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MEDIAEVAL TALES
_WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY HENRY MORLEY_
LL. D., LATE PROFESSOR OF ENGLISH LITERATURE AT
UNIVERSITY COLLEGE, LONDON
LONDON:
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE & SONS, LTD.
NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO.
INTRODUCTION.
This volume of "Mediaeval Tales" is in four parts, containing severally,
(1) Turpin's "History of Charles the Great and Orlando," which is an old
source of Charlemagne romance; (2) Spanish Ballads, relating chiefly to
the romance of Charlemagne, these being taken from the spirited
translations of Spanish ballads published in 1823 by John Gibson
Lockhart; (3) a selection of stories from the "Gesta Romanorum;" and (4)
the old translation of the original story of Faustus, on which Marlowe
founded his play, and which is the first source of the Faust legend in
literature.
* * * * *
Turpin's "History of Charles the Great and Orlando" is given from a
translation made by Thomas Rodd, and published by himself in 1812, of
"Joannes Turpini Historia de Vita Caroli Magni et Rolandi." This
chronicle, composed by some monk at an unknown date before the year
1122, professed to be the work of a friend and secretary of Charles the
Great, Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims, who was himself present in the
scenes that he describes. It was--like Geoffrey of Monmouth's nearly
contemporary "History of British Kings," from which were drawn tales of
Gorboduc, Lear and King Arthur--romance itself, and the source of
romance in others. It is at the root of many tales of Charlemagne and
Roland that reached afterwards their highest artistic expression in
Ariosto's "Orlando Furioso." The tale ascribed to Turpin is of earlier
date than the year 1122, because in that year Pope Calixtus II.
officially declared its authenticity. But it was then probably a new
invention, designed for edification, for encouragement of faith in the
Church, war against infidels, and reverence to the shrine of St. James
of Compostella.
The Church vouched for the authorship of Turpin, Archbishop of Rheims,
"excellently skilled in sacred and profane literature, of a genius
equally adapted to prose and verse; the advocate of the poor, beloved
of God in his life and conversation, who often hand to hand fought the
Saracens by the Emperor's side; and who flourished under Charles and his
son Lewis to the year of our Lord eight hundred and thirty." But while
this work gave impulse to the shaping of Charlemagne romances with
Orlando (Roland) for their hero, there came to be a very general opinion
that, whether the author of the book were Turpin or another, he too was
a romancer. His book came, therefore, to be known as the "Magnanime
Mensonge," a lie heroic and religious.
No doubt Turpin's "Vita Caroli Magni et Rolandi" was based partly on
traditions current in its time. It was turned of old into French
verse and prose; and even into Latin hexameters. The original work
was first printed at Frankfort in 1566, in a collection of Four
Chronographers--"Germanicarum Rerum." Mr. Rodd's translation, here
given, was made from the copy of the original given in Spanheim's "Lives
of Ecclesiastical Writers."
* * * * *
Publication of the songs and ballads of Spain began at Valencia in the
year 1511 with a collection by Fernando del Castillo, who on his
title-page professed to collect pieces "as well ancient as modern." From
1511 to 1573 there were nine editions of this "Cancionero." A later
collection made between 1546 and 1550--The "Cancionero de Romances"--was
made to consist wholly of ballads. A third edition of it, in 1555, is
the fullest and best known. The greatest collection followed in nine
parts, published separately between 1593 and 1597, at Valencia, Burgos,
Toledo, Alcala, and Madrid. This formed the great collection known as
the "Romancero General."
* * * * *
The chief hero of the Spanish Ballads is the Cid Campeador; and Robert
Southey used these ballads as material for enriching the "Chronicle of
the Cid," which has already been given in this Library. Songs of the Cid
were sung as early as the year 1147, are of like date with the
"Magnanime Mensonge" and Geoffrey of Monmouth's "History of British
Kings." In 1248 St. Ferdinand gave allotments to two poets who had been
with him during the Siege of Seville, and who were named Nicolas and
Domingo Abod "of the Romances." There is also evidence from references
to what "the _juglares_ sing in their chants and tell in their tales,"
that in the middle of the thirteenth century tales of Charlemagne and of
Bernardo del Carpio were familiar in the mouths of ballad-singers.
The whole number of the old ballads of Spain exceeds a thousand, and of
these John Gibson Lockhart has translated some of the best into English
verse. Lockhart was born in 1793, was the son of a Scottish minister,
was educated at the Universities of Glasgow and Oxford, and was called
to the bar at Edinburgh in 1816. Next year he was one of the keenest of
the company of young writers whose genius and lively audacity established
the success of "Blackwood's Magazine." Three years later, in 1820, he
married the eldest daughter of Sir Walter Scott. Lockhart's vigorous
rendering of the spirit of the Spanish Romances was first published in
1823, two years before he went to London to become editor of the
"Quarterly Review." He edited the "Quarterly" for about thirty years,
and died in 1854.
* * * * *
The "Gesta Romanorum;" is a mediaeval compilation of tales that might be
used to enforce and enliven lessons from the pulpit. Each was provided
with its "Application." The French Dominican, Vincent of Beauvais, tells
in his "Mirror of History" that in his time--the thirteenth century--it
was the practice of preachers, to rouse languid hearers by quoting
fables out of AEsop, and he recommends a sparing and discreet use of
profane fancies in discussing sacred subjects. Among the Harleian MSS.
is an ancient collection of 215 stories, romantic, allegorical and
legendary, compiled by a preacher for the use of monastic societies.
There were other such collections, but the most famous of all, widely
used not only by the preachers but also by the poets, was the Latin
story-book known as the "Gesta Romanorum." Its name, "Deeds of the
Romans," was due to its fancy for assigning every story to some emperor
who had or had not reigned in Rome; the emperor being a convenient
person in the Application, which might sometimes begin with, "My
beloved, the emperor is God." Perhaps the germ of the collection may
have been a series of applied tales from Roman history. But if so, it
was soon enriched with tales from the East, from the "Clericalis
Disciplina," a work by Petrus Alfonsus, a baptized Jew who lived in
1106, and borrowed professedly from the Arabian fabulists. Mediaeval
tales of all kinds suitable for the purpose of the "Gesta Romanorum"
were freely incorporated, and the book so formed became a well-known
storehouse of material for poetic treatment. Gower, Shakespeare,
Schiller are some of the poets who have used tales which are among the
thirty given in this volume.
The "Gesta Romanorum" was first printed in 1473, and after that date
often reprinted. It was translated into Dutch as early as the year 1484.
There was a translation of forty-three of its tales into English, by
Richard Robinson, published in 1577, of which there were six or seven
editions during the next twenty-four years. A version of forty-five of
its tales was published in 1648 as "A Record of Ancient Histories." The
fullest English translation was that by the Rev. C. Swan, published in
1824. In this volume two or three tales are given in the earlier English
form, the rest from Mr. Swan's translation, with a little revision of
his English. Mr. Swan used Book English, and was apt to write "an
instrument of agriculture" where he would have said "a spade." I give
here thirty of the Tales, but of the "Applications" have left only
enough to show how they were managed.
* * * * *
In the volume of this Library, which contains Marlowe's "Faustus" and
Goethe's "Faust," reference has been made to the old German History of
Faustus, first published at Frankfort in September 1587, and reprinted
with slight change in 1588. There was again a reprint of it with some
additions in 1589. This book was written by a Protestant in early days
of the Reformation, but shaped by him from mediaeval tales of magic, with
such notions of demons and their home as had entered deeply in the
Middle Ages into popular belief. From it was produced within two years
of its first publication Marlowe's play of "Faustus," which has already
been given, and that English translation of the original book which will
be found in the present volume. It was reprinted by Mr. William J. Thoms
in his excellent collection of "Early English Prose Romances," first
published in 1828, of which there was an enlarged second edition, in
three volumes, in 1858. That is a book of which all students of English
literature would like to see a third and cheap edition.
H. M.
_October 1884._
TURPIN'S HISTORY
OF
CHARLES THE GREAT AND ORLANDO.
THE HISTORY
OF
CHARLES THE GREAT AND ORLANDO.
CHAPTER I.
_Archbishop Turpin's Epistle to Leopander._
Turpin, by the grace of God, Archbishop of Rheims, the faithful
companion of the Emperor Charles the Great in Spain, to Leopander, Dean
of Aix-la-Chapelle, greeting.
Forasmuch as you requested me to write to you from Vienne (my wounds
being now cicatrized) in what manner the Emperor Charles delivered Spain
and Gallicia from the yoke of the Saracens, you shall attain the
knowledge of many memorable events, and likewise of his praiseworthy
trophies over the Spanish Saracens, whereof I myself was eyewitness,
traversing France and Spain in his company for the space of forty years;
and I hesitate the less to trust these matters to your friendship, as I
write a true history of his warfare. For indeed all your researches
could never have enabled you fully to discover those great events in the
Chronicles of St. Denis, as you sent me word: neither could you for
certain know whether the author had given a true relation of those
matters, either by reason of his prolixity, or that he was not himself
present when they happened. Nevertheless this book will agree with his
history. Health and happiness.
CHAPTER II.
_How Charles the Great delivered Spain and Gallicia from the
Saracens._
The most glorious Christian Apostle St. James, when the other Apostles
and Disciples of our Lord were dispersed abroad throughout the whole
world, is believed to have first preached the gospel in Gallicia. After
his martyrdom, his servants, rescuing his body from King Herod, brought
it by sea to Gallicia, where they likewise preached the gospel. But soon
after, the Gallicians, relapsing into great sins, returned to their
former idolatry, and persisted in it till the time of Charles the Great,
Emperor of the Romans, French, Germans, and other nations. Charles
therefore, after prodigious toils in Saxony, France, Germany, Lorraine,
Burgundy, Italy, Brittany, and other countries; after taking innumerable
cities from sea to sea, which he won by his invincible arm from the
Saracens, through divine favour; and after subjugating them with great
fatigue of mind and body to the Christian yoke, resolved to rest from
his wars in peace.
But observing the starry way in the heavens, beginning at the Friezeland
sea, and passing over the German territory and Italy, between Gaul and
Aquitaine, and from thence in a straight line over Gascony, Bearne, and
Navarre, and through Spain to Gallicia, wherein till his time lay
undiscovered the body of St. James; when night after night he was wont
to contemplate it, meditating upon what it might signify, a certain
beautiful resplendent vision appeared to him in his sleep, and, calling
him son, inquired what he was attempting to discover. At which Charles
replied, "Who art thou, Lord?" "I am," answered the vision, "St. James
the Apostle, Christ's disciple, the son of Zebedee, and brother of John
the Evangelist, whom the Lord was pleased to think worthy, in his
ineffable goodness, to elect on the sea of Galilee to preach the gospel
to his people, but whom Herod the King slew. My body now lies concealed
in Gallicia, long so grievously oppressed by the Saracens, from whose
yoke I am astonished that you, who have conquered so many lands and
cities, have not yet delivered it. Wherefore I come to warn you, as God
has given you power above every other earthly prince, to prepare my way,
and rescue my dominions from the Moabites, that so you may receive a
brighter crown of glory for your reward. The starry way in the heavens
signifies that you, with a great army, will enter Gallicia to fight the
Pagans, and, recovering it from them, will visit my church and shrine;
and that all the people from the borders of the sea, treading in your
steps, will ask pardon of God for their sins, and return in safety,
celebrating his praise; that you likewise will acknowledge the wonders
he hath done for you in prolonging your life to its present span.
Proceed then as soon as you are ready; I am your friend and helper; your
name shall become famous to all eternity, and a crown of glory shall be
your reward in heaven."
Thus did the blessed Apostle appear thrice to the Emperor, who,
confiding in his word, assembled a great army, and entered Spain to
fight the infidels.
CHAPTER III.
_Of the Walls of Pampeluna, that fell of themselves._
The first city Charles besieged was Pampeluna; he invested it three
months, but was not able to take it, through the invincible strength of
the walls. He then made this prayer to God: "O Lord Jesus Christ, for
whose faith I am come hither to fight the Pagans; for thy glory's sake
deliver this city into my hands; and O blessed St. James, if thou didst
indeed appear to me, help me to take it." And now God and St. James,
hearkening to his petition, the walls utterly fell to the ground of
themselves; but Charles spared the lives of the Saracens that consented
to be baptized; the rest he put to the edge of the sword. The report of
this miracle induced all their countrymen to surrender their cities, and
consent to pay tribute to the Emperor. Thus was the whole land soon
subdued.
The Saracens were amazed to see the French well clothed, accomplished in
their manners and persons, and strictly faithful to their treaties; they
gave them therefore a peaceful and honourable reception, dismissing all
thoughts of war. The Emperor, after frequently visiting the shrine of
St. James, came to Ferrol, and, fixing his lance in the sea, returned
thanks to God and the Apostle for having brought him to this place,
though he could then proceed no further.
The Pagan nations, after the first preaching of St. James and his
disciples, were converted by Archbishop Turpin, and by the grace of God
baptized; but those who refused to embrace the faith were either slain
or made slaves by the Christians. Turpin then traversed all Spain from
sea to sea.
CHAPTER IV.
_Of the idol Mahomet._
The Emperor utterly destroyed the idols and images in Spain, except the
idol in Andalusia, called Salamcadis. Cadis properly signifies the place
of an island, but in Arabic it means God. The Saracens had a tradition
that the idol Mahomet, which they worshipped, was made by himself in
his lifetime; and that by the help of a legion of devils it was by magic
art endued with such irresistible strength, that it could not be broken.
If any Christian approached it he was exposed to great danger; but when
the Saracens came to appease Mahomet, and make their supplications to
him, they returned in safety. The birds that chanced to light upon it
were immediately struck dead.
There is, moreover, on the margin of the sea an ancient stone excellently
sculptured after the Saracenic fashion; broad and square at the bottom,
but tapering upward to the height that a crow generally flies, having on
the top an image of gold, admirably cast in the shape of a man, standing
erect, with a certain great key in his hand, which the Saracens say was
to fall to the ground immediately after the birth of a King of Gaul, who
would overrun all Spain with a Christian army, and totally subdue it.
Wherefore it was enjoined them, whenever that happened, to fly the
country, and bury their jewels in the earth.
CHAPTER V.
_Of the Churches the King built._
Charles remained three years in these parts, and with the gold given him
by the kings and princes greatly enlarged the church of the blessed St.
James, appointing an Abbot and Canons of the order of St. Isidore,
martyr and confessor, to attend it: he enriched it likewise with bells,
books, robes, and other gifts. With the residue of the immense quantity
of gold and silver, he built many churches on his return from Spain;
namely, of the blessed Virgin in Aix-la-Chapelle, of St. James in
Thoulouse, and another in Gascony, between the city commonly called Aix,
after the model of St. John's at Cordova, in the Jacobine road; the
church likewise of St. James at Paris, between the river Seine and
Montmartre, besides founding innumerable abbeys in all parts of the
world.
CHAPTER VI.
_Of the King's Return to France, and of Argolander, King of the Africans._
After the King's return from Spain, a certain Pagan King, called
Argolander, recovered the whole country with his army, driving the
Emperor's soldiers from the towns and garrisons, which led him to march
back his troops, under their General, Milo de Angleris.
CHAPTER VII.
_Of the false Executor._
But the judgment inflicted on a false executor deserves to be recorded,
as a warning to those who unjustly pervert the alms of the deceased.
When the King's army lay at Bayonne, a certain soldier, called
Romaricus, was taken grievously ill, and, being at the point of death,
received the eucharist and absolution from a priest, bequeathing his
horse to a certain kinsman, in trust, to dispose of for the benefit of
the priest and the poor. But when he was dead his kinsman sold it for a
hundred pence, and spent the money in debauchery. But how soon does
punishment follow guilt! Thirty days had scarcely elapsed when the
apparition of the deceased appeared to him in his sleep, uttering these
words: "How is it you have so unjustly misapplied the alms entrusted to
you for the redemption of my soul? Do you not know they would have
procured the pardon of my sins from God? I have been punished for your
neglect thirty days in fire; to-morrow you shall be plunged in the same
place of torment, but I shall be received into Paradise." The apparition
then vanished, and his kinsman awoke in extreme terror.
On the morrow, as he was relating the story to his companions, and the
whole army was conversing about it, on a sudden a strange uncommon
clamour, like the roaring of lions, wolves, and calves, was heard in the
air, and immediately a troop of demons seized him in their talons, and
bore him away alive. What further? Horse and foot sought him four days
together in the adjacent mountains and valleys to no purpose; but the
twelfth day after, as the army was marching through a desert part of
Navarre, his body was found lifeless, and dashed to pieces, on the
summit of some rocks, a league above the sea, about four days' journey
from the city. There the demons left the body, bearing the soul away to
hell. Let this be a warning, then, to all that follow his example to
their eternal perdition.
CHAPTER VIII.
_Of the War of the Holy Facundus, where the Spears grew._
Charles and Milo, his General, now marched after Argolander into Spain,
and found him in the fields of the river, where a castle stands in the
meadows, in the best part of the whole plain, where afterwards a church
was built in honour of the blessed martyrs Facundus and Primitivus;
where likewise their bodies rest, an abbey was founded, and a city
built. When the King's army advanced, Argolander wished to decide the
contest by set combat between twenties, forties, hundreds, thousands, or
even by two champions only. Charles willingly consented, and marched a
hundred of his soldiers against a hundred Saracens, when all of them
were slain. Argolander then sent two hundred, who shared the same fate.
Two thousand were then led against two thousand, part of whom were
slain, and the rest fled. But on the third day Argolander cast lots,
and, knowing that evil fortune threatened the Emperor, sent him word he
would draw out his whole army on the open plain, on the morrow, which
challenge was accepted.
Then did this miracle happen. Certain of the Christians, who carefully
had been furbishing their arms against the day of battle, fixed their
spears in the evening erect in the ground before the castle in the
meadow, near the river, and found them early in the morning covered with
bark and branches. Those, therefore, that were about to receive the palm
of martyrdom were greatly astonished at this event, ascribing it to
divine power. Then cutting off their spears close to the ground, the
roots that remained shot out afresh, and became lofty trees, which may
be still seen flourishing there, chiefly ash. All this denoted joy to
the soul, but loss to the body; for now the battle commenced, and forty
thousand Christians were slain, together with Milo, their General, the
father of Orlando. The King's horse was likewise slain under him; but
Charles resolutely continued the fight on foot, and with two thousand
Christians gallantly hewed his way through the Saracens, cleaving many
of them asunder from the shoulders to the waist.
The following day both Christians and Saracens remained quietly in their
camps, but the day after four Marquisses brought four thousand fresh
troops from Italy to the King's assistance; whereupon Argolander
retreated with his army to Leon, and Charles led back his forces to
France.
And here it is proper to observe we should strive for Christ's blessing;
for as the soldiers prepared their arms against the day of battle, so we
in like manner should prepare ours, namely, our virtues to resist our
passions. For he that would oppose faith to infidelity, brotherly love
to hatred, charity to avarice, humility to pride, chastity to lust,
prayer to temptation, perseverance to instability, peace to strife,
obedience to a carnal disposition, must fortify his soul with grace, and
prepare his spear to flourish against the day of judgment. Triumphant
indeed will he be in heaven who conquers on earth! As the King's
soldiers died for their faith, so should we die to sin, and live in
holiness in this world, that we may receive the palm of glory in the
next, which shall be the reward of those who fight manfully against
their three grand adversaries, the World, the Flesh, and the Devil.
CHAPTER IX.
_Of King Argolander's Army._
Argolander now assembled together innumerable nations of Saracens,
Moors, Moabites, Parthians, Africans, and Persians: Texephin, King of
Arabia; Urabell, King of Alexandria; Avitus, King of Bugia; Ospin, King
of Algarve; Facin, King of Barbary; Ailis, King of Malclos; Manuo, King
of Mecca; Ibrahim, King of Seville; and Almanzor, King of Cordova. Then,
marching to the city of Agen, he took it, and sent word to Charles he
would give him sixty horse-load of gold, silver, and jewels, if he would
acknowledge his right to the sceptre. But Charles returned this answer,
"that he would acknowledge him no otherwise than by slaying him whenever
it should be his chance to meet him in battle."
The Emperor had by this time approached within four miles of Agen, when,
secretly dismissing his army, he proceeded with only sixty soldiers to
the mountain near the city. There he left them, and changing his dress,
came with his shield reversed, after the custom of messengers in time of
war, accompanied by one soldier only to the city; and when the people
inquired his business, he informed them he had brought a message from
King Charles to Argolander, whereupon he was admitted into his presence,
and addressed him in these words: "My King bids me say, you may expect
to see him, provided you will come out with only sixty of your people to
meet him." Now Argolander little thought it was Charles himself to whom
he was speaking, who all the while took especial note of his person, and
of the weakest parts of the walls of the city, as well as of the
auxiliary kings that were then within it. Argolander then armed himself,
and Charles rejoined his sixty soldiers, and soon after the two thousand
that at first accompanied him. But Argolander came out with seven
thousand men, thinking to slay the Emperor, but was himself compelled to
fly.
The King then recruited his army, and besieged the city for six months.
On the seventh his battering rams, wooden castles, and other engines,
were ready to storm it; but Argolander and the rest of the Kings made
their escape in the night through the common sewers, and, passing up the
Garonne, got clear off. Charles entered the city in triumph the next
day, and slew ten thousand of the remaining Saracens.
CHAPTER X.
_Of the City of Xaintonge, where the Spears grew._
Argolander now came to Xaintonge, at that time under the dominion of the
Saracens; but Charles pursuing him, summoned him to restore the city,
which Argolander refused, resolving first to fight, and that it should
be the conqueror's reward. But on the eve of battle, when the battering
rams were ready to attack the castle in the meadows, called Taleburg,
and that part of the city near the river Carenton, certain of the
Christians fixed their spears in the ground before the castle, and on
the morrow found them covered with bark and branches. Those therefore
that were to receive the crown of martyrdom perished in the fight, after
slaying a multitude of the Saracens, namely, about four thousand men.
The King's horse was likewise slain under him, but valiantly placing
himself at the head of his infantry, he slew so many of his enemies that
they were forced back into the city, which Charles invested on every
side but the river, through which Argolander made his escape, with the
loss of the Kings of Algarve and Bugia, and about four thousand of his
army.
CHAPTER XI.
_Of Argolander's Flight, and of the King's Warriors._
Argolander fled beyond the passes of the Pyrenees, and came to
Pampeluna, where he sent Charles word he would stay for him. Charles
then returned to France, and with the utmost diligence summoned his
troops from all parts to his assistance, proclaiming free pardon to all
banished persons, on condition they would join him against the Pagans.
What further? He liberated all the prisoners; made the poor rich;
clothed the naked; reconciled the disaffected; bestowed honours on the
disinherited; preferred the most experienced to the best commands;
making friends of enemies, and associating both the civilized and the
barbarian in the war of Spain, uniting them through the favour of God in
the bond of love. Then did I, Turpin, absolve them from their sins, and
give them my benediction.
These are the names of the warriors that attended the King:--Turpin,
Archbishop of Rheims, who by the precepts of Christ, and for his
faith's sake, brought the people to fight valiantly, fighting likewise
himself hand to hand with the Saracens. Orlando, General of the whole
army, Count of Mans and Lord of Guienne, the King's nephew, son of Milo
de Angleris and Bertha the King's sister. His soldiers were four
thousand. Another Orlando likewise, of whom we are silent. Oliver, a
General also, and a valiant soldier, renowned for strength and skill in
war, led three thousand troops. Aristagnus, King of Brittany, seven
thousand. Another King of Brittany, of whom little mention is made.
Angelerus, Duke of Aquitaine, brought four thousand valiant bowmen. At
this time likewise there was in the city of Poictiers another Duke of
Aquitaine, but Angelerus was the son of Gascon, Duke of the city of
Aquitaine, lying between Limorge, Bourges, and Poictiers, which city
Augustus Caesar founded; and the rest of the cities, as well as Xaintonge
and Angouleme, with their provinces, were subject to it; the whole
country was also called Aquitaine. But after the death of its lord, who
perished with all his people in the fatal battle of Ronceval, it was
never fresh colonized, and fell utterly to ruin.
Gayfere, King of Bordeaux, led three thousand warriors. Galerus, Galinus
Solomon, Estolfo's friend and companion; Baldwin, Orlando's brother,
Galdebode, King of Friezeland, led seven thousand heroes; Ocellus, Count
of Nantes, two thousand, who achieved many memorable actions, celebrated
in songs to this day. Lambert, Count of Berry, led two thousand men.
Rinaldo of the White Thorn, Vulterinus Garinus, Duke of Lorraine, four
thousand. Hago, Albert of Burgundy, Berard de Miblis, Gumard, Esturinite,
Theodoric, Juonius, Beringaire, Hato, and Ganalon, who afterwards proved
the traitor, attended the King into Spain. The army of the King's own
territory was forty thousand horse and foot innumerable.
These were all famous heroes and warriors, mighty in battle,
illustrious in worldly honour, zealous soldiers of Christ, that spread
his name far and near, wherever they came. For even as our Lord and his
twelve Apostles subdued the world by their doctrine, so did Charles,
King of the French and Emperor of the Romans, recover Spain to the glory
of God. And now the troops, assembling in Bordeaux, overspread the
country for the space of two days' journey, and the noise they made was
heard at twelve miles distance. Arnold of Berlanda first traversed the
pass of the Pyrenees, and came to Pampeluna. Then came Astolfo, followed
by Aristagnus; Angelerus, Galdebode, Ogier the King, and Constantine,
with their several divisions. Charles and his troops brought up the
rear, covering the whole land from the river of Rume to the mountains,
that lie three leagues beyond them on the Compostella road. They now
halted for eight days. In the interval Charles sent Argolander word, if
he would restore the city he had built, he would return home, or
otherwise wage cruel war against him: but Argolander, finding he could
not keep possession of the city, resolved to march out, rather than
tamely perish in it. Charles then granted him a truce to draw out his
army and prepare for battle; expressing moreover his willingness to see
him face to face, as Argolander wished.
CHAPTER XII.
_Of the Truce, and of the Discourse between the King and Argolander._
A truce thus being granted, Argolander drew out his people from the
city, and attended by sixty guards came into the King's presence, who
was at this time encamped about a mile from Pampeluna. The two armies
occupied a spacious plain six miles square, separated by the main road
to Compostella.
When Charles perceived Argolander, he addressed him in these words:
"You are, then, he that have fraudulently taken possession of my
territories in Spain and Gascony, which I conquered by the favour of
God, and reduced to the faith of Christ. You have perverted the princes
from my allegiance, and slain the Christians with the edge of the sword.
Availing yourself of my return to Gaul, you have destroyed my towns and
castles, and laid waste the territory with fire and sword. At present,
therefore, you have the advantage of me."
Now when Argolander heard the King speak in the Arabic tongue, he was
greatly pleased and astonished, for Charles had learnt it in his youth
in the city of Thoulouse, where he had spent some time. Argolander then
answered in these terms: "I wonder you should reason thus, for the
territory did not belong to you; neither was it your father's,
grandfather's, or great-grandfather's. Why then did you take possession
of it?" "Because," replied Charles, "our Lord Jesus Christ, the creator
of heaven and earth, elected us in preference to others, and gave us
dominion over all the earth: therefore I endeavoured to convert the
Saracens to the Christian faith."--"It would be unworthy of us to submit
to you," rejoined Argolander, "when our own faith is best. We have
Mahomet, a prophet of God, whose precepts we obey. Therefore we have a
powerful God, who through his prophet has declared his will, and by him
we live and reign." "O Argolander," said the King, "how widely do you
err! You follow the vain precepts of a man; we believe and worship
Father, Son, and Holy Ghost: you worship mortal man. After death our
souls are received into Paradise, and enjoy everlasting life, but yours
descend to the abyss of hell. Wherefore our faith is evidently best.
Accept then baptism, or fight and perish."
"Far be it from me," said Argolander, "to accept baptism, and deny
Mahomet and my God! But I will fight you on these terms: if your faith
is best, you shall gain the victory, otherwise heaven shall give it to
me; and let shame be the portion of the conquered, but eternal glory
reward the conqueror. Furthermore, if my people are subdued, and I
survive the contest, I will receive baptism."
These terms being mutually agreed, twenty Christians were sent against
twenty Saracens, and the battle commenced. What further? Nearly all the
Saracens fell. Forty were then sent against forty, and they were
defeated also. A hundred then fought together; but the Saracens turned
their backs from the face of the Christians, and were all slain. Are not
these Christians then types for us? Does it not argue that we likewise
should fight manfully against our sins; should face our spiritual
enemies, and never ignobly yield to them, since they will infallibly
lead us into perdition? He only, says the Apostle, shall receive the
crown that fights the good fight, and overcomes.
Two hundred Saracens were then sent out, and were all slain; lastly a
thousand, who shared the same fate. A truce being then granted,
Argolander promised to be baptized on the morrow with all his people,
and, calling his Kings and Captains together, told them his intention,
to which they likewise assented, few only refusing to follow his
example.
CHAPTER XIII.
_Of the King's Banquet, and of the Poor, at whom Argolander took so
great Offence that he refused to be Baptized._
On the third day Argolander attended the King, as he promised, and found
him at dinner. Many tables were spread at which the guests were sitting;
some in military uniform; some in black; some in Priests' habits; which
Argolander perceiving, inquired what they were? "Those you see in robes
of one colour," replied the King, "are priests and bishops of our holy
religion, who expound the gospel to us, absolve us from our offences,
and bestow heavenly benediction. Those in black are monks and abbots;
all of them holy men, who implore incessantly the divine favour in our
behalf." But in the meantime Argolander espying thirty poor men in mean
habiliments, without either table or table-cloth, sitting and eating
their scanty meals upon the ground, he inquired what they were? "These,"
replied the King, "are people of God, the messengers of our Lord Jesus,
whom in his and his Apostles names we feed daily." Argolander then made
this reply: "The guests at your table are happy; they have plenty of the
best food set before them; but those you call the messengers of God,
whom you feed in his name, are ill fed, and worse clothed, as if they
were of no estimation. Certainly he must serve God but indifferently who
treats his messengers in this manner, and thus do you prove your
religion false." Argolander then refused to be baptized, and, returning
to his army, prepared for battle on the morrow.
Charles, seeing the mischief his neglect of these poor men had occasioned,
ordered them to be decently clothed and better fed. Here then we may
note the Christian incurs great blame who neglects the poor. If Charles,
from inattention to their comfort, thereby lost the opportunity of
converting the Saracens, what will be the lot of those who treat them
still worse? They will hear this sentence pronounced--"Depart from me,
ye cursed, into everlasting fire; for I was an hungered, and ye gave me
no meat; naked, and ye clothed me not."
