Peter Ackroyd - The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

‘There is one thing I must tell you, though. I will not stomach an old bride. She must be below the age of twenty. I enjoy my fish, but not my flesh, mature. I like fresh meat. A pike is better than a pickerel, but a frisky calf is better than an old cow. I don’t want or need a woman of thirty. Women of that age are nothing but bales of straw. They are beanbags. As for those old widows, God forbid I should come near any of them. They are nothing but trouble and strife. They are more wily than any scholar. They have been to the school of life, where they learned all the lessons. No. Give me a young thing. I will be able to mould her in my hands like a piece of warm wax. So there we are, friends. Throw out the old, and bring in the new. If I should by any chance be unlucky in love, and suffer an unhappy marriage, why, I would take up adultery for a living and go to the devil after my death. I would certainly never father any children on an old misery. I would rather be eaten by dogs than allow my inheritance to pass into strange hands. I am not kidding. I know all the reasons for marriage, although I suspect that there are many people who talk about it who haven’t the faintest idea. So I will tell you this. If a man cannot live chastely, then he must marry. If a man wants to have children by lawful procreation, then he should take a wife. A mistress or a lover is not the same thing. That is mere lechery, in the eyes of God, and has nothing to do with the obligations of the marital bed.

‘Husband and wife can also live together in perfect innocence, of course, just like brother and sister. I don’t think that is the way for me. I can say, thank God, that all my limbs are in good working order. I can do the job of a man. I know where my strength lies. I may seem aged but I am like an old tree that still brings forth its leaves. I can feel my buds begin to swell. My blossoms will soon be poking out. I am not dried up or dead as yet. The only hoar frost is sprinkled on my head. In every other place I am as green and fresh as a laurel, year in and year out. Well, enough. Now that you have heard my proposal, let me know what you think.’

The company all had different opinions and different questions. Some of them praised marriage. Others criticized it. They all had stories and examples to confirm their points of view. They argued all of that day, in a good-humoured fashion, but in the end the main argument was between two of his closest friends. One of them was named Placebo, a pleasing sort of fellow, and the other was known as Justinus, or ‘the just one’.

This was Placebo’s point. ‘Oh January, dear friend, you really have no need to ask any of us for our opinions. You are wise enough to know that it is best to follow the judgement of Solomon in this matter. Do you remember what he said? “Work out what is the best advice. Then follow it. You will not regret it.” That was the sum of his wisdom, I believe, and I agree with every word of it. Except on this occasion, dear brother, weighing one thing with another, I am inclined to believe that you should follow your instinct. Consult your heart, my friend. Let me tell you something. I have been a courtier all my life. God knows I am unworthy of the honour, but I have been privileged to serve some of the greatest lords of our land. Never once have I argued with them. I have never contradicted them. I knew well enough that they had more judgement than I could possibly claim. I agree with every word they say. I say the same, in fact, or something very similar. A courtier would be a great fool if he dared to presume that he had more wit than his lordship. He must not even think it! No. Our lords are not idiots. I will say that for them.

‘This is my point, dear January. You have shown such eloquence and wisdom here today that I fully agree with everything you say. I would not change one word. There is not a man in all of Italy who could have spoken more nobly. Christ himself would concur. It is truly a courageous act for a man of your years to take on a young wife. It is bold. It is magnanimous. You are a good creature! So this is my opinion. Do whatever you think is best. I am sure that will be the right course.’

Justinus had been sitting quietly listening to Placebo. ‘Dear friend,’ he said to January. ‘Be patient with me. I have heard everything that has been said. I will add a few words of my own. Seneca has told us that a man must be careful, and think twice, before giving away his lands or his cattle. Since it is important to be sure about the recipient of your worldly goods, surely there is even more reason to scrutinize the person to whom you are giving away your body? You will never get it back. Marriage is not child’s play. You should never take a wife without very careful thought. You have to ask questions. You have to find out whether she is prudent or wasteful. You must know whether she is sober or a drunk. You do not want to marry a scold, do you, or a man-chaser? Or a bitch? It is important to discover, too, whether she is rich or poor. Don’t tie yourself down with a shrew, in other words.

‘Now I know that it will be impossible, in this fallen world, to find a woman who is perfect in every way. I give you that. Still you really ought to find out whether your wife-to-be has more good qualities than bad qualities. This will take time. But it is important. I should know. I have wept plentifully, and often, since I took a wife. Praise the married life all you like. But I personally have found it to be full of cost and care, of duties rather than pleasures. God knows that all my neighbours, especially the females, congratulate me on my choice of wife. They say that she is considerate and steady in the extreme. Yet I know where the shoe pinches. I know where it hurts. Of course, January, you must do as you please. But take my advice. You are a man of a certain age. Think very carefully before you take on a young and pretty wife. By Him who made heaven and earth, the youngest man among us would have trouble keeping on top of such a woman. Restraining her, I mean. Trust me. Within three years, she will be sick of you. You know what a wife needs, don’t you? Do you think you have the strength to fulfil all her desires? A wife asks for a lot, you know. I just hope that you are not riding for a fall.’

‘Well,’ January replied. ‘Is that all you have to say? I don’t give a fuck for Seneca or for your own grave words. And as for your warnings, well, I dismiss them. They are a crock of shit. Wiser men than you, as you have heard, take quite a different view of my proposal. What do you say, Placebo?’

‘I say, dear sir, that it is a serious matter – it is almost profane – to raise any impediment to holy matrimony.’

With that the whole company rose to their feet. They agreed, one and all, that January should be married when and where he wished. As for the bride, well, that was up to him.

And the bride was on his mind. He thought about her all the time. He had fantasies about her. Many beautiful bodies, and many pretty faces, went through his mind as he lay in bed at night. If you took a brightly polished mirror and placed it in the middle of a fair or a market, you would be bound to see the images of many people passing to and fro. January’s imagination was the same. It was a mirror in which were reflected the shapes of all the prettiest young girls in his district. He was not sure which one to choose as yet. One had a beautiful face, while another had a good reputation for modesty and obedience. One came from a rich family, but had a bad character. Nevertheless, after much thought, he fixed on one above all others. Half in earnest and half in game, he dismissed thoughts of all the rest. Without consulting anyone else, he made his decision. Love is blind, after all.

When he got into bed every night, he imagined her in every state and every position. He gloated on her perfect body and on her youthfulness; he pictured her narrow waist, her long legs and her slender arms. Oh, of course he also reflected on her wifely virtues – on her modesty and her tenderness, her womanly bearing and her seriousness. When he had decided, then, he believed that he could not have made a better choice. Nothing and no one could have changed his mind. If anyone had been so brave as to try to do so, he would have dismissed him as a fool. He was living in a fantasy world. Once more he sent a message to all of his friends, asking them to assemble in his house as soon as possible. He would not detain them long, he said, and in any case he would spare them the labour of looking out for a young girl to be his mate. He had made his choice. He would not change his mind.