# Gesta Romanorum (1905)/Introduction

INTRODUCTION.
SECTION I.
The History of Romantic Fabling is enveloped in much perplexity; nor is it diminished by the various conjectures which have been started and upheld. The labours of ingenuity are not always convincing; and perhaps the very fact of their plausibility leads us to mistrust. Discussion upon remote history is ever attended with difficulty; and arguments that rest upon the basis of refined deduction—that are artfully designed to pull down one system while they support another equally imaginative, may have a well-founded claim to admiration, but not upon the score of truth. It is singular how the mind loves to grasp at mystery, and to disport itself in the chaos of departed time. It springs undauntedly forward, unappalled by the numberless shadows which flit in "dim perspective" before it, and undeterred by the intricacies of the way. It would seem like a captive escaped from confinement, wantoning in the excess of unaccustomed liberty. And the more boundless the subject, the less timid we find the adventurer; the more perilous the journey, the less wary are his movements. Boldness appears to constitute success; as if, because the faint heart never attained the fair lady, modest pretensions and unassuming merit never secured the lady Truth. It is a libel upon the head and the heart; and cannot be too speedily abandoned.
Of the theories already advanced, none, it seems to me, is perfect; and none, without some portion of accuracy. They each go part of the way, but stop before they touch the mark. Bishop Percy, after Mallet, attributes the invention of romance to the ancient Scalds or Bards of the North. "They believed the existence of giants and dwarfs; they entertained opinions not unlike the more modern notion of fairies; they were strongly possessed with the belief of spells and enchantments, and were fond of inventing combats with ​dragons and monsters." Now, this is unequivocally nothing less than the entire machinery employed in all the Arabian Tales, and in every other oriental fiction. Such a coincidence no one will suppose the result of accident; nor can it for a moment be believed that the warm imaginations of the East—where Nature brightens the fancy equally with the flowers—borrowed it from the colder conceptions of the Northern bards. Many parts of the Old Testament demonstrate familiarity with spells; and Solomon (which proves a traditional intercourse, at least, between the Jews and other people of the East), by universal consent, has been enthroned sovereign of the Genii, and lord of the powerful Talisman. In David and Goliath, we trace the contests of knights with giants: in the adventures of Samson, perhaps, the miraculous feats attributed to the heroes of chivalry. In the apocryphal Book of Tobit, we have an angel in the room of a saint; enchantments, antidotes, distressed damsels, demons, and most of the other machinery of the occidental romance. Parts of the Pentateuch, of Kings, &c., &c., appear to have been amplified, and rendered wild and fabulous; and were the comparison carried minutely forward, I am persuaded that the analogy would be found as striking as distinct. I mean not that this has always been the immediate source: I am rather inclined to suppose that certain ramifications, direct from the East, already dilated and improved, were more generally the origin. But Scripture, in many cases, furnished a supernatural agency without pursuing this circuitous route; as well as heroes with all the attributes of ancient romance. In the old French prose of Sir Outel, chap, xxiv., we have the following exclamations on the death of the knight Roland, which partly confirm my observation:—"Comparé à Judas Machabeus par ta valeur et prouesse; ressemblant à Sanson, et pareil à Jonatas fils de Saul par la fortune de sa triste morte!" The Jewish Talmud, and especially the commentary upon it, abounds with fables, composed in some respects of the materials worked up by the Scalds, but long anterior in date to their compositions, so far as they are known.
Dr. Percy contends that "old writers of chivalry appear utterly unacquainted with whatever relates to the Mahometan nations, and represent them, as worshipping idols, or adoring a golden image of Mahomet." This, I should conceive, would naturally be the case. It was the aim of Christian writers to represent the infidels in the ​worst light possible. They thought them the most wretched beings in creation; and they might, therefore, artfully pervert their creed and exaggerate their vices. Most frequently, such would be the genuine result of their abhorrence: just as popular superstition pictures the "foul fiend" with horns, and cloven feet, and a hideously distorted countenance—not because it is really accredited, but because nothing is thonght too vile or too fearful for the Evil One. The hostility which the crusades excited and nourished; nay, the very difference of religious feeling, would necessarily call out the whole virulence of an age not remarkable for its forbearance; and it is absurd to suppose that the intercourse so long maintained between the two continents (both previous to these expeditions, and subsequent) should not have given them a sufficient acquaintance with the Saracen belief and mode of worship. If the great Saladin required and received knighthood from the hands of the Christians, it argued a degree of intimacy with European customs on the one side, which it would be unfair and arbitrary to deny the other.
That the Scalds added some circumstances to the original matter, and rejected others, is extremely probable. The traditions which conveyed the fable would, of course, be corrupted; not only from the mode of conveying it, but from the dissimilarity of customs and ideas among those by whom it was received. All I contend for is the original ground, upon which they and other nations have built; and this, I think I shall be able to demonstrate, purely oriental. But it is objected that, if the Northern bards had derived their systems from the East, they would have naturalized them as the Romans did the stories of Greece. It is thought that they must have adopted into their religious rites the same mythology, and have evinced as strong a similitude, as the nations of classical celebrity. There is, in truth, no basis for such an assertion to stand upon. The long intercourse between these nations, their vicinity to each other, and, more than all, the original similarity of their worship, prepared the Romans to receive the devotional system of a conquered country without hesitation. They understood and valued Grecian literature, and consequently found an additional motive for the reception of Grecian theology. It accorded with preconceived notions; it was, in fact, a part of their own. Besides, the Romans were rising in civilization, and caught at every shadow of improvement. The people of the North were totally the reverse. They were the children ​of Nature—of Nature yet unbetrothed to Art. They were not, therefore, prepared by anything analogous to produce a similar effect: and could but seize the most prominent features that were presented to them, upon which to engraft their own wild aad terrible stories.
Warton has written a long dissertation to prove that the Arabians, who had been for some time seated on the northern coasts of Africa, and who entered Spain about the beginning of the eighth century, "disseminated those extravagant inventions which were so peculiar to their romantic and creative genius." This hypothesis Bishop Percy has endeavoured to refute; and, according to Mr. Ellis, he has entirely succeeded. The argument advanced on this occasion is that, were it true, "the first French romances of chivalry would have been on Moorish, or at least Spanish subjects, whereas the most ancient stories of this kind, whether in prose or verse, whether in Italian, French, English, &c., are chiefly on the subjects of Charlemagne and the Paladins, or of our British Arthur, and his Knights of the Round Table, &c., being evidently borrowed from the fabulous chronicles of the supposed Archbishop Turpin, and of Jeffrey of Monmouth." Something in this there may be; but it is still clear that intercourse, of whatever kind, existing between two nations, must, to a certain degree, supply information relative to their peculiar habits and belief. That each side would hold communication with their captives, either from political motives or otherwise, is consistent with the experience of all ages; and, surely, not every individual would be so fastidious as to repel a closer intimacy. Courtesy, humanity, intrigue, &c., would, in some few at least, open a door to an unfettered interchange of thought; while gratitude for certain benefits might operate on others. In the course of a multifarious warfare, such things must occur; the line of separation must occasionally be removed, and youthful hearts and minds must, now and then, however sundered by human prejudices, break down the strongest barrier that interposes between them. If this be granted, when the history of such times and such circumstances was forgotten, the literature which they had helped to disseminate would remain. The legendary tale of the sire descends unmutilated to the son; and the fact is on record, though the occasion be obliterated. The fabulous chronicle of Turpin might then be drawn up; having its superstructure on French manners, but its basis on oriental ​learning. Much time must inevitably elapse before new systems can take root; and when they do, it is imperceptibly and silently. Hence, may the hostile incursions of the Saracens have introduced some portion of Eastern fiction: but not all; for it is the common tendency of a conquered country to engraft its own character and customs upon those of the stronger power.
It has been observed by Ritson (whose virulent and ungentlemanly abuse of his opponents is disgusting in the extreme!) that neither the Spaniards, nor any other nations of Europe, had an opportunity of adopting literary information "from a people with whom they had no connection, but as enemies, whose language they never understood, and whose manners they detested; nor would even have condescended or permitted themselves to make such an adoption from a set of infidel barbarians who have invaded, ravaged, and possessed themselves of some of the best and richest provinces of Spain." Much of this is in substance what has been contended against above; and that a very short period of servitude will not open the sources of a more friendly communication—in appearance at least—between nations under such circumstances, is contrary to historical fact and to human nature. The enslaved must look up to the enslaver for protection—for support; and the latter in return would enforce, under the penalty of extermination, the aid which was considered requisite. Thus, however involuntary and hateful, intercourse must be under all situations. But here the fact is, as Mr. Warton remarks (though Ritson pleases to overlook it), that after the irruption of the Saracens, the Spaniards neglected even the study of the Sacred Writings, for the express purpose of acquiring the Arabic. This curious passage is cited by Du Cange, whose words I shall quote at length:—
"Quod vero suprà laudatus Scriptor anonymus de Galliæ nostræ in Lingua Latina barbarie ante Caroli M. tempora, idem de Hispania post Saracenorum irruptionem testatur Alvarus: ubi neglectis et posthabitis Scripturis Sanctis, earumque sacris interpretibus, quotquot supererant Christiani, Arabum Chaldæeorumque libris evolvendis incumbebant, gentilitia eruditione prœclari, Arabico eloquio sublimati, Ecclesiasticam pulchritudinem ignorantes, et Ecclesiœ flumina de Paradiso manantia, quasi vilissima contemnentes, legem suam nesciebant, et linguam propriam nan advertebant Latini, ita ut ex omni Christi Collegio vix inveniretur unus in milleno hominum genere, qui salutatorias fratri posset rationaliter dirigere literas, cum reperirentur absque numero multiplices turbæ, qui erudite Chaldaicas ​verborum explicarent pompas. Quod quidem abunde firmat; quæ de Elepanto Toletano suprà diximus. Sed et indo satis arguimus unde tot voces Arabicæ in Hispanam, subinde sese intulerunt."
We have, then, a complete refutation of Ritson's strongest objection; and perhaps had not the spleen of the writer been more powerful than the good sense and feeling of the man, he never would have hazarded the remark. And if judicial astrology, medicine, and chemistry, were of Arabian origin, and introduced iato Europe a century at least before the crusades; if Pope Gerbert, or Sylvester II., who died a.d. 1003, brought the Arabic numerals into France, it is surely reasonable to suppose that these sciences, so intimately connected with magical operations (and with fictions from them) as to confer upon the possessor a title to supernatural agency, would extend their influence to the legendary stories, as well as to the manners of the West, which these very stories are admitted to describe! Yet, after all, it is not to be imagined that the introduction of Eastern invention happened at one time, or in one age; it was rather the growth of many times, and of many ages—continually, though gradually, augmenting, till it attained maturity.
The next hypothesis gives Armorica, or Bretany, as the source of romantic fiction. But to this, the same objections arise that have been started with respect to the rest. Mr. Ellis, in the introduction to his Specimens of Early English Romances, plausibly suggests that all are compatible. He imagines "that the scenes and characters of our romantic histories were very generally, though not exclusively, derived from the Bretons, or from the Welsh of this island; that much of the colouring, and perhaps some particular adventures, may be of Scandinavian origin, and that occasional episodes, together with part of the machinery, may have been borrowed from the Arabians." Which is as much as to say, that each nation contributed something, and very likely they did j but which furnished the greater part, or which originated the whole, is just as obscure as before a "reconciliation" of opinions was projected. This conciliatory system will remind the reader of Boccacio's tale of The Three Rings, "the question of which is yet remaining."
Another supposition attributes the chief source of romantic fiction to classical and mythological authors; that is, to the stories of Greece and Rome, somewhat altered by modern usages. To this belief Mr. Southey and Mr. Dunlop seem to incline. The latter ​adds that, "after all, a great proportion of the wonders of romance must be attributed to the imagination of the authors." But when these wonders, similarly constructed, pervade the most remote countries, there must be something more than an author's imagination brought into the account. Consideration, however, is due to the idea of a classical origin; and this, blended with the rest, may help to make up a perfect system. Before I proceed to the attempt, I would advert to certain observations which Mr. Dunlop has promulgated in his History of Fiction. He says, "It cannot be denied, and indeed has been acknowledged by Mr. Warton, that the actions of the Arabians and Scalds are totally different." Much misunderstanding would doubtless be avoided by accurate references: and if Mr. Dunlop be correct in what he asserts, it would be a pleasant thing to know the edition and page to which he alludes. In contradiction to the insinuation here thrown out, Warton says, "But as the resemblance which the pagan Scandinavians bore to the Eastern nations in manners, monuments, opinions, and practices is so very perceptible and apparent, an inference arises, that their migration from the East must have happened at a period by many ages more recent, and therefore most probably about the time specified by historians." And again, "These practices and opinions co-operated with kindred superstitions of dragons, dwarfs, fairies, giants, and enchanters, which the traditions of the Gothic Scolders had already planted: and produced that extraordinary species of composition which has been called Romance." In another place, indeed, he admits that there were "but few" of these monsters in the poetry of the most ancient Scalds; but that few is quite sufficient for the argument.
So that, one would think, Warton supplies no testimony in support of a doctrine, which I cannot help fancying may be proved altogether groundless. "Allowing the early Scaldic odes to be genuine," says Mr. Dunlop, "we find in them no dragons, giants, magic rings, or enchanted castles. These are only to be met with in the compositions of the bards who flourished after the native vein of Runic fabling had been, enriched by the tales of the Arabians." This is an extremely cautious method of writing; for while we contend that the Easterns furnished the groundwork, and fix the date, Mr. Dunlop may tell us, be it when it may, that it was subsequent to the period in which the Runic fable flourished in its ​native purity. Let us examine, however, how far his bold assertion may be maintained, respecting the poetical machinery adopted by the ancient Scalds. Let us advert to Edda, a monument "tout-à-fait unique en son espèce," as Monsieur Mallet assures us, and try whether there be not, in fact, almost the whole of what he has rejected.
