The Canterbury Tales – A Retelling

Heere bigynneth the Tale of the Clerk of Oxenforde

PART ONE

On the western side of Italy, just beside the foot of chilly Mount Viso, there is a rich and fruitful plain dotted with towns and castles that were built up in ancient times. There are many other pleasant places to be seen here, in the region known as Saluzzo.

A marquis was the lord of this land, one of a long line of distinguished noblemen. All of his vassals, high and low, were diligent and obedient to his commands. So for many years he lived in peace and prosperity, the favoured son of Fortune, beloved and respected by the lords and by the common people.

He came from the stock of the most noble lineage in all of Lombardy. He was strong and courageous, young and fair, a very model of honour and of chivalry. He exercised his authority very well, except in certain affairs that I am about to mention to you. The name of this marquis, by the way, was Walter.

Walter was worthy of criticism in one respect. He never considered what might or might not happen in the future. His only concern was the present moment. He busied himself about hunting and hawking. That was all. Nothing else seemed to matter to him. He was not interested in marriage, for example. On no account would he take a bride.

This was the one thing for which his people blamed him. So a delegation asked to be admitted into his presence. Among them was a wise and worthy man. It was believed that the marquis would listen to him as a representative of the general opinion. So this man stood before the marquis and spoke thus.

‘Noble marquis, your well-known benignity and humanity embolden us to speak to you plainly. It has become necessary for us to tell you of our distress. Listen to us, sir, in your usual merciful way. With piteous hearts we address you. Do not turn away from me, or condemn my words.

‘I am no more able or more knowledgeable than any other man in this place but, in as much as I have found favour with you before, dear lord, I will be so bold as to put before you our request. It will then be up to you, of course, whether you accept or reject it.

‘You know well enough that we have always admired your words and deeds. There is no way in which we could enjoy more peace and happiness – except, perhaps, in one matter. We would love to hear wedding bells. If you were to marry, sir, that would give us more pleasure than anything else.

‘I plead with you to bow your neck and enter a new state of sovereignty, not service, which is called wedlock or matrimony. You are wise, sir, and will consider that our days flee like the wind. When we wake or sleep, when we ride or wander, time does not stand still. It abides for no man.

‘You are still in your green time, but youth will one day give way to age. The years come as silent as a stone. Death is the enemy of all, young or old, high or low. No one can escape. But even if we are all certain that we will die, sir, none of us know when that day will come.

‘Our intentions are good. You know that. We have never yet disobeyed you in anything. So very humbly we ask you to listen to our request. It concerns a marriage. If you agree, we will choose for you a wife in as short a time as possible. She will be of the utmost rank of the nobility, so that as your wife she will bring honour to you and to God.

‘Free us from fear and trembling, dear lord. Take a wife, for God’s sake. If it should happen – God forbid – that you should die and that your line came to an end, we might be ruled by some stranger from a strange land. We cannot think of anything more terrible. So we beg you to marry in all haste.’

Walter heard this humble and sorrowful request, and was moved by it. How could he be angry with such suppliants? ‘You well know, my dear people,’ he replied, ‘that before this moment I have never thought of the sweet constraints of a wife. I enjoy my liberty, and know well enough that it is not to be found in marriage. Where once I was free, I would be in servitude.

‘Nevertheless I understand your good intentions. I know your good will towards me. And I trust your judgement, as I have always done. So of my own free will I declare that I will be married as soon as I can. I know that you have promised today to find a wife for me, but I release you from that pledge. I wish to hear no more about it.

‘God knows that children are often very different from their parents. Goodness comes from God and not from noble ancestors or a rich family. I will put my trust in God. I place my life and estate – and my marriage – in His care. Let Him do with me as He please.

‘So allow me, please, to find a wife for myself. I will take the responsibility. But you must promise me this. I ask you to honour whatever wife I choose for as long as she may live. You must make the most solemn pledge to support her in word and deed, here and everywhere, just as if she were the daughter of an emperor.

‘You must also swear another oath. You must swear not to complain or criticize. When I have chosen, I have chosen. You are asking me to give up my liberty, after all. So I must be allowed to follow my own inclination. Unless you assent to my proposals, I will have nothing more to do with the matter.’

