Fragment VII (Group B2)
One time in Saint Denis a merchant dwelled And he was well to do, for which men held Him wise. He had a beauteous wife, and she Was sociable and fond of revelry-- The kind of thing that creates more expense 5 Than justified by all the reverence That men show women at their feasts and dances; Their courtly gestures in such circumstances Pass like a shadow on the wall. And woe To him who has to finance all the show! 10 The simple husband, always he must pay; He has to clothe us, keep us in array (His honor served, although expensively), In which array we dance with jollity; And if he can't, by some course of events, 15 Or doesn't wish to go to such expense Because he thinks it's money wasted, lost, Then must another take care of our cost Or lend us gold, and that's a dangerous road. This noble merchant had a fine abode, 20 To which some folks so often would repair (Because of his largess and wife so fair) It was a wonder. Listen to my tale. Among his guests, who ranged the social scale, There was a monk, a fair man and a bold-- 25 He was, I think, then thirty winters old-- Who was forever visiting the place. This youthful monk who was so fair of face Had grown so well acquainted with the man That since the day their friendship first began 30 He was as much a frequent sight to see In this man's house as any friend could be. And inasmuch as both this worthy man And this young monk of whom I've told began Their lives in the same village, cause therein 35 The monk had found to claim that they were kin; This made the merchant, far from saying "Nay," As glad as any fowl is come the day; For it gave to his heart great pleasure, pride, To be so knit, eternally allied, 40 And each one strove the other to assure Of brotherhood while their lives may endure. Don John the monk was free about expense There in that house, for with all diligence He sought to please, whatever cost begotten. 45 Whenever he would visit, not forgotten Would be the lowest page, by their degree He'd give the lord and all his company, When he would come, some proper gift. For this, His visits made them all as full of bliss 50 As is the fowl to see the rising sun. No more of this, enough is said and done. This merchant, it befell, one certain day Made plans to travel, readied his array; Toward the town of Bruges he was to fare 55 Where he would buy a portion of his ware. And so he sent to Paris right away A servant to Don John the monk, to pray He come to Saint Denis, a day or more To sport there with him and his wife before 60 The merchant would to Bruges be starting out. This noble monk whom I have told about Got from his abbot the desired permission In view of his discretion and position (An officer whose job it was to ride 65 About the barns and granges far and wide), And so he came at once to Saint Denis. A kinder welcome there could never be Than that for our Don John, dear kinsman! Wine The monk had brought--Italian sweet and fine, 70 Also a jug of malmsey--on his jaunt, And fowls he brought as well, as was his wont. To food and drink and play I let them go, This merchant and this monk, a day or so. This merchant on the third day then arose; 75 Reflecting on finances, up he goes Into his counting house, where all alone He calculates how well the year has gone-- Where at the time stood his financial health, How he had spent what portion of his wealth, 80 If his accounts showed some increase or none. His books and bags (and he had many a one) He laid before him on his counting board, So rich the treasure he had there to hoard That he securely shut the chamber door, 85 That not one man might interrupt his chore While he was counting there behind the lock. That's how he sat till after nine o'clock. Don John, that morning up early as well, Was in the garden, strolling there a spell 90 And saying his devotions decorously. Now this good wife came walking quietly Into the garden; there upon their meeting, As she had often done, she gave him greeting. There was a maiden walking by her side 95 Of whom she was the governess and guide; She was a child still subject to the rod. "Dear cousin John," this good wife said, "my God, What's ailing you, so early to arise?" "Niece, it's enough," said he, "to realize 100 A good five hours' sleep on any night-- Unless a person's old with little might, Like many a cowering husband lying there As in a burrow sits a weary hare, Distraught, hounds big and little on his tail. 105 But why, dear niece, have you become so pale? I would believe for sure that our good man So labored with you since the night began You'd need to have a rest, and hastily!" And with those words