thinks she may be recently bereaved or convalescing from an illness. Later she meets another guest, Mr. Neville, a tall man in a gray suit and panama hat. He invites her for a walk, during which he reveals that he knows she is a writer whose pen name is Vanessa Wilde.

In the evening, Edith hears a scream coming from the corridor. She rushes to the Puseys' suite, fearing Mrs. Pusey has had a heart attack, only to find that the scream was uttered by Jennifer at the sight of a spider. Mr. Neville is in the process of scooping the spider up and throwing it out of the window.

Edith writes to David, telling him she has discovered that Monica, her new friend, suffers from an eating disorder and appears to subsist entirely on cake. Monica is also infertile, and her wealthy, titled husband, whom she hates and fears, has sent her to the hotel to get well so she can produce a child for him.

Mr. Neville takes Edith to lunch in a small restaurant high above the lake. He tells her that he owns an electronics firm and that his wife left him several years ago. But he is content being single, since this leaves him free to please himself rather than be concerned about the happiness of another. He believes that selfishness leads to a simple and enjoyable life, and he urges Edith to be more self-centered. Edith knows there is something wrong with this argument, but she does not dispute it with him. She finds him intelligent and even good-looking. They talk about love, and Edith says that she cannot live fully without it. Mr. Neville disputes this position, saying that what she needs is not love but social position and marriage, which he apparently believes is possible without love.

Later at night, Edith writes to David, giving him an account of Mrs. Pusey's boisterous seventy-ninth birthday party earlier that evening, which had continued until midnight. Edith left the party feeling out of sorts. She now remembers her own birthday parties when she was a girl. She made her own cake, and for once enjoyed a semblance of family life as she thinks it ought to be lived. Still feeling uneasy, she recalls the events that brought her to the hotel.

Chapters 9-12

Edith had agreed to marry Geoffrey Long, a worthy but dull man whom she had met at one of Penelope's parties. She agreed to marry him because she thought that at the age of thirty-nine, it would be her last chance. She had given up hope of ever getting what she really wanted. But on the day of the wedding, as her chauffeur-driven car approaches the Registry Office where groom and guests are assembled, she changes her mind and asks the chauffeur to drive on to the nearby park. When she later returns to her house, everyone is indignant, and Geoffrey accuses her of making him a laughing stock. She hands him back his ring and says good-bye. Later that day, David comes to visit her, and she tries to make a joke of the entire incident. Meanwhile her friends, especially Penelope, are making arrangement to send her away to the Hotel du Lac in disgrace.

Back in the present, there is a commotion in the hotel before breakfast the next day. Mrs. Pusey is upset when she finds Alain, a young member of the hotel staff, in Jennifer's room, even though all he has done is deliver breakfast.

Later, Edith meets Monica in a café. Monica tells her that Mr. Neville has taken a fancy to her and that he is very wealthy, although neither fact holds any interest for Edith.

On a chilly day in October, Mr. Neville takes Edith on a day trip on the lake. Over lunch, he unexpectedly asks her to marry him. He says he can offer her social position and security, companionship and shared interests, and that he needs a wife he can trust. He argues that such a marriage is in her own interests, even though he admits that he does not love her and knows that she does not love him.

Later that day, Edith decides to accept his proposal. She writes to David, saying it will be her last letter to him. She explains that she is to marry Mr. Neville, and there is no reason why she and David should meet again. She also reveals that she has not mailed any of her previous letters to him. At six the next morning, she is going to the front desk to buy a stamp when she sees Mr. Neville discreetly leaving Jennifer's room. This solves the mystery of the closing door she had vaguely heard several times in the early morning; she now knows that Mr. Neville has made a habit of staying the night with Jennifer. She tears up her letter to David and makes a reservation for the next flight to London.

Characters

Alain

Alain is an eighteen-year-old boy who works at the Hotel du Lac. He takes his responsibilities very seriously and is upset when Mrs. Pusey implies that it is somehow improper for him to bring Jennifer her breakfast in her room each morning.

Comtesse de Bonneuil

Comtesse de Bonneuil is an elderly woman who is staying as a guest at the hotel. Edith thinks she has a face like a bulldog. Mme de Bonneuil is completely deaf and says almost nothing, spending her time sitting around on her own and reading the newspaper. She lives at the hotel even though she has a beautiful house near the French border. The problem is that she does not get along with her daughter-in-law, whom she despises, and her son suggested that she move out of the house and into the hotel. She did as he asked because she is devoted to him and does not want him to be happy, but in doing so she has condemned herself to a life of loneliness.

Mrs. Dempster

Mrs. Dempster is Edith's cleaning lady at her home in London. Edith considers her dramatic and unreliable.

Edith Hope

Edith Hope is a thirty-nine-year-old writer of romance novels. Writing under the name of Vanessa Wilde, she has been modestly successful, with substantial sales of her five lengthy novels. Edith is the daughter of a professor and is a quiet, unassuming, diffident kind of woman. She does not dress in very fashionable clothes, and people sometimes tell her she looks like Virginia Woolf. Edith describes herself in typically modest terms: "I am a householder, a ratepayer, a good plain cook, and a deliverer of typescripts well before the deadline; I sign anything that is put in front of me." However, in spite of her apparently passive exterior, Edith is a highly intelligent woman with a sharp wit and a keenly observant eye. It is just that she does not choose, for the most part, to reveal herself to other people, preferring to talk to them about themselves rather than say much about her own life and thoughts.

Edith is single, but she is having an affair with a married man named David. She is in love with him but only sees him twice a month on average, and sometimes less. What she really wants is to be happily married, but she knows that David will never leave his wife. There is no one else available who fulfils her longing for romantic love. Her more extrovert friend Penelope often tries to fix her up with one of her own men friends. It was one such friend, Geoffrey Long, who courted Edith and persuaded her to marry him, but she could not go through with it and jilted him on the wedding day. Edith cannot settle for friendship and companionship with a worthy man; she must also have in the relationship the spark of love and deep tenderness. It is only love, or the hope of it, that keeps her feeling fully alive.

