_Chap-Books
and
Folk-Lore Tracts._
_Edited by_
_G. L. Gomme, F.S.A._
_and_
_H. B. Wheatley, F.S.A._
_First Series._
IV.
THE HISTORY
OF
PATIENT GRISEL.
1619.
EDITED, WITH AN INTRODUCTION,
BY
HENRY B. WHEATLEY, F.S.A.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR THE VILLON SOCIETY.
1885.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Introduction.
The narrative of the Patient Griselda is one of the most wide-spread of
the stories which have come down to us from the Middle Ages. It has been
annexed to the highest literature by such poets as Boccaccio, Petrarch
and Chaucer, and has been brought within reach of the meanest capacities
by the ballad-mongers and the writers of penny histories.
We cannot trace the story back farther than the middle of the fourteenth
century, when Boccaccio incorporated it into his _Decameron_ (day 10,
novel 10); but it must have had a previous existence in Italy, for
Petrarch says in his letter to Boccaccio that when he read it in the
_Decameron_ he remembered how pleased he had been with it when he heard
it many years before. When his memory was thus revived in the story that
charmed him so much he set to work to learn it by heart, so that he
might repeat it to his friends. He then translated it into Latin for the
benefit of those who did not know Italian.[1] That he did repeat the
story to his friend we learn from the Clerk of Oxenford’s Prologue to
his tale in the _Canterbury Tales_, where he says:—
“I wil yow telle a tale, which that I
Lerned at Padowe of a worthy clerk,
As provyd by his wordes and his werk.
He is now deed, and nayled in his chest,
Now God yive his soule wel good rest!
Fraunces Petrark, the laureat poete,
Highte this clerk, whos rethorique swete
Enlumynd al Ytail of poetrie.”
Footnote 1:
See _Originals and Analogues of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales_, part ii.
pp. 150–176 (Chaucer Society).
There has been much controversy over these words. We must all wish to
believe that Chaucer met Petrarch at Padua and was friendly with him;
but although it is highly probable that he did so we have no actual
evidence other than this passage. Some say that Chaucer is not speaking
here in his own name but in that of a fictitious character, and
therefore the statement goes for nothing. Another objection is that here
Chaucer’s indebtedness to Boccaccio is overlooked and all the credit is
given to Petrarch. It is highly probable however that Chaucer was
interested in the story from Petrarch’s talk, and that when he decided
to make it one of his Canterbury Tales he adapted it from Petrarch’s
translation of Boccaccio, which is referred to farther on in the
Prologue:—
“I say that he first with heigh stole enditeth
(Er he the body of his tale writith)
A proheme, in the which descrivith he
Piemounde, and of Saluces the contre,
And spekith of Appenyne the hulles hye,
That ben the boundes of al west Lombardye.”
That this is the true origin of the Clerk’s tale is confirmed by the
fact that Petrarch varied somewhat from Boccaccio’s original, and in
these variations Chaucer follows Petrarch. An impossible tale such as
this requires all the art of the true poet to make it delightful to us,
and this of course we have in Chaucer. It is far different when we come
to read the common-place prose of the chap-book or the equally
common-place verse of the ballad-monger.
The picture of patience carried to the extreme in the wife and of brutal
violence in the husband is so out of harmony with our present views that
it is somewhat difficult to read the story with patience. We are wrong,
however, in taking it in this spirit, and Professor Hales has so
beautifully expressed the true motive of this mediæval picture that I
feel I cannot do better than transfer to these pages his remarks in the
publication of the Chaucer Society containing _Originals and Analogues
of some of Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales_:[2]—“Now, it is the
characteristic of the unsophisticated mediæval litterateur that he deals
with one idea at a time. It would often lead to a highly injurious
conclusion to attach at all equal a moral importance or rather any moral
importance to the subordinate parts of what he sets forth. The central
lesson is kept well in view; the others must look to themselves. The
principal figure is brought into relief with enthusiasm; on the mere
surroundings and background little or no care is spent.... And so in the
story of Griselda: if we would read it in the spirit of the day when it
became current we should not vex ourselves into any righteous
indignation against the immediate author of her most touching
distresses. The old story does not make the marquis a monster in human
shape; indeed, it represents him as a man of a noble and lovable nature;
if he is not so, then even in the end Griselda reaps no earthly reward
in permanently securing his admiration and love. And yet this marquis
perpetrates inexpressible cruelties; he is a very wolf, ruthlessly
teasing and tearing the gentlest of lambs. The explanation is in
accordance with what has just been said: the patience of Griselda is the
one theme of the tale, and nothing else is to be regarded. In relation
to her the marquis has no moral being; he is a mere means of showing
forth her supreme excellence; a mere mechanical expedient. He is no more
morally than a thorn in the saint’s footpath, or a wheel, or a cross.
Surely it is vain to be wroth with him. Who rages against the mere fire
that enfolds the martyr, or the nails that pierce the hands of a
crucified Believer? Indeed, nothing in the tale is of any ethical moment
but the carriage of the heroine herself. The eyes and the heart of the
old century when she first appeared were fastened devoutly on that
single form, and let all else go by. She is wifely obedience itself,
nothing else. Before that virtue all other virtues bow. It enjoys a
complete monopoly, an absolute sway. Other moral life is suspended in
this representation of it. She has but one function; for her there is
but one sin possible, and that is to murmur. She is all meekness, all
yielding, all resignation.
