Perhaps the greatest pleasure comes at the expense of others. Geoffrey Chaucer seems well aware of this and asks his pastor – the last teller of the Canterbury Tales, although it is not really a tale – to include in his sermon on the seven deadly sins a denunciation of envy , the “worst synne there is” (X 487). Envy, according to the pastor, manifests itself as "joy in the evil of others", a definition which should make the reader think: much of the pleasure of reading The Canterbury Tales comes from the comic representations of misery, in particularly in the fabliau (and fabliau-incorporating) of tales. Indeed, one of Chaucer's most memorable scenes is that in which the cuckolded carpenter lies unconscious and with his arms broken after having been outrageously duped and made the laughing stock of his town. The violent humor of this tale certainly explains its popularity both with readers and pilgrims, who "laugh at this new case" (with the exception of the prefect, at whose expense the tale is told - which undoubtedly increases our pleasure; I 3855).Say no to plagiarism. Get a tailor-made essay on “Why Violent Video Games Should Not Be Banned”? Get an original essay We might therefore be tempted to dismiss the pastor's speech on envy as merely a light-hearted imitation of a long-winded clergyman, out of touch with human nature and the pleasures of ordinary people. The aim of this essay, however, is to show how the pastor's declamation against envy is an essential 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. varied (and often exaggerated) dramas. The reason the pastor describes envy as the "worst sin" is rooted in the complementary definitions of envy he provides: on the one hand, envy is "joy in other evils" ( X 488, 493); on the other, it is “sadness for the goodness of others and their prosperity” (X 492). Envy, “opposed to all the goodness of [its] neighbor”, is therefore “against all virtues and against all goodness”, which makes it “properly linked to development” (X 489, 488, 493) . But, as I mentioned above, this also defines the pleasure we find in “The Miller’s Tale”; similarly, we join the miller's character in "The Reeve's Tale" in his joy at the "sely clerks [who] rise and run," pursuing their fleeing horse with "Keep! Keep! Stay! Stay! Josa! Wander here! » (I 4100-1). “They hear the nat anthem so lightly, by my singing!” rejoices the miller, and we laugh with him, perfectly aware (for he is not) that his own doom is imminent (I 4099). By the time the miller's wife and daughter have been greeted by the clerks, we are ready to relish the fight that ensues: And on the nose he smoothed the anthem with his party. Doun ran the bloody stream across his chest And into the ground with his nose and mouth to break. They walwe like two pigs in a fight. And they go on and doun once more until the miller sporadicates in a Stoon [...] (I 4275-4280) The scene is undeniably comic, and our amusement is increased by the animal images; this enjoyment is further increased 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 had an abrupt conclusion" ( I 4327). -8). We too enjoy the misfortune of the clerks and the millers. Here, one could object that, if the misfortune of others constitutes a large part of the enjoyment found in fabliau tales,this pleasure principle (as we can say) called) does not apply universally. In “The Lawyer's Tale”, for example, we do not take the same enjoyment from Cunstance's suffering. In fact, if this principle were global, we should expect to enjoy this story much more, since the unfortunate events endured by Cunstance are certainly much worse than those that befall the miller or the carpenter. Constance witnesses a brutal massacre, exiled twice on a "shipe al steerelees", and accused of murder (II 439). However, one of the only scenes in "The Man of Law's Tale" that could be described as comical is the one in which the lying knight is suddenly slapped, presumably by the hand of God: boon, this doun he son atones as a stoon, and his eye sticks out of his face in full view of everyone in this place. (II 668-72) A crucial difference between the knight's unexpected disappearance and Cunstance's misfortunes is that the latter is not devastated by his ordeals; she endures with patience, firmly planting her faith in divine providence: But nathelees, she takes in good understanding The wyl of Crist, and kneels on the stronde. She said: “Lord, may your probe be welcome. (II 824-6) Cunstance'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 "...floats in the lake at Peyne and wo/Fyve yeer and moore" (II 9001-2). I therefore believe that, rather than dismissing the pleasure principle in the face of others' pain, Cunstance's case provides further proof of my argument: we are incapable of enjoying one's suffering because it is neither sudden nor sudden. nor devastating; moreover, its dramatic effect is considerably lessened by his apparently unshakable faith. In this way, we follow the corollary definition of envy given by the priest as "pain of others, human kindness": the possibility of rejoicing in the sufferings of Cunstance is excluded by their lack of palpable violence and by the holy serenity with which she supports them. following Satan is his dissatisfaction with the perfection of Cunstance (II 126); we follow him in his desire to see it destroyed, confirming the pastor's assertion that envy is "properly linked to development." Our thirst for depictions of human suffering will only be satisfied by devastating changes in fate depicted in vivid physical detail; Cunstance's years at sea are unsatisfactory, as they only depict a distressing situation, coupled with relatively undramatic reactions on his part. Indeed, in "The Knight's Tale", the plight of Palamon and Arcite is amusing precisely because it seems melodramatic: the lamentations and quarrels of the imprisoned knights over the lady they have just seen from between the bars from their prison window are ridiculously stupid, as they are both being held indefinitely. A second possible objection to the pleasure principle that I am elaborating here is the (immense) problem presented by the vicious and imposing anti-Semitism of “The Prioress's Tale.” The modern reader is horrified by the vivid descriptions of sudden and irreversible human destruction. We are neither amused by the death of the innocent boy, “Kut to [the] nekke boon”, nor by the “torment and shameful death” of the “cursed Jews” (VII 659, 628, 685). The Prioress, however, almost certainly welcomes this latter solution; moreover, the popularity of equally disturbing tales in the Middle Ages suggests a different reception from that which it inspires in the modern reader. This objection is more difficult to reconcile with my argument in favor of..