Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)
Page 81
Thy wo and any wo man may sustene.
Thou sawe thy child y-slayn bifor thyn yen,
And yet now liveth my litel child, parfay!
Now, lady bright, to whom alle woful cryën,
Thou glorie of wommanhede, thou faire may,
Thou haven of refut, brighte sterre of day,
Rewe on my child, that of thy gentillesse
Rewest on every rewful in distresse!
And Constance, with a deathly pale face,
The fourth day toward the ship she went.
But nevertheless she took in good intent
The will of Christ, and kneeling on the strand,
She said, “Lord, ever welcome be what you will!
“He who kept me from false blame
While I was in the land among you,
He can keep me from harm and from shame
In salt sea, although I see not how.
As strong as ever he was, he is yet now.
In him I trust, and in his mother dear,
Who is to me my sail and also my rudder.”
Her little child lay weeping in her arm,
And kneeling, piteously to him she said,
“Peace, little son, I will do you no harm.”
With that her kerchief she removed from her head,
And over his little eyes she it laid,
And in her arms she lulled it full fast,
And unto heaven her eyes up she cast.
“Mother,” said she, “and maid bright, Mary,
True it is that through woman’s urging
Mankind was lost, and doomed ever to die,
For which your child was on a cross torn.
Your blissful eyes saw all his torment;
There is no comparison between
Your woe and any woe man may sustain.
“You saw your child slain before your eyes,
And yet now lives my little child, by my faith!
Now, lady bright, to whom all woeful cry,
You glory of womanhood, you fair maid,
You haven of refuge, bright star of day,
Take pity on my child, who in your gentleness
Pities every soul in distress.
O litel child, allas! what is thy gilt,
That never wroughtest sinne as yet, pardee,
Why wil thyn harde fader han thee spilt?
O mercy, dere constable!” quod she;
”As lat my litel child dwelle heer with thee;
And if thou darst not saven him, for blame,
So kis him ones in his fadres name!”
Ther-with she loketh bakward to the londe,
And seyde, “far-wel, housbond routhelees!”
And up she rist, and walketh doun the stronde
Toward the ship; hir folweth al the prees,
And ever she preyeth hir child to holde his pees;
And taketh hir leve, and with an holy entente
She blesseth hir; and in-to ship she wente.
Vitailled was the ship, it is no drede,
Habundantly for hir, ful longe space,
And other necessaries that sholde nede
She hadde y-nogh, heried be goddes grace!
For wind and weder almighty god purchace,
And bringe hir hoom! I can no bettre seye;
But in the see she dryveth forth hir weye.
PART THREE
Alla the king comth hoom, sone after this,
Unto his castel of the which I tolde,
And axeth wher his wyf and his child is.
The constable gan aboute his herte colde,
And pleynly al the maner he him tolde
As ye han herd, I can telle it no bettre,
And sheweth the king his seel and [eek] his lettre,
And seyde, “lord, as ye comaunded me
Up peyne of deeth, so have I doon, certein.”
This messager tormented was til he
Moste biknowe and tellen, plat and plein,
Fro night to night, in what place he had leyn.
“Oh little child, alas! what is your guilt,
Who never wrought sin as yet, by God?
Why will your hard father have you killed?
O mercy, dear constable,” said she,
“Grant that my little child dwell here with you;
And if you dare not save him, for blame,
So kiss him once in his father’s name!”
Therewith she looked backward to the land,
And said, “Farewell, husband ruthless!”
And up she rose, and walked down the strand
Toward the ship—her followed all the crowd—
And ever she prayed her child to hold his peace;
And took her leave, and with holy intent
She blessed herself, and into the ship she went.
Provisioned was the ship, it is no doubt,
Abundantly for a long voyage,
And of other necessities
She had enough—praise be God’s grace!
For wind and weather almighty God provide,
And bring her home! I can no better say,
But in the sea she sailed forth her way.
PART THREE
Alla the king came home soon after this
Unto his castle, of which I told,
And asked where his wife and child were.
The constable felt his heart turn cold,
And plainly everything he him told
As you have heard—I can tell it no better—
And showed the king his seal and also his letter,
And said, “Lord, as you commanded me
Upon pain of death, so have I done, certainly.”
This messenger tortured was until he
Must reveal and tell, bluntly and plain,
From night to night, in what place he had lain;
And thus, by wit and subtil enqueringe,
Ymagined was by whom this harm gan springe.
