Let's ALL squint

Let's pursue Howard's fascinating conclusion we dealt with last time: "The pilgrimage is eerily symbolic when you squint and see the whole." Let's see how much my vision of the tales agrees with Howard's symbolic "idea."
     Scholars generally take bits and pieces of the Tales to present their opinions--you get the feeling that it's just a bunch of fragments strung together. And there is disagreement about the order in which they are strung! It's almost unique for Howard to "see" Chaucer's idea as one unit--an oddly designed unit, but a unit, nevertheless.

Howard insists that Chaucer "had a far more complex idea." (The Idea of the Canterbury Tales)
     Instead of seeing the Tales as a collection Chaucer put together from various sources as just an entertainment, Howard feels a complicated structure behind the surface. This, of course, if you've been reading earlier entries in this blog, is precisely what I see--a splendid, complex creation on two levels.

The "initially announced plan" of two tales going and two on the return did not happen. It was a revelation to be told by Howard to "consider this failure of the plan a feature of the story, not a fact about the author's life"!
     Many theories have been offered to justify the deviation: Chaucer changed his mind, thought better of it, died, etc. Yet Howard's remarkable "idea" says abandoning the plan was intended as part of the creative scheme!

With this "idea" in mind, we can read the book "as it is, not as we think it might have been." Howard proposes--"It is unfinished but complete."
     Fragmented criticisms and "corrective" measures taken by editors leave us with a feeling that the  Tales is a work-in-progress needing improvement.  Howard, instead, claims the "apparent" mistakes are intended. If we do not understand what is given us, it is not Chaucer's "fault." It is our erroneous expectation.

Howard's startling assertion says the details that describe the pilgrim's clothing "characterize them as individuals [but], never as pilgrims."
     This recognition clears the way for the alternate identities I see. Creative details are clues to the hidden personalities--a "man" with wide black nostrils! (Miller 557); a nun whose motto is "Love conquers all"! (Prioress 162) These are some of the features that point to traditional images of celestial figures. Other clues identify dominant stars of zodiac depictions. A favorite of mine is the character whose eyes twinkled in his head as do the stars in the frosty night (Friar 226-27). (See my blog series of entries "Written in the Stars.")

"Not a word is said of any religious observation . . . shrines along the way are never mentioned."
     Again, Howard draws attention to a significant omission.  Not only were shrines not mentioned, but there is not a word of road conditions or weather, and no glimpses of the countryside. This lack allows the covert journey to be celestial rather than earthbound.
     Modern scholars have calculated realistically how long the journey to Canterbury would take. But calculating time spent on the road is contrary to Chaucer's cover scheme that has, by the evidence, no road at all.

Again, Howard guides our thinking. The Canterbury Tales "was experienced differently in the fourteenth century from the way it is experienced now." For example, Chaucer's "visual images would spring naturally from the surfaces of the narratives creating associations and meanings at the deepest level of consciousness"--associations modern readers may not recognize at all. Picture this--As the pilgrims set out, the Host "gathered them as a flock." Were you aware of the shepherd image there?
     Another area of fourteenth-century difference immediately comes to mind: the medieval concept of Time. The Middle Ages saw Time as a circle. Anticipating the closure of the circle--the end of Time--is detailed in the prologue to the final tale. (These details are generally assumed to be an astrological error, but see my blog entries for July 2013.)

We thank Howard for an important medieval mindset: "Life as a pilgrimage, was a commonplace"--a metaphor of life as a one-way journey to the Heavenly Jerusalem.
     A religious tone naturally permeates a pilgrimage. The final tale, the Parson's Tale, is a recognized examination of conscience. To paraphrase the Parson's introduction, "I will tell a tale to knit up this feast and make an end . . .  to this glorious pilgrimage to celestial Jerusalem (46-51).