Footnote 2:
Part ii. 1875, p. 174.
“Such a figure has comparatively few charms for us of these latter days.
But it pleased the world once—even down to Shakespeare’s time, who
himself portrayed it in one of his earliest plays: Catherine in the
_Taming of the Shrew_ is a phase of Griselda. Perhaps in ages when much
most ignorant abuse of women prevailed in literature—abuse springing
mainly out of the vile prejudices and superstitions of the mediæval
Church—some such figure might have been expected to arise. It is the
figure of a reaction. The hearts of men refused to accept the
dishonouring pictures so often drawn of their fellow mortals. They rose
in a loyal insurrection against lying fables of essential wantonness and
of shameful obstinacy. To such chivalrous rebels the pale, sad, constant
face of Griselda showed itself as the image of far other experiences and
histories; and they gazed on it as on the face of their saint. With an
infinite reverence they saw her still calm and quiet in the midst of
anguishes, with heart breaking but lips uttering no ill word, with eyes
that through the tears with which kindly nature of herself would relieve
the terrible drought of sorrow still looked nothing but inalienable
tenderness and love.”
The French have claimed for their country the origination of the story
of Griselda; but their claim cannot be allowed. The Abbé de Sade in his
_Life of Petrarch_ asserts that the story is to be found in a manuscript
called _Le Parement des Dames_; but it appears that this manuscript was
the work of Olivier de la Marche, who was not born until long after the
death of Boccaccio. Boccaccio’s novel was translated into French and
published at Paris about the year 1510 as _La Patience de Grisilidis_;
it was published also at Troyes about 1562. Apparently, however, the
French were the first to bring Griselda upon the stage; for, according
to Warton, the Comedians of Paris represented a mystery in French verse
entitled _Le Mystere de Griseildis, Marquis de Saluces, mis en rime
françoise et par personnaiges_ in 1393. This was not printed until about
1550, when Jehan Bonfons published it at Paris. His edition was
reprinted in 1832.
Ralph Radcliffe, a somewhat voluminous play-writer, who flourished
towards the close of the reign of Henry VIII., is said by John Bale to
have written an English comedy entitled “Patient Griselde,” and Hans
Sachs in Germany converted the story into a drama as early as 1550; but
in Italy, the land of its birth, it was not dramatised until 1620.
It was not possible for a story which had early taken such a strong hold
upon the popular imagination to remain long without becoming the
property of the ballad-writer, but we cannot tell if he forestalled the
writer of popular histories. In the Stationers’ Registers we find three
entries of Griselda as early as the year 1565–6; the following two
relate to the ballad:—
Rd. of Owyn Rogers, for his lycense for pryntinge of a ballett
intituled the sounge of pacyente Gressell unto hyr make [mate]
iiij d.
Rd. of Wylliam greffeth, for his lycense for pryntinge of ij
ballettes to the tune of pacyente gressell
iiij d.
Now the second of these entries seems to point to an earlier ballad, as
it must have taken some time for the tune of Patient Grissell to become
so popular; and therefore there is great probability in Mr. Chappell’s
conjecture that the original ballad was published before 1557, in which
year the Registers commence.
All the ballads of Griselda now in existence are essentially the same as
that printed in _The Garland of Goodwill_ by Thomas Deloney; and, as the
same ballad, divided into chapters with prose chapters at the beginning
and end, is printed in _The Pleasant and Sweet History of Patient
Grissell_ (reprinted by Mr. Collier for the Percy Society), it has been
suggested that this tract was also written by Deloney. This famous
ballad-monger is supposed to have commenced writing about the year 1586,
so that it is probable that the ballad of 1565–6, and the even earlier
one suggested above, have ceased to exist. The following is a list of
the different titles of Deloney’s ballad:—
A most pleasant Ballad of patient Grissell, to the tune of “The Bride’s
Good-morrow.”
The earliest known edition, printed in _Collection of Seventy-nine
Black-Letter Ballads and Broadsides_, 1870. P. 17. (_Roxburghe
Ballads_, ed. W. Chappell, vol. ii. p. 268.)
Of Patient Grissel and a Noble Marquess. To the tune of “The Bride’s
Good-morrow.”
T. Deloney’s Garland of Good-Will. 1678. Part 2. (Percy Society. No.
112. 1851.)
The earliest edition of the _Garland_ must have been published
before 1600, as Deloney died in that year.
A most excellent and vertuous Ballad of the Patient Grissell. To the
tune of “The Bride’s Good-morrow.” London. Printed by John Wright.
[1640?] (_Roxburghe Ballads_, vol. i. pp. 302–3.)
The first part ends—
“My gracious Lord
Must have his will obeyd.”
And the second begins—
“She tooke the Babies
Even from the nursing ladies.”
There is a copy of the ballad (in one, not two parts) in the Percy
Folio Manuscript. See Hales and Furnivall’s edition, 1868, vol. iii.
p. 421.
An excellent Ballad of a Noble Marquiss and Patient Grissel.
(_Collection of Old Ballads_, 1723, vol. i. p. 252.)
