General
Notes on Chaucer and the Prologue to the Canterbury Tales
Bifel
that in that seson on a day,
In Southwerk at the Tabard as I lay
Redy to wenden on my pilgrymage
To Caunterbury with ful devout corage,
At nyght was come into that hostelrye
Wel nyne and twenty in a compaignye
Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalle
In felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,
That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde.
In
April Geoffrey Chaucer at the Tabard Inn in Southwerk, across the Thames from
London, joins a group of pilgrims on their way to the Shrine of Thomas à Becket
in Canterbury. He describes almost all of the nine and twenty pilgrims in this
company, each of whom practices a different trade (often dishonestly). The Host
of the Tabard, Harry Bailey, proposes that he join them as a guide and that each
of the pilgrims should tell tales (two on the outward journey, two on the way
back); whoever tells the best tale will win a supper, at the other pilgrims’
cost when they return.
The
pilgrims agree, and Chaucer warns his readers that he must repeat each tale
exactly as he heard it, even though it might contain frank language. The next
morning the company sets out, pausing at the Watering of St. Thomas, where all
draw straws, and the Knight is thus selected to tell the first tale.
Until
Chaucer wrote The Canterbury Tales he was known primarily as a maker of poems of
love—dream visions of the sort exemplified in The Parliament of Fowls and The
Book of the Duchess, narratives of doomed passion, such as Troilus and Criseyde,
and stories of women wronged by their lovers that he tells in The Legend of Good
Women.
The
General Prologue begins with the description of Spring characteristic of dream
visions of secular love. Chaucer set the style for such works (for some
imitations click here). His first audience, hearing the opening lines of the
General Prologue, may well have thought they were about to hear another elegant
poem on aristocratic love. Indeed, the opening lines seem to echo the most
famous dream vision of the time, Le Roman de la rose, which Chaucer translated
into English as The Romaunt of the Rose, one of his first surviving works:
That
it was May thus dremed me
In time of love and jollite
That al thyng gynneth waxen gay
For there is neither busk nor hay
In May that it nyl shrouded ben,
And it with new leves wryen.
These greves eke recoveren grene,
That dry in wynter ben to sen,
And the erthe waxeth proude withal
For swete dewes that on it falle . . .
And
the birds begin to sing:
To make noyse and syngen blythe
Than is blisful many sithe
The chelandre and popinjay
Then yonge folk entended ay
For to ben gay and amorous
The
General prologue begins with the same tone, even some of the same details, but
where the audience expects to hear that it is the time for gay and amorous
thoughts, they hear instead: Then
longen folk to gon on pilgrimages.
The
focus changes from secular love to religion, to a pilgrimage, and the texture
shifts from the elegant abstractions and allegorical personages to a very real
London in the fourteenth century, populated by apparently real people, some of
whom—Harry Bailly, the host, and Chaucer himself—were well known to
Chaucer’s audience. These characters, we learn, are going to tell one another
stories to pass the time on their way along the Road to Canterbury and to the
shrine of Thomas á Becket in Canterbury cathedral.
This
initiates the “framing narrative,” consisting of the “connecting links”
which hold the groups of tales together, as the pilgrims amuse themselves by
telling stories “to shorten with our way” (GP I.791).
The
idea of writing a collection of stories for a specific fictional audience was
not new; it was common in the later Middle Ages. It is worth looking at how some
of the other collections of tales begin, since they give some idea of the
possibilities of which Chaucer might have availed himself:
John
Gower’s Confessio Amantis is a collection of tales, told by Genius, the Priest
of Love, for the instruction of an unsuccessful lover (Gower himself). The Book
of the Knight of Latour-Landry begins with an explanation of how the Knight
wrote the book with its illustrative stories for the instruction of his
daughters,
The
First Day of Boccacio’s Decameron, which more closely resembles The Canterbury
Tales than the works of Gower or the Knight, begins with a chilling description
of the Plague (Boccaccio, First Day ), which provides the impetus for the
journey in which the tales are told. The Preface defines an audience somewhat
different from Chaucer’s, as does the Conclusion, which includes a defense of
broad speech and indecorous stories somewhat similar to that which Chaucer
offers in the General Prologue.
