VICTORIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARY TORONTO, ONTARIO

''

International

MkV

of somt of

Cjjaucer's Cantetfaurg

EDITED BY

F. J. FURNIVALL, EDMUND BROCK,

AND

W. A. CLOUSTON.

" The larger works of fiction resemble those productions of a country which are consumed within itself ; while Tales, like the more delicate and precious articles of traffic, which are exported from their native soil have gladdened and delighted every land."— DUNLOP'S History of Fiction.

PUBLISH! FOR THE CHAUCER SOCIETY

BY N. TRUBNER & CO., 57 & 59, LUDGATE HILL,

LONDON.

PR

1312 AS 07 v.4-5

Stconb Scries, ffos.-y,. IP, l£, 20, 22.

KICHARD CLAY & .SONS, LIMITEi', LONDON & BI'NCAV.

5*

FOREWORDS.

THE purpose of this volume was to get together all the known sources of Chaucer's Tales, so that the student of the Poet might see what in them was borrowd, and what original. The Analogs were added in order to show how the stories that Chaucer used were mo- dified by other minds in other lands. But few of these would have been given, had not Mr. "VV. A. Clouston, the well-known authority on the subject, most kindly volunteerd his help. He has treated, as fully as he can, the Franldin's Tale, the Merchant's Tale, the Man, of Law's Tale, the Pardoner's Tale, the Manciple's Tale, the Wife of Bath's Tale, and the Clerk's Tale. A like illustration of the other Tales — almost all of which admit it — would have swekl this volume to such unwieldy size, that Mr. Clouston advised its closing now, leaving him at liberty to take up the subject again when he can find time for it, either thro' a publisher or for the Society.

Mr. Clouston has also been good enough to revise Mr. \V. M. Wood's Index to this volume, and to draw up the Contents, adding a List of the Tales illustrated by analogs, variants, &c. This was necessary, because the latter were printed as they came to hand. I never thought of waiting to get everything available for any Tale before anything about it was put forth. I still hope to arrange with Mr. Hy. "Ward and some second Editor for the issue of the original of the Knight's Tale.

The Original of Troilus and Cressida has been edited for us by our kind helper, Mr. W. M. Eossetti. If Analogs or Originals can be found for any of Chaucer's Minor Poems, they will appear in a separate volume.

The thanks of all our Members are specially due to Mr. Clouston for the very interesting set of Eastern Analogs which he has con- tributed to this volume. I am responsible for pages 55-288 below.

F. J. FURNIVALL.

Wcstjicld Terrace, Bakcircll, Derbyshire, JJ August, 1SSS.

7*

CONTENTS.

PREFACE TO TRIVET'S LIFE OF CONSTANCE

L NICHOLAS TRIVET'S FRENCH LIFE OF CONSTANCE. Edited by Edmund Brock. For the Man of Law's Tale

X .2. THE TALE OF THE WIFE OF MERELAUS THE EMPEROR. From Shirley's MS. of the Early-English version of the ' Gesta Eomanorum,' Harl. 7333. For the Man of Law's Tale ... 55

X 3. KING OFFA'S INTERCEPTED LETTERS AND BANISHT QUEEN. From Matthew Paris's 'Life of Ofla the First.' For the Man of Law's Tale 71

4. Two FRENCH FABLIAUX, like the Reeve's Tale 85 '.

5. Two LATIN STORIES, like the Friar's Tale 103

6. ALPHONSUS OF LINCOLN. For the Prioress's Tale 107

7. How KEYNARD CAUGHT CHANTICLEER. From the French of

Marie de France and the ' Eoman du Eenart.' For the Nun's Priesfs Tale Ill

8. Two ITALIAN STORIES AND A LATIN ONE : Christ and his Dis-

ciples; the Hermit, Death, and the Bobbers; the Treasure

in the Tiber. For the Pardoners Tale 129

9. THE TALE OF THE PRIEST'S BLADDER: being 'Li dis de le

Vescie a Prestre,' by Jakes de Basiw. For the Summoner 's Tale 135

10. PETRARCH'S LATIN TALE OF GRISELDIS, WITH BOCCACCIO'S

STORY from which it was re-told. For the ClerVs Tale ... 149

11. FIVE VERSIONS OF A PEAR-TREE STORY. For the Merchant's

Tale 177

12. THE LEGEND OF ST. CECILIA, in four versions. For the Second

Nun's Tale 189

>(13. THE STORY OF CONSTANCE. For the Man of Law's Tale ... 221

14. THE BOY KILLD BY A JEW FOR SINGING '&AUDE MARIA!'

Analogue of the Prioress's Tale 251

8* CONTENTS.

PAGK \

15. THE PARIS BEGGAK-BOY MURDERD BY A JEW FOR SINGING

' ALMA REDEMPTORIS MATER ! ' Analogue of the Prioress's Tale; with a POEM by LYDGATE 277

16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH, PROMISE: Indian Original and Asiatic

and European Versions of the Franklin's Tale. By W. A. Clouston 289

17. THE ENCHANTED TREE . Asiatic Versions and Analogues of the

Merchant 's Tale. By W. A. Clouston 341

18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE: Asiatic and European

Versions of the Man of Laio's Tale. By W. A. Clouston ... 365

19. THE EOBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE : Buddhist Original

and Asiatic and European Versions of the Pardoner's Tale. By W. A. Clouston 415

20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD : Latin Source, other European Versions,

and Asiatic Analogues of the Manciple's Tale. By W. A. Clouston 437

21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY: Variants and Ana-

logues of the Wife of Bath's Tale. By W. A. Clouston ... 481

22. THE PATIENT GRISELDA : English Abstract of an Early French

Version of the Clerk's Tale. By W. A. Clouston ... ... 525

ADDITIONAL NOTES. By W. A. Clouston 541

APPENDIX: A Complaint against Fortune. From Shirley's Vellum MS. Harl. 7333 if

GENERAL INDEX. By W. Morris Wood 551 ,

TALES ILLUSTEATED BY ORIGINALS, VARIANTS,

AND ANALOGUES.

MAN OF LAW'S TALE, pp. iii, 1, 55, 71, 221, 365. REEVE'S TALE, p. 85. FRIAR'S TALE, p. 103. PRIORESS'S TALE, pp. 107, 251, 277. NUN'S PRIEST'S TALE, p. 111. PARDONER'S TALE, pp. 129, 415, 544. SUMMONER'S TALE, p. 135. CLERK'S TALE, pp. 149, 525, 549. MERCHANT'S TALE, pp. 177, 341, 544. SECOND NUN'S TALE, p. 189. FRANKLIN'S TALE, p. 289. MANCIPLE'S TALE, pp. 437, 545. WIFE OF BATH'S TALE, pp. 481, 546.

To THE BINDER.

The Appendix (" Complaint Against Fortune ") at the end ot Part IV. should lie placed immediately Imforc- the General Index ; and the Title-page with Part I. should be cancelled, or put at the end as a kind of Appendix.

Nov. 10, 1888.

WITH this, go out the three Texts of the Second Series for 1887, and the one Text of the First Series for 1888.

The three Second-Series '87 Texts are :

22. Originals and Analogs of the Canterbury Tales, Part V (completing the volume) : Eastern Analogs, II, by W. A. Clouston.

23. John Lane's Continuation of Chaucer's Squire's Tale, edited by F. J. Furnivall from the 2 MSS in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, A.D. 1616, 1630. Part I, the Text and Forewords.

24. Supplementary Canterbury Tales : 2, The Tale of Beryn, Part II. Forewords by F. J. Furnivall, Notes by F. Vipan, M.A. &c., and Glossary by W. G. Stone ; with an Essay on Analogs of the Tale, by W. A. Clouston.

The one First-Series Text for 1888 is :

LXXIX. A One-Text Print of Chaucer's Troilus and Criseyde from the Campsall MS. of Mr. Bacon Frank, copied for Henry V when Prince of Wales ; put forth by F. J. Furni- vall, M.A., Ph.D.

The Text for the First Series for 1886,

LXXVII. A Byrne-Index to Chaucer's Minor Poems, by Miss Isabel Marshall and Miss Lela Porter, in Royal 4to for the Parallel- Text ;

and for 1887,

LXXVIII. A Byrne-Index to Chaucer s Minor Poems, by Miss Isabel Marshall and Miss Lela Porter, in 8vo for the One- Text print of the Minor Poems,

is nearly all in type, and will be finisht as soon as the other engagements of Miss Marshall and Miss Lela Porter allow.

For the Second Series of 1888, Dr. Axel Erdmann of Upsala has the second Supplementary Canterbury Tale, Lydgate's

2 The Chaucer Society's Texts for 1888 and 1889. Concordance.

Siege of Thebes all in type from the best MS, an Arundel in the British Museum, and will soon collate it, completely with a few of the other best MSS, and partially with the whole sixteen. Mr. Alexander J. Ellis will have ready in May, 1889, Part V of his great work on Early English Pronunciation, dealing with our modern Dialects. Mr. ,W. A. Clouston has prepared nearly all the material for his Essay on the Magic Horse, King and Glass, which, with the Index to Lane (now in hand), will form Part II of the Continuation of Chaucer s Squire's Tale.

For 1889, Dr. Max Kaluza is preparing an edition of the Romaunt of the Rose (not Chaucer's) from the unique MS in the Hunterian Museum, Glasgow, with an Introduction on its dialect, its rymes, its comparison with Jean de Meun's original, &c. Mr. Walford D. Selby has also in type upwards of a hundred pages of the Life-Records of Chaucer — Chaucer documents, with comments — which he and Dr. Furnivall have collected, and will edit: Part I in 1889. Arrangements will be made with Mr. Henry Ward or his substitute, to complete his com- parison of the Knight's Tale with Boccaccio's Tcseide in 1889 ; and Dr. John Koch hopes to be able to write in the same year his Trial-Forewords to Chaucer's Minor Poems.

A student and friend of Prof. Child has nearly completed a full study of the grammatical and other peculiarities of the MSS of Troilus and Cressida. He hopes to get it to press in 1889.

Seven years ago Prof. Corson, of Cornell University, under- took to finish The Chaucer Concordance ; but he was never able to touch it, and it has now been taken in hand by Mr. W. Graham, of 64 Mount Pleasant Road, Southampton, to whom much fresh help has been given in the work. Mr. Graham is anxious for much more aid, and will be glad to receive offers from any lovers of Chaucer willing to work. The following Tales and Poems have been lately undertaken :

The Chaucer Concordance. The /'/Y//.SY of Chance i-. 3

Nun's Priest's Tale. Parliament of Foules.

Second Nun's Tale. Complaint of Mars.

Clerk's Tale. Venus. Truth. Scogan.

Monk's Tale. Marriage. Gentleness.

Melibe. Stedfastness. Purse.

Manciple's Tale. Proverbs. Fortune.

Reeve. Cook. ABC. Anelida.

Wife's Tale. Troilus, Books I, II, III.

Friar's Tale. House of Fame, Bks. I, II.

Miller's Tale. Lucrece and Phyllis, of The Parson's Tale (part). Legend of Good Women.

Concordancers are wanted for part of The Parson's Tale, for Books IV and V of Troilus and Cressida, for Book III of the House of Fame, for the rest of The Legend of Good Women, for Boece, &c.

The Director has long desired the compilation of a volume of The Praise of Chaucer, allusions to him by all the writers of his own day, by others down to Tyrwhitt, and by at least the chief critics of our own time. The work needs some editor who has access to a large collection of Elizabethan books.1 An offer has been made by a resident in a small town in Scotland ; but a British-Museum or Bodleian man is the one wanted.

Dr. Furnivall and Mr. A. W. Pollard of the British Museum have undertaken a 6-volume edition of Chaucer's Works for Macmillan & Co., and this, when in progress, will be gradually sent out to Members as part of the Society's issues.

The Director regrets much that the Texts for 1884 for the First Series are still in arrear ; but he has had so much in hand for the last few years, that he has not been able to clear off the final Parts of the Six Texts of the Canterbury Tales. He hopes to do so in 1889.

With the Chaucer Concordance — in which it is hoped that the Clarendon Press will share — the Society's work will end.

The Treasurer's Cash-Accounts for 1881-7 are appended.

1 The 2 collections of Allusions to Sh.-iks|>rrn pnUisht by the Xr\v Soc. contain many Chaucer Allusions. Dart has more in Urry's < 'Imtn-i r. An ilr. Halus's fresh oues, in his rcprintml Kss;i\s .'

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LIST OF MEMBERS OF THE CHAUCER SOCIETY.

1888.

ABERDEEN UNIVERSITY, LIBRARY OF (by Triibner & Co.).

ALLSOPP, The Hon. A. Percy, Streethay Lodge, Lichfield.

ASHER & Co., 13, Bedford Street, Covent Garden, W.C.

ASTOR LIBRARY, New York, U. S. A. (by B. F. Stevens).

BAKER, F. P. (by Trubner & Co.).

BALLIOL COLLEGE LIBRARY, Oxford.

BARTLETT, Francis, 13, Exchange Street, Boston, U. S. A.

BENNETT, Miss F. E., Ogontz, Montgomery Co., Pa., U. S. A.

BIRMINGHAM CENTRAL FREE LIBRARY, Eden Place, Birmingham.

BONN UNIVERSITY LIBRARY (Max Cohen & Sohn, care of Mr. D. Nutt,

270, Strand, W.C.).

BOSTON ATHENAEUM LIBRARY, Boston, U. S. A. (by Triibner & Co.). BOSTON PUBLIC LIBRARY, Boston. U. S. A. (by Trubner & Co.). BRASENOSE COLLEGE, Oxford. BRESLAU UNIVERSITY (by Asher & Co.). BROOKE, Eev. Stopford A., 1, Manchester Square, W. BRYN MANOR COLLEGE (by Triibner & Co.). BUCKLEY, Rev. W. E., Rectory, Middleton Cheney, Banbury. CAMBRIDGE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY, Cambridge. CARRICK, Rev. J. L., Spring Hill, Southampton. CHILD, Prof. F. J., Harvard College, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. (Hon. Sec.

for America).

CHRISTIANIA UNIVERSITY LIBRARY (care of Simpkins, Marshall, & Co.). CLAY & SONS, Ld., Bungay.

COHN, A., 13, Bedford St, Covent Garden, W.C. (by Asher & Co.). COLERIDGE, The Right Hon. Lord, 1, Sussex Square, W. CONGRESS, LIBRARY OF, Washington, U. S. A. (by E. G. Allen, 28 Henrietta

St., Covent Garden, W.C.).

CORNELL UNIVERSITY, Ithaca, New York, U. S. A. CULLEY, Matthew T., Coupland Castle, Wooler, Northumberland. DA COSTA, Dr. J. M., 1 GUI), Walnut Street, Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, U. S. A. DALZIEL, W. A.. G7, Victoria Road, Finsbury Park, London, N. (Hon. Sec.). DERBY, The Rrght Hon. the Earl of, 23, St James's Square, S.W. DEVONSHIRE, Duke of, Devonshire House. Piccadilly, W. DOGGETT, Hugh G., 31, Richmond Ter., Clifton, Bristol. DURHAM CATHEDRAL LIBRARY, Durham. ELLIS, Alexander J., 25, Argyll Road, Kensington, W. ERLANGEN UNIVERSITY LIBRARY, Germany (Sampson Low & Co.). Fox, Francis F., Yate Houso, Chipping Sodbury. FREIBURG UNIVERSITY LIBRARY, I'.ADKN.

FUUNIVAI.L, Dr. F. J., 3, St tii-or^o's Square, Primrose Hill, N.W. (Director). GEHOLD & Co., Vienna (by Asher & Co.). GIBBS, Henry Hucks, St DunstanV, Regent's Park, N.W.

12 Chaucer Society : List of Members, 1888.

GLASGOW, THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY of (by Maclehose).

GOTTINGEN UNIVERSITY LIBRARY (by Asher & Co.).

GREIFSWALD UNIVERSITY LIBRARY (by Asher & Co.).

GUILDHALL, LIBRARY OF THE CORPORATION OF LONDON, E.G.

HARVARD COLLEGE LIBRARY, Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A. (by E. G. Allen).

HAY, C. A., 127, Harley Street, W.

HOE, Robt,, junior, 504, Grand St., New York, U. S. A. (by B. F. Stevens).

JENKINS, Sir Jas., K.C.B., Neviston, Mannamead, Plymouth.

JOHNS HOPKINS UNIVERSITY, Baltimore, U. S. A. (by E. G. Allen).

KIEL UNIVERSITY, Germany.

KOCH, Dr. J., 35 Briickenallee, Berlin, N.W.

LEEDS LIBRARY, Commercial St, Leeds.

LONDON LIBRARY, 12, St James's Square, S.W.

LONDON UNIVERSITY, Burlington Gardens, W.

LOWELL, J. Russell, LL.D., Harvard Coll., Cambridge, Mass., U. S. A.

MANCHESTER, Duke of, 1, Great Stanhope Street, Mayfair, W.

MANCHESTER PUBLIC FREE LIBRARY, Manchester.

MAYOR, Rev. Professor John E. B., St John's College, Cambridge.

MELBOURNE PUBLIC LIBRARY, Victoria (by S. Mullen).

MERCANTILE LIBRARY, Brooklyn, New York, U. S. A. (by E. G. Allen).

MERCANTILE LIBRARY ASSOCIATION, San Francisco, U. S. A. (by Triibner

& Co.).

MICHIGAN UNIVERSITY (General Library of), Ann Arbor, Michigan, U. S. A. MITCHELL LIBRARY, Glasgow. MUNICH STATE AND COURT LIBRARY, Bavaria. NAPIER, Professor Arthur S., Headington Hill, Oxford. NATIONAL LIBRARY OF IRELAND, Dublin (by Hodges, Figgis, & Co.). NEWCASTLE-UPON-TYNE LITERARY AND PHILOSOPHICAL SOCIETY. NORTHUMBERLAND, The Duke of, 2, Grosvenor Place, S.W. OLIPHANT, T. L. Kington, Charlsfield, Gask, Auchterarder. PEABODY INSTITUTE, Baltimore, U. S. A. (by E. G. Allen). PRAG SEMINAR, Prag, Austria. PRIAULX, 0. de Beauvoir, 8, Cavendish Square, W.

PRINCETON COLLEGE LIBRARY, New Jersey, U. S. A. (by H. Grevel & Co.). QUEEN'S COLLEGE, Oxford.

ROMANISCHE-ENGLISCHE SEMINAR, Marburg, Germany. ROYAL ASIATIC SOCIETY, Bombay (by Triibner & Co.). ROYAL LIBRARY, Munich (by Asher & Co.). ROYAL LIBRARY, Stockholm (by Triibner & Co.). HOYAL LIBRARY, Windsor.

ST JOHN'S COLLEGE, Annapolis, U. S. A. (by B. F. Stevens). ST JOHN'S COLLEGE, Cambridge (by Deightou, Bell & Co.). ST Louis PUBLIC SCHOOL LIBRARY, Missouri, U. S. A. (by B. F. Stevens). ST PETER'S COLLEGE, Cambridge.

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hjinals and

of soiiu of

Cfjaitcer's Canterlmrg

%'

STATEMENT FOE THE YEAES 1886-8. PART V. of the Chaucer Analogues (to be issued shortly) will include Papers by Mr. "W. A. Clouston on the Analogues of the Manciple's Tale and the Wife of Bath's Tale, and probably some other versions of Griseldis. It will also contain a Title-page, Con- tents-table, and Indfix^fbr the five Parts, so that they may be bound together.

Mr. Clouston will, in 1887 or 1888, edit for the Chaucer Society John Lane's continuation of Chaucer's Squire's Tale from its two MSS. in the Bodleian.

The Second Part of the Tried-Forewords to Chaucer's Minor Poems will be written by Dr. John Koch of Berlin, the Editor and Translator of several of these Poems. It will probably be issued during 1887.

The issue for 1884, now in arrear, will be made in 1887.

289

16.

amsel's telt

INDIAN ORIGINAL AND SOME ASIATIC AND EUROPEAN VARIANTS

(fTfjaucer's JJtanfcltn's Sale*

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

en. GRIG. 21

290

INDIAN (SANSKRIT) ORIGINAL ... ... ... ... Page 291

BURMESE VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 298

PERSIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 306

ANOTHER PERSIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... „ 310

INDO-PERSIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... „ 313

HEBREW VERSION „ 315

GERMANO-JEWISH VERSION „ 317

SIBERIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 320

TURKISH VERSION „ 322

GAELIC VERSION „ 326

BOCCACCIO'S ITALIAN VERSION ... ... ... „ 328

BOIARDO'S ITALIAN VERSION „ 334

TWO ENGLISH PLAYS 338

291

THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE:

INDIAN ORIGINAL AND SOME ASIATIC AND EUROPEAN VARIANTS OF THE FRANKLIN'S TALE.

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

THE oldest known form of Chaucer's well-told tale of the chaste Dorigeu is probably found in a group of Indian fictions entitled, Vetdla Panchavinsati, 'Twenty-five Tales of a Vetala,' or Vampyre, which are incorporated with the great Sanskrit collection, Kathd Sarit Sdgara, ' Ocean of the Rivers of Story ' (of which some par- ticulars hereafter), but they still exist as a separate and distinct work, though considerably abridged, in most of the vernacular lan- guages of India : in Tamil, Veddla Kadai ; in Hindi, Byfdl Pachisi, etc. The Tamil version has been done into English by B. G. Babing- ton, and the Hindi version by Capt. W. Rollings. This is the Vetala story, from Professor C. H. Tawney's translation of the Kathd Sarit Sdgara, published at Calcutta, Vol. ii. p. 278 :

THERE was an excellent king of the name of Virabahu, who imposed his orders on the heads of all kings : he had a splendid city named Anangapura, and in it there lived a rich merchant, named Arthadatta ; that merchant prince had for elder child a son called Dhanadatta, and his younger child was a pearl of maidens, named Madanasena.

One day, as she was playing with her companions in her own garden, a young merchant, named Dharmadatta, a friend of her brother, saw her. When he saw that maiden, who, with the full streams of her beauty, her breasts like pitchers half-revealed, and three wrinkles like waves, resembled a lake for the elephant of youth to plunge in, in sport, he was at once robbed of his senses by the

292 IB. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : INDIAN ORIGINAL •

arrows of love, that fell upon him in showers. He thought to him- self : " Alas, this maiden, illuminated with this excessive beauty, has been framed by Mara, as a keen arrow to cleave asunder my heart." While, engaged in such reflections, he watched her long, the day passed away for him, as if he were a chdkravdka.* Then Madanasena entered her house, and grief at no longer beholding her entered the breast of Dharmadatta. And the sun sank red into the western main, as if inflamed with the fire of grief at seeing her no more. And the moon, that was surpassed by the lotus of her countenance, knowing that that fair-faced one had gone in for the night, slowly mounted upward.

In the mean while Dharmadatta went home, and thinking upon that fair one, he remained tossing to and fro on his bed, smitten by the rays of the moon. And though his friends and relations eagerly questioned him, he gave them no answer, being bewildered by the demon of love. And in the course of the night he at length fell asleep, though with difficulty, and still he seemed to behold and court that loved one in a dream ; to such lengths did his longing carry him. And in the morning he woke up, and went and saw her once more in that very garden, alone and in privacy, waiting for her attendant. So he went up to her, longing to embrace her, and falling at her feet, he tried to coax her with words tender from affection. But she said to him, with great earnestness : " I am a maiden, betrothed to another ; I cannot now be yours, for my father has bestowed me on the merchant Samudradatta, and I am to be married in a few days. So depart quietly : let not any one see you ; it might cause mischief." But Dharmadatta said to her : " Happen what may, I cannot live without you." When the merchant's daughter heard this, she was afraid that he would use force to her, so she said to him : " Let my marriage first be celebrated here ; let my father reap the long-desired fruit of bestowing a daughter in marriage ; then I will certainly visit you, for your love has gained my heart." When he heard this, he said : " I love not a woman that has been embraced by another man ; — does the bee delight in a lotus on which another

1 Aiiaa casarca, commonly called the Brahmany duck. According to the Hindu poets, the male has to pass the night apart from its female. — C.

FOB THE FKAXKLIX'S TALE. 293

bee has settled 1 " When he said this to her, she replied : " Then I will visit you as soon as I am married, and afterwards I will go to my husband." But though she made this promise, he would not let her go without further assurance ; so the merchant's daughter con- firmed the truth of her promise with an oath. Then he let her go, and she entered her house in low spirits.

And when the lucky day had arrived,1 and the auspicious ceremony of marriage had taken place, she went to her husband's house and spent that day in merriment, and then retired with him. But she repelled her husband's caresses with indifference, and when he began to coax her she burst into tears. He thought to himself : "Of a truth she cares not for me," and said to her: "Fair one, if you do not love me, I do not want you : go to your darling, whoever he may be." When she heard this, she said slowly, with downcast face : " I love you more than my life ; but hear what I have to say. Rise up cheerfully, and promise me immunity from punishment ; take an oath to that effect, my husband, in order that I may tell you."

When she said this, her husband reluctantly consented, and then she went on to say, with shame, despondency, and fear : " A young man of the name of Dharmadatta, a friend of my brother, saw me once alone in our garden, and, smitten with love, he detained me ; and when he was preparing to use force, I, being anxious to secure for my father the merit of giving a daughter in marriage, and to avoid all scandal, made this agreement with him : ' When I am married, I will pay you a visit, before I go to my husband ; ' so I must now keep my word, permit me, my husband ; I will pay him a visit first, and then return to you, for I cannot transgress the law of

1 Asiatics have a profound faith in lucky and unlucky days, and the pro- fessors of the pseudo-science of astrology are highly respected by all classes. Before setting out on a journey, or performing the marriage-ceremony, or indeed commencing any important matter, the almanac and the astrologer are con- sulted to ascertain the precise lucky moment. In one of the Buddhist Birth- Stories, a man having missed making a good match for his son, because he had been told by a spiteful astrologer, whom he consulted, that the day proposed for the nuptials was inauspicious, a wise old fellow remarked : " What is the use of luck in the stars ? Surely, getting the girl is the luck I " and recited this stanza :

" While the star-gazing fool is waiting for luck, the luck goes by ; — The star of luck is luck, and not any star in the sky." — C.

294 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : INDIAN ORIGINAL ;

truth, which I have observed from my childhood." When Samudra- datta had been thus suddenly smitten by this speech of hers, as by a down-lighting thunderbolt, being bound by the necessity of keeping his word, he reflected for a moment as follows : " Alas, she is in love with another man ; she must certainly go ; why should I make her break her word 1 Let her depart ! Why should I be so eager to have her for a wife?" After he had gone through this train of thought, he gave her leave to go where she would ; and she rose up, and left her husband's house.

In the mean while the cold-rayed moon ascended the great eastern mountain, as it were the roof of a palace, and the nymph of the eastern quarter smiled, touched by his finger.1 Then, though the darkness was still embracing his beloved herbs in the mountain caves, and the bees were settling on another cluster of kumudas, a certain thief saw Madanasena, as she was going along alone at night, and rushing upon her, seized her by the hem of her garment. He said to her : " Who are you, and where are you going 1 " When he said this, she, being afraid, said : "What does that matter to you? Let me go ; I have business here." Then the thief said : " How can I, who am a thief, let you go?" Hearing that, she replied : " Take my ornaments." The thief answered her: "What do I care for these gems, fair one ? I will not surrender you, the ornament of the world, with your face like the moonstone, your hair black like jet, your waist like a diamond, your limbs like gold, fascinating beholders with your ruby-coloured feet."

When the thief said this, the helpless merchant's daughter told him her story, and entreated him as follows : " Excuse me for a moment, that I may keep my word, and as soon as I have done that, I will quickly return to you, if you remain here. Believe me, my good man, I will never break this true promise of mine." When the thief heard that, he let her go, believing that she was a woman who would keep her word, and he remained in that very spot, waiting for her return.

She, for her part, went to the merchant Dharmadatta. And when he saw that she had come to that wood, he asked how it 1 In Sanskrit the moon is feminine, and the sun masculine. — C.

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 295

happened, and then, though he had longed for her, he said to her, after reflecting a moment : " I am delighted at your faithfulness to your promise : what have I to do with you, the wife of another ? So go back, as you came, before any one sees you." When he had thus let her go, she said: "So be it," and leaving that place, she went to the thief, who was waiting for her in the road. He said to her : " Tell me what befell you when you arrived at the trysting- place." So she told him how the merchant let her go. Then the thief said : " Since this is so, then I also will let you go, being pleased with your truthfulness : return home with your ornaments."

So he, too, let her go, and went with her to guard her, and she returned to the house of her husband, delighted at having preserved her honour. There the chaste woman entered secretly, and went delighted to her husband ; and he, when he saw her, questioned her ; so she told him the whole story. And Samudradatta, perceiving that his good wife had kept her word without losing her honour, assumed a bright and cheerful expression, and welcomed her as a pure-minded woman, who had not disgraced her family, and lived happily with her ever afterwards.

When the Vetala had told this story in the cemetery to King Trivikramasena, he went on to say to him : " So tell me, King, which was the really generous man of those three — the two merch- ants and the thief1? And if you know and do not tell, your head shall split into a hundred pieces." When the Vetdla said this, the king broke silence, and said to him : " Of those three the thief was the only really generous man, and not either of the two merchants. For of course her husband let her go, though she was so lovely, and he had married her ; how could a gentleman desire to keep a wife that was attached to another 1 And the other resigned her because his passion was dulled by time, and he was afraid that her husband, knowing the facts, would tell the king the next day. But the thief, a reckless evil-doer, working in the dark, was really generous to let go a lovely woman, ornaments and all."

The grand story-book, Kathd Sarit Sdgara — which is not only a perfect storehouse of Indian folk-lore, but contains the prototypes of

296 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE: INDIAN ORIGINAL;

many of the tales in the Thousand and One Nights, and the probable originals of a very considerable number of European popular fictions — was composed, in Sanskrit verse, by Somadeva, towards the end of the eleventh century, after a similar work, entitled Vrihat Kathd, the ' Great Story,' written by Gunadhya, in the sixth century, accord- ing to Dr. Albrecht Weber. It is not to be supposed that Gunadhya was the actual inventor of the tales in his collection ; many of them bear internal evidence of Buddhist extraction, and some have been conclusively traced to such sources. Apart from this, the circum- stance that his work, as represented by that of Somadeva — for no copy of the original Vrihat Kathd is known to exist ; but Somadeva is careful to inform his readers that his book " is precisely on the model from which it was taken ; there is not the slightest deviation, only such language is selected as tends to abridge the prolixity of the work " — the circumstance that the collection contains one entire section, or chapter, of the celebrated Indian apologues, commonly known in Europe as the ' Fables of Bidpai,' or Pilpay (first trans- lated out of the Sanskrit into the Pahlavi, under the title of Kalilag and Damnag, during the reign of Nushfrvan, king of Persia, sixth century), is sufficient to show that Gunadhya, like the compilers of the Arabian Nights, selected from earlier works such stories and fables as suited his purpose, and wove them into a frame-story. And although no copy of the Vetala Tales in Sanskrit has, I believe, yet been discovered in separate form, there can be no doubt that it was originally a distinct work, by some ascribed to Sivadasa, by others to Jambaladatta ; and in the opinion of the learned and acute Benfey, the materials of the stories are of Buddhist origin, and they may therefore date as far back as the second century before Christ. In the Mongolian form of the Vetala tales, the Eelations of Siddhi Kur, which constitute the first part of Sagas from the Far East, by Miss M. H. Busk, derived mainly, if not wholly, from Jiilg's German translation, little more than the general plan has been preserved ; it is, moreover, a comparatively recent work.

FOR THE FRASKLltfS TALE. 297

Benfey's opinion, that the Tales of a Vetala are of Buddhist extraction, seems partly confirmed by the existence of a Burmese version of the foregoing one, in a small collection which was rendered into English thirty-five years ago, by Captain T. P. Sparks, under the title of The Decisions of Princess Thoo-dhamma Tsari, Maulmain, 1851. This work, like most of the Burmese books, was translated from the Pali, and the tales comprised in it are therefore of Buddhist adaptation, if not invention ; yet they may have assumed their pre- sent forms in the Burmese language at a period subsequent to the composition of Somadeva's Katlid Sarit Sdgara. In many instances where the same stories are found in the writings of the Brahmans, the Buddhists, and the Jains, it does not follow that one sect copied from another ; but it is most probable that they were derived from com- mon sources, and more or less modified to adapt them to the doctrines peculiar to each sect. However this may be, in the absence of any Buddhist version of our story the date of which is positively ascer- tained to be earlier than the sixth century — when the Vriliat Kathd was originally composed — the Vetala tale, as above, must be con- sidered- as the oldest, notwithstanding the unquestionable antiquity of the Buddhist fictions generally. In the following Burmese version, from Captain Sparks' translation of the Decisions of Princess Thoo- dhamma Tsari,1 the tale, it will be observed, is interwoven with another, to which it may be said to be subordinate, being related for the purpose of discovering among four persons the one who had stolen a part of their joint property ; a form which differs from the Vetala story, but has been reproduced in several Asiatic derivatives, and in at least one European variant :2

1 "It is not very clear," says the Translator, "why this title should have been given to the book, for the name of the Princess does not occur before the close of the fourteenth story. One explanation given me is. that it is so called from the Princess having collected the various decisions, and published them together with a few of her own. Another, that the book originally contained the decisions of the Princess only, but that in process of time others were added by different hands, whilst some of her own were lost. I am inclined to favour the latter opinion."

8 The notes to the story, excepting a few which are placed within square brackets, are by the Translator.

298 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE: BURMESE VERSION;

Burmese Version.

DUEING the era of Thoomana,1 four Brahmans — named Maha Brahmana, Meedze Brahmana, Khoddiha Brahmana, and Tsoola Brahmana2 — resided in the country of Thinga-thanago. Each of them possessed one hundred gold pieces. As they were going to bathe they agreed to put their money together, and accordingly three of them did so ; but the youngest, entertaining a fraudulent design, concealed his in a separate spot, and expecting that from so doing the three others would divide their portion with him, made as if he had placed his money with theirs, and went with them to bathe. When they had all four come up out of the water, they found the property of three of the Brahmans, but that of the youngest was missing. "How is this1?" said he. "My money is gone, but yours is still here : will you give me part of yours 1 " They demurred against this, saying : " No one has been here ; if your money has disappeared from the place where we all deposited ours, why should we make it good?" So they went to the judge of a neighbouring village for a decision. He gave judgment as follows: "It is not right that the money of one should be missing out of the stock deposited by all four ; therefore let that which remains be divided equally between you." The three Brahmans, being still exceedingly averse from a division, went before the governor of the district, who referred them to the chief nobleman. He sent them before the king of the country, who confirmed the decree of the village judge. The three Brahmans, being still not contented, said that they were dis- satisfied. Then the king made the chief nobleman undertake the case, saying : " Hey, my lord noble, completely dispose of this case within seven days, or I will deprive you of your rank, and confiscate your property." The nobleman, in great alarm, called the four Brahmans, and diligently inquired into the affair; but being unable to make anything of it, he became exceedingly sorrowful and dis- tressed. His daughter Tsanda Kommari, observing the dejected con- dition of her father, asked him, saying : " My good lord and father, why are you so sad?" He said: "Ah, my dear daughter, I am 1 The thirteenth Buddha. [2 Great, Middle, Small, Tiny.]

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 299

compelled to undertake the case of the four Brahmans, and if I fail to dispose of it within seven days, I shall be degraded from my high estate ; for this cause am I sorrowful." Tsanda Kommarf replied : " Fear not, my father ; I will manage to detect the thief ; — do you only build a large pavilion." The noble did as she desired, and having placed each of the Brahmans in one of the four corners, Tsanda Kommari stood in the centre. When the evening was past, she asked the Brahmans to let her hear them discourse upon any subject with which they were acquainted, selected from the wisdom contained in the eighteen branches of knowledge, the hundred and one different books of the Lauka Nfdf, the Lauka Widii-wiekza, the Lauka Batha, the Lauka Yatra, the Lenga Thohtika, the Wiennau Treatise on Medicine, and the Pintsapoh Yauga Nidan. The Brah- mans replied : " Lady, we are iinable to perform what you ask, forasmuch as one amongst us bears a deceitful heart, and none of us can say which of the four it is ; we can no longer, therefore, to our shame and confusion, exercise the Brahmanical functions. But you, being brought up at the feet of your noble father, are well versed in knowledge, and having all the questions that arrive at the court from the four quarters of the globe, deign now to speak to us for our instruction." Said she: "0 teachers, I know nothing; but, if you wish it, I will relate a tale :

" In the olden time, a prince, a young nobleman, a poor man's son, and a rich man's daughter were being educated together in the country of Tekkatho.1 As the rich man's daughter was noting down the lesson of her teacher, she dropped her style,2 and, seeing the prince below, she said: 'Just give me my style.' He replied: 'I will give it you ; but you must make me a promise, that soon after you return to your parents you will let me pluck your virgin flower.' She made him the required promise, whereupon the young prince handed her the style, and she said : ' I will certainly come to you.'

1 The Pali name of Tekkatho is Tekkathela, or Tekkasela ; and we know that Kka corresponds to the Sanscrit Kslia, so the Sanscrit name is Teksheela, which is the famous Taxila of Ptolemy, in the time of Alexander the Great, "the largest and wealthiest city hetween the Indus and the Hydaspes."—

Aotrx <ni tlic Ancient History of B urma ?/, by Rev. F. Mason.

2 Used for writing on the palm leaf.

300 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : BURMESE VERSION ;

" On the completion of her studies, the rich man's daughter returned to her parents and the prince to his own country, and, his father dying, he ascended the throne. When the rich man's daugh- ter had attained the age of sixteen, her parents married her to the man of her choice. Then she said to her husband : ' My lord, I am now your wife, but suffer me to go for a short time to get absolved from a certain promise which I have made.' Her husband inquiring why she asked for permission to leave him, she replied : ' When I was at school in Tekkatho, I made a promise to a young prince, that after I returned to my parents I would speedily visit him.' Her husband, reflecting that, although she had been given to him in mar- riage by her parents, still the power of a promise is extremely great both upon priests and laymen, granted her leave to go. Then she wiped her husband's feet with her hair, and, after decking herself in handsome clothes and ornaments, departed on her journey.

" As she was travelling along, she fell in with a thief, who, on seeing her, grasped her hand, saying : ' Where are you going ? What business has a woman to be travelling alone ? My young lady's life, as well as her fine clothes and jewels, is my property now. But where do you want to go ? ' The rich man's daughter replied : 'True, they are your property. As to where I am going, when I was at school in Tekkatho I made a promise to a young prince, that I would visit him soon after my return home ; and as, if I break my promise, I shall fall into the four states of punishment and never arrive at the abode of the just, I asked leave of my husband to whom my parents had given me in marriage, and have come so far on my way.' The thief, on hearing this answer, bound her by a promise, such as she had given to the prince, to present herself before him on her return, and when she had done as he required, he let her go.

" After escaping from the thief, as she was travelling onwards, she came to a banyan-tree, the guardian Nat of which1 asked her

1 [In Burmese mythology, Nats correspond to the ogres of our nursery tales, the trolls of the Scandinavians, the/i/m and ifrits (genii and afreets) of the Arahs, the divs of the Persians, the rakshasas, retdlas, and pisacJias of the Hindus.] The following extract from the sixth chapter of the first volume of the Damathat, the Burmese version of the Laws of Mauu, elucidates this

FOR THE FKANKLIN'S TALE. 301

whither she was going. She replied : ' My lord Nat, I have come into thy presence for no other cause than this.' Then she related to him her story as before. The Nat bound her by a solemn promise, such as she had made to the prince, to appear before him on her way back, and then let her depart.

"When she arrived at the palace, the guardian Nat, as a mark of respect for her fidelity to her engagement, threw wide the gates for her to enter, and she appeared in the presence of the king, who asked her wherefore she had come. ' 0 king,' she replied, ' I am the rich man's daughter, who made you a promise when we were being educated in Tekkatho. On my returning home, my parents bestowed me in marriage, and, with the permission of my husband and lord, I am come to yo\i.' ' Wonderful ! ' cried the king ; ' you are true to your word, indeed ! ' Then, after highly commending her, he took magnificent presents and gave them to her, saying : ' I make an offering of these in homage to your truth,' and allowed her to go.

" The rich man's daughter, laden with wealth, arrived in time at the banyan-tree, when she cried out, with a voice like a karawiclc:1 ' 0 lord Nat, guardian of the banyan-tree, sleepest thou or wakest thou 1 I have discharged my promise to the prince, and am now on my own way back. My life is in thy hands ; behold, I have not departed from my word, and here I am.' The Nat, on hearing her voice, said : ' Damsel, it is a hard thing for one who has just escaped with life from the hands of an enemy to place himself again in the power of his foe — to die.' She replied : ' If, through over-fondness for life, I were to break my promise, and pass on without coming to you, I should fall into the four states of punishment, and never attain^ the mansions of the just.' Then the Nat made her an offering of a jar of gold, in homage to her fidelity, and telling her to enjoy it to the end of her life, suffered her to depart.

"After leaving the banyan-tree, she came to the abode of the

part of the story : " It has been the invariable custom, in every successive world, when the young leaves of a tree first appear above ground, for a Nat to apply to the king of his order for permission to inhabit it. After the tree has been allotted to the Nat, it is a law, that if any person heedlessly comes to take shelter under it, or breaks, or injures it, and neglects to make an offering to the hamadryad, the latter has a right to devour the offender."

1 A fabulous bird, supposed to have a remarkably melodious voice.

302 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : BURMESE VERSION ;

thief, whom she found fast asleep ; but, although it would have been easy for her to take advantage of this and make her escape, she awoke him, saying, ' My lord thief, my life is yours, and the wealth I have brought with me is yours also. I am here according to my promise, and have not disobeyed your will.' The thief exclaimed : ' This is wonderful, indeed ! You have kept the hardest promise in the world. If I were to do any injury to such a person as you, some grievous misfortune would be sure to happen to me. Speed you on your way.' So he let her go, and she returned in safety to her husband, to whom she related all that had happened to her. Her husband, when he had heard her narrative, gave her praise for all that she had done."

When the story was finished, Tsanda Komma'rf asked the four Brdhmans which of the persons mentioned in it they each thought most worthy of praise. The eldest Brahman said : " I approve of the prince, because his conduct was wonderfully in accordance with the ten laws,1 which it is the duty of kings to observe, inasmuch as he refrained from plucking his promised flower." The next Brahman gave his opinion in favour of the guardian Nat of the banyan-tree, saying : " I laud him, because he presented to the rich man's daugh- ter a jar of gold ; and where any man would have found it difficult to keep his passions under control, he, a Nat, was able to restrain them." The third Brahman said : ;' I praise the husband, because, being like water in which an exceedingly pure ruby has been washed, he curbed his desires, and when his wife asked his permission to depart he allowed her to go.2 That man's mind must have been an

1 These are : (1) To make religious offerings; (2) to keep the command- ments ; (3) to be charitable; (4) to be upright; (5) to be mild and gentle; (6) not to give way to anger ; (7) to be strict in the performance of all the prescribed religious ceremonies ; (8) not to oppress : (9) to exercise self-con- trol ; (10) not to be familiar with inferiors. [The second of the above is, to observe the Five Precepts of Buddha, which are : (1) Not to do murder ; (2) not to steal ; (3) not to commit adultery ; (4) not to drink intoxicating liquors ; (5) not to do anything which is evil.]

a The moaning of this I conceive to be, that as water would contract no impurity from a bright gem being immersed in it, so the husband's heart, into which the beauty of the bride had sunk, imbibed therefrom no stain of sensual passion.

FOR THE FRAXKLIX'S TALE. 303

extraordinary one indeed ! " The youngest Brahman said : "I think most of the thief, because it is the nature of robbers to risk even their lives to gain a livelihood. For such a man not to covet clothes and jewels, gold and silver, and to allow them to pass through his hands without retaining them, shows his excellence ; therefore I bestow my meed of praise on the thief."

A young lady, who was Tsanda Kommari's attendant, when she had heard these opinions, said [privately] : " 0 daughter of our lord, three of the Brahmans, and I also with them, applaud the prince, the Nat, and the husband, but the youngest Brahman gives the honour to the thief." The nobleman's daughter, on hearing this, replied to her attendant : " The disposition of the youngest of the four Brahmans prompting him to consider the thief as the most to be commended, because he gave up, without coveting, the wealth which had actually come into his hands, shows that the missing money is in his possession. Therefore, my sister, do you disguise yourself so as to resemble me, and go to the youngest Brahman and say to him : ' The reason of my coming to you is this : The words which the three other Brahmans have spoken are nought but folly, while your wisdom is great. You are a young man and have no wife ; therefore I have come to marry you. How, then, can we contrive to live together ? I am in dread of my father ; your property is lost, and I come to you empty-handed ; so, if we remove together to another place, we shall be without the means of subsistence.' "

Her attendant, on being dismissed with these instructions, on meeting the young Brahman, addressed him as she had been taught. The Brahman was greatly rejoiced at her words, and said : " Dismiss your anxiety. I have not lost my property ; it is still in my hands. I only pretended it was gone in order to obtain a share from the others. There is enough for our support, even if we should go to another part of the country." She reported the words of the Brah- man to her mistress, who went to her father and told him that she had ascertained that the lost money was in the young Bn'thman'.s hand, and if he would give her a sum equal to that which was miss- ing she would recover it. The nobleman gave her what she asked for, and she placed it in the hands of her attendant, desiring her to

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go to the young Brahman and shoAv him the money, and speak to him according to the instructions which she then gave her.

The attendant went to the young Brahman, and, showing him the money, said as she had been taught : "Let me see how much you have got. Mine is but a small sum, therefore add yours to it, and then, if we elope together, we shall at least have enough to eat and drink." The Brahman gave her his money, which, on receiving, she conveyed to her mistress, who, rejoicing greatly, said to her : " Now go, my sister, to the three other Brahmans, and ask them to give you their money, telling them that you will put it by, and all four of them shall obtain full satisfaction. She went to the Brah- mans and asked them for their money, as she had been told, to which they consented, and gave it to her.

The nobleman's daughter then reported to her father that she had in her hands the money of all the Brahmans. He went to the king and said : " 0 king, I have recovered the money which was the cause of disgrace to the four Brahmans ; " and on the king inquiring by what means he had succeeded, he stated that it was his daughter who had contrived to find it out. The king sent for the nobleman's daughter and the four Brahmans, and asked them for an explanation. Then the nobleman's daughter said : " This is a deceitful and a fear- ful business ! These four Brahmans are gifted with wisdom, and as the nature of us unregenerate mortals is the slave of covetousness, anger, and folly, I will recite this apothegm : First, the ear hears, and this tempts the eye to look ; the lust of the eye, being indulged, excites the lust of the heart, and thus the soul becomes wedded to this world ; then it loses its wisdom, and without consideration falls into the commission of evil deeds, as a consequence of which, it suf- fers for ages in subsequent transmigrations." Having thus spoken, she laid down the four shares of money before the king, who ordered the owners to take what belonged to them. Each of the Brahmans took his share ; but when three of the shares were gone and the youngest took the one which remained, " What ! " cried the king, "the young Brahman said that he had lost his money, and yet here it is back again ! " The nobleman's daughter answered : " At first he himself hid his money, but now he has himself brought it to

FOR T1IE FHAXKLIX'S TALE. 305

light ; therefore the four Brahmans have each their own again." — • The iSTat's daughter, who was the guardian of the royal umbrella,1 cried aloud : " Well done ! " and the king, struck with admiration at the wisdom displayed by the nobleman's daughter, and considering that she was well qualified to examine and settle the various matters of importance brought by the royal ambassadors from all parts of the world, made her his queen. Therefore judges should take this story as an example, and exercise wisdom in examining and deciding the causes before them.2

It is not uncommon to find incidents of what are separate tales in some countries, and even two or more entire tales, fused into one in other places ; and we have an instance of this in the highly-diverting story of Ahmed the Cobbler, in Sir John Malcolm's Sketches of Persia, chap, xx., as related to "the Elchee" by the Shah's own story-teller, the latter part of which is a variant of our story ; the preceding part comprising incidents similar to those in the well- known German tale of ' Doctor Allwissend,' in Grimm's collection. Ahmed the cobbler, in consequence of a series of lucky chances, by which he gets a reputation for supernatural sagacity, is married to the king's beautiful and clever daughter, with whom he lives happily, till an untoward thing happens, which is the subject of the following

1 [The umbrella is in most Asiatic countries the symbol of sovereignty.]

2 Lady Verney, in an interesting paper, entitled "Bits from Burmah," in Good Words, for March 1886 (pp. 180-2), gives a somewhat different and much shorter version, as related by "a young Burmese, come to England for his education," who appears to have altered the story to render it in accordance with his conception of our double-distilled English morality, representing the princess as obtaining her parents' leave to set off and take back her promise before her marriage with the man to whom they had engaged her ; and when the young Brahman tells the damsel, who professes love for him, that he had his own share of money hidden in the forest — "thus was the whole matter made clear ; the thief was punished, and the lady /rug made a judge." Lady Verney adds : " The story is interesting, as showing an honourable feeling for a given word, and for the light it throws on the position and respect shown to women." But the same story is well known, as we shall see presently, in countries where "respect for women" is at a sad discount.

CH. ORIG. 22

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f ersrarc Iteioit.

THE king of Sfstan had sent an emerald of extraordinary size and brilliancy as a present to the king of Irak. It was carefully enclosed in a box, to which there were three keys, and one of them was given in charge to each of the three confidential servants employed to convey it. When they reached Ispahan the box was opened, but the emerald was gone. Nothing could exceed their consternation ; each accused the others ; as the lock was not broken it was evident one of them must be the thief. They consulted as to what was to be done; to conceal what had happened was impossible — the very attempt would have brought death on them all. It was resolved therefore to lay the whole matter before the king, and beg that by his wisdom he would detect the culprit, and that he would show mercy to the other two. . . . [At length the king summons Ahmed into his presence, in whose skill in astrology his Majesty had great faith — albeit it was " as nothing, and less than nothing, and vanity " — and commands him to discover within twenty days who stole the emerald : should he succeed, he should receive the highest state honours; by failure his life should be forfeited. Ahmed is in despair ; for how could he expect to escape by another lucky chance 1 He confides the matter to the princess, his wife, who undertakes the task for him ; and this is how she performed it :]

The princess invited the messengers from the king of Sfstan to her palace. They were surprised at the invitation, and still more at their reception. "You are strangers," she said to them, "and come from a powerful king : it is my wish to show you every attention. As to the lost emerald, think no more of it; it is a mere trifle. I will intercede with the king, my father, to give himself no farther concern on the subject, being convinced that it has been lost by one of those strange accidents for which it is impossible to account." The princess entertained the strangers for several days, and during that time the emerald seemed to be forgotten. She conversed with them freely, inquiring particularly of Sfstan, and the countries they had seen on their travels. Flattered by her condescension, they became confident of their safety, and were delighted with their royal

1'OR THE VRAKKLIX'S TALE.. 307

patroness. Seeing them completely off their guard, the princess turned the conversation one evening on wonderful occurrences, and, after each had related his story, said : " I will now recount to you some events of my own life, which you will, I think, deem more extraordinary than any you have ever heard :

" I am my father's only child, and have therefore been a favourite from my birth. I was brought up in the belief that I could com- mand whatever the world can afford ; and was taught that unbounded liberality is the first and most princely of virtues. I early resolved to surpass every former example of generosity. I thought my power of doing good, and making everybody happy, was as unlimited as my wish to do so; and I could not conceive the existence of misery beyond my power to relieve. When I was eighteen I was betrothed to my cousin, a young prince, who excelled all others in beauty of person and nobleness of mind ; and I fancied myself at the summit of happiness. It chanced, however, that on the morning of my nuptials I went to walk in a garden near the palace, where I had been accustomed to spend some hours daily from my childhood. The old gardener, with whose cheerfulness I had often been amused, met me. Seeing him look very miserable, I asked him what was the matter. He evaded a direct answer; but I insisted upon his disclos- ing the cause of his grief, declaring at the same time my determina- tion to remove it. ' You cannot relieve me,' said the old man, with a deep sigh ; ' it is out of your power, my beloved princess, to heal the wound of which I am dying.' My pride was roused, and I exclaimed : ' I swear ! ' — ' Do not swear,' said the gardener, seiz- ing my hand. ' I do swear,' I repeated, irritated by the opposition ; — ' I will stop at nothing to make you happy ; and I farther swear, that I will not leave this spot until you reveal the grief which preys upon you.' The old man, seeing my resolution, spake with tremulous emotion as follows : ' Princess, you know not what you have done ! Behold a man who has dared for these two years to look upon you with an eye of admiration : his love has at length reached this pitch, that without you he must be wretched for ever ; and unless you con- sent to meet him in the garden to-night, and become his bride instead of that of the prince, he must die.' Shocked by this unforeseen

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declaration, and trembling at the thought of my oath, I tried to reason with the old gardener, and offered him all the wealth I possessed. ' I told you,' he replied, 'beautiful princess, that you could not make me happy : I endeavoured to prevent your rash vow ; and nothing but that should have drawn from me the secret of my heart. Death, I know, is my fate ; for I cannot live and see you the wife of another. Leave me to die. Go to your husband ; go to the enjoyment of your pomp and riches ; but never again pretend to the exercise of a power which depends upon a thousand circumstances that no human being can regulate or control.' This speech conveyed a bitter reproach. I would have sacrificed my life a hundred times, sooner than stain my honour by marrying this man ; but I had made a vow in the face of Heaven, and to break it seemed sacrilege. Besides, I earnestly wished to die undeceived in my favourite notion, that I could make all who came near me happy. Under the struggle of these different feelings, I told the gardener his desire should be granted, and that I should be in the garden an hour before midnight. After this assur- ance I went away, resolved in my own mind not to outlive the disgrace to. which I had doomed myself.

