Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

by Geoffrey Chaucer

  Let it remain still, and bear it forth with you.”

  But he could hardly speak those words,

  And went his way, in compassion and pity.

  Before the folk herself stripped she,

  And in her smock, with head and foot all bare,

  Toward her father’s house forth she fared.

  The folk followed her, weeping on their way,

  And Fortune ever they cursed as they went.

  But she from weeping kept her eyes dry,

  Nor in this time did she speak at all.

  Her father, who this news heard anon,

  Cursed the day and time that nature

  Created him to be a living creature.

  For certainly this old poor man

  Was ever doubtful of her marriage;

  For ever he thought, since it began,

  That when the lord had fulfilled his desire,

  He would think it a disgrace

  To his estate so low to alight,

  And get rid of her as soon as he might.

  Toward his daughter hastily went he,

  For by noise of folk he knew her coming,

  And with hir olde cote, as it mighte be,

  He covered hir, ful sorwefully wepinge;

  But on hir body mighte he it nat bringe.

  For rude was the cloth, and more of age

  By dayes fele than at hir mariage.

  Thus with hir fader, for a certeyn space,

  Dwelleth this flour of wyfly pacience,

  That neither by hir wordes ne hir face

  Biforn the folk, ne eek in hir absence,

  Ne shewed she that hir was doon offence;

  Ne of hir heigh estaat no remembraunce

  Ne hadde she, as by hir countenaunce.

  No wonder is, for in hir grete estaat

  Hir goost was ever in pleyn humylitee;

  No tendre mouth, non herte delicaat,

  No pompe, no semblant of royaltee,

  But ful of pacient benignitee,

  Discreet and prydeles, ay honurable,

  And to hir housbonde ever meke and stable.

  Men speke of Job and most for his humblesse,

  As clerkes, whan hem list, can wel endyte,

  Namely of men, but as in soothfastnesse,

  Thogh clerkes preyse wommen but a lyte,

  Ther can no man in humblesse him acquyte

  As womman can, ne can ben half so trewe

  As wommen been, but it be falle of-newe.

  PART SIX

  Fro Boloigne is this erl of Panik come,

  Of which the fame up-sprang to more and lesse,

  And in the peples eres alle and some

  Was couth eek, that a newe markisesse

  He with him broghte, in swich pompe and richesse,

  That never was ther seyn with mannes ye

  So noble array in al West Lumbardye.

  And with her old cloak, as well as he could,

  He covered her full sorrowfully weeping.

  But around her body might he it not bring,

  For rough was the cloth and she more of age

  By many days than at her marriage.

  Thus with her father for a certain while,

  Dwelt this flower of wifely patience,

  Who neither by her words nor her face

  Before the folk, or in their absence,

  Showed that she was done offense;

  Nor of her high estate any remembrance

  Had she, to judge by her countenance.

  No wonder is, for in her high estate

  Her spirit was ever in perfect humility:

  No tender palate, no heart delicate,

  No pomp, no semblance of royalty,

  But full of patient graciousness,

  Discreet and prideless, ever honorable,

  And to her husband ever meek and constant.

  Men speak of Job and most of all of his humility,

  As scholars, when they wish, can well write,

  Namely of men, but with regard to the truth,

  Though scholars praise women very little,

  There can no man in humility himself acquit

  As women can, nor who can be half so true

  As women, unless it be something new.

  PART SIX

  From Bologna is this Earl of Panico come,

  Whose fame became known to great and small,

  And in the people’s ears all and one

  Was known also that a new marquess

  He brought with him, in such pomp and richness,

  That never was there seen with man’s eye

  So noble a display in West Lombardy.

  The markis, which that shoop and knew al this,

  Er that this erl was come, sente his message

  For thilke sely povre Grisildis;

  And she with humble herte and glad visage,

  Nat with no swollen thoght in hir corage,

  Cam at his heste, and on hir knees hir sette,

  And reverently and wysly she him grette.

  “Grisild,” quod he, “my wille is outerly,

  This mayden, that shal wedded been to me,

  Receyved be to-morwe as royally

  As it possible is in myn hous to be.

  And eek that every wight in his degree

  Have his estaat in sitting and servyse

  And heigh plesaunce, as I can best devyse.

  I have no wommen suffisaunt certayn

  The chambres for t‘arraye in ordinaunce

  After my lust, and therfor wolde I fayn

  That thyn were al swich maner governaunce;

  Thou knowest eek of old al my plesaunce;

  Though thyn array be badde and yvel biseye,

  Do thou thy devoir at the leeste weye.”

  “Nat only, lord, that I am glad,” quod she,

  “To doon your lust, but I desyre also

  Yow for to serve and plese in my degree

  With-outen feynting, and shal evermo.

