Chaucer--"Mr. Know-it-all"

Chaucer traveled England and the Continent for decades as a trusted ambassador. What did he see? What did he learn?
     He saw grand churches. The Cathedral of Rheims associated with his first venture into war. Notre Dame de Paris, completed when he was a boy, had been Parisian background.
     In Florence, Chaucer would see the Basilica di Santa Maria rising on the site of the ruins of the old Santa Reparata. And, while in Milan, he would have seen the Archbishop's Palace later to be demolished to prepare for the famed Duomo.
     He knew beauty, but he also knew the grim features of the dead and dying, in war and in the plague. When he was nine, the Black Plague swept the Continent in what has been called the "greatest disaster in western European history." For example, 50,000 died in London within four months. There was no safe refuge. Along with common folk, notable persons were also struck down: kings, queens, archbishops--even a princess traveling to her wedding--succumbed.
     All in all, Chaucer survived six onslaughts. The result of these pandemics brought the population of Europe in 1400 to only half the number of those alive in 1300.

He could not have been unaware of crises within the Church. A gray atmosphere enveloped the late 1300s. When Chaucer arrived in Italy in 1378, a new pope--Urban VI--had just been elected. Urban immediately began preaching changes to traditional practices. His actions caused the Cardinals, who elected him, to flee to Naples and elect another pope, Clement VII. The Great Schism of the Church resulted. Chaucer would not live to see it resolved.
     The Inquisition also colored daily life. It operated ubiquitously on the Continent. Informers were nowhere yet everywhere. When it reached England, religious dissenters met harsh treatment.

What did he learn from his observations? As Controller of Customs he knew imported goods. His duties entailed collecting taxes on the commodities.
     He had skill with languages. Italy enriched him. Dante, who greatly influenced Italian literature had already died, but had written forcefully about using the vernacular. Because Barnabo, tyrant of Milan, had the greatest library in Europe, it is speculated that the successful outcome of Chaucer's dealings with him brought a gift of the Divine Comedy from this wealthy Italian. In any event, after the Milan sojourn, Chaucer's works reflected the Italian style.
     Latin, too, served him well. He tells of considerable Latin literature he translated: saint's legends, homilies, and devotions. They have not survived. But we do have his rendering of Boethius' Consolation of Philosophy.
     Chaucer had access to books, his own and others. He refers to numerous classic works: the Bible, mythology, Augustine, Ptolemy, Seneca, Ovid, and more.
     His mastery of things celestial is well known. He produced instructions for the astrolabe, an instrument for calculations. Written for "little Lewis," that's another story (with interesting possibilities) we'll get to later.

When Chaucer entered royal service, Edward III's court was French in language and custom. The poet's wife came from a French family. And, not surprisingly, he translated the most famous medieval allegory--Roman de la Rose--from French to English.
     Change came to the court in 1377, when Edward's grandson Richard II ascended the throne at age eleven. The prevalent language became English. Chaucer's many works in the vernacular were right in step.
     Next we'll add domestic interest, concerned with marital relations, to this portrait.

Chaucer: Man of the world

During peace negotiations in 1360, a twenty-year-old Chaucer carried official letters from England to Calais. He would continue with a career of representing the English crown all across Europe. A close relationship existed between the wealthy mercantile class and royalty. It is not difficult to imagine that an energetic, young emissary would be well-treated, catered to, in luxurious households and foreign courts wishing to gain favor with the English. And consider that there would be an advantage for Chaucer in not being of noble birth: He could comfortably mingle with foreign servants and tradesmen. He'd get the whole picture.

We first see an entry denoting "safe conduct." Chaucer made an official visit in 1366 to the King of Navarre, probably regarding the threat of an invasion by his neighbor, Pedro of Castile.
     A few years later, in the on-again-off-again Hundred Years War, he served with John of Gaunt's forces in France.
     In 1371, he set out for the coastal town of Dartmouth to settle a touchy matter involving a ship owned by a Genoese. Subsequently, he had a "warrant to negotiate" with merchants of Genoa to construct a dedicated seaport for them in England.
     Soon after, he made a winter journey with two high-ranking Genoese, their servants and bodyguards. It makes me shudder to picture the hazards from both weather and terrain in crossing the Alps in December. His many dealings with Italians make it a safe assumption that he had a fluent acquaintance with their language.
     His competence as a diplomat is attested to when given the delicate mission to Florence of facilitating a loan. The delicacy had to do with Edward's having defaulted on the banker's previous loan.
     In 1377, within the space of a few months, he completed four missions to France. One led to  Paris. The other destinations are unknown. Following that, he traveled to Lombardy on a long assignment about the ever present topic of "war" and a search for reliable allies.
     In what must have been an especially demanding undertaking, he accompanied six officials with bodyguards to talk business with Barnabo Visconti, known as the "cruel tyrant of Milan." Barnabo possessed massive wealth; and his son-in-law could muster countless mercenaries. Barnabo also had a daughter, Caterina, he hoped to align with the English crown.

