"Pilgrims were they all": Chaucer's "General Prologue" to The Canterbury Tales (The Canterbury Tales Part 1)

April showers bring May flowers, and May flowers bring pilgrims.  No, not those stern po-faced separatists in New England, but a merry fellowship in old England!  We come today to Geoffrey Chaucer's The Canterbury Tales, the monument of medieval English literature.  In this episode, we'll focus on the "General Prologue" to the tales: its satirical project, its narrative structure, and a couple of its characters.

Additional music:  "Village Theme" by Gesornoud; "Consort for Brass" by Kevin Macleod; "Medieval Flute" by Carlos Carty

Transcript

Whan that Aprill with his shoures soote

The droghte of March hath perced to the roote,

And bathed every veyne in switch licour

Of which vertu engendred is the flour;

Whan Zephirus eek with his sweete breeth

Inspired hath in every holt and heeth

The tendre croppes, and the yonge sonne

Hath in the Ram his half cours yronne,

And smale foweles maken melodye,

That slepen al the nyght with open ye

(So Priketh hem Nature in hir corages),

Thanne longen folk to goon on pilgrimages,

And palmeres for to seken straunge strondes,

To ferne halwes, kowthe in sondry londes;

And specially from every shires ende

Of Engelond to Caunterbury they wende,

The hooly blisful martir for to seke,

That hem hath holpen whan that they were seeke.

Those are the opening 18 lines of Geoffrey Chaucer’s 14th century masterpiece, The Canterbury Tales, perhaps the most important work of medieval English literature and the subject of the next few episodes of the podcast.

Welcome to the Classic English Literature Podcast! 

Geoffrey Chaucer is the towering figure of medieval literature in English.  Indeed, a towering figure in English literature full stop, often mentioned in the same breath as Shakespeare and Milton.  He is traditionally regarded as the “Father of English Literature,” a sobriquet that I can explain, but not fully understand.

Leaving aside the patriarchal parthenogenesis, critics and readers point to Chaucer’s elevation of English from the language of a suppressed and disregarded underclass to one capable of parity with the great cultural languages of the time, especially French but perhaps also Latin.  His works – The Book of the Duchess, The Parliament of Fowls, Troilus and Cressida and especially The Canterbury Tales – show a richness and subtlety of meaning comparable to any literature in any language at any time.

So good on you, Geoff.  Of course, he also largely wrote that English according to established French models and genres, so he seems more like a macaronic midwife – albeit a genius one – than a father of English.  

But, God, is he good!  And very intimidating for the novice podcaster.  I confess some ambivalence about getting to him in this show.  Not because I don’t like reading or talking about him – quite the contrary.  But how to cover such a vastly influential figure in our literary history?  (It may be needless to point out that I nearly soil myself when I consider how to tackle Shakespeare or Dickens in the fullness of time).  An entire podcast could be devoted to a study of Chaucer’s works.  Indeed, back when grandad were a lad I took an entire college class on The Canterbury Tales alone.  But this is a survey podcast – a sampler for the generally interested.  So I’m only going to talk about the Tales for now, and even then, only a mere taste.  But even that will take at least three episodes.

Let’s start with a little background.  He was born in about 1340 – the precise date is unknown – to a family belonging to a new phenomenon in English society: the middle class.  He was a career civil servant and diplomat, quite highly placed since his patron was John of Gaunt, the Duke of Lancaster and the most powerful man in the late 14th century (Richard II was a fairly weak monarch).  Indeed, Chaucer was once captured by the French during the interminable wars of that century and the king himself posted the ransom.  His first major work, the aforementioned Book of the Duchess, was dedicated to Gaunt’s late wife, Blanche of Lancaster.  He was a tax man at the gates of London when the 1381 Peasant Rising occurred and he lived through the most devastating natural disaster in human history: the bubonic plague pandemic named the Black Death, which destroyed nearly half of Europe’s population and cleared ground, in many ways, for the emergence of modernity.  The feudal order had obtained since the Norman Conquest, a land-based economy and a social class system divided into three estates: the first estate was the clergy (the oratores) who were responsible for the spiritual well-being of the kingdom.  The second estate, the bellatores, were the aristocracy, responsible for the military protection and political ordering of the kingdom.  Finally, the laboratores, the commons, who were responsible for the work of the kingdom.  Pre-plague, there was no mingling or mobility between the estates, with very few exceptions (the second son of an aristocrat may go into the church, a precocious peasant boy may find himself in a cathedral school to take orders, that kind of thing).  However, after the ravages of the Black Death, which in England reduced the population from some 6 million souls to an estimated 3 million between 1348 and 1350, the estates system became more fluid: laborers were in demand and could expect wages and competition.  A moneyed middle class began to exert its influence.

