Imagine going on a long journey with complete strangers. If you’re lucky, you’ll make a few friends along the way and manage to put up with everyone else. It’s likely that some number of your companions would get under your skin and perhaps even try to goad you into talking about sensitive subjects like religion and politics. Perhaps your self-control and courtesy would prevail, and you would manage to avoid getting drawn into anything too contentious.

Or, you might be like the Wife of Bath, the Clerk, and the Franklin from The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer. On their pilgrimage to the shrine of St. Thomas Becket, they end up needling one another about what a good marriage looks like, and they simply can’t drop the subject. They end up telling stories to “prove” why their view is correct and the others’ are wrong. Put differently, their stories become a proxy for their argument, which ends up being pretty comical when one thinks about the characters as caricatures.

So what is a caricature in a literary sense? Much like the boardwalk picture version, it’s an exaggerated depiction of someone. But instead of making a pronounced nose downright humungous, Chaucer takes a notable character trait like bossiness and makes it tyrannical or patience and makes it pathetic. As such, his pilgrims are extreme versions of different “types” of people.

The Wife of Bath

The Wife of Bath is one of the most famous characters from the story, not least because Chaucer makes her so loud and dominating. Once we meet her, we simply can’t ignore her. She is an older lady of means and leisure, notably traveling without a male escort. Her independence of mind and spirit matches her financial independence, which was gained from having outlived five husbands. She touts her marriages as a sign of her experience and knowledge on the subject, no doubt upsetting some of the other pilgrims who feel she is really a shallow gold-digger.

Taking their sideways looks as envy rather than criticism, the Wife of Bath brazenly launches into a story entitled, “The Unknown Bride,” which unfolds as a critique of husbands and commendation of wives. We can only imagine how annoyed the other pilgrims are as she tells an absurd tale about a shameful Knight of King Arthur’s court who, in order to save himself from the death sentence, must find out what women want most in the world.

Just as the term of his search is about to expire, he meets an Old Hag who promises to tell him the answer if he will promise to grant her the first thing she asks when he is released from the death sentence. Desperate, the Knight agrees, and he learns the secret wish of all woman is to rule over their husbands. Queen Guinevere, who presides over the Knight’s case, acknowledges this to be true and therefore sets the Knight free.

But wait—the Old Hag marshals her claim on his life and demands that he marry her!

Utterly disgusted at the thought, the Knight nonetheless agrees, presumably both to keep his word and to save his life. On their wedding night, the Old Hag turns to her distraught husband and asks, “Would you rather have me old and poor and homely and come of common folk, but a faithful, loving wife; or, perchance, young and rich and handsome and of high birth, but careless of your love and maybe false to you?”

The Knight reluctantly accepts the wisdom of her words, contents himself in the match, and suddenly finds the Old Hag transformed into a fair damsel. Thus, they live happily ever after—albeit with the wife ruling over the husband.

The Wife of Bath emerges from the tale a complex caricature of many negative wifely traits that persist today. She’s a boss, a know-it-all, and a nag all in one. Though she thinks she is superior to men—even in wisdom and virtue—she is quite obviously self-centered and worldly.

The Clerk

The Clerk is among those pilgrims disgusted with the Wife of Bath. Much younger, not to mention poorer and inexperienced in love, he nonetheless feels himself her intellectual superior. After all, he is an Oxford student who would rather fill his mind with books than fill his tummy with food. Alas, he appears “as shy as a young wife” when asked to tell the next story. Really, however, he can’t wait to set the Wife of Bath straight by telling a better marriage story, one that he learned from no less than Francis Petrarch.

The Clerk’s tale is called, “The Patient Griselda,” and it directly contrasts the Wife of Bath’s tale. His leading lady, Griselda, is a humble woman who marries a powerful Marquis beloved by his people. Out of his intense devotion to their marriage, he deems it necessary to “test” Griselda’s commitment. Incidentally, the irony here is never lost on my students, and they immediately feel a healthy dose of righteous indignation.