Gylfe was king of Sweden, and a celebrated magician. When a colony of Asiatics arrived in his country (a tradition which adds strength to my hypothesis) he assumed the form of an old man, and journeyed to the city of Asgard. "Sed Asæ erant perspicaciores, (imo ut) præviderent iter ejus, eumque fascinatione oculorum exciperent. Tunc cernebat ille altum palatium: Tecta ejus erant tecta aureis clypeis, ut tectum novum. Ita loquitur Diodolfius: 'Tectum ex auro micante, Pariotes ex lapide, Fundamina aulæ ex montibus fecere Asæ sagaciores.' "
Here, beyond dispute, is an enchanted castle. And not only so, but the common oriental practice of putting a number of questions as the test of a person's wisdom, occurs in this very fable. "Qui est le plus ancien ou le premier des Dieux?" is first asked, and other interrogatories follow, of a similar character. Then for the Giants—in the Bunic mythology nothing is more common. Speaking of the formation of man, the Edda observes (I follow the French translation of M. Mallet): "Cet homme fut appellé Yme; les Géans le nomment Oergelmer, et c'est de lui que toutes leurs families descendent, comme cela est dit dans la Voluspa: 'Toutes les Prophétesses viennent de Vittolfe; les sages de Vilmôde, les Géans de Yme,' et dans un autre endroit: 'Des fleuves Elivages out coulé des goutes de venim, et il souffla un vent d'où un Géant fut formé. De lui viennent toutes les races Gigantesques.' " In this place we have not merely an accidental notice of giants, but their full genealogy, and a quotation from a poem still more ancient than the Edda, introduced in support of it. Afterwards mention is made of the Dwarfs: "Alors les Dieux s'etant assis sur leurs thrônes rendirent ​la justice et délibererent sur ce qui concernoit les Nains. Cette espèce de créatures s'etoit formée dans la poudre de la terre, comme les vers naissent dans un cadavre." And again of the Fairies and Genii, or beings answering to them—"Les unes sont d'origine divine, d'autres descendent des Genies, d'autres des Nains, comme il est dit dans ses vers: Il y a des Feés de diverse origine, quelques unes viennent des Dieux, et d'autres des Genies, d'autres des Nains." This fable gives a very curious account of the fairies: "Voici," says M. Mallet, "une Théorie complette de la Féerie;" but they are perhaps, as Bishop Percy has remarked, more analogous to the Weird Sisters than to the popular notion of fairyism in the present day. The ninth fable of the Edda alludes to "Les Genies lumineux," who are said to be "plus brillans que le soleil; mais les noirs sont plus noirs que la poix." And what is this but the good and bad genii of Eastern romance? Thor's "vaillante ceinture, qui a le pouvoir d'accroitre ses forces," and the "chaine magique," are equivalent to the enchanted ring; nor are "le grand serpent de Midgard," with other monsters, so unlike the oriental Dragon, as to preclude any comparison.
In short, the reader clearly distinguishes the accordance of the Northern mythology with that of the East. I could cite many more examples, but they are unnecessary; and if, as Mr. Dunlop imagines, "in the Eastern Peris we may trace the origin of European Fairies," by what possible contrivance, if he will be consistent, can he deny to the fairies of the North that claim which he grants to the whole of Europe?
I shall now proceed to account for the introduction of romantic fiction, by a channel which appears to me the most natural, and therefore the most likely to be true. I would begin with that period in which the persecutions of the pagan rulers drove the primitive Christians into the East. Full of the mysterious wonders of the Apocalypse, not less than of the miraculous records of the Holy Gospels; imbued with all that the Old Testament narrates, and probably anticipating similar interposition from Heaven in their own persons; their minds wrought up by many causes to the highest pitch of enthusiasm, and their hearts glowing with a fervour that no other ages can boast—they were well prepared to receive the ​impressions naturally made upon a heated fancy; and to put credit in tales which the distress of their situation prevented them from investigating, and their ignorance or credulity debarred from doubt. Hence, with the lives of the Fathers of the Church, they interwove prodigies of another land; and being further willing to address the prejudices of those they might hope to convert, adorned their martyrologies with fictitious incidents of oriental structure—even as, to conciliate the heathen, they introduced into their religious buildings the statues of pagan worship, dignifying them with novel names, and serving them with novel ceremonies. Not always, indeed, was this the process; nor the apotheosis always intentional. Succeeding times exhibited another mode of realizing fables, if I may so speak; and discovered another path to falsehood under the garb of truth. The monks were accustomed to exercise themselves with declaiming upon the merits of their patron saint. To give a new varnish to his fame, to excite yet more powerfully either the intellects or the devotion of the drowsy brotherhood, they added romantic fictions of their own; and invented familiar stories, derived from an infinite variety of sources. But because Eastern imaginations were more splendid and captivating—because Jerusalem and the Holy Sepulchre were in the East—because "an idle and lying horde of pilgrims and palmers" (as Mr. Dunlop expresses it) annually brought thither fresh subjects for credulity to feed upon, they were the most partial to oriental conceptions. The fables which they thus constructed were laid by, fairly transciibed, and beautifully illuminated; until, in due time, the monastery coffers were ransacked, and the gross and acknowledged inventions of earlier ascetics were imposed upon their later brethren, as the undoubted and veritable history of real Fathers and real saints.
It is well known that, in the earlier ages of Christianity, forged gospels were put forth in imitation of the true: while the tenets of the Persian magi were united with the doctrines of the Son of God. If this prove nothing further, it proves the facility with which oriental dogmas were interwoven with those of the West. At a more advanced period, other legends written in Latin, and professing to be narratives of what actually occurred, were again transcribed, with manifold amplifications by those into whose hands the manuscripts might happen to fall. Metrical versions were then given; and their popularity soon induced the narrators to step oul of their immediate walk of martyrdom, to raise the standard of chivalry in the persons ​of Brute, Alexander, Charlemagne, and the rest. Let it be observed that all these stories are of a similar cast; the Lives of the Saints, somehow or other, are always connected with the fictions of every hero of chivalry. They invariably work marvels in behalf of their votaries; they bequeath relics of surprising power—or they appear in dreams; or the utterance of their mighty names counteracts the potency of magical delusions, &c., &c., while the hero himself, treading in the steps of his canonized precursor, becomes a distinguished religieux; and at last takes his place in the calendar—"a very, very Saint."
If my hypothesis, therefore, be just, with the return of the exiled Christians from the East originated romantic fiction in Europe. But this, of course, must be taken with modifications. Time alone could mature what in its progress acquired such extensive popularity; and it seems to me one of the glaring defects of other systems, that they would represent the rise of that particular kind of fable in question to have been almost instantaneous: to have followed swift upon the incursions of the Saracens—to have sprung up mysteriously among the Scandinavians, or equally, if not more so, among the Armoricans. Whereas that which was so wide in its extent—so singular in its effects—so deeply impressed on a large portion of the globe, must inevitably have had a beginning and a middle: it must have been long crescent, before it was at the full. It is true the classical system has not all the objections which meet the other, on the score of precipitancy; but still it accounts only for that part of romance which is evidently built upon classic ground. Much of the machinery is wholly different; and from the comparatively few allusions—from the indistinct and monstrous perversions of Grecian or Roman fable, we are sure that their knowledge was very limited. But, in fact, a union of classic traditions with oriental fiction is not only probable but certain; yet my hypothesis still traces it to the East. For it will be noticed, that Eastern conceptions invariably predominate, even where the subject is confessedly classic; as in the stories of Alexander, Caesar, and others. Besides, the incursions of these leaders into that quarter of the world might, as it has happened ​in similar cases, leave certain traditionary monuments of their own belief. This, however, I by no means intend to urge.
When instances of those who fled, or were exiled to the East, or voluntarily settled there, are so numerous, it would be idle to weary the reader's attention, by entering into any lengthened detail. The names of Clemens of Alexandria, of Ignatius, Tertullian, and Origen, are conspicuous in the second and third centuries, with many others, who were in constant intercourse with the West; and the soft and yielding character of these times presented a plastic surface to every, even the slightest touch. In the early part of the fourth century the foundation of Constantinople, which drew from Italy such a large population, would facilitate the interchange of literature; for it is not improbable that many of the Asiatics, driven from their settlements by the influx of the foreigners, would hasten to occupy the homes which the others had vacated. At all events, the new settlers in the East had friends and connexions in their fatherland, with whom it was natural, and even necessary, that there should be a certain intercourse. Towards the conclusion of the third century, when monachism was so vehemently propagated, and the East inundated with a restless class of men, who strolled about in pursuit of proselytes (not much unlike the errant-knights of a subsequent age), the position I have laid down is more clearly evinced. It would be doing injustice to my subject, if, in speaking of this singular fact, I used other language than that of the historian of the Roman empire. "The progress of the monks," says this philosophic writer, "was not less rapid, or universal, than that of Christianity itself. Every province, and at last, every city of the empire, was filled with their increasing multitude; and the bleak and barren isles, from Lerins to Lipari, that arise out of the Tuscan sea, were chosen by the Anachorets for the place of their voluntary exile. An easy and perpetual intercourse by sea and land connected the provinces of the Roman world; and the life of Hilarion displays the facility with which an indigent hermit of Palestine might traverse Egypt, embark for Sicily, escape to Epirus, and finally settle in the island of Cyprus. The Latin Christians embraced the religious institutions of Rome. ​The pilgrims, who visited Jerusalem, eagerly copied, in the most distant climes of the earth, the faithful model of monastic life. The disciples of Antony spread themselves beyond the tropic, over the Christian empire of Œthiopia. The monastery of Banchor, in Flintshire, which contained above two thousand brethren, dispersed a numerous colony among the barbarians of Ireland; and Iona, one of the Hebrides, which was planted by the Irish monks, diffused over the northern regions a doubtful ray of science and superstition."
The roving characters of the monks, therefore, is another link of the chain by which I introduce oriental fiction into the West; and it is utterly impossible (maturely weighing the habits and propensities of this class of people) that they should not have picked up and retained the floating traditions of the countries through which they passed. "Some of the early romances," says Mr. Walker, "as well as the legends of saints, were undoubtedly fabricated in the deep silence of the cloister. Both frequently sprung from the warmth of fancy, which religious seclusion is so well calculated to nourish; but the former were adorned with foreign embellishments." It is exactly on this footing (though I certainly include the latter, that is, the legends of the saints, in the idea of foreign embellishment!) that I would place the hypothesis I have advanced; and here Mr. Walker's opinion, that Ireland is indebted to Italy for some of her fictions, derived originally from the East, will find confirmation. They might, at the same time, have been received by way of England, and as history testifies the fact of a colony of monks from thence, taking root in Ireland, the notion is more than probable. But in either case the original is the same. As further corroborative I may add, that in the ninth century Crete and Sicily were invaded and conquered by the Arabs; who likewise entered Italy, and almost approached Home.
I need scarcely allude to the crusades as sources of romantic fabling. They are undisputed parts of the system; and probably, at the termination of the third expedition, toward the close of the twelfth century, this kind of writing was at its height. Chivalry was then followed with a steady devotion, which, I am inclined to think, soon afterwards abated; and was rather the undulation of the water succeeding the tempest, than the tempest itself. The fourth and ​fifth crusade followed at the distance of abont twenty years; but upwards of thirty elapsed before the sixth and last. The blood and coin that had been so uselessly lavished might well conduce to satisfy the most enthusiastic crusader, and stem the torrent of popular superstition: while the surprising frenzy that had so long desolated both hemispheres, from its very intensity, was calculated to subside, and introduce a juster mode of thinking, and more rational ideas. Time, which allays all other passions, could not but temper this; and the last of these frantic expeditions appears, to my imagination, the desperate effort of expiring fanaticism—the last violent struggle of religious persecution in the East. With the decline of chivalry, the fictions, which principally attained their celebrity during its zenith (because they had become incorporated with it; though originally independent and extraneous), would naturally cease to be regarded; and the extravagant conceptions which this institution cherished, would, when good sense resumed or assumed her proper place, necessarily fall into decay.
Section II.
I now hasten to the Gesta Romanorum; and purpose giving a brief outline of its history, with a notice of certain stories which, without reference to their own individual merit, have been raised into higher importance by furnishing the groundwork of many popular dramas. I shall also take occasion to offer a few remarks upon the translation now before the public, elucidatory of certain points which seem to require explanation.
The Gesta Romanorum was one of the most applauded compilations of the Middle Ages. The method of instructing by fables is a practice of remote antiquity; and has always been attended with very considerable benefit. Its great popularity encouraged the monks to adopt this medium, not only for the sake of illustrating their discourses, but of making a more durable impression upon the minds of their illiterate auditors. An abstract argument, or logical deduction (had they been capable of supplying it), would operate but faintly upon intellects rendered oven more obtuse by the rude nature of their customary occupations; while, on the other hand, an apposite story would arouse attention, and stimulate that blind, and uninquiring devotion, which is so remarkably characteristic of the Middle Ages.
​The work under consideration is compiled from old Latin chronicles of Roman, or rather, as Mr. Warton and Mr. Douce think, of German invention. But this idea, with all submission, derives little corroborative evidence from fact. There is one story, and I believe, but one, which gives any countenance to it. That a few are extracted from German authors (who may not, after all, be the inventors) is no more proof that the compiler was a Grerman, than that, because some stories are found in the Roman annals, the whole book was the production of a Latin writer.
Oriental, legendary, and classical fables, heightened by circumstances of a strong romantic cast, form the basis of this singular composition. But the authorities cited for classical allusions are usually of the lower order. Valerius, Maximus, Macrobius, Aulas Gellius, Pliny, Seneca, Boethius, and occasionally Ovid, are introduced; but they do not always contain the relation which they are inteaded to substantiate; and it is invariably much disguised and altered. The oriental apologues are sometimes from the romance of Baarlam and Josaphat, and in several instances from a Latin work entitled, De Clericali Disciplina, attributed to Petrus Alphonsus, a converted Jew, godson to Alphonsus I. of Arragon, after whom he was named. There is an analysis of it by Mr. Douce inserted in Mr. Ellis's Specimens of Early English Romances. According to the former of these gentlemen, two productions bearing the title of Gesta Romanorum, and totally distinct from each other, exist. I confess I see no good reason for the assertion. I take the later work to be the same as its predecessor, with a few additions, not so considerable by any means as Mr. Douce imagines. This I shall show, by and by. Of the present performance, though it purports to relate the Gests of the Romans, there is little that corresponds with the title. On the contrary, it comprehends "a multitude of narratives, either not historical, or in another respect, such as are totally unconnected with the Roman people, or perhaps the most preposterous misrepresentations of their history. To cover this deviation from the promised plan, which, by introducing a more ample variety of matter, has contributed to increase the reader's entertainment, our collector has taken care to preface almost every story with the name ​or reign of a Roman emperor; who, at the same time, is often a monarch that never existed, and who seldom, whether real or supposititious, has any concern with the circumstances of the narrative."
The influence which this work has had on English poetiy is not the least surprising fact connected with it. Not only the earlier writers of our country—Grower, Chaucer, Lydgate, Occleve, &c.—have been indebted to it, but also, as the reader will perceive in the notes, the poets of modern times. Its popularity in the reign of Queen Elizabeth is proved by many allusions in the works of that period. In an anonymous comedy, published early in the following reign, entitled Sir Giles Goosecap, we have: "Then for your lordship's quips and quick jests, why Gesta Romanorum were nothing to them." In Chapman's May-Day, a person speaking of the literary information of another character, styles him—"One that has read Marcus Aurelius, Gesta Romanorum, the Mirrour of Magistrates, &c. . . . . to be led by the nose like a blind beare that has read nothing!"
