[Day the Second]
THE COUNT OF ANTWERP, BEING FALSELY ACCUSED, GOETH INTO
EXILE AND LEAVETH HIS TWO CHILDREN IN DIFFERENT PLACES IN
ENGLAND, WHITHER, AFTER AWHILE, RETURNING IN DISGUISE AND
FINDING THEM IN GOOD CASE, HE TAKETH SERVICE AS A HORSEBOY
IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING OF FRANCE AND BEING APPROVED
INNOCENT, IS RESTORED TO HIS FORMER ESTATE
The ladies sighed amain over the fortunes of the fair Saracen; but who
knoweth what gave rise to those sighs? Maybe there were some of them
who sighed no less for envy of such frequent nuptials than for pity of
Alatiel. But, leaving that be for the present, after they had laughed
at Pamfilo's last words, the queen, seeing his story ended, turned to
Elisa and bade her follow on with one of hers. Elisa cheerfully obeyed
and began as follows: "A most ample field is that wherein we go to-day
a-ranging, nor is there any of us but could lightly enough run, not
one, but half a score courses there, so abounding hath Fortune made it
in her strange and grievous chances; wherefore, to come to tell of one
of these latter, which are innumerable, I say that:
When the Roman Empire was transferred from the French to the
Germans,[121] there arose between the one and the other nation an
exceeding great enmity and a grievous and continual war, by reason
whereof, as well for the defence of their own country as for the
offence of that of others, the King of France and a son of his, with
all the power of their realm and of such friends and kinsfolk as they
could command, levied a mighty army to go forth upon the foe; and ere
they proceeded thereunto,--not to leave the realm without
governance,--knowing Gautier, Count of Antwerp,[122] for a noble and
discreet gentleman and their very faithful friend and servant, and for
that (albeit he was well versed in the art of war) he seemed to them
more apt unto things delicate than unto martial toils, they left him
vicar general in their stead over all the governance of the realm of
France and went on their way. Gautier accordingly addressed himself
with both order and discretion to the office committed unto him, still
conferring of everything with the queen and her daughter-in-law, whom,
for all they were left under his custody and jurisdiction, he honoured
none the less as his liege ladies and mistresses.
[Footnote 121: _i.e._ A.D. 912, when, upon the death of Louis III, the
last prince of the Carlovingian race, Conrad, Duke of Franconia, was
elected Emperor and the Empire, which had till then been hereditary in
the descendants of Charlemagne, became elective and remained
thenceforth in German hands.]
[Footnote 122: _Anguersa_, the old form of _Anversa_, Antwerp. All
versions that I have seen call Gautier Comte d'_Angers_ or _Angiers_,
the translators, who forgot or were unaware that Antwerp, as part of
Flanders, was then a fief of the French crown, apparently taking it
for granted that the mention of the latter city was in error and
substituting the name of the ancient capital of Anjou on their own
responsibility.]
Now this Gautier was exceedingly goodly of his body, being maybe
forty years old and as agreeable and well-mannered a gentleman as
might be; and withal, he was the sprightliest and daintiest cavalier
known in those days and he who went most adorned of his person. His
countess was dead, leaving him two little children, a boy and a girl,
without more, and it befell that, the King of France and his son being
at the war aforesaid and Gautier using much at the court of the
aforesaid ladies and speaking often with them of the affairs of the
kingdom, the wife of the king's son cast her eyes on him and
considering his person and his manners with very great affection, was
secretly fired with a fervent love for him. Feeling herself young and
lusty and knowing him wifeless, she doubted not but her desire might
lightly be accomplished unto her and thinking nought hindered her
thereof but shamefastness, she bethought herself altogether to put
that away and discover to him her passion. Accordingly, being one day
alone and it seeming to her time, she sent for him into her chamber,
as though she would discourse with him of other matters.