the monk laughed merrily, 110 His own thoughts having left him blushing red. But this fair wife began to shake her head And gave a sigh. "Aye, God knows all," said she. "My cousin, no, it stands not so with me; For by that God who gave me soul and life, 115 In all the realm of France there is no wife Who gets less pleasure from that sorry play. Though I may sing 'Alas, alack the day That I was born,' there is no one," said she, "To whom I dare tell how it stands with me. 120 That's why I think at times to leave this land Or else to end it all by my own hand, So filled I am with dread, so full of care." The monk then gave this wife a startled stare. "Alas, my niece, now God forbid," he said, 125 "That you should for some sorrow or for dread Destroy yourself! Explain to me your grief; Perhaps I may suggest then some relief, Give help or counsel. Therefore let me know, I won't repeat a thing about your woe; 130 Upon this breviary I now swear That never in my life for foul or fair Shall any of your secrets I betray." "The same to you," she answered, "shall I say. By God and by that breviary I swear 135 That though to bits my body men may tear I never shall, though I may go to hell, Betray a word of anything you tell-- Not just because we're allied or related, But truly in good faith and love," she stated. 140 And so the two had sworn, and kissed each other, And told just what they pleased to one another. She said, "My cousin, if I had the space (Which time I do not have, not in this place), I'd tell you the sad story of my life, 145 What I have suffered since I've been a wife Here with my spouse, although he's kin to you." "By God and by Saint Martin, that's not true," The monk replied, "he's no more kin to me Than is a leaf that hangs here on the tree! 150 I've called him that, by Saint Denis of France, That I might thereby have a better chance To know you, whom I've loved especially Above all other women, truthfully. To that I swear upon my sacred vow. 155 Before he comes, tell me your grievance now, Then be off on your way immediately." "O my Don John, my dear love," answered she, "How willingly this counsel I would hide, But it must out, I can no more abide. 160 My husband has been to me the worst man That ever was since first the world began. But since I am a wife, I shouldn't be Telling a soul about our privacy, Not that in bed nor in whatever place. 165 The Lord forbid I tell it, for his grace! A wife should always say about her mate Nothing but good, as I appreciate-- Except to you this much I dare to say: God help me, he's not worth in any way 170 The value of a fly, not one degree. And yet what grieves me most? He's niggardly. For women, as you know, by natural bent Desire six things and I'm no different; We'd all have every husband be for us 175 Hardy and wise and rich and generous And pliant to his wife and good in bed. But by that very Lord who for us bled, To honor him and purchase my array This coming Sunday I will have to pay 180 A hundred francs or else I am forlorn. Yet I would rather never have been born Than be involved in scandal or disgrace, And if my husband saw such taking place I'd be but lost. And so to you I pray, 185 Lend me this sum, or else I die today. Don John, I beg, lend me these hundred francs; I will not fail to render you my thanks If you will do for me that which I ask. I'll pay you back someday--whatever task 190 You may require, whatever service, pleasure That I may do, I'll let you set the measure. If I do not, God's vengeance on me, John, As foul as that of France's Ganelon." This gentle monk then answered in this fashion: 195 "Now truly, my dear lady, such compassion I feel for you," he said, "so great a ruth, That I now swear, I promise you in truth, That when your spouse to Flanders starts to fare, That's when I shall deliver you from care, 200 For I will bring to you the hundred francs." And with that word he caught her by the flanks, Embraced her hard, and kisses on her rained. "Now go your way," he said, "but be restrained, Don't make a sound. And see that soon we dine; 205 The sundial says that it's already nine. Go now, and be as true as I shall be." "Naught else or God forbid, sir," answered she. As jolly as a magpie, off she bustled To bid the cooks make haste, to see they hustled, 210 So that the folks might dine without delay. Up to her husband then she made her way, She knocked upon the locked door hardily. "Qui là?" he asked. "By Peter! it is me," She answered. "What, sir! How long will you fast? 215 How long must all your calculations last, Such tallying of sums and books and things? The devil take," she said, "such reckonings! For sure you have enough gifts from the Lord; Come down today, let be the bags you hoard. 