We must consider likewise that our faith in Christ is of little value
without good works. As the body, says the Apostle, without the soul is
dead, so is faith dead if it produce not good fruit. And as the Pagan
King refused baptism because he found something wrong after it, so our
Lord, I fear, will refuse our baptism at the day of judgment if
superfluity of faults be found in us.
CHAPTER XIV.
_Of the Battle of Pampeluna, and Argolander's Death._
Both armies now prepared for battle in the morning, contending for their
different faiths. The King mustered one hundred and thirty thousand
men, but Argolander only one hundred thousand. The Christians formed
themselves into four squadrons; the Saracens into five; whose first
corps being speedily discomfited, they all joined in one phalanx, with
Argolander in the midst. The Christians then surrounded them on all
sides. First Arnaldo de Berlanda and his troops; then Astolfo; next
Aristagnus, Galdebode, Ogier, and Constantine; lastly the King himself,
and his innumerable warriors. Arnaldo was the first that broke in upon
the enemy, overthrowing them right and left till he reached Argolander
himself in the centre, and slew him with his own hand. Then ensued a
great shout, and the Christians, rushing in upon the Saracens, slew them
on all sides, making so great a slaughter that none escaped but the
Kings of Seville and Cordova, and a few of their troops. So great,
indeed, was the effusion of blood, that the Christians waded in it to
their very knees. They slew likewise all the Saracens left in the city.
Charles fought for the faith, and therefore triumphed over Argolander.
Note then, O Christian, that whatsoever thou undertakest thou likewise
shalt accomplish if thou hast faith, for all things are possible to them
that believe. Greatly rejoiced at this victory, the King marched
forward, and came to the bridge of Arge in the Compostella road.
CHAPTER XV.
_Of the Christians that returned unlawfully to Spoil the Dead._
Certain of the Christians however, coveting the spoils of the dead,
returned that same night to the field of battle, and loaded themselves
with heaps of gold and silver. But as they were returning to the camp,
Almanzor, King of Cordova, who had fled for refuge to the mountains with
the Saracens that made their escape, came pouring down, and slew them
all to the number of a thousand men. These, then, are types of such as
strive against sin, but afterwards relapse; who, when they have overcome,
continue not stedfast, but seek unlawful pleasures, suffering themselves
to be mastered in turn by their grand adversary. So likewise the religious,
that forsake their vocations to re-engage in worldly concerns and
profits, lose the reward of eternal life, and entail upon themselves
everlasting perdition.
CHAPTER XVI.
_Of the War of Furra._
The day after the King was informed that a certain King of Navarre,
called Furra, designed to fight him at Mount Garzim. Charles therefore
prepared for battle; but desiring to know who should perish in it, he
entreated the Lord to show him; whereupon in the morning a red cross
appeared on their shoulders behind. In order therefore to preserve them,
he confined them in his Oratory. Then joining battle, Furra and three
thousand of his troops were slain. These were all Saracens of Navarre.
The King now returned to his Oratory, but found them all dead that he
had left in it, to the number of one hundred and fifty men.
"O holy band of Christian warriors, though the sword slew you not, yet
did you not lose the palm of victory, or the prize of martyrdom!"
Charles then made himself master of the mountain and castle of Garzim,
and subdued the whole country of Navarre.
CHAPTER XVII.
_Of the War with Ferracute, and of Orlando's admirable Dispute with him._
Charles now received news that a certain Giant, of the name of Ferracute,
of the race of Goliath, was come to Nager, sent thither by Admiraldus,
with twenty thousand Turks of Babylon, to fight him. This Giant neither
feared spear nor dart, and was stronger than forty men. Charles
therefore marched to Nager, and Ferracute, hearing of his arrival,
sallied out from the city to challenge any warrior to single combat.
Charles then sent Ogier the Dacian, whom the Giant no sooner perceived,
than, leisurely approaching, he caught him up under his right arm, as
easily as he would a lamb, and bore him off in sight of all his friends
to the city; for the Giant's stature was twelve cubits; his face a cubit
long; his nose a palm; his arms and thighs four cubits; and his fingers
three palms in length.
Rinaldo of the White Thorn was next sent against him, but he seized him
in like manner, and imprisoned him with Ogier. The King then sent
Constantine and Ocellus, but, seizing one under each arm, he bore them
off likewise. He then sent twenty warriors by pairs against him, but
they shared the same fate. Charles dared not then venture to send more
warriors: but Orlando with the King's permission approached the Giant,
who seized him instantly by the right arm, and seated him upon his steed
before him.
But as he was bearing him to the city, Orlando, recovering his strength,
and trusting in the Almighty, seized the Giant by the beard, and tumbled
him from his horse, so that both came to the ground together. Orlando,
then, thinking to slay the Giant, drew his sword, and struck at him, but
the blow fell upon his steed, and pierced him through. The Giant being
thus on foot, drew his enormous sword, which Orlando perceiving, who had
remounted his own charger, struck him on the sword arm, and, though he
did not wound him, struck the sword out of his hand; which greatly
enraging Ferracute, he aimed a blow at Orlando with his fist, but,
missing him, hit his horse on the forehead, and laid him dead on the
spot. And now the fight lasted till noon with fists and stones. The
Giant then demanded a truce till next day, agreeing to meet Orlando
without horse or spear. Each warrior then retired to his post.
Next morning they accordingly met once more. The Giant brought a sword,
but Orlando a long staff to ward off the Giant's blows, who wearied
himself to no purpose. They now began to batter each other with stones,
that lay scattered about the field, till at last the Giant begged a
second truce, which being granted, he presently fell fast asleep upon
the ground. Orlando, taking a stone for a pillow, quietly laid himself
down also. For such was the law of honour between the Christians and
Saracens at that time, that no one on any pretence dared to take
advantage of his adversary before the truce was expired, as in that case
his own party would have slain him.
When Ferracute awoke, he found Orlando awake also, who thereupon rose,
and seated himself by the Giant's side, inquiring how it came to pass he
was so very strong? "Because," replied the Giant, "I am only vulnerable
in the navel." Ferracute spoke in the Spanish language, which Orlando
understanding tolerably well, a conversation now followed between them,
which Ferracute recommenced by inquiring his name, which Orlando told
him. "And what race are you of?" said the Giant. "Of the race of the
Franks."--"What law do you follow?" "The law of Christ, so far as his
grace permits me."--"Who is this Christ in whom you profess to believe?"
"The Son of God, born of a Virgin, who took upon him our nature, was
crucified for us, rose again from the dead, and ascended into heaven,
where he sitteth on the right hand of his Father."
"We believe," said Ferracute, "that the Creator of heaven and earth is
one God, and that, as he was not made himself, so cannot another God
spring from him. There is therefore only one God, not three, as I
understand you Christians profess." "You say well," said Orlando; "there
is but one God, but your faith is imperfect; for as the Father is God,
so likewise is the Son, and so is the Holy Ghost. Three persons, but one
God."--"Nay," said Ferracute: "if each of these three persons be God,
there must be three Gods."
"By no means," replied Orlando; "he is both three and one. The three
persons are co-eternal and co-equal. There is indeed distinction of
person, but unity of essence, and equality of majesty. Abraham saw
three, but worshipped one. Let us recur to natural things. When the harp
sounds, there is the art, the strings, and the hand, yet but one harp.
In the almond there is the shell, the coat, and the kernel. In the sun,
the body, the beams, and the heat. In the wheel, the centre, the spokes,
and the nave. In you, likewise, there is the body, the members, and the
soul. In like manner may Trinity in Unity be ascribed to God."
"I now comprehend," replied Ferracute, "how God may be three in one, but
I know not how he begot the Son." "Do you," answered Orlando, "believe
that God made Adam?"--"I do." "Adam himself was not, then, born of any,
and yet he begot sons. So God the Father is born of none, yet of his own
ineffable grace begot the Son from all eternity."--"Your arguments,"
said the Giant, "please me exceedingly, but still I am at a loss to
know how he that was God became man." "The Creator of heaven and earth,
who made all things out of nothing, could certainly," said Orlando,
"engender his Son of a pure Virgin, by divine afflation."--"There lies
the difficulty," returned Ferracute, "how without human aid, as you
affirm, he could spring from the womb." "Surely," said Orlando, "God,
who formed Adam from no seed, could form his Son in like manner; and as
from God the Father he was without Mother, so from his Mother did he
spring without an earthly Father."--"It makes me blush," said the Giant,
"to think that a virgin should conceive without a man." "He," answered
Orlando, "that causes the worm in the bean, and many species of birds,
beasts, and serpents, to engender without the help of the male, could
procure God and Man of a pure Virgin without the help of Man. For as his
power enabled him to produce the first man from the ground, so could he
produce the second from a virgin."--"I grant it," replied the Giant; "he
might be born of a virgin; but if he was the Son of God, how could he
die, for God never dies?" "That indeed is true," said Orlando; "as God,
he could not die; but when he took our nature upon him, and was made
man, he became subject to death, for every man dies. As we believe his
nativity, so may we likewise believe his passion and resurrection."
"And what is it we are to believe of his resurrection?" inquired
Ferracute. "That he died, and rose again the third day."--The Giant,
hearing this, was greatly astonished, and exclaimed to Orlando, "Why do
you talk so idly? It is impossible that a man, after he is once dead,
can return to life again." "Not only did the Son of God rise from the
dead," replied Orlando, "but all the men that have died since the
creation of the world shall rise again, and appear before his tribunal,
where they shall be rewarded everyone according to his deeds, whether
they be good or evil. That God, who makes the tree spring from the soil,
and the grain of wheat to rot in the ground, that it may revive with
fresh increase, can at the last day clothe the souls of men with their
own bodies, and restore them to life. Take the mystic example of the
lion, which on the third day revives his dead cubs with his breath by
licking them. What wonder, then, that God should after three days revive
his Son? Nor ought it to seem strange that, as the Son of God rose from
the dead, many others of the dead should rise even before his own
resurrection. If Elijah and Elisha by the power of God could perform
this miracle, how much more easily could the Father restore the Son,
whom it was indeed impossible that Death could retain in his fetters.
Death fled at his sight, as he shall fly likewise at the sound of his
voice, when the whole phalanx of the dead shall rise again."--"Enough,"
said Ferracute, "I clearly perceive all this; but how could he ascend
into heaven?" "He that descended," answered Orlando, "could easily
ascend. He that rose of himself could enter the skies in triumph. Does
not the wheel of the mill descend low, and return to its height again?
Does not the bird in the air ascend and descend? Can you not yourself
come down from a mountain, and return thither? Did not the sun yesterday
rise in the east and set in the west, and yet rise again in the east
to-day? To that place from whence the Son of God descended, did he
likewise ascend."
"Well," said Ferracute, "to end our arguments, I will fight you on these
terms: If the faith you profess be the true faith, you shall conquer;
otherwise the victory shall be mine; and let the issue be eternal honour
to the conqueror, but dishonour to the vanquished." "Be it so!" said
Orlando: whereupon they immediately fell to blows. But the very first
which the Giant aimed at him would have certainly been fatal, if Orlando
had not nimbly leaped aside, and caught it on his staff, which was
however cut in twain. The Giant, seeing his advantage, then rushed in
upon him, and both came to the ground together. Orlando then, finding it
impossible to escape, instantly implored the divine assistance, and,
feeling himself re-invigorated, sprung upon his feet, when, seizing
the Giant's sword, he thrust it into his navel, and made his escape.
Ferracute, finding himself mortally wounded, called aloud upon Mahomet;
which the Saracens hearing, sallied from the city, and bore him off in
their arms. Orlando returned safe to the camp; the Christians then
boldly attacked the city, and carried it by storm. The Giant and his
people were slain, his castle taken, and all the Christian warriors
liberated.
CHAPTER XVIII.
_The War of the Masks._
Soon after the Emperor heard that Ibrahim, King of Seville, and Almanzor,
who escaped from the battle of Pampeluna, had gathered together at
Cordova a body of troops from seven[1] of the neighbouring cities of
Seville. Thither then did the King pursue his march with six thousand
men, and found the Saracens, ten thousand strong, about three miles from
the city. The King formed his army into three divisions. The first
composed of his best troops, all cavalry; the two last, foot. The
Saracens formed theirs in a similar manner. But when the King in person
advanced against the first squadrons of Pagans, he found them all
disguised in bearded masks, with horns upon their heads, like demons,
making so strange a din with their hands upon their drums and other
instruments, that the horses were terrified, and galloped back in spite
of all their riders could do to prevent them. Whereupon the foot
retreated likewise to an adjacent mountain, where, uniting in one
squadron, they stopped for the Saracens, who would then advance no
further, but gave our people time to pitch their tents, and encamp that
night.
Charles then called a council of his captains, and agreed to tie
bandages over their horses' eyes, and to stuff their ears, in order to
disconcert this stratagem on the morrow. Admirable experiment! For now
we fought the enemy from morning till night, and slew a great number,
though it was by no means a general slaughter; for the Saracens, again
joining in martial array, brought forward a castle, drawn by eight oxen,
with a certain red banner waving upon it, which so long as they saw
present, it was their rule never to fly. The King, knowing this, armed
himself with a strong breast-plate, a mighty spear, and invincible
sword, and, aided by divine assistance, hewed his way through his
enemies, overturning them to right and left, till he reached the car,
when, cutting the flag-pole with his sword, the Saracens instantly fled
in all directions. Prodigious shouts were made by both armies. We then
slew eight thousand Moors, together with Ibrahim, King of Seville.
Almanzor made good his retreat into the city, but submitted to Charles
the day after, consenting to be baptized, and to do homage for his
dominions.
The King now divided the conquered countries of Spain amongst his
soldiers. Navarre and Bearn he gave to the inhabitants of Brittany;
Castile to the Franks; Nadres and Saragossa to the Apulians; Arragon to
the Ponthieuse; Andalusia, on the sea-coast, to the Germans; and
Portugal to the Dacians and Flemings. But the French would not settle
in the mountain parts of Gallicia. Thus there seemed to be no more foes
in Spain to hurt the Emperor.
CHAPTER XIX.
_Of the Council the Emperor summoned; and of his Journey to
Compostella._
Charles then sent away the greatest part of his troops, and came to
Gallicia, where he behaved very liberally to the Christians he found
there, but either put to death or banished those that had revolted to
the Moorish faith. He then appointed bishops and prelates in every city,
and, assembling a council of the chief dignitaries in Compostella,
decreed that the church of St. James should be henceforth considered as
the Metropolitan, instead of Iria, as it was no city, subjecting Iria
likewise to Compostella. In the same council I, Turpin, Archbishop of
Rheims, together with forty other Bishops and Prelates, dedicated, by
the King's command, the church and altar of St. James, with extraordinary
splendour and magnificence. All Spain and Gallicia were made subject to
this holy place: it was moreover endowed with four pieces of money from
every house throughout the kingdom, and at the same time totally freed
from the royal jurisdiction; being from that hour styled the Apostolic
See, as the body of the holy Apostle laid entombed within it. Here
likewise the general councils of Spain are held; the Bishops ordained,
and the Kings crowned by the hand of the Metropolitan Bishop, to the
Apostle's honour. Here too, when any crying sin is committed, or
innovations made in the faith and precepts of our Lord, through the
meritoriousness of this venerable edifice the grievance is discovered,
and atonement made. As the Eastern Apostolic See was established by St.
John, the brother of St. James, at Ephesus, so was the Western
established by St. James.
And those Sees are undoubtedly the true Sees. Ephesus on the right hand
of Christ's earthly kingdom, and Compostella on the left, both which
fell to the share of the sons of Zebedee, according to their request.
There are, then, three Sees which are deservedly held pre-eminent, even
as our Lord gave the pre-eminence to the three Apostles, Peter, James,
and John, who first established them. And certainly these three places
should be deemed more sacred than others, where they preached, and
their bodies lie enshrined. Rome claims the superiority from Peter,
Prince of the Apostles. Compostella holds the second place from St.
James, the elder brother of St. John, and first inheritor of the crown of
martyrdom. He dignified it with his preaching, consecrated it with his
sepulchre, and ceases not to exalt it by miracles and dispensations of
mercy. The third See justly is Ephesus; for there St. John wrote his
gospel, "In the beginning was the Word," assembling there likewise the
bishops of the neighbouring cities, whom he calls Angels in the
Apocalypse. He established that church by his doctrines and miracles,
and there his body was entombed. If, therefore, any difficulty should
occur that cannot elsewhere be resolved, let it be brought before these
Sees, and it shall, by divine grace, be decided. As Gallicia was freed
in these early ages from the Saracen yoke, by the favour of God and St.
James, and by the King's valour, so may it continue firm in the orthodox
faith till the consummation of ages!
CHAPTER XX.
_Of the Emperor's Person and Courage._
The Emperor was of a ruddy complexion, with brown hair; of a well-made
handsome form, but a stern visage. His height was about eight of his own
feet, which were very long. He was of a strong robust make; his legs and
thighs very stout, and his sinews firm. His face was thirteen inches
long; his beard a palm; his nose half a palm; his forehead a foot over.
His lion-like eyes flashed fire like carbuncles; his eyebrows were half
a palm over. When he was angry, it was a terror to look upon him. He
required eight spans for his girdle, besides what hung loose. He ate
sparingly of bread; but a whole quarter of lamb, two fowls, a goose, or
a large portion of pork; a peacock, crane, or a whole hare. He drank
moderately of wine and water. He was so strong, that he could at a
single blow cleave asunder an armed soldier on horseback from the head
to the waist, and the horse likewise. He easily vaulted over four horses
harnessed together; and could raise an armed man from the ground to his
head, as he stood erect upon his hand.
He was liberal, just in his decrees, and fluent of speech. Four days in
the year, especially during his residence in Spain, he held a solemn
assembly at court, adorning himself with his royal crown and sceptre;
namely, on Christmas-day, at Easter, Whitsuntide, and on the festival of
St. James. A naked sword, after the imperial fashion, was then borne
before him. A hundred and twenty orthodox soldiers matched nightly round
his couch, in three courses of forty each. A drawn sword was laid at his
right hand, and a lighted candle at his left. Although many would
delight to read his great actions, they would be too tedious to relate.
How he invested Galifer, Admiral of Coleto, where he was banished, with
the military order, and, in return for his kindness, slew Bramantes,
his enemy, the proud Saracen King; how many kingdoms and countries
he conquered; Abbeys he founded; bodies of the saints and relics he
enshrined in gold; how he was made Emperor of Rome, and visited the holy
supulchre, bringing back with him the wood of the Holy Cross, wherewith
he endowed the shrine of St. James; of all this I shall say no more: the
hand and the pen would sooner fail than the history. But what befel his
army at his return to France, we now briefly proceed to tell.
CHAPTER XXI.
_Of the Treachery of Ganalon; the Battle of Ronceval, and the Sufferings
of the Christian Warriors._
When this famous Emperor had thus recovered Spain to the glory of our
Lord and St. James, after a season he returned to Pampeluna, and
encamped there, with his army. At that time there were in Saragossa two
Saracen Kings, Marsir, and Beligard, his brother, sent by the Soldan of
Babylon from Persia to Spain. Charles had bowed them to his dominion,
and they served him always, but only with feigned fidelity. For the King
having sent Ganalon to require them to be baptized, and to pay tribute,
they sent him thirty horse-load of gold, silver, and jewels; forty load
of wine likewise for his soldiers, and a thousand beautiful Saracen
women. But at the same time they covenanted with Ganalon to betray the
King's army into their hands for twenty horse-load of gold and silver;
which wicked compact being accordingly made, Ganalon returned to the
King with intelligence that Marsir would embrace the Christian faith,
and was preparing to follow him into France to receive baptism there,
and would then hold all Spain under oath of fealty to him. The old
soldiers would accept the wine only, but the young men were highly
gratified with the present of the women.
Charles, confiding in Ganalon, now began his march through the pass of
the mountains, in his return to France; giving the command of the rear
to his nephew, Orlando, Count of Mans and Lord of Guienne, and to
Oliver, Count of Auvergne, ordering them to keep the station of Ronceval
with thirty thousand men, whilst he passed it with the rest of the army.
But many, who had on the night preceding intoxicated themselves with
wine, and been guilty of fornication with the Saracen women, and other
women that followed the camp from France, incurred the penalty of death.
What more shall we say? When Charles had safely passed the narrow strait
that leads into Gascony, between the mountains, with twenty thousand of
his warriors, Turpin, the Archbishop, and Ganalon, and while the rear
kept guard, early in the morning Marsir and Beligard, rushing down from
the hills, where, by Ganalon's advice, they had lain two days in ambush,
formed their troops into two great divisions, and with the first of
twenty thousand men attacked our army, which making a bold resistance,
fought from morning to the third hour, and utterly destroyed the enemy.
But a fresh body of thirty thousand Saracens now poured furiously down
upon the Christians, already faint and exhausted with fighting so long,
and smote them from high to low, so that scarcely one escaped. Some were
transpierced with lances; some killed with clubs; others beheaded,
burnt, flayed alive, or suspended on trees: only Orlando, Baldwin, and
Theodoric, were left; the two last gained the woods, and finally
escaped. After this terrible slaughter the Saracens retreated a league
from the field of battle.
And here it may be asked, why God permitted those to perish who in no
wise had defiled themselves with women? It was, indeed, to prevent them
from committing fresh sins at their return home and to give them a
crown of glory in reward for their toils. However neither is it to be
doubted but those who were guilty of this fault amply atoned for it by
their death. In that awful hour they confessed his name, bewailing their
sins, and the all-merciful God forgot not their past labours for the
sake of Christ, for whose faith they lost their lives. The company of
women is evidently baneful to the warrior: those earthly Princes Darius
and Mark Antony were attended by their women, and perished; for lust at
once enervates the soul and the body.
Those who fell into intoxication and lasciviousness typify the priests
that war against vice, but suffer themselves to be overcome by wine and
sensual appetites till they are slain by their enemy the devil, and
punished with eternal death.
CHAPTER XXII.
_Of the Death of Marsir, and the Flight of Beligard._
As Orlando was returning after the battle was over to view the Saracen
army, he met a certain black Saracen, who had fled from the field, and
concealed himself in the woods, whom he seized and bound to a tree with
four bands. Then, ascending a lofty hill, he surveyed the Moorish army,
and seeing likewise many Christians retreating by the Ronceval road he
blew his horn, and was joined by about a hundred of them, with whom he
returned to the Saracen, and promised to give him his life if he would
show him Marsir; which having performed, he set him at liberty.
Animating his little band, Orlando was soon amidst the thickest of the
enemy, and finding one of larger stature than the rest, he hewed him and
his horse in twain, so that the halves fell different ways. Marsir and
his companions then fled in all directions, but Orlando, trusting in the
divine aid, rushed forward, and overcoming all opposition, slew Marsir
on the spot. By this time every one of the Christians was slain, and
Orlando himself sorely wounded in five places by lances, and grievously
battered likewise with stones. Beligard, seeing Marsir had fallen,
retired from the field with the rest of the Saracens; whilst Theodoric
and Baldwin, and some few other Christians, made their way through the
pass, towards which Orlando, wandering, came likewise to the foot of it,
and, alighting from his steed, stretched himself on the ground, beneath
a tree, near a block of marble, that stood upright in the meadows of
Ronceval.
Here drawing his sword, Durendal, which signifies a hard blow, a sword
of exquisite workmanship, fine temper, and resplendent brightness, which
he would sooner have lost his arm than parted with, as he held it in his
hand, regarding it earnestly, addressed it in these words: "O sword of
unparalleled brightness, excellent dimensions, admirable temper, and
hilt of the whitest ivory, decorated with a splendid cross of gold,
topped by a berylline apple, engraved with the sacred name of God,
endued with keenness and every other virtue, who now shall wield thee in
battle? who shall call thee master? He that possessed thee was never
conquered, never daunted at the foe; phantoms never appalled him. Aided
by Omnipotence, with thee did he destroy the Saracen, exalt the faith of
Christ, and acquire consummate glory. Oft hast thou vindicated the blood
of Jesus, against Pagans, Jews, and heretics; oft hewed off the hand and
foot of the robber, fulfilling divine justice. O happy sword, keenest of
the keen; never was one like thee! He that made thee, made not thy
fellow! Not one escaped with life from thy stroke! If the slothful timid
soldier should now possess thee, or the base Saracen, my grief would be
unspeakable! Thus, then, do I prevent thy falling into their hands."--He
then struck the block of marble thrice, which cleft it in the midst, and
broke the sword in twain.
CHAPTER XXIII.
_Of the Sound of Orlando's Horn; of his Confession, and Death._
He now blew a loud blast with his horn, to summon any Christian
concealed in the adjacent woods to his assistance, or to recal his
friends beyond the pass. This horn was endued with such power, that all
other horns were split by its sound; and it is said that Orlando at that
time blew it with such vehemence, that he burst the veins and nerves of
his neck. The sound reached the King's ears, who lay encamped in the
valley still called by his name, about eight miles from Ronceval,
towards Gascony, being carried so far by supernatural power. Charles
would have flown to his succour, but was prevented by Ganalon, who,
conscious of Orlando's sufferings, insinuated it was usual with him to
sound his horn on light occasions. "He is, perhaps," said he, "pursuing
some wild beast, and the sound echoes through the woods; it will be
fruitless, therefore, to seek him." O wicked traitor, deceitful as
Judas! What dost thou merit?
Orlando now grew very thirsty, and cried for water to Baldwin, who just
then approached him; but unable to find any, and seeing him so near his
end, he blessed him, and, again mounting his steed, galloped off for
assistance to the army. Immediately after Theodoric came up, and,
bitterly grieving to see him in this condition, bade him strengthen his
soul by confessing his faith. Orlando had that morning received the
blessed Eucharist, and confessed his sins before he went to battle, this
being the custom with all the warriors at that time, for which purpose
bishops and monks attended the army to give them absolution. The martyr
of Christ then cast up his eyes to heaven, and cried, "O Lord Jesus, for
whose sake I came into these barbarous regions; through thy aid only
have I conquered innumerable Pagans, enduring blows and wounds,
reproach, derision, and fatigue, heat and cold, hunger and thirst. To
thee do I commit my soul in this trying hour. Thou, who didst suffer on
the cross for those who deserved not thy favour, deliver my soul, I
beseech thee, from eternal death! I confess myself a most grievous
sinner, but thou mercifully dost forgive our sins; thou pitiest every
one, and hatest nothing which thou hast made, covering the sins of the
penitent in whatsoever day they turn unto thee with true contrition. O
thou, who didst spare thy enemies, and the woman taken in adultery; who
didst pardon Mary Magdalen, and look with compassion on the weeping
Peter; who didst likewise open the gate of Paradise to the thief that
confessed thee upon the cross; have mercy upon me, and receive my soul
into thy everlasting rest!
"Thou art he who preventest our bodies from perishing in the grave,
changing them to greater glory; thou, O Lord, art he, who hast said,
'thou rather wouldst the sinner should live than die.' I believe in thee
with my whole heart, and confess thee with my lips; therefore I beseech
thee to receive me into the enjoyment of a better life when this is
ended. Let my sense and intellects be in the same measure improved as
the shadow differs from the substance." And now, grasping the flesh and
skin near his heart (as Theodoric afterwards related), he continued his
speech with bitter groanings. "O Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, and of
the blessed Virgin, with my inmost soul do I confess that thou, my
Redeemer, dost live, and that at the day of judgment I shall rise, and
in my flesh behold thee, my God and my Saviour!" And thrice, thus
grasping his breast, did he repeat those words; and, laying his hand
upon his eyes in like manner, he said, "And these eyes shall behold
thee!" Uncovering them, he again looked up to heaven, and, signing
himself with the sign of the cross, he uttered, "All earthly things are
vain and unprofitable; I am now taught of Christ, that eye hath not
seen, nor ear heard, neither hath it entered into the heart of man to
conceive, the good things that God hath prepared for them that love
him." Then, stretching his hands to heaven, he uttered this prayer for
them that perished in the battle:--
"Let thy bowels of compassion, O Lord, be open to thy faithful servants,
who have this day perished by the hand of the barbarians. Hither did
they come to vindicate thy faith; for thy sake are they fallen. Do thou,
O Lord, mercifully blot out their offences, accounting them worthy to
be delivered from the pains of hell. Send thy archangels to rescue
their souls from darkness, and bear them to the regions of light, where
thy blessed martyrs eternally live and reign with thee, who dost live
and reign with God the Father and the Holy Spirit, to all ages.
Amen!"--Immediately after this confession and prayer, his soul winged
its flight from his body, and was borne by angels to Paradise, where he
reigns in transcendent glory, united by his meritorious deeds to the
blessed choir of martyrs.
CHAPTER XXIV.
_Of Orlando's Rank and Virtue._
No longer it becomes the heart to mourn
A hero of immortal joys possessed;
Of noble rank, and noble parents born,
For nobler deeds in heaven with glory blest.
To none inferior, thine was native worth;
Thy feet still tending to the temple's bounds;
A glorious model to the wondering earth,
A faithful balsam to thy country's wounds.
The Clergy's refuge, and the Widow's friend,
Bounteous to guests, and liberal to the poor;
To heaven thy parting steps may safely bend,
Whose works have opened wide salvation's door.
Thy tongue the fount of heavenly eloquence,
That still would slake the thirst, and never pall,
Endowed with graceful wit, and manly sense,
Proclaimed thee common father, friend of all.
Blest Chief, farewell! but not the marbled urn
That holds thy ashes can thy soul contain:
Our wondering eyes to heaven above we turn,
Where thou for ever dost triumphant reign.
CHAPTER XXV.
_Archbishop Turpin's Vision, and the King's Lamentation for Orlando._
What more shall we say? Whilst the soul of the blessed Orlando was
leaving his body, I, Turpin, standing near the King in the valley of
Charles, at the moment I was celebrating the mass of the dead, namely,
on the 16th day of June, fell into a trance, and, hearing the angelic
choir sing aloud, I wondered what it might be. Now, when they had
ascended on high, behold, there came after them a phalanx of terrible
ones, like warriors returning from the spoil, bearing their prey.
Presently I inquired of one of them what it meant, and was answered, "We
are bearing the soul of Marsir to hell, but yonder is Michael bearing
the Horn-winder to heaven." When mass was over, I told the King what I
had seen; and whilst I was yet speaking, behold Baldwin rode up on
Orlando's horse, and related what had befallen him, and where he had
left the hero in the agonies of death, beside a stone in the meadows at
the foot of the mountain; whereupon the whole army immediately marched
back to Ronceval.