Banished to the Hotel du Lac following the debacle with Geoffrey, Edith is both fascinated and repelled by Mrs. Pusey, who seems to have achieved everything that Edith has failed to achieve and who in terms of her personality is Edith's exact opposite.

M. Huber

M. Huber is one of the owners of the Hotel du Lac, which is a family-run hotel. Officially, he has retired, but he still plays an active role in the business.

Geoffrey Long

Geoffrey Long, a kind, affable but rather dull man, assiduously courts Edith after the death of his mother. She agrees to marry him because he offers her a home and security, and all her friends tell her that he will make an excellent husband. But Edith jilts him on the wedding day.

Penelope Milne

Penelope Milne is Edith's friend, although Edith does not hold her in great affection. More outgoing than Edith, Penelope often tries to set Edith up with men of her acquaintance. Penelope is not married but feels no need to be. She flirts with men and has relationships with them but also regards them as enemies, creatures she can conquer whenever and if she chooses to do so. Penelope is loud in her disapproval of Edith's jilting of Geoffrey Long and instrumental in packing her off to the hotel in Switzerland.

Monica

Monica, a tall, very slender upper-class Englishwoman, is a guest at the hotel. She suffers from an eating disorder and appears to live mostly on cake, feeding much of her hotel food to her small dog, Kiki. Edith decides that Monica is what Mrs. Pusey would call a fortune-hunter: she married for money. But her marriage is a desperately unhappy one. She appears to be infertile, and her husband, Sir John, whom she loathes, has sent her to the hotel in order to get well so that she can produce an heir for him. If she should fail, he will divorce her. But Monica is not the kind of woman to go quietly. Her manner is defiant and belligerent. She plans to humble Sir John into keeping her, or, if she is unsuccessful, to ruin his reputation. Monica is also a snob; she despises men such as Mr. Neville and Mrs. Pusey's late husband, as well as Sir John, because they all made their money through trade, which she considers vulgar.

Philip Neville

Philip Neville is a guest at the hotel. In his fifties, he is an intelligent man of few words, although he chooses those words carefully. He is fastidious and well-dressed, and he pays courteous attention to the ladies at the hotel. He is also wealthy, the owner of an electronics factory, but he says he prefers to spend time on his farm. He tells Edith that his wife left him some years ago for another man, and he claims that now he enjoys his life because being single allows him to behave selfishly. The only person he has to please is himself. He takes an interest in Edith and surprises her by asking her to marry him. He proposes what he thinks of as an enlightened kind of arrangement, based on shared interests and companionship: she gains social position and security in exchange for allowing him the freedom to pursue affairs with other women, should the opportunity and desire arise. Edith fears that he is heartless and in some ways dislikes him, but she agrees to his proposal, until she discovers that he has been carrying on a discreet affair with Jennifer at the hotel.

Iris Pusey

Iris Pusey is a seventy-nine-year-old blond English widow who is staying at the hotel with her daughter Jennifer. She is wealthy and glamorous and likes to spend her time shopping for luxury goods. She is well-dressed, extroverted, and extremely self-centered. She adopts Edith as a confidante but is so narcissistic that she talks only about herself and shows no interest in Edith's life. Mrs. Pusey loves to be the center of attention, makes grand entrances into the dining room, and makes sure she gets maximum attention from the waiters. Edith finds her interesting and is drawn to her confident, self-assured, charming manner. Mrs. Pusey appears to be everything Edith is not, having made a successful marriage with a husband who, so she says, adored her and bought her whatever she desired. She glories in being ultra-feminine and getting what she wants out of men with ease.

Jennifer Pusey

Jennifer Pusey, Iris Pusey's unmarried daughter, is about the same age as Edith, but she looks younger. Jennifer is devoted to her mother, with whom she goes on shopping expeditions, but she does not have much to say for herself. When she is around her mother, she behaves, at least in Edith's view, like a small girl. Jennifer is attractive and rather plump and dresses expensively in a way that emphasizes her sexuality. At various moments Edith notices that Jennifer's pants are maybe a little too tight, as is her jersey, and she also wears skimpy nightgowns. It later transpires that Jennifer is carrying on a discreet affair with Mr. Neville.

David Simmonds

David Simmonds is an auctioneer, the head of the family business. He is married and has children, and he is also Edith's lover. They met at a party given by Penelope. David is a self-indulgent man who does not deny himself anything. Edith remarks on his constant appetite, and she keeps her house full of food in order to satisfy it. David appears to be fond of Edith but not as fond of her as she is of him, and he has no intention of leaving his wife. She fears that he is not as interested in her as he once was.

Priscilla Simmonds

Priscilla Simmonds, David Simmonds's wife, is tall, blond, and good-looking. Edith sees her at a party once and observes her as sexy and confident but also argumentative and discontent.

Harold Webb

Harold Webb, Edith's literary agent, is a mild and scholarly man who looks like a country doctor. He is kind and seems genuinely concerned about Edith's welfare. He advises her to spice up her books by making them more modern and sexy, but she does not listen to him.

Themes

Loneliness and Isolation

The novel explores the different kinds of loneliness in several of the female characters who are guests at this quiet hotel in the off-season. The fact that they are staying at such a place at such an unpopular time suggests that they are in some way out of the mainstream of society.

First and foremost is Edith Hope. Unmarried but still searching for love, Edith has to make do with a relationship with a married man that produces more loneliness than intimacy. Even though David is at the center of her emotional life, she manages to see him only occasionally, and she feels that she hardly knows him. Each time he leaves, she feels that he has gone forever, and she endures many "empty Sundays" and "long eventless evenings" without him.

At the hotel, Mrs. Pusey and Jennifer recognize Edith's loneliness immediately when they see her, and they pity her because of it. In part, her loneliness arises because of her reserved temperament. Since her work as a writer is solitary, and she is by nature quiet rather than gregarious, she does not form close friendships easily. She goes to dinner parties not because she enjoys them but out of a sense of social duty. She is also under no illusions about her friendships, knowing that while she is away at the hotel, none of them can be trusted to get in touch with her.

