Pilgrim Chaucer's Clique

At the close of the previous entry, I said we would face challenges with this new topic. If you're familiar with the General Prologue, you know that acquainting us with the pilgrims goes on for many pages--the Knight, the Wife, the Friar, the Monk, the Physician, Sir Thopas and more. Then, an apparently random cluster, like five left-overs, are presented all at once, as if Chaucer is in a rush to have done with the introductions. But that's not it at all. Immediately after citing the five, the individuals are singled out and given as detailed and unique a description as all those who came before. Finding a reason for this tactic is the first challenge.
     Here is how Chaucer begins:
           There was also a Reeve, and a Miller,
           A Summoner, and a Pardoner also,
           A Manciple, and myself--there were no more.
This is what their occupations amounted to: A reeve kept the records of what was produced on a manor, and the work done. A miller needs no special explanation. A summoner was a petty clerical officer who cited people to appear before the ecclesiastical court. A pardoner was a minor churchman, who had the reputation of selling "little pardons" in lieu of other penances. A manciple was an employee of an institution and functioned mainly in the purchasing of provisions.
     Because I understood that the pilgrims were signs of the zodiac, my first thought had to do with astrology. Were these signs significant to Chaucer's birth date? That may be true, but it is well nigh impossible to discover facts to support this notion because birth dates of commoners--such as Chaucer--were rarely recorded.
      So why set them in a group? At first glance it might seem pointless, but Pilgrim Chaucer is made a member of this clique. That is surely a signal to gain our attention. These characters must have some sort of affinity with one another and some sort of relationship with the author/pilgrim.
      I'd worked with the five for quite a while, first this one, then that one, when a recognizable traditional influence came into focus for each! The five did portray pilgrims and signs of the zodiac--but now, clearly, each had a third role to play. These were not incidental associates. The poet had reserved this handful to construct the ultimate image of his own pilgrimage. That answers the first challenge.
     We will deal separately with the members of his clique, to illustrate what it is that connects each one to the others and to Chaucer's pilgrimage--his life. Our search will acquaint us with Scorpio, Taurus, Aquarius, Pisces, and Libra.
     We'll begin next time with Libra, the Manciple because its significance will be obvious after very little evidence.

Trickery and comedy

Chaucer's approach to the sign of Cancer is unique. He appears to be just having fun--teasing by adding more information than necessary and including distracting details that make the challenge of discernment greater. Even introducing the Guildsmen ahead of the Cook, in the General Prologue, is a trick. It's like re-naming Aesop's fable (The Belly and It's Members) "The Members and Their Belly."
     A serious distraction is talk of the Guildsmen's wives. Each has a cloak, which Chaucer depicts as "royally borne." Garments trailing behind is not the picture of a crab. It's a diverting dead end. My initial confusion was relieved by a picture of Notre Dame Cathedral in Paris. Carved around a portal are the twelve signs of the zodiac illustrating the universe created by God. Here Cancer is not the image of a crab but of a lobster, definitely a figure with a part trailing behind. Strangely enough, crabs and lobsters were interchangeable in the medieval mind because "cancer" can express either word in Latin.
     Now let's examine the Guildsmen/Lobsters. During the pilgrimage, the five Guildsmen never utter a word. They are never spoken to or about. These characters serve only to add complexity to identifying the sign. The physical description of the "men" is undistinguished, generic. Each detail is said to apply to all. That's quite unlikely if we're viewing five men. Their skills, on the other hand, are individualized as the tradition of the fable requires. The variety distracts by needing interpretation of each corresponding second level "skill." Most readers, I'm sure, just skim over the carefully chosen specifics of:

