Peter Ackroyd - The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

‘Griselda,’ he said to her playfully, ‘how do you like my new wife? Isn’t she a beauty?’

‘She is indeed, my lord. I have never seen a lovelier woman in my life. God send her good fortune. And I hope he will send both of you peace and prosperity until the end of your lives.

‘I will say one thing, however, if I may. I would beg you not to test and torment this poor girl, as you once tested me. She has been brought up more tenderly. She is more delicate than me, I believe. She could not endure adversity in the same way as a girl born and brought up in poverty. You know who I mean.’

When Walter looked upon her cheerful face, when he saw that there was no malice in her heart towards him, he recalled the number of times he had grievously offended her. She was still as steady and as constant as a stone wall. So he began to take pity on her – yes, pity for her loyalty to him.

‘Enough,’ he said. ‘You have suffered enough, Griselda. Fear no more. All things shall be well. I have tested your faith and kindness to the utmost. I have tested you in wealth and in poverty. No other woman in the world could have endured so much. Now I know, dear wife, the full measure of your truth and constancy.’ With that he took her in his arms and kissed her.

She was so amazed that she did not know what was happening to her. She did not understand a word he said to her. It was as if she were walking in her sleep. Then suddenly she was wide awake. ‘Griselda,’ he said, ‘I swear to God you have always been my true and faithful wife. I will have no other, as long as I live.

‘This is your daughter. You believed her to be my new bride. But you yourself gave birth to her. This young man is your son. One day he will be my heir. They have been brought up secretly in Bologna, by my orders. Take them back again. You will never be able to say that you have lost your children.

‘I know that the people think the worst of me. But I swear that I did not test you out of anger or out of cruelty. I merely wished to assay your patience and your womanly fidelity. I did not kill my children. God forbid! I merely wanted to keep them out of the way while I watched over you.’

When Griselda heard this, she almost fainted for joy. Then she called her two young children to her, and embraced them. She wept as she kissed them, her tears falling upon their cheeks and upon their hair.

All those around her were crying, too, as she spoke softly to her son and daughter. ‘I give thanks to God,’ she said, ‘for saving my dear children. I give thanks to my lord and master, too. If I were to die now, I would know at least that I have found favour in your eyes. Now that I am restored to grace, I do not fear death. I do not fear anything.

‘Oh my dear children – my little ones – your poor mother imagined that you were buried beneath the ground. She really believed that rats or dogs had eaten your bodies. But God has saved you. And your father has kept you safe.’ Then she fainted upon the ground.

She had embraced her children so tightly, in fact, that it was difficult to prise them from their mother’s loving arms. All those around her were still crying, of course. They could not bear to see her in her extremity of joy and bewilderment.

Walter kneeled beside her and tried to soothe her. After a while she stood up, a little disconcerted, and everyone cheered her and encouraged her until eventually she recovered her composure. Walter was the very soul of comfort and concern. Really, it was a delight to see them both together once again.

When the ladies of the court saw their opportunity, they led Griselda to her old chamber. There they removed her threadbare clothes and dressed her in a gown made of cloth of gold. They put a crown of many jewels upon her head before leading her into the principal hall, where the newly restored wife and mother was greeted with acclamation.

So this unhappy day had a happy ending. Every man and woman danced and feasted, as well they might, until the stars lit up the heavens with their blissful light. There was more joy, and more revelry – more expense, too – than the celebrations of the bridal day so many years before.

So for many years Griselda and Walter lived together in love and happiness. Their daughter was married to one of the richest and most noble lords in all of Italy. The marquis took good care of Griselda’s father, too, who spent the rest of his days at ease in the palace.

Griselda’s son, on the death of his father, took over the rule of Saluzzo. He married well, and happily, but he never put his wife to any test. It is said by some that this world is not so strong as it was in old times. I don’t know about that. But listen to what our noble author, Petrarch, had to say in conclusion to his tale.

‘I have not told this story to counsel wives into submission. They could not, and should not, copy the patience of Griselda. The real lesson is more simple. Every man and woman should, like her, try to be steadfast in adversity. That is enough.’ And that is why Petrarch chose to narrate the story of Griselda in his most noble prose.

If a woman can be so submissive to a man, then how much more should we show our obedience to God Himself? He has every reason to test us all. He created us. But in his epistle Saint James tells us that God will never tempt us beyond our strength.

It is true that he tempts us every day. He disciplines us with seasons of adversity, since in misfortune we can exercise our virtue. He knows all our frailties, of course, and does not need to probe them further. He does everything for our own good. So be patient. Be of good cheer.

I will say one more thing to you, lords and ladies of the pilgrimage. It would be almost impossible to find another Griselda in modern England. If you put a wife or mother to the test, you would find more brass than gold. A woman nowadays is like a bad coin. She will break rather than bend.

Naturally I have nothing against the Wife of Bath. May God give her, and those like her, a good life! Long may she rule over us!

Griselda is dead, and lies buried somewhere in the land of Italy. Her patience was in the end rewarded. But I beg you, all you husbands, never to test your wives as Walter tested her. Your efforts will not work. You will fail.

All you noble wives, take heed. Never let humility nail down your tongue. Do not allow some other writer to tell your story as Petrarch recounted that of kind and patient Griselda. Do you remember the story of Chichevache, who could feed only on humble housewives? That was why he was so lean. Please do not be fodder for his stomach.

You should follow the example of Echo, who always had an answer ready. Don’t be naive. Don’t be beaten down. Fight back. Keep the lesson of Griselda firmly in your mind. You can do nothing but profit from it.

Oh you mighty wives, defend yourselves. You can be as strong as elephants, I am sure of it. Don’t allow men to get the better of you. Those of you who are not so mighty – well, I am sure you can still be fierce. You can rattle on and on, just like a windmill in a gale.

Have no fear of your husband. Even if he were clothed in full armour, the arrows of your eloquence would get through the chain-mail. Make him jealous. Or – better still – accuse him of something. Then he will be as still and frightened as a little bird.

If you are good-looking, make use of it. Show off your features, and your dress. If you are ugly, spend your money freely and make friends with everyone. Get them on your side. Be as light and playful as a leaf upon a linden tree. Let your husband do the wailing and lamenting. That is all I have to say.

Heere endeth the Tale of the Clerk of Oxenford

The Prologe of the Marchantes Tale