Chapter 25

“Wife,” quoth the marquis, “ye have heard ere this My people *sickly bear* our marriage; *regard with displeasure* And namely* since my son y-boren is, *especially Now is it worse than ever in all our age: The murmur slays mine heart and my corage, For to mine ears cometh the voice so smart,* *painfully That it well nigh destroyed hath mine heart.

“Now say they thus, ‘When Walter is y-gone, Then shall the blood of Janicol’ succeed, And be our lord, for other have we none:’ Such wordes say my people, out of drede.* *doubt Well ought I of such murmur take heed, For certainly I dread all such sentence,* *expression of opinion Though they not *plainen in mine audience.* *complain in my hearing*

“I woulde live in peace, if that I might; Wherefore I am disposed utterly, As I his sister served ere* by night, *before Right so think I to serve him privily. This warn I you, that ye not suddenly Out of yourself for no woe should outraie;* *become outrageous, rave Be patient, and thereof I you pray.”

“I have,” quoth she, “said thus, and ever shall, I will no thing, nor n’ill no thing, certain, But as you list; not grieveth me at all Though that my daughter and my son be slain At your commandement; that is to sayn, I have not had no part of children twain, But first sickness, and after woe and pain.

“Ye be my lord, do with your owen thing Right as you list, and ask no rede of me: For, as I left at home all my clothing When I came first to you, right so,” quoth she, “Left I my will and all my liberty, And took your clothing: wherefore I you pray, Do your pleasance, I will your lust* obey. *will

“And, certes, if I hadde prescience Your will to know, ere ye your lust* me told, *will I would it do withoute negligence: But, now I know your lust, and what ye wo’ld, All your pleasance firm and stable I hold; For, wist I that my death might do you ease, Right gladly would I dien you to please.

“Death may not make no comparisoun Unto your love.” And when this marquis say* *saw The constance of his wife, he cast adown His eyen two, and wonder’d how she may In patience suffer all this array; And forth he went with dreary countenance; But to his heart it was full great pleasance.

This ugly sergeant, in the same wise That he her daughter caught, right so hath he (Or worse, if men can any worse devise,) Y-hent* her son, that full was of beauty: *seized And ever-in-one* so patient was she, *unvaryingly That she no cheere made of heaviness, But kiss’d her son, and after gan him bless.

Save this she prayed him, if that he might, Her little son he would in earthe grave,* *bury His tender limbes, delicate to sight, From fowles and from beastes for to save. But she none answer of him mighte have; He went his way, as him nothing ne raught,* *cared But to Bologna tenderly it brought.

The marquis wonder’d ever longer more Upon her patience; and, if that he Not hadde soothly knowen therebefore That perfectly her children loved she, He would have ween’d* that of some subtilty, *thought And of malice, or for cruel corage,* *disposition She hadde suffer’d this with sad* visage. *steadfast, unmoved

But well he knew, that, next himself, certain She lov’d her children best in every wise. But now of women would I aske fain, If these assayes mighte not suffice? What could a sturdy* husband more devise *stern To prove her wifehood and her steadfastness, And he continuing ev’r in sturdiness?

But there be folk of such condition, That, when they have a certain purpose take, Thiey cannot stint* of their intention, *cease But, right as they were bound unto a stake, They will not of their firste purpose slake:* *slacken, abate Right so this marquis fully hath purpos’d To tempt his wife, as he was first dispos’d.

He waited, if by word or countenance That she to him was changed of corage:* *spirit But never could he finde variance, She was aye one in heart and in visage, And aye the farther that she was in age, The more true (if that it were possible) She was to him in love, and more penible.* *painstaking in devotion

For which it seemed thus, that of them two There was but one will; for, as Walter lest,* *pleased The same pleasance was her lust* also; *pleasure And, God be thanked, all fell for the best. She shewed well, for no worldly unrest, A wife as of herself no thinge should Will, in effect, but as her husbaud would.

The sland’r of Walter wondrous wide sprad, That of a cruel heart he wickedly, For* he a poore woman wedded had, *because Had murder’d both his children privily: Such murmur was among them commonly. No wonder is: for to the people’s ear There came no word, but that they murder’d were.

For which, whereas his people therebefore Had lov’d him well, the sland’r of his diffame* *infamy Made them that they him hated therefore. To be a murd’rer is a hateful name. But natheless, for earnest or for game, He of his cruel purpose would not stent; To tempt his wife was set all his intent.

