Gesta Romanorum

by Charles Swan

  Straightway he agreed with certain sailors for his passage to the Holy Land, and embarked. But as they sailed the wind became contrary, and they were suddenly driven upon the coast of that country in which his mother’s castle stood. What the state was, and who reigned there, the sailors knew not; but as Gregory entered the city a citizen met him, and said, “My lord, whither are you going?” “To seek an inn,” was the reply. On which the hospitable citizen led him to his own house, and entertained him magnificently. As they sat at table Gregory inquired of his host what state it was, and who was the lord of it. “Sir,” returned the other, “awhile ago we had a very powerful emperor, but he died in the Holy Land, and left his throne to his sister. The Duke of Burgundy would have married her, but she was pleased to refuse his offer. Whereupon he has forcibly made himself master of the whole kingdom, save a single city in which the queen resides.” “May I,” returned the young knight, “declare with safety the secret wish of my heart?”

  “With the greatest safety.”

  “I am,” continued the other, “a soldier. If it please you, go to-morrow to the palace and obtain for me a communication with the seneschal, and if he will promise to remunerate me, I will fight for this year in behalf of the lady.” “I doubt not, my lord,” answered the citizen, “but that he will acquiesce with alacrity. To-morrow I will do as you desire.” He went accordingly, and declared the occasion of his coming. The seneschal, not a little exhilarated, immediately sent off a messenger for Gregory; and, on his arrival, presented him to the queen, who expressed herself well satisfied with her champion. She observed him closely, but had not the remotest suspicion that it was her son, for she thought him long since overwhelmed in the waves. The seneschal therefore, in the presence of his mistress, covenanted that he should serve a full year. On the morrow he prepared for war, and assembled a large host. So judicious were his movements that Gregory triumphed in every engagement, and penetrated to the very palace of the duke, whom he finally took and beheaded.

  Gregory after this continued the war from day to day with constant success; and the fame of his great prowess. was carried to all parts of the realm. Thus, before the completion of the year which he had covenanted to serve, he had wrested the whole kingdom from the hands of their enemies. Then he went to the seneschal, and said, “Good friend, you know in what state I found your affairs, and in what a good condition I leave them. I therefore beg you to give me my hire, for I intend to proceed to another country.” “My lord,” said the seneschal, “you have merited much more than our agreement stipulated; let us hasten to the queen, and there conclude as to the recompense.” They went accordingly; and the seneschal thus spoke: “My dear lady, I would say something, which will be to your advantage. From the absence of a head, we have sustained many grievous afflictions. It were desirable, therefore, for you to take a husband, who is able to defend us from a return of the like troubles. Your kingdom is rich enough, so that I would not advise you to select a spouse for his wealth. And this being allowed, I know not where you could find one in every respect so suitable and beneficial to the state as my lord Gregory.” The lady, as we have seen before, rejected a second marriage; but overcome by the arguments and urgency of her seneschal, appointed a day on which, after mature deliberation, she would give an answer. That day came; and in the presence of all the assembled nobles, she arose and spoke thus: “Since my lord Gregory has valiantly and effectually liberated both us and our kingdom from the thraldom of oppressive foes, I will receive him for my husband.” The audience rejoiced; and an early period was fixed for the celebration of their nuptials. They were then espoused with the approbation of the whole country—the son to his own mother: but both were ignorant of the relationship. They loved each other tenderly: it happened, however, that the lord Gregory on one particular occasion went out to hunt; and a handmaid of the queen said to her, “Dear lady, have you not offended my lord in something?” “Surely not,” returned she. “I believe that there is not in the whole world a married pair so mutually attached to each other as we are. But why do you ask?” “Because,” said the handmaid, “every day, when the table is laid, my lord enters his private chamber in great apparent pleasure; but when he returns it is with lamentation and wailing. After that he washes his face; but why all this is done, I do not comprehend.”