The King himself first discovered the hero, lying in the form of a
cross, and began to lament over him with bitter sighs and sobs, wringing
his hands, and tearing his hair and beard. "O right arm," cried he, "of
thy Sovereign's body; honour of the French; sword of justice, inflexible
spear, inviolable breast-plate, shield of safety; a Judas Maccabeus in
probity, a Samson in strength; in death like Saul and Jonathan; brave,
experienced soldier, great and noble defender of the Christians, scourge
of the Saracens; a wall to the clergy, the widow's and orphan's friend,
just and faithful in judgment!--Renowned Count of the French, valiant
captain of our armies, why did I leave thee here to perish? How can I
behold thee dead, and not die myself? Why hast thou left me sorrowful
and alone? A poor miserable King! But thou art exalted to the kingdom of
heaven, and dost enjoy the company of angels and martyrs. Without cease
I shall lament over thee, as David did over Saul and Jonathan, and his
son Absalom.
Thy soul is fled to happier scenes above,
And left us mourning to lament thee here;
Blest in thy God and Saviour's fav'ring love,
Who wipes from every eye the trickling tear.
Six lustres and eight years thou dwelledst below,
But snatched from earth to heaven, thou reign'st on high,
Where feasts divine immortal spirits know,
And joys transcendent fill the starry sky."
Thus did Charles mourn for Orlando to the very last day of his life. On
the spot where he died he encamped; and caused the body to be embalmed
with balsam, myrrh, and aloes. The whole camp watched it that night,
honouring his corse with hymns and songs, and innumerable torches and
fires kindled on the adjacent mountains.
CHAPTER XXVI.
_How the Sun stood still for three Days; the Slaughter of four thousand
Saracens; and the Death of Ganalon._
Early on the next day they came to the field of battle in Ronceval, and
found the bodies of their friends, many of them still alive, but
mortally wounded. Oliver was lying on his face, pinioned to the ground
in the form of a cross, and flayed from the neck to his finger-ends;
pierced also with darts and javelins, and bruised with clubs. The
mourning was now dismal; every one wept for his friend, till the groves
and valleys resounded with wailing. Charles solemnly vowed to pursue the
Pagans till he found them; and, marching in pursuit with his whole army,
the sun stood still for three days, till he overtook them on the banks
of the Ebro, near Saragossa, feasting and rejoicing for their success.
Attacking them valiantly, he then slew four thousand, and dispersed the
rest. What further? We now returned to Ronceval, bearing with us the
sick and wounded to the spot where Orlando fell. The Emperor then made
strict inquiries after the treachery of Ganalon, which began to be
universally rumoured about. Trial was ordained by single combat, Pinabel
for Ganalon, and Theodoric for the Accuser; when, the latter gaining the
victory, the treason was proved. Ganalon was now sentenced to be torn to
pieces by four wild horses, which was accordingly his end.
CHAPTER XXVII.
_The Embalming of the Dead._
They now embalmed the dead bodies of their friends; some with myrrh and
balsam, some with salt, taking out the bowels, and filling the bodies
with aromatic drugs, or with salt only. Some were buried on the spot;
others conveyed to France; but many that became putrid and offensive
were buried on the road. Wooden carriages were made for the dead, but
the sick and wounded were borne away on litters upon their shoulders.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
_Of the consecrated Cemeteries of Arles and Bordeaux._
Two chief burying grounds were now consecrated at Arles and Bordeaux by
seven Bishops: Maximin of Aix, Trophimus of Arles, Paul of Narbonne,
Saturnine of Thoulouse, Frontorne of Perigord, Martial of Limoges, and
Eutropius of Xaintonge; where the major part of the warriors were
interred that fell in the battles of Ronceval and Mount Garzim.
CHAPTER XXIX.
_Of the Burial of Orlando and his Companions at Blaye and other Places._
Charles deferred the burial of Orlando till he came to Blaye. His body
was laid upon gold tapestry on two mules, covered with a pall, and at
length honourably interred in the Church of St. Roman, which he had
formerly built, and endowed with regular canons. His helmet was placed
upon his head, and his ivory horn at his feet. But the body was
afterwards translated to St. Severin in Bordeaux, the chief city of
these provinces, where it was joyfully welcomed, as it had liberally
tasted his munificence.
At Blaye likewise was buried Oliver, and Galdebode, King of Friezeland;
Ogier, King of Dacia; Aristagnus, King of Brittany; Garin, Duke of
Lorraine; and many other warriors. Happy town, graced with the sepulchres
of so many heroes! At Bordeaux, in the cemetery of St. Severin, were
buried Gayfere, King of Bordeaux; Angelerus, Duke of Aquitaine; Lambert,
Prince of Bourges; Galerius Galin; Rinaldo of the White Thorn; Walter
of the Olive Trees; Vulterinus, and five thousand of their soldiers.
Ocellus, Count of Nantes, and most of the inhabitants of Brittany, were
buried in that city. Charles gave twelve thousand pieces of silver and
talents of gold for the repose of their souls, and fed the poor for many
miles round the city of Blaye; endowing the church likewise with rich
vestments and silver ornaments, for the love he bore Orlando; freeing
the Canons from all service but prayers for him and his companions. He
moreover clothed and entertained thirty poor men on the anniversary of
their martyrdom, establishing Minstrels, Masses, and other solemnities,
which the Canons were not to neglect on that day, as they hoped to merit
a crown of glory, which they promised to perform.
CHAPTER XXX.
_Of those Buried at Arles._
After this the King and his army proceeded by the way of Gascony and
Thoulouse, and came to Arles, where we found the army of Burgundy,
which had left us in the hostile valley, bringing their dead by the way
of Morbihan and Thoulouse, to bury them in the plain of Arles. Here we
performed the rites of Estolfo, Count of Champagne; of Solomon; Sampson,
Duke of Burgundy; Arnold of Berlanda; Alberic of Burgundy; Gumard,
Esturinite, Hato, Juonius, Berard, Berengaire, and Naaman, Duke of
Bourbon, and of ten thousand of their soldiers. Constantine, Governor of
Rome, and other Romans, were conveyed thither by sea, and buried in
Apulia. The King gave twelve thousand pieces of silver, and as many
talents of gold, for the repose of their souls, and to the poor of
Arles.
CHAPTER XXXI.
_Of the Council held at St. Denis._
We then came to Vienne, where I remained to be healed of the scars and
wounds I received in Spain. The King, much fatigued, at length arrived
at Paris; and, assembling a council of his chief princes and bishops at
St. Denis, returned thanks to God for his victory over the Pagans, and
gave all France as a manor to that church, in the same way as St. Paul
and St. Clement had formerly endowed the bishopric of Rome. The French
Bishops were likewise to be ordained there, and not made subject to the
See of Rome. Then, standing by the tomb of St. Denis, he entreated the
Lord for all who had died in his cause.
The very next night St. Denis appeared to the King in his sleep,
assuring him that full pardon of sin was granted to all that followed
him, and had fought and perished in the wars with the Saracens; that
they likewise should recover of their wounds who had bestowed money on
the church; which being made known by the King, very liberal offerings
were made by the people, who thus acquired the name of Franks; and the
whole land, formerly called Gaul, was now changed to France, as being
freed from all servitude, and having dominion over other nations. The
King then went to Aix-la-Chapelle, in the county of Liege, to bathe and
drink the waters, where he liberally endowed St. Mary's Church with gold
and silver, ordering it to be painted with ancient and modern histories,
and his palace to be decorated with the representation of his wars in
Spain; with emblems of the seven liberal arts and other excellent
embellishments.
CHAPTER XXXII.
_Of the King's Death._
Soon after, the King's approaching death was revealed to me; for,
behold, as I was praying in the church of Vienne, I fell into a trance,
as I was singing psalms, and saw innumerable companies of soldiers pass
before me by the Lorraine road. A certain one, black as an Ethiop,
followed them, of whom I inquired whither he was going, and received for
answer that he was awaiting the death of Charles to take possession of
his soul. "I conjure you, then," said I, "by the name of the Lord Jesus,
to return when you have completed your errand." When I had rested some
time, and begun to explain the psalms, behold they returned back, and,
speaking to the same person I before addressed, I inquired whom he had
been seeking, and was answered, "the Gallician;" but the stones and
timber of the churches he founded balanced so greatly in his favour,
that his good works outweighed his bad, and his soul was snatched from
us, and at this the demon vanished. Thus I understood Charles died that
day, and was carried into the bosom of God and St. James. But as I had
requested him, before we parted at Vienne, to send me notice of his
decease in case it preceded mine, being then grievously sick, and
remembering his promise, he encharged a certain learned soldier to bring
me word the moment he died. What more need I add? The messenger arrived
on the fifteenth day after it happened. He had, indeed, been grievously
afflicted with illness from the hour he left Spain, and suffered still
more in mind than in body for the friends he lost on the unfortunate
16th of June. On the same day that I saw the vision, namely, on the 5th
of February, in the year of our Lord 814, he departed this life, and was
sumptuously buried in the round church of St. Mary, which he had himself
built; and this sign I was credibly informed happened yearly for three
years together before his death,--"The Sun and Moon became dark, and
his name, Charles the Prince, inscribed on the church, was totally
obliterated of itself; and the portico likewise, between the church and
the palace, fell to the very foundation." The wooden bridge also which
he built six years before over the Rhine at Mentz was destroyed by fire,
self-kindled. And the same day, as a traveller was on his journey, he
saw a great flame, like the flame of a funeral pile, pass from right to
left before him; which terrifying him greatly, he fell from his horse,
but was presently relieved by his friends.
We therefore believe that he now enjoys the crown of the blessed
martyrs, whose labours he imitated, whose pattern and example he
followed. Whereby we may understand, that whoever builds a church to
God's glory, provides for himself a residence in his kingdom. For this
cause was Charles snatched from the hands of demons, and borne by good
angels to heavenly habitations.
BALLAD ROMANCE
TOUCHING
THE DAYS OF CHARLEMAGNE
AND OF
THE CID CAMPEADOR
WITH THE BALLAD OF COUNT ALARCOS
_FROM THE SPANISH BALLADS TRANSLATED BY_
JOHN GIBSON LOCKHART.
CONTENTS.
PART I.
THE MOOR CALAYNOS 57
THE ESCAPE OF GAYFEROS 61
MELISENDRA 63
THE MARCH OF BERNARDO DEL CARPIO 67
LADY ALDA'S DREAM 69
THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS 71
THE COMPLAINT OF THE COUNT OF SALDENHA 75
THE FUNERAL OF THE COUNT OF SALDENHA 76
BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO 78
PART II.
THE YOUNG CID 81
XIMENA DEMANDS VENGEANCE 83
THE CID AND THE FIVE MOORISH KINGS 84
THE CID'S COURTSHIP 85
THE CID'S WEDDING 87
THE CID AND THE LEPER 88
BAVIECA 90
THE EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID 92
PART III.
COUNT ALARCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLIS 94
PART I.
THE MOOR CALAYNOS.
In the following version I have taken liberty to omit a good many of the
introductory stanzas of the famous _Coplas de Calainos_. The reader will
remember that this ballad is alluded to in Don Quixote, where the
Knight's nocturnal visit to Toboso is described.
It is generally believed to be among the most ancient, and certainly was
among the most popular, of all the ballads in the Cancionero.
I.
"I had six Moorish nurses, but the seventh was not a Moor,
The Moors they gave me milk enow, but the Christian gave me lore;
And she told me ne'er to listen, though sweet the words might be,
Till he that spake had proved his troth, and pledged a gallant fee."--
II.
"Fair damsel," quoth Calaynos, "if thou wilt go with me,
Say what may win thy favour, and thine that gift shall be.
Fair stands the castle on the rock, the city in the vale,
And bonny is the red red gold, and rich the silver pale."--
III.
"Fair sir," quoth she, "virginity I never will lay down
For gold, nor yet for silver, for castle, nor for town;
But I will be your leman for the heads of certain peers--
And I ask but three--Rinaldo's--Roland's--and Olivier's."--
IV.
He kissed her hand where she did stand, he kissed her lips also,
And "Bring forth," he cries, "my pennon, for to Paris I must go."--
I wot ye saw them rearing his banner broad right soon,
Whereon revealed his bloody field its pale and crescent moon.
V.
That broad bannere the Moore did rear, ere many days were gone,
In foul disdain of Charlemagne, by the church of good Saint John;
In the midst of merry Paris, on the bonny banks of Seine,
Shall never scornful Paynim that pennon rear again.
VI.
His banner he hath planted high, and loud his trumpet blown,
That all the twelve might hear it well around King Charles's throne;
The note he blew right well they knew; both Paladin and Peer
Had the trumpet heard of that stern lord in many a fierce career.
VII.
It chanced the King, that fair morning, to the chace had made him bowne,
With many a knight of warlike might, and prince of high renown;
Sir Reynold of Montalban, and Claros' Lord, Gaston,
Behind him rode, and Bertram good, that reverend old Baron.
VIII.
Black D'Ardennes' eye of mastery in that proud troop was seen,
And there was Urgel's giant force, and Guarinos' princely mien;
Gallant and gay upon that day was Baldwin's youthful cheer,
But first did ride, by Charles's side, Roland and Olivier.
IX.
Now in a ring around the King, not far in the greenwood,
Awaiting all the huntsman's call, it chanced the nobles stood;
"Now list, mine earls, now list!" quoth Charles, "yon breeze
will come again,
Some trumpet-note methinks doth float from the bonny banks of Seine."--
X.
He scarce had heard the trumpet, the word he scarce had said,
When among the trees he near him sees a dark and turbaned head;
"Now stand, now stand at my command, bold Moor," quoth Charlemagne,
"That turban green, how dare it be seen among the woods of Seine."--
XI.
"My turban green must needs be seen among the woods of Seine,"
The Moor replied, "since here I ride in quest of Charlemagne--
For I serve the Moor Calaynos, and I his defiance bring
To every lord that sits at the board of Charlemagne your King.
XII.
"Now lordlings fair, if anywhere in the wood ye've seen him riding,
O tell me plain the path he has ta'en--there is no cause for chiding;
For my lord hath blown his trumpet by every gate of Paris--
Long hours in vain, by the bank of Seine, upon his steed he tarries."--
XIII.
When the Emperor had heard the Moor, full red was his old cheek,
"Go back, base cur, upon the spur, for I am he you seek--
Go back, and tell your master to commend him to Mahoun,
For his soul shall dwell with him in hell, or ere yon sun go down.
XIV.
"Mine arm is weak, my hairs are grey," (thus spake King Charlemagne,)
"Would for one hour I had the power of my young days again,
As when I plucked the Saxon from out his mountain den--
O soon should cease the vaunting of this proud Saracen!
XV.
"Though now mine arm be weakened, though now my hairs be grey,
The hard-won praise of other days cannot be swept away--
If shame there be, my liegemen, that shame on you must lie--
Go forth, go forth, good Roland; to-night this Moor must die."--
XVI.
Then out and spake rough Roland--"Ofttimes I've thinned the ranks
Of the hot Moor, and when all was o'er have won me little thanks;
Some carpet knight will take delight to do this doughty feat,
Whom damsels gay shall well repay with their smiles and whispers sweet!"--
XVII.
Then out and spake Sir Baldwin--the youngest peer was he,
The youngest and the comeliest--"Let none go forth but me;
Sir Roland is mine uncle, and he may in safety jeer,
But I will show the youngest may be Sir Roland's peer."--
XVIII.
"Nay, go not thou," quoth Charlemagne, "thou art my gallant youth,
And braver none I look upon; but thy cheek it is too smooth;
And the curls upon thy forehead they are too glossy bright;--
Some elder peer must couch his spear against this crafty knight."--
XIX.
But away, away goes Baldwin, no words can stop him now,
Behind him lies the greenwood, he hath gained the mountain's brow,
He reineth first his charger, within the churchyard green,
Where, striding slow the elms below, the haughty Moor is seen.
XX.
Then out and spake Calaynos--"Fair youth, I greet thee well;
Thou art a comely stripling, and if thou with me wilt dwell,
All for the grace of thy sweet face, thou shalt not lack thy fee,
Within my lady's chamber a pretty page thou'lt be."--
XXI.
An angry man was Baldwin, when thus he heard him speak,
"Proud knight," quoth he, "I come with thee a bloody spear to break."--
O, sternly smiled Calaynos, when thus he heard him say,--
O loudly as he mounted his mailed barb did neigh.
XXII.
One shout, one thrust, and in the dust young Baldwin lies full low--
No youthful knight could bear the might of that fierce warrior's blow;
Calaynos draws his falchion, and waves it to and fro,
"Thy name now say, and for mercy pray, or to hell thy soul must go."--
XXIII.
The helpless youth revealed the truth. Then said the conqueror--
"I spare thee for thy tender years, and for thy great valour;
But thou must rest thee captive here, and serve me on thy knee,
For fain I'd tempt some doughtier peer to come and rescue thee."
XXIV.
Sir Roland heard that haughty word, (he stood behind the wall,)
His heart, I trow, was heavy enow, when he saw his kinsman fall;
But now his heart was burning, and never a word he said,
But clasped his buckler on his arm, his helmet on his head.
XXV.
Another sight saw the Moorish knight, when Roland blew his horn,
To call him to the combat in anger and in scorn;
All cased in steel from head to heel, in the stirrup high he stood,
The long spear quivered in his hand, as if athirst for blood.
XXVI.
Then out and spake Calaynos--"Thy name I fain would hear;
A coronet on thy helm is set; I guess thou art a Peer."--
Sir Roland lifted up his horn, and blew another blast,
"No words, base Moor," quoth Roland, "this hour shall be thy last."--
XXVII.
I wot they met full swiftly, I wot the shock was rude;
Down fell the misbeliever, and o'er him Roland stood;
Close to his throat the steel he brought, and plucked his beard full sore--
"What devil brought thee hither?--speak out or die, false Moor!"--
XXVIII.
"O! I serve a noble damsel, a haughty maid of Spain,
And in evil day I took my way, that I her grace might gain;
For every gift I offered, my lady did disdain,
And craved the ears of certain Peers that ride with Charlemagne."--
XXIX.
Then loudly laughed rough Roland--"Full few will be her tears,
It was not love her soul did move, when she bade thee beard THE PEERS."--
With that he smote upon his throat, and spurned his crest in twain,
"No more," he cries, "this moon will rise above the woods of Seine."
THE ESCAPE OF GAYFEROS.
The story of Gayfer de Bourdeaux is to be found at great length in the
Romantic Chronicle of Charlemagne; and it has supplied the Spanish
minstrels with subjects for a long series of ballads.
In that which follows, Gayferos, yet a boy, is represented as hearing
from his mother the circumstances of his father's death; and as narrowly
escaping with his own life, in consequence of his stepfather's cruelty.
I.
Before her knee the boy did stand, within the dais so fair,
The golden shears were in her hand, to clip his curled hair;
And ever as she clipped the curls, such doleful words she spake,
That tears ran from Gayferos' eyes, for his sad mother's sake.
II.
"God grant a beard were on thy face, and strength thine arm within,
To fling a spear, or swing a mace, like Roland Paladin!
For then, I think, thou wouldst avenge thy father that is dead,
Whom envious traitors slaughtered within thy mother's bed.
III.
"Their bridal-gifts were rich and rare, that hate might not be seen;
They cut me garments broad and fair--none fairer hath the Queen."--
Then out and spake the little boy--"Each night to God I call,
And to his blessed Mother, to make me strong and tall!"--
IV.
The Count he heard Gayferos, in the palace where he lay;--
"Now silence, silence, Countess! it is falsehood that you say;
I neither slew the man, nor hired another's sword to slay;--
But, for that the mother hath desired, be sure the son shall pay!"
V.
The Count called to his esquires, (old followers were they,
Whom the dead Lord had nurtured for many a merry day)--
He bade them take their old Lord's heir, and stop his tender breath--
Alas! 'twas piteous but to hear the manner of that death.
VI.
"List, esquires, list, for my command is offspring of mine oath--
The stirrup-foot and the hilt-hand see that ye sunder both;--
That ye cut out his eyes 'twere best--the safer he will go--
And bring a finger and the heart, that I his end may know."--
VII.
The esquires took the little boy aside with them to go;
Yet, as they went, they did repent--"O God! must this be so?
How shall we think to look for grace, if this poor child we slay,
When ranged before Christ Jesu's face at the great judgment day?"--
VIII.
While they, not knowing what to do, were standing in such talk,
The Countess' little lap-dog bitch by chance did cross their walk;
Then out and spake one of the 'squires, (you may hear the words he said,)
"I think the coming of this bitch may serve us in good stead--
IX.
"Let us take out the bitch's heart, and give it to Galvan;
The boy may with a finger part, and be no worser man."--
With that they cut the joint away, and whispered in his ear,
That he must wander many a day, nor once those parts come near.
X.
"Your uncle grace and love will show; he is a bounteous man;"--
And so they let Gayferos go, and turned them to Galvan.
The heart and the small finger upon the board they laid,
And of Gayferos' slaughter a cunning story made.
XI.
The Countess, when she hears them, in great grief loudly cries:
Meantime the stripling safely unto his uncle hies:--
"Now welcome, my fair boy," he said, "what good news may they be
Come with thee to thine uncle's hall?"--"Sad tidings come with me--
XII.
"The false Galvan had laid his plan to have me in my grave;
But I've escaped him, and am here, my boon from thee to crave:
Rise up, rise up, mine uncle, thy brother's blood they've shed;
Rise up--they've slain my father within my mother's bed."[2]
MELISENDRA.
The following is a version of another of the ballads concerning
Gayferos. It is the same that is quoted in the chapter of the
Puppet-show in Don Quixote.
"'Child, child,' said Don Quixote, 'go on directly with your story, and
don't keep us here with your excursions and ramblings out of the road. I
tell you there must be a formal process, and legal trial, to prove
matters of fact.'--'Boy,' said the master from behind the show, 'do as
the gentleman bids you. Don't run so much upon flourishes, but follow
your plain song, without venturing on counterpoints, for fear of
spoiling all'--'I will, sir,' quoth the boy, and so proceeding: 'Now,
sirs, he that you see there a-horseback, wrapt up in the Gascoign-cloak,
is Don Gayferos himself, whom his wife, now revenged on the Moor for his
impudence, seeing from the battlements of the tower, takes him for a
stranger, and talks with him as such, according to the ballad,
'Quoth Melisendra, if perchance,
Sir Traveller, you go for France,
For pity's sake, ask when you're there,
For Gayferos, my husband dear.'
"'I omit the rest, not to tire you with a long story. It is sufficient
that he makes himself known to her, as you may guess by the joy she
shows; and, accordingly, now see how she lets herself down from the
balcony, to come at her loving husband, and get behind him; but,
unhappily, alas! one of the skirts of her gown is caught upon one of the
spikes of the balcony, and there she hangs and hovers in the air
miserably, without being able to get down. But see how Heaven is
merciful, and sends relief in the greatest distress! Now Don Gayferos
rides up to her, and, not fearing to tear her rich gown, lays hold on
it, and at one pull brings her down; and then at one lift sets her
astride upon his horse's crupper, bidding her to sit fast, and clap her
arms about him, that she might not fall; for the lady Melisendra was not
used to that kind of riding.
"'Observe now, gallants, how the horse neighs, and shows how proud he is
of the burden of his brave master and fair mistress. Look, now, how they
turn their backs, and leave the city, and gallop it merrily away towards
Paris. Peace be with you, for a peerless couple of true lovers! may ye
get safe and sound into your own country, without any lett or ill
chance in your journey, and live as long as Nestor, in peace and
quietness among your friends and relations.'--'Plainness, boy!' cried
Master Peter, 'none of your flights, I beseech you, for affectation is
the devil.'--The boy answered nothing, but going on: 'Now, sirs,' quoth
he, 'some of those idle people, that love to pry into everything,
happened to spy Melisendra as she was making her escape, and ran
presently and gave Marsilius notice of it; whereupon he straight
commanded to sound an alarm; and now mind what a din and hurly-burly
there is, and how the city shakes with the ring of the bells backwards
in all the mosques!'--'There you are out, boy,' said Don Quixote; 'the
Moors have no bells, they only use kettle-drums, and a kind of shaulms
like our waits or hautboys; so that your ringing of bells in Sansuena is
a mere absurdity, good Master Peter.'--'Nay, sir,' said Master Peter,
giving over ringing, 'if you stand upon these trifles with us, we shall
never please you. Don't be so severe a critic. Are there not a thousand
plays that pass with great success and applause, though they have many
greater absurdities, and nonsense in abundance? On, boy, on, let there
be as many impertinences as motes in the sun; no matter, so I get the
money.'--'Well said,' answered Don Quixote.--'And now, sirs,' quoth the
boy, 'observe what a vast company of glittering horse comes pouring out
of the city, in pursuit of the Christian lovers; what a dreadful sound
of trumpets, and clarions, and drums, and kettle-drums there is in the
air. I fear they will overtake them, and then will the poor wretches be
dragged along most barbarously at the tails of their horses, which would
be sad indeed.'
"Don Quixote, seeing such a number of Moors, and hearing such an alarm,
thought it high time to assist the flying lovers; and starting up, 'It
shall never be said while I live,' cried he aloud, 'that I suffered such
a wrong to be done to so famous a knight and so daring a lover as Don
Gayferos. Forbear, then, your unjust pursuit, ye base-born rascals!
Stop, or prepare to meet my furious resentment!' Then drawing out his
sword, to make good his threats, at one spring he gets to the show, and
with a violent fury lays at the Moorish puppets, cutting and slashing in
a most terrible manner: some he overthrows, and beheads others; maims
this, and cleaves that in pieces. Among the rest of his merciless
strokes, he thundered one down with such a mighty force, that had not
Master Peter luckily ducked and squatted down, it had certainly chopped
off his head as easily as one might cut an apple."
I.
At Sansuena,[3] in the tower, fair Melisendra lies,
Her heart is far away in France, and tears are in her eyes;
The twilight shade is thickening laid on Sansuena's plain,
Yet wistfully the lady her weary eyes doth strain.
II.
She gazes from the dungeon strong, forth on the road to Paris,
Weeping, and wondering why so long her Lord Gayferos tarries,
When lo! a knight appears in view--a knight of Christian mien,
Upon a milk-white charger he rides the elms between.
III.
She from her window reaches forth her hand a sign to make,
"O, if you be a knight of worth, draw near for mercy's sake;
For mercy and sweet charity, draw near, Sir Knight to me,
And tell me if ye ride to France, or whither bowne ye be.
IV.
"O, if ye be a Christian knight, and if to France you go,
I pr'ythee tell Gayferos that you have seen my woe;
That you have seen me weeping, here in the Moorish tower,
While he is gay by night and day, in hall and lady's bower.
V.
"Seven summers have I waited, seven winters long are spent,
Yet word of comfort none he speaks, nor token hath he sent;
And if he is weary of my love, and would have me wed a stranger,
Still say his love is true to him--nor time nor wrong can change her."--
VI.
The knight on stirrup rising, bids her wipe her tears away,--
"My love, no time for weeping, no peril save delay--
Come, boldly spring, and lightly leap--no listening Moor is near us,
And by dawn of day we'll be far away,"--so spake the Knight Gayferos.
VII.
She has made the sign of the Cross divine, and an Ave she hath said,
And she dares the leap both wide and deep--that damsel without dread;
And he hath kissed her pale pale cheek, and lifted her behind,
Saint Denis speed the milk-white steed--no Moor their path shall find.
THE MARCH OF BERNARDO DEL CARPIO.
Of Bernardo del Carpio, we find little or nothing in the French romances
of Charlemagne. He belongs exclusively to Spanish History, or rather
perhaps to Spanish Romance; in which the honour is claimed for him of
slaying the famous Orlando, or Roland, the nephew of Charlemagne, in the
fatal field of Roncesvalles.
The continence which procured for Alonzo, who succeeded to the
precarious throne of the Christians, in the Asturias, about 795, the
epithet of the Chaste, was not universal in his family. By an intrigue
with Sancho Diaz, Count of Saldana, or Saldenha, Donna Ximena, sister of
this virtuous prince, bore a son. Some historians attempt to gloss over
this incident, by alleging that a private marriage had taken place
between the lovers: but King Alphonso, who was well-nigh sainted for
living only in platonic union with his wife Bertha, took the scandal
greatly to heart. He shut up the peccant princess in a cloister, and
imprisoned her gallant in the castle of Luna, where he caused him to be
deprived of sight. Fortunately, his wrath did not extend to the
offspring of their stolen affections, the famous Bernardo del Carpio.
When the youth had grown up to manhood, Alphonso, according to the
Spanish chroniclers, invited the Emperor Charlemagne into Spain, and
having neglected to raise up heirs for the kingdom of the Goths in the
ordinary manner, he proposed the inheritance of his throne as the price
of the alliance of Charles. But the nobility, headed by Bernardo del
Carpio, remonstrated against the king's choice of a successor, and would
on no account consent to receive a Frenchman as heir of their crown.
Alphonso himself repented of the invitation he had given Charlemagne,
and when that champion of Christendom came to expel the Moors from
Spain, he found the conscientious and chaste Alphonso had united with
the infidels against him. An engagement took place in the renowned pass
of Roncesvalles, in which the French were defeated, and the celebrated
Roland, or Orlando, was slain. The victory was ascribed chiefly to the
prowess of Bernardo del Carpio.
The following ballad describes the enthusiasm excited among the Leonese,
when Bernard first raised his standard to oppose the progress of
Charlemagne's army.
I.
With three thousand Men of Leon, from the city Bernard goes,
To protect the soil Hispanian from the spear of Frankish foes
From the city which is planted in the midst between the seas,
To preserve the name and glory of old Pelayo's victories.
II.
The peasant hears upon his field the trumpet of the knight,
He quits his team for spear and shield, and garniture of might,
The shepherd hears it 'mid the mist--he flingeth down his crook,
And rushes from the mountain like a tempest-troubled brook.
III.
The youth who shows a maiden's chin, whose brows have ne'er been bound
The helmet's heavy ring within, gains manhood from the sound;
The hoary sire beside the fire forgets his feebleness,
Once more to feel the cap of steel a warrior's ringlets press.
IV.
As through the glen his spears did gleam, these soldiers from the hills,
They swelled his host, as mountain-stream receives the roaring rills;
They round his banner flocked, in scorn of haughty Charlemagne,
And thus upon their swords are sworn the faithful sons of Spain.
V.
"Free were we born," 'tis thus they cry, "though to our King we owe
The homage and the fealty behind his crest to go;
By God's behest our aid he shares, but God did ne'er command,
That we should leave our children heirs of an enslaved land.
VI.
"Our breasts are not so timorous, nor are our arms so weak,
Nor are our veins so bloodless, that we our vow should break,
To sell our freedom for the fear of Prince or Paladin,--
At least we'll sell our birthright dear, no bloodless prize they'll win.
VII.