The author of this popular work has been often guessed at, but nothing certain is known. Warton believes him to be Petrus Berchorius, or Pierre Bercheur, a native of Poitou; and prior of the Benedictine convent of Saint Eloi, at Paris, in the year 1362. Mr. Douce, on the other hand, contends that he is a German, because "in the Moralization to chapter 144" [Tale CXLIV. of the translated Gesta], "there is, in most of the early editions, a German proverb; and in chapter 142" [Tale CXLII], "several German names of dogs." I apprehend, however, that these names may be found more analogous to the Saxon; and, at all events, Warton's idea of an interpolation is far from improbable. Mr. Douce adds, that the earliest editions of the Gesta were printed in Germany; and certainly they often bear the name of some place in that country. But in the first ages of the art of printing, such might be the case, without actually identifying the point where the impression was struck off. It is a fact, sufficiently well known, that copies of certain books, printed in Italy, appeared, in every respect similar, and at the same time, in many parts of Germany, the Netherlands, &c. The only observable difference was in the alteration of names in the title-page. Now, if this be true, the Gesta Romanorum, printed in Italy, and thence sent for sale to some factor ​in distant parts, might have this person's name and residence affixed, not from any dishonest motive, but merely to announce the place in which they were to be sold. Such a supposition is not beyond the bounds of probability, and may be worth considering. Many copies will be found without date or place; and perhaps the inconvenience and difficulty which a new title-page created, might on some occasions induce the booksellers to omit it altogether.
English idioms and proverbial expressions are so frequent in the Gesta Romanorum, that they might lead to a supposition quite the reverse of Mr. Douce's idea; but I rather conceive them the necessary consequence of transcription; and that the manuscript was thought to require verbal flourishes, as well as gilded margins and illuminated initials. In like manner I account for the Saxon names of dogs [Tale CXLII.], which are quite unnecessary, and seem introduced in the most arbitrary manner. The incidents of one story [Tale CLV.] are said to occur in the bishopric of Ely. "This fact," says the writer of the Gest, "related upon the faith of many to whom it was well known, I have myself heard, both from the inhabitants of the place and others." The inference, therefore, is that the narrator was either an Englishman, or one well acquainted with the localities or the place he describes. If the origin of the other stories be deducible from the position laid down by Mr. Douce, then, by parity of reasoning, the writer of the tale in question was the compiler of the series—and most probably an Englishman: at all events, his work might be prepared in England. But this would not be conceded; and it is only by supposing an interpolation of the story, or of part of the story, that the difficulty is to be obviated. At any rate, the circumstance itself cannot justly be adduced in proof either one way or the other. But whoever was the author, or authors (which is more probable), and wherever they were produced, it is for the most part agreed that these tales were collected as early as the commencement of the fourteenth century—if not long before. Through a period of five hundred years, they have afforded a popular entertainment: the uncultivated minds of the Middle Ages valued them as a repertory of theological information, and later times as an inexhaustible fund of dramatic incident.
Of that which is called by Mr. Douce the English Gesta, it now remains to speak. "This work was undoubtedly composed in England in imitation of the other; and therefore it will be necessary for the future to distinguish the two works by the respective appellations of ​the original and the English Gesta." "It is natural to suppose that a work like the original Gesta would stimnlate some person to the compilation of one that should emulate, if not altogether supersede it; and accordingly this design was aocomplished at a very early period by some Englishman—in all probability, a monk." The feeling on my mind with regard to this Gesta certainly is, that it was intended for the same work as the original: but that in the transcription, with the latitude which the "Adam scriveners" of old invariably allowed themselves, many alterations (miscalled improvements) were made, together with some additions. The English translations of this last compilation vary frequently from their original. For instance, in the eighteenth chapter of the MS. ["English"] Gesta, fol. 17, a knight falls in love with Aglaës, daughter of the Emperor Polentius; but in the English translation of the story (in 1648, a thin 18mo, containing forty-four stories) this same person is styled Philominus. It forms "The fourteenth History." Now, the fact that no manuscript of this Gesta exists in any of the catalogues of continental libraries is easily accounted for, on the supposition of its being transcribed in England, and consequently confined to this country. For other nations, being in possession of an authenticated original, would have little inducement to seek after a newly fabricated copy. English verses found therein, with English proper names, and English law terms, and modes of speech (arguments on which Mr. Douce lays much stress), no more constitute another work than Horace's Art of Poetry, translated by Roscommon; or than Donne's Satires, modernized by Pope.
As the annexed tales gave occasion to some of Shakespeare's plays, and moreover are not defective in that kind of interest which is the peculiar merit of such things, I shall transcribe as many as appear in the English translation, following Mr. Deuce's arrangement, in order to show that the difference between the two Gestas is not so wide as this gentleman appears to imagine. Such as are of no interest, I shall omit.
Chapter I.
There reigned some time in Rome a wise and mighty emperor, named Anselm, who did bear in his arms a shield of silver with five red roses; this emperor had three sons whom he loyed much; he had also continual war with the king of Egypt, in which war he lost all his temporal goods except a precious tree. It fortuned aifter on a day that he gave battel to the same king of Egypt, wherein he was grievously wounded, nevertheless he obtained the victory, notwithstanding he had his deadly wound: wherefore while he lay at point of death, he called unto his eldest son, and said: My dear and well-beloved son, all my temporal riches are spent, and almost nothing is left me, but a precious tree, the which stands in the midst of my empire; I give to thee all that is under the earth, and above the earth of the same tree. O my reverend father (quoth he) I thank you much.
Then said the emperor, call to me my second son. Anon the eldest son greatly joying of his father's gift, called in his brother; and when he came, the emperor said, my dear son, I may not make my testament, forasmuch as I have sent all my goods, except a tree which stands in the midst of mine empire, of the which tree I bequeath to thee all that is great and small. Then answered he and said, My reverend father, I thank you much.
Then said the emperor, call to me my third son, and so it was done. And when he was come, the emperor said. My dear son, I must die of these wounds, and I have only a precious tree, of which I have given thy brethren their portion, and to thee I bequeath thy portion: for I will that thou have of the said tree all that is wet and dry. Then said his son, Father, I thank you. Soon after the emperor had made his bequest, he died. And shortly after the eldest son took possession of the tree. Now when the second son heard this, he came to him, saying, My brother, by what law or title occupy you this tree? Dear brother, quoth he, I occupy it by this title, my father gave me all that is under the earth, and above of the said tree, by reason thereof the tree is mine. Unknowing to thee, quoth the second brother, he gave unto me all that is great and small of the said tree, and therefore I have as great right in the tree as you. This hearing the third son, he came to them and said, My well-beloved brethren, it behoveth you not to strive for this tree, for I have as much right in the tree as ye, for by the law ye wot, that the last will and testament ought to stand, for of truth he gave me of the said tree all that is wet and dry, and therefore the tree by right is mine: but forasmuch as your words are of great force and mine also, my counsel is, that we be judged by reason: for it is not good nor commendable that strife or dissension should be among us. Here beside dwelleth a king full of reason, therefore to avoid strife let us go to him, and each of us lay his right before him; and as he shall judge, let us stand to his judgment: then said his brethren thy counsel is good, wherefore they went all three unto the king of reason, and each of them severally sheweth forth his right unto him, as it is said before.
When the king had heard the titles, he rehearsed them all again severally: First, saying to the eldest son thus: You say (quoth the king) that your father gave you all that is under the earth and above the earth of the said tree. And to the second brother he bequeathed all that is great and small of that tree. And to the third brother he gave all that is wet and dry.
​And with that he laid the law to them, and said that this will ought to stand.
Now my dear friends, briefly I shall satisfie all your requests, and when he had thus said, he turned him unto the eldest brother, saying, My dear friend, if you list to abide the judgment of right, it behoreth you to be letten blood of the right arm. My lord (quoth he), your will shall be done. Then the king called for a discreet physician, commanding him to let him blood.
When the eldest son was letten blood, the king said unto them all three: My dear friends, where is your father buried? then answered they and said: forsooth my lord in such a place. Anon the king commanded to dig in the ground for the body, and to take a bone out of his breast, and to bury the body again: and so it was done. And when the bone was taken out, the king commanded that it should be laid in the blood of the elder brother, and it should lie till it had received kindly the blood, and then to be laid in the sun and dried, and after that it should be washt with clear water: his servants fulfilled all that he had commanded: and when they began to wash, the blood vanished clean away; when the king saw this, he said to the second son, It behoveth that thou be letten blood, as thy brother was. Then said he, My lord's will shall be fulfilled, and anon he was done unto like as his brother was in all things, and when they began to wash the bone, the blood vanished away. Then said the king to the third son, It behoveth thee to be letten blood likewise. He answered and said. My lord it pleaseth me well so to be. When the youngest brother was letten blood, and done unto in all things as the two brethren were before, then the king's servants began to wash the bone, but neither for washing nor rubbing might they do away the blood of the bone, but it ever appeared bloody: when the king saw this, he said it appeareth openly now that this blood is of the nature of the bone, thou art his true son, and the other two are bastards, I judge thee the tree for evermore.
Chapter II.
In Rome there dwelt sometimes a noble emperor, named Dioclesian, who loved exceedingly the vertue of charity, wherefore he desired greatly to know what fowl loved her young best, to the intent that he might thereby grow to more perfect charity; it fortuned upon a day, that the emperor rode to a forrest to take his disport, whereas he found the nest of a great bird, (called in Latin struchio calemi, in English an ostridge) with her young, the which young bird the emperor took with him, and closed her in a vessel of glass, the dam of this little bird followed unto the emperor's palace, and flew into the hall where her young one was. But when she saw her young one, and could not come to her, nor get her out, she returned again to the forrest, and abode there three days, and at the last she came again to the palace, bearing in her mouth a worm called thumare, and when she came where her young one was, she let the worm fall upon the glass, by virtue of which worm the glass brake, and the young one flew forth with her dam. When the emperor saw this, he praised much the dam of the bird, which laboured so diligently to deliver her young one.
Chapter IV.
"The emperor Gauterus," &c.—This is Tale CL of the original Gesta; and, as the reader will see, not related with much variety.
Chapter XVIII.
In Rome some time dwelt a mighty emperor, named Philominus, who had one only daughter, who was fair and gracious in the sight of every man, who had to name Aglaes. There was also in the emperor's palace a gentle knight that loved dearly this lady. It befel after on a day, that this knight talked with this lady, and secretly uttered his desire to her. Then she said courteously, Seeing you have uttered to me the secrets of your heart, I will likewise for your love utter to you the secrets of my heart, and truly I say, that above all other I love you best. Then said the knight, I purpose to visit the Holy Land, and therefore give me your troth, that this seven years you shall take no other man, but only for my love to tarry for me so long, and if I come not again by this day seven years, then take what man you like best. And likewise I promise you that within this seven years I will take no wife. Then said she, This covenant pleaseth me well. When this was said, each of them was betrothed to other, and then this knight took his leave of the lady, and went to the Holy Land. Shortly after the emperor treated with the king of Hungary for the marriage of his daughter. Then came the king of Hungary to the emperor's palace, to see his daughter, and when he had seen her, he liked marvellous well her beauty and her behaviour, so that the emperor and the king were accorded in all things as touching the marriage, upon the condition that the damsel would consent. Then called the emperor the young lady to him, and said, O my fair daughter, I have provided for thee, that a King shall be thy husband, if thou list consent, therefore tell me what answer thou wilt give to this. Then said she to her father. It pleaseth me well: but one thing, dear father, I intreat of you, if it might please you to grant me: I have vowed to keep my virginity and not to marry these seven years; therefore, dear father, I beseech you for all the love that is between your gracious fatherhood and me, that you name no man to be my husband till these seven years be ended, ana then I shall be ready in all things to fulfil your will. Then said the emperor, Sith it is so that thou hast thus vowed, I will not break thy vow, but when these seven years be expired, thou shalt have the king of Hungary to thy husband.
Then the emperor sent forth his letters to the king of Hungary, praying him if it might please him to stay seven years for the love of his daughter, and then he should speed without fail. Herewith the king was pleased and content to stay the prefixed day.
And when the seven years were ended, save a day, the young lady stood in her chamber window, and wept sore, saying, Woe and alas, as to-morrow my love promised to be with me again from the Holy Land: and also the king of Hungary to-morrow will be here to marry me, according to my father's promise: and if my love comes not at a certain hour, then am I utterly deceived of the inward love I bear to him.
When the day came, the king hasted toward the emperor, to marry his daughter, and was royally arrayed in purple. And while the king was riding on his way, there came a knight riding on his way, who said, I am of the empire of Home, and now am lately come from the Holy Land, and I am ready to do you the best service I can. And as they rode talking by the way, it began to rain so fast, that all the king's apparel was sore wet: then said the knight, My lord ye have done foolishly, for as much as ye brought not with you your house: then said the king, Why speakest thou so? My house is large and broad, and made of stones, and mortar, how should I bring then with me, my house? thou speakest like a fool ​When this was said, they rode on till they came to a great deep water, and the king smote his horse with his spurs, and leapt into the water, so that he was almost drowned. When the knight saw this, and was over on the other side of the water without peril, he said to the king. Ye were in peril, and therefore ye did foolishly, because you brought not with you your bridge. Then said the king, Thou speakest strangely, my bridge is made of lime and stone, and containeth in quality more than half a mile: how should I then bear with me my bridge; therefore thou speakest foolishly. Well, said the knight, my foolishness may turn thee to wisdom. When the king had ridden a little further, he asked the knight what time of day it was. Then said the knight. If any man hath list to eat, it is time of the day to eat. Wherefore my lord, pray take a modicum with me, for that is no dishonour to you, but great honour to me before the states of this empire: Then said the king, I will gladly eat with thee. They sat both down in a fair vine garden, and there dined together, both the king and the knight. And when dinner was done, and that the king had washed, the knight said unto the king, My lord ye haye done foolishly, for that ye brought not with you your father and mother. Then said the king, what sayest thou? My father is dead, and my mother is old, and may not travel, how should I then bring them with me? therefore to say the truth, a foolisher man than thou art did I never hear. Then said the knight, Every work is praised at the end.
When the knight had ridden a little further, and nigh to the emperor's palace, he asked leave to go from him, for he knew a nearer way to the palace, to the young lady, that he mignt come first, and carry her away with him. Then said the king, I pray thee tell me by what place thou purposest to ride? Then said the knight, I shall tell you the truth: this day seyen years I left a net in a place, and now I purpose to visit it, and draw it to me, and if it be whole, then will I take it to me, and keep it as a precious jewel; if it be broken, then will I leave it: and when he had thus said, he took his leave of the king, and rode forth, but the king kept the broad highway.