220 Do you not feel ashamed that dear Don John, From fasting all the day, grows weak and wan? Now let's go hear a mass and then we dine." "Wife," said the man, "you little can divine The care and trouble of this occupation. 225 Among us merchants--God be my salvation, As I swear by the lord they call Saint Ive-- Of any twelve there's scarcely two who thrive Into their latter years. We should with grace Then look our best, put on a happy face, 230 Pass through this world however rough it be, And manage our affairs in privacy Until we're dead--or else as pilgrims go Somewhere to get away from folks we owe. To keep right up-to-date, then, is for me, 235 In this strange world, a great necessity; We merchants have to keep a cautious eye On chance and fortune as we sell and buy. "At dawn I head for Flanders, and I plan To come back home as quickly as I can. 240 And therefore, my dear wife, I pray that you Will gracious be to all, show meekness, too, And take good care of all our property, And govern well our house and honorably. In every shape and form you'll have the stuff 245 That for a thrifty household is enough; You'll lack no clothes or food of any sort, The silver in your purse will not run short." With that he shut the counting house's door And went downstairs, he didn't linger more. 250 A mass was said, a hasty celebration, Then tables set without procrastination, And they sat down at once to break the bread. This monk was by this merchant richly fed. After dinner, Don John with gravity 255 This merchant took aside, and privately He said to him, "My cousin, well I know, The way things stand, to Bruges you have to go. God and Saint Austin speed you there and guide! I pray that wisely, cousin, you will ride; 260 Watch carefully your diet, when you eat Be temperate, especially in this heat-- No need that we be formal, as if strangers. Farewell, my cousin, God shield you from dangers! And if there's anything by day or night, 265 If it lies in my power and my might, That you would have me do in any way, It shall be done exactly as you say. "One thing before you go, if it may be, I'd ask of you: that you might lend to me 270 A hundred francs for just a week or so, For certain beasts I have to buy, to go And stock a place that's one we now possess. So help me God, would it were yours, no less! I will not fail when time comes to repay, 275 Not for a thousand francs would I delay. But let's keep this a secret if we might, For I must buy these beasts this very night. Farewell, my cousin, one to me so dear, And thanks for all the entertainment here." 280 This noble merchant then with courtesy Replied at once: "My cousin, truthfully It is a small request, Don John, you make. My gold is yours; when you desire to, take Not just my gold but any merchandise 285 You wish, and God forbid you minimize. "One thing, though, you know well enough by now About us merchants: money is our plow. We may have credit while we have good names, But being goldless is no fun and games. 290 Repayment of the loan is at your leisure; Within my means I'm gladly at your pleasure." He fetched the hundred francs immediately And took them to Don John in secrecy; No one in all the world knew of the loan 295 Except this merchant and Don John alone. They drank and talked, they roamed awhile, disported, Till to his abbey John again reported. The next day dawned, the merchant left to ride For Flanders. Well his prentice served as guide 300 And into Bruges he brought him merrily. This merchant now went fast and busily About his needs, he borrowed and he bought. To dancing, playing dice, he gave no thought, For like a merchant, briefly I will say, 305 Is how he lives, and there I'll let him stay. On that next Sunday, with the merchant gone, To Saint Denis has come again Don John, With cleancut crown, his beard fresh from a shave. In all the house there was no boy or knave 310 Or anyone who wasn't glad to see Don John had come again. But now that we Might to the point go quickly pressing on, This fair wife made agreement with Don John That for the hundred francs he have the right 315 To take her in his arms for all the night, Which deed was then performed for all its worth. That night they led a merry life, in mirth, Till it was light, when Don John went his way And bade the household "Farewell" and "Good day." 320 None there and none in town had any call To be suspicious of Don John at all. So forth he rode home to his abbey, or To where he wished, of him I'll say no more. After the fair, back home to Saint Denis 325 The merchant