Content uploaded by Jonathan Fruoco
Author content
All content in this area was uploaded by Jonathan Fruoco on Jan 26, 2019
Content may be subject to copyright.
1
“Be Careful What You Wish For: Geoffrey Chaucer‟s Object of Desire”
Jonathan Fruoco
Université Grenoble Alpes, ILCEA4
“Objects of Desire” – International Conference at Lille Catholic University, 24-26 May
2018
If there is one concept that we might consider central to medieval poetry, it is desire;
whether it is celestial bliss for theologians, love for courtly love poets or fame for many
aspiring artists. In this lecture, I propose to focus on England‟s most famous courtly love poet,
namely Geoffrey Chaucer. But it is not love that will interest me today, but a different object.
If trying to get is indeed, as Elizabeth Anscombe remarked, the primitive sign of wanting,
then Chaucer was, despite his use of self-mockery and his modesty, as guilty as anyone of
looking for his fifteen minutes of fame. He was no Petrarch, who turned self-promotion into
an art, but we can still find in Chaucer‟s life and poetry the signs of a wish to leave the
shadows of Aldgate, where he worked for so many years as a controller of customs, and to be
heard. Yet, Chaucer was also profoundly critical of the desirability of fame. I will not be
psychoanalyzing a poet who has been dead for 600 years, but one may wonder if the
ambiguity of his desire provided the poet with a motive for action or if the subsequent
realization of his desire was merely an accident that would have struck Chaucer as deeply
illusory. For if desire was indeed at the heart of medieval poetry, it is, in fact, its
unattainability that made it philosophically relevant and artistically inspiring.
The poem that most clearly illustrates Chaucer‟s most intense reaction to the object of his
desire is The House of Fame, which he composed sometime after his return from Florence in
1373. It is during his time in Italy that Chaucer discovered Dante‟s poetry, and most notably
the Divine Comedy, but as important as this particular poem might have been for Chaucer and
the history of English literature, one cannot help but notice that both poets had a completely
different understanding and vision of the world. More importantly, they apparently did not
share the same approach to fame-seeking. Dante had indeed greatly developed and written his
own legend with the Comedy, while Chaucer seemed to be profoundly critical of this need of
recognition.
2
The House of Fame invites us to follow a narrator unsurprisingly named Geffrey within a
dream vision: the poet‟s persona wakes up in the temple of Venus and finds himself face to
face with paintings illustrating various scenes from the Eneas. He goes out of the temple,
realizes he is lost and is then snatched by an eagle that takes him to the House of Fame, where
the poet will strongly criticize the vanity of other artists and underline the very limits of the
human mind and its implication in the creative process. The eagle is undoubtedly the most
significant motif borrowed by Chaucer to Dante, who meets this golden-feathered eagle in the
ninth canto of the Purgatorio. Yet, although the eagle is in appearance quite similar in both
poems, it becomes quite clear here as soon as it starts talking that Chaucer had no intention of
following Dante any further. The flight of the eagle had a deep theological and philosophical
meaning in the Comedy for it helped the narrator get physically and spiritually closer to God
and Heaven. But in Fame, it has a radically different role since it will systematically be used
by Chaucer to present an ironic counterpart to Dante‟s attitude. Faced with elevation, Chaucer
chooses a lowering process, an artistic principle at the very heart of grotesque realism and of
carnivalesque laughter. When the eagle takes off with Geffrey in its claws, for instance, it
gently reminds the narrator how fat he actually is: “Seynte Marye, / Thou art noyous for to
carye!” (II. l.572-574). And whereas Dante wondered if he was worthy to follow Virgil,
noting that he is neither Eneas, nor Saint Paul (Inf. II, l. 32), Geffrey asks himself:
Wher Joves wol me stellyfye,
Or what thing may this sygnifye?
I neyther am Ennok, ne Elye
(II. l. 586-588)
The eagle obviously has its own opinion of the question and answers “Thow demest of
thyself amys” (II. l. 596). Jupiter has no intention whatsoever of turning poor Geffrey into a
star. As we can see, Chaucer adopts an openly ironic attitude and does not hesitate to mock
Dante. He does not share the Tuscan‟s interest for fame and even seems to show true
contempt for such a need for attention.