When that his daughter twelve year was of age, He to the Court of Rome, in subtle wise Informed of his will, sent his message,* *messenger Commanding him such bulles to devise As to his cruel purpose may suffice, How that the Pope, for his people’s rest, Bade him to wed another, if him lest.* *wished

I say he bade they shoulde counterfeit The Pope’s bulles, making mention That he had leave his firste wife to lete,* *leave To stinte* rancour and dissension *put an end to Betwixt his people and him: thus spake the bull, The which they have published at full.

The rude people, as no wonder is, Weened* full well that it had been right so: *thought, believed But, when these tidings came to Griseldis. I deeme that her heart was full of woe; But she, alike sad* for evermo’, *steadfast Disposed was, this humble creature, Th’ adversity of fortune all t’ endure;

Abiding ever his lust and his pleasance, To whom that she was given, heart and all, As *to her very worldly suffisance.* *to the utmost extent But, shortly if this story tell I shall, of her power* The marquis written hath in special A letter, in which he shewed his intent, And secretly it to Bologna sent.

To th’ earl of Panico, which hadde tho* *there Wedded his sister, pray’d he specially To bringe home again his children two In honourable estate all openly: But one thing he him prayed utterly, That he to no wight, though men would inquere, Shoulde not tell whose children that they were,

But say, the maiden should y-wedded be Unto the marquis of Saluce anon. And as this earl was prayed, so did he, For, at day set, he on his way is gone Toward Saluce, and lorde’s many a one In rich array, this maiden for to guide, — Her younge brother riding her beside.

Arrayed was toward* her marriage *as if for This freshe maiden, full of gemmes clear; Her brother, which that seven year was of age, Arrayed eke full fresh in his mannere: And thus, in great nobless, and with glad cheer, Toward Saluces shaping their journey, From day to day they rode upon their way.

*Pars Quinta.* *Fifth Part*

*Among all this,* after his wick’ usage, *while all this was The marquis, yet his wife to tempte more going on* To the uttermost proof of her corage, Fully to have experience and lore* *knowledge If that she were as steadfast as before, He on a day, in open audience, Full boisterously said her this sentence:

“Certes, Griseld’, I had enough pleasance To have you to my wife, for your goodness, And for your truth, and for your obeisance, Not for your lineage, nor for your richess; But now know I, in very soothfastness, That in great lordship, if I well advise, There is great servitude in sundry wise.

“I may not do as every ploughman may: My people me constraineth for to take Another wife, and cryeth day by day; And eke the Pope, rancour for to slake, Consenteth it, that dare I undertake: And truely, thus much I will you say, My newe wife is coming by the way.

“Be strong of heart, and *void anon* her place; *immediately vacate* And thilke* dower that ye brought to me, *that Take it again, I grant it of my grace. Returne to your father’s house,” quoth he; “No man may always have prosperity; With even heart I rede* you to endure *counsel The stroke of fortune or of aventure.”

And she again answer’d in patience: “My Lord,” quoth she, “I know, and knew alway, How that betwixte your magnificence And my povert’ no wight nor can nor may Make comparison, it *is no nay;* *cannot be denied* I held me never digne* in no mannere *worthy To be your wife, nor yet your chamberere.* *chamber-maid

“And in this house, where ye me lady made, (The highe God take I for my witness, And all so wisly* he my soule glade),** *surely **gladdened I never held me lady nor mistress, But humble servant to your worthiness, And ever shall, while that my life may dure, Aboven every worldly creature.

“That ye so long, of your benignity, Have holden me in honour and nobley,* *nobility Where as I was not worthy for to be, That thank I God and you, to whom I pray Foryield* it you; there is no more to say: *reward Unto my father gladly will I wend,* *go And with him dwell, unto my lifes end,

“Where I was foster’d as a child full small, Till I be dead my life there will I lead, A widow clean in body, heart, and all. For since I gave to you my maidenhead, And am your true wife, it is no dread,* *doubt God shielde* such a lordes wife to take *forbid Another man to husband or to make.* *mate

“And of your newe wife, God of his grace So grant you weal and all prosperity: For I will gladly yield to her my place, In which that I was blissful wont to be. For since it liketh you, my Lord,” quoth she, “That whilom weren all mine hearte’s rest, That I shall go, I will go when you lest.

“But whereas ye me proffer such dowaire As I first brought, it is well in my mind, It was my wretched clothes, nothing fair, The which to me were hard now for to find. O goode God! how gentle and how kind Ye seemed by your speech and your visage, The day that maked was our marriage!

“But sooth is said, — algate* I find it true, *at all events For in effect it proved is on me, — Love is not old as when that it is new. But certes, Lord, for no adversity, To dien in this case, it shall not be That e’er in word or work I shall repent That I you gave mine heart in whole intent.

