Canterbury Tales (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)
Page 44
Unto the heart, could in no manner
Tell so much sorrow as I now here
Could tell of my wife’s cursedness!”
“Now,” said our Host, “Merchant, so God you bless,
Since you know so much of that art
Full heartily I pray you tell us part.”
“Gladly,” said he, “but of my own sore,
For sorry heart, I may tell no more.”
The Tale
Whylom ther was dwellinge in Lumbardye
A worthy knight, that born was of Pavye,
In which he lived in greet prosperitee;
And sixty yeer a wyflees man was he,
And folwed ay his bodily delyt
On wommen, ther-as was his appetyt,
As doon thise foles that ben seculeer.
And whan that he was passed sixty yeer,
Were it for holinesse or for dotage,
I can nat seye, but swich a greet corage,
Hadde this knight to been a wedded man,
That day and night he dooth al that he can
T‘espyen where he mighte wedded be;
Preyinge our lord to granten him, that he
Mighte ones knowe of thilke blisful lyf
That is bitwixe an housbond and his wyf;
And for to live under that holy bond
With which that first god man and womman bond.
“Non other lyf,” seyde he, “is worth a bene;
For wedlok is so esy and so clene,
That in this world it is a paradys.”
Thus seyde this olde knight, that was so wys.
And certeinly, as sooth as god is king,
To take a wyf, it is a glorious thing,
And namely whan a man is old and hoor;
Thanne is a wyf the fruit of his tresor.
Than sholde he take a yong wyf and a feir,
On which he mighte engendren him an heir,
And lede his lyf in joye and in solas,
Wher-as thise bacheleres singe “allas,”
Whan that they finden any adversitee
In love, which nis but childish vanitee.
And trewely it sit wel to be so,
That bacheleres have often peyne and wo;
On brotel ground they builde, and brotelnesse
They finde, whan they wene sikernesse.
They live but as a brid or as a beste,
The Tale
Once there was dwelling in Lombardy
A worthy knight, who was born of Pavia,
In which he lived in great prosperity;
And sixty years a wifeless man was he,
And followed ever his bodily delight
With women, wherever led his appetite,
As do these fools who are secular.2
And when he was passed sixty years,
Were it for holiness or for dotage
I can not say, but such a great desire
Had this knight to be a wedded man
That day and night he did all he could
T‘espy where he might wedded be,
Praying our lord to grant him that he
Might once know of that same blissful life
That is between a husband and his wife,
And for to live under that holy bond
With which that first God man and woman bound.
“No other life,” said he, “is worth a bean,
For wedlock is so easy and so clean,
That in this world it is a paradise.”
Thus said this old knight, who was so wise.
And certainly, as true as God is king,
To take a wife it is a glorious thing,
And namely when a man is old and white-haired;
Then is a wife the flower of his treasure.
Then should he take a wife young and fair,
On which he might engender him an heir,
And lead his life in joy and solace,
Whereas these bachelors sing “Alas,”
When they find any adversity
In love, which is but childish vanity.
And truly it sits well to be so,
That bachelors have often pain and woe;
On shifting ground they build, and shiftiness
They find where they expected a firm foundation.
They live but as a bird or as a beast,
In libertee, and under non areste,
Ther-as a wedded man in his estaat
Liveth a lyf blisful and ordinaat,
Under the yok of mariage y-bounde;
Wel may his herte in joye and blisse habounde.
For who can be so buxom as a wyf?
Who is so trewe, and eek so ententyf
To kepe him, syk and hool, as is his make?
For wele or wo, she wol him nat forsake.
She nis nat wery him to love and serve,
Thogh that he lye bedrede til he sterve.
And yet somme clerkes seyn, it nis nat so,
Of whiche he, Theofraste, is oon of tho.
What force though Theofraste, liste lye?
“Ne take no wyf,” quod he, “for housbondrye,
As for to spare in household thy dispence;
A trewe servant dooth more diligence,
Thy good to kepe, than thyn owene wyf.
For she wol clayme half part al hir lyf;
And if that thou be syk, so god me save,
Thy verray frendes or a trewe knave
Wol kepe thee bet than she that waiteth ay
After thy good, and hath don many a day.
And if thou take a wyf un-to thyn hold,
Ful lightly maystow been a cokewold.”
This sentence, and an hundred thinges worse,
Wryteth this man, ther god his bones corse!
But take no kepe of al swich vanitee;
Deffye Theofraste and herke me.
A wyf is goddes yifte verraily;
Alle other maner yiftes hardily,
As londes, rentes, pasture, or commune,
Or moebles, alle ben yiftes of fortune,
That passen as a shadwe upon a wal.
But dredelees, if pleynly speke I shal,
A wyf wol laste, and in thyn hous endure,
Wel lenger than thee list, paraventure.
