The Host's patience runs out

Following the first part of his story, Pilgrim Chaucer continues to lead his audience into sin and try the patience of God.

The mood changes in part two. Gone are the youthful adventures of Thopas. Now he is a "man" of the world, with visions of chivalry. The Pilgrim is very sure of  himself. We hear him address
           Both knight and lady free,
                    Harken to my report:
          Of battle and of chivalry,
          And of ladies' flirtations.
Such boldness! Disadvantaged "Janes" are history. Now he dallies with women of nobility, who are lovers, not just "love" objects. Thoughts of chivalry show advance in prestige. Similar words (chevalier, cavalier, cavalry) give mental pictures of mounted horsemen. That action will not change.
     Thopas gives a brilliant performance in the saddle.
          His good steed he was astride,
          And forth upon his way he glided (or glowed)
                    As sparks out of the torch.
A man on a horse does not function like sparks released from a torch--but a phallus does. "Glided" in the previous line has no relation to hoofs beating the earth.
     And we learn
          Because he was a knight adventurous, 
          He would sleep in no house,
                    But lie in his hood.
Eager for exploits, he seeks not the comfort of a house. Instead he lies in his hood. It's hardly sufficient protection for a grown man. But if the image is, instead, an uncircumcised instrument, this is precisely where "he" would spend "his" reinvigorating down-time. This hood indicates the prepuce, the foreskin. A naughty fifteenth-century poem calls a virile member that is not covered by the foreskin a "rascal standing hoodless."
     The poet inserts a momentary concern--a prayer for Thopas' protection.
          God shield his body from shame!
The prayer is a surprise, but better late than never. Christ, as the Host, also hears the prayer.
     As the story nears its end, legendary Sir Percival, of the Grail Quest, is mentioned. Christ's patience reaches its limit. The storyteller, oblivious to what is about to occur, continues,
                    Until one day--
but the Host will not even allow him to finish the thought.
     [Note: A great deal of double entendre had to be ignored for Thopas' story to be dull, as its reputation says it is.]
     Pilgrim Chaucer had just come into his stride for part two, when the Host--in the middle of a line--cries halt.
                    "No more of this, by God's dignity,"
          Said our Host, "for you make me
          So weary of your very lewdness
          That, as certainly as God may bless my soul,
          My ears ache from your drasty speech."
He can bear no more.
     The story is lewd and filthy. The drast--scum or fecal matter--causes the Host's/Christ's pain. Stressing His revulsion, He says
                    ". . . plainly, in a word,
          Your drasty rhyming is not worth a turd!"
Could He make it clearer? His final decree is
          "Sir, at a word, you shall no longer rhyme."
Thopas is harshly, but firmly being saved from ruin in response to that brief prayer. His life and his destiny will change--by the grace of God.
     Then, asked by the Host/Christ for prose, Pilgrim Chaucer immediately complies.
          "Gladly, by God's sweet pain!"
He refers directly to the Crucifixion, and then alludes to the Gospels centered on Christ's Passion and Death. The poet notes that though each Evangelist had his own way of telling the story, "doubtless the sentence is all one." "Sentence," here, is understood as the true meaning.  
      In closing his comments, he reminds his audience that variations are capable of producing the same Truth (sentence). The story of Melibee and Prudence, which will be his second offering, was popular among readers of French. He explains that his translation may add more proverbs and change some of the words, but these changes will only "reinforce the effect of [his] subject matter." The sentence will not change.
     Now, his transitional declaration complete, Pilgrim Chaucer is eager to prove his new righteousness.        

