he came to wed
her. He readily consents to do so, but has hardly begun when the Queen
and ladies of the court, by their mocking air and questions, provoke
him to such anger that swords are at length drawn between him and Sir
Lancelot, a friend of the Queen, and only the sudden interposition of
the King prevents a bloody conflict. The feud ends in a wager, by which
it is agreed that if Griselda's love to Percival endure certain tests,
the Queen shall kneel to her; otherwise, Percival shall kneel to the
Queen. The tests are applied, and the young wife's love, although
perplexed and tortured in the extreme, triumphantly endures them all.
The character of Griselda, as maiden, daughter, wife, mother, and
woman, is wrought with exquisite skill, and betokens in the author rare
delicacy and nobility of sentiment, as well as deep knowledge of the
human heart.

The following extract gives a part of Percival's description of
Griselda:

PERCIVAL.

Plague take these women's tongues!

GINEVRA (_to her party_).

Control your wit and mirth, compose your faces,
That longer yet this pastime may amuse us!
Now, Percival, proceed!

PERCIVAL.

What was I saying?
I have it now! Beside the brook she stood;
Her dusky hair hung rippling round her face.
And perched upon her shoulders sat a dove;
Right home-like sat she there, her wings scarce moving.
Now suddenly she stoops--I mean the maiden--
Down to the spring, and lets her little feet
Sink in its waters, while her colored skirt
Covered with care what they did not conceal;
And I within the shadow of the trees,
Inly admired her graceful modesty.
And as she sat and gazed into the brook,
Plashing and sporting with her snow-white feet,
She thought not of the olden times, when girls
Pleased to behold their faces smiling back
From the smooth water, used it as their mirror
By which to deck themselves and plait their hair;
But like a child she sat with droll grimaces,
Delighted when the brook gave back to her
Her own distorted charms; so then I said:
Conceited is she not.

KENNETH.

The charming child!

ELLINOR.

What is a collier's child to you! By heaven!
Don't make me fancy that you know her, Sir!

PERCIVAL.

And now resounding through the mountain far,
From the church-tower rang forth the vesper-bell,
And she grew grave and still, and