" I passed the day in deepest melancholy. A little before mid- night I contrived to dismiss my attendants, and, arrayed in my bridal apparel, which was covered with the richest jewels, I went towards the garden. I had not proceeded many yards, when I was met by a thief, who, seizing me, said : ' Let me strip you, madam, of these unnecessary ornaments : if you make the least noise, instant death awaits you.' In my state of mind, such threats frightened me little. I wished to die, but I wished, before I died, to fulfil my vow. I told my story to the thief, beseeching him to let me pass, and pledging my word to return, that he might not be dis- appointed of his booty. After some hesitation he allowed me to proceed.

" I had not gone many steps when I encountered a furious lion, which had broken loose from my father's menagerie. Knowing the merciful nature of this animal towards the weak and defenceless, I dropped on my knees, repeated my story, and assured him, if he would let me fulfil my vow, I would come back to him as ready to

FOR THE FRAXKLIK'S TALE. 309

be destroyed as he could be to make me his prey. The lion stepped aside, and I went into the garden.

" I found the old gardener all impatience for my arrival. lie flew to meet me, exclaiming I was an angel. I told him I was resigned to my engagement, but had not long to live. He started, and asked what I meant. I gave him an account of my meeting with the thief and the lion. ' Wretch that I am,' cried the gardener ; ' how much misery have I caused ! But, bad as I am, I am not worse than a thief, or a beast of prey ; which I should be, did I not absolve you from your vow, and assure you the only way in which you can now make me happy, is by forgiving my wicked presumption.'

"I was completely relieved by these words, and granted the forgiveness desired ; but having determined, notwithstanding the gardener's remonstrances, to keep my word to the thief and the lion, I refused to accept his protection. On leaving the garden the lion met me. ' Noble lion,' I said, ' I am come, as I promised you.' I then related to him how the gardener had absolved me from my vow, and I expressed a hope that the king of beasts would not belie his renown for generosity. The lion again stepped aside, and I pro- ceeded to the thief, who was still standing where I left him. I told him I was now in his power, but that before he stripped me, I must relate to him what had happened since our last meeting. Having heard me, he turned away, saying : ' I am not meaner than a poor gardener, nor more cruel than a hungry lion : I will not injure what they have respected.'

" Delighted with my escapes. I returned to my father's palace, where I was united to my cousin, with whom I lived happily till his death ; persuaded, however, that the power of human beings to do good is very limited, and that when they leave the narrow path marked out for them by their Maker, they not only lose their object, but often wander far into error and guilt, by attempting more than it is possible to perform."

The princess paused, and was glad to see her guests so enchanted with her story that it had banished every other thought from their minds. After a few moments she turned to one of them, and asked :

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" Now which, think you, showed the greatest virtue in his forbearance — the gardener, the thief, or the lion?" — " The gardener, assuredly," was his answer, "to ahandon so lovely a prize, so nearly his own." "And what is your opinion1?" said the princess to his neighbour. "I think the lion was the most generous," he replied: "he must have been very hungry ; and in such a state it was great forbearance to abstain from devouring so delicate a morsel." "You both seem to me quite wrong," said the third, impatiently. " The thief had by far the most merit. Gracious heavens ! to have within his grasp such wealth, and to refrain from taking it ! I could not have believed it possible, unless the princess herself had assured us of the fact ! "

The princess, now assuming an air of dignity, said to the first who spoke : " You, I perceive, are an admirer of the ladies ;" to the second : " You are an epicure ; " and then turning to the third, who was already pale with fright : " You, my friend, have the emerald in your possession. You have betrayed yourself, and nothing but an immediate confession can save your life." The guilty man's counten- ance removed all doubt; and when the princess renewed her assurances of safety, he threw himself at her feet, acknowledged his offence, and gave her the emerald, which he carried concealed about him.

THE story also occurs in the celebrated Persian collection, entitled Ttiti Ndma (Parrot-Book), composed by Nakhshabi about the year 1306, after a similar old Persian story-book, now lost, which was derived from a Sanskrit work, of which the SuTta Saptaii (Seventy Tales of a Parrot) is the modern representative. In this work a parrot relates stories, night after night, to prevent a merchant's wife from carrying on an amorous intrigue during her husband's absence. According to an India Office MS. text of Nakhshabfs Tuti Ndma, the twelfth story is to this effect :

gttot|)cr Jcrsian fcstan;

ONE day a poor street-sweeper finds among a dust-heap a very valuable gem, in lustre equal to that of the sun. He resolves to present it to Eaja Bhoja, in the expectation of being suitably

FOB THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 311

rewarded. On his way he associates with four men who happen to be travelling in the same direction. At noontide they all repose beneath a tree, and while the poor man is sound asleep his com- panions steal the gem out of his purse. "When he awakes and discovers his loss, he says nothing about it to them, and they resume their journey. Arriving at the capital, the poor man obtains an audience of the raja, to whom he recounts the whole affair. The raja sends for the four travellers, and questions them concerning the gem, but they stoutly deny all knowledge of it, at which the raja is much perplexed. But his clever daughter undertakes to ascertain whether they really stole the gem, and with this object invites them to her private apartment, and gives them many rich presents ; and after chatting pleasantly with them on various subjects, she relates the following story :

" In Mazandaran there formerly dwelt a rich merchant who had a very beautiful daughter. One day during the vernal season she went to a garden, accompanied by her female slaves, and sauntering by a plot of roses, observed with admiration one flower of pre- eminent beauty and odour, which, like the rose of her own face, was thornless. Then she said to the gardener : ' Bring down that rose and give it to me.' Quoth the gardener : ' Fair lady, this charming rose does not come into your hand without a recompense.' The lady demanding to know its price, the gardener replied : ' Its price is this, that you promise to meet me in this garden on the night of your nuptials.' Having set her heart upon possessing the beautiful rose, the lady gave her solemn promise, and, receiving the flower, retired from the garden with her attendants. Some time after this, the merchant married his daughter to a young man of his own choice, and when the wedding guests were gone, and she was left alone with her husband, she told him of her promise to the gardener, at which he was not a little astonished, but gave her leave to keep her promise. So she went forth in her wedding garments, adorned with priceless jewels, and as she proceeded she was met by a wolf, which would have devoured her, but she told her story, how she had obtained her husband's leave to keep her promise to the gardener, and Allah softened the wolf's heart, and he allowed her to pass on un-

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injured. She next met a robber, to whom she also told her story, and the robber, albeit she was covered with gems of price, and com- pletely in his power, bade her proceed on her way. When she entered the garden, there was the gardener pacing to and fro, but on her telling him how her husband had freely consented to her request to be permitted to keep her appointment, and how the wolf and the robber had let her pass on untouched, the gardener at once freed her from her promise, and respectfully conducted her back to the dwell- ing of her husband, with whom she lived in peace and happiness ever after."

The raja's daughter, having finished her story, then says to the four travellers : " What puzzles me is to say which of those four individuals exhibited most generosity." One replies, that the husband must have been a fool to give his wife liberty to meet another man on her wedding-night ; another, that it was folly on the part of the wolf to let slip such a prey ; the third, that the robber was a mere blockhead to refrain from taking her jewels ; and the fourth, that the gardener was an idiot to relinquish so tempting a prize. The princess, having heard the men express such sentiments, concluded that they must have stolen the gem, and when she com- municated this opinion to -her father the raja, he caused all four to be bastinadoed until they confessed their guilt and delivered up the jewel. Then the raja gave rich gifts to the poor man, and hanged the four rascals.1

1 In the Turkish version of the Tuti Ndma the story is told with a few variations from its Persian original. The precious stone is found by a peasant while ploughing his field. He is advised by friends to offer it to the Padishah of Rum (Room : Asia Minor, or the Western Empire) ; for should the sultan come to know of his "find," he might take it from him. and charge him with having stolen it. He joins three travellers on the road. In the story of the damsel's rash promise, the scene is laid in Damascus ; her name is Dil-Furuz, i.e. "inflaming the heart with love"; her attendants attempt to pluck the rose, but it is beyond their reach. The gardener gallantly plucks it, and pre- sents it to the young lady, who then asks him what he should wish in return. When she meets him in the garden on the night of her nuptials, and tells him of the generosity of her husband, the wolf, and the robber, he says that his sole object was to try her : " I am thy slave," he adds, " and the gardener of this place, and the gardener protects the flowers," implying, of course, that she was " herself the fairest flower ! "

FOR THE FXANKLIN'S TALE. 313

There is a somewhat different version in the Balidr-i-Ddnush, or Spring of Knowledge, a work written in the Persian language, by 'Inayatu-'llah of Delhi, A.H. 1061 (A.D. 1650), the materials of which are avowedly derived from old Indian sources, to which indeed they are easily traceable. Dr. Jonathan Scott, who published a translation of this entertaining romance in 1799, seems to have had rather hazy notions of what kind of stories were fit to be presented to the English readers of his time, since he has given several very " free " tales in full, while lie only gives in the Appendix a meagre abstract of our story, without a word of explanation. This is Scott's outline of what may be called an

Inb0=fcrsuw Version.

KAMGAR, the son of a powerful sultan, having excited the jealousy of his father's vazfr, the latter procured his banish- ment, by accusing him of rebellious designs. The prince, accompanied by his friend, the vazfr's son, a young merchant, and a jeweller, departs for a foreign country. On the road, the jeweller is prompted by avarice to steal four valuable rubies, which the vazir's son had brought with him as a resource against distress. On finding that he •was robbed, he complains to a court of justice ; but the judges are unable to fix on the thief. The vazir's son is then recommended to have recourse to a learned lady, who was celebrated for unravelling the most knotty cases.

She first calls the prince to her, and tells him a story of a person who, on discovering his friend was in love with his Avife, and not being aware that she was also in love with his friend, prevails on her to go to his house and gratify his passion. On the way she is stopped by thieves, who seize her jewels, but upon her informing them of her uncommon errand, and promising to return, if they would but delay their plunder till she has visited her lover, they let her go. When she reaches thp house, she discovers to her husband's friend who she is, and the lover, resolved not to be outdone in generosity, conquers his passion. She returns to the thieves, who are so impressed by her performance of her promise that, instead of robbing her, they make her a present and conduct her home in safety.

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The prince, at the conclusion of this story, bursts into applause of the extraordinary friendship of the husband, the virtue of the wife, the forbearance of the lover, and the generosity of the thieves. Then the lady relates the same story separately to the vazir's son, the merchant, and the jeweller. The latter exclaims involuntarily, that the thieves were very foolish in letting such a rich prey escape from their hands. Upon this the lady accuses him of the robbery, but promises not to expose him if he will give up the rubies, which he does, and she returns them to the vazir's son without disclosing who had stolen them. The rubies are then offered for sale in the city, when their costliness exciting suspicions against the honesty of the prince and his friends, who were disguised as pilgrims, they are taken up and carried before the sultan of the country. The vazir's son now discloses the rank of his master, upon which the king marries him to his daughter, and appoints him successor to his kingdom.1

1 It is unfortunate that Scott has not given this story more fully. So far as can be seen from his abstract, as above — and I greatly doubt its accuracy — there does not appear to have been any promise made to the lover by the lady. The husband, on learning that his friend is enamoured of his wife, " pre- vails " upon her to visit him — a circumstance which seems reflected (as my friend Dr. David Ross, Principal of the E. C. Training College, Glasgow, has pointed out to me) in a Senegarnbian popular tale :

There once lived two shepherds who had been close friends from boyhood. One of them married, and the other built his hut adjoining that of the wedded couple. One day the bachelor, looking through a chink in the party wall, dis- covered the young wife making her ablutions (as David the Hebrew king beheld the beauteous wife of Uriah), and instantly fell in love with her. Such was the force of his passion that he became seriously ill, and took to his bed. Marabouts, old wives, doctors — all failed to discover his disease. At length he confesses to his friend that he is deeply in love with his wife. The husband is at first horror-struck, but soon conquers his marital feelings, and arranges a plan whereby his friend should gratify his desire, and yet his wife be no wiser, when all was done. He will rise from bed to look after the fire kept burning all night in the courtyard ; meanwhile his friend will go into the house, and the wife won't know but he is her husband. The husband accordingly goes out during the night, and the wife presently receives the friend with kindly embrace, ignorant of the subterfuge ; but he immediately repents of his design, repulses her, and runs out — friendship thus triumphing over lust. When the husband re-enters the house, he is secretly rejoiced to hear his wife reproach him for his recent coldness and disdain. His friend after this soon recovers his health and takes a wife to himself.1

The husband's generosity in placing his wife at the service of his friend

1 Recueil de Cvntes populates de la Senegambie. Recueilles par L. J. B. B<5ranger-F6raud. Paris, 1885.

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 315

As might be expected, the story is known to the Jews, and in more than one version. No doubt, many of the fine apologues, parables, and tales contained in the Talmud are genuine inventions of the rabbins, but it is also certain that they drew freely from popular fictions of Indian origin, for striking illustrations of their apothegms and maxims of morality. The learned M. Israel Levi has given two Jewish versions of our story in Melusine1 (1885), tome ii., c. 542-6 ; one of them is from a commentary on the Decalogue (Eighth Commandment), an anonymous work of the 10th century, and the substance of it is as follows :

ickcfo Sfeum.

IN the time of Solomon three men travelling in company were surprised by Friday evening, so they deposited their money together in a secret place.2 In the middle of the night one of them rose up, stole the money, and hid it elsewhere. "When the Sabbath was ended they all went to unearth their money, but found it had disappeared. They then began to accuse each other of the theft, but at length agreed to lay their dispute before Solomon for his judg- ment. The king told them that he would give them a decision on the morrow. This affair troubled the king not a little, for he thought to himself : " If I do not clear up this case, they will say, ' Where, then, is the wisdom of Solomon 1 '" So he meditated in what manner he might surprise the thief by his own words. When the three men

recalls the old Greek story of Stratonice, daughter of Demetrius Poliorcetes, who at the age of 17 (in B.C. 300) was married to Seleucus, king of Syria, and her step-son Antiochus becoming deeply enamoured of her, Seleucus, in order to save the life of his son, gave up Stratonice in marriage to the young prince. A precisely similar tale is related by Arabian historians of a nephew of the sultan of Jorjun, whose love for one of his uncle's women was discovered by the celebrated Avicenna (Abu Sina) feeling his pulse while describing the rarities in the palace, and perceiving an uncommon emotion in his patient when he mentioned the apartment of the lady ; — the sultan made his nephew happy.

1 Melvsine : rev-tie de mythologle, I'Merature popitlaire, traditions, et usages. Dirigee par H. Gaidoz et E. Holland. — A bi-monthly journal, pub- lished at Paris.

2 It is said the Jews are prohibited by their laws from carrying money on the Sabbath, which commences at nightfall on Friday, and ends at the appear- ance of the stars on Saturday.

316 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE: HEBREW VERSION;

appeared again before him next day, he said to them : " You are skilful and intelligent merchants ; give me, therefore, your advice on a matter which the king of Edessa has submitted to me, desiring my opinion thereon :

"There lived in Edessa a young man and a young woman who loved each other, and the youth said to the damsel : ' If you please, we shall agree by oath that should I engage myself to thee, after such a time thou wilt marry me, and that if during that period another should wish to espouse thee, thou wilt not marry him with- out my permission ; ' and the damsel swore accordingly. At the end of that period she was betrothed to another man. And when the husband would use his rights, she refused, and told him that she must first obtain the permission of her former fiance. Then they both went together to that young man, carrying gold and silver ; and the damsel said to him : ' I have kept my oath ; — if you wish, here is money : free me from my engagement to you.' The youth replied : 'I release you from your oath, and you are free to marry your fiance. As for myself, I will take nothing; go in peace.' On their way home, an old robber threw himself upon them, and bore off the damsel, with her jewels and the money she carried, and he would have violated her, but she said : ' I pray you, allow me first to relate my story,' which having concluded, she added : ' Now if that young man, whose years might have been some excuse for him, subdued his passion, how much more incumbent is it on you, an old man, to do likewise — master your feelings, in obedience to the laws of God, and sin not ! ' The old robber was moved by her words, and allowed her to depart with hev fiance; moreover, he restored to them all their property.

" Now," said Solomon, " this is what I ask of you : which of those three was most worthy of praise — the young woman who kept her word ; the young man, who gave her permission to marry, without accepting anything in return ; or the old robber, who, having the power to take all they had, and to violate the damsel, yet con- quered his passion, and took nothing from them? Tell me your opinion, and I will afterwards decide on the subject of your dispute.'' One of the men replied : " I praise the youth who gave permission

FOR THE FRANKLINS TALE. 317

to the girl, for he had long loved her." The second said, in his turn : " I praise the damsel ; for women do not usually keep their word even to their husbands when they sleep together, and the inind of woman is fickle, liut she kept her word." The third said: "'I praise the old man, who took their property, and could have violated her without any one being able to prevent him. Nevertheless he refrained from all sin, and restored the money he had taken from them. So I consider him as a pattern of a just man." Solomon then said : " Thou hast judged well, wherefore cleanse thou thy soul, and deliver the treasure to thy companions, for it is thou who didst steal it ; and if thou dost not, I will cause thee to be cast into prison, where thou shalt remain all thy life." The man immediately went and took the treasure from its hiding-place, and restored it to his companions, who thanked the king for his judgment. And this is why it is said that Solomon was the wisest of men.

The other Jewish version given by M. Levi — placed first in his article in Melusine — differs very considerably in the principal details from all those already cited, while preserving the fundamental out- line of the original story :

$*mm4J*fejf Wmton.

A CERTAIN pious man left his three sons a locked coffer of gold, desiring them not to open it except in case of necessity. One of them in turn took charge of the coffer, and another of the key. The three young men swore in presence of the community that they would conform to their father's instructions. After his death they divided their heritage, without touching the contents of the coffer. The youngest son, having soon dissipated his share, came to his brothers and demanded that the casket should be opened in order that he should receive his portion of the treasure ; but the eldest preferred lending him 5000 florins to violating their father's orders. At the end of another year the youngest brother was again without money, and the second lent him 5000 florins. During the third year he had spent everything, but it was now his turn to take

318 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE: GERMANO-JEWISH VERSION;

charge of the casket, while the key was kept by the second brother ; so he made a key, opened the casket, took out all the gold, and put a large stone in its place. The following year it was the eldest who kept the coffer, and the youngest, having once more dissipated all his means, went and said to his two brothers: "You see I am always unlucky in business, therefore you must now consent to open the casket, for my condition is truly necessitous." The casket was then opened in presence of the people, and only a great stone was found within it. Quoth the youngest with effrontery : " Friends, you are now witnesses of the manner in which I have been treated by my brothers. They have stolen the money, and that is why they would never open the casket. It is no wonder they have become rich." Those who were present said : " We cannot decide this matter ; but be persuaded by us : go and lay your case before the rabbi." Accord- ingly the three brothers went to the rabbi, who, after hearing the arguments of each at length, said to them -,1 "My friends, you must stay here a while, for I cannot give you an off-hand decision. In the mean time, as I see you are very learned, I wish to consult you upon a case regarding which they have asked my advice from Egypt :

" In that country there were two rich men, who had each a child. These were betrothed from the cradle. At last the parents died, leaving each of the children 3000 pieces of money. Very soon the young man, being a gambler, had spent all his fortune, so that not a coin was left him. On the other hand, the damsel possessed every virtue and was most beautiful. The date fixed for the marriage arrived, and the damsel sent to ask her betrothed to prepare. The youth answered that he declined the marriage; that she should be better with some other man, who pleased her, for a husband ; and that it was enough for him to remain poor, without making her share his misery. Finally, the damsel sent for a poor student and said to him : ' I wish to marry thee ; but first I desire to see my former fiance, and ask him if he is willing to obey the advice of his

1 I purposely omit an incident which precedes the rabbi's hearing of the brothers' dispute, and which belongs to a distinct cycle of fictions — that of ' The Lost Camel,' familiar to every school-boy.

FOR THE FRANKLINS TALE. 319

father and marry me. Should he decline, you will be my true be- trothed, and we shall marry.' The poor student was overjoyed, and readily pledged himself as required.

"The damsel, attired in velvet and silk, sought out her former betrothed. ' Dear fiance,' she said, ' I entreat you, do not persist in your design ; have no fear — I have money enough for us both.' He replied : ' I cannot break off my bad habits, and I do not wish to squander thy fortune, so that thou also shouldst become unhappy.' Eight days after she returned, dressed in gold and silver ; and the same conversation again took place. Still eight days later she went once more, covered with pearls and diamonds, and accosted him with the same entreaty. The youth replied : ' May God grant thee His blessing and prosperity ! Choose whom thou wilt. I will not be guilty of the sin of dragging thee to ruin.' This time the damsel returned and married the student. The hour of going to bed arrived, and they were walking in the street. Now in those days there were in Egypt many robbers, who were wont to carry off married people without anybody knowing what had become of them. The chief of the robbers offered violence to the bride, but she said to him : ' Will you, for so small a matter, forfeit your portion in the future world 1 ' The robber was moved with pity, and sent her away in peace and safety.

" Now," continued the rabbi, " I am asked which of the three acted best — the first betrothed, the bride, or the robber? I cannot reply to the question, and as you are very intelligent, give me your opinion, so that I may solve this problem." The first replied : " The betrothed acted best in not wishing to spend his wife's money." The second said : " It is the bride, who was unwilling to disobey the paternal will." The youngest said in his turn : "It is the brigand, who subdued his passion, sent them awuy without injury, and did not keep their money, for he might have rightly done so." Then the rabbi exclaimed: "Praised be God, who allows nothing to be concealed ! Young man, you are covetous of the money which you have not seen — how much more of that which you have seen ! " And the young man confessed that he had fabricated a false key.

320 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : SIBERIAN VERSION ;

RADLOFF, in his great collection, Proben der Volksliteratur der tilrJiischen Stcimme des Siid-Siberiens, vol. iii. s. 389, gives a version, from the Kirghis -dialect, which may have been transmitted through the Persian or the Jagatai ; or, more probably, through a Mongolian (Buddhist) medium :

Silran teicrn.

ONCE on a time there was a rich man who had three sons, and when he died they inherited 300 roubles. Their cattle having perished, they buried the money and took service in a foreign country. At the end of three years they returned home, and when they went to dig up their money it was not to be found ; and they said one to another : " Who could have taken it] No person but ourselves knew of our burying the 300 roubles." After mutual accusations they at length agreed to seek the prince and submit their dispute for his decision. And when they had stated their case to the prince, he said to them : l " Listen ; I will tell you something, after which I will decide your affair :

"There were two men, one of whom had a son, the other a daughter. The two children were sent to the same school and studied together. And one day the boy said to the girl : ' If we were betrothed to each other it would be a good thing.' By-and-by their parents betrothed them. In course of time the father of the young man died, and the damsel said to him : ' If my father does not give me to you, I will reserve my virginity.' When she went home she was betrothed to another young man ; and the bridal couch being prepared, her sister-in-law conducted her in to her husband, whom she thus addressed : ' Master, I have somewhat 'to ask of you ; will you grant it to me 1 ' He replied : ' Ask, and it shall be given.' Then said she : ' With your leave, I speak. When I was at school there was with me a young lad, and we studied together. We entered into a mutual engagement, that if I did not keep my promise,

1 Previous to this, the incident of ' The Lost Camel ' occurs, as in the Germano-Jewish version, and it is followed by another interpolated story, also a member of a distinct cycle of popular tales, with which we need not here concern ourselves.

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 321

he would complain of me to God ; and if he did not keep his promise I would complain.' The husband answered : ' Go, and keep the marriage-night.'

" Then the damsel put on man's clothes, and, mounting a horse, proceeded to the dwelling of her first betrothed. ' Are you in 1 ' said she. ' Who is there ? ' he answered from within. ' I made you a promise,' said she, ' and have come to keep it. My father would marry me to another; and when I said to my husband, "I have a lover ; let me seek him," he gave me leave. I make thee a present of my virginity; for that purpose have I come hither.' The young man replied : ' What advantage would that be to me ? Your husband has shown a great spirit in sending you to me, and I shall also be magnanimous. He would suppose that I had all along been intimate with you. Eeturn to your husband. Farewell.' On her way home the damsel was met by forty robbers, to whom she related her story. The robbers having consulted together, one of them said : ' Let us forty enjoy her turn about.' But the youngest said : ' Let her alone ; why should we embarrass ourselves with her 1 The inten- tions of this young woman are pure, with those of her husband and her first betrothed. Shall we act as beasts ? Let her go.' Then the robbers exclaimed with one accord : ' She may return to her husband's house.' And when she had reached home her husband took her to his own country."

The prince then asked the eldest of the brothers : " Which, think you, was the best of the three ? " He replied : " It was the husband." " You are right," said the prince. " And you," addressing the second — " which did well and which did ill ? " Said he : " The best was the young man who studied with her." Lastly the prince asked the same question of the youngest, who answered : " Sire, the husband was wrong, and the first fiance was wrong ; the forty robbers were right, and had I been one of them I should have enjoyed her forty times." Thereupon the prince said : " It is thou who hast stolen the money, so give it up; for thy opinion is the worst." " Sire," then said the two others, " we are much obliged to you." After this they returned home, and the youngest brother produced

the money he had stolen.

en. ORIG. 23

322 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : TURKISH VERSION ;

In the same form our story is found in the Turkish collection, Qirq Vezir, tiie ' Forty Vazirs,' a work said to have been composed in the 15th century by Shaykh Zada, after an Arabian story-book of unknown authorship and date, which seems no longer extant. The frame, or leading-story, of this collection, with which eighty tales are interwoven, is similar to that of the Book of Sindibad,and its European imitations, commonly known as the History of the /Seven Wise Masters — of which the oldest version is a Latin prose work entitled Dolo- patlios ; sive, fie Bege et Septem Sapientibus, by a monk named Johannes, of the abbey of Alta Silva, in the diocese of Nancy, about A.D. 1180, which was rendered into French verse, a century or so later, by a Trouvere named Herbers : A young prince having repelled the amorous advances of his step-mother — or, in the Eastern versions, of one of his father's women — she, like Potiphar's wife with Joseph, accuses him to the king his father of an attempt upon her virtue. The king at once orders his son for execution, but alternately reprieves and condemns him, in consequence of his coun- sellors, or vazfrs, day after day, and the lady, night after night, relating to him tales of the wickedness of women and of men, until at length the innocence of the Prince is made manifest, and the lustful lady is fitly punished.1 Our story is thus related in the Book of the Forty Vazirs, according to Mr. Gibb's complete translation recently published, the first that has been made in English :

IN the palace of the world there was a king, and he had three sons. One day this king laid his head on the pillow of death, and called those sons to his side, and spake privately with them. He said : " In such a corner of the palace I have hidden a vase full of pearls and jewels and diverse gems ; when I am dead, do ye wash and bury me, then go and take that vase from its place and divide

1 An account of the several Eastern and Western versions is given in the Introduction to my edition of the Book of Sindibdd. The author of the Forty Vezfrs has taken little besides the idea of the leading story from its proto- type ; it is not only a most entertaining story-book, but is also of great value in illustrating the genealogy of popular fictions.

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 323

its contents." The king lay for three days, and on the fourth day he drained the wine of death and set forth for the Abiding Home. When the princes had buried their father according to his injunc- tions, they came together, and went and beheld that in the place of those jewels the winds blew. Now the princes began to dispute, and they said : " Our father told this to us three in private ; this trick has been played by one of us." And the three of them went to the cadi1 and told their complaint. The cadi listened, and then said to them : " Come, I will tell you a story, and after that I will settle the dispute :

" Once, in a certain city, a youth and a girl loved each other, and that girl was betrothed to another youth. When the lover was alone with that girl, he said : ' 0 my life, now thou comest to me, and I am happy with thee ; to-morrow, when thou art the bride of thy betrothed, how will be my plight 1 ' The girl said : ' My master, do not grieve; that night when I am bride, until I have come to thee and seen thee, I will not give the bridegroom his desire.' And they made a pact to that end. Brief, when the bridal night arrived, the girl and the youth went apart ; and when all the people were dispersed, and the place was clear of others, the girl told the bridegroom of the pact between her and the stricken lover, and besought leave to fulfil it. When the bridegroom heard these words from tlie bride, he said : ' Go, fulfil thy plight, and come again in safety.'

" So the bride went forth, but while on the road she met a robber. The robber looked at her attentively, and saw that she was a beautiful girl like the moon of fourteen nights : never in his life had he seen such a girl, and she was covered with diverse jewels such, as cannot be described. Thereupon the bridle of choice slipped from the robber's hands ; and as the hungry wolf springs upon the sheep, so did the robber spring upon that girl. Straightway the girl began to sigh, and the robber felt pity and questioned her. So the bride related to the robber her story from its beginning to its end ;

1 The judge and magistrate in Muslim cities, who performs the rites of marriage, settles disputes, and decides civil and criminal cases, according to the Kuran.

324 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE: TURKISH VERSION;

whereupon the robber exclaimed : ' That is no common generosity ! nor shall I do any hurt or evil thing to her.' Then said he to the girl : ' Come, I will take thee to thy lover.' And he took her and led her to her lover's door, and said : ' Now go in and be with thy lover.'

" Then the girl knocked at the door, and that youth, who lay sighing, heard the knocking, and went with haste, and said : ' Who is that 1 ' The girl answered : ' Open the door ; lo, I have kept my plight, nor have I broken it : I am come to thee.' The youth opened the door and came to the girl, and said : ' O my life, my mistress, welcome, and fair welcome ! how hast thou done it ? ' She replied : ' The folk assembled and gave me to the bridegroom • then all dis- persed, and each went his way. And I explained my case to the bridegroom, and he gave me leave. While on the road I met a robber, and that robber wished to stretch forth his hand to me, but I wept, and told him of my plight with thee, and he had pity, and brought me to the door and left me, and has gone away.' When the youth heard these things from the girl, he said : ' Since the bride- groom is thus generous, and has given thee leave to fulfil thy plight with me, and sent thee to me, there were no generosity in me did I stretch forth my hand to thee and deal treacherously ; — from this day be thou my sister : go, return to thy husband.' And he sent her off.

" When the girl went out, she saw that robber standing by the door; and he walked in front of her, and conducted her to the bridegroom's door. And the girl went in, and the robber departed to his own affairs. While the bridegroom was marvelling, the bride entered, and the bridegroom leaped up and took the bride's hands in his, and they sat upon the bed. And the bridegroom turned and asked the bride her news ; and she told all her adventures from their beginning to their end. And the bridegroom was pleased, and they both attained their desire. God grant to all of us our desire. Amen."

Then quoth the cadi : " 0 my sons, which of those showed manliness and generosity in this matter 1 " The eldest youth said : "The bridegroom, who, while she was his lawful bride, and when he had spent thus much upon her, and was about to gain his desire, gave the girl leave. What excellent generosity did he display ! "

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 325

The middle youth said: "The generosity was that lover's, who, while there was so much love between them, had patience when they were alone in the night, and she so fair of form and in such splendid dress, and sent her back. What excellent generosity : can there be greater than this?" Then asked he of the youngest boy : " 0 you, what say you1?" Quoth he : "0 ye, what say ye? when one hunt- ing in the night met thus fair a beauty, a torment of the world, a fresh rose ; above all, laden with many jewels ; and yet coveted her not, but took her to her place — what excellent patience ! what excellent generosity!" When the cadi heard these words of the youngest boy, he said : " 0 prince, the jewels are with thee ; for the lover praised the lover ; and the trustful the trustful ; and the robber the robber." The prince was unable to deny it, and so took the jewels from his breast and laid them before the cadi.1

It is very curious, to say the least, to find this Turkish version current in much the same terms among the peasantry of the West Highlands of Scotland. How did it get there? I have not met with any similar story in Norwegian or Icelandic collections, yet I suspect that it is not unknown in the Far North, and if so, it was probably introduced into the West Highlands by the Norsemen :

1 TJie History of the Forty Vezirs ; or, the Forty Morns and Eves. Translated from the Turkish, by E. J. W. Gibb, M.R.A.S. London: G. Red- way, 1886. (The Lady's Eighth Story, p. 105.) — In the German translation of the Arabian Nights, made by Dr. Habicht and others, from a manuscript procured at Tunis, and published, in l.j small vols., at Breslau in 182") (Ttiiitn-n<l •und fine Nac.ht, arablsche- E>-;iililunijen,zum erstenmal aus finer ttinesixchen, Jfnndschrlft, &c.), a number of tales from the Forty Vezirs are inserted — vol. ii., 173-186 — one of which, entitled the History of the Sultan Akshid, is similar to the above ; but the leading story is greatly expanded : The Sultan causes his funeral obsequies to be performed while he is yet alive, in order that he should profit by the lesson which such a ceremony was calculated to impress on his mind — the vanity of earthly grandeur; soon after which he dies, and so on. This story, however, as also the others taken from the Furti/ Vezirs, does not properly form a member of the Arabian Nights; and that they were re-translated into Arabic from the Turkish is evident from the fact of their exact agreement with those rendered into French from a Turkish MS. by P. de la Croix. Moreover, they do not appear in the printed Arabic text, commonly known as the Breslau Text, which had not been edited when the German translation of it was published.

326 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : GAELIC VERSION ;

THEEE was once a farmer, and he was well off. He had three sons. When he was on the bed of death he called them to him, and he said : "My sons, I am going to leave you : let there be no disputing when I am gone. In a certain drawer, in a dresser in the inner chamber, you will find a sum of gold ; divide it fairly and honestly amongst you, work the farm, and live together as you have done with me ; " and shortly after the old man went away. The sons buried him ; and when all was over, they went to the drawer, and when they drew it out there was nothing in it.

They stood for a while without speaking a word. Then the youngest spoke, and he said : " There is no knowing if there ever was any money at all." The second said : " There was money surely, wherever it is now." And the eldest said: "Our father never told a lie. There was money certainly, though I cannot understand the matter." — "Come," said the eldest, "let us go to such an old man ; he was our father's friend ; he knew him well ; he was at school with him ; and no man knew so much of his affairs. Let us go to consult him."

So the brothers went to the house of the old man, and they told him all that had happened. " Stay with me," said the old man, " and I will think over this matter. I cannot understand it ; but, as you know, your father and I were very great with each other. When he had children I had sponsorship, and when I had children he had gostje.1 I know that your father never told a lie." And he kept them there, and he gave them meat and drink for ten days. Then he sent, for the three young lads, and he made them sit down beside him, and he said :

"There was once a young lad, and he was poor; and he took love for the daughter of a rich neighbour, and she took love for him ; but because he was so poor there could be no wedding. So at last they pledged themselves to each other, and the young man went away, and stayed in his own house. After a time there came another suitor, and because he was well off, the girl's father made

1 Goistidheachd, or goisteachd : office, or duty, of godfather. — Gaelic Diet.

FOE THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 327

her promise to marry him, and after a time they were married. But when the bridegroom came to her, he found her weeping and bewailing ; and he said : ' What ails thee 1 ' The bride would say nothing for a long time ; but at last she told him all about it, and how she was pledged to another man. 'Dress thyself,' said the man, ' and follow me.' So she dressed herself in the wedding- clothes, and he took the horse, and put her behind him, and rode to the house of the other man ; and when he got there, he struck in the door, and called out : ' Is there man within 1 ' And when the other answered, he left the bride there within the door, and he said nothing, but he returned home. Then the man got up, and got a light, and who was there but the bride in her wedding-dress. ' What brought thee here 1 ' said he. ' Such a man,' said the bride : ' I was married to him to-day, and when I told him of the promise we had made, he brought me here himself, and left me.' ' Sit thou there,' said the man ; 'art thou not married1?' So he took the horse, and he rode to the priest, and he brought him to the house, and before the priest he loosed the woman from the pledge she had given, and he gave her a line of writing that she was free, and he set her on the horse, and said : 'Now return to thy husband.' So the bride rode away in the darkness in her wedding-dress. She had not gone far when she came to a thick wood, where three robbers stopped and seized her. ' Aha ! ' said one, ' we have waited long, and we have got nothing, but now we have got the bride herself.' ' Oh,' said she, ' let me go : let me go to my husband ; the man that I was pledged to has let me go. Here are ten pounds in gold — take them, and let me go on my journey.' And so she begged and prayed for a long time, and told what had happened to her. At last one of the robbers, who was of a better nature than the rest, said : ' Come, as the others have done this, I will take you home myself.' 'Take thou the money,' said she. ' I will not take a penny,' said the robber ; but the other two said : ' Give us the money,' and they took the ten pounds. The woman rode home, and the robber left her at her husband's door, and she went in, and showed him the line — the writing that the other had given her before the priest, and they were well pleased.

328 16. THE DAMSEL'S HASH PROMISE : ITALIAN VERSION* ;

" Now," said the old man, " which of all these do you think did best?" So the eldest son said: "I think the man that sent the woman to him to whom she was pledged was the honest, generous man : he did well." The second said : " Yes ; but the man to whom she was pledged did still better, when he sent her to her husband." Then said the youngest: "I don't know myself; but perhaps the wisest of all were the robbers who got the money." Then the old man rose up. and he said: "Thou hast thy father's gold and silver. I have kept you here for ten days ; I have watched you well. I know your father never told a lie, and thou hast stolen the money." And so the youngest son had to confess the fact, and the money was got and divided.1

We now come to European versions more closely resembling the Franklin's Tale of Dorigen, which the poet represents that worthy as professing to have derived from a "Breton lai," and which, notwithstanding, some " annotators " of Chaucer still assert to have been borrowed from Boccaccio. The illustrious Florentine first introduced it in his prose tale of Filocolo, which recounts the ad- ventures of Florio and Biancofiore, a favourite subject with the courtly minstrels of Europe in mediaeval times. He reproduced it in his Decameron, Gior. x., Nov. 5, as follows, according to the translation revised by W. K. Kelly (Bohn's edition) :

gcoamrr's Italian Iteitm.

IN the country of Frioli, which, though very cold, is yet beautified with many pleasant mountains, fine rivers, and crystal springs, is a place called Udine, where lived a worthy lady, named Dianora, the wife of a very agreeable man, and one of great wealth, called Gilberto. Now she had taken the fancy of a great and noble lord, called Ansaldo, one of extraordinary generosity and prowess, and known all over the country, who used frequently to solicit her with messages and offers of love, but in vain. At length, being quite wearied with his im- portunities, and seeing that he still persisted, notwithstanding her

1 Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, vol. ii. pp. 16-18 : ' The InberiUiucu.'

FOR THE FKAXKLIN'S TALE. 329

repeated denials, she resolved to rid herself of him by a novel and, as she thought, impossible demand. So she said to his emissary one day : " Good woman, you have often told me that Ansaldo loves me beyond all the world, and have offered me great presents on his part, which he may keep to himself, for I shall never be prevailed upon to a compliance in that manner. Could I be assured, indeed, that his love is really such as you say, then I should certainly be brought to return it. Therefore, if he will convince me of that by a proof which I shall require, I shall instantly be at his service." " What is it, then ] " quoth the good woman, " that you desire him to do *? " " It is this," she replied ; " I would have a garden in the month of January, which is now coming on, as full of green herbs, flowers, and trees laden with fruit, as though it were the month of May. Unless he does this for me, charge him to trouble me no more, for I will instantly complain to my husband and all my friends."

Ansaldo, being made acquainted with this demand, which seemed an impossibility, and knowing that it was contrived on purpose to deprive him of all hopes of success, resolved yet to try all possible means in such a case, sending to every part of the world to find out a person able to assist him. At length he met with a magician, who would undertake it for a large sum of money; and having agreed upon a price, he waited impatiently for the time of its being done. On the night of the first of January, therefore, the cold being extreme, and everything covered with snow, this wise man so employed his art in a meadow near to the city that in the morning there appeared there one of the finest gardens that ever was seen, filled with all kinds of herbs, flowers, trees, and fruits. Ansaldo beheld this marvellous creation with infinite pleasure, and, picking some of the fairest fruit and flowers, he sent them privately to the lady, inviting her to come and see the garden which she had required, that she might be convinced of his love, and fulfil the promise she had made, as became a woman of her word. The lady, seeing the flowers and fruit present, and having already heard from many people of this wonderful garden, began to repent of what she had done. But with all this repentance, being still desirous of

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seeing strange sights, she went thither with many more ladies, and, having highly commended it, returned home very sorrowful, thinking of her engagement. Her trouble was too great to be concealed or dissembled, so that her husband at last perceived it, and demanded the reason. For some time she was ashamed to speak, but being constrained at last, she related the whole thing. Gilberto was greatly incensed about it, till, considering the upright intention of his lady in the affair, he began to be somewhat pacified, and said : "Dianora, it is not the act of a wise and virtuous lady to receive any messages, or make any conditions with regard to her chastity. Words have a more ready admittance to the heart than many people imagine, and with lovers nothing is impossible. You were highly to blame, first to listen, and afterwards to consent ; but, as I know the purity of your intention, and to free you from your engagement, I will grant what nobody else would do in such a case. For fear of this necromancer, who, by Ansaldo's instigation, may do us some mischief if you disappoint him, I consent that yoii go to Ansaldo, and, if you can by any means get quit of that tie with safety to your honour, that you endeavour to do so ; otherwise, that you comply in deed, though your will be chaste and pure."

The poor lady wept bitterly, and showed great reluctance, but he insisted upon her doing as he said. So, early in the morning, without any great care to make herself fine, she went with her woman and two men-servants to Ansaldo's house. He was greatly surprised at hearing the lady was there, and said to the wise man, " You shall now see the effect of your skill." So he went to meet her, and showed her into a handsome room, where there was a great fire, and after they had sat down, " Madam," he said, " I beg, if the long regard I have had for you merit any reward, that you will please to tell me why you come here at this time, and thus attended." She blushed, and replied, with eyes full of tears: "Sir, it is neither from love nor from regard to my promise, but merely by my hus- band's order, who, showing more respect to the labours of your inordinate love than to his honour and mine, has forced me to come hither; therefore, as it is his command, I submit to your pleasure." If Ansaldo was surprised at the sight of the lady, he was now much

FOR THE FRANKLINS TALE. 331

more so at hearing her talk thus ; and, being moved with Gilberto's generosity, his love was changed into compassion. "Madam/' he said, " Heaven forbid that I should ever take away the honour of a person who has showed such pity for my love. Therefore, you are as safe with me as if you were my sister, and you may depart when it seems good to you, upon condition that you tender your husband, in my name, those thanks which, you think are due to his great generosity, requesting him, for the time to come, to esteem me always as his brother and faithful servant." The lady, overjoyed with this, replied, " All the world, sir, could never make me believe, when I consider your character, that anything could have happened on my coming hither, otherwise than it has now done ; for which I shall always be profoundly grateful to you." She then took her leave, returned to her husband, and told him what had happened, and this proved the occasion of a strict friendship between him and Ansaldo.

The necromancer now being about to receive his reward, and, having observed Gilberto's generosity to Ansaldo, and that of An- saldo to the lady, said, "As Gilberto has been so liberal of his honour, and you of your love, you shall give me leave to be the same with regard to my pay : knowing it then to be worthily employed, I desire it shall be yours." Ansaldo was ashamed, and pressed him to take all or part, but in vain. On the third day the necromancer, having made the garden vanish, and being ready to depart, Ansaldo thankfully dismissed him, having extinguished his inordinate desires purely from a principle of honour.

" What say you now, ladies ? " [demands Emilia, the story-teller ;] "shall we prefer the dead lady and the love of Gentil, grown cold, as destitute of all hope, to the liberality of Ansaldo, who loved more than ever, and who was fired with the greater expectation, since the prey so long pursued was then in his power1? It seems to me mere folly to compare the generosity of Gentil with that of Ansaldo."1

1 Dr. Reinhold Kohler, in Orient und Occident, ii., 318, has pointed out that a similar tale, evidently taken from Boccaccio, is found in an anonymous work, Johann Valentin Andrea's Cliymisdie Hoch:/'it t'f/rixtiani Rosencrrnt:, luiuo 1459 ; Strassburg, 1G1G. It occurs aiiion^ other riddles, or stories to

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There seems to me no good reason to believe that Chaucer adapted his tale of Dorigen from Boccaccio. Chaucer was not the man to ascribe the materials of any of his charming tales to other than the real source, or to lay claim to " originality " of their inven- tion ; on the contrary, he declares, in the opening of his Assemble of Foules, that

Out of olde fieldis, as men saieth,

Comith all this newe corne, fro yere to yere;

And out of olde bookis, in gode faieth,

Comith all this newe science, that men lere.

The tale of Griseldon he emphatically says (through the Clerk) he heard Petrarch relate at Padua, and his version agrees closely with Petrarch's Latin variant of Boccaccio's novel. Had he taken Boc- caccio's tale of Dianara and Ansaldo for his model, he would most probably have acknowledged the fact. But he tells us (through the Franklin) that it is one of the old Breton lays ; the scene is " In Armorik, that clepid is Bretaigne ; "

which are appended questions to be solved. A lady of rank is wooed by a young nobleman. " Sie gab ihm endlich den Bescheid : werde er sie im kalten Winter in einen schonen griinen Rosengarten fiihren, so solte er gewert sein, wo nicht, solle er sich nimmer finden lassen." He travels far and wide to find some one who would effect this for him, and at last chances upon a little old man, who engages to do so for the half of his goods, and so on, as in Boccaccio. "Nun weiss ich nit, liebe Herren," says the story-teller, " wer doch unter diesen Personen die groste Trew mochte bewiesen haben."

In Chaucer, the Franklin, having ended his story, thus addresses his fellow-pilgrims :

" Lordynges, this questioun wolde I axe now,

Which was the moste free, as thinketh yow ?

Now telleth me, or that I ferther wende,

I can no more, my tale is at an ende."

So, too, in the conclusion of the version in Boccaccio's Fllocolo : "Dubitasi oro qual di costoro fusse maggior liberalita," &c. And in the Sanskrit story the Vetala asks the king : *' Now tell me, which was the really generous person of those four?" Indeed, the same question occurs in all the versions cited in the present paper, and it reminds one of the "nice cases" said to have been decided in the Provengal Courts of Love — though, according to Mr. Hueffer, such courts never existed.

Manni, in his 1st. del Decani., ii. 97, cites an anonymous MS. where it is said that Boccaccio's story is found in a collection much older than his time, and adds that Giovanni Tritemio relates how a Jewish physician, in the year 876, caused by enchantment a splendid garden to appear, with trees and flowers in full bloom, in mid-winter. A similar exploit is credited to Albertus Magnus, in the 13th century. The notion seems to have been brought to Europe from the East, where stories of saints, dervishes, or jogis performing such wonders have been common time out of mind.

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 333

all the names in the poem are Breton ;x and instead of the task imposed by the lady on her lover being to produce a blooming garden in January, it is to remove the dangerous rocks from the coast of Brittany. Chaucer's treatment of the story is immeasurably superior to that of Boccaccio, which is throughout very artificial, exhibiting none of those fine touches which render the old English poet's tale so pleasing from beginning to end.2 This is precisely the sort of story Avhich Marie de France would have' selected for versification ; and in my mind there is no doubt that Chaucer's source was a Breton lay or zfalli'in.

Another gratuitous assertion of one of Chaucer's critics is that Boccaccio's novel "is unquestionably the origin of a story which occupies the whole of the twelfth canto of Orlando Innamorato, and is related by a lady to Rinaldo, while he escorts her on a journey." That Boiardo was familiar with Boccaccio's story is likely enough ;

1 " Penmark," says Mr. Robert Bell in one of the notes to his edition of the Canterbury Tales, '• is to be found in the modern maps of Brittany, between Brest and Port 1'Orient. Penmark is from Pen, caput, and mark, limes, regio ; the first element of the word enters into many Welsh names, as Penman Miner, the great headland. Cairrud means the red city : Cair, a city, is found in Carnarvon, Carlisle, and Carhaix in Brittany. Droguen, or Dorguen [Chaucer's Dorigen], was the name of the wife of Alain I. Aurelius is a Breton name, derived from the Roman colonists. Arviragus is apparently a Breton name latinized, as Caractacus from Carudoc, and is found in Juvenal, Sat. iv. 127."

2 The poem of Chaucer abounds in striking passages ; for example :

" Love will noiiht ben constreyned by maistre. Whan maistre commeth, the god of love anone Beteth his winges, and fare wel, he is gon."

Observe Spenser's audacious plagiarism of these lines, as follows (F. Q. B. iii.

c. i., st. 25) :

"Ne may love ben compel'd by maistery; For soone as maistery comes, sweet love anone Taketh bis nimble winges, and farewel, away is gone."

And Pope's (by no means his only plagiarism) :

" Love, free as air, at sight of human ties, Spreads his light wings, and in a moment flies."

Butler, in his Hudibras, has thus expanded Chaucer's sentiment :

*' Love, that's too generous t' abide To be against its nature tied ; For where 'tis of itself inclined, It breaks loose when it is confined ; And like the soul, its harbourer, Debarred the freedom of the air, Disdains against its will to stay, But struggle's uut and Hies away."

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but he may also have known another version current in his day, of which he made use. Be this as it may, his tale is very different, in all the important details, from that of Boccaccio, and much more interesting, as may be seen even from the following abstract of it :

ioiark's Italian fcsiflit.

A KNIGHT named Iroldo had a lady-love called Tisbina, and was beloved of her as was Tristan of Iseult the queen : he loved her so that morn and even, from break of day to nightfall, he thought of her alone, and had no other care. Hard by dwelt a baron, accounted the greatest in Babylon ; rich, and generous, full of courtesy and valour ; a gallant lover and a frank-hearted knight. His name was Prasildo. And one day he was invited to a garden where Tisbina with others was playing a strange kind of game : one held his head bowed in her lap, and over his shoulders she waved a palm-bough, and he had to guess whom it was she chanced to strike. Prasildo stood and looked at the game. Tisbina invited him to take part in the beating, and finally he took that place, for he was quickly guessed. With his head in her lap, he felt so great a flame in his heart as he would never have thought ; he took great care not to guess right, for fear of having to rise from thence. Nor after the game and festival departed the flame from his head. All day and all night long it tormented him, drove sleep from his pillow, and the blood from his cheek. Love banished every other thought from his heart: only those who have felt this passion can understand the description. The hunting-horses and hounds he delighted in are all gone from his thoughts. Now he delights in festive company; gives many banquets; makes verses and sings; and jousts and tourneys often with great steeds and costly trappings. If he was courteous before, he is a hundred-fold so now ; for the virtue that is found in a man in love is ever increasing ; and in life I have never found a good man turn out bad through love. So was it with Prasildo, who loved much. For his go-between he found a lady who was a close friend of Tisbina, and she beset her morning and evening, nor was she dis- concerted at a repulse. But, in brief, the haughty one bent neither

FOII THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 335

to prayers nor pity ; for in sooth it always happens that pride is joined to heauty. How many times she urged Tisbina to accept her good fortune, which might not happen again :

" Delight thee, while thy leaf as yet is green, For pleasure had is never lost again.

Youth, which is but a point of time, should bo spent in delight ; for as the sun dissolves the white snow, and as the vermeil rose loses all too soon her lovely hue, so flies our age, incurable as a lightning- flash." But in vain was Tisbina assailed with these and other words. And the sovran baron fell away as fresh meadow-violets pale in wintry weather — like glittering ice in the living sun. He feasted no longer as was his wont, hated all pleasure, and had no other diversion than often sallying forth and walking alone in a bosky wood, bewailing his ruthless love.

A morning fell when Iroldo went a hunting in that wood, and with him the fair Tisbina; and as they went each heard a woful voice and breaking tears. Prasildo mourned so gently, and with so sweet a speech as would have subdued a rock to pity. He called upon heaven and earth to witness his love, and resolved to die for her. He bared his sword, and called continually upon his dear delight, wishing to die on Tisbina's name ; for by naming her often he thought to go with that fair name to Paradise. But she and her lover well understood the baron's lament. Iroldo was so kindled to pity that his whole visage showed it ; and he now concerted with the lady how to mend his woful case. Iroldo remaining concealed, Tisbina feigns to have come there by chance. She appears not to have heard his plaints; but seeing him reclined among the green boughs, she stops awhile as if alarmed. Then she said to him : " Prasildo, if you are my friend, as you have already shown that you love me, abandon me not in so great need, for else I may not escape. And if I were not at the last extremity, both of life and honour, I would not have made you such a request. For there is no greater shame than to refuse the deserving. Hitherto you have borne me love, and I was ever dispiteous ; but in time I will yet be gracious to you. I promise this on my faith, and assure you of my love, if what I ask be done. Hear, now, and let not the deed seem hard to thee :

336 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASII PROMISE : SECOND ITALIAN VERSION ;

Beyond the forest of Barbary is a fair garden, which has an iron wall. Herein entrance can be had by four gates : one Life keeps, Death another, another Poverty, another Riches. Whoso goes therein must depart by the opposite gate. In the midst is a tree of vast height, far as an arrow may mount aloft ; that tree is of marvel- lous price, for whenever it blossoms it puts forth pearls, and it is called the Treasure-Tree, for it has apples of emerald and boughs of gold.1 A branch of this tree I must have, otherwise I am in heavy case. Now you can make it clear if you love me as you have declared : if I obtain this pleasure by your means I will love you more than you love me, and give myself to you as reward of this service — count it for certain."