The brilliant Thopas/Melibee centerpiece

We need to get into the right frame of mind, clear the air of modern prejudices to see what Chaucer actually incorporated in his "centerpiece." I'm talking about Pilgrim Chaucer's offering as one of the storytellers. Those familiar with the Tales know I mean the Thopas/Melibee duo. Those familiar are also probably thinking, "Why spend time on these? Our class skipped both. Our instructor said he was doing us a favor, because one is silly, and the other is boring."
     That's what I'm referring to. We have to clear the air of these long-held judgments.
     For instance, you may have been told that the idea of allegory was "almost universally regarded with suspicion, if not contempt" (A Preface to Chaucer). Our observations refute this. What we've looked at so far--
     the Host as surface innkeeper with Christ, as his counterpart
     the zodiac figures and planets disguised as pilgrims
should prove that allegories can be trusted and enjoyed. And we see that Chaucer meant to convey a double meaning.
     Or you may have been told that Chaucer freed himself from allegory, that "Chaucer is very modern" (Chaucer and His Poetry, Kittredge). Rather than insisting that Chaucer is "modern," I find him the epitome of medievalism. His use of medieval techniques surpasses any other author of his time. The Thopas/Melibee sequence will prove it.
     Perpetuating the Victorian insistence on defining "pricking" as "galloping" or "spurring" has kept us on the wrong track. The Thopas saga has been called "dull as a laundry list," yet the double entendre of his actions was not even considered! (See blog entries 7-15-11, 8-6-11)
     Over the years, other scenarios have been suggested. Historically the tale was said to make fun of the Flemish. Or, with current thinking, Thopas is presented as homosexual. However, if you accept the "pricking" of the hero as sexual activity, the account is about as naughty as you can get. It rivals the Miller's Tale!
     It's only fair to give Melibee at least a mention. It is ponderous compared to Thopas, but you'll see the reason for that when you understand the overall plan. Pilgrim Chaucer's dual narrative has a solid medieval frame: the batell betwyx body and soull.
  
Let's set the scene. V. A. Kolve (Chaucer and the Imagery of Narrative) has pointed out that Pilgrim Chaucer's narrative comes when the Canterbury  pilgrimage is midway to its destination. That's what makes his contribution the "centerpiece." The Host--Christ--calls upon the poet to tell of experiences from the past (aventures that whilon han bifalle).
     Because it is Christ who calls on Pilgrim Chaucer, we will see a previously unrecognized undercurrent in the Prologue to Thopas and in Chaucer's reaction to being called upon.
     Then we'll sample enough of Thopas to acquaint you with the naughty escapades and their consequences.
     Christ eventually stops the story in mid-sentence; that's important. Surprisingly, this Pilgrim is given a second chance--he is encouraged to tell a second story. That situation is unique in the Tales. Our conclusion will prove how brilliantly medieval Chaucer's offering truly is.
     Now, get ready for the self-willed Thopas as he was meant to be.

Prodding the pryking

There are a couple more things to prod about the pryking. A "tradition" sees Thopas, only as a peculiar fellow who gallops about the countryside and wears himself out with spurring his horse. Double entendre is not acknowledged. If it were, Thopas would rival the Miller's Tale--not in provoking belly laughs, but certainly in bawdy content.
     The single-level interpretation is solidly ingrained. A little story will demonstrate how solidly. I once had the opportunity at a Chaucer conference to ask a group of academics about a possible double meaning. Forty or more professors and grad students filled the room. I suddenly realize what a golden opportunity I had. Raising my hand, I inquired, if the dominant activity in the Tale of Thopas was pricking, then why is the story not considered risqué? The room was silent. Several seconds passed before an older man at the back volunteered, "I don't believe pricking had a sexual connotation at that time." No more was forthcoming. Another topic was taken up.
     Evidence, however, says otherwise. Beryl Rowland, in her extensive work on animal symbolism finds horse-riding and equine images expressing sexual activity as far back as Aristotle and the Bible. The Middle English Dictionary, in one of its many definitions of priken (to prick) specifies "to have sexual intercourse." That foregoing information is merely a segue to Chaucer's own portrayal in the Reeve's Tale. A student schemes to share a bed with the wife of his host. Before the night is over, they have a merry time, and, in Chaucer's own words, "He priketh hard and depe." Is interpretation necessary?