When the emperor heard of the king's coming, he went towards him with a great company, and royally received him, causing him to shift his wet cloaths, and to put on fresh apparel. And when the emperor and the king were set at meat, the emperor welcomed him with all the chear and solace that he could. And when he had eaten, the emperor asked tydings of the king; My lord, said he, I shall tell you what I have heard this day by the way: there came a knight to me, and reverently saluted me; and anon after there fell a great rain, and greatly spoiled my apparel. And anon the knight said, Sir, ye have done foolishly, for that ye brought not with you your house. Then said the emperor, What cloathing had the knight on? A cloak, quoth the king. Then said the emperor, sure that was a wise man, for the house whereof he spake was a cloak, and therefore he said to you, that you did foolishly, because you came without your cloak, then your cloaths had not been spoiled with rain. Then said the king, when he had ridden a little further, we came to a deep water, and I smote my horse with my spurs, and I was almost drowned, but he rid through the water without any peril: then said he to me, You did foolishly, for that you brought not with you your bridge. Verily said the emperor, he saith truth, for he called the squires the bridge, that should have ridden before you, and assayed the deepness of the water. Then said the king, we rode further, and at the last he prayed me to dine with him. And when he had dined, he said, I did unwisely, because I brought not with me my father and mother. Truly said the emperor, he was a wise man, and saith ​[wisely]: for he called yonr father and mother, bread and wine, and other victual. Then said the king, we rode further, and anon after he asked me leave to go from me, and I asked earnestly whither he went: and he answered again, and said. This day seven years, I left a net in a private place, and now I will ride to see it and it it be broken and torn, then will I leave it, but if it be as I left it, then shall it be unto me right precious. When the emperor heard this, he cryed with a loud voice, and said, O ye my knights and servants, come ye with me speedily unto my daughter's chamber, for surely that is the net of which he spake; and forthwith his knights and servants went unto his daughter's chamber, and found her not, for the aforesaid knight had taken her with him. And thus the king was deceived of the damsel, and he went home again to his own country ashamed.
Chapter XXI.
Theodosius reigned, a wise emperour, in the city of Rome, and mighty he was of power; the which emperour had three daughters. So it liked to this emperour to know which of his daughters loved him best. And then he said to the eldest daughter. How much lovest thou me? Forsooth, quoth she, more than I do myself. Therefore, quoth he, thou shalt be highly advanced, and married her to a rich and mighty king. Then he came to the second, and said to her, Daughter, how much lovest thou me? As much, forsooth, said she, as I do myself. So the emperour married her to a duke. And then he said to the third daughter, How much lovest thou me? Forsooth, quoth she, as much as ye be worthy, and no more. Then said the emperour, Daughter, sith thou lovest me no more, thou shalt not be married so richly as thy sisters be. And then he married her to an earl. After this it happened that the emperour held battle against the king of Egypt. And the king drove the emperour out of the empire, in so much that the emperour had no place to abide in. So he wrote letters, ensealed with his ring, to his first daughter, that said that she loved him more than herself, for to pray her of succouring in that great need, because he was put out of his empire. And when the daughter had read these letters, she told it to the king, her husband. Then, quoth the king, it is good that we succour him in this need. I shall, quoth he, gatheren an host and help him in all that I can or may, and that will not be done without great costage. Yea, quoth she, it were sufficient if that we would grant him five knights to be in fellowship with him, while he is out of his empire. And so it was ydone indeed. And the daughter wrote again to the father, that other help might he not have but five knights of the king to be in his fellowship, at the cost of the king her husband. And when the emperour heard this, he was heavy in his heart, and said, alas! alas! all my trust was in her, for she said she loved me more than herself, and therefore I advanced her so high.
Then he wrote to the second that said she loved him as much as herself, and when she had read his letters, she shewed his errand to her husband, and gave him in counsel that he should find him meat and drink and clothing honestly, as for the state of such a lord during time of his need. And when this was granted, she wrote letters again to her father. The emperor was heavy with this answer, and said, Sith my two daughters have thus treated me, soothly I shall prove the third. And so he wrote to the third, that said she loved him as much as he was worthy, and prayed her of succour in his need, and told her the answer ​of her two sisters, So the third daughter, when she had considered the mischief of her father, she told her husband in this form: My worshipful lord, do succour me now in this great need, my father is put out of his empire and his heritage. Then spake he. What were thy will I do thereto? That ye gather a great host, quoth she, and help him to fight against his enemies. I shall fulfil thy will,' said the earl, and gathered a great host, and went with the emperour at his own costage to the battle, and had the victory, and set the emperour again in his heritage. And then said the emperour, Blessed be the hour I gat my youngest daughter: I loved her less than any of the other, and now in my need she hath succoured me, and the other have yfailed me; and therefore after my death she shall have mine empire. And so it was done indeed; for after the death of the emperour, the youngest daughter reigned in his stead, and ended peaceably.—Habl. MS. No. 7333.
This, as the reader will be aware, is the story of Lear in Shakspeare; but there were many popular tales built upon the same story.
Chapter XXV.
There was a powerful emperor called Andronicus, before whom a knight was wrongfully accused. When the charge could not be substantiated, his majesty proposed to him certain puzzling questions, which were to be accurately answered, under pain of death. The knight expressed himself ready to do his best. Then said the emperor, How far is heaven distant from hell? That is the first question. As far, replied he, as a sigh is from the heart.
Emperor. And how deep is the sea?
Knight. A stone's throw.
Emperor. How many flaggons of salt water are there in the sea?
Knight. Give me the number of flaggons of fresh water, and I will tell you.
Emperor. To the first question you answered, that the distance between heaven and hell, was as great as between a sigh and the heart. How can this be?
Knight. A sigh passes from the heart with the rapidity of a glance; and in like manner the soul goes from the body into a state of punishment or happiness.
Emperor. How is the depth of the sea a stone's throw?
Knight. All weight descends; and because a stone is heavy it drops to the bottom of tiie sea at once. Its depth is therefore a stone's throw.
Emperor. And how, if you knew the number of flaggons of fresh water, could you estimate the number of salt? This seems impossible.
Knight. Be good enough to try it. Begin the reckoning yourself.
The emperor, pleased with the knight's shrewdness, bids him go in peace.—MS. Copy of the Gest. Rom.
Chapter XXVI.
Bononius was emperor of Rome, &c., &c.
This is the same story as Tale CXXXII. of the original Gesta. Overpassed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter XXVII.
Antonius governed the city of Rome with great wisdom. He was exceedingly fond of the game of chess; and observing, on one occasion, that when the men were replaced in his bag as usual, the king was confounded with the inferior pieces, it led him to reflections upon the vanity of human greatness. He thereupon determines to make a triple division of his kingdom, and hasten to the Holy Land. He did so, and died in peace.
Chapter XXX.
The emperor Averrhoes, &c., &c.
This is the story of the knight Placidus, in Tale CX. of the original Gesta, with some variations. This also Mr. Douce has omitted to observe.
Chapter XXXI.
The following tale, together with Mr. Douce's remarks, I extract, verbatim, from the second volume of the Illustrations of Shakespeare. It happened in Rome, under the reign of one Plebens, according to the MS. It should be premised that the first part of the story resembles Tale LXIX.
"A law was made at Rome that the sentinels of the city should each night examine what was passing in all the houses, so that no private murders should be committed, nor anything done whereby the city should be endangered. It happened that an old knight named Josias had married a young and beautiful woman who, by the sweetness of her singing, attracted many persons to his house, several of whom came for the purpose of making love to her. Among these were three young men who were high in the emperor's favour. They respectively agreed with the woman for a private assignation, for which she was to receive twenty marks. She discloses the matter to her husband, but not choosing to give up the money, prevails on him to consent to the murder of the gallants, and the robbing of their persons. This is accomplished, and the bodies deposited in a cellar. The woman, mindful of the new law that had been made, sends for one of the sentinels, who was her brother, pretends that her husband had killed a man in a quarrel, and prevails on him, for a reward, to dispose of the dead body. She then delivers to him the first of the young men, whom he put into a sack, and throws into the sea. On his return to the sister, she pretends to go into the cellar to draw wine, and cries out for help. When the sentinel comes to her, she tells him that the dead man is returned. At this, he of course expresses much surprise, but putting the second body into his sack, ties a stone round its neck and plunges it into the sea. Returning once more, the woman, with additional arts, plays the same part again. Again he is deceived, and taking away the third body, carries it into a forest, makes a fire, and consumes it. During this operation he has occasion to retire, and in the mean time a knight on horseback, who was going to a tournament, passes by, and alights to warm himself at the fire. On the other's return, the knight is mistaken for the dead man, and with many bitter words thrown into the fire, horse and all. The sentinel goes back to his sister, and receives the stipulated reward. A ​hue and cry had now been made after the young men who were missing. The husband and wife engage in a quarrel, and the murder is of course discovered.
"This story has been immediately taken from The Seven Wise Masters, where it forms the example of the sixth master. The groundwork is, no doubt, oriental, and may be found, perhaps in its most ancient form, in The little hunchbacked taylor of The Arabian Nights. It was imported into Europe very early, and fell into the hands of the lively and entertaining French minstrels, who have treated it in various ways, as may be seen in Le Grand, Fableaux et Contes, tom. iv., where it is related five times. The several imitations of it from The Seven Wise Masters may be found in all the editions of Prince Erastus, an Italian modification of the Wise Masters. It forms the substance of a well-constructed and entertaining story of two friars, John and Richard, who are said to have resided at Norwich, in the reign of Henry the Fifth. This is related in Heywood's History of Women, under the title of The faire ladie of Norwich, and has crept into Blomefield's History of Norfolk in a very extraordinary manner, unaccompanied with any comment, but with the addition of the murderer's name, who is unaccountably stated to be Sir Thomas Erpingham, a well-known character. In the Bodleian library there is an old English poem entitled, A merry jest of Dane Hew, munck of Leicestre, and how he was foure times slain, and once hanged. Printed at London, by J. Aide, in 4to, without date. This is probably the same story, which has certainly been borrowed from one of those related by the Norman minstrels."
Chapter XXXII.
For this chapter I am also indebted to the Illustrations, &c.
"Folliculus, a knight, was fond of hunting and tournaments. He had an only son, for whom three nurses were provided. Next to this child he loved his falcon and his greyhound. It happened one day that he was called to a tournament, whither his wife and domestics went also, leaving the child in the cradle, the greyhound lying by him, and the falcon on his perch. A serpent that inhabited a hole near the castle, taking advantage of the profound silence that reigned, crept from his habitation and advanced towards the cradle to devour the child. The falcon, perceiving the danger, fluttered with his wings till he awoke the dog, who instantly attacked the invader, and after a fierce conflict, in which he was sorely wounded, killed him. He then lay down on the ground to lick and heal his wounds. When the nurses returned they found the cradle overturned, the child thrown out, and the ground covered with blood, as well as the dog, who, they immediately concluded, had killed the child. Terrified at the idea of meeting the anger of the parents, they determined to escape, but in their flight fell in with their mistress, to whom they were compelled to relate the supposed murder of ​the child by the greyhound. The knight soon arrived to hear the sad story, and, maddened with fury, rushed forward to the spot. The poor wounded and faithful animal made an effort to rise, and welcome his master with his accustomed fondness; but the enraged knight received him on the point of his sword, and he fell lifeless to the ground. On examination of the cradle the infant was found alive and unhurt, and the dead serpent lying by him. The knight now perceived what had happened, lamented bitterly over his faithful dog, and blamed himself for having depended too hastily on the words of his wife. Abandoning the profession of arms, he broke his lance in three pieces, and vowed a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he spent the rest of his days in peace.
"This tale is likewise borrowed by the compiler of the Gesta, from The Seven Wise Masters and of oriental construction. It is originally in Pilpay's Fables, being that of The Santon and the broken Pitcher.
"There is a very extraordinary tradition in North Wales, of an incident resembling that in our story having happened to Prince Llewellyn about the year 1205. He is said to have erected a tomb over his faithful dog, still known in Carnarvonshire by the name of Celhart's Grave. This tradition is the subject of an elegant ballad by the honourable Mr. Spencer, privately printed, in a single sheet, under the title of Beth Gêlert, or the Grave of the Greyhound. At Abergavenny Priory Church there is said to be the figure of an armed knight with a dog at his feet; and with this person, whoever he was, the story of Celhart has also been connected. But the dog, as well as other animals, is frequently found at the feet of figures on old monuments. On the whole, the subject appears not undeserving of the consideration of Welsh Antiquaries. It would be proper, however, on any such occasion, to bear in mind the numerous applications of circumstances altogether fabulous to real persons; one example of which has occurred in the story from the Gesta that immediately precedes the present.
"It may be thought worth adding, that Virgil's original Gnat resembled in its outline, as given by Donatus, the story in the Gesta, A shepherd there falls asleep in a marshy spot of ground; a serpent approaches, and is about to kill him. At this moment a gnat settles on the shepherd's face, stings, and awakens him. He instinctively applies his hand to the wounded part, and crushes the gnat. He soon perceives that he had destroyed his benefactor, and, as the only recompense in his power, erects a tomb to his memory."
Chapter XLVI.
"Some time ago in Bome there dwelt a noble emperor, of great livelihood, named Alexander, which, above all vertues loved the vertue of bounty; wherefore he ordained a law for great charity, that no man under pain of death should turn a plaice in his dish at his meat, but only eat the white side, and not the black; and if any man would attempt to do the contrary, he should suffer death without any pardon: but yet ere he dyed, he should ask three petitions of the emperor what him list (except his life) which should be granted to him.
"It befel after, upon a day, that there became an earl and his son, of a strange country, to speak with the emperor; and when the earl was set ​at meat, he was served with a plaice, and he which was an hungry and had an appetite to his meat, after he had eaten the white side, he turned the black side, and began to eat thereof: wherefore, straightway he was accused to the emperor, because he had offended against the law. Then said the emperor, Let him dye according to the law without any delay.
"When the earl's son heard that his father should die, immediately he fell down on both his knees before the emperor, and said, O my reverend lord, I most humbly intreat you, that I may dye for my father. Then said the emperor, It pleaseth me well so that one dye for the offence. Then said the earl's son, Sith it is so that I must dye, I ask the benefit of the law, that is, that I may have three petitions granted ere I dye. The emperor answered and said, Ask what thou wilt, there shall no man say thee nay.
"Then said this young knight. My lord, you have but one daughter, the which I desire of your highness * * *. The emperor granted for fulfilling of the laws, though it were against his will * * *.
"The second petition is this, I ask all thy treasure; and immediately the emperor granted, because he would not be called a breaker of the law. And when the earl's son had received the emperor's treasure, he imparted it both to poor and to rich, by means whereof he obtained their good wills.
"My third petition is this, I ask, my lord, that all their eyes may be put out incontinent that saw my father eat the black side of the plaice. And they that saw him turn the plaice, bethought them, and said within themselves: If we acknowledge that we saw mm do this trespass, then shall our eyes be put out: and therefore it is better that we hold us still; And so there was none found that would accuse him.
"When the earl's son heard this, he said to the emperor, My lord (quoth he) ye see there is no man accuseth my father, therefore give me rightful juogment. Then said the emperor, Forasmuch as no man will acknowledge that they saw him turn uie plaice, therefore I will not that thy father shall die. So thus the son saved his father's life, and after the decease of the emperor married his daughter."
Chapter XLVII.
This chapter, but with less incident, is the twenty-fifth history of the old English translation, which tolerably well exemplifies the usual arbitrary method of departing from the original text. As there is little interest in the story, I pass it.
Chapter XLVIII.
"Selestinus reigned, a wise emperor, in Rome, and he had a fair daughter."
