A maner Latin corrupt was hir speche,
But algates ther-by was she understonde;
Till he was spouted up at Nineveh?
Well may men know that it was no person but he
Who kept the Hebrew people from their drowning,
With dry feet passing through the sea.20
Who bade the four angels of tempest21
Who have the power to trouble land and sea,
Both north and south, and also west and east,
“Trouble neither sea, nor land, nor cross”?
Truly, the commander of that was he
Who from the tempest ever this woman kept
As well when she woke as when she slept.
Where might this woman food and drink have
Three years and more? How lasted her provisions?
Who fed Saint Mary the Egyptian in the cave,22
Or in the desert? No one but Christ, without doubt.
It was as miraculous as when with two loaves and fishes
Five thousand folk he fed.
God sent his plenty at her great need.
She drove forth into our ocean
Throughout our wild sea, till at last
Under a castle that I cannot name,
Far in Northumberland the waves her cast,
And in the sand her ship stuck so fast
That thence would it not float for all a tide;
The will of Christ was that she should abide.
The constable of this castle down is fared
To see the wreck, and all the ship he searched,
And found this very woman full of sorrow;
He found also the treasure that she brought.
In her language mercy she besought,
The life out of her body to take,
Her to deliver of the woe that she was in.
A kind of corrupted Latin was her speech,
But nevertheless thereby was she understood.
The constable, whan him list no lenger seche,
This woful womman broghte he to the londe;
She kneleth doun, and thanketh goddes sonde.
But what she was, she wolde no man seye,
For foul ne fair, thogh that she shulde deye.
She seyde, she was so massed in the see
That she forgat hir minde, by hir trouthe;
The constable hath of hir so greet pitee,
And eek his wyf, that they wepen for routhe,
She was so diligent, with-outen slouthe,
To serve and plesen everich in that place,
That alle hir loven that loken on hir face.
This constable and dame Hermengild his wyf
Were payens, and that contree everywhere;
But Hermengild lovede hir right as hir lyf,
And Custance hath so longe sojourned there,
In orisons, with many a bitter tere,
Til Jesu hath converted thurgh his grace
Dame Hermengild, constablesse of that place.
In al that lond no Cristen durste route,
Alle Cristen folk ben fled fro that contree
Thurgh payens, that conquereden al aboute
The plages of the North, by land and see;
To Walis fled the Cristianitee
Of olde Britons, dwellinge in this yle;
Ther was hir refut for the mene whyle.
But yet nere Cristen Britons so exyled
That ther nere somme that in hir privetee
Honoured Crist, and hethen folk bigyled;
And ny the castel swiche ther dwelten three.
That oon of hem was blind, and mighte nat see
But it were with thilke yën of his minde,
With whiche men seen, after that they ben blinde.
The constable, when he was done his search,
This woeful woman brought he to the land.
She knelt down and thanked God’s providence;
But who she was she would no man tell,
For foul nor fair, though she should die.
She said that she was so bewildered in the sea
That she lost her memory, by her troth.
The constable had for her such great pity,
And also his wife, that they wept for compassion.
She was so diligent, without sloth,
To serve and please everyone in that place
That all her loved who looked upon her face.
This constable and dame Hermengyld, his wife,
Were pagans, as was that country everywhere;
But Hermengyld loved her right as her life,
And Constance so long sojourned there,
Giving herself to prayer, with many a bitter tear,
Till Jesus converted through his grace
Dame Hermengyld, the constable’s wife of that place.
In all that land no Christians dared gather;
All Christian folk were fled from that country
Because of the pagans, who conquered all about
The coasts of the north, by land and sea.23
To Wales fled the Christian
Old Britons dwelling in that isle;
There was their refuge for the meanwhile.
But yet were not Christian Britons so exiled
That there were not some who in secret
Honored Christ and heathen folk beguiled,
And near the castle there dwelt three.
And one of them was blind and might not see,
Except with those eyes of his mind
With which men may see, after they go blind.
Bright was the sonne as in that someres day,
For which the constable and his wyf also
And Custance han y-take the righte way
Toward the see, a furlong wey or two,
To pleyen and to romen to and fro;
And in hir walk this blinde man they mette
Croked and old, with yen faste y-shette.
“In name of Crist,” cryde this blinde Britoun,
“Dame Hermengild, yif me my sighte agayn.”
