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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES 
 
 GIFT 
 
 From the Library of 
 
 Henry Goldman, Ph.D. 
 
 1886-1972
 

 
 THE STORIES OF THE AGES. 
 
 Tales from the Gesta Romanokum. 
 
 Headlong Hall and Nightmare Abbey. 
 
 by Thomas Love Peacock. 
 
 Cranford. by Mrs. Gaskell. 
 
 Tales by Heinrich Zschokke. 
 
 The Rose and the Ring. 
 
 by W. M. Thackeray. 
 
 IINE AND Si VI RAM. BY FoiJQUE. 
 
 '.. P. PUTNAM'S SONS 
 
 • YORK AND LONDON
 
 TALES FROM 
 THE GESTA 
 ROMANORUM 
 
 Translated by Rev. C. Swan 
 
 IRevv JlJork ano XonOon 
 (5. 1F>. flMitnam's Sons
 
 "ttbe IKnfcfccrbocher press, V\e\v IftocbeUe, "R. ]3.
 
 PREFACE 
 
 PA 
 
 TO THE FIRST AMERICAN EDITION (PUBLISHED BY 
 WILEY & PUTNAM IN 1845). 
 
 YOU have here, my good friends, sundry 
 moral and entertaining stories, invented 
 by the monks of old, and used by them for 
 amusement, as well as for instruction ; from 
 which the most celebrated poets, of our own 
 and other lands, have condescended to draw 
 their plots. 
 
 The improvements and refinements of this 
 age will naturally lead you to condemn as 
 absurdities, many of the incidents with which 
 these tales abound. Considering the knowledge 
 of the present day, you are justified in so doing. 
 But I pray you to bear in mind that few qual- 
 ities are more dependent on time, than proba- 
 bility and improbability. When you read these 
 tales, you must, for the time, retrace your steps 
 to the age in which they were written ; and 
 though the tale may seem absurd to us of this 
 day, yet if it was calculated to impress the
 
 iv preface 
 
 minds of those for whom it was invented, and 
 to whom it was told, its merit was great, and 
 therefore deserving of due praise. A giant or 
 a magician was as probable to the people of the 
 middle ages, as electricity to us. I pray you 
 bear this in mind whilst you judge of these 
 tales. 
 
 Romantic fiction pleases all minds, both old 
 and young : the reason is this, says an old 
 Platonist, " that here things arc set down as 
 they should be ; but in the true history of the 
 world, things are recorded indeed as they are, 
 but it is but a testimony that they have not 
 been as they should be. Wherefore, in the 
 upshot of all, when we shall see that come to 
 pass, that so mightily pleases us in the reading 
 the most ingenious plays and heroic poems, 
 that long afflicted Virtue at last comes to the 
 crown, the mouth of all unbelievers must be 
 stopped." 
 
 To the work of the ingenious Mr. Swan, the 
 only translator of these stories that I know of 
 in this country, I am indebted for my first 
 introduction to these old tales ; and I cannot 
 conclude these few words without thanking 
 him for having often lightened my labors by 
 his close and admirable versions. 
 
 G. B. 
 
 Dr „\4.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 I.— The Gesta Romauorum— Its Origin — Tale of 
 the Ungrateful Man — Sources of Didactic 
 Fiction — Jovinian the Proud Emperor — 
 Morals of the Tales i 
 
 II. — Discussion on the Source of Fiction Renewed — 
 The King and the Glutton — Guldo, tbe 
 Perfect Servant — The Middle-Age Alle- 
 gories — Pliny and Mandeville's Wonders Al- 
 legorized 31 
 
 III. — Progress of Fiction from the East to the West — 
 The Early Christians — The Monks — The Span- 
 ish Arabians— The Crusades — The Knight 
 and the King of Hungary — The English 
 Gesta 46 
 
 TV.— Modern Conversions of the Old Tales— The 
 Three Dlack Crows— King Eear— The Em- 
 peror of Rome and his Three Daughters 
 —The Merchant of Venice— The Three Cas- 
 kets 58 
 
 V. — The Probable Author of the Gesta — Modern Con- 
 versions — Parnell and Schiller — The Angel 
 and the Hermit — The Poet's Improvements 
 
 — FULGENTIUS AND THE WICKED STEWARD — 
 
 Irving's Vision in the Museum — The Claims of 
 the Old Writers on the New .... 74
 
 vi Contents 
 
 VI.— Curiosities of the Gesta— The Wicked Priest 
 —The Qualities of the Dog— The Emperor's 
 Daughter — Curious Application — The Em- 
 peror Leo and the Three Images — An 
 Enigma 90 
 
 VII. — Curiosities of the Gesta — Byrkes' Epitaph — 
 The Lay of toe Little Bird— Of the Bur- 
 dens of this Life — Ancient Fairs — Winches- 
 ter — Modern Continental Fairs — Russia — 
 Nischnei-Novgorod 104 
 
 vill.— Southey's Thalaba— The Suggestions of 
 the Evil One— Cotonolapes, the Magician 
 — The Garden of Aloaddin — The Old Man 
 of the Mountain — The Assassins — Their Rise 
 and Fall— Gay's Conjurer— Sir Gutdo, the 
 Crusader — Guy, Earl of Warwick . . .120 
 
 IX. — Illustrations of Early Manners — Sorcery — The 
 KNiGnT and the Necromancer — Waxen 
 Figures — Degeneracy of Witches— The Clerk 
 and the Image — Gerbcrt and Natural Magic 
 —Elfin Chivalry— The Demon Knight of 
 the Vandal Camp — Scott's Marmion — As- 
 sumption of Human Forms by Spirits — The 
 Seductions of the Evil One — Religious 
 Origin of Charges of Witchcraft . . .149 
 
 X.— The Three Maxims — The Monk's Errors in 
 History— The Trials of Eustace— Sources 
 of its Incidents— Colonel Gardiner— St. Her- 
 bert — Early English Romance of Sir Isumbras, 174 
 
 XI.— Another Chat about Witches and Witchcraft- 
 Late Period of the Existence of Belief in 
 Witches — Queen Semiramis — Elfin Armorers 
 — The Sword of the Scandinavian King — Mys- 
 tical Meaning of Tales of Magic — Anglo-Saxon 
 Enigmas— CelestinuS and the Miller's 
 Horse— The Emperor Conrad and the
 
 Contents 
 
 vii 
 
 Count's Son — Legend of " The Giant with 
 
 the Golden Hairs " 203 
 
 XII. — Love and Marriage — The Knight and the 
 Three Questions — Racing for a Wife — Jona- 
 than and the Three Talismans— Tale ol 
 the Dwarf and the Three Soldiers — Conclusion, 233

 
 THE GESTA ROMANORUM 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 The Gesta Romanorum— Its Origin— Tale op the Un- 
 grateful Man — Sources of Didactic Fiction — Jo- 
 vinian the Proud Emperor — Morals of the Tales. 
 
 IT was a dull, cold Christmas evening ; the snow fell fast 
 and small, aud the cutting northeast wind blew its 
 white shower into heaps and ridges in every corner of 
 St. John's quadrangle, and piled its clear flakes against 
 every projecting part of the old building. No one was 
 moving in college, at least out-of-doors ; but the rude 
 laugh from the buttery, and the dull-red gleam through 
 the closely drawn curtains of one of the upper rooms in 
 the outer quadrangle, proved that in two portions of the 
 college Christmas was being kept with plenty and with 
 gayety. 
 
 The change from the white cold of the quadrangle to 
 the ruddy blaze of that upper room was inspiriting. The 
 fire burnt bright ; the small table, drawn immediately 
 in front of its merry blaze, glittered with after-dinner 
 good cheer ; and three young and happy faces sat by 
 that little table, and compared their former Christ- 
 mases at home, with this one, during which they were 
 determined to remain up in Oxford and read for the 
 ensuing examination. 
 
 "Morrison is always in good luck," said Henry Her- 
 bert, the youngest of the party. " Whatever it is,
 
 Cbc <3esta TRomanorum 
 
 whether drawing lots for a Newham party, or cramming 
 for an examination, he always succeeds ; and now he is 
 the last man that got away from Oxford before the roads 
 were blocked up by this snow-drift." 
 
 " Fortunate fellow ! " said Lathom. " We are shut up 
 now — fifteen feet of snow at Dorchester, and Stoken- 
 church bottom quite impassable." 
 
 "Ay, and Oxford streets equally so," said Frederick 
 Thompson, the last of the triumvirate, " and we shut up 
 here with the pleasant prospect of taking our constitu- 
 tional, for some days to come, under the old Archbishop's 
 cloisters." 
 
 "By the by," said Herbert, "what were you after in 
 the old library last week, Lathom ? " 
 
 " Looking for a copy of the Gesta Romanorum, with 
 the idea of reading some of its amusing stories during 
 our after-dinner sittings." 
 
 "Any thing but those Romans : it is bad enough to 
 have read and believed all that Livy wrote, from his 
 Sucking Wolf to his Capitol Goose, and then to have a 
 shrewd German prove that kings were not kings, and 
 consuls not consuls, just when you are beginning to 
 think that you really do know something about your 
 Roman history." 
 
 " You will have but littleof Roman history, Thompson ; 
 the title of the book but ill agrees with its contents: 
 fables of all climes contribute their share in the formation 
 of this singular composition. The majority of the tales 
 are entirely unconnected with the history of Rome, 
 though the writer, in order to, in some manner, cover 
 this deviation from his title, has taken care to preface 
 almost every story with the name of some emperor, who 
 in most cases never existed, and sometimes has little to 
 do with the incidents of the narrative." 
 
 "To whom, most learned antiquary, are we indebted 
 for this very stout volume ? "
 
 Cbe ©esta iRomanorum 
 
 '•To the imagination, knowledge, and literary labor 
 of the monks of the middle ages. In the refectory, whilst 
 the monks ate their meals, one, the youngest generally, 
 of the society, read from some such collection as this, a 
 tale at once amusing and instructive. Nor was the use 
 of these fables confined to the refectory. The success 
 which has always attended instruction by fables, and 
 the popularity ever consequent on this form of teach- 
 ing, led the monks to use this medium to illustrate 
 their public discourses, as well as for their own daily 
 relaxation." 
 
 "Few things are more certain," said Herbert, "than 
 that an argument, however clear, — a deduction, however 
 logical,— operates but faintly except on trained intel- 
 lects ; but an apposite story at once arouses the attention, 
 and makes a more durable impression on illiterate audi- 
 tors. Knowledge in the garb of verse is soonest appreci- 
 ated by an uneducated mind, and remains there far 
 longer than in any other form. A ballad will descend 
 from generation to generation without a fault or an in- 
 terpolation." 
 
 "Yes," rejoined Lathom, "and next to poetry comes 
 poetic prose, at the head of which class stands didactic 
 fiction. Many a clever man has confessed that he was 
 more indebted to Shakspeare and Scott for his English 
 and Scottish history, than to the standard historians of 
 either land." 
 
 "And as far as the general belief goes," said Thomp- 
 son, "the popular dramatist or poet will always out- 
 weigh the learned historian. Let Walpole or Turner 
 write what they will about Richard the Third ; to the 
 majority — ay, to more than four fifths of the people — 
 he is still Shakspeare's Richard, the Humpbacked Mur- 
 derer." 
 
 "One of the best of the old monks' stories," said 
 I<athom, "was translated in Blackwood' s Magazine some
 
 Zbe "Clnciratcful /Iftan 
 
 years since. It well illustrates the popular method by 
 which the writers of these tales inculcated Christian 
 duties on their brethren of the convent, or on their 
 hearers in the Church. If you like, I will read it." 
 The following was the tale of 
 
 THE UNGRATEFUL MAN. 
 
 VITALIS, a noble Venetian, one day, at a 
 hunting party, fell into a pit, which had 
 been dug to catch wild animals. He passed a 
 whole night and day there, and I will leave you 
 to imagine his dread and his agony. The pit was 
 dark. Vitalis ran from the one side of it to the 
 other, in the hope of finding some branch or 
 root by which he might climb its sides and get 
 out of his dungeon ; but he heard such con- 
 fused and extraordinary noises, growlings, hiss- 
 ings, and plaintive cries, that he became half- 
 dead with terror, and crouched in a corner mo- 
 tionless, awaiting death with the most horrid 
 dismay. On the morning of the second day he 
 heard some one passing near the pit, and then 
 raising his voice he cried out with the most 
 dolorous accent : "Help, help! draw me out of 
 this ; I am perishing ! " 
 
 A peasant crossing the forest heard his cry. 
 At first lie was frightened ; but after a moment
 
 Zbe "Ungrateful /Iftan 
 
 or two, taking courage, lie approached the pit, 
 and asked who had called. 
 
 " A poor huntsman," answered Vitalis, "who 
 has passed a long night and day here. Help me 
 out, for the love of God. Help me out, and I 
 will recompense you handsomely." 
 
 " I will do what I can," replied the peasant. 
 
 Then Massaccio (such was the name of the 
 peasant) took a hedge-bill which hung at his 
 girdle, and cutting a branch of a tree strong 
 enough to bear a man, — " Listen, huntsman," 
 said he, " to what I am going to say to you. I 
 will let down this branch into the pit. I will 
 fasten it against the sides, and hold it with my 
 hands ; and by pulling yourself out by it, you 
 may get free from your prison." 
 
 ' ' Good, ' ' answered Vitalis ; ' ' ask me any thing 
 you will, and it shall be granted." 
 
 " I ask for nothing," said the peasant, " but I 
 am going to get married, and you may give 
 what you like to my bride. ' ' 
 
 So saying, Massaccio let down the branch — 
 he soon felt it heavy, and the moment after a 
 monkey leapt out of the pit. He had fallen like 
 Vitalis, and had seized quickly on the branch of 
 Massaccio. " It was the devil surely which 
 spoke to me from the pit," said Massaccio, run- 
 ning away in affright. 
 
 " Do vou abandon me, then ? " cried Vitalis,
 
 Zbc ^Ungrateful Man 
 
 in a lamentable accent; "my friend, my dear 
 friend, for the love of the Lord, for the love of 
 your mistress, draw me out of this ; I beg, I im- 
 plore you ; I will give her wedding gifts, I will 
 enrich you. I am the Lord Vitalis, a rich Vene- 
 tian ; do not let me die of hunger in this horri- 
 ble pit." 
 
 Massaccio was touched by these prayers. He 
 returned to the pit — let down another branch, 
 and a lion jumped out, making the woods echo 
 with a roar of delight. 
 
 " Oh certainly, certainly, it was the devil I 
 heard, ' ' said Massaccio, and fled away again ; 
 but stopping short, after a few paces, he heard 
 again the piercing cries of Vitalis. 
 
 "O God, O God," cried he, "to die of hunger 
 in a pit ! Will no one then come to my help ? 
 Whoever you may be, I implore you return ; let 
 me not die, when you can save me. I will give 
 you a house and field, and cows and gold, all 
 that you can ask for ; save me, save me only." 
 
 Massaccio, thus implored, could not help re- 
 turning. He let down the branch, and a ser- 
 pent, hissing joyously, sprang out of the pit. 
 Massaccio fell on his knees, half-dead with fear, 
 and repeated all the prayers he could think of 
 to drive away the demon. He was only brought 
 to himself by hearing the cries of despair which 
 Vitalis uttered.
 
 £be TUngrateful Man 
 
 "Will no one help me?" said he. "Ah, 
 then, must I die ? O God, O God!" and he 
 wept and sobbed in a heart-breaking manner. 
 
 "It is certainly the voice of a man for all 
 that," said Massaccio. 
 
 " Oh, if you are still there," said Vitalis, "in 
 the name of all that is dear to you, save me, 
 that I may die at least at home, and not in this 
 horrible pit. I can say no more ; my voice is 
 exhausted. Shall I give you my palace at 
 Venice, my possessions, my honors ? I give 
 them all ; and may I die if I forfeit my word. 
 Life, life only ; save only my life." 
 
 Massaccio could not resist such prayers, and 
 mingled with such promises. He let down the 
 branch again. 
 
 "Ah, here you are at last," said he, seeing 
 Vitalis come up. 
 
 "Yes," said he, and uttering a cry of joy he 
 fainted in the arms of Massaccio. 
 
 Massaccio sustained, assisted him, and brought 
 him to himself; then, giving him his arm, — 
 "Let us," said he, "quit this forest" ; but Vi- 
 talis could hardly walk, — he was exhausted with 
 hunger. 
 
 "Eat this piece of bread," said Massaccio, 
 and he gave him some which he took out of his 
 wallet. 
 
 " My benefactor, my savior, my good angel,"
 
 Cbc "Clnciratcful /Ifcan 
 
 said Vitalis, ' ' how can I ever sufficiently recom- 
 pense you ! " 
 
 "You have promised me a marriage portion 
 for my bride, and your palace at Venice for my- 
 self," said Massaccio. But Vitalis now began to 
 regain his strength. 
 
 ' ' Yes, certainly, I will give a portion to your 
 wife, my dear Massaccio, and I will make you 
 the richest peasant of your village. Where do 
 you live ? " 
 
 "At Capalatta in the forest; but I would 
 willingly quit my village to establish myself at 
 Venice in the palace you have promised me." 
 
 " Here we are out of the forest," said Vitalis ; 
 " I know my road now ; thank you, Massaccio." 
 
 " But when shall I come for my palace and 
 the portion for my intended?" returned the 
 peasant. 
 
 "When you will," said the other, and they 
 separated. 
 
 Vitalis went to Venice, and Massaccio to 
 Capalatta, where he related his adventure to his 
 mistress, telling her what a rich portion she 
 was to have, and what a fine palace she was to 
 live in. 
 
 The next day early he set out for Venice, and 
 asked for the palace of the Signor Vitalis, — 
 went straight to it, and told the domestics that 
 he should come shortly with his mistress, in a
 
 Zhc TUngrateful /Ifcan 
 
 fine carriage, to take possession of the palace 
 which the Signor Vitalis had promised to give 
 him. Massaccio appeared to those who heard 
 him mad, and Vitalis was told that there was a 
 peasant in his hall, who asked for a marriage 
 portion, and said the palace belonged to him. 
 
 "Let him be turned out immediately," said 
 Vitalis, " I know him not." 
 
 The valets accordingly drove him away with 
 insults, and Massaccio returned to his cottage in 
 despair, without daring to see his mistress. At 
 one corner of his fireplace was seated the mon- 
 key, at the other corner the lion, and the 
 serpent had twisted itself in spiral circles upon 
 the hearth. Massaccio was seized with fear. 
 "The man has driven me from his door," 
 thought he ; " the lion will certainly devour 
 me, the serpent sting me, and the monkey laugh 
 at me ; and this will be my reward for saving 
 them from the pit." But the monkey turned 
 to him with a most amicable grimace ; the lion, 
 vibrating gently his tail, came and licked his 
 hand, like a dog caressing his master ; and the 
 serpent, unrolling its ringy body, moved about 
 the room with a contented and grateful air, 
 which gave courage to Massaccio. 
 
 " Poor animals ! " said he, " they are better 
 than the Signor Vitalis ; he drove me like a 
 beggar from the door. Ah ! with what pleasure
 
 io £bc tangratcful /Ifcan 
 
 I would pitch him again into the pit ! And my 
 bride ! whom I thought to marry so magnifi- 
 cently ! I have not a stick of wood in my wood- 
 house, not a morsel of meat for a meal, and no 
 money to buy any. The ungrateful wretch, 
 with his portion and his palace ! " 
 
 Thus did Massaccio complain. Meanwhile 
 the monkey began to make significant faces, the 
 lion to agitate his tail with great uneasiness, and 
 the serpent to roll and unroll its circles with 
 great rapidity. Then the monkey, approaching 
 his benefactor, made him a sign to follow, and 
 led him into the wood-house, where was regu- 
 larly piled up a quantity of wood sufficient for 
 the whole year. It was the monkey who had 
 collected fkis wood in the forest, and brought 
 it to the cottage of Massaccio. Massaccio em- 
 braced the grateful ape. The lion then utter- 
 ing a delicate roar, led him to a corner of the 
 cottage, where he saw an enormous provision of 
 game, two sheep, three kids, hares and rabbits 
 in abundance, and a fine wild boar, all covered 
 with the branches of trees to keep them fresh. 
 It was the lion who had hunted for his bene- 
 factor. Massaccio patted kindly his mane. 
 " And you, then," said he to the serpent, "have 
 you brought me nothing? Art thou a Vitalis, 
 or a good and honest animal like the monkey 
 and the lion ? " The serpent glided rapidly
 
 Cbc "Ungrateful /Ifcan « 
 
 under a heap of dried leaves, and reappeared 
 immediately, rearing itself superbly on its tail, 
 when Massaccio saw with surprise a beautiful 
 diamond in its mouth. " A diamond ! " cried 
 Massaccio, and stretched forth his hand to 
 stroke caressingly the serpent and take its 
 offering. 
 
 Massaccio then set out immediately for Ven- 
 ice to turn his diamond into money. He ad- 
 dressed himself to a jeweller. The jeweller ex- 
 amined the diamond ; it was of the finest water. 
 
 " How much do you ask for it ? " said he. 
 
 "Two hundred crowns," said Massaccio, 
 thinking his demand to be great ; it was hardly 
 the tenth part of the value of the stone. The 
 jeweller looked at Massaccio, and said : " To sell 
 it at that price you must be a robber, and I 
 arrest you ! " 
 
 "If it is not worth so much, give me less," 
 said Massaccio ; " I am not a robber, I am an 
 honest man ; it was the serpent who gave me 
 the diamond." 
 
 But the police now arrived and conducted 
 him before the magistrate. There he recounted 
 his adventure, which appeared to be a mere 
 fairy vision. Yet as the Signor Yitalis was im- 
 plicated in the story, the magistrate referred the 
 affair to the state inquisition, and Massaccio 
 appeared before it.
 
 12 Zbc "Ungrateful .fflban 
 
 " Relate to us your history," said one of the 
 inquisitors, "and lie not, or we will have you 
 thrown into the canal." 
 
 Massaccio related his adventure. 
 
 "So," said the inquisitor, "you saved the 
 Signor Vitalis ? " 
 
 " Yes, noble signors." 
 
 " And he promised you a marriage portion for 
 your bride, and his palace at Venice for your- 
 self?" 
 
 "Yes, noble signors." 
 
 "And he drove you like a beggar from his 
 door?" 
 
 " Yes, noble signors." 
 
 " Let the Signor Vitalis appear," said the 
 same inquisitor. 
 
 Vitalis appeared. 
 
 "Do you know this man, Signor Vitalis?" 
 said the inquisitor. 
 
 " No, I know him not," replied Vitalis. 
 
 The inquisitors consulted together. "This 
 man," said they, speaking of Massaccio, " is evi- 
 dently a knave and a cheat ; he must be thrown 
 into prison. Signor Vitalis, you are acquitted." 
 Then, making a sign to an officer of police, 
 "Take that man," said he, "to prison." 
 
 Massaccio fell on his knees in the middle of 
 the hall. " Noble signors, noble signors," said 
 he, " it is possible that the diamond may have
 
 Cbe TUncjratcful /Ifcan 13 
 
 been stolen ; the serpent who gave it me may 
 have wished to deceive me. It is possible that 
 the ape, the lion, and the serpent may all be an 
 illusion of the demon, but it is true that I saved 
 the Signor Vitalis. Signor Vitalis " (turning to 
 him), " I ask you not for the marriage portion 
 for my bride, nor for }-our palace of marble, but 
 say a word for me ; suffer me not to be thrown 
 into prison ; do not abandon me ; I did not 
 abandon you when you were in the pit." 
 
 "Noble signors," said Vitalis, bowing to the 
 tribunal, "I can only repeat what I have already 
 said : I know not this man. Has he a single 
 witness to produce ? " 
 
 At this moment the whole court was thrown 
 into fear and astonishment, for the lion, the 
 monkey, and the serpent, entered the hall to- 
 gether. The monkey was mounted on the back 
 of the lion, and the serpent was twined round 
 the arm of the monkey. On entering, the lion 
 roared, the monkey spluttered, and the serpent 
 hissed. 
 
 " Ah ! these are the animals of the pit," cried 
 Vitalis, in alarm. 
 
 "Signor Vitalis," resumed the chief of the 
 inquisitors, when the dismay which this appari- 
 tion had caused had somewhat diminished, 
 ' ' you have asked where were the witnesses of 
 Massaccio. You see that God has sent them at
 
 14 Zhc ^Ungrateful /Ifcan 
 
 the right time before the bar of our tribunal. 
 Since, then, God has testified against you, we 
 should be culpable before Him if we did not 
 punish your ingratitude. Your palace and your 
 possessions are confiscated, and you shall pass 
 the rest of your life in a narrow prison. And 
 you," continued he, addressing himself to Mas- 
 saccio, who was all this time caressing the lion, 
 the monkey, and the serpent, " since a Venetian 
 has promised you a palace of marble, and a 
 portion for your bride, the republic of Venice 
 will accomplish the promise ; the palace and 
 possessions of Vitalis are thine. You," said 
 he to the secretary of the tribunal, "draw up an 
 account of all this history, that the people of 
 Venice may know, through all generations, that 
 the justice of the tribunal of the state inquisition 
 is not less equitable than it is rigorous." 
 
 Massaccio and his wife lived happily for many 
 years afterwards in the palace of Vitalis with 
 the monkey, the lion, and the serpent ; and 
 Massaccio had them represented in a picture, on 
 the wall of his palace, as they entered the hall 
 of the tribunal, the lion carrying the monkey, 
 and the monkey carrying the serpent. 
 
 " To what source can this tale be traced ? " 
 " To the Arabian fable book called Callah-u-Dumnah," 
 replied I.athom. " Mathew Paris recites it as a fable 
 commonly used by our crusading' Richard to reprove his
 
 ftbe ©esta IRomanorum 
 
 ungodly nobles, and old Gower has versified it in his 
 Confessio Amantis. The translator in Blackwood seems 
 not to have been aware of its existence in the Gesta Ro- 
 manorum, content to translate it from the later version 
 of Massenius, a German Jesuit, who lived at Cologne in 
 
 1657." 
 
 "Few subjects," said Herbert, "seem more involved 
 than the history of didactic fiction. The more mysteri- 
 ous an investigation bids fair to be, the less we have to 
 depend on fact, and the more we are at the mercy of con- 
 jecture, so much the more does the mind love to grasp at 
 the mystery, and delight in the dim perspective and in- 
 tricacies of the way. Each successive adventurer finds it 
 more easy to pull down the various bridges, and break in 
 the various cuttings by which his predecessor has en- 
 deavored to make the way straight, than to throw his 
 own bridge over the river or the morass of time that in- 
 tervenes between the traveller and the goal." 
 
 "Four distinct sources," said Lathom, "have been 
 contended for : the Scandinavian bards, the Arabians of 
 the Spanish peninsula, the Armoricans or Bretons, and 
 the classical authors of Greece and Rome. Mallet and 
 Bishop Percy came forward as the advocates of Scandi- 
 navia ; Dr. Wharton writes himself the champion of the 
 Spanish Arabians ; Wilson is rather inclined to the Bre- 
 ton theory ; and Dr. Southey and Mr. Dunlop come for- 
 ward as the advocates of the classical and mythological 
 authors ; whilst Sir Henry FHis would reconcile all dif- 
 ferences by a quiet jumble of Breton scenes colored by 
 Scandinavia and worked by Arabian machinery. Let us, 
 however, adjourn this subject until to-morrow, as I wish 
 to read you another of these tales, in order to give you 
 some idea of the moral applications and explanations 
 appended to them by the monkish writers. We will take 
 Jovinian the Troud Frnperor, and in this case you must 
 be content with my own translation."
 
 16 Jovinian the fl>rono Emperor 
 
 JOVINIAN THE PROUD EMPEROR. 
 
 IN the days of old, when the empire of the 
 world was in the hands of the lord of Rome, 
 Jovinian was emperor. Oft as he lay on his 
 couch, and mused upon his power and his 
 wealth, his heart was elated beyond measure, 
 and he said within himself : ' ' Verily, there is 
 no other god than me." 
 
 It happened one morning after he had thus 
 said unto himself, that the emperor arose, and 
 summoning his huntsmen and his friends, has- 
 tened to chase the wild deer of the forest. The 
 chase was long and swift, and the sun was high 
 in the heavens, when Jovinian reined up his 
 horse on the bank of a clear bright stream that 
 ran through the fertile country on which his 
 palace stood. Allured by the refreshing appear- 
 ance of the stream, he bade his attendants abide 
 still, whilst he sought a secluded pool beneath 
 some willows, where he might bathe unseen. 
 
 The emperor hastened to the pool, cast off his 
 garments, and revelled in the refreshing cool- 
 ness of the waters. But whilst he thus bathed, 
 a person like to him in form, in feature, and in 
 voice, approached the river's bank, arrayed 
 himself unperceived in the imperial garments, 
 and then sprang on Jovinian's horse, and rode
 
 Jovinian tbe iprouo Bmperor 17 
 
 to meet the huntsmen, who, deceived by the 
 likeness and the dress, obeyed his commands, 
 and followed their new emperor to the palace 
 gates. 
 
 Jovinian at length quitted the water, and 
 sought in every direction for his apparel and his 
 horse, but could not find them. He called 
 aloud upon his attendants, but they heard him 
 not, being already in attendance on the false 
 emperor. And Jovinian regarded his nakedness 
 and said : " Miserable man that I am ! to what 
 a state am I reduced ! Whither shall I go ? 
 Who will receive me in this plight ? I bethink 
 me there is a knight hereabout whom I have 
 advanced to great honor ; I will seek him, and 
 with his assistance regain my palace, and pun- 
 ish the person who has done me this wrong." 
 
 Naked and ashamed, Jovinian sought the gate 
 of the knight's castle, and knocked loudly at 
 the wicket. 
 
 " Who art thou, and what dost thou seek ? " 
 asked the porter, without unclosing the gate. 
 
 " Open, open, sirrah ! " replied the emperor, 
 with redoubled knocks on the wicket. 
 
 " In the name of wonder, friend, who art 
 thou?" said the old porter as he opened the 
 gate, and saw the strange figure of the emperor 
 before the threshold. 
 
 " Who am I, askest thou, sirrah ? I am thy
 
 is joxunian tbe fl>rcuD JEmperor 
 
 emperor. Go, tell thy master, Jovinian is at his 
 gate, and bid him bring forth a horse and some 
 garments, to supply those that I have been de- 
 prived of." 
 
 "Rascal," rejoined the porter — "thou the 
 emperor ! Why, the emperor but just now rode 
 up to the castle, with all his attendants, and 
 honored my master by sitting with him at meat 
 in the great hall. Thou the emperor ! a very 
 pretty emperor indeed ; faugh, I '11 tell my mas- 
 ter what you say, and he will soon find out 
 whether you are mad, drunk, or a thief." 
 
 The porter, greatly enraged, went and told his 
 lord how that a naked fellow stood at the gate, 
 calling himself the emperor, and demanding 
 clothes and a good steed. 
 
 " Bring the fellow in," said the knight. 
 
 So they brought in Jovinian, and he stood be- 
 fore the lord of the castle, and again declared 
 himself to be the emperor Jovinian. Loud 
 laughed the knight to the emperor. 
 
 ' ' What, thou my lord the emperor ! art mad, 
 good fellow ? Come, give him my old cloak ; it 
 will keep him from the flies." 
 
 "Yes, sir knight," replied Jovinian, "I am 
 thy emperor, who advanced thee to great honor 
 and wealth, and will shortly punish thee for thy 
 present conduct." 
 
 " Scoundrel ! " said the knight, now enraged
 
 Sovfnian tbe proud JEmperor 19 
 
 beyond all bounds, "traitor! thou the emper- 
 or ! ay, of beggars and fools. Why, did not 
 my lord but lately sit with me in my hall, and 
 taste of my poor cheer ? and did not he bid me 
 ride with him to his palace gate, whence I am 
 but now returned ? Fool, I pitied thee before ; 
 now I see thy villany. Go, turn the fellow 
 out, and flog him from the castle-ditch to the 
 river-side. ' ' 
 
 And the people did as the knight commanded 
 them. So when they ceased from flogging the 
 emperor, he sat him down on the grass, and 
 covered him with the tattered robe, and com- 
 muned on his own wretchedness. 
 
 " Oh, my God ! " said Jovinian, — for he now 
 thought of other gods but himself, — " is it pos- 
 sible that I have come to such a state of misery, 
 and that, through the ingratitude of one whom 
 I have raised so high ! " And as he thus spake, 
 he thought not of his own ingratitude to his God, 
 through whom alone all princes reign and live. 
 And now he brooded over vengeance — "Ay," 
 said he, as he felt the sore weals on his back 
 from the scourging ; ' ' ay, I will be avenged. 
 When he next sees me, he shall know that he 
 who gives can also take away. Come, I will 
 seek the good duke, my ablest counsellor ; he 
 will know his sovereign, and gladly aid him in 
 his calamity." And with these thoughts he
 
 20 jovinian tbc fl>rcuc> jEmpcror 
 
 wrapped his cloak round him, and sought the 
 house of the good duke. 
 
 Jovinian knocked at the gate of the duke's 
 palace, and the porter opened the wicket, and 
 seeing a half-naked man, asked him why he 
 knocked, and who he was. 
 
 " Friend," replied the emperor, " I am Jovin- 
 ian. I have been robbed of my clothes whilst 
 bathing, and am now with no apparel, save this 
 ragged cloak, and no horse ; so tell the duke the 
 emperor is here." 
 
 The porter, more and more astonished at the 
 emperor's words, sought his master, and deliv- 
 ered Jovinian's message to him. 
 
 "Bring in the poor man," said the duke; 
 ' ' peradventure he is mad. ' ' 
 
 So they brought Jovinian unto the duke's 
 great hall, and the duke looked on him, but 
 knew him not. And when Jovinian reiterated 
 his story, and spoke angrily unto the duke, he 
 pitied him. " Poor mad fellow," said the good 
 duke, " I have but just now returned from the 
 palace, where I left the very emperor thou as- 
 sumest to be. Take him to the guard-house. 
 Perhaps a few days' close confinement on bread 
 and water may cool his heated brain. Go, poor 
 fellow ; I pity thee ! " 
 
 So the servants did as their lord commanded, 
 and they fed Jovinian on bread and water, and
 
 Jcvinian tbe fl>rou& Bmpercr 21 
 
 after a time turned him out of the castle ; for he 
 still said he was the emperor. 
 
 Sorely and bitterly did the emperor weep and 
 bewail his miserable fate when the servants 
 drove him from the castle gate. " Alas, alas ! " 
 he exclaimed in his misery, "what shall I do, 
 and whither shall I resort? Even the good 
 duke knew me not, but regarded me as a poor 
 madman. Come, I will seek my own palace, 
 and discover myself to my wife. Surely she will 
 know me at least." 
 
 ' ' Who art thou, poor man ? " asked the king's 
 porter of him when he stood before the palace 
 gate and would have entered in. 
 
 "Thou oughtest to know me," replied Jovin- 
 ian, "seeing thou hast served me these fifteen 
 years." 
 
 " Served you, you dirty fellow," rejoined the 
 porter. ' ' I serve the emperor. Serve you, in- 
 deed ! " 
 
 "I am the emperor. Dost thou not know 
 me ? Come, my good fellow, seek the empress, 
 and bid her, by the sign of the three moles on 
 the emperor's breast, send me hither the impe- 
 rial robes, which some fellow stole whilst I was 
 bathing." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! fellow ; well, you are royally mad. 
 Why, the emperor is at dinner with his wife. 
 Well, well, I '11 do thy bidding, if it be but to
 
 22 Jovinian tbc lprouo Emperor 
 
 have the whipping of thee afterwards for an im- 
 pudent madman. Three moles on the emperor's 
 breast ! how royally thou shalt be beaten, my 
 friend." 
 
 When the porter told the empress what the 
 poor madman at the gate had said, she held 
 down her head, and said, with a sorrowful 
 voice, unto her lord : ' ' My good lord and 
 king, here is a fellow at the palace gate that 
 hath sent unto me, and bids me, by those secret 
 signs known only to thee and me, to send him 
 the imperial robes, and welcome him as my 
 husband and my sovereign." 
 
 When the fictitious emperor heard this, he 
 bade the attendants bring in Jovinian. And lo, 
 as he entered the hall, the great wolf-hound, 
 that had slept at his feet for years, sprang from 
 his lair, and would have pulled him down, had 
 not the attendants prevented him ; whilst the 
 falcon, that had sat on his wrist in many a fair 
 day's hawking, broke her jesses, and flew out 
 of the hall : so changed was Jovinian the em- 
 peror. 
 
 " Nobles and friends," said the new emperor, 
 " hear ye what I will ask of this man." 
 
 And the nobles bowed assent, whilst the em- 
 peror asked Jovinian his name, and his business 
 with the empress. 
 
 " Askest thou me who I am, and wherefore I
 
 jovinian tbe iprouD Emperor 23 
 
 am come ? " rejoined Jovinian. " Am not I thy 
 emperor, and the lord of this house and this 
 realm ? " 
 
 "These our nobles shall decide," replied the 
 new king. " Tell me now, which of us twain is 
 your emperor ? ' ' 
 
 And the nobles answered with one accord : 
 "Thou dost trifle with us, sire. Can we doubt 
 that thou art our emperor, whom we have known 
 from his childhood? As for this base fellow, 
 we know not who he is." 
 
 And with one accord the people cried out 
 against Jovinian that he should be punished. 
 
 On this the usurper turned to the empress of 
 Jovinian — "Tell me," said he, "on thy true 
 faith, knowest thou this man who calls himsel f 
 emperor of this realm ? " 
 
 And the empress answered : " Good my lord, 
 have not thirty years passed since I first knew 
 thee, and became the mother of our children ? 
 Why askest thou me of this fellow ? and yet it 
 doth surprise me how he should know what none 
 save you and I can know ? ' ' 
 
 Then the usurper turned to Jovinian, and 
 with a harsh countenance rebuked his pre- 
 sumption, and ordered the executioners to drag 
 him by the feet by horses until he died. This 
 said he before all his court ; but he sent his 
 servant to the tailor, and commanded him to
 
 24 3cvinian the fl>rcuD Emperor 
 
 scourge Jovinian ; and for this once to set him 
 free. 
 
 The deposed emperor desired death. " Why, " 
 said he to himself, "should I now live? my 
 friends, my dependents, yea, even the partner 
 of my bed shuns me, and I am desolate among 
 Those whom my bounties have raised. Come, I 
 wilr seek the good priest, to whom I so often 
 Iiave laid open my most secret faults : of a 
 surety, he will remember me." 
 
 Xow the good priest lived in a small cell, 
 nigh to a chapel about a stone's-cast from the 
 palace gate ; and when Jovinian knocked, the 
 priest, being engaged in reading, answered from 
 within : " Who is there ? why troublest thou 
 me?" 
 
 " I am the emperor Jovinian ; open the win- 
 dow, I would speak to thee," replied the fugi- 
 tive. 
 
 Immediately the narrow window of the cell 
 was opened, and the priest, looking out, saw no 
 one save the poor half-clothed Jovinian. "Depart 
 from me, thou accursed thing ! " cried the priest ; 
 "thou art not our good lord the emperor, but 
 the foul fiend himself, the great tempter." 
 
 "Alas, alas ! " cried Jovinian, "to what fate 
 am I reserved, that even my own good priest 
 despises me ! Ah me, I bethink me — in the 
 arrogance of my heart, I called myself a god :
 
 Jovinian tbc fl>iouo jEmpcror =5 
 
 the weight of my sin is grievous unto me. 
 Father, good father, hear the sins of a miserable 
 penitent. ' ' 
 
 Gladly did the priest listen to Jovinian ; and 
 ■when he had told him all his sins, the good 
 priest comforted the penitent, and assured him 
 of God's mercy, if his repentance was sin- 
 cere. And so it happened that on this a cloud 
 seemed to fall from before the eyes of the 
 priest ; and when he again looked on Jovinian 
 he knew him to be the emperor, and he 
 pitied him, clothing him with such poor gar- 
 ments as he had, and went with him to the 
 palace gate. 
 
 The porter stood in the gateway, and as 
 Jovinian and the priest drew near he made a 
 lowly obeisance, and opened the gate for the 
 emperor. "Dost thou know me?" asked the 
 emperor. 
 
 "Very well, my lord," replied the servant; 
 " but I wish that you had not left the palace." 
 
 So Jovinian passed on to the hall of his 
 palace ; and as he went, all the nobles rose and 
 bowed to the emperor ; for the usurper was in 
 another apartment, and the nobles knew again 
 the face of Jovinian. 
 
 But a certain knight passed into the presence 
 of the false emperor. "My lord," said he, 
 " there is one in the great hall to whom all men
 
 26 3-crtnian tbe iprcufc Bmperor 
 
 bow, for he so much resembleth you that we 
 know not which is the emperor. ' ' 
 
 Then said the usurper to the empress: "Go 
 and see if you know this man." 
 
 " Oh, my good lord," said the empress, when 
 she returned from the hall, "whom can I be- 
 lieve ? are there, then, two Jovinians ? " 
 
 "I will myself go and determine," rejoined 
 the usurper, as he took the empress by her 
 hand, and, leading her into the great hall, 
 placed her on the throne beside himself. 
 
 " Kinsfolk and nobles," said the usurper, "by 
 the oaths ye have sworn, determine between me 
 and this man." 
 
 And the empress answered : " Let me, as in 
 duty bound, speak first. Heaven be my witness, 
 I know not which is my lord and husband." 
 
 And all the nobles said the same. 
 
 Thereupon the feigned Jovinian rose and 
 spake: "Nobles and friends, hearken! that 
 man is your emperor and your master ; hear ye 
 him ; know that he did exalt himself above that 
 which was right, and make himself equal unto 
 God. Verily he hath been rewarded ; he hath 
 suffered much indignity and wrong, and, of 
 God's will, ye knew him not ; he hath repented 
 him of his grievous sin, and the scourge is now 
 removed ; he has made such satisfaction as man 
 can make. Hear ye him, know him, obey him."
 
 Jovuntan tbe TpvouO Emperor 
 
 As the feigned emperor thus addressed the 
 astonished nobles, his features seemed illumined 
 with a fair and spiritual light, his imperial robes 
 fell from off him, and he stood confessed before 
 the assembly an angel of God, clothed in white 
 raiment. And, as he ended his speech, he 
 bowed his head, and vanished from their sight. 
 
 Jovinian returned to his throne, and for three 
 years reigned with so much mercy and justice, 
 that his subjects had no cause to regret the 
 change of their emperor. And it came to pass, 
 after the space of three years, the same angel 
 appeared to him in a dream, and warned him of 
 his death. So Jovinian dictated his troublous 
 life to his secretaries, that it might remain as a 
 warning unto all men against worldly pride, and 
 an incitement to the performance of our re- 
 ligious duties. And when he had so done, he 
 meekly resigned himself, and fell asleep in 
 death. 
 
 " So much for the story, as a story ; now for the moral, 
 with all that eccentric spirit of refinement and abstrac- 
 tion with which the age was characterized," said Herbert. 
 
 " The moral in this case is less eccentric than in many 
 to which I hope we shall come before Christmas is 
 over." 
 
 "Jovinian was but the picture of the proud, worldly- 
 minded man, entirely given up to vanity and folly. The 
 first knight whose castle he visited was True Wisdom, 
 ever disdainful of the pomps and vanities of the world.
 
 28 ftbe (3esta IRomancrum 
 
 The next knight was Conscience. The dog that turned 
 against his old master, was the lusts of the flesh, our own 
 evil desires, which will ever in the end turn against 
 those who have pampered them. The falcon is God's 
 grace ; the empress, man's soul ; and the clothes in 
 which the good priest clothed the half-frozen emperor, 
 are those kingly virtues which he had thrown off, when 
 he gave loose rein to the vanities of the world." 
 
 "It must be admitted," remarked Herbert, "that 
 from very early times a secondary meaning was com- 
 monly attached to every important work ; it progressed 
 from the sacred writings through the poetic fictions of 
 the classics, to compositions professedly allegorical. The 
 want of discrimination, which in our eyes assumes 
 much of the appearance of profane levity, with which 
 the fictions of the classics were interpreted to signify the 
 great truths and mysteries of religion, was, perhaps, 
 hardly reprehensible in the simple state of knowledge 
 which prevailed at the time when these attempts at 
 secondary interpretation were made." 
 