Mariage is a ful gret sacrement;
He which that hath no wyf, I holde him shent
In liberty and under no restraint,
Whereas a wedded man in his estate
Lives a life blissful and orderly
Under this yoke of marriage bond.
Well may his heart in joy and bliss abound,
For who can be so obedient as a wife?
Who is so true, and so attentive
To keep him, in health and sickness, as his mate?
For well or woe she will him not forsake;
She wearies not to him love and serve,
Though he lie bedridden until he dies.
And yet some scholars say it is not so,
Of which Theofrastus is one of those.
But so what if Theofrastus3 wants to lie?
“Take no wife,” said he, “for housekeeping,
To be frugal in your household expense.
A true servant does more diligence
Your goods to keep than your own wife,
For she will claim half part all her life.
And if you be sick, so God me save,
Your true friends, or a true servant,
Will keep you better than she who waits ever
For your goods and has done many a day.
And if you take a wife into your hold
Full easily may you be a cuckold.”
This sentence, and a hundred things worse,
Wrote this man, God his bones curse!
But take no heed of all such vanity;
Defy Theofrastus, and listen to me.
A wife is God’s gift verily;
All other manner of gifts surely,
As lands, rent
s, pasture, or commons,
Or movable goods—all be gifts of Fortune
That pass as a shadow upon a wall.
But doubt not, if plainly speak I shall;
A wife will last, and in your house endure,
Well longer than you wish, perchance.
Marriage is a full great sacrament.
He who has no wife, I hold him ruined;
He liveth helplees and al desolat,
I speke of folk in seculer estaat.
And herke why, I sey nat this for noght,
That womman is for mannes help y-wroght.
The hye god, whan he hadde Adam maked,
And saugh him al allone, bely-naked,
God of his grete goodnesse seyde than,
“Lat us now make an help un-to this man
Lyk to him-self;” an thanne he made him Eve.
Heer may ye se, and heer-by may ye preve,
That wyf is mannes help and his confort,
His paradys terrestre and his disport
So buxom and so vertuous is she,
They moste nedes live in unitee.
O flesh they been, and o flesh, as I gesse,
Hath but on herte, in wele and in distresse.
A wyf! a! Seinte Marie, ben‘cite!
How mighte a man han any adversitee
That hath a wyf! certes, I can nat seye.
The blisse which that is bitwixe hem tweye
Ther may no tonge telle, or herte thinke.
If he be povre, she helpeth him to swinke;
She kepeth his good, and wasteth never a deel;
Al that hir housbonde lust, hir lyketh weel;
She seith not ones “nay,” when he seith “ye.”
“Do this,” seith he; “al redy, sir,” seith she.
O blisful ordre of wedlok precious,
Thou art so mery, and eek so vertuous,
And so commended and appreved eek,
That every man that halt him worth a leek,
Up-on his bare knees oghte al his lyf
Thanken his god that him hath sent a wyf;
Or elles preye to god him for to sende
A wyf, to laste un-to his lyves ende.
For thanne his lyf is set in sikernesse;
He may nat be deceyved, as I gesse,
So that he werke after his wyves reed;
Than may he boldly beren up his heed,
They been so trewe and ther-with-al so wyse;
He lives helpless and all desolate—
I speak of folk in secular estate.
And listen why—I say not this for nought—
That woman is for man’s help wrought.
The high God, when he had Adam made,
And saw him all alone, belly-naked,
God of his great goodness said then,
“Let us now make a helpmate unto this man
Like to himself ”; and then he made Eve.
Here may you see, and here may you prove,
That wife is man’s help and his comfort,
His paradise terrestrial, and his disport.
So obedient and virtuous is she,
They must needs live in unity.
One flesh they be, and one flesh, as I guess,
Has but one heart, in health and in distress.
A wife! Ah, Saint Mary, benedicite!
How might a man have any adversity
Who has a wife? Certainly, I cannot say.
The bliss that is between the two
There may no tongue tell, or heart think.
If he be poor, she helps him to work;
She keeps his goods, and wastes nothing;
All that her husband wishes, she also wishes;
She never says “no,” when he says “yes.”
“Do this,” says he; “All ready, sire,” says she.
Oh blissful order of wedlock precious,
You are so merry, and so virtuous,
And so commended and proven also
That every man who holds himself worth a leek
Upon his bare knees ought all his life
Thank his God who him has sent a wife,
Or else pray to God him to send
A wife to last until his life’s end.
For then his life is set in sureness;
He may not be deceived, as I guess,
If he takes his wife’s advice.
Then may he surely hold up his head,
They be so true and at the same time so wise;
For which, if thou wolt werken as the wyse,
Do alwey so as wommen wol thee rede.
Lo, how that Jacob, as thise clerkes rede,
By good conseil of his moder Rebekke,
Bond the kides skin aboute his nekke;
Thurgh which his fadres benisoun he wan.