Chaucer had been valued as a diplomat and government official, not as a poet. Even his very responsible position as Controller of Customs in London did not rank in importance with his diplomatic reputation. A "deputy" served in his place when he traveled for the king.
     An entry recorded in 1387 shows an apparently small assignment for him to Calais. That destination brings Chaucer full circle, concluding his service as ambassador (for both Edward III and Richard II) of more than twenty years, where it had begun.
     He had been trusted to negotiate in matters of war, money, marriage, and commerce. Next, we will add more details to our image of Chaucer the poet.

In the beginning, Chaucer . . .

The year 1340 generally serves as the agreed-upon year of Chaucer's birth, though it may have been two or three years later. The family background is the wine trade and serving in the king's household. As a boy, Chaucer would have been schooled in Latin and Latin authors. In 1357, an entry in the household accounts of Lionel, Duke of Ulster, indicates that Chaucer is a page there. Youngsters in such an environment learned grammar, reading and writing, languages (the royal family was as much French as English), matters of diplomacy, and how to serve their betters. With an eye to the future, these young men would be instructed in music, dancing, singing and conversing in Latin and French. Adolescent Chaucer and his fellow pages were well prepared.
     The family name, Chaucer, has been said to be a form of the French chaucier, which means shoemaker. The final  r,  however, would not be pronounced! I take the poet's name, instead, to be a form of chasseur, meaning hunter. That will be a fun factor after a bit.
     Young Geoffrey spent Christmastide of 1357 with Lionel's family. John of Gaunt, the Duke's younger brother, nearly Chaucer's age, joined them. (John would become a political power and the poet's patron in years to come.)
     In 1359, Chaucer served in the army of King Edward III as Edward renewed his effort to rule both England and France. Geoffrey's probable rank would be a man-at-arms; his primary weapon a simple spear wielded from horseback or on foot.
     Edward planned to cross the English Channel to Calais, an English possession on the coast of the County of Flanders, and march into France with his army--only fighting if attacked. (Remember Flanders!) The campaign, however, did not develop as planned. Instead of landing in the spring--the beginning of good weather--they actually arrived in Calais October 28! Edward's army faced steady rain followed by bitter cold.
     Weeks went by; the English army waited and endured. Knowing how spirit and discipline decline in a do-nothing army, Edward allowed (or ordered) raiding parties to keep up his army's morale. French forces slew, or captured stragglers and foragers from these small groups. Chaucer was among those captured. He was held prisoner until March 1360, when King Edward ransomed his valued servant.
     Shortly after Chaucer's release, the still hopeful king-to-be turned to a policy of devastation. The countryside was ravaged at will. The brutal onslaught proved effective. During peace negotiations a few months later, Chaucer received his first recorded assignment as an envoy of the English crown, carrying official letters from England to Calais.
     Several years follow where there is no record of Chaucer's whereabouts, but in 1363 a Philippa Chaucer became servant to the queen. When or where Philippa and Geoffrey were married is not recorded, but we know that our poet had taken a wife. He would soon become a man of the world.

Now to look at Chaucer himself

Here I am, back on the job. Took a brief hiatus for cataract surgery. What a wonder the result is! It's time, now, to begin our next topic--Geoffrey Chaucer, the man and also the character who is on pilgrimage in the Canterbury Tales. So let's return to expanding our point of view regarding Chaucer and his words.

