by Charles Swan
The people unanimously applauded the decision of the judge in acquitting the guilty person, whose magnanimity had rescued two innocent persons from death.
APPLICATION.
My beloved, the emperor is God;* the two knights, Christ and our first parent.† The beautiful girl is the soul. The dead man is the spirit destroyed by the flesh.
† “This is the story of Boccace’s popular novel of TITO AND GISIPPO, and of Lydgate’s Tale of two Marchants of Egypt and of Baldad, a manuscript poem in the British Museum, and lately in the library of Dr. Askew.1 Peter Alphonsus is quoted for this story; and it makes the second fable of his CLERICALIS DISCIPLINA.”—WARTON.
[Compare Tale CVIII.—ED.]
‡ Bagdad.
1 B. Edwards has a play on this story.
* There is no EMPEBOR in the story; but that is of little consequence. The reader must suppose one. Long use had so habituated the author or authors of the Gesta Romanorum to the anomalous introduction of an emperor, that the omission must have been held a flagrant breach of court etiquette.
†“In agro Damasceno plasmatus est” in the original.
TALE CLXXII.
OF MENTAL CONSTANCY.
IN the reign of a certain King of England, there were two knights, one of whom was called Guido, and the other Tyrius. The former engaged in many wars, and always triumphed. He was enamoured of a beautiful girl of noble family, but whom he could not prevail upon to marry him, until he had encountered many enemies for her sake. At last, at the conclusion of a particular exploit, he gained her consent, and married her with great splendour. On the third night succeeding their nuptials, about cock-crowing, he arose from his bed to look upon the sky; and amongst the most lustrous stars he clearly distinguished our Lord Jesus Christ, who said, “Guido, Guido! you have fought much and valiantly for the love of a woman; it is now time that you should encounter my enemies with equal resolution.” Having so said, our Lord vanished. Guido, therefore, perceiving that it was His pleasure to send him to the Holy Land, to avenge Him upon the infidels, returned to his wife. “I go to the Holy Land; should Providence bless us with a child, attend carefully to its education until my return.” The lady, startled at these words, sprung up from the bed as one distracted, and catching a dagger, which was placed at the head of the couch, cried out, “Oh, my lord, I have always loved you, and looked forward with anxiety to our marriage, even when you were in battle, and spreading your fame over all the world; and will you now leave me ? First will I stab myself with this dagger.” Guido arose, and took away the weapon. “My beloved,” said he, “your words alarm me. I have vowed to God that I will visit the Holy Land. The best opportunity is the present, before old age come upon me. Be not disturbed; I will soon return.” Somewhat comforted with this assurance, she presented to him a ring. “Take this ring, and as often as you look upon it in your pilgrimage, think of me. I will await with patience your return.” The knight bade her farewell, and departed in company with Tyrius. As for the lady, she gave herself up to her sorrows for many days, and would not be consoled. In due time she brought forth a son of extreme beauty, and tenderly watched over his infant years.
Guido and Tyrius, in the mean while, passed through many countries, and heard at last that the kingdom of Dacia* had been subdued by the infidels. “My friend,” said Guido to his associate, “do you enter this kingdom ; and since the king of it is a Christian, assist him with all your power. 1 will proceed to the Holy Land; and. when I have combated against the foes of Christ, I will return to you, and we will joyfully retrace our steps to England.” “Whatever pleases you,” replied his friend, “shall please me. I will enter this kingdom ; and if you live, come to me. We will return together to our country.” Guido promised; and exchanging kisses, they separated with much regret. The one proceeded to the Holy Land, and the other to Dacia. Guido fought many battles against the Saracens, and was victorious in all; so that his fame flew to the ends of the earth. Tyrius, in like manner, proved fortunate in war, and drove the infidels from the Dacian territory. The king loved and honoured him above all others, and conferred on him great riches. But there was at that time a savage nobleman, called Plebeus, in whose heart the prosperity of Tyrius excited an inordinate degree of hate and envy. He accused him to the king of treason, and malevolently insinuated that he designed to make himself master of the kingdom. The king credited the assertion, and ungratefully robbed Tyrius of all the honours which his bounty had conferred. Tyrius, therefore, was reduced to extreme want, and had scarcely the common sustenance of life. Thus desolate, he gave free course to his griefs; and exclaimed in great tribulation, “Wretch that I am! what will become of me ?” While he was taking a solitary walk in sorrow, Guido, journeying alone in the habit of a pilgrim, met him by the way, and knew him, but was not recognized by his friend. He, however, presently remembered Tyrius, and retaining his disguise, approached him, and said, “My friend, from whence are you?” “From foreign parts,” answered Tyrius, “but I have now been many years in this country. I had once a companion in arms, who proceeded to the Holy Land; but if he be alive or dead I know not, nor what have been his fortunes.” “For the love of thy companion, then,” said Guido, “suffer me to rest my head upon your lap, and sleep a little, for I am very weary.” He assented, and Guido fell asleep.