The following entries in the Stationers’ Registers would appear to refer
to the _Ancient, True, and Admirable History_ printed in this volume. It
is stated to be translated from the French, but this statement is of no
value, and it is evidently of pure English manufacture. The edition of
1619 is the earliest known to exist:—
1565–6. Rd. of Thomas Colwell, for his lycense for prynting of an
history of meke and pacyent Gresell
iiij d.
1568–9. Rd. of Thomas Colwell, for his lycense for pryntinge of the
hystory of pacyent gresell, &c.
viij d.
The History of the Noble Marquis of Salus, or Patient Grissel. Printed
and sold in London. [1780?] 12mo. Pp. 24. Another edition. Aldermary
Churchyard, n. d.
A reduced chap-book edition of the _History_ printed in this volume.
It seems to have been published in this form as early as 1703.
When Mr. J. Payne Collier edited for the Percy Society “The History of
Patient Grisel, two early Tracts in Black-Letter, with an Introduction
and Notes,” 1842, he printed after the _Ancient, True, and Admirable
History_ “The Pleasant and Sweet History of Patient Grissell, shewing
how she from a poore man’s daughter came to be a great lady of France,
being a Patterne to all vertuous women. Translated out of Italian.
London. Printed by E. P. for John Wright, dwelling in Giltspur Street at
the Signe of the Bible.”
This is divided into eleven chapters, of which 1, 2, 10, and 11, are in
prose; chapters 3 to 9 contain the ballad referred to previously, and it
is most probable that the whole tract was the production of Deloney. The
date is cut off, but the pamphlet was probably printed about 1630, and
it is doubtless a late edition of a popular chap-book. The copy in the
British Museum is apparently the same as that used by Mr. Collier. It is
handsomely bound in morocco, and in the inside is written in pencil,
“Cost me eight pounds unbound.” There are two titles: the first is “The
History of the Noble Marques,” with a woodcut of Griselda at the
spinning-wheel. On the back of this is the woodcut of Elizabeth,
reproduced on the title of the Percy Society reprint.
The play of Ralph Radcliffe is now lost, so that the comedy published in
1603 and reprinted in 1841 is the only one known to exist. We have here
a curious instance of the danger of asserting of any particular book
that it is unique. When Mr. Collier reprinted the play for the
Shakespeare Society he said that there was no copy in the British
Museum, and that the only copies he knew of were one in the Bodleian and
another in the possession of the Duke of Devonshire, who also had an
imperfect copy which he presented to Collier. There is now a copy in the
British Museum, and in it is this note in ink: “The only copy extant.—J.
B. 1788.” Under this is a pencil note: “I have seen another copy, but it
was imperfect—G. N.” On the title-page is written “William Shakespeare,”
apparently one of the Ireland forgeries.
The following entry occurs in Henslowe’s Diary:—
“Received in earnest of Patient Grissell by us Tho. Dekker, Hen.
Chettle and Willm. Hawton the sume of 3 li. of good and lawfull
money by a note sent from Mr. Robt. Shaa’s the 19th of December,
1599. By me,
HENRY CHETTLE.
W. HAUGHTON.
THOMAS DEKKER.”
The Robert Shaa or Shaw here mentioned was, Mr. Collier tells us, one of
the temporary managers of the company of the Earl of Nottingham’s
players. The comedy was entered at Stationers’ Hall for publication on
the 28th March, 1600, as “the Plaie of Patient Grissell,” but it did not
appear until three years afterwards.
The Pleasant Comodie of Patient Grissill. As it hath beene sundrie times
lately plaid by the right honorable the Earle of Nottingham (Lord high
Admirall) his servants. London. Imprinted for Henry Rocket, and are to
be solde at the long shop under S. Mildred’s Church in the Poultry.
1603. 4to. 42 leaves.
The play is anonymous, but the entry in Henslowe’s Diary informs us who
the authors were.
Patient Grissil: a Comedy by Thomas Dekker, Henry Chettle, and William
Haughton. Reprinted from the Black-Letter edition of 1603, with an
Introduction and Notes [by J. Payne Collier]. London. Printed for the
Shakespeare Society. 1841. The introduction contains an interesting
account of the history of Griselda.
On August 30th, 1667, Pepys saw at Bartholomew Fair the puppet play of
“Patient Grizill,” and Warton in a note to his _History of English
Poetry_ writes: “I need not mention that it is to this day represented
in England on a stage of the lowest species and of the highest
antiquity: I mean a puppet show.”
“The Patient Countess,” in Percy’s _Reliques_ from Warner’s _Albions
England_, is a totally different story from that of the patient wife of
the Marquis Walter.
Warton mentions a MS. poem by William Forrest, and, as it has lately
been printed, I give the title here, although it contains no notice of
the original Grisild.
The History of Grisild the Second: a Narrative in Verse of the Divorce
of Queen Katharine of Arragon. Written by William Forrest, sometime
Chaplain to Queen Mary I., and now edited for the first time from the
Author’s MS. in the Bodleian Library by the Rev. W. D. Macray, M.A.,
F.S.A. London. Printed by Whittingham and Wilkins at the Chiswick Press,
1875. 4to. Roxburghe Club.
The Griselda literature is a tolerably large one, and it is therefore
scarcely necessary in this place to give more than the above general
indication of an interesting subject. It may be noted that the titles of
the works on the subject in the library of the British Museum occupy
nine pages of the manuscript catalogue.