The Canterbury Tales takes place against this backdrop of social upheaval and, like Piers Plowman and many texts composed during times of crisis and cataclysm, asks pointed questions about what vision we may have for the future society that will emerge from the chaos.

Which leads us to a discussion of Chaucer’s project with the Canterbury Tales.  He conceives his masterwork as what’s called an estates satire.  Satire, as you probably know, is writing that mocks the failings and foibles of individuals or institutions with the intention of correcting them.  This is key: satire, technically, is a progressive project – the point is correcting wayward social behaviors.  Parody, on the other hand, is mockery for the sake of mockery – just because it's funny.  Anyway, an estates satire ridicules the moral failures of the feudal estates system hoping to reform it toward a more perfect justice (see Piers Plowman’s theory of justice from passus 6 in the last episode).  

To accomplish this, Chaucer assembles, for his fiction, a company of 30 people from all walks of life, from all three estates.  We have knights, squires, priests, plowmen, nuns, sailors, weavers, monks, and partridges in pear trees (that’s not true).  They meet in Southwark, London at Harry Bailey’s Tabard Inn to go on pilgrimage to Canterbury Cathedral, to pray to St. Thomas Becket who was martyred by King Henry II in 1170.  The Host, Mr. Bailey, proposes a storytelling contest in which each pilgrim will tell two tales on the way up and two on the way back.  The best tale will win dinner at the Tabard, compliments of the Host.

This frame narrative is set up in an introductory general prologue, the first 18 lines of which I quoted at the top of the show in my best approximation of Chaucer’s Middle English.  Here it is again in Modern English:

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 weak.

So Chaucer begins his pilgrimage in April for, I think, both practical and symbolic reasons.  Certainly, it is easier to travel, especially by horse or foot, in the warming spring.  But as pilgrimage is a journey of religious and spiritual redemption, the reemergence of life associated with spring nicely underscores the point.  A careful look at how Chaucer characterizes the awakening of nature in spring also shows a nice circle of renewal.  To wit: the April showers fall from the sky and pierce the land dried by winter down to the roots of the awaiting flowers.  A downward motion.  Then, those flowers are “sired” by the sweet rain’s liquor and leap through the ground upwards toward the sky, where birds have awakened to a hormonal, insomniacal urge to procreate.  So down from the sky, into the ground, then back up toward the sky.  That’s just lovely, I think.  Very much like the “Cuckoo Song” from a few episodes ago, which used the musical form of the round to emphasize its theme of reverdie, regreening.  The circle of life, with my compliments to Mr. Rice and Sir Elton.

After this, Chaucer slips in what I think is a bit of a waggish joke.  Amidst all this bustling new life, all this fertility, all this humming, chirping, zinging sexual energy, then, Chaucer says, “folk do long to go on pilgrimage.”  Of course – in spring a young man’s fancy lightly turns to thoughts of piety, and not at all to a bit of the other.  

But perhaps such a bit of tongue-in-cheek, as it were, does serve to question the godly motives of our pilgrims.  From here, Chaucer provides a portrait of each of the travellers to Canterbury.  He does so by inserting his own avatar on the journey.  I’ll follow tradition and distinguish between Chaucer Poet (the writer of the Tales) and Chaucer Pilgrim (the first-person narrator who reports his observations to us).  Since we are dealing with satire, though, we have to realize that Chaucer Pilgrim is something of an unreliable narrator.  Gormless may be too strong a word, but only just.  The pilgrims in the company are not all as swell as he seems to think (though I do admire his generosity of spirit).  We must suss out who the good pilgrims are – the moral standards by which Chaucer Poet makes his criticisms about each of the estates.

