Grisyld, quod he, as it were in his play,
How likith the my wif and hir beauté?do you like
Right wel, my lord, quod sche, for in good fayfaith
A fairer saugh I never noon than sche.none
I pray to God yive hir prosperité;
And so hope I that he wol to yow sende
Plesaunce ynough unto your lyves ende.pleasantness
On thing biseke I yow, and warne also,[156]beseech
That ye ne prike with no tormentyngeprick
This tendre mayden, as ye han doon mo:more (others)
For she is fostrid in hir norischingefostered, nourishing
More tendrely, and to my supposyng:as I suppose
Sche couthe not adversité endure,
As couthe a pore fostrid creature.could, poorly
And whan this Walter saugh hir pacience,
Hir glade cheer, and no malice at al,
And he so oft hadde doon to hir offence,
And sche ay sad, and constant as a wal,steady
Continuyng ever hir innocence overal:
This sturdy marquis gan his herte dressedirect
To rewen upon hir wyfly stedefastnesse.to pity
This is ynough, Grisilde myn, quod he,
Be now no more agast, ne yvel apayed,afraid, disappointed
I have thy faith and thy benignité,goodness
As wel as ever womman was, assayedessayed
In gret estate, and pourliche[157] arrayed.poorly
Now knowe I, dere wyf, thy stedefastnesse.
And hir in armes took and gan hir kesse.kiss
And sche for wonder took of it no keepe,heed
Sche herde not what thing he to hir sayde,
Sche ferd as sche hadde stert out of a sleepe,fared, started
Til sche out of hir masidnesse abrayde.awoke
Grisild, quod he, by God that for us deyde,died
Thou art my wyf, non other I ne[158] have,
Ne never had, as God my soule save.
This is thy[159] doughter, which thou hast supposed
To be my wif: that other faithfully
Shal be myn heir, as I have ay purposed.
Thow bar hem of thy body trewely.
At Boloyne have I kept hem prively.
Tak hem agayn, for now maistow not seyemayest thou
That thou hast lorn noon of thy children tweye.lost
And folk, that other weyes han seyd of me,
I warn hem wel, that I have doon this deededone
For no malice, ne for no cruelté,
But for tassaye in thee thy wommanhede;to assay, womanhood
And not to slen my children (God forbede!)forbid
But for to kepe hem prively and stillequietly
Til I thy purpos knewe, and al thy wille!
“Grisild,” he said to her, as if in play,
“How seems my wife and her fair looks to thee?”
“Right well, my lord,” said she, “for in good fay
I never saw a fairer bride than she;
I pray God give you both prosperity;
And so I hope that He will ever send
You happiness enough to your lives’ end.
“One thing I pray of you, and warn beside,
That you goad not with any torturing
This tender maid—like some you have sore tried
For she is nurtured in her upbringing
More tenderly—and such a gentle thing
Might haply not adversity endure
Like one whose nurture had been hard and poor.”
And when this Walter saw her patientness,
Her cheerful mien, and malice none at all;
Though he so oft had tried her more or less,
And she still firm and constant as a wall,
Continuing ever her innocence over all:
This sturdy marquis ’gan his heart to chide,
Touch’d by her steadfast faith that never died.
“This is enough, Griselda mine,” said he,
“Be no more ill at ease, and fear no more!
I have thy faith and strength and charity
Tempted, as woman never was before,
Both in thy wealth, and in thy rags so poor.
Now do I know, dear wife, thy steadfastness:”
And clasp’d her in his arms with many a kiss.
But she for wonder took no heed of him,
She heard not any of the words he spoke,
She seemed as one that starteth from a dream
Till she from her astonishment awoke.
“Griselde,” cried he, “it was a cruel joke:
Thou art my wife, none other one I have,
Nor ever had—as God my soul shall save!
“This is thy daughter, whom thou hast supposed
To be my wife—that other faithfully
Shall be my heir, as I have long disposed;
For they are both thy children, verily.
I kept them at Bologna privily.
Take them again, thou canst not say, as once,
Thou hast lost either of thy little ones.
“And folk, who otherwise have said of me,
I warn them well that I have acted thus,
Neither in malice nor in cruelty,
Solely to prove thy patience marvellous,
And not to slay my babes (God hinder us!)
But to conceal them secretly apart
Until I learned thy purpose and thy heart!”
You may fancy you see Griselda at this moment, standing in her rags before the glittering company, and her brain dazed with wondering whether this were some new freak, or the truth that brought unheard-of joy. But nature had been taxed too far, and all her courage could not bear up against the shock.
Whan sche this herd, aswone doun she fallith,in a swoon
For pitous joy, and after her swownyngswooning
Sche bothe hir yonge children to hir callith,
And in hir armes, pitously wepyng,
Embraseth hem, and tendrely kissyng,
Ful lik a moder, with hir salte terestears
Sche bathide bothe hir visage and hir heres.[159]their hair
When she heard this, all senseless down she falleth,
For piteous joy—and half unconsciously
Both her young children unto her she calleth,
And in her arms, weeping so piteously,
Embraceth them, with kisses tenderly,
Full like a mother, and the tears she sheds
Bathe the fair faces and the dear loved heads.