The count, whose thought was far from that of the lady, betook himself
to her without any delay and at her bidding, seated himself by her
side on a couch; then, they being alone together, he twice asked her
the occasion for which she had caused him come thither; but she made
him no reply. At last, urged by love and grown all vermeil for shame,
well nigh in tears and all trembling, with broken speech she thus
began to say: 'Dearest and sweet friend and my lord, you may easily as
a man of understanding apprehend how great is the frailty both of men
and of women, and that more, for divers reasons, in one than in
another; wherefore, at the hands of a just judge, the same sin in
diverse kinds of qualities of persons should not in equity receive one
same punishment. And who is there will deny that a poor man or a poor
woman, whom it behoveth gain with their toil that which is needful for
their livelihood, would, an they were stricken with Love's smart and
followed after him, be far more blameworthy than a lady who is rich
and idle and to whom nothing is lacking that can flatter her desires?
Certes, I believe, no one. For which reason methinketh the things
aforesaid [to wit, wealth and leisure and luxurious living] should
furnish forth a very great measure of excuse on behalf of her who
possesseth them, if, peradventure, she suffer herself lapse into
loving, and the having made choice of a lover of worth and discretion
should stand for the rest,[123] if she who loveth hath done that.
These circumstances being both, to my seeming, in myself (beside
several others which should move me to love, such as my youth and the
absence of my husband), it behoveth now that they rise up in my behalf
for the defence of my ardent love in your sight, wherein if they avail
that which they should avail in the eyes of men of understanding, I
pray you afford me counsel and succour in that which I shall ask of
you. True is it, that availing not, for the absence of my husband, to
withstand the pricks of the flesh nor the might of love-liking, the
which are of such potency that they have erst many a time overcome and
yet all days long overcome the strongest men, to say nothing of weak
women,--and enjoying the commodities and the leisures wherein you see
me, I have suffered myself lapse into ensuing Love his pleasures and
becoming enamoured; the which,--albeit, were it known, I acknowledge
it would not be seemly, yet,--being and abiding hidden, I hold[124]
well nigh nothing unseemly; more by token that Love hath been insomuch
gracious to me that not only hath he not bereft me of due discernment
in the choice of a lover, but hath lent me great plenty thereof[125]
to that end, showing me yourself worthy to be loved of a lady such as
I,--you whom, if my fancy beguile me not, I hold the goodliest, the
most agreeable, the sprightliest and the most accomplished cavalier
that may be found in all the realm of France; and even as I may say
that I find myself without a husband, so likewise are you without a
wife. Wherefore, I pray you, by the great love which I bear you, that
you deny me not your love in return, but have compassion on my youth,
the which, in very deed, consumeth for you, as ice before the fire.'
[Footnote 123: _i.e._ of her excuse.]
[Footnote 124: Lit. Thou holdest (or judges); but _giudichi_ in the
text is apparently a mistake for _giudico_.]
[Footnote 125: _i.e._ of discernment.]
With these words her tears welled up in such abundance that, albeit
she would fain have proffered him yet other prayers, she had no power
to speak farther, but, bowing her face, as if overcome, she let
herself fall, weeping, her head on the count's bosom. The latter, who
was a very loyal gentleman, began with the gravest reproofs to rebuke
so fond a passion and to repel the princess, who would fain have cast
herself on his neck, avouching to her with oaths that he had liefer be
torn limb from limb than consent unto such an offence against his
lord's honour, whether in himself or in another. The lady, hearing
this, forthright forgot her love and kindling into a furious rage,
said, 'Felon knight that you are, shall I be this wise flouted by you
of my desire? Now God forbid, since you would have me die, but I have
you put to death or driven from the world!' So saying, she set her
hands to her tresses and altogether disordered and tore them; then,
rending her raiment at the breast, she fell to crying aloud and
saying, 'Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp would do me violence.' The
count, seeing this, misdoubting far more the courtiers' envy than his
own conscience and fearful lest, by reason of this same envy, more
credence should be given to the lady's malice than to his own
innocence, started up and departing the chamber and the palace as
quickliest he might, fled to his own house, where, without taking
other counsel, he set his children on horseback and mounting himself
to horse, made off with them, as most he might, towards Calais.
Meanwhile, many ran to the princess's clamour and seeing her in that
plight and hearing [her account of] the cause of her outcry, not only
gave credence to her words, but added[126] that the count's gallant
bearing and debonair address had long been used by him to win to that
end. Accordingly, they ran in a fury to his houses to arrest him, but
finding him not, first plundered them all and after razed them to the
foundations. The news, in its perverted shape, came presently to the
army to the king and his son, who, sore incensed, doomed Gautier and
his descendants to perpetual banishment, promising very great guerdons
to whoso should deliver him to them alive or dead.