When Prasildo understood the hope held out to him of such a love, fuller of ardour and desire than before, he fearlessly promised all. Undoubtingly would he have promised every star, the heaven and its splendour, all air, and earth, and sea. Without delay, in a habit stranga to him, he set out on his journey. — Now know that Iroldo and his lady had sent him to that garden, which yet is called the garden of Medusa, so that the long time and travel might efface Tisbina from his mind. Besides that, when he got there, that

1 This is a very ancient and wide-spread myth. In the Kathd Sarit Sdgara we read of trees with golden trunks, branches of jewels, the clear white flowers of which were clusters of pearls ; golden lotuses, &c. Aladdin, it will l>e remembered, found in the cave where was deposited the magic lamp, trees bearing " fruit " of emeralds and other gems of great price, with which he took care to stuff his pockets. In the mediseval romance of Alexander we are told how the world-conqueror jousted with Porus for his kingdom, and having over- thrown him, he found in the palace of the vanquished monarch innumerable treasures, and amongst others a vine of which the branches were gold, the leaves emerald, and the fruit of other precious stones — a fiction, says Dunlop, which seems to have been suggested by the golden vine which Pompey carried away from Jerusalem. The garden of King Isope, as described by Geffrey, in the Tale of Beryn (Supplementary Canterbury Tales, Ch. Soc., p. 84) had a similar tree :

" In mydward of this gardyn stant a feire tre, Of alle maner levis that under sky [there] be, I-forgit and I-fourmyd, eche in his degre, Of sylver, and of golde fyne, that lusty been to see."

As the treasures coveted by the Arimaspians were guarded by griffius. and the golden apples of the Hesperides by a dragon, so this garden of Isope was kept by eight " tregetours," or magicians, who looked like " abominabill worrnys," enough to frighten the bravest man on earth.

Foil THE FRANKLINS TAl.r. 337

Medusa was a damsel who kept the Treasure-Tree ; — whoever first saw her fair face forgot the cause of his journey ; but whoever saluted, or spoke to, or touched, or sat beside her, forgot all past time. — Away he rode, alone, or rather, accompanied by love. He crossed in a ship the arm of the Eed Sea, passed through all Egypt, and got among the hills of Barca, where he met a hoary palmer, and talking with the old man he told him the occasion of his journey. The old man reassures him, and tells him how to enter by the gate of Poverty (for those of Life and Death are unused). He informs him of the nature of Medusa ; bids him have a mirror with him, wherein she may see her beauty and so be chased from the garden ; to go without armour and with all his limbs bare, because he must enter by Poverty's gate. He must go out by the gate of Riches, by whom sits Avarice. Here he must proffer a portion of the branch. Prasildo thanks the palmer, and departs. In thirty days he readies the garden, and covering his eyes with the mirror, so as to avoid seeing Medusa, he enters. Coming by chance upon her as she leans against the trunk of the Treasure-Tree, she looks at herself in the mirror, and terrified at seeing her cheeks of white and red transformed into a fierce and horrible serpent, she flies through the air away. He breaks off a lofty branch, descends, and issues by the gate of Riches.

Hastening home, Prasildo sends word to Tisbina that he has fulfilled her behest, and begs to see her, that he may show her the branch. She is overwhelmed at the news of his return. Iroldo, coming to see her earlier than usual, overhears her lamentation, and they embrace in despair. He bids her keep to her promise, which he induced her to make, but to wait until his death, which will be this very morning. He will not outlive his shame. Tisbina reproaches him, and declares that she will not survive him. They agree to take a painless poison and die together ; a few hours being allowed for the fulfilment of her promise to Prasildo. An ancient physician supplies the poison, of which Iroldo drinks half, and Tisbina drains the cup. She then goes to redeem her word. Alone with Prasildo, he marvels at her wretched looks, and she tells him the whole truth. He is overcome with sorrow, and reproaches her

( H. ORIG. 24

338 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : TWO ENGLISH PLAYS ;

for not having trusted to his generosity. However, he will not survive her; and so there will be the strange thing, unbefallen before, of three lovers at once "in inferno." Tisbina replies that she is so vanquished by his courtesy that she would gladly die for him. During the short time she has got to live, she would go through fire for him. In great grief, and having resolved for death, Prasildo gives her one kiss and lets her depart, after which he casts himself, in tears, on his bed.

Tisbina recounts the interview to Iroldo, who lifts his hands to heaven in thanksgiving for such virtue, and while thus engaged Tisbina falls, for the poison works sooner in delicate veins. A chill seizes him to see her dying ; he cries out against God and heaven, Fortune and Love, that they do not kill him out of his misery. Meanwhile Prasildo is moaning in his chamber, and an old physician comes and insists upon seeing him. His chamberlain (for none else would venture to disturb him) persuades Prasildo to admit him. Then the leech tells him that he had been asked for poison by a maid-servant of Tisbina's, and has learned all. But it was simply a mild sleeping-draught he had given. Prasildo, reviving like blossoms in sunshine after storm, hastens to Tisbina, finds Iroldo there, and tells him the grateful news. Iroldo relinquishes all claim to Tisbina, and will not be gainsaid ; so he departs, leaving her to Prasildo. When Tisbina comes to herself, she at first swoons with grief to hear that Iroldo is gone ; but in the end she is content to take Prasildo.

"We are all alike," adds the fair story-teller; " we yield at the first assault, like rime beneath the heat of the sun."

to 6nglis(j flags.

BEAUMONT and Fletcher adapted our story for the stage, under the title of ' The Triumph of Honour,' a member of Four Plays in One, written probably about the year 1610. Henry Weber, the editor of the works of these dramatists, says that the idea of the plot of this play was taken, "as Langbaine observes," from Boc- caccio's novel of Dianora and Ansaldo ; but both he and Langbaine seem to have overlooked a more likely source, namely, Chaucer's

FOR THE FRANKLIN'S TALE. 339

tale of Dorigen.1 In the ' Triumph of Honour,' Martius, a Koman general, is deeply enamoured of Dorigen, the chaste wife of Sophocles, Duke of Athens, and desires her love-favours, when she exclaims indignantly (pointing to " a rocky view before the city of Athens ") —

" Here I vow unto the gods, these rocks, These rocks we see so fixed, shall be removed, Made champain field, ere I so impious prove To stain my lord's bed with adulterous love."

Martius consults his brother Valerius, who undertakes, should Dorigen still continue obstinate in her resolution —

" By my skill,

Learned from an old Chaldean was my tutor, Who trained me in the mathematics, I will So dazzle and delude her sight, that she Shall think this great impossibility Effected by some supernatural means."

The virtuous Dorigen is not to be moved by the passionate appeals of Martius ; she again assures him —

" My vow is fixed, And stands as constant as these stones do, still;"

upon which Martius exclaims :

" Then pity me, ye gods, you only may Move her by tearing these firm stones away ! "

Instantly, by means of the " grammarie " of Valerius, the rocks disappear. Dorigen declares she will no longer serve the gods, if they are capable of such iniquity, and, going home, acquaints her husband of the whole affair. The duke consoles her — it is a bad business, but she must not be forsworn ; let her keep her word, but don't let Martius know that he consents. Dorigen, disgusted at her husband's want of proper spirit in such circumstances, then pretends that she had all along loved Martius, and, on quitting her husband,

gives vent to these mordacious words :

" I must

Attend him now. My lord, when you have need To use your own wife, pray, send for me ; Till then, make use of your philosophy ! "

1 Dunlop also considers that Boccaccio's story gave rise to Beaumont and Fletcher's 'Triumph of Honour,' as well as to Chaucer's ' Franklin's Tale' and the 12th canto of Boiardo. He must have read them all very superficially.

340 16. THE DAMSEL'S RASH PROMISE : FIIANKLIN'S TALE.

She goes to meet Martius, and declares to him her purpose to kill herself rather than yield to his desire, and Martius, struck with such a proof of her virtue, releases her from her promise. — The play is not happily conceived, and abounds in bombast.

Part of the plot of a comedy, printed in 1620, entitled The Two Merry Milkmaids, or the best words wear the Garland (" as it was acted with great applause by the Company of the Revels"), namely, the promise given by Dbrigena to Dorillus, of his enjoying her, when he should bring her in January a garland composed of all kinds of flowers, seems founded on Boccaccio's novel, yet the heroine's name is that of the lady in Chaucer's version.

There are doubtless other European variants, derivatives, or imi- tations of the ancient Indian story of Madanasena's Rash Promise yet to be discovered; meanwhile I must content myself with the foregoing contribution to the literary history of the Franklin's Tale. We have seen that in all the Asiatic variants the original has been inserted in a leading story of stolen treasure, and that this form reappears in the Gaelic version ; but it was probably also brought to Europe at an early period as a separate story, which I consider is represented best in Chaucer's Franklin's Tale, and it may have be- come current in Italy through imitations of a fabliau or a Breton lai.

GLASGOW, September, 1SSV.

341

17.

(fndtmttd

ASIATIC VERSIONS AND ANALOGUES

OF

Cfjaucer's Merchant's Eale,

BY W. A. CLOUSTOK

342

INTRODUCTORY THE BRAHMAN WHO LEARNED THE FIFTH

VEDA Page 343

INDO-PERSIAN VERSION OF THE PEAR-TREE STORY ... „ 348

TURKISH VERSION ... ... ... ... ... ,, 351

ARABIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... ... ,, 353

THE OFFICIOUS FATHER-IN-LAW ... ... ... „ 355

SINHALESE STORY OF WOMAN'S WILES ... ... „ 358

LA SAINERESSE ... ... ... ... ... „ 359

QUEEN YSOUDE AND SIR TRISTREM ... ... ... „ 363

THE PEASANT IN THE TREE ... ... ... ... „ 364

343

THE ENCHANTED TREE:

ASIATIC ANALOGUES OF THE MERCHANTS TALE. BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

Introkrtarjr— f (p §ra(jmzm tofyo Icanv^ % fifty $rira.

/CHAUCER'S diverting tale of "old January that weddid was to v_y freshe May " belongs to the Woman's Wiles cycle of fictions, which were so popular throughout Europe during mediaeval times, and seem to have had their origin in the East, where sentiments unfavour- able to the dignity of womanhood have been always entertained. A very considerable proportion of Asiatic fictions turn upon the luxury, profligacy, and craft of women : ever fertile in expedients, they are commonly represented as perfect adepts in the arts of deceiving and outwitting their lords and masters when bent upon gratifying their passions. It is probable that this class of tales became popular in Europe in consequence of the Crusades, through which the westward stream of Asiatic tales and apologues was largely swelled. Stories of female depravity and craft, which are traceable to Persian and Indian sources, often occur in the earliest collections of exempla, designed for the use of preachers ; yet it is curious to observe that in many of the tales abusive of women current in mediaeval Europe — whether in the form of fabliaux or novelle — a churchman is the paramour who escapes through the woman's artifices.

The Indo- Persian analogue of the Merchant's Tale, referred to by M. Edelstand du Meril (see ante, p. 183, note 2) as occurring in the Balidr-i Ddnush, forms a subordinate member of the eighth of the " strange tales and surprising anecdotes in debasement of women, and of the inconstancy of that fickle sex," related to Sultan Jehangir by his courtiers in order to cure him of a passion which he entertained

344 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : THE FIFTH VEDA ;

for a princess whose personal charms had been described to him by a wise parrot. The story commences in this florid style, according to Dr. Jonathan Scott's translation : " In the city of Banares, which is the principal place of adoration to the Hindu idols, there lived a young Brahman, the tablet of whose mind was void of the impres- sions of knowledge, and the sleeve of his existence unadorned by the embroidery of art. He had a wife eloquent of speech, who exalted the standard of professorship in the arcana of intrigue. In the school of deceit she could have instructed the devil in the science of stratagem. Accidentally, her eyes meeting those of a comely youth, the bird of her heart took its flight in pursuit of his love." But her noodle-husband is too often in their way, so she devises an artful plan for getting quit of him for a time. One night she turns away from his proffered endearments with well-affected discontent, and on his asking the cause of her altered demeanour towards him, she replies that her female neighbours had been chaff- ing her about his gross ignorance, and that she is in consequence ashamed to meet with them again. The simple fellow, hearing this, at once girded up his skirts, and set out in quest of knowledge, and long and far did he travel. In every city and town where he heard of a Brahman eminent for his learning, he obtained leave to wait on him, and at length his mind became enriched by the comprehension of the four Vedas.1 Returning home, his wife greets him with much apparent joy and affection, and begins at once to bathe his feet. Meanwhile her lover is expecting her to visit him as usual, and, becoming impatient, sends a trusty messenger urging her to hasten to his loving arms. The woman, now resolving to get rid of her husband once more, after expressing her thanks to the gods that he has returned in health and safety, says to him : " Doubtless thou hast

1 Veda : root, red, " know " : divine knowledge. The Vedas are the holy books which are the foundation of the Hindu religion. They consist of hymns written in an old form of Sanskrit, and, according to the most generally received opinion, they were composed between 1500 and 1000 B.C. But there is no direct evidence as to their age, and opinions about it vary considerably. Some scholars have thought that the oldest of the hymns may be carried back a thousand years farther. They are four in number : Rig-veda, Yajur-veda, Sama-vcda. rind Atbarva-veda ; the last being of comparatively modem origin. — Dowson'a llii/ilu Clattictd Dictionary.

FOR THE MERCHANTS TALE. 315

attained an ample portion of all sciences, and acquired a rich share of accomplishments, hut I request that thou wilt relate to me the particulars of thy learning, that a doubt which I have in my mind, in respect of one science, may be done away, and from this appre- hension my heart gain perfect satisfaction. I trust that thou hast a perfect knowledge of this science, though others may be wanting." The Brahman, with all exultation and vanity, said : " 0 my fellow- self and sharer of my griefs, sorrow not now, for I have learnt the four Vedas, and am chief of learned professors." The wife exclaimed : "Woe is me if thou hast not learned the Fifth Veda!"1 Quoth the Brahman : "Why, woman, it has been ascertained by the most learned masters and pandits that the Vedas are four; wherefore, then, sayest thou there are five1?" The woman instantly, on hear- ing this speech, beating the hands of mortification against each other, cried out : " What an unlucky fate is mine ! Surely in the volume of decree happiness was not affixed to my name, but in the divine records the impression of disappointment stamped on the pages of my lot ! " Greatly distressed by these words, the husband asked what was the cause of her despair. She replied that the raja had then a difficult case before him, the sulution of which depended upon the Fifth Veda, and that day had summoned all the Brahnums to his court. As they were ignorant of the Fifth Veda they had been imprisoned by order of the raja, and it was decreed that if during the night they could not solve the problem, they should on the morrow be dragged through the streets to execution. Assuredly word of his arrival would soon reach the raja, and he should become another victim, unless he at once escaped, while his presence in the city was unknown to any but herself, and went forth to acquire the Fifth Veda. The poor fellow lost not a moment in setting out on a second pilgrimage, and reaching the outskirts of a city, he sat down to rest beside a draw-well, to which presently came up five ladies. Observing his toil-worn and woe-begone appearance, they began to question him as to whence he had come and whither he was going, upon which he disclosed all the circumstances; "and as they possessed perfect skill in the Fifth Veda, on hearing his story 1 Or the Tirrca Bode, us in Scott.

346 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : THE FIFTH VEDA J

they expanded their mouths with laughter, for they guessed that his wife was an able professor, and, in order to follow her own pleasures, had committed the simple man to the desert of pilgrimage. Taking pity on his forlorn condition and ignorance, they said : ' Ah, dis- tracted youth and poor wanderer from the path of knowledge, although the Fifth Veda is as a stormy sea, nay, even a boundless deep which no philosopher can fathom by the aid of his profound wisdom, yet comfort thy soul, for we will solve thy difficulty, and expound to thee the mysteries of this science.'" The Brahman expressed his joy and gratitude at meeting with such learned ladies, and they there- upon agreed that each day one of them should engage to disclose to him a section of the Fifth Veda.

Next day one of the ladies conducts the simpleton to her house, and introduces him to her husband and mother-in-law as her sister's son. Then she gets ready a variety of food and liquors for his enter- tainment ; and at night, having left her husband on some pretext, she comes to the young Brahman, and makes him an offer of her love-favours, which he rejects with expressions of horror and indig- nation. She then assumes a frowning look, and calls out in a loud voice, as if she was about to be violated. Her female neighbours crowd into the apartment, and the lady, having at the same moment upset and spilt a dish of rice and milk, said to them : " 0 my sisters, this youth is my nephew, and he was drinking some rice and milk, when all at once a chill struck his heart, and he fainted — that is why I called for assistance." Her friends, having comforted her, took their leave, when she addressed the Brahman : " 0 thou inex- perienced man, see what a calamity hung over thee ! Quick, now, and do my desire." Eemediless, he complied, after which she dis- missed him, saying : " Ah, thou dead-hearted creature, this is one section of the Fifth Veda, in which I have instructed thee. Be cautious that thou errest not again."1

1 In some texts of the Book of Sindibad — the Syriac. Sindban ; the Greek, Syntipns ; the Hispano- Arabic, Libra di' los Engannox et las Asayamientos de ItiK Hfiifft'res : ' Book of the Deceits and Tricks of Women' ; the Persian, Sindi- bad Ndnia, etc. — this story is told of a philosopher who had compiled a book of Woman's Wiles. When the lady's friends have retired, she asks him : " Hast thou written down all this in thy book ? " and on his replying that he had not. she exclaims: ''In vain, O man, have you laboured, for you have

FOR THE MERCHANT'S TALE. 347

On the second day another of the learned dames took him to her house, and said to her husband that a certain greengrocer's wife had bragged of his varied accomplishments, but chiefly of his being able to milk a cow with his eyes blindfolded, and not spill a drop from the vessel, and that she herself had laid a wager with the woman that he (her own husband) could do the like feat, wherefore she had brought this young man to act as an impartial witness. The husband very willingly consented to have his eyes blindfolded, and while he was engaged milking the cow, the lady beckoned to the young Brahman, who quickly advanced, and studied the second section of the Fifth Veda. "When she had finished her instructions, she untied the band from her husband's eyes, and congratulated him on his success, and he, simple man, was equally rejoiced that he had accom- plished so difficult a task as milking a cow with his eyes blindfolded.

On the third day another of the ladies, " who by her wiles could have drawn the devil's claws," took the Brahman under her charge, and having placed him in a lodging, went to her own house, where she pretended to have a most severe pain in her stomach, and declared that she was dying. Her husband was much concerned, and proposed going off at once to fetch a physician, but she said : " Don't go away ; but place a curtain between us, that I may send for a female friend who is skilled in the cure of this complaint." The curtain was soon fixed, and the husband seating himself respectfully outside it, em- ployed himself in prayers for the recovery of his wife, who sent word to the Brahman to cover himself with a long veil and enter as a woman. He comes without delay, and in due form prescribes for her complaint, which having relieved, he then retires to his lodging with the blessings of the husband.

We have now reached the fourth section of the Fifth Veda, which is an

accomplished nothing, and have never fathomed the machinations of women ! " Then the sage burnt his book, returned home, and took a wife. The story is somewhat differently told in the Persian text — see my Book of Sindiftdd, from the Arabic and Persian, pp. 83 — 87, and pp. 255 — 203 where analogous stories are cited.

348 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : THE FIFTH VEDA ;

SJcrstoit rjf i\t |ca

THE fourth lady, through dread of the arrow of whose cunning the warrior of the fifth heaven1 trembled in the sky like a reed, having bestowed her attention on the pilgrim Brahman, despatched him to an orchard, and, having gone home, said to her husband : " I have heard that in the orchard of a certain husbandman there is a date-tree, the fruit of which is of remarkably fine flavour ; but what is yet stranger, whoever ascends it sees many wonderful objects. If to-day, going to visit this orchard, we gather dates from the tree, and also see the wonders of it, it will not be unproductive of amusement." In short, she so worked upon her husband with flattering speeches and caresses, that he went to the orchard, and, at the instigation of his wife, ascended the tree. At this instant she beckoned to the Brahman, who was previously seated expectantly in a corner of the garden. The husband, from the top of the tree, beholding what was not fit to be seen, exclaimed in extreme rage : " Ah, thou shameless Russian-born wretch ! 2 what abominable action is this 1 " The wife making not the least answer, the flames of anger seized the mind of the man, and he began to descend from the tree, when the Brahman, with alacrity and speed, having hurried over the Fourth Section of the Tirrea Bede, went his way :

The road to repose is that of activity and quickness.

The wife, having arranged her plan during her husband's descent from the tree, said : "Surely, man, frenzy must have deprived thy brain of the fumes of sense, that, having foolishly set up such a cry, and not reflecting upon thy own disgrace — for, excepting thyself, what man is here present 1 — thou wouldst fix upon me the charge of infidelity." The husband, when he saw no person near, was aston- ished, and said to himself : " Certainly this vision must have been miraculous." The completely artful wife from the hesitation of her husband guessed the cause, and impudently began to abuse him. Then, instantly tying her vest round her waist, she ascended the

1 That is. the planet Mars.

2 The Asiatics have a very contemptible opinion of the Russians, especially of the females, whom they believe to be void of common modesty. Our early European voyagers have expressed the same idea. — Note Inj the Translator.

FOR THE MERCHANT'S TALE. 349

tree, and when she had reached the topmost branch she suddenly cried out : " 0 thou shameless man ! what abomination is this 1 If thy evil star hath led thee from the path of virtue, surely thou mightest have in secret ventured upon it. Doubtless to pull down the curtain of modesty from thine eyes, and with such impudence to commit such a wicked deed, is the very extreme of debauchery ! " The husband replied : " Woman, do not thus ridiculously cry out, but be silent; for such is the property of this tree, that whoever ascends it sees man or woman below in such situations." The cunning wife now came down, and said to her husband : " What a charming garden and amusing spot is this, where one can gather fruit, and at the same time behold the wonders of the world." The husband replied: "Destruction seize the wonders which falsely accuse a man of abomination ! " In short, the devilish wife, not- withstanding the impudence of such an action, escaped safely to her house ; and next day, according to custom, attending at the well, introduced the Brahman to the ladies, and informed them of her worthy contrivance.1

The fifth lady — from whose cunning, quoth our author, the devil would own there was no escaping — takes the young Brahman to her dwelling, where she feigns madness. Acting on her previous instruc- tions, he plays the part of a physician, and declares that the lady is possessed of an evil spirit. He causes the house to be swept and cleansed, and perfumes to be burnt. Finally he has her placed in a close litter, which he also enters, and while four men carry the litter four times round the court of the house, to the strains of musical instruments, he learns the last section of the Fifth Veda, and is dis- missed with the compliments of all the friends of the family on having so skilfully caused the evil spirit to depart out of the lady.

" On the following day the artful lady conducted the Brahman to the well, and related to her companions the wonderful adventure ; on which they applauded, and allowed her superiority in the mysteries

1 Although the original of this story has not hitherto been discovered, so far as I am aware, yet there can be no question of its being of Hindu extrac- tion, and I think it very probable it may be found in the Suka Suptati, whence other tales have been taken into the Jinhdr-i Diimtsh.

350 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE: THE FIFTH VEDA J

of the Fifth Veda over themselves. The five ladies, who might be considered as the five senses of cunniag, now dismissed the Brahman, saying : ' Thou hast now attained a full knowledge of the Fifth Veda, its depth and its difficulties ; also, how well instructed thy chaste wife is in the science, and for what she has made thee a wanderer in the road of pilgrimage.' "

The Brahman now hastened home in a great rage, twisting his whiskers. On his arrival, his wife readily guessed from his manner towards her that his eyes had been opened to her conduct, but behaved herself with meekness. At night, unable to resist the importunities of her lover, when her husband was asleep she left a female friend to supply her place by his side,1 and after putting out the lamp went to her paramour. The Brahman, waking soon after,

a rage at the woman's not replying to his addresses (for she was afraid to speak lest he should discover the deceit), rose up, and taking a sharp knife cut off her nose, believing she was his wife, and then lay down to sleep again. The wife, returning from her lover, learns from her friend what had happened to her, and having sent her away, retired into a corner, and prayed to the gods that if she was free from vice her nose might be restored. The Brahman, hearing this extraordinary petition, at once arose, and lighted a lamp that he might see whether her nose proved the truth of her words. Find- ing it unhurt he was overwhelmed with shame, humbly begged her pardon, and now regarding her as the most virtuous of women, lived contentedly with her the rest of his days.2

1 A similar device, it will be remembered, occurs in Gil Bias, B. II. ch. vii., in the story of the young barber of whom the fair Mergellina, the languishing spouse of old Doctor Oloroso, is deeply enamoured. Her duenna, Melancia, has contrived to introduce the youth into the house at night, and the eager dame, after telling him of her stratagem, laughingly adds : " But the most pleasant part of this adventure is, that Melancia, understanding from me that my husband commonly sleeps soundly, has gone to bed to him, and this very minute supplies my place." " So much the worse, madam," says the timorous youth ; " I cannot approve of this invention : your husband may awake and perceive the cheat." " He cannot perceive it," answers she with precipitation ; "do not be uneasy on that score."

2 The incident of the woman's confidante losing her nose occurs in the Sanskrit form of the Fables of Pilpay (or Bidpai), entitled Hitopadesa, or Friendly Counsel, ch. ii. fab. G. Guerin's fabliau of " Les Cheveux Coupes " (Le Grand, ed. 1781, tome ii. p. 280) is somewhat similar, and seems to be

FOR THE MERCHANT'S TALE. 351

As a notable example of the craft and depravity of women, the story of the Enchanted Tree is related to the sultan by one of his sage ministers in the Turkish romance of The Forty Vazirs, some account of \vhich is given in my preceding paper, p. 322.

ftehislj Icmait.

THERE was in the palace of the world a grocer, and he had a wife, a beauty of the age ; and that woman had a leman. One day this woman's leman said : " If thy husband found us out he would not leave either of us sound." The woman said : " I am able to manage that I shall make merry with thee before my husband's eyes." The youth said : " Such a thing cannot be." The woman replied : " In such and such a place there is a great tree ; to-morrow I will go a-pleasuring with my husband to the foot of that tree ; do thou hide thyself in a secret place near that tree, and when I make a sign to thee, come." As her leman went off her husband came. The woman said : " Fellow, my soul wishes to go a-pleasuring with thee to-morrow to such and such a tree." The fellow replied : " So be it." When it was morning the woman and her husband went to that tree. The woman said : " They say that he who eats this sweet- meat sees single things as though they were double," And she ate some, and gave her husband some to eat. Half-an-hour afterward the woman climbed up the tree, and turned and looked down, and began : " May thou be blind ! may thou get the like from God ! Fellow, what deed is this thou doest? Is there any one who has ever done this deedl Thou makest merry with a strange woman under the eyes of thy wife ; — quick, divorce me." And she cried out. Her husband said : " Out on thee, woman, hast thou turned madl There is no one by me." Quoth the woman: "Be silent,

imitated in one of the Tales of the Men of Gotham. — Dr. Jonathan Scott says this story of the Tirrea Bede (Fifth Veda) "was probably originally written by a Hindu of inferior caste," and he had been told that "the asking of one of those privileged and sacred personages whether he had studied the Fifth Veda is often done by wags when they find him ignorant and insolently proud of his high descent." There is, however, no special reason for supposing the story was not composed by a Bruliman : many tales in the Katha Sarit Sdgara are about foolish and ignorant Brahmans, and that work was not written by "a Hindu of inferior caste."'

17. THE ENCHANTED TREE: TURKISH VERSION;

unblushing, shameless fellow ! Lo, the Avoman is with thee, and thou deniest." Her husband said : " Come down." She replied : " I will not come down so long as that woman is with thee." Her husband began to swear, protesting, and the woman came down and said to him : " Where is that harlot 1 — quick, show her me, else thou shalt know." Again the fellow sware, and the woman said : " Can it be the work of the sweetmeat 1 " The fellow said : " May be ! " Quoth the woman : "Do thou go up and look down on me, and let us see." Her husband clutched the tree, and while he was climbing the woman signed to her leman. The fellow looked down, and saw the woman making merry with a youth. This time the fellow cried out : " Away with thee ! Out on thee, shameless youth ! " The woman said : " Thou liest." But the fellow could not endure it, and began to come down, and the youth ran off.1

OUR story of the Enchanted Tree is also found in the Breslau printed text of the Arabian Nights, edited by Habicht and Fleischer from a Tunisian MS., and published in 12 vols./ 1825-43. It forms one of a series of tales enclosed within a frame-story, which seems imitated from, that of the Book of Sindibad (or the Seven Vazirs) : Er-Rahwan, the prime minister of King Shah Bakht, had many ene- mies who were eager for his ruin, being envious of the great con- fidence which the king reposed in him. It chanced one night that the king dreamt that his vazir had given him a fruit which he ate and died therefrom. The king sent for a famed astrologer to inter- pret this dream, and he, having been bribed by the enemies of Er-Rahwan, told him that it signified his favourite minister would slay him within the ensuing twenty-eight days. Shah Bakht then summoned the vazir to his private chamber, and disclosed to him his dream and the astrologer's interpretation thereof ; and Er-Rahwan, perceiving that this was a stratagem of his enemies, at once devised

1 From Mr. Gibb's complete translation of the Qi-rq Veztr Tdrikltl, or ' History of the Forty Vezirs.' — Regarding this interesting story-book, Sir Richard F. Burton writes to me as follows : <: I think that the original was Persian, not Arabic, and that from Persian it was translated into Turkish ; — the general tone of the work suggests this to me. When Easterns speak of Arabic texts, it is usually to show that they are of the Ulema."

FOR THE MERCHANT'S TALE. 353

a plan whereby he should save his life and defeat their machinations. Professing himself ready to submit to death, he begged as a last favour that he should be permitted to spend the evening with the king, and on the morrow his majesty should do with him as he thought fit. Shah Bakht, who still loved' the good vazir, gave his consent, and that night Er-Eahwan told him a story which so pleased him that he respited the vazir for a day, in order that he should hear another story which Er-Eahwan offered to relate. In this way he entertained Shah Bakht each night until the fatal twenty-eight days were past, when the malice of his enemies was made manifest.1 On the ninth night Er-Eahwan related the following story (according to Mr. Payne's translation) :2

THEEE was once of old time a foolish, ignorant man who had wealth galore, and his wife was a fair woman who loved a handsome youth. The latter used to watch for her husband's absence, and come to her, and on this wise he abode a long while. One day as the woman was private with her lover, he said to her : " 0 my lady and my beloved, if thou desire me and love me, give me possession of thyself and accomplish my need in thy husband's presence, else I will never again come to thee nor draw near thee what while I abide on life." Now she loved him with an exceeding love, and could not brook his separation an hour, nor could endure to vex him ; so when she heard his words, she said to him : " [So be it] in God's name ! 0 my beloved and solace of mine eyes, may he not live who would vex thee." Quoth he : " To-day 1 " And

1 Similar to this is the frame of an Indian romance, AlaTicsma.ra Kathd, in which four ministers of state are falsely accused of entering the royal harem, and they relate stories to the king which disarm his wrath, after which their innocence is established ; and that of the Bakhtydr JVdma, a Persian romance, in which ten vazirs seek the death of the king's favourite, Prince Bakhtyar, who saves himself for ten days by recounting to the king notable instances of the fatal effects of precipitate judgments, when he is dis- covered to be the king's own son, and the wicked vazirs are all put to death.

2 The Breslau printed text of the Arabian Nights is so very corrupt that Mr. Payne, in such of the tales as he has translated, attempts to "make sense " by occasionally inserting some words within square brackets.

Cll. ORIG. 25

354 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : ARABIAN VERSION ;

she said : " Yes, by thy life," and appointed him of this. When her husband came home, she said to him : " I desire to go a-pleasuring." And he said : "With all my heart." So he went till he came to a goodly place abounding in vines and water, whither he carried her, and pitched her a tent beside a great tree ; and she betook herself to a place beside the tent, and made her there an underground hiding- place [in which she hid her lover]. Then said she to her husband : "I desire to mount this tree." And he said: "Do so." So she climbed up, and when she came to the top of the tree she cried out and buffeted her face, saying : " Lewd fellow that thou art ! Are these thy usages] Thou sworest [fidelity to me], and liedst." And she repeated her speech twice or thrice. Then she came down from the tree, and rent her clothes, and said : " 0 villain ! if these be thy dealings with me before my eyes, how dost thou when thou art absent from me ? " Quoth he : " What aileth thee 1 " And she said : " I saw thee swive the woman before my very eyes." " Not so, by Allah," cried he. " But hold thy peace till I go up and see." So he climbed the tree, and no sooner did he begin to do so, than up came the lover [from his hiding-place], and taking the woman by the legs [fell to s wiving her]. When the husband came to the top of the tree, he looked and beheld a man swiving his wife. So he said: "0 strumpet! what doings are these1?" And he made haste to come down from the tree to the ground [but meanwhile the lover had returned to his hiding-place], and his wife said to him : "What sawest thou?" "I saw a man swive thee," answered he. And she said : " Thou liest ; thou sawest nought, and sayest this but of con- jecture." On this wise they did three times, and every time [he climbed the tree] the lover came up out of the underground place and bestrode, her, whilst her husband looked on, and she still said : "0 liar! seest thou aught?" "Yes," he would answer, and came down in haste, but saw no one ; and she said to him : " By my life, look and say nought but the truth." Then said he to her : "Arise, let us depart this place, for it is full of Jinn and Marids." l [So they returned to their house] and passed the night [there] ; and the man

1 For a full account of the jinn (genii), marids, ifrits, and other kinds of beings, see Lane's Arabian Nights, vol. i. pp. 26 — 33.

FOR THE tf SUCH AST' 8 TALE. 355

arose in the morning assured that this was all but imagination and illusion. And so the lover accomplished his desire.1

It is obvious, I think, that there is a close connection between this last version and that from the Forty Vazirs, as seems also the case of many other stories peculiar to the Tunisian (Breslau) text of the Arabian Nights, of which variants are found in collections of the early Italian novelists — a circumstance which may perhaps serve to throw some light on the introduction of Eastern fictions into the south of Europe. — In the Turkish story of the Enchanted Tree, it will be observed, the lover expresses to his paramour his fear lest her husband discover their secret on-goings, upon which she under- takes to sport with him in presence of her spouse, and no harm should come of it ; while in the Arabic version it is the lover who makes this proposal to the woman, which is doubtless a corruption of the original, as represented in the Forty Vazirs. — A bulky, if not very edifying, volume might easily be compiled of analogous stories, both Western and Eastern ; but it will be sufficient in the present paper to cite only a few of the more remarkable "examples" of Woman's Wiles, one of which is the story of the meddling father- in-law, occurring in the Persian Sindibdd Ndma,z the Tuti Ndma,3 and the Sanskrit Suka Saptati 4 :

f fa (®Mm f a%r-in-f ato.

ONE day as a shopkeeper's wife was sitting on the terrace of her house a young man saw her, and was enamoured. The woman perceived that the youth had fallen in love with her, so she called him to her and said : " Come to me after midnight, and seat yourself under a tree that is in my courtyard." After midnight the youth repaired to her house, and the woman got out of bed and went to

1 Tales from the Arabic of the Breslau and Calcutta, (1814-18) Editions of the Book of the Thousand Nights and One Night, not occurring in tin- oilier Printed Textx of the Work. Now first done into English by John Payne. London : Printed for the Villon Society, 1884. In Three Volumes. Vol. i. pp. 270-2.

2 Second tale of the Fifth Vazir.

3 Eighth Night: story of the Fifth Vazir. 4 Fifteenth Night.

356 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : THE FATHER-IN-LAW ;

him, and slept with him under the tree. It happened that the shopkeeper's father, having occasion to go out of the house, discovered his son's wife asleep beside a strange man, and he took the lings from off the woman's ankles, saying to himself : " In the morning I will have her punished." But the woman, soon after awaking, discovered what had occurred, and she sent away the youth, and going to her husband awoke him, and said: "The house is very hot j come, let us sleep under the tree." In short, she slept with her husband in that very spot where she and the young man had sported together. And when her husband was fast asleep, she roused him again, saying : " Your father came here just now, and taking the rings from off my ankles carried them away. That old man, whom I consider as my father, how could he approach me at the time I was sleeping with my husband, and take away my ankle-rings 1 " In the morning the husband was wroth with his father when he came showing the ankle-rings and disclosed how he had seen his wife with a strange man. The son spake harshly to his father, saying : " In the night, when, on account of the heat, my wife and I were sleeping under the tree, you came, and taking the rings from my wife's legs, carried them away — at that very time she awoke me and informed me of the circumstance." l

1 However this story may have come to Europe, it occurs, in a slightly modified form, in the Hcptameron — a work ascribed to Margaret, Queen of Navarre, but it is believed that Bonaventure des Periers, who succeeded the celebrated Clement Marot as her valet de chambre, had a principal hand in its composition : An officious neighbour, looking out of his window, discovers a lady and her gallant in the garden. When the lady finds that she is thus watched, she sends the lover away, and going into the house, persuades her husband to spend what remains of the night in the same spot. In the morn- ing the neighbour meets the husband, and acquaints him of his wife's misconduct, but is answered : " It was I, gossip, it was I," not a little to the gossip's chagrin.

It is perhaps not generally known that a highly " moral " operetta based on this tale was performed at Covent Garden Theatre in 1825, entitled 'Twas I, which is thus outlined in the Lady's Magazine, vol. vi., p. 755 : Georgette Clairville, a pretty payganne, belongs to the household of a farmer named Delorme. It is the custom of the village to give a marriage portion and a chaplet annually to the most innocent and virtuous maiden, so declared by the unanimous voice of the inhabitants. Georgette is announced as entitled to the prize, to the great indignation of one Madame Mag, an envious old maid, whose window overlooks the farmer's garden. In one of her ill humours she detects the light-hearted farmer snatching a kiss from his servant, and exclaiming aloud, shuts the casement. Conscious of having been seen,

FOR THE MEtlCHANl's TALE. 357

Thus far, according to Kaderi's abridgment of the Tuti Ndma, but in the original work of Nakhshabf, as well as in the Suka Saptati, the father-in-law is by no means satisfied with his son's assurance of the woman's innocence. He cites her to the Tank of Trial at Agra, the water in which had the property of testing whether a person spoke truth or falsehood : if the former, the person when thrown into it floated, and if the latter, he sank to the bottom.1 Now the woman well knew what her fate would be if she swore falsely, so she requested her lover to feign madness, and to grasp her at the moment she was to undergo the trial, which he did accordingly, and was quickly beaten back by the assembled multitude. Then the woman, advancing to the edge of the tank, cried : " I swear that I have never touched any man except my husband and that insane fellow who assaulted me a moment since. Let this water be my punishment if I have not spoken the truth." Thereupon she boldly leaped into the tank, and the water bore her on its surface. So she was unanimously declared innocent, and returned home with her husband, who had never questioned her fidelity.2

THE artful device of the woman in the Persian tale, of getting rid of her simple husband by despatching him to learn the Fifth Veda, finds an analogue in a story current in Ceylon, which is thus trans- lated in The Orientalist, vol. ii. (1885), p. 148 :

Delorme brings his wife into the same situation, and contrives to be as gallant to her as to Georgette. Of course, when the old lady makes her accusation the wife exclaims " 'Twas I," and Madame Mag is drummed out of the village as a slanderer. A male servant of the same farmer, the lover of Georgette, is also made unconsciously serviceable in the same exclamatory way, and he is rewarded with her fair hand. — The chronicler adds, that in the performance of this dainty operetta Madame Vestris played the part of the village heroine, and some pretty airs were sung by her in an agreeable manner.

1 It is hardly necessary to remind the reader that suspected witches were also " tested" in this manner in England and other European countries in the bad old times.

2 This incident reappears in the medieval " Life " of Virgilius, and in the ancient romance of Sir Tristrem (or Tristan). For analogous tests of chastity I take the liberty of referring the "curious" reader to my forthcoming work, Popular Tales and Fictions : their Migrations and Transformations (Black wood), vol. i., p. 172 ff.

358 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE: A SINHALESE NOODLE;

j&toi at Uoman's

ONCE upon a time there lived in a certain country a husband- man. The paddy-crop of his field being ripe, he built a small watch-hut near it, and lived in it for four months, on the look-out for trespassers. At the end of that time he reaped and threshed his crop, and returned home. Towards evening, on the day of his return, his wife called to him, and said : " Did you hear of the order that was proclaimed this day in the village by beat of tom-tom ? " He answered in the negative. So she went on to say : " An order was made that every field-owner should instantly repair to his watch-hut, raid, though there be no crop to take care of, he should remain in it for full six months." He believed this story, and very reluctantly returned to his watch-hut, and remained there. It chanced that a sportsman called at his hut, and asked him : " Why are you staying here at such an unusual season 1 " The simple fellow replied : " Do you not know that an order was proclaimed throughout the village that every field-owner should remain in his watch-hut for full six months, even though there should be no crop to watch over?" Quoth the sportsman : " No such order has been made ; but it seems that your wife has taken advantage of your credulity, and imposed on you. The fact is, she is carrying on an intrigue, and this is only a trick of hers to keep you out of the way." The peasant then began to swear to the fidelity of his wife ; and after the sportsman had long argued with him in vain, he said : " If you would ascertain the truth of what I say, go slowly some day and see whom you will find in the house, and make yourself sure about the matter." He consented to this, and went as directed; but, as he walked very slowly, day dawned before he reached his house. When the sportsman called again, and inquired what he had seen at his house, the noodle told him how he was surprised by the dawn. " How so 1 " " Because I walked slowly." The sportsman explained that he meant he should walk fast when he started, and go slowly when he neared the house : he should try again. This time the blockhead started to run at the top of his speed, and when about a mile from his house he walked very slowly, so that once more it was

FOB THE MERCHANTS TALE. 359

daylight before he reached home. Again the sportsman called, and learned of this fresh failure. " You are certainly a queer fellow," he said. "I've sent you twice. Now try a third time. Listen, and do exactly what I tell you. Run from this place as fast as you can, and when you get to the fence near your garden, halt a while, walk with measured steps, then call to the inmates of the house, and see whom you find there." Reaching the fence, the poor fellow's garment got caught by one of the palings ; he suspected that it was his wife's paramour who had come behind and seized him. So he bawled out : " Let me alone ! let me alone ! I assure you I did not come here as a spy." Hearing these words, the wife and her paramour got out of the house ; the latter concealed himself, and the wife, having loosed her simple husband, at once began to scold him for coming at such an unusual hour ; warned him of his danger if the king were to know ; and then extolled her own virtuous conduct. Thereupon the wittol went back to his watch-hut, and spent the rest of the six months, in season and out of season.

A UNIQUE example of the wiles of women is found in the fabliau entitled La Saineresse, of which Le Grand has furnished a very modest and very unintelligible abstract. Barbazan gives it in its original form, as follows :

D'UN borgois vous acont la vie, rnteiiyouofa

/~v • j £ i • citizen,

Qui se vanta de grant folie, who bragged that

.-. . ,, -,11 woman couldn't

Que fame nel poroit bouler. cuckold mm.

Sa fame en a 01 parler, His wife hears

~. , of it, and swears

Si en parla pnveement, she'd do -:t, and

r,, . tell him of it

Et en jura un serement without offence.

Qu'ele le fera mencongier,

Ja tant ne s'i saura gueter.

Un jor erent en lor meson One day, as they

T j.'1-rv 1.1 j -in were both sitting

La gentil Dame et le preudon, 10 on a bench,

En un bane sistrent lez a lez ; N'i furent gueres demorez,

360

17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : LA SA1NERESSE

a smooth rascal enters, in wo- man's dress (in a loose smock, with a wimple of saffron hue),

with a show of wares and cupping gear, and salutes the citizen :

" God be with you, good man, you and your companion." " God keep you, fair friend ; come and sit beside me." " I'm not tired, thanks."

" Lady, you've sent for me :

now tell me your pleasure."

She bids her (him) go up-stairs, and she'll settle with him ; and tells her husband they'll return soon.

She has pains in the back, and must be blooded.

Then she mounts after the rascal, and they shut the door.

The rascal seizes her merrily, lays her on the bed, and swives her three times.

When they have had enough of it, they go down- stairs, and into the house.

Esvos un pautonier a 1'uis

Moult cointe et noble et sambloit plus

Fame que home sa moitie,

Vestu d'un chainsse deslie",

D'une guimple bien safrenee,

Et vint menant moult grant posne"e ;

Ventouses porte a ventouser,

Et vait le borgois saluer 20

En mi 1'aire de sa meson.

Diex soit o vous, sire preudon,

Et vous et vostre compaignie.

Diex vous gart, dist cil, bele amie :

Venez seoir lez moi icy.

Sire, dist-il, vostre merci,

Je ne sui mie trop lassee.

Dame, vous m'avez ci rnande'e,

Et m'avez ci fete venir,

Or me dites vostre plesir. 30

Cele ne fu pas esbahie,

Vous dites voir, ma douce amie,

Montez Ik sus en eel solier,

II m'estuet de vostre mestier.

Ne vous poist, dist-ele au borgois,

Quar nous revendrons demanois ;

J'ai goute es rains moult merveillouse,

Et por ce que sui si goutouse

Mestuet-il fere un poi sainier.

Lors nionte apres le pautonier, 40

Les huis clostrent de maintenant.

Le pautonier le prent esrant,

En un lit 1'avoit estendue,

Tant que il 1'a trois fois foutue.

Quant il orent assez joue,

Foutue, besie et acole,

Si se descendent del perrin,

Contreval les degrez eniin,

FOR THE MERCHANT'S TALE.

361

Vindrent esrant en la meson ; Cil ne fut pas fol ne briijon, Ainz le salua demanois. Sire, adieu, dist-il au borgois. Diex vous saut, dist-il, bele amie ; Dame, se Diex vous beneie, Paiez cele fame moult bien, Ne retenez de son droit rien De ce que vous sert en manaie. Sire, que vous chaut de ma paie ] Dist la borgoise a son Seignor. Je vous oi parler de folor, Quar nous deus bien en convendra, Cil s'en va, plus n'i demora, La poche aux ventouses a prise. Le borgoise se r'est assise Lez son Seignor bien aboufee. Dame, moult estes afou^e, Et si avez trop demore". Sire, merci por amor De, Ja ai-je este trop traveillie, Si ne pooie estre sainie, Et m'a plus de cent cops ferue, Tant que je sui toute molue ; N'onques tant cop n'i sot ferir C'onques sane en p^ust issir ; Par trois rebin^es me prist, Et a chascune fois m'assist Sor mes rains deux de ses pecons, Et me feroit uns cops si Ions, Toute me sui fet martirier, Et si ne poi onques sainier. Granz cops me feroit et sovent, Morte fussent mon escient, S'un trop bon oingnement ne fust. Qui de tel oingnement eust,

50

The rascal salutes

the citizen,

" Good-bye," and

" Lady, God bless

you."

Quoth the cuck- old, " Wife, see that you pay this woman well."

" Don't fear, but I shall."

60

The rascal goes off, with his cupping gear.

The citizen's wife sits down, all out of breath.

" Wife, you're fatigued; you stayed too long."

" Sir, I thank you ; I have been too hard worked, as I couldn't be 70 blooded, and got more than 100 strokes, so I'm beaten all over. For all that not a drop of blood would come.

For 3 punctures I got, and each time two of her (his) stings (?), and got such long strokes I'm sore all over,

80 and yet I couldn't be bled. Great strokes I had, and deadly they'd have been but for a good ointment.

Whoso has such

3G2

17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : LA SAINERESSE J

ointment can have no pain. And when she (he) had hammer- ed me, she salved my wounds — great and ugly ones, so that I'm quite cured.

I like such oint- ment ;

it issued from a gutter, and so descended into an orifice."

Quoth the citizen, " My fair friend, for once you've bad good oint- ment."

He didn't see the joke, and she wasn't ashamed to tell of the lechery ;

for all the trick she'd played him, sin- must also tell it him.

He's a fool, then, who swears by his head and neck that woman can't cuckold him, and that he knows how to prevent it. But there's not in this country a man who's so clever woman won't outwit him, whon she who was bad in the back cuckolded her lord at once.

Ja ne fust mes de mal grevee, Et quant m'ot tant demartelee, Si m'a apres ointes mes plaies Qui moult par erent granz et laies, Tant que je sui toute guerie : Tel oingnement ne haz-je mie, Et il ne fet pas a hair, Et si ne vous en quier mentir. L'oingnenient issoit d'un tuiel, Et si descendoit d'un forel D'une pel moult noire et hideuse, Mais moult par estoit savoreuse. Dist li borgois, ma bele amie, A poi ne fustes mal baillie, Bon oingnement avez eu. Gil ne s'est pas aperc^u De la borde qu'ele conta, Et cele nule honte n'a De la lecherie essaucier. For tant le veut bien essaier, Ja n'en fust paie a garant, Se ne li contast maintenant. Por ce tieng-je celui a fol Qui jure son chief et son col Que fame nel' poroit bouler, Et que bien s'en sauroit garder. Mais il n'est pas en cest pa'is Cil qui tant soit de sens espris Que mie se peust guetier Que fame nel' puist engingnier, Quant cele qui ot mal es rains Boula son Seignor preimerains.

Explicit de la Saineresse.1

90

100

110

116

1 Fabliaux et Contes des poetes fran$ois des XI., XII., XIII., XIV., et XV* slecles. Tires des meilleurs auteurs. Publics par Barbazan. Nouvelle Edition, augmentee, etc., par M. Meon. Paris, 1808. Tome iii. p. 451-4.

FOR THE MERCHANT'S TALE. 363

KELLER, in the elaborate einleitung to his edition of the French metrical version of the Romans des Sept Sages, written in the 13th century, refers to a number of variants of " The Enchanted Tree," some of which have but a remote resemblance to the story, such as an incident in the romance of Tristan (or Tristrem), which occurs in Fytte Second, stanzas 86 to 93 of Scott's edition of the version in the Auchinleck MS. (Advocates' Library, Edinburgh) :

^uwn §5owk aitft Sir feium.

The interviews between Tristrem and Ysoude are discovered by a dwarf, called Meriadok, concealed in a tree. The dwarf advises King Mark to proclaim a great hunting match, and, instead of going to the forest, to conceal himself in the dwarf's hiding-place. Meriadok is sent to Tristrem with a pretended message from Ysoude, appoint- ing a meeting. Tristrem, suspecting the deceit, returns a cold answer. The dwarf tells the king to put no confidence in his message, for Tristrem will certainly meet Ysoude that night. Mark having climbed into the tree, the two lovers meet beneath it, but, being aware of the king's presence from his shadow, they assume the tone of quarrel and recrimination. Tristrem charges Ysoude with having alienated from him the affections of his uncle, the king, so that he was nearly compelled to fly into "Wales. Ysoude avows her hatred of Tristrem, alleging as the cause her husband's unjust suspicions of their criminal intercourse. The dialogue is continued in the same strain ; Tristrem beseeching Ysoude to procure him a dismissa % TI the court, and she engaging, on condition of his departure, 'to supplicate Mark to endow him with suitable means of support. The good-natured monarch is overwhelmed with joy and tenderness at the supposed discovery of the innocence of his wife and nephew. Far from assenting to Tristrem's departure, he creates him high constable, and the grateful knight carries on his intrigue with Ysoude without farther suspicion for the space of three years.

THE twelfth tale in Les Cent Nouvelles Nouvelles, entitled " Le Veau," is also included by Keller among analogues of our story, as to which the reader may judge from the following abstract and extract :

364 17. THE ENCHANTED TREE : LE VEAU.

% ffitsimt in t&* to.

" T" A douziesme nouvelle parle d'ung Hollanders, qui, nuyt et jour, _LJ a toute heure, ne cessoit d'assaillir sa femme au jeu d'amours ; et comment d'auenture il la rua par terre, en passant par ung bois, soubz ung grant arbre sur lequel estoit ung laboureur qui avoit perdu son veau. Et, en faisant inventoire des beaux membres de sa femme, dist qu'il veoit tant de belles choses et quasi tout le monde ; a qui le laboureur demanda s'il veoit pas son veau qu'il cherchoit, duquel il disoit qu'il luy sembloit en veoir la queue." . . . "Et comme il estoit en ceste parfonde estude, il disoit : ' Maintenant, je voy cecy ! je voy cela ! Encores cecy ! encores cela ! ' Et qui 1'oyoit il veoit tout le nionde et beaucoup plus. Et, apres une grande et longue pose, estant en ceste gracieuse contemplacion, dist de rechief : ' Saincte Marie, que je voy de choses ! ' ' Helas ! ' dist lors le laboureur sur 1'arbre, 'bonnes gens, ne veez-vous point mon veau? Sire, il me semble que j'en voy la queue.' L'aultre, ja soit qu'il fust bien esbahy, subitement fist la response et dist : ' Cette queue n'est par de ce veau.' "

The model of both Boccaccio's and Chaucer's tales seems to have been the version found in the Comedia Lydiae, or one similar to it. The story may, perhaps, exist in some of the great mediaeval monkish collections of sermons, or of exempla designed for the use of preachers, such as the Sermones of Jacques de Vitry ; the Liber de Donis of Etienne de Bourbon ; the Promptuarium E .<,plorum of John Herolt ; the Summa Pracdicantium of John Bromyard. In the absence of any Eastern version representing the cuckolded husband as being blind and having his sight miraculously restored to discover himself dishonoured, we must conclude that thif form of the story is of European invention. It is needless to add that Chaucer's tale of January and May is incomparably the best-told of all the versions, whether Asiatic or European.