[It is needless to transcribe this tale (which is the origin of the bond story in Shakespeare's "Merchant of Venice" because it is to be found prefixed to all the editions of the drama itself, from the Peoorone of Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, an Italian novelist, who wrote in 1378. It occurs also in an old English MS. preserved in the Harl. Collection, No. 7333, evidently translated from the Gesta Romanorum [Temp. Hen. VI.], which Mr. Douce has given in the 1st volume of his very entertaining Illustrations of Shakespeare, p. 281. But as the Tale of the Three Caskets has not been made so public, I insert it in this place, although it forms Chapter CIX. of the MS. Gesta. See also Note 11.]
​"Some time dwelt in Home a mighty emperor, named Anselm, who had married the king's daughter of Jerusalem, a fair lady, and gracious in the sight of every man, but she was long time with the emperor ere she bare him any child; wherefore the nobles of the empire were very sorrowful, because their lord had no heir of his own body begotten, till at last it befell, that this Anselm walked after supper, in an evening, into his garden, and bethought himself that he had no heir, and how the king of Ampluy warred on him continually, for so much as he had no son to make defence in his absence; therefore he was sorrowful, and went to his chamber and slept. Then he thought he saw a vision in his sleep, that the morning was more clear than it was wont to be, and that the moon was much paler on the one side than on the other. And after he saw a bird of two colours, and by that bird stood two beasts, which fed that little bird with their heat. And after that came more beasts, and bowing their breasts toward the bird, went their way: then came there divers birds that sung sweetly and pleasantly, with that the emperor awaked.
"In the morning early this Anselm remembred his vision, and wondred much what it might signifie; wherefore he called to him his philosophers, and all the states of the empire, and told them his dream; charging them to tell him the signification thereof on pain of death, and if they told him the true interpretation thereof, he promised them good reward. Then said they, Dear lord, tell us your dream, and we shall declare to you what it betokens. Then the emperor told them from the beginning to the ending, as is aforesaid. When the philosophers heard this, with glad chear they answered and said. Sir, the vision that you saw betokeneth good, for the empire shall be clearer than it is.
"The moon that is more pale on the one side than on the other, betokeneth the empress, that hath lost part of her colour, through the conception of a son that she hath conceived. The little bird betokeneth the son that she shall bear. The two beasts that fed this bird, betokeneth the wise and rich men of the empire which shall obey the son. These other beasts that bowed their breasts to the bird, betoken many other nations that shall do him homage. The bird that sang so sweetly to this little bird, betokeneth the Romans, who shall rejoyce and sing because of his birth. This is the very interpretation of your dream.
"When the emperor heard this, he was right joyful. Soon after that, the empress travailed in childbirth, and was delivered of a fair son, at whose birth there was great and wonderful joy made.
"When the king of Ampluy heard this, he thought in himself thus: Lo, I have warred against the emperor all the days of my life, and now he hath a son, who when he cometh to full age, will revenge the wrong I have done against his father, therefore it is better that I send to the emperor, and beseech him of truce and peace, that the son may have nothing against me, when he cometh to manhood: when he had thus said to himself, he wrote to the emperor, beseeching him to have peace. When the emperor saw that the king of Ampluy wrote to him more for fear than for love, he wrote again to him, that if he would find good and sufficient sureties to keep the peace, and bind himself all the days of his life to do him service and homage, he would receive him to peace.
"When the king had read the tenor of the emperor's letter, he call'd his council, praying them to give him counsel how he best might do, as touching this matter. Then said they. It is good that ye obey the emperor's will and commandment in all things. For first, in that he desired of you surety for the peace; to this we answer thus, Ye have but one daughter, and the emperor one son, wherefore let a marriage be ​made between them, and that may be a perpetual covenant of peace. Also he asketh homage and tribute, which it is good to fulfil. Then the king sent his messengers to the emperor, saying, that he would fulfil his desire in all things, if it might please his highness, that his son and the king's daughter might be married together. All this well pleased the emperor, yet he sent again, saying. If his daughter were a clean virgin from her birth unto that day, he would consent to that marriage. Then was the king right glad, for his daughter was a clean virgin.
"Therefore, when the letters of covenant and compact were sealed, the king furnished a fair ship, wherein he might send his daughter, with many noble knights, ladies, and great riches, unto the emperor, for to have his son in marriage.
"And when they were sailing in the sea, towards Rome, a storm arose so extreamly and so horribly that the ship brake against a rock, and they were all drowned save only the young lady, which fixed her hope and heart so greatly on God, that she was saved, and about three of the dock the tempest ceased, and the lady drove forth over the waves in that broken ship which was cast up again: But a huge whale followed after, ready to devour both the ship and her. Wherefore this young lady, when mght came, smote fire with a stone wherewith the ship was greatly lightned, and then the whale durst not adventure toward the ship for fear of that light. At the cock crowing, this voung lady was so weary of the great tempest and trouble of sea, that she slept, and within a little while after the fire ceased, and the whale came and devoured the virgin. And when she awaked and found herself swallowed up in the whale's belly, she smote fire, and with a knife wounded the whale in many places, and when the whale felt himself wounded, according to his nature he began to swim to land.
"There was dwelling at that time in a country near by, a noble earl named Pirris, who for his recreation walking on the sea shore, saw the whale coming towards the land, wherefore he turned home again, and gathered a great many of men and women, and came thither again, and fought with the whale, and wounded him very sore, and as they smote, the maiden that was in his belly cryed with an high voice, and said, O gentle friends, have mercy and compassion on me, for I am a king's daughter, and a true virgin from the hour of my birth unto this day. When the earl heard this, he wondered greatly, and opened the side of the whale, and found the young lady, and took her out; and when she was thus delivered, she told him forthwith whose daughter she was, and how she had lost all her goods in the sea, and how she should haye been married unto the emperor's son. And when the earl heard this, he was very glad, and comforted her the more, and kept her with him till she was well refreshed. And in the mean time he sent messengers to the emperor, letting him to know how the king's daughter was saved.
"Then was the emperor right glad of her safety, and coming, had great compassion on her, saying. Ah good maiden, for the love of my son thou hast suffered much woe: nevertheless, if thou be worthy to be his wife, soon shall I prove. And when he had thus said, he caused three vessels to be brought forth: the first was made of pure gold, well beset with precious stones without, and within full of dead men's bones, and thereupon was engraven this posie: Whoso chuseth me, shall find that he deserveth. The second vessel was made of fine silver, filled with earth and worms, the superscription was thus, Whoso chuseth me, shall find that his nature desireth. The third vessel was made of lead, full within of precious stones, and thereupon was insculpt this ​posie, Whoso chuseth me, shall find that God hath disposed for him. These three vessels the emperor shewed the maiden, and said; Lo, here daughter, these be rich vessels, if thou chuse one of these, wherein is profit to thee and to others, then shalt thou have my son. And if thou chuse that wherein is no profit to thee, nor to any other, soothly thou shalt not marry him.
"When the maiden heard this, she lift up her hands to God, and said, Thou Lord, that knowest all things, grant me grace this hour so to chuse, that I may receive the emperor's son. And with that she beheld the first vessel of gold, which was engraven royally, and read the superscription: Whoso chuseth me, shall find that he deserveth; saying thus, Though this vessel be full precious, and made of pure gold, nevertheless I know not what is within, therefore, my dear lord, this vessel will I not chuse.
"And then she beheld the second vessel, that was of pure silver, and read the superscription, Whoso chuseth me, shall find that his nature desireth: Thinking thus within herself, if I chuse this vessel, what is within I know not, but well I know, there shall I find that nature desireth, and my nature desireth the lust of the flesh, and therefore this vessel will I not chuse.
"When she had seen these two vessels, and had given an answer as touching them, she beheld the third vessel of lead, and read the superscription. Whoso chuseth me, shall find that God hath disposed: Thinking within herself, this vessel is not very rich, nor outwardly precious, yet the superscription saith, Whoso chuseth me, shall find that God hath disposed: and without doubt God never disposeth any harm, therefore, by the leave of God, this vessel will I chuse.
"When the emperor heard this, he said, O fair maiden, open thy vessel, for it is full of precious stones, and see if thou hast well chosen or no. And when this young lady had opened it, she found it full of fine gold and precious stones, as the emperor had told her before. Then said the emperor, daughter, because thou hast well chosen, thou shalt many my son. And then he appointed the wedding day; and they were married with great solemnity, and with much honour continued to their lives end."
Chapter XLIX.
This story is wholly in the original Gesta; Tale L. Not observed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter L.
This apologue is also in the original Gesta, with slight variations. See Tale XLV. It is noticed in the Illustrations, &c.
Chapter LI.
Is also in the original Gesta; Tale LXIV. Not observed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter LIV.
In the original Gesta; Tale CXX. Noticed in the Illustrations.
Chapter LVI.
In the original Gesta; Tale XX. Overlooked by Mr. Douce.
Chapter LXII.
This story, though not exactly the same, resembles Tale I., Tale XXVII., and part of Tale LV. But it is really Tale LXVI. Not noticed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter LXVIII.
This is the Twenty-third History of the English Translation; but being of little interest, I omit it.
Chapter LXX.
Is the story of Guido (and of Sir Guy, Ellis's Specimens. &c.), Tale CLXXI. Not observed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter LXXII.
Forms the latter part of Tale CI. Not observed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter LXXVII.
Is the Twenty-eighth History of the English Translation, but not worth transcribing. The latter part of this story is the same with Tale LXXXII. and Tale CLXXXI. Mr. Douce notices the latter, but it is not so similar by any means as the former.
Chapter LXXVIII.
"A law was made at Rome, that no man should marry for beauty, but for riches only; and that no woman should be united to a poor man, unless he should by some means acquire wealth equal to her own. A certain poor knight solicited the hand of a rich lady, but she reminded him of the law, and desired him to use the best means of complying with it, in order to effect their union. He departed in great sorrow, and after much enquiry, was informed of a rich duke, who had been blind from the day of his birth. Him he resolved to murder, and obtain his wealth; but found that he was protected in the day-time by several armed domestics, and at night by the vigilance of a faithful dog. He contrived, however, to kill the dog with an arrow, and immediately afterwards the master, with whose money he returned to the lady. He informed her that he had accomplished his purpose; and being interrogated how this had been done in so short a space of time, he related all that had happened. The lady desired, before the marriage should take place, that he would go to the spot where the duke was buried, lay himself on his tomb, listen to what he might hear, and then report it to her. The knight armed himself, and went accordingly. In the middle of the night he heard a voice saying, O duke, that liest here, what askest thou that I can do for thee? The answer was, O Jesus, thou upright judge, all that I require is vengeance for my blood unjustly spilt. The voice rejoined, Thirty years from this time thy wish shall be fulfilled. The knight, extremely terrified, returned with the news to the lady. She reflected that thirty years were a long period, and resolved on the marriage. During the whole of the above time the parties remained in perfect happiness.
"When the thirty years were nearly elapsed, the knight built a ​strong castle, and over one of the gates, in a conspicuous place, caused the following verses to be written:
'In my distress, religious aid I sought: But my distress relieved, I held it nought. The wolf was sick, a lamb he seemed to be; But health restored, a wolf again we see.'
Interrogated as to the meaning of these enigmatical lines, the knight at once explained them, by relating his own story, and added, that in eight days' time the thirty years would expire. He invited all his friends to a feast at that period, and when the day was arrived, the guests placed at table, and the minstrels attuning their instruments of music, a beautiful bird flew in at the window, and began to sing with uncommon sweetness. The knight listened attentively, and said, I fear this bird prognosticates misfortune. He then took his bow, and shot an arrow into it, in presence of all the company. Instantly the castle divided into two parts, and, with the knight, his wife, and all who were in it, was precipitated to the lowest depth of the infernal regions. The story adds, that on the spot where the castle stood, there is now a spacious lake, on which no substance whatever floats, but is immediately plunged to the bottom."
Chapter LXXIX.
"The dog and the lamp, in this story, are introduced in chap. i. of the other Gesta, but the tales have nothing else in common."—Douce. But the pure virgin is in Tale CXV., and the thorn extracted from the lion's foot, in Tale CIV. The protection afforded by the animal resembles that in Tale CIX.—The youth's subterranean residence seems copied from the story of the third calendar in the Arabian Nights.
Chapter LXXX.
"The substance of this story," says Mr. Douce, "is incorporated with the old ballad of 'A warning Piece to England, or the Fall of Queen Eleanor.' "—Coll. of old Ballads. vol. i. No. xiii.
Chapter LXXXII.
"There dwelt some time in Rome a mighty emperor and a merciful, named Menelay, who ordained such a law, that what innocent person was taken and put in prison, if he might escape and come to the emperor's palace, he should be there safe from all manner of accusations against him in his life time. It was not long after, but it befel, that a knight was accused, wherefore he was taken and pat in a strong and dark prison, where he lay a long time, and had no light but a little window, whereat scant light shone in, that lighted him to eat such simple meat as the keeper brought him: wherefore he mourned greatly, and made sorrow that he was thus fast shut up from the sight of men. Nevertheless, when the keeper was gone, there came daily a nightingale in at the window, and sung full sweetly, by whose song this woful knight was oftentimes fed with joy, and when the bird left off singing, then would she flye into the knight's bosome, and there this knight fed ​her many a day, of the victual that God sent him. It befel after upon a day, that the knight was greatly desolate of comfort. Nevertheless, the bird that sate in his bosome fed upon kernels of nuts, and thus he said to the bird, Sweet bird, I have sustained thee many a day, what wilt thou give me now in my desolation to comfort me? Remember thy self well, how that thou art the creature of God, and so am I also, and therefore help me now in this my great need.
"When the bird heard this, she flew forth from his bosome, and tarried from him three days, but the third day she came again, brought in her mouth a precious stone, and laid it in the knight's bosom. And when she had so done, she took her flight and flew from him again. The knight marvelled at the stone, and at the bird, and forthwith he took the stone in his hand, and touched his gives and fetters therewith, and presently they fell off. And then he arose and touched the doors of the prison, and they opened, and he escaped, and ran fast to the emperor's palace. When the keeper of the prison perceived this, he blew his horn thrice, and raised up all the folk of the city, and led them forth, crying with an high voice, lo, the thief is gone, follow we him all. And with that he ran before all his fellows towards the knight. And when he came nigh him, the knight bent his bow, and shot an arrow, wherewith he smote the keeper in the lungs, and slew him, and then ran to the palace, where he found succour against the law."
Chapter XCIV.
The same as Tale CXXX. and Tale CXLII. Not observed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter XCVIII.
"In Rome some time dwelt a mighty emperor, named Martin, which for entire affection kept with him his brother's son, whom men called Fulgentius. With this Martin dwelt also a knight that was steward of the empire, and unkle unto the emperor, which envied this Fulgentius, studying day and night how he might bring the emperor and this youth at debate. Wherefore the steward on a day went to the emperor, and said, My lord (quoth he), I that am your true servant, am bound in duty to warn your highness, if I hear any thing that touoheth your honour, wherefore I have such things that I must needs utter it in secret to your majesty between us two. Then said the emperor, Good friend, say on what thee list.
