The Book of the City of Ladies

by Christine Pizan

  49. About the Emperor Galba, as well as others.

  ‘What I’ve told you about the terrible wickedness and weakness of Nero may seem exceptional to you, but I can assure you that the emperor who succeeded him, Galba, would have been almost as bad as Nero had he lived longer. His cruelty was insatiable and, amongst all his other vices, he was so changeable that he was incapable of settling upon a course of action or of sticking by a decision. One minute he would be giving full vent to his brutality and the next minute he would be totally malleable and unable to dispense justice. He was not only reckless, jealous and suspicious, having little love for his princes and knights, but also cowardly, fearful and, above all, rapacious. His reign only lasted six months, for he was killed in order to put an end to his atrocities.

  ‘However, Otho, the emperor who came after Galba, was not much of an improvement either. Indeed, despite what’s said about women being self-obsessed, this emperor was so prissy and fussy about his appearance that he was truly the most ineffectual creature who ever lived. He was so indolent that all he ever thought about was his comfort. He was an inveterate thief who squandered his money and overindulged himself. Moreover, he was a cheat, a lecher and a base traitor who respected no one and possessed every weakness going. After having been defeated by his enemies, he met his end by committing suicide after only three months on the throne.

  ‘Vitellius, who followed Otho, was even worse, being full of every sin imaginable. I don’t know what more I can tell you. Don’t take me for a liar, but read the stories of these emperors’ lives for yourself. You’ll soon see how few of them were actually upright, decent and consistent, considering how many of them there actually were. The virtuous ones were Julius Caesar, Octavian, the Emperors Trajan and Titus. But believe me, for every good one you’ll find ten bad ones.

  ‘By the same token, I could tell you about the popes and other men of the Holy Church who, of all people, should be as close to perfection as possible. When Christianity was in its infancy, such men were truly saintly. Yet ever since Constantine started making huge donations to the Church and endowing it with enormous wealth, holiness has fallen by the wayside: you only have to read the annals and chronicles which recount these churchmen’s deeds to see this. Moreover, if you think that this was true in the past but that things have now improved, you can judge for yourself whether any of the estates in society are mending their ways or whether any of our temporal or spiritual leaders are displaying constancy and firmness in their words and actions. As this is clearly not the case, I’ll say no more about it. So I’m baffled as to why men talk about the inconstancy and fickleness of women. How can men dare to open their mouths when they see that the conduct of those who govern them – who are certainly not women! – is marked by instability and hesitation, just like that of children, and that the resolutions and agreements they come up with in their counsels are rarely put into effect.

  ‘To sum up on the question of inconstancy or vacillation: this failing consists of nothing other than acting contrary to what reason commands us to do, because reason teaches all rational beings to do good. When a man or a woman lets sensuality block out the light of reason, this is weakness and inconstancy. The worse the sin or vice in which a person indulges, the more his or her frailty grows, because the light of reason is increasingly dimmed. Thus, from what the history books tell us and from what, in my opinion, experience too would seem to confirm, although the philosophers and other writers go on about the unreliability of the female sex, you would never find even a handful of women who were anything like as perverse as these vast numbers of men.

  ‘The worst women to be found in any text are Athaliah and her mother Jezebel, both queens of Jerusalem, who persecuted the people of Israel. In addition to them, there’s Brunhilde, Queen of France, and one or two others. But just look at the wickedness of Judas, who so cruelly betrayed his excellent master, whose apostle he had been, and who had shown him such kindness. Not to mention the harsh and brutal Jews and the people of Israel who put Jesus to death out of envy, as well as committing the vicious murders of several holy prophets who came before Jesus’s time, some of whom they stoned to death and others whose heads they smashed to pieces. Don’t forget Julian the Apostate, whose terrible perversity led some to call him one of the antichrists, nor Denis, the foul tyrant of Sicily, whose life was so despicable that it’s too disgusting to read about. And what about all the countless wicked kings from all over the world, the faithless emperors, the heretical popes and other impious prelates who were consumed with greed, as well as all the antichrists who are yet to come? You’ll soon see that men would do better to hold their tongues. Women should praise the Lord and be thankful that He placed their precious souls in female vessels. I’ll leave this subject there for now. However, in order to refute the opinion of those who claim that womankind is inconstant, I’ll give you a few examples of some women who were paragons of steadfastness and whose stories are most uplifting and delightful to hear.’

  50. About Griselda, the marchioness of Saluzzo, a woman of unfailing virtue.

  ‘The story goes that there was once a marquis of Saluzzo called Gualtieri, who was unmarried. He was a handsome and very worthy man, though rather eccentric in his ways. His barons kept advising and urging him to marry in order to have heirs. Having held out for a long time against doing as they recommended, he eventually agreed to take a wife, on condition that they promised to accept whichever woman he chose to marry. His barons consented to this and swore an oath on it.