A haberdasher and a carpenter,
A weaver, a dyer, and a tapestry maker,--

The medieval Haberdasher stocked various small articles: spurs, beads, etc. The function of this initial character indicates someone in charge of many parts. The second of the craftsmen is a Carpenter, conveying the ability to create new shells to house themselves as they grow. A "Webbe" is third and is defined as a weaver for the surface reading, but webbe also means a net which can be used to snare lobsters for the table. A Dyer follows, as an allusion to changing color as the lobster does when immersed in boiling water. Lastly, we have the "Tapycer," that is a tapestry maker. Here is a play on tapister, someone with the ability to pierce (tap a keg).
     The narrator turns his attention, now, to the excellence of lobster as food. They would be found at the head table in the guildhall--as part of the menu, of course.
     The poet's words seem odd at the surface, but made to order as terms of crab capabilities. For example, the Cook good-naturedly "claws" a fellow pilgrim on the back. And, when his innocent parsley (percely) is "cursed" by many pilgrims, it's because the Middle English spelling "percely" allows a play on pierce (percen).
     The Cook's cameo appearance in the Manciple's Prologue, is a triumph of poetic imagination. The Host becomes playful with the Cook/Crab who is in such poor condition that he "stinks." The comedy begins when the Cook is unhorsed. His fellow pilgrims, with "much care and woe,"  have the awkward job of righting the "unwieldy" Crab/Cook. The action provides the Host a hearty laugh. Scattered through the scene are references to "pinched," "bring to lure," and "in a snare" which encourage crab images in the reader's mind.
     In the wind-up next time, get ready to see the Cook's Tale in an entirely new light!

But first . . .

Soon after I began working on Chaucer's reference to the moon's exaltation, which appears to be an astrological "mistake," I realized how much background would be necessary to be able to accept my explanation. So, first I'll give you what I see as the basic structure of the plan for the Canterbury Tales.
     Here is the most important thing to keep in mind: The movement of the zodiac is the basis of the plan. That fact is not obvious on the surface because allegories were intended to be obscure. Searching for the inner meaning, in this most popular literary form in Chaucer's day, challenged and entertained. Discovering the covert message was looked upon as a reward.
     The General Prologue introduces the characters. We've dealt with that already in the entries called "Written in the Stars." That's where Chaucer delights in teasing as he says the Friar has eyes (2 major stars in the constellation) that twinkle in his head like stars on a frosty night; and the Cook "makes " blankmanger--white manger--because a star cluster in this zodiac sign is called The Manger.
     Movement begins after the introductions are complete. The poet uses ambiguous words--degree and array--to describe the Pilgrims. Both words can indicate a quality of human or celestial appearance. When the Host gathers the Pilgrims together, that is when they set out on their journey. Now, to talk about the succession of signs of the zodiac is the same as talking about Time. Time, in the Middle Ages, was pictured as a circle. When all of the stars returned to the place where they were when Time began, the circle would close. That would be the end of Time, the end of the world, the Day of Judgment. As Chaucer says:

. . . in certain years space
Every star should come into its place
Where it was first, and all should have in mind
That in this world done is all mankind.

Those lines express Chaucer's complete design. Before the journeyers (the celestial travelers) set out, the Host tells them they will all return to their point of departure at the end of their journey. At the conclusion, the position of all twenty-nine will be--Here in this place, sitting by this post, When we come again.   
     His whole intention is subtly disclosed. Time begins as they leave and is about to end as the Host calls on the last storyteller. He urges the Pilgrim to make haste; the day is at an end.
      Let's repeat--the movement of the zodiac is the basis of the plan. The disguised travelers are not earthbound! Chaucer demonstrates that by what he doesn't say. That is why no human or environmental limitations are presented. He says nothing of a pleasant countryside. There is no mention of weather or road conditions. They never pass through a town. They never stop to eat or rest. They interact with no one outside their group. Nothing invalidates their celestial existence. Though an actual journey from London to Canterbury would have taken several days, the poet portrays Time as one symbolic day.
     Action found in the Tales is not to be confused with activities of that day. The stories are not the journey. The function of each story, I'm sure, is to aid in confirming the hidden identity of the storyteller. We'll talk about that sometime.
     But next we'll look into what is predicted as Time ends.    

Written in the Stars--Final entry Part 4

This post completes the identification of the signs of the zodiac concealed in the Canterbury Pilgrims.

Capricorn/ the Shipman  Capricorn is inconspicuous. Chaucer creates the connection to the Seagoat by choosing perfect seafaring references--an island off the coast of Sweden--Gotland--and a promontory along the coast of Spain--Cape of Finisterre. (Sterre is star in Chaucer's English.) That is, from goat-land to fin-star. Deneb Algedi (Arabic for Tail's End) is Capricorn's only important star and is properly located on the fin of the tail.

