The Parson’s
Tale has to be the least approachable of all the Canterbury Tales, with the
possible exception of Chaucer’s Tale of Melibee. For one thing, it is not a
tale but a long digression on penitence and confession. It has been described
as a sermon, but that is not an accurate description because, although it
starts with a text from Jeremiah, it uses the text more as a general theme for
a wide-ranging treatise. At some 1,000 lines of prose text, a sermon this long
would send even the most dedicated congregation to sleep! According to the
Tale’s prologue, the Parson starts speaking as evening is fast approaching. It
must have been long after dark before he finished.
We have met
the Parson before, in the passage that is generally headed “The Epilogue to the
Man of Law’s Tale”. The Host invites the Parson to tell the next tale, and
describes him as a Lollard, which, to the Host, is not a problem. However, the
Shipman objects strongly to such a man being allowed to preach to them: “He
schal no gospel glosen here ne teche. … He wolde sowen som difficulte, or
springen cokkel in our clene corn.” There are a number of problems with this
passage, but the point here is that the label of Lollard is not apparently
objected to by the Parson, although there is clearly considerable antipathy on
the part of at least one of the other pilgrims.
Lollards were
followers of John Wycliffe, who was a near contemporary of Geoffrey Chaucer. He
had produced the first English translation of the Bible, to which he ascribed
greater authority than to the Pope and the Church hierarchy; he believed in a
greater role for lay people in the Church, and he questioned some basic Church
teachings such as transubstantiation (i.e. that the communion bread and wine
change to being the actual flesh and blood of Christ). The Lollards were
therefore early back-to-basics reformers who excited strong feelings both for
and against them.
It is not
surprising that Chaucer treats his Lollard priest sympathetically. We know from
his treatment of other members of the clergy (and religious hangers-on) on the
pilgrimage that he is well aware of the corruption that played such a huge part
in 14th century religious life. He is perfectly happy to let the
Monk, Friar, Summoner and Pardoner condemn themselves by their words and
actions, and the Parson is the only religious pilgrim who is treated without a
hint of irony in his General Prologue pen-portrait.
We also know
that Chaucer was closely associated with John of Gaunt, who was at one time the
most powerful man in England and also, towards the end of Chaucer’s life,
related to him by marriage (the two men’s wives were sisters). John of Gaunt
was known to have been John Wycliffe’s friend and protector.
The Prologue
to the Tale, which unlike the Tale itself is in rhyming couplets, makes it
clear that this is to be the final tale, because only the Parson has not yet obeyed
the Host’s requirement. It may be that Chaucer intended this to be the very last
tale on the return journey (although the internal evidence suggests otherwise),
and that the original plan for each pilgrim to tell four tales, which may well
have been reduced to two at one stage, has now come down to one apiece. As it
is, we have to assume that some of the Tales have been lost to posterity, because
several pilgrims, such as the Parson’s brother, the Ploughman, have not told
tales that have come down to us.
The Parson
complains that, being a Southerner, he is not adept at rhyming, as other
pilgrims presumably would have been. This is an interesting footnote on the
state of English at the time, in that the dialects spoken in different parts of
the country were very different. This may be another piece of self-mockery by
Chaucer, who was himself a Southerner! As it is, the Parson agrees to tell “a
myrie tale in prose, to knytte up al this feeste, and make an ende”. “Merry” is
not the word that most readers would assign to what follows.
The Tale
The text from
Jeremiah is from chapter 6, verse 16. The Parson gives the text in Latin, which
may sound strange for a Lollard, but a rough translation is “stand and see, ask
for the old ways, the good paths, and walk therein; and you shall find rest for
your souls”. This does sound appropriate for a Lollard, as it would for any
reformist in the history of the Church who has claimed to be sweeping away the
overburden of man-made distractions from the truth and getting back to basics.
It soon
becomes clear that this treatise is going to be a very long-winded affair, because
virtually every concept mentioned can be sub-divided into three or more
categories, and most of those have two or more aspects that need to be
considered. We therefore get a thorough analysis of penitence and its three
“parts”, namely contrition, confession and restitution.
Under the
heading of confession comes a very full discussion of sin, and in particular
the Seven Deadly Sins (pride, envy, anger, sloth, avarice, gluttony and
lechery) and their remedies. For each sin there is a long list of specific
actions that constitute that sin, such that it seems impossible not to be
committing deadly sins every hour of the day.
There are
some surprising sins to watch out for. Being too healthy is not recommended,
because the flesh is the enemy of the soul and the healthier the body, the more
likely it is to commit sins. That sounds like a good excuse for not indulging
in regular exercise, but taking that line too far will of course lead one to
Sloth. You can’t win with sin.
As for the 21st
century’s favourite sin, lechery is given the full works. Even within marriage,
having sex for the mere fun of it is a deadly sin. The Devil grabs men into his
embrace with the five fingers of each hand, one hand being gluttony, the other
lechery. Included among the lecherous fingers are “touchynge in wikede manere”
and “kissynge”. Widows are urged to be “clene” and “eschue the embracynges of
man”. The Parson and the Wife of Bath would clearly have been at odds on this
one.
However, the
Parson is careful to list the remedies as well as the sins. For example, the
remedy for anger is gentleness or patience, and for lechery he recommends, not
surprisingly, chastity and continence.
Having dealt
with the Seven Deadly Sins, the Parson apologises that he is not qualified to
discourse on the Ten Commandments. What a shame!
The terms of
confession are then laid out, and how to ascertain the severity of the sin. It
would appear that the Parson is thinking exclusively about sexual peccadilloes
at this stage. There are apparently some sins of this kind for which confession
will not easily absolve the sin. One of the oddest must be the priest who masturbates
in church and must never sing Mass there again. This Parson thinks of everything.
Naturally
enough, there is a list of conditions that mark a false confession, one of
which is admitting to sins of which one is not guilty. Given the vast list of
sins that the pilgrims have just been treated to, it would seem unlikely that
any of them would feel the need to commit this particular offence.
The third
element of penitence is restitution. This is possible through alms giving, or
bodily pain, both of which have various manifestations. It is slightly worrying that one way of absolving
your sins is to suffer the loss by death of your wife or child, which is
presumably meant thereby to be a cause of rejoicing.
After all is
done, and true confession and expiation made, the fruits of penance can be
enjoyed, namely the “endeless blisse of hevene”. Strange to tell, this final
part of the “Tale” is the shortest section of all.
This account
of how to live the good life and prepare oneself for Heaven is not an enjoyable
read, and it is not the reason why posterity holds the Canterbury Tales in such
high regard. It has interest insofar as it gives an insight to the religious
sensibilities of the late Middle Ages, but not otherwise. It is doubtless a
matter of regret to the modern reader that this tale survived whereas that of
the Parson’s brother, the Ploughman, presumably did not. We feel that it must
have been “merrier” than what we have, as it could hardly have been less so.
© John
Welford
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