“My Lord, ye know that in my father’s place Ye did me strip out of my poore weed,* *raiment And richely ye clad me of your grace; To you brought I nought elles, out of dread, But faith, and nakedness, and maidenhead; And here again your clothing I restore, And eke your wedding ring for evermore.

“The remnant of your jewels ready be Within your chamber, I dare safely sayn: Naked out of my father’s house,” quoth she, “I came, and naked I must turn again. All your pleasance would I follow fain:* *cheerfully But yet I hope it be not your intent That smockless* I out of your palace went. *naked

“Ye could not do so dishonest* a thing, *dishonourable That thilke* womb, in which your children lay, *that Shoulde before the people, in my walking, Be seen all bare: and therefore I you pray, Let me not like a worm go by the way: Remember you, mine owen Lord so dear, I was your wife, though I unworthy were.

“Wherefore, in guerdon* of my maidenhead, *reward Which that I brought and not again I bear, As vouchesafe to give me to my meed* *reward But such a smock as I was wont to wear, That I therewith may wrie* the womb of her *cover That was your wife: and here I take my leave Of you, mine owen Lord, lest I you grieve.”

“The smock,” quoth he, “that thou hast on thy back, Let it be still, and bear it forth with thee.” But well unnethes* thilke word he spake, *with difficulty But went his way for ruth and for pity. Before the folk herselfe stripped she, And in her smock, with foot and head all bare, Toward her father’s house forth is she fare.* *gone

The folk her follow’d weeping on her way, And fortune aye they cursed as they gon:* *go But she from weeping kept her eyen drey,* *dry Nor in this time worde spake she none. Her father, that this tiding heard anon, Cursed the day and time, that nature Shope* him to be a living creature. *formed, ordained

For, out of doubt, this olde poore man Was ever in suspect of her marriage: For ever deem’d he, since it first began, That when the lord *fulfill’d had his corage,* *had gratified his whim* He woulde think it were a disparage* *disparagement To his estate, so low for to alight, And voide* her as soon as e’er he might. *dismiss

Against* his daughter hastily went he *to meet (For he by noise of folk knew her coming), And with her olde coat, as it might be, He cover’d her, full sorrowfully weeping: But on her body might he it not bring, For rude was the cloth, and more of age By dayes fele* than at her marriage. *many <11>

Thus with her father for a certain space Dwelled this flow’r of wifely patience, That neither by her words nor by her face, Before the folk nor eke in their absence, Ne shewed she that her was done offence, Nor of her high estate no remembrance Ne hadde she, *as by* her countenance. *to judge from*

No wonder is, for in her great estate Her ghost* was ever in plein** humility; *spirit **full No tender mouth, no hearte delicate, No pomp, and no semblant of royalty; But full of patient benignity, Discreet and prideless, aye honourable, And to her husband ever meek and stable.

Men speak of Job, and most for his humbless, As clerkes, when them list, can well indite, Namely* of men; but, as in soothfastness, *particularly Though clerkes praise women but a lite,* *little There can no man in humbless him acquite As women can, nor can be half so true As women be, *but it be fall of new.* *unless it has lately come to pass*

*Pars Sexta* *Sixth Part*

From Bologn’ is the earl of Panic’ come, Of which the fame up sprang to more and less; And to the people’s eares all and some Was know’n eke, that a newe marchioness He with him brought, in such pomp and richess That never was there seen with manne’s eye So noble array in all West Lombardy.

The marquis, which that shope* and knew all this, *arranged Ere that the earl was come, sent his message* *messenger For thilke poore sely* Griseldis; *innocent And she, with humble heart and glad visage, Nor with no swelling thought in her corage,* *mind Came at his hest,* and on her knees her set, *command And rev’rently and wisely she him gret.* *greeted

“Griseld’,” quoth he, “my will is utterly, This maiden, that shall wedded be to me, Received be to-morrow as royally As it possible is in my house to be; And eke that every wight in his degree Have *his estate* in sitting and service, *what befits his And in high pleasance, as I can devise. condition*

“I have no women sufficient, certain, The chambers to array in ordinance After my lust;* and therefore would I fain *pleasure That thine were all such manner governance: Thou knowest eke of old all my pleasance; Though thine array be bad, and ill besey,* *poor to look on *Do thou thy devoir at the leaste way.”* * do your duty in the quickest manner* “Not only, Lord, that I am glad,” quoth she, “To do your lust, but I desire also You for to serve and please in my degree, Withoute fainting, and shall evermo’: Nor ever for no weal, nor for no woe, Ne shall the ghost* within mine hearte stent** *spirit **cease To love you best with all my true intent.”

And with that word she gan the house to dight,* *arrange And tables for to set, and beds to make, And *pained her* to do all that she might, *she took pains* Praying the chambereres* for Godde’s sake *chamber-maids To hasten them, and faste sweep and shake, And she the most serviceable of all Hath ev’ry chamber arrayed, and his hall.