For example, let’s look at the verse portrait of the Knight, the first that Chaucer Pilgrim provides in deference to his rank.  Here it is in modern English:

There was a KNIGHT and he a worthy man,

That from the day on which he first began,

To ride abroad, had followed chivalry,

Truth, honour, courtesy and charity.

He had fought nobly in his lord’s war,

And ridden to the fray, and no man more,

As much in Christendom as heathen place,

And ever honoured for his worth and grace.

When we took Alexandria was there;

Often at table held the place of honour,

Above all other nations too in Prussia;

Campaigned in Lithuania and Russia,

No Christian man of his rank more often.

At the siege of Algeciras had he been,

In Granada, and on Moroccan shore;

He was at Ayash and Antalya

When taken, and many times had been

In action on the Mediterranean Sea.

Of mortal battles he had seen fifteen,

And fought for the faith at Tramissene

Thrice in the lists and always slain his foe.

This same worthy knight had been also

With the Emir of Balat once, at work

With him against some other heathen Turk;

Won him a reputation highly prized,

And though he was valiant, he was wise,

And in his manner modest as a maid.

And never a discourtesy he said

In all his life to those who met his sight;

He was a very perfect gentle knight.

But to tell of his equipment, his array,

His horses fine, he wore no colours gay

Sported a tunic, padded fustian

On which his coat of mail left many a stain;

For he was scarcely back from his voyage,

And going now to make his pilgrimage.

The Knight is Chaucer Poet’s representation of the ideal member of the aristocracy, the second estate.  Any other members of that class would fall short in some way of this benchmark.  He is a Crusader (which would not have been as problematic in the 14th century as it is now).  He is a warrior for God who embodies the values of chivalry: truth, honor, courtesy, and charity.  Certainly capable of great violence, he also subjects himself to great violence, more than any other Christian man, for Christendom.  Additionally, we know that he is very wealthy (he has horses, plural – a single war horse, a destrier, without tack or armor, would cost more than a free peasant could earn in a lifetime, and the knight must also have a riding horse [a palfrey] and a pack horse).  But he does not flaunt this wealth: “he wore no colors gay” (cloth dye being rather pricey) and his clothing was of fustian, a coarse cloth.  He is, we are told, “modest as a maid” – with all the connotations of purity that entails.  Furthermore, we know he is deeply devout because he has joined the pilgrimage before even changing out of his battle clothes: the “coat of mail left many a stain” on the fustian.  He gets back from the wars and without even bothering to wash or change, joins the pilgrimage to Canterbury to offer his thanks and praise.

What a guy.  Now, I mentioned a second ago that we find the idea of Crusade, of holy war, a deeply troubling concept.  Many of you may remember when Pres. George W. Bush inadvisedly framed the U.S. response to the September 11 attacks as a crusade and how he had to walk that back.  The Knight here, as almost universally agreed by scholars and critics, is Chaucer’s chivalric ideal.  But – and this is not validated by any Chaucerian that I know of – British comedian and writer Terry Jones (of Monty Python fame) published a study in the early 1980s that challenges this noble orthodoxy.  He claims that the Knight is a mercenary, not a holy warrior, and that the theaters of war noted in the verse portrait were controversial campaigns against fellow (heretical) Christians as well as Muslims which were viewed with great ambivalence at the time.  I’ve never been able to fully expunge that reading from my head though, as I say, I’ve not found much scholarly support for it.  Do with that as you will.  Little point in getting involved in this tete a tete here anyway, since I’m not going to cover the Knight’s tale.  He has only served as an object lesson in setting standards for satire.  Indeed, this is the last time I shall mention Chaucer’s Knight in this episode.   Farewell, sir, and god bye ye!

Now, let’s have a look at another pilgrim: the Nun or Prioress.  Here’s what faithful Chaucer Pilgrim has to say about her:

There was also a nun, a PRIORESS,

Her smile itself ingenuous and coy.

Her greatest oath was only ‘by Saint Loy’,

And she was called Madame Eglentine.

