Chapter CXLIII: Act IV: SCENE 2. Page 601 (3)

CHAP. XXVI.--A sick emperor sends into a foreign country for the physician Averrhoes, who cures him of his disease. This excites the envy of three other physicians, and they resolve to effect his ruin. For this purpose they deceive him into a belief that he is become leprous, and he returns with great sorrow to the emperor, to acquaint him with his misfortune. Being offered all the consolation that the emperor can afford him, he requests that he may have the use of a bath made of goat's blood. By this remedy he is restored to health; and the emperor, wondering at the suddenness with which he had been attacked, is informed by Averrhoes that three leprous persons of his own profession had terrified him, and thereby communicated their disease. They are immediately punished with death.

CHAP. XXVII.--Antony, emperor of Rome, is fond of chess. Playing once at this game, he observed that when the men were replaced as usual in the bag, the king was indiscriminately confounded with the rest of the pieces. This suggests to him his mortal state, and that he himself shall be eventually blended with others in the grave. He divides his kingdom into three parts; one he gives to the king of Jerusalem, another to his nobles, and the third to the poor. He then retires to the Holy Land to end his days in peace.

CHAP. XXX.--The emperor Averrhoes proclaims a tournament, and that the conquerer shall marry his daughter after his decease. Decius, a knight who excelled in arms, had two infant sons. Hearing of the proclamation, he goes one morning into a forest where a nightingale was singing very sweetly. He expresses a wish to know the meaning of the song, and an old man, suddenly appearing to him, explains it. The bird had directed him to go to the tournament, but in his way thither he is to meet with some heavy misfortune, which he is recommended to support with constancy and patience, because, eventually, his sorrow is to be turned to joy. The old man then disappears, and the nightingale flies away. Decius returns home and acquaints his wife with the adventure. She advises him to go to the tournament with herself and children; and he had no sooner finished the preparations for his journey, than his house and all his goods are consumed by fire. Not discouraged, he embarks on board a vessel, and on his arrival in the country to which he was going, the captain of the ship demands the price of his passage. The knight confesses his present inability to comply with the requisition, but promises on his return from the tournament to satisfy him fully. The captain, who had in the meantime conceived an improper passion for the lady, demands her as an hostage, refusing an offer of the children. The poor knight, finding no remedy, affectionately takes leave of his wife, and departs in great sorrow with his children. The mariner in vain attempts the accomplishment of his purpose with the lady, and after having accompanied her to some strange country, dies. She is reduced to great misery, and obliged to beg her bread from door to door. The story then returns to the knight, who, proceeding in his journey to the emperor's palace, meets with a deep piece of water, which it was necessary to cross. Not being able to carry over both the children together, he leaves one of them on the ground. On his return for his child, a lion springs from a wood, seizes the infant before he could arrive at the spot, and carries it away. He endeavours in vain to pursue the ravisher, and at length goes back to his other child. But here again his ill fortune attends him; a bear had seized it, and was in the act of carrying it to a neighbouring forest. He now gives way to his grief, and exclaims bitterly against the nightingale and her song, but resolves to proceed to the tournament. Here he has better luck, and repeatedly carries away the prize. The emperor takes him into great favour, and places him at the head of his armies. Walking one day through a certain city, he finds a precious stone of three colours. On carrying it to a lapidary, he is informed that he possesses a great treasure; that the stone has the power of making the owner completely happy, of enabling him to find what he might have lost, and of converting his poverty into wealth, and his sorrows into joy. Soon afterwards he has occasion to raise troops for the emperor's service, and in the course of the war two young soldiers eminently distinguish themselves by their valour. As they are sitting one night at supper, they make inquiries of each other respecting their parents; and from certain matters that are detailed, they are recognized by their mother, who happens to be present. This discovery soon leads to that of their father, who is known by his wife, from a particular mark in his forehead. All the parties return to their own country, and end their days happily.

The burning of the knight's house, and the manner in which he was deprived of his children, have been borrowed from the romance of _Sir Isumbras_.[126]

CHAP. XXXI.--A law was made at Rome that the sentinels of the city should each night examine what was passing in all the houses, so that no private murders might be committed, nor any thing done whereby the city should be endangered. It happened that an old knight named Josias had married a young and beautiful woman, who, by the sweetness of her singing, attracted many persons to his house, several of whom came for the purpose of making love to her. Among these were three young men who were high in the emperor's favour. They respectively agreed with the woman for a private assignation for which she was to receive twenty marks. She discloses the matter to her husband, but not choosing to give up the money, prevails on him to consent to the murder of the gallants, and the robbing of their persons. This is accomplished, and the bodies deposited in a cellar. The woman, mindful of the new law that had been made, sends for one of the sentinels, who was her brother, pretends that her husband had killed a man in a quarrel, and prevails on him, for a reward, to dispose of the dead body. She then delivers to him the first of the young men, whom he puts into a sack and throws into the sea. On his return to the sister, she pretends to go into the cellar to draw wine, and cries out for help. When the sentinel comes to her, she tells him that the dead man is returned. At this he of course expresses much surprise, but putting the second body into his sack ties a stone round its neck and plunges it into the sea. Returning once more, the woman, with additional arts, plays the same part again. Again he is deceived, and taking away the third body, carries it into a forest, makes a fire, and consumes it. During this operation he has occasion to retire, and in the meantime a knight on horseback, who was going to a tournament, passes by, and alights to warm himself at the fire. On the other's return the knight is mistaken for the dead man, and with many bitter words thrown into the fire, horse and all. The sentinel goes back to his sister, and receives the stipulated reward. A hue and cry had now been made after the young men who were missing. The husband and wife engage in a quarrel, and the murder is of course discovered.