"My most dear lord (quoth the steward), Fulgentius your cousin and your nigh kinsman, hath defamed you wonderfully and shamefully throughout all your whole empire, saying that vour breath stinketh, and that it is death to him to serve your cup. Then the emperor was grievously displeased, and almost beside himself for anger, and said unto him thus: I pray thee good friend tell me the very truth, if that my breath stinketh as he saith. My lord (quoth the steward), ye may believe me, I never perceived a sweeter breath in my days than yours is. Then said the emperor, I pray thee good friend, tell me how I may bring this thing to good proof.
"The steward answered and said: My Lord (quoth he) ye shall right well understand the truth; for to-morrow next when he serveth you of your cup, ye shall see that he will turn away his face from you, because of your breath) and this is the most certain proof that may m had of this thing. Verily (quoth the emperor), a truer proof cannot be had of this ​thing. Therefore anon when the steward heard this, he went streight to Fulgentius, and took him aside, saying thus. Dear friend, thou art near kinsman and also nephew unto my lord the emperor, therefore if thou wilt be thankful unto me, I will tell thee of a fault whereof my lord the emperor complaineth oft, and thinks to put thee from him (except it be the sooner amended) and that will be a great reproof to thee. Then said this Fulgentius, Ah good Sir, for his love that died upon the cross, tell me why my lord is so sore moved with me, for I am ready to amend my fault in all that I can or may, and for to be ruled by your discreet counsel.
"Thy breath (quoth the steward) stinketh so sore, that his drink doth him no good, so grievous unto him is the stinking breath of thy mouth. Then said Fulgentius unto the steward: Truly, that perceived I never till now; but what think ye of my breath, I pray you tell me the very truth? Truly (quoth the steward) it stinketh gieatly and foul. And this Fulgentius believed all that he had said, and was right sorrowful in his mind, and prayed the steward of his counsel and help in this woful case. Then said the steward unto him. If that thou wilt do my counsel, I shall bring this matter to a good conclusion, wherefore do as I shall tell thee.
"I counsel thee for the best, and also warn thee, that when thou servest my lord the emperor of his cup, that thou turn thy face away from him, so that he may not smell thy stinking breath, until the time that thou hast provided thee of some remedy therefore.
"Then was Fulgentius right glad, and sware to him that he would do by his counsel.
"Not long after it befell that this young man Fulgentius served his lord as he was wont to do, and therewith suddenly he turned his face from the lord the emperor, as the steward had taught him.
"And when the emperor perceived the avoiding of his head, he smote this young Fulgentius on the breast with his foot, and said to him thus: O thou lewd varlet; now I see well it is true that I have heard of thee, and therefore go thou anon out of my sight, that I may see thee no more in this place. And with that this young Fulgentius wept full sore, and avoided the place, and went out of his sight.
"And when this was done, the emperor called unto him his steward, and said. How may I rid this varlet from the world, that thus hath defamed me? My most dear lord (quoth the steward), right well you shall have your intent.
"For here beside, within these three miles, ye have brick-makers, which daily make great fire, for to bum brick, and also they make lime, therefore my lord, send to them this night, charge them upon pain of death, that whosoever cometh to them first in the morning, saying to them thus, My lord commandeth them to fulfil his will, that they take him and cast him into the furnace, and burn him: and this night command you this Fulgentius, that he go early in the morning to your workmen, and that he ask them whether they have fulfilled your will which they were commanded, or not; and then shall they, according to your commandment, cast him into the fire, and thus shall he die an evil death.
"Surely (quoth the emperor), thy counsel is good, therefore call to me that varlet Fulgentius. And when the young man was come to the emperor's presence, he said to him thus, I charge thee upon pain of death, that thou rise early in the morning, and go to the burners of lime and brick, and that thou be with them early before the sun rise, three ​miles from this house, and charge them in my behalf, that they fulfil my commandment, or else they shall die a most shameful death.
"Then spake this Fulgentius. My Lord, if God send me my life, I shall fulfil your will, were it that I go to the world's end.
"When Fulgentius had this charge, he could not sleep for thought, that he must rise early to fulfil his lord's commandment. The emperor about midnight sent a messenger on horseback unto his brick-makers, commanding, that upon pain of death, that whosoever came to them first in the morning, saying unto them (as is before rehearsed) they should take him and bind him, and cast him into the fire, and burn him to the bare bones.
"The brick-makers answered and said, it should be done. Then the messenger returns home again, and told the emperor that his commandment should be diligently fulfilled.
"Early in the morning following, Fulgentius arose and prepared him towards his way, and as he went, he heara a bell ring to senrice, wherefore he went to hear service, and after the end of service he fell asleep, and there slept a long while so soundly, that the priest, nor none other, might awake him.
"The steward desiring inwardly to hear of his death, about two of the clock he went to the workmen, and said unto them thus. Sirs (quoth he), have ye done the emperor's commandment or no?
"The brick-makers answered him and said. No truly, we have not yet done his commandment, but it shall be done, and with that they laid hands on him. Then cried the steward, and said. Good sirs, save my life, for the emperor commanded that Fulgentius should be put to death. Then said they, the messenger told us not so, but he bad us, that whosoever came first in the mornmg, saying as you have said, that we should take him, and cast him into the furnace, and burn him to ashes: and with that they threw him into the fire.
"And when he was burnt, Fulgentius came to them and said. Good sirs, have you done my lord's commandment, yea, soothly, said they, and therefore go ye again to the emperor, and tell him so. Then said Fulgentius, for Christ's love tell me that commandment.
"We had a commandment said they, upon pain of death, that whosoever came to us first in the morning, and said like as thou hast said, that we should take him and cast him into the furnace: But before thee, came the steward, and therefore on him have we fulfilled the emperor's commandment, now he is burnt to the bare bones.
"When Fulgentius heard this, he thanked God, that he had so preserved him from death, therefore he took his leave of the workmen, and went again to the palace.
"When the emperor saw him, he was almost distract of his wits for anger, and thus he said. Hast thou been with the brick-makers, and fulfilled my commandment? Soothly, my gracious Lord, I have been there, but ere I came there, your commandment was fulfilled. How may that be true, quoth the emperor?
"Forsooth, said Fulgentius, the steward came to them afore me, and said that I should have said, so they took him and threw him into the furnace, and if I had come any earlier, so would they have done to me, and therefore I thank God, that he hath preserved me from death.
"Then said the emperor, tell me the truth of such questions as I shall demand of thee. Then said Fulgentius to the emperor: You never found me in any falshood, and therefore I greatly wonder why ye have ordained such a death for me? for well ye know, that I am your own brother's son. ​Then said the emperor to Fulgentius: It is no wonder, for that death I ordained for thee, through counsel of the steward, because thou didst defame me throughout all my empire, saying, that my breath did stink so grievously, that it was death to thee, and in token thereof thou turnedst away thy face when thou servedst me of my cup, and that I saw with mine eyes; and for this cause I ordained for thee such a death; and yet thou shalt die, except I hear a better excuse.
"Then answered Fulgentius, and said; Ah, dear lord, if it might please your highness for to bear me, I shall shew you a subtile and deceitful imagination. Say on, quoth the emperor.
"The steward (quoth Fulgentius) that is now dead, came to me and said, that ye told unto him that my breath did stink, and thereupon he counselled me, that when I served you of your cup, I should turn my face away, I take God to witness, I lie not.
"When the emperor heard this, he believed him, and said. O my nephew, now I see, through the right wise judgment of God, the steward is burnt, and his own wickedness and envy is fallen on himself, for he ordained this malice against thee, and therefore thou art much bound to Almighty God, that hath preserved thee from death.
"This story may have come from the East. (See Scott's Tales from the Arabic and Persian, p. 53, where there is an excellent story, of similar construction.) It is likewise extremely well related in the Contes devots, or Miracles of the Virgin (Le Grand, Fabliaux, v. 74), and in other places."—Douce.
Chapter C.
The commencement of this story is in Tale CIV. Not observed by Mr. Douce.
Chapter CI.
"In Rome dwelt some time a mighty emperor, named Manelay, which had wedded the king's daughter of Hungaria, a fair lady, and ​gracious in all her works, especially she was merciful. On a time, as the emperor lay in his bed, he bethought him, that he would go and visit the Holy Land. And on the morrow he called to him the empress his wife, and his own only brother, and thus he said; Dear lady, I may not, nor will not hide from you the privities of my heart, I purpose to visit the Holy Land, wherefore I ordain thee principally to be lady and governess over all my empire, and all my people; and under thee I ordain here my brother to be thy steward, for to provide all things may be profitable to my empire and my people.
"Then said the empress, Sith it will no otherwise be, but that needs thou wilt go to visit the city of Jerusalem, I shall be in your absence as true as any turtle that hath lost her mate; for as I believe, ye shall not escape thence with your life.
"The emperor anon comforts her with fair words, and kissed her, and after that took his leave of her and all others, and went toward the city of Jerusalem.
"And anon after the emperor was gone, his brother became so proud, that he oppressed poor men and robbed rich men; and he did worse than this, for he daily stirred the empress to commit sin with him; but she ever answered again as a holy and devout woman; nevertheless this knight would not leave with this answer, but ever when he found her alone, he made his complaint to her, and stirred her by all the ways that he could to sin.
"When this lady saw that he would not cease for any answer, nor would not amend himself; when, she saw her time, she called to her three or four of the worthiest men of the empire, and said to them thus: It is not unknown to you, that my lord the emperor ordained me principal governor of this empire, and also he ordained his brother to be steward under me, and that he should do nothing without my counsel, but he doth all the contrary; for he oppresseth greatly poor men, and likewise robbeth the rich men; yet he would do more than this if he might have his intent; wherefore I command you in my lord's name, that you bind him fast, and cast him into prison.
"Then said they, Soothly he hath done many evil deeds since our lord the emperor went, therefore we be ready to obey your commandments, but in this matter, you must answer for us to our lord the emperor.
"Then said she, Dread ye not, if my lord knew what he had done as well as I, he would put him to the foulest death that could be thought. Immediately these men laid hands on him, and bo and him fast with iron chains, and put him in prison, where he lay long time after, till at the last it fortuned, there came tidings that the emperor was coming home, and had obtained great renown and victory. When his brother heard of his coming, he said, Would to God my brother might not find me in prison, for if he do, he will enquire the cause of my imprisonment of the empress, and she will tell him all the truth how I moved her to commit sin, and so for her I shall have no favour of my brother, but lose my life; this know I well: therefore it shall not be so. Then sent he a messenger unto the empress, praying her that she would vouchsafe to come to the prison-door, that he might speak a word or two with her.
"The empress came to him, and enquired of him what he would have. He answered and said, O lady, have mercy upon me, for if the emperor my brother find me in prison, then shall I die without any remedy.
"Then said the empress, If I might know that thou wouldst be a ​good man, and leave thy folly, thou shouldest find grace. Then did he promise her assuredly to be true, and to amend all his trespass. When he had thus promised, the empress deliver'd him anon, and made him to be bathed and shaven, and apparelled him worthily, according to his state, and then she said thus to him; Now, good brother, take thy steed, and come with me, that we may meet my lord. He answered and said, Lady, I am ready to fulfil your will and commandment in all things; and then the empress took him with her, and many other knights, and so rode forth to meet the emperor: and as they rode together by the way, they saw a great hart run before them, wherefore every man, with such hounds as they had, chased him on horseback; so that with the empress was left no creature, save only the emperor's brother, who seeing that no man was there but they two, thus he said unto the empress; Lo, lady, here is beside a private forrest, and long it is ago that I spake to thee of love.
"Then said the empress, Ah fool, what may this be? Yesterday I delivered thee out of prison upon thy promise, in hope of amendment, and now thou art returned to thy folly again; wherefore I say unto thee, as I have said before. Then said he, if thou wilt not consent unto me, I shall hang thee here upon a tree in this forrest, where no man shall find thee, and so shalt thou die an evil death. The empress answered meekly, and said, Though thou smite off my head, or put me to death with all manner of torments, thou shalt never have my consent to such a sin.
"When he heard this, he unelothed her all save her smock, and hanged her up by the hair upon a tree, and tied her steed before her, and so rode to his fellows, and told them that a great host of men met him, and took the empress away from him, and when he had told them this, they made all great sorrow.
"It befell on the third day after, there came an earl to hunt in that forrest, and as he rode beating the bushes, he unkennelled a fox, whom his hounds followed fast, till they came near the tree where the empress hanged. And when the dogs smelt the savour of the empress, they left the fox, and ran towards the tree as fast as they could.
"The earl seeing this, wondred greatly, and spurring his horse, followed them till he came where the empress hanged. When the earl saw her thus hanging, he marvelled greatly, forasmuch as she was right fair and beautiful to behold; wherefore he said unto her in this mannerwise: O woman, who art thou? and of what country? and wherefore hangest thou here in this manner?
"The empress that was not yet fully dead, but at point ready to die, answered and said, I am, quoth she, a strange woman, and am come out of a far country, but how I came hither, God knoweth. Then answered the earl and said, Whose horse is this that standest by thee bound to this tree? Then answered the lady and said, that it was hers. When the earl heard this, he saw well that she was a gentlewoman, and come of noble lineage, wherefore he was the rather moved with pity, and said unto her: O fair lady, thou seemest of gentle blood, and therefore I purpose to deliver thee from this mischief, if thou wilt promise to go with me, and nourish my fair young daughter, and teach her at home in my castle, for I have no child but only her, and if thou keep her well thou shalt have a good reward for thy labour. Then said she: As far forth as I can or may, I shall fulfil your intent. And when she had thus promised him, he took her down off the tree, and led her home to his castle, and gave her the keeping of his daughter that he loved so much, ​and she was cherished so well, that she lay every night in the earl's chamber, and his daughter with her: and in the chamber every night there burned a lamp, which hanged between the empresses bed and the earl's bed. This lady behaved herself so gently, that she was beloved of every creature. There was at that time in the earl's house a steward, which much loved this empress, and often spake to her of his love. But she answered him again and said, Know ye, dear friend, for a certainty, that I will never love any man in such mannerwise, but only him whom I am greatly bound to love by God's commandment.
"Then said the steward, Then thou wilt not consent unto me? Sir (quoth she), what need you any more to ask such things? The vow that I have made, I will truly keep, and hold by the grace of God.
"And when the steward heard this, he went his way in great wrath and anger, thinking within himself, if I may, I shall be revenged on thee.
"It befel upon a night within a short time after, that the earl's chamber door was forgotten, and left unshut, which the steward had anon perceived: and when they were all asleep, he went and espied by the light of the lamp where the empress and the young maiden lay together, and with that he drew out his knife, and cut the throat of the earl's daughter and put the knife into the empresses hand, she being asleep, and nothing knowing thereof, to the intent, that when the Earl awaked he should think that she had cut his daughter's throat, and so would she be put to a shameful death for his mischievous deed. And when the damsel was thus slain, and the bloody knife in the empresses hand, the countess awaked out of her sleep, and saw by the light of the lamp the bloody knife in the empresses hand, wherefore she was almost out of her wits, and said to the earl, O my lord, behold in yonder lady's hand a wonderful thing.