 " And hence it was," said Lathom, " that in the early 
 ages it might seem to partake of little levity to prefigure 
 our Saviour's birth in that of Bacchus ; his sufferings 
 and death in that of Acta:on, or his resurrection in the 
 legend of Hercules, as related by Lycophron ; as late as 
 the thirteenth century the Franciscan Walleys wrote a 
 moral and theological exposition of the Metamorphoses 
 of Ovid." 
 
 " But surely the writers of that age did not stop there," 
 said Thompson ; " was it not the case, that to these ex- 
 positions succeeded compositions professedly allegorical, 
 and which the spirit of refinement of that age resolved 
 into further allegories, for which they were never in- 
 tended:'"' 
 
 " Undoubtedly so ! " replied L,athom ; " it was not 
 enough that the writer of the ' Romaunt of the Rose '
 
 Hbe <3esta iRomanorum 29 
 
 had allegorized the difficulties of an ardent lover in the 
 accomplishment of his object, under the mystery of the 
 rose which was to be gathered in a fair but almost inac- 
 cessible garden. Every profession saw in this allegory 
 the great mystery of their craft. To the theologian it 
 was the rose of Jericho, the New Jerusalem, the Blessed 
 Virgin, or any other mystery to which obstinate heretics 
 were unable to attain ; to the chemist it was the philoso- 
 pher's stone ; to the lawyer it was the most consummate 
 point of equity ; to the physician the infallible panacea, 
 the water of life ; and does not this spirit of allegory 
 extend to the present day, only in a somewhat different 
 form?" 
 
 "Not unlike the present system of commentating," 
 remarked Henry Herbert. "As soon as a poet has at- 
 tained to any great reputation, and death has sealed up 
 his writings, then comes the host of annotators and 
 critics, each one more intent than his predecessor to 
 develop the mind of the writer, to discover with what 
 hidden intentions, with what feelings, this or that pas- 
 sage was written, and to build on some stray expression 
 a mighty theory, for some more clever writer to over- 
 throw, and raise a new fabric on its ruins. And in these 
 attempts it is not the old author whose glory is sought to 
 be heightened, but the new man who would ascend the 
 ladder of reputation on the labors of the ' man of old.' " 
 
 "Far different," rejoined fathom, "was the spirit 
 which prompted the fashion of resolving every thing 
 into allegories in the middle ages ; nor, indeed, is it to be 
 solely charged to an unmeaning and wanton spirit of re- 
 finement. ' The same apology,' says Wharton, ' may be 
 offered for cabalistic 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, labored to reconcile the apparent 
 absurdities of the pagan system with the Christian my£-
 
 30 
 
 £bc (Besta IRomanorum 
 
 teries, by demonstrating a figurative resemblance. The 
 latter, as true learning began to dawn, with a view of 
 supporting for a time 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 woven by fairy hands, and by show- 
 ing that truth was hid under the gorgeous veil of gothic 
 invention.' And now, Thompson, we must adjourn, you 
 to your real Greeks and Romans, Herbert and I to Aris- 
 totle's Summum Bonum."
 
 CHAPTER II. 
 
 Discussion on the Source of Fiction Renewed — The King 
 and the Glutton — Guido, the Perfect Ser- 
 vant — The Middle-Age Allegories — Pliny and Man- 
 deville's Wonders Allegorized. 
 
 " CURElvY," said Henry Herbert, when the friends 
 were again assembled, " surely the poems of the 
 northern Scalds, the legends of the Arabians of Spain, 
 the songs of the Armoricans, and the classics of the an- 
 cient world, have been the sources of the most prevalent 
 fictions." 
 
 "The sources from which the monks themselves 
 compiled these stories, but by no means the original 
 sources," replied Lathom. " The immediate source must 
 be sought in even earlier times and more eastern climes. 
 In some instances perverted notions of Scripture charac- 
 ters furnished the supernatural agency of the legend ; in 
 the majority the machinery came direct from the East, 
 already dilated and improved. In many parts of the old 
 Scriptures we learn how familiar the nations of the East 
 were with spells ; and the elevation of Solomon Daoud 
 to the throne of the Genii and to the lordship of the 
 Talisman, proves the traditional intercourse between 
 God's own people and the nations of the far East." 
 
 " The theory is probable," said Thompson. " We can 
 easily conceive how the contest of David and Goliath 
 may have formed the foundation of many a fierce en- 
 counter between knight and giant, and the feats of Sam-
 
 32 £be Gesta IRomanorum 
 
 sou been dilated into the miracles of the heroes of 
 chivalry." 
 
 " There is one very pertinent instance of such a con- 
 version in this very book. In the Book of Tobit, which 
 is indeed referred to in the application of the tale of 
 'The Emperor Vespasian and the Two Rings,' we find 
 an angel in the place of a saint, enchantments, antidotes, 
 distressed damsels, demons, and nearly all the recog- 
 nized machinery of fiction. The vagaries of the Talmud, 
 clearly derived from Eastern sources, were no small 
 treasure on which to draw for wonders and miracles. 
 And when we find all the machinery of the East in the 
 poems of the Scalds, we cannot but perceive how much 
 more reasonable it is to suppose the cold conceptions of 
 the Northern bards to have been fed from the East, than 
 the warm imaginations of the East to have drawn their 
 inspiration from the North." 
 
 " Very plausible, Lathom," replied Herbert; "but still 
 this objection must not be neglected — the ignorance and 
 misrepresentation of the religions of the East, shown 
 through every page of the popular legends of the chival- 
 ric age." 
 
 " An objection of apparent weight, I will admit ; and 
 yet may it not have been the aim of the Christian writers 
 to represent the infidels in the worst possible light, to 
 pervert their creed, to exaggerate their vices? The 
 charge of idolatry, and the adoration of the golden image 
 of Mahomet, may have been mere pious frauds." 
 
 "Admitting even this apology," rejoined Herbert, 
 "the difference of religion in the East and North seems 
 another objection. The Romans adopted the legends of 
 Greece, and naturalized them. With the mythology 
 came the religious rites appendant to it. How did it 
 happen that the Scalds adopted the one without falling 
 :nto the other error? " 
 
 " Are the cases similar?" replied I v athom; "were the
 
 Zbc Ifctncj ano tbe Glutton 33 
 
 nations alike ? Was there no difference of predisposition 
 in the Romans and the Scalds as to the adoption of the 
 mythologies of the East and Greece? Had not long in- 
 tercourse in the one ease prepared the Romans to receive ? 
 did it not agree with their preconceived notions ? Such 
 was not the case with the Northern nations. Children, 
 and rude children of nature, they were in no way pre- 
 pared for a similar effect ; but, seizing on the prominent 
 features of the legends presented to them, they engrafted 
 them on their own -wild and terrible stories, adding to 
 the original matter in some cases, and rejecting portions 
 of it in others." 
 
 "Well, I will not carry this discussion further," said 
 Herbert, " for fear of losing a story to-night ; but I by no 
 means give up my sources of didactic fictions." 
 
 "Well, then, a truce for this evening. I will read the 
 tale of The King and the Glutton, by which the old monk 
 wished to illustrate the moral, that men are blinded by 
 their own avarice." 
 
 THE KING AND THE GLUTTON. 
 
 THERE once lived a king of Rome, who, out 
 of charity to the blind, decreed that every 
 subject of his that was so afflicted, should be 
 entitled to receive a hundred shillings from the 
 royal treasury. Now there was in Rome a club 
 of men who lived for the world alone, and spent 
 all they had in rioting and eating. Seven days 
 had they continued revelling in one tavern, 
 when the host demanded to be paid his bill.
 
 34 cTbc Ikino anD tbc ©luttcm 
 
 Every one searched his pockets, but still there 
 was not enough to pay the reckoning. 
 
 "There still wants one hundred shillings," 
 said the innkeeper ; "and until that is paid, ye 
 go not hence." 
 
 These young men knew not what to do, as 
 they were penniless. "What shall we do?" 
 said the} 7 one to another. " How can we pay so 
 large a sum?" At length one bethought him 
 of the king's edict. 
 
 "Listen," said he, "listen to me; does not 
 the king give one hundred shillings to every 
 blind man that applies for it ? " 
 
 "Even so," said the rest; but what then? 
 we are not blind." 
 
 "What then?" rejoined the young man. 
 " Come, let us cast lots who shall be made 
 blind, that when he is deprived of sight we may 
 take him to the king's palace, and obtain the 
 hundred shillings." 
 
 So the young men cast lots, and the lot fell 
 upon the man who had proposed this plan. 
 And the rest took him, and putting out his eyes, 
 led him to the king's palace. When they 
 knocked at the gate, the porter opened the 
 wicket, and demanded their business. 
 
 " Business," said they ; " see ye not our com- 
 panion is blind ? he seeks to receive the king's 
 benevolent gift."
 
 XLbc Iking an<> tbe ©lutton 
 
 J3 
 
 "The blindness is rather sudden," muttered 
 the porter, who knew the young man by sight. 
 " Well, well, I will fetch the almoner." 
 
 So the almoner, who distributed the king's 
 charity, came to the gate, and looking on the 
 young man, asked him what he wanted. 
 
 " A hundred shillings, which my lord the 
 king gives to those that are blind," replied the 
 youth. 
 
 " Thy blindness is very sudden," rejoined the 
 almoner; "when did it happen, and where? 
 for I saw thee yesterday with both eyes perfect 
 in the tavern by the city wall." 
 
 "Last night, noble sir," replied the blind 
 man, "last night at that tavern I became 
 blind." 
 
 " Go fetch the host," said the almoner sternly, 
 "we will look into this matter more fully." 
 
 So when the innkeeper came, he inquired of 
 him how the matter was ; and when he had 
 heard all their deeds, he turned to the young 
 man, and said — 
 
 " Of a surety thou knowest but half the law, 
 and dost interpret it wrong ; to such as are blind 
 by God's act, does our gracious king give his 
 charity ; such the law protects and relieves. 
 But thou — why art thou blind ? Thinkest thou 
 that thou dost deserve to be rewarded for volun- 
 tarily surrendering thine eyes, in order to dis-
 
 36 0ui£>o, £bc perfect Servant 
 
 charge the debt thou and thy companions had 
 contracted by gluttony and rioting? Begone, 
 foolish man : thy avarice hath made thee blind." 
 So they drove away the young men from the 
 king's gate, lamenting their folly and wicked- 
 ness. 
 
 " There can be little doubt," said Herbert, "what moral 
 the author of this tale intended to teach. The king's 
 gift clearly illustrates God's reward for forgiveness, to 
 those that by natural infirmity and temptation fall into 
 sin ; as the withholding it from the glutton, is meant to 
 teach ns how difficult it will be to obtain the forgiveness 
 of voluntary sin, done out of pure wickedness." 
 
 " You have found out the monk's moral rightly in this 
 tale, Henry ; but I think you will not be so successful in 
 that which I now propose reading to you — the story of 
 
 "GUIDO, THE PERFECT SERVANT." 
 
 THERE was once a great emperor of Rome 
 named Valerius, who would that every 
 man, according to his wishes, should serve him ; 
 so he commanded that whosoever should strike 
 three times on the gate of his palace should be 
 admitted to do him sendee. In the emperor's 
 kingdom was also a poor man named Guido, 
 who, when he heard of his lord's commands, 
 thus spake with himself: "Now, I am a poor 
 man, and lowly born ; is it not better to live and 
 serve than to starve and be free ? " So he went to
 
 OuiCto, Cbe perfect Servant 37 
 
 the king's gate, and knocked three knocks ; and 
 lo, it was opened to him, according as it had been 
 said ; and he was brought before the emperor. 
 
 "What seek you, friend?" asked Valerius, 
 as Guido bowed before him. 
 
 " To serve my king," was Guido's reply. 
 
 " What service can you perform for me ?" re- 
 joined the emperor. 
 
 " Six services can I perform, O king : as your 
 body-guard, I can prepare your bed and your 
 food, and attend your chamber. I can sleep 
 when others watch, and watch while others 
 sleep. As your cup-bearer, I can drink good 
 wine, and tell whether it be so or not. I can 
 summon the guests to my master's banquet, to 
 his great honor and benefit. I can kindle a fire 
 which shall warm all that seek it, and yet not 
 smoke. And I can show the way to the Holy 
 Land, to the health of such as shall go thither." 
 
 " By my truth," rejoined the emperor, " these 
 are great things that thou dost promise. See 
 that thou do them. Each for one year. Serve 
 me first as my body-guard. ' ' 
 
 Guido was content to obey the emperor ; and 
 he prepared to perform his duties as his body- 
 guard. Every night he made ready the em- 
 peror's bed, and prepared his apparel. Every 
 night he lay before the emperor's chamber- 
 door, armed at all points ; whilst by his side
 
 33 Gutfro, Zbc perfect Servant 
 
 watched a faithful dog to warn him of the ap- 
 proach of danger. In every thing did he min- 
 ister so faithfully to his lord, that the emperor 
 was well pleased with him, and after his first 
 year, made him seneschal of his castle and stew- 
 ard of his household. Then did Guido com- 
 mence his labors in his second office. During 
 the entire summer he gathered large stores of 
 every- thing needful into the castle, and collect- 
 ed much provision at little cost, by carefully 
 watching his opportunities. Anon came on the 
 winter, aud when those who had slept during 
 the times of plenty began to labor and lay up in 
 their store-houses, Guido remained at ease, and 
 completed his second year's service with credit 
 to himself. 
 
 And now the third year of Guido's service 
 came on ; and the emperor called for his chief 
 butler, and said : " Mix in a cup good wine, 
 must, and vinegar, and give it to Guido 
 to drink ; that we may know how he doth 
 taste good drink, and what he knoweth of its 
 qualities." 
 
 So the butler did as he was ordered, and gave 
 the cup to Guido, who, when he had tasted of 
 it, said : " Of a truth it was good, it is good, and 
 it will be good." And when the emperor asked 
 him how these things could be, he said : "The 
 vinegar was good, the old wine is good, and the
 
 <3uiDo, £bc perfect Servant 39 
 
 must will be good when it is older." So the 
 emperor saw that he had answered rightly and 
 discreetly of the mixture, which he knew not 
 of before. "Go, therefore," said Valerius, 
 " through my country, and invite my friends to 
 a banquet at the festival of Christmas now at 
 hand " ; and Guido bowed assent, and departed 
 on his way. 
 
 But Guido did not execute his lord's com- 
 mands — going not unto his friends, but unto his 
 enemies. So that when the emperor descended 
 into his banquet-hall his heart was troubled ; 
 for his enemies sat round his table, and there 
 was not a friend among them. So he called 
 Guido, and spake angrily to him. 
 
 " How, sir ! didst thou not tell me that thou 
 knewest whom to invite to my banquet ? ' ' 
 And Guido said : " Of a surety, my lord." 
 " Did not I bid thee invite my friends ? and 
 how, then, hast thou summoned all mine ene- 
 mies ? " 
 
 And Guido said : " May thy servant speak ? " 
 So the emperor said : " Speak on." 
 And the sen-ant said : " My lord, there is no 
 season or time that thy friends may not -visit 
 thee, and be received with pleasure and honor ; 
 but it is not so with thine enemies. Then I said 
 to myself : ' Conciliation and kindness would 
 go far to convert enemies into friends.' "
 
 .jo GuiOo, Zhc perfect Servant 
 
 Now it turned out as Guido hoped ; for ere 
 trie feast was ended, the king and his enemies 
 were reconciled to each other, and became 
 friends even unto the end of their days. So the 
 emperor called Guido, and said : "With God's 
 blessing, thy design has prospered. Come, 
 now, make for my reconciled enemies and me 
 a fire that shall burn without smoke." 
 
 And Guido answered : " It shall be done as 
 thou hast required, O king." 
 
 So he sent and gathered much green wood, 
 and dried it in the sun until it was quite dry, 
 and therewith made a fire that did cast out 
 much heat, and yet did not smoke. So that the 
 emperor and his friends rejoiced greatly therein. 
 And so it was when the emperor saw how well 
 Guido had performed his five ministries, he bade 
 him execute his sixth service — that he might 
 attain to great honor in his kingdom. 
 
 " My lord," said Guido, "he that would know 
 the way to the Holy Land must follow me to the 
 sea-shore." 
 
 So a proclamation went forth from the king 
 to that effect ; and great multitudes of men and 
 women flocked to the sea-shore after Guido. 
 When the people were come, Guido said : " My 
 friends, do ye see in the ocean the things that 
 I see?'' 
 
 And the people answered: "We know not."
 
 Guifto, Zbe perfect Servant 41 
 
 " See ye in the midst of the waves a huge 
 rock?" 
 
 Aud the people answered : "It is even so. 
 Why ask you this of us ? " 
 
 " Know ye all," replied Guido, " that on that 
 rock liveth a bird, that sitteth continually on 
 her nest, in which are seven eggs. While she 
 so sitteth, behold the sea is calm, and men may 
 pass to and fro over the wide waters in safety. 
 But when she doth quit her nest, the winds blow, 
 and the waves rise, and many perish on the 
 waters." 
 
 Then said the people : " How shall we know 
 when this bird quitteth her nest ? " 
 
 And Guido answered : " She sitteth always, 
 unless a sudden emergency happen ; and then 
 when she is away there cometh another bird, 
 great and strong, that defileth her nest and 
 breaketh her seven eggs, which, when the first 
 bird seeth, she flieth away, and the winds and 
 storms arise ; then must the shipman remain in 
 port." 
 
 Then said the people : " Master, how may we 
 prevent these things, and defend the bird and 
 her nest from her enemy ? ' ' 
 
 And Guido said: "The enemy hateth the 
 blood of the lamb, and cannot come where that 
 is. Sprinkle, therefore, the inside and outside 
 of the nest with this blood ; and so long as one
 
 Cbe Gesta TRomancrum 
 
 drop remaineth the friendly bird will sit in 
 peace, and the waves will not rage and swell, 
 and there shall be safety on the waves of the 
 sea." 
 
 And the people did as Guido said. They took 
 the blood of a lamb, and sprinkled the nest and 
 the rock therewith. Then passed the emperor 
 and all his people to the Holy Land, and re- 
 turned in peace and safety. And the emperor 
 did as he had promised unto Guido, and re- 
 warded the perfect servant with great riches, 
 promoting him to high honor among the people. 
 
 " I confess myself conquered," said Henry Herbert, as 
 soon as the story was concluded. " Some points in the 
 allegory are clear, as the way to the Holy Land, and the 
 sprinkling of the blood of the Lamb, but the rest are 
 beyond my discovering." 
 
 "The explanation," said Herbert, "is undoubtedly 
 more recondite than any we have read as yet. The great 
 emperor is our Father in heaven ; the three blows on his 
 gate are prayer, self-denial, charity ; by these three any 
 one may become his faithful servant. Guido is a poor 
 Christian, by baptism made his servant. His first service 
 is to serve his God, and to prepare the heart for virtue. 
 His second duty is to watch ; ' for he knoweth not the 
 day nor the hour when the Son of Man Cometh.' His 
 third task is to taste of repentance, which was good to 
 the saints who are departed, is good to such of us as it 
 brings to salvation, and will be good to all in the last 
 day. The fourth duty is to invite Christ's enemies to be 
 his friends, and to come to the banquet of his love ; for he 
 ' came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repent-
 
 Zbe Oesta IRomanorum 43 
 
 ance.' The fire that burnetii without smoke, is the fire 
 of charity, which burnetii free of all ill-will and bad 
 feeling'. The way to the Holy Land is our course heaven- 
 ward. We are to sail over our sea, the world; in the 
 midst of which standeth our rock, even our heart, on 
 which the holy bird of God's Spirit resteth. The seven 
 eggs are the gifts of the Spirit. When the Spirit leaves 
 us, the Devil hasteth to defile our hearts ; but the blood 
 of the I^anib which was slain for us, even our Saviour, 
 will ward off the attack of our enemy, so long as we are 
 sprinkled therewith." 
 
 "The explanation is characteristic of the age," said 
 Herbert. "What then," rejoined fathom, "will you 
 say to the moral drawn by these writers from the 
 wonders that Pliny believed in, without seeing, and Sir 
 John de Mandeville tried to persuade the world he 
 believed in, from seeing? " 
 
 ""What," said Thompson, "the Anthropophagi, and 
 men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders ?" 
 
 " No creature is so monstrous, no fable so incredible, 
 but that the monkish writers could give it a moral form, 
 and extract from its crudities and quiddities some moral 
 or religious lesson." 
 
 "They believed in the words of the song," said 
 Thompson — 
 
 " ' Reason sure will always bring 
 Something out of every thing.' " 
 
 "Pliny's dog-headed race," said Lathom, "whom Sir 
 John places in the island of Macumeran, and at the 
 same time gives to them a quasi pope for a king, who 
 says three hundred prayers per diem before he either eats 
 or drinks, were naturally regarded by the middle-age 
 writers as symbolical and priestly preachers of faithful 
 hearts and frugal habits ; whilst of those other islanders, 
 who ' have but one eye, and that in the middest of their
 
 44 Gbe ©esta IRomanorum 
 
 front, and eat their flesh and fish raw,' the monk says, 
 ' These be they that have the eye of prayer.' The As- 
 tomes who have no mouths, ' are all hairie over the 
 whole bodie, yet clothed with soft cotton and downe, 
 that cometh from the leaves of trees, and live only on 
 aire, and by the smelling of sweet odors, which they 
 draw through their nose-thrills,' are the abstemious 
 of this world, who die of the sin of gluttony, even as an 
 Astome by the accidental inhalation of bad odor. Hu- 
 mility is signified by the absence of the head, and the 
 placing of the face in the breast ; and a tendency to sin 
 is foreshadowed by a desire and habit of walking on 
 all fours, or pride by short noses and goat's feet. The 
 Mandevillean islanders, who had flat faces without noses, 
 and two round holes for their eyes, and thought whatso- 
 ever they saw to be good, were earth's foolish ones; as 
 those foul men, who have their lips so great, that when 
 they sleep in the sun they cover all their face therewith, 
 are the just men, the salt of the earth." 
 
 " One would as soon dream of allegorizing the Sciapo- 
 des of Aristophanes, or Homer's Cranes and Pigmies," 
 said Thompson. 
 
 "And so the monk has," said Lathom. 
 
 "What, the old Greek's parasol-footed people, of whom 
 Mandeville says with such gravity, ' There be in Ethiope 
 such men as have but one foot, and they go so fast that it 
 is a great marvel ; and that is a large foot, for the 
 shadow thereof covereth the body from sun or rain, 
 when they lie upon their back ' ? " 
 
 " Both Aristophanes and his follower would doubtless 
 be as surprised in learning that their sciapodes were 
 allegorical of the charitable of this world, as Homer 
 would in discovering in his crane-fighting pigmies those 
 mortals who begin well but cease to do well before 
 they attain perfection ; or in their neighbors who 
 boast of six hands, and despise clothes in favor of long
 
 Zbc ©eeta "Romanorum 45 
 
 hair, and live in rivers, the hardworking and laborious 
 among men." 
 
 " The last is decidedly the most intelligible," remarked 
 Herbert. 
 
 " The reason of the explanation is not always clear," 
 replied Lathom ; " it is not very easy to decide why those 
 who have six fingers and six toes are the unpolluted, and 
 why virtuous men are represented by a race of women 
 with bald heads and beards flowing to their breast ; nor 
 is it very clear that virtue is well represented by a double 
 allowance of eyes. But one curiosity remains — the beau- 
 tiful men of Europe who boast a crane's head, neck, and 
 beak These, says the author of the Gesta, represent 
 judges, who should have long necks and beaks, that what 
 Vie heart thinks, way be long before it reach the mouth.'" 
 
 " That reminds me of long Jack Bannister," said 
 -hompson, "who was always five minutes after every 
 one else in laughing at a joke, as it took that extra time 
 for it to travel from his ears to his midrif, and then back 
 igainto his mouth." 
 
 And so the evening ended with a laugh.
 
 CHAPTER III. 
 
 Progress of Fiction from the East to the West— The 
 Early Christians— The Monks— The Spanish Arabi- 
 ans — The Crusades — The Knight and the KrNG of 
 Hungary— The English Gesta. 
 
 " A DMITTING the East as the immediate source of 
 fiction," said Henry Herbert, when they were 
 met once more, " you must still regard the Spanish Ara- 
 bians as the great disseminators of those extravagant 
 inventions which were so peculiar to their romantic and 
 creative genius." 
 
 "I,ess, perhaps, than many other sources. The ab- 
 sence of Moorish subjects from the earliest tales of 
 chivalry, if it proves no more, at least shows how preva- 
 lent the tales of Charlemagne and his peers were in the 
 eighth century, that a nation of conquerors could do lit- 
 tle to infect them with legends of their own." 
 
 " How and when, then, I,athom, would you introduce 
 Eastern invention ? " asked Thompson. 
 
 " I would refer it to much earlier ages, to the earliest 
 of the Christian centuries, and contend that it was 
 gradual, and therefore more natural ; was the production 
 of times and of ages, not the sudden birth and growth of 
 one age ; gradually augmenting until it attained to full 
 and perfect stature." 
 
 "Still," rejoined Herbert, "we want the means by 
 which this knowledge of Eastern fable was introduced." 
 
 " Some share may be due to the return of those primi- 
 tive Christians who sought refuge in the East from the
 
 ftbe <3csta IRomanorum 47 
 
 persecutions of the pagan rulers of the West. Their 
 ininds were weli prepared to adopt the fervent expres- 
 sions of the East, and their condition prevented them 
 from investigating the tales they heard. Hence, in the 
 lives of these saints they were as ready to interweave the 
 prodigies of another land, hoping, perhaps, to conciliate 
 the minds of the Eastern Oriental to the tenets of their 
 faith, by introducing fictitious incidents of Oriental 
 structure, as, to conciliate the heathen, they placed their 
 gods and goddesses in the Christian temple, dignifying 
 them with a new name, and serving them with novel 
 ceremonies." 
 
 " Admitting the probability, still your machinery seems 
 deficient." 
 
 " It is but a portion of my machinery. Much more 
 was due to the clouds of monks, who, during the third 
 and fourth centuries, wandered over the face of the 
 habitable world." 
 
 "When Gibbon admits that the progress of mona- 
 chisin was co-extensive with that of Christianity," sug- 
 gested Frederick Thompson. 
 
 " The disciples of Antony," said Herbert, " we are as- 
 sured, spread themselves beyond the tropic, over the 
 Christian empire of Ethiopia." 
 
 " Their distribution was universal," said I,athom ; 
 " every province, almost every city of the empire, had its 
 ascetics ; they feared no dangers, and deemed no seas, 
 mountains, or deserts a barrier to their progress." 
 
 " The roving character of the monks, therefore," says 
 the last translator of the Gesta, " is another link of the 
 chain by which I introduce Oriental fiction into the West ; 
 and it is utterly impossible (maturely weighing the hab- 
 its and propensities of this class of people) that they 
 should not have picked up and retained the floating tra- 
 ditions of the countries through which they passed. 
 Some of the early romances, as well as the legends of
 
 43 XLbc ©esta "Romanorum 
 
 the 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 
 tended to nourish ; but the former were adorned with 
 foreign embellishments." 
 
 " Did it ever occur to you," said Thompson, " that the 
 story of Ulysses and Circe bears a wondrous likeness to 
 that of Beder the prince of Persia and Giahame princess 
 of Samandal, and that the voyages of Sindbad afford the 
 counterpart of the Cyclops of the Odysee ? " 
 
 " It would be but consistent with the reported travels 
 of Homer, to allow an Eastern origin to a portion of his 
 fable," said Lathom. 
 
 "After your banished Christians and roving monks," 
 said Herbert, " you would admit the Spanish Arabians." 
 
 "As one means, certainly," replied Eafhom ; "and 
 after them the Crusaders." 
 
 "It were almost superfluous," rejoined Herbert, "to 
 allude to the Crusades as further sources of romantic 
 and didactic fiction. No one will dispute their right to a 
 place in the system. About the period of the third cru- 
 sade this kind of writing was at its height." 
 
 " Undoubtedly," rejoined Eathom, " that age was the 
 full tide of chivalry. Twenty years elapsed between 
 that and the fourth and fifth expeditions into the east; 
 and nearly a generation passed before, for the sixth 
 and the last time, the wealth and blood of Europe was 
 poured upon the plains of the East. Enough of money 
 and life had been now spent to satisfy the most enthusi- 
 astic of the crusading body, and to check, if not to stem, 
 the tide of popular feeling which had formerly run so 
 strong in favor of the restoration of the sepulchre and 
 the holy city to the guardianship of the faithful. Time 
 was now at last beginning to allay the Anti-Saraeenic 
 passion. With the decline of these remarkable expedi- 
 tions romantic fiction began to be regarded. For though
 
 XLhc Iknicibt ano the Ifcincj of Ibungan? 49 
 
 originally extraneous and independent, romantic fictions 
 had of late years become incorporated with chivalry and 
 its institutions, and, with them, they naturally fell into 
 decay." 
 
 " Come, come, we must break off this discussion," said 
 Thompson, "or else we shall have no time to judge of 
 Lathom's performance this evening." 
 
 " The story I selected to begin with is one replete with 
 eccentricity, and peculiarly characteristic of this age ; it 
 is entitled 
 
 "THE KNIGHT AND THE KING OF HUNGARY." 
 
 THERE was a merry feast in the palace of 
 Philonirnus, the emperor of Rome, and 
 his fair child, the maiden Aglae, sat by his side, 
 whilst a brave knight, that loved the maiden 
 dearly, sat on the other hand of the emperor. 
 For the knight was bound for Palestine, to aid in 
 rescuing the holy city from the power of the in- 
 fidels and the emperor held a high festival in 
 honor of that knight. 
 
 The feast was over in the hall, and the knight 
 led the maiden from beside her father's throne 
 to the floor of the hall, and danced with her, 
 whilst the king's minstrels played a measure. 
 
 And as he danced, the knight talked with the 
 lady, and the lady talked with the knight, and 
 often sighed she when he spoke of his voyage 
 to the Holy Land, and the great deeds he would
 
 so Zbc Iknigbt ano tbc Iking of Ibungarg 
 
 perform for the glory of God, and the love of 
 the fair lady. Then said the knight: "Lady, 
 fair lady ! to-morrow's dawn sees me on my way 
 to Palestine, and for seven years I bind myself 
 to fight for the holy city. Plight me, dearest, 
 thy troth, that this seven years you take no 
 other husband, and I will plight thee my troth 
 that for that time I will take no wife ; and if 
 this day seven years I come not again, then art 
 thou free from thy promise." 
 
 The lady was pleased with the words of the 
 knight, and they vowed their vow, the one to 
 the other. 
 
 Then sailed the knight for Palestine, and for 
 years they wist not where he was. At length, 
 the king of Hungary came to the emperor's 
 court, and he looked on the beauty of Aglae, 
 and sought her of her father for his queen. 
 And the emperor was glad ; for the king was 
 a great and good king. Then said he : "So be 
 it, if my daughter consent." 
 
 And Aglae bowed her head, when the king of 
 Hungary spoke to her, and said : " Oh lord, the 
 king, I am not free to be thy wife ; for lo, these 
 six years past I vowed to marry no man, and lo, 
 one year more remains of my vow ; until the 
 end of which, I cannot accept the honor of my 
 lord the king." 
 
 Then said the father : " Since thou hast so
 
 Cbe IRnfgbt ano tbe "Ring of 1bimc?arg 51 
 
 vowed, I will not break thy vow. Wait then, 
 my lord, yet one year, and then my daughter 
 shall be thy bride." 
 
 So the king of Hungary returned to his king- 
 dom. 
 
 ****** 
 
 Aglae sat at her chamber window, and looked 
 out upon the road that led towards her father's 
 palace. "Alas, alas!" she said, " it wants but one 
 day to complete the seven years of my vow. To- 
 morrow, my love promised to be with me again 
 from the Holy Land. To-morrow, the king of 
 Hungary comes to claim me. Ah me, what 
 shall I do, if my love comes not, I must be the 
 king's bride " ; and she bent her face on her 
 hand, and wept sorely. 
 
 As the day drew near, the king of Hungary 
 prepared to seek his bride. A great company 
 was gathered together, and many wagons of 
 presents were prepared to accompany the king. 
 But when he saw them, and how slowly they 
 journeyed, he left all his company, and went 
 his way alone, eager to claim Aglae as his bride, 
 so soon as the seven years were ended. The 
 king was royally arrayed in purple, and his 
 steed was clothed in gorgeous trappings. Now, 
 as he drew nigh to Rome, a knight rode after 
 him, who was covered from head to foot in a 
 long black cloak, and bore on his shoulder a
 
 52 Cbe Iknicibt ano the Iking of 1buncjar£ 
 
 white embroidered cross. " Hail, Sir Knight," 
 said the king, "whither travellest thou ; what 
 news from the Holy Land ? " 
 
 'To Rome, my lord," rejoined the knight, 
 halting his steed alongside of the king's, " the 
 Cross has gained the victory." 
 
 " Thither, too, do I travel, Sir Knight ; I am 
 the king of Hungary, I go to seek my bride, the 
 emperor's fair daughter ; I pray thee bear me 
 company on the road." 
 
 The knight acceded to the king's proposal, 
 and as they journeyed, they talked of the holy 
 war in Palestine, and rejoiced that the city of 
 the holy sepulchre was free from the power of 
 the Saracens. As they thus talked together, the 
 sky became cloudy, the wind howled through the 
 woods, and the rain fell so fast, that the king's 
 apparel was wet through. 
 
 "My lord," said the knight, "ye have done 
 foolishly in that ye have not brought your house 
 with you. ' ' 
 
 " My house, Sir Knight ! how meanest thou ? 
 my house is large and broad, made of stones and 
 mortar ; how should I bring with me my house ; 
 thou art beside thyself, Sir Knight ! " 
 
 But the knight said nothing until they came to 
 the bank of a broad stream, into which the king, 
 being out of humor, plunged his horse, at the 
 same time striking his spurs deeply into him, so
 
 Gbe Iknigbt anD tbc Iking of fmngatg 53 
 
 he missed the ford, and would have been drowned 
 but for the knight's help. 
 
 " My lord," said the knight, when they were 
 safe on the river's bank, "thou shouldest have 
 brought thy bridge with thee. ' ' 
 
 "My bridge," said the king, " how strangely 
 thou speakest, Sir Knight ; my bridge is made 
 of stones and mortar, and is half a mile long, 
 and yet thou sayest, why have I not my bridge ? 
 Thou art foolish, Sir Knight ! " 
 
 "Perhaps," replied the knight, "my folly 
 may turn thee to wisdom. ' ' 
 
 And as the}- rode on, the king asked of the 
 knight what hour of the day it was. 
 
 "For those that are hungry," replied the 
 knight, " it is time to eat; dismount therefore, 
 my lord, and honor me by partaking of the 
 food I have with me." 
 
 So they both sat down under a tree, and ate 
 of the food that was in the knight's wallet, and 
 drank of the clear stream that ran beside them. 
 When their meal was finished, and they were 
 once more mounted, the knight said : 
 
 " O king, why didst not thou bring with thee 
 thy father and thy mother? " 
 
 "My father, Sir Knight, is dead, and my 
 mother is old and cannot travel ; how then 
 could I bring them ? Verily, thou art the most 
 foolish man that I did ever meet with."
 
 54 Cbe "fcntcibt ano tbe Iking of Ibuncian? 
 
 "That is as it may be," said the kuight with a 
 smile, " every thing is judged by its end. Now, 
 O king, farewell ! I may not ride with thee to the 
 emperor's palace, thither lies thy road, farewell. " 
 
 "But stay, Sir Knight," said the king, 
 " whither ridest thou then ? " 
 
 " Seven years ago, I left a net in a place, and 
 now I go to see. If I find it not broken, then 
 will I take it home, and keep it, as a precious 
 jewel ; if it be broken, I will leave it to thee. O 
 king, once more, farewell." 
 
 So speaking, the knight turned away from 
 the high road, and went by a shorter way 
 toward Rome, to the emperor's palace. The 
 king rode upon the highway. Now, as the 
 king drew near to Rome, one of the emperor's 
 sen-ants met him, and went and told the em- 
 peror, how that the King of Hungary was riding 
 all alone towards the city, and was wet and 
 weary with his journey. Then the emperor set 
 out to meet the king, and received him royally, 
 and took his wet clothes off him, and clothed 
 him with his own imperial robes. Then the 
 trumpets sounded for dinner, and the emperor 
 and the king descended to the hall ; but Aglae 
 was not there, for she kept her chamber, and 
 her father refused her not, as it was the last day 
 of her seven years' vow. 
 
 " Brother," said the emperor, as soon as the
 
 Cbe fmtgbt ano tbe fvtng of ttmngani 35 
 
 meats were removed from the table, "I pray 
 thee tell me of thy journey." 
 
 Then the king told him how he left his own 
 company to come after, and fell in with the Cru- 
 sader on his journey, and how he was dressed, 
 and what he said as they rode together. 
 
 "Surely," said the emperor, "that knight 
 was a wise man : for the house of which he 
 spoke was thy cloak ; the bridge was thy squire, 
 that should have ridden before thee to try the 
 depth of the stream ; and what was thy father 
 and mother save bread and wine, which thou 
 shouldest have brought with thee? But why 
 did he leave thee ? ' ' 
 
 "When we came where two roads met," re- 
 joined the king, "he left me, saying, that seven 
 years since he left a net in a private place, and 
 he went to see whether it were broken or not, 
 that he might treasure it as a jewel if it were 
 unbroken, and if broken, resign it to me." 
 
 Then the emperor cried with a loud voice, 
 "Ho! my knights and servants, go ye to my 
 daughter's chamber." 
 
 So the knights and servants went, and found 
 not the lady, for her lover had stolen her away 
 while the kings dined. 
 
 "Even so, as I expected," said the emperor; 
 "brother, the knight's folly has taught thee 
 wisdom."
 
 56 Gbe Oesta iRomanorum 
 
 "Yea, brother," rejoined the king, sorrowfully, 
 "truly said the knight, every deed is judged by 
 its end." 
 
 So the king returned to Hungary ashamed ; 
 and when the knight and the maiden returned to 
 her father, his heart yearned toward her, and he 
 wept over her, and received them with joy. 
 
 " This last tale," said Lathoin, as soon as he had con- 
 cluded his manuscripts, " comes not from the old Latin 
 books, but from what is called the English Gesta." 
 
 "An imitation of the original, I suppose," said Thomp- 
 son. 
 
 "So thought that antiquarian, Mr. Douce," replied 
 Lathom. 
 
 " Is it not natural, that a work so remarkable as this 
 old Latin Gesta seems to have been, should have stimu- 
 lated some person to compose a similar work for this 
 country?" suggested Herbert. 
 
 "If the English version was not intended for the same 
 work as the original, it is difficult to account for the 
 striking identity between the stories in each of the 
 Gesta ; whilst the difference between the two works is in 
 no respect greater than is consistent with that great 
 latitude which the old transcribers and translators gave 
 themselves." 
 
 "It is, therefore, Lathom, in your opinion as much an 
 original work as Donne's Satires modernized by Pope, 
 or Horace's Art of Poetry translated by Roscommon," 
 said Thompson. 
 
 "Yes, or as Dr. Johnson's version of the Tenth Satire 
 of Juvenal." 
 
 "Wemustbe thinking of adjourning," said Herbert, as 
 the college clock began to strike eight.
 
 XLbe <3esta IRomanorum 57 
 
 " Or we may find ourselves inscribed among St. Peter's 
 madmen," said Lathom. 
 
 "St. Peter's madmen— who were they?" exclaimed 
 Herbert and Thompson together. 
 
 " Five men St. Peter deemed to be madmen," rejoined 
 their host. "One ate the sand of the sea so greedily that 
 it ran out of his mouth : verily he was the covetous man 
 of this world. The next madman stood over a pit filled 
 with sulphur and pitch, and strove to inhale the noxious 
 vapor that rose from the burning mass ; he was the 
 glutton and the debauchee. A third lay on a burning 
 furnace, and endeavored to catch the sparks that rose 
 from it, that he might feast on them : for he was rich, 
 and would have fed on gold, though it would have been 
 his death. The next lunatic sat on the pinnacle of the 
 temple, with his mouth open to catch the wind, for he 
 was a hypocrite ; whilst the last madman devoured every 
 finger and toe of his own he could get into his mouth, 
 and laughed at others ; for he was a calumniator of the 
 good, and devoured his own kind." 
 
 " And the sixth stayed up to read in a Christmas vaca- 
 tion," suggested Thompson.
 
 CHAPTER IV. 
 
 Modern Conversions of the Old Tales— The Three 
 Black Crows — King Lear — The Emperor of Rome 
 and his Three Daughters — The Merchant of 
 Venice — The Three Caskets. 
 
 "W 1 
 
 'HAT a mine must these tales of the old monks have 
 been to writers of every age," said Herbert, as the 
 friends returned to their old book for the fourth even- 
 ing. 
 
 "The purloiners of gems from their writings have 
 been innumerable, and of all ages. Gower, Lydgate, 
 Chaucer, Shakspeare, of olden days ; and in our own 
 times, Parnell, Schiller, Scott, and Southey have been in- 
 debted to the didactic fictions of the old monks for many 
 a good plot and many an effective incident." 
 
 "As the old monks themselves were indebted to 
 the earlier legends of other lands, the traditions of 
 their own convent, or the meagre pages of an old chron- 
 icle." 
 
 " Even the veteran joker, Mr. Joe Miller, has been in- 
 debted to the Gesta for one of his standard tales," said 
 Lathom; "The Three Black Crows dates back to the 
 middle ages." 
 
 "The moral, however, was hardly so polite as that now 
 attached to the story ; for the monk boldly headed hi9 
 tale with this inscription : 
 
 " ' Of women who not only betray secrets and lie fear- 
 fully.' "
 
 Zbc Zhxcc asiacfc Crows 59 
 
 "Pray let us hear the original Joe Miller," said 
 Thompson. 
 "Here then you have," replied I<athom, " theoriginal — 
 
 " Tale that will raise the question, I suppose, 
 What can the meaning be of three black crows ? " 
 
 THE THREE BLACK CROWS. 
 
 ONCE upon a time, there lived two brothers, 
 the one a cleric, the other a layman. 
 The former was always saying that no woman 
 could keep a secret, and as his brother was 
 married, he bade him test the truth of this as- 
 sertion on his own wife. The layman agreed ; 
 and one night, when they were alone, he said, 
 with a sorrowful face, to his spouse : 
 
 " My dear wife, a most dreadful secret hangs 
 over me ; oh that I could divulge it to you ; but 
 no, I dare not ; you never could keep it, and, if 
 once divulged, my reputation is gone." 
 
 " Fear not, love," rejoined the wife ; " are we 
 not one body and one mind ? Is not your ad- 
 vantage my benefit, and your injury my loss ? " 
 
 " Well, then," said the husband, "when I left 
 my room this morning a deadly sickness came 
 upon me, and after many a pang, a huge black 
 crow flew out of my mouth, and, winging its 
 way from the room, left me in fear and trem- 
 bling:."
 
 60 Gbc Hbvcc JBlack Crows 
 
 "Is it possible ? " asked the wife ; " yet why 
 should you fear, my life ? be thankful rather 
 that you have been freed from so noxious and 
 troublesome an occupant." 
 
 Here the conversation ended. As soon as it 
 was day, up got the wife, with her thoughts full 
 of the black crow, and hastened to a neighbor's 
 house. 
 
 "Dear friend," said she, "can I trust you 
 with a secret? " 
 
 " As with your life," rejoined the confidante. 
 
 " Oh, such a marvellous accident happened 
 to my husband ! ' ' 
 
 "What? what?" asked the anxious friend. 
 
 "Only last night, he felt deadly sick, and, 
 after a great deal of pain, two black crows flew 
 out of his mouth, and took wing from the 
 room." 
 