Most fourteenth-century commoners, as Chaucer was, lived and died without a recorded trace. Fortunately, diligent researchers have gathered together an assortment of entries from which we know, or can make solid assumptions, about Chaucer's fortunes and how he spent his days.
     We'll consider ideas in the Tales that provide personal information about Chaucer-the-man by way of remarks about his pilgrim image. But first we'll look at the factual entries.
     During work being done at Westminster Abbey in the late 1800s, Chaucer's bones (which rest in the Poet's Corner in the Abbey) were exposed, and we learned that he was about five-foot-six.
     At nineteen he joined the army during what we now call the Hundred Years War. As a young soldier, Chaucer was captured, and held prisoner in Flanders, but eventually ransomed by his king.
     In the subsequent peace negotiations in the summer of 1360, Chaucer received his first recorded assignment as an envoy of the English crown, carrying official letters from England to Calais. From that small beginning as messenger just across the channel, he went on to serve in  positions of increasing trust. Diplomatic missions--some of them secret--took him to Spain, Italy, Flanders, and other areas of France.
     At thirty-four he became Controller of Customs, and later Controller of Petty Customs, as well. His duties entailed collecting taxes on wool, hides, and other commodities.
     No life is all roses. When he was forty, a charge of "raptus" was brought against the poet, a charge often optimistically explained as "abduction." It seems almost impossible for Chaucer-lovers to admit that this poet, with his head among the stars, could have had moments when his feet were in the mire. Raptus also means rape, plain and simple. A helpful and dedicated twentieth-century lawyer gave us an accurate analysis of the intent of fourteenth-century legal terms and procedures. We'll get into that after a bit.
     John Lydgate, the poet's contemporary, says Chaucer "made many a fresh ditty" that "excelled all other in our English tongue." Before you get too eager to read them, sad to say, they have not been preserved.
     We know that Chaucer's last residence was on the grounds of Westminster Abbey. It has been provokingly speculated that Chaucer's motive for living on the grounds of the Abbey could have been to gain the protection of sanctuary. And there is the "mystery" of his original manuscripts . . . Ah, but let's not get ahead of ourselves.

Why risk it?

Chaucer had traveled the Continent--eyes and ears open. We've read the startling message concealed in the Canterbury Tales. The Host's wife (The Church) is cruel, demanding, quarrelsome, as was the widespread action of the Inquisition. Today's scholars describing the Host's wife, could be characterizing the medieval Church: easily angered, absolutely reckless, awe-inspiring, powerful arms, fearing no one.
     In the early 1300s, Inquisitors asked to apply torture without limitations to heretics, and thus "the Church grew harder and crueller and more unchristian," states H. C. Lea, an historian of the Inquisition.
    
     How would Chaucer view life after all he'd seen? He advises, "Here is not home, here is nothing but wilderness." Christians were often called suddenly to Judgment from disease, politics, or random violence.
     To publicly--or privately--raise objection to the ruling system, you'd be in jeopardy. Those in authority were seen as chosen by God, so to differ with God's chosen ones amounted to high treason.
     Allegory thrives in a rigid authoritarian environment. Fourteenth-century Europe would have been fertile ground for hidden protests.
     The poet's well-being and the survival of his messages, depended upon maintaining his good relationship with the royal court. Disaster struck many near him. Friends were executed with varying degrees of cruelty. Nevertheless, Chaucer and his works, remained unscathed.
     On the Continent, Inquisitors were nowhere yet everywhere, like secret police. When the Inquisition reached England, religious dissenters met increasing severity. Consequently, a few month after the poet's death, the first English heretic to be "found guilty" (William Sawtre) was burned at the stake.

Why would Chaucer persist while knowing the result could be fearful death? The answer--it was a matter of conscience. One who had important information had a moral responsibility to share it. He sinned "who shutteth knowledge in his mouth."
     Pilgrim Chaucer speaks of messages discreet and wise. Allegory could discreetly prove his obedience to God, and ease his conscience, as well.
     When the poet moved to Westminster Abbey in June, 1400, England was once again in political upheaval. Several courtiers who were his friends had been cruelly executed. Thomas Usk, for example, was both hanged and beheaded. It is speculated that his motive for moving to the Abbey could have been for the protection of sanctuary.
     The inspired "paper pilgrimage" led to Thomas á Becket. Who better to supplicate when in need of courage and perseverance? I believe Chaucer sought courage to persevere no matter what the cost, and to face death (if need be) as Thomas á Becket had.
     The poet's closing prayer pleads, "Christ have mercy on me and forgive me my offenses." He concluded with the hope "that I may be one of them, at the day of judgment, that shall be saved." I believe Geoffrey Chaucer saw this world's hazards, however great, as temporary; but the hereafter, unending. As a man of conscience, he took the risk.