This story has been immediately taken from _The seven wise masters_, where it forms the _example_ of the sixth master. The ground-work is, no doubt, oriental, and may be found, perhaps in its most ancient form, in _The little hunchbacked taylor_ of _The Arabian nights_. It was imported into Europe very early, and fell into the hands of the lively and entertaining French minstrels, who have treated it in various ways, as may be seen in Le Grand, _Fabliaux et contes_, tom. iv., where it is related five times. The several imitations of it from _The seven wise masters_ may be found in all the editions of _Prince Erastus_, an Italian modification of the _Wise masters_. It forms the substance of a well constructed and entertaining story of two friars, John and Richard, who are said to have resided at Norwich in the reign of Henry the Fifth. This is related in Heywood's _History of women_ under the title of _The faire ladie of Norwich_,[127] and has crept into Blomefield's _History of Norfolk_ in a very extraordinary manner, unaccompanied with any comment, but with the addition of the murderer's name, who is unaccountably stated to be Sir Thomas Erpingham, a well-known character.[128] In the Bodleian library there is an old English poem entitled _A merry jest of Dane Hew munk of Leicestre, and how he was foure times slain and once hanged_. Printed at London by J. Allde, in 4to, without date. This is probably the same story, which has certainly been borrowed from one of those related by the Norman minstrels.[129]

CHAP. XXXII.--Folliculus, a knight, was fond of hunting and tournaments. He had an only son, for whom three nurses were provided. Next to this child he loved his falcon and his greyhound. It happened one day that he was called to a tournament, whither his wife and domestics went also, leaving the child in a cradle, the greyhound lying by him, and the falcon on his perch. A serpent that inhabited a hole near the castle, taking advantage of the profound silence that reigned, crept from his habitation, and advanced towards the cradle to devour the child. The falcon, perceiving the danger, fluttered with his wings till he awoke the dog, who instantly attacked the invader, and after a fierce conflict, in which he was sorely wounded, killed him. He then lay down on the ground to lick and heal his wounds. When the nurses returned they found the cradle overturned, the child thrown out, and the ground covered with blood as well as the dog, who they immediately concluded had killed the child. Terrified at the idea of meeting the anger of the parents, they determined to escape, but in their flight fell in with their mistress, to whom they were compelled to relate the supposed murder of the child by the greyhound. The knight soon arrived to hear the sad story, and, maddened with fury, rushed forward to the spot. The poor wounded and faithful animal made an effort to rise, and welcome his master with his accustomed fondness; but the enraged knight received him on the point of his sword, and he fell lifeless to the ground. On examination of the cradle the infant was found alive and unhurt, and the dead serpent lying by him. The knight now perceived what had happened, lamented bitterly over his faithful dog, and blamed himself for having depended too hastily on the words of his wife. Abandoning the profession of arms he broke his lance into three pieces, and vowed a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, where he spent the rest of his days in peace.

This tale is likewise borrowed by the compiler of the _Gesta_, from the Seven wise masters, and of oriental construction. It is originally in Pilpay's fables, being that of _The Santon and the broken pitcher_.[130]

There is a very extraordinary tradition in North Wales, of an incident resembling that in our story having happened to prince Llewellyn about the year 1205. He is said to have erected a tomb over his faithful dog, still known in Carnarvonshire by the name of _Cilhart's grave_.[131] This tradition is the subject of an elegant ballad by the honourable Mr. Spencer, privately printed in a single sheet, under the title of _Beth Gêlert, or The grave of the greyhound_. At Abergavenny priory church there is said to be the figure of an armed knight with a dog at his feet; and with this person, whoever he was, the story of _Cilhart_ has also been connected. But the dog, as well as other animals, is frequently found at the feet of figures on old monuments. On the whole, the subject appears not undeserving of the consideration of Welsh antiquaries. It would be proper however, on any such occasion, to bear in mind the numerous applications of circumstances altogether fabulous to real persons; one example of which has occurred in the story from the _Gesta_ that immediately precedes the present.

It may be thought worth adding that Virgil's _Original Gnat_ resembled in its outline, as given by Donatus, the story in the _Gesta_. A shepherd there falls asleep in a marshy spot of ground; a serpent approaches, and is about to kill him. At this moment a gnat settles on the shepherd's face, stings, and awakens him. He instinctively applies his hand to the wounded part, and crushes the gnat. He soon perceives that he had destroyed his benefactor, and, as the only recompense in his power, erects a tomb to his memory.

