Perhaps the greatest pleasure comes at the expense of others. Geoffrey Chaucer seems keenly aware of this, and asks his Parson - the last narrator of The Canterbury Tales, although Parson's is no tale at all - to include in his sermon on the seven deadly sins a denunciation of envy, the "worst synne that is” (X 487). Envy, according to Parson, manifests itself as “joye of oother mannes wrong”, a definition that must make the reader reflect: much of the pleasure of reading the Canterbury Tales derives from the representations comics of misery, particularly in the fabliau (and fabliau-embedding) tales Indeed, one of Chaucer's most memorable scenes is that in which the horned carpenter lies unconscious and with broken arms after having been outrageously tricked into being. laughing stock of his city. The violent humor of this tale certainly explains its popularity among both readers and pilgrims, who "laugh at this nyce cas" (with the exception of the Reeve, at whose expense the story is told - a fact which undoubtedly adds to our enjoyment; I 3855). Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on "Why Violent Video Games Shouldn't Be Banned"? Get an Original Essay We might, therefore, be tempted to regard Parson's speech on envy as merely a light-hearted imitation of a long-winded priest, out of touch with human nature and the pleasures of common people. The purpose of this essay, however, is to show how Parson's declamation against envy is a vital key to understanding The Canterbury Tales and to demonstrate how this apparent contradiction has much to teach us about the nature of the pleasure we take in Chaucer's tales. variable (and often exaggerated) dramas. The reason why Parson describes envy as the “worste synne” is rooted in the complementary definitions of envy he provides: on the one hand, envy is “joye in oother mannes wrong” (X 488, 493) ; on the other it is “sorwe of oother mannes goodne and of his prosperitee” (X 492). Envy, “displeased with all the gifts of [its] neighbor,” is therefore “agayns alle vertues and agayns alle goodnesses,” making it “properly similar to devel” (X 489, 488, 493). But, as I said, this also defines the fun we find in “The Miller's Tale”; similarly, we join the character of the miller in “The Reeve's Tale” in his delight at the “wily clerks [who] get up and fall asleep,” chasing their runaway horse with “Keepe! Here! Standing! Standing! Jossa! Wander!" (I 4100-1). “They understood the anthem so lightly, by my croun!” the miller rejoices, and we laugh with him, acutely aware (but not) that his own doom is imminent (I 4099). When the miller's wife and daughter have been taken by the clerks, we are ready to savor the ensuing brawl: And on the nose he slammed the hymn with his festive Doun ran the bloody river on his chest And on the floor with nose and mouth to break They walk like two pigs at once. And then they go up and doun again until the miller has made fun of a stoon[...] (I 4275-4280) The scene is undeniably comic, and our amusement is increased by the images of animals; this enjoyment is further enhanced when the cook reminds us that the story is told at the expense of one of the pilgrims present: “'Ha, ha', quod he 'for Cristes passioun./This millere hadde a sharpde conclusion” (I 4327 -8 ). We too enjoy the misfortunes of the clerks and millers. Here it might be objected that, while the misery of others constitutes much of the entertainment we find in fabliau-style tales, this pleasure principle (as it might be called) does not apply universally. In “The Man ofLaw's Tale,” for example, we don't feel the same enjoyment of Cunstance's suffering. Indeed, if this principle were all-encompassing, we should expect to appreciate this tale much more, since the unfortunate events experienced by Cunstance are certainly much worse than those that befall the miller or the carpenter. Constance witnesses the brutal massacre, is twice exiled on a ship to the steerelees, and is accused of murder (II 439). Yet one of the few scenes in "The Man of Law's Tale" that could be described as comic is the one in which the lying knight is suddenly slapped, presumably by the hand of God:And meanwhileA hand hymn lies on the nekke advantage, that doun he atones like a stoon, and both his eyes dropped from his faceIn view of everyone in that place. (II 668-72)A crucial difference between the knight's unexpected death and Constance's misfortunes is that the latter is not devastated by her difficulties; she endures with patience, planting her faith firmly in divine providence: But nathelees, takes with good understanding the wyl of Christ, and kneels on the stronde She seyde 'Lord, welcome be thy probes.' (II 824-6)Constance's sufferings are neither vividly described nor sudden, as are those of the unfortunate knight, miller, and carpenter. Of her second exile, the text tells us little more than that she “…flees to the seat of peyne and wo/Fyve yeer and moore” (II 9001-2). I therefore believe that, rather than diminishing the principle of pleasure for the pain of others, Costanza's case provides further proof of my thesis: we are unable to enjoy her suffering because it is neither sudden nor devastating; moreover, his dramatic effect is greatly attenuated by his seemingly unshakable faith. In this way we follow Parson's corollary definition of envy as “sorwe of oother mannes goodnesse”: the possibility of enjoying Cunstance's sufferings is precluded by their lack of palpable violence and by the holy equanimity with which he endures them. following Satan is his displeasure at Constance's perfection (II 126); we follow him in his desire to see it destroyed, confirming Parson's statement that envy is “properly dear to development”. Our craving for depictions of human suffering will only be satisfied by devastating changes in fate depicted in vivid physical detail; Cunstance's years at sea do not satisfy her, because they simply describe a distressing situation, combined with relatively undramatic reactions on her part. Indeed, in “The Knight's Tale,” Palamon and Arcite's anguish is funny precisely because it seems melodramatic: the imprisoned knights' moans and arguments over the lady they have just seen between the bars of their prison window are laughably silly , because they are both detained indefinitely. A second possible objection to the pleasure principle that I elaborate here is the (immense) problem presented by the ferocious and massive anti-Semitism of “The Prioress's Tale.” The modern reader is horrified by the vivid descriptions of sudden and irreversible human destruction. We are amused neither by the death of the innocent boy, “Kut unto [the] nekke boon,” nor by the “torment and shameful deaths” of the “accursed Jews” (VII 659, 628, 685). The Prioress, however, almost certainly rejoices in the latter; furthermore, the popularity of equally disturbing tales in the Middle Ages suggests a different reception from that which they inspire in the modern reader. This objection is more difficult to reconcile with my argument for enjoyment of violent suffering than with that of Constance's weary and interminable misfortune. Indeed, this sudden and vivid violence pricks the reader's conscience too much to be enjoyable, mainly because the reader.