In a sense, Edith is a person who waits for life to come to her, rather than going out and seizing it. She is more of an observer than a doer, and this pattern tends to create distance between her and others. Her solitariness is sharply contrasted with the gregarious, outgoing nature of several other characters, such as Penelope, David, David's wife (the briefly glimpsed Priscilla), and Mrs. Pusey, all of whom appear to have found their place in life and society and are quite content with it.

A second lonely character is Monica, who mixes little with the other guests. She reveals her state of mind early in her first conversation with Edith. "It's so nice to have someone to talk to," she says. Like Edith, whose loneliness in part stems from her frustrating relationship with her lover David, whom she sees only seldom, Monica's loneliness is due to her unsatisfactory relationship with her husband, who will divorce her if she is unable to produce a child. She also longs for the child she seems unable to conceive and feels condemned to loneliness and exile.

A third lonely character, and perhaps the loneliest of them all, is the Comtesse de Bonneuil. Once again, the problem stems from her relationship with a man, in this case, her son. Mme de Bonneuil lives at the hotel because she failed to get along with her daughter-in-law, so her son suggested that she move out of their house. Her son visits her once a month, but other than that takes no interest in her. Since Mme de Bonneuil agreed to his wishes because she did not want to make him unhappy, her loneliness results from her act of self-sacrifice. Her situation is that of an old person who appears to have outlived her usefulness, and her isolation is compounded by her total deafness, which makes communication very difficult for her.

The Search for Love

Although she is still unmarried at the age of thirty-nine, Edith refuses to renounce the search for love. She admits to Mr. Neville that she cannot be fully herself without love; it is vital for her existence: "I cannot think or act or speak or write or even dream with any kind of energy in the absence of love. I feel excluded from the living world." Her idea of happiness, she continues, is to spend the day alone, reading and writing, secure in the knowledge that the man she loves will be returning in the evening. What she craves is not the passion and ecstasy of romantic love, but what she calls "the simplicity of routine."

It is this desire for domesticity that persuades Edith twice within a year to accept proposals of marriage, even when she does not love the man concerned. She convinces herself that if she cannot have the deep love she wants, she can at least accept the offer of companionship and security for which she has an equal longing. But in the case of Geoffrey Long, she realizes, in the nick of time, that marriage to a man whom she neither loves nor deeply respects—it is the sight of his "mouse-like seemliness" as he waits for her at the Registry Office that convinces her she cannot go through with it—will bring her no happiness. In the case of Mr. Neville, when she sees him emerging from Jennifer's room she realizes that the bargain she has struck with him, under which she would acquire social position and respectability in exchange for his freedom to pursue love and sex elsewhere, is distasteful to her.

Topics For Further Study

·         How does Hotel du Lac parallel popular romance novels and how does it differ from them? Do romance novels offer merely escapist entertainment or do they embody some truth? Do they show what men and women really desire and how they really behave? Read a novel by Barbara Cartland and then write an essay comparing it to Hotel du Lac.

·         In a work of literature, a foil is a character that sets off another character by contrast. They may react to similar situations very differently, for example. Discuss how foils are used in Hotel du Lac. Examples might include Mrs. Pusey, Penelope, and Mme de Bonneuil as foils for Edith.

·         Research what makes a successful marriage. On what basis do people select their future partners? Are all successful marriages based on romantic love? How important is companionship? Then make a chart in which you evaluate the relationship Edith has with David as compared to the potential relationship she might find with Mr. Neville.

·         Hotel du Lac is not considered a feminist novel, even though it features a female protagonist and many female characters. Why should this be? Does the novel express a view of the world incompatible with feminism? Is Edith a rather old-fashioned woman in her attitudes to what women want? Write a feminist critique of Hotel du Lac, using Showalter s work, A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Brontë to Lessing, as one of your references.

In both cases, Edith's essentially romantic nature, the existence of which she denies in her conversation with Mr. Neville, will not allow her to make a sterile compromise in the name of security. In the end, she elects to continue her affair with David, even though it is in so many respects an unsatisfactory relationship. David, unlike Geoffrey Long and Philip Neville, will never marry her, because he will never leave his wife. His relationship with Edith is one-sided in the sense that she means far less to him than he does to her. For David, Edith appears to be little more than an easy source of sex and food. (She notes his voracious appetite and how pleasurable it has been for her to cook for him.) But she loves him, nonetheless, and the fact that she has someone at least peripherally in her life whom she can address as "My dearest," and write lines to such as "You are the breath of life to me," means more to her than the promise of a more socially acceptable relationship devoid of passion. Her need to cling to David because he is all she has is a testament at once to the preciousness of love, that she will accept such an imperfect version of it, and to Edith's great loneliness, that she can find nothing better.

Style

Setting

The setting, by a large lake in Switzerland, plays an important role in the novel. The imagery associated with the lake is of mist, fog, and grayness. The opening sentence sets the tone: "From the window all that could be seen was a receding area of grey. It was to be supposed that beyond the grey garden … lay the vast grey lake, spreading like an anaesthetic towards the invisible further shore." The grayness reflects the dull, somber, dispiriting nature of Edith's life at this time; it lacks color and vitality. The simile in which the lake is compared to an anaesthetic expands on this parallel, suggesting life dulled of feeling and sensation.

The image of grayness recurs often in the novel, as when Edith takes her trip on the lake with Mr. Neville, and "the grey mist … encompassed the lake as far as the eye could see." That grayness is used to reflect Edith's mood is clear when she thinks to herself, of a particularly depressing moment during her stay, "Now she was as grey as the season itself."

Not all the days are gray, however. There are times when the landscape is "full of colour and incident," and these are the times when Edith's mood tends to change. When she lunches with Mr. Neville high above the mists of the lake, the weather is brighter and clearer, and Edith is no longer "the mild and careful creature that she had been on the lake shore." In the higher air, she is "harder, brighter, more decisive, realistic, able to savour enjoyment, even to expect it."

The imagery of grayness in Edith's present location is contrasted with the nostalgia with which she recalls her house in London. She remembers the "sharpness of the scents" as she sits in the garden as evening comes on, and the quality of the light at sunset, which "was of such very great interest to her she would put down her book just to watch it fade, and change colour, and finally become opaque and uninteresting." Her home acts as a pleasant refuge from the world, whereas the gray lake is an uncomfortable reminder of its realities.