  ‘From time to time, this marquis used to go off hunting animals and birds. In the countryside near his castle lay a small village where, amongst all the other impoverished peasants living there, dwelt a poor, sick, old man whose name was Giannucolo. This fine man, who had been a good and honest person all his life, had a daughter by the name of Griselda, who was eighteen years of age. She served her father with great diligence and earned a living for the two of them by spinning wool. The marquis, who usually passed by their house, had often noticed the girl’s sober behaviour and virtuous habits. Moreover, she was very lovely in her appearance, all of which disposed him well towards her.

  ‘After Gualtieri had promised his barons that he would definitely take a wife, he went to tell them to gather together on a certain day for his wedding, giving the order that all the ladies should also be present. He had great preparations made and, on the appointed day, when his knights and ladies were assembled before him, he had them all ride out on horseback to accompany him as he went to fetch his bride. He then headed straight for Giannucolo’s house, where he came across Griselda. She was carrying a pitcher of water on her head, for she had just come back from the well. He asked her where Giannucolo was, whereupon she knelt down in front of him and told him that her father was inside. “Go and bring him to me,” he ordered her. When the good man emerged from the house, the marquis informed him that he was there to take his daughter in marriage. Giannucolo replied that he was happy for the marquis to do as he wished. The ladies went into the little house to dress the bride and deck her out in the richest finery, as befitted the rank of a marquis, draping her in the robes and jewels that Gualtieri had prepared for her. He then led her away to be married in his palace. To cut a long story short, this lady behaved with such courtesy towards everyone, both the nobles of all ranks and the common people, that they loved her with great affection. She treated each of them on exactly the right level and was thus able to please them all. As was her duty, she served her husband well and loved him dearly.

  ‘That year, the marchioness gave birth to a daughter, an event which was received with great joy. However, when the child was old enough to be weaned, the marquis decided to test Griselda’s constancy and patience. He therefore told her that, since the barons were unhappy for a child of her base lineage to reign over them, this meant that the girl would have to be put to death. Hearing these words, which would strike grief into the heart of any mother, Griselda replied that the child was his
daughter and that he should do with her as he pleased. He had the child placed into the care of one of his squires, whilst he maintained his pretence that the man had come to take her away to be killed. In fact, she was taken in secret to Bologna, to the house of the countess of Panago, the marquis’s sister, who looked after the child and brought her up. Though Griselda was convinced that her daughter had been killed, she gave no sign or hint that she was distressed. Another year later, the marchioness became pregnant again and had a beautiful son, whose birth was greeted with great rejoicing. Yet the marquis wanted to test Griselda a second time and so he told her that this child too would have to be put to death to appease his barons and his men. The lady answered that, if it was not enough that the boy should die, she too would be prepared to lay down her life, if that was what he wanted. Griselda gave up her son to the same squire, just as she had done with her daughter, without revealing the least trace of sorrow. Neither did she say anything to the squire himself, other than begging him to make sure that he buried the child properly after having killed him so that wild beasts and birds could not devour his tender flesh. Throughout all this terrible suffering, Griselda’s facial expression remained unchanged.

  ‘Unfortunately, the marquis didn’t stop there, but wanted to put her even further to the test. They had been together twelve years, during which time the honourable lady had conducted herself so well that this should have been ample proof of her constancy. However, one day, the marquis called her to his chamber and informed her that he was having trouble with his men and his subjects who were extremely unhappy at having the daughter of Giannucolo as their sovereign lady and were thus threatening to overthrow him because of her. In order to pacify them, she would have to be sent back to her father in the same state as she had been when she left home. He would then take a second wife of nobler birth. Hearing these words, which must have caused her great anguish, Griselda replied, “My lord, I’ve long been haunted by the thought that it is impossible to reconcile your nobility and splendour with my poverty. Neither have I ever felt myself to be worthy of being your mistress, let alone your wife. I’m ready to return right now to my father’s house, where I shall live out my old age. As for the dowry which you have ordered me to take back with me, I am as aware as you are that when you came to fetch me outside my father’s house, you had me completely undressed and put into the robes which I wore to go away with you. Apart from that, all I had for a dowry were my loyalty, honour, love, respect and poverty. It’s therefore only fitting that I give you back the goods you gave me. So here is the dress, which I’m now taking off, and here is the ring with which you married me. I also leave with you all the other jewels, rings, clothes and ornaments which I wore to make myself beautiful in the bridal chamber. Naked I was when I left my father’s house and naked I shall be when I return. It’s just that it seems improper to me that this womb, which once bore your two children, should be seen naked in public. So, if you have no objection, I beg you to compensate me for the virginity which I brought into this palace and which I cannot take back with me, by allowing me just one slip to cover up the womb of the former marchioness, your wife.” The marquis could barely contain his tears of compassion, but he none the less managed to control his emotions and, as he left the room, he ordered her to be given a single undergarment.