[Footnote 126: Sic (_aggiunsero_); but _semble_ should mean "believed,
in addition."]
The count, woeful for that by his flight he had, innocent as he was,
approved himself guilty, having, without making himself known or being
recognized, reached Calais with his children, passed hastily over into
England and betook himself in mean apparel to London, wherein ere he
entered, with many words he lessoned his two little children, and
especially in two things; first, that they should brook with patience
the poor estate, whereunto, without their fault, fortune had brought
them, together with himself,--and after, that with all wariness they
should keep themselves from ever discovering unto any whence or whose
children they were, as they held life dear. The boy, Louis by name,
who was some nine and the girl, who was called Violante and was some
seven years old, both, as far as their tender age comported, very well
apprehended their father's lessons and showed it thereafter by deed.
That this might be the better done,[127] he deemed it well to change
their names; wherefore he named the boy Perrot and the girl Jeannette
and all three, entering London, meanly clad, addressed themselves to
go about asking alms, like as we see yonder French vagabonds do.
[Footnote 127: _i.e._ That the secret might be the better kept.]
They being on this account one morning at a church door, it chanced
that a certain great lady, the wife of one of the king's marshals of
England, coming forth of the church, saw the count and his two little
ones asking alms and questioned him whence he was and if the children
were his, to which he replied that he was from Picardy and that, by
reason of the misfeasance of a rakehelly elder son of his, it had
behoved him depart the country with these two, who were his. The lady,
who was pitiful, cast her eyes on the girl and being much taken with
her, for that she was handsome, well-mannered and engaging, said,
'Honest man, an thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I will
willingly take her, for that she hath a good favour, and if she prove
an honest woman, I will in due time marry her on such wise that she
shall fare well.' This offer was very pleasing to the count, who
promptly answered, 'Yes,' and with tears gave up the girl to the lady,
urgently commending her to her care.
Having thus disposed of his daughter, well knowing to whom, he
resolved to abide there no longer and accordingly, begging his way
across the island, came, not without sore fatigue, as one who was
unused to go afoot, into Wales. Here dwelt another of the king's
marshals, who held great state and entertained a numerous household,
and to his court both the count and his son whiles much resorted to
get food. Certain sons of the said marshal and other gentlemen's
children being there engaged in such boyish exercises as running and
leaping, Perrot began to mingle with them and to do as dextrously as
any of the rest, or more so, each feat that was practised among them.
The marshal, chancing whiles to see this and being much taken with
the manners and fashion of the boy, asked who he was and was told that
he was the son of a poor man who came there bytimes for alms;
whereupon he caused require him of the count, and the latter, who
indeed besought God of nought else, freely resigned the boy to him,
grievous as it was to him to be parted from him. Having thus provided
his son and daughter, he determined to abide no longer in England and
passing over into Ireland, made his way, as best he might, to
Stamford, where he took service with a knight belonging to an earl of
the country, doing all such things as pertain unto a lackey or a
horseboy, and there, without being known of any, he abode a great
while in unease and travail galore.
Meanwhile Violante, called Jeannette, went waxing with the gentlewoman
in London in years and person and beauty and was in such favour both
with the lady and her husband and with every other of the house and
whoso else knew her, that it was a marvellous thing to see; nor was
there any who noted her manners and fashions but avouched her worthy
of every greatest good and honour. Wherefore the noble lady who had
received her from her father, without having ever availed to learn who
he was, otherwise than as she had heard from himself, was purposed to
marry her honourably according to that condition whereof she deemed
her. But God, who is a just observer of folk's deserts, knowing her to
be of noble birth and to bear, without fault, the penalty of another's
sin, ordained otherwise, and fain must we believe that He of His
benignity permitted that which came to pass to the end that the gentle
damsel might not fall into the hands of a man of low estate.