Howard emphasizes that with "all the talk just outside Canterbury about knitting things up and making an end, one assumes the work is over." How can we ignore that Chaucer intends this to be the end of the journey? Howard boldly asserts that Chaucer, "far from having 'changed his mind,' never had any idea of depicting the return journey. The one-way 'pilgrimage of human life' was a conventional metaphor, and would have been an effective frame for the work."
     In truth, the unit of the Tales is an efficient one-day, one-way journey beginning when the sun rose and ending when the gathering darkness signaled the end of the life of man.

Though Howard recognizes the presence of a sub-structure--the improper "pilgrims," the cohesion of the presentation, the appropriateness of a one-way journey--he does not cross the line to the "eerily symbolic" journey of the celestial figures. Howard's "idea' was produced in the 1970s. My insight was not published until the 1990s. It is my fond hope that, had Donald Howard compared my idea with his, he would no longer squint at something "eerily symbolic" but--with eyes wide-open--could see the splendid allegory that had come into focus.

[The book that explicates the entire allegory can be found at my website  CelebrateChaucer.com  under "Downloads."]

Reminiscing II

The is the second of three "exercises" I did in the 1980s just to let off steam. The first was fictional. This one is really a record of how I felt. The book about the Host, that I talk about, wasn't published until 1998--after a long search for a publisher.

Dear Geoffrey Chaucer,
I hope you don't mind my using a comma instead of a colon. I feel I know you well enough for a comma. Try not to think me forward.
     I have read most of your works and find you the most fascinating author I've known. Other authors are entertaining, paint great pictures, introduce interesting characters, have clever story lines--but you do all these things and so much more. The depth, the complexity I felt almost from the first moment was a strange and new experience. It remains to this day the most stimulating intellectual experience of my life. [And in 2015, I still feel the same way.]
     I am sorry to admit that I have so much difficulty explaining what I see to others. But I guess that is as it should be. Your genius put it together. It should be very difficult to take all the pieces apart one at a time and still be able to have someone recognize all these bits and pieces as your work of art.
     I'll keep trying. I so want someone else to enjoy what I see. Do you suppose if I give them a pretty good outline, over all description, analysis--whatever--that others will be able to continue, enlarge, discover the things remaining that I don't mention or haven't seen myself? I sure hope so. For one reason, because I can't do the whole job--I don't have the time [I was almost 60], nor do I have training in all the fields that you knew. (What, in your world, did you not know?) Was there anything that did not interest you? Was there any area of life of which you were totally ignorant? I doubt there were any.
     That's one of the most amazing things--but, if I think about it, why shouldn't it be? Each person today knows about many things in many areas of life. The remarkable thing about you is that you seemed to fit the whole world into your writing. I have trouble just trying to organize the proper details, sufficient background, adequate description. I seem to have to labor over a simple scene, work it over and over just to get minimal interest into it. Did you work and rework your verses? I don't see how you could have had time.
     I'm quite sure that you have three layers of a story line running through the CT. I'm so anxious to finish the book about the Host, and the book about Pilgrim Chaucer and the Host, so I can work on the pilgrims. You must have been spellbound by your own ideas. How amazing! How all the little pieces fit together--it overwhelms me thinking of it. Did you have a chart to keep it all straight? Or was you memory so powerful (photographic memory before photographs?) that it all stayed in order and emerged as you needed it?
     I have to say that I don't intend to just rush through the Host book to get it finished. I plan to do as good a job as I possibly can. (Pray for me.) What is it I'm really trying to express? Let me see . . . I am anxious for others to know what I know so they can be even more amazed with your writing. And I am anxious to know more and more myself. And you don't go on to the next task before you finish with the first. So, in the end, what I am feeling is the excitement in store when I start to learn more about the pilgrims. But I just want everything NOW.   :)
     I'm sure there is a pattern in the pilgrim descriptions, but chances are it is not a simple and consistent pattern. Perhaps there is one pattern for the constellations, and another for the planets--that makes a lot of sense because you'd want to point out particular stars as an identifying clue and I already know you did that in several places.--You see, there I go getting carried away when I have two long jobs to do before I get to sort out all those wonderful gems you left for us. It truly overwhelms me to know that I understand--even though I don't have all the information I need yet.
     Anything you can do to help me, I would really appreciate. I really want to do a good job. I want people to get excited about your writing. And I want them to have a new interest in the Middle Ages. I'm sure there is so much there, just waiting to be discovered. You knew it, many writers knew it. It's time to let the secrets out.