  On hearing this, the lady immediately entered the private chamber before alluded to, and narrowly inspected every closet and crevice. At length, she came to the place wherein the tablets, inscribed with the ignominy of his birth, and which he was wont to read day by day, were deposited; and then she wept most piteously. For they were the same which she had laid in the cradle; and which, when they now started up before her, as it were, by magic,, she remembered too well. She opened them, and recognized her own handwriting. “Alas!” she exclaimed, “how has he obtained this dark testimony of my crime, if he be not my son? “And then bursting into a lamentable cry, “Woe is me, that I ever saw the light of heaven—would that I had died ere I was born.” The soldiers in the hall, hearing the clamber produced by the anguish and perturbation of her mind, ran into the chamber, and found her stretched upon the earth. They stood around her a considerable time before she was able to ejaculate, and when at length she could speak, she said, “If ye desire me to live, hasten immediately for my lord.” The spectators hearing her wish, mounted their horses, and rode to the king. They explained to him the imminent danger of his wife; and he forthwith left the chase, returned to the castle, and entered the chamber where the queen lay. When she saw him, she said, “Oh, my lord, command us to be left alone; what I have to say is for your private ear.” The room was accordingly cleared; and the lady eagerly besought him to say of what family he was. “That is a singular question,” replied he, “but know that I am a native of a distant country.” “Oh,” returned the lady, “I solemnly vow to God that, unless you declare to me the whole truth, I am sure I shall quickly die.” “I tell you,” he said, “I was poor—possessed of nothing but the arms with which I freed you and the kingdom from slavery.” “Only tell me,” urged the lady, “from what country you came, and who are your parents; and unless you speak truly, I will never more touch food.” “You shall be satisfied,” said the king. “I was brought up by an abbot from my earliest age; and from him I learnt that I was found cradled in a cask.” Here the queen showed him the tablets, and said, “Dost thou remember these?” He looked, and fell prostrate on the earth. “My son!” cried she, “for thou art so; my only son, and my husband, and my lord! Thou art the child of my brother and myself. Oh, my son, I deposited in the cask with thee these tablets. Woe is me! why, O God, didst thou permit my birth, since I was born to be guilty of so much wickedness ! Would that the eye which looks upon me might reduce me to ashes; would that I had passed from the womb to the grave!” Then striking her head against the wall, she cried, “Oh, thou Almighty Being, behold my son—my husband, and the son of my brother.” “I thought,” replied Gregory, “to shun this danger, and I have fallen into the snares of the devil. Dismiss me, lady, to bewail my misery: woe! woe! my mother is my mistress—my wife! See how Satan hath encompassed me!” When the mother perceived the agony of her child, she said, “Dear son, for the residue of my life, I will expiate our crimes by hardships and wanderings. Thou shalt govern the kingdom.” “Not so,” returned he; “do you remain, my mother: you are wanted to rule the realm. I will roam about, until our sins are forgiven.”

  The same night he arose, broke his lance, and put on the dress of a pilgrim. He bade his mother farewell, and, with naked feet, walked till he reached the uttermost boundaries of the kingdom. Having entered a certain city, he sought out the house of a fisherman, with whom he requested permission to lodge. When the fisherman had considered him attentively, and observed the comeliness of his person and the grace of his form, he said, “Friend, you are no true pilgrim; this is evident from the elegance of your body.” “Well,” answered the other, “though I be not a true pilgrim, yet, for the love of
God, I beseech you to give me harbourage.” Now, the fisherman’s wife, looking upon him, was moved with a devout feeling, and entreated that he might be sheltered. He entered therefore; but directed his bed to be made for him at the gate. Fish, with water and bread, were given to him. Amongst other things, the fisherman said “Pilgrim, if you would become holy, go into some remote place.” “Sir,” answered Gregory, “I would willingly follow your advice, but I know of no such place.” “On the morrow,” returned he, “I will myself conduct you.” “May God reward you,” said the pilgrim. The next morning the fisherman bade him rise, and hurried him so much that he left his tablets behind the gate where he had slept.

  The fisherman, with his companion, embarked upon the sea, and sailing about sixteen miles came to a huge rock, having chains at its feet, which, without a key, could not be unloosed. After the fisherman had undone them, he cast the keys into the sea, and returned home. The pilgrim remained in that place seventeen years, with every feeling of the most perfect penitence.

