Social status and its contrasting roles in Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales

There are three distinct levels of social status in Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales. When the author’s twenty-nine pilgrims set out on their religious stay at Canterbury on that beautiful April morning, their ranks stretched out on horseback probably a quarter of a mile or more, the small battalion representing the three tiers, in reasonably hierarchical order. In Chaucer’s time, classes were divided into three distinct and almost insurmountable boundaries: the aristocracy; The plutocracy or, as some would call it, the emerging bourgeoisie; and, finally, the Theocracy or members of the Catholic Church.

In recalling Chaucer’s life in fourteenth-century England, the roles each of his pilgrims play roughly correspond to their position in the parade as they leave the Tabard Inn on that bright and hopeful spring morning.

First, the Theocracy. It is no secret that the Catholic Church had a deep and abiding problem with some of its most greedy members in the Middle Ages. Clergymen of all stripes took liberties selling indulgences, tricking the uneducated into donating what they couldn’t afford, and sponsoring members who served in a rather arrogant manner.

One of the most obvious examples is the prioress of Chaucer. Named Lady Eglantyne, supposedly after a real character the author appears to have known, the prioress represents Chaucer’s best observations of class role-plays in The Canterbury Tales, and also the best example of the contrast mentioned above. Possibly Chaucer’s best ironic target, the prioress appears to be the antithesis of her assigned role as the leader of a nun’s conclave. Although he cries at the sight of mice in traps, he feeds his dogs better than most commoners eat, despite a vow of poverty, and discovers his forehead, a symbol of sexual availability in Chaucer’s time, and purpose. same from the forehead. wimple protector: the prioress represents a fairly high member of the Church.

Another contrasting figure is the Monk, a rather elegant guy who also ignores the wishes of the Church and goes out hunting whenever he gets the chance. Owner of land, several horses, fine jewelry and a pair of greyhounds, the Monk, with his squirrel-lined gloves, must have been an imposing figure. But again, ironic, and probably the author’s comment on the nefarious ways of certain Church officials. The Monk himself even says that, as far as the ancient traditional teachings of the Church are concerned, “he didn’t give a damn about a plucked hen.”

In contrast, then, to the Monk and the Prioress, Chaucer gives us the kind Parson, who refused, in contravention of the dictates of the Church, to excommunicate those who did not tithe. This guy even refused to travel to the big city, London, to improve his own position.

Continuing, the author gives us examples of the plutocracy or middle class. And little of what these individuals do earns our respect. The miller is the best example. Tough, argumentative, crude and seemingly unpleasant, the miller has an immediate dislike for the reeve, and the two end up on opposite ends of the line. Although the miller, with his red beard, wart-infested nose and black nostrils, is what we would refer to as the middle class, it is his imposing and somewhat exaggerated disposition that places him at the head of the line. Despite his bagpipes that got them all out of London, the guy has a head that “he can knock down doors” with. Bourgeousie ‘pop’, indeed. And a good example of the contrasting roles throughout the piece.

Jumping to the rear of the procession, we have the reeve, or guardian of the mansion. This guy is also middle class, and his antipathy for the miller, established quite early in the job, dictates his position at the bottom of the line. In this mix, too, is the sailor. This guy lived, the author believed, near Dartmouth, a town believed to have housed pirates in Chaucer’s day. The sailor thought nothing of making the opponents walk across the board, and seemed especially to enjoy stealing cargo from unwitting merchant sailors. The maunciple, or paralegal, is not much better. This guy especially enjoys plotting against his own thirty masters, some of whom are really grateful for lending them their own funds!

In contrast to these rascals, Chaucer introduces us to the humble farmer. This man loves God with ‘al su herte’. He works hard all day, loading manure and digging ditches, and he wouldn’t do a dishonest act if his life depended on it.

Then we have the aristocracy. The Franklin, or landowner, and the law sergeant prided themselves on their nobility with all manner of clandestine adventures. The author says of the sergeant that he was “busier than he appeared,” a quote full of pathos and little veiled innuendo. The guy is obviously a scammer.

In contrast to these questionable pilgrims, Chaucer gives us the knight. A battle-tested noble knight, the knight plays an ironic role in the Canterbury tales for a number of reasons. Despite having participated in fifteen battles and defeating three enemies in open duels, the knight has an aversion to violence. Furthermore, despite his adventurous life, he seems to have been a good father. His son, the young squire, is polite, well-mannered, and quite considerate. The boy even cuts his father’s meat.

The twenty-nine pilgrims of Chaucer are nothing more than colorful figures. They are also likely to have been written from real life, and not simply emerged fully formed from the author’s brain. Geoffrey Chaucer himself was a member of the middle class, but had almost direct access to the nobles of his day. He could, therefore, be outspoken and even somewhat bold in his descriptions of those above his class. Furthermore, in his ambition to bring the English language into everyday use, his disregard for conventions equaled that of some of his fellow travelers on the way to Canterbury. So Chaucer’s own life was also a study in contrast.

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