Patient Griselda
A marquis who tested his wife's patience past all reason, and the wife who never broke
Page 1
In the north of Italy, long ago, there was a rich, green country called Saluzzo, ruled by a young marquis named Walter. He was good to his people, though he cared more for hunting in his forests than for anything else, and he had never married. High above the valley stood his grey stone castle; far below it, at the edge of the forest, stood a small cottage with a crooked chimney. There lived a poor old shepherd named Giannucole, and his daughter Griselda. Griselda had almost nothing in the world — one plain dress, a few sheep, and a small garden — but she was kind, hardworking, and patient in all things, and everyone in the valley spoke well of her. Every morning she carried water from the well, spun wool by the fire, and tended her father with a cheerful heart, never once complaining, no matter how hard the work or how little they had.
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Walter's lords had grown anxious. He was still unmarried, and if anything happened to him, Saluzzo would be left without an heir. One day they came to him in the great hall and begged him, respectfully but firmly, to take a wife and have a family, so that the country would be safe for years to come. Walter listened quietly. He had never much wanted to marry, but he could see they were right. At last he agreed — on one condition. He would choose his own bride, whoever she might be, and his lords must promise beforehand to accept and honor her, no matter who she was. The lords, relieved simply that he had agreed to marry at all, promised at once. Walter thanked them, and said only that they should prepare for a wedding soon, though he told no one, not even his closest friend, whom he meant to marry.
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On the day he had chosen, Walter rode down from the castle with a company of knights and ladies, straight to Giannucole's cottage. The old man, astonished, came out and bowed as low as his back would let him. Walter asked for his blessing to marry Griselda, and Giannucole, hardly believing his ears, gave it gladly. Then Walter turned to Griselda, who stood quietly by the door, and asked her one question before all his company: would she always obey him in everything, without complaint, however he might test her, and never show anger no matter what he did? Griselda thought for only a moment. She did not know what he meant by it, but she trusted that a good lord would not ask it without reason, and she loved him already for noticing her. "I will," she said simply, "and I will never complain, whatever comes." Walter nodded, satisfied, and the company turned back toward the castle, Griselda walking among them in her plain dress.
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At the castle, Griselda's plain dress was set aside, and in its place her ladies brought rich robes of fine cloth, with a veil and a jeweled circlet for her hair. When she came out dressed as a marchioness, dressed so differently from how anyone had ever seen her, many of the court could hardly believe she was the same shepherd's daughter from the cottage below. But her manner had not changed at all — she greeted everyone gently and with the same quiet courtesy she had always shown. The wedding took place that very afternoon in the castle courtyard, hung with garlands and ribbons for the occasion, and the whole valley came to see it. In the months that followed, Griselda proved herself a wise and gracious lady. She settled quarrels fairly, cared for the sick and the poor, and ruled the household so well in Walter's absences that even those who had doubted her now loved her as their own marchioness.
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When their daughter was born, the whole castle rejoiced — except that soon after, Walter came to Griselda with a grave face. He told her that his lords grumbled about a baby born to a shepherd's daughter, and that for the peace of Saluzzo, the child must be taken away at once, and Griselda must never ask what became of her. It was, he said, a test of the promise she had made him. Griselda's heart nearly broke, but she remembered her word. She kissed her daughter once, very gently, and asked only that whoever cared for the child be kind to her. Then, without a single tear shown and without one word of complaint, she handed the baby to Walter's steward, a solemn man she trusted, and watched him carry her daughter out through the castle gate and down the road, not knowing — though she feared the worst — that she would ever see her again.
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Down through the forest below the castle, Walter's steward carried the little bundle carefully in his arms, walking a long way from the castle before he stopped to rest beneath a big oak tree. He had been given secret orders, very different from what Griselda believed. He was not to harm the child at all — he was to carry her safely, by back roads and quiet paths, all the way to the city of Bologna, where Walter's own sister lived. There she would be raised comfortably as a noblewoman's ward, loved and well cared for, until the day — whenever that day might come — that Walter chose to bring her home again. The steward looked down at the sleeping baby in his arms and felt sure he was doing a kindness, even if no one else yet knew it. He wrapped her more snugly against the cool forest air and walked on, following the road that curved away south through the trees.
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Some years later, Griselda bore a son, and for a little while the whole castle was merry again. But before long Walter came to her once more, this time walking with her in the castle garden among the roses, and told her gently but firmly that this child, too, must be given up — the lords, he said, still would not accept an heir born of a shepherd's daughter. Griselda's grief this time ran deeper than before, for she loved her son dearly, but her promise had not changed, and neither had her patience. She held him close only a moment, kissed his small head, and placed him in the steward's arms without a single word of anger. She watched the steward carry her son away down the garden path and through the gate, out of sight, just as he had carried her daughter away before him, and she went back to her duties in the castle as though nothing at all had happened.
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One day Walter came to Griselda in her private chamber with grave news. He told her that his lords had never fully accepted her, low-born as she was, and that he had decided — for the good of Saluzzo — to set her aside and marry a lady of noble birth instead. Griselda listened without a single word of protest. She had promised long ago to obey him in all things, and she meant to keep that promise to the very end. She only asked that she be allowed to go home in a plain dress rather than her fine gowns, since she had brought nothing else to the marriage and wished to take nothing away from it that was not truly hers. Walter agreed. Quietly, without anger or tears, Griselda changed out of her rich robes and into the same kind of simple dress she had worn as a girl, and prepared to walk back down the road to her father's cottage.
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So Griselda walked back down the road alone, past the fields she had known as a girl, and found her father Giannucole still living in the same small cottage, older now but overjoyed to see her. She took up her old chores at once — spinning wool, tending the fire, fetching water — and never once spoke a bitter word about all she had lost. The neighbors who saw her said she seemed almost as contented at the hearth as she had been in the castle. Some time passed this way, quiet and plain, until one evening a rider came down the lane: Walter's steward, sent with a message. Walter was to marry again, he said, and he asked that Griselda come up to the castle to help prepare the rooms and the feast, since she knew better than anyone how he liked such things arranged. Griselda did not hesitate. She set down her spinning, put on her shawl, and went.
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At the castle, everything had been made ready for the new wedding, and the whole valley came to see Walter's bride arrive. Griselda, in her plain dress, worked quietly among the servants preparing the hall, exactly as she had been asked. Then the bride came through the gate — a lovely young girl of about twelve, finely dressed, with a younger boy walking proudly beside her. Walter took Griselda's hand in front of everyone and said the girl was not his bride at all, but their own daughter, grown up safe in Bologna all these years, and the boy their son, just as safe and well. He had never meant to harm either child, nor to truly set Griselda aside — it had all been a test of her patience, and she had borne it with more grace than any wife could be asked to. He restored her at once as his true marchioness, before the whole gathered court. Griselda wept at last, holding both her children close, while her old father Giannucole looked on from the crowd, and the whole valley of Saluzzo celebrated long into the evening.
About this story
- Audience: kids (ages 6–12)
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