The unanticipated revelation

In my first encounter with the Canterbury Tales, when Chaucer associated the word Host with the best food and wine, my Catholic background brought echoes of poetic references to the Eucharist. Many more clues identify Christ concealed within the Canterbury Host.
      His bookkeeping transactions are identical to terms portraying Judgment, as if each soul clutches a personal balance sheet when approaching Death's door.
     When the Host requires immediate acceptance of his travel plan for the pilgrims, it can be seen as daily life. Man accepts God's will for each day, without knowing what lies ahead.
     A fleeting image of Christ as traditional shepherd comes to our mind's eye, when the  Host gathers the pilgrims "all in a flock."
     Examples of "offensive language," (trivializing the sacred) in the surface storyline become personal covert references to Christ's passion and death. The most meaningful--"Harrow, by nails and by blood"--recalls Christ's harrowing hell. As a consequence of Christ's crucifixion, worthy souls attained their long-awaited release and entrance into heaven.
     To indicate the Host as the "most enveloped in sin,"again points to a traditional image of Christ, who takes all our sins upon Himself. Sinfulness envelops Christ; it envelops the Canterbury Host, as well.
     For the surface story, the Host's declaration, "I know the substance is in me," is arbitrarily accepted as "I have the capacity to understand." Substance, however, makes a direct theological connection "with regard to the being of God, the divine nature or essence." And substance is "used of the incarnate Christ." The substance is also in the Canterbury Host.

Is this complex sequence of identifiers only meant to confirm that Christ leads pilgrims on their life journey? No. There is more. We have not mentioned the Host's wife before. She is not in the pilgrim company. She is never seen but merely commented upon by the Host. He laments that his wife is cruel, demanding, quarrelsome, unfeeling--then breaks off, hesitant to say too much. The elaborate plan disguises Chaucer's concern. He dare not become obvious.
     Who do we recognize as the Host's wife? In other words, who is the traditional Bride of Christ? The Church. Chaucer dare not have his dissent regarding the Church become obvious.
     Here is the comparative test: If his lament is that of an innkeeper, we see a dreadful married relationship. But, with the potential of allegory, read the words again, as if uttered by Christ accusing the Church: She is cruel, demanding, quarrelsome, unfeeling. This aptly describes the medieval Church's power and widespread action of the Inquisition on the Continent during the 1300s.
     The comic image of an apparently henpecked husband provides a distracting surface characterization. Once Christ's identity is established, however, the poet's dissension is recognized in the covert interpretation. When the hidden intention leapt out at me--I shuddered.

Next time, a look at what inspired Chaucer's risk-taking.

A matter of substance

This entry, our penultimate clue, will focus on a matter of genuine substance.
     The Host interrupts himself while speaking to the Pilgrim Monk. In a brief aside, he advises that if no one is listening, there is no point in telling a story. Then, he repeats the advice but gives it a clerical, a religious emphasis.

For certainly, as these clerics say,
Whereas a man may have no audience,
It helps nothing to tell his sentence.
And well I know the substance is in me,
If anything shall well-reported be.

Sentence, in Chaucer's day, referred to meaning or doctrine. The Host seems to ramble. That gets our attention. What does lack of an audience have to do with a report?
     For the surface story, "I know the substance is in me" is taken to mean "I have the capacity to understand," but that idea is not clear, nor particularly significant. "Substance," however, has great depth for medieval clerics, theologians. Fear not. Only two terms of theology will be dealt with, and their definitions are easily understood.
     "Substance" is a fundamental aspect of faith. Notably in the primary definition of substance, the OED says: "Essential nature, essence; esp. Theol., with regard to the being of God. the divine nature or essence." The Athanasian Creed (1325) says of Christ, "He is God, of the substance of the Father." In addition, and again in the first entry, the MED says substance is "used of the incarnate Christ."
     To declare substance being within the Host (the Eucharist) also confirms Transubstantiation. You could understand the term tran-substantia-tion as a changing of substance. A reading in the Divine Office states: "In [this sacrament] bread and wine are changed substantially into the body and blood of Christ." The Eucharistic Host, in the vocabulary of Scholastic Theology, uses two terms that, as I said earlier, are easily understood: accidents and substance.
     Accidents, in this special designation, refers to qualities (of bread) that can be seen, while the substance (the essence) mystically becomes the body of Christ. One need not accept the doctrine. You just have to understand that THAT was, and is, the Dogma of the Church.
     Chaucer wrote at a time of growing celebration of the presence of Christ within the Eucharist (the Real  Presence). As a parallel, Chaucer's imaginative allegory describes the accidents, the attributes of the Canterbury Host that can be seen. These overt qualities conceal the substance, Christ's divine nature. Chaucer's Host indicates this covert identity here, and wants the fact "well reported."

We've seen a series of clues inscribe Christ within the Canterbury Host. Why? Are we only to see the basic confirmation that Christ leads Pilgrims on their life journey? No. There is more. Our final "clue" penetrates a humorous overlay. When the hidden significance came clear to me--I shuddered.