The Canterbury adventure begins

The Host's position has been assured; agreements have been reached. We need to recognize, however, that individuals of high and low estate sharing accommodations and being willing to take orders from an innkeeper would never happen in the 1300s.
      So, why present something that is an impossibility? One reason is a characteristic of old poetry called "signaling." This can occur when what we're told is preposterous or is a non-sequitur. It's a way for the poet to alert us: take notice!
     In this instance of "signaling," the situation is preposterous. Then why is the poet claiming it took place? What does he want us to understand? The Host is portrayed as domineering. This trait, for the obvious storyline, contributes humor.
     Allegory can have an entertaining comic surface which becomes difficult to set aside in order to see an inner, in this case, a spiritual meaning. Because the Host is generally accepted as a bully and a buffoon, it takes determination to see him as Christ at another level. His dominance in the  underlying message fittingly illustrates Christ's omnipotence.
     The poet's reason for creating this special challenge will be clear when we put the final touch on the portrait of this Host.

The night has passed, as we pick up the story. The pilgrims prepare to depart. But their departure is without details--no breakfast, no transport of possessions, no saddling of horses, no sounds or movements, no mention of weather, nor attitudes of the pilgrims. Particulars would have been simple enough to include, but are purposefully omitted.
     Chaucer, in his minimal style, tells us only: In the morning, when the day began to spring / Up rose our Host, and was our cock. The Host stands in for a rooster which did the job before alarm clocks were invented.
     Then the Host gathers the pilgrims "all in a flock." Did those words bring the image to your mind's eye of a shepherd with his "flock"? Non-verbalized images both inform and entertain. Taking note of what comes to our mind's eye gains a fuller experience of the poetry. We'll see this strategy again.
     The group is on the road now, moving slowly. The slow pace is the one fact confided. We get to know the personalities of the pilgrims by their tales. The Host interacts with the pilgrims to link the tales one with the other. These brief interludes fascinate me. Chaucer's skill and ingenuity with multifaceted images goes far beyond the standard opinion regarding his creativity.
     As the group travels, the links continue to give us clues to see the figure of Christ in this Host. We'll delve into these mini-dramas Chaucer creates.
     First we'll take a wide-eyed look at the Host's offensive language. That's our topic for next week.

Food for pilgrims

The Host provides the best food for the pilgrims. Do you see a broad interpretation in that statement? We are all called "pilgrims" at times. And the Eucharist--the Host--strengthens us for our pilgrimage--our journey through life. Such a thought would be understood poetically by Catholics today. But what about Chaucer's contemporaries? Did they see the Eucharist as food for a journey?
     The 14th century poem quoted in the previous entry continues the thought: A better food may no man find/ For to everlasting life it will lead us. (Carleton Brown, Religious Lyrics of the 14th Century)
     It is even more clearly stated by John Lydgate in the medieval work called The Pilgrimage of the Life of Man. Christ is quoted as saying he leaves his body (Corpus Christi) to "true pilgrims" as the thing that may most avail them to relieve their travail/ travel as chief repast to sustain them.
     While the surface story in this scene tells of an obliging innkeeper catering to his guests, Chaucer's underlying message is the acting out of the prevalent religious thought of his day. We will find that Chaucer often portrays a well known expression as an action.
     The purpose of this blog is to ask questions and to recognize clues Chaucer gives to a second and deeper meaning. What we are confirming now is that there is a concealed image within the Canterbury Host. He is actually--he is also--Christ himself. Numerous factors point to this identity. Several are found in this scene between the Host and the pilgrims:
he settles accounts
he states he will be their judge
he demands immediate acceptance of his plan
     Let's look at just the first item for now: settling accounts. We're told the pilgrims made their "reckonings." This can be read on one level as an innkeeper concerned about his profits, but there is no elaboration. Here again, Chaucer refrains from giving specific details. Though the action could be seen as dealing with money, coins are not mentioned. Why is that significant? Because lack of limiting details allows both the surface and underlying intention to be valid. Lack of specifics encourages ambiguity.
     In the mind-set of Chaucer's day, terms which appeared to allude to money and bookkeeping transactions were the usual terminology for God's dealings with individuals at Judgment. For instance, in staging a Judgment scene in a Morality Play, each soul carries a personal balance sheet as he approaches Death's door. And Confessio Amantis, by John Gower (ca. 1386) uses different but similar language. At the soul's las Day of Account man will come before "Christ the Auditor."
     We need to be aware that once the Host sets himself up as their ever-present judge, the atmosphere of judgment subtly permeates the whole journey. And does this please the journeyers? Next time we shall see.