 Respectfully yours,

Dolores Cullen

                                                                

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.    

What time is it?

The basis of the Canterbury Tales, as you may know, is the journey of a fascinating group of pilgrims who travel from London to Canterbury. The travelers are given a night's bed and board in "the Tabard" before they set out. Chaucer puts himself into the story as one of the pilgrims. He is alone in the Tabard and anticipating his journey to Canterbury when, as if by coincidence, a large group arrives.

At night was come into that hostelry
Well nine-and-twenty in a company,
Of sundry folk, by chance come together
In fellowship, and pilgrims were they all,
That toward Canterbury would ride.   (A 23-27)

In lines of the General Prologue, Chaucer gives an account of the arrival. He tells us it was late when the nine-and-twenty companions appeared. He takes immediate interest in these folks. By sunset, he has spoken with every one of them. He says this with one information-packed sentence:

Shortly, when the sun had gone to rest
I had spoken with everyone of them
So that I was of their fellowship immediately    (A 30-32)

This is followed directly by a plan for the morning.

And we agreed early to rise
To make our way, as I will describe to you.    (A 33-34)

What seems a heading-for-sleep is not. Instead, Chaucer tells us that he will take this opportunity--as if time stands still--to describe each member of the company, and proceeds to set forth an entertaining cast of characters the like of which had never been seen (or heard) in English literature before. With many intimate details, we will come to know these pilgrims. More about that later.

But before thinking of the pilgrims, I am confused and flip the page back and then forward again to make sure that line A 23 says they arrived at night, and seven lines later it says that when the sun had gone to rest (that is, by the time the sun had set), Chaucer had spoken to each of the travelers. If we agree that "night" means night, the indications of time are backwards. On the other hand, if we explain that "night," in this case, really means evening, we have the amazing accomplishment of the poet speaking to, and becoming acquainted with, each of the twenty-nine individuals within minutes. The time elapsed would be the brief period between evening and the moment when the sun disappears below the horizon.
     My feeling is that "night" means night, and the references to time are actually given in reverse order--night and then sunset. We will find that Time, in this adventure, will never be what we expect. Chaucer will soon see to it that the whole idea of time will be a blur.

The efficiency with which the poet gets to the heart of his subject, the economy of words used to reach their time of departure, is remarkable--but misleading.
     Chaucer makes the acquaintance of each traveler and all agree to rise early next morning. We would expect that the venture would begin immediately following "we agreed early to rise to make our way, as I will describe to you." But our expectation of the progress of linear time is side-stepped once again. In spite of this quickly-to-bed-and-early-to-rise impression, what was originally said in two lines (A 31-32) will now be expanded to six hundred seventy-one lines. Chaucer, while he has "time and space" (A 35), is ready to tell us all about his new-found friends.
     The narrator's extended monologue is some of the most entertaining reading in the English language. But while we are being entertained, a problem is developing: We have been cut adrift. Is this the same night? Or is Chaucer speaking from a time in the future looking back? Is he talking to us from the Tabard, or telling us recollections of bygone days? It's no longer clear. We are losing touch with when or where we are.
     And, his ultimate time trick, when the 600 some lines telling what he knows of the travelers is finished, the Host enters to serve their meal. We are once more at the arrival scene. The owner of the Tabard has just made his initial appearance!
     The poet makes time expand, contract, invert, or even stand still. He surrounds us with the conviviality of the Tabard, or immerses us in the adventures of the road. Within a few lines, we are no longer functioning in any specific time or space. And we accept the fantasy--the uncertainty--without objection.