Point of View

The novel is told almost entirely from Edith's point of view. This is done mostly in the third person, but also, in the three letters Edith writes to David, in the first person. Occasionally, and very briefly, the narrative switches to a male point of view, including that of M. Huber, Edith's gardener, David, and Mr. Neville. This form of narrative is known as selective or limited omniscience, in which the narrator enters the mind of a limited number of characters (in this case, mostly a single character).

Limiting the point of view almost exclusively to Edith is effective because it brings out Edith's introspective nature, in which she is constantly examining her own feelings and situation in life. The tiniest fluctuations in her mood and perceptions are noted. As she sits in the deserted salon, for example, "she felt her precarious dignity hard-pressed and about to succumb in the light of her earlier sadness."

The point of view also brings out the fact that Edith is an observer of life. She witnesses events as much as participates in them. She is also subject to error, as when she misjudges the ages of Mrs. Pusey and Jennifer, only gradually arriving at the truth. She also makes misjudgments about Mme de Bonneuil and Monica, which lead her to remark wryly to David, "So much for the novelist's famed powers, etc." She means famed powers of observation, which reminds the reader not only of the subjectivity of perception—people are as they are perceived to be, and objective truth is hard to establish—but also of the fact that Edith herself is a writer, a creator of fictional characters.

Historical Context

Women's Movement and Feminist Literature

The modern women's movement that began in the 1960s produced an upsurge in literature by and about women. In the United States this was stimulated by the publication of Betty Friedan's The Feminine Mystique in 1963. In Britain, the publication of Doris Lessing's The Golden Notebook (1962) raised similar issues about the status of women and the expectations they had about their lives. Germaine Greer's The Female Eunuch (1970) and Kate Millet's Sexual Politics (1970) were also influential in what was called at the time "consciousness-raising" for women. Such books encouraged women to organize politically and lobby for equal pay in the workplace, for abortion rights, and for freedom from sexual harassment and sex discrimination. According to Elaine Showalter in her important work of literary criticism, A Literature of Their Own: British Women Novelists from Bronté to Lessing (1977, rev. 1999), the pace of the women's movement were slower in the United Kingdom than in the United States. The British movement produced no charismatic leaders, and the media was slower to publicize the movement. Some British feminists also scorned television and newspapers because of the media's perceived distortions. However, as Showalter noted, by the late 1970s, the English movement was beginning to catch up. Laws guaranteeing equal rights for women were passed, and women's studies programs sprang up in universities.

It has often been pointed out that Brookner's novels seem to be written against the prevailing feminist trend. In Hotel du Lac, for example, the heroine Edith Hope is not only a writer of popular romance novels (and thus implicitly unsympathetic to the goals of feminism), but also seeks romance and domesticity as her ultimate happiness. Her career as a writer, although moderately successful, seems to take second place in her mind. She wants what a woman is traditionally supposed to want: a man and a home. Patricia Waugh points out how unsuited Brookner's heroines seem to be for life in the contemporary world: "Their moral strengths function as weaknesses in the patriarchal, consumerist, and acquisitive world of the post-1960s, and they themselves internalize this disparaging view of their qualities, resulting in a perpetually low self-esteem."

Flora Alexander reaches a similar verdict about Brookner's work. She writes of Brookner's "detached and wary" attitude toward feminism. Brookner "does not see in feminism any remedy for the problem that she understands best—the problem of wishing for things, such as affection and family life, that by chance have been denied."

It is this inwardness of Brookner's work, the fact that she does not engage contemporary social and political issues, that makes her work in the 1980s untypical of the prevailing trends in women's fiction. Perhaps that is why The Cambridge Guide to Women's Writing in English defines her work as "in the tradition of English psychological fiction."

Critical Overview

The awarding of the 1984 Booker Prize, Britain's most prestigious literary award, to Brookner for Hotel du Lac sparked some controversy. Although the style and structure of the novel were generally admired, some critics felt that the judges were playing safe, rewarding a traditional kind of novel at the expense of more innovative work. However, reviews in Britain were positive, and Hotel du Lac quickly became a bestseller. Over fifty thousand copies were sold within the first five months of publication.

In the United States, the novel was also a bestseller, although critical reaction was mixed. Walter Clemons, in Newsweek, described it as "impeccably written and suffused with a pleasing, sub-acid wit," but he also thought it inferior to similar novels by Elizabeth Bowen and Christina Stead.

Anne Tyler, in the New York Times Book Review, had a more positive verdict, declaring the book to be Brookner's "most absorbing novel," partly because in contrast to earlier Brookner heroines, Edith Hope is "more philosophical … more self-reliant, more conscious that a solitary life is not, after all, an unmitigated tragedy." Tyler points out, as other reviewers do, the general uneventfulness of life at the hotel, but she seizes on the contrast between Edith and the Puseys, who "come to stand for all that Edith has missed (or dismissed) in her life," as conveying the central meaning of the novel. Edith comes to see through their superficiality, leading Tyler to the conclusion that though the Puseys may be, to use the analogy that Edith employs, the hares who always beat the tortoises in the race of life, the author intimates "that it's sort of silly even to run the race, let alone to win it."

The reviewer for the New Yorker also delivered a positive verdict, commenting that "Miss Brookner has the art to give us characters who have character, and the intelligence and the vocabulary and the grace of style … to bring them menacingly to life."

Less enthusiastic was Adam Mars-Jones, in the New York Review of Books, who argued that the success of the novel depended on "its heroine's being convincingly vulnerable, a softly complex creature likely to be trampled by a brutal world." But while acknowledging that Edith's temperament is "so thoroughly self-punishing that she doesn't actually need to be treated badly in order to generate the demure agony that is her recurrent emotion," Mars-Jones noted that Edith is in fact made of sterner stuff; her supposed weakness and helplessness are belied by her intelligence, her powers of observation, and her cutting remarks about others, including her friends. According to Mars-Jones, Edith prefers it if her friends underestimate her and do not recognize her power.

