by Charles Swan
APPLICATION.
My beloved, the emperor is our heavenly Father, who decreed that whosoever struck thrice upon the gate— that is, who prayed, fasted, and gave alms—should become a soldier of the Church militant, and finally attain everlasting life. Guido is any poor man, who in baptism begins his ministry. The first office is to serve Christ, and prepare the heart for virtue. The second is to watch: “For ye know not at what hour the Son of Man cometh.” The third, to taste of penitence; which was good to the saints who live eternally in heaven; and it is good, because it brings us to that blessed situation. Lastly, it will be good, when the resurrection is come, and we are summoned to receive a crown of glory. The fourth ministry is to invite Christ’s enemies to become His friends, and inherit eternal life: for He “came not to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.” The fifth is to light the fire of charity, which shall burn free from all impure and improper feelings. The sixth, to teach the way to the Holy Land—that is, to heaven. The sea, over which men must be conveyed, is the world. The rock, in the midst of it, is the human form, or rather the heart, on which a bird cowers; that is, the Holy Spirit. The seven eggs are seven gifts of the Spirit. If the Spirit leave us the devil defiles the nest, and destroys those good gifts. The blood of the lamb is Christ’s blood, shed for our salvation, with which we ought ever to be sprinkled; that is, ever to retain it in memory.*
* [Semel omni ebdomada. Mr. Swan translates this “every night,” being apparently shocked at the scanty use made by the emperor of soap and water.—ED.]
† Must is new wine. “Vinum igitur mustum, quomodo Cato loquitur, idem est, quod novum, sive Nonius: Mustum, non solum vinuin, verùm novellum quicquid est, rectè dicitur.”
Vinegar, Lat. acetum. “Optimum et laudatissimum acetum a Romanis habebatur Ægyptum, quod acrimoniam quidem habebat multam, sed mixtam tamen dulcedine aliqua, quae asperitatem tollerit, nee horrorem gustandi injieeret.”—Facciol. The vinegar spoken of in the text was probably sweetened.
* There are several popular stories not unlike the present, but they will probably occur to the memory of most readers.
* There is a curious defence of transubstantiation in this moral; and we may admire its ingenuity while we reprobate the absurd doctrine it is designed to advocate.
“You ask,” says the writer of the Gest, “by what means bread may be converted into the real body of Christ. Observe how the mother nourishes her child. If she hunger and want milk, the infant, deprived of its proper sustenance, languishes and dies. But if, in her greatest extremity, she drink but the lees of wine, those lees, taken by the mouth, become changed into blood, and supply milk and nutriment to the child. If nature, then, exert so much power over the woman, how much more shall the virtue of the sacramental rite, operating by the mouth of the priest (that is, by the words of Christ proceeding from his mouth), convert bread into flesh, and wine into blood?”
TALE XVIII.
OF VENIAL SIN.
A CERTAIN soldier, called Julian, unwittingly killed his parents.* For being of noble birth, and addicted, as youth frequently is, to the sports of the field, a stag which he hotly pursued suddenly turned round and addressed him: “Thou who pursuest me so fiercely shalt be the destruction of thy parents.” These words greatly alarmed Julian, who feared their accomplishment even while he disavowed the probability. Leaving, therefore, his amusement, he went privately into a distant country, and enrolled himself in the bands of a certain chieftain. His conduct, as well in war as in peace, merited so highly from the prince he served, that he created him a knight, and gave him the widow of a castellan† in marriage, with her castle as a dowry.