 Away went the wife home, with her mind dis- 
 burdened of the awful secret ; whilst her friend 
 hastened to her next neighbor, and retailed the 
 story, only with the addition of one more crow. 
 The next edition of the legend rose to four ; and 
 at last, when the story had gone round the gos- 
 sips of the village, a flock of forty crows were 
 reported to have flown from the poor man's 
 mouth ; and there were not a few who remem- 
 bered seeing the black legion on the wing from 
 the man's window. The consequence of all this
 
 Emperor of IRome ano bis Daugbters 61 
 
 was, that the poor husband found himself sad- 
 dled with the very questionable reputation of a 
 wizard, and was obliged to call together the 
 village, and explain to them the true origin of 
 the fable. On this his wife and her confidantes 
 were overwhelmed with ridicule and shame, and 
 the men of the village were the more impressed 
 with the truth of the cleric's maxim. 
 
 " Did the old monk attempt a further interpretation of 
 his ungallant fable? " asked Herbert. 
 
 "Undoubtedly," replied Lathom. " The unfortunate 
 husband typified the worldly man, who, thinking to do 
 one foolish act without offence, falls into a thousand 
 errors, and has, at last, to purge his conscience by a 
 public confession." 
 
 " Let us now pass on to Shakspeare's plagiarisms," 
 said Herbert. 
 
 "Improvements — new settings of old jewels, which 
 only heighten their lustre — not plagiarisms," replied 
 Lathom. " King Lear dates back to the Gesta. Theo- 
 dosius of Rome occupies the place of the British king ; 
 his child Theodosia is Shakspeare's Cordelia." 
 
 THE EMPEROR OF ROME AND HIS THREE 
 DAUGHTERS. 
 
 THEODOSIUS was emperor of Rome, mighty 
 in power, and wise in counsel. He had 
 no son, but three daughters, whom he loved ex- 
 ceedingly. Now when they were come of full
 
 62 jEmpcror of TRomc ano bis £>augbtcrs 
 
 age, the emperor called unto him the eldest and 
 said : ' ' How much lovest thou me ? ' ' 
 
 " More than mine ownself," replied the eldest. 
 
 " It is good," rejoined her father ; " thou shalt 
 be rewarded for thy love. ' ' 
 
 So he married her unto a neighboring king 
 of great power and wealth. Then he sent for 
 his second daughter, and asked her the same 
 question. 
 
 " Even as I do myself," was the reply. 
 
 At this the emperor was well pleased, and he 
 kissed his child, and said : " I will reward thee 
 for this thy love. " So he married her unto one 
 of the greatest nobles of his realm. 
 
 At last he sent for his 3'oungest daughter, and 
 when she was come into his presence, he asked 
 her likewise how much she loved him. 
 
 Theodosia bowed her head, and bent her knee 
 to her father, as she mildly replied : " Even as 
 my father deserveth." 
 
 Then was the emperor hurt with her reply, 
 and he said : " Lovest thou me no more than 
 this ? thy reward shall be less than thy sisters." 
 So he married her unto a poor but good lord 
 who was one of the lesser nobles of his king- 
 dom. 
 
 Time passed away, misfortune came upon the 
 emperor, and his kingdom was all but taken 
 from him by the king of Egypt. Then said he
 
 JEmperor of IRome an& bis Daugbters 63 
 
 to himself: " I will appeal to my children." So 
 he wrote to his eldest daughter for aid. 
 
 " My lord, the ting, I have here a letter from 
 my father," said the eldest daughter to her hus- 
 band, " he asketh help of us in his misfortunes." 
 
 " Is it not just that we should aid him ? " re- 
 plied the king ; " we will raise an army, and go 
 and fight for him. ' ' 
 
 " Nay, my lord," rejoined his wife, " consider 
 the expense ; send my father five knights to 
 keep him company in his wanderings." 
 
 " Alas, alas ! " said the aged emperor when he 
 read his eldest child's answer, " in her was my 
 chief trust ; she, that loved me more than her- 
 self, hath done only this much, how then shall I 
 trust the other two ? ' ' 
 
 Then wrote he to the second daughter, who, 
 when she read her father's letter, advised her 
 husband to grant him food, lodging, and rai- 
 ment, during the time of his need. The em- 
 peror was sore grieved at this reply. ' ' Now 
 have I tried my two daughters, and have found 
 them wanting, let me try the third," so he wrote 
 to his youngest child. 
 
 When the messenger brought the emperor's 
 letter to Theodosia, she wept sorely as she read 
 how that her father was driven from his capital, 
 and was become a wanderer in his own king- 
 dom. Then went she to her husband and said :
 
 64 Bmpcror of TRome ano bis Daughters 
 
 " Oh, my dear lord, by thy love towards me, 
 succor me in this great distress ; my father 
 is driven from his capital by the king of Egypt, 
 and even now wanders up and down his own 
 kingdom, homeless and unattended." 
 
 "As thou wiliest, Theodosia," replied the 
 noble, "so will I do." 
 
 " Gather then a great army, raise again my 
 father's banner, and go, my lord, fight for my 
 father's throne, and under God's blessing thou 
 shalt conquer." 
 
 Gladly the noble obeyed the wishes of his 
 wife ; gladly did he summon his retainers and 
 friends, and raise the royal standard. His 
 example was all that was required ; numbers 
 flocked to the royal standard, for they wished 
 well to the emperor, but lacked a leader. Then 
 led he his forces against the king of Egypt, and 
 long and fierce was the battle ; but at length 
 the emperor's friends prevailed, the Egyptian 
 was driven from the land, and the emperor 
 reseated on his throne. It was a happy day for 
 his people when Theodosius reascended his 
 throne : round him stood all his nobles, and on 
 his right hand his youngest daughter, and on his 
 left her noble husband, to whom he was in- 
 debted for his restoration. Before his footstool 
 stood his other children and their husbands, 
 and sought to do him homage. But the em-
 
 £be (Sesta TRomanorum 65 
 
 peror forbade them, and turning to his nobles 
 he said : 
 
 " The child that loved me but as I deserved, 
 hath succored me in this my time of trouble ; 
 the twain that professed to love me more abun- 
 dantly, have failed in the trial God ordained to 
 them and to me. I pray ye, my nobles and 
 knights, to ratify this my wish. When I die, 
 let the kingdom pass to her and to her hus- 
 band, for she succored her father and her 
 country ; but for these other two, let them go 
 hence." 
 
 And the nobles and knights with one accord 
 said : " It is well said ; be it so." 
 
 " Is the Merchant of Venice among the list of plots 
 borrowed from the Gesta ? " asked Herbert. 
 
 " It is inscribed as a debtor to two tales : to the one, for 
 the incident of the bond; to the other, for that of the three 
 caskets." 
 
 " I thought," said Frederick Thompson, " the incident 
 of Shylock's bond came from the Italian of Fiorentino, a 
 novelist of the fourteenth century." 
 
 " It is found there, and is generally translated from his 
 work in the preface to the play, but is also found, in 
 almost the same words, in the English Gesta, in the story 
 of Selestinus, the Wise Emperor, who had a Fair 
 Daughter." 
 
 " You claim also the incident of the Three Caskets." 
 
 " I claim one form of it for my old monks in the story 
 of The Carpenter and the Owner of the Lost Treasure, 
 and another form in the tale found in the English Gesta 
 of the emperor Anselmus."
 
 66 abc £alc of tbc XLbvcc Caskets 
 
 "What is the legend of the carpenter?" asked Her- 
 bert. 
 
 " He is supposed to have found some gold, and to 
 be doubting whether he should restore it to its owner, 
 whom chance has led to the carpenter's cottage in his in- 
 quiries after his lost treasure. To satisfy his mind he 
 makes three cakes ; one he fills with earth, another with 
 bones, and the third has apiece of gold within it. On 
 giving his guest the choice, the traveller is led by the 
 weight to choose the one full of earth, and claiming 
 a portion of that containing bones, should the first not 
 satisfy his hunger, he gives the lightest to his host. 
 Thus convinced that the man does not deserve his lost 
 treasure, the carpenter drives him from his hut, and dis- 
 tributes the money to the poor." 
 
 "This is but a slight hint," said Herbert ; " the choice 
 is exactly contrary to that of the play." 
 
 " In the latter story, whether original or copied, the 
 choice is identical with that in the Merchant of Venice. 
 The moral the writer intended to read was the deceitful- 
 ness of outward appearances." 
 
 "The old proverb," suggested Thompson, "all is not 
 gold that glitters." 
 
 " I will read now the form of the story in the English 
 Gesta." 
 
 THE TALE OF THE THREE CASKETS. 
 
 CENTURIES have passed since Anselmus 
 reigned in Rome, whose empress was the 
 fair daughter of the king of Jerusalem, and gra- 
 cious in the sight of every man. Long had they 
 lived happily together, but were not blest with a 
 child, to comfort their lives, and to inherit their
 
 ZV>c £ale of tbe Gbree Caskets 67 
 
 power and honors. And it came to pass that as 
 the emperor walked in his garden, he bethought 
 him of the constant wars of the king of Ampluy, 
 his neighbor, who ceased not to trouble him, 
 because he had no son to defend his dominions. 
 And as he walked and mused, he looked on the 
 moon, and fell into a trance, and dreamed a 
 dream, how that the morning was very bright, 
 and the moon looked paler on the one side than 
 on the other. And then there flew towards him 
 a bird of two colors ; two beasts came and stood 
 by the bird, and warmed the little creature with 
 their heat. And lo, other beasts, mighty and 
 terrible, came, and bowed themselves before the 
 little bird, and went their way ; and then fol- 
 lowed these many other birds of bright plumage 
 and sweet song, and they sang pleasantly, and 
 waked the emperor. 
 
 Auselmus was troubled with his dream, and 
 he called for his wise men, his nobles, and his 
 counsellors, and told them of his vision, and 
 sought from them the interpretation of his 
 dream. When the wise men, the nobles, and 
 the counsellors had considered of these things, 
 Uiey spoke cheerfully unto the king. 
 
 " Sire," .said they, " the vision betokens good 
 to the empire, its glory shall be clearer than it 
 is. The loss of color in the moon prefigures the 
 loss of strength to our empress when a child
 
 68 Gbe Gale of tbe Gbree Cashcts 
 
 is boru unto you. The little bird is this child, 
 our prince. The two beasts that warmed him, 
 are the good and the great of our empire, who 
 will give of their substance to sustain and cher- 
 ish their prince. And whilst the other nations, 
 mighty and strong, shall bow down before him, 
 as the beasts did in the vision, so shall our peo- 
 ple rejoice and sing with exceeding joy, as the 
 birds sang sweetly and pleasantly in thy dream. 
 Such, O king, is the interpretation of the 
 vision." 
 
 Exceeding glad was the emperor at these 
 words, and his joy was the more increased when 
 a son was born unto him, according to the words 
 of the wise men. 
 
 When the king of Ampluy heard of the birth 
 of the prince, he was afraid, remembering the 
 wrong he had done to Anselmus, and foreseeing 
 the vengeance he would experience from the 
 prince when he should come of age and lead 
 the armies of his father. So he turned his mind 
 to peace, and wrote humbly unto the emperor. 
 When Anselmus read the king's letter he re- 
 plied in peaceful terms, and promised him his 
 protection and friendship, if he would give se- 
 curities for his conduct, and acknowledge his 
 sovereignty by a small tribute. 
 
 King Ampluy read the emperor's letter to his 
 council, and prayed their counsel as touching
 
 XLbc £alc of tbc XLbvcc Cashets 69 
 
 the matter. Then said the counsellors: "The 
 emperor's words are good, and to be obeyed. 
 As for the surety that he asks ; is there not to 
 our lord one daughter, a maiden fair and goodly 
 withal, and is there not to the emperor one son, 
 a noble prince ? Contract, therefore, marriage 
 between thy child and his, that there may be a 
 perpetual peace." 
 
 The king obeyed the advice of his counsel- 
 lors ; he wrote their words unto the emperor, 
 who received them gladly, and the marriage 
 contract was signed. 
 
 So the king sent his child by sea to the emper- 
 or's court. The ship was a great ship, with fair 
 masts, and able pilots, glittering with gay pen- 
 nants and costly ornaments, and it bore a 
 goodly company of nobles, knights, and titled 
 dames, with many and rich presents to do honor 
 to the marriage of the maiden and the prince. 
 
 And it came to pass that as they sailed towards 
 Rome, a storm rose, and drove the ship hither 
 and thither over the waves, until she brake 
 against a rock, and sank into the waters. And 
 all they that were in her were drowned, save the 
 daughter of the king, who put her trust in God 
 and was saved. At length the storm abated, 
 and the ship, broken and helpless, rose from 
 beneath the waves and floated. But, lo, a great 
 whale followed after the ship, to swallow up it
 
 70 XLbc Gale of tbc Gbree Caskets 
 
 and the maiden. So the maiden struck a Hght, 
 and lighted a fire, that terrified the whale, which 
 dared not to approach the ship for fear of the 
 fire. At break cf day, she fell asleep, for she 
 was weary of watching ; and as she slept, the 
 fire ceased for want of fuel, and the whale came 
 and devoured the maiden. 
 
 When she awoke, darkness was around her 
 on every side, for she was in the belly of the 
 whale ; but she feared not, but struck with the 
 stone until the fire came, and thrust with a 
 knife into the sides of the whale, that he made 
 towards the shore, for he felt that he was 
 wounded. 
 
 In that country dwelt a noble, a servant of the 
 emperor, who for his recreation walked on the 
 shore the time the whale was making toward? 
 the land. When he saw the monster, he turned 
 homeward, summoned his servants, and return- 
 ing to the shore fought with the whale until it 
 was sore wounded and like to die. And even 
 as they smote the fish, the maiden cried with a 
 loud voice from within the whale : 
 
 "Mercy, gentle friends ; mercy on me, for I 
 am a king's daughter." 
 
 Wondering greatly at these words, the noble 
 hauled the fish ashore, and opening the side of 
 the whale, released the lady from her prison. 
 And when he heard her story, he pitied her
 
 Zhc Cale of tbe tlbrce Cashcts 71 
 
 sore, and took her to his own castle to comfort 
 her until he could convey her to the court of the 
 emperor. 
 
 When Anselmus heard of the maiden's safety, 
 he rejoiced greatly, and came to her, and had 
 compassion on her. 
 
 "Fair maiden," said the emperor, " sorely as 
 thou hast been tried, and great woe as thou hast 
 suffered for the love of my son, still must thou 
 endure another trial ere thou be proclaimed 
 worthy to be his wife ! Let the caskets be 
 brought hither. ' ' 
 
 Then the king's servants brought three cask- 
 ets. The first was of pure gold, richly set about 
 with precious stones ; but within was full of dead 
 men's bones. On this was inscribed : " whoso 
 CHOOSETH ME SHALL FIND WHAT HE DESERV- 
 ETH." The second casket was made of fine 
 silver, filled with earth and worms ; and its in- 
 scription was : "whoso chooseth me shale 
 
 FIND THAT WHICH HIS NATURE DESIRETH." 
 But the last vessel was made of lead, and with- 
 out was dull and useless ; but within were 
 precious stones. On this casket was written : 
 "WHOSO CHOOSETH ME SHALL FIND THAT 
 WHICH GOD HATH DISPOSED FOR HIM." 
 
 Then said the emperor: "Maiden, look on 
 these three vessels, they be rich vessels ; if thou 
 choose that wherein is profit to thee and to
 
 72 Gbe £ale of tbe Zbvcc Gaskets 
 
 others, then thou shalt marry rny son ; but if 
 thou choose that in which is no profit to thee or 
 to others, then in peace return to thy father." 
 
 The king's daughter lifted up her hands to 
 God, and prayed for his grace in the hour of her 
 trial. First she looked upon the golden casket, 
 and as she read the words of its inscription, she 
 said: "Full, precious, and gay, art thou, O 
 casket, but I know not what is within ; there- 
 fore, dear lord, I choose not this." 
 
 Then looked she on the silver casket, and its 
 inscription, "Whoso chooseth me shall find 
 that which his nature desireth." " Alas ! " said 
 the maiden, " I know not what is herein ; but 
 this I know, that I shall therein find that which 
 my nature desireth, even the wickedness of the 
 flesh. Casket of silver, I will have none of 
 thee." 
 
 Lastly she looked on the leaden casket. 
 
 " Poor art thou, O casket, to look upon, and 
 yet thy inscription givcth comfort ; thou prom- 
 isest, ' that which God hath disposed ' ; and God 
 never disposeth any thing harmful ; by his per- 
 mission, I take thee, O casket." 
 
 Then cried the emperor: "Well done, thou 
 fair and good maiden ; open thy casket, for it is 
 full of precious gifts. ' Well hast thou chosen." 
 
 Then appointed he the day of the wedding ; 
 and the maiden and the prince were married
 
 XZhc <3esta IRomanorum 73 
 
 with great solemnity, and with much honor 
 among all the nation lived they until their 
 lives' end. 
 
 "Your title is, I think, perfected," said Herbert. 
 
 "And yet there are those that can put in an earlier 
 claim," said Lathom. 
 
 "An earlier claim; how far back then would you 
 carry it?" 
 
 "Nearly to the eighth century ; one link between the 
 East and the West. Damascenus, the Greek monk, who 
 wrote the spiritual romance of Barlaam and Josaphat, 
 makes the hermit Barlaam, late the king of a brother 
 monarch, who commanded four chests to be made, two 
 covered with gold, and two overlaid with pitch, and 
 bound with common cords. In the former he placed 
 dead men's bones, in the latter jewels, gold, and precious 
 ointments. He then gave his courtiers the choice ; and 
 when they chose the golden coffers, the king said : ' I 
 anticipated your decision, for ye look with the eyes of 
 sense. To discern the good or evil that lies within, we 
 must look with the eyes of the mind.' Then he opened 
 the chests, and showed his courtiers their error." 
 
 " It is that kind of tale that would be most acceptable 
 to all writers," said Herbert. 
 
 " The general use they have made of it, in one form or 
 other, is evidence of its popularity. Boccaccio has dressed 
 it up under the story of The King and Signor Rogiero, 
 and Gower has versified it, filling the unlucky chest with 
 earth, stone, and rubbish, instead of men's bones. To- 
 morrow evening, I will give you some more instances of 
 this kind of conversion of the old monks' stories."
 
 CHAPTER V. 
 
 The Probable Author of the Gesta — Modern Conversions 
 — Parnell and Schiller— The Angel and the Her- 
 mit — The Poet's Improvements — Fulgentius and 
 the Wicked Steward — Irving's Vision in the Mu- 
 seum—The Claims of the Old Writers on the New. 
 
 "r~\N what nation have the antiquaries endeavored 
 to fix the authorship of these tales? " replied Her- 
 bert. 
 
 " Here doctors disagree : Wharton contends for a Poit- 
 evin prior of the Benedictine convent of St. Elo: at Paris : 
 whilst Douce argues for a German origin, because in the 
 moraHzation attached to one tale there is a German 
 proverb, and in another the names of some dogs are 
 partly German, partly Saxon." 
 
 " Might not this arise from the pen of a translator or 
 adapter? " suggested Thompson. 
 
 " More than probably it did. The fact of the scenes in 
 one or two of the tales being laid in England, may tend 
 i0 show that the copy in which they appear was prefaced 
 by a writer of that country: as the introduction of the 
 German proverb would lead us to suppose that the editor 
 of that copy was a German." 
 
 " Is it not probable," said Herbert, " that this book may 
 have been a mere collection of the popular tales of the 
 age in which it was written, confined to no particular 
 country, drawn from every available source ; thus leav- 
 ing to the reputed author, the task of arrangement and 
 transcription, rather than of origination ? "
 
 Zbe Bnciel anO tbc Ibcrmit 
 
 / b 
 
 "It is now useless to endeavor to determine this 
 point : as in the history of fiction it is far more easy to 
 upset prior theories, than to set up new ones," replied 
 Lathom. 
 
 "Whose conversions, as you kindly denominate them, 
 do you propose illustrating this evening?" asked 
 Thompson. 
 
 "Parnell and Schiller," rejoined Lathom, "The Lay of 
 the Hermit, and The Ballad of Fridolin. We will begin 
 with Parnell." 
 
 THE ANGEL AND THE HERMIT. 
 
 FAR in a wild, unknown to public view, in a 
 cell which he had hollowed out with his 
 own hands, on the edge of an open down, from 
 youth to age a reverend hermit grew. The 
 neighboring lord's shepherd was wont to feed 
 his sheep on short but sweet pasture of the her- 
 mit's down. 
 
 One day the poor shepherd, fatigued with 
 watching, fell asleep, and a robber came and 
 stole the lord's flock. When he awoke, he dis- 
 covered the loss, and stoutly maintained that 
 the sheep had been stolen, but the lord would 
 not believe the shepherd, and commanded him 
 to be put to death. 
 
 The hermit saw the deed, and thus communed 
 with himself: 
 
 "Merciful God, seest thou what this man
 
 76 Cbe Bngcl and tbe f>ermtt 
 
 hath done, and how the innocent suffers for the 
 guilty ? Why permittest thou these things ? If 
 injustice is to triumph, why remain I here? 
 Verily I will re-enter the world, and do as other 
 men do." 
 
 Impressed with these thoughts, the hermit 
 left his cell, and wandered back to the world 
 and the abodes of men, and on his way, an 
 angel, sent from God, met him, and being in the 
 form of a traveller, he joined himself to the her- 
 mit, and asked him which way he journeyed. 
 
 "To the city that lieth before us," rejoined 
 the hermit. 
 
 " I will accompany you," replied his com- 
 panion ; "I am an angel sent from God, to 
 be the associate of your wanderings." 
 
 So they walked onwards to the city. When 
 they entered the gates, they sought the house of 
 a soldier, and entreated him, by God's love, to 
 give them harborage during the night. The 
 veteran complied with cheerfulness, and spared 
 not of the best of his substance, for the en- 
 tertainment of the travellers. The hospitable 
 soldier had but one child, an infant in the 
 cradle. And so it bappened, that when supper 
 was ended, the veteran lighted the guests to his 
 best chamber, and the angel and the hermit re- 
 tired to rest. About midnight the hermit awoke, 
 and saw the angel rise from the bed, enter the
 
 Gbe Bngcl an& tbe Ibermft 77 
 
 chamber where the infant slept, and strangle it 
 with his own hands. 
 
 "Surely," said the hermit to himself, "this 
 cannot be an angel of God ; did not the good 
 soldier give us every thing that we required? 
 and now, lo, the only child that he had, is slain 
 by this, his guest." And yet he feared to re- 
 prove his companion. 
 
 With the morning, the hermit and the angel 
 arose, and sought a neighboring city, where 
 they found a hospitable reception in the house 
 of one of its chief persons. This man had a 
 valuable drinking cup of gold, which the angel 
 purloined during the night, but the hermit yet 
 was silent, for he feared more than he doubted. 
 On the morrow the travellers continued their 
 journey, and on their way they came to a river, 
 over which was a bridge thrown. They ascend- 
 ed the bridge, and met, midway, a poor and 
 aged pilgrim. 
 
 " My friend," said the angel to the old man, 
 " show us the way to yonder city." 
 
 As the pilgrim turned him to show the angel 
 the road, he seized him by the shoulders, and 
 cast the old man headlong into the river that 
 ran beneath. 
 
 "Alas, alas!" cried the hermit to himself, 
 "it is the Evil One himself. Why? what evil 
 had the poor man done ? " and yet, with all his
 
 73 tTbe Bncjel an& tbe Ibermft 
 
 thoughts, the hermit feared to give utterance to 
 his fears. 
 
 About the hour of vespers, the travellers 
 reached another city, in which they sought 
 shelter for the night ; but the master of the 
 house refused them rudely. 
 
 "For the love of heaven," said the angel, 
 ' ' spare us of thy house for shelter against the 
 wolves and other wild beasts." 
 
 "That," rejoined the man, "is my pigsty, 
 lie ye there, if it so please ye ; for ye come 
 no other whither. ' ' 
 
 " Necessity," replied the angel, " forces us to 
 accept your ungracious offer. " 
 
 On the morrow, the angel called the host, and 
 said, " Friend, I give you this goblet," present- 
 ing to him the cup he had stolen from his 
 former host. 
 
 "Now," said the hermit, "know I that this 
 is no angel ; doth he not reward evil for good, 
 and good for evil ? No longer will I travel 
 with you ; fare thee well, I commend thee to 
 God." 
 
 " Dear friend, " rejoined the angel, "hear me 
 ere you depart. Whilst thou wert in thy her- 
 mitage, the lord of the flock unjustly slew his 
 careless but innocent servant. For his inno- 
 cence he will be in a fit state to enter another 
 world ; but had he lived, he would have fallen
 
 Zbc Bngel anD tbc Ibcrmtt 79 
 
 into sin, and died before repentance could have 
 followed. Eternal punishment shall follow 
 them who stole the sheep ; but repentance and 
 acts of faith shall repair the error which the 
 owner of the flock committed in his ignorance. 
 Truly the soldier was hospitable, but he loved 
 his son overmuch ; ere then, he was charitable 
 and merciful, but on the birth of his child 
 he grew parsimonious and covetous, that he 
 might leave a fortune to his son. With his 
 child's death hath returned his Christian virtues 
 to his parent. Before that cup was made, which 
 I stole from our host who owned it, there was 
 not a more abstemious person in this world ; but 
 with that cup came the love of indulgence and 
 inebriety. I took away the temptation, and our 
 host is once more abstemious. Again, I cast 
 the poor pilgrim into the river. He whom 
 I drowned was a good Christian ; but had he 
 proceeded further, he would have fallen into 
 mortal sin : now he is saved and is reigning 
 in heaven. Neither did I bestow the cup on 
 the unhospitable citizen without reason : he 
 gave us his swine's house ; he has received his 
 reward — the temptation of gluttony and 
 pleasure. Guard, therefore, thy lips ; detract 
 not from the Almighty ; to him all things are 
 known." 
 
 At these words, the hermit fell at the feet of
 
 80 XLbe <3csta IRomanorum 
 
 the angel, and besought his pardon. It was 
 acceded to him, and he returned to his hermit- 
 age a wiser and a better Christian. 
 
 "Admitting, of course, the identity of the main inci- 
 dents, Parnell must have the credit of heightening those 
 he has used with many masterly touches of poetic color- 
 ing, and of a happier arrangement of circumstances," 
 said Herbert, who had been following the story in the 
 poet's works." 
 
 " Many indeed are the proofs of his genius and address 
 in the treatment of the subject," said fathom. " And no 
 one more striking, than his delaying the discovery of the 
 angelic nature of the visitant until the close of the story; 
 and thus introducing a beautiful description and inter- 
 esting surprise." 
 
 " Read us the part," said Thompson. 
 
 "It is where the angel has just thrown the guide into 
 the river — 
 
 " ' Wild, sparkling rage inflames the hermit's eyes, 
 He bursts the bands of fear, and madly cries, 
 Detested wretch — but scarce his speech began, 
 When the strange partner seem'd no longer man. 
 His youthful face grew more serenely sweet ; 
 His robe turn'd white, and flow'd upon his feet; 
 Fair rounds of radiant points invest his hair ; 
 Celestial odors breathe thro' purple air ; 
 And wings, whose colors glitter'd on the day, 
 Wide at his back their gradual plumes display. 
 The form ethereal bursts upon his sight, 
 And moves in all the majesty of light.' " 
 
 "Do you suppose that the Gesta was known to the 
 poet? " asked Frederick Thompson. 
 
 " Hardly— he is far more likely to have taken the inci- 
 dents of his poem from the Divine Dialogues of the 
 Platonist Moore; who affixes to his version of the tale 
 some reflections well worth reading. ' The affairs of this
 
 jfulgenttus anD tbc *CCUcfceO StewarD Si 
 
 world," says the old Platonist, ' are like a curious but in- 
 tricately contrived comedy ; and we cannot judge of the 
 tendency of what is past— or acting at present, before 
 the entrance of the last act, which shall bring in right- 
 eousness in triumph ; who though she hath abided many 
 a brunt, and has been very cruelly and despitefully used 
 in the world, yet at last, according to our desires, we 
 shall see the knight overcome the giant.' . . . But 
 impatiently to call for vengeance upon every enormity 
 before that time, is rudely to overturn the stage before 
 the entrance of the fifth act, out of ignorance of the plot 
 of the comedy ; and to prevent the solemnity of the 
 general judgment, by more paltry and particular execu- 
 tions." 
 
 " Thanks for the old Platonist's remarks," said Her- 
 bert. " I could have wished them more elaborate, were 
 not Schiller's Fridolin waiting for the conclusion of 
 them, to come upon our stage." 
 
 " I will give you, then, one form of Schiller's ballad." 
 
 FULGENTIUS AND THE WICKED STEWARD. 
 
 WHEN Martin was emperor of Rome, his 
 uncle Malitius was steward of his house- 
 hold, aud his nephew Fulgentius, his only sis- 
 ter's son, an orphan, was his constant attendant, 
 his cup-bearer at meals, and his page of his 
 chamber. For Martin loved his nephew, and 
 was kind to him ; and regarded him as his own 
 child, for he was not a father. Malitius hated 
 this Fulgentius ; seeing that if he should succeed
 
 32 ff ulgcntius anD tbe "CaichcO Steward 
 
 to the kingdom, his own son -would lose that 
 crown which he had so long regarded as his by 
 right of inheritance. Day ?nd night he thought 
 how he might cause Martin to discard Ful- 
 gentius. 
 
 " My lord," said he with a face of assumed 
 distress, one day to the emperor, "it is with 
 great pain, my lord, that I speak unto you, but 
 in that I am thy true servant, it is my duty to 
 warn my sovereign of any thing that lessens his 
 honor and repute." 
 
 " Speak on," said the emperor. 
 
 "Will my lord," rejoined the steward with 
 apparent anxiety, " keep what I shall tell him 
 a secret between him and me ? " 
 
 " If thou wishest it, Malitius," said the em- 
 peror. 
 
 "Oh, my dear lord, how ungrateful is the 
 world," began the steward. 
 
 "Well, well, that is as it may be," rejoined 
 the emperor; "but to your secret, the sun is 
 rising high in the heavens, and my horses wait 
 me." 
 
 "Your nephew, Fulgentius — " 
 
 "Ha ! " said Martin, " Fulgentius ; what of 
 him?" 
 
 " I grieve to say, my lord, he most ungrate- 
 fully defames you among his companions, speak- 
 ing ill of your habits, and especially of your
 
 jfulgentiua an& tbe ICUcftefc Steward 83 
 
 breath, and saying that it is death to him to 
 serve you." 
 
 " If I could but prove this," muttered the em- 
 peror. 
 
 " Remark him, my lord, when he next serves 
 you with the cup, and if he turns away his head 
 when he gives you the goblet, be sure that he 
 so accuses, and thus endeavors to make the by- 
 standers believe that his accusation is true." 
 
 " It is well," replied the emperor ; " go, good 
 Malitius, we will remember your advice." 
 
 Then went the steward unto Fulgentius, and 
 spoke kindly to him, and professed, as a friend 
 and a near relative, to warn him how nearly he 
 was about to lose the good wishes of Martin, and 
 perhaps forfeit his succession to the throne. 
 
 " Fulgentius, my dear relative," said he with 
 a fawning smile, ' ' thy breath is sadly displeas- 
 ing to the emperor, and he talks of removing 
 you from near attendance on his person." 
 
 " Oh ! good sir," replied the youth, " can this 
 be true? " 
 
 " Alas ! I fear it is so. I have experienced it 
 myself ; but be sure it is merely temporary ill 
 health, it will soon pass off. ' ' 
 
 " And before then I shall have lost my uncle's 
 good opinion. What shall I do, Malitius ? " 
 
 "There is but one thing," replied the steward ; 
 " when you hand the cup to the emperor, turn
 
 S4 ffulflcnttua anfc tbe TKMcfceD Steward 
 
 away your head from him ; then will he not be 
 incommoded by your breath, and will see that 
 you do your best to please him." 
 
 "Thanks, good Malitius. Your advice has 
 made me feel happy." 
 
 'Thy happiness be thy ruin," muttered Ma- 
 litius to himself as he turned away. 
 
 That day Fulgentius attended on his uncle at 
 dinner ; and as he handed to him the cup he 
 held it far off, and turned away his face, lest he 
 should distress the emperor. 
 
 " Wretch ! " cried the emperor, at the same 
 time striking Fulgentius on the breast; "now 
 know I that it is true what I have heard of thee ; 
 go, go from my sight, thou varlet, I thought to 
 have made thee a king ; but now see my face 
 no mere." 
 
 Sorely wept Fulgentius as he passed from the 
 hall, amid the jeers and scoffs of his former 
 companions ; for he was now disgraced, and 
 they cared not for him. 
 
 "Malitius," said the emperor, "let thy son 
 supply the place of this ingrate. Come, my 
 good lord, counsel me how I may rid myself of 
 this varlet, that disgraces me before the world." 
 
 " Sire, this would I propose ; some miles from 
 this city your workmen burn lime in a vast 
 forge in the forest ; send to them this night, and 
 bid tbem cast into their furnace whoever first
 
 3f ulgentfus an& tbc TIElicfccD Steward 85 
 
 comes to them to-morrow morning, and asks of 
 them ' Have you performed the emperor's will ? ' 
 Call also Fulgentius to thee, and bid him early 
 on the morrow go to the lime-burners, and ask 
 them whether they have fulfilled your com- 
 mands ; then will they cast him into the fire, 
 and his evil words will perish with him." 
 
 And the emperor did so. He bade Fulgentius 
 be at the kilns before sunrise ; and that night 
 sent a horseman to the lime-burners, bidding 
 them burn the first man that on the morrow 
 should inquire of them whether they had per- 
 formed the emperor's will. 
 
 Long before sunrise Fulgentius rose from his 
 sleepless couch, and hastened to perform his 
 uncle's commands, hoping by this means to re- 
 gain the good-will of the emperor. As he went 
 on his way with a heavy heart, and drew near 
 to the wood within the depths of which the 
 lime-burners dwelt, the sound of the matin bell 
 of a neighboring chapel arrested his steps. The 
 tones of the bell seemed to bring peace to his 
 troubled mind, and he turned from the path 
 towards the way-side chapel, and offered up his 
 prayers and thanksgivings to his God. But as 
 the service was ending, the fatigue he had un- 
 dergone disposed him to rest himself ; so he sat 
 himself down in the porch of the chapel and fell 
 asleep.
 
 86 jf uicicntfus anD tbe TIGifckefc Steward 
 
 — — — — _ — , — __ ***. 
 
 ' ' Poor child, " said the good priest as he passed 
 through the porch, "thou lookest wearied and 
 careworn ; sleep on, no one shall disturb thee." 
 When he awoke the sun was going down in the 
 heaven. 
 
 Malitius was as sleepless during the night as 
 the poor youth, and his anxiety drove him early 
 from his bed, and suffered him not to be at peace 
 all the day. Now when it was noon the steward 
 could no longer remain in the palace, but he 
 hastened to the lime-kilns, and demanded of the 
 lime-burners " whether they had performed the 
 emperor's will." 
 
 "Not yet," cried they, with hoarse voices, 
 but no fear, master ; it shall be done forthwith." 
 
 With these words, the men seized Malitius, 
 and hurried with him in their arms to the 
 mouth of the kiln. 
 
 " Mercy, mercy, good sirs," cried the steward, 
 " it is Fulgentius you should burn ; not me." 
 
 " Ha ! ha ! " laughed the lime-burners ; "we 
 know neither thee nor Fulgentius ; thou art 
 the first man that has come here this day and 
 asked us : ' Whether we have done the emper- 
 or's will ' ; so peace, man, peace. Ha ! ha ! his 
 will is done." 
 
 So Malitius died in the fire. 
 
 It was past noon when Fulgentius awoke, and 
 the sun was going down in its course.
 
 tfulgenttus and tbe TmUcfcefc Steward S7 
 
 "Alas! alas!" he said, " I have delayed to 
 perform my lord's will." 
 
 And he hastened through the wood, and came 
 to the lime-kilns. 
 
 " What wantest thou, boy?" asked the chief 
 of the lime-burners. 
 
 "Tell me, tell me, sirs," asked Fulgentius, 
 anxiously, ' ' hast thou performed the command 
 of the emperor ? " 
 
 " Ay, my lad, right well ; come, look into the 
 furnace — and see, his bones yet burn." 
 
 " His bones ; whose bones, sirs? " asked Ful- 
 gentius, aghast with fear. 
 
 Then they told him all that had been com- 
 manded them, and how Malitius coming first to 
 the lirne-kilns had been cast into the fire and 
 burnt 
 
 " Thanks be to God," said the youth, devout- 
 ly kneeling, " who hath saved me from this ter- 
 rible death." With these words he bade the 
 burners farewell, and returned to his uncle's 
 palace. 
 
 "Ha!" said the emperor, when Fulgentius 
 bowed himself before his uncle's throne, " thou 
 here, sir varlet ; hast thou not been to my lime- 
 burners ? " 
 
 " Verily, my lord, I have been there and per- 
 formed thy commandment ; but before I came 
 your will had been performed "
 
 88 Gbe Oesta iRomanorum 
 
 "Performed," rejoined the emperor, "how 
 performed ? Malitius ; is he not here ? " 
 
 " No, my lord, he is burnt in the lime-kiln," 
 replied the youth ; " he came first to the kiln, 
 and the burners obeyed your commands, and he 
 is dead, and I have escaped. But, O my dear 
 uncle, how couldst thou contrive such a death 
 for thy poor nephew ? " and he wept bitterly. 
 
 Then did they each declare to the other the 
 deceits of the wicKed steward ; and the emperor 
 raised up the youth, and acknowledged him be- 
 fore all his people as his very true and good 
 nephew, his heir and successor to the throne ; 
 rendering thanks to God who had preserved the 
 uncle from so deadly a sin against his relative, 
 and the nephew from so horrible a death. 
 
 " The German poet has been equally successful in his 
 amendments with Parnell," said Herbert. 
 
 " In none more so," said Thompson, " than in substi- 
 tuting in the place of the unpleasant bodily affection, the 
 more courtly failing of jealousy excited in the mind of 
 the knight by the malice of the huntsman Robert." 
 
 " Was it then from this old book, or from some similar 
 tradition of his own country, that Schiller obtained his 
 incidents?" asked Herbert. 
 
 " It is impossible to determine ; it is said that Schiller 
 learnt his plot from an Alsatian legend that he heard at 
 Manheim ; and yet the similarity of the incident renders 
 it more than probable that the poet was acquainted with 
 this form of the tale. The story as it appears in the 
 monks' books, and the tradition of Alsatia, most proba-
 
 Zhc ©esta iRomanorum 89 
 
 bly started froin the same original, which, being imme- 
 diately written down by the monk, we now have in its 
 original form. The tradition went on from mouth to 
 mouth, and became gradually varied to suit the popular 
 feeling's. ' ' 
 
 " Your instances of conversion, Lathom," said Thomp- 
 son, " remind me of Washington Irving's vision in the 
 library of the British Museum, when all the old writers 
 leapt down from their shelves and despoiled the moderns 
 of the patchwork garments, made of the shreds of count- 
 less writers, and left them plucked of their borrowed 
 plumes." 
 
 " Nay," replied Lathom, " rather of those few who had 
 borrowed gems from the writers of old, and by new set- 
 ting and repolishing so improved their original lustre 
 that the former owner was eager to tender his thanks 
 to his modern adapter, who had renewed his long-lost 
 glories." 
 
 " I am afraid your old monks would have had as many 
 to pluck of their borrowed plumes as to compliment on 
 their ingenuity as working jewellers," said Thompson. 
 
 "The process of recovery would be curious in some 
 cases," said Herbert : "the modern adapter would have 
 to settle with Lydgate or Gower ; the old poet would re- 
 sign his title to the middle-age monk or chronicler ; and 
 he perhaps be finally stripped of h is gem by some Eastern 
 fabler." 
 
 " Be sure that Shakspeare, Parnell, and Schiller would 
 meet with more thanks than reproaches," was Lathom's 
 reply, as he closed his book for that evening.
 
 ^Jp^gs 
 
 <J? 
 
 CHAPTER VI. 
 
 Curiosities of the Gesta— The Wicked Priest— The 
 Qualities of the Dog— The Emperor's Daughter 
 — Curious Application — The Emperor Eeo and the 
 Three Images— An Enigma. 
 
 THE use Shakespeare has made of your monks' tales 
 would seem to augur a certain popularity of the 
 work in the days in which he wrote," said Herbert, when 
 the friends met on their sixth evening. 
 
 "A greater popularity than will now be credited: in 
 the reign of Elizabeth and her successor, the Gesta 
 Komanorum seems to have been sufficiently well known 
 to admit of a frequent reference to it on the stage," re- 
 plied I Y athom. 
 
 " Allusions to the work, not incidents from it ? " asked 
 Herbert. 
 
 "Yes, in the anonymous comedy of Sir Giles' Goose 
 Cap, published early in James' reign, one of the char- 
 acters speaks of the 'quips and quick jests of his lordship 
 as so good that Gesta Romanorum were nothing to 
 them'; whilst Chapman in his 'May-Day,' which dates 
 in 1611, says, 'one that has read Marcus Aurelius, Gesta 
 Romanorum, and the Mirror of Magistrates, to be led by 
 the nose like a blind bear that has read nothing ! ' " 
 
 " The slightest knowledge of the accomplishments of 
 the Tudor and early Stuart times compels us to admit
 
 Zbe WicfccO priest g* 
 
 the extensive acquaintance with Latin writers possessed 
 by classes to whom now they seem so little fitted," re- 
 marked Herbert. 
 
 " An acquaintance arising in all probability from the 
 absence of a native literature, as well as from the position 
 held by the Latin language in that age ; the French of 
 ihe present generation," rejoined Thompson. 
 
 " Whose conversions have we to-night ? " asked 
 Herbert. 
 
 " Not any : not that my catalogue is run out, but partly 
 because I have not been able to keep up with the speed 
 of our reading ; and partly because I wished to illustrate 
 the moralizations attached to the tales, which we have 
 lately rather lost sight of." 
 
 " What peculiar doctrine are you intending to illus- 
 trate ? " asked Herbert. 
 
 " The 26th article of our Church, that the effect of the 
 ordinance is not taken away, uor the grace of God's gifts 
 diminished by the ministration of evil men ; it is the 
 story of 
 
 "THE WICKED PRIEST." 
 
 IN the reign of Otho there was a certain 
 wicked priest who created much dissatis- 
 faction among his parishioners ; and many were 
 extremely scandalized. One of them, in par- 
 ticular, always absented himself from the mass 
 when it was the turn of this priest to celebrate 
 it. Now it happened on a festival day, during 
 the time of mass, that as this person was walk- 
 ing aloue through a meadow, a sudden thirst 
 came upon him, insomuch that he was per-
 
 92 Zbc IWfcfccfc lpricst 
 
 suaded, unless present relief could be obtained, 
 he should die. 
 
 In this extremity continuing his walk, he dis- 
 covered a rivulet of the purest water, of which 
 he copiously drank ; but the more he drank the 
 more violent became his thirst. Surprised at 
 so unusual a circumstance, he said to himself : 
 
 " I will find out the source of this rivulet, and 
 there will I satisfy my thirst." 
 
 With these thoughts he went up the stream. 
 And as he went a venerable old man met and 
 asked him whither he was going. 
 
 "Father," he replied, "I am oppressed with 
 an unquenchable thirst, and even now I drank 
 of this rivulet ; and lo, the more I drink, so 
 much the more I thirst ; and I now seek its 
 source, if, perchance, I may there quench my 
 thirst, and not die." 
 
 The old man pointed with his finger : 
 "There," said he, "is the spring-head of the 
 rivulet. But tell me, my honest friend, why are 
 you not at church, and, with other good Chris- 
 tians, hearing mass ? " 
 
 "Truly, master," answered the man, "our 
 priest leads such an execrable life that I think 
 it utterly impossible that he should celebrate it 
 so as to please God." 
 
 " Suppose what you say is true," replied the 
 old man ; " observe this fountain, from which
 
 Ebe Wtcfcefc priest 
 
 so much excellent water issues, and from which 
 you have so lately drunk." 
 
