Part 40

From the great celebrity of the _original Gesta_, it could not fail of being known to the English clergy, and accordingly we find that it was used by them in the pulpit as in other countries. If the numerous volumes of the sermons of the middle ages that still remain in our college and cathedral libraries were examined, a task by no means here recommended, it would, no doubt, be found, that they had been indebted to it among other similar authorities for many of their _examples_; and to show that this is not a mere conjecture, there is a collection of ancient sermons in the British Museum that affords a solitary instance of the introduction of a story from the _original Gesta_.[122] It is the thirty-ninth story, of two brothers at enmity with each other. Though anonymous, there is no doubt that these sermons were composed by some Englishman, who has cited a multitude of authors, and among other matters the well-known story of the Jew who refused to be delivered from a jakes into which he had fallen on the sabbath day.

It is natural to suppose that a work like the _original Gesta_ would stimulate some person to the compilation of one that should emulate if not altogether supersede it; and accordingly this design was accomplished at a very early period by some Englishman, in all probability a monk. There is a considerable difficulty even in forming a conjecture as to the precise time in which this was done. One of the earliest manuscripts appears to have been written about the reign of Richard the Second, nor is there any internal evidence in this work that places its composition below that period. That its purpose was similar to that of the other is manifest from its being quoted no less than five times in a collection of sermons by a preacher at Magdalen college already mentioned, who has likewise introduced the moralizations generally in the very words of his original. If additional proofs were wanting of the English origin of the work before us, it might be stated, 1. That no manuscript of it appears to exist in any of the catalogues of continental libraries; whereas there are many in those of this country.[123] 2. That in one of the chapters there are some English verses,[124] and in another some English proper names.[125] 3. That it has a few English terms and modes of speech, as _parliament_, _livery of seizin_, &c.

The construction resembles that of the _original Gesta_, from which a great many stories have been retained; but these are always newly written, and sometimes materially altered. The moralizations are uniformly different, and the proper names generally changed. The best manuscripts contain one hundred and two stories, out of which there are upwards of forty that are not in the original work, none of which have been ever printed in the _Latin_ of this _Gesta_, and but few of them in an English translation. The sources from which many of them were taken cannot easily be traced, whilst others are extracted from works that will hereafter be mentioned.

In the following analysis of the additional stories to this _Gesta_, the plan of Mr. Warton has been adopted. Though it should fail in exciting much pleasurable sensation in the reader, it may at least serve to throw a ray or two of light on the manners of the middle ages. The arrangement of the chapters is from MS. Harl. 2270, but the copy used is one of equal value in the author's possession. The variety in these is very inconsiderable.

CHAP. I.--The emperor Anselmus bore a silver shield with five red roses. He had three sons equally beloved by him. His continual wars with the king of Egypt had reduced him so low, that of all his temporal goods only a single tree remained. Being mortally wounded in one of his battles, he called his sons before him, and bequeathed to the eldest all that was under the earth and above the earth belonging to the tree; to the second, all that was great and small in it; and to the youngest, all that was wet and dry in it. On the king's death a dispute arose between his sons concerning the possession of the tree, which by mutual consent was referred for decision to the king of Reason. He caused all the young men to be bled, and ordered that a bone, taken from the breast of their dead father, should be dipped in the blood and afterwards washed. The blood of the two elder sons was easily discharged, but that of the youngest remained. The king declared that he was of the true blood and nature of the bone, and the others bastards; to him therefore the tree was adjudged.

CHAP. II.--The emperor Diocletian, desirous to know what bird had the greatest affection for its young, goes into a wood and returns to his palace with an ostrich's nest, which he places under a glass vessel. The dam follows him, and finding it impossible to get at her offspring, proceeds to a desert, where she remains thirty-four days, and then comes home with a worm called Thurnar; this she kills on the vessel, which being broken by the blood of the animal, her young ones are set at liberty. At this conduct of the bird Diocletian expresses much pleasure.