So unanimously they agreed to all of the marquis’s conditions. No one dissented. Before they departed, however, they begged their lord to name the day of the wedding as soon as possible. They feared, you see, that in the end he might not marry at all.

He did name a day, as they asked. On that particular day, he declared, he would be faithfully married in compliance to their wishes. They all kneeled down before him, and pledged their obedience. He thanked them for the respect and affection they had shown to him, and sent them on their way. They filed out of the hall, and went to their own homes.

Then Walter summoned the officers of his court and asked them to prepare a feast; he ordered the members of his private household to make all the arrangements for the bridal day. They busied themselves about the preparations with a good will, each of them wanting to make a success of the occasion.

PART TWO

Not far from this great palace, where the marquis was making ready for the feast, there was a hamlet nestling in very pleasant scenery. The poor folk of the neighbourhood lodged, and kept their cattle, here. They laboured in the fields, and the fields were often fruitful.

Among these poor people was one fellow who was reckoned to be the poorest of them all. Yet was not the Son of God born in a simple manger? God’s grace can reach an ox’s stall. The name of this poor man was Janiculus. He had a beautiful young daughter, whose name was Griselda.

To speak of virtue, and of beauty, she was in every sense one of the fairest in the world. She had been brought up in honest poverty, and there was no trace of greed or sensuality in her nature. She drank water more often than she drank wine. She embraced labour rather than idleness.

Griselda was still of a young age, and a virgin, but in her heart were genuine ardour and courage. She looked after her poor and elderly father with tenderness and affection. She watched the sheep in the pasture, and in the cottage was busy at the spinning-wheel. She did not stop working until she retired to bed.

When she came home from the fields she brought with her cabbages and other vegetables, which she cut up and cooked to make a modest meal. Her bed was hard. There were no feathers in her pillow. But she always cared for her father, and treated him with all the reverence and obedience he could possibly desire.

Walter, in the course of his many hunting expeditions, had often seen this maid. He had not looked upon her in lust. Far from it. He had gazed and gazed and sighed. He had contemplated her beauty.

He had recognized her to be the very image of a virtuous woman, passing all others of her age. He had seen feminine grace in her manner and appearance. It is true that many people have no insight into these things. But the marquis was an exception. He decided that he would marry Griselda and no other.

The day appointed for the wedding had come. But no one in the land knew who, if anyone, was to be the bride. Many of them wondered aloud. Others asked each other in private if the marquis had broken his promise. ‘Is he not going to be married after all?’ they complained. ‘Is he going to make a fool of himself? And of us, as well?’

Yet secretly the marquis had already ordered rings and brooches and other precious gems, set in gold and azure, for the sake of Griselda. He had also found a young woman of the same stature, and had measured her for the dresses of his new bride. Griselda was sure to have a full trousseau as well as every adornment for her wedding day.

It was nine o’clock on the morning of the wedding day. All the palace had been decorated. Every hall, and every little chamber, had been made ready for the celebrations. The kitchens and storerooms had been stuffed with food and drink. You could not have seen better fare in the whole of Italy.

The marquis rode out in state, attended by all the company of his lords and ladies who had been invited to the wedding feast. The knights in his service also accompanied him on the royal journey. To the sound of lutes and trumpets, then, the procession wound its way to the little hamlet where Janiculus and Griselda lived.

Griselda had of course no idea that all this magnificence and display were for her sake. She had gone to the well to fetch water, as usual, and was now hurrying back home to see the grand spectacle. She knew that the marquis was going to be married that day, and didn’t want to miss it.

‘I will stand with the other girls,’ she said to herself, ‘outside the door and take a look at the bride as she rides past. I will get through all the work at home as quickly as I can. Then I’ll have time to catch a glimpse of her on the way to the palace. I hope she comes this way.’

She had just got up to her door, and was about to cross the threshold, when she heard a voice. The marquis had ridden towards her and was calling out to her! She put down the water-vessel in a little wicker enclosure, and fell upon her knees. She kneeled in front of her lord, waiting patiently to hear his will.

The marquis dismounted from his horse and walked over to her. She did not dare look up at him. He gazed at her thoughtfully, and then in an earnest manner began to speak to her. ‘Where is your father, Griselda?’

‘He is here, sir. Inside the cottage.’