The
Canterbury Tales has many speakers, rather than just one (as in The Confessio
Amantis and The Book of the Knight of Latour-Landry), and it differs from
Boccaccio’s Decameron, the closest analogue, in that the speakers are not from
a single social class (as are Boccaccio’s elegant young Florentines) but are
drawn from a broad range of society, from the noble knight to the drunken rascal
of a Miller and the impoverished Parson. Choosing a pilgrimage as the vehicle
for the tales was a brilliant move—a pilgrimage was the one occasion in
medieval life when so wide a range of members of society could plausibly join
together on relatively equal terms.
Chaucer’s
idea of a Canterbury Pilgrimage is thus very unusual (there is an Italian
analogue, the Novelle of Giovanni Sercambi, in which Sercambi tells tales to
amuse the pilgrims he leads, but it probably postdates Chaucer; see p. 796 in
The Riverside Chaucer). And consequently it cannot easily be assiged to any one
literary genre. The somewhat processional nature of the presentation makes it
somewhat similar to the “Dance of Death.”
This
is more a genre of art than of literature (it consisted of paintings, with
explanatory verses, in which a strict hierarchy is observed: Death comes first
to the Pope, then to the Emperour, then to a cardinal, then to a king, and so on
down the ladder of social rank. Chaucer explicitly points out that he does not
observe the expected decorum:
Also,
I prey yow to foryeve it me
Al have I nat set folk in her degree
Here in this tale, as they shold stonde.
My wit is short, ye may wel understonde.
Jill
Mann, in one of the best studies we have of The General Prologue, Chaucer and
Medieval Estates Satire; the Literature of Social Classes and the General
Prologue to the Canterbury Tales. (Cambridge [Eng.] University Press, 1973) [PR
1868.P9 M3], shows the influence on Chaucer of “Estates satire,” a
censorious survey of society. It is a mode rather than a genre but well worth
considering in this matter.
Also
one might think about some of the problems raised by the characters in the
General Prologue; it is a collection of nonpareils, each a master of his or her
trade, but it is also a great gathering of scoundrels. The rascals far outnumber
the admirable figures. Chaucer seems to admire them all, without regard to their
moral status. That has seemed a problem to many readers; a classic solution is
offered by E.T. Donaldson in his article “Chaucer the Pilgrim,” though
Donaldson’s solution should be applied with caution.
As
time allows, students might want to look at some later imitations of the
Prologue to the Canterbury Tales: Lydgate’s Prologue to the Siege of Thebes,
in which Lydgate (a much younger contemporary of Chaucer) imagines a homeward
journey in which he tells the first tale. The anonymous Prologue to the Tale of
Beryn likewise deals with the pilgrims once they have arrived at Canterbury and
narrates the Pardoner’s unsuccessful courtship of the barmaid. These works are
interesting not only for themselves but for evidence of how Chaucer’s
contemporaries (such as Lydgate) and early admirers (such as the author of the
Tale of Beryn) interpreted the General Prologue and its characters. Their
readings sometimes differ surprisingly from ours.
She
hadde passed many a straunge strem;
At Rome she hadde been, and at Boloigne,
In Galice at Seint-Jame, and at Coloigne.
She koude muchel of wandrynge by the weye.
(General Prologue, I.464-67).
Pilgrimages
began as exercises in penance, as defined in The Parson’s Tale: Commune
penaunce is that preestes enjoynen men communly in certeyn caas, as for to goon
peraventure naked in pilgrimages, or barefoot. (ParsT (X.105) Walking
barefoot or even riding a horse could be a difficult undertaking, along poorly
maintained and dangerous roads. Journeys overseas, to Campostella or Jerusalem,
were complicated, difficult, and dangerous. In
the later Middle Ages, conditions of travel improved, but getting from England
to Jerusalem (as did the Wife of Bath, a frequenter of pilgrimages) was not easy.
Such credit accrued to those who made such journeys that professional
pilgrims were soon making the journey, returning with relics, badges, and
pilgrim symbols (such as the palm for one who had made the trip to Jerusalem)
and often with tall tales of the places they had visited. Chaucer’s House of
Rumor (in The House of Fame) charcaterizes pilgrims with “wallets stuffed with
lies:
And,
Lord, this hous in alle tymes
Was ful of shipmen and pilgrimes,
With scrippes bret-ful of lesinges.
(House
of Fame 2121-23)
Langland
says much the same in the Prologue to his Piers Plowman.
