Curiosities of the Gesta—The Wicked Priest—The Qualities of the Dog—The Emperor’s Daughter—Curious Application—The Emperor Leo and the Three Images—An Enigma.

“The use Shakespeare has made of your monks’ tales would seem to augur a certain popularity of the work in the days in which he wrote,” said Herbert, when the friends met on their sixth evening.

“A greater popularity than will now be credited: in the reign of Elizabeth and her successor, the Gesta Romanorum seems to have been sufficiently well known to admit of a frequent reference to it on the stage,” replied Lathom.

“Allusions to the work, not incidents from it?” asked Herbert.

“Yes, in the anonymous comedy of Sir Giles’ Goose Cap, published early in James’ reign, one of the characters speaks of the ‘quips and quick jests of his lordship as so good that Gesta Romanorum were nothing to them’; whilst Chapman in his ‘May-Day,’ which dates in 1611, says, ‘one that has read Marcus Aurelius, Gesta Romanorum, and the Mirror of Magistrates, to be led by the nose like a blind bear that has read nothing!’”

“The slightest knowledge of the accomplishments of the Tudor and early Stuart times compels us to admit the extensive acquaintance with Latin writers possessed by classes to whom now they seem so little fitted,” remarked Herbert.

“An acquaintance arising in all probability from the absence of a native literature, as well as from the position held by the Latin language in that age; the French of the present generation,” rejoined Thompson.

“Whose conversions have we to-night?” asked Herbert.

“Not any: not that my catalogue is run out, but partly because I have not been able to keep up with the speed of our reading; and partly because I wished to illustrate the moralizations attached to the tales, which we have lately rather lost sight of.”

“What peculiar doctrine are you intending to illustrate?” asked Herbert.

“The 26th article of our Church, that the effect of the ordinance is not taken away, nor the grace of God’s gifts diminished by the ministration of evil men; it is the story of

In the reign of Otho there was a certain wicked priest who created much dissatisfaction among his parishioners; and many were extremely scandalized. One of them, in particular, always absented himself from the mass when it was the turn of this priest to celebrate it. Now it happened on a festival day, during the time of mass, that as this person was walking alone through a meadow, a sudden thirst came upon him, insomuch that he was persuaded, unless present relief could be obtained, he should die.

In this extremity continuing his walk, he discovered a rivulet of the purest water, of which he copiously drank; but the more he drank the more violent became his thirst. Surprised at so unusual a circumstance, he said to himself:

“I will find out the source of this rivulet, and there will I satisfy my thirst.”

With these thoughts he went up the stream. And as he went a venerable old man met and asked him whither he was going.

“Father,” he replied, “I am oppressed with an unquenchable thirst, and even now I drank of this rivulet; and lo, the more I drink, so much the more I thirst; and I now seek its source, if, perchance, I may there quench my thirst, and not die.”

The old man pointed with his finger: “There,” said he, “is the spring-head of the rivulet. But tell me, my honest friend, why are you not at church, and, with other good Christians, hearing mass?”

“Truly, master,” answered the man, “our priest leads such an execrable life that I think it utterly impossible that he should celebrate it so as to please God.”

“Suppose what you say is true,” replied the old man; “observe this fountain, from which so much excellent water issues, and from which you have so lately drunk.”

He looked in the direction pointed out, and beheld a putrid dog, with its mouth wide open, and its teeth black and decayed, through which the whole fountain gushed in a surprising manner. The man regarded the stream with terror and confusion of mind, ardently desirous of quenching his thirst, but apprehensive of poison from the fetid and loathsome carcass, with which, to all appearance, the water was imbued.

“Be not afraid,” said the old man, observing his repugnance, “thou hast already drank of the rivulet, drink again; it will not harm thee.”

Encouraged by these assurances, and impelled by the intensity of his thirst, he partook of it once more, and instantly recovered from the drought.

“Master, dear master,” exclaimed the man, “never man drank of such delicious water.”