Aboute undern* gan the earl alight, *afternoon <5> That with him brought these noble children tway; For which the people ran to see the sight Of their array, so *richely besey;* *rich to behold* And then *at erst* amonges them they say, *for the first time* That Walter was no fool, though that him lest* *pleased To change his wife; for it was for the best.

For she is fairer, as they deemen* all, *think Than is Griseld’, and more tender of age, And fairer fruit between them shoulde fall, And more pleasant, for her high lineage: Her brother eke so fair was of visage, That them to see the people hath caught pleasance, Commending now the marquis’ governance.

“O stormy people, unsad* and ev’r untrue, *variable And undiscreet, and changing as a vane, Delighting ev’r in rumour that is new, For like the moon so waxe ye and wane: Aye full of clapping, *dear enough a jane,* *worth nothing <12>* Your doom* is false, your constance evil preveth,** *judgment **proveth A full great fool is he that you believeth.”

Thus saide the sad* folk in that city, *sedate When that the people gazed up and down; For they were glad, right for the novelty, To have a newe lady of their town. No more of this now make I mentioun, But to Griseld’ again I will me dress, And tell her constancy and business.

Full busy was Griseld’ in ev’ry thing That to the feaste was appertinent; Right nought was she abash’d* of her clothing, *ashamed Though it were rude, and somedeal eke to-rent;* *tattered But with glad cheer* unto the gate she went *expression With other folk, to greet the marchioness, And after that did forth her business.

With so glad cheer* his guestes she receiv’d *expression And so conningly* each in his degree, *cleverly, skilfully That no defaulte no man apperceiv’d, But aye they wonder’d what she mighte be That in so poor array was for to see, And coude* such honour and reverence; *knew, understood And worthily they praise her prudence.

In all this meane while she not stent* *ceased This maid, and eke her brother, to commend With all her heart in full benign intent, So well, that no man could her praise amend: But at the last, when that these lordes wend* *go To sitte down to meat, he gan to call Griseld’, as she was busy in the hall.

“Griseld’,” quoth he, as it were in his play, “How liketh thee my wife, and her beauty?” “Right well, my Lord,” quoth she, “for, in good fay,* *faith A fairer saw I never none than she: I pray to God give you prosperity; And so I hope, that he will to you send Pleasance enough unto your lives end.

“One thing beseech I you, and warn also, That ye not pricke with no tormenting This tender maiden, as ye have done mo:* *me <13> For she is foster’d in her nourishing More tenderly, and, to my supposing, She mighte not adversity endure As could a poore foster’d creature.”

And when this Walter saw her patience, Her gladde cheer, and no malice at all, And* he so often had her done offence, *although And she aye sad* and constant as a wall, *steadfast Continuing ev’r her innocence o’er all, The sturdy marquis gan his hearte dress* *prepare To rue upon her wifely steadfastness.

“This is enough, Griselda mine,” quoth he, “Be now no more *aghast, nor evil paid,* *afraid, nor displeased* I have thy faith and thy benignity As well as ever woman was, assay’d, In great estate and poorely array’d: Now know I, deare wife, thy steadfastness;” And her in arms he took, and gan to kiss.

And she for wonder took of it no keep;* *notice She hearde not what thing he to her said: She far’d as she had start out of a sleep, Till she out of her mazedness abraid.* *awoke “Griseld’,” quoth he, “by God that for us died, Thou art my wife, none other I have, Nor ever had, as God my soule save.

“This is thy daughter, which thou hast suppos’d To be my wife; that other faithfully Shall be mine heir, as I have aye dispos’d; Thou bare them of thy body truely: At Bologna kept I them privily: Take them again, for now may’st thou not say That thou hast lorn* none of thy children tway. *lost

“And folk, that otherwise have said of me, I warn them well, that I have done this deed For no malice, nor for no cruelty, But to assay in thee thy womanhead: And not to slay my children (God forbid), But for to keep them privily and still, Till I thy purpose knew, and all thy will.”

When she this heard, in swoon adown she falleth For piteous joy; and after her swooning, She both her younge children to her calleth, And in her armes piteously weeping Embraced them, and tenderly kissing, Full like a mother, with her salte tears She bathed both their visage and their hairs.

O, what a piteous thing it was to see Her swooning, and her humble voice to hear! “Grand mercy, Lord, God thank it you,” quoth she, That ye have saved me my children dear; Now reck* I never to be dead right here; *care Since I stand in your love, and in your grace, No *force of* death, nor when my spirit pace.* *no matter for* *pass