A hostile review came from the pen of Robert Jones, and was published in Commonweal. Jones complained that the novel was "humorless," with "stock characters and … lifeless prose," and suffered from a paucity of ideas. His conclusion was that Hotel du Lac "is the kind of fiction that often wins awards because it gives the illusion of being 'literary' without unsettling us by its vision or eliciting any response but a sigh of received ideas."

Views such as that of Jones have been very much in the minority, however. In the twenty years that have elapsed since Brookner wrote Hotel du Lac, she has written another nineteen novels, but Hotel du Lac is still generally regarded as one of her finest, if not her very best.

Criticism

Bryan Aubrey

Aubrey holds a Ph.D. in English and has published many articles on twentieth century literature. In this essay, he discusses the conflict in the protagonist between romanticism and realism, and how Brookner subverts the stereotypes of the popular romance novel.

A number of reviewers offered the opinion that Hotel du Lac was merely a more sophisticated version of a pulp romance, a "Harlequin Romance for highbrows," as Martha Bayles put it in The New Republic. For Angela McRobbie, in Britain's New Statesman, "The slow sorrow with life which finds temporary release in the strong-jawed hero is here displaced into a more upmarket world." Brookner herself told interviewer Olga Kenyon that when she started writing the novel, she "simply wanted to write a love story in which something unexpected happened, and in which love really triumphed." Of course, when a writer begins to write, the mysterious process of creativity takes over, and what emerges in the final version is often very different from what the writer may have had in mind at the beginning. Hotel du Lac is far from being a story in which love triumphs. There is not a single relationship described or alluded to in the entire novel that would fit such a description. Instead, Brookner produced a subtle novel which plays with and subverts the romantic stereotypes embodied in the popular romance genre. For all its romantic underpinnings, Hotel du Lac reaches for a more hard-nosed view of reality, but one which does provide some hope for the future for its lonely protagonist.

What Do I Read Next?

·         Brookner's novel, The Misalliance (1987), like Hotel du Lac, features a lonely middle-aged heroine and the inner conflicts she tries to overcome. Blanche Vernon has been deserted by her husband of twenty years, whom she still loves. Struggling to find meaning and purpose in her newly solitary existence, she strikes up a friendship with Sally, a carefree young woman. Through Blanche, Sally, and other female characters, the novel offers a contrast between two different types of women: the dutiful, trustworthy, and reliable and the superficial, selfish, and irresponsible.

·         English novelist Margaret Drabble's The Radiant Way (1987) follows the lives of three middle-aged, well-educated women in 1980s England. The title is ironic, since life in England during the Thatcher era is presented as anything but radiant. All the women experience losses of some kind or another, such as divorce, loss of job, or bereavement. The texture of the novel is rich and rewarding, full of social and personal detail, and ranging across the entire fabric of the nation.

·         Excellent Women (1952) by Barbara Pym has been hailed as one of the finest English comic novels of the twentieth century. Pym has often been compared to Brookner, and in this novel she explores the lives of women in 1950s London. Like the heroines in many of Brookner's novels, Pym's protagonist is a rather self-effacing unmarried woman in her thirties. She lives a quiet life until a new couple moves into the apartment below hers, disrupting old relationships and bringing in new ones. As with all Pym's novels, Excellent Women is distinguished by its gentle wit and astute observations of the lives of women, and of men, too.

·         Loving with a Vengeance: Mass-Produced Fantasies for Women by Tania Modleski (1984) analyzes popular entertainments aimed at women, such as romance and Gothic novels and soap operas. Modleski argues that popular culture shapes women's understanding of themselves but the desires so produced cannot be satisfied within a patriarchal world.

One of Edith Hope's most noticeable qualities is her diffidence. Since she has no confidence that her desires in life will be met, she has difficulty asserting herself and allows other people to shape her actions and expectations. The origins of this personality trait lie in Edith's memories of her emotionally deprived childhood. Her mother Rosa was too overwhelmed by her own disappointments in life to offer any emotional support to her young daughter, and she would behave cruelly toward her. Edith therefore learned at an early age how to suppress her own needs, since there appeared to be no possibility they would ever be met. Her kind and well-meaning father, at a loss to know how to deal with the tears of a small girl, would try to encourage her with the saying, "this is when character tells," a phrase that has stayed with Edith her whole life, and which she invokes (with some irony) whenever she is in an emotionally challenging situation. It means, in effect, one should grit one's teeth and endure, ignoring emotional pain in favor of a stoic attitude of resignation. It hardly seems like the recipe for a life lived in joy and emotional freedom.

Unfulfilled desires that are repressed, especially such powerful ones as the desire for comfort, security, and love, rarely disappear entirely in a person. They may find temporary underground hiding places, deep in the psyche but will eventually find a way of making their presence felt and dictating, to a certain extent, a person's behavior. Edith, crippled by her childhood deprivations and failing to make deep, loving connections with others in her adult life, finds some kind of salvation in the writing of romance novels, in which the desire for love can be expressed in all its instinctive ardor and its fulfillment guaranteed. In the novels Edith writes under the name of Vanessa Wilde, it is, she tells her agent Harold Webb, the "mouse-like unassuming girl who gets the hero, while the scornful temptress with whom he has had a stormy affair retreats baffled from the fray, never to return." Knowing herself to be that mouse-like girl, Edith boosts her own disappointed self by writing wish-fulfillment fantasies that, at one level at least, she knows are not true. As she wittily explains to her literary agent, using an analogy based on Aesop's fable of the tortoise and the hare, she writes for the "tortoise market." In real life, she says, the hare always wins the race with the tortoise, but the hares are so busy enjoying the fruits of their success that they do not bother to read books, which are left to the tortoises—losers in life but eternal victors in the world of the popular romance novel.