"At least King Charles, if God decrees he must be lord of Spain,
Shall witness that the Leonese were not aroused in vain;
He shall bear witness that we died, as lived our sires of old,
Nor only of Numantium's pride shall minstrel tales be told.
VIII.
"THE LION[4] that hath bathed his paws in seas of Libyan gore,
Shall he not battle for the laws and liberties of yore?
Anointed cravens may give gold to whom it likes them well,
But steadfast heart and spirit bold Alphonso ne'er shall sell."
LADY ALDA'S DREAM.
The following is an attempt to render one of the most admired of all the
Spanish ballads.
En Paris esta Dona Alda, la esposa de Don Roldan,
Trecientas damas con ella, para la accompanar,
Todas visten un vestido, todas calcan un calcar, &c.
In its whole structure and strain it bears a very remarkable resemblance
to several of our own old ballads--both English and Scottish.
I.
In Paris sits the lady that shall be Sir Roland's bride,
Three hundred damsels with her, her bidding to abide;
All clothed in the same fashion, both the mantle and the shoon,
All eating at one table, within her hall at noon:
All, save the Lady Alda, she is lady of them all,
She keeps her place upon the dais, and they serve her in her hall;
The thread of gold a hundred spin, the lawn a hundred weave,
And a hundred play sweet melody within Alda's bower at eve.
II.
With the sound of their sweet playing, the lady falls asleep,
And she dreams a doleful dream, and her damsels hear her weep;
There is sorrow in her slumber, and she waketh with a cry,
And she calleth for her damsels, and swiftly they come nigh.
"Now, what is it, Lady Alda," (you may hear the words they say,)
"Bringeth sorrow to thy pillow, and chaseth sleep away?"--
"O, my maidens!" quoth the lady, "my heart it is full sore!
I have dreamt a dream of evil, and can slumber never more.
III.
"For I was upon a mountain, in a bare and desert place,
And I saw a mighty eagle, and a falcon he did chase;
And to me the falcon came, and I hid it in my breast,
But the mighty bird, pursuing, came and rent away my vest;
And he scattered all the feathers, and blood was on his beak,
And ever, as he tore and tore, I heard the falcon shriek;--
Now read my vision, damsels, now read my dream to me,
For my heart may well be heavy that doleful sight to see."--
IV.
Out spake the foremost damsel was in her chamber there--
(You may hear the words she says), "O! my lady's dream is fair--
The mountain is St. Denis' choir; and thou the falcon art,
And the eagle strong that teareth the garment from thy heart,
And scattereth the feathers, he is the Paladin--
That, when again he comes from Spain, must sleep thy bower within;--
Then be blithe of cheer, my lady, for the dream thou must not grieve,
It means but that thy bridegroom shall come to thee at eve."--
V.
"If thou hast read my vision, and read it cunningly,"--
Thus said the Lady Alda, "thou shalt not lack thy fee." But
woe is me for Alda! there was heard, at morning hour,
A voice of lamentation within that lady's bower,
For there had come to Paris a messenger by night,
And his horse it was a-weary, and his visage it was white;
And there's weeping in the chamber and there's silence in the hall,
For Sir Roland had been slaughtered in the chase of Roncesval.
THE ADMIRAL GUARINOS.
This is a translation of the ballad which Don Quixote and Sancho Panza,
when at Toboso, overheard a peasant singing, as he was going to his work
at daybreak.--"Iba cantando," says Cervantes, "aquel romance que dice,
Mala la vistes Franceses la caca de Roncesvalles."
I.
The day of Roncesvalles was a dismal day for you,
Ye men of France, for there the lance of King Charles was broke in two.
Ye well may curse that rueful field, for many a noble peer,
In fray or fight, the dust did bite, beneath Bernardo's spear.
II.
There captured was Guarinos, King Charles's admiral;
Seven Moorish kings surrounded him, and seized him for their thrall;
Seven times, when all the chase was o'er, for Guarinos lots they cast;
Seven times Marlotes won the throw, and the knight was his at last.
III.
Much joy had then Marlotes, and his captive much did prize,
Above all the wealth of Araby, he was precious in his eyes.
Within his tent at evening he made the best of cheer,
And thus, the banquet done, he spake unto his prisoner.
IV.
"Now, for the sake of Alla, Lord Admiral Guarinos
Be thou a Moslem, and much love shall ever rest between us.
Two daughters have I--all the day thy handmaid one shall be,
The other (and the fairer far) by night shall cherish thee.
V.
"The one shall be thy waiting-maid, thy weary feet to lave,
To scatter perfumes on thy head, and fetch thee garments brave;
The other--she the pretty--shall deck her bridal bower,
And my field and my city they both shall be her dower.
VI.
"If more thou wishest, more I'll give--speak boldly what thy thought is."--
Thus earnestly and kindly to Guarinos said Marlotes;--
But not a moment did he take to ponder or to pause,
Thus clear and quick the answer of the Christian Captain was:
VII.
"Now, God forbid! Marlotes, and Mary, his dear mother,
That I should leave the faith of Christ, and bind me to another.
For women--I've one wife in France, and I'll wed no more in Spain;
I change not faith, I break not vow, for courtesy or gain."--
VIII.
Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when thus he heard him say,
And all for ire commanded, he should be led away;
Away unto the dungeon keep, beneath its vault to lie,
With fetters bound in darkness deep, far off from sun and sky.
IX.
With iron bands they bound his hands. That sore unworthy plight
Might well express his helplessness, doomed never more to fight.
Again, from cincture down to knee, long bolts of iron he bore,
Which signified the knight should ride on charger never more.
X.
Three times alone, in all the year, it is the captive's doom,
To see God's daylight bright and clear, instead of dungeon-gloom;
Three times alone they bring him out, like Samson long ago,
Before the Moorish rabble-rout to be a sport and show.
XI.
On three high feasts they bring him forth, a spectacle to be,
The feast of Pasque, and the great day of the Nativity,
And on that morn, more solemn yet, when the maidens strip the bowers,
And gladden mosque and minaret with the first fruits of the flowers.
XII.
Days come and go of gloom and show. Seven years are come and gone,
And now doth fall the festival of the holy Baptist John;
Christian and Moslem tilts and jousts, to give it homage due;
And rushes on the paths to spread they force the sulky Jew.
XIII.
Marlotes, in his joy and pride, a target high doth rear,
Below the Moorish knights must ride and pierce it with the spear;
But 'tis so high up in the sky, albeit much they strain,
No Moorish lance so far may fly, Marlotes' prize to gain.
XIV.
Wroth waxed King Marlotes, when he beheld them fail,
The whisker trembled on his lip, and his cheek for ire was pale;
And heralds proclamation made, with trumpets, through the town,--
"Nor child shall suck, nor man shall eat, till the mark be tumbled down."
XV.
The cry of proclamation, and the trumpet's haughty sound,
Did send an echo to the vault where the admiral was bound.
"Now, help me God!" the captive cries, "what means this din so loud?
Oh, Queen of Heaven! be vengeance given on these thy haters proud!
XVI.
"O! is it that some Pagan gay doth Marlotes' daughter wed,
And that they bear my scorned fair in triumph to his bed?
Or is it that the day is come--one of the hateful three,
When they, with trumpet, fife, and drum, make heathen game of me?"--
XVII.
These words the jailer chanced to hear, and thus to him he said,
"These tabors, Lord, and trumpets clear, conduct no bride to bed;
Nor has the feast come round again, when he that has the right,
Commands thee forth, thou foe of Spain, to glad the people's sight.
XVIII.
"This is the joyful morning of John the Baptist's day,
When Moor and Christian feasts at home, each in his nation's way;
But now our King commands that none his banquet shall begin,
Until some knight, by strength or sleight, the spearman's prize do win."--
XIX.
Then out and spake Guarinos, "O! soon each man should feed,
Were I but mounted once again on my own gallant steed.
O! were I mounted as of old, and harnessed cap-a-pee,
Full soon Marlotes' prize I'd hold, whate'er its price may be.
XX.
"Give me my horse, mine old grey horse, so be he is not dead,
All gallantly caparisoned, with plate on breast and head,
And give the lance I brought from France, and if I win it not,
My life shall be the forfeiture--I'll yield it on the spot."--
XXI.
The jailer wondered at his words. Thus to the knight said he,
"Seven weary years of chains and gloom have little humbled thee;
There's never a man in Spain, I trow, the like so well might bear;
An' if thou wilt, I with thy vow will to the King repair."--
XXII.
The jailer put his mantle on, and came unto the King,
He found him sitting on the throne, within his listed ring;
Close to his ear he planted him, and the story did begin,
How bold Guarinos vaunted him the spearman's prize to win.
XXIII.
That, were he mounted but once more on his own gallant grey,
And armed with the lance he bore on the Roncesvalles' day,
What never Moorish knight could pierce, he would pierce it at a blow,
Or give with joy his life-blood fierce, at Marlotes' feet to flow.
XXIV.
Much marvelling, then said the King, "Bring Sir Guarinos forth,
And in the Grange go seek ye for his grey steed of worth;
His arms are rusty on the wall--seven years have gone, I judge,
Since that strong horse has bent his force to be a carrion drudge.
XXV.
"Now this will be a sight indeed, to see the enfeebled lord
Essay to mount that ragged steed, and draw that rusty sword;
And for the vaunting of his phrase he well deserves to die,
So, jailer, gird his harness on, and bring your champion nigh."--
XXVI.
They have girded on his shirt of mail, his cuisses well they've clasped,
And they've barred the helm on his visage pale, and his hand the lance
hath clasped,
And they have caught the old grey horse, the horse he loved of yore,
And he stands pawing at the gate--caparisoned once more.
XXVII.
When the knight came out the Moors did shout, and loudly laughed the King,
For the horse he pranced and capered, and furiously did fling;
But Guarinos whispered in his ear, and looked into his face,
Then stood the old charger like a lamb, with a calm and gentle grace.
XXVIII.
O! Lightly did Guarinos vault into the saddle-tree,
And slowly riding down made halt before Marlotes' knee;
Again the heathen laughed aloud--"All hail, Sir Knight," quoth he,
"Now do thy best, thou champion proud. Thy blood I look to see."--
XXIX.
With that Guarinos, lance in rest, against the scoffer rode,
Pierced at one thrust his envious breast, and down his turban trode.
Now ride, now ride, Guarinos--nor lance nor rowel spare--
Slay, slay, and gallop for thy life.--The land of France lies _there_!
THE COMPLAINT OF THE COUNT OF SALDENHA.
This ballad is intended to represent the feelings of Don Sancho, Count
of Saldenha or Saldana, while imprisoned by King Alphonso, and, as he
supposed, neglected and forgotten, both by his wife, or rather mistress,
Donna Ximena, and by his son, the famous Bernardo del Carpio.
I.
The Count Don Sancho Diaz, the Signior of Saldane,
Lies weeping in his prison, for he cannot refrain:--
King Alphonso and his sister, of both doth he complain,
But most of bold Bernardo, the champion of Spain.
II.
"The weary years I durance brook, how many they have been,
When on these hoary hairs I look, may easily be seen;
When they brought me to this castle, my curls were black, I ween,
Woe worth the day! they have grown grey these rueful walls between.
III.
"They tell me my Bernardo is the doughtiest lance in Spain,
But if he were my loyal heir, there's blood in every vein
Whereof the voice his heart would hear--his hand would not gainsay;--
Though the blood of kings be mixed with mine, it would not have
all the sway.
IV.
"Now all the three have scorn of me--unhappy man am I!
They leave me without pity--they leave me here to die.
A stranger's feud, albeit rude, were little dole or care,
But he's my own, both flesh and bone; his scorn is ill to bear.
V.
"From Jailer and from Castellain I hear of hardiment
And chivalry in listed plain on joust and tourney spent;--
I hear of many a battle, in which thy spear is red,
But help from thee comes none to me where I am ill bested.
VI.
"Some villain spot is in thy blood to mar its gentle strain,
Else would it show forth hardihood for him from whom 'twas ta'en;
Thy hope is young, thy heart is strong, but yet a day may be,
When thou shalt weep in dungeon deep, and none thy weeping see."
THE FUNERAL OF THE COUNT OF SALDENHA.
The ballads concerning Bernardo del Carpio are, upon the whole, in
accordance with his history as given in the _Coronica General_.
According to the Chronicle, Bernardo being at last wearied out of all
patience by the cruelty of which his father was the victim, determined
to quit the Court of his King, and seek an alliance among the Moors.
Having fortified himself in the Castle of Carpio, he made continual
incursions into the territory of Leon, pillaging and plundering wherever
he came. The King at length besieged him in his stronghold, but the
defence was so gallant, that there appeared no prospect of success;
whereupon many of the gentlemen in Alphonso's camp entreated the King to
offer Bernardo immediate possession of his father's person, if he would
surrender his castle.
Bernardo at once consented; but the King gave orders to have Count
Sancho Diaz taken off instantly in his prison. "When he was dead they
clothed him in splendid attire, mounted him on horseback, and so led him
towards Salamanca, where his son was expecting his arrival. As they drew
nigh the city, the King and Bernardo rode out to meet them; and when
Bernardo saw his father approaching, he exclaimed,--'O God! is the Count
of Saldana indeed coming?'--'Look where he is,' replied the cruel King;
'and now go and greet him whom you have so long desired to see.'
Bernardo went forward and took his father's hand to kiss it; but when he
felt the dead weight of the hand, and saw the livid face of the corpse,
he cried aloud, and said,--'Ah, Don Sandiaz, in an evil hour didst thou
beget me!--Thou art dead, and I have given my stronghold for thee, and
now I have lost all.'"
I.
All in the centre of the choir Bernardo's knees are bent,
Before him for his murdered sire yawns the old monument.
II.
His kinsmen of the Carpio blood are kneeling at his back,
With knightly friends and vassals good, all garbed in weeds of black.
III.
He comes to make the obsequies of a basely slaughtered man,
And tears are running down from eyes whence ne'er before they ran.
IV.
His head is bowed upon the stone; his heart, albeit full sore,
Is strong as when in days bygone he rode o'er Frank and Moor;
V.
And now between his teeth he mutters, that none his words can hear;
And now the voice of wrath he utters, in curses loud and clear.
VI.
He stoops him o'er his father's shroud, his lips salute the bier;
He communes with the corse aloud, as if none else were near.
VII.
His right hand doth his sword unsheath, his left doth pluck his beard;--
And while his liegemen held their breath, these were the words
they heard:--
VIII.
"Go up, go up, thou blessed ghost, into the arms of God;
Go, fear not lest revenge be lost, when Carpio's blood hath flowed;
IX.
"The steel that drank the blood of France, the arm thy foe that shielded,
Still, Father, thirsts that burning lance, and still thy son can wield it."
BERNARDO AND ALPHONSO.
The incident recorded in this ballad may be supposed to have occurred
immediately after the funeral of the Count of Saldenha. As to what was
the end of the knight's history, we are left almost entirely in the
dark, both by the Chronicle and by the Romancero. It appears to be
intimated, that after his father's death, he once more "took service"
among the Moors, who are represented in several of the ballads as
accustomed to exchange offices of courtesy with Bernardo.
I.
With some good ten of his chosen men, Bernardo hath appeared
Before them all in the palace hall, the lying King to beard;
With cap in hand and eye on ground, he came in reverend guise,
But ever and anon he frowned, and flame broke from his eyes.
II.
"A curse upon thee," cries the King, "who comest unbid to me;
But what from traitor's blood should spring, save traitors like to thee?
His sire, Lords, had a traitor's heart; perchance our Champion brave
Made think it were a pious part to share Don Sancho's grave."
III.
"Whoever told this tale the King hath rashness to repeat,"
Cries Bernard, "here my gage I fling before THE LIAR'S feet!
No treason was in Sancho's blood, no stain in mine doth lie--
Below the throne what knight will own the coward calumny?
IV.
"The blood that I like water shed, when Roland did advance,
By secret traitors hired and led, to make us slaves of France;--
The life of King Alphonso I saved at Roncesval,--
Your words, Lord King, are recompense abundant for it all.
V.
"Your horse was down--your hope was flown--I saw the falchion shine,
That soon had drunk your royal blood, had not I ventured mine;
But memory soon of service done deserteth the ingrate,
And ye've thanked the son for life and crown by the father's bloody fate.
VI.
"Ye swore upon your kingly faith, to set Don Sancho free,
But curse upon your paltering breath, the light he ne'er did see;
He died in dungeon cold and dim, by Alphonso's base decree,
And visage blind, and stiffened limb, were all they gave to me.
VII.
"The King that swerveth from his word hath stained his purple black,
No Spanish Lord will draw the sword behind a Liar's back;
But noble vengeance shall be mine, an open hate I'll show--
The King hath injured Carpio's line, and Bernard is his foe."
VIII.
"Seize--seize him!"--loud the King doth scream--"There are
a thousand here--
Let his foul blood this instant stream--What! Caitiffs, do ye fear?
Seize--seize the traitor!"--But not one to move a finger dareth,--
Bernardo standeth by the throne, and calm his sword he bareth.
IX.
He drew the falchion from the sheath, and held it up on high,
And all the hall was still as death:--cries Bernard, "Here am I,
And here is the sword that owns no lord, excepting heaven and me;
Fain would I know who dares his point--King, Conde, or Grandee."
X.
Then to his mouth the horn he drew--(it hung below his cloak)
His ten true men the signal knew, and through the ring they broke;
With helm on head, and blade in hand, the knights the circle brake,
And back the lordlings 'gan to stand, and the false king to quake.
XI.
"Ha! Bernard," quoth Alphonso, "what means this warlike guise?
Ye know full well I jested--ye know your worth I prize."--
But Bernard turned upon his heel, and smiling passed away--
Long rued Alphonso and his realm the jesting of that day.
PART II.
THE YOUNG CID.
The Ballads in the Collection of Escobar, entitled "Romancero e Historia
del muy valeroso Cavallero El Cid Ruy Diaz de Bivar," are said by Mr.
Southey to be in general possessed of but little merit. Notwithstanding
the opinion of that great scholar and poet, I have had much pleasure in
reading them; and have translated a very few, which may serve, perhaps,
as a sufficient specimen.
The following is a version of that which stands fifth in Escobar:--
Cavalga Diego Laynez al buen Rey besar la mano, &c.
I.
Now rides Diego Laynez, to kiss the good King's hand,
Three hundred men of gentry go with him from his land,
Among them, young Rodrigo, the proud Knight of Bivar;
The rest on mules are mounted, he on his horse of war.
II.
They ride in glittering gowns of soye,--He harnessed like a lord;
There is no gold about the boy, but the crosslet of his sword;
The rest have gloves of sweet perfume,--He gauntlets strong of mail;
They broidered caps and flaunting plume,--He crest untaught to quail.
III.
All talking with each other thus along their way they passed,
But now they've come to Burgos, and met the King at last;
When they came near his nobles, a whisper through them ran,--
"He rides amidst the gentry that slew the Count Lozan."--
IV.
With very haughty gesture Rodrigo reined his horse,
Right scornfully he shouted, when he heard them so discourse,--
"If any of his kinsmen or vassals dare appear,
The man to give them answer, on horse or foot, is here."--
V.
"The devil ask the question!" thus muttered all the band;--
With that they all alighted, to kiss the good King's hand,--
All but the proud Rodrigo, he in his saddle stayed,--
Then turned to him his father (you may hear the words he said).
VI.
"Now, light, my son, I pray thee, and kiss the good King's hand,
He is our lord, Rodrigo; we hold of him our land."--
But when Rodrigo heard him, he looked in sulky sort,--
I wot the words he answered they were both cold and short.
VII.
"Had any other said it, his pains had well been paid,
But thou, sir, art my father, thy word must be obeyed."--
With that he sprung down lightly, before the King to kneel,
But as the knee was bending, out leapt his blade of steel.
VIII.
The King drew back in terror, when he saw the sword was bare;
"Stand back, stand back, Rodrigo, in the devil's name beware,
Your looks bespeak a creature of father Adam's mould,
But in your wild behaviour you're like some lion bold."
IX.
When Rodrigo heard him say so, he leapt into his seat,
And thence he made his answer, with visage nothing sweet,--
"I'd think it little honour to kiss a kingly palm,
And if my fathers kissed it, thereof ashamed I am."--
X.
When he these words had uttered, he turned him from the gate,
His true three hundred gentles behind him followed straight;
If with good gowns they came that day, with better arms they went;
And if their mules behind did stay, with horses they're content.
XIMENA DEMANDS VENGEANCE.
This ballad, the sixth in Escobar, represents Ximena Gomez as, in
person, demanding of the King vengeance for the death of her father,
whom the young Rodrigo de Bivar had fought and slain.
I.
Within the court at Burgos a clamour doth arise,
Of arms on armour clashing, and screams, and shouts, and cries;
The good men of the King, that sit his hall around,
All suddenly upspring, astonished at the sound.
II.
The King leans from his chamber, from the balcony on high--
"What means this furious clamour my palace-porch so nigh?"
But when he looked below him, there were horsemen at the gate,
And the fair Ximena Gomez, kneeling in woeful state.
III.
Upon her neck, disordered, hung down the lady's hair,
And floods of tears were streaming upon her bosom fair.
Sore wept she for her father, the Count that had been slain;
Loud cursed she Rodrigo, whose sword his blood did stain.
IV.
They turned to bold Rodrigo, I wot his cheek was red;--
With haughty wrath he listened to the words Ximena said--
"Good King, I cry for justice. Now, as my voice thou hearest,
So God befriend the children, that in thy land thou rearest.
V.
"The King that doth not justice hath forfeited his claim,
Both to his kingly station, and to his kingly name;
He should not sit at banquet, clad in the royal pall,
Nor should the nobles serve him on knee within the hall.
VI.
"Good King, I am descended from barons bright of old,
That with Castilian pennons, Pelayo did uphold;
But if my strain were lowly, as it is high and clear,
Thou still shouldst prop the feeble, and the afflicted hear.
VII.
"For thee, fierce homicide, draw, draw thy sword once more,
And pierce the breast which wide I spread thy stroke before;
Because I am a woman, my life thou needst not spare,--
I am Ximena Gomez, my slaughtered father's heir.
VIII.
"Since thou hast slain the Knight that did our faith defend,
And still to shameful flight all the Almanzors send,
'Tis but a little matter that I confront thee so,
Come, champion, slay his daughter, she needs must be thy foe."--
IX.
Ximena gazed upon him, but no reply could meet;
His fingers held the bridle; he vaulted to his seat.
She turned her to the nobles, I wot her cry was loud,
But not a man durst follow; slow rode he through the crowd.
THE CID AND THE FIVE MOORISH KINGS.
The reader will find the story of this ballad in Mr. Southey's
"Chronicle of the Cid." "And the Moors entered Castile in great power,
for there came with them five kings," &c. Book I. Sect. 4.
I.
With fire and desolation the Moors are in Castile,
Five Moorish kings together, and all their vassals leal;
They've passed in front of Burgos, through the Oca-Hills they've run,
They've plundered Belforado, San Domingo's harm is done.
II.
In Najara and Lograno there's waste and disarray:--
And now with Christian captives, a very heavy prey,
With many men and women, and boys and girls beside,
In joy and exultation to their own realms they ride.
III.
For neither king nor noble would dare their path to cross,
Until the good Rodrigo heard of this skaith and loss;
In old Bivar the castle he heard the tidings told,
(He was as yet a stripling, not twenty summers old.)
IV.
He mounted Bavieca, his friends he with him took,
He raised the country round him, no more such scorn to brook;
He rode to the hills of Oca, where then the Moormen lay,
He conquered all the Moormen, and took from them their prey.
V.
To every man had mounted he gave his part of gain,
Dispersing the much treasure the Saracens had ta'en;
The Kings were all the booty himself had from the war,
Them led he to the castle, his stronghold of Bivar.
VI.
He brought them to his mother, proud dame that day was she:--
They owned him for their Signior, and then he set them free:
Home went they, much commending Rodrigo of Bivar,
And sent him lordly tribute, from their Moorish realms afar.
THE CID'S COURTSHIP.
See Mr. Southey's "Chronicle of the Cid" (Book I. Sect. V) for this part
of the Cid's story, as given in the General Chronicle of Spain.
I.
Now, of Rodrigo de Bivar great was the fame that run,
How he five Kings had vanquished, proud Moormen every one;
And how, when they consented to hold of him their ground,
He freed them from the prison wherein they had been bound.
II.
To the good King Fernando, in Burgos where he lay,
Came then Ximena Gomez, and thus to him did say:--
"I am Don Gomez' daughter, in Gormaz Count was he;
Him slew Rodrigo of Bivar in battle valiantly.
III.
"Now am I come before you, this day a boon to crave,
And it is that I to husband may this Rodrigo have;
Grant this, and I shall hold me a happy damosell,
Much honoured shall I hold me, I shall be married well.
IV.
"I know he's born for thriving, none like him in the land;
I know that none in battle against his spear may stand;
Forgiveness is well pleasing in God our Saviour's view.
And I forgive him freely, for that my sire he slew."--
V.
Right pleasing to Fernando was the thing she did propose;
He writes his letter swiftly, and forth his foot-page goes;
I wot, when young Rodrigo saw how the King did write,
He leapt on Bavieca--I wot his leap was light.
VI.
With his own troop of true men forthwith he took the way,
Three hundred friends and kinsmen, all gently born were they;
All in one colour mantled, in armour gleaming gay,
New were both scarf and scabbard, when they went forth that day.
VII.
The King came out to meet him, with words of hearty cheer;
Quoth he, "My good Rodrigo, you are right welcome here;
This girl Ximena Gomez would have ye for her lord,
Already for the slaughter her grace she doth accord.
VIII.
"I pray you be consenting, my gladness will be great;
You shall have lands in plenty, to strengthen your estate."--
"Lord King," Rodrigo answers, "in this and all beside
Command, and I'll obey you. The girl shall be my bride."--
IX.
But when the fair Ximena came forth to plight her hand,
Rodrigo, gazing on her, his face could not command:
He stood and blushed before her;--thus at the last said he--
"I slew thy sire, Ximena, but not in villany:--
X.
"In no disguise I slew him, man against man I stood;
There was some wrong between us, and I did shed his blood.
I slew a man, I owe a man; fair lady, by God's grace,
An honoured husband thou shalt have in thy dead father's place."
THE CID'S WEDDING.
The following ballad, which contains some curious traits of rough and
antique manners, is not included in Escobar's Collection. There is one
there descriptive of the same event, but apparently executed by a much
more modern hand.
I.
Within his hall of Burgos the King prepares the feast:
He makes his preparation for many a noble guest.
It is a joyful city, it is a gallant day,
'Tis the Campeador's wedding, and who will bide away?
II.
Layn Calvo, the Lord Bishop, he first comes forth the gate,
Behind him comes Ruy Diaz, in all his bridal state;
The crowd makes way before them as up the street they go;--
For the multitude of people their steps must needs be slow.
III.
The King had taken order that they should rear an arch,
From house to house all over, in the way where they must march;
They have hung it all with lances, and shields, and glittering helms,
Brought by the Campeador from out the Moorish realms.
IV.
They have scattered olive branches and rushes on the street,
And the ladies fling down garlands at the Campeador's feet;
With tapestry and broidery their balconies between,
To do his bridal honour, their walls the burghers screen.
V.
They lead the bulls before them all covered o'er with trappings;
The little boys pursue them with hootings and with clappings;
The fool, with cap and bladder, upon his ass goes prancing,
Amidst troops of captive maidens with bells and cymbals dancing.
VI.
With antics and with fooleries, with shouting and with laughter,
They fill the streets of Burgos--and The Devil he comes after,
For the King has hired the horned fiend for sixteen maravedis,
And there he goes, with hoofs for toes, to terrify the ladies.
VII.
Then comes the bride Ximena--the King he holds her hand;
And the Queen, and, all in fur and pall, the nobles of the land;
All down the street the ears of wheat are round Ximena flying,
But the King lifts off her bosom sweet whatever there is lying.
VIII.
Quoth Suero, when he saw it, (his thought you understand,)
"'Tis a fine thing to be a King; but Heaven make me a Hand!"
The King was very merry, when he was told of this,
And swore the bride ere eventide, must give the boy a kiss.
IX.
The King went always talking, but she held down her head,
And seldom gave an answer to anything he said;
It was better to be silent, among such a crowd of folk,
Than utter words so meaningless as she did when she spoke.
THE CID AND THE LEPER.
Like our own Robert the Bruce, the great Spanish hero is represented as
exhibiting, on many occasions, great gentleness of disposition and
compassion. But while old Barbour is contented with such simple
anecdotes as that of a poor laundress being suddenly taken ill with the
pains of childbirth, and the king stopping the march of his army rather
than leave her unprotected, the minstrels of Spain, never losing an
opportunity of gratifying the superstitious propensities of their
audience, are sure to let no similar incident in their champion's
history pass without a miracle.
I.
He has ta'en some twenty gentlemen, along with him to go,
For he will pay that ancient vow he to Saint James doth owe;
To Compostella, where the shrine doth by the altar stand,
The good Rodrigo de Bivar is riding through the land.
II.
Where'er he goes, much alms he throws, to feeble folk and poor;
Beside the way for him they pray, him blessings to procure;
For, God and Mary Mother, their heavenly grace to win,
His hand was ever bountiful: great was his joy therein.
III.
And there, in middle of the path, a leper did appear;
In a deep slough the leper lay, none would to help come near.
With a loud voice he thence did cry, "For God our Saviour's sake,
From out this fearful jeopardy a Christian brother take."--
IV.
When Roderick heard that piteous word, he from his horse came down;
For all they said, no stay he made, that noble champion;
He reached his hand to pluck him forth, of fear was no account,
Then mounted on his steed of worth, and made the leper mount.
V.
Behind him rode the leprous man; when to their hostelrie
They came, he made him eat with him at table cheerfully;
While all the rest from that poor guest with loathing shrunk away,
To his own bed the wretch he led, beside him there he lay.
VI.
All at the mid-hour of the night, while good Rodrigo slept,
A breath came from the leprous man, it through his shoulders crept;
Right through the body, at the breast, passed forth that breathing cold;
I wot he leaped up with a start, in terrors manifold.
VII.
He groped for him in the bed, but him he could not find,
Through the dark chamber groped he, with very anxious mind;
Loudly he lifted up his voice, with speed a lamp was brought,
Yet nowhere was the leper seen, though far and near they sought.
VIII.
He turned him to his chamber, God wot, perplexed sore
With that which had befallen--when lo! his face before,
There stood a man, all clothed in vesture shining white:
Thus said the vision, "Sleepest thou, or wakest thou, Sir Knight?"--
IX.
"I sleep not," quoth Rodrigo; "but tell me who art thou,
For, in the midst of darkness, much light is on thy brow?"--
"I am the holy Lazarus, I come to speak with thee;
I am the same poor leper thou savedst for charity.