All this while, the parents of Julian bewailed the departure of their son, and diligently sought for him in all places. At length they arrived at the castle, and in Julian’s absence were introduced to his wife, who asked them what they were. They communicated without reserve the occasion of their search, and their sorrow for an only child. Convinced by this explanation that they were her husband’s parents (for he had often conversed with her about them, and detailed the strange occurrence which induced him to flee his country), she received them very kindly; and in consideration of the love she bore her husband, put them into her own bed, and commanded another to be prepared elsewhere for herself. Now, early in the morning, the lady castellan went to her devotions. In the mean time Julian returning home, hastened, according to custom, to the chamber of his wife, imagining that she had not yet risen. Fearful of awaking her, he softly entered the apartment, and perceiving two persons in bed, instantly concluded that his wife was disloyal. Without a moment’s pause, he unsheathed his sabre, and slew both. Then he hurried from the chamber, and accidentally took the direction in which the church lay, and by which his wife had proceeded not long before. On the threshold of the sacred building he distinguished her, and struck with the utmost amazement, inquired whom they were that had taken possession of his bed. She replied that they were his parents; who, after long and wearisome search in pursuit of him, arrived at his castle the last evening. The intelligence was as a thunderbolt to Julian; and unable to contain himself he burst into an agony of tears. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “lives there in the world so forlorn a wretch as I am ? This accursed hand has murdered my parents, and fulfilled the horrible prediction which I have struggled to avoid. Dearest wife, pardon my fatal suspicions, and receive my last farewell; for never will I know rest, until I am satisfied that God has forgiven me.” His wife answered, “Wilt thou abandon me then, my beloved, and leave me alone and widowed ? No—I have been the participator of thy happiness, and now will participate thy grief.” Julian opposed not, and they departed together towards a large river, that flowed at no great distance, and where many had perished. In this place they built and endowed a hospital, where they abode in the truest contrition of heart. They always ferried over those who wished to cross the river, and received great numbers of poor people within the place. Many years glided by, and, at last, on a very cold night, about the mid-hour, as Julian slept, overpowered with fatigue, a lamentable voice seemed to call his name, and beg him in dolorous accents to take the speaker across the river. He instantly got up, and found a man covered with the leprosy, perishing for very cold. He brought him into the house, and lighted a fire to warm him; but he could not be made warm. That he might omit no possible means of cherishing the leper, he carried him into his own bed, and endeavoured by the heat of his body to restore him. After a while, he who seemed sick, and cold, and leprous, appeared enveloped in an immortal splendour: and waving his light wings, seemed ready to mount up into heaven. Turning a look of the utmost benignity upon his wondering host, he said, “Julian, the Lord hath sent me to thee, to announce the acceptance of thy contrition. Before long both thou and thy partner will sleep in the Lord.” So saying, the angelic messenger disappeared. Julian and his wife, after a short time fully occupied in good works, died in peace. (3)
APPLICATION.
My beloved, the knight Julian is any good Christian prelate, who ought manfully to war against the devil, the world, and the flesh; and to hunt—that is, to acquire souls for the service of God. He should flee from the world, and he will then receive the lady castellan in marriage—that is, divine grace. The parents are the vanities of this life, which pursue a man everywhere: these parents must be slain with the sabre of repentance. The river is the Holy Scriptures; and the hospital by its side is prayer, fasting, and alms-giving.
* [This story is remarkable for its resemblance in several respects to that of ?dipus, to which legend the Greek dramatists were indebted for some of their finest conceptions.—ED.]
† The castellan was a military guardian of a castle and of the same dignity as the viscount. (See Du Cange.)
TALE XIX.
OF THE SIN OF PRIDE.
WE read in the Roman annals (i.e. Gesta Romanorum) of a prince called Pompey. He was united to the daughter of a nobleman, whose name was Cæsar. It was agreed between them to bring the whole world
into subjection; and with this view Pompey gave instructions to his associate to possess himself of certain distant fortresses: for the latter being a young man, it became him to be most active. In the mean while, Pompey, as the chief person of the commonwealth, endeavoured to guard it against the machinations of their enemies; and appointed a particular day for the return of Cæsar—in failure of which, he was to be deprived of his citizenship for ever.* Five years were allowed him; and Cæsar, assembling a large army, marched rapidly into the country he was about to attack. But the inhabitants being warlike, he was unable to subdue them in the specified time. Caring, therefore, to offend Pompey less than to relinquish his conquests, he continued abroad considerably beyond the five years; and was consequently banished the empire. When Cæsar had concluded the campaign he turned towards Rome, marching with his forces across a river, distinguished by the name of Rubicon. Here a phantom of immense stature, standing in the middle of the water, opposed his passage. It said, “Cæsar, if your purpose be the welfare of the state—pass on; but if not, beware how you advance another step.” Cæsar replied, “I have long fought for, and am still prepared to undergo every hardship in defence of Rome; of which I take the gods whom I worship to be my witnesses.” As he said this, the phantom vanished. Cæsar then spurred his war-horse and crossed the river; but having effected his passage, he paused on the opposite bank:—“I have rashly promised peace,” said he; “for in this case, I must relinquish my just right.” From that hour he pursued Pompey with the utmost virulence, even to the death; and was himself slain afterwards by a band of conspirators.*
APPLICATION.
My beloved, by Pompey understand the Creator of all things; Cæsar signifies Adam, who was the first man. His daughter is the soul, betrothed to God. Adam was placed in Paradise to cultivate and to guard it; but not fulfilling the condition imposed upon him, like Cæsar, he was expelled his native country. The Rubicon is baptism, by which mankind re-enters a state of blessedness.
* [The mixture of romance and history throughout this tale is wonderful, not to say ludicrous. The belief that “Pompey the Great” was a sovereign Prince of Rome is only one of the strange delusions which existed during the period somewhat loosely known as “the Middle Ages.”—ED.]