  Ne never, for no wele ne no wo,

  Ne shal the gost with-in myn herte stente

  To love yow best with al my trewe entente.”

  And with that word she gan the hous to dighte,

  And tables for to sette and beddes make;

  And peyned hir to doon al that she mighte,

  Preying the chambereres, for goddes sake,

  To hasten hem, and faste swepe and shake;

  And she, the moste servisable of alle,

  Hath every chambre arrayed and his halle.

  The marquis, who planned and knew all this,

  Before this earl had come had sent his messenger

  For that same good poor Griselda;

  And she with humble heart and glad visage,

  With no prideful thought in her soul,

  Came at his command, and set herself on her knees,

  And reverently and discreetly she him greeted.

  “Griselda,” said he, “my will is completely

  That this maiden, who shall wedded be to me,

  Be received tomorrow as royally

  As it is possible in my house to be,

  And also that every person in his degree,

  Have his place at the table and service

  And high pleasure, as I can best devise.

  I have not women enough, certainly,

  The chambers to put in order

  After my desire, and therefore would I be pleased

  That you would of all such things have governance;

  You know of old my preference.

  Though your clothing is bad and poor to see,

  Fulfill your duty, all the same.”

  “Not only, lord, am I glad,” said she,

  “To do your pleasure, but I desire also

  To serve you and please you as befits my degree

  Without weariness, and shall evermore.

  And never, for happiness or woe,

  Shall the spirit within my heart stint


  To love you best with all my true intent.”

  And with that word she began the house to prepare,

  And tables to set and beds to make;

  And took pains to do all that she might,

  Praying the chambermaids, for God’s sake,

  To hurry, and fast sweep and shake.

  And she, the most diligent of all,

  Had every chamber arranged and his hall.

  Abouten undern gan this erl alighte,

  That with him broghte thise noble children tweye,

  For which the peple ran to seen the sighte

  Of hir array, so richely biseye;

  And than at erst amonges hem they seye,

  That Walter was no fool, thogh that him leste

  To chaunge his wyf, for it was for the beste.

  For she is fairer, as they demen alle,

  Than is Grisild, and more tendre of age,

  And fairer fruit bitwene hem sholde falle,

  And more plesant, for hir heigh linage;

  Hir brother eek so fair was of visage,

  That hem to seen the peple hath caught plesaunce,

  Commending now the markis governaunce.—

  “O stormy peple! unsad and ever untrewe!

  Ay undiscreet and chaunging as a vane,

  Delyting ever in rumbel that is newe,

  For lyk the mone ay wexe ye and wane;

  Ay ful of clapping, dere y-nogh a jane;

  Your doom is fals, your constance yvel preveth,

  A ful greet fool is he that on yow leveth!”

  Thus seyden sadde folk in that citee,

  Whan that the peple gazed up and doun,

  For they were glad, right for the noveltee,

  To han a newe lady of hir toun.

  Na-more of this make I now mencioun;

  But to Grisilde agayn wol I me dresse,

  And telle hir constance and hir bisinesse.—

  Ful bisy was Grisilde in every thing

  That to the feste was apertinent;

  Right noght was she abayst of hir clothing,

  Though it were rude and somdel eek to-rent.

  But with glad chere to the yate is went,

  With other folk, to grete the markisesse,

  And after that doth forth hir bisinesse.

  About midmorn this earl alighted,

  Who with him brought these noble children two,

  For which the people ran to see the sight

  Of their display, so rich to see,

  And then for the first time among themselves to say

  That Walter was no fool to want

  To change his wife, for it was for the best.

  For she is fairer, as they judged all,

  Than is Griselda, and more young of age,

  And fairer fruit of her womb between them should fall,

  And more pleasant, due to her high lineage;

  Her brother also was so fair of visage

  That to see them the people pleased,

  Commending now the marquis’ decision.

  “Oh stormy people! inconstant and ever untrue!

  As unwise and changeable as a weathervane!

  Delighting ever in rumor that is new,

  Just as the moon ever waxes and wanes!

  Ever full of chatter, not worth a pence!

  Your judgement is false, your constancy untrue,

  A full great fool is he who believes in you!”

  Thus said steadfast folk in that city,

  When that the people gazed up and down,

  For they were glad, just for the novelty,

  To have a new lady of their town.

  No more of this make I now mention,

  But to Griselda will I myself address,

  And tell her constancy and her goodness.

  Full busy was Griselda in everything

  That to the feast appertained;

  Right not was she of her clothing ashamed,

  Though it was rude and somewhat torn.

  But with glad cheer to the gate she went

  With other folk, to greet the marquess,

  And after that continued her business.