Pilgrims
and palmers · pledged them together
To seek Saint James · and saints in Rome.
They went forth on their way · with many wise tales,
And had leave to lie · all their life after.
I saw some that said · they had sought saints;
Yet in each tale they told · their tongue turned to lies
More than to tell truth · it seemed by their speech.
The
abuses Langland describes were fairly common; fake pilgrims were suitably
punished. For many (including, apparently, most of Chaucer’s pilgrims) a
pilgrimage was more a holiday, complete with sightseeing at the shrine; this is
the case in the Prologe to The Tale of Beryn where the pilgrims spend much time
in acting like tourists and no time in prayer. It is not therefore surprising
that moralists of the time, especially the Lollards, strongly objected to
pilgrimages. The Lollard William Thorpe’s description of pilgrimages sounds
very much like Chaucer’s, complete with bagpipes and bells on the horses:
The
most popular part of the Canterbury Tales is the General Prologue, which has
long been admired for the lively, individualized portraits it offers. More
recent criticism has reacted against this approach, claiming that the portraits
are indicative of social types, part of a tradition of social satire, “estates
satire”, and insisting that they should not be read as individualized
character portraits like those in a novel. Yet it is sure that Chaucer’s
capacity of human sympathy, like Shakespeare’s, enabled him to go beyond the
conventions of his time and create images of individualized human subjects that
have been found not merely credible but endearing in every period from his own
until now.
It
is the General Prologue that serves to establish firmly the framework for the
entire story-collection: the pilgrimage that risks being turned into a
tale-telling competition. The title “General Prologue” is a modern
invention, although a few manuscripts call it prologus. There are very few major
textual differences between the various manuscripts. The structure of the
General Prologue is a simple one. After
an elaborate introduction in lines 1 - 34, the narrator begins the series of
portraits (lines 35 - 719). These are followed by a report of the Host’s
suggestion of a tale-telling contest and its acceptance (lines 720 - 821). On
the following morning the pilgrims assemble and it is decided that the Knight
shall tell the first tale (lines 822 - 858). Nothing indicates when Chaucer
began to compose the General Prologue and there are no variations between
manuscripts that might suggest that he revised it after making an initial
version. It is sometimes felt that the last two portraits, of Pardoner and
Summoner, may have been added later but there is no evidence to support this.
The portraits do not follow any particular order after the first few pilgrims
have been introduced; the Knight who comes first is socially the highest person
present (the Host calls him ‘my mayster and my lord’ in line 837).
The
Knight is
the picture of a professional soldier, come straight from foreign wars with
clothes all stained from his armour. His travels are remarkably vast; he has
fought in Prussia, Lithuania, Russia, Spain, North Africa, and Turkey against
pagans, Moors, and Saracens, killing many. The variety of lords for whom he has
fought suggests that he is some kind of mercenary, but it seems that Chaucer may
have known people at the English court with similar records. The narrator
insists: “He was a verray, parfit, gentil knight,” but some modern readers,
ill at ease with idealized warriors, and doubtful about the value of the
narrator’s enthusiasms, have questioned this evaluation. His
son, the Squire, is by contrast an elegant young man about court, with
fashionable clothes and romantic skills of singing and dancing. Their Yeoman
is a skilled servant in charge of the knight’s land, his dress is described in
detail, but not his character.
The
Prioress is one of the most fully described pilgrims, and it is with her
that we first notice the narrator’s refusal to judge the value of what he
sees. Her portrait is more concerned with how she eats than how she prays. She
is rather too kind to animals, while there is no mention of her kindness to
people. Finally, she has a costly set of beads around her arm, which should be
used for prayer, but end in a brooch inscribed ambiguously Amor vincit omnia
(Virgil’s “Love conquers all”). She has a Nun with her, and “three”
priests. This is a problem in counting the total number of pilgrims as
twenty-nine: the word ‘three’ must have been added later on account of the
rhyme, while only one Nun’s Priest is in fact given a Tale and he is not the
subject of a portrait here. The Monk continues the series of incongruous
church- people; in this description the narrative voice often seems to be
echoing the monk’s comments in indirect quotation. He has many horses at home;
he does not respect his monastic rule, but goes hunting instead of praying. The
narrator expresses surprisingly strong support for the Monk’s chosen style of
living. The Friar follows, and by now it seems clear that Chaucer has a
special interest in church-people who so confidently live in contradiction with
what is expected of them; the narrator, though, gives no sign of feeling any
problem, as when he reports that the “worthy” Friar avoided the company of
lepers and beggars. By this point the alert reader is alert to the narrator’s
too-ready use of ‘worthy’ but critics are still unsure of what Chaucer’s
intended strategy was here.
