Each owes it to his fellows to tell as best he may, or, better still,
to write with fair enticing words, such deeds and adventures as are
good and profitable for us to know. For as men come and go about their
business in the world, many things are told them which it is seemly to
keep in remembrance. Therefore, it becomes those who say and relate,
diligently and with fair intent to keep such matters in thought and
study, even as did our fathers before us. Theirs is the school to which
we all should pass, and he who would prove an apt scholar, and live
beyond his day, must not be idle at his task. But the world dims our
fine gold: the minstrel is slothful, and singers forget to sing,
because of the pain and travail which go to the finding of their songs.
So without waiting for any to-morrow, I will bring before you a certain
adventure which chanced, even as it was told to me.
Some seven years ago it befell that a rich burgess of Abbeville
departed from the town, together with his wife, his only son, and all
his wealth, his goods and plenishing. This he did like a prudent man,
since he found himself at enmity with men who were stronger and of more
substance than he. So, fearing lest a worse thing should bechance him,
from Abbeville he went up to Paris. There he sought a shop and
dwelling, and paying his service, made himself vassal and burgess of
the King. The merchant was diligent and courteous, his wife smiling and
gracious, and their son was not given over to folly, but went soberly,
even as his parents taught him. Much were they praised of their
neighbours, and those who lived in the same street often set foot in
their dwelling. For very greatly are those loved and esteemed by their
fellows who are courteous in speech and address. He who has fair words
in his mouth receives again sweet words in his ear, and foul words and
foul deeds bring naught but bitterness and railing. Thus was it with
this prudent merchant. For more than seven years he went about his
business, buying and selling, concerning himself with matters of which
he had full knowledge, putting by of his earnings a little every day,
like a wise and worthy citizen. So this wealthy merchant lived a happy
blameless life, till, by the will of God, his wife was taken from him,
who had been his companion for some thirty years. Now these parents had
but one only child, a son, even as I have told you before. Very
grievously did he mourn the death of her who had cherished him so
softly, and lamented his mother with many tears, till he came nigh to
swoon. Then, to put a little comfort in his heart, his father said to
him--
"Fair son, thy mother is dead, and we will pray to God that He grant
her mercy in that day. But dry now thine eyes and thy face, for tears
can profit thee nothing. By that road we all must go, neither can any
man pass Death upon the way, nor return to bring us any word. Fair son,
for thee there is goodly comfort. Thou art a young bachelor, and it is
time to take thee a wife. I am full of years, and so I may find thee a
fair marriage in an honourable house I will endow thee with my
substance. I will now seek a bride for thee of birth and breeding--one
of family and descent, one come of ancient race, with relations and
friends a gracious company, a wife from honest folk and from an honest
home. There, where it is good and profitable to be, I will set thee
gladly, nor of wealth and moneys shalt thou find a lack."
Now in that place were three brethren, knights of high lineage, cousins
to mighty lords of peerage, bearing rich and honourable blazons on
their shields. But these knights had no heritage, since they had pawned
all that they owned of woods and houses and lands, the better to take
their pleasure at the tourney. Passing heavy and tormented were these
brethren because in no wise might they redeem their pledge. The eldest
of these brothers had a daughter, but the mother of the maid was dead.
Now this damsel owned in Paris a certain fair house, over against the
mansion of the wealthy merchant. The house was not of her father's
heritage, but came to her from her mother, who had put the maid in ward
to guardians, so that the house was free from pledge. She received in
rent therefrom the sum of twenty Paris pounds every year, and her dues
were paid her right willingly. So the merchant, esteeming her a lady of
family and estate, demanded her hand in marriage of her father and of
all her friends. The knight inquired in his turn of the means and
substance of the merchant, who answered very frankly--
"In merchandise and in moneys I have near upon fifteen hundred pounds.
Should I tell you that I had more, I should lie, and speak not the
truth. I have besides one hundred Paris pounds, which I have gained in
honest dealings. Of all this I will give my son the half."
"Fair sir," made answer the knight, "in no wise can this be agreed to.
Had you become a Templar, or a White or a Black monk you would have
granted the whole of your wealth either to the Temple or your Abbey. By
my faith, we cannot consent to so grudging an offer, certes, sir
merchant, no."