‘Will you fetch him for me?’

So she rose to her feet and entered the cottage. When she brought out her father the marquis shook his hand and led him aside. ‘Janiculus,’ he said, ‘I can’t conceal my feelings any longer. I love your daughter and wish to marry her. If you give your permission to the match, I promise to love her and live with her until the day of my death.

‘I know that you love me in turn and that you are my faithful subject. I am your liege lord. Whatever pleases me, I think, will also please you. Am I right? And, as I said, there is one thing that will please me more than anything else. Will you allow me to become your son-in-law?’

The old man was so astounded that his face turned scarlet. He was trembling, he was so nervous that he could hardly get the words out. Finally he managed to stammer an answer. ‘My lord,’ he said, ‘please do whatever you like. I will agree to anything, so long as it pleases you. Anything at all.’

‘Wait a moment, I think you and me, and Griselda, should have a conversation.’ The marquis spoke very softly and politely. ‘Don’t you agree? I would like to ask her if she is willing to become my wife and to obey my wishes as her lawful husband. I want to talk to her in your presence. I will say nothing out of your hearing.’

So the three of them entered the cottage and began their discussion. I will tell you about that later. Meanwhile all manner of people began to gather outside the cottage, commenting loudly on how neat and clean it looked. Griselda herself was almost overcome with astonishment, as well she might, at the turn of events.

She had never seen before such lords and ladies, and such knights in gleaming armour. She had never experienced such magnificence. And to have the marquis sitting beside her – well, she had gone quite pale. Now I will tell you what the marquis said to this paragon, this cynosure, this true heart. Enough of that. These are his actual words.

‘Griselda,’ he said, ‘you should know that your father and I have come to an understanding. We have agreed that you will be my bride and lawful wife. I don’t suppose that you have any objection? But let me ask you this first. This is all being done at great speed, I admit. So I want to know whether you are happy to go along with it. Or do you want time to consider the matter further?

‘I have another question. Are you willing to be ruled by me in everything, according to my pleasure? Will you remain true to me, whether I treat you for better or for worse? You must never complain. You must never contradict me with a “no” rather than a “yes”. You must never frown or show any sign of displeasure. If you swear all this, I will swear to marry you.’

Griselda was afraid, and wondered at the meaning of his words. ‘My lord,’ she replied, ‘I am unworthy of the honour you wish to pay to me. But if this is truly your will, then I will gladly accede to it. I swear to you now, in front of my father, that I will never disobey you in word or deed. I swear this on my life, even though life is dear to me.’

‘You have said enough, Griselda. You will be mine.’ He came out of the cottage, looking very grave, and Griselda followed him. As they stood together, the marquis addressed the crowd that had gathered there. ‘Here is my wife,’ he said. ‘Honour her and love her, as you love and honour me. There is no more to say.’

He did not want anything from her old life to be brought into the palace, and so he ordered his ladies to undress her there and then. These ladies were reluctant to touch the scraps and tatters on her back, but they were obliged to obey orders even if they risked getting their hands dirty. Off came the rags. On came the new garments. And there was Griselda, radiant and resplendent in her natural beauty.

They combed hair that had hardly ever seen a comb before. They put a crown upon her head. They pinned on her brooches and precious jewels. What else can I say about her appearance? She had become so ornate and regal that she was scarcely recognizable.

Then the marquis gave her a ring especially bought for the occasion as a token of their union. He set her upon a snow-white palfrey, and with gentle pace they rode to the palace. They were greeted by well-wishers along the route and, after their arrival, they attended a great feast that continued until sunset.

I will not go on and on about her beauty and her virtue. It suffices to say that she had such natural grace that it did not seem possible that she had been brought up in poverty. She could not have come from a cottage or an ox-stall. She must have been educated in an emperor’s palace!

Even the people who had come from the same village, and had seen her growing from year to year, could hardly believe that this was Griselda, the daughter of Janiculus. They could have sworn that this was a completely different person.

She was as virtuous as she had always been, but in her new eminence her virtues shone all the brighter. She was as fair as she was eloquent, as mild as she was bountiful. She became the princess of all the people. Whoever looked upon her, loved her.

So the fame of Griselda spread throughout the region of Saluzzo and was then conveyed further abroad; her virtues became known far and wide, and from all parts of Italy flocked men and women, young and old, to see her.