The noble lady with whom Jeannette dwelt had of her husband one only
son, whom both she and his father loved with an exceeding love, both
for that he was their child and that he deserved it by reason of his
worth and virtues. He, being some six years older than Jeannette and
seeing her exceeding fair and graceful, became so sore enamoured of
her that he saw nought beyond her; yet, for that he deemed her to be
of mean extraction, not only dared he not demand her of his father and
mother to wife, but, fearing to be blamed for having set himself to
love unworthily, he held his love, as most he might, hidden; wherefore
it tormented him far more than if he had discovered it; and thus it
came to pass that, for excess of chagrin, he fell sick and that
grievously. Divers physicians were called in to medicine him, who,
having noted one and another symptom of his case and being
nevertheless unable to discover what ailed him, all with one accord
despaired of his recovery; whereat the young man's father and mother
suffered dolour and melancholy so great that greater might not be
brooked, and many a time, with piteous prayers, they questioned him of
the cause of his malady, whereto or sighs he gave for answer or
replied that he felt himself all wasting away.
It chanced one day that, what while a doctor, young enough, but
exceedingly deeply versed in science, sat by him and held him by the
arm in that part where leaches use to seek the pulse, Jeannette, who,
of regard for his mother, tended him solicitously, entered, on some
occasion or another, the chamber where the young man lay. When the
latter saw her, without word said or gesture made, he felt the amorous
ardour redouble in his heart, wherefore his pulse began to beat
stronglier than of wont; the which the leach incontinent noted and
marvelling, abode still to see how long this should last. As soon as
Jeannette left the chamber, the beating abated, wherefore it seemed to
the physician he had gotten impartment of the cause of the young man's
ailment, and after waiting awhile, he let call Jeannette to him, as he
would question her of somewhat, still holding the sick man by the arm.
She came to him incontinent and no sooner did she enter than the
beating of the youth's pulse returned and she being gone again,
ceased. Thereupon, it seeming to the physician that he had full enough
assurance, he rose and taking the young man's father and mother apart,
said to them, 'The healing of your son is not in the succour of
physicians, but abideth in the hands of Jeannette, whom, as I have by
sure signs manifestly recognized, the young man ardently loveth,
albeit, for all I can see, she is unaware thereof. You know now what
you have to do, if his life be dear to you.'
The gentleman and his lady, hearing this, were well pleased, inasmuch
as some means was found for his recoverance, albeit it irked them sore
that the means in question should be that whereof they misdoubted
them, to wit, that they should give Jeannette to their son to wife.
Accordingly, the physician being gone, they went into the sick man and
the lady bespoke him thus: 'Son mine, I could never have believed that
thou wouldst keep from me any desire of thine, especially seeing
thyself pine away for lack thereof; for that thou shouldst have been
and shouldst be assured that there is nought I can for thy
contentment, were it even less than seemly, which I would not do as
for myself. But, since thou hast e'en done this, God the Lord hath
been more pitiful over thee than thou thyself and that thou mayst not
die of this sickness, hath shown me the cause of thine ill, which is
no otherwhat than excess of love for some damsel or other, whoever she
may be; and this, indeed, thou needest not have thought shame to
discover, for that thine age requireth it, and wert thou not
enamoured, I should hold thee of very little account. Wherefore, my
son, dissemble not with me, but in all security discover to me thine
every desire and put away from thee the melancholy and the
thought-taking which be upon thee and from which proceedeth this thy
sickness and take comfort and be assured that there is nothing of that
which thou mayst impose on me for thy satisfaction but I will do it to
the best of my power, as she who loveth thee more than her life.
Banish shamefastness and fearfulness and tell me if I can do aught to
further thy passion; and if thou find me not diligent therein or if I
bring it not to effect for thee, account me the cruellest mother that
ever bore son.'
The young man, hearing his mother's words, was at first abashed, but
presently, bethinking himself that none was better able than she to
satisfy his wishes, he put away shamefastness and said thus to her:
'Madam, nothing hath wrought so effectually with me to keep my love
hidden as my having noted of most folk that, once they are grown in
years, they choose not to remember them of having themselves been
young. But, since in this I find you reasonable, not only will I not
deny that to be true which you say you have observed, but I will, to
boot, discover to you of whom [I am enamoured], on condition that you
will, to the best of your power, give effect to your promise; and thus
may you have me whole again.' Whereto the lady (trusting overmuch in
that which was not to come to pass for her on such wise as she deemed
in herself) answered freely that he might in all assurance discover to
her his every desire, for that she would without any delay address
herself to contrive that he should have his pleasure. 'Madam,' then
said the youth, 'the exceeding beauty and commendable fashions of our
Jeannette and my unableness to make her even sensible, still less to
move her to pity, of my love and the having never dared to discover it
unto any have brought me whereas you see me; and if that which you
have promised me come not, one way or another, to pass, you may be
assured that my life will be brief.'