Lo, Judith, as the storie eek telle can,
By wys conseil she goddes peple kepte,
And slow him, Olofernus, whyl he slepte.
Lo Abigayl, by good conseil how she
Saved hir housbond Nabal, whan that he
Sholde han be slayn; and loke, Ester also
By good conseil delivered out of wo
The peple of god, and made him, Mardochee
Of Assuere enhaunced for to be.
Ther nis no-thing in gree superlatyf,
As seith Senek, above an humble wyf.
Suffre thy wyves tonge, as Caton bit;
She shal comande, and thou shalt suffren it;
And yet she wol obeye of curteisye.
A wyf is keper of thyn housbondrye;
Wel may the syke man biwaille and wepe,
Ther-as ther nis no wyf the hous to kepe.
I warne thee, if wysly thou wolt wirche,
Love wel thy wyf, as Crist loveth his chirche.
If thou lovest thy-self, thou lovest thy wyf;
No man hateth his flesh, but in his lyf
He fostreth it, and therfore bidde I thee,
Cherisse thy wyf, or thou shalt never thee.
Housbond and wyf, what so men jape or pleye,
Of worldly folk holden the siker weye;
They been so knit, ther may noon harm bityde:
And namely, up-on the wyves syde.
For which this Januarie, of whom I tolde,
Considered hath, inwith his dayes olde,
The lusty lyf, the vertuous quiete,
That is in mariage hony-swete;
And for his freendes on a day he sente,
To tellen hem th‘effect of his entente.
By which, if you will do as the wise do,
Do always as women advise you.
Look, how Jacob, as these scholars advise,
By good counsel of his mother Rebecca,
Bound the kidskin about his neck,
By which his father’s blessing he won.
Look at Judith, as the stories also tell,
By wise counsel she God’s people kept,
And slew Holofernes, while he slept.
Look at Abigail, by good counsel how she
Saved her husband Nabal when he
Should have been slain; and look, Esther4 also
By good counsel delivered out of woe
The people of God, and made Mordecai
Of Ahasuerus to be exalted.
There is nothing more virtuous,
As said Seneca,5 than a humble wife.
Suffer your wife’s tongue, as Cato6 bid;
She shall command, and you shall endure it,
And yet she will obey of courtesy.
A wife is keeper of your household;
Well may the sick man bewail and weep,
Where there is no wife the house to keep.
I warn you, if wisely you would work,
Love well your wife, as Christ loved his church.
If you love yourself, you love your wife;
No man hates his flesh, but in his life
He fosters it, and therefore I bid you
To cherish you
r wife, or you shall never prosper.
Husband and wife, what so men joke or mock,
Of secular folk hold the surest way;
They be so knit there may no harm betide,
And namely upon the wife’s side.
For which this January, of whom I told,
Considered once, in his days old,
The pleasant life, the virtuous quiet,
That is in marriage honey-sweet,
And for his friends on a day he sent,
To tell them the gist of his intent.
With face sad, his tale he hath hem told;
He seyde, “freendes, I am hoor and old,
And almost, god wot, on my pittes brinke;
Up-on my soule somwhat moste I thinke.
I have my body folily despended;
Blessed be god, that it shal been amended!
For I wol be, certeyn, a wedded man,
And that anoon in al the haste I can,
Un-to som mayde fair and tendre of age.
I prey yow, shapeth for my mariage
Al sodeynly, for I wol nat abyde;
And I wol fonde t‘espyen, on my syde,
To whom I may be wedded hastily.
But for-as-muche as ye ben mo than I,
Ye shullen rather swich a thing espyen
Than I, and wher me best were to allyen.
But o thing warne I yow, my freendes dere,
I wol non old wyf han in no manere.
She shal nat passe twenty yeer, certayn;
Old fish and yong flesh wolde I have ful fayn.
Bet is,” quod he, ”a pyk than a pikerel;
And bet than old boef is the tendre veel.
I wol no womman thritty yeer of age,
It is but bene-straw and greet forage.
And eek thise olde widwes, god it woot,
They conne so muchel craft on Wades boot,
So muchel broken harm, whan that hem leste,
That with hem sholde I never live in reste.
For sondry scoles maken sotil clerkis;
Womman of manye scoles half a clerk is.
But certeynly, a yong thing may men gye,
Right as men may warm wex with handes plye.
Wherfore I sey yow pleynly, in a clause,
I wol non old wyf han right for this cause.
For if so were, I hadde swich mischaunce,
That I in hir ne coude han no plesaunce,
Thanne sholde I lede my lyf in avoutrye,
And go streight to the devel, whan I dye.
Ne children sholde I none up-on hir geten;
With face serious his tale he has told.
He said, “Friends, I am white-haired and old,
And almost, God knows, upon my pit’s brink;
Upon my soul somewhat must I think.
I have my body foolishly expended;
Blessed be God that it shall be amended!
For I will be, certainly, a wedded man,