CHAP. XXXVI.--A king having educated his three sons under a celebrated philosopher, interrogates each of them as to what kind of a God he should prefer; for it was the custom of the country that every man should make his own choice on this occasion. The eldest chooses Jupiter for his power, the second Jupiter also for his wisdom, the third Mercury for his piety and mercy. The king recommends a Deity who should unite all these properties, and who is compared to Jesus Christ, &c.

CHAP. XLVI.--The emperor Alexander made a law that no man should turn a flat-fish on his plate, so as to eat the other side, under pain of death; it being nevertheless permitted him to ask three things before his execution. The son of an offender against this law saves his father's life by his ingenuity, and contrives to marry the emperor's daughter.

CHAP. XLVII.--A law was made that if any child should die, or even be hurt by the negligence of the person to whose care it were committed, such person should suffer death. A knight requested as a reward for some services, that he might have the care of the king's son. This was accordingly granted, and the child delivered over to nurses. In their absence at a fair, a wolf entered the house and carried off the infant towards a wood. A shepherd gathering fruit in an orchard saw the affair and gave the alarm. The child was recovered, but not till it had received a bite that left a mark in its forehead. When the king had received back his son, he discovered the wound, and menaced the knight with the punishment of the law. The knight asserted that he was not a God, nor able to control the effect of nature. The king maintained that the mark was not natural, but produced by accident; and the knight at length confessed the fact, and threw himself on the king's mercy. He was only enjoined to do exclusive homage to the king, and taken into favour.

In the moral, God is the maker of the law. He delivers man's soul to him pure and unspotted, to be nourished in deeds of virtue. The ecclesiastics are the nurses, who instead of attending to their duty, frequent the worldly fairs of wickedness and vanity. The wolf is the devil, who seizes the soul and endeavours to precipitate it into hell; but the good preacher sitting in the arbour of the holy scriptures, gives the alarm, and delivers it from the clutches of the devil, &c.

CHAP. XLVIII.--This story has been given from the old English translation in manuscript, at the end of the notes to the Merchant of Venice. See p. 173.

CHAP. XLIX.--An emperor made a law that whoever violated a Virgin should lose both his eyes. His own son is found guilty of the crime, and the emperor, notwithstanding the entreaties of his nobles, enforces punishment, but consents to divide the loss of sight with the aggressor.

CHAP. L.--This story is in the other _Gesta_, but differently related. A king on some domestic difference with his wife, had been told by her that one only of her three sons was legitimate; but which of them was so she refused to discover. This gave him much uneasiness; and his death soon afterwards approaching, he called his children together, and declared in the presence of witnesses, that he left a ring which had very singular properties to him that should be found to be his lawful son. On his death a dispute arose between the youths, and it was at length agreed to refer its decision to the king of Jerusalem. He immediately ordered that the dead body of the father should be taken up and tied to a tree: that each of the sons should shoot an arrow at it, and that he who penetrated the deepest should have the ring. The eldest shot first, and the arrow went far into the body; the second shot also, and deeper than the other. The youngest son stood at a distance, and wept bitterly; but the king said to him, "Young man, take your arrow and shoot as your brothers have done." He answered, "Far be it from me to commit so great a crime. I would not for the whole world disfigure the body of my father." The king said, "Without doubt you are his son, and the others only bastards; to you therefore I adjudge the ring."

This story has been entitled _The judgment of Solomon_, and is probably of oriental origin.[132] It is often represented in that illumination which in the ancient manuscripts of the French translation of the Bible by Guiars des Moulins is prefixed to the proverbs of Solomon, although the story itself does not occur in that bible, nor in the original commentary by Petrus Comestor. It appears to have been a great favourite in the middle ages, and was often related from the pulpit.[133] The original _judgment of Solomon_ in the first book of Kings had probably reached the continent of India at some very early period, as it is imitated in the following story which occurs in one of the books belonging to the kingdom of Pegu. Two women went out together to bathe, each accompanied by her child. Whilst they were in the water, the children being left on the bank of the river, an alligator seized one of them and carried it away. A dispute arose between the women for the possession of the remaining infant, and they at length agreed to go before the judge. To determine the controversy, the judge ordered one of the women to lay hold of the child's head, and the other of its heels, and thus to pull for it. In the course of the struggle, the child was hurt, and cried out; one of the women instantly quitted her hold, and the other carried off the prize. The judge ordered her to be brought back, and told her that as she had manifested so little compassion for the sufferings of the child, she could not possibly be its mother. The infant was restored to the other woman.[134] There is another ingenious adjudication by the emperor Claudius, scarcely inferior to Solomon's. A woman had refused to acknowledge her son: and, the arguments on each side being doubtful, Claudius ordered that the parties should be married. The mother was compelled to a confession. See Sueton. in Claud. cap. 15.