So Walter, the marquis, had not married one of low degree at all. He seemed to have married a noble woman, and he was so fortunate in his union that he lived at peace with himself and all others. He was highly regarded, too. He had proved that outward poverty may conceal virtue as well as grace. So the people deemed him to be a prudent man, a rare gift in one so favoured by Fortune.

Griselda’s virtue was not confined to household tasks and duties. Far from it. When the occasion demanded it, she was able to nurture the common good and the welfare of the ordinary people. She could resolve any argument, appease any bitterness, and heal any division. She was the agent of peace and unity.

Even when her husband was abroad on business she could conciliate enemies and rivals, whether they were noble or otherwise. Her words were wise and succinct. Her judgements were models of equity. It was said that she had been sent by heaven to save the world and to amend all wrongs.

Then, nine months after her marriage, Griselda bore a child. Everyone had secretly wished for a male child, but in fact she gave birth to a daughter. Still the marquis was happy, and the people rejoiced with him. Even though a daughter had come first there was every reason to believe that in time she would bear a son. She was not barren, after all.

PART THREE

Then it happened. It has happened many times before. Soon after the birth of his daughter, Walter decided to test his wife. He wanted to see how constant, and how steadfast, she really was. He could not resist the thought of tempting Griselda. He wanted to frighten her even though, God knows, there was no need.

He had put her to the test before, and she had never disappointed him. She was always loyal, and always patient. What was the point of tempting her again and again? Some men might say that the marquis was a subtle fellow, but I say that it is evil to submit a wife to scrutiny without reason. It simply causes needless grief and anxiety.

This is what the marquis did. He came one night to her bedside with a serious face and a disturbed manner. They were alone. ‘Griselda, do you remember that day when I lifted you out of poverty and placed you in an exalted rank? You haven’t forgotten that, I hope?

‘I hope you still recall the days when you lived with your father in that little cottage. I hope your present glory has not made you forgetful. You were in so wretched a position that you could scarcely have dreamed of your good fortune. So listen to every word that I am about to tell you. There is no one here but you and me.

‘You know well enough the circumstances that led you here less than a year ago. Although I am of course mild and loving towards you, my noble courtiers are not so respectful. They tell me that it is shameful and humiliating for them to serve one of such humble estate as yourself. They do not wish to stoop so low.

‘Ever since the birth of your daughter they have been complaining more and more. She shares your blood, after all. My fervent will and wish is to live at peace with them. I must listen to what they say, and dispose of your daughter as I think best. It is not what I would, but what I must, do.

‘God knows all this is distasteful to me. But believe me. I will do nothing without your knowledge. You must assent to all of my decisions. Show me your patience and your constancy. Be faithful to your promise to me on our wedding day.’

When she heard her husband she seemed to remain unmoved. She showed no fear, or alarm, or anger. She was calm and composed. ‘Lord,’ she said, ‘you must do as you please. My daughter and I are your faithful servants. We will obey your commands, for better or for worse. We are wholly yours. Do as you wish.

‘There is nothing in the world that will please me if it displeases you. I desire nothing. I dread nothing. I fear only to lose you, my husband. This is the truth rooted in my heart. It will remain there for ever, and will never fade. I will always be faithful to you.’

The marquis was happy with her answer. Yet he pretended otherwise. He looked at her gravely, almost angrily, and left the bedchamber. A short while later he confided in one of his servants, secretly told him what he intended, and dispatched him as a messenger to his wife.

This servant was a secret agent, or enforcer, very useful in matters of state. If there was any low or dishonest work to be done, he was the man. The marquis knew well enough that he loved and respected his master, and would ask no questions. He would obey orders. So without delay he went quietly into Griselda’s chamber.

‘Ma dame,’ he said, ‘you must forgive me for coming here. But I must do what my lord has demanded. You know well enough that his commands cannot be averted or evaded. They may cause grief and suffering, I know, but they cannot be challenged. He is our master. That is all there is to it.’

He took a step towards her. ‘And he has ordered me to take this child.’ He said no more. He seized the infant girl and was about to carry her out of the room, with such an expression on his face – well, it seemed that he would murder her on the spot. Griselda was forced to endure all and to be patient. She was as meek, and as quiet, as a lamb. She witnessed the actions of the servant without remonstrance or complaint.