* This story is evidently built upon a confused tradition of Cæsar and Pompey. “It was impossible,” says Warton, “that the Roman History could pass through the dark ages without being infected with many romantic corruptions. Indeed, the Roman was almost the only ancient history which the readers of those ages knew: and what related even to Pagan Rome, the parent of the modern papal metropolis of Christianity, was regarded with a superstitions veneration and often magnified with miraculous additions.”—Diss, on the Gesta Romamrum, vol. i. p. cl.
TALE XX.
OF TRIBULATION AND ANGUISH.
IN the reign of the Emperor Conrad, there lived a certain count, called Leopold, who for some cause, fearing the indignation of his master, fled with his wife into the woods, and concealed himself in a miserable hovel. By chance the emperor hunted there; and being carried away by the heat of the chace, lost himself in the woods, and was benighted. Wandering about in various directions, he came at length to the cottage where the count dwelt, and requested shelter. Now, his hostess being at that time pregnant, and near the moment of her travail, prepared, though with some difficulty, a meal, and brought whatever he required. The same night she was delivered of a son. While the emperor slept, a voice broke upon his ear, which seemed to say, “Take, Take, Take.” He arose immediately, and with considerable alarm said to himself, “What can that voice mean? ‘Take! Take! Take!’ What am I to take?” He reflected upon the singularity of this for a short space, and then fell asleep. But a second time the voice addressed him, crying out, “Bestore, Restore, Restore.” He awoke in very great sorrow. “What is all this ? “thought he. “First, I was to ‘Take, Take, Take,’ and there is nothing for me to take. Just now the same voice exclaimed,’ Restore, Restore, Restore,’ and what can I restore when I have taken nothing?” Unable to explain the mystery, he again slept; and the third time the voice spoke. “Fly, Fly, Fly,” it said, “for a child is now born, who shall become thy son-in-law.” These words created great perplexity in the emperor; and getting up very early in the morning, he sought out two of his squires, and said, “Go and force away that child from its mother; cleave it in twain, and bring its heart to me.” The terrified squires obeyed, and snatched away the child as it hung at its mother’s breast. But observing its very great beauty, they were moved to compassion, and placed it upon the branch of a tree, to rescue it from the wild beasts; and then killing a hare, they conveyed its heart to the emperor.* Soon after this, a duke travelling in the forest, passed by, and hearing the cry of an infant, searched about; and discovering it, placed it, unknown to any one, in the folds of his garment. Having no child himself, he conveyed it to his wife, bade her nourish it as their own, and gave it the name of Henry. The boy grew up, handsome in person and extremely eloquent; so that he became a general favourite. Now, the emperor, remarking the extraordinary quickness of the youth, desired his foster-father to send him to court; where he resided a length of time. But the great estimation in which he was held by all ranks of people, caused the emperor to repent what he had done; and to fear lest he should aspire to the throne, or probably be the same whom, as the child, he had commanded his squires to destroy. Wishing to secure himself from every possible turn of fortune, he wrote a letter with his own hand to the queen to the following purport: “I command you, on pain of death, as soon as this letter reaches you, to put the young man to death.” When it was completed, he went by some accident into a church, and seating himself upon a bench, fell asleep. The letter had been enclosed in a purse, which hung loosely from his girdle; and a certain priest of the place, impelled by an ungovernable curiosity, opened the purse and read the purposed wickedness. Filled with horror and indignation, he cunningly erased the passage commanding the youth’s death, and wrote instead, “Give him our daughter in marriage.” The writing was conveyed to the queen, who finding the emperor’s signature, and the impression of the royal signet, called together the princes of the empire, and celebrated their nuptials with great pomp. When this was communicated to the emperor he was greatly afflicted, but when he heard the whole chain of miraculous interposition from the two squires, the duke, and the priest, he saw that he must resign himself to the dispensations of God. And, therefore, sending for the young man, he confirmed his marriage, and appointed him heir to his kingdom.*
APPLICATION.
My beloved, the emperor is God the Father; who, angry with our first parents, drove them from Paradise into the woods, and desolate places of life. The child who was born is Jesus Christ, whom many persecute; but who will finally triumph over all His enemies. The squires are the divine power and grace operating upon the heart. The child is placed in a tree—that is, in the Church; and the duke, who preserved it, is any good prelate. The slain hare is our carnal affections, which ought to be destroyed. The letter which the emperor wrote with his own hand is every evil imagination which possesses the heart. For then Christ is in danger of being destroyed. The priest who preserved the youth is any discreet minister, who by means of the Sacred Writings mollifies the asperities of the human soul, and betroths it to Heaven.
* [This circumstance is a part of several well-known stories. See, in particular, Lockhart’s Spanish Ballads, “The Escape of Gayferos.”—ED.]