Aquarius/ the Summoner  This singular portrait tells only of his duties and the condition of his face. The zodiac identifier is minimal--a one-word clue. He knows how to call for "Watte" as well as does the pope. Watte is explained as "Walter," but, with this spelling, "Watte" can function as both Walter and water. The task-name of "summoner" is awesome--the ultimate summoner being Death. Chaucer, no doubt, was well-acquainted with the dead and dying. This Pilgrim's appearance has all the possibilities of a victim of the plague. His eyes are swollen almost shut. On his face, there are scabs, large and small pustules, and hair loss. Not surprising--Of his visage children were aferd. And yet, despite his hideous features, he had a way with The young girls of the diocese. As the image of Death personified, the claim is acceptable; death would be irresistible.

Pisces/ the Pardoner  A Christian legend commemorates Pisces as a fish caught be St. Peter; a coin was in its mouth when it was hauled into the boat. Fomalhaut, a star of the first magnitude, has long been called the Fish's Mouth. The Pardoner's fine performance in church, singing and preaching, assured him of a great amount of silver in the collection. That projects a glimpse of Pisces as the fish with the coin in its mouth. A fish portrayed as a human can be seen in details of his smooth hair, yellow as wax, as it spreads over his shoulders in very thin bits one upon another--as an approximation of fish scales. He would never have a beard and his eyes--oddly enough--look to the sides, as the eyes of a fish would, rather than straight ahead.

Each of the Pilgrims has many more details for identification. This just gives a way to begin, an introduction to Chaucer's amazing allegorical method. (The entire analysis with all the scholarly references and sources is the substance of Chaucer's Pilgrims: the Allegory, my third book about the Canterbury Tales.) The search for identifiers has been an exciting adventure.

Written in the Stars--Part 3

Libra/ the Manciple  Chaucer doesn't attempt to describe weighing scales in terms of a human being, but tells of the Manciple's business capabilities instead. A manciple is the servant who buys provisions. He's "a purchasing agent." Rather than scales used in transactions, the word Libra, itself means a purchasing agent. It signifies "pound," the British pound symbolized by £, which stands for libra. With no effort at all, this Manciple, as Libra, is money, the efficient agent of business transactions.

Scorpio/ the Reeve  Chaucer bypasses the many, bright stars of Scorpio. He concentrates on the scorpion image instead. Ancients described the living creature, with its claw-like pincers and a long, upturned tail, as a predator that haunts thicket and field. A scorpion's habit is to live most of its life alone in barns or deserted buildings. Death, from their venom, can come in less than an hour. Chaucer's Reeve--the overseer and accountant of a manor--is slender and bad-tempered. He is hairless and has legs like sticks. He keeps watch over storage areas. And is dreaded as if he were death itself. He prefers dwelling in the shadows on uncultivated land. The detail of being hindermost of the group points to the scorpion's extensive physical structure at the rear.

Sagittarius/ the Merchant  Sagittarius has no outstandingly bright stars. The image high on a horse he sat fits only one sign in the zodiac. Picture the torso of a man joined to the shoulder area of a horse, and always illustrated with a beard and tousled hair. Chaucer covers both details with a forked beard and a beaver hat. The creature's hooves are noted as boots neatly clasped. Because we are dealing with a man-beast the poet says men know not what to call him.

One more segment and all the Canterbury Pilgrims will have lifted their disguises.

Written in the Stars--Part 2

This is the second segment of the explication of the allegory presenting the signs of the zodiac disguised as Chaucer's Canterbury Pilgrims.


Cancer/ the Cook  Only one thing in the figure is noteworthy--a cluster of stars called the Manger. The Cook's appearance is not described. Chaucer tells only of his talent in "making" tasty dishes--until the last two lines. Attention, then, is drawn to the running sore on his shin--a sure indication of cancer. That unpleasant fact is immediately followed by telling of his reputation as an expert at making blankmanger. The white (blanc) manger "made" by the Cook refers to the star cluster of the sign of the Crab.

Leo/ the Monk  Three stars represent three oddities in the Monk. The first magnitude star, Regulus, is called "the Lion's Heart." Chaucer presents the brilliant Regulus as a golden ornament under the Monk's chin. A second prominent star, Denebola (Arabic, "the Lion's Tail"), is said to be the "love-knot in the greater end." A third star, Algieba (above Regulus) is named "Brow of the Lion." Chaucer indicated Algieba by describing the Monk's glowing eyes. The lion image is expressed with details of being a hunter after game and words like pricking, and being of good point.