The bad reputation of this man preceded him everywhere. His appearance was threatening, his words ominous. Even the hour of his arrival was suspicious. Griselda truly believed that her little daughter was about to be killed before her eyes. But she did not cry out. She did not weep. She was obliged to fulfil the demands of her husband.

Yet in the end she was moved to speak. She pleaded with the servant, as if he were a good and noble man, to let her kiss her little girl before she died. She cradled the child on her lap and caressed her. She made the sign of the cross on her forehead, and then kissed her again.

She began to murmur to her in a soft voice, as if she were singing a lullaby. ‘Farewell, my little child. I will never see you again. But since I have made the sign of the blessed Lord Jesus, who died for us on a wooden cross, I trust that He will take your soul to paradise. For my sake you will die tonight.’

I do not think that any nurse could have endured so much pain and sorrow, let alone a mother. What woman would not have broken down in tears? Yet Griselda stayed as firm and resolute as ever. Very quietly she said to the official, ‘Here. Take back the child. The little girl is yours.’

As she gave the infant to him, she told him to go and obey his master’s orders. ‘There is just one thing I ask of you,’ she said. ‘Out of consideration to me and my child. Unless our lord absolutely forbids it, I would ask you to bury her little body in a place where the carrion birds and wild beasts will not get at it.’ He made no answer to her, but left the chamber with the child in his arms.

He went back to the marquis, and presented him with his daughter. Then he told him everything that Griselda had done and said. He went through every detail. The marquis, on hearing this, was inclined to pity his wife. Nevertheless he decided to hold to his original purpose. That is the way with lords. They are always masterful.

He told his agent to convey the child to a secret place and to clothe her in the softest silks and linens; then he was to find a little box, or a shawl of linen, in which to hide her. Then on pain of his life he ordered him to remain silent about all these things, and to tell no one where he came from or where he was going.

He was in fact going to Bologna, where the marquis’s sister was countess of the region; having explained the whole reason for the journey he was to leave the little girl with the countess, on the understanding that she would be properly brought up as a royal child. The countess was under no circumstances to tell anyone the identity of the infant. The servant obeyed his master’s orders to the letter.

Let us return now to the marquis himself. Walter was eager to discover if his wife had changed in any way. He was alert to any alteration in her manner or her conversation. But there was none. She was as kind and as patient as ever.

She was as industrious and meek as she had always been, ever ready to smile and obey. She never said a word about her daughter. There was no sign of sorrow or blame. She would not so much as murmur her name in her dreams.

PART FOUR

Four years passed. Then, thanks be to God, Griselda bore a male child, a strong and handsome baby. As soon as Walter heard the news he was overjoyed. The whole country celebrated the birth with bells and church services.

When the child was two years old, and had finished with his wet nurse, the marquis was tempted to test his wife once more. There was no need for any of this, but men can become ruthless when they are married to patient and pliable wives. Griselda was at Walter’s mercy.

‘Wife,’ he said, ‘you have heard before that our marriage is unpopular with the people. Now that my son is born, the complaints and recriminations have grown ever louder. I am half dead with anxiety. The protests are making me ill. I can bear it no longer.

‘Do you know what they are saying? When I am gone, I will be succeeded by an offspring of the peasant Janiculus. This low-born wretch will be our lord. That is what they whisper to one another. I have to listen to their grievances, Griselda. I cannot ignore them, even if they never mention them in my presence. What if they were to rebel against me?

‘I want to live at peace with my subjects, as far as I am able. So this is what I propose. I propose to treat my son in the same way that I treated my daughter, under the cover of night and secrecy. I am telling you now so that you will not break out in passionate grief, or anything of that kind. I want you to be patient once again.’

‘I have told you this before, sir,’ she said. ‘I will tell you again. I will do whatever you wish or request. If my son and daughter are killed – well, I will never grieve and never complain. I accept your commandments as my lord and master. I have had no part in my two children – except sickness and pain and sorrow.

‘You are our lord. You must do with us as you please. There is no need to consult me. When I left my home I did not just leave my old clothing behind me. I left my will and my liberty, too. On that occasion I put on the clothes you chose for me. In everything else, your choice is my command. Do as you wish, sir. I will obey you.