X.
"Not vain the trial, nor in vain thy victory hath been;
God favours thee, for that my pain thou didst relieve yestreen.
There shall be honour with thee, in battle and in peace,
Success in all thy doings, and plentiful increase.
XI.
"Strong enemies shall not prevail, thy greatness to undo;
Thy name shall make men's cheeks full pale--Christians and Moslem too;
A death of honour shalt thou die, such grace to thee is given,
Thy soul shall part victoriously, and be received in heaven."--
XII.
When he these gracious words had said, the spirit vanished quite,
Rodrigo rose and knelt him down--he knelt till morning light;
Unto the Heavenly Father, and Mary Mother dear,
He made his prayer right humbly, till dawned the morning clear.
BAVIECA.
Montaigne, in his curious Essay, entitled "Des Destriers," says that all
the world knows everything about Bucephalus. The name of the favourite
charger of the Cid Ruy Diaz, is scarcely less celebrated. Notice is
taken of him in almost every one of the hundred ballads concerning the
history of his master,--and there are two or three of these, of which
the horse is more truly the hero than his rider. In one of these ballads,
the Cid is giving directions about his funeral; he desires that they
shall place his body "in full armour upon Bavieca," and so conduct him
to the church of San Pedro de Cardena. This was done accordingly; and,
says another ballad--
Truxeron pues a Babieca;
Y en mirandole se puso
Tan triste como si fuera
Mas rasonable que bruto.
In the Cid's last will, mention is also made of this noble charger.
"When ye bury Bavieca, dig deep," says Ruy Diaz; "for shameful thing
were it, that he should be eat by curs, who hath trampled down so much
currish flesh of Moors."
I.
The King looked on him kindly, as on a vassal true;
Then to the King Ruy Diaz spake after reverence due,--
"O King, the thing is shameful, that any man beside
The liege lord of Castile himself should Bavieca ride:
II.
"For neither Spain nor Araby could another charger bring
So good as he, and certes, the best befits my King.
But that you may behold him, and know him to the core,
I'll make him go as he was wont when his nostrils smelt the Moor."--
III.
With that, the Cid, clad as he was in mantle furred and wide,
On Bavieca vaulting, put the rowel in his side;
And up and down, and round and round, so fierce was his career,
Streamed like a pennon on the wind Ruy Diaz' minivere.
IV.
And all that saw them praised them--they lauded man and horse,
As matched well, and rivalless for gallantry and force;
Ne'er had they looked on horseman might to this knight come near,
Nor on other charger worthy of such a cavalier.
V.
Thus, to and fro a-rushing the fierce and furious steed,
He snapt in twain his hither rein:--"God pity now the Cid."
"God pity Diaz," cried the Lords,--but when they looked again,
They saw Ruy Diaz ruling him, with the fragment of his rein;
They saw him proudly ruling with gesture firm and calm,
Like a true lord commanding--and obeyed as by a lamb.
VI.
And so he led him foaming and panting to the King,
But "No," said Don Alphonso, "it were a shameful thing
That peerless Bavieca should ever be bestrid
By any mortal but Bivar--Mount, mount again, my Cid."
THE EXCOMMUNICATION OF THE CID.
The last specimen I shall give of the Cid-ballad, is one the subject of
which is evidently of the most apocryphal cast. It is, however, so far
as I recollect, the only one of all that immense collection that is
quoted or alluded to in Don Quixote. "Sancho," cried Don Quixote, "I am
afraid of being excommunicated for having laid violent hands upon a man
in holy orders, _Juxta illud; si quis suadente diabolo_, &c. But yet, now
I think on it, I never touched him with my hands, but only with my
lance; besides, I did not in the least suspect I had to do with priests,
whom I honour and revere as every good Catholic and faithful Christian
ought to do, but rather took them to be evil spirits. Well, let the
worst come to the worst, I remember what befel the Cid Ruy Diaz, when he
broke to pieces the chair of a king's ambassador in the Pope's presence,
for which he was excommunicated; which did not hinder the worthy Rodrigo
de Bivar from behaving himself that day like a valorous knight, and a
man of honour."
I.
It was when from Spain across the main the Cid had come to Rome,
He chanced to see chairs four and three beneath Saint Peter's dome.
"Now tell, I pray, what chairs be they;"--"Seven kings do sit thereon,
As well doth suit, all at the foot of the holy Father's throne."
II.
"The Pope he sitteth above them all, that they may kiss his toe,
Below the keys the Flower-de-lys doth make a gallant show:
For his great puissance, the King of France next to the Pope may sit,
The rest more low, all in a row, as doth their station fit."--
III.
"Ha!" quoth the Cid, "now God forbid! it is a shame, I wiss,
To see the Castle[5] planted beneath the Flower-de-lys.[6]
No harm, I hope, good Father Pope--although I move thy chair."
--In pieces small he kicked it all, ('twas of the ivory fair).
IV.
The Pope's own seat he from his feet did kick it far away,
And the Spanish chair he planted upon its place that day;
Above them all he planted it, and laughed right bitterly;
Looks sour and bad I trow he had, as grim as grim might be.
V.
Now when the Pope was aware of this, he was an angry man,
His lips that night, with solemn rite, pronounced the awful ban;
The curse of God, who died on rood, was on that sinner's head--
To hell and woe man's soul must go if once that curse be said.
VI.
I wot, when the Cid was aware of this, a woful man was he,
At dawn of day he came to pray at the blessed Father's knee:
"Absolve me, blessed Father, have pity upon me,
Absolve my soul, and penance I for my sin will dree."--
VII.
"Who is this sinner," quoth the Pope, "that at my foot doth kneel?"
--"I am Rodrigo Diaz--a poor Baron of Castile."--
Much marvelled all were in the hall, when that name they heard him say,
--"Rise up, rise up," the Pope he said, "I do thy guilt away;--
VIII.
"I do thy guilt away," he said--"and my curse I blot it out--
God save Rodrigo Diaz, my Christian champion stout;--
I trow, if I had known thee, my grief it had been sore,
To curse Ruy Diaz de Bivar, God's scourge upon the Moor."
PART III.
COUNT ALARCOS AND THE INFANTA SOLISA.
Mr. Bouterweck has analyzed this ballad, and commented upon it at some
length, in his History of Spanish Literature. See Book I, Section 1.
He bestows particular praise upon a passage, which the reader will find
attempted in the fourth line of stanza xxxi. of the following version--
Dedes me aca este hijo amamare por despedida.
"What modern poet," says he, "would have dared to imagine that _trait_,
at once so natural and touching?"
Mr. Bouterweck seems to be of opinion that the story of the ballad had
been taken from some prose romance of chivalry; but I have not been able
to find any trace of it.
I.
Alone, as was her wont, she sate,--within her bower alone;--
Alone, and very desolate, Solisa made her moan,
Lamenting for her flower of life, that it should pass away,
And she be never wooed to wife, nor see a bridal day.
II.
Thus said the sad Infanta--"I will not hide my grief,
I'll tell my father of my wrong, and he will yield relief."--
The King, when he beheld her near, "Alas! my child," said he,
"What means this melancholy cheer?--reveal thy grief to me."--
III.
"Good King," she said, "my mother was buried long ago,
She left me to thy keeping, none else my griefs shall know;
I fain would have a husband, 'tis time that I should wed,--
Forgive the words I utter, with mickle shame they're said."--
IV.
'Twas thus the King made answer,--"This fault is none of mine,
You to the Prince of Hungary your ear would not incline;
Yet round us here where lives your peer?--nay, name him if you can,--
Except the Count Alarcos, and he's a married man."--
V.
"Ask Count Alarcos, if of yore his word he did not plight
To be my husband evermore, and love me day and night?
If he has bound him in new vows, old oaths he cannot break--
Alas! I've lost a loyal spouse, for a false lover's sake."--
VI.
The good King sat confounded in silence for some space,
At length he made this answer, with very troubled face,--
"It was not thus your mother gave counsel you should do;
You've done much wrong, my daughter; we're shamed, both I and you.
VII.
"If it be true that you have said, our honour's lost and gone;
And while the Countess is in life, remeed for us is none.
Though justice were upon our side, ill-talkers would not spare--
Speak, daughter, for your mother's dead, whose counsel eased my care."
VIII.
"How can I give you counsel?--but little wit have I;
But certes, Count Alarcos may make this Countess die;
Let it be noised that sickness cut short her tender life,
And then let Count Alarcos come and ask me for his wife.
What passed between us long ago, of that be nothing said;
Thus none shall our dishonour know, in honour I shall wed."--
IX.
The Count was standing with his friends, thus in the midst he spake--
"What fools we be! what pains men dree for a fair woman's sake!
I loved a fair one long ago;--though I'm a married man,
Sad memory I can ne'er forego, how life and love began."--
X.
While yet the Count was speaking, the good King came full near;
He made his salutation with very courteous cheer.
"Come hither, Count Alarcos, and dine with me this day,
For I have something secret I in your ear must say."--
XI.
The King came from the chapel, when he had heard the mass;
With him the Count Alarcos did to his chamber pass;
Full nobly were they served there, by pages many a one;
When all were gone, and they alone, 'twas thus the King begun.--
XII.
"What news be these, Alarcos, that you your word did plight,
To be a husband to my child, and love her day and night?
If more between you there did pass, yourself may know the truth,
But shamed is my grey-head--alas!--and scorned Solisa's youth.
XIII.
"I have a heavy word to speak--a lady fair doth lie
Within my daughter's rightful place, and certes! she must die--
Let it be noised that sickness cut short her tender life,
Then come and woo my daughter, and she shall be your wife:--
What passed between you long ago, of that be nothing said,
Thus, none shall my dishonour know--in honour you shall wed."
XIV.
Thus spake the Count Alarcos--"The truth I'll not deny,
I to the Infanta gave my troth, and broke it shamefully;
I feared my King would ne'er consent to give me his fair daughter;
But, oh! spare her that's innocent--avoid that sinful slaughter."--
XV.
"She dies, she dies," the King replies; "from thine own sin it springs,
If guiltless blood must wash the blot which stains the blood of kings:
Ere morning dawn her life must end, and thine must be the deed,
Else thou on shameful block must bend: thereof is no remeed."
XVI.
"Good King, my hand thou mayst command, else treason blots my name!
I'll take the life of my dear wife--(God! mine be not the blame!)
Alas! that young and sinless heart for others' sin should bleed!
Good King, in sorrow I depart."----"May God your errand speed!"--
XVII.
In sorrow he departed, dejectedly he rode
The weary journey from that place, unto his own abode;
He grieved for his fair Countess, dear as his life was she;
Sore grieved he for that lady, and for his children three.
XVIII.
The one was yet an infant upon its mother's breast,
For though it had three nurses, it liked her milk the best;
The others were young children, that had but little wit,
Hanging about their mother's knee while nursing she did sit.
XIX.
"Alas!" he said, when he had come within a little space,
"How shall I brook the cheerful look of my kind lady's face?
To see her coming forth in glee to meet me in my hall,
When she so soon a corpse must be, and I the cause of all!"
XX.
Just then he saw her at the door with all her babes appear--
(The little page had run before to tell his lord was near)
"Now welcome home, my lord, my life!--Alas! you droop your head
Tell, Count Alarcos, tell your wife, what makes your eyes so red?"--
XXI.
"I'll tell you all--I'll tell you all: It is not yet the hour;
We'll sup together in the hall--I'll tell you in your bower."
The lady brought forth what she had, and down beside him sate;
He sat beside her pale and sad, but neither drank nor ate.
XXII.
The children to his side were led (he loved to have them so),
Then on the board he laid his head, and out his tears did flow:--
"I fain would sleep--I fain would sleep,"--the Count Alarcos said:--
Alas! be sure, that sleep was none that night within their bed.
XXIII.
They came together to the bower where they were used to rest,
None with them but the little babe that was upon the breast:
The Count had barred the chamber doors, they ne'er were barred till then;
"Unhappy lady," he began, "and I most lost of men!"
XXIV.
"Now, speak not so, my noble lord, my husband and my life,
Unhappy never can she be, that is Alarcos' wife."--
"Alas! unhappy lady, 'tis but little that you know,
For in that very word you've said is gathered all your woe.
XXV.
"Long since I loved a lady,--long since I oaths did plight,
To be that lady's husband, to love her day and night;
Her father is our lord the King, to him the thing is known,
And now, that I the news should bring! she claims me for her own.
XXVI.
"Alas! my love, alas! my life, the right is on their side;
Ere I had seen your face, sweet wife, she was betrothed my bride;
But, oh! that I should speak the word--since in her place you lie,
It is the bidding of our Lord, that you this night must die."--
XXVII.
"Are these the wages of my love, so lowly and so leal?--
O, kill me not, thou noble Count, when at thy foot I kneel!--
But send me to my father's house, where once I dwelt in glee,
There will I live a lone chaste life, and rear my children three."--
XXVIII.
"It may not be--mine oath is strong--ere dawn of day you die!"--
"O! well 'tis seen how all alone upon the earth am I--
My father is an old frail man,--my mother's in her grave,--
And dead is stout Don Garcia--Alas! my brother brave!
XXIX.
"'Twas at this coward King's command they slew my brother dear,
And now I'm helpless in the land:--It is not death I fear,
But loth, loth am I to depart, and leave my children so--
Now let me lay them to my heart, and kiss them ere I go."--
XXX.
"Kiss him that lies upon thy breast--the rest thou mayst not see."--
"I fain would say an Ave."--"Then say it speedily."--
She knelt her down upon her knee: "O Lord! behold my case--
Judge not my deeds, but look on me in pity and great grace."--
XXXI.
When she had made her orison, up from her knees she rose--
"Be kind, Alarcos, to our babes, and pray for my repose--
And now give me my boy once more upon my breast to hold,
That he may drink one farewell drink, before my breast be cold."--
XXXII.
"Why would you waken the poor child? you see he is asleep--
Prepare, dear wife, there is no time, the dawn begins to peep."--
"Now hear me, Count Alarcos! I give thee pardon free--
I pardon thee for the love's sake wherewith I've loved thee.
XXXIII.
"But they have not my pardon, the King and his proud daughter--
The curse of God be on them, for this unchristian slaughter!--
I charge them with my dying breath, ere thirty days be gone,
To meet me in the realm of death, and at God's awful throne!"--
XXXIV.
He drew a kerchief round her neck, he drew it tight and strong,
Until she lay quite stiff and cold her chamber floor along;
He laid her then within the sheets, and, kneeling by her side,
To God and Mary Mother in misery he cried.
XXXV.
Then called he for his esquires:--oh! deep was their dismay,
When they into the chamber came, and saw her how she lay;--
Thus died she in her innocence, a lady void of wrong,
But God took heed of their offence--his vengeance stayed not long.
XXXVI.
Within twelve days, in pain and dole, the Infanta passed away,
The cruel King gave up his soul upon the twentieth day;
Alarcos followed ere the Moon had made her round complete.--
Three guilty spirits stood right soon before God's judgment-seat.
TALES FROM THE
GESTA ROMANORUM.
CONTENTS.
I.--THE EIGHT PENNIES 103
II.--THE THREE TRUTHS 105
III.--THE HUSBAND OF AGLAES 106
IV.--THE THREE CASKETS 111
V.--THE THREE CAKES 116
VI.--THE HERMIT 118
VII.--THE LOST FOOT 121
VIII.--PLACIDUS 122
IX.--DEAD ALEXANDER 131
X.--THE TREE OF PALETINUS 132
XI.--HUNGRY FLIES 132
XII.--THE HUMBLING OF JOVINIAN 133
XIII.--THE TWO PHYSICIANS 139
XIV.--THE FALCON 141
XV.--LET THE LAZIEST BE KING 142
XVI.--THE THREE MAXIMS 143
XVII.--A LOAF FOR A DREAM 146
XVIII.--LOWER THAN THE BEASTS 148
XIX.--OF REAL FRIENDSHIP 151
XX.--ROYAL BOUNTY 152
XXI.--WILY BEGUILED 153
XXII.--THE BASILISK 155
XXIII.--THE TRUMP OF DEATH 155
XXIV.--ALEXANDER AND THE PIRATE 157
XXV.--A TALE OF A PENNY 158
XXVI.--OF AVOIDING IMPRECATIONS 159
XXVII.--A VERSE EXERCISE 161
XXVIII.--BRED IN THE BONE 164
XXIX.--FULGENTIUS 167
XXX.--VENGEANCE DEFERRED 173
I.--THE EIGHT PENNIES.
When Titus was Emperor of Rome, he made a decree that the natal day of
his first-born son should be held sacred, and that whosoever violated it
by any kind of labour should be put to death. Then he called Virgil to
him, and said, "Good friend, I have made a certain law; we desire you to
frame some curious piece of art which may reveal to us every transgressor
of the law." Virgil constructed a magic statue, and caused it to be set
up in the midst of the city. By virtue of the secret powers with which
it was invested, it told the emperor whatever was done amiss. And thus
by the accusation of the statue, an infinite number of persons were
convicted and punished.
Now there was a certain carpenter, called Focus, who pursued his
occupation every day alike. Once, as he lay in bed, his thoughts turned
upon the accusations of the statue, and the multitudes which it had
caused to perish. In the morning he clothed himself, and proceeded to
the statue, which he addressed in the following manner: "O statue!
statue! because of thy informations, many of our citizens have been
taken and slain. I vow to my God, that if thou accusest _me_, I will
break thy head." Having so said, he returned home.
About the first hour, the emperor, as he was wont, despatched sundry
messengers to the statue, to inquire if the edict had been strictly
complied with. After they had arrived, and delivered the emperors
pleasure, the statue exclaimed: "Friends, look up; what see ye written
upon my forehead?" They looked, and beheld three sentences which ran
thus: "TIMES ARE ALTERED. MEN GROW WORSE. HE WHO SPEAKS TRUTH HAS HIS
HEAD BROKEN." "Go," said the statue, "declare to his majesty what you
have seen and read." The messengers obeyed, and detailed the
circumstances as they had happened.
The emperor therefore commanded his guard to arm, and march to the place
on which the statue was erected; and he further ordered, that if any one
presumed to molest it, they should bind him hand and foot, and drag him
into his presence.
The soldiers approached the statue and said, "Our emperor wills you to
declare the name of the scoundrel who threatens you."
The statue made answer, "It is Focus the carpenter. Every day he
violates the law, and, moreover, menaces me with a broken head, if I
expose him."
Immediately Focus was apprehended, and conducted to the emperor, who
said, "Friend, what do I hear of thee? Why hast thou broken my law?"
"My lord," answered Focus, "I cannot keep it; for I am obliged to obtain
every day eight pennies, which, without incessant work, I have not the
means of getting."
"And why eight pennies?" said the emperor.
"Every day through the year," returned the carpenter, "I am bound to
repay two pennies which I borrowed in my youth; two I lend; two I lose;
and two I spend."
"For what reason do you this?" asked the emperor.
"My lord," he replied, "listen to me. I am bound each day to repay two
pennies to my father; for, when I was a boy, my father expended upon me
daily the like sum. Now he is poor, and needs my assistance, and
therefore I return what I borrowed formerly. Two other pennies I lend to
my son, who is pursuing his studies; in order, that if by any chance I
should fall into poverty, he may restore the loan, just as I have done
to his grandfather. Again, I lose two pennies every day on my wife; for
she is contradictious, wilful, and passionate. Now, because of this
disposition, I account whatsoever is given to her entirely lost. Lastly,
two other pennies I expend upon myself in meat and drink. I cannot do
with less, nor can I earn them without unremitting labour. You now know
the truth; and, I pray you, judge dispassionately and truly."
"Friend," said the emperor, "thou hast answered well. Go, and labour
earnestly in thy calling."
Soon after this the emperor died, and Focus the carpenter, on account of
his singular wisdom, was elected in his stead by the unanimous choice of
the whole nation. He governed as wisely as he had lived; and at his
death, his picture, bearing on the head eight pennies, was reposited
among the effigies of the deceased emperors.
II.--THE THREE TRUTHS.
A certain king, named Asmodeus, established an ordinance, by which every
malefactor taken and brought before the judge, should distinctly declare
three truths, against which no exception could be taken, or else be
hanged. If, however, he did this, his life and property should be safe.
It chanced that a certain soldier transgressed the law and fled. He hid
himself in a forest, and there committed many atrocities, despoiling
and slaying whomsoever he could lay his hands upon. When the judge
of the district ascertained his haunt, he ordered the forest to be
surrounded, and the soldier to be seized, and brought bound to the seat
of judgment.
"You know the law," said the judge.
"I do," returned the other. "If I declare three unquestionable truths I
shall be free; but if not, I must die."
"True," replied the judge; "take then advantage of the law's clemency,
or undergo the punishment it awards without delay."
"Cause silence to be kept," said the soldier undauntedly.
His wish being complied with, he proceeded in the following manner: "The
first truth is this. I protest before ye all, that from my youth up, I
have been a bad man."
The judge, hearing this, said to the bystanders, "He says true?" They
answered: "Else he had not now been in this situation." "Go on, then,"
said the judge. "What is the second truth?"
"I like not," exclaimed he, "the dangerous situation in which I stand."
"Certainly," said the judge, "we may credit thee. Now then for the third
truth, and thou hast saved thy life."
"Why," he replied, "if I once get out of this confounded place, I will
never willingly re-enter it."
"Amen," said the judge, "thy wit hath preserved thee; go in peace." And
thus he was saved.
III.--THE HUSBAND OF AGLAES.
In Rome some time dwelt a mighty emperor named Philominus, who had one
only daughter, who was fair and gracious in the sight of every man, who
had to name Aglaes. There was also in the emperor's palace a gentle
knight that loved dearly this lady. It befell after on a day, that this
knight talked with this lady, and secretly uttered his desire to her.
Then she said courteously, "Seeing you have uttered to me the secrets of
your heart, I will likewise for your love utter to you the secrets of my
heart: and truly I say, that above all other I love you best." Then said
the knight, "I purpose to visit the Holy Land, and therefore give me
your troth, that this seven years you shall take no other man, but only
for my love to tarry for me so long, and if I come not again by this day
seven years, then take what man you like best. And likewise I promise
you that within this seven years I will take no wife." Then said she,
"This covenant pleaseth me well." When this was said, each of them was
betrothed to other, and then this knight took his leave of the lady, and
went to the Holy Land.
Shortly after the emperor treated with the king of Hungary for the
marriage of his daughter. Then came the king of Hungary to the emperor's
palace, and when he had seen his daughter, he liked marvellous well her
beauty and her behaviour, so that the emperor and the king were accorded
in all things as touching the marriage, upon the condition that the
damsel would consent. Then called the emperor the young lady to him, and
said, "O, my fair daughter, I have provided for thee, that a king shall
be thy husband, if thou list consent; therefore tell me what answer thou
wilt give to this." Then said she to her father, "It pleaseth me well;
but one thing, dear father, I entreat of you, if it might please you to
grant me: I have vowed to keep my virginity, and not to marry these
seven years; therefore, dear father, I beseech you for all the love that
is between your gracious fatherhood and me, that you name no man to be
my husband till these seven years be ended, and then I shall be ready in
all things to fulfil your will." Then said the emperor, "Sith it is so
that thou hast thus vowed, I will not break thy vow; but when these
seven years be expired, thou shalt have the king of Hungary to thy
husband."
Then the emperor sent forth his letters to the king of Hungary, praying
him if it might please him to stay seven years for the love of his
daughter, and then he should speed without fail. Herewith the king was
pleased and content to stay the prefixed day.
And when the seven years were ended, save a day, the young lady stood in
her chamber window, and wept sore, saying, "Woe and alas, as to-morrow
my love promised to be with me again from the Holy Land; and also the
king of Hungary to-morrow will be here to marry me, according to my
father's promise; and if my love comes not at a certain hour, then am I
utterly deceived of the inward love I bear to him."
When the day came, the king hasted toward the emperor, to marry his
daughter, and was royally arrayed in purple. And while the king was
riding on his way, there came a knight riding on his way, who said, "I
am of the empire of Rome, and now am lately come from the Holy Land, and
I am ready to do you the best service I can." And as they rode talking
by the way, it began to rain so fast that all the king's apparel was
sore wet. Then said the knight, "My lord, ye have done foolishly, for as
much as ye brought not with you your house." Then said the king: "Why
speakest thou so? My house is large and broad, and made of stones and
mortar, how should I bring then with me my house? Thou speakest like a
fool." When this was said, they rode on till they came to a great deep
water, and the king smote his horse with his spurs, and leapt into the
water, so that he was almost drowned. When the knight saw this, and was
over on the other side of the water without peril, he said to the king,
"Ye were in peril, and therefore ye did foolishly, because ye brought
not with you your bridge." Then said the king, "Thou speakest strangely:
my bridge is made of lime and stone, and containeth in quality more
than half a mile; how should I then bear with me my bridge? therefore
thou speakest foolishly." "Well," said the knight, "my foolishness may
turn you to wisdom." When the king had ridden a little further, he asked
the knight what time of day it was. Then said the knight, "If any man
hath list to eat, it is time of the day to eat. Wherefore, my lord, pray
take a _modicum_ with me, for that is no dishonour to you, but great
honour to me before the states of this empire." Then said the king, "I
will gladly eat with thee." They sat both down in a fair vine garden,
and there dined together, both the king and the knight. And when dinner
was done, and that the king had washed, the knight said unto the king,
"My lord, ye have done foolishly, for that ye brought not with you your
father and mother." Then said the king, "What sayest thou? My father is
dead, and my mother is old, and may not travel; how should I then bring
them with me? Therefore, to say the truth, a foolisher man than thou art
did I never hear." Then said the knight, "Every work is praised at the
end."
When the knight had ridden a little further, and nigh to the emperor's
palace, he asked leave to go from him; for he knew a nearer way to the
palace, to the young lady, that he might come first, and carry her away
with him. Then said the king, "I pray thee tell me by what place thou
purposest to ride?" Then said the knight, "I shall tell you the truth.
This day seven years I left a net in a place, and now I purpose to visit
it, and draw it to me, and if it be whole, then will I take it to me,
and keep it as a precious jewel; if it be broken, then will I leave it."
And when he had thus said, he took his leave of the king, and rode
forth; but the king kept the broad highway.
When the emperor heard of the king's coming, he went towards him with a
great company, and royally received him, causing him to shift his wet
clothes, and to put on fresh apparel. And when the emperor and the king
were set at meat, the emperor welcomed him with all the cheer and
solace that he could. And when he had eaten, the emperor asked tidings
of the king. "My lord," said he, "I shall tell you what I have heard
this day by the way: there came a knight to me, and reverently saluted
me; and anon after there fell a great rain, and greatly spoiled my
apparel. And anon the knight said, 'Sir, ye have done foolishly, for
that ye brought not with you your house.'" Then said the emperor, "What
clothing had the knight on?" "A cloak," quoth the king. Then said the
emperor, "Sure that was a wise man, for the house whereof he spake was a
cloak, and therefore he said to you that you did foolishly, because had
you come with your cloak, then your clothes had not been spoiled with
rain." Then said the king, "When he had ridden a little further, we came
to a deep water, and I smote my horse with my spurs, and I was almost
drowned, but he rid through the water without any peril. Then said he to
me, 'You did foolishly, for that you brought not with you your bridge.'"
"Verily," said the emperor, "he said truth, for he called the squires
the bridge, that should have ridden before you, and assayed the deepness
of the water." Then said the king, "We rode further, and at the last he
prayed me to dine with him. And when he had dined, he said, I did
unwisely, because I brought not with me my father and mother." "Truly,"
said the emperor, "he was a wise man, and saith wisely: for he called
your father and mother, bread and wine, and other victual." Then said
the king, "We rode further, and anon after he asked me leave to go from
me, and I asked earnestly whither he went; and he answered again, and
said, 'This day seven years I left a net in a private place, and now I
will ride to see it; and if it be broken and torn, then will I leave it,
but if it be as I left it, then shall it be unto me right precious.'"
When the emperor heard this, he cried with a loud voice, and said, "O
ye my knights and servants, come ye with me speedily unto my daughter's
chamber, for surely that is the net of which he spake." And forthwith
his knights and servants went unto his daughter's chamber, and found her
not, for the aforesaid knight had taken her with him. And thus the king
was deceived of the damsel, and he went home again to his own country
ashamed.
IV.--THE THREE CASKETS.
Some time dwelt in Rome a mighty emperor, named Anselm, who had married
the king's daughter of Jerusalem, a fair lady, and gracious in the sight
of every man, but she was long time with the emperor ere she bare him
any child; wherefore the nobles of the empire were very sorrowful,
because their lord had no heir of his own body begotten: till at last it
befell, that this Anselm walked after supper, in an evening, into his
garden, and bethought himself that he had no heir, and how the king of
Ampluy warred on him continually, for so much as he had no son to make
defence in his absence; therefore he was sorrowful, and went to his
chamber and slept. Then he thought he saw a vision in his sleep, that
the morning was more clear than it was wont to be, and that the moon was
much paler on the one side than on the other. And after he saw a bird of
two colours, and by that bird stood two beasts, which fed that little
bird with their heat. And after that came more beasts, and bowing their
breasts toward the bird, went their way. Then came there divers birds
that sung sweetly and pleasantly: with that the emperor awaked.
In the morning early this Anselm remembered his vision, and wondered
much what it might signify; wherefore he called to him his philosophers,
and all the states of the empire, and told them his dream, charging them
to tell him the signification thereof on pain of death, and if they
told him the true interpretation thereof, he promised them good reward.
Then said they, "Dear lord, tell us your dream, and we shall declare to
you what it betokens." Then the emperor told them from the beginning to
the ending, as is aforesaid. When the philosophers heard this, with glad
cheer they answered, and said, "Sir, the vision that you saw betokeneth
good, for the empire shall be clearer than it is.
"The moon that is more pale on the one side than on the other, betokeneth
the empress, that hath lost part of her colour, through the conception
of a son that she hath conceived. The little bird betokeneth the son
that she shall bare. The two beasts that fed this bird betoken the wise
and rich men of the empire which shall obey the son. These other beasts
that bowed their breasts to the bird betoken many other nations that
shall do him homage. The bird that sang so sweetly to this little bird
betokeneth the Romans, who shall rejoice and sing because of his birth.
This is the very interpretation of your dream."
When the emperor heard this, he was right joyful. Soon after that, the
empress travailed in childbirth, and was delivered of a fair son, at
whose birth there was great and wonderful joy made.