At another level, however, Edith does believe in what she writes. She may tell her agent that "The facts of life are too terrible to go into my kind of fiction," but in her letter to David at the end of the novel, when she is in a confessional mood and has no wish to lie to him or herself, she admits, in reference to her novels, "I believed every word I wrote." So it appears that Edith holds two contradictory beliefs in her mind: the romantic ideal is not attainable; or it is. She is at once realist and romantic. When she speaks to her agent, it is her intellect that comes to the fore, but when she writes to David, it is the heart that speaks, for the heart clings stubbornly to what it longs for, whatever the mind, with its habit of claiming a superior wisdom, may seek to tell it.

So what, in the real world, is a woman torn between realism and romanticism to do? How is Edith, to use the jargon of the advertising world, to "position" herself as a woman in order to get what she wants and needs but in a way that preserves her emotional integrity? This is the question that occupies her mind during her two-week stay at the hotel. It arises in full force after her first encounter with the Puseys: "[W]hat behaviour most becomes a woman" is how she frames it, acknowledging that this is "the question around which she had written most of her novels … the question she had failed to answer and which she now saw to be of the most vital importance."

The reader has already learned, from Edith's conversation with Harold Webb, that she has little sympathy with the goals of feminism, in which women compete on equal terms with men. When Harold tells her how the market for romance novels is changing—"It's sex for the young woman executive now, the Cosmopolitan reader, the girl with the executive briefcase"—Edith replies that women prefer what she calls the "old myths," that the right man will miraculously appear just when all seems lost and will abandon everything to be with her.

Although, according to Edith, women may prefer such myths, there is only one character in the novel who could claim that the myth had come true for her, and that is Mrs. Pusey. This elderly but strong-willed and confident lady is an example of what Edith later calls the "ultra-feminine." At first, Edith is fascinated by her. Mrs. Pusey has completely accepted the old-fashioned contract between men and women and done very nicely for herself out of it. Edith observes that it is Mrs. Pusey's "femininity which has always provided her with life's chief delights." As Mrs. Pusey herself declares, "A woman should be able to make a man worship her," and it appears that her late husband easily succumbed to her feminine powers of enchantment. She frequently tells Edith that he loved her so much he gave her a blank check to spend on whatever she desired, and thanks to his apparently limitless Swiss bank account she is still able to live a luxurious life, even after his death.

But although Edith is initially impressed by Mrs. Pusey, she eventually sees through the glittering façade and rejects the "ultra-feminine" quality of her elderly acquaintance. She does so in no uncertain terms, dismissing such women as "complacent consumers of men with their complicated but unwritten rules of what is due to them. Treats. Indulgences. Privileges…. The cult of themselves. Such women strike me as dishonorable."

It is while Edith is considering such notions of the proper behavior for a woman—an issue she never satisfactorily resolves for herself—that she encounters Mr. Neville. It is here that Brookner quietly satirizes the stereotypes of contemporary romance novels. Edith meets Mr. Neville when she is having tea with the Puseys: "Startled, she looked up to see a tall man in a light grey suit smiling down at her." This might come from the pages of any pulp romance. The man is tall—of course—and he looks down at her—implying a position of strength and authority. As he hands Edith the notebook she inadvertently let slip, he says something to her ("Are you a writer?") that implies he has some secret knowledge, some secret insight into her, and this leaves poor Edith "in some confusion." Of course. But Mr. Neville will turn out to be as far from the ideal hero of pulp romance as could possibly be. Whereas all romantic heroes are expected to have muscular chests (prominently displayed on the cover of course, along with the long legs and spectacular cleavage of the heroine), what Edith most notices about Mr. Neville is his—ankles. As Edith tries to sleep that night, "the fine ankles, the unexpected evening pumps of the man in grey," are among the images that fill her mind. The next day, she observes him "crossing his elegant ankles," and it is not until they are formally introduced that she "register[s] his existence above ankle level and the profile usually presented to her." Ankles are what nineteenth-century Victorian gentlemen used to admire in women, a lady's trim ankle being considered a fine and alluring sight. Edith's first encounter with Mr. Neville may be the only example in literature in which the roles are comically reversed.

If real men whisk their beloved off to exotic and exciting destinations, men like Mr. Neville take them on chilly, desolate boat trips, such as the one that prompts Edith to reflect: "This banal and inappropriate excursion seemed to her almost perverse in its lack of attractions." She had been hoping for something better:

But no, he had forced her on to this terrible boat, this almost deserted and pilotless vessel, from which there was no hope of rescue; she saw them drifting, their aimlessness raised to almost mythological status, into ever thicker mists, while real people, on the shore, went on with their real lives, indifferent to this ghost ship which seemed, to Edith, almost to have passed out of normal existence.

Mr. Neville is in fact a Mephistophelean figure, although even in that role he disappoints. A demonic tempter, such as the Satan who tempts Christ or the Mephistopheles who tempts Faust, usually offers his victim everything he desires if he will only agree to serve him. Mr. Neville, calculating businessman that he is, offers Edith exactly half of what she dearly wants: security and domesticity, but not love. Edith can only be thankful that she comes to her senses and rejects this chary Mephistopheles before it is too late.

Brookner uses much the same technique in satirizing Edith's lover David. He and Edith meet at a party, where they say almost nothing to each other. He is tall (obviously), and she looks up at him (of course), and they exchange nothing more than a silent glance. A few hours later, however, David pops over to her house, as she, apparently, knew he would. Not a single word is exchanged, a "long and hard look" being sufficient for their purpose, following which they go straight to bed together. Perhaps such things do happen in Vanessa Wilde's novels, but surely not in the life of Edith Hope.

David turns out to be a rather unorthodox romantic hero. There is no evidence that he is any great shakes in the chest department, but what he may lack in thoracic appeal, he surely makes up for only slightly lower down, for he is forever eating. Quickly noticing his remarkable appetite, Edith makes a habit of cooking "heroic fry-ups," which prompt him to reflect on what he calls "food fit for heroes." It appears that what a man requires in a woman is not a full and open heart but a full and open larder.

To her credit, Edith has no illusions about her lover. She knows, or suspects, that she is being used. While David probably regards their arrangement as perfect, for Edith, every encounter with him is tinged with a terrible sadness that he, being too busy eating, never notices.