“See now,” the old man answered, “as this water, gushing through the mouth of a putrid dog, is neither polluted, nor loses aught of its natural taste or color, so is the celebration of the mass by a worthless minister; and, therefore, though the vices of such men may displease and disgust, yet should you not forsake the duties of which they are the appointed organ.”

Saying these words, the old man disappeared; and what the other had seen he communicated to his neighbors, and ever after punctually attended mass. He brought this unstable and transitory life to a good end, and passed from that which is corruptible to inherit incorruption.

“There is but one fiction,” said Herbert, “in this legend which requires further explanation; why the stream of the fountain of life is made to flow through the rank jaws of a putrid dog rather than that of any other animal.”

“The incident is intentional,” rejoined Lathom; “an old couplet ascribes to the dog four special qualities: a healing tongue, a distinguishing sense of smell, a perfect love, and unremitting watchfulness.”

“You allude to the lines—

said Thompson.

“Yes,” rejoined Lathom, “these four qualities, say the old writers, ought to be diligently cultivated by a priest. By his tongue he should heal the sick at heart, and probe the wounds of sin, careful not to heal with roughness the soul’s wounds, but to lick them as the dog does those of the body. His keenness of perception should be able to distinguish the true confession from the false one; to see what is due to cunningness, what to internal struggles, what to reckless contempt of consequences. He, too, should have as unshaken a love for the Church and the faith as the dog for its master or its charge; ready to lay down his life for his flock. As the watch-dog of the great King, his warning voice must be raised against enemies from without, preventing, by his diligence in his calling, the machinations of the world and its master against the soul.”

“The mass is a slight anachronism in the reign of Otho,” said Herbert.

“You must not mind such trifles. Otho has as little to do with the wicked priest, as Pompey, whether the great or an unknown namesake of his, with the incidents of the story of

Many centuries ago there reigned a great and good emperor, whose name was Pompey. He had an only daughter, of remarkable beauty, whom he loved so dearly, that day and night he ordered five of his most valiant knights to watch over her; and on pain of their lives to guard her from harm. Day and night did these brave men keep watch and ward over the lady’s chamber. A lamp burned above the door, that the approach of an enemy might be more readily detected; and a faithful mastiff lay on the threshold, whose watchfulness was as unremitting as his bark was loud and shrill. But all these precautions were fruitless. The princess loved the world and its pleasures; and sighed to mingle in its busy scenes, and gaze upon its gorgeous pageants. One day as she looked from her window a certain duke rode by, and he looked upon her beauty, and loved her with a false love.

Day after day did the duke endeavor to withdraw the princess from her guardians, and numerous were the devices by which he sought to accomplish his designs upon her and her father’s throne. At length by the promise of unbounded pleasure, the duke persuaded the princess to overturn the lamp that burned at her chamber door, and to poison the dog that lay at her threshold.

That same night, when the lamp was quenched, and the mastiff silenced, the duke stole upon the guard and bore away with him the maiden.

On the morrow, great was the confusion at the emperor’s court. Men rode hither and thither in pursuit of the fugitives, for no one knew which way they had fled. One knight alone hit upon their track; a great and terrible knight he was, the emperor’s champion; and he came upon them and slew the duke, and brought the maiden back to her father.

Very wroth was the emperor with his daughter, and he left her to bewail her sins in solitude. Time and reflection brought repentance, and the princess bewailed her sins bitterly.

Now there was a good old man at Pompey’s court, who was ever ready to intercede with the emperor on behalf of penitent offenders, and to whose words Pompey listened willingly. This lord came to the emperor and told him of his daughter’s repentance; and his words were pleasant to the emperor, so that the father was reconciled to his child, and she was betrothed by him to a nobleman of worth and power.

Many and precious were the bridal gifts the princess received.

The good old lord gave her a robe of the finest and richest wool, on which was worked this moral: “I have raised thee up, beware how thou fall again.” He gave her also a ring, of which the legend was: “What have I done? How much? Why?”