  With so glad chere his gestes she receyveth,

  And conningly, everich in his degree,

  That no defaute no man apercyveth;

  But ay they wondren what she mighte be

  That in so povre array was for to see,

  And coude swich honour and reverence;

  And worthily they preisen hir prudence.

  In al this mene whyle she ne stente

  This mayde and eek hir brother to commende

  With al hir herte, in ful benigne entente,

  So wel, that no man coude hir prys amende.

  But atte laste, whan that thise lordes wende

  To sitten doun to mete, he gan to calle

  Grisilde, as she was bisy in his halle.

  “Grisilde,” quod he, as it were in his pley,

  “How lyketh thee my wyf and hir beautee?”

  “Right wel,” quod she, “my lord; for, in good fey,

  A fairer say I never noon than she.

  I prey to god yeve hir prosperitee;

  And so hope I that he wol to yow sende

  Plesance y-nogh un-to your lyves ende.

  O thing biseke I yow and warne also,

  That ye ne prikke with no tormentinge

  This tendre mayden, as ye han don mo;

  For she is fostred in hir norishinge

  More tendrely, and, to my supposinge,

  She coude nat adversitee endure

  As coude a povre fostred creature.”

  And whan this Walter say hir pacience,

  Hir glade chere and no malice at al,

  And he so ofte had doon to hir offence,

  And she ay sad and constant as a wal,

  Continuing ever hir innocence overal,

  This sturdy markis gan his herte dresse

  To rewen up-on hir wyfly stedfastnesse.

  With glad cheer his guests she received,

  And so skillfully, each in his degree,

  That no fault could any man perceive;

  But ever they wondered who she might be

  Who in such poor clothing appeared,

  And yet knew such honor and reverence;

  And worthily they praised her prudence.

  In all this while she did not cease

  This maid and her brother to commend

  With all her heart, in full benign intent,

  So well that no man could her praise exceed.

  But at last, when this lord thought

  To sit down to the feast, he began to call

  Griselda, as she was busy in the hall.

  “Griselda,” said he, quite playfully,

  “How do you like my wife and her beauty?”

  “Right well,” said she, “my lord, for in good faith,

  A fairer saw I never any than she.

  I pray to God give her prosperity,

  And so I hope that he will to you send

  Pleasure enough until your lives’ end.

  One thing I beseech you, and warn also

  That you neither goad nor torment

  This tender maiden, as you have to others done.

  For she was raised in her upbringing

  More tenderly, and to my supposing,

  She could not adversity endure

  As could a poverty-raised creature.”

  And when this Walter saw her patience,

  Her glad cheer and no malice at all—

  And though he so often had done to her offence,

  She was ever firm and constant as a wall,

  Continuing ever her innocence in every way—

  This cruel marquis did his heart turn

  To take pity on her wifely constancy.

  “This is y-nogh, Grisilde myn,” quod he,

  “Be now na-more agast ne yvel apayed;

  I have thy feith and thy benignitee,

  As wel a
s ever womman was, assayed,

  In greet estaat, and povreliche arrayed.

  Now knowe I, dere wyf, thy stedfastnesse,”—

  And hir in armes took and gan hir kesse.

  And she for wonder took of it no keep;

  She herde nat what thing he to hir seyde;

  She ferde as she had stert out of a sleep,

  Til she out of hir masednesse abreyde.

  “Grisilde,” quod he, “by god that for us deyde,

  Thou art my wyf, ne noon other I have,

  Ne never hadde, as god my soule save!

  This is thy doghter which thou hast supposed

  To be my wyf; that other feithfully

  Shal be myn heir, as I have ay purposed;

  Thou bare him in thy body trewely.

  At Boloigne have I kept hem prively;

  Tak hem agayn, for now maystow nat seye

  That thou hast lorn non of thy children tweye.

  And folk that otherweyes han seyd of me,

  I warne hem wel that I have doon this dede

  For no malice ne for no crueltee,

  But for t‘assaye in thee thy wommanhede,

  And nat to sleen my children, god forbede!

  But for to kepe hem prively and stille,

  Til I thy purpos knewe and al thy wille.”

  Whan she this herde, aswowne doun she falleth

  For pitous joye, and after hir swowninge

  She bothe hir yonge children un-to hir calleth,

  And in hir armes, pitously wepinge,

  Embraceth hem, and tendrely kissinge

  Ful lyk a mooder, with hir salte teres

  She batheth bothe hir visage and hir heres.

  “This is enough, Griselda mine,” said he,

  “Be now no more afraid or ill-pleased;

  I have your faith and your steadfastness,

  As well as any woman who ever was tested.

  In both great estate, and poorly dressed,

  Now I know, dear wife, your faithfulness,”