GLASGOW, October, 1S86*

365

18.

ASIATIC AND EUROPEAN VERSIONS OP

Cjauor's fta of Habj's

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

366

FIRST ARABIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... Page 368

SECOND ARABIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... „ 371

THIRD ARABIAN VERSION ... ... „ 379

PERSIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 388

PERSIAN ANALOGUE: THE VAZIR'S PIOUS DAUGHTER ... „ 390

EARLY FRENCH VERSION ... ... ... ... „ 397

VINCENT OF BEAUVAIS' LATIN VERSION ... ... „ 400

SER GIOVANNI'S ITALIAN VERSION ... ... ... „ 402

ITALIAN MIRACLE-PLAY OF SANTA GUGLIELMA ... „ 403

ITALIAN MIRACLE-PLAY OF THE DUCHESS OF ANJOU ... „ 404

SPANISH VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 406

GERMAN VERSIONS ... ... ... ... ... „ 406

OTHER ITALIAN VERSIONS ... ... ... ... ,, 407

SUMMARY 412

367

THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE:S

ASIATIC! AND EUROPEAN VERSIONS OF THE MAN OF LA W'S TALEl BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

IN my last paper, stories are cited of the profligacy and craft of women ; this is devoted to " the other side " — to stories of the depravity of men, and the patience and long-suffering of virtuous women, as typified by Constance, the noble heroine of Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale. The story of Joseph and the wife of Potiphar (whom Muslims call Zulaykha), which forms the subject of several beautiful Persian and Turkish poems, has its prototype in an Egyptian romance of two brothers, Satii and Anapii, written 3000 years ago, of which a copy on papyrus is preserved in the British Museum ; and the ancient Greek classical legends as well as Indian and other Asiatic fictions furnish many parallels : e. g. Pha?dra and Hippolytus, Antea and Bellerophon, Sarangdhara and his step- mother Chitrangi, Gunasarman and the wife of King Mahasena. " Alas ! " exclaims Somadeva, " women whose love is slighted are worse than poison ! " But numerous as are the analogues of the story of Potiphar's Wife, there exist also some tales in which men are represented as playing the like shameful part against women, the most remarkable and wide-spread of which is that of the Innocent Persecuted Wife — the pious Constance of most European versions. The story is related with variations of details in at least three different texts of the Booh of the Thousand and One Nights ; and this is how it goes in the Calcutta and Biilak printed Arabic editions, according to Sir R. F. Burton's rendering :

1 See also, ante, pp. iii — xii, 1 — 84, and 221 — 250. J/ '"£ ; -U^Jh^t^>

368 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

lirst Arabian Wtmon.

AMONG the children of Israel, one of the kazis had a wife of sur- passing beauty, constant in fasting and abounding in patience and long-suffering ; and he, being minded to make the pilgrimage to Jerusalem, appointed his own brother kazi in his stead, during his absence, and commended his wife to his charge. Now this brother had heard of her beauty and loveliness, and had taken a fancy to her. So no sooner was his brother gone, than he went to her and sought her love-favours ; but she denied him, and held fast to her chastity. The more she repelled him, the more he pressed his suit upon her ; till, despairing of her, and fearing lest she should acquaint his brother with his misconduct whenas he should return, he suborned false witnesses to testify against her of adultery ; and cited her and carried her before the king of the time, who adjudged her to be stoned. So they dug a pit, and seating her therein stoned her, till she was covered with stones, and the man said : " Be this hole her grave ! " But when it was dark, a passer-by, making for a neighbouring hamlet, heard her groaning in sore pain ; and, pulling her out of the pit, carried her home to his wife, whom he bade dress her wounds. The peasant-woman tended her till she recovered, and presently gave her her child to be nursed ; and she used to lodge with the child in another house by night.

Now a certain thief saw her and lusted after her. So he sent to her, seeking her love-favours, but she denied herself to him ; where- fore he resolved to slay her, and, making his way into her lodging by night (and she sleeping), thought to strike at her with a knife ; but it smote the little one, and killed it. Now when he knew his misdeed, fear overtook him, and he went forth the house, and Allah preserved from him her chastity. But as she awoke in the morning, she found the child by her side with throat cut ; and presently the mother came, and, seeing her boy dead, said to the nurse : " 'Twas thou didst murther him." Therewith she beat her a grievous beating, and purposed to put her to death ; but her husband interposed, and delivered the woman, saying : " By Allah, thou shalt not do on this wise." So the woman, who had somewhat of money with her, fled

FOR THE MAN OF LAW 's TALE. 369

forth for her life, knowing not whither she should wend. Presently she came to a village, where she saw a crowd of people about a man crucified to a tree-stump, but still in the chains of life. "What hath he done 1 " she asked, and they answered : " He hath committed a crime which nothing can expiate but death or the payment of such a fine by way of alms." So she said to them : " Take the money and let him go ; " and, when they did so, he repented at her hands and vowed to serve her, for the love of Almighty Allah, till death should release him. Then he built her a cell, and lodged her therein ; after which he betook himself to woodcutting, and brought her daily her bread. As for her, she was constant in worship, so that there came no sick man or demoniac to her, but she prayed for him and he was straightway healed. When the woman's cell was visited by folk (and she constant in worship), it befell by decree of the Almighty that He sent down upon her husband's brother (the same who had caused her to be stoned) a cancer in the face, and smote the villager's wife (the same who had beaten her) with leprosy, and afflicted the thief (the same who had murthered the child) with palsy. JSTow when the kazi returned from his pilgrimage, he asked his brother of his wife, and he told him that she was dead, whereat he mourned sore, and accounted her with her Maker.

After a while very many folk heard of the pious recluse, and flocked to her cell from all parts of the length and breadth of the earth ; whereupon said the kazi to his brother : " 0 my brother, wilt thou not seek out yonder pious woman ] Haply Allah shall decree thee healing at her hands." And he replied : " 0 my brother, carry me to her." Moreover, the husband of the leprous woman heard of the pious devotee, and carried his wife to her, as did also the people of the paralytic thief ; and they all met at the door of the hermitage. Now she had a place wherefrom she could look out upon those who came to her, without their seeing her ; and they waited till her servant came, when they begged admittance and obtained permission. Presently she saw them all and recognized them ; so she veiled and cloaked face and body, and went out and stood in the door, looking at her husband and his brother and the

thief and the peasant- woman ; but they did not recognize her. CH. ORIG. 26

370 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

Then said she to them : "Ho, folk, ye shall not be relieved of what is with you till ye confess your sins ; for when the creature con- fesseth his sins, the Creator relenteth towards him and granteth him that wherefore he resorteth to him." Quoth the kazi to his brother : " 0 my brother, repent to Allah and persist not in thy frowardness, for it will be more helpful to thy relief." And the tongue of the kazi spake this speech :

This day oppressor and oppressed meet,

And Allah showeth secrets we secrete : This is a place where sinners low are brought ; ' And Allah raiseth saint to highest seat. Our Lord and Master shows the truth right clear,

Though sinner froward be, or own defeat : Alas, for those who rouse the Lord to wrath,

As though of Allah' s wrath they nothing meet ! 0 whoso seeketh honours, know they are

From Allah, and His fear with love entreat.

(Saith the relator,) Then quoth the brother : " Now I will tell the truth : I did thus and thus with thy wife ; " and he con- fessed the whole matter, adding, " and this is my offence." Quoth the leprous woman: "As for me, I had a Avoman with me, and imputed to her that of which I knew her to be guiltless, and beat her grievously; and this is my offence." And quoth the paralytic : " And I went in to a woman to kill her, after I had tempted her to commit adultery and she had refused ; and I slew a child that lay by her side ; and this is my offence." Then said the pious woman : " 0 my God, even as thou hast made them feel the misery of revolt, so show them now the excellence of submission, for thou over all things art omnipotent ! " And Allah (to whom belong Majesty and Might !) made them whole. Then the kazi fell to looking on her and considering her straitly, till she asked him why he looked so hard, and he said : " I hail a wife, and were she not dead, I had said thou art she." Hereupon she made herself known to him, and both began praising Allah (to whom belong Majesty and Might !) for that which He had vouchsafed them of the reunion of their loves ; but the brother and the thief and the villager's wife joined in imploring her for- giveness. So she forgave them one and all, and they worshipped

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 371

Allah in that place, and rendered her due service, till Death parted them.1

In the Breslau printed edition we find the story told at much greater length, and with additional incidents which this version has exclusively, though they have their equivalents in other Asiatic and in most European variants. It forms one of the tales related by the Vazir Er-Rahwan to King Shah Bakht (18th Night of the Month)2 :

jkroufc grate Wnmn.

f INHERE was once a man of Nishabur, who, having a wife of the JL uttermost beauty and piety, yet was minded to set out on the pilgrimage.3 So before leaving home he commended her to the care of his brother, and besought him to aid her in her affairs and further her wishes till he should return, for the brothers were on the most intimate terms. Then he took ship and departed, and his absence was prolonged. Meanwhile, the brother went to visit his brother's wife at all times and seasons, and questioned her of her circum- stances, and went about her wants ; and when his calls were pro- longed, and he heard her speech and saw her face, the love of her gat hold upon his heart, and he became passionately fond of her, and his soul prompted him to evil. So he besought her to lie with him, but she refused, and showed him how foul was his deed, and he found him no way to win what he wished ; wherefore he wooed her with soft speech and gentle ways. Now she was righteous in all her doings, and never swerved from one saying ; 4 so when he saw that she consented not to him he had no doubts but that she would tell his brother when he returned from his journey, and quoth he to her :

1 A plain and literal translation of the Arabian Nights' Entertainments, now entltuled T/te Book of the Thousand Nights and a Night, with Introduc- tion, Explanatory Notes on the Manners and Customs of Moslem Men, and a, Terminal Essay upon the History of The Nights. By (Sir) Richard F. Burton (K.C.M.G.). Benares : MDCCCLXXXV : Printed by the Kamashastra Society, for Private Subscribers only. Vol. v. pp. 256 — 259.

2 For an account of this series of stories, see ante, pp. 352, 353.

3 To Mecca and Medina.

* She meant "yes" when she said "yes," and "no" when she said "110."

372 18. THE IXXOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

" An thou consent not to whatso I require of thee, I will cause a scandal to befall thee, and thou wilt perish." Quoth she : " Allah (extolled and exalted be He !) judge betwixt me and thee, and know that, shouldst thou hew me limb from limb, I would not consent to that thou biddest me to do." His ignorance1 of womankind per- suaded him that she would tell her spouse ; so he betook himself of his exceeding despite to a company of people in the mosque, and informed them that he had seen a man commit adultery with his brother's wife. They believed his word, and documented his charge, and assembled to stone her. Then they dug her a pit outside the city, and seating her therein, stoned her till they deemed her dead, when they left her.

Presently a shaykh of a village passed by the pit, and finding her alive, carried her to his house and cured her of her wounds. Xow he had a youthful son, who as soon as he saw her loved her, and besought her of her person ; but she refused, and consented not to him, whereupon he redoubled in love and longing, and his case prompted him to suborn a youth of the people of his village and agree with him that he should come by night and take somewhat from his father's house, and that when he was seized and discovered, he should say that she was his accomplice in this, and avouch that she was his mistress, and had been stoned on his account in the city. Accordingly he did this, and coming by night to the villager's house stole therefrom goods and clothes : whereupon the owner awoke, and seizing the thief, pinioned him straitly, and beat him to make him confess ; and he confessed against the woman that she was a partner in the crime, and that he was her lover from the city. The news was bruited abroad, and the people assembled to put her to death ; but the shaykh with whom she was forbade them, and said : " I brought this woman hither, coveting the recompense of Allah, and I know not the truth of that which is said of her, and will not empower any one to hurt or harm her." Then he gave her a thousand dirhams2 by way of alms, and put her forth of the village. As for the thief, he was imprisoned for some days ; after which the folk

1 "Ignorance" (jahl~) may here mean wickedness, folly, vicious folly. — B.

2 About twenty-five pounds.

FOR THE MAN OF LAUJS TALE. 373

interceded for him with the old man, saying : " This is a youth, and indeed he erred ; " and he released him from his bonds.

Meanwhile the woman went out at hap-hazard, and, donning a devotee's dress, fared on without ceasing till she came to a city, and found the king's deputies dunning the townsfolk for the tribute out of season. Presently she saw a man whom they were press- ing for the tribute ; so she asked of his case, and being acquainted with it, paid down the thousand dirhams for him and delivered him from the bastinado ; whereupon he thanked her and those who were present. When he was set free he walked with her, and be- sought her to go with him to his dwelling. Accordingly, she accom- panied him thither and supped with him, and passed the night. When the dark hours gloomed on him, his soul prompted him to evil, for that which he saw of her beauty and loveliness, and he lusted after her and required her of her person; but she rejected him, and threatened him with Allah the Most High, and reminded him of that which she had done with him of kindness, and how she had delivered him from the stick and its disgrace. However, he would not be denied, and when he saw her persistent refusal of her- self to him, he feared lest she should tell the folk of him. So when he arose in the morning, he wrote on a paper what he would of forgery and falsehood, and going up to the sultan's palace, said : " I have an avisement for the king." So he bade admit him, and he delivered him the writ he had forged, saying : "I found this letter with the woman, the devotee, the ascetic, and indeed she is a spy, a secret informer against the sovran to his foe; and I deem the king's due more incumbent on me than any other claim, and warning him the first duty, for that he uniteth in himself all the subjects, and but for the king's existence the lieges would perish ; wherefore I have brought thee good counsel." The king gave credit to his words, and sent with him those who should lay hands upon the devotee and do her to death ; but they found her not.

As for the woman, when the man went out from her, she resolved to depart; so she fared forth, saying to herself, "There is no way- i'aring for me in woman's habit/' Then she donned men's dress,

374 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

such as is worn of the pious, and set out and wandered over the earth ; nor did she cease wandering till she entered a certain city. Now the king of that city had an only daughter, in whom he gloried and whom he loved, and she saw the devotee, and deeming her a pilgrim youth, said to her father : " I would fain have this youth take up his lodging with me, so I may learn of him lere and piety and religion." Her father rejoiced in this, and commanded the pil- grim to take up his ahode with his daughter in his palace. So they were in one place, and the princess was strenuous to the uttermost in continence and chastity and nobility of mind, and magnanimity and devotion ; but the ignorant tattled anent her, and the folk of the realm said : " The king's daughter loveth the pilgrim and he loveth her." Now the king was a very old man, and destiny decreed the ending of his life-term ; so he died, and when he was buried, the lieges assembled, and many were the sayings of the people and of the king's kinsfolk and officers, and they counselled together to slay the princess and the young pilgrim, saying : " This fellow dishonoureth us with yonder whore, and none accepteth shame save the base." So they fell upon them and slew the king's daughter in her mosque without asking her of aught ; whereupon the pious woman, whom they deemed a youth, said to them : " Woe to you, 0 miscreants ! Ye have slain the pious lady." Quoth they : " 0 thou fulsome fellow, dost thou bespeak us thus 1 Thou lovedst her and she loved thee, and we will assuredly slay thee." And quoth she : " Allah forbid ! Indeed the affair is clear the reverse of this." They asked : "What proof hast thou of that?" and she answered: "Bring me women." They did so, and when the matrons looked on her they found her a woman. When the townsfolk saw this, they repented of that they had done, and the affair was grievous to them ; so they sought pardon of Allah, and said to her : " By the virtue of Him whom thou servest, do thou crave pardon for us." Said she : " As for me, 1 may no longer tarry with you, and I am about to depart from you." Then they humbled themselves before her and shed tears, and said to her : " We conjure thee, by the might of Allah the Most High, that thou take upon thyself the rule of the realm and of the lieges." But she refused and drew her back ; whereupon they

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 375

came up to her and wept, and ceased not supplicating her till she consented and undertook the kingship.

Her first commandment was that they should bury the princess and build over her a dome, and she abode in that palace, worshipping the Almighty and dealing judgment between the people with justice, and Allah (extolled and exalted be He !) vouchsafed her, for the excellence of her piety, the patience of her renunciation, and the acceptance of her prayers, so that she sought not aught of Him to whom belong Majesty and Might but He granted her petition ; and her fame was bruited abroad in all lands. Accordingly, the folk resorted to her from all parts, and she used to pray Allah (to whom belong Might and Majesty) for the oppressed, and the Lord granted him relief, and against his oppressor, and He brake him asunder; and she prayed for the sick, and they were made sound ; and in this goodly way she tarried a great space of time.

So fared it with the wife; but as for the husband, when he returned from the pilgrimage, his brother and his neighbours ac- quainted him with the affair of his spouse, whereat he was sore con- cerned, and suspected their story, for that which he knew of her chastity and prayerf ulness ; and he shed tears for the loss of her. Meanwhile, she prayed to Almighty Allah that He would stablish her innocence in the eyes of her spouse and the folk, and He sent down upon her husband's brother a sickness so sore that none knew a cure for him. Wherefore he said to his brother : " In such a city is a devotee, a worshipful woman and a recluse, whose prayers are accepted; so do thou carry me to her that she may pray for my healing, and Allah (to whom belong Might and Majesty) may give me ease of this disease." Accordingly, he took him up and journeyed with him till they came to the village where dwelt the shaykh, the old man who had rescued the devout woman from the pit and car- ried her to his dwelling and healed her in his home. Here they halted and lodged with the old man, who questioned the husband of his case and that of his brother, and the cause of their journey, and he said : "I purpose to go with iny brother, this sick man, to the holy woman,, her whose petitions are answered, so she may pray for him, and Allah may heal him by the blessing of her orisons." Quoth

376 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

the villager : " By Allah, my son is in parlous plight for sickness, and we have heard that this devotee prayeth for the sick and they are made sound. Indeed, the folk counsel me to carry him to her, and behold, I will go in company with you." And they said : " 'Tis well." So they all nighted in that intent, and on the morrow they set out for the dwelling of the devotee, this one carrying his son, and that one bearing his brother. Now the man who had stolen the clothes and forged against the pious woman a lie, to wit, that he was her lover, sickened of a sore sickness, and his people took him up and set out with him to visit the devotee and crave her prayers, and Destiny brought them all together by the way. So they fared for- ward in a body, till they came to the city wherein the man dwelt for whom she had paid the thousand dirhams to deliver him from torture, and found him about to travel to her, by reason of a malady which had betided him.

Accordingly, they all journeyed on together, unknowing that the holy woman was she whom they had so foully wronged, and ceased not going till they came to her city, and fore-gathered at the gates of her palace, that wherein was the tomb of the princess. Now the folk used to go in to her and salute her with the salaam, and crave her orisons ; and it was her custom to pray for none till he had con- fessed to her his sins, when she would ask pardon for him and pray for him that he might be healed, and he was straightway made whole of sickness, by permission of Almighty Allah. When the four sick men were brought in to her, she knew them forthright, though they knew her not, and said to them : " Let each of you confess and specify his sins, so I may crave pardon for him and pray for him." And the brother said : " As for me, I required my brother's wife of her person and she refused ; whereupon despite and ignorance prompted me, and I lied against her, and accused her to the townsfolk of adultery ; so they stoned her and slew her wrong- ously and unrighteously ; and this my complaint is the issue of unright and falsehood, and of the slaying of the innocent soul, whose slaughter Allah hath made unlawful to man." Then said the youth, the old villager's son : " And I, 0 holy woman, my father brought us a woman who had been stoned, and my people nursed her till she

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 377

recovered. ISTow she was rare of beauty and loveliness ; so I required her of her person, but she refused, and clave in chastity to Allah (to whom belong Might and Majesty), wherefore ignorance prompted me, so that I agreed with one of the youths that he should steal clothes and coin from my father's house. Then I laid hands on him and carried him to my sire and made him confess. He declared that the woman was his mistress from the city, and had been stoned on his account, and that she was his accomplice in the theft, and had opened the doors to him ; and this was a lie against her, for that she had not yielded to me in that which I sought of her. So there befell me what ye see of requital." And the young man, the thief, said : " I am he with whom thou agreedst concerning the theft, and to whom thou openedst the door, and I am he who accused her falsely and calumniously, and Allah (extolled be He !) well knoweth that I never did evil with her ; no, nor knew her in any way before that time." Then said he whom she had delivered from torture by pay- ing down a thousand dirhams, and who had required her of her person in his house, for that her beaiity pleased him, and when she refused had forged a letter against her, and treacherously denounced her to the sultan, and requited her bounty with ingratitude : " I am he who wronged her and lied against her, and this is the issue of the oppressor's affair."

When she heard their words, in the presence of the folk, she cried : " Praise be to Allah, the King who over all things is omni- potent, and blessing upon His prophets and apostles ! " Then quoth she to the assembly : " Bear testimony, 0 ye here present, to these men's speech, and know ye that I am that woman whom they con- fess to having wronged." And she turned to her husband's brother and said to him; "I am thy brother's wife, and Allah (extolled and exalted be He !) delivered me from that whereunto thou castedst me of calumny and suspicion, and from the folly and frowardness whereof thou hast spoken, and now hath He shown foith my inno- cence of His bounty and generosity. Go, for thou art quit of the wrong thou didst me." Then she prayed for him, and he was made sound of his sickness. Thereupon she said to the son of the village sliaykh : " Know that I am the woman whom thy father delivered

378 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

from straint and stress, and whom there betided from thee of calumny and ignorance that which thou hast named." And she sued pardon for him, and he was made sound of his sickness. Then said she to the thief : " I am the woman against whom thou liedst, avouching that I was thy leman, who had been stoned on thine account, and that I was thine accomplice in robbing the house of the village shaykh, and had opened the doors to thee." And she prayed for him, and he was made whole of his malady. Then said she to the townsman, him of the tribute : " I am the woman who gave thee the thousand dirhams, and thou didst with me what thou didst." And she asked pardon for him, and prayed for him, and he was made whole ; whereupon the folk marvelled at her enemies, who had all been afflicted alike, so Allah (extolled and exalted be He !) might show forth her innocence upon the heads of witnesses.

Then she turned to the old man who had delivered her from the pit, and prayed for him, and gave him presents manifold, and among them a myriad, a Budrah j1 and the sick made whole departed from her. When she was alone with her husband, she made him draw near unto her, and rejoiced in his arrival, and gave him the choice of abiding with her. Presently, she assembled the citizens and notified them his virtue and worth, and counselled them to invest him with management of their rule, and besought them to make him king over them. They consented to her on this, and he became king, and made his home amongst them, whilst she gave herself up to her orisons, and co-habited with her husband, as she was with him aforetime.2

The story as found in the Wortley Montague MS. text of The Nights, preserved in the Bodleian Library (vol. vii. N. 900 — 911), a translation of which forms one of the Additional Tales in Jonathan Scott's edition of our common version of the Arabian Nights Enter- tainments, published at London in 1811 (vol. vi., p. 376 ff.), differs materially from the foregoing, especially in the conclusion :

1 A myriad : ten thousand dinars ; about £5000.

2 Sti/iplrmrntal Nights to the ' Book of the Tliousand Nights and a Ni/f/it,' with Notes Anthropological and Explanatory. By (Sir) Richard F. Burton (K.C.M.G.). Benares: MDCCCLXXXVI. Printed by the Kama- shastra Society for Private Subscribers only. Vol. I., pp. 270-8.

FOR THE MAN OF LAlv's TALE. 379

traiww

IN the capital of Bagdad there was formerly a kazi, who filled the seat of justice with the purest integrity, and who by his example in private life gave force to the strictness of his public decrees. After some years spent in this honourable post, he became anxious to make the pilgrimage to Mecca ; and having obtained permission of the khalff, departed on his pious journey, leaving his wife, a beautiful woman, under the protection of his brother, who promised to respect her as his daughter. The kazi had not long left home, however, when the brother, instigated by passion, made immodest proposals to his sister-in-law, which she rejected with scorn ; but, being unwilling to expose so near a relative to her husband, she endeavoured to divert him from his purpose by argument on the heinousness of his intended crime, but in vain. The abominable wretch, instead of repenting, again and again offered his incestuous love, and at last threatened, if she would not comply with his wicked desires, to accuse her of adultery, and bring upon her the punishment of the law. This threat having no effect, the atrocious villain suborned witnesses to swear that they had seen her in the act of infidelity, and she was sentenced to receive one hundred strokes with a knotted whip, and be banished from the city. Having endured this disgraceful punishment, the unhappy lady was led through Bagdad by the public executioner, amid the taunts and jeers of the populace ; after which she was thrust out of the gates to shift for herself.

She found shelter in the hut of a camel-breeder, whose wife owed her great obligations, and who received her with true hospitality and kindness ; consoling her in her misfortunes, dressing her wounds, and insisting on her staying till she was fully recovered of the painful effects of her unjust and disgraceful punishment ; and in this she was seconded by her honest husband. With this humble couple, who had an infant son, she remained some time, and was recovering her spirits and beauty, when a young driver of camels arrived on a visit to her host ; and, being struck with her beauty, made indecent proposals, which she mildly but firmly rejected.

380 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

informing him that she was a married woman. Blinded by passion, the wretch pressed his addresses repeatedly, but in vain, till at length, irritated by her refusal, he changed his love into furious anger, and resolved to revenge his disappointed lust by her death. "With this view, he armed himself with a dagger, and about midnight, when the family were asleep, stole into the chamber where she reposed, and close by her the infant son of her generous host. The villain, being in the dark, made a random stroke, not knowing of the infant, and instead of stabbing the object of his revenge, plunged his weapon into the bosom of the child, who uttered loud screams ; upon which the assassin, fearful of detection, ran away, and escaped from the house. The kazf s wife, awaking in a fright, alarmed her host and hostess, who, taking a light, came to her assistance ; but how can we describe their agonizing affliction when they beheld their beloved child expiring, and their unfortunate guest, who had swooned, bathed in the infant's blood. From such a scene we turn away, as the pen is incapable of description. The unhappy lady at length revived, but their darling boy was gone for ever.

Eelying on Providence, the kazfs wife resolved to travel to Mecca, in hopes of meeting her husband, and clearing her defamed character to him, whose opinion alone she valued. When advanced some days on her journey, she entered a city, and perceived a great crowd of people following the executioner, who led a young man by a rope tied about his neck. Enquiring the crime of the culprit, she was informed that he owed a hundred dinars, which, being unable to pay, he was sentenced to be hung, such being the punishment of insolvent debtors in that city. The kazi's wife, moved with com- passion, immediately tendered the sum, being nearly all she had, when the young man was released, and falling upon his knees before her, vowed to dedicate his life to her service. She related to him her intention of making the pilgrimage to Mecca, upon which the youth requested leave to accompany and protect her, to which she consented. They set out on their journey, but had not proceeded many days when the youth forgot his obligations, and giving way to the impulse of a vicious passion, insulted his benefactress by addresses of the worst nature. The unfortunate lady reasoned with him on the

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 381

ingratitude of his conduct, and the youth seemed to be convinced and repentant, but revenge rankled in his heart. Some days after this they reached the sea-shore, -where the young man perceiving a ship, made a signal to speak with the master, who sent a boat to the land, upon which the youth, going on board the vessel, told the master that he had for sale a handsome female slave, for whom he asked a thousand dinars. The master, who had been used to purchase slaves upon that coast, went on shore, and looking at the kazi's wife, paid the money to the wicked young man, who went his way, and the lady was carried on board the ship, supposing that her companion had taken the opportunity of easing her fatigue by procuring her a passage to some sea-port near Mecca : but her persecution was not to end here. In the evening she was insulted by the coarse offers of the master of the vessel, who, being surprised at her refusal, informed her that he had purchased her as a slave for a thousand dinars. The lady told him that she was a free woman ; but this had no effect upon the master, who, finding tenderness ineffectual, proceeded to force and blows, in order to reduce her to submit to his desires. Her strength was almost exhausted, when suddenly the ship struck upon a rock, and in a few moments went to pieces. The kazi's wife, laying hold of a plank, was washed ashore, after being for several hours buffeted by the waves.

Having recovered her senses, she walked inland, and found a pleasant country, abounding in fruits and clear streams, which satisfied her hunger and thirst. On the second day she arrived at a magnificent city, and on entering it was conducted to the sultan, who inquiring her story, she informed him that she was a woman devoted to a religious life, and was proceeding on the pilgrimage to Mecca when her vessel was wrecked on the coast, and whether any of the crew had escaped she knew not, as she had seen none of them since her being cast ashore on a plank ; but as now the hopes of her reaching the sacred house were cut off, if the sultan would grant her a small hut and a trifling pittance for her support, she would spend the remainder of her days in prayers for the prosperity of himself and his subjects. The sultan, who was truly devout and pitied the misfortune of the lady, gladly acceded to her request, and allotted

382 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE.

her a pleasant garden-house near his palace for her residence, at which he often visited her, and conversed with her on religious subjects, to his great edification and comfort, for she was really pious. Not long after her arrival, several refractory vassals, who had for years withheld their usual tribute, and against whom the good sultan, unwilling to shed blood, though his treasury much felt the defalcation, had not sent a force to compel payment, unexpectedly sent in their arrears, submissively begged pardon for their late disobedience, and promised in future to be loyal in their duty. The sultan, who attributed this fortunate event to the prayers of his pious guest, mentioned his opinion to his courtiers in full divan, and they to their dependants. In consequence of this, all ranks of people on every emergency flocked to beg the prayers of the devotee, and such was their efficacy that her petitioners every day became more numerous ; nor were they ungrateful, for in a short time the offerings made to her amounted to an incalculable sum. Her reputation was not confined to the kingdom of her protector, but spread abroad through all the countries in the possession of the true believers, who came from all quarters to solicit her prayers. Her residence was enlarged to a vast extent, in which she supported great numbers of destitute persons, as well as entertained the crowds of poor people who came in pilgrimage to so holy a personage as she was now esteemed. But we must now return to her husband.

The good kazf, having finished the ceremonies at Mecca, where he resided a year, visiting all the holy places around, returned to Bagdad ; but dreadful was his agony and grief when informed that his wife had played the harlot, and that his brother, unable to bear the disgrace of his family, had left the city, and had not been heard of since. This sad intelligence had such effect upon his mind that he resolved to give up worldly concerns, and, adopting the life of a dervish, wander from place to place, from country to country, and visit the devotees celebrated for their sanctity. For two years he travelled through various kingdoms, and, at length hearing of his wife's fame, though he little supposed the much-talked-of female saint stood in that relation to himself, he resolved to pay his respects to so holy a personage. With this view he journeyed towards the

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALK. 383

capital of the sultan, her protector, hoping to receive benefit from her pious conversation and prayers. On his way he overtook his treacherous brother, who, repenting of his wicked life, had become a dervish, and was going to confess his sins and ask the prayers for absolution of the far-famed religious woman. Time and alteration of dress — both being habited as dervishes — caused the brothers not to know each other. As travellers, they entered into conversation, and, finding they were bound on the same business, they agreed to journey together. They had not proceeded many days when they came up with a driver of camels, who informed them that he had been guilty of a great crime, the reflection upon which so tormented his conscience as to make his life miserable ; and that he was going to confess his sins to the pious devotee, and consult her on whatever penance could atone for his villany, of which he had heartily repented, and hoped to obtain the mercy of Heaven by a sincere reformation of life. Soon after this the three pilgrims overtook a young man, who saluted them, and inquired their business ; of which being informed, he begged to join their company, saying that he also was going to pay his respects to the pious lady, in hopes that through her prayers he might obtain paidon of God for his most flagitious ingratitude, the remorse for which had rendered him a burden to himself ever since the commission of the crime. Con- tinuing their journey, they were joined in a few days by the master of a vessel, who told them he had been some time back shipwrecked, and since then he had suffered the severest distress, and was now going to solicit the aid of the far-famed devotee, whose charities and miraculous prayers had been noised abroad through all countries.

The five pilgrims accordingly journeyed together, till at length they reached the. capital of the good sultan who protected the kazi's wife. Having entered the city, they at once proceeded to tlie abode of the female devotee, the courts of which were crowded with petitioners from all quarters, so that they could with difficulty obtain admission. Some of her domestics, seeing they were strangers newly arrived, and seemingly fatigued, kindly invited them into an apart- ment, to repose themselves while they informed their mistress of their arrival ; which having done, they brought word that she would

384 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

see them when the crowd was dispersed, and hear their petitions at her leisure. Refreshments were then brought in, of which they were desired to partake ; and the pilgrims, having made their ablutions, sat down to eat, all the while admiring and praising the hospitality of their pious hostess, who, unperceived by them, was examining their persons and features through the lattice of a balcony at one end of the hall. Her heart beat with joyful rapture when she beheld her long-lost husband, whose absence she had never ceased to deplore, but scarcely expected ever to meet him again; and great was her surprise to find him in company with his treacherous brother, her infamous intending assassin, her ungrateful betrayer the young man, and the master of the vessel to whom he had sold her as a slave. It was with difficulty she restrained her feelings ; but not choosing to discover herself till she should hear their adventures, she withdrew into her chamber, and, being relieved by tears, prostrated herself on the ground, and offered up thanksgivings to the Protector of the just, who had rewarded her patience under affliction by succeeding blessings, and at length restored to her the partner of her heart.

Having finished her devotions, she sent to the sultan requesting him to send her a confidential officer, who might witness the relations of five visitors whom she was about to examine. On his arrival she placed him where he could listen unseen, and, covering herself with a veil, sat down on her masnad to receive the pilgrims, who, being admitted, bowed their foreheads to the ground, when, requesting them to rise, she addressed them as follows : " You are welcome, brethren, to my humble abode, to my counsel and my prayers, which, by God's mercy, have sometimes relieved the repentant sinner ; but as it is impossible I can give advice without hearing a case, or pray without knowing the wants of him who solicits me, you must relate your histories with the strictest truth, for equivoca- tion, evasion, or concealment will prevent my being of any service : and this you may depend upon, that the prayers of a liar tend only to his own destruction." She then ordered the kazi to remain, and the four others to withdraw, as she should, to spare their shame before each other, hear their cases separately.

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 385

The good kazi, having no sins to confess, related his pilgrimage to Mecca, the supposed infidelity of his wife, and his subsequent resolve to spend his days in visiting sacred places and pious personages, among whom she stood so famous ; that to hear her edifying conversation and entreat the benefit of her prayers, was the object of his having travelled to her abode. "When he had finished his narrative, the lady dismissed him to another chamber, and then heard one by one the confessions of his companions, who, not daring to conceal anything, related their cruel conduct to herself, as above- mentioned, little suspecting that they were acknowledging their guilt to the victim of their evil passions. After this, the kazi's wife commanded the officer to conduct all five to the sultan, and inform him of what he had heard them confess. The sultan, enraged at the wicked behaviour of the kazi's brother, the camel-driver, the young man, and the shipmaster, condemned them to death ; and the executioner was about to give effect to the sentence, when the lady, arriving at the palace, requested their pardon, and, to his unspeakable joy, discovered herself to her husband. The sultan complied with her request, and dismissed the criminals ; but prevailed upon the kazi to remain at his court, where for the rest of his life this upright judge filled the high office of chief magistrate, with honour to himself and satisfaction to all who had causes tried before him ; while he and his wife continued striking examples of virtue and conjugal fidelity. The sultan himself was unbounded in his favour towards them, and would often pass whole evenings in their company in friendly conversation, which generally turned upon the vicissi- tudes of life, and the goodness of Providence in relieving the suffer- ings of the faithful, by divine interposition, at the very instant when ready to sink under them and overwhelmed with calamity.

Closely resembling this third Arabian version is the Story of Eepsima in the French translation of the Persian Tales of the TJiousand and One Days, made by Petis de la Croix, and published after his death.1 It is stated in the preface that these tales were

1 An English translation, from the French, by Ambrose Phillips, was published early last century, and reprinted in vol. ii. of AVeber's Talcs of the East, 1812.

CH. OIUG. 27

386 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

adapted by a dervish named Muklilis (Modes, according to the French transliteration of the name), who was famed in his day for piety and learning, from a collection of Indian comedies, of which a Turkish translation, entitled Al-Faraja Badal Scliidda, or Joy after Affliction, is preserved in the Paris Library ; and that Mukhlis, having converted some of these comedies into tales, inserted them in a frame-story, and entitled his work Hazdr u Yek Riiz, or the Thousand and One Days. In the year 1675 Mukhlis permitted Petis to make a transcript of his book, and it is said that in his translation he was assisted by Le Sage, the celebrated novelist — which sufficiently accounts for the Frenchified style of the narratives — and that ' ' nearly all the tales were afterwards turned into comic operas, which were performed at the Theatre Italien." That these tales are not, as many have supposed, mere French imitations of Oriental fictions is evident from the fact that a Persian manuscript in Sir William Ouseley's possession contained a portion of the Hazdr u Yek Ruz (see his Travels, ii., p. 21, note). But the state- ment that they were taken from Indian comedies, of which a Turkish translation exists, is utterly absurd, since these tales are not generally of a " comic " or humorous character ; and my learned friend Mr. E. J. W. Gibb informs me that he does not know of any comedies in Turkish, and that there are no Turkish works which have been translated direct from any of the Indian languages, though it is quite likely that there is a Turkish version of the Persian Tales of the Thousand and One Days. The frame, or leading story, of this collection is as follows : Farruknaz, daughter of the king of Kashmir, was renowned far and wide for her extraordinary beauty, and many great and wealthy princes were suitors for her hand in marriage, but she steadily refused every one, having an insuperable aversion from men, in consequence of a dream, in which she saw a stag taken in a snare, and disentangled by his mate ; and the doe soon after falling into the same snare, instead of being delivered from it, was abandoned by the stag. The princess concluded from this dream that all men were selfish, and repaid the tenderness of women with ingratitude. Her father the king was vexed to find Farruknaz day after day refuse the most eligible suitors, and her nurse, Sutlumeme, having

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 387

informed him of the cause, undertook to conquer this unnatural prejudice of the princess, by relating to her stories which should not only divert her, but show her that there have been constant lovers among men, and induce her to believe that such still exist. To this proposal the king most willingly consented, and the nurse at once began to recite to the princess tales of true and faithful lovers, with the most gratifying result.1 The idea of this frame-story seems to have been taken from a tale in Nakhshabi's Tuti Ndma,2 in which an emperor of China dreams of a beautiful damsel, whom he had never seen, and despatches his prime minister in search of her — even should he have to travel to the world's end — who, after much toil and trouble, at length discovers the beauty in the person of a princess, who has a great aversion from men, ever since she beheld in her garden a peacock basely desert his mate and their young ones, when the tree in which their nest was built had been struck by lightning : she considered this as typical of the selfishness of men, and was resolved never to marry. The crafty vazfr, having ascer- tained this from a hermit whom he met on his way, prepares a series of pictures, and obtaining an interview with the princess, shows her, first, the portrait of his imperial master, and then a picture of a deer, regarding which he tells her a story to the effect that the emperor, sitting one day in his summer-house, saw this deer, his doe, and their fawn on a bank of the river, when suddenly the waters overflowed the banks, and the doe ran off in terror for her life, while the deer bravely remained with the fawn and was drowned. This feigned story, so like her own dream, struck the princess with wonder, and she at once gave her consent to be married to the emperor of China.

1 It is to be observed, that while the Sultan of the Indies, in the Arabian Nights, entertains a deadly hatred of women, yet Shahrazad relates her stories with no other design than that of prolonging her own life from day to day — she makes no attempt to combat her lord's prejudice by telling him stories of woman's fidelity ; on the contrary, many of her tales one should suppose rather calculated to confirm the sultan in the bad opinion he had formed pf " the sex." In this respect the Persian collection is more consistent than its celebrated prototype, since Sutlumeme's recitals all more or less set forth the pains and toils and dangers which men undergo for the sake of the damsels by whose charms they have been ensnared.

2 For some account of the Tuti Nam a see ante, p. 310.

18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

Persian.1

TN days of yore a merchant of Basra, named Tamim, had a virtuous - wife whose name was Repsima, whom he loved fondly, and by whom he was beloved. Having to go on a trading voyage to the coast of India, he left his brother in charge of his house during his absence. This brother soon falls in love with the chaste and pious Eepsima, but his incestuous suit is rejected. In revenge, he causes her to be convicted of adultery, by means of four suborned witnesses, and she is condemned to be buried alive, which is done accordingly. A robber coming past, she entreats to be released, and he takes her to his own house, where a negro slave becomes enamoured of her great beauty, declares his passion to her one day when the Arab and his wife happened to be gone abroad, and is indignantly repulsed. In order to cause her destruction, he cuts off the head of the Arab's child one night, and places the knife beneath Repsima's couch. Next morning he accuses her of the murder, but neither the Arab nor his wife could believe her capable of such a horrid deed. They send her away, with a gift of a hundred sequins. She comes to a certain town, where she lodges with an old woman. One day going to the baths, she sees a man being led to execution ; pays sixty sequins and obtains his pardon. This man follows her — for she leaves the town, wishing to avoid the admiration of the people for her generosity — at first out of gratitude, but he soon falls in love with her, and she rejects him. There happened to be a ship ready to sail ; the captain was still on shore ; and this ungrateful scoundrel sells Repsima to the captain for three hundred sequins. The captain takes her on board his vessel, notwithstanding her protestations that she is a free Muslim woman ; he solicits her love- favours, and at last attempts to force her, when a great tempest arises suddenly ; the vessel goes to pieces, and only Repsima and the captain are saved, but are landed at different parts of the coast. Repsima relates her adventures to the people of the island on which

1 As Petis' French translation has divested the original of most of its Oriental colouring, and the English version made from it is certainly no im- provement, I content myself with an abstract of the story, including all the principal incidents.

FOB THE MAN OF LA^S TALE. 389

she lands, who give her a place of abode, where she lives retired, spending several years in prayer. The folk venerate her for her great sanctity.

In course of time the queen of the island died and left the throne to Repsima. In this capacity she also did well and wisely ; fasting frequently ; sick folk had recourse to her ; she prayed and they were healed. Queen Repsima built hospitals for the poor, richly endowing them, and their fame was noised abroad, wherefore the sick came thither from all quarters. One day it was told her that there were six strangers who wished to speak with her ; one was blind, another was dropsical, another was paralytic. Repsima consents to receive them, seated on her throne, with her face con- cealed by a thick veil. Her husband Tamim comes forward, leading his blind brother, and relates how, on his return from his trading voyage, his brother had informed him of his wife's crime and punish- ment, and that he had brought him to her majesty in order that he should be cured of his blindness. Repsima asks : " Is it true that the woman who was buried alive did betray thee 1 "What dost thou think of it?" Tamim replies: "I cannot believe it, when I bring her virtue to my remembrance." Then the Arab with his paralytic negro slave makes obeisance; the ship-captain, who is dropsical, and confesses his crime of buying a free Muslim woman and attempting to force her to yield to his lust ; and the young man whom she had rescued from death, and who had sold her to the captain, states that he is haunted day and night with furies. Next day the merchant's brother and the negro confess their wickedness, and Repsima having fervently prayed to Heaven, all the afflicted ones are immediately cured of their maladies. After this Repsima causes Tamim to sit in a chair of gold, and offers him one of her fairest female slaves in marriage, and that he should live at her court. Tamim at this bursts into tears, and says he can think of no other wife than his beloved Repsima ; — he will spend the rest of his days in mourning over the place where she was buried alive. Repsima now lifts her veil, and Tamim recognises his own wife, who embraces him and relates her adventures in presence of the assembled courtiers. Then she gives rich gifts to those persons who had used her so ill, and whom she

390 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

had healed of their diseases and ailments. The laws of that kingdom would not permit Eepsima to resign the throne in favour of her husband, she tells him, but in future he will dwell with her and share all her good fortune.

It seems to have hitherto escaped notice that to this group also belongs one of the tales in the Persian romance entitled Bdkhtydr Ndma (see ante, p. 353, note 1), the date of which is not precisely ascertained, but it was probably composed before the 15th century, since there exists in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, a unique manu- script of a Turki version, written, in the Uygur language and charac- ters, in the year 1434, an account of which, together with a French translation of the story in question, is furnished by M. Jaubert in the Journal Asiatique, tome x., 1827. An Arabian version of the romance is found in the Breslau-printed text of the Tlwusand and One Nights. In 1800 Sir William Ouseley published the Persian text with an English translation, under the title of The BaTchtyar Nameh, or Story of Prince Bakhtyar and the Ten Viziers ; 1 and in 1805 M. Lescallier printed a French rendering, Balthtiar Nameh, ou Le Favori de la Fortune : conte traduit du Persan. Farther par- ticulars regarding the different versions are given in the Introduction to my (privately printed) edition of Ouseley's translation, from which the following story is taken, with some explanatory notes from the Appendix : it may be entitled

Qe fair's flows Haunter:

A PERSIAN ANALOGUE.

THERE was a certain king named Dadfn, who had two vazirs, Kardar and Kamgar; and the daughter of Kamgar was the most lovely creature of the age. It happened that the king, pro- ceeding on a hunting excursion, took along with him the father of this beautiful damsel, and left the charge of government in the hands of Kardar. One day, during the warm season, Kardar, passing near the palace of Kamgar, beheld this lady walking in the garden and

1 By a droll typo, blunder, in the article on Sir \Vm. Ouseley in Allibone the title is given us " Prince Biikhtyur and the Ten Virgins" !

FOR THE MAN OF LAir's TALE. 391

became enamoured of her beauty ; but having reason to believe that her father would not consent to bestow her on him,1 he resolved to devise some stratagem whereby he should obtain the object of his desires. "At the king's return from the chase," said he to him- self, " I will represent the charms of this damsel in such glowing colours that he will not fail to demand her in marriage ; and I shall then contrive to excite his anger against her, in consequence of which he will deliver her to me for punishment ; and thus my designs shall be accomplished."

Returning from the chase, the king desired Kardar to inform him of the principal events which had occurred during his absence. Kardar replied that his majesty's subjects had all been solicitous for his prosperity; but that he had himself seen one of the most astonishing objects of the universe. The king's curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kardar to describe what he had seen ; and Kardar dwelt with such praises on the fascinating beauty of Kam- gar's daughter, that the king became enamoured of her, and said : " But how is this damsel to be obtained ? " Kardar replied : " There is no difficulty in this business. It is not necessary to employ either money or messengers ; your majesty has only to acquaint her father with your wishes."

The king approved of this counsel, and having sent for Kamgar, mentioned the affair to him accordingly. Kamgar, with due sub- mission, declared that if he possessed a hundred daughters they should all be at his majesty's command ; but begged permission to retire and inform the damsel of the honour designed for her.2 Having obtained leave, he hastened to his daughter, and related to her all that had passed between the king and himself. The damsel ex- pressed her dislike to the proposed connection ; 3 and her father,

1 The lithographed Persian text, published at Paris in 1839, reads: "He said to himself, ' Kamgar is an ascetic (zahid) and a religious man (pdrsu), and would not give me his daughter.' "

2 The lith. text adda, " and, in conformity with the law of Muhammed (.ih/iri'af), obtain her consent" — a proof that the lady had attained mar- riageable age, since the consent of a girl not arrived at the age of puberty is not required.

3 The lith. text : " The daughter said, ' I am not worthy of the king ; besides, once in the king's service, I cannot [devote myself to the] worship [of] God the Most High ; and for the least fault the king would punish

392 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

dreading the king's anger in case of a refusal, knew not how to act. " Contrive some delay," said she : " solicit leave of absence for a few days, and let us fly from this country." Kamgar approved of this advice ; and, having waited on the king, obtained liberty to absent himself from court for ten days, under pretence of making the pre- parations necessary for a damsel on the eve of marriage ; and when night came on he fled from the city with his daughter. Next day the king was informed of their flight, in consequence of which he sent off two hundred servants to seek them in various directions, and the officious Kardar set out also in pursuit of them. After ten days they were surprised by the side of a well, taken and bound, and brought before the king, who in his anger dashed out the brains of Kamgar ; then looking on the daughter of the unfortunate man, her beauty so much affected him that he sent her to his palace, and appointed servants to attend her, besides a cook, who, at her own request, was added to her establishment.1 After some time Kardar became impatient and enraged at the failure of his project ; but he resolved to try the result of another scheme.

It happened that the encroachments of a powerful enemy rendered the king's presence necessary among the troops ; and on setting out to join the army, he committed the management of affairs and the government of the city to Kardar, whose mind was wholly filled with plans for getting the daughter of Kamgar into his power. One

me.' " The Turk! version says : " Kerdar was the father of a maiden of beauty so perfect that one could not find in the whole world anything to vie with it ; and she was so pious that not only did she recite the Kuran all day, but she passed the nights in prayer. Impressed by the greatness of her devo- tion, King Dadin became enamoured of this maiden without having seen her, and he demanded her of her father in marriage, and he promised to advise her. He did so, but she replied ; ' Passing my life in prayer, I cannot agree to become a great lady, and my ambition is limited to the service of God.' "

1 According to the litho. text, in place of a cook, " in the service [of the late vazir Kamgar] there was a good man (Ehayyir) who had acted as a spiritual guide (biizitrg}, whom the king did not admit in his harem. This holy person, who had been constantly at the side of the daughter, wrote a letter [to this effect] : ' Do thou confirm the reward of service, and speak to the king about my wish, in order that he may admit me into thy service, seeing that I should perish from disappointment.' . . . [The king gave his consent.] . . And the daughter continued her devotions in peace and tranquillity." In M. Lescallier's version the individual in question is described as a boiiffon, or jester — scarcely the sort of person suitable for the companion of such a devout young lady.

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 393

day he was passing near the palace, and discovered her sitting alone in the balcony ; l to attract her attention, he threw up a piece of brick, and on her looking down to see from whence it had come, she beheld Kardar. He addressed her with the usual salutation, which she returned. He then began to declare his admiration of her beauty, and the violence of his love, which deprived him of repose both day and night; and concluded by urging her to elope with him, saying that he would take as much money as they could pos- sibly want ; or, if she would consent, he would destroy the king by poison, and seize upon the throne himself. The daughter of Kamgar replied to this proposal by upbraiding Kardar for his baseness and perfidy. When he asked her how she could ever fix her affections on a man who had killed her father, she answered that such had been the will of God, and she was resolved to submit accordingly. Having spoken thus, she retired.

Kardar, fearing lest she should relate to the king what had passed between them, hastened to meet him as he returned in tri- umph after conquering his enemies ; and, whilst walking along by the side of the king, began to inform his majesty of all that had happened in his absence. Having mentioned several occurrences, he added that one circumstance was of such a nature that he could not prevail upon himself to relate it, for it was such as the king would be very much displeased at hearing. The king's curiosity being thus excited, he ordered Kardar to relate this occurrence ; and he, declaring it was a most ungrateful task, informed the king that it was a maxim of the wise men, "When you have killed the serpent, you should also kill its young."2 He then proceeded to relate that one day during the warm season, being seated near the door of the harem, he overheard some voices, and his suspicions being excited, he concealed himself behind the hangings, and listened attentively, when he heard the daughter of Kamgar express her affection for the cook, who, in return, declared his attachment for her; and they

1 SdlkMna, a latticed window in the upper storey of the harem — whence our word " balcony."

2 Thus Sa'di in his Gnlistdn (Rose-Garden), i. 4 : " To extinguish a fire and leave the embers, or to kill a viper and preserve its young, is not the act of wise men."

394 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

spoke of poisoning the king in revenge for his having killed her father. " I had not patience," added Kardar, " to listen any longer." At this intelligence the king changed colour with rage and indig- nation, and on arriving at the palace ordered the unfortunate cook to be instantly cut in two.1 He then sent for the daughter of Kamgar, and reproached her for her design of destroying him by poison. She immediately perceived that this accusation proceeded from the malevolence of Kardar, and was going to speak in vindication of herself, when the king ordered her to be put to death ; but being dissuaded by an attendant from killing a woman,2 he revoked the sentence, and she was tied hands and feet, and placed upon a camel, which was turned into a dreary wilderness, where there was neither water nor abode, nor any trace of cultivation. Here she suffered from the intense heat, and from thirst, to such a degree that, expecting every moment to be her last, she resigned herself to the will of Providence, conscious of her own innocence. Just then the camel lay down, and on that spot where they were a fountain of delicious water sprang forth ; the cords which bound her hands and feet dropped off; she refreshed herself with a hearty draught of the •water, and fervently returned thanks to Heaven for this blessing and her wonderful preservation.3 On this, the most verdant and fragrant herbage appeared around the borders of the fountain ; it became a blooming and delightful spot, and the camel placed himself so as to afford the lady a shade and shelter from the sunbeams.