CHAP. IV.--The emperor Gauterus, reflecting on the vanities of the world, resolves to find a situation where there is nothing but happiness. He leaves his kingdom, and meets a beautiful woman who had lost her husband. She offers him marriage, and abundance of wealth; but on inspecting the nuptial chamber, the emperor is startled and disgusted at the appearance of several serpents and a lion that threaten him with destruction. The lady informs him that he may possibly survive a night or two, but that the animals will afterwards devour him, as they had her husband. The emperor declines the honour of this marriage, and proceeds to another country, where the nobles are desirous to elect him king in the room of their deceased monarch; but finding a bedchamber like the former, he instantly departs, and arrives at a third place, where he is offered the kingdom on similar terms. At length he meets an old man, sitting near a ladder with three steps raised against a wall. He is interrogated as to his wishes, and answers that he sought three things, viz. joy without sorrow, abundance without want, and light without darkness. He is desired to ascend the ladder, when he finds what he had wished for, and continues on the spot during the rest of his life. This is, in substance, the 101st story in the other _Gesta_, but here related with much variety.

CHAP. XVIII.--A knight falls in love with Aglae, the daughter of the emperor Polentius, and being obliged to be absent in the Holy Land for seven years, the lady agrees not to marry till his return. In the mean time the emperor promises his daughter to the king of Hungary, who being deeply in love with her, consents, at her request, to postpone the marriage. On the day before the appointed time, the king of Hungary, riding to the emperor's court in great pomp to celebrate his nuptials, is met by the knight, with whom he enters into conversation, and a violent rain coming on, the king's fine clothes are presently spoiled. The knight remarks that he should have brought his house with him. The king is struck with the singularity of the admonition. They arrive at a deep water, and the king plunging in with his horse, is nearly drowned. The knight tells him that he should have brought his bridge with him. Shortly after the king inquires what time of day it is; his companion replies that it is time to eat, and offers a cake, which is accepted. He then observes to the king that he had acted unwisely in omitting to bring his father and mother with him. As they approach the emperor's palace, the knight requests leave of the king to take another road, meaning to get to the court by a nearer way that was known to him, and carry off the lady before the king should arrive. On being asked what road he intended to take, he declares he will speak the truth. He says, that on that day seven years he had spread a net in a certain place to which he was then going; that if he should find it broken he shall leave it, but if whole, that he shall take it with him. The king arrives at the palace, and is kindly entertained. The emperor interrogates him concerning the particulars of his journey, and on hearing the strange observations that the knight had made, commends him as a wise man, and informs the king that by the house he had meant nothing more than a cloak; that the bridge he talked of, signified the attendants who should have been sent before to ascertain the depth of the water; and that by the king's father and mother, he intimated the bread and wine that he should have brought with him. But when the emperor came to reflect on the meaning of the net which had been spread seven years since, he perceived that his daughter was in danger, and on commanding her chamber to be examined, found his suspicions verified. The king being deceived by the knight and the damsel, returned in disgrace to his own country.

CHAP. XXI.--This is the story of king Lear under the name of Theodosius, emperor of Rome. It has been already given from the old English translation in manuscript. See page 420.

CHAP. XXIV.--Antonius made a law at Rome, that whenever a fire happened in the city a sentinel should cry out to the people to ring all the bells, and secure the gates. A certain warrior was desirous of becoming master of the city, and, apprised of this law, consulted with his companions how it should be evaded. One advised that they should enter the city peaceably, and proclaim a general feast, at which a certain liquor should be used that would set all the guests asleep. The stratagem is adopted, the city fired, the inhabitants carried off, and not one person left to comply with the emperor's edict.

CHAP. XXV.--A certain knight is unjustly accused before an emperor, who, when he finds that the accusation cannot be maintained, endeavours to perplex him with intricate questions, which he is obliged to answer on pain of death. Among these are, the distance of a sigh from the heart? the number of flaggons of salt water in the sea? the depth of it? which are the most honourable and poorest professions? &c. These are all answered satisfactorily, and the knight dismissed with commendation.

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.