  ‘In the presence of all the knights and ladies, Griselda had to take off her clothes and shoes and remove all her jewellery until she was left with just the slip on. Since word had soon spread that the marquis wanted to send his wife away, every man and woman came running to the palace, sickened with grief at this news. Griselda, bareheaded, barefoot and naked except for her slip, was put on to a horse. Accompanied by the barons, knights and ladies, all of whom were weeping and cursing the marquis as they lamented the loss of his wonderful wife, Griselda still didn’t shed a single tear. She was taken to her father’s house, where the old man had never once doubted that the day would come when his lord would tire of having made such a poor marriage. Hearing all the noise, he came out to greet his daughter, bringing her the ragged old dress that he had kept for her all that time, which he helped her put on without showing the least sign of unhappiness. So it was that Griselda went back to living with her father in great poverty and lowliness, serving him as she used to do and never once betraying a hint of sorrow or regret. Indeed, she used to console her father in his distress at seeing his daughter fall from such high distinction into such desperate wretchedness.

  ‘When the marquis felt that he had tested his loyal wife long enough, he sent word to his sister that she should make her way to his palace with a noble company of lords and ladies, bringing with her the two children, but taking care not to let anyone know that they were his. He informed his barons and subjects that he wished to remarry, taking as his wife a young girl of noble birth whose guardian was his sister. On the day when his sister was due to arrive, he assembled together in the palace a fine host of knights, ladies and high-born people. A magnificent feast was also made ready. He then sent for Griselda, saying to her, “Griselda, the girl that I’m going to marry will be here tomorrow and I’m determined that my sister and all her noble company should be given a fine and fitting welcome. Since you know my ways and are familiar with all the rooms and chambers, I want you to be in charge of making the arrangements and to give all the instructions to the household. You are to make sure that each person is properly received according to their rank, especially my bride-to-be, and that everything is organized as it should be.” Griselda replied that she would gladly do his bidding. The next day, the guests were greeted with great ceremony on their arrival. Despite her ragged dress, Griselda wasn’t put off from going up to the girl whom she thought was to be the new bride. With a smile on her face, she curtseyed to her and uttered these humble words: “My lady, you are most welcome.” She greeted her son and the whole of the rest of the company in turn in a similarly gracious fashion. Though she was dressed like a pauper, it was obvious from the way she held herself that she was in fact a very honourable lady of great virtue. The newcomers were amazed that such fine speech and such a noble bearing should be cloaked in wretched garments like those she had on. Griselda had taken excellent care of the preparations and nothing was out of place. Yet she was so fascinated by the girl and boy that she was unable to tear herself away from their side, and kept gazing in deep admiration at their beauty.

  ‘The marquis had made everything ready as if he were really going to marry the girl. When it was time for the mass to begin, he called Griselda over to him and, in front of everybody, said: “Griselda, what do you think of my new bride? Isn’t she lovely and innocent?” She replied, with great dignity, “Certainly, my lord, no lovelier or more innocent creature was ever seen. However, I would like to ask a favour of you, in all good faith. I beg you to spare her the torments and trials with which you have tested me, for she is so young and delicately brought up that she would be unable to endure what your previous wife has done.” On hearing Griselda’s words, the marquis realized just how steadfast, constant and faithful she was, and was astounded by her virtue. He took pity on her for having had to bear the lengthy suffering that he had imposed on her when she had done nothing to deserve such treatment. In the presence of everyone, he spoke up, saying, “Griselda, your trials are at an end, for your steadfastness and loyalty, your fidelity and affection, your obedience and humility towards me have all now been proven. I truly believe that there is no man on earth who ever found a greater love in marriage through putting his wife to all the tests that I have put you to.” The marquis then went up to her and hugged her tight. He covered her in kisses and declared, “You alone are my wife and I’ll never want to take another. This girl whom you took for my bride is in fact our daughter, and this boy is your son. Let everyone here present know that what I have done has been to test my wife, not to criticize her. I didn’t have the children killed after all, but ordered them to be brought up by my sister in Bologna, for here they are.” The
marchioness fainted from happiness at hearing her lord’s words. When she regained consciousness, she took her children in her arms and bathed them with tears of delight. Without a doubt, her heart was filled with gladness and all those who were there wept with joy and compassion. Griselda was more highly exalted than ever before and she was decked once again in the finest array. This was followed by tremendous rejoicing as the lady’s praises were sung to the skies. She and her husband lived together in peace and happiness for another twenty years. The marquis, who had previously neglected her father, Giannucolo, invited him to court and treated him with great reverence. Their children both made excellent marriages. After the marquis’s death, his son succeeded him, with the full support of the barons.’