We’ve all heard fables and parables. They start out as simple
stories, but then it becomes clear by the end that they have lessons. Usually,
the storyteller does not drop the lesson until the end, and manages to reduce
that lesson to a pithy sentence or two.
Not so with the Pardoner. Shamelessly, almost directly after
introducing the three “ryotoures,” the Pardoner goes on for 175 lines (bless
line numbers, bless them!) about the dangers of gluttony, gambling, swearing,
and greed. Then, eventually, he gets back to the story, and his characters die.
Afterward, he repeats his warnings and asks his fellow pilgrims and their host
for money as penance. It seems redundant to give the moral up-front and then
repeat it later. Were the Pardoner more laconic, it might make more sense for
him to remind his audience, but like I said… 175 lines.
But perhaps this is just the Pardoner’s style of
storytelling. It is not as pleasantly poetic as Chaucer’s way of not getting to
the point (sorry not sorry, Chaucer), but it is a way of not getting to the
point all the same. Perhaps the Pardoner thinks he will get the message across
better if he goes on for longer. Not for the sake of others, I remind you; he
says so himself: “But though myself be gilty in that sinne, / Yet can I maken
other folk to twinne / From avarice, and sore to repente. / But that is nat my
principal entente: / I preche nothing but for coveityse” (429-433). Maybe he
has found in his line of work that speaking at length about sin riles up the
most guilt and shame in the public, and thus brings him the most profit.
Though the story and sermon stir discomfort in the host, and
perhaps in the reader as well (advice: do not read this during a meal; at best,
the references to burps, farts, and the half-digested muck in one’s stomach
will induce a loss of appetite), there is also something a little humorous
about the whole thing. The Pardoner is a hypocrite and he knows it. He knows it
and he does not care. After drinking a good deal (one of the many things he
warns against), he concludes his prologue with, “For though myself be a ful
vicious man, / A moral tale yet I yow telle can, / Which I am wont to preche
for to winne” (459-461). I don't know about you, but to me, there's something amusing in the repulsive shamelessness of the Pardoner's hypocrisy.
I don't mind the Pardoner's hypocrisy any more than he does, to be honest. I'd rather someone admit that they do not practice what they preach than deny it. Most people do not practice what they preach anyways, including several other of the pilgrims in the poem. Why would we dislike the Pardoner more than any other liar simply because he admits to it? In class, some people seemed to think his fable was ludicrous just because he denounced and shamed his own behaviors. What if he had told the tale and never admitted his opposite behaviors? Well, we'd accept him and perhaps preach the same things, but I'm sure we wouldn't behave accordingly. Does anyone practice what they preach all the time?
ReplyDeleteAmanda
I agree with Amanda and Miranda. His hypocrisy is actually somewhat endearing. It would be increasingly frustrating for someone to not practice what they preach, as you say, and yet deny that he is doing so. Additionally, the irony makes for better storytelling. Admitting his hypocrisy at the beginning of the tale, made the story more entertaining because I already know (pardon my French), it's a bunch of crap.
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