‘If I knew in advance what you wanted, I would hasten to perform it without even being told. Now I do know what you require of me. And I will not hesitate. If you ordered me to die in front of you, I would do so gladly. It would give me pleasure. Death is less powerful than my love for you.’

The marquis listened to his wife with averted eyes. He marvelled at her constancy, and wondered how it was possible for her to bear all the suffering he inflicted. He exulted inwardly, but he remained dour and grave in countenance.

So the secret agent was dispatched once more to Griselda’s bedchamber where with even more brutality than before – if such a thing is possible – he snatched the pretty son as he had once snatched the daughter. Griselda was the model of forbearance. She did not lament or cry out. She kissed her little son, and made the sign of the cross upon his forehead.

She made the same request, too. She begged the agent to lay her son in a deep grave of earth, where the birds and beasts could not reach him. He made no reply to her. He did not care. Then, with the child, he rode on to Bologna.

Walter, the marquis, was more and more astonished by her endless patience. If he had not seen for himself her great love for her children, he would have thought that there was something wrong with her. He would have accused her of malice, or of coldness, or of hypocrisy, for bearing all this woe with an untroubled face.

But he knew well enough that Griselda dearly loved her children – next to himself, of course – and had always been tender towards them. I would like to ask all women here, whether he had not gone far enough in testing her? What more could any husband devise to challenge her patience and her fortitude? How cruel could he be?

But there are some people who will not be moved. Once they have devised a plan, they must follow it to the end. He was fettered to the stake of his intentions. He was caught fast. He had to continue torturing his wife, to see if she would break.

So he watched and waited. He wanted to see if Griselda would change in any way. But he saw no difference in her mood or manner. She was as patient and as loving as before. As the years passed she was more devoted to him, if such a thing were possible, and more attentive.

It was as if they were one person with one will and understanding. They had their essence but in one. If Walter wished for anything, she wished for it, too. So, thanks be to God, all seemed to be for the best. She proved herself to be the model wife, happy to accept her husband’s authority.

Yet there were now slanders spread abroad about Walter. It was widely rumoured that he was a wicked man who had secretly killed his two children, for the crime of being born to a wife of lowly estate. This was the opinion of the people, who had no reason to think otherwise. Who had any other theory? Where were the children?

So the marquis was no longer the well-beloved leader. He was now hated by his people. Who does not detest and despise a murderer? Yet he did not relent. He carried on with the cruel trial of his wife. He had no other purpose in life.

When his daughter was twelve years old he sent a secret message to the papal court in Rome. He asked his representatives there to counterfeit a papal bull, in which the pope gave him permission to remarry if he should so wish. Can you imagine such cruelty?

In the same edict the pope was supposed to state that the marquis had permission to divorce his first wife. The pontiff had given him this dispensation in order to resolve any conflict or misunderstanding between the marquis and his subjects. So the fake bull was widely published throughout Saluzzo.

The ignorant people obviously believed the edict to be genuine. Who would not? But when the news was brought to Griselda, she was bowed down with woe. Yet she remained calm. This humble woman was determined to endure all the adversities of Fortune. She had resolved to follow her husband’s will and pleasure in everything. She had pledged her heart to him. He was the centre of her being. What more is there to say?

The marquis had meanwhile written a secret letter to Bologna, in which he explained his actions and his intentions. He addressed it to the husband of his sister, the earl of the region, and asked this nobleman to bring the two children back to Saluzzo in royal pomp and circumstance. But he begged him not to reveal their true identity to anyone in the world.

He was supposed to say only that the young girl was espoused to the marquis – that is, of course, Walter himself. So the earl performed the duty given to him by the marquis. On the following morning he set out in grand procession to Saluzzo, with the lords of his court surrounding him; the young girl rode out with him, in great state, and her younger brother rode beside her.

The girl herself was arrayed with pearls and other precious stones, in preparation for her bridal day, and the seven-year-old boy was dressed as finely as a prince. He was a prince, after all. So with grandeur and ceremony they made their way slowly towards Saluzzo.