The
Merchant
is briefly described, and is followed by the Clerk of Oxenford (Oxford)
who is as sincere a student as could be wished: poor, skinny like his horse, and
book-loving. The
Sergeant at Law
is an expert lawyer, and with him is the Franklin, a gentleman from the
country whose main interest is food: “It snowed in his house of meat and
drink.” Then Chaucer adds a brief list of five tradesmen belonging to the same
fraternity, dressed in its uniform: a Haberdasher, a Carpenter, a Weaver, a
Dyer and a Tapestry-maker. None of these is described here or given a Tale
to tell later. They
have brought their Cook with them, he is an expert, his skills are
listed, as well as some unexpected personal details. The Shipman who is
described next is expert at sailing and at stealing the wine his passengers
bring with them; he is also a dangerous character, perhaps a pirate. The Doctor
of Physic is praised by the narrator, “He was a verray parfit praktisour,”
and there follows a list of the fifteen main masters of medieval medicine; the
fact that he, like most doctors in satire, “loved gold in special” is added
at the end.
The
Wife of Bath is the only woman, beside the Prioress and her companion
Nun, on this pilgrimage. Again the narrator is positive: “She was a worthy
womman al hir live” and he glides quickly over the five husbands that later
figure in such detail in her Prologue, where also we may read how she became
deaf. She is a business woman of strong self-importance, and her elaborate dress
is a sign of her character as well as her wealth. From her, we pass to the most
clearly idealized portrait in the Prologue, the Parson. While the
previous churchmen were all interested in things of this world more than in true
christianity, the Parson represents the opposite pole. He is accompanied by his
equally idealized brother, the Plowman, “a true swinker”
(hard-working man) “Living in peace and perfect charity.” If the Parson is
the model churchman, the Plowman is the model lay christian, as in Piers Plowman,
one who is always ready to help the poor. It is sometimes suggested that the
choice of a Plowman shows that Chaucer had read a version of Piers Plowman.
The
series then ends with a mixed group of people of whom most are quite terrible: the
Miller is a kind of ugly thug without charm. The Manciple is praised
as a skillful steward in a household of lawyers; they are clever men but he is
cleverest, since he cheats them all, the narrator cheerfully tells us. The
Reeve is the manager of a farm, and he too is lining his own pocket. Last we
learn of the Summoner and the Pardoner, two grotesque figures on the edge
of the church, living by it without being priests; one administers the church
courts, the other sells pardons (indulgences). Children are afraid of the
Summoner’s face, he is suffering from some kind of skin disease; he is
corrupt, as the narrator tells us after naively saying “A better fellow should
men not find.” But it is the Pardoner who is really odd, and modern critics
have enjoyed discussing just what Chaucer meant by saying: “I trowe he were a
gelding or a mare”. With his collection of pigs’ bones in a glass, that he
uses as relics of saints to delude simple poor people, he is a monster in every
way, and he concludes the list of pilgrims.
The
narrator of this Prologue is Chaucer, but this pilgrim Chaucer is not to be too
simply identified with the author Chaucer. He explains that in what follows, he
is only acting as the faithful reporter of what others have said, without adding
or omitting anything; he must not then be blamed for what he reports. Neither
must he be blamed if he does not put people in the order of their social rank,
“My wit is short, ye may well understand.” This persona continues to profess
the utter naivety that we have already noted in his uncritical descriptions of
the pilgrims.
It
is in this way, too, that we should approach the conclusion of the Prologue.
Here the Host of the Tabard Inn (Harry Bailey, a historical figure) decides to
go with them and ironically it is he, not Chaucer, who proposes the
story-telling contest that gives the framework of the Tales. He will also be the
ultimate judge of which is the best: “of best sentence and most solas.” He
is, after all, well prepared by his job to know about the tales people tell! One
model for the literary competition would seem to be the meetings of people
interested in poetry, known in French as puys, with which Chaucer would have
been familiar.