Sunday, 21 August 2016

The Parson's Tale, by Geoffrey Chaucer



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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