PART FIVE

The marquis there had abandoned none of his wicked ways. He set out to test Griselda yet again, to find out if she was really still as patient and as devoted to him as before. He wanted to push her to the limit of her endurance. So at a public audience he addressed her in a stern voice.

‘It is true, Griselda,’ he said, ‘that I married you for your virtue. I took you for my wife because of your piety and your loyalty. I certainly did not marry you for your lineage or your wealth. Far from it. But I have discovered from experience that power and lordship can be forms of servitude.

‘I may not do what every humble ploughman may do. I am not my own master. My subjects beg me to choose another wife. They will not be denied. The pope himself has decreed that I can divorce you, to restrain their anger, and marry again. There is not much more to say to you. My new bride is already on her way here.

‘Be strong. Let her usurp your place. Take back the dowry you brought with you. I give you my permission. What was it, in any case? Return to your father’s cottage. No man or woman can enjoy uninterrupted prosperity. With tranquil heart I urge you to endure the blows of chance and fickle Fortune.’

Griselda answered him in a clear, calm voice. ‘My lord, I know and I have always known that there is no comparison between your wealth and magnificence and my poverty. There is no denying my low degree. I never believed myself worthy of being your chambermaid, let alone your wife.

‘I swear, as God is my witness, that I never deemed myself to be the mistress of your household or to be a lady worthy of such a lord. I am your servant. I always have been, and I always will be. I have no other aim in life than to please you.

‘God knows that you have treated me generously and nobly, when I never deserved such consideration. I thank you for your kindness to me. Now take it back. Renounce it. I will return gladly to my father, and live with him until the end of my life.

‘I grew up in that little cottage, and am happy to remain there until my death. I will be a widow in mind and heart and deed. Ever since that time I yielded my virginity to you, I have been a true and faithful wife. That is how I will remain. I have been married to a prince among men. God forbid that I should ever take another man as a husband.

‘I pray to God that your new wife brings you happiness and prosperity. I willingly give up to her my place, even though it was a source of bliss to me. You were, and are, my lord. Since you desire me to leave, I will leave whenever you wish.

‘You asked me about the dowry I brought with me. I know well enough that all I possessed were rags and wretched scraps of clothes. I do not think that I will be able to find them again. Good God! When I think of your bounty to me on that day – how you looked at me, what you said to me – I still marvel.

‘There is a saying that, for me at least, has proved to be true: “Love grown old is not the same as new love.” But whatever happens to me, sir, even if it were death itself, I will never repent of my love for you. Never in this world.

‘You know well enough, lord, that you took the poor clothes off my back and decked me in finery. I brought nothing to you but faith and modesty and maidenhead. I will give you back all of the rich clothing you presented to me. I will return my wedding ring.

‘You will find the rest of the jewellery in my bedchamber, safely stored. I came naked out of my father’s house, and naked I will return. I will follow your orders in everything. But may I ask you this, sir? Is it your intention that I should actually leave your palace without clothes?

‘It would be a great dishonour to you, and to me, if the belly in which your children lay was paraded before the people. Let me not go as naked as a worm upon its way. Remember, sir, that, unworthy though I be, I was still once your wife.

‘So in requital for the virginity I gave you, and which can never be restored to me, I plead with you to let me have as my reward a simple smock. Just like the smock I used to wear before I met you. I would then be able to cover up the womb of the woman who was once your wife. Now I will bid farewell to you, sir, in case I have angered you.’

‘Keep the smock you are wearing now,’ he said to her. ‘Take it back with you.’ That was all he said. He could say no more. Overwhelmed by sorrow and by pity, he went on his way. So Griselda removed her other garments, in front of the whole court, and then returned to her father’s cottage in the simple smock.

She walked back with bare head and with bare feet, accompanied by many people bewailing her fate and cursing the misadventures of Fortune. But Griselda did not cry. She never shed a tear. And she never said a word. Her father, on the other hand, wept and cursed when he heard the news. He did not want to live a day longer.

In fact the poor old man had always harboured doubts about the marriage. He had always suspected that the marquis would get rid of his daughter as soon as he had had enough of her. He believed that the lord would regret having wed a poor woman, and would banish her from his court.

So he hastened out of doors to meet Griselda, alerted by the noise of the crowd, and covered her smock with an old coat that he had brought with him. He was weeping. Yet the coat did not fit her. It was old and coarse and out of date. She was not the same slim young girl she had been at the time of her marriage.