At this time it chanced that one of the king's camel-keepers was in search of some camels which had wandered into the desert, and without which he dared not return to the city. He had sought them

1 A horrible mode of putting a culprit to death, and peculiar, it is said, to the criminal code of Persia.

2 The Persians seldom put women to death, as the shedding of their blood is supposed to bring misfortune on the country. But when found guilty and condemned, the injunction prescribed by the law, of another man's wife being never seen unveiled, is strictly observed, by conducting the culprit, enveloped in the veil habitually worn by her, to the summit of a lofty tower, and throwing her thence headlong.

3 This two-fold miracle does not occur either in the Turki (Uygur) or the Arabian versions : in the former an old woman mounts the damsel on a camel, takes her to the desert, and leaves her there ; in the latter this is done by one of the king's eunuchs.

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 395

for several days amidst hills and forests without any success. At length coming to this spot he beheld the daughter of Kamgar and the camel, which at first he thought was one of those he sought, and the clear fountain with its verdant banks, where neither grass nor water had ever been seen before. Astonished at this discovery, he resolved not to interrupt the lady, who was then engaged in prayer ; but when she had finished, he addressed her, and was so charmed by her gentleness and piety, that he offered to adopt her as his child, and expressed his belief that, through the efficacy of her prayers, he should recover the strayed camels. This good man's offer she thank- fully accepted ; and having partaken of a fowl and some bread which he had with him, at his request she prayed for the recovery of the camels. As soon as she had concluded her prayer the camels ap- peared on the skirts of the wilderness, and of their own accord approached their keeper. He then represented to the daughter of Kamgar the danger of remaining all night in the wilderness, which was the haunt of many wild beasts ; and proposed that she should return with him to the city and dwell with him in his house, where he would provide for her a retired apartment, in which she might perform her devotions without interruption.1 To this proposal she consented, and, being mounted on her camel, returned to the city, and arrived at the house of her companion at the time of evening prayer. Here she resided for some time, employing herself in the exercises of piety and devotion.

One day the camel-keeper, being desired by the king to relate his past adventures, mentioned, among other circumstances, the losing of his camels, the finding of them through the efficacy of the young woman's prayers, the appearance of a spring of water where none had been before, and his adopting the damsel as his daughter. He concluded by informing the king that she was now at his house,

1 The litho. text reads : " I will prepare an oratory (satvma'd), and make ready for thy sake the means (asbab : furniture) for devotion (asbdb-i'ibdda) " — such as a prayer-carpet (sajjdda), having a mark upon it pointing towards Mecca, the kibla of the Muslims, or point to which they direct their faces in saying their prayers, as Jerusalem is that of the Jews and Christians : within the mosque it is shown by a niche, and is called el-mihrab. There should also be a fountain of running water (for ceremonial ablution) and a copy of the Kuran.

396 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

engaged day and night in acts of devotion. The king on hearing this expressed an earnest wish that he might be allowed to see the young woman, and prevail with her to intercede with Heaven in his behalf. The camel-keeper, having consented, returned at once to his house, accompanied by the king, who waited at the door of the apartment where the daughter of Kamgar was employed in prayer. When she had concluded, he approached, and with astonishment recognized her. Having tenderly embraced her, he wept, and en- treated her forgiveness. This she readily granted, but begged that he would conceal himself in the apartment, whilst she should con- verse with Kardar, whom she sent for. When he arrived and beheld her with a thousand expressions of fondness, he inquired in what manner she had contrived to escape death, and told her that on the day when the king had banished her into the wilderness he had sent people to seek her and bring her to him. " How much better would it have been," added he, " had you followed my advice and agreed to my proposal of poisoning the king, who, I said, would endeavour to destroy you as he had killed your father ! But you rejected my advice, and declared yourself ready to submit to whatsoever Provi- dence should decree. Hereafter," continued he, " you will pay more attention to my words. But now let us not think of what is past : I am your slave, and you are dearer to me than my own eyes ! " So saying, he attempted to clasp the daughter of Kamgar in his arms, when the king, who was concealed behind the hangings, rushed furiously on him and put him to death.1 After this he conducted the damsel to his palace, and constantly lamented his precipitancy in having killed her father.2

1 This, it seems to me, is quite after the manner of a modern European play or novel — when in the catastrophe the " villain " is made to unmask himself by a pious ruse of " injured innocence." I cannot call to mind a similar scene in any other Eastern tale.

2 In the Turki and Arabian versions King Dadin (or Dadbin) deservedly meets with a very different fate. It is the cameleer of the King of Persia who is looking for his strayed beasts, when he discovers the fair devotee. He tells the king on his return how he had recovered the camels at the intercession of a pious maiden in the wilderness. The king visits her- — even causes a tent for his own use to be erected beside hers ; and having heard her story, he sets out with a great army and takes prisoner King Dadin and the wicked vazir Kardan — as he is called in those texts. After confession of his crimes the vazir is taken to the same desert where the maiden hud been left, and there

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 397

The oldest written form of the story seems to be found in the Conies Dcvots, a collection of miracles of the Virgin Mary, first composed in Latin, in the 12th century, by Hugues Farsi, a monk of St. Jean de Vignes, from which selections were rendered into French verse by Coinsi, a monk (afterwards prior) of St. Medard de Soissons, who died in 1236. Coinsi's version is reproduced in Moon's Nouveau rec. de fabliaux, etc., tome ii. pp. 1 — 128. Under the title "De la bonne Impe'ratrice qui garda loyalement la foi du mariage ; alias, de 1'Empereur de Rome qui tit le voyage d'outre mer," Le Grand has given an extrait of it, which is substantially as follows :x

€arlg |rmj toion.

A N emperor of Rome was going on a pilgrimage to the Holy -LA_ Sepulchre to fulfil a vow that he had made during sickness. Before setting out, he left the administration of his kingdom to his brother, but in such a manner that the empress his wife should have a general control, and that nothing of importance should be done with- out her consent. This brother, during the absence of the emperor, becomes enamoured of the empress. He declares his passion to her, which she rejects with indignation ; but he is so insolent that at last she causes him to be arrested and shut up in a tower. Some time after this the emperor returns, and the lady, in order to spare him the grief he must have suffered at seeing his brother in prison, and not being herself able to reveal the cause to him, sets the brother at liberty. Instead of being grateful for this leniency, the brother, resolved to be revenged on the empress, accuses her to the emperor in her presence of gross misconduct, adding that she had caused him to be shut up in the tower because he opposed her improper desires. The too-credulous husband at once condemns his wife to death, and delivers her into the hands of three knights, ordering them to go and throw her into the sea. But when they are about to obey his com- mand, they hesitate from respect and compassion. They content

dies of hunger and thirst. Kins? Dadin is beheaded for the murder he had committed, and his kingdom is given to the faithful servant who urged that the maiden should not be put to death.

1 Le Grand's Fabliaux et Contes, etc., Ed. 1781. Vol. v. pp. 164—169.

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themselves by exposing the empress upon a barren rock in the midst of the waters, at the same time stripping off her upper garments, in order to be able to assure the emperor that they had put her to death. In this plight she has recourse to God, and especially to the Virgin, whom she had always faithfully served. The Virgin appears before her, assures her of her protection, and shows her an herb, the virtue of which was such that any leprous person who should drink [an infiision] of it should be infallibly cured, provided that he confessed without reservation and repented of his sins. Just then a galley, driven by the winds and freighted with passengers who were going on a pilgrimage, approached the rock. They were surprised to find there a beautiful woman en chemise, and questioning her as to the cause of her being in such a forlorn condition, she answered as she thought fit. Then they provided her with clothes, and took her into the vessel. When the pilgrims arrived at their destination, the lady went on shore, and lodged in the house of an old female devotee, where she worked for her livelihood. The sovereign of the country was leprous, and she healed him by means of the herb. All who had the same disease came to her and were likewise cured.

At length these wonders multiplied to such an extent that the noise of them reached Rome. Since the calumny against the empress, the brother-in-law who had aspersed her fair fame had suffered from a frightful leprosy which consumed his flesh and caused his skin to shrivel up. All the remedies employed for his cure had produced no good effect ; and when the emperor heard of the wonders performed by the foreign lady he despatched an ambassador to the king of the country to request him to send her to his court. The lady arrives, covered with a large veil, and announces to the sick man that if he wishes to be cured he must make to her a full confession of all his sins. He feigns to consent to this, but keeps silent regarding the calumny by which he had injured his sister-in- law, and therefore the herb has no effect. The lady then reproaches him for wishing to deceive Heaven, and warns him that he cannot be healed so long as his conscience remains sullied. The love of life at last overcomes him ; he confesses with a loud voice that not

FOR THE MAN OF LAW' 's TALE. 399

only was the empress innocent 01 the crime of which he accused her, but that it was he himself who was guilty of incestuous love for her. At this avowal all the courtiers burst into tears, lamenting the loss of the virtuous empress. Her husband, who had rashly condemned her and wished her dead, is horror-struck. Without making herself known, the lady attempts to console him, but he answers that he can never be consoled for his loss, moreover, he will be doubly unfortunate, since henceforth his subjects will hate him. " But this wife," says she, " whom you have lost, you loved her then very much 1 " Then the emperor broke forth into eulogiums of her good- ness, her sweetness of disposition, and the many other virtues of the empress. Suddenly .she raises her veil and shows herself. They throw themselves into each other's arms. The lady then relates her strange adventures, and how she had been protected by the Virgin. The three knights who had saved her life receive each for reward a thousand marks of silver. The brother, at the moment of his con- fession having been healed of his leprosy, is pardoned by the emperor, but ordered to depart out of the kingdom. At the same time, in compliance with the precept of the evangelist, to return good for evil, he gave him much money. As to the two spouses, they loved one another the rest of their lives : they both devoutly served our Lady, and merited at their death that she should open Paradise to them.1

Contemporary, or nearly so, with Coinsi was Vincent de Beauvais, who was born in 1190 and died in 1264, and who gives the story in two parts (Speculum Historiale) : cap. xc., "De Imperatrice cujus castitatem a violentia servorum eripuit," and cap. xci., "De alio casu consimili circa eandem Imperatricem," which are joined together in the following translation :

1 A French "mystery," of the end of 14th or beginning of loth century, generally agrees with this ; but the knights simply affirm their obedience, and produce no proof. — See Momnerque and Michel : TJieatre Frangais an moycn age, p. 365.

400 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

(Lrinrent of i^uito' f aim teimt.

A ROMAN emperor lived in loving union with his legal spouse, celebrated for her noble bearing, beauty, and chastity. He sets out, with her consent, on an extended tour of the world, including visits to the sacred places. He commends her in his absence to his younger brother ; but the latter falls violently in love with her, and so wearies her with his importunity, that at last she pretends she will consent. Meanwhile she causes a tower to be prepared, in which she places two young men and two girls to act as servants, and attaches ropes by which supplies may be drawn up. She invites the youth to go with her to this -tower. He is over- joyed, but just as he enters she shuts him in and leaves him there with the attendants, and thus she is once more at peace. Five years after the emperor's return is announced : she is very glad, and orders the towns on the route to be decorated, sets free the youth, and pre- pares to receive her husband. But the youth hastens on, and first meets the emperor. When asked why he is so worn, pale, and broken-down, he replies that the empress is an abandoned woman, whose embraces are open to all, and whose attempts upon himself he had resisted, so as to draw on him the dire punishment of im- prisonment in a tower. The emperor falls down in astonishment, and does not recover for an hour. Next morning the emperor arrives at his capital. The empress, advancing towards her husband, receives a blow in the face from him, and he straightway orders two slaves to take her away into a dark wood and put her to death. They accordingly lead her off, but, considering that a fairer woman could not be found in the world, they resolve to enjoy her before fulfilling their orders. As they attempt to violate her, she looks to heaven and begs aid from God and the Holy Virgin Mary. Her cries are heard by a nobleman and his retinue on their way to visit Rome and the apostolic shrines, and are at first supposed to be those of some wild beast caught in a net; but on discovering the true cause, the two lustful slaves are slain and the empress saved.

On being asked who she is and why the two slaves should have made such an attempt upon her, the empress conceals her dignity,

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 401

and in a humble tone asks the nobleman to take her with him as a servant. He does so ; she is well received by his wife, and their only son is committed to her care for his education. She attends to him with greater solicitude than if he had been her own ; she avoids all gaiety and frequents the church, but not even there does the evil spirit cease to tempt, yet in vain. A certain captain of the court sought to obtain favours of her by fair words and many promises. But she assured him, by the love of their lord, whose brother he was, that she declined to have anything to do with him. Where- upon the wretch considered how he might kill or drive away a woman who held him so lightly in esteem. He goes, led by the devil, in the dead of night, to the room where she slept, with the child in her bosom, quietly cuts the child's throat, and having placed the knife in her hand, steals off. The blood flows down the bed and over the woman, causing her to awake, and with wild cries she summons the mother and father of the child, who rush in along with the whole household. The wicked homicide comes also, with feigned tears, and, addressing his brother, says she is an abandoned wretch, who had been adjudged to death in another country, and urges that she should be at once committed to the flames. But the " noble hero and his wife " will not consent. They commit her to some seamen at the nearest port, with instructions to carry her be- yond the seas to another country. The sailors are taken with her beauty, and in the course of the voyage make unchaste proposals to her. She repels them, upon which they offer her the choice of granting their wishes or of being drowned in the sea. She accepts the latter. They, however, leave her on a lonely rock in mid ocean. Three days are spent by her on that spot, Avithout sleep or food. At last she sinks into a brief slumber, when the Holy Virgin Mary appears to her, commends her constancy, which she says has been perfect under every trial. As a reward she is told to gather the herbs under her head, and whatever leper she gives to drink of a decoction thereof shall be healed in the name of the Lord.1

1 We are not informed how the lady got away from the rock ; and the

subsequent incidents of her curing her penitent persecutors and her re-union

with her husband are omitted. It is evident that Vincent did not take his

materials from the slightly older French story, in which the murder of the

CH. OR1G. 28

402 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

Dunlop — who does not appear to have known of Trivet's Life of Constance — says, in his History of Fiction, that Chaucer's Man of Law's Tale is taken from Ser Giovanni Fiorentino, 11 Pccorone, Day I., nov. 10, of which he gives the outline as follows :

^cr (Siofranni's Italian; tesum.

THE Princess Deuise, of France, to avoid a disagreeable marriage with an old German prince, escapes into England, and is there received in a convent. The king, passing that way, falls in love with and espouses her. Afterwards, while he is engaged in a war in Scotland, his wife brings forth twins. The queen-mother sends to acquaint her son that his spouse has given birth to two monsters. In place of the king's answer, ordering them to be nevertheless brought up with the utmost care, she substitutes a mandate for their destruction and also for that of the queen. The person to whom the execution of this command is entrusted allows the queen to depart with her twin children to Genoa. At the end of some years, she discovers her husband at Rome on his way to a crusade ; she there presents him with his children and is brought back with him in triumph to England.

There can be little doubt that this novel was adapted from Nicolas Trivet's Life of Constance, whose Chronicles were written at least 40 years before Ser Giovanni began to compose his work, in 1378 (it was not printed till 1558), while the Canterbury Tales were probably written very soon after, if not some of them before, that date. — A number of later Italian versions seem to have been directly or indirectly derived from the French. Of these, two miracle-plays, cited by D'Ancona in his Sar.re Rapp., vol. iii.,1 are peculiarly interesting ; one is the Rappresentazione di Santa Gngli-

child does not occur.- — John Herolt reproduces the story in his Sermon fs Disci pull de Tern-pore et dc Sanctis, citm promptuariiim exemjilorum, ct ile, Ji. Vlrginc, of which an edition, now extremely rare, was printed in 1476 ; there is a copy dated Basil, 1486, in the Euing Collection, Glasgow University Library, and one in the British Museum, printed at London, 1510.

1 Sucre Iiaj)pri'ac>it(i:i(inc del secoli XIV., XV., e XVI. Raccolte e illustrate per cuni di Alessandro D'Ancona. 3 vols. Firen/.e, 1472.

FOE THE MAN OF LA\V*S TALE. 403

elma, written by Antonia, wife of Bernardo Pulci, at the end of the 15th century :

Italian glirade-ilaij of Santa $nglicte.

THE King of Hungary, newly converted to Christianity, deter- mines to marry, and having heard of the beauty and worth of Guglielma, daughter of the king of England, sends an embassy, con- sisting of his brother and some noblemen, to demand her hand. She objects, having resolved to dedicate her virginity to Christ, but ultimately is persuaded by her parents to consent. Guglielma in- duces her husband to go on a pilgrimage to the Holy Sepulchre, and desires to accompany him, but he refuses to take her, and leaves her to rule the kingdom in his absence, commending her as queen to the obedience of his brother and the nobles. The king's brother makes an attempt upon Guglielma's virtue, but is repulsed, and he resolves to be avenged. On the king's return, his brother goes to meet him, and answers his inquiries after Guglielma by accusing her of dis- graceful conduct. The king, plunged into grief, directs him to do justice upon her. His brother accordingly gives orders to burn her ; but she is released by the executioner at the stake, and only her clothes are burnt, on the condition that she quits the realm forthwith, so that the executioner's disobedience may not be discovered. In the desert the Virgin Mary appears to her and comforts her, pro- mising that all her torments shall, by her constancy, be turned into joy. Two angels procure her a guide (padrone) and escort, and provide her with a ring as a means of paying them for their services. She heals one of her escort of a disease. The guide leads her to a nunnery, in which she is received as a sister, calling herself simply by the name of " Sinner," and praying the abbess to inquire no farther after her name, origin, and history. She is made a door- keeper, and heals many blind and sick. The king of Hungary's brother is stricken with leprosy by the judgment of God, and the king sends for his physicians. They declare that the disease cannot be cured speedily or without great expense. A servant advises the king to send away the doctors, and take his brother to be healed by Guglielma at the nunnery ; so he commits the realm to his nobles,

404 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

and taking his brother to Guglielma, prays her to heal him. She recognizes them, but they do not know her. She consents to pray for the sick man's restoration to health, but says that he must first declare in the king's presence whether he ever in his life injured him, at the same time requesting the king to forgive him any offences which he might confess, which the king promises to do. His brother then confesses his double crime of tempting Guglielma and afterwards falsely accusing her to the king and causing her to be burnt to death. The king forgives him, upon which he is healed at Guglielma's prayer, and he vows himself to the service of God. Guglielma takes off her veil and discovers herself to the king, and tells him how she had escaped death, and of her subsequent adven- tures. She returns home with the king and his brother, and the king, giving up his kingdom, retires with his wife and brother to the desert, where they become hermits.1

D'Ancona also notices an obscure play, or poem, of the 16th century, entitled " Del duca d'Angio e de Costanza so mojer," from an account of it by Adolfo Mussafia, contained in the Atti dell' Acca- demia di Vienna, 1866 :

Italian Stack-flag oi tjjc gwjjfss <rf IWau.

LOUIS Duke of Anjou, while being hospitably entertained by the Doge of Venice, falls in love with and marries his daughter Constance. Going to the Holy Land, he commits her to the care of his nephew Glifet, who tempts her, but she resists and flees. Glifet, however, gets her again into his power, and, unable to effect his wishes, gives her in charge to four ruffians to put her to death. Arrived in a wood, they release her, taking her shift and dipping it in the blood of a wild beast which they slew on purpose, and produce it to Glifet as proof of their obedience. Constance obtains shelter with a washerwoman, and is afterwards taken into the service of a

1 For this and the following abstracts and notes from D'Ancona I am indebted to the courtesy of Mr. E. Sidney Hartland, who has an able and almost exhaustive paper on a cognate cycle of tales, which he aptly entitles " The Outcast Child," in the Folk-Lore Journal for October, 1886.

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 405

countess, whose clothes she had washed. The countess commits her only son to her care. The count's nephew, Girardetto, falls in love with Constance, and after tempting her ineffectually, to revenge himself, he gains access hy night to her room and strangles the count's little son, sleeping by her side, and in the morning accuses her of the murder. He advises the count to burn her to death, and scatter her ashes to the winds ; but at the countess's intercession her life is spared, and she is abandoned in her shift on a desert isle. There an angel appears before her, and gives her a pot of ointment, informing her that she should leave the island on the following day. She is taken off by a pirate, who conducts her to Spain, to the monastery of the Madonna del Poggio, where she is admitted as a servant, and obtains a great reputation for sanctity. She begins to heal all manner of diseases by means of the ointment, and her fame spreads far and wide. Meanwhile, her husband returns from the Holy Land, and Glifet makes him believe that she had fled without leaving a trace. On hearing of this, the duke falls sick, and Glifet is presently stricken with leprosy. They are advised to go to Spain, to the monastery of the Madonna del Poggio, in order to be cured. Accordingly they go thither, and after confession of all their sins are cured by Constance, who then makes herself known to the duke, and she pardons the count for the evil he had done her.

In discussing the obscure Italian poem of which the foregoing is an abstract, D'Ancona divides the plot into three heads :

I. A prince confides his wife to his brother, who seeks to seduce her ; and she, by the traitor's wickedness, is brought into great peril of her life.

II. The innocent lady is saved by a gentleman, who receives her into his house and places his son in her care ; but one of the family, enamoured of her and repulsed, slays the child and accuses her of his death, in consequence of which she is again exposed to apparently certain death.

III. The lady is once more saved, and endowed with power of curing the sick. They who have injured her are attacked by disease, and having made confession of their crimes are healed by her.

406 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

itoton.

AFTER citing as belonging to this group the " Eapprisentazione di Santa Guglielma," D'Ancona, referring to a number of MSS. and editions, mentions " La Peregrina Doctora" of Juan Miguel de Fuego, 18th century (Romancero general, ed. Duran, Madrid, 1849-51, and the 10th and 16th vols. of the Biblioteca de autores espanoles, Nos. 1269-70). The scene is laid at Lisbon. The cut-throats employed by the husband to put Ines de Hortocarrero to death come to a fight among themselves for the possession of her, and the chief is killed. After an apparition of the Virgin Mary, Ines flies, and a lion con- ducts her to a cave. The ruffians cut out the eyes and heart of their dead chief and carry them to the husband in proof of having executed his commands, but recount the truth to his brother Frederic, the calumniator of the lady, who goes to the cave, but is repulsed by the lion, who wounds him in five places. The Virgin appears again to Ines, and gives her the ointment as usual. Ines returns to Lisbon, and cures many sick persons, among them Frederic, now repentant, and is finally recognised.

toman Versions,

THE legend of Ildegarde (Grimm : Deutsche Sagen, ii. 102 ; Back- strb'm, ii. 266) preserves the simplest form of the story. Even the supernatural is wanting in it. In the wood is a gentleman who saves the lady from the hands of the ruffians, and the medical art which she afterwards so happily practises she had learned long before.

D'Ancona refers to three German versions: (1) a poem of the 12th century (Kaiserclironilc : ed. Massmann, v. 11,367, ed. 0. Schade, Berlin, 1853) ; (2) a prose version taken from a MS. of the 15th century (Haupt. : Altd. BIL, i. 300 ; Wackernagel : Lesebuch, i. 987) ; and (3) an old print of the 16th century, preserved in the Imperial Library at Vienna ; which tell the story thus : Narcissus, king of Rome, and Elizabeth, his wife, have two sons, both called Theodoric. Their parents having died, the pope orders that he shall reign who first takes a wife. Crescenza, daughter of the king of Africa (or, as

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 407

in the 3rd version, of Octavian the emperor), is demanded by both the brothers in marriage. She chooses Theodoric, the ugly but virtuous brother. Setting out on an expedition, the ugly husband confides his wife to his brother, who, having sought to seduce her, is imprisoned in a tower, but afterwards set free. Hence he calumniates Crescenza to her husband on his return, and the latter causes her to be flung into the Tiber, whence she is drawn by a fisherman in his nets and taken to his own house. Eeproved for not having caught any fish during the day, the fisherman relates what has happened, and Crescenza goes then to the court of a certain duke. (In version 3 it is the Virgin who conducts Crescenza to the fisherman's cottage, where she is to change her clothes, and the duchess, having seen her, takes her away.) The duke's minister falls in love with Crescenza, and on being repulsed ill-treats her. She suffers all with patience, but the minister, to revenge himself, kills one of the duke's sons, aged three years. The duke delivers Crescenza into the minister's hands, who causes her to find a miraculous herb. Crescenza offers to cure the duke and his minister on their confessing their sins. They are cured, but the duke causes the minister to be thrown into the water. (In version 3 the Virgin saves Crescenza and gives her the herb, and the duke pardons his minister at the desire of Crescenza.) She then returns to Rome and heals her husband at once and his brother after confession, and is recognised. Soon after this Theodoric and Cre- scenza separate and end their lives in the cloister.

(Dtljet Italian tei0ns.

THERE is another Italian narrative of the 14th century, found in Novelle dUncerti autori del sec. XIV., Bologna, Romagnoli, 1861, p. 31, in which are combined the two principal events : the brother-in- law's treachery and the murder of the child. It also contains the apparitions of the Virgin, the lion which shows the deserted lady the way, and the miraculous cure of the brother-in-law. After the recon- ciliation the lady builds two convents, one for monks and the other for nuns, to which she and her husband respectively retire. — The story of the Duchess of Anjou (D'Ancona remarks) agrees fully with

408 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

none of these versions. It is a new version, which is distinguished from all others by the intelligent selection of the events, and their clear and simple connection. There Glifet is not brother but nephew of the husband. Apparently the intention is to excuse in a certain measure the crime by the greater youth of the culprit. This is the more evident in those places in which the struggles which Glifet sustains are recounted. In short, a more regular and truthlike development is here found than in the other versions. Is the merit (asks D'Ancona) of this to be awarded to the Italian versifier, whose power of expression is so small, and whose introduction is out of harmony with the design of the poem ? The names of persons and places point to France, and he conjectures that the poem was derived mediately or immediately from the French.

The foregoing observations appear to be in substance those of Mussafia in publishing the Italian poem "Del duca d'Angio et de Costanza so mojer." D'Ancona farther contributes the following : It is stated in the Illustrazione storico-monumentale-epigrafica delt abbazia di Chiaravalle of Michael Caffi (Milan : Gnocchi, 1842), p. 110) : "Four centuries before our Guglielma (the Bohemian), another of the same name and with similar vicissitudes rendered famous the land of Brunate in the territory of Como. She also called herself a king's daughter, she also led a religious and beneficent life, and died with the fame of sanctity and miracles. More fortunate than the Bohemian, or more circumspect in her behaviour, she aroused no suspicions of her teachings, and no sentence came to disturb the peace of her ashes. At Brunate her memory is ever held in venera- tion. Childing and suckling women, who have her as their advocate with the Dispenser of Mercies, go thither to make or to perform their vows." A note to this says : " After 795 Teodo, king of Hungary, married Guglielma, daughter of the king of England, but having gone very soon to Palestine, he left the kingdom and his wife in the care of his brother. The latter tempted in vain his sister-in-law's honour, and to revenge himself of the repulse accused her to his brother of infidelity. She was condemned to death, but succeeded in eluding the vigilance of her guards, flying in disguise. She was found by the

FOR THE MAN OF LAU'^S TALE. 409

huntsmen of the king of France, who took her before their prince. He received her at his court, where a steward fell in love with her, and finding her intractable to his desires, accused her of infanticide, and she was again condemned to death. She is liberated, and goes to Italy, to shut herself in a nunnery, where by means of an exem- plary and austere life she acquires a reputation for sanctity and wonder-working. Moved by this her great fame, the king of Hungary, having come to ask her forgiveness, takes her back to his own country, and there she piously ceased to live. At Morbegno and at Brunate she is venerated with special devotion." An account of her life, written by one Padre Andrea Ferrari, is in the Vatican. Pietro Monti, the present incumbent of Brunate, writes me concern- ing this Guglielma as follows (Oct. 11, 1842): "There still is at Brunate a tradition that a lady from beyond the mountains, by name Guglielma, came in former times and lived here for many years, having been compelled to leave home by domestic misfortune, and that her husband, having heard of her, came and led her back to her own country. In this parish church is a fresco of her, venerated by pious persons, who come hither in certain months of the year, which appears to me to be of date of 1450, or thereabouts. In 1826 the wall in the church adjoining the picture was demolished, and there I saw many other figures (previously covered with a layer of mortar) which formed a retinue to the picture still existing. They related the story of Guglielma — that is, how she left her husband's house, came to Brunate, and there lived a solitary life, clad in sackcloth, and usually with only one little maid-servant, in company with a crucifix and an image of Our Lady. There were some lines of Latin in Gothic characters, few words of which, however, I could put together and read. It was a sin that a hundred years ago the builders covered with mortar these old pictures of the 1 5th century, and partly ruined them by the fresh mortar. In 1826 it was believed that in that state [in which they then were] they could not be preserved. The convent of Brunate was founded by certain sisters Pedraglio, of Como, about the year 1350, as appears by memorials in my posses- sion, and by the brief of Pope Martin V. of the 6th April, 1448. Guglielma, however, came here some centuries before the foundation

410 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE :

of the convent, and certainly before the 10th century ; but according to tradition, where the nunnery was afterwards erected she passed part of her life in a private and obscure condition. The tradition here concerning Guglielma is very ancient, and so much as I have heard of it from the ' oldest inhabitants ' agrees with a document sufficiently authentic, old, and in print, in my possession, and very rare, which makes Guglielma to have lived long before [the year] 1000. In this are noted her country, husband, her saintly and heroic Christian virtues, and the vicissitudes of her life, afflicted by private calamities. More I will not say of her, because when I have time I intend to publish a life of her." 1

D'Ancona, referring to the foregoing communication from the priest of Brunate, goes on to say, that he had written to Como to ascertain whether the incumbent had ever carried his intention into

1 The simplicity of this worthy ecclesiastic's account of the saintly, wonder- working lady is very refreshing. He claims a high antiquity for the local tradition, but one should like to know something definite regarding the " docu- ment, sufficiently authentic, very old and rare," which represents the pious Guglielma to have lived (at Brunate) long hefore the year 1000, and with which the narratives of the " oldest inhabitants " agreed. Not even the fresco of the lady-saint on the wall of the parish church — not even the whole series of mural pictures which the masons ruined by covering with mortar — is to be received as evidence that the " tradition," so far as concerns Brunate, is founded in fact. That a story of universal popularity such as that of Guglielma should be pictured on a church-wall is not at all surprising ; and through the pictures it would in course of time naturally become identified with the locality.

Nothing indeed is more common than to find world-wide stories localised in different countries, from Iceland to Ceylon, from Portugal to Japan. Thus, for example, the " legend " of the Pedlar of Swaffam — who had a dream of buried treasure which was realised, and whose picture, with his wife and three children, was, quoth Sir Roger Twysden, " on every window of the aisle " of 'Swaffam church, in memorial of his benefactions to that edifice — this story, which Blomefield has reproduced in his History of Norfolk, is not only known in Holland and Germany, but is found in the works of Arabian and Persian writers who were gathered to their fathers centuries before Swaffam church was erected. The Welsh "tradition" of Gellert the faithful hound, whose tomb "with stately sculpture decked" is shown even unto this day, was known in India thirteen hundred years ago, and has been domiciled in the south of France for many centuries. Our nursery tale of Whittington and his Cat was related by Wasif the Persian historian, and moreover was current in different countries of Europe long before that Worshipful Lord Mayor of London town was born. The fabliau of ' Le Sacristan de Cluni ' is reproduced by Hey wood in his History of Women, under the title of ' The Faire Ladie of Norwich,' and again in Blomefield's History of Norfolk, where the murderer of the amorous monk is, strangely, represented to have been Sir Thomas Erpingham. So much for local " traditions " !

FOR THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 411

effect, or if anything could be found among his papers; and he obtained the following information, extracted from the papers of Pietro Monti : A life of St. Guglielma was printed at Como by Nlccolo Caprani, episcopal printer, 1642, collected by M. R. Padre Frate Andrea Ferrari of S. Donato, and incumbent of the church of S. Andrea at Brunate. Frate Andrea says at the beginning of this life that he was induced to write it by having a little book accidentally fall into his hands, which treated of the life of the saint, and adds that he made search in the library of the Vatican, where the same life was found described substantially in the way in which he had printed it, little different from that described in the above-mentioned book. There it is related that Teodo, king of Hungary, in the year 795, took to wife Guglielma, daughter of the king of England. A short time after his marriage he went to the Holy Land, having left Guglielma and his brother in charge of the kingdom. The brother, having in vain attempted his sister-in-law's honour, accused her to the king of adultery. She was therefore condemned to be burnt, but the executioners only burnt her clothes and an animal, and permitted her to flee from Hungary. Having reached a desert, she was there first tempted by the huntsmen of the king of France, and afterwards conducted by them before the king, who gave his first-begotten son, to her charge. The seneschal, having in vain asked her in marriage, to revenge himself strangled the king's son, attributing the crime to Guglielma. She is condemned to the flames. Two angels miracu- lously deliver her, lead her to a certain river, and consign her to a pilot. While she sails she has a vision of the Virgin Mary. She heals by blessing divers sick persons who are in the vessel. She makes known to the captain of the ship her desire to live in a convent, and he, who is nephew of the abbess of a nunnery in his own country, complies with her wish. Thither, through the fame of her miracles, the sick flocked from various parts of the world. Afflicted by leprosy, the brother of the king of Hungary and the seneschal of France come, and are set free from their disease. At this news the king of Hungary and the king of France hasten to the nunnery, and there the saint makes herself known to her husband, with whom she returns to her kingdom, whore in life and after death

412 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE:

she works many miracles, chiefly curing headache (!). Frate Andrea, however, at the beginning of her life, says that there are few who esteem Guglielma among the saints, but her picture in. the church of S. Andrea is held in great veneration, that women who want milk are persuaded that they obtain daily favours by means of her inter- cession, and that her pictures are seen in divers churches painted with a crown on her head.

FROM a comparative analysis of the numerous versions and variants of the ancient and wide-spread story of the Innocent Per- secuted Wife it will be very evident that, while the fundamental outline is the same in all, Trivet's tale, with its direct derivatives by Gower and Chaucer, is a considerably elaborated form, and that the versions in the Conies Devots and the Gesta Romanorum most closely preserve the Asiatic story in the principal details. In Trivet, and in the romance of Emare, however, there is introduced an incident which properly belongs to another but cognate cycle of tales, that, namely, of the malignant mother-in-law telling her son that his wife is a demon and her child a monster. In the group I refer to, envious sisters, co-wives, or mothers-in-law send the heroine's newly-born babes away to be killed, substitute puppies, cats, stones, or bits of wood, and make the husband believe she has given birth to such objects — as in the beautiful tale of the ' Swan Children ' (after- wards expanded into the romance of ' Helyas ; or, the Knight with the Swan ') in Dolopathos, the oldest European form of the History of the Seven Wise Masters ; in the Pleasant Nights (Le Nofti Piace- voli) of Straparola, iv. 3 ; in the German tale (Grimm) of the ' Three Little Birds ' ; in the Norse Tale (Dasent) of ' Snow White and Eosy Red ' ; in the French tale of ' Les Trois Filles du Boulanger ' (Melu- sitie, i. 206) ; in the tale of ' The Envious Sisters,' with which our common version of the Arabian Nights concludes ; in the Indian tale of ' Truth's Triumph,' Miss Frere's Old Deccan Days, and that of ' The Boy with a moon on his forehead,' Bahari Day's Folk Tales of Bengal ; in the third tale of the Tamil romance Madana Kdmardjd Kadai, etc.

FOB THE MAN OF LAW'S TALE. 413

The story as found in the Contes Devots corresponds so closely with the Gesta version that we might conclude it was the source of the latter, but for one or two important differences, which render it probable that both were independently adapted from oral tradition. In the Gesta the lady is entrapped into a ship under pretence of showing her some clothes for sale ; the master threatens to force her to comply with his desires ; she prays to Heaven ; a tempest rises, and all on board are drowned excepting the lady and the shipmaster. This does not occur in the Contes Devots, but exact parallels to it are found in the third Arabian version and the Persian tale of Repsima, the sole difference being that the lady is sold as a slave to the ship- master. In Trivet's tale the lady sails away with a seneschal and pushes him into the sea to save her chastity. — The murder of the child does not occur in the Contes Devots, but is found in Vincent of Beauvais, the Gesta, the Italian poem of Santa Guglielma, the German versions, the Persian tale of Eepsima, and in the first and third Arabian versions (where the child is killed accidentally in the attempt to murder the lady) ; in Trivet and its derivatives, it is Hermingild, the wife of Elda, who is slain ; and in the second Arabian version theft is substituted for murder. — The imprisonment of the brother-in-law occurs in the Contes Devots, Vincent of Beau- vais, the Gesta, and the German versions. — For the miraculous cures performed in the persons of her evil-doers in nearly all the variants, we find in Trivet the restoring of his sight to a blind Briton by Hermingild, at the desire of Constance, making the sign of the cross on his eyes. — The German versions seem to have exclusively the incident of the lady being cast into the Tiber, and drawn out by a fisherman in his net. — The Gesta story is the only European version which agrees with the Eastern forms in the incident of the lady saving the man from the gallows — from the bastinado in the second Arabian, where the man, instead of inveigling the lady on board a vessel, makes a false charge against her to the sultan ; but in the first Arabian the man builds the lady a cell, then betakes himself to wood- cutting, and brings her food daily. The lady's disguising herself as a dervish, her associating with the princess as her spiritual director, and the murder of the latter are details peculiar to the second Arabian

414 18. THE INNOCENT PERSECUTED WIFE.

version ; while the third Arabian is singular in representing the evil- doers as afflicted with remorse, not with diseases, for their crimes. To conclude : I am disposed to consider the Innocent Persecuted Wife as of Hindu, if not of Buddhist, extraction ; and the Persian tale of Repsima, though found in a work of much later composition than most of the European versions, may perhaps best represent the original form of the tale.

GLASGOW, November, 1886.

NOTE.

IN the first Arabian version, p. 368, last line, the lady, on quitting the house of her rescuer, is represented as having " some- what of money with her," but we are not told how she came by it : evidently the copyist has omitted to state, as in the second version, that the shaykh gave her a thousand dirhams ; and this is also left out of the third version. — The incident, which occurs in the third Arabian and the Persian versions, of the lady being put on board a vessel as a slave, and solicited by the master bears some resemblance to that which happened to the wife of Placidus, as related in ch. 110 of Swan's Gesta Romanorum, and the Legend of St. Eustache, in the Greek martyr acts, to which the story of the Innocent Persecuted Wife is near akin.

415

19.

and tl\t

BUDDHIST OKIGINAL AND ASIATIC AND EUEOPEAN

VEESIONS

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

416

BUDDHIST ORIGINAL PAGE 418

PERSIAN VERSION „ 423

FIRST ARABIAN VERSION „ 426

SECOND ARABIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... „ 428

THIRD ARABIAN VERSION ... ... ... ... „ 429

KASHMIRI VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 430

TIBETAN VERSION ... ... ... ... ... „ 431

ITALIAN MIRACLE-PLAY ... ... ... ... „ 433

GERMAN, FRENCH, AND PORTUGUESE VERSIONS ... „ 434

417

THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE :

BUDDHIST ORIGINAL AND ASIATIC AND EUROPEAN VERSIONS OF THE PARDONERS TALE.

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

FEW stories were more widely diffused over Europe during mediaeval times than that which Chaucer represents the Pardoner as relating to his fellow-pilgrims on the way to the shrine of Thomas a Becket, of the three " riottours " who found a treasure, and perished through their own cupidity. How this simple but impressive tale was brought to Europe — for it is of Asiatic extraction unquestionably — has not been and may never be ascertained. "We have already seen (ante, p. 131) that it forms one of the Cento Novelle Anticlie, the first Italian collection of apologues and short stories, compiled, it is supposed, in the 13th century. Wright conjectures that Chaucer drew the materials of his Pardoner's Tale from a fabliau, and it is probable that such was also the source of the Italian novella. We should have expected to find the story occurring frequently in the voluminous monkish collections of exempla, but my friend Professor T. F. Crane, of Cornell University, Ithaca, U.S., who has been long engaged upon a work on Mediaeval Sermons and Story-Books, informs me that he has not hitherto met with it in any of them, which is passing strange, since it is well adapted for popular recital, its moral being so obvious.

The original form of the story seems to be one of the Buddhist Birth-Stories, entitled "Vedabbha Jataka," the 48th of Fausbdll's edition of the Pali text of the JdtaJca-book. The meaning of " Birth-Story " has been thus explained : " According to Buddhist belief, every man living has entered on his present life in succession to a vast number of previous lives, in any one of which he may have been a man — king, monk, or goatherd — an animal, goblin, or CH. ORIG. »y

418 19. THE UOBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE:

deity, as the case may be. For the mass of men, those previous lives have left no trace on memory, but a Buddha remembers them aH, and not his own merely, but the previous births of other men. And Gautama, so the tradition runs, was in the habit of explaining facts of the present in the lives of those about him by what they had done in other births, and of illustrating his own teaching by what he had done himself in earlier births. Of the stories which he thus told of his own previous existences, 550 are supposed to have been collected immediately after his decease." — The first to point out the identity of the Pardoner's Tale with one of those Buddhist Birth- Stories was the Rev. Dr. Richard Morris, in the Contemporary Review, May, 1881, vol. xxxix. p. 738, and afterwards two other scholars each made the same "discovery" independently: Mr. H. H. Francis in The Academy, Dec. 22, 1883, and Professor C. H. Tawney, in the Journal of Philology, 1883, vol. xiL pp. 203 — 8. The Bishop of Colombo, in the Journal of the Ceylon Branch of the Royal Asiatic Society, 1884, published translations of the first fifty Jdtakas, the 48th of which, as already stated, is the " Vedabbha," but he does not seem to have recognized it as the original of the Pardoner's Tale. The following is Professor Tawney's rendering of the " Vedabbha Jataka ":

" He who desires advantage unseasonably, he is afflicted ; The men of Chedi slew Vedabbha, and they all themselves perished."

This the Master, while sojourning in Jetavana, spake concerning that obstinate friar. For the Master said to that friar : " Friar, not only now art thou obstinate, but formerly also wast thou obstinate, and owing to thy obstinacy thou didst disregard the counsel of the wise, and wast cut asunder with a sharp sword, and didst fall dead in the way, and owing to thee alone did a thousand men perish." When he had said this he told the following tale :

LONG ago, when Brahmadatta was reigning in Benares, a certain Brahman in a certain village knew a spell, Vedabbha by name. That spell was indeed of great, of priceless efficacy. When the

FOK THE PARDONER'S TALE. 419

moon was in conjunction with a certain lunar mansion, he would repeat that spell, and look up to heaven, and then a rain of the seven kinds of precious things1 would fall from heaven. At that time the Bodhisattva2 was studying science under that Brahman. One day the Brahman left his village, and, taking the Bodhisattva with him, set out for the kingdom of Chedi for some purpose or other. In the way lay a certain forest, where five hundred Sending Thieves way- laid travellers. They took captive the Bodhisattva and the Vedahbha Brahman. And the reason wherefore they were called Sending Thieves was this : Whenever they took captive two men, they sent one to fetch wealth ; therefore they were called the Sending Thieves. And so, if they captured a father and a son, they said to the father : " Go and bring us wealth, and then receive back thy son and depart." And in like manner, if they captured a mother and her daughter, they sent the mother ; and if they captured an elder and a younger brother, they sent the elder brother ; and if they captured a teacher and his pupil, they sent the pupil. Accordingly on this occasion they kept the Yedabbha Brahman and sent away the Bodhisattva. The Bodhisattva respectfully took leave of his teacher, and said : " I will return after one or two days ; do not be afraid ; and moreover, do this that I advise you. To-night there will be a conjunction of the moon with a lunar mansion that will enable you to call down a rain of wealth ; now do not you, fretting under your affliction, repeat the spell, and make a rain of wealth descend ; otherwise, you your- self will meet destruction, and these five hundred thieves also." Having given his teacher this advice, he went to fetch wealth.

The thieves, for their part, when the sun set, bound the Brahman and made him lie down. At that moment the full round orb of the moon rose above the western horizon. The Brahman, considering

1 The seven kinds of precious things are variously enumerated by Buddhist authors. Burnouf, in his translation of the Saddharma Pundarika, gives two lists. The first is from the Saddharma itself, a Northern Buddhist work, and runs as follows : (1) gold ; (2) silver ; (3) lapis-lazuli ; (4) crystal ; (5) red pearls ; (6) diamonds ; (7) coral. The second is from a Southern Buddhist source : (1) gold ; (2) silver ; (3) pearls ; (4) all kinds of precious stones ; (5) lapis-lazuli ; (6) diamonds ; (7) coral.

2 Or Bodisat : a potential Buddha — in the present case, Gautama himself in a former birth.

420 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE :

the heavenly bodies, said to himself : " To-night there will take place a conjunction of the moon with a lunar mansion that will enable me to produce a rain of wealth ; — why should I any longer endure affliction? I will repeat the spell and cause a rain of precious things to descend, and bestow wealth on the thieves, and then go where I like." Having thus reflected, he said to the thieves : " Ye thieves, why did ye take me prisoner?" They answered : " In order to get wealth, reverend sir." He continued : "Then, if you desire wealth, quickly release me from my bonds, and have my head washed, and have me clothed in new garments, and anointed with unguents, and adorned with flowers." The thieves, hearing his speech, did so. The Brahman observed the exact moment of the moon's conjunction with the lunar mansion, and repeated the spell and looked up to heaven. Immediately precious things fell from heaven. The thieves collected that wealth, and tied it up in bundles in their upper garments and started off. The Brahman followed them.

Then another five hundred thieves made those thieves prisoners. The first five hundred said : " Why do you take us captive 1 " The second five hundred answered: "To get wealth." Then the first five hundred said : " If you desire wealth, take captive this Brahman ; he looked up to heaven, and made a rain of wealth fall ; it was he that gave us what we have here." Then the thieves let those other thieves go, and seized the Brahman, exclaiming: "Give us also wealth." The Brahman replied : " I could give you wealth ; but that conjunction of the moon with the lunar mansion that enables us to call down a rain of wealth will not take place for a year from this time. If you need wealth, wait, and then I will cause a rain of wealth to descend." The thieves were angry, and said: "What! villain of a Brahman, after causing a rain of wealth to descend for others, do you bid us wait for another year 1 " Then they cut the Brahman iu two with a sharp sword, and left him in the road, and quickly pursuing those other thieves, fought with them, and slow them all. Then they divided themselves into two bands, and fought until two hundred and fifty were slain; and in this way they slew one another until only two remained.

Thus those thousand men perished all but two. But those two

FOR THE PARDONER'S TALE. 421

men deftly carried off that wealth, and hid it in a thicket near a village, and one remained guarding it, sword in hand, while the other took some rice and went off to the village to get it cooked. Truly this passion of avarice is the root of destruction,1 for the one who was guarding the wealth said to himself : " When my fellow returns, this wealth will have to be divided into two portions, so I had better kill him with a sword-cut as soon as he arrives." So he made ready his sword, and remained watching for his return. The other said to himself: "This wealth will have to be divided into two portions, so I had better put poison in the rice, and give it to my fellow to eat, and so kill him, and take all the wealth for myself." Accordingly, as soon as the rice was cooked, he ate all he wanted, and put poison in the rest, and set out with it in his hand. No sooner had he put the rice down than the other cut him in two with his sword, and threw his body into a tangled thicket. Then he ate the rice, and fell dead on the spot. Thus, owing to the treasure, all these men perished.

As for the Bodhisattva, he returned in one or two days with the wealth that he was sent to fetch. When he did not see his teacher where he left him, but saw wealth scattered about, he said to him- self : "In spite of my advice, the teacher must have caused a rain of wealth to descend, and no doubt they will all have perished." So he went on along the highway. As he was going along, he sa\v on the highway his teacher cut in two ; and he said to himself : " He has lost his life through disregarding my advice." Then he gathered wood and made a pyre, and burnt his teacher's body, and offered flowers to it. And, going on, he saw five hundred men lying dead, and then two hundred and fifty, and so on, until at last he saw only two corpses, and then he said to himself: "Behold! here are a thousand men slain, save only two ; there must be two thieves left

1 Mr. Francis, in his paper on this story in TJie Academy, already referred to, has pointed out that nearly the same reflection occurs in the Latin story — meaning the singularly corrupted version found in Morliui : " radice malorum cupiditate affecti " (see ante, p. 134, 1. 8) ; — but he was strangely mistaken in supposing the reflection to be made by the robber : under this mistake, however, he makes right merry, remarking that " it would seem as if the Devil could quote Scripture in Pali as well as in other languages," aud calling the robber " a veritable Oriental Pecksniff ! "

422 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE !

alive ; they will not be able to control themselves. I wonder where they are gone." So, going on, he saw their tracks, where they had entered a thicket with the treasure, and further on he saw a heap of treasure made up in bundles, and a man lying dead upon a plate of rice. Then he understood exactly all the doings of those men, and said to himself : " I wonder where the other is," but, after searching, he found him cast away in a thicket, and exclaimed : "Disregarding my advice, my teacher not only lost his own life by his obstinacy, but caused also the death of those thousand men. Truly, those who unseasonably and wantonly pursue their own advantage meet, like my teacher, with utter ruin." And having said this, he repeated the following stanza :

" He who desires advantage unseasonably, he ig afflicted : The men of Chedi slew Vedabbha,1 and they all themselves perished."

Then the Bodhisattva made the wood resound with this utterance : " Even as my teacher, unseasonably and improperly exerting power, caused a rain of treasure to fall, and thus himself met his death, and became to others the cause of destruction — even so, whosoever, unseasonably desiring his own advantage, shall make strenuous effort, shall himself perish utterly, and shall cause ruin to others." And the sylvan deities applauded him, while he thus set forth the moral lesson contained in the above stanza. Then he deftly removed the wealth to his own house, and continued the rest of his life giving alms, and doing other righteous acts, and when he died, he attained heaven.

When the Master had given this instruction in righteousness, saying, " Friar, not only now art thou obstinate, but formerly also wast thou obstinate, and didst meet with utter ruin," he summed up the Jtitaka in the following words : " On that occasion this obstinate friar was the Vedabbha Brahman and I was his pupil."

From India the story, in all likelihood, passed into Persia, where it assumed a form consistent with the Muhammedan belief in the sacred (but not divine) character of Jesus the son of Mary. In the

1 The commentator tells us that the Brahman was called Vedabbha because IKJ knew a spell named Vedabbha — Vcddubhamaiita-casfna Vedabbha ti lad- dluinainain bruhmanam.

PARDONERS TALE.

12th century Feridu-'d-Dm 'Attar, the celebrated Sufi philosopher and poet, made it the subject of a poem in his Kitab-i Masibat Nthna, or Book of Calamities, from a manuscript copy of which, preserved in the Gotha Library, Dr. F. Eiickert published the Persian text, accompanied by a German metrical translation, in the Zeitschrift der Deutsclien Morgenldndischen Gesellschaft (Journal of the German Oriental Society) for 18GO, Bd. xiv. s. 280—7, and this is how 'Attar tells the story :x

JESUS, from whom beamed light, came into a village, and an evil man was his path-fellow. At that time Jesus had three loaves of bread, one of which he ate, one he gave to his companion, and one remained out of the three. Now Jesus went forward to

1 The Sufia are the mystics of Islam. — Mr. F. F. Arbuthnot, in his recently-published work, Persian Portraits : a Sketch of Persian History, Literature, and Politics, gives the following particulars regarding this illustrious poet :

Shaikh Farid-ud-Din Attar, surnamed Muhammed Ibrahim, was a druggist and dealer in perfumes, from which he took his poetical name ['Attar] , and ouly abandoned his shop on becoming a Sufi philosopher. This he did under the following circumstances, as related by Sir Gore Ouseley : Attar was one day sitting at his door with a friend, when a religious mendicant approached, and looking anxiously and earnestly into the well-furnished warehouse, heaved a deep sigh, and shed tears, meditating on the transitory state of all earthly property, and on the instability of human life to enjoy the goods of this world. Mistaking the .sentiment uppermost in the fakir's mind, and annoyed by his scrutinizing looks. Attar desired him to be gone, to which the other replied : " Yes. I have nothing to prevent me from leaving your door, or indeed from abandoning the world at once, as my sole possession is this worn-out garment ; but, 0 Attar, I grieve for thee, for how canst thou ever bring thyself to think of death, leaving all these worldly goods behind thee ? " Attar was so pro- foundly touched by the words of the dervish, that he gave up his shop without a pang, renounced all worldly concerns for ever, and commenced the study of Sufiism under the celebrated Shaikh Eeken-ud-Din. He continued his studies in the mystic doctrines with such assiduity, that although he was known to be an inimitable poet, he was more famous as the most perfect Sufi, living as a recluse, and absorbed in the contemplation of the Divine Essence.

Attar was born at a place called Shadyakh, appertaining to Naishapur, in the reign of Sultan Sanjar, and is said to have lived to the age of one hundred and fourteen years, of which eighty-five were spent at Shadyakh and in pilgrimages, and twenty-nine in Naishapur. In A.D. 1230, at the siege of Naishapur, the son-in-law of Changez Khan the Tartar was killed, and a general massacre of the inhabitants of that place was made by the Mughals, and Attar was among the number that were slain.