 He looked in the direction pointed out, and 
 beheld a putrid dog, with its mouth wide open, 
 and its teeth black and decayed, through which 
 the whole fountain gushed in a surprising man- 
 ner. The man regarded the stream with terror 
 and confusion of mind, ardently desirous of 
 quenching his thirst, but apprehensive of poison 
 from the fetid and loathsome carcass, with 
 which, to all appearance, the water was imbued. 
 
 " Be not afraid," said the old man, observing 
 his repugnance, "thou hast already drank of 
 the rivulet, drink again ; it will not harm thee." 
 
 Encouraged by these assurances, and impelled 
 by the intensity of his thirst, he partook of it 
 once more, and instantly recovered from the 
 drought. 
 
 "Master, dear master," exclaimed the man, 
 " never man drank of such delicious water." 
 
 "See now," the old man answered, "as this 
 water, gushing through the mouth of a putrid 
 dog, is neither polluted, nor loses aught of its 
 natural taste or color, so is the celebration of 
 the mass by a worthless minister ; and, there- 
 fore, though the vices of such men may dis- 
 please and disgust, yet should you not forsake 
 the duties of which they are the appointed or- 
 gan."
 
 94 £bc (3esta TRomanorum 
 
 Saying these words, the old man disappeared ; 
 and what the other had seen he communicated 
 to his neighbors, and ever after punctually at- 
 tended mass. He brought this unstable and 
 transitory life to a good end, and passed from 
 that which is corruptible to inherit incorruption. 
 
 "There is but one fiction," said Herbert, "in this le- 
 gend which requires further explanation ; why the 
 stream of the fountain of life is made to flow through 
 the rank, jaws of a putrid dog rather than that of any 
 other animal." 
 
 " The incident is intentional," rejoined I,athom ; " an 
 old couplet ascribes to the dog four special qualities : a 
 healing tongue, a distinguishing sense of smell, a per- 
 fect love, and unremitting watchfulness." 
 
 " You allude to the lines — 
 
 " ' In cane bis bina sunt, et lingua medicina, 
 
 Naris odoratus, amor integer, atque latratus,' " 
 
 said Thompson. 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Lathom, " these four qualities, say the 
 old writers, ought to be diligently cultivated by a priest. 
 By his tongue he should heal the sick at heart, and probe 
 the wounds of sin, careful not to heal with roughness 
 the soul's wounds, but to lick them as thedogdoes those 
 of the body. His keenness of perception should be able 
 to distinguish the true confession from the false one ; to 
 see what is due to cunniugness, what to internal strug- 
 gles, what to reckless contempt of consequences. He, 
 too, should have as unshaken a love for the Church and 
 the faith as the dog for its master or its charge ; ready to 
 lay down his life for his flock. As the watch-dog of the 
 great King, his warning voice must be raised against 
 enemies from without, preventing, by his diligence in
 
 XLbc Bmperor's Daughter 95 
 
 his calling, the machinations of the world and its master 
 against the soul." 
 
 "The mass is a slight anachronism in the reign of 
 Otho,'' said Herbert. 
 
 " You must not mind such trifles. Otho has as little to 
 do with the wicked priest, as Pompey, whether the great 
 or an unknown namesake of his, with the incidents of 
 the story of 
 
 " THE EMPEROR'S DAUGHTER." 
 
 MANY centuries ago there reigned a great 
 and good emperor, whose name was 
 Pompey. He had an only daughter, of remark- 
 able beauty, whom he loved so dearly, that day 
 and night he ordered five of his most valiant 
 knights to watch over her ; and on pain of 
 their lives to guard her from harm. Day 
 and night did these brave men keep watch and 
 ward over the lady's chamber. A lamp burned 
 above the door, that the approach of an enemy 
 might be more readily detected ; and a faithful 
 mastiff lay on the threshold, whose watchfulness 
 was as unremitting as his bark was loud and 
 shrill. But all these precautions were fruitless. 
 The princess loved the world and its pleasures ; 
 and sighed to mingle in its busy scenes, and 
 gaze upon its gorgeous pageants. One day as 
 she looked from her window a certain duke rode 
 by, and he looked upon her beauty, and loved 
 her with a false love.
 
 96 Zbc JEmperor's Daughter 
 
 Day after day did the duke endeavor to with- 
 draw the princess from her guardians, and 
 numerous were the devices by which he sought 
 to accomplish his designs upon her and her 
 father's throne. At length by the promise of 
 unbounded pleasure, the duke persuaded the 
 princess to overturn the lamp that burned at 
 her chamber door, and to poison the dog that 
 lay at her threshold. 
 
 That same night, when the lamp was quenched, 
 and the mastiff silenced, the duke stole upon 
 the guard and bore away with him the maiden. 
 
 On the morrow, great was the confusion at 
 the emperor's court. Men rode hither and 
 thither in pursuit of the fugitives, for no one 
 knew which way they had fled. One knight 
 alone hit upon their track ; a great and terrible 
 knight he was, the emperor's champion ; and 
 he came upon them and slew the duke, and 
 brought the maiden back to her father. 
 
 Very wroth was the emperor with his daugh- 
 ter, and he left her to bewail her sins in soli- 
 tude. Time and reflection brought repentance, 
 and the princess bewailed her sins bitterly. 
 
 Now there was a good old man at Pompey's 
 court, who was ever ready to intercede with the 
 emperor on behalf of penitent offenders, and to 
 -.hose words Pompey listened willingly. This 
 I jrd came to the emperor and told him of his
 
 XLbc Bmperor's Daughter 97 
 
 daughter's repentance ; and his words were 
 pleasant to the emperor, so that the father was 
 reconciled to his child, and she was betrothed 
 by him to a nobleman of worth and power. 
 
 Many and precious were the bridal gifts the 
 princess received. 
 
 The good old lord gave her a robe of the 
 finest and richest wool, on which was worked 
 this moral : "I have raised thee up, beware 
 how thou fall again." He gave her also a ring, 
 of which the legend was : " What have I done? 
 How much? Why?" 
 
 From her father she received a golden coro- 
 net, on which was engraved : " Thy dignity is 
 from me." 
 
 From the king's champion, who rescued her 
 from her seducer, she received a ring, and the 
 legend was : " I have loved thee, do thou return 
 my love." 
 
 The king's son gave her a ring, and on it was 
 written : "Thou art noble, despise not thy no- 
 bility." Whilst on that which her brother pre- 
 sented to her was engraved: "Approach, fear 
 not, I am thy brother." 
 
 The last gift was from her husband, a golden 
 signet that confirmed her inheritance, and 
 which bore this motto : " Now thou art 
 espoused, be faithful." 
 
 The princess received these gifts with grati-
 
 98 £be Gesta lRomanorum 
 
 tude, and parted not with them but with her 
 life. 
 
 " The meanings of some of these presents are clearly 
 too recondite to be guessed at," remarked Herbert on 
 the conclusion of the tale. 
 
 " You will say so, when we read them. But first of the 
 actors in the tale," rejoined Lathom, "the emperor is 
 our Heavenly Fatltcr, and his daughter, the human soul 
 which he delivers to the five senses, armed by the powers 
 of baptism, to guard from injury. The burning lamp is 
 the ■will, shining brilliantly in good works and dispelling 
 the gloom of sin. The watchful dog is conscience ; as 
 often as the soul breaks any of the commands of God, it 
 may be said to look abroad on the world and its dangers. 
 Then comes the devil, the great seducer, whose triumph 
 over the soul is easy, when the lamp of the will is ex- 
 tinguished, and the barking of conscience is silenced. 
 Then God arises as our champion, and fights for us 
 against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and leads 
 back the sinning soul to the palace of the heavenly king. 
 The sage Lord, the Mediator, is our Saviour : ' for he L 
 our peace, who hath made both one.' " 
 
 " This is tolerably clear and probable," said Thompson. 
 
 " The marriage presents will compensate for it. From 
 him, continues the moral, we received the aforesaid 
 gifts : first a cloak descending to the ankle, that is, his 
 most precious skin ; and said to be of delicate texture, 
 because it was woven with stripes, blood, bruises, and 
 Other various instances of malice ; of which texture 
 nothing more is meant than this : ' I have raised thee up, 
 because I have redeemed thee ; do not throw thyself into 
 further evil.' That same Christ, our king, gave to us a 
 glorious crown, that is, when he submitted to be crowned 
 for our sakes. And of a truth, ' thy dignity is from me,' 
 even from that crown. Christ is our champion, who
 
 JEmperor Xeo and tbe Gbree Umages 99 
 
 gave us a sign — that is, the hole in his right hand ; and 
 we ourselves can see how faithfully it is written : ' I have 
 loved thee, do thou also love.' He gave us another ring, 
 which is the puncture in his left hand, where we see 
 written : ' What have I done ? How much ? "Why ? ' 
 ' What have I done ? ' I have despoiled myself, receiving 
 the form of a servant. ' How much ? ' I have made God 
 and man. ' Why ? ' To redeem the lost. Concerning 
 these three, Zechariah xiii., ' What are the wounds in the 
 middle of thy hands ? ' and he answered, saying : ' I am 
 wounded by these men in their house, who loved me.' 
 Christ is our brother, and son of the Eternal King. He 
 gave us a third ring,— to wit, the hole in his right foot ; 
 and what can be understood by it, but, ' Thou art noble, 
 despise not thy nobility ? ' In like manner, Christ is our 
 brother-germ an. And he gave us a fourth ring, the 
 puncture in his left foot, on which is written, ' Approach, 
 fear not, I am thy brother.' Christ is also our spouse ; 
 he gave us a signet, with which he confirmed our 
 inheritance : that is, the wound made in his side by the 
 spear, on account of the great love with which he loved 
 us. And what can this signify, but, ' Thou art joined to 
 me through mercy. Sin no more.' " 
 
 " You have established the character of the Gesta for 
 recondite moralization," said Thompson, " will you give 
 us a tale rather more intelligible ? " 
 
 "Willingly," rejoined Lathorn , "you shall have the 
 tale that Gower has versified. ' ' 
 
 the; emperor LEO AND the three images. 
 
 A CERTAIN Roman etnperor, L,eo, was so 
 fond of looking upon a pretty face, that 
 he made three fair female images, and placed 
 them in a temple, that all his subjects might
 
 ioo Bmperor Xeo anfc tbc Zbtcc "Images 
 
 look on them and worship. One statue stood 
 with its hand extended towards the worshippers, 
 and bore on its finger a golden ring, on which 
 was the legend, " My finger is generous." The 
 second figure had a beard of beaten gold, and on 
 its brow was written : " I have a beard ; if any 
 one be beardless, let him come to me, and I 
 will give him one." The third figure had a 
 cloak of gold and a purple tunic, and on its 
 breast was written, " I fear no one." With so 
 many temptations came a law, that whosoever 
 stole either the ring, the beard, or the cloak, 
 should surely die. A thief was soon found. 
 According to the poet : 
 
 " There was a clerk, one I<ucius, 
 A comely, famous man ; 
 Of every wit some what he can, 
 Out-take that him lacketh rule, 
 His own estate to guide and rule — " 
 
 So he took to riotous living, "and was not wise 
 in his doing" ; ergo — 
 
 " After the need of his desert, 
 So fell this clerke in poverte." 
 
 The thief, whether poor man or ruined clerk, 
 removed the treasures, was seen by the people, 
 and brought before the emperor, on the charge 
 of breaking the royal edict.
 
 jEmpcror %co an& tbc cbrcc ffmages 101 
 
 But the thief said : "Good my lord — suffer 
 me to speak." 
 
 And the emperor said, " Speak on." 
 Then said the man : " Lo, as I entered the 
 temple of the three images, the first image 
 extended to me its finger, as though it would 
 say, ' Take this ring ' ; but yet I doubted of its 
 wishes, until I read the superscription, ' My 
 finger is generous ' ; then knew I that it was the 
 pleasure of the statue to give the ring, and 
 I obeyed and took it. Then came I to the 
 image with the beard of gold. Methinks the 
 maker of this had no beard ; shall the creature 
 be better than the creator ? that were a plain 
 and manifest wrong. But still I was modest, 
 and hesitated, until the words of the inscription, 
 ' Let him that is beardless come to me, and I will 
 give him one,' forbade me to refuse to supply my 
 own wants by the statue's gift. As for the 
 golden cloak, it was in pure charity that I took 
 it away. Stone is cold, and metal is cold ; the 
 image is of the former, the cloak of the latter. 
 In winter it was adding cold to cold, in summer 
 it was too heavy and warm for the season. Still 
 should I have forborne to rob the statue of its 
 cloak, had I not seen the words, ' I fear no one.' 
 Such intolerable arrogance, in a woman too, was 
 to be punished. I took the cloak to humble the 
 statue's pride. ' ' But all these excuses were useless.
 
 io2 £be <3csta TRomanorum 
 
 " Fair sir," replied Leo, " do you not know 
 the law, that he who robs the statues shall die ? 
 — let the law be obeyed" ; and it was as the 
 emperor said. 
 
 "Your tale reminds me strongly of the witticisms by 
 which the elder Dionysius justified his theft of the golden 
 cloak of Jupiter and the beard of ^sculapius," said 
 Herbert. 
 
 " What, when he exchanged the cold gold garment for 
 the warm woollen robe, and took off the beard of the son 
 of the beardless?" remarked Thompson; "but let us 
 hear the moral." 
 
 "Themoril of this tale," said Lathom, "is the least 
 strained, and perhaps the best of all the applications 
 attached to the legends. The emperor is God. The three 
 images the three sorts of mankind in whom God takes 
 delight. The first image, with its extended hand and 
 proffered gift, is no bad symbol of the poor and simple of 
 this world, who prevail littk among the great and power- 
 ful unless their gift is ready in the extended hand." 
 
 " Why fleecest thou t"ri poor ? ' ' asks conscience. ' ' May 
 I not receive the proffered gift when freely offered?" 
 replies the wicked man. " Did I not take it, men would 
 laugh at me — to curb thc : - tongues I take." 
 
 " A bitter and too often true lesson in ali times and all 
 nations," remarked Herbert. " We seldom want for a 
 good excuse." 
 
 " The second imar s," continued fathom, " is the sym- 
 bol of those who are raised to wealth by God's especial 
 blessing, and from whom the wicked seek to take away 
 their property by every pretext. ' We are bald,' cry they ; 
 'we are poor; let us divide this man's riches among 
 us.' " 
 
 "There were chartists in those days as well as now;
 
 Zbc (Sesta TRomanorum 103 
 
 levelling comes natural to some minds," said Thompson. 
 "But to the third figure." 
 
 " The image with the golden cloak, ' ' continued L,athom, 
 "represents the good man in power and authority, who 
 fears not the evil man, encourages virtue, and eradicates 
 vice. ' He is proud ; he is a tyrant,' cry the people ; ' we 
 will not have this man to reign over us.' But, says the 
 old monk, ' The end of these men is according to the 
 law of the I,ord, for they perish miserably.' " 
 
 " The old priest's moral has so well satisfied me, that I 
 am sorry that our evening is come to a close," said 
 Herbert. 
 
 "Well — it must be so; but come," replied Lathom, 
 "you shall have an enigma to discover. An emperor 
 found a sarcophagus on which were three circles with 
 these words : ' I have expended — I have given — / have kept 
 — / have possessed — I do possess — I have lost — I am punished. ' 
 Whilst on the front of the chest was written: ' IVhat I 
 have expended I have ; what I gave away I have.' Read 
 me this inscription." 
 
 " Read it, read it," remarked Thompson, with a smile; 
 " ' it is very easy to say, Read it, read it,' as Liston used to 
 say ; ' but do it, do it ' — that is a different matter. Well ! 
 it is a good night-cap at the worst."
 
 CHAPTER VII. 
 
 Curiosities of the Gesta— Byrkes' Epitaph — The Lay of 
 the Little Bird — Of the Burdens of this Life — 
 Ancient Fairs — Winchester — Modern Continental 
 Fairs — Russia — Nischnei-Novgorod. 
 
 " \A/E confess ourselves conquered," said Herbert, 
 when the next evening was come; "your old 
 monk's learning is too recondite for us. " 
 
 "First, then, conies 'I have expended' : what? — my 
 life — in j udgment, in advice, in authority. ' I have given ' 
 — equipments to my servants an' 1 warriors, charity to the 
 needy. ' I have kept '—exact jusLlce. ' I have possessed ' 
 — a generous and true heart. ' I do possess ' — a hand to 
 bestow, to protect, to punish. ' I have lost ' — my folly, 
 the friendship of my foes, the desires of the flesh. ' lam 
 punished ' — for my sins." 
 
 " So far, so good ; but the most abstruse remains unex- 
 plained," said Thompson ; "on the front of the sarcoph- 
 agus was written : ' What I have expended, I have ; what 
 I gave away, I have.' How do you read these sayings ? " 
 
 "lam afraid I cannot help you," rejoined Lathom ; 
 " the story seems to be defective at this point, and we 
 must fall back on the suggestions of the translator, of 
 whom I have spoken before. Mr. Swan refers the 
 words ' What I have expended, I have ' to a judicious out- 
 lay of property, by which various benefits are reaped by 
 the expender in the persons of his descendants ; whilst
 
 Cbe <3esta IRomanorum 105 
 
 the other -words, 'What I have given away, I have,' he 
 explains of the thanks of the poor and the blessings of 
 heaven consequent on charitable gifts." 
 
 " Your story reminds me of the old epitaph in Don- 
 caster Church," said Herbert, "which Gough gives in 
 these words : 
 
 " ' Howe, howe, who is heare? 
 
 I, Robert of Doncaster, and Margaret my feare (wife), 
 
 That I spent, that I had ; 
 
 That I gave, that I have ; 
 
 That I left, that I lost : 
 
 a.d. 1579. 
 
 Quoth Robertus Byrkes, 
 
 Who in this worlde 
 
 Did reygne three 
 
 Score yeares and seven 
 
 And yet lived not one ? ' " 
 
 " The three centre lines of his epitaph, indeed, bear a 
 curious likeness to some of the inscriptions on the sar- 
 cophagus ; perhaps the wise man who composed the epi- 
 taph may have seen your old monk's book, or heard its 
 moralities in many an old pulpit exhortation in his early 
 days," said Thompson. 
 
 " Coincidences are oftentimes just as remarkable as 
 plagiarisms," said Herbert. " But come, Sir Tale-teller, 
 What entertainment have you for us this evening? " 
 
 " A little poetry, not of my own, but so closely resem- 
 bling the old tale of the Gesta, that I prefer this poetic 
 version, of The Lay of the Little Bird, to my own stiff 
 prose." 
 
 the lay of the little bird. 
 
 "IN days of yore, at least a century since, 
 
 1 There liv'd a carle as wealthy as a prince : 
 His name I wot not, but his wide domain 
 Was rich with stream and forest, mead and plain ;
 
 io6 Ubc Xa*> of tbe Xittle JBirD 
 
 To crown the whole, one manor he possess'd 
 
 In choice delight so passing all the rest, 
 
 No castle, burgh, or city might compare 
 
 With the quaint beauties of that mansion rare. 
 
 The sooth to say, I fear my words may seem 
 
 Like some strange fabling, or fantastic dream, 
 
 If, unadvis'd, the portraiture I trace, 
 
 And each brave pleasure of that peerless place. 
 
 Foreknow ye, then, by necromantic might 
 
 Was rais'd this paradise of all delight : 
 
 A good knight own'd it first; he, bow'd with 
 
 age, 
 Died, and his son possess'd the heritage : 
 But the lewd stripling, all to riot bent 
 (His chatties quickly wasted and forespent), 
 Was driven to see this patrimony sold 
 To the base carle of whom I lately told. 
 Ye wot right well there only need be sought 
 One spendthrift heir, to bring great wealth to 
 
 nought. 
 A loft}- tower and strong, the building stood 
 'Midst a vast plain surrounded by a flood ; 
 And hence one pebble-paved channel stray'd, 
 That compass'd in a clustering orchard's shade ; 
 'T was a choice, charming plat ; abundant round ; 
 Flowers, roses, odorous spices cloth'd the 
 
 ground ; 
 Unnumber'd kinds, and all profusely shower'd 
 Such aromatic balsam as they flower' d,
 
 Zbc Xav? of tbe Xittle JBtro 107 
 
 Their fragrance might have stay'd man's part- 
 ing breath, 
 And chased the hovering agony of death. 
 The sward one level held, and close above, 
 Tall shapely trees their leafy mantles wove, 
 All equal growth, and low their branches came, 
 Thick set with goodliest fruits of every name. 
 In midst, to cheer the ravish' d gazer's view, 
 A gushing fount its waters upward threw, 
 Thence slowly on with crystal current pass'd, 
 And crept into the distant flood at last : 
 But nigh its source a pine's umbrageous head 
 Stretch 'd far and wide in deathless verdure 
 
 spread, 
 Met with broad shade the summer's sultry 
 
 gleam, 
 And through the livelong year shut out the 
 
 beam. 
 Such was the scene : yet still the place was 
 
 bless'd 
 With one rare pleasure passing all the rest : 
 A wondrous bird of energies divine 
 Had fix'd his dwelling in the tufted pine ; 
 There still he sat, and there with amorous lay 
 Waked the dim morn, and closed the parting 
 
 day : 
 Match' d with these strains of linked sweetness 
 
 wrought, 
 The violin and full-toned harp were nought ;
 
 108 Cbe Xag of tbc Xittlc J6uo 
 
 Of power they were with new-born joy to move 
 The cheerless heart of long-desponding love ; 
 Of power so strange, that should they cease to 
 
 sound, 
 And the blithe songster flee the mystic ground, 
 That gefodly orchard's scene, the pine-tree's 
 
 shade, 
 Trees, flowers, and fount, would all like vapor 
 fade. 
 ' Listen, listen to my lay ! ' 
 
 Thus the merry notes did chime, 
 ' All who mighty love obey, 
 
 Sadly wasting in your prime, 
 Clerk and laic, grave and gay ! 
 
 Yet do ye, before the rest, 
 Gentle maidens, mark me tell ! 
 
 Store my lesson in your breast, 
 Trust me it shall profit well : 
 
 Hear, and heed me, and be bless'd ! ' 
 So sang the bird of old ; but w T hen he spied 
 The carle draw near, with alter' d tone he cried — 
 ' Back, river, to thy source ! and thee, tall tower, 
 Thee, castle strong, may gaping earth devour ! 
 Bend down your heads, ye gaudy flowers, and 
 
 fade! 
 And wither'd be each fruit-tree's mantling 
 
 shade ! 
 Beneath these beauteous branches once were 
 seen,
 
 Gbe Xag of tbe Xittle JStro 109 
 
 Brave gentle knights disporting on the green, 
 And lovely dames ; and oft, these flowers 
 
 among, 
 Stray'd the blithe bands, and joyed to hear my 
 
 song : 
 Nor would they hence retire, nor quit the grove, 
 Till many a vow were pass'd of mutual love ; 
 These more would cherish, those would more 
 
 deserve ; 
 Cost, courtesy, and arms, and nothing swerve. 
 O bitter change ! for master now we see 
 A faitour villain carle of low degree ; 
 Foul gluttony employs his livelong day, 
 Nor heeds, nor hears he my melodious lay.' 
 So spake the bird ; and, as he ceas'd to sing, 
 Indignantly he clapp'd his downy wing, 
 And straight was gone ; but no abasement 
 
 stirr'd 
 In the clown's breast at his reproachful word : 
 Bent was his wit alone by quaint device 
 To snare, and sell him for a passing price. 
 So well he wrought, so craftily he spread 
 In the thick foliage green his slender thread, 
 That when at eve the little songster sought 
 His wonted spray, his little foot was caught. 
 ' How have I harm'd you ? ' straight he 'gan to 
 
 cry, 
 ' And wherefore would you doom me thus to 
 
 die?'
 
 no £be TLav> of tbe Xittlc JBiro 
 
 ' Nay, fear not,' quoth the clown, ' for death or 
 
 wrong ; 
 I only seek to profit by thy song : 
 I '11 get thee a fine cage, nor shalt thou lack 
 Good store of kernels and of seeds to crack ; 
 But sing thou shalt ; for if thou play'st the mute, 
 I '11 spit thee, bird, and pick thy bones to boot.' 
 ' Ah, woe is me ! ' the little thrall replied. 
 ' Who thinks of song, in prison doomed to bide ? 
 And, were I cook'd, rny bulk might scarce af- 
 ford 
 One scanty mouthful to my hungry lord.' 
 What may I more relate ? — the captive wight 
 Assay'd to melt the villain all he might ; 
 And fairly promis'd, were he once set free, 
 In gratitude to teach him secrets three ; 
 Three secrets, all so marvellous and rare, 
 His race knew nought that might with these 
 
 compare. 
 The carle prick'd up his ears amain ; he 
 
 loos'd 
 The songster thrall, by love of gain seduc'd ; 
 Up to the summit of the pine-tree's shade 
 Sped the blithe bird, and there at ease he stay'd, 
 And trick'd his plumes full leisurely, I trow, 
 Till the carle claim'd his promise from below : 
 ' Right gladly,' quoth the bird ; ' now grow thee 
 
 wise : 
 All human prudence few brief lines comprise:
 
 XLbe Xa\> of tbc Xtttle JSiro in 
 
 First then, lest haply in the event it fail, 
 Yield not a ready faith to every tale.' 
 ' Is this thy secret ? ' quoth the moody elf. 
 ' Keep then thy silly lesson for thyself ; 
 I need it not.' — ' How be 't is not amiss 
 to prick thy memory with advice like this, 
 But late, meseems, thou hadst forgot the lore ; 
 Mark next my second rule, and sadly know, 
 What 's eost, 't is wise with patience to 
 
 FOREGO. ' 
 The carle, though rude of wit, now chafed 
 
 amain ; 
 He felt the mockery of the songster's strain. 
 ' Peace, ' quoth the bird ; ' my third is far the best ; 
 Store thou the precious treasure in thy breast : 
 What good thou hast, ne'er eightey from 
 
 thee cast.' 
 ■ — He spoke, and twittering fled away full fast. 
 Straight sunk in earth, the gushing fountain 
 
 dries, 
 Down fall the fruits, the wither' d pine-tree dies, 
 Fades all the beauteous plat, so cool, so green, 
 Into thin air, and never more is seen. 
 ' Such was the meed of avarice : — bitter cost ! 
 The carle who all would gather, all has lost.' " 
 
 " There is something very Eastern about this tale," re- 
 marked Herbert at its conclusion. 
 
 " It is found in the old Greek monk's legend of Barlaam 
 and Josaphat," replied Eathom, "to whom it is more
 
 it2 ©f tbe 3BurOcns of tbls Xifc. 
 
 probable that it came from the East than from any other 
 source. ' ' 
 
 " Such a story, I should suppose, has been freely used 
 by later writers," said Thompson. 
 
 " It appears in the Disciplina Clericalis of Alphonsus, 
 in The Golden Legend of Caxton, and in Eydgate under 
 the title of The Chorle and the Bird'; but besides these 
 and Mr. Way, whose version I have just read you, I can- 
 not discover any other writers who have made use of this 
 fiction." 
 
 "The moral of this fiction explains itself," said Herbert. 
 " I presume the author is content with the plain mean- 
 ing." 
 
 "Yes, for this once," rejoined Lathom ; "but be con- 
 tent, the next story will satisfy the greatest lover of alle- 
 gories ; for curious, indeed, is it as an instance, even 
 among curiosities, of the once common practice of con- 
 verting everything into allegory." 
 
 " How is it entitled? " asked Thompson. 
 
 " ' Of the Burdens of this Life ' ; in form it is a dialogue 
 between a scholar and his master, who might well be 
 supposed to change places with each other. You must 
 be content with Mr. Swan's version." 
 
 OF the; burdens of this life. 
 
 A CERTAIN king once went to a fair, and 
 took with him a preceptor and his scholar. 
 Standing in the market-place they perceived 
 eight packages for sale. The scholar questioned 
 his teacher respecting the first of them. " Pray," 
 said he, "what is the price of poverty ? that is, 
 of tribulation for the love of God?"
 
 ©f tbe Burdens of this %itc 113 
 
 Preceptor. The kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Scholar. It is a great price indeed. Open the 
 second package and let us see what it contains. 
 
 Preceptor. It contains meekness : Blessed are 
 the meek. 
 
 Scholar. Meekness indeed is a very illustrious 
 thing, and worthy of divine majesty. What is 
 its price? 
 
 Preceptor. Neither gold nor silver will be 
 taken ; they are too contemptible. I demand 
 earth for it ; and nothing but earth will I 
 receive. 
 
 Scholar. There is a spacious tract of unin- 
 habited country between India and Great Brit- 
 ain. Take as much of it as you please. 
 
 Preceptor. No ; this land is the land of the 
 dying ; the land which devours its inhabitants. 
 Men die there. I demand the land of the living. 
 
 Scholar. I muse at what you say. All die, 
 and would 3 t ou alone be exempt? Would you 
 live for ever? Behold, blessed are the meek, 
 for they shall inherit the earth. What is there 
 in the third package ? 
 
 Preceptor. Hunger and thirst. 
 
 Scholar. For how much may these be pur- 
 chased ? 
 
 Preceptor. For righteousness. Blessed are 
 they who hunger and thirst after righteous- 
 ness, for they shall be filled.
 
 ii4 ©f tbe S3urDcns of tbts Xife 
 
 Scholar. Therefore you shall possess right- 
 eousness, provided there be no neglect. What 
 does the fourth contain ? 
 
 Preceptor. Tears, wailings, and woe ; 
 Moisture above, and moisture below. 
 
 Scholar. It is not customary to buy tears and 
 wailings, 3-et I will buy it ; because the saints 
 desire it at this price. Blessed are they who 
 mourn, for they shall be comforted. What is 
 the fifth package ? 
 
 Preceptor. It is a divided parcel, and contains 
 mercy, which I will weigh to please you. At a 
 word, I will take mercy for mercy ; eternity for 
 time. 
 
 Scholar. You were a bad umpire to ask this, 
 unless mercy should plead for you. Neverthe- 
 less, she shall become your surety. And blessed 
 are the merciful, for they shall obtain mercy. 
 In this life we abound in poverty and wretched- 
 ness and hardship. Undo the sixth package, 
 perhaps it may contain something better. 
 
 Preceptor. It is clearly full, but it loves not, 
 like a purple robe, to be exposed before the 
 common eye ; you shall see it in private, and 
 then we will agree about the price. 
 
 Scholar. Very well ; what is next ? 
 
 Preceptor, rurity ; which is extremely valua- 
 ble. That gold and silver vase contains piety, 
 goodness, charity, and spiritual joy. Now then
 
 ©f tbe asur&ens of tbta Xife 115 
 
 let us open these precious garments. Here are 
 lectures, meditations, prayers, and contempla- 
 tions. The judgments of the Lord are justified 
 in themselves, and more to be desired than gold 
 and precious stones. 
 
 Scholar. There is a great reward in the posses- 
 sion. Ask, therefore, what you will. 
 
 Preceptor. To see God. 
 
 Scholar. Therefore, Blessed are the pure in 
 heart, for they shall see God. Open the seventh 
 package. 
 
 Preceptor. It contains peace. 
 
 Scholar. What ! are you going to sell me your 
 peace ? 
 
 Preceptor. It does not accord with my poverty, 
 nor would it with your justice and great wealth, 
 to take any thing of me for nothing. But your 
 liberality will make me rich. What then ? I am 
 a mean country fellow ; and made of clay ; formed 
 of the very dust of the earth. My want of no- 
 bility oppresses me, and I would no longer bear 
 the reproach which says : ' ' You are earth, and 
 to earth you shall go." I would rather have it 
 said to me : "You are heaven, and to heaven 
 you shall go." I eagerly desire to fulfil the des- 
 tiny of the sons of God ; I would become a son 
 of God. 
 
 Scholar. I have done ; I confess the truth, and 
 distrust you no longer. Blessed are the peace-
 
 n6 Zbc Gesta IRomanorum 
 
 makers, for they shall be called the sons of God. 
 If, therefore, you preserve the love of a son, you 
 shall receive the paternal inheritance. Now 
 what is contained in the last package ? Ex- 
 plain it. 
 
 Preceptor. It contains only tribulation and 
 persecution for the sake of righteousness. 
 
 Scholar. What do you want for it ? 
 
 Preceptor. The kingdom of heaven. 
 
 Scholar. I gave you that as the price of 
 poverty ! 
 
 Preceptor. True ; but month after mouth, week 
 after week, man wanders in his wishes. Before 
 the present week or month expires, what will 
 remain of it ? 
 
 Scholar. I marvel at your sagacity in making 
 a bargain. Now hear, good and faithful servant ! 
 because thou hast been faithful over a few things, 
 I will appoint thee lord over many. 
 
 " The allusion to the king's visit to the fair," said Her- 
 bert, "reminds me of what Wharton says of the royal 
 booth at the fair of St. Botolph, at Boston, in Lin- 
 colnshire, from which stall or booth the king drew 
 revenue." 
 
 " Before roads were general and passable, and the 
 communication between town and town was frequent, 
 the concourse of people at the various fairs must have 
 been very great," said Thompson. 
 
 " As great as even now in many parts of the East, 
 where the fairs are still regarded as the great emporiaof
 
 Gbe <3esta IRomanorum 117 
 
 merchandise, the universal mart of extensive districts, 
 dependent on such meetings for their chief supplies." 
 
 " Wharton," said Herbert, " gives a curious account of 
 St. Giles' fair at Winchester, which dated back, to the 
 Conquest, was held for three days, and, by later grants, 
 extended to sixteen ; and was given by William the Con- 
 queror to the bishops of Winchester as a source of 
 revenue." 
 
 "Doubtless no mean revenue was derived from it." 
 said I,athom. 
 
 " For those days, very great : the jurisdictiou of the 
 fair extended for seven miles round, including the port 
 of Southampton ; and every merchant who sold wares 
 within that circuit, except at the fair, or refused to pay 
 the bishop's toll, had his goods forfeited to the bishop. 
 In the middle of St. Giles' Down stood the bishop's 
 pavilion, where sat his court, supreme, so long as the 
 fair lasted, within the seven miles' jurisdiction." 
 
 " What, over other existing jurisdictions, the lords of 
 the neighborhood, or the corporation of Winchester ? " 
 asked Thompson. 
 
 " Yes, supreme for the time. Even the city was for the 
 time under the bishop's rule ; on St. Giles' eve the keys 
 were delivered to him, and during the fair toll was 
 exacted in his name on all goods that went through the 
 city gate. No baron within the circuit could hold h's 
 manor-court without a license from the bishop's pavil- 
 ion. The bishop appointed a mayor, bailiff, and coroner 
 of his own during the fair." 
 
 " Being so near the coast, foreigners must have often 
 resorted to the great Winchester fair, I presume ? " 
 
 " Yes," rejoined Herbert. " So numerous and power- 
 ful that they had their separate street in the fair, as the 
 drapers, and spice-dealers, and potters had theirs ; and 
 the toll to the bishop from the foreign merchants formed 
 no mean portion of the revenue he derived from the fair."
 
 us £be Gesta TRomanorum 
 
 " It was an old custom for merchants to meet from all 
 countries at the different fairs," said Lathom. "I re- 
 member to have read that in 1314, Philip of France 
 remonstrated with our second Edward on the great loss 
 his subjects had received from the merchants of England 
 desisting from frequenting the fairs in France." 
 
 " Yes," remarked Frederick Thompson ; " in the days 
 of the Edwards and Henrys a fair was as great a panacea 
 for evils, as public meetings in this century. If a village 
 was sacked or destroyed by fire or flood, the grant of 
 a fair was an established means of restoring it to its 
 pristine vigor." 
 
 " We must look abroad for the old fairs, such as they 
 were in the middle ages," said Herbert. " Frankfort 
 and Leipzig still remind us of such fairs as that at Win- 
 chester ; thirty to forty thousand buyers and sellers are 
 not uncommonly seen at Leipzig, the last great fair 
 of Central Europe." 
 
 " And yet," said Lathom, " both of these are but chil- 
 dren to the great fair of Nischnei-Novgorod, where mer- 
 chants from the banks of the Baltic and the Caspian 
 interchange goods with Khivans, Chinese, the mountain- 
 eers of Central Asia, and the merchants of Western 
 Europe." 
 
 " It is, indeed, almost difficult to believe Kohl's account 
 of the meeting at Nischnei-Novgorod," said Herbert. 
 
 " Wonderful, but of admitted truth. How curious 
 must be the scenes : a town of vast emporia, mingled 
 with nearly three thousand shops, almost without an 
 inhabitant, save a few government officials, until the 
 flag is raised on the 29th of June ; then the town is alive 
 like an ant-hill. Every magazine and booth is filled 
 with merchandise, the produce of the most diverse 
 countries ; thousands of boats are landing goods, or 
 taking them to other vessels ; piles of merchandise stand 
 on all sides, even in the open country ; and amidst all
 
 Zbe ©esta TRomanorum 
 
 119 
 
 this treasury of wealth, three hundred thousand of 
 nearly all nations under heaven are trafficking." 
 
 "The value of goods exposed at such fairs must 
 be startling, if capable of being calculated," said 
 Herbert. 
 
 " The system of fair-tolls makes this an easy matter. 
 In 1839, the value of goods exposed at twenty-two of the 
 fairs of Russia, reached fifteen millions and a half, of 
 which Novgorod contributed nearly one half." 
 
 "Roubles," suggested Thompson. 
 
 ' ' No, sterling pounds. ' ' With this digressive conversa- 
 tion, the evening closed.
 
 CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 Southey's Thalaba— The Suggestions of the Evil 
 One — CoTONOLArES, the Magician — The Garden 
 of Aloaddin — The Old Man of the Mountain — The 
 Assassins — Their Rise and Fall — Gay's Conjurer — 
 Sir Guido, the Crusader— Guy, Earl of Warwick. 
 
 " A RE you going to give us a specimen of the late 
 Laureate's conversions," said Thompson, "that 
 you borrowed my Southey ? " 
 
 " Even so — to claim for the magic garden of Aloaddin, 
 the gem of the sixth book of Thalaba, at least a Tatin 
 form, if it must not be regarded as a striking instance of 
 my Eastern theory." 
 
 " Southey did not come to your book for this idea ; he 
 was content with the apparently historical account of 
 Purchas in his Pilgrims, or the more elaborate descrip- 
 tion of the notorious Mandevillc," rejoined Thompson. 
 
 " I am very much at a loss to appreciate your account," 
 said Herbert, "as Southey, Purchas, and Mandeville are 
 nearly all equally unknown to me." 
 
 " The best means of showing the progress of the story 
 and its conversion by the poet," said fathom, "will be 
 to commence with the old monk's very short version ; 
 let that be followed by Mandeville, and that veritable 
 author by Southey's description. The monk's tale is,
 
 Gbe Suggestions of tbc TEvil ©ne. 121 
 
 1 THE SUGGESTIONS OF THE EVII, ONE. 
 
 THERE was a celebrated magician who had 
 a vast castle surrounded by a very beauti- 
 ful garden, in which grew flowers of the most 
 fragrant smell, and fruits not only fair to look 
 upon but most delicious to the taste. In short, 
 it was a garden of Paradise ; no one was allowed 
 to see its glories, or taste its pleasures, but fools 
 or personal enemies of the magician. When the 
 gate was opened to any one, great was his won- 
 der and delight ; and few who entered ever 
 wished to return. Nay, the pleasures they 
 there enjoyed so affected their minds, that 
 they yielded forthwith to the will of the ma- 
 gician, and were ready to resign to him every 
 thing that they had. 
 
 To the fools this garden appeared to be Para- 
 dise itself : its flowers and its fruits they looked 
 upon as of immortal growth, and regarded them- 
 selves as chosen from among the inhabitants of 
 the world as the happy possessors of the land. 
 Beyond this they gave not one thought. Day 
 and night they revelled in pleasure, and surren- 
 dered their minds and their bodies to lawless 
 gratifications. 
 
 At last the day of reckoning came, and the 
 magician prepared to reap the fruits of his
 
 1=2 Cotonolapes, tbe Magician 
 
 scheme. Their inheritances once placed in his 
 power, he waited but for some moment when 
 his victim was steeped in sensual intoxication, 
 and then fell upon him and slew him. Thus, 
 by his fictitious Paradise, he acquired great 
 wealth and power. 
 
 "I admire the moderation of your old monk," said 
 Thompson, " in not assigning a particular locality to his 
 magician's paradise. Purchas and Mandeville are not 
 so moderate ; the former puts Aloaddin's abode in the 
 northeast parts of Persia, and Mandeville locates him 
 in the island of Milsterak, a portion of the kingdom of 
 Prester John." 
 
 " No bad illustration," said Herbert, ' ' of the difference 
 between a writer who tells a fiction as a fiction, and one 
 who records it with the intention of making his readers 
 believe it to be true." 
 
 " Great particularity as to time, place, and persons is 
 the sure mark of a mendacious traveller," remarked I,a- 
 thom ; "both Purchas and Mandeville have altered the 
 object of the magician's plot ; making it his means of 
 destroying his enemies, by persuading his victims that 
 death in his service was only a step to a more beautiful 
 paradise. I will read Mandeville 's tale of 
 
 " COTONOLAPES, THE MAGICIAN." 
 
 IN the isle of Pentexoire, that is in the land of 
 Prester John, is a great isle, long and broad, 
 and men call that isle Milsterak. There was a 
 man there that was called Cotonolapes ; he was 
 full rich, and had a fair castle on a hill, and
 
 Gotonolapcs, tbe /IRagicfan 123 
 
 strong, and he made a wall all abor.t the hill 
 right strong and fair ; within he had a fair gar- 
 den, wherein were many trees bearing all man- 
 ner of fruits that he might find, and he had 
 planted therein all manner of herbs of good 
 smell, and that bare flowers, and there were 
 many fair wells, and by them were made many 
 halls and chambers well dight with gold and 
 azure, and he had made there divers stories of 
 beasts and birds, that sung and turned by en- 
 gine and orbage as they had been quick ; and 
 he had in his garden all things that might be to 
 man solace and comfort ; he had also in that 
 garden maidens within the age of fifteen years, 
 the fairest that he might find, and men children 
 of the same age, and they were clothed with 
 cloth of gold, and he said that they were 
 angels ; and he caused to be made certain 
 hills, and inclosed them about with precious 
 stones of jasper and crystal, and set in gold 
 and pearls, and other manner of stones ; and 
 he had made a conduit under the earth, so that 
 when he would, the walls ran sometimes with 
 milk, sometimes with wine, sometimes with 
 honey, and this place is called Paradise ; and 
 when any young bachelor of the country, knight 
 or esquire, cometh to him for solace and dis- 
 port, he leadeth them into his paradise and 
 fckoweth them these things, as the songs of
 
 124 Gotonolapes, tbc Magician 
 
 birds, and his damsels and wells ; and he did 
 strike divers instruments of music in a high 
 tower that might be heard, and said they were 
 angels of God, and that place was Paradise that 
 God had granted to those who believe, when 
 he said thus : Dabo nobis terrain flucntcm lade 
 ct melle ; that is to say, I shall give you land 
 flowing with milk and honey. And then this 
 rich man made these men drink a manner of 
 drink of which they were drunken ; and he said 
 to them, if they would die for his sake, when 
 they were dead they should come to his para- 
 dise, and they should be of the age of those 
 maidens, and should dwell always with them, 
 and he should put them in a fairer paradise, 
 where they should see God in joy and in his 
 majesty : and then they granted to do that 
 he would, and he bade them go and slay such a 
 lord, or a man of the country that he was wroth 
 with, and that they should have dread of no 
 man. And if they were slain themselves for his 
 sake, he should put them in his paradise when 
 they were dead. And so went these bachelors 
 to slay great lords of the country, and were slain 
 themselves in hope to have that paradise ; and 
 thus he was avenged of his enemies through his 
 desert ; and when rich men of the country per- 
 ceived this cautel and malice, and the will of 
 this Cotonolapes, they gathered them together
 
 £be Garden of Bloaooin 125 
 
 and assailed the castle, and slew him, and de- 
 stroyed all his goods and his fair places and 
 riches that were in his paradise ; and the place 
 of the walls there is yet, and some other things, 
 but the riches are not, and it is not long ago 
 since it was destroyed. 
 