Piteous it was to hear her humble voice, thanking Walter so fervently. “Graunt mercy, lord, God thank you,” cried she, “for saving me my children. Now I care not how soon I die, since your love has come back to me.
O tendre, O dere, O yonge children myne,[160]
Youre woful moder wende stedefastlybelieved
That cruel houndes or som foul vermynewild dogs
Had eten yow: but God of his mercy,
And your benigne fader tenderly
Hath doon yow kepe. And in that same stoundepreserved you, moment
Al sodeinly sche swapped doun to grounde.sank
And in hir swough so sadly holdith scheswoon, firmly
Hir children tuo, whan sche gan hem tembrace,to embrace them
That with gret sleight and gret difficultéskill
The children from her arm they gonne arace.tear away
O! many a teer on many a pitous face
Doun ran of hem that stooden hir bisyde,down, stood, beside
Unnethe aboute hir mighte thay abyde.hardly
Waltier hir gladith, and hir sorwe slakith,cheers, sorrow
Sche rysith up abaisshed from hir traunce,abashed
And every wight hir joy and feste makith,everybody
Til sche hath caught agayn hir continaunce;countenance
Wauter hir doth so faithfully plesaunce,comforts her
That it was daynté for to see the cheeredainty
Bitwix hem tuo, now thay be met in feere.company
These ladys, whan that thay hir tyme save,their, saw
Han taken hir, and into chambre goon,have
And strippen hir out of hir rude arraye,
And in a cloth of gold that brighte schon,shone
With a coroun of many a riche stooncrown, stone
Upon hir heed, they into hallo hir broughte,
And ther sche was honoured as hir oughte.she ought to be
Thus hath this pitous day a blisful ende;
For every man and womman doth his mightbest
This day in mirth and revel to despende,
Til on the welken schon the sterres brighte;welkin
For more solempne in every mannes sightestately, man’s
This feste was, and gretter of costage,greater, cost
Than was the revel of hir mariage.
“O young, O dear, O tender children mine,
Your hapless mother thought in all her wo
That cruel beasts of prey and foul vermine
Had slain you both; but God had mercy—lo!
He and your loving father will’d it so
That you should be preserved:” and said no more,
But suddenly fell fainting on the floor.
And in her swoon so closely holdeth she
Her new-found children in a strong embrace.
That those around unclasp not easily
The fingers which so firmly interlace:
O! many a tear on many a pitying face
Ran down in token of deep sympathy—
Scarce could they bear to watch her agony.
Walter consoleth her as she awaketh:
She riseth up bewildered from her trance:
Each presseth round about and merry maketh
Until she hath recovered countenance.
With kisses and with loving word and glance
Walter doth cheer her—sweet it was to see
The joy they felt—united happily.
And when they saw their time, these ladies gay
Unto a chamber led her forth with them,
And stript her out of all her rude array,
And in apparel bright with many a gem
Clad her, and, crownëd with a diadem
Upon her head, they brought her to the hall,
Where she was meetly honoured of them all.
Thus hath this piteous day a blissful end,
Till every man and woman in the rout
Striveth the day in mirth and glee to spend,
Till in the darken’d sky the stars shone out;
For greater and more sumptuous, without doubt,
This revel was—and there was more to pay—
Than the rejoicings on her marriage-day.
Thus dwelt, for many years after, Walter and his wife in peace and joy; and I hope that the suffering of that day was the last Griselda had to bear at the hands of her capricious and wilful spouse. The pretty daughter Walter married to one of the greatest lords in Italy; and he then brought Griselda’s old father to dwell in peace and comfort in his own court.
His son succeeded to his state and rank, and married happily, though he did not tempt and torment his wife as Walter did; for the world is not so strong as it once was, and people cannot bear such treatment now!
The story is told, not that wives should imitate Griselda in humility, for it would be unbearable, even if they did; but that every one in his degree should be constant in adversity as Griselda was. For if one woman could be so submissive to a mortal man, how much more ought we to take patiently all that God sends as our lot in life.
But one word before I stop! It would be hard to find in a whole city three, or even two, Griseldas nowadays. The gold in their nature is now so mixed with base metal that in any great trial the coin would sooner break than bend.
Grisild is deed, and eek hir pacience,also
And bothe at oones buried in Itayle;once
For whiche I crye in open audience
No weddid man so hardy be to assayle
His wyves pacience, in hope to fynde
Grisildes, for in certeyn he schal fayle.
Dead is Griselda, and her patience,
Both buried in one grave in Italy;
So I entreat in open audience
No wedded man be rash enough to try
His own wife’s patience, in the hope to find
Griselda’s, for he’ll fail most certainly!