The lady, to whom it appeared more a time for comfort than for
reproof, said, smilingly, 'Alack, my son, hast thou then for this
suffered thyself to languish thus? Take comfort and leave me do, once
thou shalt be recovered.' The youth, full of good hope, in a very
short time showed signs of great amendment, whereas the lady, being
much rejoiced, began to cast about how she might perform that which
she had promised him. Accordingly, calling Jeannette to her one day,
she asked her very civilly, as by way of a jest, if she had a lover;
whereupon she waxed all red and answered, 'Madam, it concerneth not
neither were it seemly in a poor damsel like myself, banished from
house and home and abiding in others' service, to think of love.'
Quoth the lady, 'An you have no lover, we mean to give you one, in
whom you may rejoice and live merry and have more delight of your
beauty, for it behoveth not that so handsome a girl as you are abide
without a lover.' To this Jeannette made answer, 'Madam, you took me
from my father's poverty and have reared me as a daughter, wherefore
it behoveth me to do your every pleasure; but in this I will nowise
comply with you, and therein methinketh I do well. If it please you
give me a husband, him do I purpose to love, but none other; for that,
since of the inheritance of my ancestors nought is left me save only
honour, this latter I mean to keep and preserve as long as life shall
endure to me.'
This speech seemed to the lady very contrary to that whereto she
thought to come for the keeping of her promise to her son,--albeit,
like a discreet woman as she was, she inwardly much commended the
damsel therefor,--and she said, 'How now, Jeannette? If our lord the
king, who is a young cavalier, as thou art a very fair damsel, would
fain have some easance of thy love, wouldst thou deny it to him?'
Whereto she answered forthright, 'The king might do me violence, but
of my consent he should never avail to have aught of me save what was
honourable.' The lady, seeing how she was minded, left parleying with
her and bethought herself to put her to the proof; wherefore she told
her son that, whenas he should be recovered, she would contrive to
get her alone with him in a chamber, so he might make shift to have
his pleasure of her, saying that it appeared to her unseemly that she
should, procuress-wise, plead for her son and solicit her own maid.
With this the young man was nowise content and presently waxed
grievously worse, which when his mother saw, she opened her mind to
Jeannette, but, finding her more constant than ever, recounted what
she had done to her husband, and he and she resolved of one accord,
grievous though it seemed to them, to give her to him to wife,
choosing rather to have their son alive with a wife unsorted to his
quality than dead without any; and so, after much parley, they did;
whereat Jeannette was exceeding content and with a devout heart
rendered thanks to God, who had not forgotten her; but for all that
she never avouched herself other than the daughter of a Picard. As for
the young man, he presently recovered and celebrating his nuptials,
the gladdest man alive, proceeded to lead a merry life with his bride.
Meanwhile, Perrot, who had been left in Wales with the King of
England's marshal, waxed likewise in favour with his lord and grew up
very goodly of his person and doughty as any man in the island,
insomuch that neither in tourneying nor jousting nor in any other act
of arms was there any in the land who could cope with him; wherefore
he was everywhere known and famous under the name of Perrot the
Picard. And even as God had not forgotten his sister, so on like wise
He showed that He had him also in mind; for that a pestilential
sickness, being come into those parts, carried off well nigh half the
people thereof, besides that most part of those who survived fled for
fear into other lands; wherefore the whole country appeared desert. In
this mortality, the marshal his lord and his lady and only son,
together with many others, brothers and nephews and kinsmen, all died,
nor was any left of all his house save a daughter, just husband-ripe,
and Perrot, with sundry other serving folk. The pestilence being
somewhat abated, the young lady, with the approof and by the counsel
of some few gentlemen of the country[128] left alive, took Perrot, for
that he was a man of worth and prowess, to husband and made him lord
of all that had fallen to her by inheritance; nor was it long ere the
King of England, hearing the marshal to be dead and knowing the worth
of Perrot the Picard, substituted him in the dead man's room and made
him his marshal. This, in brief, is what came of the two innocent
children of the Count of Antwerp, left by him for lost.
