Now! Then! Walking from York to Bridlington on a hot Midsummer’s Eve, Margery Kempe’s husband suggests they resume sexual relations

Excerpt

It happened on a Friday on Midsummer’s Eve in right hot weather as this creature was coming from York, bearing a bottle with beer in her hand, and her husband a cake tucked in his bosom, that he asked his wife this question: “Margery, if here came a man with a sword and would strike off my head unless I should commune kindly with you as I have done before, say to me the truth of your conscience, for you say you will not lie, whether you would suffer my head to be smitten off, or else suffer me to meddle with you again, as I once did?” “Alas, sir,” she said, “why do you raise this matter, when we have been chaste these eight weeks?” “Because I want to know the truth of your heart.” And then she said with great sorrow, “Truly, I would rather see you slain, than that we should turn again to our uncleanness.” And he replied, “You are no good wife.” And then she asked her husband what was the cause that he had not meddled with her for the last eight weeks, when she had lain with him every night in his bed. And he said that he was made so afraid when he would have touched her, that he dared do no more.

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To facilitate reading, the spelling and punctuation of elderly excerpts have generally been modernised, and distracting excision scars concealed. My selections, translations, and editions are copyright.

Abbreviations

Comment

Barry Windeatt makes a convincing case for the date (Kempe 2004).

Following divine intervention, Mr. accepts that it is all over.

Sarah J Biggs of the British Library’s medieval team:

The story goes that when Colonel W Butler Bowdon was looking for a ping-pong bat in a cupboard at his family home near Chesterfield in the early 1930s he came across a pile of old books. Frustrated at the disorder, he threatened to put the whole lot on the bonfire the next day so that bats and balls would be easier to find in future. Luckily a friend advised him to have the books checked by an expert and shortly afterwards Hope Emily Allen identified one as the Book of Margery Kempe (Flood 2014/03/20).