 " The variation made by this worthy story-teller seems 
 to me to be an incorporation of the history of the Assas- 
 sins," said Herbert. 
 
 "Perhaps their 'Old Man of the Mountain,' as the 
 chief of the Assassins was called, may have given rise 
 to the entire fable," rejoined Lathom. " Now, Thomp- 
 son, read the poet's conversion." 
 
 THE GARDEN OF AI^OADDIN. 
 
 — Thalaba stood mute, 
 And passively receiv'd 
 The mingled joy which flowed in every sense. 
 Where'er his eye could reach, 
 Fair structures, rainbow hued, arose ; 
 And rich pavilions through the opening woods 
 Gleam'd from their waving curtains sunny 
 gold; 
 And winding through the verdant vale 
 
 Went stream of liquid light, 
 And fluted cypresses rear'd up 
 Their living obelisks ; 
 And broad-leaved plane-trees, in long colon- 
 nades,
 
 126 Zbc ©aroen of Sloaooin 
 
 O'erarched delightful walks, 
 
 Where round their trunks the thousand ten- 
 
 drill'd vine 
 
 Wound up, and hung the trees with greener 
 
 wreaths, 
 
 And clusters not their own. 
 
 Wearied with endless beauty, did his eyes 
 
 Return for rest ? beside hirn teems the earth 
 
 With tulips like the ruddy evening streak'd. 
 
 And here the lily hangs her head of snow ; 
 
 And here amid her sable cup 
 
 Shines the red eye spot, like one brightest star, 
 
 The solitary twinkle of the night ; 
 
 And here the rose expands 
 
 Her paradise of leaves. 
 
 Then on his ear what sounds 
 
 Of harmony arose ! 
 
 Far music and the distance-mellow' d song 
 
 From bowers of merriment ; 
 
 The waterfall remote : 
 
 The murmuring of the leafy groves, 
 
 The single nightingale. 
 ******* 
 
 And oh what odors the voluptuous vale 
 Scatters from jasmine bowers, 
 From yon rose wilderness, 
 From cluster' d henna, and from orange 
 groves.
 
 £be Gesta IRomanorum 127 
 
 Full of the bliss, yet still awake 
 To wonder, on went Thalaba : 
 On every side the song of rnirth, 
 The music of festivity, 
 Invite the passing youth. 
 Wearied at length with hunger and with heat, 
 He enters in a banquet room ; 
 Where round a fountain's brink 
 On silken carpets sat the festive train. 
 Instant, through all his frame 
 Delightful coolness spread ; 
 The playing fount refresh'd 
 The agitated air ; 
 The very light came cool through silvering 
 
 panes 
 Of pearly shell, like the pale moonbeam tinged. 
 
 " I think I must stop here," said Thompson, " though 
 the entire book seems but the poet's amplification of the 
 tale of Mandeville." 
 
 " The more I think on the subject, the more certain I 
 feel that the Assassins of the eleventh century are the 
 origin, if not of your tradition, at least of the tales of 
 Purchas and Mandeville," said Herbert. 
 
 " I know too little of their history, to agree with you or 
 not ; surely, theirs was a purely political association," 
 answered Lathom. 
 
 "Their original and avowed object was the placing a 
 caliph of the race of Ismael on the throne of Bagdad; 
 but their sacred doctrines are supposed to have embraced 
 a wider sphere, and are known to have been converted 
 into the means of private revenge by the adept, who
 
 i28 Zbe <3esta iRomanorum 
 
 afterwards became known as the 'old man of the 
 mountain.' " 
 
 " Where did the old man reign ? " asked Thompson. 
 " On the mountain of Alamoot, in the north of Persia. 
 The Vulture's Rest, as its name imported, was not unlike 
 the hill of Cotonolapes, or the Castle of the Magician of 
 the Gesta. There Hassan ben Sabah gathered round 
 him an independent society of seven degrees, with him- 
 self as their head, by the title of Sheikh of the Moun- 
 tain." 
 
 " What was the date of that event? " 
 " Within a few years of the close of the eleventh cen- 
 tury," replied Herbert. " His seven degrees commenced 
 with the three grand priors, under him, the practical 
 rulers of the society. Then came the dais, or initiated 
 ministers ; and fourthly, the refeeks, or companions. Be- 
 low these were the fedavees, or devoted, who were fol- 
 lowed by the laseeks, the aspirants, the novices of Euro- 
 pean orders. The profane, the common people, formed 
 the last of the seven orders of the Assassins." 
 
 " The mysteries, I suppose, were not revealed to any 
 below the third class ? " remarked Lathom. 
 
 " No, the dais were alone acquainted with these ; what 
 they were, besides implicit obedience to their chief, and 
 the principle of interpreting the Koran allegorically, it 
 is impossible to discover. By the rest of the society, the 
 text of the Koran was to be observed in its strict letter. 
 The fedavees were, however, the support of the society. 
 They were composed, too often, of youths stolen from 
 their parents, and educated in such a system as recog- 
 nized the sheikh as omnipotent, and impressed on them 
 the moral and religious duty of obeying his commands." 
 " From this order, then, the common idea of the Assas- 
 sins arose ? ' ' said Lathom. 
 
 " Undoubtedly," rejoined Herbert. " They were led t<? 
 -.ook to his mandates as direct from heaven, and as im-
 
 Zhc <3csta IRomanorum 129 
 
 possible to be evaded. They were clothed in white, with 
 red bonnets and girdles, and armed with sharp daggers ; 
 but when a secret and dangerous mission was imposed, 
 the disguises of the fedavees were appropriated to the 
 task enjoined." 
 
 " Is any thing known of their initiatory ceremonies? " 
 
 " But little ; Marco Polo, indeed, gives us a curious ac- 
 count of the garden of Alamoot bearing a very strong 
 likeness to that of Aloaddin, whither the fedavee was 
 borne under the influence of opiates, before being 
 sent on any important mission ; and where, on awak- 
 ening, he found himself surrounded with every earthly 
 pleasure. This, he was persuaded, is but a foretaste of 
 the joys of paradise, which were to be the reward of his 
 faithful performance of the mission. And thus buoyed 
 up, the fedavees confronted danger in every form, and 
 executed the commands of their chief in despite of 
 countless difficulties." 
 
 " Their name, I suppose, is but the corruption of that 
 of their leader, Hassan," remarked Thompson. 
 
 " Here doctors disagree," replied Herbert ; "some are 
 content with this origin ; whilst others, explaining the 
 visions in the garden of Alamoot as the effects of an in- 
 toxicating herb, derive the name of the society from 
 hashish, the opiate of hemp-leaves, supposed to have 
 been so freely used by the sheikh in deluding his vic- 
 tims." 
 
 " How long did this strange society exist ? " asked fa- 
 thom. 
 
 " After a time they divided into two branches ; the 
 eastern one remaining at Alamoot, whilst the western 
 spread into Syria. Both branches became too powerful 
 and dangerous to be endured. After repeated attempts, 
 the eastern branch was destroyed by the Monguls, about 
 a century and a half after its foundation ; whilst the 
 western branch lasted only fourteen years longer, and
 
 130 Zbc <3esta IRomanorum 
 
 fell about 1270, under the power of the Mamluke sultans 
 of Egypt" 
 
 " It was far easier to root out their strongholds than 
 their principles,'' remarked Lathora. 
 
 " It was so found by their conquerors : the mountains 
 of Syria, especially, gave shelter to many of the society, 
 and the tenets of the order are still believed to linger 
 among a branch of the Koords. But come, we are wan- 
 dering from our tales, and if we do not leave off our re- 
 marks fathom will close the evening without another 
 specimen of the old story-teller." 
 
 " AVe have not yet heard the moral of the magician's 
 garden," said Thompson. 
 
 "The application is plain," replied Lathom : "the 
 magician is the world ; the luxuries and beauties of his 
 garden are the world's rewards and riches ; worldly peo- 
 ple think that they have grasped its gifts ; anon, they 
 open their hands, and find them empty." 
 
 " Uutashort application, though over true," remarked 
 Herbert. 
 
 " I have rather condensed the old monk, and perhaps 
 wrongly, as the latter part of his moral reminds me 
 strongly of a passage in Gay's fables. 'The conjurer,' 
 says the old monk, ' puts down a dish, but places noth- 
 ing in it. Then he begins to prate and mock the specta- 
 tors with fair words and long speeches. Soon he 
 inquires of them : What is in the dish ? they look, and 
 it is full of pennies. These he distributes among the 
 bystanders ; with thanks they receive his gifts, and 
 eagerly close their hands on them ; anon, they open 
 their hands, and lo, there is nothing.' " 
 
 "You allude," said Herbert, "to Gay's lines, where he 
 describes his conjurer performing his tricks. 
 
 " ' Trick after trick deludes the train, 
 He shakes his bag, and shows all fair, 
 His fingers spread, and nothing there,
 
 Sir (3utoo, tbe Crusader 
 
 1 31 
 
 Then bids it rain with showers of gold ; 
 And now his ivory eggs are told.' " 
 
 " Hardly so much," replied Lathom, " as the four lines 
 where he says of fortune : 
 
 " ' A purse she to the thief exposed ; 
 At once his ready fingers closed. 
 He opes his fist, his treasure 's fled, 
 He sees a halter in its stead.' 
 
 And now," continued Lathom, " now fcr the original of 
 Guy, Earl of Warwick." 
 
 "The original of a romance, that was a celebrated piece 
 in the time of Chaucer, and usually sung to the harp at 
 Christmas dinners and bridals, is indeed a curiosity," 
 remarked Herbert. 
 
 " But how comes Sir Guy in the Latin stories?" said 
 Thompson ; " does not Bishop Percy say it was of Eng- 
 lish growth ? ' ' 
 
 "I cannot resolve the difficulty," answered Lathom; 
 " we must admit that it was in French before the end of 
 the thirteenth century ; when it came into its Latin dress, 
 must depend on that most difficult of all points, the date 
 and authorship of my volume of stories. But come from 
 where he will, you have here the story of the Champion 
 of Warwick." 
 
 SIR GUIDO, THE CRUSADER. 
 
 CENTURIES have gone by since the court 
 of the king of England was adorned by 
 two valorous knights named Guido and Tyrius. 
 Many a hard battle had they fought side by 
 side against the enemies of their king, for the 
 sake of the smiles of the fair ladies to whom 
 they had dedicated themselves. After several
 
 132 Sir <3uido, tbc GrusaDer 
 
 years of brilliant deeds of daring and numerous 
 perils, Sir Guido married the lady of his devo- 
 tions. Happy were the early days of his mar- 
 riage, for the knight and the lady loved each 
 other greatly. One night Sir Guido saw a vis- 
 ion, as it were an angel of God talking with 
 him, and he was afraid. 
 
 Then said the angel : "Why weepest thou, 
 Sir Guido ? arise, put on thy arms, and fight for 
 the holy cross." 
 
 "Verily, Lord," replied Sir Guido, "much 
 and often have I fought." 
 
 "Yes," replied the angel, "much, often, and 
 valiantly hast thou fought for the love of wo- 
 man ; now fight for the love of God, the glory 
 of the holy cross. Contend against God's ene- 
 mies, as thou hast against those of men." 
 
 With these words the vision faded away, and 
 Sir Guido knew that he was called to battle in 
 the Holy Laud against the infidels. Then he 
 turned to his wife and said : 
 
 " Felicia, we must part, but for a time ; I am 
 called to the Holy Laud to fight under the ban- 
 ner of the cross." 
 
 "Alas! alas! my lord," replied Felicia, clasp- 
 ing her husband in her arms and weeping hot 
 tears upon his neck ; ' ' alas ! and wilt thou leave 
 me ? death were to be preferred ; then welcome 
 death."
 
 Sir ©uffco, tbc CrusaDcr 133 
 
 As she spoke she snatched up a dagger that 
 lay beside her, and would have killed herself 
 had not Sir Guido wrenched it from her grasp. 
 
 "Felicia," said the knight, "be comforted; 
 I am vowed to go to the Holy Land ; bear with 
 it, my love ; it is but for a time ; be comforted." 
 
 "God's will be done," murmured the lady. 
 " Take this ring, and as often as you look upon 
 it, in happiness or in misery, in joy or in woe, 
 think of Felicia." 
 
 Sir Guido gathered together his vassals, and 
 his friend, Sir Tyrius, added his to those of Sir 
 Guido, and thus combined they marched for the 
 Holy Land, and journeyed by land and not by 
 sea until they came to the borders of Dacia, a 
 Christian country overrun by the infidels. 
 
 "Brother," said Sir Guido, "go thou to the 
 king of the country, and with thy good sword 
 rescue his kingdom from the power of the Sara- 
 cen ; I will proceed to the Holy Land, and when 
 the foes of God are vanquished will rejoin you 
 here, and so together we will return to Eng- 
 land." 
 
 " Even as you wish," said Sir Tyrius ; " I will 
 await your return here. ' ' 
 
 Thus did the friends separate. Sir Guido 
 reached the Holy Land, and fought valiantly 
 against the Saracens. Many and dire were his 
 conflicts with the infidels, but in all of them he
 
 i34 Sir Gutoo, tbe Crusader 
 
 bore aloft the cross, and in his hands it never 
 bowed before the crescent. Every one spoke of 
 his deeds of arms, of his charity, and of his 
 kindness ; the minstrels made songs of his ex- 
 ploits, and spread his fame over the whole 
 Christian world. Sir Tyrius, too, was successful 
 in Dacia ; by his aid the king regained his 
 throne, and the infidels were driven from the 
 kingdom. Rewards and thanks followed his 
 successes ; the king regarded him as the pre- 
 server of his throne, and considered no rewards 
 too great or too good for the Christian warrior. 
 The rewards of the good are ever sources of 
 envy to the wicked. So was it at the court of 
 the Dacian king. The prosperity of Sir Tyrius 
 was gall and wormwood to a knight of Dacia, 
 Sir Plebeus, who, until the coming of this 
 stranger, had been looked upon as the greatest 
 warrior of the Dacian people. To envy suc- 
 ceeded hatred, to hatred falsehood. Treason, 
 he insinuated was in the mind of Tyrius ; he 
 aspired to the crown which he had recovered 
 from the infidel. 
 
 Alas ! how easily do we credit falsehood, how 
 reai lily do we believe that every one is as wicked 
 as ourselves. The king believed the words of 
 Plebeus. He called his preserver before him, 
 charged him with treason, and upbraided him 
 with ingratitude.
 
 Sir (Suifco, tbe Crusader 135 
 
 "Go," said he, "leave my court. I have 
 honored thee much, I would have honored thee 
 yet more. Now I give thee thy life in return for 
 the valiant blows you struck for me ; go in 
 peace, but in poverty." 
 
 "Miserable creature that I am," murmured 
 Sir Tyrius ; ' ' whither shall I flee in this my 
 abject poverty ? " 
 
 Sadly and slowly he wandered on, his eyes 
 cast down, his hands crossed upon his breast. 
 At last he sat down by the way-side. 
 
 "Friend," said a tall pilgrim, whose care- 
 worn look showed how long he had been 
 journeying, " friend, whence comest thou? " 
 
 " Father, " replied Tyrius, "I am of Rome ; 
 years have I lived in this land, and now I seek 
 another home. Years have passed since my 
 companion parted with me but a few miles 
 from here ; he sought the Holy Land, and 
 whether he be dead or alive I know not." 
 
 " Friend," replied the palmer, " I am wearied ; 
 suffer me, by the memory of your friend, I pray 
 you, suffer me to repose my head on your knees, 
 that I may sleep awhile. ' ' 
 
 Tyrius pitied the poor pilgrim, and acceded to 
 his request. The palmer's cloak was drawn over 
 his face, so that he could distinguish but a por- 
 tion of his features. 
 
 As the palmer slept, of a sudden a weasel,
 
 136 Sir GuiDo, tbc CrusaDer 
 
 small and white, leapt from out of his mouth, 
 and ran to a neighboring hill-side, where it 
 entered a small hole ; after a time the creature 
 returned, and appeared to enter into the mouth 
 of the sleeping man. At that moment the 
 palmer awoke. 
 
 " Friend," said he to Tyrius, "I have dreamed 
 a strange dream. Methought a weasel, small, 
 and white as snow, ran from out my mouth to a 
 hole in yonder hill, and thence returning, re- 
 entered my open mouth." 
 
 " Father," replied Tyrius, " it was no dream ; 
 so did it appear to me also, as I sat and watched 
 you. What the weasel did in yonder hill I can- 
 not conjecture." 
 
 " Come, let us arise and look, perad venture 
 we may find some good treasure." 
 
 " Even as I thought," continued the palmer, 
 when they entered the hole in the hill-side, that 
 led to a large cave ; "see, a dragon dead, and 
 fdled with gold ; the treasure he was thus guard- 
 ing is our own ; ay, too, a sword. What do we 
 read on its bright blade ? ' By me shall Guido 
 overcome the enemies of Tyrius. ' " 
 
 " Alas, Guido," said Tyrius, " where art thou, 
 O my friend? " 
 
 "Come," said the palmer, "we will divide 
 the treasures ; to you the piles of gold and 
 jewels ; to me this sword."
 
 Sir ©uiDo, tbe CrusaDer 137 
 
 "To thee the sword of Guido ! " exclaimed 
 Tyrius ; "nay." 
 
 " To me the sword of Guido," said the pilgrim, 
 interrupting the knight in his words, and grad- 
 ually raising the cowl of his dress from off his 
 face. "Yes, to me, Tyrius." 
 
 " Guido, my friend, my brother ! " cried the 
 knight, as he looked on the pilgrim's features. 
 ' ' And have we met, my brother ? It is enough, 
 O my brother ! ' ' and the tears came in the eyes 
 of both. 
 
 " Courage, courage, Tyrius ; weep not, for I 
 will do battle with your enemy ; with this 
 sword will I beat down thy foes ; do you go to 
 your own home, and leave me to deal with your 
 traducers." 
 
 The friends embraced and parted. Tyrius 
 went to his home with his treasure, and Guido 
 repaired to the Dacian king's palace. 
 
 "Who art thou, and from whence?" asked 
 the porter, as Sir Guido knocked at the king's 
 gate. 
 
 " A humble pilgrim from the holy sepulchre." 
 
 ' ' Enter, father, I crave thy blessing, ' ' said 
 the porter, as he knelt before Sir Guido. 
 
 "Thou hast it, my sou ; peace be on thee and 
 this house ; I seek the king." 
 
 The king sat at meat, and all his nobles were 
 round him.
 
 138 Sir Outoc, tbe Grusadet 
 
 "Is the Holy Land at peace?" inquired the 
 king, as the pilgrim entered. 
 
 "At peace, my lord ; the holy sepulchre is 
 delivered from the infidel." 
 
 " Ho, give place ; sit, father ; bring wine and 
 bread. Father, hast thou heard of a Christian 
 knight named Guido ? " 
 
 " Both heard and seen him, my lord : we have 
 eaten of the same bread, and shared the same 
 couch." 
 
 " "What say they of the Christian kings ? " 
 
 "They say the Dacian king has regained his 
 kingdom and crown by the aid of a brave knight 
 of Rome, whom he promoted to great honor and 
 riches." 
 
 " They say true, sir pilgrim," said the king, 
 on whose brow an angry spot began to show. 
 
 "They further say, that thou, O king, hast 
 driven away this good and brave knight, se- 
 duced by the malice of one Plebeus, who has 
 poisoned your royal ear with his falsehoods." 
 
 " False pilgrim," cried Plebeus, who stood by 
 the king's chair ; " false pilgrim, thou utterest 
 lies that thou darest not to defend with thy 
 life. That Tyrius was a traitor ; he would have 
 dethroned our king." 
 
 "Sir knight," replied Guido, "I have both 
 spoken the truth, and dare prove it ; if thou art 
 Sir Plebeus, and sayest Tyrius was a traitor ;
 
 Sir (BufDo, tbe Crusafccr 139 
 
 go to, thou art a liar, and by the king's leave I 
 will prove thy falsehood on thy body." 
 
 " It is well," said the king ; "let the wager of 
 battle decide the truth, and God defend the 
 right." 
 
 " Give me, my lord, such arms as be neces- 
 sary for the field, and the ordeal of battle shall 
 prove the truth. Save this sword, I have no 
 armor. ' ' 
 
 " Be it so as you desire ; to-morrow, at noon, 
 we will see this combat. Daughter, to thy care 
 I commit this pilgrim knight ; see that he be 
 forthcoming by to-morrow's noon." 
 
 It was a bright day when the lists were pre- 
 pared for the contest ; before the hour ap- 
 pointed drew nigh, all the population of the 
 royal city poured towards the scene of the ap- 
 proaching combat. Some trusted to the known 
 prowess of the Dacian knight ; others sided with 
 the pilgrim, speculated upon who he was, and 
 wished him success for the sake of Tyrius. 
 
 " Haste thee, haste thee, sir pilgrim knight," 
 said the king's daughter, " thy adversary even 
 now stands in the lists, and exclaims : ' False 
 pilgrim ! why tarriest thou ? ' " 
 
 Sir Guido hastened to put on his armor, and 
 to gird his sword about him. At noon the king 
 entered the lists, the combatants took oath to 
 the justice of their quarrel, and prepared to en-
 
 i4o Sir ©utfco, tbe Crusader 
 
 gage. Long and arduous was the battle ; Guido 
 pressed upon his adversary so fiercely that he 
 thirsted almost to death. 
 
 " Good pilgrim," he said, " if thou wilt cour- 
 teously permit me to quench my thirst this 
 once, I will do the like to thee, shouldst thou 
 require it of me." 
 
 " I consent," replied Guido. 
 
 His thirst thus quenched, Plebeus renewed 
 the combat with redoubled animation. At 
 length Guido also thirsted, and claimed of his 
 adversary his promise. 
 
 ' ' Go to, fool ! you shall taste no water but 
 by the strong hand," replied the Dacian. 
 
 " By the strong hand then," rejoined Guido, 
 "be it so." 
 
 With these words he made towards the water, 
 guarding himself with his shield. As soon as 
 he gained the edge of the pond he jumped in, 
 drank freely of the water, and rushed out re- 
 freshed and reinvigorated against his treacher- 
 ous foe. His prowess and his courage alike 
 deserted the Dacian, and he turned and fled. 
 
 At that moment the king threw down his 
 sceptre, and the combat closed for that day. 
 
 The king's daughter led the knight to his 
 chamber, bound up his wounds, tended him 
 softly, prepared his evening meal, and smoothed 
 his bed with her own hands : a deep sleep soon
 
 Sir (Butto, tbe Crusafcer 141 
 
 came over Sir Guido, for he was wearied with 
 the exertions of the combat. 
 
 "My sons," said Plebeus to the seven stout 
 warriors that called him father, "my sons, if 
 to-morrow's sun sees yonder pilgrim in the lists, 
 I die ; never yet did I meet so stout an oppo- 
 nent." 
 
 "Fear not, sir," replied they all, "we will 
 take care of the pilgrim." 
 
 Sir Guido slept heavily ; at midnight his 
 chamber door was carefully opened, and the 
 sons of Plebeus crept into his room. 
 
 " He sleeps soundly," whispered the eldest, 
 " how shall we dispose of him ? if we slay him 
 here as he sleeps, what are we but dead men on 
 the morrow? " 
 
 ' ' Does not the sea flow beneath the win- 
 dow? " asked one of the sons. 
 
 " Yes, but if we touch him he will wake." 
 
 " Nay, let us take him bed and all and throw 
 him into the sea." 
 
 Sir Guido slept on, and knew not what was 
 plotting against him. 
 
 It was midnight, and the moon shone bright- 
 ly on the sea. A fisherman beneath the wall of 
 the Dacian king's palace was casting his nets, 
 when a sudden splash in the water arrested 
 his attention. "Halloa!" said he to himself, 
 " what villany is this ? a bed floating on the sea,
 
 M2 Sir (3mDo, tbe Crusader 
 
 and a man on it ; ho, friend ! ho, I say ! awake, 
 or be drowned ! " 
 
 " Where am I ? " exclaimed Sir Guido, as he 
 awoke with the fisherman's clamor. " Help ; 
 friend, — I am sinking : I am the pilgrim that 
 fought yesterday in the lists — thanks — thanks," 
 he continued, as he reached the fisherman's 
 boat ; " but how got I here ? " 
 
 ' ' I hardly know : j ust now I heard a splash, 
 looked round, and by the moon's light saw you 
 and your bed floating on the water." 
 
 "Ah! well, the treachery has failed, good 
 friend ; to-morrow will confound the traitors." 
 
 The morrow came in fair and bright ; again 
 the people hastened to the lists, eager to see the 
 issue of this wondrous combat. The king was 
 seated, the lists were ready, and the heralds 
 sounded. Then stept forth Sir Plebeus with 
 his visor up, and a fair and smiling counte- 
 nance. 
 
 "My lord the king," said the Dacian cham- 
 pion, as he bowed before the king's throne, "I 
 demand the combat with the pilgrim." 
 
 "It is well, vSir Plebeus — ho, herald! go to 
 my daughter, and demand of her the pilgrim 
 knight." 
 
 "The princess is even now coming to the 
 royal presence," replied the herald, as the 
 crowd formed a lane, through which the king's 
 

 
 Sir GuiDo, tbe Crusafccr 143 
 
 daughter was seen approaching her father's 
 throne, with a rneek and sorrowful aspect. 
 
 "My child," said the Dacian king, "where is 
 the pilgrim knight, the champion of Sir Tyrius? 
 We await his coming forth." 
 
 " Father, and dear lord," replied the maiden, 
 ' ' I know not whither he is gone ; but last night 
 I left him in deep sleep in his chamber, and 
 now neither he nor his bed whereon he slept 
 are to be found." 
 
 " Cowardly boaster ! " exclaimed Sir Plebeus, 
 " dares he not meet me in the list ? The coward 
 has fled." 
 
 " That is not so, my lord," exclaimed a poor 
 man in the crowd ; "he has not fled." 
 
 "Ah! how say est thou ? " 
 
 " Even now he sleeps at my hut ; last night I 
 found him floating on his bed beneath the 
 palace wall ; I took him into my boat, and he is 
 safe." 
 
 "Thou hast done well; summon him to the 
 list. Sir Plebeus, you shall not be disappointed 
 of your combat. See, even now your adversary 
 comes. Now, marshals, arm the stranger." 
 
 " Nay, my good lord," said the Dacian knight, 
 "press not on the pilgrim; I pray you, my 
 lord, give him time to recruit his strength." 
 
 "Not for a minute, sir knight," exclaimed 
 the pilgrim as he entered the lists and hastened
 
 144 Sir <3utoc, the Crusader 
 
 to don his armor; "not for a minute — I have 
 much to reckon with you : remember last 
 night." 
 
 The combat was short : each knight struck 
 twice without fatal effect ; the pilgrim's third 
 blow ended the battle, and the Dacian rolled on 
 the ground a headless corpse. 
 
 "Sir Pilgrim," said the king, as he knelt 
 before the throne, "God has defended the 
 right ; even now have I been told of the treach- 
 ery of that senseless corpse, and of the villany 
 of his sons towards thee ; they now are going to 
 their reward — to death. Come, sir knight, for 
 thy sake I restore Sir Tyrius, renew his honors, 
 and add to them those which you so steadfastly 
 refuse. One boon I ask before you leave our 
 court and our kingdom : disclose thy name ; 
 let me and my people know to whom they owe 
 the punishment of a traitor and the defence of 
 their best friend, their former preserver." 
 
 " My lord," replied the pilgrim, " my name is 
 not unknown to yon ; I am the knight of the 
 Holy Land — the Guido of whom men speak." 
 
 Loud were the exclamations with which that 
 famous name was hailed by the assembled 
 Dacians, as their king fell on the pilgrim's 
 neck and embraced him as a brother. 
 
 §even years had passed since Guido left his 
 castle and sailed for the Holy Land. Day by 

 
 Sir <3ufJ>o, tbe Crusader 143 
 
 day did Felicia minister to the poor and bestow 
 alms on every applicant, with this one request, 
 that they would pray for the safety of her hus- 
 band, Sir Guido, and that once more before her 
 death she might rejoice in his presence. Felicia 
 stood at her castle gate, and the inner court- 
 3-ard was filled with her poor pensioners. 
 One by one she accosted them and bade her 
 almoner give to each his accustomed alms. 
 Her young son ran by his mother's side. 
 
 " Mother, dear mother," said the child, as he 
 heard Felicia commend Sir Guido to the prayers 
 of the poor men, " is it not my father for whom 
 you ask these poor people to pray ? " 
 
 "Yes, my child; seven years have passed 
 since he left me ; but a few months had we been 
 married before God summoned him to the Holy 
 Land, and he took the cross and went against 
 the infidel." 
 
 As she thus spoke to her son, Felicia drew 
 nigh to a tall pilgrim who stood apart from the 
 rest of the poor people. She gave him the alms, 
 and asked of him his prayers for her husband's 
 return. Low bowed the pilgrim his head, but 
 not a word did he speak as the lady passed on- 
 wards. Her son followed after Felicia ; as he 
 passed the pilgrim, he bowed himself forward 
 and embraced the youth. 
 
 " God give thee grace," said he with a trem-
 
 146 Sir 6ui<\\ tbe Crusafcer 
 
 bling voice, "God give thee grace to do his 
 will." 
 
 "Thanks, father, for thy blessing," said 
 Felicia; "can I do aught to reward thy good 
 wishes ? ' ' 
 
 "Lady," said the pilgrim in a low, stifled 
 voice, " I crave the small hermitage below the 
 eagle's rock ; there let me live and die. " 
 
 " Ha ! " exclaimed Felicia, " tbe eagle's rock ; 
 art thou of this place, good father, that thou 
 knowest the name so well ? " 
 
 " I was of thy people once, fair lady ; now I 
 am God's poor servant." 
 
 "Be it as thou desirest ; go, father, and pray 
 for this house and its long-lost master." 
 
 Those who could see the pilgrim's face saw 
 the tears start in his eyes as he accepted 
 Felicia's gift and turned towards his lonely 
 hermitage. Many years did he live there, 
 many a time did he come to the castle yard, 
 and his daily companion was Felicia's child, 
 Sir Guido's son. Day after day did he talk to 
 him of adventures of knights in the Holy Land, 
 of those that had fallen fighting for the sepul- 
 chre, and those who had passed through the 
 fiery ordeal of that expedition. At last death 
 came upon him. 
 
 "Dear boy," said he to Sir Guido's son, 
 "take this ring to thy mother, and bid her, if
 
 Zbc <3esta IRomanorum 147 
 
 she would see me ere I die, come hither 
 quickly." 
 
 "Mother, dear mother," said the youth when 
 he entered Felicia's chamber, " the good pilgrim 
 is sorely ill ; he sends you this ring, and bids 
 you see him ere he die." 
 
 Felicia cast one look upon the ring. " Haste, 
 haste, my child ! " she exclaimed, "it is my 
 lord's, your father's ring ; come, come to the 
 forest!" 
 
 Quickly as she rushed to the hermitage, she 
 found but the dead body of her husband. 
 
 "Woe, woe is me!" she exclaimed, casting 
 herself on the cold corpse, "woe, woe is me! 
 where are now my alms ? My husband asked 
 charity of me and I knew him not ; thy father 
 talked with thee, my child, he embraced thee, 
 and thou knewest him not. O Guido ! thou 
 didst look upon thy wife, and didst not 
 tremble ; thou didst look upon thy child, and 
 kissed him, and blessed him ; alas, alas ! my 
 husband." 
 
 " I should be loth to agree with Percy, that so beautiful 
 a tale should have been resigned to children," said Her- 
 bert, as soon as Lathom had concluded his version of the 
 old tale. 
 
 " No wonder that the pilgrimage of the warrior was 
 such a favorite with all nations, as to be claimed by 
 nearly all as peculiarly their own," said Thompson. 
 
 " It was very early translated into French, and is al-
 
 148 Zbc Ocsta IRomanorum 
 
 luded to in a Spanish romance, written somewhere 
 about 1430. But now, that, as the old ballad says, 
 
 " ' The story is brought to an end, 
 Of Guy, the bold baron of price, 
 And of the fair maid Felice,' 
 
 we will conclude our evening with some account of its 
 applications, as intended by the monk. Sir Guido was 
 symbolical of our Saviour, Felicia of the soul, and Tyrius 
 of man in general. By the weasel was meant the proph- 
 ets, and especially the Baptist, as prophesying the com- 
 ing of the Saviour. The mountain is the world, the 
 dead dragon the old law of Moses, and the gold within 
 it the Ten Commandments. The sword represented 
 authority, the seven deadly sins were symbolized in the 
 sons of Plebeus, and the good fisherman was the repre- 
 sentative of the Holy Spirit." 
 
 " There remains one character yet unexplained — the 
 king's daughter," remarked Herbert. 
 
 "The explanation of her duties is peculiar to the 
 religion of the age in which the tale was written ; the 
 Roman Catholic easily recognized in the king's daughter 
 the Virgin Mary." 
 
 " Come, Herbert, we are over our time ; to work ; good- 
 night."
 
 CHAPTER IX. 
 
 Illustrations of Early Manners — Sorcery — The Knight 
 and the Necromancer — Waxen Figures — Degen- 
 eracy of Witches— The Clerk, and the Image — 
 Gerbert and Natural Magic— Elfin Chivalry— The 
 Demon Knight of the Vandal Camp — Scott's 
 Marmion — Assumption of Human Forms by Spirits 
 — The Seductions of the Evil One — Religious 
 Origin of Charges of Witchcraft. 
 
 '* THE attention of the king's daughter to the wounded 
 knight," remarked Herbert, " reminds me strong- 
 ly of the patriarchal habits described by Homer in his 
 Odyssey. The daughter of Nestor thinks it no disgrace 
 or indelicacy to attend to the bath of the wandering 
 Telemachus, and Helen herself seems to have performed 
 a like office for his father." 
 
 "The tales of chivalry are replete with instances of 
 these simple manners," rejoined Lathom ; "the king's 
 daughter, the fair virgin princess, is ever the kind at- 
 tendant on the honored guest, prepares his bath after 
 the fatigues of the day, and ministers to his wounds by 
 her medicinal skill." 
 
 "Your old monk's tales," said Thompson, "have no 
 little merit, as illustrations of the manners and habits of 
 the middle ages." 
 
 "Indeed, the light is curious that is thrown by these
 
 150 Zhe Oesta iRomanorum 
 
 tales on the habits of the middle ages," answered La- 
 thom ; " in these vivid and strongly delineated fictions, I 
 seem to fight, to tilt, to make love and war, to perform 
 penances, and to witness miracles with the actors them- 
 selves." 
 
 " We cannot but feel, however," remarked Herbert, 
 " that we are more inclined to laugh at the regula- 
 tions of their chivalry, than to appreciate them. The 
 absurd penances with which imaginable crimes were 
 visited in those days cannot but raise a smile, whilst 
 the utter carelessness with which enormous sins were 
 committed, excites extreme regret." 
 
 " What fragrant viands furnish forth 
 Our evening's entertainment ? " 
 
 said Thompson. 
 
 " Some illustrations of witchcraft and sorcery ; that 
 most prevalent belief, from the middle ages, to the days 
 of the sapient James the First." 
 
 " Among all curious discoveries, this would be the 
 most curious," said Herbert : " to find a people in whom 
 there never has existed a belief that human beings could 
 be gifted with supernatural powers, for the purpose of 
 accomplishing some good or evil object of their desire." 
 
 "Wherever Christianity spread, witchcraft must be 
 regarded as a recognized form in which the powers of 
 evil contended with the Almighty." 
 
 " Of what sex is your witch ? " asked Thompson. 
 
 " Oh, in this case, the good and the bad sorcerers are 
 both of the male sex." 
 
 " Your writer, therefore," replied Thompson, " does 
 not seem to have held the ungallant notions of Sprenger, 
 tliat from the natural inferiority of their minds, and 
 •wickedness of their hearts, the Devil always preferred 
 women for his agents. But to the story." 
 
 " Well, then, as the old chronicler would say, here 
 begins the tale of
 
 Cbe Iknigbt anD tbe Iftecromanccr 
 
 i=ii 
 
 " the; knight and the necromancer." 
 
 AMONG the knights that graced the court of 
 the Emperor Titus, there was one whom 
 all men agreed in calling the GOOD knight. 
 For some years he had been married to one 
 whose beauty was her fairest portion, for she 
 loved not the knight, her husband, but delight- 
 ed in the company of others, and would gladly 
 have devised his death, that she might marry 
 another courtier. 
 
 The good knight could not fail of discover- 
 ing the wickedness of his wife. Ofttimes did he 
 remonstrate with her ; but to all he said, she 
 turned a deaf ear, and would not return the 
 affection he felt, for one so unworthy of his love. 
 
 " My dear wife," said the good knight, " I go 
 to the Holy Land, to perform a vow : I leave 
 you to your own discretion." 
 
 The knight had no sooner embarked, than 
 the lady sent for one of her lovers, a clever 
 sorcerer. 
 
 "Know," said she to him, when he arrived at 
 the house, "my husband has sailed for the Holy 
 Land ; we live together ; ay, and for all our 
 lives, if you will but compass his death ; for I 
 love him not." 
 
 " There is danger," replied the necromancer ;
 
 152 Zbz Iknigbt anO tbe IKccromancer 
 
 "but, for the sake of thee and thy love, I will 
 endeavor to perform your wishes." 
 
 Then took he wax and herbs, gathered at dead 
 of night in secret places, and unguents made of 
 unknown ingredients, and moulded a figure of 
 the good knight, inscribing it with his name, 
 placing it before him, against the wall of the 
 lady's chamber. 
 
 The good knight commenced his pilgrimage 
 towards the Holy Land, and wist not what the 
 lady and her lover were plotting against him 
 and his dear life. As he descended towards the 
 vessel in which he was to embark, he observed 
 a man of some age, and of lofty and command- 
 ing stature, regarding him with interest. A 
 long robe covered him, and its hood drawn over 
 the face, concealed, in a great degree, the 
 features of the wearer. At last the old man 
 approached the knight. 
 
 " Good friend," said he, " I have a secret to 
 communicate to thee." 
 
 "Say on, good father," rejoined the knight, 
 " what wouldest thou with me ? " 
 
 " I would preserve thee from death." 
 
 " Nay, father, that is in God's hands ; I fight 
 not against his will." 
 
 "To-day, then, thou diest ; unless thou obey- 
 est my commands : — ajd, listen, the lover of 
 thy unfaithful wife is thy murderer."
 
 Zbc Ifcnigbt anO tbe Ittecromancer 153 
 
 "Good sir," replied the knight, "I perceive 
 thou art a wise man ; what shall I do to escape 
 this sudden death? " 
 
 " Follow, and obey rne." 
 
 Many and winding were the streets through 
 which the good knight followed his mysterious 
 guide. At last they reached a dark, dismal- 
 looking house, apparently without any inhabi- 
 tant. The guide pressed his foot on the door- 
 step, and the door slowly opened, closing again 
 as the knight followed the old man into the 
 house. All was darkness, but the guide seized 
 the knight's hand and led him up the tottering 
 staircase to a large room, in which were many 
 strange books and figures of men and animals, 
 interspersed with symbolic emblems of triangles 
 and circles, whose meaning was known to that 
 aged man alone. In the midst of the room was 
 a table, on which burned a lamp without a wick 
 or a reservoir of oil, for it fed on a vapor that 
 was lighter than air, and was invisible to the 
 eye. The old man spoke some words, to the 
 knight unknown ; in a moment the floor clave 
 asunder, and a bath, on whose sides the same 
 mystic symbols were written as on the walls of 
 the room, arose from beneath. 
 
 " Prepare to bathe," said the old man, open- 
 ing a book on the table, and taking a bright 
 mirror from a casket.
 
 154 £be fcnictbt ani> tbc IRccromancer 
 
 No sooner had the knight entered the bath 
 than the old man gave him a mirror and bid 
 him look into it. 
 
 "What seest thou ? " asked he of the knight. 
 
 "I see my own chamber; my wife is there, 
 and Maleficus, the greatest sorcerer in Rome." 
 
 ' ' What does the sorcerer ? ' ' 
 
 "He kneads wax and other ingredients ; he 
 hath made a figure of me, and written under it 
 my name ; even now he fastens it against the 
 wall of my chamber." 
 
 " Look again," said the old man ; " what does 
 he?" 
 
 ' ' He takes a bow ; he fits an arrow to the 
 string ; he aims at the effigy." 
 
 " l,ook on : as you love your life, when that 
 arrow leaves the string, plunge beneath the 
 water till you hear me call." 
 
 " He shoots ! " exclaimed the knight as he 
 dived beneath the water. 
 
 ' ' Come out ; look again at the mirror ; what 
 seest thou? " 
 
 " An arrow is sticking in the wall, by the side 
 of the figure. The sorcerer seems angry ; he 
 draws out the arrow, and prepares to shoot 
 again from a nearer place." 
 
 " As you value your life, do as before." 
 
 Again the good knight plunged, and at the old 
 man's call resumed his inspection of the mirror.
 
 Zhe IRnicibt and tbc IRecromancer 155 
 
 "What seest thou now ? " asked the old man. 
 
 "Maleficus has again missed the image; he 
 makes great lamentations ; he says to my wife : 
 ' If I miss the third time, I die ' ; he goes nearer 
 to the image, and prepares to shoot." 
 
 "Plunge!" cried the old man ; and then, 
 after a time : " Raise thyself, and look again ; 
 why laughest thou ? ' ' 
 
 " To see the reward of the wicked ; the arrow 
 has missed, rebounded from the wall, and 
 pierced the sorcerer ; he faints, he dies, my 
 wife stands over his body, and weeps ; she 
 digs a hole under the bed, and buries the 
 body." 
 
 "Arise, sir knight: resume your apparel, 
 and give God thanks for your great deliver- 
 ance." 
 
 A year and more elapsed before the good 
 knight returned from his pilgrimage. His wife 
 welcomed him with smiles and every appear- 
 ance of pleasure. For a few days the knight 
 concealed his knowledge of his wife's conduct. 
 At length he summoned all his and her kins- 
 folk, and they feasted in commemoration of his 
 return from his dangerous pilgrimage. 
 
 "Brother," said the knight during the feast, 
 " how is it that I neither hear nor see aught of 
 Maleficus, the great magician ? " 
 
 " He disappeared, we know not whither, the
 
 156 Jibe fmfgbt anf> tbc IKccromancer 
 
 very day that you departed for your pilgrim- 
 age." 
 
 " And where did he die ? " asked the knight, 
 with a look at his wife. 
 
 " We know not that he is dead," replied the 
 guests. 
 
 "How should a sorcerer die?" asked the 
 knight's wife with a sneer. 
 
 " If not dead, why did you bury him ? " re- 
 joined the knight. 
 
 "Bury him! what meanest thou, my lord? 1 
 bury him ! " 
 
 "Yes, you bury him," said the knight, 
 calmly. 
 
 "Brothers, he is mad," exclaimed the lady, 
 turning pale and trembling. 
 
 "Woman," replied the knight, rising, and 
 seizing the lady by the wrist, "woman, I am 
 not mad. Hear ye all : this woman loved Mal- 
 eficus ; she called him here the day I sailed ; 
 she devised with him my death ; but God struck 
 him with that death he would have prepared for 
 me, and now he lies buried in my chamber. 
 Come, let us see this great wonder." 
 
 The hiding-place of the body was opened, 
 and the remains found where the knight had 
 said ; then did he declare before the judges and 
 the people the great crimes of his wife ; and the 
 judges condemned her to death at the stake,
 
 £be (Bcsta IRomanorum 157 
 
 and bade the executioner scatter her ashes to 
 the four winds of heaven. 
 
 ' ' Few practices were more prevalent among the 
 witches than that which your tale illustrates, of effecting 
 the death of an enemy through the medium of an en- 
 chanted image of the person intended to be affected," 
 said Herbert. 
 