[Footnote 128: _Paesani_, lit., countrymen; but Boccaccio evidently
uses the word in the sense of "vassals."]
Eighteen years were now passed since the count's flight from Paris,
when, as he abode in Ireland, having suffered many things in a very
sorry way of life, there took him a desire to learn, as he might, what
was come of his children. Wherefore, seeing himself altogether changed
of favour from that which he was wont to be and feeling himself, for
long exercise, grown more robust of his person than he had been when
young and abiding in ease and idlesse, he took leave of him with whom
he had so long abidden and came, poor and ill enough in case, to
England. Thence he betook himself whereas he had left Perrot and found
him a marshal and a great lord and saw him robust and goodly of
person; the which was mighty pleasing unto him, but he would not make
himself known to him till he should have learned how it was with
Jeannette. Accordingly, he set out and stayed not till he came to
London, where, cautiously enquiring of the lady with whom he had left
his daughter and of her condition, he found Jeannette married to her
son, which greatly rejoiced him and he counted all his past adversity
a little thing, since he had found his children again alive and in
good case.
Then, desirous of seeing Jeannette, he began beggarwise, to haunt the
neighbourhood of her house, where one day Jamy Lamiens, (for so was
Jeannette's husband called,) espying him and having compassion on him,
for that he saw him old and poor, bade one of his servants bring him
in and give him to eat for the love of God, which the man readily did.
Now Jeannette had had several children by Jamy, whereof the eldest was
no more than eight years old, and they were the handsomest and
sprightliest children in the world. When they saw the count eat, they
came one and all about him and began to caress him, as if, moved by
some occult virtue, they divined him to be their grandfather. He,
knowing them for his grandchildren, fell to fondling and making much
of them, wherefore the children would not leave him, albeit he who had
charge of their governance called them. Jeannette, hearing this,
issued forth of a chamber therenigh and coming whereas the count was,
chid them amain and threatened to beat them, an they did not what
their governor willed. The children began to weep and say that they
would fain abide with that honest man, who loved them better than
their governor, whereat both the lady and the count laughed. Now the
latter had risen, nowise as a father, but as a poor man, to do honour
to his daughter, as to a mistress, and seeing her, felt a marvellous
pleasure at his heart. But she nor then nor after knew him any whit,
for that he was beyond measure changed from what he was used to be,
being grown old and hoar and bearded and lean and swart, and appeared
altogether another man than the count.
The lady then, seeing that the children were unwilling to leave him
and wept, when she would have them go away, bade their governor let
them be awhile and the children thus being with the good man, it
chanced that Jamy's father returned and heard from their governor what
had passed, whereupon quoth the marshal, who held Jeannette in
despite, 'Let them be, God give them ill-luck! They do but hark back
to that whence they sprang. They come by their mother of a vagabond
and therefore it is no wonder if they are fain to herd with
vagabonds.' The count heard these words and was mightily chagrined
thereat; nevertheless, he shrugged his shoulders and put up with the
affront, even as he had put up with many others. Jamy, hearing how the
children had welcomed the honest man, to wit, the count, albeit it
misliked him, nevertheless so loved them that, rather than see them
weep, he commanded that, if the good man chose to abide there in any
capacity, he should be received into his service. The count answered
that he would gladly abide there, but he knew not to do aught other
than tend horses, whereto he had been used all his lifetime. A horse
was accordingly assigned to him and when he had cared for it, he
busied himself with making sport for the children.
Whilst fortune handled the Count of Antwerp and his children on such
wise as hath been set out, it befell that the King of France, after
many truces made with the Germans, died and his son, whose wife was
she through whom the count had been banished, was crowned in his
place; and no sooner was the current truce expired than he again began
a very fierce war. To his aid the King of England, as a new-made
kinsman, despatched much people, under the commandment of Perrot his
marshal and Jamy Lamiens, son of the other marshal, and with them went
the good man, to wit, the count, who, without being recognized of any,
abode a pretty while with the army in the guise of a horseboy, and
there, like a man of mettle as he was, wrought good galore, more than
was required of him, both with counsels and with deeds.