By the end of the novel, Edith has learned something from her experiences. In the telegram she sends to David, she changes the message from "Coming home," to "Returning." This is a more honest appraisal of her situation, since Edith's solitary existence, without husband or family, hardly fulfills her idea of what a home should be. The new wording suggests that she is now ready to look at her life less through the lens of romantic illusions and more with the eye of the realist. While not suppressing her romantic nature, she is prepared to see things the way they are, not the way she wants them to be.

Source: Bryan Aubrey, Critical Essay on Hotel du Lac, in Novels for Students, Thomson Gale, 2006.

Cheryl Alexander Malcolm

In the following essay excerpt, Malcolm notes differences between Hotel du Lac and Brookner's previous novels, most notably the former's optimistic outcome.

Brookner continues to explore the limits of free will in Hotel du Lac. But the outcome is far more optimistic. A subtle shift in Brookner's writing is first indicated in the novel's Swiss setting, which signifies a move away from London and families. Even in Look at Me, the adult protagonist regards herself in terms of her family and is frequently referred to as an orphan by other characters. Also, she remains in her family home although she knows she is wholly out of place in an apartment complex in which all its inhabitants are twice her age. Hotel du Lac's Edith Hope is shown on her own in a Swiss hotel. Her anonymity should denote personal freedom. Her single suitcase should symbolize her lack of encumbering duties and the ease with which she can move on. In these respects, Hotel du Lac promises a new beginning for its protagonist, a beginning which, unlike that in Brookner's first three novels, is not centered on a male figure.

The title Hotel du Lac differs from the pattern set by Brookner's first three novels in that it refers to a place, rather than a theme concerning its protagonist. Nonetheless, Hotel du Lac, as much as its predecessors, concerns a single protagonist. The setting to which the title refers in fact reflects the condition of Edith Hope's life as much as it is a place for events to happen. From the start of the novel, as the narrative progresses from descriptions of the scenery to Edith Hope's self-observations, the protagonist and her surroundings become inextricably linked. The result is the introduction of suspense, as the elusiveness of the Swiss landscape in fog prepares us for mysteries surrounding this protagonist: "from the window all that could be seen was a receding area of grey. It was to be supposed that beyond the grey garden, which seemed to sprout nothing but the stiffish leaves of some unfamiliar plant, lay the vast grey lake, spreading like an anaesthethic towards the invisible further shore, and beyond that, in imagination only, yet verified by the brochure, the peak of the Dent d'Oche, on which snow might already be slightly and silently falling." The contrast between the grey dormancy of the lake and its "colour and incident" at other times will directly parallel the trouble with Edith Hope. For this protagonist, who dresses so impeccably and appears so very proper, does something so shocking that she is put on a flight to Switzerland by a friend who "was prepared to forgive her only on condition that she disappeared for a decent length of time and came back older, wiser, and properly apologetic." All expectations are that Edith Hope will not only return to London chastened, but moreover her old self again before "the unfortunate lapse which had led to this brief exile" and "that apparently dreadful thing" she had done. What comes across immediately in this passage is a gulf between others' perception of the "thing" that happened and the protagonist's. Another discrepancy is introduced between others' perception of Edith Hope's normal character and that which she reveals on this singular occasion. Chapter 1 closes with the head of the hotel staring with equal confusion at the protagonist's name in the hotel register. His thoughts, in the form of the notebook jottings of a detective, invite even further interest in the protagonist. Here he guesses from her name that Edith Hope is not easily definable or easily placed: "One new arrival. Hope, Edith Johanna. An unusual name for an English lady. Perhaps not entirely English. Perhaps not entirely a lady. Recommended, of course. But in this business one never knew."

Hotel du Lac, like the fog-covered lake for which its hotel is named, is a novel propelled by the unveiling of mysteries. The first is, what has the protagonist done to deserve social ostracization to such an extreme? The second is, what does this say about the protagonist's character? Other mysteries relating to the backgrounds, pasts, even ages of the other single women staying at the hotel contribute to an atmosphere of expectancy and anticipation for the reader. Otherwise, remarkably little happens in this novel. Its plot moves as little as the fog. But when it does, revelations are indeed startling. Almost every observation on the part of the protagonist, a romance novelist who studies people with a writer's eye, proves false. Similarly, any view we may have that this protagonist is the inspiration for the meek heroines of her romance novels is dashed. Twice offered marriage, she twice refuses. Why? Her name, after all, may be the clue. She is not "entirely a lady," but is the mistress of a man she writes to every day while she is a way, and to whom she will return in England. She is also "not entirely English," having been raised by a Viennese mother, aunt, and grandmother.

Protagonists of mixed background have featured in The Debut and Providence and will continue to figure prominently in Brookner's writing. Whether the protagonists' parentage is English and non-English and/or Christian and Jewish, feelings of being slightly out of place within one's family foreshadow these protagonists' unease in wider, adult social situations. The protagonist of Hotel du Lac is no exception. Although she has fame as a romance novelist and a face that people recognize from the covers of her books, she does not regard herself as a "wordly" sort of woman. She is a wearer of cardigans, who bears a "physical resemblance to Virginia Woolf." Others just might invite her to their table in the dining room of the Hotel du Lac, but it would never occur to her to do the same. Too content to be an observer of people and too self-conscious of her lack of levity to fit in with them, Edith Hope bears many of the character traits of Brookner's previous protagonists. What makes Hotel du Lac stand out from its predecessors is the incorporation of so many of their features in one text.

Stylistically, Hotel du Lac exhibits the circular pattern that Brookner has employed in earlier novels. It begins and ends with the protagonist's writing to her married lover, David. The first is a letter in which she gives a jocular account of her friend's driving her to the airport ("Penelope drove fast and kept her eyes grimly ahead, as if escorting a prisoner from the dock to a maximum security wing"), followed by an equally colorful description of the other guests in the hotel and ending with deep-felt expressions of her love. The second is a telegram that first reads, "Coming home," then is changed to the single word "Returning." At first glance, this circular pattern, which coincides with the protagonist's arrival in Switzerland and imminent return to England, might suggest a lack of progression or a dispiriting conclusion to the novel. But this is where Hotel du Lac dramatically differs from Brookner's earlier work. A closer look at the pieces of writing that frame the narrative shows marked differences that indicate a change in the protagonist's attitude and actions. The most striking difference is the change in length from many pages to a single word. The next is a difference in tone, from the letter's mask of joviality barely concealing deep sadness and anxiety to the telegram's resolute no-nonsense message. The other difference between these pieces of writing, and the most crucial, is that the telegram is actually sent, whereas the love letter never leaves Edith Hope's possession. If the letter at the start of the text shows Edith Hope to be a stoically passive person who allows herself to be put on a plane to a destiny she has not chosen and one where she spends her time silently observing the people around her, the telegram at the end of the text dispels this view altogether.