 " As old Ben Jonson sings : 
 
 " ' With pictures full, 
 Of wax and wool, 
 Their livers I stick, 
 With needles quick.' " 
 
 " Yes," said Herbert ; " it was a very approved method 
 to melt a waxen image before the fire, under the idea 
 that the person by it represented would pine away, as 
 the figure melted ; or to stick pins and needles into the 
 heart or less vital parts of the waxen resemblance, with 
 the hopes of affecting, by disease and pain, the portions 
 of the human being thus represented and treated." 
 
 " In one of the old ballad romances in which Alexander 
 is celebrated, we find a full account of the wondrous 
 puppets of a king and magician named Nectabanus. I 
 will read you the old verses. 
 
 " ' Barons were whilhome wise and good, 
 That this art well understood ; 
 And one there was, Nectabanus, 
 Wise in this art, and malicious ; 
 When king or earl came on him to war, 
 Quick he looked on the star ; 
 Of wax, made him puppets, 
 And made them fight with bats (clubs) ; 
 And so he learned Je vous dis, 
 Aye to quell his enemy 
 With charms and with conjurisons : 
 Thus he assayed the regions, 
 That him came for to assail, 
 In very manner of battail ; 
 By clear candle in the night, 
 He made each one with other fight.' "
 
 158 Zbe Gesta IRomanorum 
 
 "No bad way," said Thompson, " of testing the advan- 
 tage of that royal and national luxury — war." 
 
 " The rhymer makes his charms successful, especially 
 in the case of one King Philip, a great and powerful 
 prince, who brought nine-and-twenty great lords to bat- 
 tle against Xectabanus. Once put into his charmed 
 basin, the magician saw the end of the battle, the defeat 
 and death of his enemy. " 
 
 " The old Romans had as much fear of the waxen 
 image, as good King James," remarked Herbert; "and 
 were as firm believers in the feats of Canidia over the en- 
 chanted model, as the Scottish King in the modelling of 
 his national wiches, and the secret cavern on the hill, 
 where Satan and his imps manufacture devils' arrows 
 to shoot at the enemies of the witches." 
 
 "'Sympathia Magica works wondrous charms,' says 
 Scott ; and so before him dreamt the Arabian philoso- 
 phers, and the royal witch-finder, who founds his argu- 
 ments against waxen images on the doctrine of sym- 
 pathy," said Thompson. 
 
 "It is worth remarking," said Herbert, " how witch- 
 craft degenerated, not in its powers, but in its persons 
 of the supposed witches. Joan of Arc, the wife of the 
 protector Somerset, the mistress of Richard III., were in 
 early days deemed worthy of being punished as witches. 
 In later days, the charge was confined to the oldest, the 
 ugliest, and generally the poorest crone in the neighbor- 
 hood." 
 
 "With the fashion of political-witchcraft, the cus- 
 tom of charging persons of rank with the crime, died 
 away," replied Lathom. " Instead of torturing images, 
 or raising spirits for the sake of crowns and thrones, the 
 witches became content to tease a neighbor's child, or 
 render a farmer's cow barren. The last instance of such 
 a charge against a person of rank, is the case of the 
 Countess of Essex. The charges of sorcery, however,
 
 Cbe Clerk anD tbe "ffmage 159 
 
 formed but a small portion of the accusations against the 
 countess." 
 
 " We are forgetting the moral," said Thompson. 
 
 "It is short and plain," answered Lathorn, "and in- 
 tended to be illustrative of the advantage of the confes- 
 sion of sins. The good knight is the soul of man, and his 
 wicked wife the flesh of his body. The pilgrimage rep- 
 resents our good deeds. The wise magician, a prudent 
 priest. Maleficus stands as the representative of the 
 Devil, and the image is human pride and vanity ; add to 
 these the bath of confession, and the mirror of the sacred 
 writings, by which the arrows of sin are warded off, and 
 the allegory is complete." 
 
 " Does your storehouse afford another magical tale ? " 
 asked Thompson. 
 
 " Many more ; I will read one that is short, but curious, 
 from its being founded on a generally received legend of 
 the monk Gerbert, afterwards Pope Sylvester. I will 
 call it, for want of a better name, 
 
 " THE CLERK AND THE IMAGE." 
 
 IN the city of Rome stood an image : its 
 posture was erect, with the right hand ex- 
 tended ; on the middle finger of the outstretched 
 hand was written: "Strike HERE." Years 
 and years had the image stood there, and no 
 one knew the secret of the inscription. Many 
 wise men from every land came and looked at 
 the statue, and many were the solutions of the 
 mystery attempted by them ; each man was 
 satisfied with his own conclusion, but no one 
 else agreed with him.
 
 160 XLbc Clerft an& tbe Umage 
 
 Among the many that attempted to unravel 
 the mystery of the figure was a certain priest. 
 As he looked at the image, he noticed that 
 when the sun shone on the figure, the shadow 
 of the outstretched finger was discernible on the 
 ground at some distance from the statue. He 
 marked the spot, and waited until the night was 
 come ; at midnight, he began to dig where the 
 shadow ceased ; for three feet he found nothing 
 but earth and stones ; he renewed his labor, and 
 felt his spade strike against something hard ; he 
 continued his work with greater zeal, and found 
 a trap-door, which he soon cleared, and pro- 
 ceeded to raise. 
 
 Below tbe door, a flight of marble steps de- 
 scended into the earth, and a bright light 
 streamed upward from below. Casting down 
 his spade, the priest descended ; at the foot of 
 the stairs he entered a vast hall ; a number of 
 men, habited in costly apparel, and sitting in 
 solemn silence, occupied the centre ; around, 
 and on every side, were riches innumerable : 
 piles of gold and enamelled vases ; rich and 
 glittering robes, and heaps of jewels of the 
 brightest hue. 
 
 The hall was lighted by one jewel alone ; a 
 carbuncle so bright, so dazzling, that the priest 
 could hardly bear to gaze upon it, where it 
 stood in a corner of the hall. At the opposite
 
 XLbe Clcrft anfc tbe ITmacjc 161 
 
 end of the hall stood an armed archer ; his bow 
 was strung, and the arrow fitted to the string, 
 and he seemed to take aim at the carbuncle ; his 
 brow blazed with reflected light, and on it was 
 written : ' / am, that I am ; my shaft is in- 
 evitable : yon glittering jewel cannot escape its 
 stroke. ' ' 
 
 Beyond the great hall appeared another cham- 
 t>er, into which the priest, amazed at what he 
 saw, entered. It was fitted as a bedchamber, 
 couches of every kind ornamented it, and many 
 beautiful women, arrayed in robes as costly as 
 those worn in the great hall, occupied the 
 chamber. Here too all was mute ; the beautiful 
 damsels sat in silence. 
 
 Still the priest went onward. There were 
 rooms after rooms, stables filled with horses 
 and asses, and granaries stored with abundant 
 forage. He placed his hand on the horses, they 
 were cold, lifeless stone. Servants stood round 
 about, their lips were closed — all was silent as 
 the grave ; and yet what was there wanting — 
 what but life ? 
 
 ' ' I have seen to-day what no man will be- 
 lieve," said the priest, as he re-entered the 
 great hall ; "let me take something whereby to 
 prove the credit of my story . ' ' 
 
 As he thus spake to himself, he saw some 
 vases and jewel-handed knives on a marble
 
 162 £be (Bcsta IRomanorum 
 
 table beside him ; be raised bis band, be clasped 
 tbem, he placed them in the bosom of his 
 garment — all was dark. 
 
 The archer had shot with his arrow ; the car- 
 buncle was broken into a thousand pieces — a 
 thick darkness covered the place ; hour after 
 hour he wandered about the halls and passages 
 — all was dark — all was cold — all was desolate ; 
 the stairs seemed to have fled, he found no open- 
 ing, and he laid him down and died a miserable 
 death, amid those piles of gold and jewels, his 
 only companions the lifeless images of stone. 
 His secret died with him. 
 
 " Spenser in his Fairy Queen seems to have had some 
 such tale as this in his mind, in his scene in the House 
 of Riches," remarked Herbert. 
 
 " You allude to the fiend watching Sir Gouyon, and 
 hoping- that he will he tempted to snatch some of the 
 treasures of the subterraneous palace, so freely displayed 
 to his view." 
 
 " Sir Gouyon fares better than your priest," replied 
 Herbert; he resists the temptation, and escapes the 
 threatened doom ; as the poet says : 
 
 " ' Thereat the fiend his gnashing teeth did grate, 
 And grieved so long to lack his greedy prey ; 
 For well he weened, that so glorious bait 
 Would tempt his guest to take thereof assay ; 
 Had he so done, he had him snatched away, 
 More light than Culver in the falcon's fist.' " 
 
 "Pope Sylvester, I presume," said Thompson, " was a 
 clever mechanician, and a good astronomer, as far as 
 knowledge extended in his day." 
 
 "Precisely so, and hence all the wondrous tales of
 
 £bc <3csta IRomanorum 163 
 
 his magic," rejoined Lathom. "Born in France, and 
 naturally of an acquisitive mind, he proceeded to Spain, 
 to gain in the Saracenic university of Seville some little 
 of the Eastern sciences. Arithmetic and astronomy, or, 
 as Malmesbury calls the last, astrology, were then flour- 
 ishing in Spain, and when introduced by him into his 
 native country, soon gained for him the reputation of a 
 magician." 
 
 "Friar Bacon experienced in this country," remarked 
 Herbert, " that a knowledge of mechanics sufficient to 
 create automatons, of acoustics to regulate the transmis- 
 sion of sounds through long, concealed pipes, and of 
 astronomy to attempt some predictions of the weather 
 from planetary movements, was quite enough to ensure 
 him the name of magician among our rude ancestors." 
 
 "One of the magic arts attributed to Gerbert," re- 
 marked Lathom, "clearly indicates, that a knowledge of 
 mechanism was the source of this reputation in his case. 
 Jlalmesbury tells us that Gerbert framed a bridge, be- 
 yond which were golden horses of gigantic size, with 
 riders of gold, richly glittering with jewels and em- 
 broidery. A party attempted to pass the bridge, in order 
 to steal the treasures on the further side. As the first 
 stept on the bridge, it rose gradually in the air, and stood 
 perpendicularly on one end. A brazen man rose from 
 beneath, and as he struck the water with a mace of brass, 
 the sky was overshadowed, and all was thick darkness." 
 
 "Setting aside the darkness," said Thompson, "the 
 result of accident, or an addition of the chroniclers, a 
 little clever mechanism will account for the movable 
 bridge of Gerbert." 
 
 " The same explanation applies to the ever-burning 
 lamp of the Rosicrucians, held in the hand of a figure 
 armed with a mace, with which he dashes the lamp to 
 atoms, on the entrance of any person into the secret 
 vault."
 
 164 Cbe <3esta iRomanocum 
 
 "Most undoubtedly, Herbert," said Thompson; "for 
 in this instance, the legend describes the figure as rais- 
 ing his hand at the first step of the intruder, preparing 
 to strike as he draws nearer and nearer, and at last, 
 when almost within reach, the secret springs on which 
 he is walking dash down the armed hand of the figure, 
 and the lamp and the secret perish in darkness." 
 
 "The tales of natural magic," said Herbert, "remind 
 me of the legends of one of the Jameses of Scotland, in 
 the subterraneous cavern of Halidon Hill." 
 
 "I hardly know to what legend you allude," replied 
 Lathom. 
 
 " The one in which the king enters a long hall, where 
 a hundred knights stand on either side, each with his 
 armor on, and his horse ready caparisoned by his side. 
 At the end of the hall stand a bugle and a sword. All is 
 silence ; the knights stand as statues, and their war- 
 horses do not seem to breathe. The whole charm de- 
 pends upon which is performed first, the bugle blown, or 
 the sword drawn from its scabbard. The king seizes 
 the bugle ; the effect is that the whole melts into dark- 
 ness, and the charm is gone." 
 
 " As you have led the way to traditions of the northern 
 part of our island," said Lathom, " one form, if not the 
 original one of the legend, which Scott has worked up in 
 his Marmion, will not be out of place. I allude to the 
 encounter of Marmion with De Wilton, under the guise 
 of the spectral champion of the Pictish camp." 
 
 " Your old monk's book would have been a treasure to 
 Sir Walter Scott," said Herbert. 
 
 "That he would duly have appreciated its contents, 
 no one can doubt," replied Lathom, "but he was so well 
 read in the later forms of the legends, which he would 
 have found in its pages, that though apparently un- 
 known to him, he required but little of its aid. Our 
 writer would wish his readers to see in this legend an al-
 
 Cbe Demon of tbe Vandal Camp 165 
 
 legory of the discomfiture of the Devil armed with 
 pride, by the Christian armed with faith. I will call it 
 by the name of 
 
 "THE DEMON KNIGHT OF THE VANDAI, CAMP." 
 
 ON the borders of the diocese of Ely, stands 
 an old castle, now crumbling into ruins, 
 below which is a place called by the people 
 Wandlesbury ; commemorating by this name 
 the camp of the Vandals, which they pitched 
 hard by this castle, after laying waste the coun- 
 try and cruelly slaughtering the inhabitants. 
 The camp was on the summit of a hill, on a 
 round plain ; round about it ran a trench 
 
 which 
 
 " The Vandal race 
 long since in blood did trace ; 
 
 The moor around was brown and bare, 
 The space within was green and fair, 
 The spot the village children knew, 
 For there the wild flowers earliest grew ; 
 But wo betide the wandering wight, 
 That treads its circle in the night ! 
 The breadth across, a bow-shot clear, 
 Gives ample space for full career : 
 Opposed to the four points of heaven, 
 By four deep gaps was entrance given." 
 
 Wo indeed to the adventurous man who dared 
 to go armed into that camp, and call upon an 
 adversary to meet him ! Even as he called, an-
 
 r66 XLbc Demon of tbe Uanoal Camp 
 
 ot±ier knight rode into the camp, armed at all 
 points, and met the challenger in combat. The 
 encounter was always fatal to one of the com- 
 batants. 
 
 The knight Albert sat in the hall of the castle 
 of Wandlesbury, and shared the hospitality of 
 the lord. At night, after supper, the household 
 closed round the great fire, and each man in his 
 turn told his tale of arms, love, or sorcery. The 
 demon knight of the Vandal camp figured in 
 many a tale, and Albert hastened to prove the 
 truth of the legend. It was in vain that the lord 
 of the castle endeavored to dissuade his guest 
 from seeking the phantom knight. Armed at 
 all points, the English knight sallied from the 
 castle gate ; and his trusty squire, a youth of 
 noble blood, rode by his master's side. 
 
 Some hours passed : the hall was sadly silent 
 during the knight's absence, for they all feared 
 the worst for him ; anon, a horn was heard at 
 the gate, the warder hastened to open the doors, 
 and the knight rode into the castle court ; his 
 squire followed him close, and he led by the 
 bridle a horse of perfect form and figure, of 
 enormous size, and coal-black. 
 
 The knight hastened to the hall ; all clustered 
 round him to hear his tale ; but the good lord 
 of the castle bade them first release him of hi= 
 armor, and bring in refreshment. One by out
 
 Gbe E>emon of tbe IDanoal Camp 167 
 
 the pieces of his armor were taken off, and 
 neither wound nor bruise appeared ; at last they 
 proceeded to take off one of his cuishes ; it was 
 filled with blood, and even then a few drops 
 were seen to ooze from a slight wound in the 
 thigh. His wound dressed, his fatigue refreshed 
 with good wine and meat, the lord of the castle 
 requested the knight's account of his meeting 
 with the demon champion. 
 
 "My lord," replied the English knight, "you 
 know how, in despite of your earnest remon- 
 strances, I rode from your castle gate. The 
 moon was bright and clear, and I soon reached 
 the entrance of the Vandal camp ; without a 
 pause I rode in and blew my bugle. 
 
 " ' Methought an answer met my ear, — 
 Yet was the blast so low and drear, 
 So hollow and so faintly blown, 
 It might be echo of my own.' 
 
 I waited for a moment in doubt. 
 
 " ' Then sudden in the ring I view, 
 In form distinct of shape and hue, 
 A mounted champion rise.' 
 
 Without a word the demon prepared for the 
 charge ; I raised my shield, couched my lance, 
 and rushed to the attaint ; we both staggered 
 with the charge ; our lances broke in half, but 
 the points glided harmlessly from our armor.
 
 i68 Zbc Demon of tbe Danoal Camp 
 
 I still pressed on, and my adversary's horse 
 stumbled and fell ; the demon was rolled on the 
 ground. In a moment I was by his side, and 
 seized his horse's rein ; the demon seemed to 
 revive ; lie saw my action, snatched a portion 
 of his broken lance, and darted it at me as a 
 javelin. It struck me on my thigh, but in my 
 eagerness I felt it not. In a moment 
 
 " ' He seem'd to vanish frorn my sight : 
 
 The moonbeam droop'd, and deepest night 
 Sunk down upon the heath.' 
 
 Had I not that dark black horse as a witness of 
 the combat, I should begin to doubt whether I 
 had met the demon." 
 
 " Let us see the demon's steed," said the old 
 lord, after he had thanked the knight for his 
 relation of the adventure ; ' ' even now the dawn 
 is about to break, and we must seek some little 
 rest before day shines out. ' ' 
 
 In the court-yard they found the black steed ; 
 his eye lustrous, his neck proudly arched, his 
 coat of shining black, and a glittering war 
 saddle on his back. The first streaks of the 
 dawn began to appear as they entered the castle 
 yard ; the black steed grew restless, and tried 
 to break from the hands of the groom ; he 
 champed his bit, snorted as in pain and anger, 
 and struck the ground with his feet, until the
 
 Zbe <5esta IRomanorum 169 
 
 sparks flew. The cock crowed — the black steed 
 had disappeared. 
 
 Every year, on the self-same night, at that 
 self-same hour, did the wound of the English 
 knight burst out afresh, and torment him with 
 severe anguish ; to his dying day he bore this 
 memorial of his encounter with the demon 
 champion of the Vandal camp. 
 
 "You have made good use of Scott's version of the 
 tale in Marmion," said Thompson, "to whom I should 
 think your version of the story was hardly known." 
 
 " No ; if I remember rightly, he gives the old Durham 
 tale of Ralph Buhner as its immediate source, and the 
 strange tale of the Bohemian knights as related by Hey- 
 wood, in his Hierarchie of the Blessed Angels." 
 
 " The introduction to the story recalls the custom so 
 adroitly used by Chaucer to introduce his Canterbury 
 tales," remarked Herbert ; "tale-telling round the fire." 
 
 "When there was neither juggler nor minstrel pres- 
 ent," replied Lathom, " it seems to have been the cus- 
 tom of our ancestors to entertain themselves by relating 
 orhearing a series of adventures." 
 
 " So that Chaucer's plan, at first sight so ingenious an 
 invention, is in truth an equally ingenious adaptation of 
 an ancient fashion." 
 
 "But to return to our demonology," said Lathom ; 
 " what notion was more common than that spirits could 
 assume the human form, and live on earth, and mingle 
 as mortals in social life ? This belief we find illustrated 
 by the author or authors of the Gesta." 
 
 " The stay, however, of these spirits is generally but a 
 lease of life for so many years," remarked Herbert. 
 
 " Generally ; but not in the case which my author 
 gravely lays down as true, under the title of
 
 i?o Cbe SeDuctions of tbc JEvtl One 
 
 " THE SEDUCTIONS OF THE EVII, ONE.' 
 
 IT often happens that the devils are permitted 
 to transform themselves into angels of 
 light, or to assume the human form, in order to 
 foster in human hearts whatever is wicked. So 
 did it happen in France, when Valentine was 
 bishop of Aries. 
 
 On the very borders of his diocese stood a 
 knight's castle, with lofty and strong battle- 
 ments. The knight had travelled in many 
 lands, and seen many nations that none others 
 had looked upon or heard of. He was a good 
 man, and a constant attendant on the services 
 of the Church. His wife was very fair to look 
 upon ; her figure was light and tall ; her face 
 delicately white, and her eyes ever bright, and 
 sparkling with almost unearthly brilliancy. 
 Attracted by cries of distress, whilst on one of 
 his distant pilgrimages, he had hastened into a 
 dark wood, where he discovered this fair lady, 
 almost denuded of her garments, bound to 
 a tree, and being beaten with rods by two men 
 of fierce countenances and powerful frames. 
 
 His sword flashed in the air as the knight rode 
 against the men ; with one blow he struck down 
 the nearest of the lady's torturers ; with the 
 second he pierced the breast of the other mon-
 
 Zbe Seouctfons of tbe iBvil One 171 
 
 ster ; whilst with a third stroke of his trenchant 
 blade he cut in pieces the cords that bound the 
 lady to the tree. 
 
 The lady's tale was simple : she was the 
 daughter of a powerful prince of a far-off land ; 
 had been seized by those in whose hands the 
 knight discovered her ; carried for days and 
 months over seas and lands, and at last bound 
 to the tree, and scourged because she would not 
 yield to the desires of her tormentors. She 
 knew not where her father's kingdom lay, and 
 its name was unknown even to the knight, 
 though he had travelled far and often. 
 
 After a time, the knight married the lady of 
 the wood ; happy were they by their union, for 
 he loved her dearly, and the lady seemed to re- 
 turn his love. One thing alone grieved the 
 good knight. Every day that she came to the 
 service of the Church, she stayed no longer 
 than the beginning of the consecration of the 
 elements of the Sacrament. Often and often 
 had the good knight remonstrated with his wife 
 on her conduct, and sought from her some 
 reason for her action. There was ever some ex- 
 cuse, but it was always unsatisfactory. 
 
 One holiday the knight and the lady were at 
 church. The priest was proceeding to the 
 celebration of the Sacrament, and the lady 
 rose as usual.
 
 172 Cbe Gcsta TRomanorum 
 
 " Nay," said the knight, forcibly arresting his 
 wife's departure ; " nay, not for this once." 
 
 The lady struggled, her eyes gleamed with 
 redoubled brilliancy, and her whole body 
 seemed wrung with violent pain. 
 
 "In the name of God, depart not," said the 
 knight. 
 
 That holy name was all-powerful. The bodily 
 form of the lady melted away, and was seen no 
 more ; whilst, with a cry of anguish and of ter- 
 ror, an evil spirit of monstrous form rose from 
 the ground, clave the chapel roof asunder, and 
 disappeared in the air. 
 
 " Such stories might be multiplied by hundreds," said 
 Herbert. " Every country has its good and evil angels 
 that live among men and assume their forms." 
 
 "It illustrates the curious fact," remarked Lathom, 
 " that the earliest accusations of sorcery in Christian 
 ages are connected with relapses from the faith of Christ. 
 The Anglo-Saxon laws against witchcraft are levelled 
 against those who still adhered to the heathen practices 
 of their ancestors, or sought to combine the pure faith of 
 the Bible with the superstitions of their ancestral idola- 
 try." 
 
 " Was not such the fact in the south of Europe ? " said 
 Herbert; "the still lingering worship of the gods and 
 goddesses of the woods was visited as sorcery. The de- 
 mons do but occupy their places under forms, and with 
 opinions, gradually adapted to the religious opinions of 
 the age." 
 
 " Many a secret meeting for the worship of God has 
 been made the foundation of the mysteries of a witch's
 
 Zhc <3esta iRomanorum 173 
 
 Sabbath," said Lathoni ; "sorcery was a common charge 
 against the early Christians when they met in their secret 
 caves and hiding-places ; it was an equally current accu- 
 sation centuries afterwards, when the Albigenses and 
 Waldenses held their religious assemblages in secret, for 
 fear of the power of that Church whose teaching they 
 seceded from." 
 
 "The same charges were made, in Sweden and Scot- 
 land, in the seventeenth century, against witches, as 
 four centuries before, so little changed is superstition," 
 said Herbert. 
 
 "We must beat a truce," said Lathom, "and be con- 
 tent to leave the rest of our illustrations of natural 
 magic, witchcraft, and demoniacal agency, until our 
 next meeting." 
 
 " Good-night, then," said Thompson ; " remember the 
 witches' time of night approaches — 
 
 " ' The owl is abroad, the bat, and the toad, 
 And so is the cat-a-mountain, 
 The ant and the mole, sit both in a hole, 
 And the frog peeps out of the fountain.' "
 
 CHAPTER X. 
 
 
 The Three Maxims— The Monk's Errors in History — 
 The Trials of Eustace — Sources of its Incidents — 
 Colonel Gardiner— St. Herbert — Early English Ro- 
 mance of Sir Isumbras. 
 
 " U/HAT marvellous tale of sorcery are we to be 
 regaled with to-night ? " asked Thompson, 
 when the tenth evening with the old story-tellers came 
 round. 
 
 " We must adjourn that subject for to-night ; for I have 
 chanced on a point, in illustration of one of the tales in- 
 tended for this evening's reading, that will require an- 
 other day's looking up." 
 " Are we to go to bed supperless, then ? " 
 " No, no ; not quite ; here are two specimens that will 
 both amuse and, I hope, instruct us. To those who re- 
 member the Turkish tales, and have not forgotten the 
 story of The King, The Son, and The Surgeon, the three 
 maxims of Domitian will hardly appear a novelty. But 
 without further preface, I will commence the monk's 
 account of the three maxims, for each of which Domitian 
 thankfully gave a thousand florins."
 
 £be Cbrcc dftarims 17 
 
 /3 
 
 the; three maxims. 
 
 THERE was an emperor of Rome named 
 Dornitian, a good and a wise prince, who 
 suffered no offenders to escape. There was a 
 high feast in his hall, the tables glittered with 
 gold and silver, and groaned with plenteous 
 pro-vision ; his nobles feasted with him — 
 
 " And 't was merry with all 
 In the king's great hall, 
 
 When his nobles and kinsmen, great and small, 
 Were keeping their Christmas holiday." 
 
 The porter in his lodge made his fire blaze 
 brightly, and solaced himself with Christmas 
 cheer, every now and then grumbling at his of- 
 fice, that kept him from the gayeties of the re- 
 tainers' hall. The wind blew cold, the sleet fell 
 quick, as the bell of the king's gate sounded 
 heavy and dull. 
 
 "Who comes now?" grumbled the porter; 
 " a pretty night to turn out from fire and food. 
 Why, the very bell itself finds it too cold to 
 clank loudly. Well, well — duty is duty ; some 
 say it 's a pleasure — humph ! Hilloa, friend, 
 who are you ? what do you want, man ? " 
 
 The traveller whom the porter thus addressed 
 was a tall, weather-beaten man, with long white 
 hair that fluttered from beneath bis cap of furs,
 
 176 £bc TLbvcc /Ifcasims 
 
 and whose figure, naturally tall and robust, 
 seemed taller and larger from the vast cloak of 
 bearskins with which he was enveloped. 
 
 " I am a merchant from a far country," said 
 the man ; " many wonderful things do I bring 
 to your emperor, if he will purchase of my 
 valuables." 
 
 " Well, come in, come in, man," said the por- 
 ter ; " the king keeps high Christmas feast, and 
 on this night all men may seek his presence. 
 Wilt take some refreshment, good sir ? " 
 
 " I am never hungry, nor thirsty, nor cold." 
 
 " I 'm all, — there — straight before you, good 
 sir — the hall porter will usher you in — straight 
 before," muttered the old porter, as he returned 
 to his fire and his supper. "Never hungry, 
 thirsty, nor cold — what a good poor man he 
 would make ; humph ! he loses many a pleas- 
 ure, though," continued the porter, as he closed 
 the door of the lodge. 
 
 The strange merchant presented himself to 
 the hall porter, and was ushered by him into 
 the presence of the emperor. 
 
 " Whom have we here?" said Domitian, as 
 the strange visitor made his obeisance. ' ' What 
 seekest thou of mc ? " 
 
 " I bring many things from far countries. 
 Wilt thou buy of my curiosities ? " 
 
 " Let us see them," rejoined Domitian.
 
 XLhe Zbxcc /Ifoarfms 177 
 
 "I have three maxims of especial wisdom 
 and excellence, my lord." 
 
 " Let us hear them." 
 
 "Nay, my lord ; if thou hearest them, and 
 likest not, then I have lost hoth my maxims 
 and my money." 
 
 "And if I pay without hearing them, and 
 they are useless, I lose my time and my money. 
 What is the price ? " 
 
 " A thousand florins, my lord." 
 
 " A thousand florins for that of which I know 
 not what it is, ' ' replied the king. 
 
 "My lord," rejoined the merchant, " if the 
 maxims do not stand you in good stead, I will 
 return the money. ' ' 
 
 " Be it so then ; let us hear your maxims." 
 
 " The first, my lord, is on this wise : NEVER 
 BEGIN ANY THING UNTIL YOU HAVE CALCU- 
 LATED WHAT THE END WILE BE." 
 
 " I like your maxim much," said the king; 
 "let it be recorded in the chronicles of the king- 
 dom, inscribed on the walls and over the doors 
 of my palaces and halls of justice, and inter- 
 woven on the borders of the linen of my table 
 and my chamber." 
 
 "The second, my lord, is : Never LEAVE A 
 
 HIGHWAY FOR A BYE-WAY." 
 
 " I see not the value of this maxim ; but to 
 the third."
 
 i-s Cbc Zbvcc /Ifcajims 
 
 " Never sleep in the house where the 
 master is ax old max axd the wife a 
 YOUNG womax. These three maxims, if at- 
 tended to, my lord, will stand you in good 
 stead. ' ' 
 
 " We shall see," said the king ; "a year and 
 a day for the trial of each, at the end of this 
 time we will settle accounts." 
 
 " Good master," said the king's jester, " wilt 
 sell thy chance of the thousand florins for my 
 fool's cap? " 
 
 "Wait, and see what the end will be," rejoined 
 the merchant ; " a year and a day hence I will 
 return to see how my first maxim has fared. 
 Farewell, my lord. . . ." 
 
 The year and a day w y ere nearly elapsed, and 
 yet the first maxim had not been clearly proved. 
 Domitian remained severely just, and the ill- 
 intentioned of his nobles plotted his destruction 
 in the hopes of indulging their vices more freely 
 under the rule of his successor. Many were the 
 plots they concocted to put him to death, but 
 all were foiled by his foresight and prudence. 
 
 "Every failure," said the conspirators at a 
 midnight meeting, "brings danger nearer to 
 ourselves." 
 
 " Even so, brothers, but this time we will not 
 fail," said one of the number ; " do ye not mind
 
 XLbe Zhrcc /Ifcarims 179 
 
 that I am the king's barber ; every day he bares 
 his throat to my razor, it is but one slash, and 
 we are free ; promise me the crown : in return 
 for this, I will give you freedom by the king's 
 death, and free license during my reign." 
 
 "It is well spoken," cried all the conspira- 
 tors ; " the barber shall be our king." 
 
 On the next morning, the barber entered the 
 chamber of Domitian, and prepared to shave 
 the king. The razor was stropped, the lather 
 spread upon the royal chin, and the towel 
 fastened round the royal breast. On the edge 
 of the napkin were these words in letters of 
 gold : " Never begin any thing until you have 
 calculated zvhat the end will be." 
 
 The barber's eye fell on these words, they 
 arrested his attention, he paused in his labors. 
 
 "What am I about to do?" thought he to 
 himself, ' ' to kill the king, to gain his crown ; 
 am I sure of the crown ? shall I not rather be 
 slain miserably, and die amid unheard-of tor- 
 tures and infamy ? whilst those that plot with 
 me will turn against me, and make me their 
 scape-goat." 
 
 "Art dreaming, sir barber?" exclaimed the 
 king. 
 
 At the king's voice, the barber trembled ex- 
 ceedingly, he dropt the razor from his hand, 
 and fell at his sovereign's feet.
 
 180 Zbc XLbvcc /Rajims 
 
 " What means all this ? " 
 
 " Oh, my good lord ! " exclaimed the barber, 
 as he knelt trembling at Domitian's feet, " this 
 day was I to have killed thee ; but I saw the 
 maxim written on the napkin ; I thought of the 
 consequences, and now repent me of my wick- 
 edness. Mercy, my good lord, mercy ! " 
 
 " Be faithful, and fear not," replied the king. 
 
 "The merchant, my lord the king," said a 
 servant of the chamber, who entered at that 
 moment, followed by the old merchant. 
 
 "Thou art come at a good time, sir merchant ; 
 the first maxim has been proved ; it has saved 
 my life ; it was worthy of its price." 
 
 " Even as I expected, my lord ; a year and a 
 day hence expect me again." 
 
 "We will trust no more to a single hand," 
 said one of the conspirators, when they met 
 again after the barber's repentance ; " this time 
 we will all share." 
 
 " I propose," said one of the rebel lords, "an 
 ambush on the road to Naples. Every year, on 
 the day after Christmas, the king journeys 
 thither ; the bye-path near to the city gates is 
 the nearest road, peradventure he will go that 
 way." 
 
 When the Christmas night was over, the king 
 prepared to journey to Naples ; a great company
 
 XLbc XLbvcc /Dbajims 181 
 
 of nobles, knights, and men-at-arms, went with 
 him. Not far from the city, he came to the 
 place where the highway and bye-path di- 
 verged. 
 
 "My lord," said an old noble, "the day is 
 far spent, the snu sinks fast in the horizon ; 
 will not my lord turn by the bye-path, as it is 
 far shorter than the high-road? " 
 
 "Nay," said the king, "it 's a year and 
 a day since the merchant's first maxim saved 
 my life ; now will I test the second admonition, 
 ' never leave a highway for a bye-path,'' but go 
 part of ye by that path, and prepare for me 
 in the city ; I and the rest will pursue the high- 
 way. ' ' 
 
 Onward rode the knights and the soldiers by 
 the bye-path, and hastened towards the city ; as 
 they neared the ambush, the traitors sprang 
 upon them, for they thought the king was 
 among them. Every man slew his opponent, 
 and there remained not one of the king's com- 
 pany, to bear the tidings to the king, but a 
 youth, a little page whom the conspirators did 
 not remark during the attack. 
 
 At the city gates, the king found the mer- 
 chant who had sold him his maxims. 
 
 "Halt, O king!" said he, "the second 
 maxim has been proved." 
 
 " How so ? " replied the king.
 
 182 £bc Ebree dfcarims 
 
 " The company that rode by the bye-path are 
 slain, every one of them save this little page, 
 who is here to tell the sad tale." 
 
 " Is this so, good youth ? " 
 
 "Alas, my lord, it is too true ; from behind 
 the trees they rushed upon our company as we 
 rode lightly and merrily, and no one, save your 
 poor page, lives to tell the tale." 
 
 "For a second time is my life saved by thy 
 maxim ; let it be inscribed in gold : ' Neveb 
 
 IyEAVE A HIGHWAY FOR A BYE-WAY.' " 
 
 " For a year and a day, O king, fare thee 
 well." 
 
 " A murrain on the old fool's maxims," grum- 
 bled the chief of the conspirators, when they 
 discovered that the king had escaped their 
 design ; "we are beaten out of every plot, and 
 had best submit to his dominion." 
 
 "Nay," exclaimed a young and licentious 
 noble, "there is luck in odd numbers, let us 
 have one more trial, a sink or a swim." 
 
 " I care not if we try once more," said the 
 old rebel ; "but come, who suggests a scheme ? " 
 
 "I, and I, and I!" exclaimed several at 
 once ; but their schemes were pronounced 
 futile. 
 
 ' ' What say ye to this ? ' ' said the young man 
 who had spoken before : " every year the king
 
 XLbc Uhvce dlbajims 183 
 
 goes to the small village town where his old 
 nurse lives ; there is but one house in the village 
 where he can be lodged, let us bribe the master 
 of the house, that he slay our tyrant while he 
 sleeps." 
 
 The plan was approved by the rebel lords, 
 the bribe offered and accepted by the old man, 
 to whose house the king always came. The 
 king came as usual to the village town, and to 
 his old lodgings. As he entered, the old man 
 received him with humility and feigned delight, 
 and a young damsel, not eighteen years of age, 
 attended at the door step. The king noticed 
 the damsel, he arrested his steps, and called to 
 the old man. 
 
 "Good father," asked he, " is yonder dam- 
 sel thy daughter or thy niece ? ' ' 
 
 "Neither, my lord," replied the old man; 
 " she is my newly married wife." 
 
 " Away, away," said the king to his chamber- 
 lain, "prepare me a bed in another house, for I 
 will not sleep here to-night." 
 
 "Even as my lord wishes," rejoined the 
 chamberlain ; " but my lord knows there is no 
 other house in this place fit for a king's resi- 
 dence, save this one ; here every thing is pre- 
 pared, every thing commodious." 
 
 " I have spoken," replied the king ; " remain 
 thou here ; I will sleep elsewhere."
 
 184 Gbe XLbvcc /Ifcajims 
 
 In the night, the old man and his wife arose, 
 stole on tiptoe to the chamber which was pre- 
 pared for the king, and where the chamberlain 
 now slept in the royal bed ; all was dark as they 
 approached the bed, and plunged a dagger into 
 the breast of the sleeping noble. 
 
 " It is done," said they ; "to bed, to bed." 
 
 Early the next morning the king's page 
 knocked at the door of the humble abode 
 where the king had passed the night. 
 
 ' ' Why so early, good page ? ' ' asked the 
 king. 
 
 " My lord, the old merchant waits thy rising ; 
 and even now strange news is come from the 
 village." 
 
 " Let the merchant and the messenger come 
 in." 
 
 The merchant seemed greatly elated, his eye 
 glistened with joy, and his figure appeared di- 
 lated beyond its ordinary height. The messen- 
 ger was pale and trembling, and staring aghast 
 with fear. 
 
 " My lord, my good lord," exclaimed the pal- 
 lid messenger, "a horrible murder has been 
 committed on your chamberlain ; he lies dead 
 in the royal bed." 
 
 "The third maxim is tried and proved," said 
 the merchant. 
 
 " Give God the praise," said the king ; " thy
 
 Zbc trials of Bustacc 185 
 
 reward is earned : a robe of honor, and thrice 
 thy bargained price ; to the old man and his 
 ■wife, immediate death." 
 
 " What theological application does the author ap- 
 pend to this clever tale? " said Herbert, "for nioral it 
 wants not, as it tells its own." 
 
 " The emperor is any good Christian ; the porter, none 
 other thtinfree will ; whilst the merchant represents our 
 blessed Saviour. The florins are virtues, given in ex- 
 change for the maxims ; the grace and favor of God. 
 The conspirators are devils ; the highway is the Ten 
 Commandments ; the bye-way, a bad life ; the rebels in 
 ambush, heretics." 
 
 " So far as it goes, I do not object to the explanation ; 
 it requires great additions, however," replied Herbert. 
 
 " Which the author considered to be compensated for 
 by adding more characters than the tale contained, in 
 several of his other exnlanations. " 
 
 " Domitian is obliged to the old monk," said Thomp- 
 son, " for such a pretty character of justice and mercy." 
 
 " See again the system of compensation ; in the next 
 story Adrian is as much traduced, as Domitian flattered 
 in this. But, remember, the old monk was writing 
 neither histories nor biographies ; any name that oc- 
 curred to him served his purpose ; he looks more to the 
 effect of his incidents than to the names of his charac- 
 ters. With this prelude I will give you 
 
 " THE TRIADS OF EUSTACE." 
 
 WHEN Trajan was emperor of Rome, Sir 
 Placidus, a knight of great prowess, and 
 a most skilful commander, was chief of the
 
 1 86 Zbc trials of Bustacc 
 
 armies of t±ie empire. Like his imperial mas- 
 ter, he was merciful, just, aud charitable, but a 
 worshipper of idols, a despiser of the Christian 
 faith. His wife was worthy of his virtues, and 
 was of one accord with him in his religion. 
 Two sons had he, educated in all the magnifi- 
 cence that befitted their father's station ; but, as 
 was to be expected, the faith of the parents was 
 the faith of their children ; they were idolaters. 
 
 It was a fair, soft day, the southerly wind 
 blew lightly over the meadows, and the fleecy 
 clouds, ever and anon obscuring the sun, pro- 
 claimed the hunters' day. Sir Placidus rode to 
 the chase. His friends and his retainers were 
 with him, and a right gallant company were 
 they. A herd of deer was soon found, the dogs 
 loosed from their leashes, the bugles sounded, 
 and the whole of the company in full and eager 
 pursuit. One stag of lofty stature, and many- 
 branching antlered head, separated itself from 
 the rest of the herd, and made for the depths of 
 the neighboring forest. The company followed 
 the herd, but Sir Placidus gave his attention to 
 the noble animal, and tracked it through the 
 mazes of the wood. 
 
 Swift and long was the chase. Sir Placidus rode 
 after the stag, ever gaining just near enough to 
 the noble animal to inspire him with a hope of its 
 ultimate capture, yet never so near as to strike
 
 Zbe trials of Bustace 1S7 
 
 it with his hunting spear. On, on they went 
 with untiring speed. The wood and its thickets 
 were passed, a lofty hill rose to the view. He 
 pressed the stag up its sides, and gained rapidly 
 on the chase. In a moment the stag turned and 
 faced the knight ; he prepared to strike, but his 
 hand was stayed as he saw between the horns of 
 the creature a cross encircled with a ring of 
 glorious light. Whilst he mused on the won- 
 der, a voice addressed him. The stag seemed to 
 speak thus to the knight : 
 
 ' ' Why persecutest thou me, Placidus ? for thy 
 6ake have I assumed this shape ; I am the God 
 whom thou ignorantly worshippest ; I am Christ. 
 Thine alms and thy prayers have gone up be- 
 fore me, and therefore am I now come. As thou 
 dost hunt this stag ; even so will I hunt thee." 
 
 Placidus swooned at these words, and fell from 
 his horse. How long he lay on the ground he 
 knew not. When his senses returned, he cried 
 in anguish : 
 
 " Tell me thy will, O Lord, that I may believe 
 in thee, and perform it." 
 
 Then replied the voice : "I am Christ, the 
 son of the living God. I created heaven and 
 earth, caused the light to arise, and divided it 
 from the darkness. I appointed days, and sea- 
 sons, and years. I formed man out of the dust 
 of the earth, and for his sake took upon me his
 
 188 £bc trials of Bustacc 
 
 form. Crucified, and buried, on the third day I 
 arose again." 
 
 "All this I believe, Lord," replied Placidus ; 
 "yea, and that thou art he who bringest back 
 the wandering sinner." 
 
 Then said the voice : "If thou believest, go 
 into the city and be baptized." 
 
 "Shall I reveal this unto my wife and chil- 
 dren, Lord, that they also may believe ? " 
 
 "Yea," replied the voice; "return here on 
 the morrow's dawn, that thou mayest know of 
 thy future life." 
 
 Placidus returned to his wife, and told her all 
 that had happened unto him ; then did they be- 
 lieve, and were baptized, and their children with 
 them. The knight was called Eustace, his wife 
 Theosbyta, whilst to his two sons the names of 
 Theosbytus and Agapetus were given in their 
 baptism. On the morrow, the knight returned 
 to the place where he had seen the vision. 
 
 " I implore thee, O Lord, to manifest thyself 
 according to thy word," prayed the knight. 
 
 Then the voice was heard, saying : " Blessed 
 art thou, Eustace, in that thou hast been washed 
 with the laver of my grace, and thereby over- 
 come the Devil. Now hast thou trodden him to 
 dust, who beguiled thee. Now will thy fidelity 
 be shown ; for he whom thou hast forsaken will 
 rage continually against thee. Many things
 
 Gbc trials of Bustace 189 
 
 must thou undergo for my sake. Thou must be- 
 come another Job ; fear not ; persevere ; my grace 
 is sufficient for thee. In the end thou shalt con- 
 quer ; choose then, whether thou wilt experience 
 thy trials in thine old age, or forthwith." 
 
 " Even as thou wiliest, O Lord ; yet, if it may 
 be so, try me now, and help me in my trial." 
 
 " Be bold, Eustace ; my grace can support 
 you." With these words, the voice died away, 
 and was no more heard ; and Eustace, after 
 prayer and praise to God, rose from his knees, 
 and returned to his own house. 
 
 But a few days had elapsed, ere the trials of 
 Job came upon Eustace and his family ; pes- 
 tilence carried off his flocks and his herds, and 
 his servants fled away, or died with their charges. 
 Robbers plundered his palace, driving away the 
 knight, his wife, and his sons, in poverty and 
 nakedness. It was in vain that the emperor 
 sought everywhere for the knight, for not the 
 slightest trace of him could be found. 
 