The patience of Griselda is almost as much a common-place of literature
as that of Job, and writers are full of references to her cruel fate. In
a _Balade_ translated by Lydgate from the Latin “Grisilde’s humble
patience” is recorded.
In Thomas Feylde’s “Contraversye bytwene a Lover and a Jaye,” printed
without date by Wynkyn de Worde, we read:—
“Ryght fewe of Grysyldes kynde
Is now left on lyve.”
We are told in _Harry White his Humour_, printed in 1660, that, “having
lately read the rare history of Patient Grizell, out of it he hath
drawne this phylosophicall position, that if all women were of that
woman’s condition we should have no imployment for cuckin-stooles.”
The editor of the _Collection of Old Ballads_, 1723, slily remarks:—“It
may naturally be supposed that he [the poet] had unfortunately married a
shrew, and was willing to preach up the doctrine of patience to wives,
by shewing them the blessings that attend this great uncommon virtue;
and I have inserted it, thinking that amongst my readers I might have
some husbands who would be glad of carrying such an excellent song to
their wives” (vol. i. p. 252).
Much of the popularity of the story must be due to Chaucer, who first
introduced it to English readers and endued it with so much poetic
beauty and grace.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
THE
ANCIENT TRUE AND ADMIRABLE
HISTORY OF
PATIENT GRISEL,
A POORE MANS DAUGHTER IN FRANCE:
SHEWING
_How Maides, By Her Example, In Their Good Behaviour May Marrie Rich
Husbands;
And Likewise Wives By Their Patience And Obedience May Gaine Much
Glorie_.
WRITTEN FIRST IN FRENCH, AND
Therefore to French I speake and give direction,
For English Dames will live in no subjection.
BUT NOW TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH, AND
Therefore say not so, for English maids and wives
Surpass the French in goodnesse of their lives.
AT LONDON:
_Printed by H. L. for William Lugger; and are to be sold at his shop in
Bedlem, neere Moore-Fields._
1619.
_The Historie of Patient Grisel, made Marchionesse of Saluss, in which
is Exemplified the true Obedience and Noble Behaviour of Vertuous
Women towards their Husbands._
CHAP. I.
How the Marquesse of Saluss passed the time of his youth without any
desire of mariage, till he was requested by the faire entreatie of a
favorite, and other gentlemen, to affect a wife, both for the good of
the country and the honour of himselfe; with his answer to the same.
Betweene the mountaines of Italy and France, towards the south, lyes the
territory of Salus, a country flourishing with excellent townes and
castles, and peopled with the best sort of gentles and peasants: amongst
whom there lived not long since a nobleman of great hope and
expectation, lord of the country, by name Gualter, Marquesse of Saluss;
to whom, as the government appertained by right of inheritance, so their
obedience attended by desert of his worthinesse.
He was young in yeeres, noble of lineage, and such attractive demeanour,
that the best thought it a pleasure to bee commanded by him, and the
worst grew more tractable by his good example: his delight was in
hunting and hawking, and the pleasure of the time present extinguished
the care of the time to come; for he thought not of mariage, nor to
entangle himselfe with the inconveniences of a wife; till at last the
people and noblemen of his country projected the contrary, as
discontented to see him indisposed that way, and presaging a kind of
prosperity to themselves, if by his mariage posteritie might arise to
assure them the better how they might bestow their obedience hereafter.
Whereupon they assembled together, and made one day amongst the rest a
determiner of their resolutions, choosing out for their speaker a noble
knight of great authority, faire demeanor, eloquent speech, and more
inward with the Marquesse then any of the rest; who, thus acquainted
with all their mindes, and prepared to utter his owne minde, took an
opportunity to acquaint the renowned Marquesse with the matter.
Most honourable Sir, the great humanity extended towards us, of which I
most especially have participated, hath thus emboldened me above others,
to make a further triall of your patience, and forbearing my rudeness:
not that there is any sufficiency or singularity in me above others, but
in that heretofore I have found you so generous toward all, I make no
question to finde you as gratious toward my selfe; and in that it hath
pleased you to accept of our love, wee are proud againe to be under your
obedience; wherein we shall rejoice the more, if you now accord to our
request the sooner, which is, to marry without delay. The time passeth,
and will not be recalled, your youth intreats it, and must not be
denied; your country importunes it, and would not bee opposed; your
neighbours desire it, and hope to bee satisfied; and all sorts request
it, and wish it for your honour; for when age approacheth, death attends
it at the heeles, and no man can tell when, or how it will fall upon
him. Therefore wee humbly request you to accept our supplications, and
accord to this importunity, that we may provide by your appointment a
lady worthy of your honour and our subjection. In this wee are the more
suppliant, because it will rebound so much to the good of your countrey,
and the enlarging your renowne; for if it should so fall out (which God
forbid) that you die without issue, we may lament the losse of our lord,
but not redresse the complaints of the people: we shall want you that
was al our comfort, but are sure of distresse to our everlasting
trouble. If then you either love your selfe, or pity us, frame a heart
to this impression, and leave not us to further feare and disquiet.
When the noble lord had thus apprehended the petition of his loving
subjects, he resolved to answer them as gratiously as they had
propounded the businesse with regard of duty, and so replied: My dearest
friends, you have urged mee to a matter, in which as yet I have beene a
mere stranger; for by nature I delight in liberty, and by custome
continued my pleasures, both which must needs bee curbed by mariage, and
restrained by taking a wife: notwithstanding, I cast awaie all doubts to
pleasure you, and will thinke of no incombrances so you be satisfied.