Hotel du Lac is basically about making choices. One occurs in the past, the other occurs in the present. The first is the reason for her being "exiled" to an out-of-season Swiss resort. The importance of this first choice is indicated by the many references to it that build anticipation by concealing more than they disclose. It is also shown in the devotion of an entire chapter to it. Whereas earlier there had been brief flashbacks concerning her lover, David, chapter 9 exclusively concerns the past as related by its omnipresent narrator. Beginning with the words "On the day of her wedding …" this chapter reveals how the protagonist decides, at the last instant, not to go through with a thoroughly respectable but passionless marriage. More than answering the mystery that has been steadily built around the protagonist's past, this earlier chance at marriage foreshadows a second one to come. What the reader cannot be sure of, however, is whether or not she will go through with it this time. Given events in the past, a proposal of marriage at the Hotel du Lac is given a momentousness that otherwise might not have been the case. After all, Edith Hope had been told by her married friends that "she had had her last chance" when she spurned Geoffrey.

One of Brookner's talents is to so subtly lure readers' interest in her protagonists through uncovering of mysteries that the many clues she scatters throughout the narrative can oftentimes go unnoticed. In retrospect, for example, the names of characters in Hotel du Lac virtually predict their future, in addition to revealing their innermost character. "Edith" is a fairly old-fashioned name, more usually given to women of an earlier generation than that of the protagonist. The implication is that she is somehow out of date. Her refusal to update her romance novels, in other words to reflect the social realities of sexually liberated career women, may make her appear prudish. Yet her refusal to cater to the tastes of "those multi-orgasmic girls with the executive briefcases" is rooted in her sense of justice. By perpetuating the maxim that "the meek will inherit the earth" (in her books "it is the mouse-like unassuming girl who gets the hero"), she is effectively putting the world aright. Extracts from her letters to her married lover, which interrupt the narrative, serve most of all to remind us that this is not a sexually inexperienced or repressed woman. Would the latter, after cancelling her wedding, have her married lover back to the house to help her finish the party champagne before making love, as Edith Hope does? It may seem old-fashioned to believe in the supremacy of romantic love over casual sex or marriages of convenience, but it increasingly makes sense coming from as unflinching a realist as this protagonist.

A quick look at the names of Edith Hope's three male love interests reveals some striking differences that help explain the choices she makes in their regard. The would-be husband whom she deserts in London is named "Geoffrey." The soft alliteration and assonance in this name should alert us to how he is flawed. "The totality of his mouse-like seem-liness" strikes the protagonist when she sees him on the morning of their wedding. By leaving him standing on the steps of the registry office, she has spared herself (we are led to believe) seeing his "mouselike seemliness" in bed. "Everyone [who] had said how good he had been to his mother … how lucky his wife would be … how lucky Edith was" did not suppose that this protagonist might want a husband who was at least as good a lover as he was a caregiver. True to her last name, "Hope," this protagonist aspires to more than that.

Edith Hope's second would-be husband is as flawed morally as the first is physically. Even Philip Neville's last name suggests there is something of the devil about him. And when he proposes to the protagonist, what comes to mind is the Faust legend. Like Mephistopheles, he comes not with a suitor's flowers, but proffering a new life. In a pragmatic tone and manner more suited to a business contract than affairs of the heart, he offers Edith Hope a marriage based on her natural virtue's being corrupted. Asked how his "doctrine of selfishness" is to be shared, he explains:

"I am proposing a partnership of the most enlightened kind…. If you wish to take a lover, that is your concern, so long as you arrange it in a civilized manner."

"And if you …"

"The same applies, of course…. Think, Edith. Have you not, at some time in your well-behaved life, desired vindication? Are you not tired of being polite to rude people?…"

Edith bowed her head.

"… You will find that you can behave as badly as you like. As badly as everybody else likes, too. That is the way of the world."

By repeatedly referring to this character as Mr. Neville, rather than just Philip, Brookner lends an air of authority to him that is confirmed seemingly by the protagonist's decision to accept his offer. Edith Hope changes her mind, however, when she finds him coming out of Jennifer Pusey's room the next morning. Mrs. Pusey's pampered life is in keeping with her kitten-like last name. The vulgar use of "pussy" to denote a woman's sex, especially in the context of "getting some" (i.e., sex), now makes the name "Pusey" appropriate for her daughter as well. In contrast to these characters' names, which have so many negative associations, the name of Edith's lover, David, has only positive ones.

Both associations with the name "Pusey" draw attention to the essential difference between these female characters and the protagonist. Whereas the former would seem to naturally draw adoration or sexual attraction, Edith Hope is the one who adores and gives herself over physically as an expression of her devotion. That David Simmonds may be unworthy occurs not only to the reader but also to her. In this, the depiction of love in Hotel du Lac is consistent with that in The Debut, Providence, and Look at Me. Inherent in each is the premise that love is no more rational than religious faith. Associations with the name "David" reinforce this view. In the Bible, David is the one chosen to be king. To explain this unlikely choice of a shepherd boy, we are told, "The Lord seeth not as man seeth; for man looketh on the outward appearance, but the Lord looketh on the heart." Since appearances repeatedly prove to be misleading, whether it is Edith Hope who is misjudged by others or she who misreads people's ages, occupations, social status, and character, trusting one's heart might after all be more advisable. This message at the end of Hotel du Lacsets it apart from Brookner's previous novels about single women in love. Edith Hope may be a romantic, but in the context of this novel it is a virtue that also makes good sense.