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Original

It befel up on a Fryday on Mydsomyr Evyn in rygth hot wedyr, as this creatur was komyng fro Yorke ward, beryng a botel wyth bere in hir hand, & hir husbond a cake in hys bosom, he askyd hys wyfe this qwestyon:
“Margery, yf her come a man with a swerd & wold smyte of myn hed, les than I schulde comown kindly wt yow as I haue do befor, seyth me trewth of yowr consciens, for ye sey ye wyl not lye, whethyr wold ye suffyr myn hed to be smet of, er ellys, suffyr me to medele with yow a yen as I dede sum tyme?”
“Alas, ser,” sche seyd, “why meue ye this mater, & haue we ben chast this viii wekys?”
“Ffor I wyl wete the trewth of yowr hert.”
And than sche seyd wt gret sorwe, “Forsothe I had leuar se yow be slayn than we schuld turne a yen to owyr vnclennesse.”
And he seyd a yen, “Ye arn no good wife.”
& than sche askyd hir husbond what was the cawse, tht he had not medelyd wt hir viii wekys be for, sythen sche lay wt hym euery nygth, in hys bedde. And he seyd he was so made a ferde whan he wold a towchyd hir, tht he durst no mor don.
“Now good ser amend yow & aske god mercy, for I teld yow ner iii yer sythen tht ye schuld be slayn sodeynly, & now is this the thryd yer, & yet I hope I schal han my desyr. Good sere, I pray yow grawnt me tht I schal askyn, & I schal pray for yow tht ye schul be sauyd thorw the mercy of owyr lord Ihusu Cryst. And ye schul haue mor mede in heuyn than yyf ye weryd vowan hayr or an haburgon. I pray yow, suffer me to make a vow of chastyte in what bysshopys hand tht god wele.”
“Nay,” he seyd, “that wyl I not grawnt yow, for now may I vsyn yow wyth owtyn dedly synne, & than mygth I not so.”
Than sche seyd a yen, “Yyf it be the wyl of the Holy Gost to fulfyllyn that I haue seyd, I pray god ye mote consent ther to. And yf it be not the wyl of the Holy Gost, I pray God ye neuyr consent ther to.”
Than went thei forth to Brydlyngton ward in rygth hoot wedyr, the forn seyd creatur hauyng gret sorwe & gret dred for hyr chastite. And as thei cam be a cros, hyr husbond sett hym down vndyr the cros, clepyng hys wyfe vn to hym, & seyng this wordys on to hir:
“Margery, grawnt me my desyr & I schal grawnt yow yowr desyr. My fyrst desyr is tht we xal lyn stylle to gedyr in o bed, as we han do be for; the secunde, tht ye schal pay my dettys er ye go to Ierualem; & the thrydde, tht ye schal etyn & drynkyn wt me on the fryday as ye wer wont to don.”
“Nay, ser,” sche seyd, “to breke the Fryday I wyl neuer grawnt yow whyl I leue.”
“Wel,” he seyd, “than schal I medyl yow a geyn.”
Sche prayd hym tht he wold yeue hir leue to make hyr praerys, & he grawntyd it goodlych. Than sche knelyd down be syden a cros in the feld, and preyd in this maner wyth gret habundawns of teerys:
“Lord God, thu knowyst al thyng; thow knowyst what sorwe I haue had to be chast in my body, to the al this iii yer, & now mygth I han my wylle, & I dar not, for lofe of the. Ffor yyf I wold brekyn tht maner of fastyng whech thow comawndyst me to kepyn on the Fryday wt owtyn mete or drynk, I xuld now han my desyr. But blyssyd Lord, thow knowyst I wyl not contraryen thi wyl. And mekyl now is my sorwe les than I fynde comfort in the. Now, blyssed Ihusu, make thi wyl knowyn to me vn worthy, tht I may folwyn ther aftyr & fulfyllyn it wt al my myghtys.”
And than owyr lord Ihusu Cryst wyth gret swetnesse spak to this creatur, comawndyng hir to gon a yen to hir husbond, & prayn hym to grawntyn hir tht sche desyred:
“& he xal han tht he desyreth. Ffor, my derworthy dowtyr, this was the cawse tht I bad the fastyn, for thu schuldyst the sonar opteyn & getyn thi desyr, & now it is grawntyd the. I wyl no lengar thow fast, ther for I byd the in the name of Ihusu ete & drynk as thyn husbond doth.”
Than this creatur thankyd owyr Lord Ihusu Cryst of hys grace & hys goodness, sythen ros up & went to hir husbond, seyng vn to hym:
“Sere, yf it lyke yow ye schal grawnt me my desyr & ye schal haue yowr desyr. Grawntyth me tht ye schal not komyn in my bed, & I grawnt yow to qwyte yowr dettys er I go to Ierusalem & makyth my body fre to God, so tht ye neuer make no chalengyng in me to askyn no dett of matrimony aftyr this day whyl ye leuyn, & I schal etyn & drynkyn on the Fryday at yowr byddyng.”
Than seyd hir husbond a gen to hir, “As fre mot yowr body ben to god as it hath ben to me.”
Thys creatur thankyd god gretly, enioyng tht sche had hir desyr, prayng hir husbond tht thei schuld sey iii pater nrs in the worshep of the Trinyte, for the gret grace tht he had grawntyd hem. & so they ded, knelyng vnder a cros, & sythen thei etyn & dronkyn to gedyr in gret gladnes of spyryt. This was on a Fryday on Mydsom᷑ euyn.
Than went thei forth to-Brydlyngton-ward, and also to many other contres, & spokyn wyth Goddys suawntys, bothen Ankrys & reclusys, & many other of owyr Lord’s louerys, wt many worthy clerkys, doctorys of dyuynyte, & bachelers also, in many dyuers placys. & this creatur to dyuers non dyscrescion of hem schewyd hir felyngs & hyr contemplacyons as sche was comawndyd for to don, to wetyn yf any disseyt were in hir felyngys.