  About this period the pope died; and at the moment of his decease, a voice from heaven cried out,” Search after a man of God, called Gregory, and appoint him my vicar.” The electors, greatly rejoiced at what they heard, sent messengers into different parts of the world to seek him. At length, some of them lodged in the house of the fisherman; and as they sat at supper, one said, “My friend, we are much harassed by journeys through town and country, in pursuit of a holy man, called Gregory, whom, when we find, we are to place in the pontificate.” The fisherman, then recollecting the pilgrim, answered, “It is now seventeen years since a pilgrim named Gregory lodged in this house. I conducted him to a certain rock in the midst of the sea, and there I left him. But it is so long ago, that he may be dead.” It happened that on the same day, a number of fishes were caught; and as he gutted one of them, he found the keys which seventeen years before he had cast into the sea.* Immediately he shouted, “Oh, my friends, behold these keys! I cast them into the sea; and I draw from this circumstance a good omen respecting the success of your labours.” The messengers were much pleased with the man’s prognostication, and early in the morning desired him to bring them to the rock. He did so; and there finding Gregory, they said, “Man of God, go up with us; by the command of the Omnipotent, go up with us: for it is His will that thou shouldst be appointed His vicar upon earth.” To which Gregory replied, “God’s will be done;” and then followed them from the rock. As soon as he approached the city, the bells rang of their own accord, which the citizens hearing, said, “Blessed be the Most High, he cometh who shall be Christ’s vicar,” and hastened to meet him. St. Gregory, thus appointed, conducted himself worthily in every respect; and multitudes from every part of the world came to ask his counsel and assistance. Now, his mother, hearing of the remarkable sanctity of the reigning pope, thought that nowhere could she find help sooner than from so holy a man. But that he was her son and husband she knew not. Hastening, therefore, to Rome, she confessed herself to the vicar of God; nor was it till after confession that the pope recollected his unhappy mother. He then spoke thus: “Dearest mother, and wife, and mistress, the devil dreamt of bringing us to hell; but, by the grace of God, we have evaded his toils.” At these words, she fell at his feet; and even for very joy, wept bitterly. But the pope raised her up, and tenderly embraced her. He founded a monastery over which he made her abbess, and a short time afterwards, both yielded up their souls to God.

  APPLICATION.

  My beloved, the emperor is Christ, who gave His daughter, that is, the human soul, to the charge of the brother, that is, the flesh. They lay in one chamber, that is, in one heart, or in one mind. The son born of these is all mankind. The cask is the Holy Spirit, which floats upon the sea of the world. The Duke of Burgundy is the devil, who invades the soul, exposed by sin, and conquers it; until the Son, that is Christ, who is God and man, enfranchises it, and marries the mother, that is the soul. The tablets are the ten commandments. The abbot is God, who saved us by His only-begotten Son. The fisherman-nurse is any prelate; the ship St. Gregory afterwards embarks in is the Church. The seneschal is a confessor. The broken lance is to put away or destroy an evil life. The rock is penitence.

  * That is, six monkish holy days from the time of its departure.

  * The power of the superior of a convent to create knights is a well-known fact in chivalry.

  Upon a passage in the romance of “Sir Eglamour of Artoys,” Mr. Ellis has remarked that “The author in this place certainly appears to quote the Gesta Romanorum for this singularly absurd story; but I have not been able to discover it in that collection.”— Early Eng. Rom., vol. iii. p. 274. The story which Mr. Ellis could not find is unquestionably the present. In the romance, a child and its mother are deposited in a vessel, and left to float upon the waves. Here some variation occurs, but the infant, as in the gest, is conveyed to a place of safety, and received under the protection of a king, who is hunting; he educates, and finally confers knighthood upon him. The youth afterwards marries his mother. Farther than this, the tales have nothing in common, but here is enough to prove imitation.