“If he loves her, why doesn’t he trust her already?” they steam.

That feeling escalates as the cruelty of each test is revealed. In the first, he makes Griselda “prove” her love of him by handing over their newborn baby to be killed. He does the same with their second child. Next, he asks her to agree to a divorce. Finally, he invites her to prepare his castle for a new wife.

Griselda, a “true” and “devoted” wife consents to every wish of her husband and thereby “proves” her love for him. Overjoyed that he can really “trust” his wife, he reveals that he had merely been testing her all the time. Their children are really alive; there is no other woman; and they can now live happily ever after together—albeit with the wife totally submissive to the husband.

No doubt, the Clerk feels thoroughly satisfied with his story, and we can picture him smugly stealing glances at the Wife of Bath as if to say, “Griselda is an ideal wife; not the Old Hag! Women can’t be trusted! They need a man to rule over them!”

Much like the Wife of Bath, the Clerk believes himself full of wisdom and virtue. Ironically, he (and the Marquis) emerge as a caricature of a controlling and even an abusive husband. Conversely, Griselda appears a pathetic, down-trodden wife. Notably, my students are equally frustrated with her for being so complicit in her suffering. This story, though full of satire, is virtually devoid of humor when put in these stark terms.

The Franklin

Another name for the Franklin is the Country Gentleman. The former implies his freedom in society, meaning that he is self-made and no one can lay claim to his wealth. The latter connotes his social status. Though he is not a nobleman by birth, he has risen up through the ranks to gain respect. This makes him a “modern” man, so to speak. If follows, then, that his ideas are a little more progressive than the Wife of Bath’s or the Clerk’s, and he can’t resist “politely” pointing out their errors.

The Franklin’s story, “The Promise of Dorigen,” ends up being the most appealing of the three.  At the outset, we learn of a knight named Arviragus who falls in love with a lady named Dorigen. They promise to love and serve one another, which means their relationship will be built on equality. Sadly, Arviragus is called away to war, and Dorigen is left to pine away until he returns.

Enter Aurelius, a love-sick philanderer who makes open advances at Dorigen despite her steadfast loyalty to her husband. Frustrated that he won’t leave her alone, she finally says, “Go and gaze upon those black and jagged rocks that have sent so many a good ship to her destruction and that threaten the safety of my dear husband, and know that when every one of those rocks has vanished, I will leave my Arviragus for you, and never before.”

Rather than realizing he has been soundly rejected yet again, Aurelius takes Dorigen’s words as a literal promise. He then seeks out and finds a Magician who makes the rocks disappear. Having succeeded in this venture, he expects Dorigen’s hand.

She is now caught between the promise to her husband, who has newly returned from war, and the “promise” to Aurelius. It goes without saying that one promise is true and the other is empty, but the Franklin puts them on equal terms to reveal the stupidity of the situation. What’s more, he has Arviragus release Dorigen from her marriage vows so that she can stay true to her word to Aurelius and thus retain her purity. This act is so respected by Aurelius that he in turn releases Dorigen as well. She is therefore free to return to her husband, her true love. Man and wife then live happily ever after.

What, then, of Aurelius?

He owes a large sum of money to the Magician who made the rocks disappear and is unable to pay it. The Magician, being a gentleman himself, releases Aurelius from his debt. Here the Franklin makes a subtle dig at the Clerk by referring to the Magician in his story by the synonymous name of “Clerk.” His message is clear: the Clerk pilgrim needs to pipe down, even if the Wife of Bath owes him an apology.

The Franklin’s caricature is much more likeable than the other pilgrims. He is a peacemaker in the feud between the Wife of Bath and the Clerk. Likewise, he is the level-headed representative of true love, forged on mutual love and respect between husband and wife.

Please note: My summaries are primarily based on The Chaucer Story Book by Eva March Tappan. I draw from various translations of the original text as well, but Tappan’s is what I read with my students.