For though mariage hath many difficulties attending; especially, the
feare of legitimation in our children, and suspicion of that honour
which lies on our wives honesty, yet all shall be overcome with this
resolution, that I shall please you in the same; for I am resolved, if
anie good come for man’s contentment by mariage, it is from God, to whom
I submit this cause, and pray for the good successe of your wishes, that
I may live to maintaine your peace, as well as my owne pleasure: and
look, wherein my contentment shall enlarge mine honour, your welfare
shall be respected above my life; so that (beleeve it) I will satisfie
your demands, and apply my selfe to the purpose. Only one thing I
request at your hands; to take in worth my choice, and neither insult if
she be a princesse of greatnes, nor repine if she be of meane estate;
but love her because I have loved you, and regard her howsoever in that
she is my wife; neither being curious nor inquisitive whom I will chuse,
nor disaffected when it is past remedy.
When the company heard him out, and found him so willing to their
satisfaction, they gave him thankes with one heart for his kinde
admission, and answered with one tongue, he should not find them
repugnant; but they would honor his wife as the princesse of the world,
and be morigerous to him as the commander of their soules. Thus did this
new report (like a messenger of glad tidings) fill all the marquisate
with joy, and the palace with delight, when they understood their lord
would marry, and in a manner heard the time appointed; for presently it
was proclaimed through the countrey, and a day assigned for all commers
to come to the court. The nobles prepared themselves in the best manner:
the ladies spared no cost, either for ornaments of their bodies, or
setting out their beauties; the gentles flocked to please their lord,
and were brave to set out their owne greatnes: the citisens were rich in
their neatnes, and handsome in their attire: the officers were formall
in their showes, and sumptuous in their attendants; the countryman had
his variety, and the verie peasant his bravery; in a word, al sorts
gloried in the hope of that festivall, and every man’s expectation
attended the day of triumph. For never was such a preparation in Saluss
before, nor such a confluence of people seene in that countrey; for
besides the novelty, many forraine princes came to celebrate this
mariage, and to shew their owne greatnes. Savoy was neare, and sent some
from her snowie hills: France as neare, and sent others from her
fruitful vines: Italy not far off, and sent many from her pleasant
fields; and the ilands round about kept none at home that would come.
Thus were his kinred invited, strangers admitted, his owne people
entertained, and all sorts welcommed; but as yet no bride was seene, no
woman named, no lady designed, no maid published, no wife knowne: onely
the preparation was much, and the expectation greater.
All this while the Marquesse continued his hunting, and as he had
accustomed, resorted much to a poore country village not farre from
Salusse, where there dwelt as poore a countriman, named Janicole,
overworne in yeares, and overcomne with distresse. But as it happens
many times that inward graces doe moderate outward discommodities, and
that God seasoneth poverty with contentment and their sufficient
supportation, so had this poore man all his defects supplied in the
admirable comfort of one onely daughter, so composed, as if nature
determined a worke of ostentation. For such was her beauty in
appearance, and vertue in operation, that it put judicious men to an
extasie in the choice by comparison; but both united did heere grace
each other, and when they pretended an action, it was all to go forward
to perfection. And whereas in others this temporary blessing gave wings
to desire to bee seene and knowne abroad, in her those innated vertues
allaied the heat of all manner of passion, and breakings out of frailty.
The viands they had were but meane, and the diet they kept was to
satisfie nature: the time was over-ruled by their stomachs, and the
ceremonies they used were thanks to God, and moderation in their
repasts. The utensiles of the house were homely, yet handsome in regard
of their cleanlinesse: that bed which they had the ould man lay in, and
the sweet daughter made shift with the ground. No day passed without
prayers and praises to God (for was it not praiseworthy to have such
grace in this disgrace), nor any night without taking account of the day
passed.
Her exercise was to helpe her father in the morning, and drive forth her
sheep in the day time: hee was at home making of nets, and shee abroad
looking to her lambs: she was never heard to wish for any better, but to
thank God it was no worse. No word of repining ever came from her mouth,
or the least grudge from her heart: at night she folded her sheep and
dressed her father’s supper, then lay they downe to rest, and rested as
well as in a bed of downe indeed. This was the glory of their poverty,
and memory of their contentment.
But as fire will not be hid where there is matter combustible, so vertue
will not be obscured where there be tongues and eares: nor could the
Marquesse so hallow after his hawks and hounds, but report hallowed in
his eare as fast this wonderment; insomuch that when it was confirmed by
judicious relation he made it not dainty to be behoulding to his owne
experience: which when he saw concurring with fame, the miracle brought
a kinde of astonishment; which continuing, the properties of such
novelties, increased to meditation: and so comparing the rest with this
rarity, he thought her a fit woman to make his wife, supposing that if
she were vertuous by nature, she would not prove vicious by education;
but rather as a diamond is a stone of the same value whether set in lead
or horne, it must needs be of more excellency embellished with gold and
enamell. In which resolution hee prepared his heart, and went forward
with his businesse.