went, and there his wife and he Made merry with a feast. He told her, since He'd bought his merchandise at such expense, He had to get a loan and right away, For he was bound in writing to repay 330 Some twenty thousand ecus that he owed. And so this merchant off to Paris rode To borrow francs from certain friends he had; He brought some francs along but hoped to add. When he arrived in town, he first of all, 335 Because of great affection, went to call Upon Don John, to have a little sport; It wasn't for a loan of any sort But just to find out how his friend was doing And tell him of the deals he'd been pursuing, 340 As friends will do when they are met. With zest A merry time Don John showed to his guest, Who told him once again especially How well he'd purchased and how favorably, Thanks be to God, all of his merchandise-- 345 Except that he must, in whatever wise, Arrange a loan the best way that he could, In joy then to relax the way he should. Don John replied, "I'm glad, most certainly, That you've come home as whole as you can be. 350 If I were rich, as I may hope for bliss, Those twenty thousand you would never miss; For you so kindly, just the other day, Lent gold to me--and as I can and may, I thank you, by Saint James and in God's name. 355 But I've already paid back to our dame, Your wife at home, that same gold, every bit Upon your bench. She's well aware of it, By certain tokens of which I can tell. Now, by your leave, on this I cannot dwell; 360 Our abbot's leaving town right presently And I must go along in company. Greet well our dame, that niece of mine so sweet, And farewell, my dear cousin, till we meet." This merchant, who was wise and wary, when 365 He had obtained his credit, handed then To certain Lombards there the quantity Of gold required to pay his debt. Then he Went home as merry as a popinjay, For well he knew things stood in such a way 370 That gain would be his journey's consequence, A thousand francs above all his expense. His wife was ready, met him at the gate Where always she would go to greet her mate; All night they spent in mirth, without a fret, 375 For he was rich and clearly out of debt. When it was day he started to embrace His wife again, he kissed her on the face, Then up he went and really showed his stuff. "No more," she said, "by God, you've had enough!" 380 Than wantonly again with him she played, Till he at last these comments to her made: "By God, I must say I'm a bit upset With you, my wife, although to my regret. Do you know why? By God, it's that I guess 385 You have created something of a mess Between me and my relative Don John. You should have cautioned me before I'd gone That he had paid, with ready evidence, A hundred francs; the fellow took offense 390 When I spoke of my need to borrow money-- Or so it seemed, he looked a little funny. But nonetheless, by God, high heaven's King, My thought was not to ask him for a thing. No more of such from now on, wife, I pray; 395 Always tell me before I go away If any debtor has in my absence Paid you, lest I should through your negligence Request of him a thing that he has paid." This wife was neither fretful nor afraid 400 But right away replied to him with spunk: "Sweet Mary, I defy Don John, false monk! For all his proofs I do not care a whit. He brought some gold, I'm well aware of it. May bad luck hit that monk right in the snout! 405 For, as God knows, I thought without a doubt You were the reason he gave it to me, That it was for my use, my dignity, Because of kinship and the friendly cheer That he so often has enjoyed here. 410 But as I see I got things out of joint, I'll answer you in short, right to the point: You have much slacker debtors, sir, than me! For I will pay you well and readily Each day. And if I fail or dilly-dally, 415 I am your wife: score it upon my tally And I shall pay as quickly as I may. For by my oath, it was for my array, And not for waste, that I spent every bit; So you can see I made good use of it, 420 All for your honor. For God's sake, I say, Do not be angry, let us laugh and play. You've got my jolly body pledged instead; By God, the way I'll pay you is in bed. So let me be forgiven, husband dear; 425 Turn here to me and show some better cheer." This merchant saw there was no remedy And that to chide would only folly be, There was no way the deed they might undo. "Wife, I'll forgive," he said, "I'll pardon you; 430 But, on your life, no more so free a hand, Take more care of my goods, that's my command." And so my tale is ended. May God send Tallies enough to our lives' very end. Amen.
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