When Geffrey finally arrives on the steep pick upon which is built the house of Fame, he
notices that the House‟s foundations are made out of ice. Describing the frailty of those
foundations, Geffrey remarks that the builder has very little reasons to boast (III. l. 1128-
1135). Worst of all, the ice, covered with the name of famous people is starting to melt, thus
erasing the inscriptions that cover its surface. When Geffrey finally moves closer to the
3
House, his vision illustrates the very state of literature during the XIVth century. Poetry had
indeed reached a key moment in its development, half-way between oral and written
transmission. Chaucer was more than anyone else conscious of this duality and expresses it in
his description of the house of Fame. The exterior is thus dedicated to oral culture: not only
does Geffrey see Orpheus, Orion and other legendary harpists playing music, along with
musicians of lesser rank, but he also meets magicians, illusionists, and soothsayers (III. l.
1201-1281). Besides, even though the inside of the temple is dedicated to written literature,
Chaucer keeps reminding us that the two forms of expression are complementary. Geffrey
hears, for example, the poets who immortalized the Trojan War argue about the Iliad, with
some spirits defending Homer, while Trojan supporters accuse him of having favored the
Greeks (III. l. 1477-1480). Despite their glory and fame, these artists are condemned, as souls
wandering in the limbos, to pass the eternity in conflict with one another. As a result, when a
spirit asks Geffrey what is his desire, he answers that he has not entered the house looking for
Fame, on the contrary, he had rather “[t]hat no wight have my name in honde” (l.1877) after
his death. He is aware of his own value and does not need to be admired. He seems thus far to
have Dante‟s pretension and makes sure that we know it. Whereas Dante had prayed Apollo
to be worthy of his laurels (Par. I, l. 13-18), Geffrey explains – not without self-mockery –
that he would be happy to just kiss Apollo‟s tree (III. l. 1091-1108). He then guides us out of
the House of Fame and straight to the House of Rumor, which is described by the narrator as a
whirling wicker cage where gossip is filtered. The air going through this maze produces a
whistling reminding Geffrey of the sound of a stone being launched by a catapult (l. 1916-
1955).
In the end, the news, or “tydings” going from the House of Rumor to the House of Fame
are merely verbal creations. The eagle had explained Geffrey that sound “ys noght but eyr
ybroken” (II. l. 765): the words uttered in our world are, in other words, compressed air
reaching the Houses of Rumor and Fame and there taking a physical shape. But Chaucer‟s
description of sound as “broken” air, that is to say of form of flatulence, gives us once more a
pretty good idea of what he thinks about fame. He does not hide his aversion for other artists‟
fame-seeking and tries to represent himself as a discreet man, writing merely for his own
pleasure.
But although part of this representation of Chaucer is probably true, we must ask ourselves
what does that tell us about the artist? Did Chaucer really despise fame so much in his early
career, or should we perceive this mockery as a sign of envy? If we look at the archives, we
4
notice that the poet was a relatively minor figure in his own time. Amongst the 493 official
documents gathered in the Chaucer Life-Records, none mention his career as a poet and it
seems that his most powerful supporters at the court were none other than his wife Philippa,
one the Queen‟s domicella, and his sister-in-law, Katherine, mistress and future wife of John
of Gant. Chaucer was, in other words, evolving on the fringes of the court. His artistic career
evolved in the shadow of his official missions: as a true Juno, Chaucer presented himself to
the world with two faces: one secret and artistic; the other public. But this duality must have
been terribly frustrating for such a talented poet. His only audience was probably a small
group of friends, yet his poems surely deserved the attention of the court. The Book of the
Duchess was, in this regard, clearly written with this aim in mind: shortly after the death of
Blanche of Lancaster in 1368, Chaucer composed this dream vision – his first major
composition in English – in which he symbolically attempts to comfort Blanche‟s husband,
John of Gant. Why would Chaucer then try to attract the attention of one of the most powerful
men in England, if fame was so inherently despicable to him? Was he only trying to be
rewarded by the prince? If so, being paid for his poem would mean being officially
recognized as a poet, and not merely as a civil servant. The fact that he remained anonymous
after the composition of Duchess might have profoundly disappointed him. His subsequent
visit to Italy, and more precisely to Florence, could, therefore, be considered as an
aggravating factor. Indeed, Chaucer discovered in Florence a city-state in which artists and
poets were celebrated and respected, where art was loved. One can easily imagine the shock
felt by a man coming from a country that was still to make its first steps towards the
Renaissance. England was in perpetual war with France and its court sadly more easily
impressed by feats of arms and military exploits than by beautiful poetry. As Judith Butler
then asks, “what sort of journey is desire if it leads to such an impasse? And what sort of
vehicle is desire? Does it stop elsewhere before reaching its mortal destination?” (Butler,
2011, 17) Chaucer‟s reaction in The House of Fame becomes then easily understandable, for
the desiring subject follows a journey made of illusions and failures, but also of occasional
moments of acknowledgment perceived as a source of temporary redemption. Chaucer,
however, was yet to experience such moments. Having failed so far to fulfill his desire, he had
no other choice but to try to domesticate it. He had to desire to do something with desire,
whether it is controlling it or silencing it, if he were to find some sort of inner harmony
(Butler, 2011, 22).