From her father she received a golden coronet, on which was engraved: “Thy dignity is from me.”

From the king’s champion, who rescued her from her seducer, she received a ring, and the legend was: “I have loved thee, do thou return my love.”

The king’s son gave her a ring, and on it was written: “Thou art noble, despise not thy nobility.” Whilst on that which her brother presented to her was engraved: “Approach, fear not, I am thy brother.”

The last gift was from her husband, a golden signet that confirmed her inheritance, and which bore this motto: “Now thou art espoused, be faithful.”

The princess received these gifts with gratitude, and parted not with them but with her life.

“The meanings of some of these presents are clearly too recondite to be guessed at,” remarked Herbert on the conclusion of the tale.

“You will say so, when we read them. But first of the actors in the tale,” rejoined Lathom, “the emperor is our Heavenly Father, and his daughter, the human soul which he delivers to the five senses, armed by the powers of baptism, to guard from injury. The burning lamp is the will, shining brilliantly in good works and dispelling the gloom of sin. The watchful dog is conscience; as often as the soul breaks any of the commands of God, it may be said to look abroad on the world and its dangers. Then comes the devil, the great seducer, whose triumph over the soul is easy, when the lamp of the will is extinguished, and the barking of conscience is silenced. Then God arises as our champion, and fights for us against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and leads back the sinning soul to the palace of the heavenly king. The sage Lord, the Mediator, is our Saviour: ‘for he is our peace, who hath made both one.’”

“This is tolerably clear and probable,” said Thompson.

“The marriage presents will compensate for it. From him, continues the moral, we received the aforesaid gifts: first a cloak descending to the ankle, that is, his most precious skin; and said to be of delicate texture, because it was woven with stripes, blood, bruises, and other various instances of malice; of which texture nothing more is meant than this: ‘I have raised thee up, because I have redeemed thee; do not throw thyself into further evil.’ That same Christ, our king, gave to us a glorious crown, that is, when he submitted to be crowned for our sakes. And of a truth, ‘thy dignity is from me,’ even from that crown. Christ is our champion, who gave us a sign—that is, the hole in his right hand; and we ourselves can see how faithfully it is written: ‘I have loved thee, do thou also love.’ He gave us another ring, which is the puncture in his left hand, where we see written: ‘What have I done? How much? Why?’ ‘What have I done?’ I have despoiled myself, receiving the form of a servant. ‘How much?’ I have made God and man. ‘Why?’ To redeem the lost. Concerning these three, Zechariah xiii., ‘What are the wounds in the middle of thy hands?’ and he answered, saying: ‘I am wounded by these men in their house, who loved me.’ Christ is our brother, and son of the Eternal King. He gave us a third ring,—to wit, the hole in his right foot; and what can be understood by it, but, ‘Thou art noble, despise not thy nobility?’ In like manner, Christ is our brother-german. And he gave us a fourth ring, the puncture in his left foot, on which is written, ‘Approach, fear not, I am thy brother.’ Christ is also our spouse; he gave us a signet, with which he confirmed our inheritance: that is, the wound made in his side by the spear, on account of the great love with which he loved us. And what can this signify, but, ‘Thou art joined to me through mercy. Sin no more.’”

“You have established the character of the Gesta for recondite moralization,” said Thompson, “will you give us a tale rather more intelligible?”

“Willingly,” rejoined Lathom, “you shall have the tale that Gower has versified.”

A certain Roman emperor, Leo, was so fond of looking upon a pretty face, that he made three fair female images, and placed them in a temple, that all his subjects might look on them and worship. One statue stood with its hand extended towards the worshippers, and bore on its finger a golden ring, on which was the legend, “My finger is generous.” The second figure had a beard of beaten gold, and on its brow was written: “I have a beard; if any one be beardless, let him come to me, and I will give him one.” The third figure had a cloak of gold and a purple tunic, and on its breast was written, “I fear no one.” With so many temptations came a law, that whosoever stole either the ring, the beard, or the cloak, should surely die. A thief was soon found. According to the poet:

So he took to riotous living, “and was not wise in his doing”; ergo—

The thief, whether poor man or ruined clerk, removed the treasures, was seen by the people, and brought before the emperor, on the charge of breaking the royal edict.