"Tell me then what you would have me do."
"Very willingly, fair, dear sir. We would that you grant to your son
the sum and total of your substance, so that he be seised of all your
wealth, and this in such fashion that neither you, nor any in your
name, may claim return of any part thereof. If you consent to this the
marriage can be made, but otherwise he shall never wed our child and
niece."
The merchant turned this over for a while, now looking upon his son,
now deep in thought. But very badly he was served of all his thought
and pondering. For at the last he made reply to him and said--
"Lord, it shall even be done according to your will. This is our
covenant and bargain, that so your daughter is given to my son I will
grant him all that I have of worth. I take this company as witness that
here I strip myself of everything I own, so that naught is mine, but
all is his, of what I once was seised and possessed."
Thus before the witnesses he divested himself utterly of all his
wealth, and became naked as a peeled wand in the eyes of the world, for
this merchant now had neither purse nor penny, nor wherewithal to break
his fast, save it were given him by his son. So when the words were
spoken and the merchant altogether spoiled, then the knight took his
daughter by the hand and handfasted her with the bachelor, and she
became his wife.
For two years after this marriage the husband and the dame lived a
quiet and peaceful life. Then a fair son was born to the bachelor, and
the lady cherished and guarded him fondly. With them dwelt the merchant
in the same lodging, but very soon he perceived that he had given
himself a mortal blow in despoiling himself of his substance to live on
the charity of others. But perforce he remained of their household for
more than twelve years, until the lad had grown up tall, and began to
take notice, and to remember that which often he heard of the making of
his father's marriage. And well he promised himself that it should
never go from mind.
The merchant was full of years. He leaned upon his staff, and went bent
with age, as one who searches for his lost youth. His son was weary of
his presence, and would gladly have paid for the spinning of his
shroud. The dame, who was proud and disdainful, held him in utter
despite, for greatly he was against her heart. Never was she silent,
but always was she saying to her lord--
"Husband, for love of me, send your father upon his business. I lose
all appetite just for the sight of him about the house."
"Wife," answered he, "this shall be done according to your wish."
So because of his wife's anger and importunity, he sought out his
father straightway, and said--
"Father, father, get you gone from here. I tell you that you must do
the best you can, for we may no longer concern ourselves with you and
your lodging. For twelve years and more we have given you food and
raiment in our house. Now all is done, so rise and depart forthwith,
and fend for yourself, as fend you must."
When the father heard these words he wept bitterly, and often he cursed
the day and the hour in which he found he had lived too long.
"Ah, fair, sweet son, what is this thou sayest to me! For the love of
God turn me not from thy door. I lie so close that thou canst not want
my room. I require of thee neither seat in the chimney corner, nor soft
bed of feathers, no, nor carpet on the floor; but only the attic, where
I may bide on a little straw. Throw me not from thy house because I
eat of thy bread, but feed me without grudging for the short while I
have to live. In the eyes of God this charity will cover all thy sins
better than if thou went in haircloth next the flesh."
"Fair father," replied the bachelor, "preach me no preachings, but get
you forth at once, for reason that my wife would have you gone."
"Fair son, where then shall I go, who am esteemed of nothing worth?"
"Get you gone to the town, for amongst ten thousand others very easily
you may light on good fortune. Very unlucky you will be if there you
cannot find a way to live. Seek your fortune bravely. Perchance some of
your friends and acquaintance will receive you into their houses."
"Son, how then shall men take me to their lodging, when you turn me
from the house which I have given you? Why should the stranger welcome
that guest whom the son chases from his door? Why should I be received
gladly by him to whom I have given naught, when I am evilly entreated
of the rich man for whose sake I go naked?"
"Father," said he, "right or wrong, I take the blame upon my own head;
but go you must because it is according to my will."
Then the father grieved so bitterly that for a little his very heart
would have broken. Weak as he was, he raised himself to his feet and
went forth from the house, weeping.
"Son," said he, "I commend thee to God; but since thou wilt that I go,
for the love of Him give me at least a portion of packing cloth to
shelter me against the wind. I am asking no great matter; nothing but a
little cloth to wrap about me, because I am but lightly clad, and fear
to die for reason of the cold."