Wish for but as her husband would.
The scandal of Walter wide and often spread
That of a cruel heart he wickedly,
Because he a poor woman had wed,
Had murdered both his children in secret.
Such murmur was commonly among them.
No wonder is, for to the people’s ear
There came no word but that they murdered were.
For which, whereas his people heretofore
Had loved him well, the scandal of his ill repute
Made them hate him for it:
To be a murderer is a hateful name.
But nevertheless, neither in earnest nor play,
He of his cruel purpose would relent.
To tempt his wife was set all his intent.
When his daughter twelve years was of age,
He to the court of Rome, in secret ways
Informed of his will, sending his emissary,
Commanding them such papal bulls3 to devise
As to his cruel purpose might suffice:
That the Pope, for his people’s peace,
Bade him to wed another if he wished.
I say, he bade they should counterfeit
The Pope’s bulls, making mention
That he hath leve his firste wyf to lete,
As by the popes dispensacioun,
To stinte rancour and dissencioun
Bitwixe his peple and him; thus seyde the bulle,
The which they han publiced atte fulle.
The rude peple, as it no wonder is,
Wenden ful wel that it had been right so;
But whan thise tydinges cam to Grisildis,
I deme that hir herte was ful wo.
But she, y-lyke sad for evermo,
Disposed was, this humble creature,
Th‘adversitee of fortune al t’endure.
Abyding ever his lust and his plesaunce,
To whom that she was yeven, herte and al,
As to hir verray worldly suffisaunce;
But shortly if this storie I tellen shal,
This markis writen hath in special
A lettre in which he sheweth his entente,
And secrely he to Boloigne is sente.
To th‘erl of Panik, which that hadde tho
Wedded his suster, preyde he specially
To bringen hoom agayn his children two
In honurable estaat al openly.
But o thing he him preyede outerly,
That he to no wight, though men wolde enquere,
Sholde nat telle, whos children that they were,
But seye, the mayden sholde y-wedded be
Un-to the markis of Saluce anon.
And as this erl was preyed, so dide he;
For at day set he on his wey is goon
Toward Saluce, and lordes many oon,
In riche array, this mayden for to gyde;
Hir yonge brother ryding hir bisyde.
That he had permission his first wife to leave,
By the Pope’s dispensation,
To stop rancor and dissention
Between his people and him—thus said the bull,
Which they had published full well.
The common people, as it no wonder is,
Believed full well that it had been right so;
But when these tidings came to Griselda,
I am sure her heart was full of woe.
But she, constant evermore,
Disposed was, this humble creature,
The adversity of Fortune all to endure,
Serving ever his desire and his pleasure,
To whom she had given heart and all,
As being her true, earthly contentment.
But shortly of this story I tell shall,
This marquis had written in secret
A letter in which he revealed his intent,
And secretly he to Bologna it sent.
To the Earl of Panico, who had
Wedded his sister, he specially requested
To bring home again his children two
In honorable estate all openly.
But one thing he requested above all,
That he to no one, though men would inquire,
Should tell whose children that they were,
But say the maid should wedded be
Unto the Marquis of Saluzzo anon.
And as this earl was asked, so did he,
For on the appointed day he set on his way
Toward Saluzzo, with lords many a one
In rich display, this maiden to guide,
Her young brother riding her beside.
Arrayed was toward hir mariage
This fresshe mayde, ful of gemmes clere;
Hir brother, which that seven yeer was of age,
Arrayed eek ful fresh in his manere.
And thus in greet noblesse and with glad chere,
Toward Saluces shaping hir journey,
Fro day to day they ryden in hir wey.
PART FIVE
Among al this, after his wikke usage,
This markis, yet his wyf to tempte more
To the uttereste preve of hir corage,
Fully to han experience and lore
If that she were as stedfast as bifore,
He on a day in open audience
Ful boistously hath seyd hir this sentence:
“Certes, Grisilde, I hadde y-nough plesaunce
To han yow to my wyf for your goodnesse,
As for your trouthe and for your obeisaunce,
Nought for your linage ne for your richesse;
But now knowe I in verray soothfastnesse
That in gret lordshipe, if I wel avyse,
Ther is gret servitute in sondry wyse.