This lady wex affrayed of the soun,
Lest that hir housbond, shortly for to sayn,
Wolde hir for Jesu Cristes love han slayn,
Til Custance made hir bold, and bad hir werche
The wil of Crist, as doghter of his chirche.
The constable wex abasshed of that sight,
And seyde, “what amounteth al this fare?”
Custance answerde, “sire, it is Cristes might,
That helpeth folk out of the feendes snare.”
And so ferforth she gan our lay declare,
That she the constable, er that it were eve,
Converted, and on Crist made him bileve.
This constable was no-thing lord of this place
Of which I speke, ther he Custance fond,
But kepte is strongly, many wintres space,
Under Alla, king of al Northumberlond,
That was ful wys, and worthy of his hond
Agayn the Scottes, as men may wel here,
But turne I wol agayn to my matere.
Sathan, that ever us waiteth to bigyle,
Saugh of Custance al hir perfeccioun,
And caste anon how he mighte quyte hir whyle,
And made a yong knight, that dwelte in that toun,
Love hir so hote, of foul affeccioun,
That verraily him thoughte he shulde spille
But he of hir mighte ones have his wille.
Bright was the sun in that summer’s day,
For which the constable and his wife also
And Constance had taken the right way
Toward the sea a furlong length or two,
To play and roam to and fro,
And in their walk this blind man they met,
Crooked and old, with eyes fast shut.
“In name of Christ,” cried this blind Briton,
“Dame Hermengyld, give me my sight again!”
This lady waxed
afraid of the sound,
Lest that her husband, shortly for to tell,
Would her for Jesus Christ’s love have slain,
Till Constance made her bold, and bade her work
The will of Christ, as daughter of his church.
The constable waxed abashed at that sight,
And said, “What does all this mean?”
Constance answered, “Sire, it is Christ’s might,
Who helps folk out of the fiend’s snare.”
And so much she began our religion to declare
That she the constable, before it was evening
Converted, and in Christ made him believe.
This constable was not lord of this place
Of which I speak, where he Constance found,
But kept it strongly many a winter’s space
Under Alla, king of all Northumberland,
Who was full wise, and brave in battle
Against the Scots, as men may well hear;
But turn I will again to my matter.
Satan, who ever waits us to beguile,
Saw of Constance all her perfection,
And plotted anon how he might repay her soon,
And made a young knight who dwelt in that town
Love her so hotly, with such passion,
That verily he thought he should die,
Unless he of her might once have his will.
He woweth hir, but it availleth noght,
She wolde do no sinne, by no weye;
And, for despyt, he compassed in his thoght
To maken hir on shamful deth to deye.
He wayteth whan the constable was aweye,
And prively, up-on a night, he crepte
In Hermengildes chambre whyl she slepte.
Wery, for-waked in her orisouns,
Slepeth Custance, and Hermengild also.
This knight, thurgh Sathanas temptaciouns,
Al softely is to the bed y-go,
And kitte the throte of Hermengild a-two,
And leyde the blody knyf by dame Custance,
And wente his wey, ther god yeve him meschance!
Sone after comth this constable hoom agayn,
And eek Alia, that king was of that lond,
And saugh his wyf despitously y-slayn,
For which ful ofte he weep and wrong his hond,
And in the bed the blody knyf he fond
By dame Custance; allas! what mighte she seye?
For verray wo hir wit was al aweye.
To king Alla was told al this meschance,
And eek the tyme, and where, and in what wyse
That in a ship was founden dame Custance,
As heer-biforn that ye han herd devyse.
The kinges herte of pitee gan agryse,
Whan he saugh so benigne a creature
Falle in disese and in misaventure.
For as the lomb toward his deeth is broght,
So stant this innocent bifore the king;
This false knight that hath this tresoun wroght
Berth hir on hond that she hath doon this thing.
But nathelees, ther was [ful] greet moorning
He wooed her, but it availed not;
She would do no sin, in no way.
And for spite he plotted in his thought
To make her in shameful death to die.
He waited when the constable was away,
And privately upon a night he crept
Into Hermengyld’s chamber, while she slept.
Weary, exhausted from prayer,
Slept Constance, and Hermengyld also.
This knight, through Satan’s temptation,
All softly is to the bed gone,
And cut the throat of Hermengyld in two,
And laid the bloody knife by dame Constance,
And went his way, may God give him mischance!