 At length the unhappy fugitives, covered with 
 such rags as they could obtain, reached the sea- 
 shore, and besought a passage across the waters. 
 The captain of the vessel was captivated with 
 the beauty of Theosbyta, and consented to carry 
 them over. No sooner were they on the further 
 side, than he demanded of them money for their 
 voyage.
 
 igo XLbe trials of J£ii8tace 
 
 "Good master," said Eustace, "I am poor 
 and destitute, and have no money." 
 
 " Very well," replied the captain ; " thy wife 
 will do as well ; I take her as my slave ; she 
 will sell for the passage money." 
 
 " With my life only will I part with her," ex- 
 claimed the knight, as his wife clung to him in 
 her distress. 
 
 "As you please, master ; ho, men ! seize the 
 woman, and take her to my cabin ; as for the 
 man and his brats, heave them overboard." 
 
 "Leave me, leave me, Eustace," murmured 
 Theosbyta ; "save thyself and our children; I 
 can but die once." 
 
 With many a hard struggle, Eustace con- 
 sented ; he clasped his two boys by their hands, 
 and led them from the ship. 
 
 "Ah, my poor children!" he cried; "your 
 poor mother is lost ; in a strange land and in 
 the power of a strange lord must she lament 
 her fate." 
 
 A few hours' travelling brought Eustace and 
 his children to the bank of a broad and rapid 
 river, the water of which ran so deep, that he 
 feared to cross its stream with both his boys at 
 one time ; placing one therefore on the bank, 
 under the shade of a bush, he clasped the eldest 
 in his arms and plunged into the river. The 
 stream ran swiftly, and the bottom was treacher-
 
 Zbc trials of Eustace 191 
 
 ous ; but at length he reached the further 
 side, and placed Theosbytus on the bank. 
 Again he plunged into the river. The middle 
 of the stream was but fairly gained, when he 
 saw a wolf creep from the wood close to 
 which his yotmger son was placed, and ap- 
 proach the child. It was all in vain that he 
 shouted, and strove to reach the shore ; the 
 wolf seized the child and bore it off, before its 
 father's eyes. At that moment a loud roar 
 from the other bank startled the bereaved 
 father ; he turned, and saw a lion carrying 
 away his eldest son. 
 
 "Alas, alas ! " exclaimed Eustace, as soon as 
 he had reached the further bank of the river. 
 " Once was I flourishing like a luxuriant tree, 
 but now I am altogether blighted. Military en- 
 signs were around me, and bands of armed men. 
 Now I am alone in the world. My wife, my 
 children are taken from me ; the one to slavery, 
 the others to death. O Lord, thou didst warn 
 me that I must endure the perils of Job, are not 
 these worse than that holy man's? In his 
 greatest misery he had a couch whereon to rest 
 his wearied limbs, and friends to compassionate 
 him in his misfortunes. His wife, too, remained 
 to him — mine is gone from me : place a bridle 
 on my lips, lest I utter foolishness, and stand 
 ap against thee, O my God."
 
 ig2 »Ibe trials of Eustace 
 
 His heart relieved by these passionate expres- 
 sions, the knight continued his travel ; after 
 many days of want and fatigue, he reached a 
 far-off village, where he abode with one of the 
 villagers as his hired servant. For fifteen years 
 he served his master faithfully, and at his death 
 he succeeded to his cottage and his land. 
 
 Trajan still lived, but his fortunes did not 
 prosper ; his enemies became daily stronger 
 and stronger, for Placidus no longer directed 
 the movements of the imperial army, or urged 
 on the soldiers, by his example, to deeds of 
 valor against the enemy. Often and often did 
 the emperor think of his lost commander, and 
 ceaseless were his endeavors to discover the 
 place of his concealment. 
 
 Eustace was working in his fields about this 
 time, little thinking of Trajan, or of Rome, 
 when two men drew near, and after observing 
 him for some time, and communing with each 
 other, accosted the knight. 
 
 "Friend," said one of the men, "dost know 
 in these parts a knight named Placidus and his 
 two sons? " 
 
 The heart of Eustace was sore tried, when he 
 saw the emissaries of Trajan. The sight of 
 them recalled his previous honors in the world, 
 and he still felt a lingering wish to retrace his 
 steps. " Nay," he thought, " were I not alone,
 
 ftbe trials of Bustace 193 
 
 it were well to return ; but for a solitary, 
 this place is best." Then said he to the two 
 men : 
 
 " There is no one about here, good sirs, of the 
 name you ask after. ' ' 
 
 " It is but a fool's errand we are on, master, I 
 fear," said the man; "we have travelled far 
 and near after our old general, but no one 
 knows aught of him." 
 
 " It is years since he left Rome, friends, is it 
 not? " rejoined Eustace. 
 
 " Fifteen years and more ; but come, com- 
 rade, we must go onwards." 
 
 " Nay, sirs, come to my poor abode ; what I 
 have is at your service. ' ' 
 
 The emissaries of Trajan gladly acceded to 
 Eustace's request. The homely repast was 
 soon placed on the board, and the men sat down 
 to refresh themselves, while Eustace waited 
 upon them. Again the thoughts of his old 
 home came thickly upon him, and he could not 
 restrain his tears. He left the room where his 
 guests were, bathed his face with water, and 
 returned to wait on the two men. 
 
 "I have a strange presentiment," remarked 
 one of the men during Eustace's absence, "that 
 our good host is even he whom we search after. 
 Marked you not how he hesitated when we first 
 addressed him ?"
 
 194 Cbe trials of Eustace 
 
 " Ay, and even now he has left us with his 
 eyes red with suppressed tears." 
 
 " Let us try the last test, the sabre mark on 
 his head, which he received in the passage of the 
 Danube, when he struck down the northern 
 champion." 
 
 As soon as Eustace returned the soldiers ex- 
 amined his head, and finding the wished-for 
 mark, embraced their old general ; the neigh- 
 bors, too, came in, and the exploits of Eustace 
 were soon in the mouths of the villagers. 
 
 For fifteen days they journeyed towards Rome, 
 Eustace and his two guides ; as they neared the 
 imperial capital, the emperor came out to meet 
 his old commander. Eustace would have fallen 
 at his master's feet, but Trajan forbade him ; 
 and side by side, amid the congratulations and 
 applauses of the people, the emperor and his 
 long-lost servant entered Rome. 
 
 The return of Eustace inspired the people with 
 confidence ; thousands hurried from every vil- 
 lage to volunteer as soldiers, and his only diffi- 
 culty was to select who should be rejected. One 
 contingent from a far-off village arrested his 
 attention ; it was headed by two youths of won- 
 derful likeness the one to the other, and appar- 
 ently within a year of the same age. They were 
 tall in stature, of commanding features, and 
 their selection as leaders, by their comrades, did
 
 Zbe trials of JEustace 195 
 
 justice to their attainments and the superiority 
 of their manners. Pleased with the youths, 
 Eustace placed them in the van of his army, and 
 began his march against the invaders, who had 
 reached within a few miles of the coast whereon 
 he had disembarked from the ship of the bar- 
 barous captain. 
 
 Pitching his camp within sight of that of the 
 enemy, the commander billeted the best of his 
 troops in a small village that formed the rear of 
 his position. A widow lady, of but few years, 
 but sorely worn with grief, received the two 
 youths into her house. About the mid-day meal, 
 the youths conversed the one with the other of 
 their early life. 
 
 " Of what I was when a child," said the elder, 
 "I know only this, that my father carried me 
 over a broad river, and laid me under a bush 
 whilst he returned to fetch my brother ; but 
 whilst he was gone a lion came, seized me by 
 the clothes, and bore me into a wood hard by. 
 My mother we lost on our journey nigh to a 
 great sea, where she remained with a cruel cap- 
 tain who had seized her for his slave. As I was 
 carried away by the lion, methought a wolf 
 seized on my brother, whom my father had left 
 on the other bank. The lion soon dropped me, 
 for men with loud cries and stones pursued him 
 and drove him from me. Then did they take
 
 196 XLbc trials of Eustace 
 
 me to the village where we have lived together 
 eo long." 
 
 " My brother, O my brother ! " exclaimed the 
 other youth, hardly able to restrain his emo- 
 tions during the recital, " I am he whom the 
 wolf carried off, saved from his jaws by the 
 shepherds, as thou wast from the jaws of the 
 lion." 
 
 The widow had listened to the wonderful story 
 of the two young men. Much she marvelled at 
 their preservation ; on the morrow she sought the 
 commander of the imperial forces ; she found 
 him in his tent ; his officers were around him, 
 and the two young men stood within the circle. 
 The widow craved permission to return to her 
 own country. 
 
 "Sir," she said, "I am a stranger in these 
 parts ; fifteen years have passed since I left 
 Rome with my husband, once high in power, 
 and rich, but then poor and in misery ; we 
 reached yonder sea, our two sons were with us, 
 we crossed in a shipman's boat, but when we 
 arrived on this side he demanded money of my 
 husband, and when he had it not to give him 
 he seized on me and carried me into slavery. 
 Years lived I beneath his roof in sorrow and in 
 pain ; but it was in vain that he sought to do 
 me evil, for God preserved me from his devices. 
 At length my master died, and I became free ;
 
 Cbc trials of Sustacc 197 
 
 since then I have labored honestly, and would 
 now return to Rome, if, perchance, I may find 
 my husband and my children." 
 
 "Theosbyta!" said the general, in a low 
 voice, raising his helmet as he spoke. 
 
 " Eustace ! my husband ! " 
 
 The general raised his fainting wife, and 
 kissed her gently on her forehead. ".Our sons, 
 Theosbyta, we shall see no more ; a lion and a 
 wolf carried them off before mine eyes, as we 
 crossed the river not many leagues from hence." 
 
 " Father ! our father ! " said the two youths, 
 as they knelt before the general. 
 
 " Nay, doubt not, Eustace," said his wife, 
 "last night I overheard the tale of their adven- 
 tures ; this is he whom the lion took ; this one did 
 the shepherds rescue from the jaws of the wolf." 
 
 The tale was soon retold, and Eustace con- 
 vinced that he had recovered in one day his 
 wife and his sons. Then loud blew the trumpets 
 through the camp, and cheer upon cheer rang 
 from the good soldiers, when their general came 
 from his tent, leading his long-lost wife, and 
 supported on either side by his sons. The en- 
 thusiasm aided them in obtaining the victory 
 over the enemy. Every one loved their general, 
 and rejoiced in his joy ; and that day they 
 fought for their home, their emperor, and their 
 commander.
 
 198 Zbc trials of Bustace 
 
 Trajan lived not to welcome home his honored 
 general ; his successor, however, spared not to 
 receive Eustace with the honors his achieve- 
 ments deserved. The banquet-hall was gorgeous 
 with ornaments ; and the banquet replete with 
 delicacies and curiosities. On the emperor's 
 right hand sat Eustace, and his sons occupied 
 no mean place in the banquet-hall. 
 
 "To-morrow," said the emperor, "we will 
 sacrifice to the great gods of war, and offer our 
 thanks for this thy victory. " 
 
 "As my lord pleases," said Eustace; "one 
 thing I pray, that my lord will not regard my 
 absence from the temple as an intentional 
 slight on his royal person." 
 
 " Absence, sir ! " exclaimed the emperor ; "I 
 command your attendance ; see that you and 
 yours are before the altar of Mars at noon to- 
 morrow ; thou shalt offer there with thine own 
 hands." 
 
 " I will cut off the hand that so offends," re- 
 plied Eustace. 
 
 " Ah ! a Christian — be it so — sacrifice or die ! " 
 
 " Death then, my lord ; I worship Christ, not 
 idols." 
 
 " Let him save thee from the lions' mouths," 
 exclaimed the impious emperor. " Ho, guards ! 
 this Christian and his sons to the beasts' den ; 
 come, my guests, to the arena."
 
 Cbc Petals of Eustace 199 
 
 "And me to my lord," said Theosbyta, ad- 
 vancing from the lower part of the hall. 
 
 "As thou wilt : come, sirs ; our lions will be 
 well fed." 
 
 The party reached the amphitheatre ; it was 
 crowded with spectators. Rumor had soon 
 carried abroad the tidings that the triumphant 
 general was to die by the lion's mouth, for his 
 Christianity. Some pitied him for what they 
 called his folly : "What, die for a little incense 
 thrown on the fire ! ' ' Others gloried in his ex- 
 pected death, for they hated the new faith. A 
 few in secret prayed to God, to give their 
 brother strength to undergo his fearful martyr- 
 dom, for they were Christians. 
 
 Eustace stood in the arena ; his wife knelt by 
 his side, his sons stood before him to meet the 
 lion's first bound. The crowd grew impatient — 
 a sudden silence ; a sound as of revolving hin- 
 ges, and then a sullen roar, as with a bound the 
 lion sprang into the centre of the amphitheatre. 
 One look he cast on the youths ; and then he 
 bowed his head, crept to their feet and licked 
 them ; another, and another, was let loose ; but 
 the old lion kept guard over the family, and 
 fought with the other lions, and drove them 
 back to their dens. 
 
 "It is enough," said the emperor, "he has 
 a charm against the teeth of beasts ; we will test
 
 200 Zbc (Besta IRomanorum 
 
 his powers against the heat of fire ; prepare the 
 brazen ox." 
 
 A fire was lighted beneath the animal, a vast 
 hollow frame that represented an ox, and into 
 the belly of which the victims were introduced 
 through a door in the right side. As soon as it 
 was heated to its utmost heat, the executioners 
 hastened to throw their victims in ; Eustace 
 forbade them, and then clasping his wife in his 
 arms, and followed by his sons, he moved 
 slowly up the ladder that led to the horrid cell, 
 and entered the belly of the brazen ox calmly 
 and without fear. 
 
 For three days the fire was kept burning be- 
 neath the creature. On the third evening the 
 beast was opened ; within lay Eustace, his wife, 
 and his sons, as it were in a deep and placid 
 sleep. Not a hair of their heads was burnt, nor 
 was the smell of fire upon their persons. 
 
 So died they all : the father, the wife, and the 
 children. The people buried them with honor, 
 and remembered with sorrow the martyrdom of 
 the Christian general. 
 
 " The scene of the conversion," said Thompson, "re- 
 calls to my mind Doddridge's account of Colonel Gardi- 
 ner, converted from his licentious life by an almost simi- 
 lar vision of our Saviour on the cross, and by an address 
 not less effective than the words heard by the Eustace of 
 your tale." 

 
 Cbe <3esta IRomanorum 201 
 
 " Few of my old monk's tales are more true, in their 
 leading features," said Herbert, "than this of the trials 
 of Eustace and his family. It has been told more than 
 once as an authentic history, and you will find it alluded 
 to in Butler's 'Eives of the Saints,' where it is stated 
 that a church at Rome was dedicated to the memory of 
 St. Eustachius." 
 
 " Surely the incident of the stag and the cross is very 
 similar to that in the legend of St. Herbert." 
 
 " Almost identical, Thompson," rejoined Herbert ; " in 
 the foreign pictures the two incidents are generally de- 
 picted in nearly the same manner." 
 
 " Another curious similarity occurs in the early Eng- 
 lish romance of Sir Isumbras," said Eathom. " That 
 knight's misfortunes came upon him in a very similar 
 manner to poor Eustace's : the knight, his wife, and his 
 three children wander on their pilgrimage to the Holy 
 Eand ; she wrapped in his surcoat. his scarlet mantle be- 
 ing divided among his three children. They so reach 
 a river, and two of their children are carried off by a 
 lion and a leopard ; one child, however, and the mother 
 are left : then sings the old poet : 
 
 " ' Through the forest they went days three, 
 Till they came to the Greekish sea ; 
 
 They grieved and were full wo ! 
 As they stood upon the land 
 They saw a fleet come sailaud (sailing), 
 
 Three hundred ships and mo. (more), 
 With top castles set on loft, 
 Richly then were they wrought, 
 
 With joy and mickle pride : 
 A heathen king was therein, 
 That Christendom came to win, 
 
 His power was full wide.' " 
 
 " The king, of course, plays the part of the cruel ship- 
 captain," said Herbert. 
 
 " Yes. Seven days' hunger drives the knight and his 
 lady to the sultan's galley, to ask for bread : taken for
 
 202 Zbc <3csta IRomancrum 
 
 spies, they are at first driven off, until the noble stature 
 of the knight, and the fair complexion of the wife, 
 'bright as a blossom on a tree,' convince the Saracens 
 that their piteous talc is true. To the knight the sultan 
 offers rank, honors, and wealth, if he will renounce 
 Christianity and fight under the Moslem banners. Sir 
 Isumbras refuses, and renews his petition for bread. 
 Then, continues the poet, 
 
 " ' The sultan beheld that lady there, 
 Him thought an angel that she were, 
 
 Comen a-down from heaven : 
 Man — I will give thee gold and fee, 
 An thou that woman will sellen me, 
 
 More than thou can never (name). 
 I will give thee a hundred pounds 
 Of pennies that be whole and round, 
 
 And rich robes seven. 
 She shall be queen of my land ; 
 And all men bow unto her hand ; 
 
 And none withstand her Steven (voice). 
 Sir Isumbras said — Nay ; 
 My wife I will not sell away, 
 
 Though ye me for her sloo (slew). 
 I wedded her in goddis lay 
 To hold her to my ending day, 
 
 Both for weal and wo.' " 
 
 " A decided refusal to complete the bargain," said 
 Thompson. 
 
 " Yet not so taken by the sultan ; the money is counted 
 into the knight's cloak, the lady taken forcible possession 
 of, and Sir Isumbras and his child carried on shore, and 
 beat until hardly able to move. But here we must stop 
 with the early English romance, having already gone 
 beyond its similarity to the old monk's story. And now 
 I must break off for to-night ; I know it is but a short 
 allowance, and shall be compensated for when we next 
 meet."
 
 CHAPTER XI. 
 
 Another Chat about Witches and Witchcraft— Late Period 
 of the Existence of Belief in Witches— Queen Se- 
 mtramis— Elfin Armorers— The Sword of the Scandi- 
 navian King— Mystical Meaning of Tales of Magic- 
 Anglo-Saxon Enigmas— Celestexus and the Mil- 
 ler's Horse— The Emperor Conrad and the 
 Count's Son— Legend of " The Giant with the 
 Golden Hairs." 
 
 " V< 
 
 r OUR stories about sorcerers and sorcery, Lathom," 
 said Herbert, " have made me consider a little as to 
 the amount of truth on which such fictions may have 
 been founded." 
 
 " Perhaps you believe in witches, magicians, and all 
 that tribe, that gather deadly herbs by moonlight, and 
 ride through the air on broomsticks," said Thompson, 
 with a smile. 
 
 "May not Herbert fairly ask you," said Lathom, 
 " whether there is any antecedent improbability in mor- 
 tal beings obtaining, from the spirit of evil, a temporary 
 superhuman power ; or in the idea of Satan awarding 
 the riches and honors of this world to those who will fall 
 down and worship him ? " 
 
 " Selden's apology for the law against witches in his 
 time shows a lurking belief," remarked Herbert. " 'If,' 
 says that sour old lawyer, ' one man believes that by
 
 204 Cbc 0C6ta IRomanorum 
 
 turning his hat thrice and crying "buz," he could take 
 away a fellow-creature's life, this were a just law made 
 by the state, that whosoever should do so, should forfeit 
 his life.' " 
 
 " He must have believed, or his logical mind would 
 have seen, that a law waging war w r ith intentions which 
 are incapable of fulfilment, is both wrong and mis- 
 chievous." 
 
 " Well," said Herbert, "as good a lawyer as Selden 
 and a better man, did not fear to profess his belief in 
 witchcraft, and to give his judicial countenance to trials 
 for sorcery : — Sir Matthew Hale was ever ready to admit 
 his belief in witches and witchcraft." 
 
 "To the lawyers you may add the learned antiquary 
 and physician, Sir Thomas Brown, the author of the 
 ' Religio Medici.' " 
 
 " But surely, Lathom, all this belief, as well as the 
 practice of witch-tormenting, ceased about 1682," said 
 Thompson. 
 
 "The belief in withcraft has never yet been extinct, 
 and the practice of witch-burning lasted forty years after 
 that, at least in Scotland. The act of James, so minutely 
 describing witches and their acts, and so strenuously in- 
 citing the people to burn them, remained on the statute- 
 book until the ninth year of George the Second ; and as 
 late as 1722 the hereditary sheriff of Sutherlandshire 
 condemned a poor woman to death as a witch." 
 
 " I believe I ca 1 carry down the belief at least a few 
 years later than the date even of the last witch execu- 
 tion," remarked Herbert. 
 
 " Among the poor and uneducated, undoubtedly ? " 
 
 " Nay, Thompson, with them it remains even now ; I 
 speak not only of the educated, but of that class of men 
 which is most conversant with evidence, and most ad- 
 dicted to discredit fictitious stories." 
 
 "What, the lawyers? "
 
 Zbc Queen Semiramis 205 
 
 " Even so," replied Uathom ; " in 1730, William Forbes, 
 in his ' Institutes of the Law of Scotland,' published in 
 that year, makes this remark : ' Nothing seems plainer to 
 me, than that there have been witches, and that, per- 
 haps, such are now actually existing ; which I intend, 
 God willing, to clear in a larger work concerning the 
 criminal law.' " 
 
 " Did this large work appear? " said Thompson. 
 " I should think not ; at least, it is not known." 
 " The old Jesuit from whom you got your version of 
 The Ungrateful Man, has a story illustrative of a kind of 
 witchcraft that all will admit to have been very preva- 
 lent in every age," said Thompson. 
 
 " What, will you believe in witchcraft in any form ? " 
 "At all events, in one form — the witchcraft of love; 
 my instance is the story of Semiramis and Ninus. I will 
 read it you from the same version that Lathom used for 
 his tale of Vitalis and Massaccio." 
 
 the; queen semiramis. 
 
 "r\F all my wives," said King Ninus to Se- 
 
 v_y niiramis, "it is you I love the best. 
 None have charms and graces like you, and for 
 you I -would willingly resign them all." 
 
 " Let the king consider well what he says," 
 replied Semiramis. "What if I were to take 
 him at his word ? " 
 
 " Do so," returned the monarch ; " whilst be- 
 loved by you, I am indifferent to all others. ' ' 
 
 "So, then, if I asked it," said Semiramis, 
 "you would banish all your other wives, and
 
 206 Zbc Queen Semiramis 
 
 love me alone ? I should be alone your con- 
 sort, the partaker of your power, and queen of 
 Assyria ? " 
 
 ' ' Queen of Assyria ! Are you not so already, ' ' 
 said Ninus, "since you reign, by your beauty, 
 over its king? " 
 
 " No — no," answered his lovely mistress ; " I 
 am at present only a slave whom you love. I 
 reign not ; I merely charm. When I give an 
 order, you are consulted before I am obeyed." 
 
 "And to reign, then, you think so great a 
 pleasure ? " 
 
 "Yes, to one who has never experienced it." 
 
 "And do you wish, then, to experience it? 
 Would you like to reign a few days in my 
 place?" 
 
 " Take care, O king ! do not offer too much." 
 
 "No, I repeat it," said the captivated mon- 
 arch. " Would you like, for one whole day, to 
 be sovereign mistress of Assyria ? If you would, 
 I consent to it." 
 
 "And all which I command, then, shall be 
 executed ? " 
 
 " Yes, I will resign to you, for one entire day, 
 my power and my golden sceptre." 
 
 " And when shall this be ? " 
 
 "To-morrow if you like." 
 
 " I do," said Semiramis ; and let her head fall 
 upon the shoulder of the king, like a beautiful
 
 £be Queen Semiramis 207 
 
 •woman asking pardon for some caprice which 
 has been yielded to. 
 
 The next morning, Semiramis called her wo- 
 men, and commanded them to dress her mag- 
 nificently. On her head she wore a crown of 
 precious stones, and appeared thus before Ninus. 
 Ninus, enchanted with her beauty, ordered the 
 officers of the palace to assemble in the state 
 chamber, and his golden sceptre to be brought 
 from the treasury. He then entered the cham- 
 ber, leading Semiramis by the hand. All pros- 
 trated themselves before the aspect of the king, 
 who conducted Semiramis to the throne, and 
 seated her upon it. Then ordering the whole 
 assembly to rise, he announced to the court that 
 they were to obey, during the whole day, Se- 
 miramis as himself. So saying, he took up the 
 golden sceptre, and placing it in the hands of 
 Semiramis — "Queen," said he, "I commit to 
 you the emblem of sovereign power ; take it, 
 and command with sovereign authority. All 
 here are your slaves, and I myself am nothing 
 more than your servant for the whole of this 
 day. Whoever shall be remiss in executing 
 your orders, let him be punished as if he had 
 disobeyed the commands of the king." 
 
 Having thus spoken, the king knelt down be- 
 fore Semiramis, who gave him, with a smile, 
 her hand to kiss. The courtiers then passed in
 
 2o8 Zbc Queen Semiramis 
 
 succession, each making oath to execute 
 blindly the orders of Semiramis. When the 
 ceremony was finished, the king made her his 
 compliments, and asked her how she had man- 
 aged to go through it with so grave and majesti- 
 cal an air. 
 
 "Whilst they were promising to obey me," 
 said Semiramis, " I was thinking what I should 
 command each of them to do. I have but one 
 day of power, and I will employ it well." 
 
 The king laughed at this reply. Semiramis 
 appeared more. piqua7ite and amiable than ever. 
 " Let us see," said he, " how you will continue 
 your part. By what orders will you begin ? " 
 
 " Let the secretary of the king approach my 
 throne," said Semiramis, in a loud voice. 
 
 The secretary approached ; two slaves placed 
 a little table before him. 
 
 " Write," said Semiramis : " ' Under penalty 
 of death, the governor of the citadel of Babylon 
 is ordered to yield up the command of the cita- 
 del to him who shall bear to him this order.' 
 Fold this order, seal it with the king's seal, and 
 give it to me. Write now : ' Under penalty of 
 death, the governor of the slaves of the palace 
 is ordered to resign the command of the slaves 
 into the hands of the person who shall present 
 to him this order.' Fold, seal it with the king's 
 seal, and deliver to me this decree. Write
 
 Zbc Queen Semiramis 209 
 
 again : ' Under penalty of death, the general of 
 the army encamped under the walls of Babylon 
 is ordered to resign the command of the army 
 to him who shall be the bearer of this order.' 
 Fold, seal, and deliver to me this decree." 
 
 She took the three orders, thus dictated, and 
 put them in her bosom. The whole court was 
 struck with consternation ; the king himself 
 was surprised. 
 
 "Listen," said Semiramis. "In two hours 
 hence let all the officers of the state come and 
 offer me presents, as is the custom on the acces- 
 sion of new princes, and let a festival be prepared 
 for this evening. Now, let all depart. Let my 
 faithful servant Ninus alone remain. I have 
 to consult him upon affairs of state." 
 
 When all the rest had gone out — " You see," 
 said Semiramis, "that I know how to play 
 the queen." 
 
 Ninus laughed. 
 
 "My beautiful queen," said he, "you play 
 your part with astonishment But, if your ser- 
 vant may dare question you, what would you 
 do with the orders you have dictated ? " 
 
 " I should be no longer queen were I obliged 
 to give an account of my actions. Nevertheless, 
 this was my motive. I have a vengeance to ex- 
 ecute against the three officers whom these 
 orders menace."
 
 210 Cbc Queen Semframie 
 
 " Vengeance — and wherefore ? " 
 
 "The first, the governor of the citadel, is one- 
 eyed, and frightens me every time I meet him ; 
 the second, the chief of the slaves, I hate, be- 
 cause he threatens me with rivals ; the third, 
 the general of the army, deprives me too often 
 of your company, — you are constantly in the 
 camp." 
 
 This reply, in which caprice and flattery were 
 mingled, enchanted Xinus. "Good," said he, 
 laughing. " Here are the three first officers of 
 the empire dismissed for very sufficient reasons. ' ' 
 
 The gentlemen of the court now came to 
 present their gifts to the queen. Some gave 
 precious stones ; others, of a lower rank, flowers 
 and fruits ; and the slaves, having nothing to 
 give, gave nothing but homage. Among these 
 last, there were three young brothers, who had 
 come from the Caucasus with Semirarnis, and 
 had rescued the caravan in which the women 
 were, from an enormous tiger. When they 
 passed before the throne — 
 
 "And you," said she to the three brothers, 
 " have you no present to make to your queen ?" 
 
 ' ' Xo other, ' ' replied the first, Zopire, ' ' than 
 my life to defend her." 
 
 " None other," replied the second, Artaban, 
 " than my sabre against her enemies." 
 
 "None other," replied the third, Assar,
 
 Zbe Queen Semiramfs 211 
 
 "than the respect and admiration which her 
 presence inspires." 
 
 "Slaves," said Setniramis, "it is you who have 
 made me the most valuable present of the whole 
 court, and I will not be ungrateful. You who 
 have offered me your sword against my enemies, 
 take this order, carry it to the general of the 
 army encamped under the walls of Babylon, 
 give it to him, and see what he will do for you. 
 You who have offered me your life for my defence, 
 take this order to the governor of the citadel, 
 and see what he will do for you ; and you who 
 offer me the respect and admiration which my 
 presence inspires, take this order, give it to the 
 commandant of the slaves of the palace, and see 
 what will be the result. ' ' 
 
 Never had Semiramis displayed so much 
 gayety, so much folly, and so much grace, and 
 never was Ninus so captivated. Nor were her 
 charms lessened in his eyes, when a slave not 
 having executed promptly an insignificant 
 order, she commanded his head to be struck off, 
 which was immediately done. 
 
 Without bestowing a thought on this trivial 
 matter, Ninus continued to converse with Semira- 
 mis till the evening and \h&f$te arrived. When 
 she entered the saloon wdrich had been prepared 
 for the occasion, a slave brought her a plate, in 
 which was the head of the decapitated eunuch.
 
 212 XLbc Queen Semiramis 
 
 — " 'T is well," said she, after having examined 
 it. " Place it on a stake in the court of the 
 palace, that all may see it, and be you there on 
 the spot to proclaim to every one, that the man 
 to whom this head belonged lived three hours 
 ago, but that having disobeyed my will, his 
 head was separated from his body. ' ' 
 
 The fete was magnificent ; a sumptuous ban- 
 quet was prepared in the gardens, and Semira- 
 mis received the homage of all with a grace and 
 majesty perfectly regal ; she continually turned 
 to and conversed with Ninus, rendering him the 
 most distinguished honor. "You are," said 
 she, "a foreign king, come to visit me in my 
 palace. I must make your visit agreeable to 
 you." 
 
 Shortly after the banquet was served, Semira- 
 mis confounded and reversed all ranks. Ninus 
 was placed at the bottom of the table. He was 
 the first to laugh at this caprice ; and the court, 
 following his example, allowed themselves to be 
 placed, without murmuring, according to the 
 will of the queen. She seated near herself the 
 three brothers from the Caucasus. 
 
 " Are my orders executed ? " she demanded of 
 them. 
 
 " Yes," replied they. 
 
 The ft' te was very gay. A slave having, by the 
 force of habit, served the king first, Semiramis
 
 Gbe Queen Scmiramte 213 
 
 had him beaten with rods. His cries mingled 
 with the laughter of the guests. Every one was 
 inclined to merriment. It was a comedy, in 
 which each played his part. Towards the end 
 of the repast, when wine had added to the gen- 
 eral gayety, Semiramis rose from her elevated 
 seat, and said : " My lords, the treasurer of the 
 empire has read me a list of those who this 
 morning have brought me their gifts of congrat- 
 ulation on my joyful accession to the throne. 
 One grandee alone of the court has failed to 
 bring his gift." 
 
 "Who is it?" cried Ninus. "He must be 
 punished severely." 
 
 " It is yourself, my lord — you who speak ; what 
 have you given to the queen this morning ? ' ' 
 
 Ninus rose, and came with a smiling counte- 
 nance to whisper something into the ear of the 
 queen. ' ' The queen is insulted by her servant ! ' ' 
 exclaimed Semiramis. 
 
 " I embrace your knees to obtain my pardon, 
 beautiful queen," said he ; "pardon me, pardon 
 me"; and he added in a lower tone, "I wish 
 this_/?/<? were finished." 
 
 "You wish, then, that I should abdicate?" 
 said Semiramis. ' ' But no — I have still two 
 hours to reign " ; and at the same time she with- 
 drew her hand, which the king was covering 
 with kisses. " I pardon not," said she, with a
 
 214 £be (Slueen Scmtramis 
 
 loud voice, "such an insult on the part of a 
 slave. Slave, prepare thyself to die." 
 
 " Silly child that thou art," said Niuus, still 
 on his knees, "yet will I give way to thy folly ; 
 but patience, thy reign will soon be over." 
 
 " You will not then be angry," said she, in a 
 whisper, " at some thing I am going to order at 
 this moment." 
 
 "No," said he. 
 
 "Slaves ! " said she aloud, " seize this man— » 
 seize this Ninus ! " 
 
 Ninus, smiling, put himself into the hands of 
 the slaves. 
 
 "Take him out of the saloon, lead him into 
 the court of the seraglio, prepare every thing 
 for his death, and wait my orders." 
 
 The slaves obeyed, and Ninus followed them, 
 laughing, into the court of the seraglio. They 
 passed by the head of the disobeying eunuch. 
 Then Semiramis placed herself on a balcony. 
 Ninus had suffered his hands to be tied. 
 
 " Hasten," said the queen, "hasten, Zopire, 
 to the fortress ; you to the camp, Artaban ; 
 Assar, do you secure all the gates of the palace." 
 
 The orders were given in a whisper, and ex- 
 ecuted immediately. 
 
 "Beautiful queen," said Ninus, laughing, 
 "this comedy wants but its conclusion ; pray, 
 let it be a prompt one."
 
 £be ©csta IRomanorum 215 
 
 "I will," said Semiramis. "Slaves, recol- 
 lect the eunuch. Strike ! " 
 
 They struck ; Ninus had hardly time to utter 
 a cry ; when his head fell upon the pavement, 
 the smile was still upon his lips. 
 
 ' ' Now, I am queen of Assyria, ' ' exclaimed 
 Semiramis ; ' ' and perish every one, like the 
 eunuch and Ninus, who dare disobey my 
 orders." 
 
 " The discovery of the sword by Sir Guido, in your tale 
 of the Crusader," said Herbert, " reminds me of the elfin 
 swords so common among the Scandinavian heroes." 
 
 " Such as the enchanted sword taken by a pirate from 
 the tomb of a Norwegian monarch," suggested fathom. 
 
 •'Rather, perhaps, of those manufactured by the elves 
 under compulsion, or from gratitude to some earthly 
 warrior ; the famous sword Tyrfing, the weapon of the 
 Scandinavian monarch Suafurlami, was one of these. 
 This is the story as given by Scott, in the second volume 
 of his Scottish Minstrelsy : 'The Scandinavian king, re- 
 turning from hunting, bewildered himself among the 
 mountains ; about sunset he beheld a large rock, and 
 two dwarfs sitting before the mouth of a cavern. The 
 king drew his sword, and intercepted their retreat by 
 springing between them and their recess, and imposed 
 upon them the following condition of safety : — That they 
 should make him a falchion, with a baldric and scabbard 
 of pure gold, and a blade which would divide stones and 
 iron as a garment, and which would render the wielder 
 of it ever victorious in battle. The elves complied with 
 his demand, and Suafurlami pursued his way home. 
 Returning at the time appointed, the dwarfs delivered to 
 him the famous sword Tyrfing ; then standing in the en-
 
 =i6 XLbc Gesta IRomancrum 
 
 trance to the cavern, spoke thus : "This sword, O king, 
 shall destroy a man every time it is brandished ; but it 
 shall perform three atrocious deeds, and shall be thy 
 bane." The king rushed forward with the charmed 
 sword, and buried both its edges in the rock, but the 
 dwarfs escaped into their recesses. This enchanted 
 sword emitted rays like the sun, dazzling all against 
 whom it was brandished ; it divided steel like water, and 
 was never unsheathed without slaying a man.' " 
 
 "The supernatural skill in the fabrication of arms 
 attributed to the Northern elves," remarked fathom, 
 "seems to indicate some traces of historical truth. The 
 Fins, who inhabited Scandinavia when Odin and his 
 Asiatics invaded the country, retired to the moun- 
 tains to avoid the tyranny of the new people. Far 
 better acquainted than the invaders could have been 
 with the mines of their country, a superior knowledge 
 in the manufacture of arms may be fairly awarded 
 to them. And thus, in time, the oppressed Fins would 
 come to be the dwarfish armorers of Scandinavian my- 
 thology." 
 
 "As theory is the fashion," said Thompson, "what 
 say you to a geological foundation to many of your myth- 
 ological wonders ? Were not the great dragons of stone 
 suddenly released from their rocky beds— the long ser- 
 pents guarding treasures in deep pits— the closely coiled 
 snake of the cavern— were not many of these the gigan- 
 tic antediluvian relics of our caves? Has not many an 
 ichthyosaurus, in his earthly bed, been transformed into 
 a deputy fiend, or even into ihe father of evil himself, 
 keeping watch over some hoard of ill-gotten wealth ; 
 whilst the strange form of the huge pterodactyl, with 
 its wings and claws, has been metamorphosed into the 
 dragon of Wantley and his compeers ? " 
 
 "Your theory, Thompson," rejoined Herbert, "may 
 not be so baseless as you regard it. The entire series of
 
 Zbc Gcsta IRomanorum 217 
 
 the heathen mythology has been of old, and still is, in 
 Germany, regarded as a mere mystical delineation of the 
 phenomena of nature. The elements are said to have 
 suggested the nature of the gods and their origin; the 
 specific phenomena of nature may have suggested the 
 various forms under which the divine race appears and 
 acts. It was a very common practice among the astron- 
 omers of the days of Galileo, and even to a later period, 
 to conceal their discoveries in enigmas. May we not, 
 with some little appearance of reason, regard the fables 
 of our ancestors, the knights, the dragons, the giants, 
 the magicians and their followers, as in some respect an 
 esoteric teaching of the philosophy of physics, a mystical 
 setting forth of natural phenomena? " 
 
 "The love of our Anglo-Saxon ancestors for philo- 
 sophical enigmas, as they may be called, was undoubt- 
 edly very great," rejoined Lathom. " I remember one 
 given by Mr. Wright, in his introduction to Anglo- 
 Saxon literature. It was in these words : 
 
 " ' I saw tread over the turf 
 
 Ten in all, 
 
 Six brothers 
 And their sister with them, 
 They had a living soul : 
 They hanged their skins, 
 Openly and manifestly, 
 On the wall of the hall : 
 To any one of them all 
 It was none the worse, 
 Nor his side the sorer : 
 Although they should thus, 
 
 Bereaved of covering, 
 And awakened by the might 
 Of the guardian of the skies, 
 Bite, with their mouths, 
 
 The rough leaves ; 
 Clothing is renewed 
 To those, who, before coming forth, 
 
 Left their ornaments, 
 
 Lying in their track, 
 To depart over the earth.' "
 
 218 Zbc Oesta IRomanorum 
 
 "I shall not attempt to guess such an enigma," said 
 Thompson. 
 
 " Its solution is the butterfly ; the various transforma- 
 tions through which it passes from the grub until it 
 rises with its beautiful wings, are intended to be de- 
 scribed. But come, as we are on enigmas, what say you 
 to this : ' We are a family of seventeen, all sisters ; six 
 others claim to belong to our race, but we account them 
 illegitimate. We are born of iron, or of the feather that 
 bears the bird heavenward ; by iron we die. Our fath- 
 ers were three brothers, our mother's nature is uncer- 
 tain. We teach him who desires to learn, and quickly 
 and silently give words to him who requires them of 
 us.' " 
 
 "I see the solution," said Herbert, "but yet cannot 
 work it out ; it is, doubtless, the alphabet, in that day 
 confined to seventeen true and six false letters ; what 
 puzzles me is the iron, and the natures of the mother 
 and the father." 
 
 " The iron," said Lathom, "is the style used in writ- 
 ing ; the sharp point for marking, and the broad end to 
 rub out with ; the uncertainty of the mother's race 
 arises from the pen being either of reed, or quill, or 
 even of iron ; the three brothers are the thumb and two 
 fingers employed in writing." 
 
 "The 'uncertain mother' is peculiarly applicable 
 to these times," said Thompson, with a smile, "when 
 you may vary your pen from goose to swan, and from 
 swan to crow ; or choose between steel pens of every 
 size and shape, and delicate nibs of gold tipped with 
 rubies." 
 
 " Come, we must leave our theories and enigmas, and 
 return to our old story-tellers," said Herbert. " What 
 tale is in preparation for us? " 
 
 " A little more demonology, as we have it in the 
 story of
 
 Celestinus anO tbe /lMller'0 fbovsc 219 
 
 'CELESTINUS AND THE MILLER'S HORSE." 
 
 ALEXANDER had an only son, named Cel- 
 estiuus, who was very dear to him ; desir- 
 ous of having him well instructed, he sent for 
 a certain sage, and proffered his son to him 
 for a pupil, promising a bountiful remunera- 
 tion for his labor. The sage agreed, and took 
 the boy home with him. Celestinus was a 
 diligent scholar, and made great and satisfac- 
 tory progress under the tuition of the philoso- 
 pher. 
 
 One day, as the tutor and pupil were walking 
 together through a meadow, their attention was 
 directed to a horse grievously afflicted with the 
 mange. He lay on the ground in the middle of 
 the field, and on either side of him two sheep 
 were feeding, tied together by a rope which 
 chanced to hang over the horse's back ; irritated 
 by the rubbiug of the cord, the poor horse rose, 
 and naturally drew with him the two sheep. 
 The weight of the sheep made the rope press 
 more and more upon his poor back, and galled 
 him dreadfully. Unable to endure the pain, 
 the horse ran towards his master's home ; the 
 faster he ran, the more the sheep knocked 
 against his flanks, and by their weight ground 
 the cord into the sores on his back ; with every
 
 220 Celestinue and tbe /iBtller's •fcorse 
 
 struggle of the horse and his living burdens, the 
 cord sank deeper into the wound. 
 
 On went the horse maddened with pain ; at 
 last he reached the hut of his master, the miller, 
 and dashed in with his burdens through the 
 open door. No one was within, but a fire of 
 logs burned brightly on the hearth ; plunging 
 and striking with his hoofs, tbe horse scattered 
 the burning logs about the house ; the flames 
 caught the building, and soon surrounded the 
 poor animal. Unable to move from the terror 
 of the flames, there died the poor horse and the 
 unlucky sheep, amid the ruins of the miller's hut. 
 
 " My son," said the tutor, when from afar he 
 saw the end of the accident, " you have seen the 
 beginning, the middle, and the end of this inci- 
 dent ; when you return to your study, make me 
 some verses upon it, and show me wherefore 
 the house was burned. If you fail, beware of 
 the punishment." 
 
 It was all in vain that Celestinus tried to coin 
 a verse or two on such a curious subject. He 
 felt more than usually unpoetical ; and as for 
 assigning a cause for the fire, he so puzzled 
 himself with his own arguments, as at last to 
 begin to doubt whether there was any cause at 
 all. At length he left his room, and tried what 
 a walk would do towards making him able to 
 poetize.
 
 Celestinus anfc tbe /UMller's *>orse 221 
 
 " My son," said a venerable-looking man that 
 met him on his solitary ramble, "what makes 
 you so sorrowful ? ' ' 
 
 "Pray do not trouble yourself," replied the 
 youth ; "it is quite useless to tell you of my 
 trouble ; you cannot help me." 
 
 " Nay, but my son — how can we decide until 
 we hear the cause ? " 
 
 "Well, then, good father, I have got to make 
 some verses on a mangy horse and two sheep, 
 and I do not kno,, - how." 
 
 " And to decide wherefore the hut, the horse, 
 and the sheep were burnt." 
 
 "Why, father, how do you know that? " ex- 
 claimed Celestinus. 
 