"The earl awaked, and looked toward the empresses bed; and saw the bloody knife, as the countess had said: wherefore he was greatly moved, and cried to her, and said, Awake, woman, out of thy sleep, what thing is this that I see in thy hand? Then the empress through his cry awaked out of her sleep, and in her waking the knife fell out of her hand, and with that she looked by her, and found the earl's daughter dead by her side, and all the bed besprinkled with blood, wherefore with an high voice she cried, and said, Alas! alas! and wo is me, my lord's daughter is slain.
"Then cried the countess unto the earl with a piteous voice, and said, O my lord, let this devilish woman be put to the foulest death that can be thought, which thus hath slain our only child.
"Then when the countess had said thus to the earl, he said to the empress in this wise; The high God knoweth that thou, mischievous woman, hast slain my daughter with thine own hands, for I saw the bloody knife in thy hand, and therefore thou shalt die a foul death. Then said the earl in this wise: O thou woman, were it not I dread God greatly, I should cleave thy body with my sword in two parts, for I delivered thee from hanging, and now thou hast slain my daughter; nevertheless, for me thou shalt have no harm, therefore go thy way out of this city, without any delay, for if I find thee here after this day, thou shalt die a most cruel death.
"Then arose this woful empress, and put on her cloaths, and after leap'd on her palfrey, and rode toward the east alone without any safe conduct; and as she rode thus, mourning by the way, she espied on the ​left side ot the way a pair of gallows, and seven officers leading a man to be hanged, wherefore she was moved with great pity, and smote her horse with her stick, and rode to them, praying that she might redeem that misdoer if he might be saved from death by any means.
"Then said they. Lady, it pleaseth us well that you redeem him. Anon the empress accorded with them and paid his ransom, and he was delivered.
"Then said she to him: Now, my good friend, be true unto me till thou die, sith I have delivered thee from death.
"On my soul (quoth he) I promise you ever to be true. And when he had thus said, he followed the lady still, till they came nigh a city, and then said the empress to him: Good friend (quoth she), go forth thy way afore me into the city, and see thou take up for us an honest lodging, for there I purpose to rest awhile. Her man went forth as she commanded, and took up her a good lodging, and an honest, where she abode a lone time. When the men of the city perceived her beauty, they wondred greatly; wherefore many of them craved of her unlawful love, but all was in vain, for they might not speed in any wise.
"It fortuned after upon a day, that there came a ship full of merchandise, and arrived in the haven of that city. When the lady heard this, she said unto her servant: Go to the ship, and see if there be any cloth for my use.
"Her servant went forth to the ship whereas he found many very fine cloths: wherefore he pray'd the master of the ship, that he would come to the city and speak with his lady. The master granted him, and so the servant came home to his lady before, and warned her of the coming of the master of the ship. Soon after the master of the ship came and saluted her courteously, and the lady received him according to his degree, praying him that she might have for her money such cloth as might be profitable for her wearing. Then he granted that she should have any thing that liked her, and soon they were agreed, wherefore the servant went immediately again with the master of the ship for the cloth. And when they were both within on ship-board, the master said to the lady's servant: My dear friend, to thee I would open my mind, if I might trust to thee, and if thou help me, thou shalt have of me a great reward.
"Then answered he and said: I shall (quoth he) be sworn to thee to keep thy counsel, and fulfil thine intent as far forth as I can.
"Then said the master of the ship, I love thy lady more than I can tell thee, for her beauty and feature is so excellent, that I would give for the love of her all the gold that I have: and if I may obtain the love of her through thy help, I will give thee whatsoever thou wilt desire of me.
"Then said the lady's servant, tell me by what means I may best help thee. Then said the master of the ship, go home to thy lady again, and tell her, that I will not deliver to thee the cloth except she come herself; and do thou but bring her to my ship, and if the wind be good and fit, then I purpose to lead her away. Thy counsel is good, quoth the lady's servant, therefore give me some reward, and I shall fulfil thy desire.
"Now when he had received his reward, he went again to the lady, and told her, that by no means the master of the ship would deliver him the cloth, except she came to him herself.
"The lady believed her servant, and went to the ship. Now when she was within the ship-board, her servant abode without.
​"When the master saw that she was within the ship, and the wind was good, he drew up the sail and sailed forth.
"When the lady perceived this, thus she said to the master: O master (quoth she), what treason is this thou hast done to me? The master answered and said: certainly it is so, that I must needs * * * * espouse thee. O good sir, quoth she, I have made a vow, that I shall never do such a thing * * * * Soothly (quoth he), if you will not grant me with your good will, I will cast you out into the midst of the sea, and there shall ye die an evil death: If it be so (quoth she), that I must needs consent, or else die, first I pray thee to prepare a private place in the end of the ship, whereas I may fulfil thine intent ere I die, and also I pray thee, that I may say my prayers unto the father of heaven, that he may have mercy on me.
"The master believed her, wherefore be did ordain her a cabbin in the end of the ship, wherein she kneeled down on both her knees and made her prayers, saying on this wise: O thou my Lord God, thou hast kept me from my youth in cleanness, keep me now * * * * * so that I may ever serve thee with a clean heart and mind, and let not this wicked man prevail with me, nor any other the like wickedness come nigh me. When she had ended her prayers, there arose suddenly a great tempest in the sea, so that the ship all brast, and all that were therein perished, save the lady; and she caught a cable and saved herself, and the master caught a board of the ship and saved himself likewise; nevertheless, she knew not of him, nor he of her, for they were driven to divers coasts. The lady landed in her own empire near to a rich city, wherein she was honourably received, and she lived so holy a life, that God gave her grace and power to heal sick folk of all manner of diseases; wherefore there came much people to her, both crooked, blind, and lame, and every man through the grace of God and her good endeavour was healed, wherefore her name was known thro' diuers regions. Nevertheless, she was not known as the empress. At the same time the emperor's brother, that had hanged her before by the hair, was smitten with a foul leprosie. The knight that slew the earl's daughter, and put the bloody knife in her hand, was blind, deaf, and had the palsie. The thief that betrayed her to the master of the ship, was lame and full of the cramp, and the master of the ship distraught of his wits.
"When the emperor heard that so holy a woman was in the city, he called his brother, and said to him thus: Go we, dear brother, unto this holy woman that is dwelling in this city, that she may heal thee of thy leprosie. Would to God, O noble brother (quoth he), that I were healed. Anon the emperor with his brother went toward the city. Then when the citizens heard of his coming, they received him honourably with procession and all provision befitting his estate. And then the emperor enquired of the citizens, if any such holy woman were among them, that could heal sick folk of their diseases, llie citizens answered and said, that such an one there was. Now at the same time was come to the same city, the knight that slew the earl's daughter, and the thief which she saved from the gallows, and the master of the ship, to be healed of their diseases.
"Then was the empress called forth before the emperor, but she muffled her face as well as she could, that the emperor her husband should not know her, and when she had so done, she saluted him with great reverence, as appertained to his state; and again he in like manner, saying thus: O good lady, if thou list of thy kindness to heal my broker of his leprosie, ask of me what you will, and I shall grant it thee for thy reward.
​"When the empress heard this, she looked about her, and saw there the emperor's brother, a foul leper; she saw there also the knight that slew the earl's daughter, blind and deaf, the thief that she saved from the gallows lame, and also the master of the ship distraught out of his wits, and all were come to her to be healed of their maladies, and knew her not; but though they knew her not, she knaw them well. Then said she unto the emperor thus: My reverend lord, though you would give me all your empire, I cannot heal your brother, nor none of these other, except they acknowledge openly what great evil they have done.
"When the emperor heard this, he turned him towards his brother, and said unto him: Brother, acknowledge openly thy sin before all these men, that thou mayest be healed of thy sickness. Then anon he began to tell how he had led his life, but he told not how he had hanged the empress in the forrest by the hair of the head most despitefully.
"When he had acknowledged all that him list, the empress replied, and said: Soothly, my lord, I would gladly lay unto him my medicine, but I wot right well it is in vain, for he hath not made a full confession.
"The emperor hearing this, he turned towards his brother, and said in this wise: What evil, sorrow, or other imhappy wretchedness is in thee? Seest thou not how that thou art a foul leper? therefore acknowledge thy sin truly, that thou mayest be whole, or else avoid my company for evermore.
"Ah my lord (quoth he), I may not tell my life openly, except I be sure of thy grace. What hast thou trespassed against me, said the emperor? Then answered his brother, and said: Mine offence against thee is grievous, and therefore I heartily ask thee forgiveness. The emperor thought not on the empress, forasmuch as he supposed she had been dead many years before; therefore he commanded his brother to tell forth wherein he had offended him, and he should be forgiven.
"When the emperor had thus forgiven his brother, he began to tell openly how he had desired the empress to commit adultery with him, and because she denied, he had hanged her by the hair, in the forrest, on such a day.
"When the emperor heard this, he was almost beside himself, and in his rage he said thus: O thou wretched creature, the vengeance of God is fallen upon thee, and were it not that I have pardoned thee, thou shouldest die the most shameful death that could be thought.
"Then said the knight that slew the earl's daughter, I wot not quoth be, what lady you mean, but I wot that my lord found on a time such a lady hanging in tha forrest, and brought her home to his castle, and he took her, and gave her nis daughter to keep, and I provoked her as much as I could to sin with me, but she woidd in no wise consent to me; wherefore I slew the earl's daughter that lay with her, and when I had so done, I put the bloody knife in the lady's hand, that the earl should think that she had slain his daughter with her own hand, and then she was exiled thence, but where she became I wot not.
"Then said the thief, I wot not of what lady you mean; but well I wot, that seven officers were leading me to the gallows, and such a lady came riding by, and bought me of them, and then went I with her, and betrayed her unto the master of the ship.
"Such a lady (quoth the master of the ship), received I, and when we were in the midst of the sea, I would have lain with her, but she kneeled down to her prayers, and anon there arose such a tempest, that the ship all to brast, and all therein was dxowned, save she and I, but afterward what befell of her I wot not.
​"Then cried the empress with a loud voice, aud said: Soothly dear friends, ye do now truly confess and declare the truth, wherefore I will now apply my medicine, and anon they received their healths.
"When the lady the empress had thus done, she uncovered her face to the emperor, and he forthwith knew her, and ran to her, and embraced her in his arms, and kissed her oftentimes, and for joy he wept bitterly: saying, Blessed be God, now I have found that I desired. And when he had thus said, he led her home to the palace with great joy; and after, when it pleased Almighty God, they ended both their lives in peace and rest."
"Occleve has related this story in verse, from the present work (MS. Reg. 17 D. vi.), and it is also to be found in the Patranas of Timonida (Patr. 21). The outline has been borrowed from one of the Contes devots, or miracles of the Virgin Mary. The incident of the bloody knife occurs likewise in Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale, and in a story related by Gower, Confessio Amantis, fol. 32."—Douce.
A few additional remarks upon the stories to follow, for which indulgence is bespoke, shall close, what I fear the reader may be disposed to consider, as toilsome a march as the doughty knights of old experienced in gaining access to some enchanted castle. But let me whisper in his ear that the distressed damsels whom his intrepidity shall relieve are most of them passing fair and gentle. He cannot display resolution in a better cause; and if (de gustibus non est disputandum!) their beauty sometimes disappoint his expectations, let him remember that adoration has been offered them by past ages of heroic spirits: that bards, whose names are familiar in our mouths as household words, have condescended to adopt them; and, therefore, that they possess an undoubted claim to public consideration, if not on the ground of their own intrinsic excellence.
Much of the merit of these fables consists in the curious and interesting light which they throw upon a period necessarily involved in great obscurity. The fictions are strongly and vividly delineated; and the reader feels himself hurried back into the romantic scenes of chivalrous emprize, and busily mingling in the commotions of camp and court. The fantastic regulations of many of the tales accord with historical notices of chivalry; in which the most ridiculous commands were imposed and executed. The sports of the field, united with the pursuit of wild adventure: love, and war, and devotion; absurd penances for unimaginable crimes, and carelessness ​for the commission of enormous ones, form no small part of the present compilation. Every natural phenomenon is a miracle; and constmed as best may serve the interests, or accord with the prejudices of the party. The first object is to espouse some ineffably fair daughter: whose affections are disposed of, not according to the common excellent system of policy, or power, or wealth, but by the simple and singularly efficacious method of resolving certain mysteries; in expounding riddles, or in compliance with some inexplicable vow. If this should be considered no very favourable account of what the reader may look for, it should be remembered that the tales in question are faithful representations of other days, and that the character with which the period is impressed tolerates and justifies many absurdities. Yet are we not to suppose everything absurd which now appears so. The progress of civilization has introduced a vast number of unnecessary refinements, at which our ancestors would laugh; perhaps more boisterously, but with as much regard to justice as their politer descendants exhibit at the inartificial character of earlier times.
Ignorance is always credulous; and therefore, in considering the probability or improbability of the fable, we must consider how it was calculated to impress those for whom it was invented, or to whom it was told. If the narrator suited his contrivance to the understanding, and communicated pleasure to the imagination, of his readers or auditors, he possessed the requisite ingenuity; and his merit was proportionably great. We ought not to make our own tbe standard of others' judgments; much less ought we to impose our own age and nation as the criterion of past times and foreign countries. Comparatively secluded as the monks at all times were, their views of life must necessarily have been confined also: and their simplicity would easily be duped by those who were interested in deceiving them. From the pulpit, whence it would appear that their stories were delivered, the opportunity of adding new fictions, for the purpose of illustrating new positions, would be irresistible; and here we trace the source of many of the strained allusions which so repeatedly occur. The good old custom likewise, of enlivening a winter's evening by the relation of fabliaux, accompanied, no doubt, by moral and mystical applications, gives us a delightful picture of the social intercourse and familiarity of remote times; but discovers to us another incentive to extravagant fancy and high-flown conceit. The attention of their hearers could only be riveted by the marvellous; and that which was barely probable, from the constant ​recurrence of extravagant fiction—from the itching ears, which opened only to the wildest exaggeration, naturally became no longer acceptable, because taste was vitiated, and the imagination overwrought. All these circumstances require consideration in forming a judgment of the ensuing tales. They certainly vary in point of merit; but many of them are eminently beautiful. Some display a rich vein of pathos: and there are passages of deep poetic interest. In the description of manners, however, they are unrivalled; and my aim has been, to render passages of this kind with all fidelity; while, in the diction, I have adhered as closely as possible to that simplicity of style which forms the principal charm of ancient narrative.
In perusing the conversational parts, the reader who has pored over illuminated manuscripts will recall subjects to which they apply. He will recollect fair ladies glittering in every colour of the rainbow, chattering from a window to grotesque-looking gentlemen with pink feathers drooping from immense hats; and misshapen shoes, vying in the longitude of their peaks with a barber's pole; he will be reminded of grim-visaged emperors ornamented with royal beards and projecting jaws—in short, he will distinguish the whole of what these volumes delineate. There is in the British Museum a beautiful manuscript of the Romant de la Rose, which will, in most respects, exemplify my observations.