Virgo/ the Wife  Virgo has many ancient associations with the thousand-name goddess--who spilled grain to form the Milky Way. There is only one outstanding feature in the figure--Spica, a blue star of the first magnitude. That name refers to an ear of corn, so Virgo is sometimes called "the corn maiden." Only one line about the Wife is needed to confirm her as Virgo--And on her feet a pair of spurs sharp. Chaucer, here, points to Spica. The Latin word, spica, means a spike, and it also means an ear of corn: spike for the star, ear of corn for the myth. As the Mother of the gods in the ancient Roman world, her statue received a ritual cleansing annually. And as the goddess Hera, a cleansing bath renewed her virginity each year. Of great significance, then, is the name the poet gave her--The Wife of Bath. The bath is essential to her identity.

Part 3 of this explanation we'll cover Libra, Scorpio and Sagittarius.

Written in the Stars--Part I

In the allegory of the Canterbury Tales, the introductions of zodiac constellations disguised as Chaucer's Pilgrims have identifiers all in clear view--if you look for them. They involve mythology and animal characteristics (where they apply) as well as stars that make up the figure. And one rule of allegory is--once you've recognized the guiding pattern, all the parts must be there. Once you know one of the signs, the challenge is to find all twelve.

Aries/ the Friar Hamal and Sheratan are a distinctive pair of stars in the head of Aries, who is the first of the zodiac ring. The sign appears in the chill of March, so Chaucer indicates these stars my saying the Friar's eyes twinkled in his head as do stars in the frosty night. Being the first is noted with the allusion to the Friar's pleasant "In principio." The wooly ram image is found in the Friar's short cloak of double worsted.

Taurus/ the Miller As a constellation, Taurus has been recognized since ancient times. The dominant star, Aldebaran, has the distinction of being yellow and the brightest star in the zodiac. The Miller's thumb of gold corresponds to brilliant Aldebaran. The animal image plays a large part. We see the Miller as stout, big of brawn and bones, short-shouldered, with a broad, thick, gnarled body. His nostrils are wide and black and he could heave a door off its hinges by running into it with his head.

Gemini/ the two brothers--the Parson and Plowman  The poet gives no physical description of these brothers. Single stars--Castor and Pollux--indicate the head of each. Alhena, the bright yellow star in Pollux, was also seen as "red." Chaucer captures the idea with --If gold rusts, what shall iron do? As Gemini rises, Castor (the Plowman) is seen first; Pollux (the Parson) comes into view later. The poet notes this when the Parson (Pollux) says--I am a Southern man. His is the "Southern man" because he is south of his brother.

Part 2 will tell about Cancer, Leo and Virgo.

Who's who?

Let's zero in on the Canterbury pilgrims mentioned last time. The essential clue to the whole plan is--they all arrive at sunset to stay for the night. One of the boys in my friend Judy's high school class said, "They're stars, of course." That opened up the whole scheme.
     Then who/what is the Miller--the brawny fellow with wide black nostrils who crashes his head into things? Do you see a bull? Right. And if we're dealing with stars, who is that bull? Taurus, right.
     The next question is about the two brothers. That's pretty obvious--Gemini. The identity of two other pilgrims who receive cordial treatment might trip you up, but rely on Chaucer's clues. A "star" associated with love--her motto is "Love conquers all"--would be Venus. Now we know we are dealing with the planets Chaucer knew as well as the zodiac. So what's your guess about a man dedicated to war? Mars? Right. These are simple introductions to the disguised pilgrims. More details come later.
     I want you to know that all the facts I present are not on the surface of Chaucer's poetry. I had to dig through a lot of information he could have known--information available in the 14th century--to understand what he says. It's been a fascinating search. For example, one fact I learned is that planets could be called pilgrims. What a happy surprise! A pilgrim was a wanderer--planets wander among the fixed stars, that is, among the constellations. The word planet could also be used in a general way to mean "heavenly bodies." So the night sky is truly a display of many pilgrims on a journey.
     Here's one more fact. Chaucer had expert knowledge about "stars." He gives a defining statement about each zodiac figure to clinch its identity. Taurus/the Miller's clue is presented as his "thumb of gold," a reference to Aldebaran, a yellow star and the brightest in all the zodiac. Next time we'll talk about the other defining indicators of the hidden identities.