The hand was knowe that the lettre wroot,
And al the venim of this cursed dede,
But in what wyse, certeinly I noot.
Th‘effect is this, that Alla, out of drede,
His moder slow, that men may pleinly rede,
For that she traitour was to hir ligeaunce.
Thus endeth olde Donegild with meschaunce.
The sorwe that this Alla, night and day,
Maketh for his wyf and for his child also,
Ther is no tonge that it telle may.
But now wol I un-to Custance go,
That fleteth in the see, in peyne and wo,
Fyve yeer and more, as lyked Cristes sonde,
Er that hir ship approched un-to londe.
Under an hethen castel, atte laste,
Of which the name in my text noght I finde,
Custance and eek hir child the see upcaste.
Almighty god, that saveth al mankinde,
Have on Custance and on hir child some minde,
That fallen is in hethen land eft-sone,
In point to spille, as I shal telle yow sone.
Doun from the castel comth ther many a wight
To gauren on this ship and on Custance.
But shortly, from the castel, on a night,
The lordes styward—god yeve him meschaunce!.
A theef, that had reneyed our creaunce,
Com in-to ship allone, and seyde he sholde
Hir lemman be, where-so she wolde or nolde.
Wo was this wrecched womman tho bigon,
Hir child cryde, and she cryde pitously;
But blisful Marie heelp hir right anon;
For with hir strugling wel and mightily
And thus, by wit and subtle inquiring,
Imagined was by whom this harm had sprung.
The hand was known who had the letter written,
And all the venom of this cursed deed,
But in what way, certainly, I do not know.
The effect was: that Alla, with n
o doubt,
His mother slew—that men may plainly read—
For she was traitor to her allegiance.
Thus ended old Donegild, with mischance!
The sorrow that this Alla night and day
Made for his wife, and for his child also,
There is no tongue that tell it may.
But now will I unto Constance go,
Who floated in the sea, in pain and woe,
Five years and more, by Christ’s command,
Before her ship approached unto land.
Under a heathen castle, at last,
Of which the name in my text I find not,
Constance, and also her child, the sea upcast.
Almighty God, who saves all mankind,
Have for Constance and her child some mind,
Who fallen are in heathen hands again.
To the point of death, as I shall tell you anon.
Down from the castle came there many a person
To stare at this ship and also on Constance.
But shortly, from the castle, on a night,
The lord’s steward—God give him mischance!—
A thief, who had renounced our belief,
Came into the ship alone, and said he should
Her lover be, whether she would or no.
Woe was this wretched woman’s plight;
Her child cried, and she cried piteously.
But blissful Mary helped her right anon;
For with her struggling well and mightily
The theef fil over bord al sodeinly,
And in the see he dreynte for vengeance;
And thus hath Crist unweummed kept Custance.
O foule lust of luxurie! lo, thyn ende!
Nat only that thou feyntest mannes minde,
But verraily thou wolt his body shende;
Th‘ende of thy werk or of thy lustes blinde
Is compleyning, how many-oon may men finde
That noght for werk som-tyme, but for th’entente
To doon this sinne, ben outher sleyn or shente!
How may this wayke womman han this strengthe
Hir to defende agayn this renegat?
O Golias, unmesurable of lengthe,
How mighte David make thee so mat,
So yong and of armure so desolat?
How dorste he loke up-on thy dredful face?
Wel may men seen, if nas but goddes grace!
Who yaf Judith corage or hardinesse
To sleen him, Olofernus, in his tente,
And to deliveren out of wrecchednesse
The peple of god? I seye, for this entente,
That, right as god spirit of vigour sente
To hem, and saved hem out of meschance,
So sente he might and vigour to Custance.
Forth goth hir ship thurgh-out the narwe mouth
Of Jubaltar and Septe, dryving ay,
Som-tyme West, som-tyme North and South,
And som-tyme Est, ful many a wery day,
Til Cristes moder (blessed be she ay!)
Hath shapen, thurgh hir endelees goodnesse,
To make an ende of al hir hevinesse.
Now lat us stinte of Custance but a throwe,
And speke we of the Romain Emperour,
The thief fell overboard all suddenly,
And in the sea he drowned for vengeance;
And thus has Christ undefiled kept Constance.
Oh foul lust of lechery, look at your end!
Not only do you weaken men’s minds,
But truly will you his body ruin.
The end of your work, or of your lusts blind,
Is lamentation. How many a time may men find
That not for the deed sometimes, but for the intent
To do this sin, be they either ruined or slain!