 " Though human to look at, I am not of this 
 world," replied the old man; "come, make a 
 contract with me, henceforth to serve me, and 
 care not for your master ; and I will make you 
 such a copy of verses as never were yet seen. 
 Come, choose ; you know the alternative — the 
 philosopher flogs sharply." 
 
 Celestinus hesitated a long time, but at last, 
 through fear, he agreed to the Devil's proposal. 
 
 "Now, then, my son," said the Devil, "write 
 what I tell you. Are you ready to begin ? ' ' 
 
 A mangy horse lay in a field, 
 A sheep on either side ;
 
 222 Celesttnus an<> tbe /llMllcr's Iborse 
 
 Across his back a rope was hung, 
 To which the sheep were tied. 
 
 Teas'd by the rope, up rose the horse, 
 With him the sheep up swung, 
 
 On either flank, thus weighted well, 
 The rope his withers wrung. 
 
 Clogg'd by his living load, he seeks 
 
 Yon miller's hut to gain ; 
 The rope wears deeper, and his pace 
 
 Is quicken 'd with the pain. 
 
 He minds not bolts, nor bars, nor logs 
 That on the hearthstone burn ; 
 
 Nor fears with ready, scattering hoof, 
 The flaming pile to spurn. 
 
 Wide flies the fire, above, around, 
 The rafters catch the flame ; 
 
 Poor Dobbin, and his fleecy load, 
 Are roasted in the same. 
 
 Had but that miller deigned at home, 
 His careful watch to keep, 
 
 He had not burnt his house, or horse, 
 Nor roasted both his sheep.
 
 Hhc <3esta IRomanorum 223 
 
 Delighted with the verses, Celestinus has- 
 tened to his master on his return honie. The 
 philosopher read them with astonishment. 
 
 " Boy," said he, " whence did you steal these 
 verses ? " 
 
 " I did not steal them, sir." 
 
 " Come, come, boy — they are clearly not your 
 own ; tell me who made them for you. ' ' 
 
 " I dare not, master," replied the boy. 
 
 "Dare not, why dare not? Come boy, tell 
 me the truth, or abide a worse punishment 
 than would have awaited you had you not 
 brought me any verses." 
 
 Terrified at his master's threats, Celestinus 
 revealed his interview with the Devil in a hu- 
 man form, and his contract of service with him. 
 Deeply grieved at the occurrence, the preceptor 
 ceased not to talk with his pupil, until he had 
 persuaded him, humbly and heartily, on his 
 knees, to confess to God his grievous sin in 
 his compact with the Devil. His confederacy 
 with the Evil One thus renounced, Celestinus 
 became a good and holy man, and, after a well- 
 spent life, resigned his soul to God. 
 
 " Pray, Lathom, what moral did your old monk intend 
 to draw from this diabolical poetry ? " asked Thompson. 
 
 " His application is very recondite ; the preceptor is a 
 prelate of the Church ; the mangy horse, a sinner covered 
 with sins ; the two sheep represent two preachers bound
 
 224 XLbc (Sesta KJomanorum 
 
 by the cord of charity ; the miller's house is the world, 
 and the fire, detraction. I must admit that the appli- 
 cation, in this case, is far less valuable or intelligible 
 than the story itself." 
 
 "In an old book of moral advice," said Herbert, "I 
 found a description of three madmen, that reminded me 
 much of the five kinds described by St. Peter, as related 
 by your old writer. The first carried a fagot of wood, 
 and because it was already too heavy for him, he added 
 more wood to it, in the hopes of thereby making it 
 lighter." 
 
 " And he," rejoined Lathom, "was a sinner, daily add- 
 ing new sins to old, because unable to bear the weight 
 of his original errors." 
 
 " The very same. The second madman drew water 
 from a deep well with a sieve ; his labor was incessant, 
 and his progress just as slow. Can you explain the nature 
 of his sin? " 
 
 " I can read the explanation," rejoined Iyathom, "for I 
 have this moment found out the source of your extract 
 in my old monk's book. This madman was the man who 
 does good, but does it sinfully, and therefore it is of no 
 benefit. The third madman was far worse : he carried 
 abeam in his chariot; and wishing to enter his court- 
 yard, and finding the gate so narrow that it would not 
 admit the beam, he whipped his horse until it tumbled 
 both itself and its master into a deep well. The beam 
 was worldly vanities, with which their possessor sought 
 to enter into heaven, but by which he was cast down into 
 hell." 
 
 '■ The belief in witchcraft," began Herbert, "is very 
 well illustrated by a late publication of the Camden 
 Society of London." 
 
 " Nay, nay, Reginald, no more of witches now," re- 
 joined Lathom ; "the subject deserves far more time, 
 attention, and illustration than we can now afford it,
 
 Conrao anD tbe Count's Son 225 
 
 and must be adjourned for the present. Let me con- 
 clude this evening with the tale of 
 
 "The; emperor conrad and the count's 
 
 SON." 
 
 DURING the reign of the Emperor Conrad, 
 there lived a certain count of the name 
 of Leopold, who had risen to high commands 
 by his bravery and his knowledge. Every one 
 regarded the count with favor, and loved him 
 for his kindness to suitors, and his prowess 
 against the enemies of the emperor. Conrad 
 alone looked on his servant with an evil eye ; 
 for he envied his reputation, and would have 
 taken to himself the glories he had acquired, 
 and ascribed to himself those victories which 
 Leopold had won. 
 
 The count, unable to endure the evil looks 
 and hard words of the emperor, and fearful that 
 in time his present auger would be turned into 
 bitter hatred, suddenly left the court of Rome, 
 and fled with his wife into the forest of the 
 Apennines. There he toiled all day, and la- 
 bored diligently to support himself and his 
 spouse. There he knew not what the fear 
 of impending evil was ; he had no one to 
 envy him, no one to covet his position or his 
 property. 
 
 It was a bright sunny day, and the meridian
 
 226 Conrao ano tbe Count's Son 
 
 sun glared with unwonted fierceness, even 
 through the thick trees of the forest, and 
 rendered the air close and heavy from lack 
 of a breeze to move even the highest leaves 
 of the loftiest pines. The emperor pursued the 
 chase with ardor ; urged on by the exhilarating 
 cry of the hounds, he thought not of the dense- 
 ness of the forest, or the tangled nature of its 
 winding ways, until at last, tired and thirst}-, he 
 checked his horse in a dark, close glade, and 
 looked around for some hut where he might 
 obtain rest and refreshment. 
 
 Many were the paths which the emperor and 
 his attendants followed before they reached the 
 cottage where Leopold lived in solitude ; the 
 count recognized the sovereign, but Conrad 
 knew not his old servant, nor was he recognized 
 by any of the hunting train ; refreshments, such 
 as the homely store could furnish, were soon 
 placed before the emperor. It was now nigh to 
 evening ; already the glades of the forest were 
 growing dark, and the devious paths more and 
 more difficult to track out, even to the experi- 
 enced eye of a woodman. It was useless to 
 attempt to escape from the forest before the 
 next morning. The attendants soon formed for 
 themselves sylvan beds on the soft grass, and 
 beneath the broad-spreading trees, their cloaks 
 for coverlids, and the green mossy grass for
 
 Conrao ano tbe Count's Son 227 
 
 their beds. The emperor fared better. One 
 low trussel bed Leopold had in the lower room 
 of his hut ; this he resigned to the emperor. 
 
 Fatigued with his hard day's riding, Conrad 
 soon fell asleep ; how long he slept he knew 
 not ; but when all was dark and still, both 
 within and without the hut, a voice broke upon 
 his ear. 
 
 " Take — take — take," said the voice. 
 
 Conrad rose and listened. "What," said he 
 to himself, as he thought on the words, "what 
 am I to take ? Take — take — take : what can 
 the voice mean ? " 
 
 As he reflected on the singularity of the 
 words, the emperor again fell asleep ; again a 
 voice awoke him from his slumbers. 
 
 "Restore — restore — restore," said the mys- 
 terious voice. 
 
 "What means all this mystery ? " exclaimed 
 the emperor. " First I was to take, take, take, 
 and there is nothing for me to take ; and now I 
 am to restore. What can I restore, when I have 
 taken nothing? " 
 
 Again the emperor slept, and again the voice 
 seemed to speak to him. 
 
 "Fly — fly — fly," said the voice this time, " for 
 a child is now born, who shall become thy son- 
 in-law." 
 
 It was early dawn when Conrad heard the
 
 22S Conrad and tbe Count's Son 
 
 voice tbe third time. He immediately arose, 
 and inquired of his squires if they had heard a 
 noise, and what had happened in the night. 
 
 " Naught," replied they, "my lord, but that 
 a son was born to the poor woodman whilst you 
 slept." 
 
 " H ah ! " exclaimed Conrad, ' ' a son — to mount 
 — to horse — we will away." 
 
 The emperor and his train had hardly found 
 their way out of the wood, when Conrad called 
 two of his knights to him. 
 
 " Go," said he, " to the woodman's hut, take 
 away the new-born child, kill it ; and bring its 
 heart to me, that I may know that you have 
 performed my commands." 
 
 With sorrowful hearts the two knights re- 
 turned towards the woodman's cottage. The 
 babe was nestled in its mother's breast, and 
 smiled on them as they seized it. Vain was the 
 resistance of its mother, for she was alone ; 
 Leopold had gone into the wood, to his daily 
 labor. 
 
 "I cannot strike the poor babe," said one 
 knight to the other, as they left the hut in the 
 forest, " do you play the butcher." 
 
 "Not I," replied the other; "I can strike 
 down my adversary in fair fight, but not this 
 poor babe." 
 
 At this moment a hare sprang across the path
 
 Conrafc anD tbe Count's Son 229 
 
 so close to the foremost of the knights, that he 
 raised his hunting pole and struck it down. 
 
 "Comrade," said the other knight, " I per- 
 ceive how we may make the emperor believe 
 that we have obeyed his commands, and yet not 
 take this poor babe's life — open the hare, take 
 out its heart. As for the babe, we will place it 
 on yonder high branch, where the wild beasts 
 cannot get at it, until we have done our message 
 to the emperor, then will I return and take this 
 poor babe to my home, for I am childless." 
 
 Leaving the babe, the two knights went on 
 their message to the emperor ; but before they 
 could return, a good duke rode by the tree 
 where the babe was, and took compassion on it, 
 and carried the child to his own house, where it 
 was nurtured as his own son. As for the child, 
 he grew up a man of fine form, the joy of his 
 adopted parents, eloquent in speech, and a 
 general favorite at the emperor's court. For a 
 time, Conrad was as pleased with the attain- 
 ments of the young Henry, as he had been with 
 those of his poor father ; but time brought with 
 it envy, and he soon hated the youth, as he had 
 before the unfortunate count. A dreadful sus- 
 picion haunted Conrad's mind that he had been 
 deceived by his knights, and that the youthful 
 favorite of the people was the woodman's child, 
 against whom he had been warned by the secret
 
 230 ConraO ano tbe Count's Son 
 
 voice. The most cruel thoughts entered his 
 mind, and he determined, this time, not to be 
 deceived by his agents. 
 
 "Henry," said he to the young count, "I 
 have a letter of the utmost importance that I 
 wish to be delivered to my wife ; to you I 
 commit it, for you I can trust ; haste, then, pre- 
 pare for your journey, whilst I write the letter." 
 
 Henry retired to his apartments to prepare 
 for his ride ; he chose his best riding suit, and 
 his strongest horse, desirous in every way to do 
 honor to the emperor's mission. Conrad went 
 to his private room to prepare the letter. 
 
 " As soon as this letter reaches you," he 
 wrote, "I command you to cause the bearer 
 thereof to be put to death. See that this be 
 done, as you value my love." 
 
 Henry received the letter, and prepared to 
 commence his journey. As it happened, his 
 horse cast one of its shoes, and he was com- 
 pelled to wait until another could be forged. 
 Unwilling that the emperor should know of the 
 delay, the young man wandered into the royal 
 chapel, and seating himself in one of the royal 
 stalls, fell asleep. 
 
 There was a prying, crafty priest in the 
 chapel, who had heard the message given to 
 the young count, and wished very much to dis- 
 cover the secret of the message. Seeing the
 
 Conrao and tbe Count's Son 231 
 
 young man asleep, he silently approached the 
 youth, and extracting the letter from the little 
 silken bag in which it was enclosed, opened its 
 folds, and read, with astonishment, the proposed 
 wickedness. 
 
 "Poor youth," murmured the priest, "thou 
 iittle thinkest on what errand you are riding. 
 But, come, I will deceive this cruel emperor," 
 continued he, as he erased the passage in which 
 Henry's death was commanded, and inserted 
 these words : ' ' Give him our daughter in 
 marriage." 
 
 The letter altered and replaced, his horse re- 
 shod, Henry set out on his journey, and soon 
 arrived at the city where the queen dwelt. Pre- 
 senting his letter to the queen, he was greatly 
 surprised when she hailed him as her son-in- 
 law, by virtue of the royal commands, and bade 
 the priests and nobles of her court to assist in 
 rendering the celebration of the nuptials as 
 gorgeous as befitted the occasion. 
 
 It was in vain that Conrad raged against the 
 deceit thus practised on him ; one by one the 
 wonderful facts of the young man's deliverance 
 were revealed to him, and he could not but 
 recognize in them all the hand of a protecting 
 Providence. Deeply penitent for his many 
 offences against God and man, he confirmed 
 the marriage of his daughter, recalled the old
 
 232 Cbc <3csta TRomanorum 
 
 count from his forest hut, and proclaimed the 
 young Henry heir to his empire. 
 
 " There is a gTeat family likeness between this tale of 
 yours, and the German story of The Giant with the Gol- 
 den Hair." 
 
 " In what respect? " 
 
 " Jn the manner in which the fortunate youth obtains 
 the princess as his wife. In that legend, a king dis- 
 covers the babe after a manner very similar to that in 
 which Henry is found by Conrad, and — warned that the 
 child is to be his son-in-law — he sends him on a message 
 to his queen, with a letter of the same import as in your 
 tale. Fatigued with his journey, the youth arrived at a 
 robber's cottage, falls asleep, and during his rest the 
 thieves alter the letter, as the priest does that borne by 
 Henry. The effect is, of course, similar." 
 
 "But what of the golden-haired giant?" asked Her- 
 bert. 
 
 "He does not appear until the second part of the 
 legend, and this is doubtless added on from some other 
 tradition. You will find the whole story in Grimm's 
 most amusing collection of German popular stories." 
 
 " With this tale, then, we conclude our evening's 
 amusement." 
 
 "I am afraid it must be so, Herbert," rejoined I^athom ; 
 "I should not like to be left without material for to- 
 morrow, our last meeting ; and between this and then 
 I am unable to prepare any more tales."
 
 CHAPTER XII. 
 
 Love and Marriage — The Knight asd the Three 
 Questions — Racing for a Wife — Jonathan and 
 the Three Talismans— Tale of the Dwarf and the 
 Three Soldiers — Conclusion. 
 
 " I HAVE been very much surprised at the almost en- 
 tire absence of compulsory marriages from your 
 tales ; marriage, indeed, is the staple incident of the 
 story, but the course of love seems to be allowed to run 
 almost too smooth." 
 
 "Why, Herbert," said Frederick Thompson, with a 
 smile, " were it not rank heresy to suppose that power, 
 and wealth, and policy influenced marriages in those 
 romantic days, when knights performed impossibilities, 
 and ladies sang love ditties from high towers? " 
 
 "You must not delude yourselves that ladies were 
 married in the tenth and eleventh centuries on princi- 
 ples very widely differing from those now prevailing. I 
 could give you far worse examples than the wondrous 
 nineteenth century furnishes." 
 
 " What!" exclaimed Herbert, "worse examples than 
 eighty linked to eighteen because their properties ad- 
 joined? or a spendthrift title propped up by a youthful 
 heiress, because the one wanted money and the other 
 rank?" 
 
 "Hilloa, Master Reginald Herbert, methinkswe speak 
 feelingly ; is there not something of the accepted lover
 
 2?4 Zbc "fvitigbt and tbe Gbrec Questions 
 
 and disappointed son-in-law in that exalted burst of 
 indignation, eh, Lathom ? can it be true that 
 
 " 'The lady she was willing, 
 But the baron he say no' ? " 
 
 "Be it as it may," said Lathom, " we will solace our 
 friend 'with an example or two of the approved ways of 
 lady-winning in the tenth century. Which shall it be, 
 the case of a successful racer or a clever resolver of 
 riddles?" 
 
 "Oh, I will answer for Reginald; pray leave Miss 
 Atalanta for the present, and favor us with the resolver 
 of hard questions." 
 
 Here begins the tale of 
 
 THE KNIGHT AND THE THREE QUESTIONS. 
 
 A CERTAIN emperor had a very beautiful, 
 but wilful daughter, and he much wished 
 to marry her, for she was his heir, but to all his 
 wishes she was deaf. At last she agreed to 
 marry that person who should answer succinctly 
 these three questions. The first question was : 
 "What is the length, breadth, and depth of the 
 four elements ? " The second required a means 
 of changing the north wind ; and the third de- 
 manded by what means fire might be carried to 
 the bosom without injury to the person. 
 
 Many and many were the nobles, knights, 
 and princes that endeavored to answer the 
 princess's questions. It was all in vain : some
 
 £be TCnicibt and tbe Cbree Questions 235 
 
 answered one, some another, but no one re- 
 solved all three, and each reserved his secret 
 from his competitor, in the hopes of another 
 and more successful trial. The emperor began 
 to grow angry with his daughter, but she still 
 persisted in her intentions, and her father did 
 not like to compel her. At length, after many- 
 years, came a soldier from a foreign land, and 
 when he heard of the questions of the princess, 
 he volunteered for the trial. On the appointed 
 day, the soldier entered the court of the palace 
 accompanied by one attendant, who led an ex- 
 tremely fiery horse by the bridle. The king 
 descended to the gate of the inner court-yard, 
 and demanded the soldier's wishes. 
 
 " I come, my lord, to win thy daughter, by 
 rightly answering her three questions ; I pray 
 thee propose them to me." 
 
 "Right willingly," rejoined the emperor. 
 "If thou succeedest, my daughter and the 
 succession to my throne are thine ; but mark 
 me, if thou failest, a sound whipping awaits 
 thee as an impudent adventurer. Shall I pro- 
 pose the questions ? " 
 
 " Even so, my lord — I am ready ; a crown 
 and a wife, or the whipping-post." 
 
 "Tell me, then, succinctly, how many feet 
 there are in the length, breadth, and depth of 
 the elements."
 
 236 XLbc Iknigbt an& tbc £bree Questions 
 
 "Launcelot," said the soldier to his servant, 
 "give the horse to a groom, and lie down on 
 the ground." 
 
 The servant obeyed his master's orders, and 
 the soldier carefully measured his length, his 
 breadth, and the thickness of his body. 
 
 "My lord," said the soldier, as soon as the 
 measuring was complete, "the length of the 
 elements is scarcely seven feet, the breadth is 
 nearly three, and the depth does not exceed 
 one." 
 
 " How mean you, sir ; what has this to do 
 with the elements? " 
 
 "My lord," rejoined the soldier, "man is 
 made of the four elements ; I have given you 
 the measure of man, and therefore of those 
 parts of which he is composed." 
 
 "You have answered well, sir soldier; now 
 resolve this difficulty — how can the north wind 
 be changed? " 
 
 " Launcelot, bring up Niger." 
 
 The servant brought up the horse at his mas- 
 ter's command, and the soldier placed it with 
 its head to the north ; after a few minutes he 
 administered to it a potion, and at the same 
 moment turned its head to the east ; the horse 
 that before had breathed fiercely now became 
 quiet, and its breathing was soft and quiet. 
 
 " See, my lord, the wind is changed."
 
 XLbc Ifcntgbt anD tbe £brcc (Questions 237 
 
 "How, sir soldier?" asked the emperor, 
 " What has this to do with the wind ? " 
 
 "My lord," rejoined the soldier, "who knows 
 not that the life of every animal is in its breath, 
 and that breath is air ? When my horse looked 
 northward, he breathed fiercely and snorted ex- 
 cessively. Lo, I gave him a potion and turned 
 his head to the east, and now the same breath 
 comes softly and quietly, for the wind is 
 changed." 
 
 " Well done — well done, soldier ! for these 
 two answers thou shalt escape the whipping- 
 post. Now resolve me this difficulty : How can 
 fire be carried in the bosom without injury to 
 the person ? ' ' 
 
 "Look and see, my lord." 
 
 With these words, the soldier stooped tow- 
 ards a fire that burned in the court-yard, and 
 hastily seizing some of the burning wood, 
 placed it in his bosom. Every one expected to 
 see him injured, but after the fire had burned 
 out the soldier threw the wood from his breast 
 and there was neither scar nor burn on his breast. 
 
 "Well hast thou performed thy task, O sol- 
 dier," said the king. "My daughter is thine 
 according to promise — the inheritance of my 
 kingdom is also thine and hers ; now tell me 
 the secret whereby thou didst prevent the fire 
 from burning thee."
 
 233 £be Gesta iRomanorum 
 
 " This stone is the talisman," replied the sol- 
 dier, showing a small bright stone that he 
 carried in his right hand. " Whosoever bears 
 this about him shall be able to resist the hottest 
 fire that man can light." 
 
 Loaded with riches and honors, the soldier 
 married the princess, and they succeeded to the 
 throne and the wealth of her father. 
 
 " Your princess, Lathom, seems to have been one of 
 those young ladies, who never dream that husbands and 
 wives are born for each other, but regard the former as 
 especially provided for the benefit of the latter." 
 
 "I suspect the old monk, Thompson, thought very 
 little about love matters, but rather looked to the appro- 
 priateness of his story for a religious application." 
 
 " Exactly so, Herbert," remarked Lathom, " the moral 
 is decidedly the best part of this tale. The emperor is 
 our Saviour ; the daughter, the human soul. Measuring 
 the elements, is typical of subduing the lust of the flesh. 
 The fiery horse is a sinner changed by repentance ; and 
 the small bright stone, that conquers the power of fire, 
 is a true and lively faith in our Saviour, utterly subjugat- 
 ing the fire of pride, luxury, and avarice." 
 
 " What is the tale of the marriage by racing ? " asked 
 Thompson. 
 
 " Hardly worth relating at length." 
 
 " Except as a hint to our poor friend Reginald." 
 
 " The lady is to be won by no one who cannot outrun 
 her. After many failures, comes one called Abibas, a 
 poor, but shrewd fellow. Knowing the failings of the 
 young lady, he prepares a garland of roses, a beautiful 
 silken girdle, and a golden ball, on which was written, 
 'whosoever plays with me, shall never be tired.' The
 
 Zbc Gcetn IRomancrum 239 
 
 race begins, and the lady is just passing her competitor, 
 when he skilfully jerks the rose garland on to her head. 
 Attracted by the smell of the flowers, and despising the 
 slow pace of Abibas, the lady stops to admire, and Abibas 
 gets well ahead. She soon throws away the garland, and 
 is off again after her competitor ; nearer and nearer she 
 comes, when Abibas slily drops the embroidered girdle 
 in her path. She stops— admires— takes it up, and again 
 loses ground. Again she throws away the tempting bait, 
 and renews the race ; the distance between her and her 
 suitor is soon lessened, and the race draws towards its 
 end. As a last resource, he casts the golden ball before 
 her. She stops— reads the inscription — determines to 
 try it for a moment — goes on and on with her pleasure, 
 and is only awakened from her folly by the cries that 
 hail Abibas as the winner of the race and the lady." 
 
 " What makes you look so solemn, Herbert ? Can you 
 not persuade the repudiating father in your case, to run 
 a race with you for the lady." 
 
 " Tut— tut, Thompson ; I was thinking whether any of 
 those persons who promote or sanction what the world 
 calls marriages of convenience, in which every one ad- 
 mits that love, or identity of feelings, has nothing at all 
 to do, ever read the commencement of the exhortation in 
 the marriage service. Surely it can never occur to them, 
 that we are there told that marriage signifies unto us the 
 mystical union between our Saviour and his Church." 
 
 "It were charity to suppose they were ignorant," re- 
 plied fathom ; "but let us leave these speculations ; we 
 are by no means in a proper tone of mind for them, and 
 are more ready to laugh than to reason." 
 
 "Let us then return to our sorcerers and witches," 
 said Thompson. 
 
 " Nay, rather let me demand your attention for a tale 
 of some length; but not less interest, and which com- 
 bines just sufficient magic in its incidents to satisfy
 
 240 Jonathan ano tbe Zbvee ^Talismans 
 
 Herbert's love of the marvellous. I will read you the 
 story of 
 
 " JONATHAN AND THE THREE TALISMANS." 
 
 DARIUS was a wise and prudent king ; he 
 had three sons whom he loved much, and 
 amongst whom he divided his possessions. To 
 the eldest he gave his kingdom ; to the second, 
 his personal wealth ; to the third, a ring, a neck- 
 lace, and a valuable carpet. These three gifts 
 were charmed. The ring rendered any oue who 
 wore it beloved, aud obtained for him whatso- 
 ever he desired. The necklace, if worn on the 
 breast, enabled the wearer to realize every wish ; 
 wbilst the cloth had such virtue that whosoever 
 sat upon it, and thought where he would be car- 
 ried, found himself there almost before his 
 thought was expressed. These three precious 
 gifts the king conferred upon Jonathan, his 
 youngest son, to aid him in his studies ; but his 
 mother retained them during the earlier years 
 of his youth ; after a time his mother delivered 
 to him the ring. 
 
 "Jonathan," she said, "take the first of thy 
 father's bequests — this ring ; guard it as a treas- 
 ure. So long as you wear it, every one shall 
 love you, and whatsoever you wish shall be ob- 
 tained by you ; of one thing beware — an artful 
 woman."
 
 Jonathan ano tbc £brce talismans 24; 
 
 Jonathan, with many thanks and protesta- 
 tions, took the ring. Its magic effects were soon 
 evident. Every one sought his society, and 
 every one loved him. Though he had neither 
 silver nor gold, house nor fields, he had but to 
 wish for them, and lo, one gave him fields, and 
 another houses, a third gold, a fourth merchan- 
 dise. Walking one day in the streets of Rome, 
 he met a lady so beautiful to look at that he could 
 not restrain himself from following her, and 
 eventually he had no happiness but in her society. 
 She loved Jonathan, and Jonathan loved her. 
 
 "Dearest," said the lady one day, as Jona^ 
 than was enjoying her society, "how comes it 
 that you immediately obtain every thing you 
 but wish for, and yet the good king did not 
 leave thee his wealth, or his power ? " 
 
 " It is a secret, Subtilia ; a secret that I may 
 not reveal, lest it lose its value." 
 
 "And do you profess to love me, Jonathan, 
 and yet keep from me the secret of your power, 
 your wealth, and your life ? " 
 
 " Ask me not, dearest, for it may not be." 
 
 " Farewell, then, Jonathan — thou lovest me 
 not — never more will I love thee again." 
 
 "Nay, Subtilia, but thou canst not prevent 
 thyself loving me as long as I wear this ring." 
 
 "Ah, Jonathan, the secret, the secret! you 
 wear a magic ring."
 
 242 Sonatban an? tbc Zbvce talismans 
 
 " Fool that I was," exclaimed Jonathan, "in 
 my haste I forgot my discretion ; -well, you know 
 my secret — be honest, and keep it yourself." 
 
 " You have not told me all the properties of 
 the ring ; I must know all if thou wouldst have 
 it kept a secret." 
 
 Subtilia at length elicited the secret from her 
 lever. The source of his power once known to 
 her, the next object of her plans was to obtain 
 that power for herself. 
 
 "Thou art very wrong, Jonathan," said she, 
 looking up into his face, with her dark black 
 eyes; "surely thou art wrong to wear so pre- 
 cious a jewel on thy finger ; some day, in the 
 hurry of your occupation, you will lose the ring, 
 and then your power is gone." 
 
 "There is some sense in what you say, Sub- 
 tilia," replied Jonathan ; "yet where shall I 
 place it in security ? " 
 
 "Let me be its guardian, dearest," said Sub- 
 tilia, with a look of deep affection. "No one 
 will seek such a treasure of me ; and whensoever 
 you wish for it, it will be ready to your hand ; 
 among the rest of my jewels it will be perfectly 
 secure." 
 
 Jonathan acceded to her request, and placed 
 the ring in her possession. For a time all went 
 well ; the ring was safe, and ready to his use, 
 and the lady's love did not decrease. One day,
 
 Jonathan an& tbe Zbvcc talismans 243 
 
 when lie came to visit her as usual, he found 
 Subtilia sitting on a couch, bathed in tears. 
 
 "Oh, my dear, dear lord!" exclaimed she, 
 casting herself at his feet ; how can I dare to 
 approach my lord ? ' ' 
 
 "Why this anxiety, this sorrow, Subtilia?" 
 said Jonathan, as he raised her from the ground, 
 and strove to kiss away her tears. 
 
 " Oh, my lord ! pardon me — the ring," ejacu- 
 lated Subtilia. 
 
 " Ah ! the ring — what of the ring ? " 
 
 " It is gone, my lord — stolen. ' ' 
 
 "Gone! how gone, woman?" rejoined 
 Jonathan, in anger. 
 
 " Ah, my good lord ; this morning I went to 
 my jewel-box to take out such ornaments as 
 might best please my lord, and lo, the ring was 
 not there ; and now where it is I know not." 
 
 " Farewell, Subtilia — I am ruined." 
 
 With these words Jonathan left the lady. It 
 was all in vain that he searched everywhere for 
 the ring ; it was of but a common form, and he 
 dared not to reveal its secret, as once known no 
 one would dream of resigning such a treasure. 
 In his distress he returned to his mother, and 
 told her all his misfortunes. 
 
 " My son," said his lady mother, " did I not 
 warn thee of this very danger ? by the subtlety 
 of this woman thou hast lost thy charmed jewel.
 
 244 Sonatban anD tbc Zbxcc {Talismans 
 
 Receive now thy father's second bequest — this 
 necklace ; so long as you wear this on your breast, 
 every wish of yours shall be fulfilled ; go in peace, 
 and, once more, beware of female subtlety." 
 
 Overjoyed with his new acquisition, and un- 
 able to believe that Subtilia had deceived him 
 about the loss of the ring, Jonathan returned to 
 the city, and to the society of that fair but de- 
 ceitful lady. For a time his secret remained 
 within his own breast ; at length, however, he 
 yielded to the blandishments of his lady-love, 
 and disclosed to her the source of his prosperity. 
 Long and subtle were the means by which Sub- 
 tilia gained the knowledge of the secret of the 
 necklace, and longer and more subtle the plans 
 by which she at last gained it to her own pos- 
 session. This too was lost, as the ring ; and 
 Jonathan returned a second time to his mother. 
 
 " My son," said she, "these two times you 
 have fallen a victim to female subtlety, the ring 
 and the necklace are not lost ; Subtilia has them 
 both, and if you would succeed, you must regain 
 them from her. Receive this, the third and last 
 bequest of your royal father ; seated on this 
 carpet, you have but to wish to find yourself 
 forthwith in whatever place you desire ; go in 
 peace, my son — for the third time, beware of 
 female subtlety." 
 
 " I will be revenged on this faithless woman,"
 
 Jonatban anD tbe Cbrcc talismans 245 
 
 muttered Jonathan, as he entered Subtilia's 
 house bearing the last bequest of Darius. 
 " Subtilia," he said, "come, see the third be- 
 quest of the good king : this splendid carpet — 
 here sit down with me on it." 
 
 Subtilia was hardly seated on the carpet, ere 
 Jonathan wished that they were in a desert 
 place, far, far from the abode of man. His wish 
 was hardly complete before they were both in a 
 drear solitude, many hundreds of miles from a 
 human abode, and where wild beasts and deadly 
 serpents abounded. 
 
 "Subtilia!" exclaimed Jonathan, "thou art 
 now in my power : restore the ring and the 
 necklace, or die by the mouths of beasts, or the 
 slow torture of famine ; no human footstep 
 ever treads these solitudes. ' ' 
 
 " We perish together, Jonathan." 
 
 "Delude not thyself so, false woman," re- 
 joined Jonathan, in anger ; " I have but to wish 
 myself away, and find my wish accomplished ; 
 choose therefore — death, or the restoration of 
 the ring and the necklace." 
 
 " I have his secret," muttered Subtilia to her- 
 self ; and then, with a most piteous voice, ' ' my 
 dear lord, I pray thee give me time — but an 
 hour, or even less — before I decide." 
 
 ' ' As you wish ; until the sun touches the top 
 of yonder pine tree, consider your choice."
 
 246 Sonatban an? tbe Zhxcc talismans 
 
 Whilst the time was passing away, the heat 
 of the day seduced Jonathan into a slight sleep. 
 Subtilia saw the advantage ; slowly, and softly, 
 she drew away the carpet from beneath him, 
 and as, awakened by her last efforts, he would 
 have regained the magic carpet, she wished 
 herself again at Rome, and passed from his 
 sight. He was alone in the desert, whilst 
 she revelled in every luxury that could be ob- 
 tained through the means of the three gifts of 
 his royal father. 
 
 Jonathan meditated on his situation, and 
 upbraided himself for his own foolishness : 
 whether to bend his steps from that dreadful 
 wilderness he knew not, but committing him- 
 self by prayer to God's especial protection, he 
 followed a narrow path, and at length reached 
 the banks of a large river. The river was not 
 deep, and Jonathan essayed to pass it. Though 
 the water was so hot that it burnt the flesh off 
 his bones, he persevered, and at length reached 
 the opposite bank. He essayed to taste of the 
 stream, but it was sore bitter, and burned the 
 roof of his mouth as he drank of it. Aston- 
 ished at the properties of the river, Jonathan 
 placed a small quantity of it in a glass vessel, 
 and proceeded, with great pain, on his journey. 
 
 Hunger soon succeeded to thirst, and the soli- 
 tary wanderer wist not how to assuage his bitter
 
 Sonatban an& tbe Cbree talismans 247 
 
 craving. As he wandered on, limping with 
 pain, he suddenly cast his eyes on a fair and 
 tempting tree, abounding in fruit of a rich and 
 golden hue. Without one thought of thanks to 
 God, Jonathan limped to the tree, and plucked 
 eagerly of the fruit. The fair meal had hardly 
 concluded, ere he was a leper from head to 
 foot, the foul disease broke out over his body. 
 Weeping and mourning for his misfortunes, he 
 gathered of the hurtful fruit, and renewed his 
 miserable wanderings. 
 
 Another hour of painful travel brought Jona- 
 than to the bank of a troubled, turbid stream, 
 whose depth appeared unfathomable, and whose 
 waters were repugnant even to the thirsty man. 
 Careless of his life, with one prayer to God, the 
 wanderer stept into the river, unconscious of its 
 depth. It was shallow, and offered little resist- 
 ance to his passage, though its stream seemed 
 to roll onward with headlong violence. His 
 burnt flesh, too, came again in all its original 
 purity. Jonathan reached the bank, and on his 
 bended knees gave thanks to God for his great 
 kindness in relieving him from his pains. Of 
 this stream, also, he took a small vase full, as a 
 treasured medicine. 
 
 Still the wanderer continued his journey, 
 hungry and a leper. No tree on either side of 
 him gave any promise of sustenance, and he de-
 
 243 3-onatban anD the Zhvcc ^Talismans 
 
 spaired of sustaining his fast-fleeting strength. 
 Anon he came to a low, crooked, cankerous- 
 looking bush, with two or three withered, and 
 apparently rotten, apples on one of its branches.. 
 Desperate with hunger, he seized one of the 
 wretched fruits and ate it. His hunger was as- 
 suaged ; his leprosy was departed from him. 
 Strength, health, and a free spirit seemed 
 renewed in him, and plucking another of 
 the withered fruits, he went on his way rejoic- 
 ing. 
 
 By the virtue of that food he wandered on 
 without feeling hunger ; by the virtue of that 
 water his flesh suffered not from his journey, 
 and he knew not what fatigue was. After many 
 days he neared the gates of a walled city, and 
 made as though he would have entered. 
 
 "Ho! sir traveller," said the gatekeeper, 
 " whence comest thou — what art thou — and 
 whither goest thou? " 
 
 " From Rome, good porter — a physician — " 
 
 "Stay," interrupted the porter; " a physi- 
 cian — you are in good fortune — canst cure a 
 leprosy ? " 
 
 " I can but try my skill." 
 
 " If you succeed with this case your fortune 
 is made, friend ; our king is ill of a leprosy. 
 Whoever will cure him will receive great re- 
 wards, but death if he fails."
 
 Jonathan anD tbc Cbrce ^Talismans 249 
 
 "I will undertake the cure," replied Jona- 
 than ; ' ' lead me to the king. ' ' 
 
 Jonathan entered the palace, and was led to 
 the chamber of the king, where he lay on his 
 couch, wasted with disease, and covered from 
 head to foot with a leprosy of the most virulent 
 kind. 
 
 "A physician, my lord the king," said the 
 attendant, " who would try to cure your dis- 
 ease." 
 
 " What, another victim ? " rejoined the royal 
 leper ; ' ' does he know the alternative ? ' ' 
 
 "My lord," said Jonathan, "I am aware of 
 the terms, and accept them freely ; by God's 
 help I will cure my lord, or perish in the at- 
 tempt. I pray my lord the king to eat of this 
 fruit." 
 
 "What, this withered, rotteu apple?" ex- 
 claimed the king. 
 
 " Even this, my lord." 
 
 The king took the fruit of the second tree, 
 and ate it as Jonathan advised. In a moment 
 his leprosy began to disappear, and the pimples 
 to sink and become hardly visible. 
 
 "Thou art, indeed, a physician," exclaimed 
 the king ; ' ' the promised reward is thine. ' ' 
 
 "Stay, my lord," said Jonathan, "we must 
 restore the flesh to its original state." 
 
 With these words, he touched every mark on
 
 250 jonatban anD tbe Zbvce talismans 
 
 the king's body with the water of the second 
 river, and the flesh returned fair and white as 
 before the leprosy. 
 
 " Blessed physician, thy reward is doubled ; 
 stay, I pray thee, in our country." 
 
 " Nay, my lord, I may not. I must seek my 
 own land, and all I ask is that my lord will 
 divide the half of my reward amongst the poor 
 of this city." 
 
 Soon after this Jonathan sailed from this city 
 for Rome ; arrived there, he circulated a report 
 that a great physician had arrived. Now it 
 happened that Subtilia, in despite of all the 
 talismans, lay grievously sick, and nigh unto 
 death. The report of the arrival of the great 
 physician comforted her, and she sent for Jona- 
 than. He knew her again, but she knew him 
 not, for he was greatly altered and disguised. 
 
 " Great master," said she, in a faint voice, " I 
 die." 
 
 " Death, lady, comes ever to those who con- 
 fess not their sins against God and man, and de- 
 fraud their friends ; if thou hast done this my 
 help is vain, without confession and restora- 
 tion. ' 
 
 Then did Subtilia confess all her treachery 
 against Jonathan, and how she had deprived 
 him by her subtlety, of the three talismans, and 
 left him to die in a desert place.
 
 ftbe (Scsta TRomanorum 251 
 
 "Woman," said Jonathan, " thy ill-used lover 
 yet lives, and is prosperous ; the talismans must 
 be restored to him — where be they ? " 
 
 " In yonder chest ; here, take the keys, re- 
 store them to Jonathan, and give me of your 
 medicine." 
 
 " Take this fruit — drink of this water." 
 
 " Mercy, mercy ! " exclaimed Subtilia, " I am 
 a leper — the flesh is burning away from my 
 bones — I die — I die." 
 
 "Subtilia, thou hast met with thy reward— 
 thou diest — and Jonathan is thy physician. " 
 
 "With one fearful look at Jonathan, and one 
 agonized scream, the wretched woman fell back 
 a corpse, her diseased flesh already mouldering 
 to destruction. 
 
 Jonathan regained his father's bequests, and 
 returned to his mother ; the whole kingdom re- 
 joiced at his return. Until his life's end he re- 
 membered the lessons he had learnt in his 
 prosperity and his poverty, and he lived and 
 died in peace with God and with man. 
 
 "Your tale, of course, boasts of a moral ? " 
 " Yes ; a moral far from unreasonable. The Em- 
 peror Darius is typical of our Saviour, as is generally the 
 case in these tales ; and the queen-mother is the Church. 
 The two sons are the men pf this world ; the tmrdson 
 typifies the good Christian. The lady, his great tempta- 
 tion and source of all his evils, is the flesh. She first
 
 252 Zbc Gcsta iRomanorum 
 
 ODtains from him the ring of faith, and after that de- 
 prives hiin, by her devices, of the necklace of hope ; and 
 in despite of these warnings, steals from him, at last, the 
 cloth of charity. The bitter water, that burnetii away 
 the flesh from the bones, is repentance, and the first 
 fruit is heartfelt remorse ; the second river is repentance 
 before God, and the unpromising fruit represents the 
 deeds of faith, prayer, self-denial, and charity." 
 
 " You have left the leprous king and the ship still un- 
 explained." 
 
 " The former is but a type of a sinful man, the other 
 is intended to represent the Divine command, but the 
 application seems forced and inappropriate." 
 
 " You have another link between the East and West in 
 this tale," remarked Herbert. "The talisman of the 
 magic cloth maybe found in the 'Arabian Nights,' in 
 the story of Prince Ahmed, and the Fairy Pari IJanou." 
 
 "All the three talismans proclaim the Eastern origin 
 of the story," remarked Lathom ; " and besides this, its 
 entire structure resembles the tale of Fortunatus, to 
 which few have hesitated to assign an Eastern origin." 
 
 " Many of the incidents of your story are to be found 
 in the old German nursery tale of The Dwarf and the 
 Three Soldiers." 
 
 "Not unlikely; but the tale in question is so little 
 known to ine that I cannot trace the likeness." 
 
 " The tale, in a few words, is this," replied Thompson. 
 " Three poor soldiers obtain from a dwarf three gifts : a 
 cloak, a purse, and a horse — one and all equally useful in 
 promoting their worldly advantage. A crafty princess 
 steals all these gifts, and the soldiers are once more poor. 
 Driven by hunger, one of the three eats of an apple-tree 
 by the road-side, and forthwith his nose grows, not by 
 inches, but by miles. The friendly dwarf, in pity of his 
 misery, cures him by administering another kind of ap- 
 ple ; and the nose shrinks as quickly as it had grown.
 
 Zbc Gesta IRomanorum 
 
 " Now comes the revenge on the princess. The old 
 soldier offers some of the fatal apples for sale ; the 
 princess buys and eats ; her nose grows without ceasing. 
 Under pretence of curing her, the old soldier, disguised 
 as a doctor, makes her nose grow more and more, 
 and at length, having terrified her into restoring the 
 dwarf's gifts, kindly gives her a piece of the second kind 
 of apples, and cures her of the nasal protuberance." 
 
 "And now that we have concluded our criticisms," 
 said Herbert, " let us give all due praise to the admirable 
 instruction contained in this last narrative." 
 
 " May we not extend our praise to all the tales ? " 
 
 "As critics, well intentioned towards the writers, and 
 especially towards this translation, we must not set much 
 store on our criticism. We need not, however, fear to 
 give our own opinions, and therefore I agree with you 
 that great praise may with reason be given to all the 
 tales we have heard, and to no one more than that with 
 which our last evening, I fear, must now conclude. One 
 thing I would ask you, I,athom ; you spoke of the want 
 of the usual accessories in these old monks' stories. 
 One or two slips have not escaped me ; but unless you 
 have re-produced many of the tales, the credit of great 
 experience in writing fictions must be allowed to the 
 authors of the Gesta." 
 
 " I do not mean to deny that I have re-written many of 
 these tales, and in some places introduced a little em- 
 broidery, but nowhere have I done more than re-set the 
 old jewels, and put old pictures into new frames." 
 
 "This, then, is our last evening with the old story- 
 tellers," said Thompson ; "to-morrow Herbert and I are 
 off for a week of home, whilst you are left here to " 
 
 " To re -set some more old jewels, should these, through 
 your report, obtain favor and acceptance with my 
 friends." 
 
 THE END.
 
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