It would appear that hospitality was a never-failing virtue; and the eagerness with which pilgrims and wayfaring persons were invited to share the repast and partake the couch of the friendly citizen, or to occupy the castle of the knight, is a pleasing trait in the character of the times. But it will be thought that wisdom was a scarce commodity, when three prudential maxims were valued at a thousand florins. [See Tale CIII.] Considering the result, they were cheaply purchased; although, in these days, when advice is much oftener given than paid for—even with thanks, the price may be deemed somewhat of the highest.
The many stories on the subject of adultery seem to indicate a bad moral state of society at the time they were written; and it is to be feared that the lawless feeling which chivalry in its decline exhibited, affords an unhappy confirmation. Whether the fact of the monks levelling much of their satire against the fair sex is also corroborative, or whether it proceed from that impotence of mind which, being itself fretted by circumstance, would gladly efface or deteriorate whatever is the object of its navailing wishes, I do not take upon me to decide.
​It is necessary that I should advertise the reader of what he will not fail to peroeive, that the tales are not always perfect in every part; nor are the positions laid down at the commencement always remembered. This may result from ignorant transcribers having omitted some passages, and interpolated others: and such a supposition accounts, as I observed before, for the numerous variations which appear in various copies, as well as for the introduction of certain expressions that have been considered arguments in behalf of their origin. That they have been collected from all countries, and at many times, I have no doubt. Some appear of Italian construction, a few German, but the greater part oriental. The absolute power of the emperors, who sport with life and death in the most capricious and extraordinary manner—the constant introduction of the leprosy and crucifixion, amply confirm their connection with the East.
"It may not be thought impertinent to close this discourse with a remark on the moralizations subjoined to the stories of the Gesta Romanorum. This was an age of vision and mystery: and every work was believed to contain a double, or secondary, meaning. Nothing escaped this eccentric spirit of refinement and abstraction; and, together with the Bible, as we have seen, not only the general history of ancient times was explained allegorically, but even the poetical fictions of the classics were made to signify the great truths of religion, with a degree of boldness, and a want of discrimination, which, in another age, would have acquired the character of the most profane levity, if not of absolute impiety, and can only be defended from the simplicity of the state of knowledge which then prevailed.
"Thus, God creating man of clay, animated with the vital principle of respiration, was the story of Prometheus, who formed a man of similar materials, to which he communicated life by fire stolen from heaven. Christ twice born, of His Father, God, and of His mother, Mary, was prefigured by Bacchus, who was first born of Semele, and afterwards of Jupiter. And as Minerva sprung from the brain of Jupiter, so Christ proceeded from God without a mother. Christ born of the Virgin Mary was expressed in the fable of Danäe shut within a tower, through the covering of which Jupiter descended in a shower of gold, and begat Perseus. Actæon, killed by his own hounds, was a type of the persecution and death of our Saviour. The poet Lycophron relates that Hercules, in returning from the adventure of the golden fleece, was shipwrecked; and that, being devoured by a ​monstrous fish, be was disgorged alive on the shore af ler three days. Here was an obvious symbol of Christ's resurrection. John Waleys, an English Franciscan of the thirteenth century, in his moral exposition of Ovid's Metamorphoses, affords many other instances equally ridiculous; and who forgot that he was describing a move heterogeneous chaos, than that which makes so conspicuous a figure in his author's exordium, and which combines, amid the monstrous and indigested aggregate of its unnatural associations,
———Sine pondere habentia pondus.
"At length, compositions professedly allegorical, with which that age abounded, were resolved into allegories for which they were never intended. In the famous Romaunt of the Rose, written about the year 1310, the poet couches the difficulties of an ardent lover in attaining the object of his passion, under the allegory of a rose, which is gathered in a delicious but almost inaccessible garden. The theologists proved this rose to be the white rose of Jericho, the new Jerusalem, a state of grace, divine wisdom, the holy Virgin, or eternal beatitude, at none of which obstinate heretics can ever arrive. The chemists pretended that it was the philosopher's stone; the civilians, that it was the most consummate point of equitable decision; and the physicians, that it was the infallible panacea. In a word, other professions, in the most elaborate commentaries, explained away the lover's rose into the mysteries of their own respective science. In conformity to this practice, Tasso allegorized his own poem; and a flimsy structure of morality was raised on the chimerical conceptions of Ariosto's Orlando. In the year 1557, a translation of a part of Amadis de Gaule appeared in France; with a learned preface, developing the valuable stores of profound instruction, concealed imder the naked letters of the old romances, which were discernible only to the intelligent, and totally unperceived by common readers; who, instead of plucking the fruit, were obliged to rest contented with la simple Fleur de la Lecture litterale. Even Spenser, at a later period, could not indulge his native impulse to descriptions of chivalry, without framing such a story, as conveyed, under the dark conceit of ideal champions, a set of historic transactions, and an exemplification of the nature of the twelve moral virtues. He presents his fantastic queen with a rich romantic mirror, which shewed the wondrous achievements of her magnificent ancestry:—
'And thou, O fairest princess under sky, In this fayre mirrour maist behold thy face, And thine own realms in lond of Faēry, And in this antique image thy great ancestry.'
"It was not, however, solely from an unmeaning and a wanton spirit of refinement that the fashion of resolving everything into allegory, so universally prevailed. The same apology may be offered for cabalistical interpreters, both of the classics and of the old romances. The former, not willing that those books should be quite exploded which contained the ancient mythology, laboured to reconcile the apparent absurdities of the pagan system to the Christian mysteries, by demonstrating a figurative resemblance. The latter, as true learning began to dawn, with a view of supporting for a while the expiring credit of giants and magicians, were compelled to palliate those monstrous incredibilities, by a bold attempt to unravel the mystic web which had been wove by fairy hands, and by shewing that truth was hid under the gorgeous veil of Gothic invention."
* ↑ Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, vol. iii. p. xiii.
* ↑ In the application of the 10th Tale, the Book of Tobit is referred to.
* ↑ Rel. of Anc. Eng. Poetry, ibid.
* ↑ See Gesta Dei per Francos, p. 1152. Joinville (p. 42) is cited by Gibbon for a similar instance.
* ↑ Hist. of Eng. Poetry, Diss. 1.
* ↑ Specimens of Anc. Met. Romances, vol. i. p. 31.
* ↑ Rel. of Anc. Eng. Poetry, vol. iii. p. xii. Note.
* ↑ Diss. on Romance and Minstrelsy, vol. i. pp. xx. xxi.
* ↑ Du Cange; Gloss. Med. Inf. Lat. tom. i., Prœfatio, p. xxxii. § 31.
* ↑ Vol. i. p. 35.
* ↑ Introduction to Amadis of Gaul.
* ↑ Page 163.
* ↑ Dissertation I. p. xxviii.
* ↑ Hist. of Eng. Poetry, vol. i. p. 110.
* ↑ Vol. i. p. 164.
* ↑ "The Edda was compiled, undoubtedly with many additions and interpolations, from fictions and traditions in the old Runic poems, by Soemund Sigfusson, surnamed the Learned, about the year 1057."—Warton. But Warton has not proved his undoubtedly; and though I do not deny the probability of interpolations, I shall not relinquish the giants, &c., without further proof.
* ↑ Monumens de la Mythol. et de la Poesie des Celtes, &c., p. 13, Pref.
* ↑ "But the Asiatics were more quick-sighted; nay, they foresaw his Journey, and deceived him with their enchantments. Then he beheld a lofty palace: its roofs were covered with golden shields, like a new roof. Thus Diodolfius speaks of it: 'The Asiatics, more skilful, made the roof of shining gold, and its walls of stone; the foundations of the hall were mountains.' "—Goranson, Lat, Tr. of the Edda.
* ↑ Mythologie Celtique, p. 11.
* ↑ Mythologie Celtique, p. 30.
* ↑ Ibid. p. 36.
* ↑ Ibid. p. 40.
* ↑ Ibid. p. 84 and 90.
* ↑ The Apocryphal continuation of the Book of Esther, and Bel and the Dragon, seem to bespeak the prevalence of this fiction in the East at a very early period.
* ↑ Hist. of Fiction, vol. i. p. 165.
* ↑ See Mosheim's Eccles. Hist. Cent. I. and III.
* ↑ The process by which Ulysses preserved himself from the charms of Circe is very similar to that which occurs in the story of "Beder Prince of Persia, and Giohaure Princess of Samandal," in the Arabian Tales; and the fable of the Cyclops is found in the third voyage of Sinbad the Sailor. But Homer is known to have been a great wanderer, and to have picked up much traditionary matter in the East and elsewhere. Speaking of the fable of Atalanta, Warton has observed (Diss. on the Gest. Rom. v. 3) that "It is not impossible that an oriental apologue might have given rise to the Grecian fable." This, I am inclined to think, has often been the case.
* ↑ There is in the British Museum, I understand, a Turkish MS. poem, of which Alexander the Great is the hero. It is said to have been written in the 14th century, if not earlier.
* ↑ I use this term, and one or two following, with some latitude. Gibbon calls the little town of Chrysopolis, or Scutari, "the Asiatic suburb of Constantinople:" and the extreme approximation of the two shores, the constant and easy intercourse from and before the time of Xerxes, &c., downward, not omitting the Asiatic population which has been so long naturalized there, sufficiently authorize the expression.
* ↑ 1 See Jerom. (tom. i. p. 126); Assemanni (Bibliot. Orient. tom. iv. p. 92, p. 857–919), and Geddes'e Church Hist. of Œthiopia, pp. 29, 30, 31.
* ↑ " Camden's Britannia, vol. i. pp. 666, 667.
* ↑ Gibbon's Decline and Fall, vol. vi. p. 245–6, ed. 1811.
* ↑ Essay on the Origin of Romantic Fabling in Ireland, p. 4. 4to.
* ↑ In fact, the two Gestas may just as well be considered the same work, as the different versions of The Wise Masters, or of Kalilak u Damnah. The term Gesta Romanorum implies nothing more than a collection of ancient stories, many of which might be the same, but which would naturally vary in various countries according to the taste of the collector, in the same manner as different stories are introduced in the Greek Syntipas, the Italian Erastus, and English Wise Masters."—Dunlop, Hist. of Fiction, vol. ii. p. 170.
* ↑ Warton, Dissert. on Gest. Rom. p. vii.
* ↑ London. Printed for J. Windet, 1606.
* ↑ Act III. p. 39. 1611.
* ↑ Warton.
* ↑ Douce, Illustr. of Shakespeare, vol. ii. p. 362.
* ↑ Ibid. p. 364.
* ↑ I follow a copy printed in 1703, "for R. Chiswell, B. Walford, G. Conyers, at the Ring in Little Britain, and J. W." It is a reprint of the edition of 1648, containing forty-four stories; and is rather scarce. The title-page assures us that it is "very pleasant in reading, and profitable in practice." I hope it may be found so. Amongst the late Sir M. M. Sykes's books was a Black Letter copy of the same work, printed in 1672, "by Edward Crowch for A. Crook." It is in excellent condition which most other copies are not.
* ↑ Setting aside the tragical part of this story, it would be susceptible of much comic effect.
* ↑ It is curious that the difference in the editions of the Wise Masters Mr. Douce calls a modification; but the same kind of thing in the Gesta is a distinct work.
* ↑ Page 253, folio edit.
* ↑ " Vol. iii. p. 647. Mr. Gough speaks of it as separately printed (Brit. Topogr. ii. 27). It is also copied in Burton's Unparalleled Varieties, p. 159, edit. 1699, 12mo, and The Gentleman's Magazine, vol. i. p. 310. It has twice been versified: 1st, anonymously, under the title of A hue and cry after the Priest, or, the Convent, a Tale, 1749, 8vo; and 2ndly, by Mr. Jodrell, under that of The Knight and the Friars, 1785, 4to."—Douce. It should be added that it has been a third time versified, by Mr. Cohman, in Broad Grins, &c.
* ↑ "Jones's Reliques of the Welsh Bards, p. 75, where there is an oil Welsh song, or Englyn, on the subject."—Douce.
* ↑ From Douce's Abridgement of the Gesta Romanorum.
* ↑ The dog is again introduced in Tale XVII.
* ↑ On this story Schiller seems to have founded his legend of "Fridolin, or the Road to the Iron Foundery," lately translated by Mr. Collier. In Schiller the cause of the youth's purposed destruction is jealousy malignantly excited in the mind of his master, by Robert the Huntsman. But the termination and most of the principal circumstances of the story are similar. Here, then, arises a pretty strong inference that Mr. Douce's opinions relative to what he terms the English Gesta are not altogether accurate. Whence had Schiller this story, if not from the Gesta? And if from thence, a copy of it was probably in his possession. The resemblance is too close to suppose it furnished by tradition, when there were actually several printed or MS. copies. And even in that view, it opposes the idea of an English origin, which is the hypothesis of Mr. Douce. Such are my sentiments; the following is the account given by Mr. Collier. "Not long subsequent to the first publication of 'Fridolin,' it became so great a favourite throughout Germany, that it was converted into a five-act play, by Holbein, the director of the theatre at Prague; and during the fifteen years that followed, it was represented on most of the continental stages, with great success, other authors making use of the same story. It was also set to music by C. F. Weber, master of the chapel at Berlin, and in this shape it was extremely popular. Mr. Boettiger informs us that the origin of the story is an Alsatian tradition, which Schiller learnt when at Manheim. The probable adherence to this Volkssage, as far as was at all convenient, will account for the mode in which the author has treated some incidents. We know of no similar narrative, or ballad, in English."—Remarks on "Fridolin," p. 37.
* ↑ These omissions of Mr. Douce, it is presumed, indicate a less considerable variation than he supposed; while, at the same time, they go a great way to prove the two Gestas one.
* ↑ This incident will remind the reader of a similar one in Macbeth.
* ↑ See Vincent of Beauvais, Spec, Theol. Let. viii. cap. 90, 91.
* ↑ Met. lib. i. 20.
* ↑ B. ii. Introd. St. vi.
* ↑ Warton, Introductory Disser. See Hist. of S. Poetry, vol. iii. p. xciv. et seq. I cannot omit observing here, that in the opinions which I have hazarded, I am led by no presumptuous feeling to condemn those who think differently. I deprecate every suspicion to the contrary. While I am anxious to elucidate and establish my own sentiments, I retain the utmost respect and deference for those whose research, judgment, critical acumen, and ability, there is little merit in frankly avowing. And I take this opportunity of acknowledging the assistance I have derived from the invaluable labours of Mr. Douce and Mr. Ellis—not to mention a fund of information from Mr. Warton, which the reader will readily observe. The latter writer, whose inaccuracies have been the theme of every pen, it seems to me, has not been justly appreciated. That he is frequently incorrect is certain; but he is blamed by those who have not repaired his deficiencies, while they have forgot the difficulty of his undertaking, and the impossibility of preventing typographical errors in a work of such extent. A slight blunder, which I should think must have been unintentional (Isumbras for Iprotis), causes Ritson to accuse him of an "infamous lie!" See Diss. on Romance and Minstrelsy; passim.