CHAP. LI.--Archillaus, a Roman emperor of an elegant person and lofty stature, was desirous to have a shirt made by the hands of a pure and spotless virgin, in such a skilful and subtile manner as to prolong the duration of his life. After the strictest search no such virgin could be found; or at least, says the story, no female whose talents were competent to the task. Some time afterwards the emperor walking in his orchard, and meditating on the above matter, was accosted by a certain person who told him that he believed there was one young woman remaining in the country who was in all respects capable of performing what he desired. A messenger was immediately despatched by the emperor on this pleasing mission, with instructions to salute the lady most honourably on his part, and to present her with a particular piece of cloth three inches only in length and breadth, and to request that she would convert it into the shirt required; with a promise that if she succeeded, she should become his wife. The messenger faithfully executed his instructions; but when the damsel saw the cloth, she told him that it was impossible with such a quantity to make a shirt that would fit the emperor in the manner required, but undertook notwithstanding to make one according to the best of her ability. When the emperor heard the answer he sent a pure and handsome vessel to the lady, in which she manufactured a shirt that gave him satisfaction. He performed his promise and married her. This very silly and obscure story is allegorized into the miraculous conception of the Virgin Mary.

CHAP. LIV.--Is also in the other _Gesta_, but here related with much greater variety of circumstance, and in all respects improved. The story has been very properly termed by Mr. Warton, a beautiful one; but he has not been equally accurate in his statement that "Occleve has literally followed the book before us (i. e. the original _Gesta_,) and has even translated into English prose the moralisation annexed." Occleve's immediate model was our English _Gesta_; nor is it improbable that he might even be the translator of it; the moralisation also is entirely different.[135] Mr. Warton has omitted to notice that this story corresponds with that of Fortunatus; which, unless itself of oriental origin, might have been taken from it.[136]

CHAP. LVI.--An emperor who had only a daughter, hunting one day in a forest, lost his way, and was obliged to seek shelter in the cottage of a forester. He was kindly and hospitably received, and after taking some refreshment, retired to rest without disclosing to the man who he was. As he lay in bed he thought he heard a voice that said to him, "take, take, take;" presently after, another that cried, "give, give, give;" and then a third that still more emphatically pronounced these words, "fly, fly, fly; for this night a child is born who shall succeed to your empire." When he arose in the morning, he inquired of the forester if any child had been born during the night, who informed him that his wife had just been delivered of a son. The emperor then discovered himself, examined a mark on the child's forehead, and told the man that he should send for it the next day, as he designed to have it bred up at his court. On his return home he directed some confidential servants to take away the child from the forester's cottage, to put it to death, and to bring back its heart, that he might be satisfied that his orders were obeyed. A contention arose among the domestics about destroying the infant,[137] and one more humane than the rest, proposed the killing of a pig in its stead, and delivering the heart to the king. This was at length acceded to by the others. The child was wrapped up in some linen, and placed in a hollow tree for present shelter. When the emperor received the supposed heart of the child he cast it into the fire, and mocked the idle dreams that had tormented him. Shortly after, as an earl was hunting in the above forest, the dogs discovered the child, which was taken home and committed to the care of the earl's wife, whom he prevailed on to acknowledge it as their own, and to give out that she had just been delivered of it. When thirteen years had elapsed from this time, the emperor proclaimed a great feast, to which, among others, the earl was invited, who carried the boy with him as a squire to attend his person. When the youth came into the presence of the emperor, the latter instantly perceived the mark on his forehead, and in great anger interrogated the earl so strictly that he confessed the manner in which he had discovered the child. But the emperor's indignation was still more excited against the servants whom he had employed. He sent for them and commanded them on their oaths to speak the truth. The emperor, now satisfied of the identity of the youth, informed the earl that he should retain him at his court, and that he himself was at liberty to return home. It happened that at this time the empress was in a foreign kingdom with her daughter. The emperor therefore sent the youth to her with a letter in which he commanded her to cause him to be put to death in the most cruel and ignominious manner. In the prosecution of his journey, the poor young man came to the castle of a knight whom he humbly entreated to afford him lodging; and being hospitably received, laid himself down to sleep, placing near him a box in which he had deposited the letter. The knight accidentally seeing the box, became anxious to know its contents; and having opened it immediately perceived the emperor's signet. This he very carefully put aside, and, reading the letter, was moved with compassion for the youth. He immediately resolved to save his life, and substituted another letter, in which the king was made to direct the empress to marry her daughter to the young man with great solemnity, and to detain him with her until he should himself arrive. This letter was delivered to the empress, and the supposed directions of the emperor complied with. The youth by his deportment engaged the affections of all. Some time afterwards the emperor resolved to visit the empress, and on his arrival she went out to meet him accompanied by her children. As soon as the emperor saw the young man, he again recognized him; and, beholding his wife with looks of fury and indignation, he demanded of her why she had omitted to obey his commands. She maintained that they had been obeyed by the marriage of the youth to their daughter, who then stood before him, and, as she perceived, with child. The anger of the emperor was now mitigated, and he exclaimed, "The will of the Lord be done, for I see it is in vain to oppose it." He saluted his children with great affection, and they succeeded happily to his throne.

