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.        

Item: Geoffrey and Cecilia

Circumstantial evidence concerning Chaucer and Cecilia, his accuser, appears to add up to his guilt and her benefiting from a substantial monetary settlement. We'll never have conclusive evidence so I, for one, go along with the guilt/settlement scenario.
     Then there is the matter of Chaucer addressing "little Lewis, my son." The boy is ten years old, ten years after the raptus case. Lewis could be Chaucer's son by Cecilia. And, recall that in fourteenth-century thinking, if pregnancy results from coitus, cooperation is assumed. So, if Cecilia finds herself pregnant, wouldn't she examine her participation? Wouldn't she conclude that she must have been willing to some degree?
     What I'm getting at is that a relationship between Cecilia and Chaucer could have existed. Because Chaucer's wife's pension ceased after June 1387, her death is assumed. That's four years before Lewis' tenth birthday. Circumstances make a Geoffrey/Cecilia relationship possible.
     A firm connection clearly exists between Chaucer and the name "Cecilia." One of the pilgrim stories--The Second Nun's Tale--recounts the life of St. Cecilia. Chaucer scholar, George Cowling, long ago, proposed that the "Life of St. Cecile" was meant to honor Cecilia Chaumpaigne. It may be more than honoring her; she may have required it from the poet. She may have wanted the assault upon her admitted, and Chaucer's repentance acknowledged. (Her patron, St. Cecilia, brought many men to conversion.) I believe Chaucer covertly confirms such requirements!
     This blog aims to question long-held assumptions. We'll look at Chaucer's words as if he really meant what others have taken to be errors.
     Speculation says that the Cecilia piece had been written for another occasion and the poet simply included it in the Tales. If he did so without adapting the original presentation, that explains a lot. For example, why the usual formula that introduces other tales is not used; why the narrator surprisingly addresses "you who read what I write"; why the speaker refers to being "an unworthy son of Eve"; and why the sinful "contagion of my body with earthly lust and false affection"--rather than spoken by a narrating nun--now becomes appropriate.
     There is no invitation from the Host, followed by a story and a conclusion linked to the next tale. Nevertheless, Cecilia's story was meant to be there, because the very next tale begins, "When the life of St. Cecilia was ended, Ere we'd ridden five miles . . ."
     The Second Nun's Tale begins with an exhortation against idleness, the devil's trap. A prayer to the Virgin, for her assistance, follows. Then the translation of the story of St. Cecilia, as found in The Golden Legend (a collection of saint's lives), begins.
     Though it's easy to overlook, Chaucer attaches an extra stanza to conclude the translated introduction. Why the added lines that only reiterate Cecilia's virtues? The answer is what makes research so exciting. The last line masks a hidden meaning! That Middle English line reads:
     Now have I yow declared what she highte.
"Highte" contains two different messages. The line can be read, "I have declared to you what she was named." That's just more repetition.
     But Chaucer uses an alternate definition of "highte" elsewhere to say "command." Here his added words announce, "I have declared to you what she commanded."  The preliminaries to the tale declare, I am the sinful one; she is persevering in good works. Thus, he has fulfilled her demand.
      Without doubt, Chaucer has immortalized  Cecilia. Her name will be remembered as long as the Canterbury Tales circulate.