So many marvels are written of the sweet miracles of Our Lady, that
amongst them I scarce know which to choose. Yet, alas! I have not that
long leisure to set them forth before you every one. Then must it be
with me as with him who walks abroad through summer meadows deep in
flowers. Before, behind, on either side, he sees the countless blossoms
of the field. Blue, vermeil, gold, they dance upon the green. Then,
since he may not gather all, he plucks a rose, a lily, here and there,
as he may find them to his hand. So from amongst the number of Our
Lady's lovely deeds I pluck a leaf, one here, one there, and wreathe
this artless garland, lest I have naught to cast before her feet.
* * * * *
In days long past--as the scribe hath truly written--there lived in the
strong city of Byzantium a certain citizen, who held Our Lady very
dear. Rich he was, and of great worship, because of his wealth and of
the praise of men. To keep his station in the eyes of his fellows, he
spent his substance so largely, and thereto so wantonly, that in a
little while he had wasted all his goods, and naught remained to do but
that he must sell his very lands. Yet so rich of heart was this burgess
that not poverty even might make him knot his purse. He still kept open
house, and gave goodly cheer to all, ever borrowing more and more,
spending and vending, wasting and hasting to scatter everything he had.
For of poverty he had neither heed nor fear, so long as he might find
a man to lend. But at the last he was utterly undone. All his friends
passed him by when they saw how deeply he was sunk in debt, and that to
no lender did he e'er repay what he owed. For he who borrows, never
paying back again, neither seeking from others that which is his due,
very quickly loses his credit, yea, though he be the King of France.
The good citizen was sore vexed, and knew not what to do or say, when
he found that his creditors pressed him hardly, and that he was wholly
disappointed of those friends in whom he put his trust. Sore was his
sorrow, deep his distress, and bitter his shame, his wrath and sadness,
when by no means whatever might he grant his customary bounty, nor of
his charity give alms and benefits to the poor. So long as he was a man
of worship, with store of gold and silver, great were his doles to
those of low estate. But such was the malice wherewith Dame Fortune
pursued him, and such the shame and loss she set upon him, that he had
nothing left to give to others, or to keep for himself. And since Dame
Fortune looked upon him with a frowning countenance, there was none to
welcome him with a smiling face.
Now this unhappy burgess knew not what to do, for some of his
acquaintance gazed the other way, whilst men, to whom he had done
naught but good, jested upon him openly in the street. Doubtless such
is the way of the world to those honest folk who are cast beneath at
the turn of Fortune's wheel. Therefore those to whom he had shown the
greatest kindness requited him with the utmost despite, counting him
viler than a dog; and those, who in his day of prosperity loved and
affected his company, were the very men who now mocked and despised
him. Well say the Scriptures, Put not your trust in man. For in these
days faith is so rare and so forgetful, that the son fails the father
in his peril, and the mother may not count upon her maid. Mad is he who
strips himself for others, for so soon as he comes before them naked,
then they cry, "Beggar, begone!"
When this citizen, who for so long a while had known such great honour,
saw himself so scorned, and found that in all the town he had neither
kinsman nor friend, he knew not what to say or do, nor whom to take for
counsel in his need. So, by the will of God, he turned in his despair
to a certain Jew, the richest in all the city. Him he sought out
straightway, with a face aflame, and said--
"Master Jew, here is my case. All my daughters, all my sons, all my
friends, and, very surely, all of those to whom I have done most good
in this world, have failed me utterly and every one. I am stripped of
all my substance. Foolish have I been, and unlucky, since I wasted all
I had on those very clerks and laymen who desert me now. I am a
merchant of great knowledge, and so you will lend me of your treasure,
I count to gain so largely, that never shall I have to pray another for
a loan; for of your wealth will I make such usage that all will think
the more of me thereby."
"Because you have dealt so generously with others," answered the Jew,
"in this very hour will I lend you freely of my moneys if you can give
me pledge or surety for them."