CHAP. LXII.--Cornelius seduces an emperor's daughter, murders her infant, and abandons her. The emperor expostulates to no purpose. He then proclaims a tournament in which the wicked knight is overcome. The princess is brought back to her father.

CHAP. LXVIII.--An emperor in his old age foolishly married a young wife, who carried on an intrigue with a certain knight. He resolved to make a journey to the Holy Land, and, setting out immediately, left his kingdom in the custody of the empress and his nobles. The captain of the ship in which he embarked, having received a large bribe for the purpose, threw the unfortunate emperor into the sea, and returned home with the news of his death, to the great joy of the wicked empress. The old monarch, who had been a good swimmer from his youth, fortunately reached an island which he found inhabited only by wild beasts. The third day after his arrival, he saw in a wood a young lion fighting with a strong and full-grown leopard; and compassionating the lion, who was nearly overpowered by his adversary, he drew his sword and killed the leopard. The grateful lion remained with him, and every day brought him as food some animal that he had hunted, which the emperor dressed by means of a fire that he contrived to make. After some time had elapsed, as he was one day walking on the shore, he perceived a ship, and making signals of distress, was taken on board. The faithful lion plunged after him into the sea, and swam by the side of the vessel, till some of the sailors, perceiving that he was exhausted with fatigue and about to sink, lifted him into the ship. On the emperor's arrival in his own kingdom he handsomely rewarded the captain, and proceeded to his palace accompanied by the lion. When he arrived there, he heard the sound of musical instruments, and perceived other demonstrations of joy. On inquiry he learned that the empress had been just married, and that his subjects believed he had perished in his voyage to the Holy Land. He then applied to one of the domestics of the palace to report him to the new emperor as a minstrel newly arrived, and to request that he might be permitted to entertain him with the tricks of his lion. He was ordered to appear before the new sovereign; whom the lion no sooner beheld than he instantly tore him in pieces, and immediately afterwards the empress. The nobles, astonished at what they saw, were now preparing to make their escape, when the emperor discovered himself, and desired them to lay aside their fear, as the vengeance of God had been accomplished. After relating his adventures, he reassumed his government.

CHAP. LXX.--Josias, a warlike king, was married to the king of Apulia's daughter, who had vowed she would unite herself to that man only who had obtained the victory in all his battles. Walking one day in his garden he saw it written in a star, that he should undertake as many wars for the love of Christ as he had for that of his lady, to whom he communicated the vision. She was extremely afflicted at the news, and threatened to destroy herself and the infant in her womb, but was comforted by her husband with a promise of returning as soon as he had conquered all the enemies of Christ. He then departed in company with Tirius, a valiant knight to whom he was attached, and they shortly arrived in Ethiopia. The king desired his friend to remain there, and subdue the country, whilst he should accomplish other conquests. Tirius requested of the king that he would send him occasional tidings of himself, and directions how to act in his absence. This was promised; and the knight received at the same time a ring from his master, as a pledge whereby to remember him. The king took his departure, and went to the Holy Land. In his absence a certain tyrant named Acharon, made war against Tirius; and finding it impossible to subdue him, accused him of treason to the king of Ethiopia, who deprived him of all his possessions, so that he became very poor and was obliged to beg his bread. Josias soon afterwards returned from the Holy Land to Ethiopia, in the character of a pilgrim, and by chance met Tirius, whom he immediately recognized, but remained himself unknown. He put many questions to his friend, who related to him his misfortunes, and added, that he was in daily expectation of the speedy return of his own sovereign, whose token he still preserved, and whom he described as the better half of his soul. Josias told him that he had travelled far on account of the love he also bore to the same person; that he was exceedingly fatigued, and requested of him to sit down that he might repose his head on his bosom. Tirius answered, that he would do this and much more for him. Whilst Josias was asleep, a white weasel issued from his mouth, and proceeding towards a mountain, walked round it. It then returned, and again entered the mouth of the king. Tirius wondered much at this, and when the king awoke was interrogated as to what he had seen. Josias, on being informed, said, "Let us go to the mountain, perhaps we may behold more wonders." On their coming to a hollow place in the mountain, they found a dragon lying dead, with a large quantity of gold in his belly, and a sharp sword, on which was inscribed, "By my power, and with the king's assistance, the knight Tirius shall once more possess his lands." Josias then discovered himself to his friend, who fell on the ground and kissed his feet. The king gave all the gold to Tirius, but reserved the sword for himself, and commanded the knight not to disclose who he was until they should have accomplished their purpose. Josias then proceeded in his pilgrim's habit to the king's palace, where he found the tyrant Acharon, and sat himself down before the largest table. The king inquired of him whence he came and what tidings he brought. The pilgrim answered, "I come from the Holy Land, where many persons recommend your soul to Christ for having despoiled a worthy knight of his lands on the lying accusation of a tyrant." Acharon then exclaimed, "Why hast thou uttered these things? I would thou wert able to defend thyself, that I might fight with thee." The pilgrim requested leave to accept the challenge, which the king granted, and promised that if he obtained the victory he should not only receive all the lost lands of the knight, but be made the second man in his kingdom. The day of battle was appointed, and the combatants respectively maintained the contest with considerable valour. At length Acharon, exhausted with fatigue, was about to yield, when he said to the pilgrim, "You are doubtless a generous adversary, I die with thirst; suffer me to go once to the river and drink." The pilgrim acquiesced on the like conditions for himself. When Acharon had quenched his thirst, his strength returned; he renewed the combat with vigour, and Josias, in his turn, sorely pressed, requested permission to drink. His treacherous enemy not only refused him, but compelled him to fight his way to the water, into which he plunged and assuaged his thirst. Having recovered his strength, the battle was continued till the evening; and when Acharon was once more about to yield the victory, the king parted the combatants, and appointed the next day to renew the battle. At night the king sent for the pilgrim, commended his valour, and desired his daughter to take him under her care, and provide him with all necessaries, that he might be able to maintain the combat on the following day. The damsel then led him to a chamber, bathed him,[138] prepared his supper, and afterwards placed him in a bed with four feet, so that it could be easily moved from place to place. In the mean time Acharon called together his four sons, all of them robust young men; told them of the danger his life would be in if he should renew the contest with the pilgrim on the ensuing day, and prevailed with them to seize him in his chamber whilst he slept, and throw him into the sea. It happened that a fisherman from his vessel perceived by the light of the moon the floating bed, and to his great astonishment a man lying upon it. Josias also awoke, and wondered much at seeing the stars over his head. The fisherman cried out to the king, and the king to him for assistance, telling him he was the person who had the day before been engaged in combat with the tyrant. The fisherman took him on board his vessel, and afterwards to his dwelling, where he was again put to bed. On the morrow Acharon armed himself and went to the palace, exclaiming aloud, "Bring forth the traitor pilgrim, that I may this day present his head to our lord the king." When the princess was ordered by her father to awake the pilgrim, she was astonished to find him gone, together with the bed; and when the king heard the strange news he was much grieved, for he loved the pilgrim, and detested the tyrant. The fisherman at length appeared and related what had happened. Josias returned to the palace, armed himself, once more attacked his adversary, who was by this time quite dejected, and cutting off his head, presented it to the king. He was then desired to name the reward that he wished for, when he requested that the lands which Tirius had acquired by his valour might be again restored to him. Josias afterwards took leave of his friend, returned to his own kingdom, and ended his days in peace.[139]