But the thief said: “Good my lord—suffer me to speak.”

And the emperor said, “Speak on.”

Then said the man: “Lo, as I entered the temple of the three images, the first image extended to me its finger, as though it would say, ‘Take this ring’; but yet I doubted of its wishes, until I read the superscription, ‘My finger is generous’; then knew I that it was the pleasure of the statue to give the ring, and I obeyed and took it. Then came I to the image with the beard of gold. Methinks the maker of this had no beard; shall the creature be better than the creator? that were a plain and manifest wrong. But still I was modest, and hesitated, until the words of the inscription, ‘Let him that is beardless come to me, and I will give him one,’ forbade me to refuse to supply my own wants by the statue’s gift. As for the golden cloak, it was in pure charity that I took it away. Stone is cold, and metal is cold; the image is of the former, the cloak of the latter. In winter it was adding cold to cold, in summer it was too heavy and warm for the season. Still should I have forborne to rob the statue of its cloak, had I not seen the words, ‘I fear no one.’ Such intolerable arrogance, in a woman too, was to be punished. I took the cloak to humble the statue’s pride.” But all these excuses were useless.

“Fair sir,” replied Leo, “do you not know the law, that he who robs the statues shall die?—let the law be obeyed”; and it was as the emperor said.

“Your tale reminds me strongly of the witticisms by which the elder Dionysius justified his theft of the golden cloak of Jupiter and the beard of Æsculapius,” said Herbert.

“What, when he exchanged the cold gold garment for the warm woollen robe, and took off the beard of the son of the beardless?” remarked Thompson; “but let us hear the moral.”

“The moral of this tale,” said Lathom, “is the least strained, and perhaps the best of all the applications attached to the legends. The emperor is God. The three images the three sorts of mankind in whom God takes delight. The first image, with its extended hand and proffered gift, is no bad symbol of the poor and simple of this world, who prevail little among the great and powerful unless their gift is ready in the extended hand.”

“Why fleecest thou the poor?” asks conscience. “May I not receive the proffered gift when freely offered?” replies the wicked man. “Did I not take it, men would laugh at me—to curb their tongues I take.”

“A bitter and too often true lesson in all times and all nations,” remarked Herbert. “We seldom want for a good excuse.”

“The second image,” continued Lathom, “is the symbol of those who are raised to wealth by God’s especial blessing, and from whom the wicked seek to take away their property by every pretext. ‘We are bald,’ cry they; ‘we are poor; let us divide this man’s riches among us.’”

“There were chartists in those days as well as now; levelling comes natural to some minds,” said Thompson. “But to the third figure.”

“The image with the golden cloak,” continued Lathom, “represents the good man in power and authority, who fears not the evil man, encourages virtue, and eradicates vice. ‘He is proud; he is a tyrant,’ cry the people; ‘we will not have this man to reign over us.’ But, says the old monk, ‘The end of these men is according to the law of the Lord, for they perish miserably.’”

“The old priest’s moral has so well satisfied me, that I am sorry that our evening is come to a close,” said Herbert.

“Well—it must be so; but come,” replied Lathom, “you shall have an enigma to discover. An emperor found a sarcophagus on which were three circles with these words: ‘I have expended—I have given—I have kept—I have possessed—I do possess—I have lost—I am punished.’ Whilst on the front of the chest was written: ‘What I have expended I have; what I gave away I have.’ Read me this inscription.”

“Read it, read it,” remarked Thompson, with a smile; “‘it is very easy to say, Read it, read it,’ as Liston used to say; ‘but do it, do it’—that is a different matter. Well! it is a good night-cap at the worst.”