424 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE :

procure water. His companion ate that bread during his absence. Jesus, son of Mary, when he returned, perceived not the bread by the man's side, and said : " What is become of the bread, my son1?" The other replied : " I know nothing at all thereof." And then they both proceeded on their way till they came to a sea, and Jesus took the man by the hand and walked with him over the sea. Now when he had brought him across the sea, he said : " 0 companion ! by the might of the Lord — that Lord who has done such a marvel, which marvel no one could do of himself : tell me now, in this place, who is it that ate the bread yonder?" But the man said : " I have no knowledge thereof ; why dost thou question me when I know it not 1 " Jesus now resumed his journey, until there came forth a roe from afar, and he called the little roe near to him, and made the dust and stones red with its blood. He roasted it then, and thereof ate a little ; but the other filled himself up to the neck. There- after, Jesus, son of Mary, gathered the roe's bones together, and breathed into them with his breath; and the roe came to life immediately, and having adored him, bounded back into the desert.1 The Saviour-Guide said to the man : "0 companion, by the power of the supreme Lord, who has offered thee this proof of His omnipo- tence, give me now an account of that bread." But he said : " I have never seen the bread; why wilt thou trouble me so long?" Then Jesus led the man on with him as before, until they came to

1 Muslims believe that the breath of the Messiah had the virtue of restor- ing the dead to life. In the Persian romance of the Four Darmeshes, a very skilful physician is named 'Isa (Jesus) in allusion to this notion. And in the Persian Sindibdd Ndma we read : " Sweet, too, is the air of Ja'farabad [a suburb of Shiraz], whose breezes perform the work of the Messiah." The resuscitation of the roe from its bones will recall to storiologists similar incidents in European, and especially Norwegian and Icelandic, folk-lore. A noteworthy analogue occurs in the Older Edda. In one recension of the scurrilous Jewish "Life" of Jesus (Toldotk Jesu) — not that published, with a Latin translation and castigation, by Ulrico, at Leyden, in 1705, but the version at the end of the second volume of Wagenseil's Tela ignea Satance, 1681 — among the first wonders which Jesus is represented as publicly per- forming, by means of the Ineffable Name (which he is said to have abstracted from the Temple and concealed in the flesh of his thigh) is the raising of a man to life from bones taken out of a charnel-house. And in the Buddhist Jatakas we read of a youth who, by his skill in magic, resuscitated a tiger from its skeleton, an incident which has been adapted in the Persian story- book 1'uti Xdma, or Tales of a Parrot.

FOR THE PARDONER'S TALE. 425

three mounds of earth, and Jesus said a pure arid sweet prayer, so that the heaps of earth became pure gold.1 And he said : " One part, companion, is thine ; another is mine ; and the third part belongs to him who has secretly eaten that bread." When the man now perceived the gold, it was wonderful what a change came over him. Quickly he exclaimed : " 'Twas I who ate that bread ; I was an hungered, and ate it secretly in my need." When Jesus heard this confession, he said : " For myself I desire nothing ; the three are thine. Thou art of no use to me as a travelling companion ; though thou shouldst desire me, yet do I not desire thee." Thus he spake ; dejected was he thereat ; and so he left the man, and betook himself thence.

A little while passed by, and then there came two men, who, seeing the gold, at once became at enmity with him whom they found on the spot, and who exclaimed: "All this gold is mine." But the two others said : " This gold shall be ours." Between them contention and discord arose, until tongue and hand grew weary thereof. At length the three men agreed that the gold should be shared in three [equal] parts. All three were by this time very hungry, and they could no longer breathe for very weariness. One said : " Life goes before gold. Now I will go to the town, and there procure bread." The other two said: "If thou bringest us bread, verily in death thou bringest us new life. Go, get bread ; and when

1 This power of turning earth into gold is often ascribed to holy men in Eastern fictions. Take for example the following lines from the current volume of Captain R. C. Temple's Legends of the Panjdb (vol. iii. pp. 214, 215: "A Miracle of the Holy Sayyid Kabir, of Jalandhar") : " After a while a disciple came to the saint,

And found him living in the same poor way as before.

He said : ' Sir saint, I have a question :

Why dost thou dwell poorly now, and art not happy ? '

Said the saint : ' Pick me up a clod from the fields,

And behold my power, granted by the God of Mercy.'

When the saint put his hand upon the clod it became golden 1

Said he : ' God hath granted me all things, but it behoves me still to be dependent on Him.'

And again he said : 'The bil1 is placed there ;

It is of no use — throw it away.'

When the disciple looked at it, he found it as he had left it ;

Then he saw his fault and craved pardon for his presumption."

1 Captain Temple explains that " the IM \% a kind of receptacle uspil by fakfra, and consists of the hard rind of the bil (aeyle marmelot} fruit, the pulp being scooped out so as to form a cup."

426 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE :

thou returnest hither, we will share the gold in three parts as we before agreed." Straightway the man left the gold to his com- panions, arose quickly, and began his business. He came to the town, and there bought bread, and for a time ate of it; then he cunningly put poison in the rest of the bread, so that those two might die, and he remain alive, and all the gold be his only. But the two made a covenant on the spot that they would despatch that one, and then out of those three parts make two. As they were agreed, the man came up. The two instantly smote him dead, and then themselves died as soon as they ate the bread.

Jesus, son of Mary, returning to the spot, saw the slaughtered one and the two dead men lying there, and said : " If this gold remain here, untold numbers will perish therefore." And out of his pure soul he spake a prayer, when, lo ! the gold became dust and stones again. Then if gold is indeed better than stone and dust, yet better is gold that is covered with dust.1

In Mr. M. Cassim Siddi Lebbe's "Account of the Virgin Mary and Jesus according to Arabian Writers," contributed to The Orientalist, vol. i. pp. 46-7 (Kandy, 1884), we have a version which appears to be derived from the same source as that of 'Attar, if not indeed directly from it, although varying in some of the details, and especially in the catastrophe : had Mr. Lebbe stated his authority, the question might perhaps have been easily decided :

first

IT is related that Jesus was once journeying in company with a Jew, and the Lord proposed that they should put their stock of

1 The Persian text, with a Latin translation, of a different version, is given by Warner, but without stating the source, in his Proverbiormn et Sententiorum Persicarum Centuria (Leyden, 1644, p. 31) : Three travellers find a treasure. One goes to procure food, and so on. Jesus comes past with his disciples, and, seeing the three dead bodies, says : " Hsec est conditio mundi ! Videte quomodo ternos hosce tractaverit, et ipse tamen post eos in statu suo perseveret. Vre illi qui petit mandum ex mundo ! " — This story may be considered as a link between European versions and the Buddhist original.

2 I have considerably abridged the first part of this version, as it does not materially differ from that of the Persian poem.

FOR THE PARDONERS TALE.

427

food together, and make common property of it. Jesus had but one loaf, and the Jew had two loaves. In the absence of Jesus (to perform his devotions), the Jew ate one of the loaves, and afterwards persistently denied that he had done so. After Jesus had performed several miracles, each time conjuring the Jew to declare who had ate the loaf, and the Jew persisting there were originally but two loaves, the narrative thus proceeds : They came to a lonely place, where Jesus made three heaps of earth, and by hia word turned them into three massive blocks of gold. Then, addressing the Jew, he said : " Of these three blocks, one is for me, one for you, and the other for the man who ate the loaf." The Jew immediately exclaimed : " It was I that ate the loaf, and therefore I claim the two blocks." Jesus gently rebuked him for obstinately adhering to a falsehood, and, making over to him all three blocks, left him and went away. The Jew then endeavoured to carry off the blocks of gold, but found them too heavy to be moved. While he was thus wasting his strength in trying to move the blocks, Jesus returned to the spot and said to the Jew, "Have nothing to do with these heaps of gold. They will cause the death of three men ; leave them and follow me." The man obeyed, and leaving the gold where it lay, went away with Jesus.

Three travellers happened soon afterward to pass that way, and were delighted to find the gold. They agreed that each should take one. Finding it, however, a matter of impossibility to carry them, they resolved that one of them should go to the city for carts, and food for them to eat, whilst the other two should watch the treasure. So one of the travellers set out for the city, leaving the other two to guard the gold. During his absence the thoughts of his companions were engrossed in devising some means whereby they should become the sole sharers of the treasure, to the exclusion of the one who had gone to the city. They finally came to the diabolical resolution to kill him on his return. The same murderous design had entered into the mind of him who had gone to the city in reference to his companions. He bought food and mixed poison with it, and then returned to the spot to offer it to them. No sooner had he arrived, than, Avithout a word of warning, his companions fell upon him and

428 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TilOVE :

belaboured him to death. They then began to eat the food, which was in its turn to destroy them ; and so, as they were partaking of the poisoned repast, they fell down and expired. A little after, Jesus and the Jew were returning from their journey along that road, and seeing the three men lying dead amidst the gold, Jesus exclaimed, " This will be the end of the covetous who love gold ! " He then raised the three men to life, upon which they confessed their guilt, repented themselves, and thenceforward became disciples of Jesus. Nothing, however, could make the Jew overcome his avarice. He persisted in his desire to become the possessor of the gold ; but whilst he was struggling to carry away the blocks, the earth opened and swallowed him up, and the gold with him.

As the foregoing Arabian story was perhaps adapted from the Persian poem of Feridu-'d-Dhi 'Attar, so the second Persian version cited, in note, p. 426, may have been the source of the following, which is found in the Breslau edition of TJie Boole of the Thousand and One Nights (Burton's ' Supp. Nights,' vol. i. p. 250) :

Jkronb gnMan Iteimr,

THREE men once went out questing treasure, and came upon a block of gold weighing a hundred pounds. When they saw it they took it upon their shoulders and carried it till they drew near a certain city, when one of them said : " Let us sit in the mosque whilst one of us goes and buys us what we may eat." So they sat down in the mosque, and one of them arose and entered the city. When he came therein, his soul prompted him to false his two fellows, and get the gold to himself alone. Accordingly he bought food and poisoned it ; but when he returned to his comrades, they sprang upon him and slew him, in order that they might enjoy the gold without him. Then they ate of the poisoned food and died, and the gold lay cast down over against them. Presently Jesus, son of Mary (on whom be the Peace !), passed by, and seeing this, besought Allah Almighty for tidings of their case ; so He told him what had betidcd them, whereat great was his surprise ; and he

FOK Till*: PARDONERS TALE.

429

related to his disciples what he had seen.1 Then quoth Jesus (on Avhorn be the Peace !) : " Had these done prudently, they had taken thought for themselves ; but they unheeded the issues of events ; for that whoso neglecteth precaution is lost, and repenteth." 2

In the Arabic texts of The Nights printed at Calcutta and Biilak the story is presented in such a corrupted form that nearly all the features of the original have disappeared, as will be seen from the following rendering (Burton's "Nights", vol. ii. p. 158) :

f lfir& Arabian feitm.

IN a city called Sindah there was once a very wealthy merchant, who made ready his camel-loads, and equipped himself with goods, and set out with his outfit for such a city. Now he was followed by two sharpers, who had made up into bales what mer- chandise they could get ; and, giving out to the merchant that they also were merchants, wended with him by the way. So, halting at the first halting-place, they agreed to play him false and take all he had ; but at the same time each inwardly plotted foul play to the other, saying in his mind : " If I can cheat my comrade, times will go well with me, and I shall have all these goods to myself." So after planning this perfidy, one of them took food, and putting therein poison, brought it to his fellow ; the other did the same : ,v and they both ate of the poisoned mess, and they both died. Now they had been sitting with the merchant ; so when they left him, and were long absent from him, he sought for tidings of them, and

1 Here one of the disciples relates a short story, which has no particular bearing on the incident. — As Muslims do not believe in the divinity of Christ, though they revere him as the Spirit of God, breathed into the Virgin Mary by the angel Gabriel, he is here represented as applying to Allah for an ex- planation of the affair. Yet it is curious to observe that iu the last version he had foreknowledge that the lumps of gold would cause the death of three men.

2 With reference to the Persian and the two Arabian versions cited above, it should be observed that very possibly a Hindu form of the Buddhist story may have passed into Pahlavi, the ancient language of Persia, and thence into Arabic, after the Muhammediin conquest of that country, from which, as in the case of many other Indian tales, it would return to Persia.

:

430 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE:

found the twain lying dead, whereby he knew that they were sharpers who had plotted to play him foul, but their foul play had recoiled upon themselves. So the merchant was preserved, and took what they had.

The happy (?) dwellers in the " Vale of Cashmere " — the delights of which have been chanted by Tommy Moore,

In verses smooth and soft as cream,

albeit he was never there — have a version exclusively their own, apparently, and one which also varies considerably from the Buddhist story. Mr. Knowles, in his Dictionary of Kashmiri Proverbs and Sayings (Bombay, 1885), gives the legend (p. 45) as an illustration of a Kashmiri proverb ; but I suspect that in not a few instances the story has been made to suit the proverb, instead of the proverb having its origin in the tale or fable, as, for example, in the case of the sayings, " To bell the cat," " Don't count your chickens until they are hatched," etc., the sources of which are well known. In the following I have condensed a few lines at the beginning, as they refer only to the Kashmiri proverb :

iri teimu

ONCE upon a time four men quitted their native land together in order to seek their fortune. As they journeyed on, it came to pass that Allah, according to His power and wisdom, caused a large golden tree to spring up suddenly, which was loaded with rich clusters of golden fruit.1 Seeing this miracle, the travellers were astonished, and at once resolved to proceed no farther, but to take the tree home with them, and be glad for ever. In order to fell the tree, and cut it up into pieces of convenient size, it was arranged that two of the party should go to the nearest village and procure saws and axes, while the two others should remain to guard the precious treasure ; and they went accordingly. The two who were left to watch the tree began to consult together how they might kill their partners, and they resolved to mix poison with their bread, so

1 See note on treasure-trees, ante, p. 336.

FOR THE PARDONER'S TALE. 431

that, when they ate thereof, they would die, and they themselves should have a double share of the treasure. But the other two, who were going for the tools, had also plotted that they might get rid of their partners left behind by the tree, and they resolved to slay them with one stroke of the axe, and thus have a double share of the treasure. And when they returned from the village they immediately slew them with one stroke of the axe. Then they began to hew down the tree, and soon cut up the branches and made them into convenient bundles ; after which they sat down to eat and sleep. They ate of the poisoned bread, and slept the fatal sleep of death. Some time afterward, a party of travellers chanced to pass that way, and found the four bodies lying cold and stiff beneath the golden tree, with the bundles of golden branches ready for carrying away.

Along with Buddhism, when it spread eastwards and northwards, the story reached the plains of Tibet, but — probably in consequence of its having been long transmitted orally from one generation to another before being again reduced to writing — it has now become, in a shadowy form, mixed up with other tales, the product being " admired disorder" :

f Man tei0tt.

IN long past times a hunter wounded an elephant with a poisoned arrow. Perceiving that he had hit it, he followed after the arrow and killed the elephant. Five hundred robbers, who had plundered a hill-town, were led by an evil star to that spot, where they perceived the elephant. As it was just then a time of hunger with them, they said : " Now that we have found this meat, let 250 of us cut the flesh off the elephant and roast it, while 250 go to fetch water." Then those among them who had cut the flesh off the elephant and cooked it said among themselves : " Honoured sirs, now that we have accomplished such a task and collected so much stolen property, wherefore should we give away part of it to others'? Let us eat as much of the meat as we please, and then poison the rest. The others will eat the poisoned meat and. die, and then the goods will be ours." So, after they had eaten their fill of the

432 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE :

meat, they poisoned what remained over. Those who had gone to fetch water, likewise, when they had drank as much water as they wanted, poisoned what was left. So when they came back, and those who had eaten the flesh drank the water, and those who drank the water ate the flesh, they all of them died.1

One of the Avaddnas, or Indian tales and apologues, translated from the Chinese into French by Stanislas Julien, and published, in 3 vols., at Paris, 1859, is sufficiently analogous to be also cited, as a farther illustration of the maxim that " covetousness is the root of destruction : "

THE ambition of riches exposes us to a danger as formidable as a venomous serpent. We should neither look at them nor attach ourselves to them. One day Buddha, journeying in the province of Prasirajit, saw a place where a treasure had been de- posited by some one, which was composed of a quantity of precious things. Buddha said to Ananda, " Do you not see that venomous serpent?" "I see it," replied Ananda. At this moment there was a man walking behind Buddha. On hearing these words, he resolved to go and see the serpent. Having observed precious and beautiful objects, he bitterly blamed the words of Buddha, and considered them vain and foolish. " These are very precious things," said he, " and yet he said that it was a venomous serpent ! " Straightway he brought all the people of his house to the spot, and by their assistance conveyed away that treasure, so that his wealth became immense. But there was a man who presented himself before the king, and told him that that person had lately found a great treasure, and had not brought it to the judge. So the king immediately caused him to be cast into prison, and demanded from him the treasure which he had found. He declared that he had spent it all. But the king would not believe him ; he caused him to be stunned with blows, and put him to the most cruel tortures. This man recognized too late the truth of the words of Buddha.2

1 Tibetan Tales from Indian Sources. Translated from the Tibetan of the Kah-Gyur, by F. Anton Von Schiefner. Done into English, from the German, by W. E. S. Ralston, M.A. London : Triibner & Co. Pp. 286, 287.

2 Avadanas, tome ii. p. 89: the same story, with little variation, also occurs in tome i. p. GO.

FOR THE PARDONERS TALE.

433

These are all the Asiatic versions and variants known to me, and we may now return to European forms of the story, which do not very materially differ one from another. The tale of the Hermit, Death, and the Robber, in the 1572 edition of the Cento Novelle Antlche, cited, ante, p. 132, closely resembles the Pardoner's Tale, and it has also a parallel in the old Italian miracle-play of St. Antonio,1 published in D'Ancona's Rappresentazione Sacre, vol. ii. p. 33ff., part of the plot of which is as follows :

Italian p

THE Spirit of Avarice places a silver dish in the way of St. Antonio, to corrupt his virtue, " for such a springe will snare the wisest bird." Antonio walks in the desert and finds the basin. He at once perceives the trick and its origin. Avarice, finding his device unavailing, then sets forth a great pile of gold (monte d'oro), resolved, should this attempt fail, to give up the game. Antonio finds the gold, and roundly rails at the enemy, whose cunning has in this instance again been foiled.

Two robbers, Tagliagambe and Scaramuccia,2 meet : the latter asks the news. Trade is so bad that Tagliagambe has not a groat in his purse. Scaramuccia has been robbed of a thousand ducats at Reggio fair. He proposes that they join hands and take to the road. At this juncture Carapello, an old acquaintance, comes on the scene : they welcome him, and it is agreed that the three shall share equally all that they " convey."

The Devil (Satanasso) is introduced, ordering his fiends to soundly cudgel Antonio, whom pain, if not pleasure, may move. They do his bidding. Antonio is comforted by the appearance of Jesus, who promises him world-wide fame and an eternal reward. Healed of his wounds, Antonio walks into the desert, and meets with the robbers, whom he counsels to turn back from the death in

1 I suppose the holy hero of this play is the Saint Anthony who preached so fervently that the veiy fish in the sea popped up their heads above water to listen to him. He was born at Lisbon in 1195, and died at Padua in 1231.

2 Leg-slasher and Skirmisher.

CH. ORIG. 30

434 19. THE ROBBEUS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE :

their way. They take him for a madman, and go on. Finding the pile of gold, they laugh at the hermit's simplicity, who had called it Death.

The three robbers agree to draw lots for one of them to go to Damascus for food and flasks of wine, and a pair of balances to weigh the gold. The lot falls on Scaramuccia, who sets off, but on the way reflects on his folly in leaving the others in possession of the gold, and resolves to have it all for himself. He changes his lump for two and twenty ducats, purchases ratsbane of an apothe- cary, and plenty of victuals and wine, and, having poisoned the viands, he returns. Meanwhile the two others have concerted his death, and as soon as he appears they pick a quarrel with him and despatch him. They then sit down to their meal and dine heartily, particularly commending their late comrade's taste in wine ; and while they are considering how they shall extract the most enjoy- ment from their treasure, the poison begins to work, and speedily makes an end of them.

Avarice, delighted at his success, returns to Satan, full of confid- ence, and makes h5s report. He is promised a crown as his reward for having brought three souls below instead of one. An angel closes the show, and dismisses the spectators with a solemn injunc- tion to take warning by the catastrophe, and to direct their eyes upward, seeking God, who is the true riches.

dtaan, |rtntl), an& Jj0rtapes* tei0ns.

IN one German version three robbers murder a merchant for his money ; in another three men of Balkh find a treasure ; in yet another (Kuhn's Westfalische Sagen, Gebrauche, und Mdrchen) three Jews commit a robbery, and so on. Hans Sachs in a " Meisterlied," written in 1547, and again in a "Spiel," written in 1555, has the story in a form similar to that of the second Italian version (ante, p. 132), the only variations being that the hermit discovers the treasure in the hollow trunk of a tree, and the robbers, when he has conducted them to the place and warns them that the treasure is Death, thinking he is mocking them, instantly kill him.

FOB THE PARDONER'S TALE, 435

M. Pauliu Paris, in Les Manuscr its franca it, tome iv. p. 83, cites a version from a treatise on the Holy Scripture, " blaming the vices and praising the virtues" therein, of the 15th century, in which four rascals find a golden stone, and agree to share it when they have breakfasted. Two of them keep watch over the treasure while the other two go to buy bread, and so on. " Thus may we understand how things of earth are death to those who know not how to use them well ; for a hundred men may damn themselves for an inherit- ance, and the inheritance remain in its place to this day. It is the golden stone which does not die."

In Theophilus Braga's Contos tradicionces do povo portuguez, Xo. 143, a version is reproduced from the Orto do Sposo of Frei Hermene- gildo, 14th century, in which, as in the old French story, the number of the robbers is four : they open a grave near Rome, and find in it gold and silver, precious stones, and vessels and cups of gold ; one of them goes to the town to procure food, for which he gives the largest and finest golden cup, and so on.1

On comparing the several versions, it will be found that while the principal details of the original reappear in all of them without exception, one of its features has dropped out of the greater number, namely, the Bodisat's warning to the Brahman that his own death and that of others would result from his reciting the treasure- producing mantra. This is represented in the first Arabian version, in which Jesus counsels the sordid Jew to leave the gold ; in the first Italian (ante, p. 131), in which Christ tells his disciples that the treasure they had discovered was the destroyer of souls; in the second Italian (p. 1 32) and Hans Sachs, in both of which a hermit warns the robbers that Death (the treasure) is in a certain place ; and in Chaucer also, where, however, the " old chorle " does not exactly warn, but rather directs, the three youths where they " may findin deth." In the other versions the evil-doers have no such warning, but the result is precisely the same — they perish through their own cupidity.

1 I may state that I have in this paper reproduced and re-arranged some of the variants cited in my work on Popular Tales and Fictions.

436 19. THE ROBBERS AND THE TREASURE-TROVE.

The writer of a critical paper on the works of Chaucer in the Retrospective Review, 1826, vol. xiv., Part II., p. 341, says that " the Pardoner gives first a description of his preachings and his traffic, in such a style as sufficiently to show that it would have required no 'thinking time' to prepare him for 'japes and ribaudry,' and then a story, not unfit to have formed a part of one of his sermons of vulgar cajollery, which he has described himself as ranting to his customers." "What there is at all approaching " vulgar cajollery " in the Pardoner's Tale no one but this writer, I will venture to assert, has ever discovered. The tale is, on the contrary, not only in itself striking, but is told by Chaucer in a manner that is superior to any other version in prose or verse. Take for example those incidents which are apparently of our poet's own invention, and which render the catastrophe still more impressive : A pestilence is raging in a certain city, and three young men, dicing in a tavern, learning that the church-bell is constantly tolling because a " privie theefe " has come and is taking away the lives of the folk, start up and swear they will seelc out this traitor called Death, and slay him without fail. They meet an old man, and jeer at him because of his great age and decrepitude. He tells them that though he should walk into India, yet neither in city nor in village should he find any one willing to exchange his youth for his own old age, and so he must continue " as long time as it is Goddes will," for Death will not have him, wherefore he walks about like a restless caitiff, vainly knocking with his staff on the ground (which is his mother's gate), saying, " Dear mother, let me in ! " Then the old man directs the three "riottours" to an oak-tree, at the foot of which they would find Death, who would certainly not be afraid of them. The charge, or insinuation, made by the " retrospective " reviewer, that the Pardoner's Tale is flippant, is of course utterly absurd. True to his character, the Pardoner represents himself as indulging in japes and ribaldry in the course of his trade ; but he goes on to say that though he is a sinful man, yet he can tell a moral tale, and then follow a long series of just reflections upon various vices and sins, in which there is assuredly nothing of the nature of " vulgar cajollery." GLASGOW, December, 1886.

-ft*

437

20.

LATIN SOURCE, OTHER EUROPEAN VERSIONS, AND ASIATIC ANALOGUES

Chaucer's jBanctple's

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

CH. oiua.

438

LATIN SOURCE ... ... ... ... ... ... 439

GOWER'S VERSION 440

OLDEST FRENCH VERSION 442

OLDEST ENGLISH VERSION ... ... ... ... ... 448

GREEK VERSION ... ... ... ... ... ... 451

PERSIAN ANALOGUES 453

PANJABI ANALOGUE , 469

439

THE TELL-TALE BIRD:

LATIN SOURCE, OTHER EUROPEAN VERSIONS, AND ASIATIC ANALOGUES OF THE MANCIPLE'S TALE.

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

THE Manciple's Talc, simple though it be in construction, is of peculiar interest to students of the history of popular fictions. In its more elaborate form — which is of purely Eastern origin — it belongs to the Woman's Wiles Cycle of tales, as will be shown in the course of this paper. Chaucer adapted his story from Ovid'.s Metamorphoses, Book II, Feb. 9, where it is thus told :

ihtw Source.

"AN, quse per to tarn res est notissima Lesbon, 591 "Haven't yon

L\ heard how Nic-

o.A_ £*on audita tibi est, patrium temerasse cubile tcmene \w.\\\w a

>T ,. n • -11 -J • i bird, for incest !-"

IS i yctimenen I avis ilia quidem ; sed conscia culpae, Conspectum lucemque fugit, tenebrisque pudorem Celat : et a cunctis expellitur cethere toto."

Talia dicenti ; " Tibi," ait, " revocamina," corvus, "A plague on

" Sint, precor, ista nialo : nos vanum spernimus omen." quot^tne'raven, Xec cceptutn dimittit iter ; dominoque jacentem torfofcoronii

Cum juvene Htemonio vidisse Coronida narrat. Hal-imm'i'-ii'f

Laurea delapsa est, audito crimine, amanti ; 600 The god in wrath

bent his bow,

i,t pariter vultusque Deo, plectrumque, colorque and sped the shaft.

Excidit : utque animus tumida f ervebat ab ira ;

Arma adsueta rapit ; flexumque a cornibiis arcum

Tendit ; et ilia suo toties cum pectore juncta

Indevitato trajecit pectora telo.

Icta dedit gemitum, tractoque a vulnere ferro she drew it forth :

, , T 1 • F T, i "I nn^'lit IKIVI-

Candida puiinceo perfudit membra cruore; first br

Et dixit, " Potui poenas tibi, PluL-be, dedisse ;

fortll> 1'1'" '"'" '

440 20. TIIK TKI.L-TALK KIUD :

Sed pepcrisse prius : duo mine moriemur in nna." Her iifc-bioo<i Ilactenus ; et pariter vitam cum sanguine fndit : G10

flows ; she dies. . .

Corpus inane animae frigus letale sequutum est. TOO late lie la- Poenitet hen ! sero poenae crudelis amantem ;

mt'iits his cruelty;

hates bird, bow Seque, quod audierit, quod sic exarserit, odit :

and arrows ;

Odit avem, per quam crimen causamque dolendi Scire coactus erat ; nervumque, arcumque, manumque Odit, cumque manu, temeraria tela, sagittas : Collapsamque fovet ; seraque ope vincere fata Nititur ; et medicos exercet inaniter artes. tries to revive her Quse postquam frustra tcntata, rogunique porari

in vain. ^ «

He groans to see Vidit, et arsuros suprcmis ignibus artus ; G20

her on the pyre ;

Turn vero gemitus, neque enim crclestia tingui Ora licet lacrimis, alto do corde petitos 4 Edidit : baud aliter, quam quum, spectante juvonca, Lactentis vituli, dextra libratus ab aure, Tempora discussit claro cava malleus ictu. Ut tamen ingratos in pectora fudit odores, Et dedit amplexus, injustaque justa peregit ; snatches the child Non tulit in cineres labi sua Phoebus eosdem

from the flames ;

Semina : sed natum flammis uteroque parentis Eripuit ; geminique tulit Chironis in antrum : and ciian^es the Speranteiuque sibi 11011 falsao prasmia linguae,

raven to black.

Inter aves albas vetuit considere corvum. 632

Gower has also, and avowedly, taken this fable into his CV Amantis, Book III, as follows, according to Harl. MS. 3869, If. 101 :

(Site's teian.

Phoeims had a Phebus,* which makj) \>G daies lihte, A loue he hadde, which po1 hihte

* Quia litipantes ova sua cohibere nequiu/tt hie ponit Confessor *E\cmj>lum contra illos qui in amoris causa alterius consiliuwt rcuelare prcsumunt. Et narrat (\na\lter quedaw. auis tune albissima, nomine Coruus, consiliu/w, downif sue Coruide pbebo dcnudauit ; Vnde contigit now soluw ip.«am Coruidem int/'/-fici ; set et coruuw/, qui antea tanq?/^m nix alb//* fuit, in piceum colorem jiro pc/'petuo trausmutari. [Sidenote, in red, in the MS.]

1 Then.

F()H TIIK .V.I.YC//'7,7'.'.s- TALE.

141

Cornide, whom a-boucn1 allo

Ho plese)) • bot what schal bcfallc

Of loue, per is noman knowejj.

Bot as fortune hire happes prowc-p,

So it befell vpon a chance,

A $ong knyht tok hire aqueintance,

And hadde of hire al J>at he wolde.

Bot a fals bridd, which sche hap lioldo

And kept in chambre of pure jowpe,

Discoeuerep al fat euere he cowpc.2

This briddes name was as po

Corvus, pe which was panne also

Wei more whyt pan eny Swan ;

And he pat schoot,3 al fat he can

Of his ladi, to phebus seide.

And he for wrappe his swerde outbreide,4

Wip which Cornide anon he slowh j5

Bot after him was wo ynowh,

And tok a full gret repentance ;

Wherof, in tokne and remembrance

Of hem which vsen wicke6 speche,

Vpon pis bridd he tok Jris wreche : 7

That per he was snow-whyt tofore,8

Euere afterward colblak perfore

He was transformed, as it schcwej).

And many a man }it him beschrewej),9

And clepen10 him into Jris day

A Raven, be whom jit men mai

Take euidence, whan he crie)>,

That som mishapp it signefiejj.

Be war, perfore, and sei J>e beste,

If JJGU wolt be Jnsclf in reste,

Mi goode Sone, as .1. J>e rede.11

called Comiilc,

4 I'ut love is pre- carious.

She loved a young knight

liut a pet bird,

12

a crow, white as a swaii,

16 told all to Phoebus,

and he slew Cor- nide.

20 Then he repented the deed, and, as

a warning to slanderers,

24

changed the crow from white to blaek.

28 So the raven's cry is ominous of evil.

32

35

Tell no tales, therefore, my son.

1 Above. z Knew. 3 "Shoot": Imp or progeny of the devil.

4 Drew out. 5 Slow. c Wicked ; false. 7 Revenue. 8 Before ; up to that time. y C'urseth. 10 Call. u Advice ; counsel.

142 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

Gower, it will be observed, gives the story, not only as a warning to his " son " to be circumspect in his speech — to avoid tale-telling, if he would live in peace — but also to account for the croak of the raven being considered as ominous of approaching misfortune to him who hears it. Chaucer follows his original more closely by simply telling the fable to explain why " crowes be alle blacke," and he has a serio-comic reflection on restraining the freedom of women, employ- ing the illustrations of the caged bird and the pet cat.

But long before the time of Chaucer and Gower the fable of the Tell-Tale Bird had come into Europe in a different form and from another source, namely, an oral version of one of the tales in the Book of Sindibad, brought from the East probably during the later crusades, and included in the Western form of that celebrated work, known generally in Europe as the ' History of the Seven Sages of Rome.' It does not occur in the earliest version, the Latin work entitled Dolopathos (see ante, p. 322), which, indeed, may be regarded as unique ; but it is found in the oldest French metrical version, Li Romans des Se.pt Sages, written probably towards the end of the 13th century, which Dr. Adelbert Keller published, at Tubingen, with a most learned and elaborate Einleitung, in 1836. The story begins with line 3150 of the MS. preserved in the National Library, Paris, and on p. 121 of Dr. Keller's edition :

THE HUSBAND AND HIS MAGPIE.

©Ikst rcncl Icrsion.

A rich man had /"^ HIL riches hom Ot Vne pie,

De lui est bien drois, que vous die ; that could talk El parloit si apertement,

like a woman. _, . 111

Et si tres entendablement,

Autressi comme che fust fame ; 5

Grant parole en fu par le regne.

It was kept in an Eu V11C gayole molt bit.'l'J irim '"'.-''' -rx f i • P f -J. • t

De ncr, ki fu faite nouuiele,

Fu enserree cele pie,

Ki tant fu sage et ensaigniej 10

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE.

443

A vne chaine ert fremee La gayole de fier doublee ; Vers le toit lauoit on pendue, Si estoit en biele veue ; II ne valsist pour nul chatal, Que nule riens li feist mal

En lostel ot mestier molt grant, Tuit le haoient li serghant ; II ni eust riens raescheue, Que tout ne fust par li conte, Ne fait, ne dit chose en trestor, Que tout ne deist au signor. La dame ne fu tant hardie, Kele issist hors sans compaignie, Sel neust deus homines ou trois, Et sen reuenoit de manois, La pie le gardoit si fort, De son dru li tolt le deport. Molt le haoient li serghant Communalment petit et grant, Et la dame molt le haoit, Mais mal faire ne li osoit.

fastened with a chain,

hanging from the roof.

15

Hated by the servants for tell- ing tales,

20

25

so that the wile dared not go abroad alone,

for the pie told all.

30

Un ior ni fu pas le signor, 'Ne de ses hommes li pluisor ; La dame remest et la pie A sa maisnie a escherie. Ele se sist et pourpensa, Confaitement sen vengera. Ele en apiela un serghant, Et cil en uint ali errant : Puis rnege point fier en toil Oil, ma dama, par ma foi. Astu veu, de cele pie Xe rue lait mener druerie,

One day the man goes from home,

35 go she'll punish the pie.

40

Calls a servant.

" You see how the pic won't let me play with my

friend.

444

20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD

At night go on the roof,

throw gravel through the cracks, so the pie may have a bad time ;

take a mallet and make a noise,

flash candles, as it were a storm."

Ne puis a mon ami parler, Baisier, ioir, ne acoler ; Sestu ore, que te feras 1 Sempres par nuit ten monteras Pardedesus cele maison, Et si le me descueure enson, Puis ten descen sor le planchier, Menuement le fai perchier, Cue et grauiele porteras, Par les pertruis les jeteras, Si que la pie soit moillie, Et quil traie male nuitie ; Et un maillet desus ferras, Plain poing de candoilles tenras, Ki seront molt bien alumees, Par le pertruis seront mostrees, Quele cuide, che soit ores Et meruilleuse tempestes.

45

50

55

60

All this is done,

and the pie has a sad night.

At dawn he comes down,

and she bids the lover put on his clothes and be off.

Saying " good- bye,"

Chil en fist son commandemant, Sor la maison monta errant, Et a tout auoec lui porte, Chou que la dame a deuise ; Onques ne fina toute nuit, Or ot la pie mal deduit. Quant la gaite corna le iour, Et li serghans tout sans trestour De la maison sen descend!, Et maintenant le racouuri, Et la dame refist leuer Isnielement sans demorer Son ami, ki od lui gisoit. La dame molt bien li disoit, Kil se hastast dapparillier. Lors se leua le cheualier, Et se vesti hastiuement,

65

70

75

FOR THE MANCIPLES TALE.

445

Puis semparti isnielement, Congie demande, si senua, Mais la pie li escria : Sire gerart, li fils tierri, Maluais plait nous aues basti. Pour coi natendes ID on signer, Quant vus gisies auoec soisor? Honte grant uous en auenra ; Je li dirai, quant il venra. Oil semparti, il remanoit. Es vus le signor, ki venoit ; De son palefroi descendi, La dame auoit lestrier saisi, Entor le col li mist ses bras, Et dist, kele amoit son solas, Molt se gaboit bien del baron, Quele nel prisoit un bouton.

Li cheualiers sesmeruilla,

Que sa pie alui ne parla ;

Droit a la gaiole en venoit,

Sa femme iouste lui estoit.

Li sires apiela sa pie :

Que faites vous, mehaut amie ?

Comment vous est ] niestes vous sainne ?

Dites le moi por sainte helainne !

Vous solijes amoi parlor,

Et molt grant ioie demener ;

Or vous voi si coie et si mue,

Et si pensiue et esperdue.

Sire, lochoisons est honeste,

Tant sui batue de tempeste,

Conques toute nuit ne fina ;

Ne que liaue, caumolin va,

Ne de plouuoir, ne de venter,

Ne desloidir, ne de tonner ;

80

85

Hie pie cries, " Sir Gerard, son of Thierry, has served up an evil dish : I'll tell the master."

90 The master comes ;

his wife holds his stirrup and embraces him.

95

He wonders at the pie's silence.

100

" What's the matter, sweet- heart ?

105 You used to amuse me, and now you are coy and mute."

110

" I've got cause : all night I've been beat with rain, wind, thunder and lightning;

44G 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

and your wife lay Et vostre f emme se coucha 115

with Gerard, son

of Thierry." Dedens che lit, ke vees la,

Auoec gerart le fil tierri.

Dist la dame : sire, merchi ! says the Dame, Ensi le deues vous bien croire,

"Don't believe it!

Plus a dun moys ne fist tonnoire. 120

Esgardes en cele palu, see if it has Sil la ne tant ne quant pleu.

rained 1

Ainsi auint or la fortune, The moon shone Que chelui soir raia la lune,

Trestout nuit luisant et bide, 125

De cors estoit non pas nouiele ;

Que la ou li sires estoit,

En la maison, ou il gisoit, so imu-h so that Raia la lune desour lui ;

the knights coin- Tr. . .. . . . . , OA

plained of it." Ki molt li faisoit grant anui ;

A ses cheualiers se plaignoit

De la lune, ki si luisoit. He thinks the pie Lors cuida il bien, que sa pie

has been false ;

Li ait par tout dit trecherie ; opens the cage, La iaiole auoit desfremee, 135

takes the pie and

kills it. Sa main auoit dedens boutee,

Au maltalent, kil ot honeste,

Li auoit rompue la teste ;

Pui le tua de maintenant. "Fiy to the devil! Vastu au dyable volant ! 140

for thou'st often . . .

made me wroth Car mamtes fois ma fait irier,

with my wile." - .

Et ma femme corecnier. Presently lie Atant en son lit est assis,

sees the roofing

removed ; Molt corechous et molt pensis ;

Contremont auoit regarde, 145

Si vit le feste remue, calls for a ladder, Et laisil, qui fu enuiron,

Et la liue de la maison,

Que pendre molt en i soloit,

Mais ore point nen sauoit. 150

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 447

Un sien serghant lues apiela :

Unc eschiele maporte cha !

Quo par ihesu, qui ne meuti, •• For, by Jesus,

my wife is false ! "

Je cuic, ma femme ma trai.

Et cil a leschiele aportee, 155 He climbs to the

roof,

Droit au feste si la leuee.

Li sires est amont monies,

Que plus ne si est arestes.

Vne palu auoit veue,

Ki de leue fu espandue, 160

Et le maillet i regarda, sees the mallet

Et la Cire, kil degOUta and the wax from

the caudles.

Des candoiles, com le seriant

Les aloit desus bauloiant.

Or seit il bien sans trecherie, 165 NOW he knows

he has killed the Qua tort auoit OCCis Sa pie. innocent pie,

De maintenant atrait lespee, and cuts off the

wife's head.

Si a sa femme decolee ;

Or a il fait comme li leus, For one wrong he

has done three.

Pour un damaige en a fait deus. 170

In the 14th century an English metrical version was made from the French under the title of Tlie Prows of the Seuyn Sages, the only copy of which exists in the Auchinleck MS., preserved in the Advocates' Library, Edinburgh, and it is printed in the third volume of Henry Weber's Metrical Romances of the 13th, 14th, and 15th Centuries.1 As Weber's editions of the old romances are not always accurate, the story of the Burgess and his Magpie, which follows, has been collated with the original in the Auchinleck MS. by Mr. J. T. Clark, of the Advocates' Library, for whose kind services I take this opportunity of gratefully acknowledging my indebtedness :

1 Ellis, in his Specimens of Early English Metrical Romances, gives an epitome of another version, from the Cotton MS. folio in the British Museum ; smcl Wright edited, for the Percy Society (vol. xvi.), a different MS. preserved in the University Library of Cambridge. Our prose version, first printed by Wynkyn de Worde (c. 1505), and afterwards by William Copelaud (e. 1550), was made from a French translation of the Latin prose work entitled llixtorlit, Septcm Sajiicntum Homos, composed soon after the introduction of printing.

118

20. THE TELL-TALE UIKD :

isl teion.1

There was a rich burgess in Rome,

A burgeis was in Eome toun, A richeman, of gret renoun ; Marchaunt he was, of gret auoir,2

who bad a fair but And had a wif was queint3 and fair; But sche was fikel under hir lok, And hadde a parti of eue smok : And manie ben }it of hire kinne, Jjat ben al bilapped per inne ! )3e burgeis hadde a pie in his halle, )3at coupe telle tales alle Apertlich4, in French langage, And heng5 in a fair cage, And sep6 lemmans comen and gon, And teld hire louerd7 sone anon ; And, for pat J)e pie hadde i-said, J3e wif was ofte iuel i-paid.8 And pe burgeis louede his pie, For he wiste he coupe nowt lie. So hit bifil vpon a dai, J3e burgeis fram home tok his wai, And wente aboute his marchaundise : )5e wif waited anon hire prise,9 And sente hire copiuer10 fore ; And whanne he com to the halle dore,

who came privily He ne dorste nowt in hie,11

for fear of the pie.

For pe wrennglj of the pie.

He had a pie I luii could talk in French,

and told her lord of his wife's in- trigues.

One day when the burgess was from home,

the wife sent for her lover,

The pie cries out

" You're here for no good ; I'll tell."

10

15

20

25

J)e wif him bi the bond hent,

And into chaumbre anon thai went.

\)e pie bigan to grede13 anon :

" Ya ! now mi louerd is out i-gon, 30

)3ou comest hider for no gode !

I schal ^ou wraie, bi pe rode ! "

1 Auchinleck MS. fol. 60, c, line 6 from foot. 2 Possessions. 3 Neat.

4 Openly ; plainly. 5 Hung. 6 Sees. 7 Lord ; master.

8 Ill-pleased. 9 Opportunity. 10 Lover. u llashly.

12 Discovering ; betraying. 13 Cry.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 449

be wif bouite schent1 je was ; The wife devises

!i trick.

A wrenche2 }he boujte nabclas,3

And clepccle a maido to make here bed, 35 Calls a maid

And after, bi hir bo)>er4 red,5

A laddre bai sette be halle to, By means of a

ladder they undid

And vndede a tile or two ; a tile or two,

Ouer be pie bai gan handel flashed a basin

and candle over

A cler bacyn6 and a candel; 40 the pie,

A pot ful of Water cler and shed a pot

of water on her

bai schadde upon be pies swer.7 neck.

With bacyn beting and kandol li^t

bai bobbed8 the pie bi ni^t,

And water on him gan schenche : 9 45

bis was on of wommannes wrenche.

bo10 the dai dawen gan, At dawn the lover

stole away.

Awai stal the yonge man.

Men vnlek dore and windowe ;

The pie hir schok with mochel howe,11 50

For sche was fain that hit was dai :

be copiner was went his wai.

be gode burgeis was horn i-come ; The burgess

. comes home.

In to be halle be wai he nome.12

be pie saide : " In God Almijt ! 55 The pie MI* him

of the lover,

be copmer was her to-ni^t,

And hab i-don the mochel schame ;

I-mad an hore of oure dame !

And jit hit had ben to-nijt and how it had

thundered all

Gret rain and bonder bri^t ; GO night.

Sehchen13 ich was brid in mi nest, I ne had neuere so iuel rest."

bo wif hab be tale i-herd, The wife, hearing

this, says :

And boujte wel to ben amered;14

1 Shamed. 2 Stratagem ; trick ; wilo. 3 Nevertheless.

4 Bother = of both. 6 P>y their joint counsel.

6 A clear basin- — polished so as to reflect the lijrht.

7 Neck. 8 Deceived. " Same as skrjilte, to pour out.

10 Then. n ^luch care. 12 Took: nime = take. l3 Since.

14 Examined ; proved innocent : amerian, Sax.

450

20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

" sir, you should And saide : " Sire, thou hast outrage

not believe a pic.

To leuc a pic in a kagc !

G5

The night was

clear,

and she says it

thundered.

Many a lie she's told, but I'll be revenged of her."

He learns from his neighbours that it had been a fine night.

So he said the pie should lie no more,

and broke her neck.

But he is soon sorry,

and suspects foul play.

He goes out ;

sees the ladder;

climbs up to the

roof;

finds the pot with

the water,

and the other things.

He goes down in a great rage,

and with a staff l*ats his wife out of doors,

and bids her go to the Devil.

To-ni^t was f e weder fair and cler,

And f e firmament wel fair ;

And sche saif hit haf ben thonder ;

She haf i-lowe1 mani a wonder;

Bat ich be2 awreke of here swife,

NQ schal I neuer ben wornman blif e ! "

The godeman askede his nejebours

Of fat ni^t and of f e ours.

And fai saide fat al fat 1113 1

Was the weder cler and brijt.

pe burgeis saide f e pie

Ne scholde him namore lie.

Narno wordes he far spak,

But, also swife, his nekke to-brak.

And whanne he se^ his pie ded,

For sorewe coude he no red :

He se^gh3 hir and his cage,

He f oujte4 of gile and of outrage.

He wente him out, fe ladder he scgj,5

And up to f e halle rof he stegj ; °

Jje pot wi} f e water he fond

(pat he brak wij his bond) ;

And mani of er trecherie

Jjat was i-don to his pie.

He went him doun, wi^outen of,

In his herte grim and wrof ;

And wi3 a gode staf, ful sket,

His wife ate dore he bet,

And bade hire go, fat ilche day,7

On alder8 twenti deuel wai !9

70

75

80

85

90

9G

1 Laid. 2 But = except, unless. 3 Beheld.

4 Suspected. 5 Seeth. ° Mounteth. Sax. stipan.

1 That very day : that very instant : there and then. 8 Alder = of all.

9 On the way of all the twenty devils, to hell. — Here the injured huslisind cniiiciiis himself with driving his wife out of doors, but in the French version lie cuts off her head.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 451

About a century before the monk of Alta Silva composed his Dolopathos, a Greek version of the Book of Sindibad, entitled Syntipas, was made from the Syriac by one Andreopulos, regarding whom nothing is known ; but there is no evidence that the French monk was acquainted with this or any other written Eastern version of the work. With a parrot in place of a magpie our story occurs in all the Asiatic texts of the Book of Sindibad, and this is how it goes in the Greek text as edited by Dr. Eberhard :

T

6reek itesum.

HEEE was a man of the tribe of Agarenes \i. e. Arabs] who, being officiously and curiously inquisitive into what was done in his house, purchased a bird which spoke articulately, that which in common parlance is called " parrot." And putting the bird in a cage, he brought and kept it in his house, and charged the bird to watch his wife closely, [saying], "and if, when I am away from home, the woman do aught amiss, take care to tell me." So the man, having charged the parrot in this manner, departed on a journey. But then a certain man entered the house and committed adultery with the woman, her handmaid also being aware of this. Now when the man came back from his journey, he asked the parrot what he had seen the woman doing. The parrot declared to his lord all the licentious conduct of the wife ; and the man was sorely grieved, and lay no longer Avith her. And the wife suspected her own handmaid of having reported her affairs to the man, and calling her, said wrathfully and bitterly : " Hast thou of a truth reported to my husband all that I have done1?" And the handmaid swore a great oath that she had not told her master a word about her. "But kno.w, mistress, it is the parrot that has told all about thee to the master." "When the woman heard of the bird's accusa- tion, she had recourse to an artifice to prove to her husband that the bird was false. The next night, taking the parrot with his cage where she lay, she set near it an upper millstone and turned it, wherefrom a noise as of thunder was heard; and before the bird's eyes she moved a mirror about, so that it seemed to shoot forth lightnings ; moreover, suspending a wetted sponge above the parrot,

452 20. THE TELL-TALE BIIiD :

she made water to stream upon it. Now the parrot, while all this was going on, hid itself in a corner of its cage, and to the bird it seemed all the night through to rain, and roar, and lighten, and thunder. In the morning the woman's husband went to the parrot, and said to it : " What hast thou seen this night ? " And the parrot made answer : " The rain and thunder and lightnings of the night have not suffered me to see what happened this night." Then the man, hearing these words of the bird, said within himself : " Indeed there was nothing true in all that the bird reported to me, but all he told me was false and deceiving, as is plain from what he has just now told me. For nothing has happened this night, nor did rain come down, nor thunders roar, nor lightnings flash ; whence also all that the parrot told me about my yokefellow was verily falsehood and deceit."1

The Book of Sindibad is generally allowed to have originated in India, and there is strong evidence that it is of Buddhist invention : if this be so, the classical fable of Phoebus and the Crow must be considered as an adaptation of the tale of the Merchant and his Parrot. It is probable that this idea of a man having a talking bird to watch over his wife's conduct during his absence suggested the plan of the Sanskrit collection entitled Sulca Saptati, or Seventy Tales of a Parrot, in which a parrot detains its mistress from an illicit amour on which she was bent, night after night, while her husband is on a journey. This work is a comparatively modern version of a much older book, now lost, which was translated into Persian, under the title of Tuti Ndma, Parrot-Book, or Tales of a Parrot, also no longer extant, but it was re-written, as is stated in some verses at the end, in A.H. 730 (A.D. 13292), by Ziya ed-Di'n Nakhshabi, at the command of a great personage, whom he does not name. Ziya ed-Din assumed Nakhshabi as his takhallus, or poetical

1 Here the man neither kills the parrot nor punishes his wife ; and in another MS. text of Sytitipas (Codex Dresdensis, D 33), also reproduced by Eberhard, we are told that " henceforth he loved his wife better than before, and they dwelt still in concord. — In such wise wrought that all-wicked woman

her husband." — The story also occurs near the beginning of the Xit/hts, and in the Turkish History of the Forty Vezirs (Gibb).

2 Not 1306, as stated, ante, p. 310.

FOR TIIK MAXCrPLE's TALE. 453

name, from KTakhshab, or Nasaf, the modern Karshi, a town situated between Samarkand and the river Oxus — probably his birthplace.1 The Tiiti Ndma comprises fifty-two tales, and the work has not yet, I understand, been wholly translated into any European language. The twelve first stories were rendered into English "by a Teacher of Persic " — that is, the Rev. B. Gerrans — and published, at London, in 1792, and the translator did not complete his work — perhaps for lack of sufficient public encouragement.2 An abridgment of the Persian text, reducing the number of the tales to thirty-five, made by Muhammecl Kadiri in the last century (through which Xakh- shabi's work is now mainly known in India), was translated into English and published at Calcutta and London, 1800-1, and into German by G. J. L. Iken, Stuttgart, 1837.3 — In most of the Indian versions (Tehigii, &c.) the parrot is a man who has assumed the form of that bird from some cause — in consequence of a curse or otherwise — but this disappears, of course, from the Persian book. As Gerrans' book is now rarely met with outside of great libraries, I here reproduce the introduction and opening tale :

Inune of tljc Jkrsiau " Parrot-gaofe."

IN the joyful days of peace and plenty, when every peasant ate two dates at a mouthful and each camel filled two pails at a milking,4 there flourished in one of the cities of Hind5 a merchant, whose name was Mubarak.0 His warehouses were filled with inerchandise, his coffers overflowed with gold, and he counted his

1 Dr. Ricn's r,iltiJn//)ir of Persian M$S. in tJir TiritixJi Jln.irt/nt, vol. ii., p. 753.

2 Dr. Ricu does not seem to bo aware that Gorrans' translation is not complete.

3 A Turkish version of the Tali \nnin (Dr. Rieu terms it an "imitation," but I am informed by a competent Turkish scholar that it is a fair abridgment of the Persian work) has been translated into German by Georg Rosen, Leipsig, 1858.

4 In other words, in the fabulous golden age, when, saith a Persian poet, "the world was free from the ills of strife, and the eye of the arrow saw not the face of the bow." In Hindii tales the cow and the tiger are often repre- sented as living together in amity, and the earth as yielding its fruits in abundance during the reign of a just rdj;i.