During the war, it came to pass that the Queen of France fell
grievously sick and feeling herself nigh unto death, contrite for all
her sins, confessed herself unto the Archbishop of Rouen, who was held
of all a very holy and good man. Amongst her other sins, she related
to him that which the Count of Antwerp had most wrongfully suffered
through her; nor was she content to tell it to him alone, nay, but
before many other men of worth she recounted all as it had passed,
beseeching them so to do with the king that the count, an he were on
life, or, if not, one of his children, should be restored to his
estate; after which she lingered not long, but, departing this life,
was honourably buried. Her confession, being reported to the king,
moved him, after he had heaved divers sighs of regret for the wrong
done to the nobleman, to let cry throughout all the army and in many
other parts, that whoso should give him news of the Count of Antwerp
or of either of his children should for each be wonder-well guerdoned
of him, for that he held him, upon the queen's confession, innocent of
that for which he had gone into exile and was minded to restore him to
his first estate and more.
The count, in his guise of a horseboy, hearing this and being assured
that it was the truth,[129] betook himself forthright to Jamy Lamiens
and prayed him go with him to Perrot, for that he had a mind to
discover to them that which the king went seeking. All three being
then met together, quoth the count to Perrot, who had it already in
mind to discover himself, 'Perrot, Jamy here hath thy sister to wife
nor ever had any dowry with her; wherefore, that thy sister may not go
undowered, I purpose that he and none other shall, by making thee
known as the son of the Count of Antwerp, have this great reward that
the king promiseth for thee and for Violante, thy sister and his wife,
and myself, who am the Count of Antwerp and your father.' Perrot,
hearing this and looking steadfastly upon him, presently knew him and
cast himself, weeping, at his feet and embraced him, saying, 'Father
mine, you are dearly welcome.' Jamy, hearing first what the count
said and after seeing what Perrot did, was overcome at once with such
wonderment and such gladness that he scarce knew what he should do.
However, after awhile, giving credence to the former's speech and sore
ashamed for the injurious words he had whiles used to the
hostler-count, he let himself fall, weeping, at his feet and humbly
besought him pardon of every past affront, the which the count, having
raised him to his feet, graciously accorded him.
[Footnote 129: _i.e._ that it was not a snare.]
Then, after they had all three discoursed awhile of each one's various
adventures and wept and rejoiced together amain, Perrot and Jamy would
have reclad the count, who would on nowise suffer it, but willed that
Jamy, having first assured himself of the promised guerdon, should,
the more to shame the king, present him to the latter in that his then
plight and in his groom's habit. Accordingly, Jamy, followed by the
count and Perrot, presented himself before the king, and offered,
provided he would guerdon him according to the proclamation made, to
produce to him the count and his children. The king promptly let bring
for all three a guerdon marvellous in Jamy's eyes and commanded that
he should be free to carry it off, whenas he should in very deed
produce the count and his children, as he promised. Jamy, then,
turning himself about and putting forward the count his horseboy and
Perrot, said, 'My lord, here be the father and the son; the daughter,
who is my wife and who is not here, with God's aid you shall soon
see.'
The king, hearing this, looked at the count and albeit he was sore
changed from that which he was used to be, yet, after he had awhile
considered him, he knew him and well nigh with tears in his eyes
raised him--for that he was on his knees before him--to his feet and
kissed and embraced him. Perrot, also, he graciously received and
commanded that the count should incontinent be furnished anew with
clothes and servants and horses and harness, according as his quality
required, which was straightway done. Moreover, he entreated Jamy with
exceeding honour and would fain know every particular of his[130] past
adventures. Then, Jamy being about to receive the magnificent guerdons
appointed him for having discovered the count and his children, the
former said to him, 'Take these of the munificence of our lord the
king and remember to tell thy father that thy children, his
grandchildren and mine, are not by their mother born of a vagabond.'
Jamy, accordingly, took the gifts and sent for his wife and mother to
Paris, whither came also Perrot's wife; and there they all
foregathered in the utmost joyance with the count, whom the king had
reinstated in all his good and made greater than he ever was. Then
all, with Gautier's leave, returned to their several homes and he
until his death abode in Paris more worshipfully than ever."
[Footnote 130: _Quære_, the Count's?]