Chaucer's Tale of Sir Thopas

Geoffrey Chaucer (c.1340-1400) was not only the greatest writer of the Middle English period, but also English Literature’s first humourist of note. It is therefore not surprising that his “Canterbury Tales” should contain a joke at his own expense.

As one of the band of pilgrims making their slow way to Canterbury, Chaucer is bound by the agreement to tell two tales on the way there and two on the way back. This plan was never fulfilled, as the project was clearly far too ambitious, and Chaucer is the only pilgrim who tells more than one tale. It is the circumstances of why he tells two stories that constitute the joke against himself.

It is not clear what Chaucer’s complete plan was, as the Tales have survived as a series of fragments, and the order in which they are normally presented in modern editions may not have been as originally intended. However, we do know that the Prioress’s Tale precedes that of Chaucer. The Prioress has told a rather sad tale about the murder of a seven-year-old boy, and the pilgrims are rendered silent after it has finished. Harry Bailey, “mine host” of the Tabard Inn who has joined the pilgrimage, then calls upon Chaucer to cheer everyone up.

The joke upon the poet is that he tells a tale that is so awful that the Host, clearly with everyone else’s agreement, begs him to stop and tell them something else, which he does, although most modern readers find the hugely long prose “Tale of Melibee” to be virtually unreadable.


The Tale

The first tale, Sir Thopas, is hardly a tale at all. It starts out, in the language and format of a minstrel romance, to recount the adventures of a paragon of knighthood, who wishes to fall in love with a fairy queen but is rebuffed by a giant.

However, what clearly annoys Harry Bailey is that the poem is full of a huge amount of detail but very little action. After we are given a full description of Sir Thopas and a potted biography, he sets out on his way. We then get a wealth of detail about the trees and flowers he passes as he rides along, and the birds that sing in the trees.

He never gets to meet his fairy queen because the giant “Sir Oliphant” stands in his way. They make speeches at each other, Thopas pointing out that he can’t fight the giant today, because he is not wearing his armour. The giant throws a few stones at Thopas, and the latter goes home.

Once back home, Thopas tells his “merry men” that he needs to be well fed and prepared to go back and fight the giant, who has now acquired two extra heads, and so we are given all the details of his meal and his armour and weaponry.

It is while Chaucer is telling his hearers about how brave Sir Thopas is, as he sets forth on his second ride to meet the giant, that the Host steps in and stops him from telling any more. Presumably Harry could not stand the prospect of any more of those wretched flowers and birds!


Discussion

So what can we make of this apparent piece of silliness, wedged in between two much more serious tales in the canon of the Canterbury Tales? The fact that the Tale of Sir Thopas has virtually no literary merit is really the whole point. This is a parody of a whole genre, namely the minstrel tale, sung by troubadour poets, in which detail is piled upon detail.

It is, at heart, a piece of doggerel verse that the original readers of the Tales would have recognised as a satire. Many modern English people will be aware of the genre of rural folk-singing, often sung unaccompanied by singers who, for reasons best known to themselves, stick a finger in one ear and the opposite thumb in the waistband of their jeans. It was the medieval version of these singers that Chaucer was poking fun at, and making the joke doubly funny by putting himself in the role of the singer.

However, there is possibly another level of satire at work here, namely a social satire at the expense of Flemish knighthood (we are told that Thopas is from “Flanders, all beyond the sea”). We know that Flemish knights were regarded as figures of fun by the English and French courts, and Chaucer moved in such circles, holding a number of royal appointments during his lifetime. It would not be a surprise for Chaucer to have joined the mockery.

We therefore have a moment of light relief at this point of the Canterbury Tales, and a piece of literary and social satire, bound in with self-mockery. In all, this is a very clever piece of work by the first true genius of English literature.

© John Welford