Now, while he slept, his mouth stood open; and as Tyrius looked, he discovered a white weasel pass out of it, and run toward a neighbouring mountain, which it entered. After remaining there a short space, it returned, and again ran down the sleeper’s throat. Guido straightway awoke, and said, “My friend, I have had a wonderful dream! I thought a weasel went out of my mouth, and entered yon mountain, and after that returned.” “Sir,” answered Tyrius, “what you have seen in a dream I beheld with my own eyes. But what that weasel did in the mountain, I am altogether ignorant.” “Let us go and look,” observed the other; “perhaps we may find something useful.” Accordingly, they entered the place which the weasel had been seen to enter, and found there a dead dragon filled with gold. There was a sword also, of peculiar polish, and inscribed as follows: “BY MEANS OF THIS SWORD, GUIDO SHALL OVERCOME THE ADVERSARY OF TYRIUS.” Rejoiced at the discovery, the disguised pilgrim said, “My friend, the treasure is thine, but the sword I will take into my own possession.” “My lord,” he answered, “I do not deserve so much gold; why should you bestow it upon me ?” “Raise your eyes,” said Guido. “I am your friend!” Hearing this, he looked at him more narrowly; and when he recollected his heroic associate, he fell upon the earth for joy, and wept exceedingly. “It is enough; I have lived enough, now that I have seen you.” “Rise,” returned Guido, “rise quickly; you ought to rejoice rather than weep at my coming. I will combat your enemy, and we will proceed honourably to England. But tell no one who I am.” Tyrius arose, fell upon his neck, and kissed him. He then collected the gold, and hastened to his home; but Guido knocked at the gate of the king’s palace. The porter inquired the cause, and he informed him that he was a pilgrim newly arrived from the Holy Land. He was immediately admitted, and presented to the king, at whose side sat the invidious nobleman who had deprived Tyrius of his honours and wealth. “Is the Holy Land at peace?” inquired the monarch. “Peace is now firmly established,” replied Guido, “and many have been converted to Christianity.”
King. Did you see an English knight there, called Guido, who has fought so many battles ?
Guido. I have seen him often, my lord, and have eaten with him.
King. Is any mention made of the Christian kings ?
Guido. Yes, my lord; and of you also. It is said that the Saracens and other infidels had taken possession of your kingdom, and that from their thraldom you were delivered by the valour of a noble knight, named Tyrius, afterwards promoted to great honour and riches. It is likewise said that you unjustly deprived this same Tyrius of what you had conferred, at the malevolent instigation of a knight called Plebeus.
Plebeus. False pilgrim! since thou presumest t
o utter these lies, hast thou courage enough to defend them ? If so, I offer thee battle. That very Tyrius would have dethroned the king. He was a traitor, and therefore lost his honours.
Guido (to the king). My lord, since he has been pleased to say that I am a false pilgrim, and that Tyrius is a traitor, I demand the combat. I will prove upon his body that he lies.
King. I am well pleased with your determination: nay, I entreat you not to desist.
Guido. Furnish me with arms, then, my lord.
King. Whatever you want shall be got ready for you.
The king then appointed a day of battle; and fearing lest the pilgrim Guido should in the mean time fall by treachery, he called to him his daughter, a virgin, and said, “As you love the life of that pilgrim, watch over him, and let him want for nothing.” In compliance, therefore, with her father’s wish, she brought him into her own chamber, bathed him,* and supplied him with every requisite. On the day of battle Plebeus armed himself, and standing at the gate, exclaimed, “Where is that false pilgrim? why does he tarry?” Guido, hearing what was said, put on his armour, and hastened to the lists. They fought so fiercely, that Plebeus would have died had he not drank. Addressing his antagonist, he said, “Good pilgrim, let me have one draught of water.” “I consent,” answered Guido, “provided you faithfully promise to use the same courtesy to me, should I require it.” “I promise,” replied the other. Having quenched his thirst, he rushed on Guido, and they continued the battle with redoubled animosity. By and by, however, Guido himself thirsted, and required the same courtesy to be shown him as he had exhibited. “I vow to Heaven,” answered his enemy, “that you shall taste nothing, except by the strong hand.” At this ungrateful return, Guido, defending himself as well as he could, approached the water, leaped in, and drank as much as he wished. Then springing out, he rushed upon the treacherous Plebeus like a raging lion, who at last sought refuge in flight. The king, observing what passed, caused them to be separated, and to rest for that night, that in the morning they might be ready to renew the contest. The pilgrim then re-entered his chamber, and received from the king’s daughter all the kindness it was in her power to display. She bound up his wounds, prepared supper, and placed him upon a strong wooden pallet. Wearied with the exertions of the day, he fell asleep.
