The Canterbury Tales · The Clerk’s Tale · The Tale 2435 · Pars Quarta

Pars Quarta

In this estate there passed be four year

Ere she with childë was; but, as God wo’ld,

A knavë2577 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.2578

When it was two year old, and from the breast

Departed2579 of the norice, on a day

This marquis caughtë yet another lest2580

To tempt his wife yet farther, if he may.

Oh! needless was she tempted in assay;2581

But wedded men not connen no measúre,2582

When that they find a patient creatúre.

“Wife,” quoth the marquis, “ye have heard ere this

My people sickly bear2583 our marriáge;

And namely2584 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,2585

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.2586

Well ought I of such murmur takë heed,

For certainly I dread all such senténce,2587

Though they not plainen in mine audiénce.2588

“I wouldë live in peace, if that I might;

Wherefore I am disposed utterly,

As I his sister served ere2589 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;2590

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 rede2591 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 lust2592 obey.

“And, certes, if I haddë prescience

Your will to know, ere ye your lust2593 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 say2594

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-hent2595 her son, that full was of beauty:

And ever-in-one2596 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,2597

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,2598

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’d2599 that of some subtilty,

And of malíce, or for cruel coráge,2600

She haddë suffer’d this with sad2601 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 sturdy2602 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 stint2603 of their intentión,

But, right as they were bound unto a stake,

They will not of their firstë purpose slake:2604

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:2605

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.2606

For which it seemed thus, that of them two

There was but one will; for, as Walter lest,2607

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,

For2608 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 diffame2609

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;2610

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,2611

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.2612

I say he bade they shouldë counterfeit

The Pope’s bullës, making mentión

That he had leave his firstë wife to lete,2613

As by the Popë’s dispensatión,

To stintë2614 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,

Weened2615 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 sad2616 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.2617

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 tho2618

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 toward2619 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.