5
A moment of temporary redemption eventually presented itself to the poet with the
composition of Troilus and Criseyde in 1385-86, some twenty years after The Book of the
Duchess. Despite his attempt to silence his desire for fame, Chaucer found himself in a
situation that would have profoundly surprized the Geffrey wondering in the House of Fame.
When he started translating Boccaccio‟s Filostrato, Chaucer probably did not anticipate that
he was about to produce one of English literature‟s most important work. As Paul Strohm
remarks,
Chaucer responds in an agitated way to an idea that appears to have just occurred to
him, or that is striking him with unprecedented force: He has written a poem deserving
of broad admiration, a poem that may circulate to present and future audiences in
manuscript form, and thus be read without his superintending presence and beyond his
personal control (2014, 209).
This sudden realization of the value of his poetical production was bound to unravel the
control he had over his desire. His attitude towards the circulation of his poetry slowly began
to change as he realized that to reach the audience he deserved, he had to embrace a brand
new method of diffusion. Up until that moment, he only ever dealt with a small audience,
which strongly limited the fulfillment of his desire but granted him control over the reception
of his work. Yet, the larger diffusion of his poetry in manuscript form implied losing the
control he had during public readings. Although he strongly desired recognition, he did not
want his fame to be conditioned by a falsification of the real produced by a bad diffusion of
the transmitted poetical information. He managed, however, in the conclusion of Troilus and
Criseyde to let his „litel bok‟ go and seek its own fame. If Chaucer had previously thought
himself unworthy of Apollo‟s laurels, he now started to reflect upon his place in a literary
tradition going back to the classics of the Antiquity:
But litel book, no making thou n‟envye,
But subject be to alle poesye;
And kis the steppes wher as thow seest pace
Virgile, Ovide, Omer, Lucan, and Stace.
(V. l. 1789-1792)
6
He does not take the title of auctor but presents himself in these lines as a possible heir to
those great names. He remains worried by a bad diffusion of his manuscripts (l. 1793-1798)
and preys that his poetry might be understood properly and not perverted during its
transmission.