Meet the Canterbury pilgrims and the Host

What I knew about Chaucer,  when I signed up for the required course, would not have filled a thimble. I'd heard his name, knew the title Canterbury Tales. That's all. Wasn't sure when he lived, except it was before Shakespeare. But my introduction to the Tales was the start of a stimulating intellectual adventure.
     The beginning, called the General Prologue, describes the extensive cast of pilgrims. Each character is outstandingly unique. Learning about their physical attributes and life-styles brings them to life. You not only see the individual, you know how he or she gets along in the world. Chaucer, strangely enough, scatters some preposterous details through the portraits. For example: a virile knight in his 50s has a military career that spans 45 years; a woman wears a kerchief that weighs 10 pounds; a burly fellow is inclined to knock doors off their hinges by running into them with his head!
     Somehow the oddities make the pilgrims more than the surface of the words describing them. An alternate image of each seemed to hover just out of focus. I figured it must be connected to the technique called "allegory," telling a story on two (or more) levels at the same time. Bringing a second storyline into focus was an entertaining challenge to readers of the Middle Ages. Fascinating!
     Numerous specific details hold true for everyone until we meet the Host. He provides a night's lodging for the entire group, in anticipation of setting out on their pilgrimage. Chaucer uses a different tactic with him. Of his appearance, we are told only "a large man he was with eyen stepe." His eyes are "stepe"--they are high or wide-open. Again, I felt there was more to understand than merely the words.
     The pilgrim introductions take 710 lines before the Host comes on the scene. Ralph Baldwin (in The Unity of the Canterbury Tales) hands us a surprising fact: of all the activities attributed and the travels recorded, we have seen only a "pretense of actions," spoken of, not performed.
     It is the Host who performs the first action. After a warm welcome, he provides sustenance for these travelers in the form of the best food and strong wine. No particulars of the meal are given: no specific foods served, nothing of the manner of serving.
     Again, I felt I was to understand more than the words were saying. My Catholic background brought automatic echoes for this Host. To associate the word Host with the best food and wine is the poetic equivalent of referring to the Eucharist. There are many medieval examples. A question posed in the Church's designated prayers for the Feast of Corpus Christi (Body of Christ) written by Thomas Aquinas, refers to the Sacrament of the Altar with: Can anything be more excellent than this repast?  And a religious poem of the 14th century states: A better food may no man find.
     We'll go on with this next week. Meanwhile Celebrate Chaucer!

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.

Sharing the jackpot

So, I'm holding the Canterbury jackpot. I know the hidden identity of the Pilgrims! Exciting? Can you imagine? I felt like I'd burst! I had to tell somebody. Fortunate, my husband was in the next room. He was a mathematician, a computer nerd who'd never read Chaucer. But he catered to my obvious excitement when I told him I had something I needed to share.
     With patience on his part and eagerness on mine, I made my first attempt to have someone else "see" what I see. After considerable explanation, when he finally reached the aha! moment, he responded to Chaucer's cunning with spontaneous joy for me. How wonderful!
     It was clear, from that first attempt, that I had to develop a much more concise explanation. I wanted to show the whole world Chaucer's amazing design. The literary world would be astonished, stimulated--as soon as I was able to have the design make sense to them.
      My explanation would have to be refined before I could publish it. I started by constructing a "game." I'd give Chaucer's clues--what he'd hidden in the descriptions of the pilgrims--to see if others recognized what was being disguised.
     I tried the game with my relatives at a family gathering. That version (plan A) was only adequate. After working it over, I presented plan B to a small group of friends from church. That went well. But the supreme test came when my friend Judy suggested I try it on her high school English class.
     What an afternoon that was! I don't know if it was more exhilarating for the students or me. That exhilaration, however, was not immediate. When I finished laying out the game plan, the room was utterly silent. After waiting a couple of moments, Judy prompted them--"Don't be shy. What do you think is the answer?" That's all the encouragement it took. The room erupted. A bit of insight, of recognition came first from one student, then another and another. They could "see" Chaucer's ingenious format.
     Next time, before I hand you the answer, I'll lay some groundwork. That way you might have the thrill of visualizing the pattern of Chaucer's scheme before I reveal it.

OPINIONS continued--

Because I was  reading Middle English for the first time the footnotes and glossary were often essential--like when a buxom wife means she is obedient, or where there is a gold ring in a sow's groin you need to know it really means the ring in in her snout.
     There were other times, however, when the footnote was no help at all--perhaps even a hindrance to understanding. But someone a long time ago had determined the meaning of a line. That someone knew a lot about Chaucer. The meaning that had come down to us had authority. How could we doubt what was said?

     That's where I was--wondering how I could doubt an age-old authority--when I came upon a treasure of a book: The Art of Literary Research by Richard D. Altick. Such fascinating reading about perpetuated misprints, anachronistic "evidence," or "facts" presented exactly the opposite from what was true. Altick refers to:

. . . an assumption of critics or literary historians which has gone unchallenged so long that it now seems as impregnable as an old-fashioned Gospel truth . . .

After reading that, I felt justified in questioning authorities of 100 and more years ago. Actually, I felt encouraged to do so. An easily understood place to begin is in The Tale of Sir Thopas, a story told by Chaucer himself in his pilgrim guise. In today's English the line we'll question says our hero was weary "from galloping (or spurring his horse) over the tender grass." But Chaucer says he was weary from "prikyng on the softe gras." Somehow I get a different picture from the original prikyng on soft grass!