When the king of Ampluy heard this, he thought in himself thus: "Lo, I
have warred against the emperor all the days of my life, and now he hath
a son who, when he cometh to full age, will revenge the wrong I have
done against his father; therefore it is better that I send to the
emperor and beseech him of truce and peace, that the son may have
nothing against me when he cometh to manhood." When he had thus said to
himself, he wrote to the emperor, beseeching him to have peace. When the
emperor saw that the king of Ampluy wrote to him more for fear than for
love, he wrote again to him, that if he would find good and sufficient
sureties to keep the peace, and bind himself all the days of his life to
do him service and homage, he would receive him to peace.
When the king had read the tenor of the emperor's letter, he called his
council, praying them to give him counsel how he best might do, as
touching this matter. Then said they, "It is good that ye obey the
emperor's will and commandment in all things. For first, in that he
desired of you surety for the peace; to this we answer thus: Ye have but
one daughter, and the emperor one son, wherefore let a marriage be made
between them, and that may be a perpetual covenant of peace. Also he
asketh homage and tribute, which it is good to fulfil." Then the king
sent his messengers to the emperor, saying, that he would fulfil his
desire in all things, if it might please his highness that his son and
the king's daughter might be married together. All this well pleased the
emperor, yet he sent again, saying, "If his daughter were a pure maid
from her birth unto that day, he would consent to that marriage." Then
was the king right glad, for his daughter was a pure maid.
Therefore, when the letters of covenant and compact were sealed, the
king furnished a fair ship, wherein he might send his daughter, with
many noble knights, ladies, and great riches, unto the emperor, for to
have his son in marriage.
And when they were sailing in the sea, towards Rome, a storm arose so
extremely and so horribly that the ship brake against a rock, and they
were all drowned save only the young lady, which fixed her hope and
heart so greatly on God, that she was saved, and about three of the
clock the tempest ceased, and the lady drove forth over the waves in
that broken ship which was cast up again. But a huge whale followed
after, ready to devour both the ship and her. Wherefore this young lady,
when night came, smote fire with a stone, wherewith the ship was greatly
lightened, and then the whale durst not adventure toward the ship for
fear of that light. At the cock-crowing, this young lady was so weary of
the great tempest and trouble of sea, that she slept, and within a
little while after the fire ceased, and the whale came and devoured the
virgin. And when she awaked and found herself swallowed up in the
whale's belly, she smote fire, and with a knife wounded the whale in
many places, and when the whale felt himself wounded, according to his
nature he began to swim to land.
There was dwelling at that time in a country near by a noble earl named
Pirris, who for his recreation walking on the sea-shore, saw the whale
coming towards the land; wherefore he turned home again, and gathered a
great many of men and women, and came thither again, and fought with the
whale, and wounded him very sore, and as they smote, the maiden that was
in his belly cried with a high voice, and said: "O gentle friends, have
mercy and compassion on me, for I am a king's daughter, and a true maid
from the hour of my birth unto this day." When the earl heard this he
wondered greatly, and opened the side of the whale, and found the young
lady, and took her out. And when she was thus delivered, she told him
forthwith whose daughter she was, and how she had lost all her goods in
the sea, and how she should have been married unto the emperor's son.
And when the earl heard this, he was very glad, and comforted her the
more, and kept her with him till she was well refreshed. And in the
meantime he sent messengers to the emperor, letting him to know how the
king's daughter was saved.
Then was the emperor right glad of her safety, and coming, had great
compassion on her, saying, "Ah, good maiden, for the love of my son thou
hast suffered much woe; nevertheless, if thou be worthy to be his wife,
soon shall I prove." And when he had thus said, he caused three vessels
to be brought forth. The first was made of pure gold, well beset with
precious stones without, and within full of dead men's bones, and
thereupon was engraven this posie: "WHOSO CHOOSETH ME, SHALL FIND THAT
HE DESERVETH." The second vessel was made of fine silver, filled with
earth and worms, the superscription was thus: "WHOSO CHOOSETH ME, SHALL
FIND THAT HIS NATURE DESIRETH." The third vessel was made of lead, full
within of precious stones, and thereupon was insculpt this posie: "WHOSO
CHOOSETH ME, SHALL FIND THAT GOD HATH DISPOSED FOR HIM." These three
vessels the emperor showed the maiden, and said: "Lo, here daughter,
these be rich vessels. If thou choose one of these, wherein is profit to
thee and to others, then shalt thou have my son. And if thou choose that
wherein is no profit to thee, nor to any other, soothly thou shalt not
marry him."
When the maiden heard this, she lift up her hands to God, and said,
"Thou Lord, that knowest all things, grant me grace this hour so to
choose, that I may receive the emperor's son." And with that she beheld
the first vessel of gold, which was engraven royally, and read the
superscription, "_Whoso chooseth me, shall find that he deserveth_;"
saying thus, "Though this vessel be full precious, and made of pure
gold, nevertheless I know not what is within, therefore, my dear lord,
this vessel will I not choose."
And then she beheld the second vessel, that was of pure silver, and read
the superscription, "_Whoso chooseth me, shall find that his nature
desireth._" Thinking thus within herself, "If I choose this vessel, what
is within I know not, but well I know, there shall I find that nature
desireth, and my nature desireth the lust of the flesh, and therefore
this vessel will I not choose."
When she had seen these two vessels, and had given an answer as touching
them, she beheld the third vessel of lead, and read the superscription,
"_Whoso chooseth me, shall find that God hath disposed._" Thinking
within herself, "This vessel is not very rich, nor outwardly precious,
yet the superscription saith, "_Whoso chooseth me, shall find that God
hath disposed_;" and without doubt God never disposeth any harm,
therefore, by the leave of God, this vessel will I choose."
When the emperor heard this, he said, "O fair maiden, open thy vessel,
for it is full of precious stones, and see if thou hast well chosen or
no." And when this young lady had opened it, she found it full of fine
gold and precious stones, as the emperor had told her before. Then said
the emperor, "Daughter, because thou hast well chosen, thou shalt marry
my son." And then he appointed the wedding-day; and they were married
with great solemnity, and with much honour continued to their lives'
end.
V.--THE THREE CAKES.
A certain carpenter, in a city near the sea, very covetous, and very
wicked, collected a large sum of money, and placed it in the trunk of a
tree, which he set by his fire-side, and never lost sight of. A place
like this, he thought, no one could suspect: but it happened, that while
all his household slept, the sea overflowed its boundaries, broke down
that side of the building where the log was placed, and carried it away.
It floated many miles, and reached, at length, a city in which there
lived a person who kept open house. Arising early in the morning, he
perceived the trunk of a tree in the water, and thinking it would be of
use to him, he brought it home. He was a liberal, kind-hearted man; and
a great benefactor to the poor. It one day chanced that he entertained
some pilgrims in his house; and the weather being extremely cold, he cut
up the log for firewood. When he had struck two or three blows with the
axe, he heard a rattling sound; and cleaving it in twain, the gold
pieces rolled out and about. Greatly rejoiced at the discovery, he put
them by in a safe place, until he should ascertain who was the owner.
Now the carpenter, bitterly lamenting the loss of his money, travelled
from place to place in pursuit of it. He came, by accident, to the house
of the hospitable man who had found the trunk. He failed not to mention
the object of his search; and the host, understanding that the money was
his, reflected whether his title to it were good. "I will prove," said
he to himself, "if God will that the money should be returned to him."
Accordingly, he made three cakes, the first of which he filled with
earth; the second with the bones of dead men; and in the third he put a
quantity of the gold which he had discovered in the trunk.
"Friend," said he, addressing the carpenter, "we will eat three cakes
made of the best meat in my house. Choose which you will have."
The carpenter did as he was directed; he took the cakes and weighed them
in his hand, one after another, and finding that with the earth weigh
heaviest, he chose it. "And if I want more, my worthy host," added he,
"I will have that"--laying his hand upon the cake containing the bones.
"You may keep the third cake yourself."
"I see clearly," murmured the host, "I see very clearly that God does
not will the money to be restored to this wretched man." Calling
therefore the poor and the infirm, the blind and the lame, he opened the
cake of gold in the presence of the carpenter, to whom he spoke, "Thou
miserable varlet; this is thine own gold. But thou preferredst the cake
of earth, and dead men's bones. I am persuaded, therefore, that God
wills not that I return thee thy money." Without delay, he distributed
it all amongst the poor, and drove the carpenter away.
VI.--THE HERMIT.
There once lived a hermit, who in a remote cave passed day and night
in God's service. Not far from his cell there was a flock kept by a
shepherd, who one day fell into a deep sleep, when a robber, seeing him
careless, carried off his sheep. When the keeper awoke, he began to
swear in good set terms that he had lost his sheep; and where they were
gone to he knew not. But the lord of the flock bade him be put to death.
This gave to the hermit great offence. "O heaven," said he to himself,
"seest thou this deed? The innocent suffers for the guilty: why permittest
thou such things? If thus injustice triumph, why do I remain here? I
will again enter the world, and do as other men do."
And so he left his hermitage, and went again into the world; but God
willed not that he should be lost: an angel in the form of a man was
sent to join him. And so, crossing the hermit's path, he said to him,
"Whither bound, my friend?" "I go," said he, "to yonder city." "I will
go with you," replied the angel; "I am a messenger from heaven, come to
be your companion on the way."
So they walked on together to the city. When they had entered, they
begged for the love of God harbourage during the night, at the house of
a certain soldier, who received them cheerfully and entertained them
nobly. The soldier had an only and most dear son lying in the cradle.
After supper, their bed-chamber was sumptuously adorned for them; and
the angel and the hermit went to rest. But about the middle of the
night the angel rose, and strangled the sleeping infant. The hermit,
horror-struck at what he witnessed, said within himself, "Never can
this be an angel of God. The good soldier gave us everything that was
necessary; he had but this poor innocent, and he is strangled." Yet he
was afraid to reprove him.
In the morning both arose and went forward to another city, in which
they were honourably entertained at the house of one of the inhabitants.
This person had a rich gold cup, which he highly valued; and of which,
during the night, the angel robbed him. But still the hermit held his
peace, for great was his fear.
On the morrow they went forward; and as they walked they came to a
certain river, over which was a bridge. They went on the bridge, and
about midway a poor pilgrim met them. "My friend," said the angel to
him, "show us the way to yonder city." The pilgrim turned, and pointed
with his finger to the road they were to take; but as he turned the
angel seized him by the shoulders, and hurled him into the stream below.
At this the terror of the hermit became greater. "It is the devil," he
said to himself; "it is the devil, and no good angel! What evil had the
poor man done that he should be drowned?"
He would now have gladly gone alone; but was afraid to speak his mind.
About the hour of vespers they came to a city, in which they again
sought shelter for the night; but the master of the house where they
applied sharply refused it. "For the love of heaven," said the angel,
"give us shelter, lest we fall prey to the wolves." The man pointed to a
sty. "That," said he, "has pigs in it; if it please you to lie there you
may, but to no other place will I admit you." "If we can do no better,"
said the angel, "we must accept your ungracious offer." They did so; and
next morning the angel calling their host, said, "My friend, I give you
this cup;" and he gave him the gold cup he had stolen. The hermit, more
and more amazed at what he saw, said to himself, "Now I am sure this is
the devil. The good man who received us with all kindness he despoiled,
and now he gives the plunder to this fellow who refused us a lodging."
Turning therefore to the angel, he cried, "I will travel with you no
more. I commend you to God." "Dear friend," the angel said, "first hear
me, and then go thy way."
THE EXPLANATION.
"When thou wert in thy hermitage, the owner of the flock unjustly put to
death his servant. True it is he died innocently, and therefore was
in a fit state to enter another world. God permitted him to be slain,
foreseeing, that if he lived he would commit a sin, and die before
repentance followed. But the guilty man who stole the sheep will suffer
eternally; while the owner of the flock will repair, by alms and good
works, that which he ignorantly committed. As for the son of the
hospitable soldier whom I strangled in the cradle, know, that before the
boy was born he performed numerous works of charity and mercy; but
afterwards grew parsimonious and covetous in order to enrich the child,
of which he was inordinately fond. This was the cause of its death; and
now its distressed parent is again become a devout Christian. Then for
the cup which I purloined from him who received us so kindly, know, that
before the cup was made, there was not a more abstemious person in the
world; but afterwards he took such pleasure in it, and drank from it so
often, that he was intoxicated twice or thrice during the day. I took
away the cup, and he has returned to his former sobriety. Again I cast
the pilgrim into the river; and know that he whom I drowned was a good
Christian, but had he proceeded much further, he would have fallen into
a mortal sin. Now he is saved, and reigns in celestial glory. Then, that
I bestowed the cup upon the inhospitable citizen, know nothing is done
without reason. He suffered us to occupy the swine-house and I gave him
a valuable consideration. But _he_ will hereafter reign in hell. Put a
guard, therefore, on thy lips, and detract not from the Almighty. For He
knoweth all things."
The hermit, hearing this, fell at the feet of the angel and entreated
pardon. He returned to his hermitage, and became a good and pious
Christian.
VII.--THE LOST FOOT.
A certain tyrannical and cruel knight retained in his service a very
faithful servant. One day, when he had been to the market, he returned
with this servant through a grove; and by the way lost thirty silver
marks. As soon as he discovered the loss, he questioned his servant
about it. The man solemnly denied all knowledge of the matter, and he
spoke truth. But when the money was not to be found, he cut off the
servant's foot, and leaving him in that place, rode home. A hermit,
hearing the groans and cries of the man, went speedily to his help. He
confessed him; and being satisfied of his innocence, conveyed him upon
his shoulders to his hermitage.
Then entering the oratory, he dared to reproach the All-just with want
of justice, inasmuch as he had permitted an innocent man to lose his
foot.
For a length of time he continued in tears, and prayers, and reproaches;
until at last an angel of the Lord appeared to him, and said, "Hast thou
not read in the Psalms, 'God is a just judge, strong and patient?'"
"Often," answered the hermit meekly, "have I read and believed it from
my heart; but to-day I have erred. That wretched man, whose foot has
been cut off, perhaps under the veil of confession deceived me."
"Tax not the Lord with injustice," said the angel; "His way is truth,
and His judgments equitable. Recollect how often thou hast read, 'The
decrees of God are unfathomable.' Know that he who lost his foot, lost
it for a former crime. With the same foot he maliciously spurned his
mother, and cast her from a chariot--for which eternal condemnation
overtook him. The knight, his master, was desirous of purchasing a
war-horse, to collect more wealth, to the destruction of his soul; and
therefore, by the just sentence of God, the money which he had provided
for the purchase was lost. Now hear; there is a very poor man with his
wife and little ones, who daily supplicate heaven, and perform every
religious exercise. He found the money, when otherwise he would have
starved, and therewith procured for himself and family the necessaries
of life, entrusting a portion to his confessor to distribute to the
poor. But first he diligently endeavoured to find out the right owner.
Not accomplishing this, the poor man applied it to its proper use. Place
then a bridle upon thy thoughts; and no more upbraid the righteous
Disposer of all things, as thou but lately didst. For he is just, and
strong, and patient."
VIII.--PLACIDUS.
In the reign of Trajan there lived a knight named Placidus, who was
commander-in-chief of the emperor's armies. He was very merciful, but a
worshipper of idols. His wife too was an idolater. They had two sons,
brought up in all magnificence, and from the kindness and goodness of
their hearts, they deserved a revelation of the way of truth.
As he was one day following the chase, Placidus discovered a herd of
deer, amongst which was one remarkable for size and beauty. Separating
itself from the rest, it plunged into the thickest part of the brake.
While the hunters, therefore, occupied themselves with the remainder of
the herd, Placidus swiftly followed this deer's track. The stag scaled
a lofty precipice, and Placidus, approaching as near as he could,
considered how it might be followed yet. But as he regarded it with
fixed attention, there appeared upon the centre of the brow, the form of
the cross, which glittered with more splendour than the noonday sun.
Upon this cross an image of Jesus Christ was suspended; and the stag
thus addressed the hunter: "Why dost thou persecute me, Placidus? For
thy sake have I assumed the shape of this animal. I am Christ, whom thou
ignorantly worshippest. Thine alms have gone up before me, and therefore
I come; but as thou hast hunted this stag, so will I hunt thee."
Some indeed assert that the image, hanging between the deer's antlers,
said these things. However that may be, Placidus, filled with terror,
fell from his horse; and in about an hour, returning to himself, arose
from the earth and said, "Declare what thou wouldst have, that I may
believe in thee."
"I am Christ, O Placidus! I created heaven and earth; I caused the light
to arise, and divided it from the darkness. I appointed days, and
seasons, and years. I formed man out of the dust of the earth; and I
became incarnate for the salvation of mankind. I was crucified, and
buried; and on the third day I rose again."
When Placidus understood these sublime truths, he fell again upon the
earth, and exclaimed: "I believe, O Lord, that thou hast done all this;
and that thou art He who bringest back the wanderer."
The Lord answered: "If thou believest this, go into the city and be
baptized."
"Wouldst thou, O Lord, that I tell what has befallen me to my wife and
children, that they also may believe?"
"Do so; tell them, that they also may be cleansed from their iniquities.
And on the morrow return hither, where I will appear again, and show you
of the future."
Placidus, therefore, went to his own home, and told all that had passed
to his wife. But she too had had a revelation; and in like manner had
been enjoined to believe in Christ, together with her children. So they
hastened to the city of Rome, where they were entertained and baptized
with great joy. Placidus was called Eustacius, and his wife, Theosbyta;
the two sons, Theosbytus and Agapetus.
In the morning, Eustacius, according to custom, went out to hunt, and
coming with his attendants near the place, he dispersed them, as if for
the purpose of discovering the prey. Immediately the vision of yesterday
reappeared, and prostrating himself, he said, "I implore thee, O Lord,
to manifest thyself according to thy word."
"Blessed art thou, Eustacius, because thou hast received the laver of
my grace, and thereby overcome the devil. Now hast thou trod him to
dust, who beguiled thee. Now will thy fidelity appear; for the devil,
whom thou hast deserted, will rage against thee in many ways. Much must
thou undergo ere thou possessest the crown of victory. Much must thou
suffer from the dignified vanity of the world; and much from spiritual
intolerance. Fail not, therefore; nor look back upon thy former
condition. Thou must be as another Job; but from the very depth of thy
humiliation, I will restore thee to the height of earthly splendour.
Choose, then, whether thou wouldst prefer thy trials at the end of
life."
Eustacius replied: "If it become me, O Lord, to be exposed to trials,
let them presently approach; but do thou uphold me, and supply me with
patient strength."
"Be bold, Eustacius: my grace shall support your souls." Saying thus,
the Lord ascended into heaven. After which Eustacius returned home to
his wife, and explained to her what had been decreed.
In a few days a pestilence carried off the whole of their men-servants
and maid-servants; and before long the sheep, horses, and cattle also
perished. Robbers plundered their habitation, and despoiled them of
every ornament; while he himself, together with his wife and sons, fled
naked and in the deepest distress. But devoutly they worshipped God; and
apprehensive of an Egyptian redness, went secretly away. Thus were they
reduced to utter poverty. The king and the senate, greatly afflicted
with their general's calamities, sought for, but found not the slightest
trace of him.
In the meantime this unhappy family approached the sea; and finding a
ship ready to sail, they embarked in it. The master of the vessel
observing that the wife of Eustacius was very beautiful, determined to
secure her; and when they had crossed the sea, demanded a large sum of
money for their passage, which, as he anticipated, they did not possess.
Notwithstanding the vehement and indignant protestations of Eustacius,
he seized upon his wife; and beckoning to the mariners, commanded them
to cast the unfortunate husband headlong into the sea. Perceiving,
therefore, that all opposition was useless, he took up his two children,
and departed with much and heavy sorrow. "Merciful heaven," he exclaimed,
as he wept over his bereaved offspring, "your poor mother is lost; and,
in a strange land, in the arms of a strange lord, must lament her fate."
Travelling along, he came to a river, the water of which ran so high,
that it appeared hazardous in an eminent degree to cross with both the
children at the same time. One, therefore, he placed carefully upon the
bank, and then passed over with the other in his arms. This effected, he
laid it upon the ground, and returned immediately for the remaining
child. But in the midst of the river, accidentally glancing his eye
back, he beheld a wolf hastily snatch up the child, and run with it into
an adjoining wood. Half maddened at a sight so truly afflicting, he
turned to rescue it from the destruction with which it was threatened;
but at that instant a huge lion approached the child he had left; and
seizing it, presently disappeared. To follow was useless, for he was in
the middle of the water. Giving himself up, therefore, to his desperate
situation, he began to lament and to pluck away his hair, and would have
cast himself into the stream, had not Divine Providence preserved him.
Certain shepherds, however, observing the lion carrying off the child in
his teeth, pursued him with dogs, and by the peculiar dispensation of
heaven it was dropped unhurt. As for the other, some ploughmen witnessing
the adventure, shouted lustily after the wolf, and succeeded in
liberating the poor victim from its jaws. Now it happened that both the
shepherds and ploughmen resided in the same village, and brought up the
children amongst them. But Eustacius knew nothing of this, and his
affliction was so poignant that he was unable to control his complaints.
"Alas!" he would say, "once I nourished like a luxuriant tree, but now I
am altogether blighted. Once I was encompassed with military ensigns and
bands of armed men; now I am a single being in the universe. I have lost
all my children and everything that I possessed. I remember, O Lord,
that thou saidst my trials should resemble Job's; behold they exceed
them. For although he was destitute, he had a couch, however vile, to
repose upon; I, alas! have nothing. He had compassionating friends;
while I, besides the loss of my children, am left a prey to the savage
beasts. His wife remained, but mine is forcibly carried off. Assuage my
anguish, O Lord, and place a bridle upon my lips, lest I utter
foolishness, and stand up against thee." With such words he gave free
course to the fulness of his heart; and after much travel, entered a
village, where he abode. In this place he continued for fifteen years,
as the hired servant of one of the villagers.
To return to the two boys. They were educated in the same
neighbourhood, but had no knowledge of their consanguinity. And as for
the wife of Eustacius, she preserved her purity, and suffered not the
infamous usage which she had to fear. After some time her persecutor
died.
In the meanwhile the Roman emperor was beset by his enemies, and
recollecting how valiantly Placidus had behaved himself in similar
straits, his grief at the deplorable change of fortune was renewed. He
despatched soldiers through various parts of the world in pursuit of
them; and promised to the discoverer infinite rewards and honours. It
happened that some of the emissaries, being of those who had attended
upon the person of Placidus, came into the country in which he laboured,
and one of them he recognized by his gait. The sight of these men
brought back to the exile's mind the situation of wealth and honour
which he had once possessed; and being filled with fresh trouble at the
recollection--"O Lord!" he exclaimed, "even as beyond expectation I have
seen these people again, so let me be restored to my beloved wife. Of my
children I speak not; for I know too well that they are devoured by wild
beasts."
At that moment a voice whispered, "Be faithful, Eustacius, and thou wilt
shortly recover thy lost honours, and again look upon thy wife and
offspring."
Now when the soldiers met Placidus they knew not who he was; and
accosting him, they asked if he were acquainted with any foreigner named
Placidus, with his wife and two sons. He replied that he did not, but
requested that they would rest in his house. And so he took them home,
and waited on them. And here, as before, at the recollection of his
former splendour, his tears flowed. Unable to contain himself, he
went out of doors, and when he had washed his face he re-entered, and
continued his service. By-and-by one said to the other, "Surely this man
bears great resemblance to him we inquire after." "Of a truth," answered
his companion, "you say well. Let us examine if he possess a sabre-mark
on his head, which he received in action." They did so, and finding a
scar which indicated a similar wound, they leaped up and embraced him,
and inquired after his wife and sons.
He told his adventures; and the neighbours coming in, listened with
wonder to the account delivered by the soldiers of his military
achievements and former magnificence. Then, obeying the command of the
emperor, they clothed him in sumptuous apparel. On the fifteenth day
they reached the imperial court, and the emperor, apprised of his
coming, went out to meet him, and saluted him with great gladness.
Eustacius told all that had befallen him. He was then invested with the
command of the army, and restored to every office that he had held
before his departure.
He now therefore prepared with energy to encounter their enemies. He
drew together from all parts the young men of the country; and it fell
to the lot of the village where his own children were educated, to send
two to the army; and these very youths were selected by the inhabitants
as the best and bravest of their number. They appeared before the
general, and their elegant manners, so much above their station, united
to a singular propriety of conduct, won his esteem. He placed them in
the van of his troops, and began his march against the enemy. Now the
spot on which he pitched his tent was near his wife's abode; and,
strange to say, the sons themselves, in the general distribution of the
soldiers, were quartered with their own mother, but all the while
ignorant with whom they were stationed.
About mid-day, the lads sitting together, related the various chances to
which their infancy had been subject; and the mother, who was at no
great distance, became an attentive listener. "Of what I was while a
child," said the elder of the brothers, "I remember nothing, except
that my beloved father was a leader of a company of soldiers; and that
my mother, who was very beautiful, had two sons, of whom I was the
elder. We left home with our parents during the night, and embarking on
board a vessel that immediately put to sea, sailed I know not whither.
Our mother remained in the ship, but wherefore I am also ignorant. In
the meantime, our father carried my brother and myself in his arms, and
me he left upon the nearer bank of a river, until he had borne the
younger of us across. But when he was returning to me, a wolf darted
from a thicket and bore him off in his mouth. Before he could hasten
back to him, a prodigious lion seized upon me, and carried me into a
neighbouring wood. But shepherds delivered me, and brought me up amongst
them."
The younger brother here burst into a flood of tears, and exclaimed,
"Surely I have found my brother; for they who brought me up frequently
declared that I was saved from the jaws of a wolf." They exchanged
embraces, and the mother, who listened, felt a strong conviction that
they were her own children. She was silent, however, and the next day
went to the commander of the forces, and begged leave to go into her own
country. "I am a Roman woman," said she, "and a stranger in these
parts."
As she uttered these words, her eye fixed with an earnest and anxious
gaze upon the countenance of him she addressed. It was her husband, whom
she now for the first time recollected; and she threw herself at his
feet, unable to contain her joy. "My lord," cried the glad woman, "I
entreat you to tell something of your past life; for unless I greatly
mistake, you are Placidus, the master of the soldiery, since known by
the name of Eustacius, whom our blessed Saviour converted and tried by
temptations. I am _his_ wife, taken from him at sea by a wretch, who yet
spared me from the worst. I had two sons, Agapetus and Theosbytus."
These words recalled Eustacius to himself. Time and sorrow had made much
change in both, but the recognition was full of happiness. They embraced
and wept, giving glory to God as the God of all consolation. The wife
then said, "My lord, what has become of our children?" "Alas!" replied
he, "they were carried off by wild beasts;" and he told the manner of
their loss. "Give thanks," said his wife, "give manifold thanks to the
Lord; for as His Providence hath revealed our existence to each other,
so will He give us back our beloved offspring." "Did I not tell you,"
returned he, "that wild beasts had devoured them?"
"True; but yesternight as I sat in the garden I overheard two young men
tell of their childhood, and whom I believe to be our sons. Ask them,
and they will tell you."
Messengers were immediately despatched for this purpose, and a few
questions convinced Eustacius of the full completion of his happiness.
They fell upon each other's neck and wept aloud. It was a joyful
occasion; the whole army shared the joy of their general. A splendid
victory ensued. Before their return the Emperor Trajan died, and was
succeeded by Adrian, more wicked even than his predecessor. However, he
received the conqueror and his family with great magnificence, and
sumptuously entertained them at his own table. But the day following the
emperor would have proceeded to the temple of his idols to sacrifice, in
consequence of the late victory, and desired his guests to accompany
him. "My lord," said Eustacius, "I worship the God of the Christians;
and Him only do I serve and propitiate with sacrifice."
Enraged at an opposition he had not contemplated, he placed the man who
had freed Rome from a foreign yoke, with his whole family, in the arena,
and let loose a ferocious lion upon them. But the lion, to the
astonishment of all, held down his head before them, as if in reverence.
On which the ungrateful emperor ordered a brazen ox to be fabricated,
and heated to the highest degree. In this his victims were cast alive;
but with prayer and supplication they commended themselves to the mercy
of God, and three days after, being taken out of the furnace in the
presence of the emperor, it appeared as if they had died tranquilly
in bed. Not a hair of their heads was scorched, nor was there the
smallest perceptible change, more than the easiest transition from life
occasions. The Christians buried their corpses in the most honourable
manner, and over them constructed an oratory. They perished in the first
year of Adrian, A.D. 120, in the kalends of November; or, as some write,
the 12th of the kalends of October.
IX.--DEAD ALEXANDER.
We read, that at the death of Alexander a golden sepulchre was
constructed, and that a number of philosophers assembled round it. One
said: "Yesterday, Alexander made a treasure of gold, and now gold makes
a treasure of him." Another observed: "Yesterday, the whole world was
not enough to satiate his ambition; to-day, three or four ells of cloth
are more than sufficient." A third said: "Yesterday, Alexander commanded
the people; to-day, the people command him." Another said: "Yesterday,
Alexander could enfranchise thousands; to-day, he cannot free himself
from the bonds of death." Another remarked: "Yesterday, he pressed the
earth; to-day, it oppresses him." "Yesterday," continued another, "all
men feared Alexander; to-day, men repute him nothing." Another said:
"Yesterday, Alexander had a multitude of friends; to-day, not one."
Another said: "Yesterday, Alexander led on an army; to-day that army
bears him to the grave."
X.--THE TREE OF PALETINUS.
Valerius tells us, that a man named Paletinus one day burst into tears;
and calling his son and his neighbours around him, said, "Alas! alas! I
have now growing in my garden a fatal tree, on which my first poor wife
hung herself, then my second, and after that my third. Have I not
therefore cause for wretchedness?" "Truly," said one who was called
Arrius, "I marvel that you should weep at such unusual good fortune!
Give me, I pray you, two or three sprigs of that gentle tree, which I
will divide with my neighbours, and thereby enable every man to indulge
his spouse." Paletinus complied with his friend's request; and ever
after found this tree the most productive part of his estate.
XI.--HUNGRY FLIES.
Josephus mentions that Tiberius Caesar, inquiring why the governors of
provinces remain so long in office, was answered by an example. "I have
seen," said the respondent, "an infirm man covered with ulcers,
grievously tormented by a swarm of flies. When asked why he did not use
a flap and drive off his tormentors, he answered, 'The very circumstance
which you think would relieve me would, in effect, cause tenfold
suffering. For by driving away the flies now saturated with my blood, I
should afford an opportunity to those that were empty and hungry to
supply their place. And who doubts that the biting of a hungry insect is
ten thousand times more painful than that of one completely gorged,
unless the person attacked be stone, and not flesh.'"
XII.--THE HUMBLING OF JOVINIAN.
When Jovinian was emperor, he had very great power, and as he lay in bed
reflecting upon the extent of his dominions, his heart was elated.