I may nat don as every plowman may;
My peple me constreyneth for to take
Another wyf, and cryen day by day;
And eek the pope, rancour for to slake,
Consenteth it, that dar I undertake;
And treweliche thus muche I wol yow seye,
My newe wyf is coming by the weye.
Be strong of herte, and voyde anon hir place,
And thilke dower that ye broghten me
Tak it agayn, I graunte it of my grace;
Retourneth to your fadres hous,” quod he;
”No man may alwey han prosperitee;
Adorned for her marriage was
This fresh maid, covered with jewels shining;
Her brother who was seven years of age,
Dressed also full fresh in his manner.
And thus grandly and with glad aspect,
Toward Saluzzo on their journey,
From day to day they rode on their way.
PART FIVE
Meanwhile, in his wicked way,
This marquis yet his wife to test more
To the utmost of her soul and heart,
Fully to see and know
If she was as steadfast as before,
He on a day in open court
Full roughly had to her announced:
“Truly, Griselda, I had pleasure enough
To have you to my wife for your goodness—
And for your truth and your obedience—
Not for your lineage or your riches.
But now I know in certain truth
That in great lordship, if I well discern,
There is great servitude in sundry ways.
I may not do as any plowman may.
My people constrain me to take
Another wife, and call for it day by day;
And also the Pope, rancor to appease,
Consents to it, so I dare declare;
And truly this much I will to you say,
My new wife is coming along the way.
Be strong of heart, and vacate at once her place;
And that same dowry that you brought me
Take it again, I grant it of my grace.
Return to your father’s house,
” said he.
”No man may always have prosperity;
With evene herte I rede yow t‘endure
The strook of fortune or of aventure.”
And she answerde agayn in pacience,
“My lord,” quod she, “I woot, and wiste alway
How that bitwixen your magnificence
And my poverte no wight can ne may
Maken comparison; it is no nay.
I ne heeld me never digne in no manere
To be your wyf, no, ne your chamberere.
And in this hous, ther ye me lady made—
The heighe god take I for my witnesse,
And also wisly he my soule glade—
I never heeld me lady ne maistresse,
But humble servant to your worthinesse,
And ever shal, whyl that my lyf may dure,
Aboven every worldy creature.
That ye so longe of your benignitee
Han holden me in honour and nobleye,
Wher-as I was noght worthy for to be,
That thonke I god and yow, to whom I preye
Foryelde it yow; there is na-more to seye.
Un-to my fader gladly wol I wende,
And with him dwelle un-to my lyves ende.
Ther I was fostred of a child ful smal,
Til I be deed, my lyf ther wol I lede
A widwe clene, in body, herte, and al.
For sith I yaf to yow my maydenhede
And am your trewe wyf, it is no drede,
God shilde swich a lordes wyf to take
Another man to housbonde or to make.
And of your newe wyf, god of his grace
So graunte yow wele and prosperitee:
For I wol gladly yelden hir my place,
In which that I was blisful wont to be,
With steady heart I advise you to endure
This stroke of Fortune or of chance.”
And she again answered in patience,
“My lord,” said she, “I know and knew always,
That between your magnificence
And my poverty no man can
Make comparison; it cannot be denied.
I never held myself worthy in any way
To be your wife, nor your chambermaid.
And in this house where you made me a lady—
The high God I take for witness,
And also as surely as he my soul gladdens—
I never considered myself a lady or mistress,
But humble servant to your worthiness,
And ever shall, while that my life may last,
Above every worldly creature.
That you so long of your graciousness
Have held me in honor and nobility,
Where I was not worthy to be,
For that I thank God and you, and I pray God to
Repay you for it. There is no more to say.
Unto my father gladly will I wend,
And with him dwell until my life’s end.
There I was raised from a child full small,
Till I be dead, my life there will I lead:
A widow pure, in body, heart and all.
For since I gave to you my maidenhood,
I am your true wife, there is no doubt.
God forbid such a lord’s wife to take
Another man to husband or as mate.
And with your new wife, God by his grace
So grant you prosperity and happiness!
For I will gladly yield her my place,
In which I was blissful accustomed to be.
For sith it lyketh yow, my lord,”quod she,
”That whylom weren al myn hertes reste,
That I shal goon, I wol gon whan yow leste.
But ther-as ye me profre swich dowaire
As I first broghte, it is wel in my minde
It were my wrecched clothes, no-thing faire,
The which to me were hard now for to finde.