6 India. lj L c. Fortunate.

CII. ORIG. 32

454 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

diamonds by sacks. His house was magnificent and convenient, his attendants numerous and splendid, and his clients as the sands of the shore. But the bowl of his auspicious fortune was embittered by the sherbet of anxiety, and the sunshine of his felicity blasted by the mildew of grief; for though the choicest mirabolans of beauty ornamented his gilded haram, yet to transmit his name to posterity the pearl-string of succession was wanting. To obtain the blessing of offspring, lowly on the dust of humility he prostrated the brow of obedience, and daily offered to the Father of Clemency the grateful incense of prayer. The odour of his supplication gained admission to the durbar of benevolence, and the sterile cloud which had long overshadowed the horizon of opulence disappeared. After nine moons had completely filled their orbs, a son was born in his house, who, in a two-fold degree of perfection, eclipsed the beauty of Yusuf.1

1 That is, Joseph the son of the Hebrew patriarch Jacob, whose personal comeliness is celebrated by many Muslim poets and prose writers. According to the legend, the lady friends of Zulaykha, the wife of Potiphar (who was a eunuch, it is said), having reproached her for being in love with the young slave, she invited them to afternoon tea (or its ancient Egyptian equivalent), and, after causing a fruit and a knife to be put in the hands of each lady, she secretly summoned Joseph, at the sight of whose beauteous countenance the ladies in their excitement cut their hands with the knives. Then quoth Zulaykha to them : " Do you now marvel at my love for this Hebrew youth ? "

This is how Kadiri's version begins : " One of the princes of former times, whose name was Ahmad Sultan, possessed much riches and effects, with a numerous army, so that one hundred thousand horses, fifteen hundred chains of elephants, and nine hundred strings of camels of burthen stood ready at his gate. But he had no children, neither son nor daughter. He therefore continually visited the worshippers of God [t. e. devotees, or darveshes], to engage their intercession in his favour : and day and night, morning and evening, was himself offering up prayers for a son. After some time the Creator of heaven and earth bestowed on the aforesaid king a son, of beautiful form, his countenance resplendent as the sun, and his forehead resembling the moon. From the delight occasioned by this event, the heart of Ahmad Sultan expanded like a new-blown rose. He bestowed many thousand rupis and pagodas on darveshes and fakirs. For three months the omras, vazirs, sages, learned men. and teachers in the city were feasted, and he gave away costly dresses." Here we have — quite unnecessarily, and indeed inconsistently — the merchant Mubarak transformed into a powerful monarch. — The want of children is considered by Asiatics as a great disgrace ; and by far the greater number of Eastern tales begin by describing the unhappiness of a prinoe, vazir, or rich merchant, because he had not a son. This is perhaps imitated in the Tale of Beryn (Chaucer Society Publications, Second Series, xx., p. 28, 1. 845 ff.), where Fawnus and Agea, in answer to their prayers to Heaven, obtain the "blessing" of an heir after twelve years of wedlock. It does

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALI-:. 455

To this decorator of the mansion of joy Mubarak gave the name of Maymun ;l and when the season of life had put the down of his cheek to flight, he obtained for him a virgin bride, whose name was Khujasta.2 The mutual joys of this happy pair were manifested by •a thousand marks of delight, and no greater portion of happiness did the Predestinator at any period decree to a lover and a beloved object than that which existed between Maymun the rich and Khujasta the happy. The demon of perfidy never assailed the skirts of their fancy, and the breeze of mistrust ruffled not the surface of .their minds ; but, equally worthy of each other, they long reposed on the sofa of ease, and quaffed the wine of enjoyment.

One day, as Maymun passed through the bazar, the common crier, by order of the clerk of the market, was offering a parrot for

seem rather strange to find Asiatics lay the want of offspring so much to heart, but their prophets and lawgivers have from very remote times reiterated the imperative duty of "replenishing and multiplying"; and in order to enforce this, the sacred books of the Hindus denounce dreadful punishments in the next world on all who have died without leaving issue. For example, in the Introduction Book (Adi Parva) of the ancient Hindu epic, Mahdbhuratn, sect, xiii, we are told of a sage who "once undertook a journey over the world, equipped with spiritual energy. And he visited divers holy spots, and rested where night overtook him. And he practised religious austerities, hard to be practised by men of undeveloped minds. And he lived upon air, and renounced sleep for ever. Thus going about like flaming fire, one day he happened to see his ancestors, hanging head foremost in a great hole, their feet pointing to the sky. On seeing them Jaratkaru (the sage) addressed them thus : ' Who are ye thus hanging head foremost in this hole, by a rope of rirann fibres that is secretly eaten into by rats living here?' The ancestors said : ' We are vow-observing rlsJtis [holy men] of the Yayavara sect. We have come by this low state in consequence of want of descendants. We have a son named Jaratkaru. Woe is us ! that wretch hath entered upon a life of austerities, and the fool doth not think of raising offspring by marriage. It is for that reason that we have met with this fate.' " The sage (or "fool," as his suffering ancestors termed Jaratkaru) at once sets about the task of begetting a son. — In the same Book, sect, ccxxi, a rishi is thus addressed by celestials : "Without doubt, it is for religious rites, study according to the ordinance, and progeny that men are born debtors. These debts are all discharged by sacri- fices, asceticism, and offspring. Thou art an ascetic, and hast also performed sacrifices ; but thou hast no offspring. These [celestial] regions are shut against thee only for want of children. Beget thee children, therefore ! Then shalt thou enjoy multifarious regions of felicity. The Vedas have declared that the son rescueth the father from a hell called Pitt, Then, O best of Bnihmanas, strive thou to beget offspring ! " — and so he did, and succeeded. One should not have supposed any such commands and threats at all necessary, as human nature is constituted !

1 i. e. Auspicious. 2 i. e. Prosperous, fortunate, &c.

456 20. THE TRLL-TALE BIRD :

sale. Approaching the vender, lie demanded the price, and was answered a thousand dinars,1 to which Majmiin replied indignantly : " He must surely be bound with the rope of ignorance who would expend so much money for a bird ! " The parrot exclaimed : " O master, before you are acquainted with my qualifications, you have no reason to find fault with my price. If my body is not full of delicate flesh, yet do I possess many accomplishments. The learned are confounded by my eloquence, the illustrious charmed on behold- ing me, the populace delighted by my loquacity, while my wit is the salt of assemblies. I am neither angel nor apostle, but like them my mantle is green. I am neither hiiri nor hermit, but my beauties resemble the one, and my virtues surpass the other. I am neither fakir nor Muslim, but a flying chief and rapid companion. I am no king of mortals ; but the verdant earth is my carpet, the summit of the air my throne, and my dominions are the boundless regions which separate the earth from heaven. The concealed actions of good or evil fortune, which are hidden in the womb of futurity from mortals, have been explored by my enlightened eye, and the decrees of the table of destiny are engraved on my retentive memory. To furnish a proof of my prescience, know that before three days shall elapse there will be so great a demand for sandal-wood,2 by the sale of Avhich, if you listen to my advice, you may pay the sum demanded for me, and gain considerably besides. Purchase me therefore on this condition, that, if after the period I have mentioned, you choose to

1 About five hundred pounds.

2 In Kadiri's abridgment spikenard is substituted for sandal-wood. " The sandal-tree," says Forbes, " is indigenous on the rocky hills of the Onore districts, and if permitted would grow to a tolerable size ; but the wood is so valuable that the tree is cut down at an early .stage, and we seldom meet with any more than a foot broad. The wood is either red, yellow, or whitish brown ; and, from its colour and size, is called the first, second, and third sorts of sandal-wood, each varying in price, the best from 150 to 200 rupis the canry, of SCO pounds' weight. The wood of the brightest colour and strongest scent is most esteemed, having a fine grain, and an aromatic smell which it communicates to everything near it; it is therefore used in small cabinets, escritoires, and similar articles, and no insect can exist nor iron rust within its influence. From the dust and shavings is extracted an aromatic oil ; the oil and the wood are used by the Hindus and I'arsis in their religious ceremonies, but tlie greatest part of the wood is reserved for the China markets, where it sells to great advantage." — Oriental Memoirs, vol. i. p. 308.

FOR THE MANCIPLES TALE. 457

retain me in your service, you make good your payment for me with part of your profits, and if not, you may return me to my present master." This marvellous relation of the green-mantled prattler found access to the auditory of Maymdn's approbation, and he bought him on the conditions proposed ; after which he purchased all the sandal-wood in the city, and before three days were expired he paid the thousand dinars with an inconsiderable part of the profit, and added the remainder to his capital.1

Some days after, as the merchant passed by the same bazar, the clerk of the market was in like manner offering for sale a sharyk,2 which he purchased and placed by the side of the parrot, hoping that an agreeable companion would mollify the rigour of servitude, and reconcile him to the confinement of a cage.

When the parrot had given the most surprising proofs of his wisdom and ingenuity, Maymdn exhibited him as a prodigy before crowded assemblies, consulted him in all his affairs, and entrusted him with the most important commissions. One clay as he sat by his cage, after discoursing on a variety of subjects, the conversation accidentally changed to the advantages of travel, which the green- mantled secretary so clearly proved that his master, though he had never beheld the sea, began instantly to draw on his boots, and make preparations for a voyage.

Then he repaired to Khujasta, and thus addressed her : " Amiable essence of my soul ! beloved rennet of my existence ! a young man is a slave to the revolutions of time. Autumn robs the rose-tree of

1 A sagacious parrot often figures in Hindu stories, where it is generally represented as a human being re-born in the form of that bird. In the liiiliiir-l JJdiiish (see ante, p. 313) Jehamlar Shah, having learned the magical art of transferring his own soul into any dead body, reanimates a deer, when his treacherous tutor in the art immediately transfers his spirit into the king's bodv, returns to the palace, and personates Jehandar. The king afterwards enters the dead body of a parrot, allows himself to be captured by a fowler, and bids him ask in the market a large sum of money for him, which he should certainly obtain. A merchant is induced to purchase the parrot by the sagacious observations which he makes, and the bird soon becomes famous for his shrewd decisions in difficult cases. — The idea of this story was probably borrowed from the Prakrit poetical romance of Vikramaditya, king of Ujjain ; and it also occurs in the Kdtha Sarit Sagara, the Turkish Forty Vazirs, and other Eastern story-books.

- A kind of nightingale that can be taught to imitate the human voice with wonderful precision.

458 20. THE TELL TALE BIRD :

bloom, and the chilling blasts of winter scatter her verdant honours around; yet at the gay return of spring the vital sap re-ascends. But when the autumn of manhood is past, and the winter of old age crowns the heads of mortals with snow, the spring of youth returns no more. While the season of life permits, therefore, I am determined on a foreign expedition, in order to collect the bread of industry from the ocean of immensity; each wave of which rolls wealth to the shore, and the bark of the merchant is surrounded with treasure. A man without riches is fatherless, and a house without money is deserted. He that is void of cash may be con- sidered as a nonentity, and he wanders in the crowd unknown. It is therefore every man's duty to procure money : gold is the delight of our lives ; it is the bright live-coal of our hearts — the yellow links which fasten the coat of mail — the gentle stimulative of the world — the complete coining-die of the globe — the traveller who speaks all languages, and is welcome in every city — the splendid bride unveiled, and the defender, register, and mirror of the kings of the earth ! "

Nakhshabi, the man who has dirhams1 is handsome ;

A hundred worms gnaw the bowels of the poor ;

Gold will be the resuscitation of a people.

The sun ever shines inauspicious on the man without money.2

1 That is, money; Scottiee, "siller"; Fr. "1'argent." A dirham is a silver coin, about equal in value to sixpence.

2 This eulogium of riches may be compared with the following maxims from the Hitopadesa, in which there is, I think, veiled sarcasm :

" "With wealth every one is powerful ; through wealth one becomes learned." " He who has riches has friends ; he who has riches has relations ; he who has riches is a man of consequence in the world ; he who has riches is even a sage."

The Hindu poet Bhartrihari says (Niti Sdtaka, 41) : " If a man be wealthy, he is of good family, he is wise, he is learned in the Scriptures, he is virtuous, eloquent, beautiful. All the virtues attach themselves to gold."

In the Burmese story-book, Decisions of Thoo-dhamma-tsari, we read that " a man without substance is base and contemptible."

The Arabian poet El-Hariri (ob. 1121 A.D.) thus addresses a gold dinar, in his Makamat, as translated by Preston ;

Hail, noble coin ! of saffron colour clear, O'er regions wide who passest far and near ! Thy worth, thy titles, current still remain ; Thy lines the secret pledge of wealth contain ; Successful industry thy steps attend ; Thy aspect bright all welcome as a friend ; Endeared to all, as though thy precious ore Had e'en been molten from their own heart's core.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 459

"Allowing tlie advantages of a sea-voyage to be great," replied Khujasta, " and that every surge rolls wealth to the shore, yet the accidents and misfortunes are greater. The merchant of blest inde- pendence can never be considered wise, who through a sordid love of gold should leave the port of security, hoist to the gale of accident, and expose himself to a thousand dangers on the ocean of ruin. What is gold, but the manacle of the abject — the chain of the con- temptible— the blinder of the covetous — the fetter of lovers — the source of insincere friendship — the gaudy idol of the insensate multi- tude— the wild plum which ripens with the barley of the hypocrite, and the coined image of the enslavers of mankind? But," con- tinued the lady, " if you are determined upon this expedition, permit me to accompany you ; for the sages affirm that the presence of a wife in a voyage will fill the sails with delight and smooth the brow of suspicion."

Maymun rejoined : " 0 Khujasta, the sages also compare a wife to a threshold : as that is at all times immovable, so a wife should be always at home. Imitate, then, the threshold's constancy, and

"Whose purse them fillest boldness may display, Though kindred be remiss or far away ; With thee the great their influence maintain ; "Without thee pleasure's sons of want complain. What heroes thy collected might hath quelled ! What host of cares one stroke of thine dispelled ! How oft an angry churl whose fury burned, Thy whispered mention hath to mildness turned ! Through thee the captive, by his kin forgot, Is ransomed back to joy's unmingled lot. Such power is thine, that if I feared not blame, I e'en would say, " Almighty is thy name ! "

But the same ingenious poet also considered the fascinating piece of metal from a different point of view, saying that it benefits its possessor only when it takes flight, and concluding that —

Wise is he who spurns without delay Thy proffered aid, and flings thee far away ; Who, deaf to all thy soft enticiug tones, With scorn unfeigned thy sordid love disowns, And sternly bids thy glittering form begone, How bright soe'er its false allurement shone."

And William Rowley, in his Search for Money (1G09), says that " its best part is but earth, and its too much worshipped greatness, in my poor judgment, is but a bare-legged passage through many acres of briars for a handful of rushes on the other side, being found not worth half the toil." Nevertheless, as learning is never despised by a learned man, so wealth is always appreciated by a wealthy man — the ignorant and the poverty-stricken are of no account I

4GO 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

during my absence communicate all your affairs to the parrot and the sharyk : ask their advice, and transact no concern of moment which exceeds the boundaries of your comprehension without the joint concurrence of these two sagacious birds. Virtue is the child of prudence, and prosperity and safety will be the progeny of attention."

Here the merchant concluded his lecture, and bade adieu to the sweet paste of his affections, who punctually observed all his com- mands for a considerable time after his departure.

When Maymun had prolonged the moons of his absence, it chanced that as Khujasta was one morning standing on the roof of her house, to inhale the breeze of health, the son of the raja of the city was passing by with his train, whom she no sooner beheld, but the subtle poison entered at her eyes and pervaded her enamoured frame. The battle-axe of prudence dropped from her feeble hand ; the vessel of continence became a sport to the waves of confusion ; and while the avenues leading to the fortress of reason remained unguarded, the sugar-cane of incontinence triumphantly raised its head above the rose-tree of patience. The sirdar of the vanguard of tranquillity was overpowered by the hurrawal of passion ; and the sultan of inconstancy placed his victorious standard on the citadel of her bleeding heart. If some remaining sparks of honour and duty at first laid the reins of prohibition on the courser of desire, they were finally extinguished by the torrent of inclination, and, resigned to her infamy, she said : " Day is the veil of lovers, and night the season of stratagem to those who long to see an absent favourite. This day, when the extensive carpet of splendour shall be folded up, and the obscure curtain of night let down, I will hasten to the abode of my prince."1

1 This incident is related differently in Kadiri's version : "At the end of six months, one day Khujasta, after having bathed herself and adorned her person, was looking out of a window at the top of the house into the street, when a prince of another country, who had travelled into this city, having beheld the glowing cheeks of Khujasta, was distracted with love, and Khujasta also was fascinated at the sight of the prince. The same hour the prince sent a procuress to Khujasta privately, with a message that, provided she would only take the trouble to visit his house any night for four hours, he, in return for this condescension, would present her with a ring estimated at a lakh of pagodas. At first, however, she did not agree to his proposal, but at length

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 461

Accordingly, when the season of evening had arrived, and the sun was retired behind the veil of the west, Khujasta removed the veil of modesty from her countenance, and, imagining that her feathered counsellors would, through friendship and complaisance to a lady, commend her resolution and facilitate her departure, she thus addressed the sharyk : " 0 bird of a thousand songs, a serious accident has befallen me, and powerful obstacles impede the execu- tion of a most important business. This night I am determined to go secretly to the mansion of a lover, and moisten my thirsty soul with the wine of society. What approbation do you show to my purpose, and what indulgence do you give to my expedition 1 "

The sharyk, with the key of zeal, unlocked the gates of sincerity ; expanded the doors of eloquence; and in the most affectionate manner began to exhibit the chapters of precaution. But the manna of his salutary counsel was wasted on an ungrateful soil ; for, inflamed with rage, and distracted with impure desire, the daughter of infamy drew forth the unfortunate songster from the cage, and with the rude hand of violence dashed him upon the pavement of death.

After this, glowing with indignation and stained with cruelty, she repaired to the parrot's cage, and said : " Secretary of the verdant mantle, what advice have you to offer, and what indulgence do you give to my passion 1 " The bird of sagacity, after clawing his head, ruffling up his feathers, and rubbing his beak on his perch, drew from the treatment of his comrade this conclusion : "If, in the beaten path of sincerity, I unlock the springs of exhortation, I shall experience the sharyk's fate ; and if, by unbounded indulgence and ill-timed connivance, I encourage her in her idleness and infamy, we shall both fall from the battlements of honour into the bottomless abyss of ruin. Some plan must therefore be concerted to rescue me from the precipice of danger, extricate her from the labyrinth of incontinence, and secure my master's honour."

the instigations of the procuress prevailed, and she returned him for answer, that as day reveals and night casts a veil over our actions, she would wait, upon the prince after midnight." — Gerrans probably omitted the business of the go-between as being " improper " ; but by so doing he represented the lady as more depraved than she really was.

462 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

The parrot accordingly commiserated her situation, quenched the fire of indignation with the water of flattery, in these words : " Immaculate governess ! since the table of destiny has decreed that the eyes of your affection should be transferred from your consort to a lover, and the bird of disloyalty has built his inflammable nest in your bosom, pluck the thorn of care from your heart, bind yourself with the zone of hilarity, and by my powerful mediation you shall arrive at the tent of delight, and enjoy the musky presence of your beloved. Should Maymdn return during your absence, and the particulars of your secret connections be whispered by the breath of envy, or transmitted on the leaves of explanation, I have an antidote ready to counteract the poison of malevolence; for the son of Mubarak will listen to me, like the merchant Purubal, Avho believed his cockatoo, and was reconciled to his wife." Khujasta inquired what sort of a story that was, and her ingenious secretary proceeded to gratify her curiosity by relating the tale of

THE PRUDENT COCKATOO.1

IN one of the principal cities of Hindustan there lived a merchant, whose name was Puriibal, who had a cockatoo of such marvellous accomplishments that he committed to his care the management of all his affairs, and made him steward of his household; which important trust the bird discharged with honour and integrity, and gave an exact account to his master of everything that passed. It happened on one occasion that the merchant was obliged to go abroad on some business, and before leaving home he commanded his wife to form no connection or transact any business of import- ance without the advice and approbation of the bird of instruction. The lady promised faithfully to follow his injunctions, though indeed nothing was farther from her purpose, for the day after his departure she became so deeply enamoured of a youth in her neighbourhood that she entertained him. in her house every night, and converted the nuptial sofa into the couch of adultery. The cockatoo, through fear, pretended not to observe what was going on, saying to himself,

1 In Kadiri the story is told of the Parrot of Farukh Beg.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 463

in the words of Shafei,1 " May the blessings of Allah rest on the extremity of my pretended ignorance ! "

When the merchant returned, the parti-coloured steward gave a faithful and circumstantial account of all that had occurred in his absence, except the intrigue, which he plunged into the gulf of oblivion and impressed with the signet of silence, charitably con- cluding that a disclosure of the affair would strip the bark from the tree of union. But in spite of the bird's reticence, his master was soon acquainted with the whole matter from another quarter, for love and musk cannot remain long concealed, as the wise have said. The merchant's wife sorely lamented that the tale of her infamy was thus manifested on the carpet of scandal, and, believing that her husband had been informed of her intrigue by the cockatoo, became inimically disposed towards the bird of intelligence, per- mitted the seed of rancour to be sown in her heart, which by diligent cultivation ripened into the fruit of vengeance.

One night, seizing the opportunity, she cruelly extracted one of the longest feathers of his wing ; another night she spoiled his food ; and on a third she plucked him from his cage. The hapless bird, crying aloud for help, brought some of the household to his cage ; but seeing it empty concluded that he had been carried off by a cat.2 But fresh disasters awaited him ; for the lady, thinking it too much indulgence to kill him at once, disguised herself in a variegated robe, placed a diadem on her head, and drawing her gaudy train like a bird of paradise, ascended a canopy of state, then commanded a slave to tie a string about the foot of the harmless feathered secretary, by which he was suspended, from the ceiling, turning round like a darwesh ;3 and to augment the horrors of his situation, the one while made a noise like a lapAving, at another counterfeited the crowing of a cock, the cry of a woman in labour, or

1 The founder of one of the four " orthodox " sects of Muslims.

- In Kadiri's version it is said that the lady " took an opportunity at midnight of plucking off the bird's feathers, and, flinging him out of doors, called out to the male and female slaves of the family that a cat had carried away the bird."

3 One of the "dancing," or twirling, Muslim devotees, whose extraordinary performances are described in Lane's Mwlri-ii Ei/yytians, ch. xi., and Lady Isabel Burton's Inner Life of Syria, vol. i. ch. xiii.

464 20. 'THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

the monthly lamentations made for the dead. As when the baleful hail-storm copiously descends on the peaceful flower-garden, the tender shoots languish, the branch is stripped of verdure, the root withers and internally decays; the fragrant volume of the full- blown rose, in fragments torn, becomes the sport of adverse winds, the distressed rose-bud alters, and his green robe is changed into a deadly blue colour; the jasmine, the snow-drop, and the lily that decorates the vale become livid, and the tulip, variegated with white and red, droops like an expiring lover.

Nakhshabi, lament with the people who mourn :

The clamour of a woman is like the sound of a bell ;

The lamentations of the populace are sweet to exalted souls.

If the sorrows for the dead and this lady's behaviour to the cockatoo have any analogy, they differ in this particular : for the sages affirm that the departed spirit is insensible of their prayers and complaints, because in the flowery bowers of Paradise, where pleasures are unin- terrupted and eternal, no crevice can possibly remain open to admit the voice of affliction ; whereas the poor bird was so deeply affected by the lady's behaviour that it nearly cost him his life. In the neighbourhood was a cemetery,1 to which the mutilated bird repaired, limping, and made choice of a solitary corner from which he never issued but in the night time to procure himself a scanty meal.

While affairs were in this condition, the infamous behaviour of the lady spread the gloom of melancholy on her husband's brow, and rent the caul of his heart with the briars of distraction. For the loss of his cockatoo he exhibited the energy of woe, and the daughter of adultery he drove from his house ; and though conciliating friends poured the wine of peace and the oil of concord into the wounds of jealousy, he departed not from the basis of his determination.

Nakhshabi, attempt not to move by persuasion the heart afflicted with griof. The heart that is overwhelmed with the billows of sorrow will, by slow degrees, return to itself.

When the lady saw that the mediation of friends was vain to bind her husband with the zone of reconciliation, she execrated her wretched existence,, and, void of hope, departed to the cemetery,

1 According to Gerrans' version, a mosque, but this is evidently im error and I have substituted cemetery, as iu Kadiri.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALK. 4G5

whore she determined to pass the remainder of her days in devotion.

One night, as she rolled on the pavement of sorrow, tormented with the thorn of remorse, the cockatoo exclaimed from a hole in a monument : " Contaminated daughter of lewd ness, overwhelmed with the waves of despair, to obliterate thy enormous crimes, and reconcile thee to thy injured husband, the table of destiny decrees that thou, with thine own hand, pluck every hair from thy head, and spend forty days of penance on the dust of contrition." The penitent instantly complied, voluntarily inflicting on herself this ignominious punishment, upon which the bird, coming forth from its concealment, thus addressed her : " The garment with which you clothed me you yourself shall wear. The ground you have culti- vated shall yield its increase, and the seed which you have sown you shall reap. I am that innocent bird whom you so unjustly dis- honoured and abused. May this oracular monument bear witness, that the punishment I received from your hand you shall, in due measure, receive from me, and the balance of justice shall no longer be suspended in vain. While I conducted your affairs with recti- tude, and carefully guarded your bread and salt, and impressed your misconduct with the seal of silence, and disclosed not to your husband the history of your enormities, you treated me as a per- fidious accuser, and made the corners of the public bazar and the roofs of the bathing-houses echo my imaginary crimes. How shall I mark the packet of your cruelty with the signet of oblivion or for- giveness ? How can I attempt to clothe you with the white robe of innocence, or with the tongue of hypocrisy impose on my master's credulity ? "

The next morning, when the imperial golden-winged cockatoo of day appeared on his oriental perch, and the serene sharyk of the night had retired to his occidental cage, the bird of loquacity, resolving to excel himself in generosity, returned to the merchant's house, and with the tongue of congratulation bestowed on him the sulam of health. The merchant asked in surprise: "What art thou1?" The bird of ingenuity, unlocking the springs of invention, answered : "I am thine ancient secretary, who was torn from my

466 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

cage by the fangs of cruelty, and deposited in the voracious belly of a cat." The merchant, struck with wonder, doubted the testimony of his senses, and questioned the bird on the manner of his resurrec- tion, and was answered : " Your innocent and immaculate wife, whom, in the effervescence of your jealous indignation, you turned out of doors, and branded with the name of adulteress, with no other testimony of her guilt than the letter of a calumniator unknown, has now taken up her residence in the neighbouring cemetery. To the virtue of her supplication I owe my restoration to life, and I am now sent to you to be a witness of her chastity, and to testify to the world that whatever has been reported of her lewdness has no foundation in truth." The merchant, full of admiration, exclaimed : " Into what a fatal labyrinth of error has the green-eyed monster of jealousy conducted me ! What an unpardonable crime I have com- mitted ! My chaste and virtuous wife, whose prayers are so power- ful as to raise the dead, has been by me accused of incontinence ! " He then hastened to the mosque, prostrated the forehead of obse- quiousness on the threshold of contrition ; humbly implored pardon for the injuries he had inflicted ; imprinted on her face and cheek the salutation of peace ; and brought her back to his house with all honour.

The parrot goes on thus every night relating stories to the amorous dame, taking care to prolong his recital until it was too late for the assignation, and on her husband's return — according to Kadiri's version — when the " green-mantled secretary " has informed him of all that had transpired in his absence : the lady's intended intrigue ; her slaying the sharyk ; and his own clever device to preserve her chastity — of body ; that of her mind being, as we have seen, already soiled — he immediately put her to death. Gerrans, in his Prolegomena, says that "all ends well," from which we may suppose that in his text the husband was reconciled to his wife. In one Telugu version (Toti ndma cafhalu) the lady kills the bird after hearing its recitals; and in another the husband, on learning what had occurred, cuts off his wife's head and becomes an ascetic — the cruel and foolish man !

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 467

This device of a parrot relating diverting stories to keep a wanton wife at home is reflected in one of the Kalmuk tales of Ardshi Bordshi (Sanskrit, Eaja Bhoja), where a merchant having purchased a wonderfully clever parrot, for a very large sum of money, leaves it to keep watch over the doings of his spouse while he is abroad ; and when the lady purposes going out on the pretence of visiting her female friends, the parrot detains her all night by telling her the story of the woman who swore falsely that she had not dishonoured her husband, and yet spoke the truth in so doing, which will be found, ante, p. 357.

In Professor T. F. Crane's Italian Popular Tales, pp. 167-183, there are no fewer than three stories of a similar kind, which must have been derived — indirectly, of course — from some Eastern, pro- bably Syriac, version of the ' Parrot-Book.' One of these is from Sicily : A merchant who is very jealous of his wife is obliged to go on a journey, and at her own suggestion he shuts her up in the house, with an abundant supply of food. One day she looks out of a window which the husband had inadvertently left open, and just at the moment a gentleman and a notary happen to pass and see her. They lay a wager as to which of them should first speak to the lady. The notary (very naturally ?) summons an evil spirit, to whom he sells his soul on the condition that he win the bet. The devil changes him into a parrot, who gains access to the lady's presence, and to entertain her relates three stories. On the merchant's return the parrot is placed on the table at dinner, splashes some of the soup into the husband's eyes, flies at his breast and strangles him, and then escapes through the window. After this the notary assumes his proper form, marries the merchant's widow, and wins his wager with the gentleman. — In a version from Pisa the story is told very differently : A merchant had a beautiful daughter, of whom both the king and the viceroy were deeply enamoured. The king knew that the merchant would soon have to go abroad on business, and he would then have a chance of speaking with the damsel. The viceroy was also aware of this, and considered how he could prevent the king from succeeding in his design. He goes to a witch, and gives her a great sum of money for teaching him how to transform himself

468 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

into a parrot. The merchant buys him for his daughter and departs. Whuii the parrot thinks it about time for the king to come, he says to the young lady : " I will amuse you with a story ; but you must listen to me, and not see any one while I am telling it." Then he begins, and after he has got a little way in it, a servant enters and tells his mistress that there is a letter for her. " Tell her to bring it later," says the parrot, " and now listen to me." The mistress said to the servant : " I do not receive letters while my father is away," and the parrot continued. After a while, another interruption ; a servant announced the visit of an aunt of her mistress : it was not her aunt, however, but an old woman who came from the king. Quoth the parrot : " Don't receive her — we are in the best bit of the story," and the lady sent word that she did not receive any visits while her father was absent; so the parrot Avent on. When the story was ended, the lady was so pleased that she would listen to no one else until her father returned. Then the parrot disappeared, and the viceroy visited the merchant and asked his daughter's hand. He consented, and the marriage took place that very day. The wedding was scarcely over when a gentleman came to ask the lady's hand for the king, but it was too late. And the poor king, who was much in love with her, died of a broken heart; and so the merchant's daughter remained the Avife of the viceroy, Avho had proved himself to be more cunning than the king.

It is curious to observe the transformations which the Parrot- story has undergone after having been brought to Italy, as in all likelihood it Avas, by Venetian merchants trading to the Levant in the 14th and 15th centuries, and it is not less strange that the story has not found a place among the popular fictions of other European countries.

A very remarkable form of the Parrot-story is found in one of the numerous legends of the Panjabi hero Kaja Rasalu recited by the Bhats or minstrels, a class rapidly disappearing, and therefore a deep debt of gratitude is owing by all who are interested in the genealogy of folk-tales to Captain E. C. Temple for the valuable collection he is publishing, under the title of Legends of the Panjdb,

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 4G1>

of which two, if not three, volumes have already been completed (London agents, Messrs. Triibner & Co.). The following version of the Parrot-story is from Captain Temple's first volume : for the notes which have not the letter T appended I must be held responsible :

RAJA RASALU having played at Cliaupur with Raja Sarkap for their heads and won, he spared his opponent's life on condition that he should never more play for such a stake, and give him his new-born daughter Kokilan1 to wife, the legend thus proceeds :

Then Raj 4 Rasalii went to the Miirti hills and there planted a mango branch. There he had the Rani Kokilan placed in an under- ground palace, and said : " When the mango branch blossoms then will Rani Kokilan arrive at her full youth." After twelve years the mango tree began to blossom and give forth fruit, and the Rani Kokilan became a woman. One day she said to Raja Rasalu : " What is it that people say happens when you shoot an animal in the jangals ? " He replied : " When I shoot an animal with an arrow it falls down in a faint, after running seven paces towards me." " This is a very wonderful thing," said the Rani, " and I shall not believe it till I see it with my own eyes." So next morning the Raja made Kokilan ride on a pillion behind him, and he wore some coarse clothes over his own, so that her perspiration should not injure him. In this way he went forth into the jangals to shoot. Presently he shot a deer, and the deer as soon as it was wounded ran seven paces away from him and fell down. " Last night," said the Rani Kokilan, "you told me that when you hit an animal it would fall seven paces towards you, but this has fallen seven paces away from you. Your words have not come true." "My virtue has left me," said the raja, "because you have been riding on the same horse with me." " I will catch the deer with my hands," said she, " and will bring them to you." And so she opened out seven locks of her scented hair, and sat on a tower of the palace, and the sweet scent filled the

1 i. e. Cooing-dove. CH. OHIO. 33

470 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

air. T\vo deer, called Hira and Nila, came to where she was sitting, attracted by the scent of her hair, and stood by her. Then Raja Rasalii determined to try the power of attraction of Rani Kokilan's hair, and frightened the deer with his bow. As soon as the deer Nila heard the twang of the bow he ran for his life, but the deer Hira was so attracted by the scent of Rani Kokilan's hair that he remained where he was. " It woiild be a pity to kill this deer that is so fond of my wife," thought the raja, "but I will mark him well." He cut off the tail and ears to mark him, and then the deer said to the raja : " I have not injured thy fields, nor have I broken thy hedge : why hast thou cut my tail ? what damage have I done ? I am but a deer of the thick jangal ; I will bring a thief into thy palace." Saying this the deer Hira went off to join his fellows, but they cast him out of their herd, because he had no ears or tail. So he became very sorrowful and went into the kingdom of Raja Hodi, son of Raja Atkf Mall, where he joined a herd of deer. After a while he brought the whole herd into Raja Hodi's garden and destroyed it. As soon as Raj 4 Hodi heard of this destruction he sent in men to catch the deer, and they all ran away except the deer Hira, who remained hidden in the garden. Presently Raja Hodi came himself into the garden, and then the deer ran off, followed by the raja on a horse. The deer led Raja Hodi to the palace of Raja Rasald, in the Miirti hills, and then said to him : " Why have you followed me so far?" "Why did you destroy my garden1?" said the raja. " I have followed you to kill you." " I destroyed your garden because Ram Kokilan ordered it," said the deer. "Who is she?" asked the raja. " She is sitting in that little latticed window above in the palace."

When he heard this the raja looked up and saw the Rani Kokilan, and they began to talk ; meanwhile the deer Hira hid him- self in a bush. Said the rani : "0 raja, wandering beneath the palace, art thou a true man or a thief 1 Art thou an enemy to my raja? or does an animal stand there?" Hodi replied: "Thieves wear dirty clothes, rani, true men, clean. Nor am I Rasahi's enemy, nor does an animal stand here. I came afar after my quarry; I stand here of necessity." Then he said : " The black rain-clouds

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 471

fall from the clouds,1 what jeweller made thee ? 0 thou of the nose- ornament ! 0 lips red with the betel-leaves ! What king's daughter art thou] what king's wife? Leaving thee in the palace, where has the fool gone 1 " The rani answered : " I fell from no rain-cloud, raja; no jeweller made me. My nose is a s word- point ;2 betel-leaves are on my lips. I am Raja Sarkap's daughter ; I am Raja Rasalii's wife : leaving me in the palace, he has gone to hunt in the river-side swamps." And then she asked : " Where is thy city, raja 1 Where is thy home 1 What king's son art thou 1 What is thy name ? " The raja replied: " Sindh is my city, rani; Atak is my home. I am Raja Atki Mall's son ; Raja Hodi is my name." Said the ranf : " The green grapes are ripe ; the pomegranate drips : none such as thou can have a footing in the raja's house." Then said Hodi to her : " Show me how to get to you " ; and she pointed out where the steps were, saying : " There is a large stone at the entrance of the staircase; you have only to remove that and come up." The raja did as he was bidden, but could by no means remove the stone, so he said : " I am a pedlar of Sindh ; I sell black camphor : take into thy presence what merchandise thy heart doth desire." Then the Rani Kokilan pointed out another flight of three steps, but Hodi said when he saw the steps : " I am not a bird that I can fly. If you really want me, let down a rope for me to climb up."3 So Rani Kokilan let down a rope, and Hodi climbed up it. He found in the palace two cages, in one of which was a maind 4 and in the other a parrot.

As soon as the parrot saw Raja Hodi he hid his head under his wing and told the maind to do the same. And the maind did so, while Raja Hodi climbed up the rope and got on to the first step. Then she said to the parrot : " Listen, 0 beloved parrot, loved best of all — listen to my words : stay not here, parrot, where is nor friend

1 Apparent reference to the dark complexion of Kokilan. — T.

2 /. e. I am very fascinating. — T.

3 In the Shah Ndma (Book of Kings), by Firdausi, the Homer of Persia, when Zal visits the beauteous Rudaba, she lets down her long hair, by which he climbs up to her balcony — but their interview is innocent, for the hero's "intentions" are perfectly virtuous.

4 A hill starling.

472 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

nor relative. I have seen a wondrous thing, a crow eating the raja's grapes." " What have you to do with it, muind ? " said the parrot. " Be quiet and hide your head under your wing." Mean- while Raja Hodi had climbed on to the second step, and the maind said to the parrot : " Listen, 0 beloved parrot, loved best of all — listen to my words : I have seen a wondrous thing, a dog eating the rice." But the parrot frightened the maind again, and meanwhile Eaja Hodi reached the third step and called out. Then the maind said again : " Listen, 0 beloved parrot, loved best of all — listen to my words : I have seen a wondrous thing, an ass braying in the raja's palace." Then the parrot said to the maind again: "I have often told you to be quiet, but you pay no attention." But the maind said : " This thief comes into the house and shouts. This is what makes me angry and prevents me from being quiet." In the meantime the raja had got in, and being very thirsty asked the rani for water. But the water could not be easily got, and they both began to break away the stones at the brim of Raja Rasalii's well to get at the water. After a while Rani Kokilan got up some water in a pitcher and gave it to Hodi to drink. The raja stopped two or three hours with Rani Kokilan and then began to inquire about going away again. " Stay all night," said the rani, but he was afraid and would not stay. So the rani began to weep bitterly, and when Hodi saw her tears he said he would be back in four or five days, and he wiped away her tears with his own hands. Her eyes were covered with kdjal,1 and as he wiped them his hands got black from

1 Kajal, or kayala, is a pigment applied to increase the beauty of the eyes. An Indian poet tells his lady-love that her eyes have completely eclipsed those of the deer — "then why add kdyala? Is it not enough that thou destroy thy victim, unless thou do it with poisoned arrows ? " The Arab poet Ibn Hamdis as-Sakali (ob. 1132 A.D.) says : "To increase the blackness of her eyes, she has applied antimony around them, thus adding poison to the dart which was already sufficient to give death. " And our English poet Sir John Suckling has thus expressed the same idea :

'• Th* adorning thee with so much art

Is but a barbarous skill : 'Tis like the poisoning of the dart, Too apt before to kill."

Thomson's "beauty unadorned" would find no admirers among Asiatics: ' ' Beauty, " says a Persian poet, ' ' decorated with ornaments, portends disastrous

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 473

it. " I will be back in three days," said the raja as he got ready to go. "You made me a promise before and broke it,"1 said the rani, " and when you get among the women of your palace you will forget me and never return at all." " There are no women in my house," said the raja. " I will not Avash my hands of this kdjal, nor will I eat again, till I come to eat with jon here."

That night Eajd Hodi started for Atak and reached the bank of the river Sindh. Being very thirsty, he lay down on the bank and drank water with his mouth like an animal, for he was afraid of washing the Jcdjal from his hands if he used them. A dhobi was washing on the opposite bank, and seeing the raja drinking like a wild beast, he said to his wife : " Listen, 0 wife beloved, loved best of all — listen to my words : On the far side has come a prince ; nor friend nor company with him. He drinks water like a deer : Avhat is the matter with his hands'?" Said the dhoban : " If you will give me golden ornaments to wear, I will tell you the real truth of the matter." " I will give you the golden ornaments when I go home, if you will tell me the real truth." Then said the dhoban: "Listen, 0 beloved husband, best loved of all — listen to my words : On the far side has come a prince, nor friend nor company with him. A woman pleased him at night. She wept and he wiped the lamp-black from her eyes with his hands." When the dhoban said this the dhobi gave her a great beating, and she began to weep bitterly. When Kaja Hodi heard the sound of her weeping he loosed the martingale of his horse and swam across the river. When he got across he spoke angrily to the dhobi : " You foolish washerman, you are a brave man to go beating your wife in my presence." " Lord of the world," answered the dhobi, " she said such unworthy things of you that I cannot repeat them." Then the raja suspected that the dhoban had knowledge of things that are hidden, and said to her : " I know thee for a washerwoman ; I know thou hast been beaten.

events to our hearts. An amiable form, ornamented with diamonds and gold, is like a melodious voice accompanied by the rabdb ! "

1 Other versions of the legend state that Hodi frequently visited the young wife of Rasalii after he was first conducted to her by the vengeful deer, and it was evidently to one of those visits that Kokilan alludes when she says, " You made me a promise before and broke it."

474 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

How is she passing the time, dhoban, who is separated from her lover?" Answered the dhoban: "She is making fair her arms, raja: wash thou thy hands. How many husbands has the swan, raja? Young women are in thousands." So Eaja Hodi washed his hands, as the dhoban said, and entered into his palace.

Meanwhile Eaja Easalu had come home from hunting, and Eani Kokilan said to him : " 0 gray-horsed raja ! thy quiver full of pearls ! thy bow studded with rubies ! thy shield studded with diamonds and fastened by a muslin kerchief ! riding a prancing horse ! — tell me, am I thy wife or sister ? " He answered : " I won the stake with care, leaving four ranis behind. I gave thee a garden to thy desire, peaches, mangoes, pomegranates — thou hast fattened on the fruit, rani ; thou art fair and well-liking. I, Eaja Easalu, am thy bridegroom ; thou, Eani Kokilan, art my wife. For this reason I kept thee unread : thus I know thy character." Saying this, he dismounted and went up to her ; and seeing that the brim of the well was broken in, and that there were human footprints about, he said to her: "Who has thrown down the well-brim, rani? Who has broken the platform ? Who has taken out the water in pitchers ? Who has thrown down the stones ? Who has broken into my palace ? Footmarks are in the palace-halls ! Who has lain on my bed ? — the niwdr1 is loose ! " The rani answered : " I broke down the well ! I destroyed the platform ! I took out the water in pitchers ! I threw down the stones ! The maind loosened my hair, and the parrot broke my necklace. Eeleasing myself, raja, I ran away : my footmarks are in the palace. My enemy lay on the bed and loosened the niwdr." When the rani said this the raja beat the parrot, and the maind said to the parrot : " It is well that the raja has beaten you, because you prevented me from telling him in the beginning the evil deeds of the rani." After this the raja went to sleep, and next morning before the sun was risen he started off for the hunt again, and the parrot said to him : " If we happen into any trouble while you are away, where shall we find you ? " He answered : " If any- thing happens within the next three or four days, I shall be found by the river-side swamps. If anything happens within the next two or 1 Cotton tape stretching across the bedstead. — T.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 475

three months, I shall be found hunting in the Kashmir mountains," and then he went away to the river-side swamps.

After two or three days Raja Hodi came to the palace, and dis- mounting from his horse to see Rani Kokilan, the pair laughed together for joy. Then said the maind to Rani Kokilan : " The first time you spoke evil of me and the parrot to Raja Rasalu — what will you say to him now1? Believe in God, and leave off playing and laughing with a stranger."1 But the rani became very angry and said : " I give thee minced cakes, maind ; thou sittest in thy cage and eatest. What hast thou to do with this matter 1 Be silent ! This foreigner will go off to his distant home." The maind replied : " Eat thy minced cakes thyself, rani. I put my faith in God. My raja will come, rani : I will be true to my salt."2 When the maind had said this the rani exclaimed: "You faithless bird, you have eaten from my hand always. Will you be untrue to my salt ? The raja wanders about in the jangals, and will you rather be true to Mm 'I " So she took the maind out of the cage and cut off her head, and taking the cage she broke it into pieces and threw them away.3 Then she went up to the parrot's cage to kill him as well. But the parrot spoke caressingly in order to save his life, and said : " Thou didst well to kill the maind, rani, that was such a backbiter ! Female minds are vexed by such things ; our masculine minds are above them. Let me out of the cage, rani ; I wish to see the king's

1 In another version, which I have before me, the virtuous bird is repre- sented as exclaiming : " What wickedness is this ? "

a Salt is a sacred pledge of hospitality in most Asiatic countries. We have in the well-known Arabian tale of Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves, a singular ex-ample of the effect of eating salt, even in the mind of a robber. When Morgiana, the faithful slave of Ali Baba, had in the character of a dancer struck a dagger into the heart of a merchant, his guest, and excited the horror of her master for such an act, she threw off her disguise and told Ali Baba that in the pretended merchant Khoja Hussain she had destroyed his cruel enemy, the captain of the robbers, to convince him of the truth of her assertion, she discovered under his robe the murderous poignard, and asked her master the simple ques- tion which caused her suspicion of his guest : "Do you not recollect that he refused to eat salt with you ? Can you require a stronger proof of his malicious intention ? "

3 In the other version it is Raja Hodi who takes the maind out of the cage and wrings her neck.

476 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

country."1 The rani thought to herself that after all he had never said anything against her, and moreover had always corrected the maind when she had spoken roughly ; so considering him faithful she let him out of the cage, and then the parrot said : " Let me go, and I will give the maind two or three kicks and revenge myself of the annoyance she has given me." So the rani, being very pleased, let him loose, and then the parrot, to please the rani more, gave the dead maind two or three kicks and then asked the rani for a bath, " for," said he, " I am a good Hindu and I have touched a dead body." The rani, who had now become very fond of him, threw some water over him and wetted him, and then the parrot asked for some food. So the rani mixed flour and sugar and ghi2 and made cakes of it, which she gave to the parrot to eat. When the parrot had eaten his fill he flew away to the top of the palace and began to weep, and the rani asked him why he wept. " Rani, live for ever," said the parrot ; " but you have killed my friend the maind, and have made me very miserable." Said the rani : " Friendly parrot, go not incontinently away. For the one maind I killed I will give you ten others. For thy God's sake come back to me. I will take away thy grief ; speak not harsh words."

But though the Rani coaxed and comforted him much he would not remain, and flew off to Raja Rasalu, who was sleeping under a tree in the hills by the river-side swamps. When he found the raja the parrot went into a poul, and after making his feathers all wet and draggled, he sat on a branch of the tree just over Rasalu. As he sat there he shook himself to dry his feathers, and the water from them was sprinkled over the raja, who, thinking it was rain, got up, and then the parrot said to him : " 0 raja, sleeping beneath the leikar tree, take thy sheet from off thy face. The rani has opened her shop and is selling as a trader. A prince who came has fastened her bundle tight."3 Answered Raja Rasalu : " Eight mainds, ten mainds,

1 In Mr. Svvynnerton's version {Folk Lore Journal, 1883. p. 143) the parrot says to the rani : " 0 queen, the king my master rnny return unexpectedly. If you will loose me, I will sit on the mango-tree and keep watch."

2 Clarified butter.

3 In Mr. Swynnerton's version the parrot says to Rasalu : " Come home at once, and you will catch the thief before he departs."

FOB THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 477

a peacock at every window. So many witnesses, parrot : why has the thief entered the palace?" Then the parrot said : " 0 raja, the rani has killed the maind and I only escaped after many devices and stratagems."1

When he heard this Kaja Kasalii fastened his cooking-spit to his girdle and mounted his horse, for when he went shooting he always took two spits with him; on one he cooked his own food which he had killed, and on the other the rani cooked hers. As he was journeying home, he passed Margala and neared Sang Jane, and then his horse got so tired that he could hardly crawl. So the raja said to his horse : " 0 Bhaum 'Iraki, you used to fly along like a bird, and now when my enemy has come you have turned lazy and crawl along." And the horse replied : " Thy spurring breaks my heart, raja. Injure not my body. The day thou wast born my mother Lakhi brought me forth. When thou wast brought up in the cellar I was fastened there ; when thou didst come outside I stood at the door ; when thou didst mount me the stakes were never lost. They have broken their oaths, and some day I shall lose my head."2 Then the horse Bhaum 'Iraki, thinking his

1 In my other version the parrot, on seeing the fate of the maind, says to Kokilan : " 0 rani, the steed of Rasalii is veiy swift ; let me out, and I will give thee timely notice of his approach ; " and the rani having opened the cage, away the parrot flew to where Rasalu was hunting, and, alighting on his shoulder, said to him : " 0 raja, a cat is at your cream ! "

• "One powerful mark to know heroes by is their possessing intelligent horses and conversing with them .... The touching conversation of Achilles with his Xanthos and Balios (II. 19,400-421) finds a complete parallel in the beautiful Karling legend of Bayard. Cf. also "VVilhelm's dialogue with Ptizzat (58, 21-59, 8) in the French original with Baucent (Garin, 2, 230-1), and Begars with the same Baucent (p. 230). In the Edda we have Skrimr talking with his horse (Saem. 28 b.) and Gofcriin, after Sigurd's murder, with Gram." — Grimm's Teutonic Mythology; vol. i. p. 392.

Raksh, the famous steed of Rustam, the Persian Hercules, who figures so prominently in the Shah Ndma, although he could not speak, was very intelli- gent, and understood what his master said to him. In the course of the hero's " Haft-Khan," or Seven Labours, while Rustam is asleep a monstrous dr;igon approaches to devour him. The watchful Raksh neighs and beats the ground so furiously that Rustam soon awakes, bij^ the dragon has vanished, and Rustam upbraids his faithful steed for disturbing his slumbers without cause, and goes to sleep again. Once more the dragon appears, witli the same result ; yet Raksli was resolved not to move a step from his side, for his heart was grieved and

478 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD :

master to be really in need of him, went cheerfully, and Raja Rasalu reached his palace in the Murti hills. There too he found Raja Hodi.

A flight of sixty steps led down from the palace, and Raja Hodi had descended thirty of them when Raja Rasalu cried out to him from below : " 0 mine enemy, strike me first, and I will see what I can do afterwards." But Hodi replied : " It is not right that I strike you first." Then said Rasalu : " Shoot at me first with your arrow, and I will shoot afterwards, and we will thus shoot alter- nately." So Raja Hodi shot an arrow at Raja Rasalu, but he parried it and cut it in two with his sword. Then Hodi got ready another arrow, upon which Rasalu cried out : "I said you were to shoot the first arrow, and now you are preparing another. Very well, shoot on, and no farther desire can remain to you." And Raja Hodi shot another arrow, but Raja Rasalu put it aside with his shield, and then took an arrow from his quiver to aim at Hodf, while the latter got ready a third arrow. So Rasalu said : " Thou didst shoot the first arrow, raja, and God saved me ; thou didst shoot a second, and I was vexed ; thou hast got ready a third, and my good luck has come." As he spoke Raja Hodi's bow broke in two, and he said to Raja Rasalu : " My standard is at home, raja ; my sword too is at home. I am head of a hundred clans ; we are four brothers. For- give me to-day, and I will come to thy doors no more." Then said Rasalu : " You wretch, have you come on such an evil errand, ami have brought nothing to fight with 1 I will only shoot at you with

afflicted by the harsh words that had been addressed to him. The dragon appeared a third time, and Raksh almost tore up the earth with his heels to rouse his sleeping master. Rustam again awoke and sprang to his feet, but there was now sufficient light for him to see the prodigious cause of alarm, and drawing his sword he attacked the dragon, and with the assistance of Raksh, who bit and tore its scaly side, severed the monster's head.

Kyrat, the charger of Kurroglu, the celebrated Persian robber-poet, was another intelligent horse : " Whenever my enemy sets out from any place against me, Kyrat neighs ; when the foe has made half the distance, he grows restless and sneezes ; and when at last the enemy is on the point of showing himself, Kyrat digs the ground with his hoof and foams at the mouth." Kyrat dies one hour before his master, and Kurroglii's mourning song for the loss of his favourite steed is considered as amongst the most beautiful elegies in Oriental literature.

FOR THE MANCIPLE'S TALE. 479

this little arrow — be careful that it does not hurt you ! And then you can be master of the arrow and everything else for that matter, for I will leave this place for ever."