  * This incident is purely oriental; and occurs frequently both in the Arabian Nights’ Entertainments, and in the Persian Tales.

  [Though what Mr. Swan says in this note is probably true, it is worth while to remind the reader of the story of Polycrates of Samos and the ring. But that story may be of Eastern origin.—ED.]

  TALE LXXXII.

  OF JUDGMENT AGAINST ADULTERERS.*

  A CERTAIN knight had a very beautiful castle, upon which two storks built their nest. At the foot of this castle was a clear fountain, in which the storks were wont to bathe themselves. It happened that the female stork brought forth young, and the male flew about to procure food. Now, while he was absent, the female admitted a gallant; and before the return of the male went down to the fountain to wash herself, in order that the other might perceive no disorder in her appearance. But the knight, often observing this with wonder, closed up the fountain, that the stork might no longer wash or bathe herself. In this dilemma, after meeting her lover, she was obliged to return to her nest; and when the male came and saw by various signs that she had been unfaithful, he flew away, and brought back with him a great multitude of storks, who put the adulterous bird to death, in presence of the knight.

  APPLICATION.

  My beloved, the two storks are Christ and the soul, the spouse of Christ. The knight is the devil; and the fountain, that of confession and repentance. If Christ at the day of judgment find us unwashed, i.e. impenitent, He will come with a multitude of angels and put us to death.

  * “The STORKE wreker of advouterie”, [adultery]. CHAUCER, The Assemblie of Fowles, fol. 235.

  “This bird,” says Speght (Gloss, in v.), “breedeth in the chimney-tops of houses, and as it is written of him, if the man or the wife commit adultery, he presently forsaketh the place. And as Aristotle saith, if his female play false, he will, if he can, kill her: or else utterly forsake her. Therefore, Chaucer calleth him the wreker of adultery.”

  TALE LXXXIII.

  OF THE TIMOROUS GUARDIANSHIP OF THE SOUL.

  WHEN Trajan reigned he took great, pleasure in gardens. Having constructed one of uncommon beauty, and planted in it trees of every kind, he appointed a keeper with injunctions to defend it faithfully. But by and by a wild boar broke into the garden, overturned the young trees, and rooted up the flowers. The keeper, whose name was Jonathan, perceiving this, cut off the boar’s left ear, and the animal with a loud noise departed. But another day, the same boar re-entered the garden and committed great depredations; upon which Jonathan cut off his right ear. But notwithstanding this, he entered a third time; and the keeper, on seeing this, cut off his tail—with which ignominious loss he departed, as formerly, making a tremendous uproar. However, he appeared on a fourth occasion, and committed the like injuries; when Jonathan, more and more incensed, caught up a lance and transfixed him upon the spot. He was then sent t
o the royal kitchen and prepared for the king’s table. Now Trajan, it seems, was especially partial to the heart of any animal; and the cook observing that the boar’s heart was particularly fat and delicate, reserved it for his own tooth. When, therefore, the emperor’s dinner was served up, the heart was inquired after; and the servants returned to the cook. “Tell my lord,” said the fellow, “that it had no heart; and if he disbelieves it, say that I will adduce convincing reasons for the defect.” The servants delivered the cook’s message, and the astonished emperor exclaimed, “What do I hear? There is no animal without a heart! But since he offers to prove his assertion we will hear him.” The cook was sent for, and spoke thus, “My lord, listen to me. All thought proceeds from the heart. It follows, therefore, that if there be no thought, there is no heart. The boar, in the first instance, entered the garden and committed much injury. I * seeing it, cut off his left ear. Now, if he had possessed a heart, he would have recollected the loss of so important a member. But he did not, for he entered a second time. Therefore, he had no heart. Besides, if he had had a heart, when I had cut off his right ear, he would have meditated on the matter; which he did not, for he came again and lost his tail. Moreover, having lost his ears and his tail, had he possessed even a particle of heart, he would have thought; but he did not think, for he entered a fourth time and was killed. For these several reasons I am confident that he had no heart.” The emperor, satisfied with what he heard, applauded the man’s judgment. And thus he escaped.