CHAP. LXXI.--An emperor committed the education of his only son to one of his knights, who had obtained a victory at a tournament. The child was placed in a chamber, round which the seven liberal sciences were depicted, so that when he lay awake in bed he could be gathering all kinds of knowledge. Near the bed was a fountain, in which the child could bathe, and beyond the fountain a window to admit the sun. It happened that a bear, finding the door open, entered the chamber and washed himself in the fountain, so that the water was much infected with his filth. The knight and his wife soon afterwards drank of the fountain, and became leprous. An eagle also flew in at the window, and carried off the king's son. At length a skilful physician was consulted, who cured the parties of their leprosy, and instructed them how to recover the child.

CHAP. LXXII.--A king hears the song of a nightingale. He is desirous of knowing what it means; and, applying to a wise knight, is informed that it directs him to seek three things, viz. joy without sorrow, abundance without want, and light without darkness. The king sets out in pursuit of them, and arrives in a kingdom where the sovereign was just dead, leaving his throne to his sister. She becomes enamoured of the royal traveller and offers him marriage. Here the story is discontinued, but the narrator refers to chap. iv. as containing the same matter.

CHAP. LXXVII.--In the castle of an emperor was a fountain, the water of which had the property of curing drunkenness. To this vice, which the emperor particularly detested, one of his knights, named Ydronicus, was much addicted; but whenever he perceived the consequences of his intemperance, he repaired to the fountain, and drinking a hearty draught, recovered himself in such a manner that the emperor, who was extremely attached to him, had never yet discovered his failing. It happened that the emperor had found a bird in his forest which sang so sweetly, that, being fond of melody, he repaired daily to the spot to hear it. The particular attention which the emperor bestowed on these two favourites had excited the envy of his courtiers, among whom one wiser than the rest at length undertook their ruin. He first sealed up the fountain, so that when Ydronicus next became intoxicated he was deprived of his usual remedy; and the emperor, perceiving his condition, was filled with indignation, and instantly decreed his banishment. The insidious courtier then repaired to the forest; and watching attentively the motions of the bird, perceived that her mate often came to visit her, but that in his absence she committed infidelities with strange birds, and then bathing herself in an adjacent well, deceived her mate on his return. He therefore closed up the well, and the unfaithful bird being soon detected by her mate, he tore her to pieces. The latter part of this story seems borrowed from the last chapter of the original _Gesta_.