In the meane time the Court was daintily furnished, the plate prepared,
the apparell magnificent, the coronet rich, the jewels precious, the
ornaments exceeding, and all things befitting the magnificence of a
prince and the dignities of a queen: only the nobles wondred, the ladies
were amazed, the damsells marvelled, the gentles disputed, the people
flocked, and all sorts attended to see who should possesse this wealth
and bee adorned with these robes. Till at last the nuptial day came
indeed: honour prepared the sumptuousness; fame divulged the glory;
hymen invited the guests; magnificence adorned the roomes; the officers
marshald the state, and all looked for a bride; but who she was the next
chapter must discover.
[Illustration]
CHAP. II.
How, after all this great preparation, the Marquesse of Saluss demanded
Grisell of her poore father Janicola; and, espousing her, made her
Marchionesse of Saluss.
When all things were extended to this glorious shew, the Marquesse (as
if he went to fetch his wife indeed) tooke with him a great company of
earls, lords, knights, squires, and gentlemen, ladies, and attendants,
and went from the palace into the countrey toward Janicolas house; where
the faire mayd Grisel, knowing nothing of that which hapned, nor once
dreaming of that which was to come, had made her house and selfe
somewhat handsome, determining (with the rest of her neighbour virgins)
to see this solemnity: at which instant arrived the Marquesse with all
his gracious company, meeting with Grisel as shee was carrying two
pitchers of water to her poore fathers house. Of whom (calling her by
her name) he asked where her father was? She humbly answered, in the
house. Goe then, said hee, and tell him I would speak with him. So the
poore old man (made the poorer by this astonishment) came forth to the
lord somewhat appauled, till the Marquesse, taking him by the hand, with
an extraordinary chearefulnesse said, that he had a secret to impart
unto him, and so, sequestering him from the company, spake these
words:—Janicola, I know that you alwaies loved me, and am resolved that
you doe not now hate me. You have been glad when I have been pleased,
and will not now bee sorrowful if I bee satisfied: nay, I am sure, if it
lie in your power, you will further my delight, and not bee a contrary
to my request. For I intend to begge your daughter for my wife, and bee
your sonne in lawe for your advancement. What saiest thou, man? wilt
thou accept mee for a friend, as I have appointed thee for a father?
The poore ould man was so astonished, that he could not looke up for
teares, nor speak a word for joy; but when the extasie had end, hee thus
faintly replied:—My gracious soueraigne, you are my lord, and therefore
I must accord to your will; but you are generous, and therefore I
presume on your vertue; take her a Gods name, and make mee a glad
father; and let that God, which raiseth the humble and meek, make her a
befitting wife, and fruitful mother. Why then, replied the Marquesse,
let us enter your house, for I must ask her a question before you. So
hee went in, the company tarrying without in great astonishment: the
faire maid was busied to make it as handsome as she could, and proud
againe to have such a guest under her roofe; amazed at nothing but why
hee should come so accompanied, and little conjecturing of so great a
blessing approaching. But, at last, the Marquesse took her by the hand,
and used these speeches:—To tell you this blush becomes you, it were but
a folly; and that your modesty hath graced your comlines, may prove the
deceit of words, and unbefitting my greatnes; but in a word, your father
and I have agreed to make you my wife, and I hope you will not disagree
to take me to your husband. For delay shall not intangle you with
suspicion, nor two daies longer protract the kindnes; onely I must be
satisfied in this, if your heart afford a willing entertainement to the
motion, and your vertue a constancy to this resolution, not to repine at
my pleasure in any thing, nor presume on contradiction, when I determine
to command. For as amongst good souldiers, they must simply obey without
disputing the businesse: so must vertuous wives dutifully consent
withoute reproofe, or the least contraction of a brow. Therefore be
advised how you answer, and I charge you take heed, that the tongue
utter no more then the heart conceits. All this while Grisel was
wondring at the miracle, had not religion told her that nothing was
impossible to the commander of all things; which reduced her to a better
consideration and thus brought forth an answere.
My gracious lord, I am not ignorant of your greatnesse, and know mine
owne basenesse: there is no worth in me to be your servant, therefore
there can be no desert to be your wife: notwithstanding, because God
will be the author of miraculous accidents, I yeeld to your pleasure,
and praise him for the fortune; onely this I will be bold to say, that
your will shall be my delight, and death shall be more welcome unto mee
then a word of displeasure against you.
This is sufficient, answered the great lord, and so most lovingly he
took her by the hand, and brought her to the company, even before all
his peeres and great ladies, and told them she should bee his wife, so
that wherein they extended their love, reverence, and obedience toward
her, he could exemplifie his regard, care, and diligence toward them.
And because outward shewes doe sometimes grace befitting actions (lest
her poverty and basenes might too much daunt their expectation, and
seeme disgratious to their noblenes), he commanded them with a morall
livelinesse to adorne her with the richest robes they had; so that it
was a pleasure to see how the ladies bestird themselves, a delight to
behould the severall services performed, the many hands about her, the
jewels and pendants, the robes and mantles, the ornaments and coronets,
the collanaes and chaines, with all other particulars and
accoustrements, but when she was apparelled indeed, it was a ravishment
exceeding report, and they which stomached her preferment were now
delighted with her glory. Such a benefit hath beauty by nature, and
gratiousnesse by nurture.
CHAP. III.
How the Marquesse and Grisel were married together.