Now, Plebeus had seven sons, all strong men. He sent for them, and spoke thus: “My dear children, I give you to understand that, unless this pilgrim be destroyed tonight, I may reckon myself among the dead to-morrow. I never looked upon a braver man.” “My dear father,” said one, “we will presently get rid of him.” About midnight, therefore, they entered the girl’s chamber, where the pilgrim slept, and beneath which the sea :flowed. They said to one another, “If we destroy him in bed, we are no better than dead men: let us toss him, bed and all, into the sea. It will be thought that he has fled.” This scheme was approved; and accordingly they took up the sleeping warrior, and hurled him into the waves.* He slept on, however, without perceiving what had happened. The same night a fisherman, following his occupation, heard the fall of the bed, and by the light of the moon saw him floating upon the water. Much surprised, he called out, “In the name of God, who are you? Speak, that I may render assistance, before the waves swallow you up.” Guido, awoke by the clamour, arose, and perceiving the sky and stars above, and the ocean beneath, wondered where he was. “Good friend,” said he to the fisherman, “assist me, and I will amply reward you. I am the pilgrim who fought in the lists ; but how I got hither, I have no conception.” The man, hearing this, took him into his vessel, and conveyed him to his house, where he rested till the morning.
The sons of Plebeus, in the mean while, related what they thought the end of the pilgrim, and bade their parent discard his fear. The latter, much exhilarated, arose, and armed himself; and going to the gate of the palace, called out, “Bring forth that pilgrim, that I may complete my revenge.” The king commanded his daughter to awake and prepare him for battle. Accordingly, she went into his room, but he was not to be found. She wept bitterly, exclaiming that some one had conveyed away her treasure; and the surprise occasioned by the intelligence was not less, when it became known that his bed was also missing. Some said that he had fled; others, that he was murdered. Plebeus, however, continued his clamour at the gate. “Bring out your pilgrim; to-day I will present his head to the king.” Now, while all was bustle and inquiry in the palace, the fisherman made his way to the royal seat, and said, “Grieve not, my lord, for the loss of the pilgrim. Fishing last night in the sea, I observed him floating upon a bed. I took him on board my vessel, and he is now asleep at my house.” This news greatly cheered the king, and he immediately sent to him to prepare for a renewal of the contest. But Plebeus, terrified, and apprehensive of the consequence, besought a truce. This was denied, even for a single hour. Both, therefore, re-entered the lists, and each struck twice; but at the third blow Guido cut off his opponent’s arm, and afterwards his head. He presented it to the king, who evinced himself well satisfied with the event; and hearing that the sons of Plebeus were instruments in the meditated treachery, he caused them to be crucified. The pilgrim was loaded with honours, and offered immense wealth if he would remain with the king, which he resolutely declined. Through him Tyrius was reinstated in his former dignity, and recompensed for his past suffering. He then bade the king farewell. “Good friend,” returned the monarch, “for the love of Heaven, leave me not ignorant of your name.” “My lord,” answered he, “I am that Guido of whom you have often heard.” Overjoyed at this happy discovery, the king fell upon his neck, and promised him a large part of his dominions if he would remain. But he could not prevail; and the warrior, after returning his friendly salutation, departed.
Guido embarked for England, and hastened to his own castle. He found a great number of paupers standing about his gate; and amongst them, habited as a pilgrim, sat the countess, his wife. Every day did she thus minister to the poor, bestowing a penny upon each, with a request that he would pray for the safety of her husband Guido, that once more, before death, she might rejoice in his presence. It happened, on the very day of his return, that his son, now seven years of age, sat with his mother among the mendicants, sumptuously apparelled. When he heard his mother address the person who experienced her bounty in the manner mentioned above, “Mother,” said he, “is it not my father whom you recommend to the prayers of these poor people ?” “It is, my son,” replied she; “the third night following our marriage he left me, and I have never seen him since.” Now, as the lady walked among her dependents, who were ranged in order, she approached her own husband Guido, and gave him alms—but she knew not who he was. He bowed his head in acknowledgment, fearful lest his voice should discover him. As the countess walked, her son followed; and Guido raising his eyes and seeing his offspring, whom he had not before seen, he could not contain himself. He caught him in his arms, and kissed him. “My darling child,” said he, “may the Lord give thee grace to do that which is pleasing in His eyes.” The damsels of the lady, observing the emotion and action of the pilgrim, called to him and bade him stand there no longer. He approached his wife’s presence, and without making himself known, entreated of her permission to occupy some retired place in the neighbouring forest; and she, supposing that he was the pilgrim he appeared to be, for the love of God and of her husband built him a hermitage, and there he remained a long time. But being on the point of death, he called his attendant, and said, “Go quickly to the countess; give her that ring, and say that if she wishes to see me, she must come hither with all speed.” The messenger went accordingly, and delivered the ring. As soon as she had seen it, she exclaimed, “It is my lord’s ring !” and with a fleet foot hurried into the forest. But Guido was dead. She fell upon the corpse, and with a loud voice cried, “Woe is me ! my hope is extinct!” and then with sighs and lamentations continued, “Where are now the alms I distributed in behalf of my lord ? I beheld my husband receive my gifts with his own hands, and knew him not.
And as for thee” (apostrophizing the dead body), “thou sawest thy child, and touchedst him. Thou didst kiss him, and yet revealedst not thyself to me! What hast thou done ? Oh, Guido! Guido! never shall I see thee more!” She sumptuously interred his body; and bewailed his decease for many days. (35)
