Pars
Quarta
In this estate there passed be four year
Ere she with childë was; but, as God wo’ld,
A knavë child she bare by this Waltére,
Full gracious and fair for to behold;
And when that folk it to his father told,
Not only he, but all his country, merry
Were for this child, and God they thank and hery.
When it was two year old, and from the breast
Departed of the norice, on a day
This marquis caughtë yet another lest
To tempt his wife yet farther, if he may.
Oh! needless was she tempted in assay;
But wedded men not connen no measúre,
When that they find a patient creatúre.
“Wife,” quoth the marquis, “ye have heard ere this
My people sickly bear our marriáge;
And namely since my son y-boren is,
Now is it worse than ever in all our age:
The murmur slays mine heart and my coráge,
For to mine ears cometh the voice so smart,
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 wordës say my people, out of drede.
Well ought I of such murmur takë heed,
For certainly I dread all such senténce,
Though they not plainen in mine audiénce.
“I wouldë live in peace, if that I might;
Wherefore I am disposed utterly,
As I his sister served ere by night,
Right so think I to serve him privily.
This warn I you, that ye not suddenly
Out of yourself for no woe should outraie;
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, certáin,
But as you list; not grieveth me at all
Though that my daughter and my son be slain
At your commandëment; that is to sayn,
I have not had no part of children twain,
But first sicknéss, 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 pleasánce, I will your lust obey.
“And, certes, if I haddë prescience
Your will to know, ere ye your lust me told,
I would it do withoutë negligence:
But, now I know your lust, and what ye wo’ld,
All your pleasancë 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 makë no comparisoún
Unto your love.” And when this marquis say
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 pleasánce.
This ugly sergeant, in the samë 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:
And ever-in-one so patient was she,
That she no cheerë 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 earthë grave,
His tender limbës, delicate to sight,
From fowlës and from beastës for to save.
But she none answer of him mightë have;
He went his way, as him nothing ne raught,
But to Bologna tenderly it brought.
The marquis wonder’d ever longer more
Upon her patience; and, if that he
Not haddë soothly knowen therebefore
That perfectly her children loved she,
He would have ween’d that of some subtilty,
And of malíce, or for cruel coráge,
She haddë suffer’d this with sad viságe.
But well he knew, that, next himself, certáin
She lov’d her children best in every wise.
But now of women would I askë fain,
If these assayës mightë not suffice?
What could a sturdy husband more devise
To prove her wifehood and her steadfastness,
And he continuing ev’r in sturdiness?
But there be folk of such conditión,
That, when they have a certain purpose take,
Thiey cannot stint of their intentión,
But, right as they were bound unto a stake,
They will not of their firstë purpose slake:
Right so this marquis fully hath purpós’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 coráge:
But never could he findë variance,
She was aye one in heart and in viságe,
And aye the farther that she was in age,
The morë true (if that it were possíble)
She was to him in love, and more penible.
For which it seemed thus, that of them two
There was but one will; for, as Walter lest,
The same pleasáncë was her lust also;
And, God be thanked, all fell for the best.
She shewed well, for no worldly unrest,
A wife as of herself no thingë should
Will, in effect, but as her husband would.
The sland’r of Walter wondrous widë sprad,
That of a cruel heart he wickedly,
For he a poorë woman wedded had,
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
Made them that they him hated therëfore.
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 messáge,
Commanding him such bullës to devise
As to his cruel purpose may suffice,
How that the Popë, for his people’s rest,
Bade him to wed another, if him lest.
I say he bade they shouldë counterfeit
The Pope’s bullës, making mentión
That he had leave his firstë wife to lete,
As by the Popë’s dispensatión,
To stintë rancour and dissensión
Betwixt his people and him: thus spake the bull,
The which they havë published at full.
The rudë people, as no wonder is,
Weened full well that it had been right so:
But, when these tidings came to Griseldis.
I deemë that her heart was full of woe;
But she, alikë sad for evermo’,
Disposed was, this humble creatúre,
Th’ adversity of fortune all t’ endure;
Abiding ever his lust and his pleasánce,
To whom that she was given, heart and all,
As to her very worldly suffisance.
But, shortly if this story tell I shall,
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 haddë tho
Wedded his sister, pray’d he specially
To bringë 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,
Shouldë not tell whose children that they were,
But say, the maiden should y-wedded be
Unto the marquis of Salúce anon.
And as this earl was prayed, so did he,
For, at day set, he on his way is gone
Toward Salúce, and lordës many a one
In rich array, this maiden for to guide—
Her youngë brother riding her beside.
Arrayed was toward her marriáge
This freshë maiden, full of gemmës clear;
Her brother, which that seven year was of age,
Arrayed eke full fresh in his mannére:
And thus, in great nobléss, and with glad cheer,
Toward Saluces shaping their journéy,
From day to day they rode upon their way.