After the ladies had thus adorned poore Grisel with robes befitting her
estate, the Marquesse and all the noble company returned to Saluss, and
in the Cathedrall Church, in sight of the people, according to the
fulnesse of religious ceremonies, they were espoused together, and with
great solemnitie returned to the palace. Herein yet consisted the
admiration, that no word of reproach was murmured, nor eie looked
unpleasantly upon her; for by her wonderfull demeanour shee had gained
so much of opinion that the basenes of her birth was not thought upon,
and all her graces concurring made them verely beleeve shee was
extracted of princely lineage: no man once supposed that shee could be
Grisel, daughter to poore Janicola, but rather some creature
metamorphosed by the powers of heaven: for besides the outward
statelinesse and majestical carriage of herselfe, the wonderfull
modestie and exact symmetry of her countenance, the admirable beauty and
extraordinary favor of her visage, her faire demeanour had a kinde of
attraction, and her gratious words a sweet delivery; so that all that
came to her were glad of their accesse, and they which went from her
triumphed for their good speed: yea, report extended so far, that she
was not onely visited by her owne lords and ladies with reverence, but
attended on with strangers, who came from all quarters to see her and to
bee behoulding to their owne judgements; so that if the Marquesse loved
her before for her own worth, he now reverenced her for others respect;
the rather, because he found a blessing attending her presence, and all
people pleased in the contract? For when any controversie hapned
betweene himselfe and his nobles, she was so nobly minded, that what she
could not obtaine by fair intreaty she yet mitigated by sweet
perswasion. When any unkindnes hapned of forraine prince, shee urged
those blessings of peace, and reasoned the matter with delightsom
enforcement; and when the people were either complained of, or against,
he marvelled from whence she had those pretty reasons to asswage his
anger, and they verely beleeved shee was sent from heaven for their
releefe. Thus was shee amiable to her lord, acceptable to her people,
profitable to her country, a mirror of her sexe, a person priviledged by
nature, and a wonder of the time, in which she did nothing out of time;
so that the Marquesse was rather ravished than loving, and all his
subjects resolved to obedience from her good example.
CHAP. IV.
How the lady Grisel was proved by her husband, who thus made triall of
her patience.
To other blessings, in processe of time, there was added the birth of a
sweet infant, a daughter, that rejoiced the mother, and gladded the
father: the country triumphed, and the people clapped their hands for
joy; for the Marquesse still loved her more and more, and they thought
their lives not deere for her, if occasion served. Notwithstanding all
this, Fortune hath still a tricke to checke the pride of life, and
prosperity must be seasoned with some crosses, or eke it would taint and
corrupt us too much: whereupon, the Marquesse determined now to prove
his wife, and make triall of her vertues indeed; and so taking a
convenient season, after the childe was fully weaned, he one day
repaired secretly to her chamber, and (seeming halfe angry) thus
imparted his mind.
Although, Grisel, this your present fortune hath made you forget your
former estate, and that the jollity of your life overswayeth the
remembrance of your birth, yet neither is it so with me, nor my nobles;
for I have some occasion of distasting, and they great cause of
repining, in that they must be subject to one so base, and have still
before their eyes our children of such low degree; so that though (for
my sake) they make good semblance of the present, yet are they resolved
never to suffer any of our posterity to rule over them; of which, as
they have disputed with mee, I cannot chuse but forewarne you.
Therefore, to prevent this discontentment betweene us, and to maintaine
that peace which must corroborate my estate, I must needes yeelde to
their judgements, and take away your daughter from you, to preserve
their amity: the thing I know must be displeasing to nature, and a
mother cannot well indure such a losse; but there is now no remedy: only
make use of your first resolutions, and remember what you promised me at
the beginning of our contract.
The lady, hearing this sorrowfull preamble, and apprehending the
Marquesse resolution, to her griefe, (although every word might have
beene as arrowes in her sides) yet admitting of the temptation, and
disputing with herselfe to what end the vertues of patience, modesty,
forbearance, fortitude, and magnanimity were ordained, if they had not
subjects to worke upon, and objects to looke after, thus replyed.
My lord, you are my soveraigne, and all earthly pleasures and
contentments of my life come from you, as the fountaine of my
happinesse, and therefore please your selfe, and (beleeve it) it is my
pleasure you are pleased; as for the child, it is the gift of God, and
yours. Now he that gives may take away, and as wee receive blessings
from heaven, so must we not dote on them on earth, lest by setting our
minds too much upon them, wee cannot set off our hearts when they are
taken from us; only one thing I desire, that you remember I am a mother;
and if I burst not out into passion for her losse, it is for your sake I
am no more perplexed, and so you shall ever find mee a wife befitting
your desires.
When the Marquesse saw her constancy, and was in a manner pleased with
her modest answere, hee replied not at all at that time; for his heart
was full, and what betweene joy and feare he departed: joy that so great
vertue had the increase of goodnesse, feare that he had presumed too
farre on such a trial. But resolved in his businesse, hee went to put it
to the adventure.
[Illustration]
CHAP. V.
The Marquesse sent a varlet for his daughter; but privately disposed of
her with his sister, the Dutchesse of Bologna de Grace, who brought her
up in all things befitting the childe of so great a person.
Not long after this sad conference between the Marquesse and his lady,
hee called a faithfull servant unto him; such a one as the poet talks
of, _propter fidem et taciturnitatem dilectum_, to whom hee imparts this
secrecy, and with severall instructions, what hee truly meant to do with
the child, sent him to his wife with an unsavory message, which yet hee
delivered in this manner.