O gode god! how gentil and how kinde
Ye semed by your speche and your visage
The day that maked was our mariage!
But sooth is seyd, algate I finde it trewe—
For in effect it preved is on me—
Love is noght old as whan that it is newe.
But certes, lord, for noon adversitee,
To dyen in the cas, it shal nat be
That ever in word or werk I shal repente
That I yow yaf myn herte in hool entente.
My lord, ye woot that, in my fadres place,
Ye dede me strepe out of my povre wede,
And richely me cladden, of your grace.
To yow broghte I noght elles, out of drede,
But feyth and nakednesse and maydenhede.
And here agayn my clothing I restore,
And eek my wedding-ring, for evermore.
The remenant of your jewels redy be
In-with your chambre, dar I saufly sayn;
Naked out of my fadres hous,“ quod she,
”I cam, and naked moot I turne agayn.
Al your plesaunce wol I folwen fayn;
But yet I hope it be nat your entente
That I smoklees out of your paleys wente.
Ye coude nat doon so dishoneste a thing,
That thilke wombe in which your children leye
Sholde, biforn the peple, in my walking,
For since it pleases you, my lord,” said she,
”Who once was all my heart’s rest,
That I shall go, I will go when you wish.
But though you offer me such dowry
As I first brought, it is well in my mind
It was my wretched clothes, in no way nice,
And which to me were hard now to find.
Oh good God! How gentle and how kind
You seemed by your speech and your visage
The day that made was our marriage!
But it is truly said—in any case I find it true,
For in effect it is proven to me—
Love is not the same old as when it is new.
But certainly, lord, for no adversity,
Even if I die in this case, it shall not be
That ever in word or deed I shall repent
That I gave you my heart in whole intent.
My lord, you know well that in my father’s place
You stripped my poor clothes from me,
And clad me richly, by your grace.
To you I brought nought else, there is no doubt,
But faith and nakedness and maidenhood.
And here again your clothing I restore,
And also your wedding ring, for evermore.
The remainder of your jewels is prepared
Within your chamber, dare I safely say.
Naked out of my father’s house,”said she,
”I came, and naked must I return again.
All your pleasure willingly I will follow.
But yet I hope it be not your intent
That smockless out of your palace I should go.
You could not do so dishonest a thing
That this womb in which your children lay
Should before the people, in my walking,
Be seyn al bare; wherfor I yow preye,
Lat me nat lyk a worm go by the weye.
Remembre yow, myn owene lord so dere,
I was your wyf, thogh I unworthy were.
Wherfor, in guerdon of my maydenhede,
Which that I broghte, and noght agayn I bere,
As voucheth sauf to yeve me, to my mede,
But swich a smok as I was wont to were,
That I therwith may wrye the wombe of here
That was your wyf; and heer take I my leve
Of yow, myn owene lord, lest I yow greve.”
“The smok,” quod he, “that thou hast on thy bak,
Lat it be stille, and ber it forth with thee.”
But wel unnethes thilke word he spak,
But wente his wey for rewth
e and for pitee.
Biforn the folk hir-selven strepeth she,
And in hir smok, with heed and foot al bare,
Toward hir fader hous forth is she fare.
The folk hir folwe wepinge in hir weye,
And fortune ay they cursen as they goon;
But she fro weping kepte hir yen dreye,
Ne in this tyme word ne spak she noon.
Hir fader, that this tyding herde anoon,
Curseth the day and tyme that nature
Shoop him to been a lyves creature.
For out of doute this olde povre man
Was ever in suspect of hir mariage;
For ever he demed, sith that it bigan,
That whan the lord fulfiled had his corage,
Him wolde thinke it were a disparage
To his estaat so lowe for t‘alighte,
And voyden hir as sone as ever he mighte.
Agayns his doghter hastilich goth he,
For he by noyse of folk knew hir cominge,
Be seen all naked; wherefore I you pray,
Let me not like a worm go along the way.
Remember you, my own lord so dear,
I was your wife, though I unworthy were.
Wherefore in recompense for my maidenhood,
That I brought, and not again may bear,
Vouchsafe to give me as my reward
Only such a smock as I was wont to wear,
That I may hide the womb of her
Who was your wife. And here I take my leave
From you, my own lord, lest you I grieve.”
“That smock,” said he, “that you have on your back,
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 41