"Is there," he impiously asked, "is there any other god than me?" Amid
such thoughts he fell asleep.
In the morning, he reviewed his troops, and said, "My friends, after
breakfast we will hunt."
Preparations being made accordingly, he set out with a large retinue.
During the chase, the emperor felt such extreme oppression from the
heat, that he believed his very existence depended upon a cold bath. As
he anxiously looked around, he discovered a sheet of water at no great
distance. "Remain here," said he to his guard, "until I have refreshed
myself in yonder stream." Then spurring his steed, he rode hastily to
the edge of the water. Alighting, he stripped off his clothes, and
experienced the greatest pleasure from its invigorating freshness and
coolness. But whilst he was thus employed, a person similar to him in
every respect--in countenance and gesture--arrayed himself unperceived
in the emperor's dress, and then mounting his horse, rode off to the
attendants. The resemblance to the sovereign was such, that no doubt was
entertained of the reality; and straightway command was issued for their
return to the palace.
Jovinian, however, having quitted the water, sought in every possible
direction for his horse and clothes, and to his utter astonishment,
could find neither. Vexed beyond measure at the circumstance (for he was
completely naked, and saw no one near to assist him) he began to reflect
upon what course he should pursue. "Miserable man that I am," said he,
"to what a strait am I reduced! There is, I remember, a knight who
lives close by; I will go to him, and command his attendance and
service. I will then ride on to the palace and strictly investigate the
cause of this extraordinary conduct. Some shall smart for it."
Jovinian proceeded, naked and ashamed, to the castle of the aforesaid
knight, and beat loudly at the gate. The porter, without unclosing the
wicket, inquired the cause of the knocking. "Open the gate," said the
enraged emperor, "and you will see who I am." The gate was opened; and
the porter, struck with the strange appearance he exhibited, replied,
"In the name of all that is marvellous, what are you?" "I am," said he,
"Jovinian, your emperor; go to your lord, and command him from me to
supply the wants of his sovereign. I have lost both horse and clothes."
"Infamous ribald!" shouted the porter, "just before thy approach, the
Emperor Jovinian, accompanied by the officers of his household, entered
the palace. My lord both went and returned with him; and but even now
sat with him at meat. But because thou hast called thyself the emperor,
however madly, my lord shall know of thy presumption." The porter
entered, and related what had passed. Jovinian was introduced, but the
knight retained not the slightest recollection of his master, although
the emperor remembered him. "Who are you?" said the knight, "and what is
your name?" "I am the Emperor Jovinian," rejoined he; "canst thou have
forgotten me? At such a time I promoted thee to a military command."
"Why, thou most audacious scoundrel," said the knight, "darest thou call
thyself the emperor? I rode with him myself to the palace, from whence I
am this moment returned. But thy impudence shall not go without its
reward. Flog him," said he, turning to his servants. "Flog him soundly,
and drive him away."
This sentence was immediately executed, and the poor emperor, bursting
into a convulsion of tears, exclaimed, "Oh, my God, is it possible that
one whom I have so much honoured and exalted should do this? Not content
with pretending ignorance of my person, he orders these merciless
villains to abuse me! However, it will not be long unavenged. There is a
certain duke, one of my privy councillors, to whom I will make known my
calamity. At least, he will enable me to return decently to the palace."
To him, therefore, Jovinian proceeded, and the gate was opened at his
knock. But the porter, beholding a naked man, exclaimed in the greatest
amaze, "Friend, who are you, and why come you here in such a guise?" He
replied, "I am your emperor; I have accidentally lost my clothes and my
horse, and I have come for succour to your lord. Inform the duke,
therefore, that I have business with him." The porter, more and more
astonished, entered the hall, and told of the man outside. "Bring him
in," said the duke. He was brought in, but neither did he recognize the
person of the emperor. "What art thou?" was again asked, and answered as
before. "Poor mad wretch," said the duke, "a short time since, I
returned from the palace, where I left the very emperor thou assumest to
be. But ignorant whether thou art more fool or knave, we will administer
such remedy as may suit both. Carry him to prison, and feed him with
bread and water." The command was no sooner delivered, than obeyed; and
the following day his naked body was submitted to the lash, and again
cast into the dungeon.
Thus afflicted, he gave himself up to the wretchedness of his untoward
condition. In the agony of his heart, he said: "What shall I do? Oh!
what will be my destiny? I am loaded with the coarsest contumely, and
exposed to the malicious observation of my people. It were better to
hasten immediately to my palace, and there discover myself--my wife will
know me; surely, my wife will know me!" Escaping, therefore, from his
confinement, he approached the palace and beat upon the gate. The same
questions were repeated, and the same answers returned. "Who art thou?"
said the porter. "It is strange," replied the aggrieved emperor, "it is
strange that thou shouldst not know me; thou, who hast served me so
long!" "Served _thee_!" returned the porter indignantly; "thou liest
abominably. I have served none but the emperor." "Why," said the other,
"thou knowest that I am he. Yet, though you disregard my words, go, I
implore you, to the empress; communicate what I will tell thee, and by
these signs, bid her send the imperial robes, of which some rogue
has deprived me. The signs I tell thee of are known to none but to
ourselves." "In verity," said the porter, "thou art specially mad; at
this very moment my lord sits at table with the empress herself.
Nevertheless, out of regard for thy singular merits, I will intimate thy
declaration within; and rest assured thou wilt presently find thyself
most royally beaten." The porter went accordingly, and related what he
had heard. But the empress became very sorrowful, and said: "Oh, my
lord, what am I to think? The most hidden passages of our lives are
revealed by an obscene fellow at the gate, and repeated to me by the
porter, on the strength of which he declares himself the emperor, and my
espoused lord!" When the fictitious monarch was apprised of this, he
commanded him to be brought in. He had no sooner entered, than a large
dog, which couched upon the hearth, and had been much cherished by him,
flew at his throat, and, but for timely prevention, would have killed
him. A falcon also, seated upon her perch, no sooner beheld him than she
broke her jesses and flew out of the hall. Then the pretended emperor,
addressing those who stood about him, said: "My friends, hear what I
will ask of yon ribald. Who are you? and what do you want?" "These
questions," said the suffering man, "are very strange. You know I am the
emperor and master of this place." The other, turning to the nobles who
sat or stood at the table, continued: "Tell me, on your allegiance,
which of us two is your lord and master?" "Your majesty asks us an easy
thing," replied they, "and need not to remind us of our allegiance. That
obscene wretch cannot be our sovereign. You alone are he, whom we have
known from childhood; and we intreat that this fellow may be severely
punished as a warning to others how they give scope to their mad
presumption." Then turning to the empress, the usurper said: "Tell me,
my lady, on the faith you have sworn, do you know this man who calls
himself thy lord and emperor?" She answered: "My lord, how can you ask
such a question? Have I not known thee more than thirty years, and borne
thee many children? Yet, at one thing I do admire. How can this fellow
have acquired so intimate a knowledge of what has passed between us?"
The pretended emperor made no reply, but addressing the real one, said:
"Friend, how darest thou to call thyself emperor? We sentence thee, for
this unexampled impudence, to be drawn, without loss of time, at the
tail of a horse. And if thou utterest the same words again, thou shalt
be doomed to an ignominious death." He then commanded his guards to see
the sentence put in force, but to preserve his life. The unfortunate
emperor was now almost distracted; and urged by his despair, wished
vehemently for death. "Why was I born?" he exclaimed. "My friends shun
me, and my wife and children will not acknowledge me. But there is my
confessor, still. To him will I go; perhaps he will recollect me,
because he has often received my confessions." He went accordingly, and
knocked at the window of his cell. "Who is there?" said the confessor.
"The Emperor Jovinian," was the reply; "open the window and I will speak
to thee." The window was opened; but no sooner had he looked out than he
closed it again in great haste. "Depart from me," said he, "accursed
thing: thou art not the emperor, but the devil incarnate." This completed
the miseries of the persecuted man; and he tore his hair, and plucked up
his beard by the roots. "Woe is me," he cried, "for what strange doom am
I reserved?" At this crisis, the impious words which, in the arrogance
of his heart, he had uttered, crossed his recollection. Immediately he
beat again at the window of the confessor's cell, and exclaimed: "For
the love of Him who was suspended from the cross, hear my confession."
The recluse opened the window, and said, "I will do this with pleasure;"
and then Jovinian acquainted him with every particular of his past life;
and principally how he had lifted himself up against his Maker.
The confession made, and absolution given, the recluse looked out of his
window, and directly knew him. "Blessed be the most high God," said he,
"now I do know thee. I have here a few garments: clothe thyself, and go
to the palace. I trust that they also will recognize thee." The emperor
did as the confessor directed. The porter opened the gate, and made a
low obeisance to him. "Dost thou know me?" said he. "Very well, my
lord!" replied the menial; "but I marvel that I did not observe you go
out." Entering the hall of his mansion, Jovinian was received by all
with a profound reverence. The strange emperor was at that time in
another apartment with the queen; and a certain knight going to him,
said, "My lord, there is one in the hall to whom everybody bends; he so
much resembles you, that we know not which is the emperor." Hearing
this, the usurper said to the empress, "Go and see if you know him." She
went, and returned greatly surprised at what she saw. "Oh, my lord,"
said she, "I declare to you that I know not whom to trust." "Then,"
returned he, "I will go and determine you." And taking her hand he led
her into the hall and placed her on the throne beside him. Addressing
the assembly, he said, "By the oaths you have taken, declare which of
us is your emperor." The empress answered: "It is incumbent on me to
speak first; but heaven is my witness, that I am unable to determine
which is he." And so said all. Then the feigned emperor spoke thus: "My
friends, hearken! That man is your king and your lord. He exalted
himself to the disparagement of his Maker; and God, therefore, scourged
and hid him from your knowledge. But his repentance removes the rod; he
has now made ample satisfaction, and again let your obedience wait upon
him. Commend yourselves to the protection of heaven." So saying, he
disappeared. The emperor gave thanks to God, and surrendering to Him all
his soul, lived happily and finished his days in peace.
XIII.--THE TWO PHYSICIANS.
Two physicians once lived in a city, who were admirably skilled in
medicine, insomuch that all the sick who took their prescriptions were
healed; and it thence became a question with the inhabitants, which of
them was the best. After a while, a dispute arose between them upon this
point.
Said one, "My friend, why should discord or envy or anger separate us;
let us make the trial, and whosoever is inferior in skill shall serve
the other."
"But how," replied his friend, "is this to be brought about?"
The first physician answered: "Hear me. I will pluck out your eyes
without doing you the smallest injury, and lay them before you on the
table; and when you desire it I will replace them as perfect and
serviceable as they were before. If, in like manner, you can perform
this, we will then be esteemed equal, and walk as brethren through the
world. But, remember, he who fails in the attempt shall become the
servant of the other."
"I am well pleased," returned his fellow, "to do as you say." Whereupon
he who made the proposition took out his instruments and extracted the
eyes, besmearing the sockets and the outer part of the lids with a
certain rich ointment.
"My dear friend," said he, "what do you perceive?"
"Of a surety," cried the other, "I see nothing. I want the use of my
eyes, but I feel no pain from their loss. I pray you, however, restore
them to their places as you promised."
"Willingly," said his friend. He again touched the inner and outer part
of the lids with the ointment, and then, with much precision, inserted
the balls into their sockets. "How do you see now?" asked he.
"Excellently," returned the other, "nor do I feel the least pain."
"Well, then," continued the first, "it now remains for you to treat me
in a similar manner." "I am ready," he said. And accordingly taking the
instruments, as the first had done, he smeared the upper and under parts
of the eye with a peculiar ointment, drew out the eyes and placed them
upon the table. The patient felt no pain, but added, "I wish you would
hasten to restore them." The operator cheerfully complied; but as he
prepared his implements, a crow entered by an open window, and seeing
the eyes upon the table, snatched one of them up, and flew away with it.
The physician, vexed at what had happened, said to himself, "If I do not
restore the eye to my companion, I must become his slave." At that
moment a goat, browsing at no great distance, attracted his observation.
Instantly he ran to it, drew out one of his eyes, and put it into the
place of the lost one.
"My dear friend," exclaimed the operator, "how do things appear to
you?"
"Neither in extracting nor in replacing," he answered, "did I suffer the
least pain; but--bless me!--one eye looks up to the trees!"
"Ah!" replied the first, "this is the very perfection of medicine.
Neither of us is superior; henceforward we will be friends, as we are
equals; and banish far off that spirit of contention which has destroyed
our peace." The goat-eyed man of physic acquiesced; they lived from this
time in the greatest amity.
XIV.--THE FALCON.
In the reign of Pompey there lived a fair and amiable lady, and near to
her dwelt a handsome, noble soldier. He often visited her, and professed
much honourable love. The soldier coming once to see her, observed a
falcon upon her wrist, which he greatly admired. "Dear lady," said he,
"if you love me, give me that beautiful bird." "I consent," returned
she, "but on one condition, that you do not attach yourself so much to
it as to rob me of your society." "Far be such ingratitude from your
servant," cried the soldier, "I would not forsake you on any account;
and believe me, this generosity binds me more than ever to love you."
The lady presented the falcon to him; and bidding her farewell, he
returned to his own castle. But he liked the bird so much, that he
forgot his promise to the lady, and never thought of her except when he
sported with the falcon. She sent messengers to him, but it was of no
use; he came not: and at last she wrote a very urgent letter, entreating
him, without the least delay, to hasten to her and bring the falcon
along with him.
He acquiesced; and the lady, after salutation, asked him to let her
touch the bird. But when she had it in her hands, she wrenched its head
from the body. "Madam," said the vexed soldier, "what have you done?" To
which the lady answered, "Be not offended, but rather rejoice at what I
have done. That falcon was the cause of your absence, and I killed him
that I might enjoy your company as I was wont." The soldier, satisfied
with the reason, became once more faithful in his love.
APPLICATION.
My beloved, the king is our heavenly Father; the lady, our human nature
joined to the divinity in Christ. The soldier is any Christian, and the
falcon, temporal prosperity.
XV.--LET THE LAZIEST BE KING.
The Emperor Pliny had three sons, to whom he was very indulgent. He
wished to dispose of his kingdom, and calling the three into his
presence, spoke thus: "The laziest of you shall reign after my death."
"Then," answered the elder, "the kingdom must be mine; for I am so lazy,
that sitting once by the fire, I burnt my legs, because I was too
slothful to withdraw them."
The second son said, "The kingdom should properly be mine, for if I had
a rope round my neck, and held a sword in my hand, my idleness is such,
that I should not put forth my hand to cut the rope."
"But I," said the third son, "ought to be preferred to you both; for I
outdo both in sloth. While I lay upon my bed, water dropped from above
upon my eyes; and though, from the nature of the water, I was in danger
of becoming blind, I neither could nor would turn my head ever so little
to the right hand or to the left." The emperor, hearing this, bequeathed
the kingdom to him, thinking him the laziest of the three.
XVI.--THE THREE MAXIMS.
Domitian was a very wise and just prince, and suffered no offender to
escape. It happened that as he once sat at table, a certain merchant
knocked at the gate. The porter opened it, and asked what he pleased to
want.
"I have brought some useful things for sale," answered the merchant. The
porter introduced him, and he very humbly made obeisance to the emperor.
"My friend," said the emperor, "what merchandise have you to dispose
of?"
"Three maxims of especial wisdom and excellence, my lord."
"And how much will you take for your maxims?"
"A thousand florins."
"And so," said the king, "if they are of no use to me I lose my money?"
"My lord," answered the merchant, "if the maxims do not stand you in
stead, I will return the money."
"Very well," said the emperor. "Let us hear your maxims."
"The first, my lord, is this: 'Whatever you do, do wisely; and think of
the consequences.' The second is: 'Never leave the _highway_ for a
_byway_.' And, thirdly: 'Never stay all night as a guest in that house
where you find the master an old man and his wife a young woman.' These
three maxims, if you attend to them, will be extremely serviceable."
The emperor, being of the same opinion, ordered him to be paid a
thousand florins; and so pleased was he with the first, that he
commanded it to be inscribed in his court, in his bed-chamber, and in
every place where he was accustomed to walk, and even upon the
table-cloths from which he ate.
Now the rigid justice of the emperor occasioned a conspiracy among the
vicious and refractory of his subjects; and finding the means of
accomplishing their purposes somewhat difficult, they engaged a barber,
by large promises, to cut his throat as he shaved him.
When the emperor, therefore, was to be shaved, the barber lathered his
beard, and began to operate upon it; but casting his eyes over the towel
which he had fastened round the royal neck, he perceived woven thereon,
"Whatever you do, do wisely, and think of the consequences." The
inscription startled the tonsor, and he said to himself, "I am to-day
hired to destroy this man. If I do it, my end will be ignominious; I
shall be condemned to the most shameful death. Therefore, whatsoever I
do, it is good to consider the end, as the writing testifies." These
cogitations disturbed the barber so much that his hand trembled, and the
razor fell to the ground. The emperor, seeing this, inquired the cause.
"Oh, my lord," said the barber, "have mercy upon me: I was hired this
day to destroy you; but accidentally, or rather by the will of God, I
read the inscription on the towel, 'Whatever you do, do wisely, and
think of the consequences.' Whereby, considering that, of a surety, the
consequence would be my own destruction, my hand trembled so much, that
I lost all command over it."
"Well," thought the emperor, "this first maxim hath assuredly saved my
life: in a good hour was it purchased. My friend," said he to the
barber, "on condition that you be faithful hereafter, I pardon you."
The noblemen who had conspired against the emperor, finding that their
project had failed, consulted with one another what they were to do
next.
"On such a day," said one, "he journeys to a particular city; we will
hide ourselves in a bypath, through which, in all probability, he will
pass, and so kill him."
The counsel was approved.
The king, as had been expected, prepared to set out; and riding on till
he came to a cross-way, much less circuitous than the high road, his
knights said, "My lord, it will be better for you to go this way, than
to pass along the broad road; it is considerably nearer."
The king pondered the matter within himself. "The second maxim," thought
he, "admonishes me never to forsake the highway for a byway. I will
adhere to that maxim."
Then turning to his soldiers, "I shall not quit the public road; but
you, if it please you, may proceed by that path, and prepare for my
approach." Accordingly a number of them went; and the ambush, imagining
that the king rode in their company, fell upon them and put the greater
part to the sword. When the news reached the king, he secretly
exclaimed, "My second maxim hath also saved my life."
Seeing, therefore, that by cunning they were unable to slay their lord,
the conspirators again took counsel, and it was observed, that on a
certain day he would lodge in a particular house, "because," said they,
"there is no other fit for his reception. Let us then agree with the
master of that house, and his wife, for a sum of money to kill the
emperor as he lies in bed."
This was agreed to.
But when the emperor had come into the city, and had been lodged in the
house to which the conspirators referred, he commanded his host to be
called into his presence. Observing that he was an old man, the emperor
said, "Have you not a wife?"
"Yes, my lord."
"I wish to see her."
The lady came; and when it appeared that she was very young--not
eighteen years of age--the king said hastily to his chamberlain, "Away,
prepare me a bed in another house. I will remain here no longer."
"My lord," replied he, "be it as you please. But they have made
everything ready for you: were it not better to lie where you are, for
in the whole city there is not so commodious a place."
"I tell you," answered the emperor, "I will sleep elsewhere."
The chamberlain, therefore, removed; and the king went privately to
another residence, saying to the soldiers about him, "Remain here, if
you like; but join me early in the morning."
Now while they slept, the old man and his wife arose, and not finding
the king, put to death all the soldiers who had remained. In the
morning, when the murder was discovered, the emperor gave thanks to God
for his escape. "Oh," cried he, "if I had continued here, I should have
been destroyed. So the third maxim hath also preserved me."
But the old man and his wife, with the whole of their family, were
crucified. The emperor retained the three maxims in memory during life,
and ended his days in peace.
XVII.--A LOAF FOR A DREAM.
There were once three friends who agreed to make a pilgrimage together.
It happened that their provisions fell short, and having but one loaf
between them, they were nearly famished.
"Should this loaf," they said to each other, "be divided amongst us,
there will not be enough for any one. Let us then take counsel
together, and consider how the bread is to be disposed of."
"Suppose we sleep upon the way," replied one of them; "and whosoever
hath the most wonderful dream shall possess the loaf."
The other two acquiesced, and settled themselves to sleep.
But he who gave the advice, arose while they were sleeping, and ate up
the bread, not leaving a single crumb for his companions. When he had
finished he awoke them.
"Get up quickly," said he, "and tell us your dreams."
"My friends," answered the first, "I have had a very marvellous vision.
A golden ladder reached up to heaven, by which angels ascended and
descended. They took my soul from my body, and conveyed it to that
blessed place where I beheld the Holy Trinity; and where I felt such an
overflow of joy, as eye hath not seen, nor ear heard. This is my dream."
"And I," said the second, "beheld the devils with iron instruments, by
which they dragged my soul from the body, and plunging it into hell
flames, most grievously tormented me, saying, 'As long as God reigns in
heaven this will be your portion.'"
"Now then," said the third, who had eaten the bread, "hear my dream. It
appeared as if an angel came and addressed me in the following manner:
'My friend, would you see what is become of your companions?' I answered,
'Yes, Lord. We have but one loaf among us, and I fear that they have run
off with it.' 'You are mistaken,' he rejoined, 'it lies beside us;
follow me.' He immediately led me to the gate of heaven, and by his
command I put in my head and saw you; and I thought that you were
snatched up into heaven and sat upon a throne of gold, while rich
wines and delicate meats stood around you. Then said the angel, 'Your
companion, you see, has an abundance of good things, and dwells in all
pleasures. There he will remain for ever; for he has entered a celestial
kingdom, and cannot return. Come now where your other associate is
placed.' I followed, and he led me to hell-gates, where I beheld you in
torment, as you just now said. Yet they furnished you, even there, with
bread and wine in abundance. I expressed my sorrow at seeing you in
misery, and you replied, 'As long as God reigns in heaven here I must
remain, for I have merited it. Do you then rise up quickly, and eat all
the bread, since you will see neither me nor my companion again.' I
complied with your wishes; arose, and ate the bread."
XVIII.--LOWER THAN THE BEASTS.
In the reign of a certain king there lived a proud and oppressive
seneschal. Now near the royal palace was a forest well stocked with
game; and by the direction of this person various pits were dug there,
and covered with leaves, for the purpose of entrapping the beasts. It
happened that the seneschal himself went into this forest, and with much
exaltation of heart exclaimed internally, "Lives there a being in the
empire more powerful than I am?" This braggart thought was scarcely
formed, ere he rode upon one of his own pitfalls, and immediately
disappeared.
The same day had been taken a lion, a monkey, and a serpent. Terrified
at the situation into which fate had thrown him, he cried out lustily;
and his noise awoke a poor man called Guido, who had come with his ass
into that forest for firewood, by the sale of which he got his bread.
Hastening to the mouth of the pit, and finding the cause of the noise,
he was promised great wealth if he would lift the seneschal out.
"My friend," answered Guido, "I have no means of obtaining a livelihood
except by the faggots which I collect; if I neglect this for one day, I
shall starve."
The seneschal renewed his promises of enriching him. Guido went back to
the city, and returned with a long cord, which he let down into the pit,
and bade the seneschal bind it round his waist. But before he could do
so, the lion leaped forward, and seizing upon the cord, was drawn up in
his stead. Immediately, in high glee, the beast ran off into the wood.
The rope again descended, and the monkey having noticed the success of
the lion, vaulted above the man's head, and shaking the cord, was in
like manner set at liberty. Without staying to return thanks, he hurried
off to his haunts. A third time the cord was let down, and the serpent
twining around it, was drawn up, and escaped.
"O my good friend," said the seneschal, "the beasts are gone, now draw
me up quickly, I pray you."
Guido complied, and afterwards succeeded in drawing up his horse, which
the seneschal instantly mounted and rode back to the palace.
Guido returned home; and his wife observing that he had come without
wood, was very dejected, and inquired the cause. He related what had
occurred, and the riches he was to receive for his service. The wife's
countenance brightened, and early in the morning she posted off her
husband to the palace. But the seneschal denied all knowledge of him,
and ordered him to be whipped for his presumption. The porter executed
the directions, and beat him so severely that he left him half dead. As
soon as Guido's wife understood this, she saddled their ass, and brought
him home. The sickness which ensued, consumed the whole of their little
property; but as soon as he had recovered, he went back to his usual
occupation in the wood.
Whilst he was thus employed, he saw afar off ten asses laden with packs,
and a lion by the last of them, coming along the path. On looking
narrowly at this beast, he remembered that it was the same which he had
freed from its imprisonment in the pit. The lion signified with his foot
that he should take the loaded asses, and go home. This Guido did, and
the lion followed. When he had come to his own door, the noble beast
fawned upon him, and wagging his tail as if in triumph, ran back to the
woods. Guido caused proclamation to be made in different churches,[7]
that if any asses had been lost, the owners should come to him; but no
one appearing to demand them, he opened the packages, and to his great
joy discovered them full of money.
On the second day Guido returned to the forest, but forgot an iron
instrument to cleave the wood. He looked up, and saw the monkey whom he
had set free; and the animal, by help of teeth and nails, worked for
him. Guido then loaded his asses and went home.
The next day he renewed his visit to the forest; and sitting down to
prepare his axe, discerned the serpent, whose escape he had aided,
carrying a stone in its mouth of three colours; the one white, another
black, and the third red. It opened its mouth and let the stone fall
into Guido's lap. Having done this, it departed. Guido took the stone to
a skilful lapidary, who had no sooner inspected it than he knew its
virtues, and would willingly have paid him a hundred florins for it. But
Guido refused; and by means of that singular stone, obtained great
wealth, and was promoted to a military command.
The emperor having heard of the extraordinary qualities which it
possessed, desired to see it. Guido went accordingly; and the emperor
was so struck with its uncommon beauty, that he wished to purchase it at
any rate; and threatened, if Guido refused compliance, to banish him
the kingdom.
"My lord," answered he, "I will sell the stone; but let me say one
thing--if the price be not given, it shall be presently restored to me."
He demanded three hundred florins, and then taking it from a small
coffer, put it into the emperor's hands. Full of admiration, he
exclaimed, "Tell me where you procured this beautiful stone?"
This he did; and related from the beginning the seneschal's accident and
subsequent ingratitude. He told how severely he had been whipped by his
command; and the benefits he had received from the lion, the monkey, and
serpent.
Much moved at the recital, the emperor sent for the seneschal, and said,
"What is this I hear of thee?" He was unable to reply. "O wretch!"
continued the emperor--"monster of ingratitude! Guido liberated thee from
the most imminent danger, and for this thou hast nearly destroyed him.
Dost thou see how even irrational things have rendered him good for the
service he performed? but thou hast returned evil for good. Therefore I
deprive thee of thy dignity, which I will bestow upon Guido; and I
further adjudge you to be hung on a cross." This decree infinitely
rejoiced the noblemen of the empire; and Guido, full of honours and
years, ended his days in peace.
XIX.--OF REAL FRIENDSHIP.
A certain king had an only son whom he much loved. The young man was
desirous of travelling, and obtained his father's leave to travel. After
an absence of seven years he returned, and his father, overjoyed at his
arrival, asked what friends he had made. "Three," said the son, "the
first of whom I love more than myself; the second, as much as myself;
and the third, little or nothing."
"You say well," returned the father; "but it is a good thing to prove
them before you need their help. Therefore kill a pig, put it into a
sack, and go at night to the house of him whom you love best, and say
that you have accidentally killed a man, and if the body should be found
I shall condemn you to an ignominious death. Intreat him if he ever
loved you, to give his help in this extremity." The son did so; and the
friend answered, "Since you have rashly destroyed a man, you must needs
be crucified. Now because you were my friend, I will bestow upon you
three or four ells of cloth to wrap your body in."
The youth hearing this, went in much indignation to the second of his
friends, and told the same story. He received him like the first, and
said, "Do you believe me mad, that I should expose myself to such peril?
But since I have called you my friend, I will accompany you to the
cross, and console you as much as possible upon the way."
This liberal proposal not meeting the prince's approbation, he went to
the third, and said, "I am ashamed to speak what I have done; but alas!
I have accidentally slain a man." "My friend," answered the other, "I
will readily lay down my life in your defence; and should you be
condemned to expiate your misfortune on the cross, I will be crucified
either for you or with you." _This_ man, therefore, proved that he was
his friend.
XX.--ROYAL BOUNTY.
A king issued a proclamation, that whosoever would come to him should
obtain all they asked. The noble and the rich desired dukedoms, or
counties, or knighthood; and some treasures of silver and gold. But
whatsoever they desired they had. Then came the poor and the simple,
and solicited a like boon.
"Ye come late," said the king, "the noble and the rich have already
been, and have carried away all I possess." This reply troubled them
exceedingly; and the king, moved by their concern, said, "My friends,
though I have given away all my wealth, I have still the sovereign
power; no one asked for that. I appoint you, therefore, to be their
judges and masters."
When this came to the ears of the rich, they were extremely disturbed,
and said to the king, "My lord, we are greatly troubled at your
appointing these poor wretches our rulers; it were better for us to die
than admit such servitude."
"Sirs," answered the king, "I do you no wrong: whatever you asked I
gave; insomuch that nothing remains to me but the supreme power.
Nevertheless, I will give you counsel. Whosoever of you has enough to
support life, let him bestow the superfluity upon these poor people.
They will then live honestly and comfortably, and upon these conditions
I will resume the sovereignty and keep it, while you avoid the servitude
you fear." And thus it was done.
XXI.--WILY BEGUILED.
A thief went one night to the house of a rich man, and scaling the roof,
peeped through a hole to see whether any part of the family were yet
stirring. The master of the house, suspecting something, said secretly
to his wife, "Ask me in a loud voice how I got my property, and do not
stop until I bid you."
The woman complied, and began to shout, "My dear husband, pray tell me,
since you never were a merchant, how you came by all the wealth you
have."
"My love," answered her husband, "do not ask such foolish questions."
But she persisted in her inquiries; and at length, as if overcome by her
urgency, he said, "Keep what I am going to tell you a secret, and you
shall know."
"Oh! trust me."
"Well, then, you must know that I was a thief, and got what I now enjoy
by nightly depredations."
"It is strange," said the wife, "that you were never taken."
"Why," he replied, "my master, who was a skilful clerk, taught me a
particular word, which, when I went on the tops of people's houses, I
pronounced, and thus escaped detection."
"Tell me, I conjure you," returned the lady, "what that powerful word
was."
"Hear, then; but never mention it again, or we shall lose all our
property."
"Be sure of that," said the lady; "it shall never be repeated."
"It was--is there no one within hearing?--the mighty word was 'FALSE.'"