CHAP. LXXVIII.--A law was made at Rome, that no man should marry for beauty, but for riches only; and that no woman should be united to a poor man, unless he should by some means acquire wealth equal to her own. A certain poor knight solicited the hand of a rich lady, but she reminded him of the law, and desired him to use the best means of complying with it, in order to effect their union. He departed in great sorrow, and after much inquiry, was informed of a rich duke who had been blind from the day of his birth. Him he resolved to murder, and obtain his wealth; but found that he was protected in the day-time by several armed domestics, and at night by the vigilance of a faithful dog. He contrived however to kill the dog with an arrow, and immediately afterwards the master, with whose money he returned to the lady. He informed her that he had accomplished his purpose; and being interrogated how this had been done in so short a space of time, he related all that had happened. The lady desired, before the marriage should take place, that he would go to the spot where the duke was buried, lay himself on his tomb, listen to what he might hear, and then report it to her. The knight armed himself, and went accordingly. In the middle of the night he heard a voice saying, "O duke, that liest here, what asketh thou that I can do for thee?" The answer was, "O Jesus, thou upright judge, all that I require is vengeance for my blood unjustly spilt." The voice rejoined, "Thirty years from this time thy wish shall be fulfilled." The knight, extremely terrified, returned with the news to the lady. She reflected that thirty years were a long period, and resolved on the marriage. During the whole of the above time the parties remained in perfect happiness.

When the thirty years were nearly elapsed, the knight built a very strong castle, and over one of the gates, in a conspicuous place, caused the following verses to be written:

"In my distress, religion's aid I sought;
But my distress reliev'd, I held it nought.
The wolf was sick, a lamb he seem'd to be;
But health restor'd, the wolf again we see."

Interrogated as to the meaning of these enigmatical lines, the knight at once explained them by relating his own story, and added that in eight days time the thirty years would expire. He invited all his friends to a feast at that period; and when the day was arrived, the guests placed at table, and the minstrels attuning their instruments of music, a beautiful bird flew in at the window and began to sing with uncommon sweetness. The knight listened attentively, and said, "I fear this bird prognosticates misfortune." He then took his bow, and shot an arrow into it in the presence of all the company. Instantly the castle divided in two parts, and, with the knight, his wife, and all who were in it, was precipitated to the lowest depth of the infernal regions. The story adds, that on the spot where the castle stood, there is now a spacious lake, on which no substance whatever floats, but is immediately plunged to the bottom.

CHAP. LXXIX.--The emperor Miremius had an only son, on whose birth the wise men being consulted as to his future destiny, declared that he would not live except he were brought up for seven years under ground, where the light of the sun could never come. This was accordingly done; and at the expiration of the time the young prince was taken out of his subterraneous confinement, and became the admiration of all men for his virtues and good disposition. In due time he was married to a daughter of the king of Hungary. At each corner of the nuptial bed was placed a little dog to watch, and near it a burning lamp, which by the emperor's special command was to be lighted only by the hands of a pure virgin. The prince coming one night into the chamber found the lamp extinguished, and made a solemn vow that he would never more enter the bed until the lamp were rekindled; but after many inquiries no virgin could be found for the purpose. The prince determined to make search himself, and taking affectionate leave of his wife, proceeded on his expedition. He presently overtook a lion, whose foot had been wounded by a thorn, which he extracted, and the animal followed him. Arriving at the castle of a king who had a virgin daughter, the prince fell in love with and demanded her in marriage. The king consented, on condition that he would destroy a horrible dragon, who had nearly devoured all the sheep and oxen in the country, and for whose future supply it would soon be necessary to draw lots in the king's own family. The prince agreed to the proposal, and waited till the period arrived when the lot had fallen on the king's daughter. He then became exceedingly terrified, but ventured to attack the dragon, who was on the point of destroying him, when the lion came to his assistance, and speedily killed his adversary. The virgin was delivered to the prince, who took her home to his wife. The lamp was rekindled, to the great joy of the parties, and the virgin treated with all possible kindness and attention. The dog and the lamp in this story are introduced in chap. i. of the other _Gesta_, but the tales have nothing else in common.

CHAP. LXXX.--There was a law at Rome, that every woman at her purification should write some words on the church door, for the edification of the people, and then return home with due solemnity. The empress on this occasion writes, "I am a king governing the age; all the world is mine." Some time afterwards a noble lady attended by several musicians comes to be purified. She inscribes on the door, "I am an infant at the breast whose milk is wine," and returns home to prepare a feast. The empress is much offended, and sends for her. She procures two serpents, and compels the lady to suckle them, &c. The substance of this story is incorporated with the old ballad of "A warning piece to England, or the fall of queen Eleanor."[140]

CHAP. LXXXI.--A city is infested with dragons and other venomous animals that destroy the inhabitants. A philosopher advises the emperor to hang a live lion on a cross, and thus terrify the other creatures from molesting the city.

CHAP. LXXXII.--A law was made, that if any one could escape from prison and fly to the king's palace he should receive protection. An imprisoned knight is visited by a bird, who leaves a precious stone, by the touch of which his fetters are loosed and he escapes, &c.