So for a while Griselda dwelled with her father. She was still a model of loyalty and patience, never complaining, never explaining, never lamenting. She did not show, to her father or to anyone else, any grief at her treatment. She did not mention her previous life as the wife of a great lord. She said nothing. She looked content.

What else would you expect? Even when she lived in great state she had always retained her deep humility. She had never been greedy or self-indulgent. She had never enjoyed pomp and circumstance. She had always been as modest and as kind as any young nun – except that she had a husband, whom she honoured above all others. Who could have been meeker or more obedient?

The patience and humility of Job are well known. Male clerks are all too ready to honour the achievements of other men. They rarely mention women but, in truth, women are far more faithful and patient than any man. Women are kinder. Women are more trustworthy, then and now. If someone has a different opinion, I will be astonished.

PART SIX

So the earl made his way from Bologna, as I have already described, with the two children of Griselda and Walter. The news of their arrival was soon spread abroad. It was rumoured that the earl was bringing with him the new wife of the marquis, and was surrounding her with more pomp and dignity than had ever before been seen in Italy.

The marquis, who had himself arranged all this, sent a message to Griselda before the arrival of the earl and his train. He ordered her to come to court, and of course she obeyed him. She arrived in her humble clothes, with no thought of herself, ready to fulfil whatever commands he gave her. She went down on her knees in his presence, and reverently greeted him.

‘Griselda,’ he said, ‘I have determined that the young maiden – the young girl who is about to become my bride – must be received with as much ceremony as possible. It must be a royal occasion. All my courtiers and servants will be consigned to a place according to their rank, and in their proper role they will serve the new princess in every way I deem to be fit.

‘It is true, however, that I do not have enough women to adorn and decorate the chambers in the luxury I desire. That is why I have called for you. You know how to spruce up the palace. You know my mind. You do not look very appealing, I admit, but the least you can do is your duty.’

‘I will obey your command gladly, my lord,’ Griselda replied. ‘I long to be of service to you. I will do my best to please you in everything, without demur. Whatever happens, good or ill, I will never stop loving you with all my heart.’

Then she began to decorate the palace, setting the tables and making up the beds for the honoured guests. She did everything she could, and encouraged the chambermaids to finish their work as soon as possible. They were to sweep and to dust and to clean, while she busied herself about decorating the banqueting hall and the private chambers.

At about nine in the morning the earl and his charges finally arrived at the palace. The people ran over to see the two children, and to marvel at the richness of their retinue and their apparel. Then for the first time they said among themselves that Walter was no fool, after all, and that he had chosen his second wife well.

The young girl was much prettier than Griselda, according to common opinion, and a much better age for child-bearing. She and the marquis would have good progeny, especially since this young girl was – unlike Griselda – of proper lineage. The people also marvelled at the beauty of the young boy beside her; seeing sister and brother together, they all praised the marquis for his judgement.

Oh fickle people, people of the wind, unsteady and unfaithful! You are as ever changing as a weathervane. You delight only in novelty. You wax and wane as does the moon. You gape and chatter, much to your own cost. Your opinions are worthless, and your behaviour proves that you are never to be trusted. Only a fool would believe anything you say.

The more thoughtful knew this to be true, even as they watched the others running up and down and gawping at the fine dresses. The silly folk were so pleased with the novelty of this new maiden that they could speak, and think, about nothing else. Well, enough of this. I will turn now to Griselda, and see how she is coping with the situation.

She was as busy as ever. She was doing what was expected of her by Walter, and attending to all the details of the great feast. She did not care at all about the tattered state of her own clothing, but with cheerful spirit she hurried with the others towards the great gate where she could see the young bride advancing. Then she went back to work.

She greeted all the guests of the marquis with due deference and propriety. No one could fault her in anything and in fact she behaved with such decorum that everyone wondered who she might be. Who was this woman, dressed so unbecomingly, who was yet the soul of tact and cheerfulness? All of them commended her.

In the meantime Griselda praised the young brother and sister with such warmth and affection that no one could have equalled it. The time came when the whole company was about to sit down at the feast. At that moment, as she was supervising the preparations, the marquis called out to her.

‘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