The lady, apparently quite satisfied, fell asleep; and her husband
feigned it. He snored lustily, and the thief above, who had heard their
conversation with much pleasure, aided by the light of the moon,
descended, repeating seven times the cabalistic sound. But being too
much occupied with the charm to mind his footing, he stepped through the
window into the house; and in the fall dislocated his leg and arm, and
lay half dead upon the floor. The owner of the mansion, hearing the
noise, and well knowing the reason, though he pretended ignorance, asked
"What was the matter?" "Oh!" groaned the suffering thief, "_False_
falls." In the morning he was taken before the judge, and afterwards
suspended on a cross.
XXII.--THE BASILISK.
Alexander the Great was lord of the whole world. He once collected a
large army, and besieged a certain city, around which many knights and
others were killed without any visible wound. Much surprised at this, he
called together his philosophers, and said, "My masters, how is this? My
soldiers die, and there is no apparent wound!" "No wonder," replied
they; "under the walls of the city is a basilisk, whose look infects
your soldiers, and they die of the pestilence it creates." "And what
remedy is there for this?" said the king.
"Place a glass in a high place between the army and the wall under which
the basilisk cowers; and no sooner shall he behold it, than his own
figure, reflected in the mirror, shall return the poison upon himself,
and kill him." Alexander took their advice, and thus saved his
followers.
APPLICATION.
My beloved, look into the glass of _reflection_, and by remembrance of
human frailty destroy the vices which time breeds.
XXIII.--THE TRUMP OF DEATH.
A king made a law, by which whosoever was suddenly to be put to death,
in the morning, before sunrise should be saluted with songs and
trumpets; and, arrayed in black garments, should receive judgment. This
king made a great feast; and convoked all the nobles of his kingdom, who
appeared accordingly. The most skilful musicians were assembled, and
there was much sweet melody.
But the king was discontented and out of humour; his countenance
expressed intense sorrow, and sighs and groans rose from his heart. The
courtiers were all amazed; but none dared ask the cause of his sadness.
At last, the king's brother whispered to him the surprise of his guests,
and intreated that he might understand the cause of his grief. "Go home
now," answered the king; "to-morrow you shall know." This was done.
Early in the morning the king caused the trumpets to sound before his
brother's house, and the guards to bring him to the court. The brother,
greatly alarmed at the sounding of the trumpets, arose, and put on
black. When he came before the king, the king commanded a deep pit to
be dug, and a rotten chair, with four decayed feet, to be slightly
suspended over it. In this chair he made his brother sit; above his head
he caused a sword to hang, attached to one silk thread; and four men,
each armed with a very sharp sword, to stand near him, one before and
one behind; a third on the right hand, and the fourth on the left. When
they were thus placed, the king said, "The moment I give the word,
strike him to the heart."
Trumpets, and all other kind of musical instruments, were brought; and a
table, covered with various dishes, was set before him. "My dear
brother," said the king, "what is the cause of your sorrow? Here are the
greatest delicacies, the most enrapturing harmony; why do you not
rejoice?"
"How can I rejoice?" answered he. "In the morning, trumpets sounded for
my death; and I am now placed upon a frail chair, in which, if I move
ever so little, I shall probably be thrown upon the pointed sword
beneath. If I raise my head, the weapon above will pierce to my brain.
Besides this, the four torturers around stand ready to kill me at your
bidding. These things considered, were I lord of the universe I could
not rejoice."
"Now, then," answered the king, "I will reply to your question of
yesterday. I am, on my throne, as you on that frail chair. For my body
is its emblem, supported by four decayed feet, that is, by the four
elements. The pit below me is hell. Above my head is the sword of divine
justice, ready to take life from my body. Before me is the sword of
death; behind, the sword of sin, ready to accuse me at the tribunal of
God. The weapon on the right hand is the devil; and that on the left, is
the worms which after death shall gnaw my body. And, considering all
these circumstances, how can _I_ rejoice? If you to-day feared me, who
am mortal, how much more ought I to dread my Creator and my Redeemer,
our Lord Jesus Christ? Go, dearest brother, and be careful that you do
not again ask such questions."
The brother rose from his unpleasant seat, and rendering thanks to the
king for the lesson he had given him, firmly resolved to amend his life.
All who were present commended the ingenuity of the royal reproof.
XXIV.--ALEXANDER AND THE PIRATE.
Augustine tells us in his book, "De Civitate Dei," that Diomedes, in a
piratical galley, for a long time infested the sea, plundering and
sinking many ships. Being captured by command of Alexander, before whom
he was brought, the king inquired how he dared to molest the seas. "How
darest _thou_," replied he, "molest the earth? Because I am master only
of a single galley, I am termed a robber; but you, who oppress the world
with huge squadrons, are called a king and a conqueror. Would my fortune
change I might become better; but as you are the more fortunate, so
much are you the worse." "I will change thy fortune," said Alexander,
"lest fortune should be blamed by thy malignity." Thus he became rich;
and from a robber was made a prince and a dispenser of justice.
XXV.--A TALE OF A PENNY.
There was an emperor whose porter was very shrewd. He earnestly besought
his master that he might have the custody of a city for a single month,
and receive, by way of tax, one penny from every crook-backed, one-eyed,
scabby, leprous, or ruptured person. The emperor admitted his request,
and confirmed the gift under his own seal.
Accordingly, the porter was installed in his office; and as the people
entered the city he took note of their defects, and charged them in
accordance with the grant. It happened that a hunch-backed fellow one
day entered, and the porter made his demand. Hunch-back protested that
he would pay nothing.
The porter immediately laid hands upon him, and accidentally raising his
cap, discovered that he was _one-eyed_ also. He demanded two pennies
forthwith.
The other still more vehemently opposed, and would have fled; but the
porter catching hold of his head, the cap came off, and disclosed a bald
_scab_; whereupon he required three pennies.
Hunch-back, very much enraged, persisted in his refusal, and began to
struggle with the porter. This caused an exposure of his arms, by which
it became manifest that he was _leprous_. The fourth penny was therefore
laid claim to; and the scuffle continuing, revealed a _rupture_, which
made a fifth.
Thus, a fellow unjustly refusing to pay a rightful demand of _one_
penny, was necessitated, much against his inclination, to pay _five_.
XXVI.--OF AVOIDING IMPRECATIONS.
Gervase of Tilbury relates a very remarkable occurrence, but at the same
time full of excellent caution and prudent exhortation.
During the reign of the Roman emperor Otto, there was, in the bishopric
of Girona, in Catalonia, a very high mountain, whose ascent was
extremely arduous, and, except in one place, inaccessible. On the summit
was an unfathomable lake of black water. Here also stood, as it is
reported, a palace of demons, with a large gate, continually closed; but
the palace itself, as well as its inhabitants, existed in invisibility.
If any one cast a stone or other hard substance into this lake, the
demons exhibited their anger by furious storms. In one part of the
mountain was perpetual snow and ice, with abundance of crystal. At its
foot flowed a river, whose sands were of gold; and the precious metal
thus obtained, was denominated, by the vulgar, its _cloak_. The mountain
itself and the parts adjacent, furnished silver; and its inexhaustible
fertility was not the least surprising.
Not far from hence lived a certain farmer, who was much occupied with
domestic matters, and troubled exceedingly by the incessant squalling of
his little girl; insomuch, that at length wearied out by the torment,
in a moment of fretfulness he wished his infant at the devil. This
incautious desire was scarcely uttered, ere the girl was seized by an
invisible hand, and carried off. Seven years afterwards, a person
journeying at the foot of the mountain near the farmer's dwelling,
distinguished a man hurrying along at a prodigious rate, and uttering
the most doleful complaints. He stopped to inquire the occasion; and
was told, that for the space of seven years last passed, he had been
committed to the custody of the demons upon that mountain, who daily
made use of him as of a chariot, in consequence of an unwary exclamation
to that effect. The traveller startled at an assertion so extraordinary,
and a little incredulous, was informed that his neighbour had suffered
in a similar degree; for that having hastily committed his daughter to
their power, they had instantly borne her off. He added, that the
demons, weary of instructing the girl, would willingly restore her,
provided the father presented himself on the mountain and there received
her.
The auditor, thunder-struck at this communication, doubted whether he
should conceal things so incredible, or relate them as he had heard. He
determined, at last, to declare the girl's situation to her father; and
hastening, accordingly, found him still bewailing the lengthened absence
of his daughter. Ascertaining the cause, he went on to state what he had
heard from the man whom the devils used as a chariot. "Therefore," said
he, "I recommend you, attesting the divine name, to demand of these
devils the restitution of your daughter." Amazed at what was imparted to
him, the father deliberated upon the best method of proceeding; and
finally, pursued the counsel of the traveller. Ascending the mountain,
he passed forward to the lake, and adjured the demons to restore the
girl whom his folly had committed to them. Suddenly a violent blast
swept by him, and a girl of lofty stature stood in his presence. Her
eyes were wild and wandering, and her bones and sinews were scarcely
covered with skin. Her horrible countenance discovered no sign of
sensibility; and, ignorant of all language, she scarcely could be
acknowledged for a human being. The father, wondering at her strange
appearance, and doubtful whether she should be taken to his own home or
not, posted to the bishop of Girona, and with a sorrowful aspect
detailed what had befallen him; at the same time requesting his advice.
The bishop, as a religious man, and one entrusted with a charge of so
much importance, narrated every circumstance respecting the girl to his
diocese. He warned them against rashly committing their fortunes to the
power of concealed demons; and showed that our adversary the devil, as a
raging lion, goeth about seeking whom he may devour; that he will slay
those who are given to him, and hold them in eternal bonds.
The man who was used by the devils as a chariot, a long time remained in
this miserable situation. But his subsequent faith and discretion
emancipated him. He stated that near the above-mentioned place there was
an extensive subterranean palace, whose entrance was by a single gate,
enveloped in the thickest darkness. Through this portal the devils, who
had been on embassies to various parts of the world, returned, and
communicated to their fellows what they had done. No one could tell of
what the palace was constructed, save themselves, and those who passed
under their yoke to eternal damnation. From all which, my beloved, we
may gather the dangers we are exposed to, and how cautious we should be
of invoking the devil to our assistance, as well as of committing our
family to his power. Let us guard our hearts, and beware that he catch
not up the sinful soul, and plunge it into the lake of everlasting
misery; where there is snow and ice unthawed; crystal, that reflects the
awakened and agonized conscience perpetually burning with immortal fire.
XXVII.--A VERSE EXERCISE.
Alexander had an only son called Celestinus, whom he loved with the
utmost tenderness. He desired to have him well instructed; and sending
for a certain philosopher, said, "Sir, instruct my son, and I will pay
you bountifully." The philosopher agreed, and took the boy home with
him. He diligently performed his duty; and it happened, that one day
entering a meadow with his pupil, they saw a horse lying on the ground,
grievously affected with the mange. Near the animal two sheep were tied
together, which busily cropped the grass that grew around them. It so
chanced that the sheep were on each side of the horse, and the cord with
which they were bound passed over his back, and chafing the sores,
galled him exceedingly. Disturbed by this, he got up; but the cord, then
loaded with the weight of the sheep, afflicted him more and more; and
filled with fury, he began to run off at a great speed, dragging along
the unfortunate sheep. And in equal proportion to their resistance was
the increase of the horse's suffering, for the cord, having worn itself
into a hollow, sunk, at every struggle, deeper into the wound.
Adjoining the meadow was the house of a miller, toward which the horse,
impelled by the anguish of his wound, galloped, and entered, with the
sheep hanging as we have said. The house was then unoccupied; but there
was a fire burning upon the hearth; and the horse plunging and striking
his hoofs, so scattered the fire, that the flame caught hold of the
building, and burnt all to ashes, together with the horse and the sheep.
"Young man," said the preceptor to his pupil, "you have witnessed the
beginning, the middle, and the end of this incident: make me some
correct verses upon it; and show me why the house was burnt. Unless you
do this, I promise I will punish you severely."
Celestinus, during the absence of his master, applied himself diligently
to study, but he was unable to do his task. This much troubled him; and
the devil, ever on the alert, met him in the likeness of a man, and
said, "My son, what has made you so sorrowful?"
_Celest._ "Never mind; it is no use telling you."
_Devil._ "You know not that; tell me, and I will help you."
_Celest._ "I am charged, under a heavy punishment, to make some verses
about a scabby horse and two sheep, and I don't know how."
_Devil._ "Young man, I am the devil in a human form, and the best poet
going; care nothing about your master, but promise to serve me
faithfully, and I will compose such delectable verses for you that they
shall excel those of your pedagogue himself."
Celestinus, tempted by this insidious proposal, gave his word to serve
him faithfully if he fulfilled his engagement.
The devil then produced the following verses:--
Bound by a thong, that passed along
A horse's mangy hide;
Two sheep there lay, as I you say,
One upon either side.
The steed uprose, and upward goes
Each sheep with dangling breech;
Borne by the horse's rapid course,
The miller's hut they reach.
Scattering the fire, with reckless ire,
The rafters caught the flame;
And bleating breed and scabby steed
Were roasted in the same.
Now had that wight, that miller hight,
Vouchsafed his house to keep;
Ere he returned, it had not burned,
Nor burned his horse and sheep.[8]
The boy, made happy by the present, returned home.
_Master._ "My child, have you stolen your verses, or made them?"
_Celest._ "I made them, sir."
He then read what we have given above; and the master, struck with the
greatest astonishment at their uncommon beauty, exclaimed, "My dear boy,
tell me if any one made these verses for you?"
_Celest._ "No, sir; no one did."
_Master._ "Unless you tell me the truth, I will flog you till the blood
run."
The lad, fearful of what might follow, declared all that occurred, and
how he had bound himself to the devil. The preceptor, grieved at the
communication, induced the youth to confess himself, and renounce this
fearful confederacy. When this was done he became a holy man; and after
a well-spent life, gave up his soul to God.
XXVIII.--BRED IN THE BONE.
There reigned some time in Rome a wise and mighty emperor, named Anselm,
who did bear in his arms a shield of silver with five red roses. This
emperor had three sons, whom he loved much. He had also continual war
with the king of Egypt, in which war he lost all his temporal goods
except a precious tree. It fortuned after on a day that he gave
battle to the same king of Egypt, wherein he was grievously wounded;
nevertheless, he obtained the victory, notwithstanding he had his deadly
wound. Wherefore, while he lay at point of death, he called unto his
eldest son, and said: "My dear and well-beloved son, all my temporal
riches are spent, and almost nothing is left me but a precious tree, the
which stands in the midst of my empire. I give to thee all that is under
the earth and above the earth of the same tree." "O my reverend
father," quoth he, "I thank you much."
Then said the emperor, "Call to me my second son." Anon the eldest son,
greatly joying of his father's gift, called in his brother. And when he
came, the emperor said, "My dear son, I may not make my testament,
forasmuch as I have spent all my goods, except a tree which stands in
the midst of mine empire, of the which tree, I bequeath to thee all that
is great and small." Then answered he and said, "My reverend father, I
thank you much."
Then said the emperor, "Call to me my third son." And so it was done.
And when he was come the emperor said, "My dear son, I must die of these
wounds, and I have only a precious tree, of which I have given thy
brethren their portion, and to thee I bequeath thy portion; for I will
that thou have of the said tree all that is wet and dry." Then said his
son, "Father, I thank you."
Soon after the emperor had made his bequest, he died. And the eldest son
took possession of the tree. Now when the second son heard this, he came
to him, saying, "My brother, by what law or title occupy you this tree?"
"Dear brother," quoth he, "I occupy it by this title: my father gave me
all that is under the earth, and above of the said tree, by reason
thereof the tree is mine." "Unknowing to thee," quoth the second brother,
"he gave unto me all that is great and small of the said tree, and
therefore I have as great right in the tree as you." This hearing, the
third son he came to them and said, "My well-beloved brethren, it
behoveth you not to strive for this tree, for I have as much right in
the tree as ye, for by the law ye wot that the last will and testament
ought to stand, for of truth he gave me of the said tree all that is wet
and dry, and therefore the tree by right is mine; but forasmuch as your
words are of great force and mine also, my counsel is that we be judged
by reason, for it is not good nor commendable that strife or dissension
should be among us. Here beside dwelleth a king full of reason; therefore,
to avoid strife, let us go to him, and each of us lay his right before
him, and as he shall judge, let us stand to his judgment." Then said his
brethren, "Thy counsel is good." Wherefore they went all three unto the
king of reason, and each of them severally showeth forth his right unto
him, as it is said before.
When the king had heard the titles, he rehearsed them all again
severally, first saying to the eldest son thus: "You say," quoth the
king, "that your father gave you all that is under the earth and above
the earth of the said tree. And to the second brother he bequeathed all
that is great and small of that tree. And to the third brother he gave
all that is wet and dry."
And with that he laid the law to them, and said that this will ought to
stand.
"Now, my dear friends, briefly I shall satisfy all your requests;" and
when he had thus said, he turned him unto the eldest brother, saying,
"My dear friend, if you list to abide the judgment of right, it behoveth
you to be letten blood of the right arm." "My lord," quoth he, "your
will shall be done." Then the king called for a discreet physician,
commanding him to let him blood.
When the eldest son was letten blood, the king said unto them all three,
"My dear friends, where is your father buried?" Then answered they, and
said, "Forsooth, my lord, in such a place." Anon the king commanded to
dig in the ground for the body, and to take a bone out of his breast,
and to bury the body again: and so it was done. And when the bone was
taken out, the king commanded that it should be laid in the blood of the
elder brother, and it should lie till it had received kindly the blood,
and then to be laid in the sun and dried, and after that it should
be washed with clear water. His servants fulfilled all that he had
commanded: and when they began to wash, the blood vanished clean away;
when the king saw this, he said to the second son, "It behoveth that
thou be letten blood, as thy brother was." Then said he, "My lord's will
shall be fulfilled," and anon he was done unto like as his brother was
in all things, and when they began to wash the bone, the blood vanished
away. Then said the king to the third son, "It behoveth thee to be
letten blood likewise." He answered and said, "My lord, it pleaseth me
well so to be." When the youngest brother was letten blood, and done
unto in all things as the two brethren were before, then the king's
servants began to wash the bone, but neither for washing nor rubbing
might they do away the blood of the bone, but it ever appeared bloody:
when the king saw this, he said, "It appeareth openly now that this
blood is of the nature of the bone, thou art his true son, and the other
two are bastards. I judge thee the tree for evermore."
XXIX.--FULGENTIUS.
In Rome some time dwelt a mighty emperor named Martin, which for entire
affection kept with him his brother's son, whom men called Fulgentius.
With this Martin dwelt also a knight that was steward of the empire, and
uncle unto the emperor, which envied this Fulgentius, studying day and
night how he might bring the emperor and this youth at debate. Wherefore
the steward on a day went to the emperor, and said, "My lord," quoth he,
"I that am your true servant, am bound in duty to warn your highness, if
I hear anything that toucheth your honour, wherefore I have such things
that I must needs utter it in secret to your majesty between us two."
Then said the emperor, "Good friend, say on what thee list."
"My most dear lord," quoth the steward, "Fulgentius, your cousin and
your nigh kinsman, hath defamed you wonderfully and shamefully throughout
all your whole empire, saying that your breath stinketh, and that it is
death to him to serve your cup." Then the emperor was grievously
displeased, and almost beside himself for anger, and said unto him thus:
"I pray thee, good friend, tell me the very truth, if that my breath
stinketh as he saith?" "My lord," quoth the steward, "ye may believe
me, I never perceived a sweeter breath in my days than yours is."
"Then," said the emperor, "I pray thee, good friend, tell me how I may
bring this thing to good proof."
The steward answered and said: "My lord," quoth he, "ye shall right well
understand the truth; for to-morrow next when he serveth you of your cup,
ye shall see that he will turn away his face from you, because of your
breath, and this is the most certain proof that may be had of this
thing." "Verily," quoth the emperor, "a truer proof cannot be had of
this thing." Therefore anon, when the steward heard this, he went
straight to Fulgentius, and took him aside, saying thus: "Dear friend,
thou art near kinsman and also nephew unto my lord the emperor, therefore
if thou wilt be thankful unto me, I will tell thee of a fault whereof my
lord the emperor complaineth oft, and thinks to put thee from him,
except it be the sooner amended, and that will be a great reproof to
thee." Then said this Fulgentius: "Ah, good sir, for his love that died
upon the cross, tell me why my lord is so sore moved with me, for I am
ready to amend my fault in all that I can or may, and for to be ruled by
your discreet counsel."
"Thy breath," quoth the steward, "stinketh so sore, that his drink doth
him no good, so grievous unto him is the stinking breath of thy mouth."
Then said Fulgentius unto the steward: "Truly; that perceived I never
till now. But what think ye of my breath? I pray you tell me the very
truth." "Truly," quoth the steward, "it stinketh greatly and foul." And
this Fulgentius believed all that he had said, and was right sorrowful
in his mind, and prayed the steward of his counsel and help in this
woeful case. Then said the steward unto him, "If that thou wilt do my
counsel, I shall bring this matter to a good conclusion; wherefore do as
I shall tell thee.
"I counsel thee for the best, and also warn thee that when thou servest
my lord the emperor of his cup, that thou turn thy face away from him,
so that he may not smell thy stinking breath, until the time that thou
hast provided thee of some remedy therefore."
Then was Fulgentius right glad, and sware to him that he would do by his
counsel.
Not long after it befell that this young man Fulgentius served his lord
as he was wont to do, and therewith suddenly he turned his face from the
lord the emperor, as the steward had taught him.
And when the emperor perceived the avoiding of his head, he smote this
young Fulgentius on the breast with his foot, and said to him thus: "O
thou lewd varlet; now I see well it is true that I have heard of thee,
and therefore go thou anon out of my sight, that I may see thee no more
in this place." And with that this young Fulgentius wept full sore, and
avoided the place, and went out of his sight.
And when this was done, the emperor called unto him his steward, and
said, "How may I rid this varlet from the world, that thus hath defamed
me?" "My most dear lord," quoth the steward, "right well you shall have
your intent.
"For here beside, within these three miles, ye have brickmakers, which
daily make great fire, for to burn brick, and also they make lime;
therefore, my lord, send to them this night, charge them upon pain of
death, that whosoever cometh to them first in the morning, saying to
them thus, 'My lord commandeth them to fulfil his will,' that they take
him and cast him into the furnace and burn him: and this night command
you this Fulgentius, that he go early in the morning to your workmen,
and that he ask them whether they have fulfilled your will which they
were commanded or not; and then shall they, according to your
commandment, cast him into the fire, and thus shall he die an evil
death."
"Surely," quoth the emperor, "thy counsel is good; therefore call to me
that varlet Fulgentius." And when the young man was come to the
emperor's presence, he said to him thus: "I charge thee upon pain of
death, that thou rise early in the morning, and go to the burners of
lime and brick, and that thou be with them early before the sun rise,
three miles from this house, and charge them in my behalf, that they
fulfil my commandment, or else they shall die a most shameful death."
Then spake this Fulgentius: "My lord, if God send me my life, I shall
fulfil your will, were it that I go to the world's end."
When Fulgentius had this charge, he could not sleep for thought, that he
must rise early to fulfil his lord's commandment. The emperor about
midnight sent a messenger on horseback unto his brickmakers, commanding,
that upon pain of death, that whosoever came to them first in the
morning, saying unto them (as is before rehearsed) they should take him
and bind him, and cast him into the fire, and burn him to the bare
bones.
The brickmakers answered and said, it should be done. Then the messenger
returns home again, and told the emperor that his commandment should be
diligently fulfilled.
Early in the morning following, Fulgentius arose and prepared him
towards his way, and as he went, he heard a bell ring to service,
wherefore he went to hear service, and after the end of service he fell
asleep, and there slept a long while so soundly, that the priest, nor
none other, might awake him.
The steward desiring inwardly to hear of his death, about two of the
clock he went to the workmen, and said unto them thus: "Sirs," quoth he,
"have ye done the emperor's commandment or not?"
The brickmakers answered him and said: "No, truly, we have not yet done
his commandment, but it shall be done," and with that they laid hands on
him. Then cried the steward, and said, "Good sirs, save my life, for the
emperor commanded that Fulgentius should be put to death." Then said
they, "The messenger told us not so, but he bade us, that whosoever came
first in the morning, saying, as you have said, that we should take him,
and cast him into the furnace, and burn him to ashes." And with that
they threw him into the fire.
And when he was burnt, Fulgentius came to them and said, "Good sirs,
have you done my lord's commandment?" "Yea, soothly," said they, "and
therefore go ye again to the emperor, and tell him so." Then said
Fulgentius, "For Christ's love, tell me that commandment?"
"We had in commandment," said they, "upon pain of death, that whosoever
came to us first in the morning, and said like as thou hast said, that
we should take him and cast him into the furnace. But before thee came
the steward and therefore on him have we fulfilled the emperor's
commandment; now he is burnt to the bare bones."
When Fulgentius heard this, he thanked God that he had so preserved him
from death; therefore he took his leave of the workmen, and went again
to the palace.
When the emperor saw him, he was almost distract of his wits for anger,
and thus he said, "Hast thou been with the brickmakers, and fulfilled my
commandment?" "Soothly, my gracious lord, I have been there, but ere I
am there, your commandment was fulfilled." "How may that be true," quoth
the emperor.
"Forsooth," said Fulgentius, "the steward came to them afore me, and
said that I should have said, so they took him and threw him into the
furnace; and if I had come any earlier, so would they have done to me,
and therefore I thank God that he hath preserved me from death."
Then said the emperor, "Tell me the truth of such questions as I shall
demand of thee." Then said Fulgentius to the emperor, "You never found
me in any falsehood, and therefore I greatly wonder why ye have ordained
such a death for me; for well ye know that I am your own brother's son."
Then said the emperor to Fulgentius: "It is no wonder, for that death I
ordained for thee, through counsel of the steward, because thou didst
defame me throughout all my empire, saying, that my breath did stink so
grievously, that it was death to thee, and in token thereof thou
turnedst away thy face when thou servedst me of my cup, and that I saw
with mine eyes; and for this cause I ordained for thee such a death; and
yet thou shalt die, except I hear a better excuse."
Then answered Fulgentius, and said, "Ah, dear lord, if it might please
your highness for to hear me, I shall show you a subtle and deceitful
imagination." "Say on," quoth the emperor.
"The steward," quoth Fulgentius, "that is now dead, came to me and said,
that ye told unto him that my breath did stink, and thereupon he
counselled me, that when I served you of your cup, I should turn my face
away; I take God to witness, I lie not."
When the emperor heard this, he believed him, and said, "O my nephew,
now I see, through the right wise judgment of God, the steward is burnt,
and his own wickedness and envy is fallen on himself, for he ordained
this malice against thee, and therefore thou art much bound to Almighty
God that hath preserved thee from death."
XXX.--VENGEANCE DEFERRED.
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 daytime 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 asked how this had been done in so short a space
of time, he told 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 askest 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 time, and resolved on the marriage. During
the whole thirty years the parties remained in perfect happiness.
When the thirty years were nearly passed, the knight built a strong
castle, and over one of the gates, in a conspicuous place, caused the
following verses to be written--
"In my distress, religious aid I sought:
But my distress relieved, I held it nought.
The wolf was sick, a lamb he seemed to be;
But health restored, a wolf again was he."
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 date, 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 presence of all the company.
Instantly the castle divided into 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.
A DISCOURSE
OF THE
MOST FAMOUS DR. JOHN FAUSTUS,
OF WITTENBURG, IN GERMANY.
CONJURER AND NECROMANCER;
_WHEREIN IS DECLARED MANY STRANGE THINGS
THAT HIMSELF HAD SEEN AND DONE IN
THE EARTH AND AIR, WITH HIS
BRINGING UP, HIS TRAVELS, STUDIES, AND LAST END._
THE FAMOUS HISTORY
OF
DOCTOR FAUSTUS.
CHAPTER I.
_Of his Parentage and Birth._
John Faustus, born in the town of Rhodes, being in the province of
Weimar, in Germany, his father a poor husbandman, and not able well to
bring him up, yet having an uncle at Wittenburg, a rich man, and without
issue, took this Faustus from his father, and made him his heir,
insomuch that his father was no more troubled with him, for he remained
with his uncle at Wittenburg, where he was kept at the university in the
same city, to study Divinity; but Faustus being of a naughty mind, and
otherwise addicted, plyed not his studies, but betook himself to other
exercises, which his uncle oftentimes hearing, rebuked him for it; as
Eli oftentimes rebuked his children for sinning against the Lord, even
so this good old man laboured to have Faustus apply his study to
Divinity, that he might come to the knowledge of God and his law. But it
is manifest that many virtuous parents have wicked children, as Cain,
Reuben, Absolom, and such like, have been to their parents. So Faustus
having godly parents, who seeing him to be of a toward wit, were
desirous to bring him up in those virtuous studies, namely, of Divinity;
but he gave himself secretly to necromancy, and conjuration, insomuch
that few or none could perceive his profession.
But to the purpose, Faustus continued at study in the university, and
was by the rectors, and sixteen masters afterwards, examined how he had
profited in his studies, and being found by them, that none of his time
were able to argue with him in divinity, or for the excellency of his
wisdom to compare with him, with one consent they made him Doctor of
Divinity. But Doctor Faustus, within short time after he had obtained
his degree, fell into such fantasies, and deep cogitations, that he was
mocked of many, and of the most part of the students was called the
Speculator, and sometimes he would throw the Scriptures from him, as
though he had no care of his former profession, so that he began a most
ungodly life, as hereafter more at large may appear, for the old proverb
saith, "Who can hold what will away?" So, who can hold Faustus from the
devil, that seeks after him with all his endeavours; for he accompanied
himself with divers that were seen in those devilish arts, and that had
the Chaldean, Persian, Hebrew, Arabian, and Greek tongues, using
figures, characters, conjurations, incantations, with many other
ceremonies belonging to those infernal arts, as necromancy, charms,
soothsaying, witchcraft, enchantment, being delighted with their books,
words, and names so well, that he studied day and night therein,
insomuch that he could not abide to be called Doctor of Divinity,
but waxed a worldly man, and named himself an astrologian, and a
mathematician, and for a shadow sometimes a physician, and did great
cures, namely with herbs, roots, waters, drinks, receipts and glysters;
and without doubt he was passing wise and excellent perfect in Holy
Scripture. But he that knoweth his master's will, and doth it not, is
worthy to be beaten with many stripes. It is written, "No man can serve
two masters, and thou shalt not tempt the Lord thy God." But Faustus
threw all this in the wind, and made his soul of no estimation,
regarding more his worldly pleasures than the joys to come; therefore at
the day of judgment, there is no hope of his redemption.