Soon after came this constable home again,
And also Alia, who king was of that land,
And the constable saw his wife cruelly slain,
For which full oft he wept and wrung his hands,
And in the bed the bloody knife he found
Beside Dame Constance. Alas, what might she say?
In her woe her wit was all away.
To King Alla was told all this mischance,
And also the time, and where, and in what way
That in a ship was found this Constance,
As herebefore you have heard described.
The king’s heart of pity began to tremble,
When he saw so benign a creature
Fall in distress and misadventure.
For as the lamb toward its death is brought,
So stood this innocent before the king.
This false knight, who has this treason wrought,
Falsely accused her of having done this thing.
But nevertheless, there was great mourning
Among the peple, and seyn, “they can not gesse
That she hath doon so greet a wikkednesse.
For they han seyn hir ever so vertuous,
And loving Hermengild right as her lyf.”
Of this bar witnesse everich in that hous
Save he that Hermengild slow with his knyf,
This gentil king hath caught a gret motyf
Of this witnesse, and thoghte he wolde enquere
Depper in this, a trouthe for to lere.
Allas! Custance! thou hast no champioun,
Ne fighte canstow nought, so weylawey!
But he, that starf for our redempcioun
And bond Sathan (and yit lyth ther he lay)
So be thy stronge champioun this day!
For, but-if Crist open miracle kythe,
Withouten gilt thou shalt be slayn as swythe.
She sette her doun on knees, and thus she sayde,
“Immortal god, that savedest Susanne
Fro false blame, and thou, merciful mayde,
Mary I mene, doghter to Seint Anne,
Bifore whos child aungeles singe Osanne,
If I be giltlees of this felonye,
My socour be, for elles I shal dye!”
Have ye nat seyn some tyme a pale face,
Among a prees, of him that hath be lad
Toward his deeth, wher-as him gat no grace,
And swich a colour in his face hath had,
Men mighte knowe his face, that was bisted,
Amonges alle the faces in that route:
So stant Custance, and loketh hir aboute.
O quenes, livinge in prosperitee,
Duchesses, and ye ladies everichone,
Haveth som routhe on hir adversitee;
Among the people, and said they could not guess
That she had done so great a wickedness,
For they had seen her ever so virtuous,
And loving Hermengyld right as her life.
Of this bore witness everyone in that house,
Save he who slew Hermengyld with his knife.
This gentle king was deeply moved
By this witnessing, and thought he would inquire
Deeper into this, for to learn the truth.
Alas! Constance, you have no champion,
Nor can you fight, so wellaway!
But he who died for our redemption,
And bound Satan (who yet lies there still),
So be your strong champion this day!
For, unless Christ an open miracle reveals,
Guiltless you shall be slain and soon.
She knelt down, and thus she said:
“Immortal God, who saved Susanna
From false blame,24 and you, merciful maid,
Mary I mean, daughter to Saint Anne,
Before whose child angels sing Hosanna,
If I be guiltless of this felony,
My succor be, for else shall I die!”
Have you not seen sometime a pale face,
Among a crowd, of him who is led
Toward h
is death, who has received no grace,
And who has such a color in his face that
Men might see that trouble standing out
Of all the faces in the crowd?
So stood Constance, as she looked her about.
Oh queens, living in prosperity,
Duchesses, and you ladies everyone,
Have some pity on her adversity!
An emperoures doghter stant allone;
She hath no wight to whom to make hir mone.
O blood royal, that stondest in this drede,
Fer ben thy freendes at thy grete nede!
This Alla king hath swich compassioun,
As gentil herte is fulfild of pitee,
That from his yen ran the water doun.
“Now hastily do fecche a book,” quod he,
“And if this knight wol sweren how that she
This womman slow, yet wole we us avyse
Whom that we wole that shal ben our justyse.”
A Briton book, writen with Evangyles,
Was fet, and on this book he swoor anoon
She gilty was, an in the mene whyles
A hand him smoot upon the nekke-boon,
That doun he fil atones as a stoon,
And bothe his yen broste out of his face
In sight of every body in that place.
A vois was herd in general audience,
And seyde, “thou hast desclaundred giltelees
The doghter of holy chirche in hey presence;
Thus hastou doon, and yet holde I my pees.”
Of this mervaille agast was al the prees;
As mased folk they stoden everichone,
For drede of wreche, save Custance allone.
Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series) Page 79