How may this weak woman have the strength
Herself to defend against this renegade?
Oh Goliath, immeasurable of length,25
How may David make you so defeated,
So young and of armor so desolate?
How dared he look upon your dreadful face?
Well may men see, it was not but by God’s grace.
Who gave Judith courage or strength
To slay Holofernes in his tent,26
And to deliver out of wretchedness
The people of God? I say, for this intent,
That right as God the spirit of vigor sent
To them and saved them out of mischance,
So sent he might and vigor to Constance.
Forth went her ship through the narrow mouth
Of Gibraltar and Morocco, sailing ever
Sometimes westward, sometimes north and south,
And sometimes east, full many a weary day,
Till Christ’s mother—blessed be she ever!—
Has planned—through her endless goodness,
To make an end to all her sorrow.
Now let us stint of Constance but a short while,
And speak we of the Roman Emperor,
That out of Surrie hath by lettres knowe
The slaughtre of Cristen folk, and dishonour
Don to his doghter by a fals traitour,
I mene the cursed wikked sowdanesse,
That at the feste leet sleen both more and lesse.
For which this emperour hath sent anoon
His senatour, with royal ordinance,
And othere lordes, got wot, many oon,
On Surriens to taken heigh vengeance.
They brennen, sleen, and bringe hem to meschance
Ful many a day; but shortly, this is the ende,
Homward to Rome they shapen hem to wende.
This senatour repaireth with victorie
To Rome-ward, sayling ful royally,
And mette the ship dryving, as seith the storie,
In which Custance sit ful pitously.
No-thing ne knew he what she was, ne why
She was in swich array; ne she nil seye
Of hir estaat, althogh she sholde deye.
He bringeth hir to Rome, and to his wyf
He yat hir, and hir yonge sone also;
And with the senatour she ladde her lyf.
Thus can our lady bringen out of wo
Woful Custance, and many another mo.
And longe tyme dwelled she in that place,
In holy werkes ever, as was hir grace.
The senatoures wyf hir aunte was,
But for al that she knew hir never the more;
I wol no lenger tarien in this cas,
But to king Alla, which I spak of yore,
That for his wyf wepeth and syketh sore,
I wol retourne, and lete I wol Custance
Under the senatoures governance.
Who had from Syria by letters known
The slaughter of Christian folk, and dishonor
Done to his daughter by a false traitor,
I mean the cursed wicked Sultaness
Who at the feast had ordered slain both more and less.
For which this Emperor had sent anon
His senator, with royal ordinance,
And other lords, God knows, many a one,
On Syrians to take high vengeance.
They them burned, slew, and brought to mischance
Full many a day, but shortly—this is the end—
Homeward to Rome they began to wend.
This senator repaired with victory
Toward Rome, sailing full royally,
And met the ship driving, as says the story,
In which Constance sat full piteously.
He knew not who she was, nor why
She was in such a condition, nor would she say,
Not even upon threat of death.
He brought her to Rome, and to his wife
He gave her, and her young son also;
And with the senator she led her life.
Thus can Our Lady bring out of woe
Woeful Constance, and many another more.
And long time dwelled she in that place,
In holy works ever, as was her grace.
The senator’s wife her aunt was,
But despite that she knew her never the more.
I will not longer tarry in this case,
But to king Alla, of whom I spoke before,
Who for his wife wept and sickened sore,
I will return, and I will leave Constance
Under the senator’s governance.
King Alla, which that hadde his moder slayn,
Upon a day fil in swich repentance,
That, if I shortly tellen shal and plain,
To Rome he comth, to receyven his penance;
And putte him in the popes ordinance
In heigh and low, and Jesu Crist bisoghte
Foryeve his wikked werkes that he wroghte.
The fame anon thurgh Rome toun is born,
How Alla king shal come in pilgrimage,
By herbergeours that wenten him biforn;
For which the senatour, as was usage,
Rood him ageyn, and many of his linage,
As wel to shewen his heighe magnificence
As to don any king a reverence.
Greet chere dooth this noble senatour
To king Alia, and he to him also;
Everich of hem doth other greet honour;
And so bifel that, in a day or two,
This senatour is to king Alla go
To feste, and shortly, if I shal nat lye,
Custances sone wente in his companye.
Som men wolde seyn, at requeste of Custance,
This senatour hath lad this child to feste;
I may nat tellen every circumstance,
Be as be may, ther was he at the leste.