Full well she sung the service, divine,

Intoning through her nose, all seemly,

And fair French she spoke, all elegantly,

After the school of Stratford-atte-Bowe;

For French of Paris was not hers to know.

At meals she had been taught well withal;

And from her lips she let no morsel fall,

Nor dipped her fingers in the sauce too deep;

Well could she take a morsel and then keep

The slightest drop from falling on her breast;

Courtesy it was that pleased her best.

Her upper lip she would wipe so clean

That in her cup no trace of grease was seen

When she had drunk her draught; and to eat,

In a most seemly manner took her meat.

And certainly she had a cheerful manner,

Pleasant and amiable in her behaviour,

Took pains to imitate the ways of court,

Display a stately bearing as she ought,

And be considered worthy of reverence.

As for consideration of her conscience,

She was so charitable, tender, anxious,

She would weep if she but saw a mouse

Caught in a trap, if it were dead or bled.

Of slender hounds she had, that she fed

With roasted flesh, or milk, and fine white bread;

But wept sorely when one of them was dead

Or if men struck it with a stick too hard,

And all was sentiment and tender heart.

Her wimple was pleated in a seemly way,

Her nose was elegant, her eyes blue-grey;

Her lips quite fine, and also soft and red,

But certainly she had a fair forehead,

It was almost a span broad, I deem,

For she was not small of build, I mean.

Her cloak was very elegant, I saw;

Fine coral round her arm she wore

A rosary, the larger beads were green,

And from it hung a brooch of golden sheen,

On which there first was writ a crowned A,

And after: ‘Amor vincit omnia’.

First estate, clergy, is the Prioress – the chief nun in a priory.  At first blush, the Prioress seems a lovely woman.  Very well-mannered, agreeably pretty, well-dressed, with a pleasing  plumpness.  She speaks some French, can sing, and cares very much for animals, particularly her dogs, whom she spoils with some fine food.  She sounds, to me, altogether splendid company.

Which may be true.  But is she a good nun?  Well, I must confess, I can’t cop to that.  What’s a nun doing with an elegant cloak and fine coral jewelry?  And a golden brooch with “Love Conquers All” engraved upon it?  How is it she knows all the fine manners of the aristocratic court?  And feeding dogs with “roasted flesh, or milk, or fine white bread”?  How often do average peasants get that kind of food?  Answer: never.  The average person in the 1380s hardly ever tasted meat, except maybe on holidays.  And probably that meat was stewed, never roasted (roasting takes a long time and consumes much fuel, so a method beyond the means of the great unwashed).  Peasants ate barley bread, the refined white flour being too costly.  Chaucer Pilgrim does note that the Prioress “took pains to imitate the ways of court.”  She’s a fan-girl and a social-climber.  She wishes she were a lady or a princess. She learns French, but not Parisian French, rather the declasse dialect of Stratford at Bow.  She sings, but with an unpleasant nasal whine.  Note that her rosary beads are the color green – the color of envy.  She resents that she is not the lady of chivalric romance, but desperately wishes to counterfeit the image

Is she evil?  At this point, I hardly think so – though the tale she tells later is horrifyingly bigoted.  She’s certainly not a good nun: her envy and superficiality preclude her attaining the moral standard for Chaucer’s ideal cleric.  But, farewell that, too, for we shall not be meeting her any further in this podcast either.

Fear not, listener, the characters we will be meeting are, for my money (and anybody else’s, I’d wager) more than fascinating enough to compensate for being denied further trade with the Knight and the Prioress. Oops – I did mention the Knight again.  Spoke too soon!  I certainly recommend their tales to you: the Knight’s is a good example of medieval romance and the Prioress’s, while quite disturbing, does offer the critical reader some insight into medieval prejudices that, regrettably, continue to haunt our world today.

So let’s leave it there for the nonce, as Chaucer might have said, but probably didn’t.  I hope you’ll take a moment to subscribe and post a positive review on whichever app you happen to be listening in on – it really helps new people find us and I’d like to have as many good pilgrims on our journey as possible.  I would certainly be grateful if you could support the show with any small financial contribution you find possible.

Till next time, God’s benison be on you!  Thanks for listening!