I had not now come to you, most noble lady, though that power commanded
me which hath my life in subjection, if I had not more relied upon your
wisdome and vertue, than feared death it selfe. Therefore I crave pardon
if I am displeasing in my message, and seeme cruell (as it were) in
tearing your flesh from your sides, by bereaving you of this your
daughter; for hee hath appointed it that must not bee gainsaid, and I am
a messenger that cannot bee denied. But yet with what unwillingnes (God
knowes my soule) in regard that you are so respected amongst us, that
wee think of nothing but what may delight you, and talk not a word but
of your merit and worthinesse.
When she had heard him out, remembring the conference the Marquesse had
with her, and apprehending there was no disputing in a matter
remedilesse, especially with a messenger, shee resolved it was ordained
to dy; and although shee must now (as it were) commit it to a
slaughter-house, whereby any woman in the world might with good
becomming have burst out into some passion, and well enough shewed a
distracted extasie, yet recollecting her spirits, and reclaiming those
motives of nature already striving in her bowels, shee tooke the childe
in her armes, and with a mothers blessing and sweetned kisses, the
countenance somewhat sad, and the gesture without any violent
excruciation, delivered it unto the fellow, not once amazed or
distempred, because her lord would have it so, and shee knew not how to
have it otherwise: only she said, I must, my friend, intreat one thing
at your hands, that out of humanity and Christian observation, you leave
not the body to bee devoured of beasts or birds, for it is worthy of a
grave in her innocency, and Christian buriall, though shee were but my
daughter alone.
The fellow having received the childe, durst not tarry for feare of
discovery (such impression had her words made already), but returned
with it to his maister, not leaving out the least circumstance of her
answer, nor any thing that might enlarge her renown and constancy.
The Marquesse, considering the great vertue of his wife, and looking on
the beauty of his daughter, began to enter into a kinde of compassion,
and to retract his wilfulnesse; but at last resolution won the field of
pity, and having (as he thought) so well begunne, would not so soone
give over, but with the same secrecy hee had taken her from his wife,
hee sent it away to his sister, the Dutchess of Bologna, with presents
of worth, and letters of gratification, containing in them the nature of
the businesse, and the manner of her bringing up, which she accordingly
put in practice, receiving her neece with joy, and instructing her with
diligence; so that it soone appeared under what a tutelage shee was, and
whose daughter shee might be. For her pregnancy learned whatsoever they
taught her, and the grace she added, quickly discovered that honour had
confederated with nature to make her the offspring of such a mother.
[Illustration]
CHAP. VI.
The Marquesse, not contented with this proofe, tooke away also her
sonne, in which adversity (with other additions) she shewed an
extraordinary patience.
After this tempest was overpast, the rage whereof might easily have
broken the tender sides of poore Grisels barke (for shee verely beleeved
that her daughter was slaine), the Marquesse still lay in waite for the
trial of his wife, watching every opportunity which might acquaint him
with her discontentments; especially if he might understand whether she
complained of his rigorousnesse and unkindnesse, or no: but when he not
only was advertised of her constancy and faire demeanour, but saw (by
experience) that shee was neither elated in prosperity, nor dejected in
adversity; when hee perceiued so great a temperature betweene the joy of
her advancement and the sorrow for her trouble, he wondred at her
constancy; and the rather, because her love and observation toward him
continued with that sweetnes, and had such delectable passages, that his
heart was set on fire againe, and hee knew not how to allay the
extreamities of his joy. In this manner passed foure yeeres, wherein she
overpassed all of her kinde, and he thought it a donative from heaven to
have such a wife. At last nature bestird herselfe againe, and made her a
happy mother of a faire sonne; the joy whereof led the whole country
into the house of praier and thanksgiving, and brought them home againe
by cresset-light and bonfires, so that she well perceived how acceptable
she was to her people and beloved of her husband. Notwithstanding, with
the same water that drave the mill hee drowned it, and made her still
beleeve the contrary; for after two yeeres, that the childe was past the
danger of a cradle, and the trouble of infancy, he tooke occasion once
againe to inflict upon the vertuous Grisel a new punishment, erecting
his building upon the old foundation.
You knowe, saith hee, what former contentions I have had with my
nobility about our marriage; not that they can lay any imputation on you
or your worthy behavior, but on my fortune and disasterous affection to
match myselfe so meanly: wherein yet their forward exprobation was
rebated, all the while we either had no children, or that they supposed
that which we had to be taken from us; all which ariseth out of the
error of ambition (which in a manner is carelesse of vertue) respecting
nothing but a high progeny. So that ever since this child was borne
there hath passed many secret grudgings, and unkinde speeches against
it, as if it were a disparagement to their greatnesse to have a lord of
so meane parentage, and the country to be subject to the grand child of
Janicola, whom you see never since our marriage they would admit to
place of honor, or to overtop them by way of association, nor will
suffer this my Gualter, though it carry the fathers name, to rule over
them. Therefore, to allay the heat of these present fires, and to
preserve the peace of my estate (by preventing the mischief of future
troubles), I am resolved to settle my contentment, and to deale with
your sonne as I have dealt with your daughter. And of this I thought it
good to advertise you, as a preparative for patience, lest sorrow should
distract you with oversuddennesse.