Looking at Chaucer‟s career, we can easily define him as a Hegelian subject on a journey
of desire based on experience. Chaucer evolved as he grew older and experienced failures and
successes: if we put it in philosophical terms, the subject that encounters an object or
experiences an external and ontologically disparate element of the world cannot be considered
identical to the subject that eventually sees himself reflected in those external phenomena
(Butler, 2011, 29). The subject needs, in other words, some form of auto-reflexion or he will
keep on considering himself as more limited than he potentially is. Chaucer‟s frustration after
the composition of The Book of the Duchess and the subsequent silencing of his desire in The
House of Fame could thus be seen as the result of a lack of auto-reflexion. The change of
perception seen in Troilus and Criseyde shows, on the other hand, an evolution one might
consider as the result of the poet‟s reflexion on his relation with the world. Experience
allowed him to reach a broadened conception of his poetry and of his place in the literary
world. But it is important to understand that the Hegelian subject is not a fixed subject
traveling from one ontological position to another; on the contrary, he embodies his own
journey and is each position in which he finds himself. Desire is in this regard the very
principle of the reflexivity of consciousness, and Chaucer‟s own journey through
dissatisfaction shows how the Hegelian subject internalizes the world he desires and deploys
himself to integrate external elements perceived as Other. The final satisfaction of desire is, to
quote Butler, the “discovery of substance as subject, the experience of the world as a
confirmation of the feeling the subject has about the immanence of his metaphysical position”
(2011, 29). Chaucer‟s ontological position at the end of his career shows the progress of his
journey. His ambitions and his desire were freed from any form of domestication and he
managed to adapt his creation to the dramatic changes he faced in 1386, when he suddenly
lost his work as controller of customs, his lodging at Aldgate, and was forced to leave
London, effectively cutting him from his audience. But instead of succumbing once more to
frustration and dissatisfaction, he integrated those changes and these new experiences; he
internalized his new position and used it as an inspiration in the creation of his magnum opus,
The Canterbury Tales. If he could not reach his audience, he would create one in the form of a
group of pilgrims, and travel alongside them. When Hegel wrote that “self-consciousness is
7
desire‟ (§167, p.164), he underlined the importance of the reflexivity of consciousness in
desire. Consciousness has to become Other, it has to become self-consciousness. It provides
the Hegelian subject with a mediation allowing him to understand his own structure. The
subject must become Other and be outside of himself, and this reflexive movement is
necessary for the subject to know himself. Chaucer had previously used avatars in his other
poems, but in The Canterbury Tales he appeared outside of himself inside the narrative as the
Chaucer pilgrim, whose poetry is both admired and criticized by the other characters. The
exotopic perception of himself as an artist, this self-consciousness of his own successes and
failures as a poet led him to the end of his journey of desire, and to its mortal destination.
Chaucer‟s death in 1400 prevented him from witnessing the larger diffusion of his work.
Though unfinished, The Canterbury Tales became his most famous creation, the one that
would ensure his reputation. It is difficult to imagine what would have been the poet‟s
reaction to the realization of his desire: it might have struck him as deeply illusory, as he so
eloquently remarked in the poetry composed after his return from Florence. Or, he might have
found some sort of peace, for when we desire, we question the metaphysical situation of
human identity; the satisfaction of this desire gives us an answer to that question (Butler,
2011, 30).
Chaucer was discreetly buried in Westminster Abbey. No matter what he might have
thought of the end of his journey of desire, he probably never anticipated that his grave would
become the foundation of the Poet‟s Corner, where he would later be joined by Edmund
Spenser, Alfred Lord Tennyson, John Dryden, and many others. After having fought his
desire, he became the founding member of his very own House of Fame, showing once more
that you really should be careful what you wish for.
References
BOITANI P. (2007), Letteratura europea e Medioevo volgare, Bologne, Società editrice il
Mulino.
BUTLER, Judith. (2011), Sujets du désir : Réflexions hégéliennes en France au XXe siècle.
Trad. Philippe Sabot. Paris : Presses Universitaires de France.
CHAUCER G., BENSON L.D., ROBINSON F.N. (1987), The Riverside Chaucer, Boston,
Houghton Mifflin Company.
8
CROW, M.M., OLSON C.C. (1966), Chaucer Life-Records, Oxford, Oxford University
Press.
FRUOCO J. (2016), « Rewriting the Classics: Geoffrey Chaucer and The House of Fame »,
(Re)writing and Remembering Memory as Artefact and Artifice, Cartellier, E. et al. (éd.),
Newcastle upon Tyne, Cambridge Scholars Publishing, 3-12.
MINNIS, A. (2014), « Chaucer Drinks What He Brews: 'The House of Fame' 1873-82 »,
N&Q 259, 187-89.
STROHM, P. (2014), Chaucer's Tale: 1386 and the Road to Canterbury, New York, Viking
Adult.
TAYLOR, K. (1989), Chaucer Reads 'The Divine Comedy', Stanford, Stanford University
Press.
WALLACE, D. (1986/1988), « Chaucer's Continental Inheritance: the Early Poems and
Troilus and Criseyde », The Cambridge Chaucer Companion, Boitani, P. et Mann, J. (éd.),
Cambridge, Cambridge University Press, 19-37.