CHAP. LXXXIV.--A dispute arose between the three sons of an emperor respecting the succession. The nobles decided that they should run a race on horseback, and that he whose horse neighed should inherit the throne. A cunning servant of one of the princes contrived that his master should win, by placing in the horse's way a mare that he remembered. This is the well-known story of Darius.

CHAP. XC.--Of a law that whoever violated a virgin without making atonement to her father within a certain time should suffer death.

CHAP. XCII.--Of a madman who tore his flesh every day, and was poisoned by his father.

CHAP. XCIII.--An empress falls in love with a young knight; and becoming extremely sick, the physicians inform her husband that there is no mode of cure, but the bathing her with the knight's blood.

CHAP. XCIV.--A poor man is promoted by an emperor to great honours, but soon becomes proud, and rebels against his sovereign. He is banished with his accomplices. These invite their successors to a poisoned banquet. The emperor is recommended by his son to apply to a damsel who possesses a well with miraculous powers. By means of its water the dead men are restored to life. The prince is rewarded with a crown of gold.

CHAP. XCVII.--Jonathas, having contrived to keep fire and water in his house, at a time when his fellow citizens had been plundered of them by a tyrant named Eulopius, is rewarded by having the education of the emperor of Rome's son committed to him. He builds a chamber for the young prince, and causes various images and inscriptions to be placed in it, which keep him attentive to his charge. He is finally promoted to great honour.

CHAP. XCVIII.--The emperor Martin had brought up his nephew Fulgentius as his page and cup-bearer; but his steward soon became envious of the young man, and resolved to effect his ruin. For this purpose he prevailed on the emperor to believe that Fulgentius had ungratefully circulated many ill reports of him, and particularly that he was leprous to such a degree that it was unsafe to approach his person or administer his drink to him. He then went to the young man, related to him that the emperor had made great complaint of the foulness of his breath, and advised him, when he performed the duties of his office, to take special care to turn his head aside. The innocent Fulgentius pursued this insidious counsel, and, the emperor's anger being excited, he struck his nephew violently on the breast, and drove him from his presence. He then consulted with the steward how he should deprive the youth of life; and it was settled that some men who lived near at hand, and kept a furnace to burn stones for cement, should immediately be directed to throw into their fire, without the least ceremony, that person who should come early on the morrow, and desire them to fulfil the emperor's commands. Measures were then taken that Fulgentius should be the victim; but in his progress to the lime-kiln he was induced by the sound of a church bell to deviate from his road, and attend the celebration of the mass. During the service he fell asleep, and when it was finished no efforts of the priest could for a very considerable time awake him. In the meanwhile the steward, solicitous to hear of the young man's death, repaired to the spot, and inquiring if the emperor's commands had been executed, was seized by the workmen, who, in spite of all his entreaties and remonstrances, threw him into the furnace. Fulgentius himself soon afterwards arrived, delivered his message, and was surprised to hear of the steward's death, and the miraculous manner in which he himself had escaped. He then returned thanks to God for his preservation, and went back to the palace. The emperor in great anger demanded why he had not executed his commands. Fulgentius related what had happened, and this leading to a mutual explanation, he was restored to his uncle's favour, and ended his days honourably. This story may have come from the East.[141] It is likewise extremely well related in the _Contes devots_ or _Miracles of the Virgin_,[142] and in other places.[143]

CHAP. XCIX.--A marriage was proposed between the son of Anselmus, emperor of Rome, and the daughter of the king of Apulia. The young lady in her voyage was shipwrecked and swallowed by a whale. In this situation she contrived to make a fire and to wound the animal with a knife, so that he was driven towards the shore, and slain by an earl named Pirius, who delivered the princess and took her under his protection. On relating her story she was conveyed to the emperor. In order to prove whether she was worthy to receive the hand of his son, he placed before her three vessels. The first was of gold, and filled with dead men's bones; on it was this inscription; _who chuses me shall find what he deserves_. The second was of silver filled with earth, and thus inscribed; _who chuses me shall find what nature covets_. The third vessel was of lead, but filled with precious stones. It had this inscription; _who chuses me shall find what God hath placed_. The emperor then commanded her to chuse one of the vessels, informing her that if she made choice of that which should profit herself and others, she would obtain his son; if of what should profit neither herself nor others, she would lose him. The princess after praying to God for assistance, preferred the leaden vessel. The emperor informed her that she had chosen as he wished, and immediately united her with his son. This is obviously the story which had supplied the caskets in the _Merchant of Venice_. See the note at the end of that play, p. 169.

CHAP. C.--A king hunting in a forest loses his attendants, and is left alone. He meets a lame lion, who stretches out his foot to him, as if soliciting assistance. The king, perceiving a thorn, extracts it, and binds up the wound with certain herbs. Finding no way out of the wood, he is obliged to take shelter in the lion's den, where he is supplied with food by the grateful animal. After remaining here some time a bear comes to the den. The rest of the story will not admit of being told. What has been stated is evidently grafted on the well-known tale of Androcles.