And Eaja Easalii shot the arrow at Eaja Hodf, who fell sense- less, and he tore out his heart with his hands and stuck it on the spit which had no meat on it ; for his own spit had meat on it, but the rani's had none. He took both spits into the palace, and Eanf Kokilan asked him : " What makes my lord so pleased to-day 1 " He said : " Let us have a great feast. We have hitherto roasted each our own food on our own spits, but to-day I will roast your food and you must roast mine." And saying this he gave the rani the spit with venison on it, and the raja's heart he had put on the spit he had kept for himself. When the roasting was over they exchanged meat and began to eat, and before the rani had finished her food, she said : " How very good the meat is to-day ! " And the raja replied : " Living, thou didst enjoy him, ranf ; dead, thou hast eaten his flesh. Why shouldst thou not relish his flesh who did enjoy theel" The ram quickly threw down the remainder of the meat, and asked : " What are you saying 1 " Then the raja took her by the hand to the corpse of Hodf, and when the rani saw it she at first denied all knowledge of it, but at last she said : " Eaja, sitting, he will reproach me ; standing, he will abuse me : I too must die with him who is my reproach." So saying, Eani Kokilan leapt down from the palace wall and was sorely wounded.1 The raja lifted her up and tied her on to one side of Eaja Hodi's horse, and the corpse of the raja he tied on the other side, and sent it away to Atak, Hodi's country. After this Eaja Easalu set out from Miirut to Sialkot, and here it was that a Jhimvar2 took the Eani Kokilan to wife and cured her wounds. And here too after a while she bore

1 This tale of a husband's savago revenge seems to have been brought to Europe by minstrels who accompanied the armies of the Crusades. It forms the subject of Nov. 9, Day iv. of Boccaccio's Dccamr.rim, into which it was avowedly taken from a Provencal source. — See a somewhat different version from Boc- caccio's in Isaac D'lsraeli's Curiosities of Literature, under the title of "The Lover's Heart,"

2 The en Trying caste; especially the " bheestie " (bahishti) or wat<-r- carrying class. -T.

480 20. THE TELL-TALE BIRD.

him three sons, from whom are sprung the three Jhrawar Gots who dwell there to the present day, namely, Sabir, Gabir, and Sir.1

Such is the ghastly tale of Raja Rasalu. and his beautiful but frail young wife, as chanted by the minstrels of the Panjab. Easalu is no imaginary hero, and it is probable that the main incidents of the legend are historically true ; and in later times the two speaking birds, the maind and the parrot, have been introduced into it from, the Tuti Ndma for the sake of dramatic effect. It is said that Rasalu lamented the loss of his young bride — reflecting, doubtless, when too late, that he had needlessly exposed her to temptation by leaving her solitary during his frequent hunting excursions — and caused a magnificent fountain to be erected in her memory, in front of his palace. The ascent of Raja Hodi to the rani's chamber has been a favourite subject of native artists for mural pictures.

1 The tragedy according to Mr. Swynnerton's version concludes differently. It is not the heart but some of the flesh of Hodi that Rasalu cuts off and causes to be cooked for his wife. When she asks what food it is, as she thought she had never tasted any so good, he replies :

" What food is this so dainty and sweet? Alive he languished at yo >r feet. Now dead and gone, he pleases still — You eat his flesh, nay, eat your fill ! But O may she whose heart is proved untrue, Ascend the funeral pile and perish too."

On hearing this, the rani leaps from the battlements, and falling on the rocks is killed. Rasalu throws her body and that of Hodi into the river. — There can be no doubt that these deviations from the generally accepted legend are of quite recent date, as is also the introduction of a Muslim washerman and his wife towards the end.

GLASGOW, September, 1SS7.

21.

§Jie Inmht and tire JfrratJtlu

I ^^ ^^ J

VAEIANTS AND ANALOGUES

OF

's SEife of ISatj's Cale.

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

482

PAGE

TALE OF FLORENT ... ... ... ... ... 483

WEDDING OF SIR GAWA1NE AND DAME RAGNELL ... ... 498

MARRIAGE OF SIR GAWAINE ... ... ... ... ... 502

BORDER BALLAD OF KING HENRIE ... ... ... ... 509

ICELANDIC VERSION ... ... ... ... ... ... 513

ANOTHER ICELANDIC VERSION ... ... ... ... 514

GAELIC VERSION ... ... ... ... ... ... 516

ANALOGUE FROM MANDEVILLE ... ... ... ... 518

TURKISH ANALOGUE ... ... ... ... ... ... 520

SANSKRIT ANALOGUE ... ... ... ... ... ... 521

TWO KAFFIR ANALOGUES ... ... ... ... ... 522

Note: " Women desire Sovereignty " ... ... ... 523

483

THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY:

VARIANTS AND ANALOGUES OF THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

GOWEB anticipated the Wife of Bath's characteristic Tale "by a few years in his Confessio Amantis, but there seems no good reason to suppose Chaucer to have borrowed from his friend, the two versions differing so very considerably in details, and it is probable that both poets drew their materials independently from a French source, or sources. This is Gower's story, from the First Book of the Confessio Amantis, Harl. MS. 3869, beginning on leaf 34 :

Ante's Mt at |Iorent.

fl^HER* whas wylom be daies olde [leaf 34]

JL A worj>i knyht, and as men tolde, He was Neuoeu1 to theinperour, piorent, nephew

, - , . ~ .-, . to the emperor,

And of his Court a Courteour. 4

Wines he was, Florent he hihte ;

He was a man J>at mochel myhte ; a worthy and

brave knight,

Of armes he was desirous,

Chiualerous and amorous ; 8

And, for J>e fame Of WOrldeS Speche, [fol. 346.] in quest of ad-

ventures,

Strange auentures for to seche,

* The marginal note, in red, is as follows : Hie contra amori inobedientes, ad co»tme»tdacio«em Obe- diencie Confessor super eod<??/t exempltim ponit, vbi dicit, q?i#d cum quidawz. Regis Cizilie filia in sue inue/itutis floribws pul- cherima, ex eius Nouerce iwca«tactowibM* in vetulaw t?/»'pissi- ?wam transformata extitit : Flore«ciw«, tu«c Imperatoris Claudi Nepos, miles in armis strenuissim?«, amorosisqwe legibw* in- tendens, ipsam ex sua obediencia in pulcritudi«em pristinaw mirabiliter reformauit. J Nephew.

484

21. THE KNIGHT AXD THE LOATHLY LADY

came to a castle,

He rode be Marches al aboute ; And fell a time as he was oute, Fortune, whiche may euery bred To-breke1 and knette of mannes sped, Schop,2 as bis knyht rod in a pas, That he be strengbe take was, And to a Castell bei him ladde, Wher J>at he fewe frendes hadde.

They would be avenged,

but feared the anger of the emperor.

the heir of which, For so it fell bat ilke stounde,3

Branchus, he had

slain. That he hab wib a dedly wounde,

Feihtende4 his oghne hondes, slain Branchus, which" to be Capitain Was sone and heir ; wherof ben wrobe The fader and be moder bobe ; (That knyht Branchus was of his hond The worbiest of al Ins lond ;) And fain bei wolden do vengance Vpon Florent ; bot remembrance That bei toke of his worbinesse, Of knyhthode and of gentilesse, And how he stod of cousinage To themperour, made hem assuage, And dorsten6 noght slen him for fere. In gret desputeison6 bei were Among hemself 7 what was be best.

The grandmother Ther was a lady, be slyheste

of Branclius, a sly

woman, devised a Of alle bat men knewe bo,

plan for causing

his death without So old, sche myhte vnebes go,8

blame to them. ... 110

And was grantdame vnto be dede ;9 And sche wib bat began to rede,10 And seid how sche wol bringe him inne, That sche schal him to debe winne,

1 To break in pieces. 2 Shaped. 3 Same time. * Fighting with. 6 Durst, dared. 6 Dispute ; discussion.

7 Themselves. 8 Scarcely walk. 9 Grandmother to the dead Branchus. 10 Advise.

12

16

20

24

28

32

36

40

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE.

485

She sends for Florent,

Al only of his oghne grant,

Thurgh strengpe of verray couenant, 44

Wipoute blame of eny wiht.

Anon sche sende for pis kniht,

And of hire sone sche alleide1

The dep ; and pus to him sche seide : 48

" Florent, how so pou be to wyte2

Of Branchus dep, men schal respite

As now to take vengement,

Be so pou stonde in iuggement,

Vpon certein condicion,

That pou vnto a question

Which" I schal axe, schalt ansuere ; [fo\. 35.]

And ouer3 pis, pou schalt ek swere,

That if pou of pe sope faile,

Ther schal non oper ping auaile,

That jjou ne schalt py dep receiue.

And for men schal pee noght deceiue,

That pou perof myht ben auised,

Thou schalt haue day and time assised 4

And leue saufly for to wende,

Be so pat, at pi daies ende,

Thov come ajein wip fin auys.5

THIS knyht, which" worfi was and wys, This lady preijj pat he may wite,6 And haue it vnder Scales write, What question it scholde be, For which he schal in pat degre Stonde of his lif in ieupertie.

Wijj pat sche feignep compaignie, 72

And seip : " Florent, on loue it hongep, Al pat to myn axinge longep,

1 Alleged ; cliarged against him. 2 Blame. 3 Besides. 4 Fixed. 5 Opinion ; answer to the question.

0 Prays that lie may know. CH. ORIG. 34

52 and says he'll be unit if he answer

lint failing, he shall be killed.

60

He'll be allowed to depart, and time for inquiry.

The agreement is sealed.

G8

486 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

she asks, " what ' What alle wowmen most desire ' ;

do women most

desire?" This wole I axe, and in thempire 76

Wher as bou hast most knowlechinge, Take conseil vpon bis axinge."

Fiorent returns to TT^LORENT bis bing hab vndertake ;

his uncle's court, |-^

and tells him of _l_ The day was set, be time take ; 80

his pact.

Vnder his seale he wrot his ob In such a wise, and forb he gob Horn to his Ernes l Court a^ein,

To whom his auenture plein 84

He tolde, of bat2 him is befalle. The wisest men And vpon bat, bei weren alle,

are sent for,

The wiseste of be lond, asent,3 but can't ngree, Bot natheles of on4 assent 88

each having a

different opinion Thei myht[e] noght a-corde plat :5

as to women's

chief desire. On seide bis, anobre bat,

After be disposiciozm

Of naturel complexiown : 92

To som wowman it is plesance,

That to an obre is greuance ;

Bot such a bing in special,

Which to hem alle in general 96

Is most plesant, and most desired So Fiorent must Aboue alle obre, and most conspired,6

needs go forth to

inquire, buch o' ping conne pel nognt tynde [foi. 356.]

Be constellacion ne kynde.8 100

And bus Fiorent, wiboute cure,

Most stonde vpon his auenture,

And is al schape vnto be lere ;9

As in defalte of his answere. 10 1

for he would This knyht hath leuere10 for to dye

rather die than . . , „ ,

break his word. Than breke his trowpe, And for to lye In place ber as he was swore,

1 Uncle's (the Emperor's). 2 Thing which. 3 Pent for.

4 One. 5 Agree fully. 6 Longed for. 7 One. 8 Star-gazing or nature. ° Loss. 10 Rather ; sooner.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH' 's TALE. 487

And schapb1 him gou ajein berfore. 108

Whan time cam, he tok his leue,

That lengere wold he noght beleue,2

And preij) his Em3 he be nognt wrob,

For bat is a point of his ob ; 112

He seib, pat uoman schal him wreke,

Thogh afterward men hiere speke

That he par auenture deie.

And bus he wente for)) his weie 116 Alone he goes,

Alone, as knyht auenturous ;

And in hys boght was curious wondering wiiat

to do.

To wite4 what was best to do.

And as he rod al-one so, 120

And cam nyh ber he wolde be, Under a forest tree

In- set's :i loathly

In a forest, vnder a tre, woman,

He sih5 wher sat a creature,

A lobly, wommannyscti figure, 124

That for to speke of fleisch" and bon,

So foul jit syh he neuere non. so foni as never

was seen before.

This knynt belueld hir redely,

And as he wolde haue passed by, 1 28

Sche cleped6 him, and bad abide ; S1>e calls him to

i j -j lier> il"d he comes

And he his horse heued a side up, marvelling.

Tho7 torneb, and to hire he rod;

And bere he houeb,8 and abod 1 32

To wite what sche wolde mene.

And sche began him to bemene,

And seide : " Florent, be bi name, she says, -Fior-

„,. , . cm, I only tan

ihov hast on honde such a game 13G save thee tvcm

That, bot bou be be betre auised,

Thi deb is schapen and diuised,

That al be world ne mai be saue,

Bot if bat bou my conseil haue." 140

1 Shapes ; purposes. 2 Remain.

3 Uncle (the Emperor). 4 Know. 5 Saw. 6 Called. 7 Then. » Halts.

488

21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

Florent begs her counsel.

" What will you give me if I save you?"

'Anything."

" Good ; but first you must promise to marry me."

"That I can't do."

"Away, then, to thy fate."

He promises much goods and lands, but she refuses them.

He ponders the matter,

and resolves to wed her, or forfeit his life;

thinking she couldn't live long

and he'd hide her out of men's sight.

FLORENT, whan he f is tale herde, Vn-to fis olde wyht answerde, And of hir conseil he hir preide ; And sche a^ein to him f us seide : " Florent, yf I for f e so schape That fou Jmrgh me fi def ascape, And take worschipe of f i dede, What schal I haue to my mede 1 " " What fing," quoot he, " J>at foil wolt axe." " I bidde neuere a betre taxe." Quod sche ; " bot ferst, er fou be sped, Thou schalt me leue such a wedd1 That I wol haue fi trowfe in honde, That fou schalt be myn housebonde." " Nay," seij? Florent, " fat may noght be." " Ryd, fanne, for]) fi wey," quod sche ; "And if pou go wifoute rede, Thou schalt be sekerliche2 dede." Florent bebihte hire good ynowh,3 Of lond, of rente, of park, of plowh ; Bot al fat comptef sche at noght. Tho fell fis knyht in mochel f oght ; Now gof he forf , now comf a^ein ; He wot noght what is best to sein ; And foghte, as he rod to and fro, That chese he mot4 on of }>e tuo : Or for to take hire to his wif, Or elles for to lese his lif. And fanne he caste his auantage, That sche was of so gret an age That sche mai Hue bot a while, And foghte put hire in an lie, Wher fat noman hire scholde knowe, Til sche wif def were ouerfrowe.5

[fol. 36.]

144

148

152

156

160

164

168

172

Pledge.

2 Surely ; certainly. 4 Choose he must.

3 Promised her property enough. 5 Overthrown ; killed.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATll'S TALE.

489

180

184

188

And pus pis ^onge lusti knyht,

VlltO pis olde loply willt

Iho seide : " If pat non oper chawnce

Mai make my deliuerawnce,

Bot only pilke same speche,

Which", as pou seist, pou sclialt me teche,

Haue hier myn hond, I schal fee wedde ! "

And pus his trowjje he lei)) to wedde.1

Wip pat sche frounce]?2 vp ))e browe :

" This couenant I wol allowe,"

Sche seij), " if eny oper ping

Bot fat pou hast of my techyng,

Ftp dej) ])i body mai respite,

I woll pe of pi trowpe acquite,

And elles be non oper weie.

Now herkene me what I schal seie :

.

Whan pou art come into pe place [foi.

Wher now pei maken gret manace,

And vpon pi comynge abide,

Thei Avole anon J)e same tide

Oppose3 pee of thin answers :

I wot pou wolt nopyng for-bere

Of pat pou wenest be pi best ;

And if pou myht so fynde rest,

Wei is, for panne is per nomore ;

And elles, pis schal be my lore,

That pou schalt seie vpon pis Molde4

' That alle wommen lieuest wolde5

Be souerem of mannes loue :

For what wowman is so a-boue,

Sche hap (as who seip)6 al hire wille;

And elles may sche noght f ulfille

What ping hire were lieuest haue.'

1 Lays to pledge. 2 Wrinkles. 3 Question ; demand from.

4 Mould ; earth. 5 Would most dearly, longingly.

6 As folk say.

so he says, " if

only the answer 1/6 to the question

192

196

200

204

i'n wed thee."

"Agreed; for

there is no other

way.

Listen : Return

and make this

answer without

'Woman would

be sovereign of

man's love, and

have her own

490 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

AVib bis answere bou schalt saue 208

Thiself, and ober wise nogh~t. Then come back And whan bou hast bin ende wroglit,

to me, without

fail." Com liier a^ein ; bou schalt me fynde ;

And let noting out of bi mynde." 212

Fiorent rides hack TTE gob him forb wib heuv cliiere,

sad at heart, to

think of such an J_JL As lie bat not1 in what manere

ugly bride,

He may bis worldes ioie atteigne ;

For if he deie, lie hab a peine, 216

And if he liue, he mot him binde To such on, wich" 2 of alle kynde Of wommen is bunsemylieste.

Thus wot he noght what is be best ; 220

Bot, be him lief, or be him lob, and comes to the Vnto be Castel forb he gob,

castle, to live or ,-,-.«,, ,.

die. His full answere for to 31110,

Or for to deie, or for to liue. 224

The lord comes Forb, wib his conseil, cam be lord;

with his council,

The binges stoden of record, sends for the old He sende vp for be lady sone,

dame,

And forb sche cam, bat olde Mone.3 and the covenant In presence of be remanant,

is read in presence

of all there. The strengbe of al be couenant

Tho was reherced openly,

And to florent sche bad forbi,4 232

That he schal tellen his avis,5

As he bat woot what is be pris. Florent tries other Florent seib al bat euere he coube ;

answers,

Bot sucfi word cam ber non to mow be 236

That he, for 3ifte or for beheste, [foi. 37.]

Myte eny wise his deb arest.

And bus he tarieb longe and late,

Til bat bis lady bad algate 240

1 Ne wot : knew not. 2 One, who.

3 M. L. German, mone : aunt; mother; matron. See line 251. 4 On this account. 5 Opinion ; answer.

FOR THE WIFE OF SATH's TALE.

491

256

That he schal, for pe dom final, 3if l his answers in special Of pat sche hadde him ferst opposed. And panne he ha]) trewly supposed That he him may of noping jelpe, Bot if so be po wordes helpe Which" as pe \vomman hath him tawht, Wherof he hath an hope cawht, That he schal ben excused so, And tolde out plein his wille po. And whan fat pis Matrone herde The manere how pis knyht answerde, Sche seide : " Ha, treson ! wo pee be That hast pus told pe priuite Which alle \vo??tmen most desire ! I wolde pat pou were afire ! " Bot natheles, in such" a plit, Florent of his answere is quit ; And po began his sorwe newe, For he mot gon, or ben vntrewe To hire wich" his trowthe hadde. Bot he, which" alle shame dradde, Gop forp in stede of his penaunce, And takp pe fortune of his chaunce, As he pat was wip trowpe affaited.2 rr^His olde wyht him hap awaited JL In place wher as he hire lefte. Florent his wofull heued3 vplefte, And syh pis vecke4 wher sche sat, Which" was pe lopliest what That euere man cast on his yhe : Hire Nase bass5 ; hire browes hihe ;

1 Give. 2 Tamed. 3 Head. 4 Witch ; hag : " A rympled vekke, ferre roune in age. Frownyng and yelovve in hir visage." Itomaiint of the Hose, 1. 4495 ; see 1. 4285. 6 Low, flat.

bnt the old dame presses him, so there's no help for it,

and he says as the loathly lady hud taught him.

244

248

" Ha ! " says the old dame, " thou 252 hast told truly— would thou wert burnt ! "

But Florent is

and now he grieves anew, for 260 lie must keep his word with the loathly lady.

264

He finds the old witch in the same 268 place;

never saw man such a monster.

272

492

21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

Slip seizes his bridle and de- inanils his part of the bargain,

Hire yhen smale, and depe set ; Hire chekes ben with teres wet, And riuelen as an emty skyn,

Hangende doun vnto J>e cliin ; 276

Hire lippes schrunken ben for age ; Ther was no grace in be visage ; Hir front was nargh" ;l hir lockes hore ;2 Sche lokej) for]) as do]) a More ;3 280

Here Necke is schort ; hir schuldres courbe,4 That myhte a marines lust destourbe ; Hire body grete, and nothing smale ; [foi. S7&.]

And, schor[t]ly to descriue hire al, 284

Sche hab non lib5 wiboute a lack, Bot lich" vnto J>e wollesak, Sche prefer]? hire vnto bis knyht, And bad him, as he hab behyht, 288

So as sche haj> ben his warant,6 That he hire holde couenant ; And be be bridel sche him sesejj : Bot godd wot7 how J?at sche him pleseb 292

and he would fain Of suche wordes as sche spekj) ;

flee if he could.

Him penkj) welnyh his herte brekp

For sorwe fat he may noyght fle,

Bot if he wolde vntrew be. 296

LOKE how a seke man for his hele TakJ) baldemoine wij) Canele,8 And wij) ]>G Mirre taketh J>e sucre ; Kyht vpon such a maner lucre 300

Stant florent as in ]>\s diete : He drink]) pe bitre wij) J)e swete ; He medle}) sorwe wif likynge, And liuej) as who seif deynge. 304

As a sick man takes bitter drugs with spice and sugar, Florent drinks this draught.

1 Her forehead was narrow. 2 Hoar, gray.

; root ; or mulberry (?). 4 Curved ; bent. 8 Limbs.

6 Guarantee ; protection ; saver. 7 Knows.

. JMUtC<HlUII . OrtVCJ.

8 Gentian with spice

FOK THE WIFE OF BATH S TALE.

493

His $ouf e schal be cast a-weie Vpon such" on, which, as fe weie, Is olde, and lofly oueral. Bot nede he mot, fat nede schal j1 He wolde Algate his trowf e holde, As euery knyht f er-to is holde, What happ so euere him is befalle ; Thoh sche be }>e fouleste of alle, 3 it to f on our of woramanhiede Him f oghte he scholde taken hiede ; So fat for pure gentilesse, As he hire couf e [he] best adresce, In ragges as sche was totore,2 He sett hir on his hors tofore, And for]) he takf his weie softe ; No wonder fogh he sikef 3 ofte. Bot as an oule flef 4 be nyhte Out of alle of re briddes syhte, Riht so ]>is knyht on daies brode5 In clos him hield, and schop his rode6 On nyhtes time, til fe tide That he cam fere he wolde abide ; And priuely wifoute noise He bringf fis foule grete Coise7 To his Castell, in sucfi a wise That noman myhte hire schappe auise, Til sche into f e chambre cam, Wher he his priue conseil nam8 Of suche men as he most troste, And tolde hem fat he nedes moste This best wedde to his wif ; For elles hadde he lost his lif.

308

312

0 1 D

320

324

[fol. 38.]

328

332

336

But as a true knight lie must keep Ills troth, for the honour of womanhood ;

and so lie speaks to her as gently as he can, and

sets her before him on his horse, gighing as he rode along.

Like an owl, he hides during the day,

and journeys at night, till he comes to his own castle, and smuggles in the loathly lady.

Then he consults his confidants, how to wed her.

1 " Needs must when the Devil drives." 2 Tattered.

3 Sighs. 4 Flieth. 6 In broad day. ° Shaped his riding.

7 ? Thing. Coise: chief; master (!) — Halliwell.

8 Took.

494 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY:

The tire-women fT^HE priue wo??imen were asent1

take off her rags,

bathe and clothe JL That scholden ben of his assent.

her;

Hire ragges Jjei anon of drawe,2

And, as it was bat time lawe, 340

Sche hadde bap, sche hadde rest, And was arraied to be best, but she wouldn't Bot wib no craft of combes brode

let them comb or n . .

cut her hair. Ihei myhte hire hore lockes schode,3 344

And sche ne wolde nogh be schore4

For no conseil ; and bei berfore

(Wib suche atyr as bo was vsed)

Ordeinen bat it was excused, 348

And hid so crafteliche a-boute

That noman myhte sen hem oute. she looked more Bot when sche was f ulliche arraied,

foul in her fine .

clothes. And hire atir was al assaied,5 352

Tho was sche foulere on to se ;

Bot $it it may non ober be. They were wedded Thei were wedded in be nyht :

that night.

So wo-begon was neuere knyht 356

As he was Jmnne of mariage. she begins to And sche began to pleie and rage,

fondle him,

As who seib : " I am wel ynowh." Bot he berof noting ne lowh;6 360

For sche tok banne chiere on honde,7 calls him her ims- And clepeb8 him hir housebonde,

band, invites him

to bed, And seib : " my lord, go we to bedde !

For I to bat entente wedde, 364

That bou schalt be my worldes blisse," and offers him a And profreb him wib bat to kisse,

As sche a lusti ladi were.

His body myhte wel be here, 368

Bot, as of boglit and of memoire,

1 Sent for. 2 Drawn off. 3 Shed ; part ; divide. 4 Shorn ; have her hair cut. 5 Attire was tried on. 6 Laughed. 7 Began to be gamesome. 8 Calls.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 495

His herte was in purgatoire. He was in tor-

ment,

Bot jit for strengbe of matrimonie hut milst bed

wilh her.

He myhte make non essonie,1 372

That he ne mot algates plie [foi. sss.]

To gon to bedde of compaignie.

And whan f ei were a bedde naked,2 He lies awake,

turning his face

Wif oute slepe he was a-waked ; 376 from the foul

He tornef on fat of er side,

For fat he wolde his eyhen hyde

Fro lokynge on fat foule wyht.

The Chambre was al full of lyht ; 380

The Courtins were of cendal f inne.3

This newe bryd which" lay wif inne,

Thogh" it be nogh"t wif his acord,

In armes sche beclipte hire lord, 384 she clips him and

prays him to turn

And preide, as he was torned fro, towards her,

He wolde him tome aseinward f o ;4

" For now," sche seif, " we ben bofe on ;"5

And he lay stille as eny ston. 388 but he lies stm.

Bot eue?*e in on6 sche spak and preid,

And bad him f enke on fat he seide,

Whan fat he tok hire be f e honde. At last he takes

her hand,

He herde, and vnderstod fe bonde, 392

How he was set to his penaunce ; And, as it were a man in traunce,

HE tornef him al sodeinly, and looking on

-.-,,- her sees a damsel

And syh a lady lay hym by 396 of is, the fairest

in the world.

Of Lyhtetiene wynter age,

"Which was f e fairest of visage

That Biiere in al fis world he syh".

And as he wolde haue take hire nyh, 400

Sche put hire hand, and be his leue

Besoghte him fat he wolde leue,7

1 Plea in excuse. L. essonia, exonia ; Fr. cxonie.

2 In those days nightshirts were not. 3 Sendal, fine silk.

4 Back again to her. 6 One. 6 Incessantly. 7 Stop.

496 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

She bids him And seib, bat for to wynne or lese,

choose whether

lie would have He mot on of tuo binges chese : 404

her so at night _ .

or by day. vvher1 he wol haue hire such on nyht,

Or elles vpon dales lyht ;

For he schal noght haue bobe tuo. He is at a loss to And he began to sorwe bo 408

decide,

In many a wise, and cast his boglit ; Bot for al bat, }it cowbe he noght Deuise himself whiche was be beste. ana leaves it with And sche bat wolde his hertes reste, 412

herself.

Preib bat he scholde chese algate ; Til ate laste, longe and late, •My love, i win He seide : " 0 30, my loues hele,2

be ruled by thee,

forican'tcboose." bey what ^ou list in my querele ; 416

I not3 what answere I schal jiue ;

Bot euere whil bat .1. may Hue,

I wol bat 36 be my Maistresse, [foi. 39.]

For I can noght mi selue gesse 420

Which is be best vnto my chois.

Thus grante .1. 30 w myn hole vois :

Ches for ous boben,4 .1. jou preie;

And what as euer bat 36 seie, 424

Eiht as 36 wole, so wol .1." Quoth she, "since " ~]\/|~I lord," sche seid, "grant mercy !

yon give me w I -n *

sovereignty, -LT_1_ For of bis word bat 30 now sein,

That 36 haue made me souerein, 428

Mi destine is ouerpassed,

That neue?fe hierafter schal be lassed5

i shall night and My beaute which bat I now haue,

day be as you now . . oo

see me. Til I be take into my graue. 432

Bobe nyht and day, as .1. am now,

I schal alwey be such" to 3ow. I'm the king of The kynges dowhter of Cizile6

Sicily's daughter, T <• TI i . -.. t.-ir Ane

I arn ; and fell bot sibbe a while,7 436

1 Whether. 2 Health; salvation. 3 Neveot; know not. 4 Us both. 6 Lessened. 6 Sicily. 7 But a while since ; a time ago.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATHES TALE. 497

(As .1. was wib my fader late)

That my Stepmoder, for an hate and was changed

. into a foul shape

Which toward me sche hab begonne, by my stepmother,

Forschop1 me til .1. hadde wonne 440 untn a good

kniglit should

The loue and souereinete give me his love

and the mastery."

Of what knyht bat, in his degre,

Alle obir passeb of good name ;

And as men sein 30 ben be same, 444

The dede proeuej) it is so.

Thus am .1. ^oures euermo."

Tho was plesance and ioie ynowh ; NOW ail was joy,

and they lived

Echon wib ober pleide and lowh ;2 448 long and iiappiiy.

Thei Hue longe, and wel bei ferde.3

And clerkes bat bis charmce herde, And clerks teach

from this tale how

Thei writen it in euidence, obedience in love

may lead to good

io teche how bat obedience 452 fortune.

Mai wel fortune a man to loue, And sette him in his lust a-boue, As it be-fell vn to bis knyht.

FOR-bi,4 my sone, if bou do ryht, 456

Thou shalt vnto bi loue obeie, And folwe her will, be alle weie.

The chief points of difference between the foregoing and the Wife of Bath's Tale are as follows : In Gower a knight has slain the son and heir of a great lord, whose castle he afterwards happens to come to in the course of his adventures. They dare not openly put him to death, fearing his uncle, the emperor ; but the slain man's grand- mother induces him to sign a bond, by which he agrees to forfeit his life should he fail to give the answer to a certain question. In Chaucer a bachelor of the royal household is condemned to death for rape. The queen having interceded for him, the king leaves his life at her disposal, who tells him that he shall be pardoned if he answer the question, " What do women most desire?" In Gower the loathly

1 Mis-shaped. " Laughed. 3 Fared ; prospered. 4 For this • therefore.

498 21. THE KNIGHT AXD THE LOATHLY LADY :

lady who gives the knight the information of which he is in quest had been bewitched by her stepmother, and resumes her proper form when she is married to the knight ; while in Chaucer she is a bene- volent fairy, who assumed a hideous form to test the knight's fidelity to his word and save his life.

Judging from the number of versions still extant, this curious tale must have been a great favourite during the middle ages, when it was so much the fashion to decry women and example-books of their profligacy and trickery were rife. The story is the subject of two long ballads in the Percy folio MS. , of one of which Prof. Child gives the outline in his English and Scottish Ballads, Boston (U.S.), 1884, Part ii., pp. 289, 290 :

ARTHUR, while hunting in Ingleswood, stalked and finally shot a great hart, which fell in a fern-brake. While the king, alone and far from his men, was engaged in making the assay, there appeared a groom, bearing the quaint name of Gromer Somer Joure,1 who grimly told him that he meant now to requite him for having taken away his lands. Arthur represented that it would be a shame to knighthood for an armed man to kill a man in green, and offered him any satisfaction. The only terms Gromer would grant were that Arthur should come back alone to that place that day twelvemonth, and then tell him what women love best ; not bringing the right answer, he was to lose his head. The king gave his oath, and they parted. The knights, summoned by the king's bugle, found him in heavy cheer, and the reason he would at first tell no man, but after a while he took Gawain into confidence. Gawain advised that they two should ride into strange country in different directions, put the question to every man and woman they met, and write the answers in a book. This they did, and each made a large collection. Gawain thought they could not fail, but the king was anxious, and considered that it would be prudent to spend the only

1 Sir Gromer occurs in "The Turke and Gowin," Percy MS., Hales and Furnivall, i., 102 ; Sir Grummore Grummorsum, " a good knight of Scotland," in Mortc d' Arthur ed. Wright, i., 28G, and elsewhere. — Madden.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 499

month that was left in prosecuting the inquiry in the region of Ingleswood. Gawain agreed that it was good to be speering, and bade the king doubt not that some of his saws should help at need.

Arthur rode to Ingleswood, and met a lady riding on a richly- caparisoned palfrey, but herself of a hideousness which beggars words ; nevertheless the items are not spared. She came up to Arthur, and told him that she knew his counsel; none of his answers would help. If he would grant her one thing, she would warrant his life ; otherwise, he must lose his head. This one thing was that she should be Gawain's wife. The king said this lay with Gawain ; he would do what he could, but it were a pity to make Gawain wed so foul a lady. " No matter," she rejoined, " though I be foul, choice for a mate hath an owl. "When thou comest to thine answer, I shall meet thee ; else art thou lost."

The king returned to Carlisle with a heart no lighter, and the first man he saw was Gawain, who asked him how he had sped. Never so ill ; he had met a lady who had offered to save his life, but she was the foulest he had ever seen, and the condition was that Gawain should be her husband. " Is that all? " said Gawain. "I will wed her once and again, though she were the devil; else were I no friend." Well might the king exclaim, "Of all knights thou bearest the flower ! "

After five or six days more the time came for the ansAver. The king had hardly ridden a mile into the forest when he met the lady, by name Dame Eagnell. He told her Gawaiii should wed her, and demanded her answer. "Some say this, and some say that, but above all things women desire to have the sovereignty;1 tell this to the knight ; he will curse her that told thee, for his labour is lost." Arthur, thus equipped, rode on as fast as he could go, through mire and fen. Gromer was waiting, and sternly demanded the answer. Arthur offered his two books, for Dame Ragnell had told him to save himself by any of those answers if he could. " Nay, nay, king," said Grorner, " thou art but a dead man." " Abide, Sir Gromer, I have an answer shall make all sure. Women desire sovereignty." 1 See Note at the end of this paper : " Women desire Sovereignty."

500 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

" She that told thee that was my sister, Dame Eagnell. I pray , I may see her burn on a fire." And so they parted.

Dame Eagnell was also waiting for Arthur, and would hear of nothing but immediate fulfilment of her bargain. She followed the king to his court, and required him to produce Gawain instantly, who came and plighted his troth. The queen begged her to be married privately, and early in the morning. Dame Eagnell would consent to no such arrangement. She would not go to church till high-mass time, and she would dine in the open hall. At her wedding she was dressed more splendidly than the queen, and she sat at the head of the table at the dinner afterwards. There her appetite was all but as horrible as her person : she ate three capons, three curlews, and great bake meats — all that was set before her, less and more.

A leaf is wanting now, but what followed is easily imagined. She chided Gawain for his offishness, and begged him to kiss her, at least. "I will do more," said Gawain, and, turning, beheld the fairest creature he ever saw. But the transformed lady told him that her beauty would not hold : he must choose whether she should be fair by night and foul by day, or fair by day and foul by night.1 Gawain said the choice was hard, and left all to her. " Gramercy," said the lady, " thou shalt have me fair both day and night." Then she told him that her step-dame had turned her into that monstrous shape by necromancy, net to recover her own till the best knight in England had wedded her and given her sovereignty in all points.

1 In the Gaelic tale of " The Hoodie " (Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Highlands, i., 63) we find a similar choice. The hoodie, a kind of crow, having married the youngest of a farmer's three daughters, says to her: " Whether would'st thou rather that I should be a hoodie by day and a man at night, or be a hoodie at night and a man by day?" The woman does not leave the decision to him : " I would rather that thou wert a man by day and a hoodie at night," she replies. After this he was a splendid fellow by day and a hoodie at night. — It is a common occurrence in popular tales for the hero to have one shape at night and another by day. Thus in the Norse tale, '• East o' the Sun and West o' the Moon " (Daseut), a girl is married to a white bear, who becomes a man every night, and before daybreak changes back into a bear and goes off for the day. And in Indian fictions we often read of a girl being married to a serpent who casts aside his skin at niglit and assumes the form of a man. When this is discovered by his wife she burns the bkin while he is asleep, and henceforth he appears only as a man.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALI-. ")()!

A charming little scene follows, in which Arthur visits Gawain in the morning, fearing lest the fiend may have slain him.1

On this ballad, Sir F. Madden suggests, was founded that of the " Marriage of Sir Gawaine," which Percy printed, supplying from conjecture the lacunae, in the first edition of his Reliques of Ancient English Poetry, 1765, and the two subsequent editions. It is thus given in the Percy Folio MS., edited by Drs. Hales and Furnivall, vol. i., and reproduced by Prof. Child :

1 This is the scene in the bridal chamber next morning : 715 I telle you, in certeyne,

Withe joye & myrthe they wakyde tylle daye,

And thane wolde rise that fayre maye,1

'Ye shalle nott.' sir G;iwene sayde ;

' We wolle lye, & slepe tylle pryme, 720 And thene lett the kyng calle vs to dyne.'

' I ame greed,' then sayde tbe mayde.

Thus itt passyde forth tylle mid-daye.

' Syrs,'2 quode the kyng, 'lett vs go ande asaye,

Yf sir Gawene be one lyve. 725 I ame fulle ferde of sir Gawene

Nowe, lest the fende haue hyme slayne ;

Nowe wolde I fayne preve.

Go we nowe,' sayde Arthoure the kyng,

' We wolle go se theyr vprysing, 730 How welle that he hathe spede.'

They came to the chambre, alle in certeyne ;

' Aryse,' sayde the kyng to sir Gawene,

' Why slepyst thou so long in bedc 1 '

' Mary,' quode Gawene, ' sir kyng, sicurly, 7155 I wolde be glade ande ye wolde lett me be,

For I am fulle welle att eas ;

Abyde, ye shalle se the dore vndone,

I trowe that ye wolle say I am welle goone,

I ame full« lothe to ryse.' 740 Sir Gawene rose, ande in his hande he toke

His fayr lady, ande to the dore he shoke,

Ande opynyde the dore fulle fayre ;

Sbe stode in her smoke alle by that syre,

Her her3 was to her knees as rede as golde wyre, — 745 ' Lo ! this is my repay re.

Lo ! ' sayde Gawene Arthoure vntille,

' Syr, this is my wife, dame Ragnelle,

That sauyde onys yo?/r lyfe.'

He tolde the kyng and the queene heme beforne, 750 Howe sodenly frome her shap she dyde torne,

' My lorde, nowe be yowr leve.'

Ande whate was the cause she forshapene was,

Syr Gawene told the kyng, bothe more ande lesse.

1 inuyd, MS. * Syr, MS. » heel, MS.

C!f. OHIO. 35

502 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

of £ir

King Arthur is at 1 T7" INGE AETHUR Hues in merry Carleile,

Carlisle, |\

-LV. And seemely is to see,

And there he hath with him Queene Genever,

That bride soe bright of blee. 2 And there he hath w/th [him] Queene Genever,

That bride soe bright in bower, And all his barons about him stoode,

That were both stiffe and stowre. keeping a mem? 3 The king kept a royall Christmasse,

Christmas.

Of mirth and great honor, And when

****#- •And for ransom 4 ' And bring me word what thing it is

bring me word _ ..

what is the great l/««t a woman [dothj most desire \

desire of women.' mi_ • i_ n .1 A L-\ » i

Ihis shalbe thy ransome, Arthur, he sayes,

' For lie haue noe other hier.' Arthur agrees to 5 Km/; Arthur then held vp his hand,

these terms,

According thene as was the law ; He tooke his leaue of the baron there,

And hoinward can1 he draw, ami goes back to 6 And when he came to merry Carlile,

Carlisle, rp 1 • 1 i -I •

moaning. lo his chamber he is gone,

And ther came to him his cozen Sir Gawaine,

As he did make his mone. 7 And there came to him his cozen Sir Gawaine,

That was a curteous knight ; ' Why sigh you soe sore, vncle Arthur,' he said,

' Or who hath done thee vnright 1 ' Arthur tells 8 ' 0 peace, 0 peace, thou gentle Gawaine,

That faire may thee beffall ! For if thou knew my sighing soe deepe, Thou wold not meruaile att all. 1 'gan, began.

FOR THE WIFE OF F.ATIl's TALE. •"»(>:>

9 ' Ffor when I came to Tearne Wadling,1 of his et.mnnter

witli tin- Karon at

A bold barron there I fand, Teame waaiing,

W/th a great club vpon his backe, Standing stiife and strong.

1 0 ' And he asked me wether I wold fight

Or from him 1 shold begone, 0[r] else I must him a ransome. pay, And soe depart him from.

11 'To fight with him I saw noe cause ; and that to get off

fighting him,

Methought it was not meet ; For he was stifle and strong w/th-all, His strokes were nothing sweete.

12 'Therefor this is my ransome, Gawaine, he must find out,

I ought to him to pay ; I must come againe, as I am sworne,

Vpon the 2Jew Yeers day ; Day,""

13 'And I must bring him word what thing it is what a woman

most desires.

[That a woman doth most desire.]

14 Then king Arthur drest him for to rydo, Arthur sets forth

to fulfil In- eu-

In one soe rich array, garment.

Toward the fore-said Tearne "Wadling, Thai he might keepe his day.

15 And as he rode over a more, Crossing a moor,

TJ ill 1|e sees a very

Hee see a lady where shee sate hideous lady,

Betwixt an oke and a greene hollen ; She was cladd in red Scarlett.2

1 A town in Inglewond Forest, near Hesketh, in CunilxT- land ; sometimes written Tearne Wathelyne.

2 This was a common phrase in our old writers: so Chau- cer, in his Prologue to the Canterbury Tales, says of the Wife of Bath :

" Her hosen were of fyne scarlet red." — Percy.

504

21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

with one eye instead of her mouth,

and a crooked pose.

She asks, 'Who are you ? Fear not me.

Perhaps I may succour you.'

' Succour me, and Qawain shall marry you."

16 Then there as shold haue stood her mouth,

Then there was sett her eye ;

The other was in her forhead fast,

The way that she might see.

1 7 Her nose was crooked and turnd outward,

Her mouth stood foule a-wry ; A worse formed lady than shee Avas, Neuer man saw w^th his eye.

18 To halch vpon him, 'King Arthur,

This lady was full faine, But JLing Arthur had forgott his lesson What he shold say againe.

19 'What knight art thou,' the lady sayd,

* That will not speak to me 1 Of me be thou nothing dismayd, Tho I be vgly to see.

20 For I haue halched you curteouslye,

And you will not me againe ; Yett I may happen, Sir Knight,' shee said, ' To ease thee of thy paine.'

21 ' Giue thou ease me, lady,' he said,

' Or helpe me in any thing, Thou shalt have gentle Gawaine, my cozen, And marry him with a ring.'

22 ' Why, if I help thee not, thou noble King Arthur,

Of thy owne hearts desiringe, Of gentle Gawaine ....

At the tarn he finds the Duron,

23 And when he came to the Tearne Wadling,

The baron there cold he finde, W^th a great weapon on his backe, Standing stiffe and stronge.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 50f>

2 4 And then he tooke 'King Arthur's letters in his hands, wiio thinks

Arthur cannot '

And away he cold them fling, produce the ran-

som or answer,

And then he pula out a good browne sword, And cryd him self e a king.

25 And he sayd, ' I have thee and thy land, Arthur, ami claims him

and his land.

To doe as it pleaseth me, For this is not thy ransome sure, Therfore yeeld thee to me.'

26 And then bespoke him noble Arthur, Arthur bids him

And bad him hold his hand : ' And giue me leaue to speake my mind In defence of all my land.'

27 He said, 'As I came over a more,

I see a lady where shee sate Betweene an oke and a green hollen ; Shee was clad in red scarlett.

28 ' And she says a woman will haue her will, then gives the

And this is all her cheef desire : woman win have

Doe me right, as thou art a baron of sckill, This is thy ransome and all thy hyer.'

29 He sayes, 'An early vengeance light on her ! The Baron curses

' the lady (his

She walkes on yonder more ; sister, it turns

It was my sister that told thee this, And she is a misshappen hore.

30 ' But heer He make mine avow to God

To doe her an euill turne, For an euer I may thate fowle theefe get,

In a fyer I will her burne.' ******

31 S«r Lancelott and S/r Steven bold,1 A company of

rpi j ., -i ,1 , i , i knights, riding

They rode With them that day, out with the King

And the formost of the eompany There rode the steward Kay.

1 Sir Steven does not occur (says Madden) in the Round Table romances.

506 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

32 Soe did Su- Banier and Str Bore,

Sir Ganett1 w/'th them soe gay, Soe did Sir Tristeraru, thai gentle knighi, To the forrest fresh and gay.

meet the img. 33 And when he came to the greene forrest,

Vnderneath a greene holly tree, Their sate that lady in red scarlet Thai vnseemly was to see.

sir Kay docs not 34. gz'r Kay beheld this ladys face,

fancy her to kiss.

And looked vppon her swire ; ' Whosoeuer kisses this lady,' he sayes, ' Of his kisse he stands in feare,'

35 S/r Kay beheld the lady againe,

And looked vpon her snout ; ' Whosoeuer kisses this lady,' he sayes, ' Of his kisse he stands in doubt.'

sir Gawain bids 36 ' Peace, cozen Kay,' then said Szr Gawaine,

liiin be quiet,

tor one of them ' Amend thee of thy life ;

must have her to .

wife. lor there is a knight amongst vs all,

Tliai must marry her to his wife.'

sir K«y says he 37 ' What ! wedd her to wiffe ! ' then said Sir Kay,

had rather perish

than it should be ' In the diuells name anon !

he.

Gett me a wiffe where-ere I may, For I had rather be slaine ! '

The others are of 33 Then some tooke vp their hawkes in hast,

the same mind.

And some tooke vp their hounds, And some sware they wold not marry her For citty nor for towne.

1 Banier, probably, according to the same authority, a mis- take for Bediuer, the King's Constable — Tennyson's Bedivere. Bore is Bors de Gauiies (or Cannes), brother of Lionel. Garrett is Gareth, or Gaheriet, Sir Gawaiue's younger brother. — Percy MS., Hales and Ftirnivall.

FOR THE WIFE OF SATIl's TALE. 507

39 And then be-spake him noble King Arthur, Arthur reproves

his knighls.

And sware there by this day, 'For a litle foule sight and misliking

40 Then shee said, ' Choose thee, gentle Gawaine, Gawain's bride

asks whether he

Truth as I doe say, win have her foul

,lr ,, ,, .,, , . ,, . V1 by day or night.

Wether thou wilt haue me in this liknesse In the night or else in the day.'

41 And then bespake him gentle Gawaine, Gawain

Was one soe mild of moode,

Sayes, ' Well I know what I wold say, answers,

God grant it may be good !

42 ' To haue thee fowle in the night

When I with thee shold play — Yet I had rather, if I might,

Haue thee fowle in the day.' By day/

43 'What ! when lords goe with ther feires,' shee said 'Then i must hide

, . from your com-

Jjoth to the ale and wine, panions.'

Alas ! then I must hyde my selfe, I must not goe withinne.'

44 And then bespake him. gentle Gawaine,

Said, ' Lady, that's but skill ;

And.because thou art my owne lady «NO; do as you

Thou shalt haue all thy will.'

45 Then she said, ' Blessed be thou, gentle Gawaine, 'Bless you,

This day that I thee see,

For as thou seest me att this time, you have cured

From hencforth I wilbe.

46 ' My father was an old knight,

And yet it chanced soe That he marryed a younge lady That brought me to this woe.

me.

50S 21. THE KNIGHT AXD THE LOATHLY LADY :

i was witched 47 ' Shee witched me, being a faire young lady,

into the likeness ,

ota fiend.' To the greene forrest to dwell,

And there I must walke in womans liknesse, Most like a feend of hell.

48 ' She witch my brother to a carlisli b . . .

That looked soe foule, and that was wont On the wild more to goe.'

•Kiss her, brother 50 'Come kisse her, brother Kay,' then said Sir Gawaine, Gaw'ain, ' And amend the^ of thy liffe ;

• and regret your . . . .

rudeness.* I sweare this is tlie same lady

Thai I marryed to my wiffe.'

Kay kisses iier, 51 ' Sir [Kay he] kissed that lady bright,

Standing vpon his ffeete ; He swore, as he was trew knight, The spice was neuer soe svveete.

and congratulates 52 ' Well, cozen Gawaine,' sayes Sit Kay,

' Thy chance is fallen arright, For thou hast gotten one of the fairest maids , I euer saw w/th my sight.'

53 ' It is my fortune,' said Sir Gawaine ;

' For my vncle Arthurs sake I am glad as grasse wold be of raine, Great ioy that I may take.'

He and Kay take 54 Sz'r Gawaine tooke the lady by the one arme,

the lady between ~ . Tr , , , , , , ,

them, Sir Kay tooke her rjy the tother,

a,.d lead her to They led her straight to King Arthur,

King Arthur, 1,1 i v j.v

As they were brother and brother.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATHES TALE. 509

55 King Arthur welcomed them there all,

And soe did Lady Geneuer his queene, With all the knights of the Round Table, Most seemly to be seene.

56 King Arthur beheld that lady faire

That was soe faire and bright, He thanked Christ in Trinity who thanks God

IT" o • n • it. i i.i i • T-J. forGawain's

r or bir Gawame, that gentle knight. bliss.

57 Soe did the knights, both more and lesse, AH the knights

rejoice.

Eeioyced all that day For the good chance that happened was To Sz'r Gawaine and his lady gay.

The ballad of King Henry, which Scott gives in his Minstrelsy of the Scottish Border, " from the MS. of Mrs. Brown, corrected by a recent fragment," may represent an older version than either of the two foregoing. Mr. Child says that this MS. was William Tytler's, " in which, as we learn from Anderson's communication to Percy, this ballad was No. 11. Anderson states that it extended to 22 stanzas, the number in Scott's copy. No account is given of the recited fragment. As published by Jamieson, ii., 194, the ballad is increased by interpolation to 34 stanzas. ' The interpolation will be found enclosed in brackets;' but a painful contrast of its style of itself distinguishes them. They were entered by Jamieson in his manuscript as well." The following is Scott's copy :

ialtob oi Iling prime.

LET never man a wooing wend That lacketh thingis three : A rowth o' gold, an open heart, And fu' o' courtesey.

And this was seen o' king Henrie,

For he lay burd alane ; And he has ta'en him to a haunted hunt's ha',

Was seven miles frae a toun.

510 21. THE KXIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

He chaced the dun deer thro' the wood,

And the roe doun by the den, Till the fattest buck in a' the herd

King Henrie he has slain. 12

He's ta'en him to his hunting ha',

For to make burly cheir ; When loud the wind was heard to sound,

And an earthquake rocked the floor. 16

And darkness covered a' the hall

Where they sat at their meat ; The gray dogs, youling, left their food,

And crept to Henrie's feet. 20

And louder houled the rising wind,

And burst the fast'ned door ; And in there came a griesly ghost,

Stood stamping on the floor. 24

Her head touched the roof-tree of the house ;

Her middle ye weel mot span ; Each frighted huntsman fled the ha',

And left the king alone. 28

- Her teeth were a' like tether stakes,

Her nose like a club or mell ; And I ken naething she appeared to be

But the fiend that wons in hell. 32

1 Sum meat, sum meat, ye king Henrie !

Sum meat ye gie to me ! " "And what meat's in this house, ladye,

That ye're na wellcum tee?"1 36

" 0 ye'se gae kill your berry-brown steed,

And serve him up to me."

1 Tee for to ia the Buchanshire and Gallovidiau pronuncia- tion.— S.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 511

0 when he killed his berry-brown steed,

Wow, gin his heart was sail- ! 40

She eat him a' up, skin and bane,

Left naething but hide and hair.

" Mair meat, mair meat, ye king llenrie !

Mair meat ye gie to me ! " 44

" And what meat's i' this house, ladye,

That ye're na wellcum tee ] " " O ye do slay your gude gray houndes,

And bring them a' to me.". 48

0 when he slew his gude grayhoundes,

Wow, but his heart was sair ! She's ate them a' up, ane by ane,

Left naething but hide arid hair. 52

" Mair meat, mair meat, ye king Henrie !

Mair meat ye gie to me ! " " And what meat's i' this house, ladye,

That I hae left to gie I" 56

" 0 ye do fell your gay goss-hawks,

And bring them a' to me."

0 when he felled his gay goss-hawks,

Wow, but his heart was sair ! 60

She's ate them a' up, bane by bane,

Left naething but feathers bare.

" Sum drink, some drink, ye king Henrie !

Sum drink ye gie to me ! " 64

" And what drink's in this house, ladye,

That ye're na wellcum tee]" " 0 ye sew up your horse's hide,

And bring in a drink to me." 68

O he has sewed up the bluidy hide,

And put in a pipe of wine ; She drank it a' up at ae draught,

Left na a drap therein. 72

•^12 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY:

"A bed, a bed, ye king Henrie !

A bed ye mak to me ! " " And what's the bed i' this house, ladye,

That ye're na wellcum tee? " 76

" 0 ye maun pu' the green heather,

And mak a bed to me."

0 pu'd has he the heather green,

And made to her a bed ; 80

And up he has ta'en his gay mantle,

And o'er it he has spread.

" Now swear, now swear, ye king Henrie,

To take me for your bride ! " 84

"0 God forbid ! " king Henrie said, " That ever the like betide !

That e'er the fiend, that wons in hell,

Should streak down by niy side ! " 88

When day was come, and night was gane, And the sun shone through the ha',

The fairest ladye that e'er was seen

Lay atween him and the wa'. 92

. "0 weel is me ! " King Henrie said,

" How long will this last wi' me ? " And out and spak that ladye fair :

" E'en till the day ye dee." 96

" For I was witched to a ghastly shape,

All by my stepdame's skill, Till I should meet wi' a courteous knight

"Wad gie me a' my will." 100

William Tytler's version of this ballad was adapted by Lewis for his Tales of Wonder, under the title of " Courteous King Jamie/' ii., 453. A similar ballad, " Of a Knight and a Fair Virgin," is found in Johnson's Crown Garland of Golden Roses, printed about the year

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 513

1600. And Voltaire lias followed Chaucer in his tale "Ce qui plait aux Dames."

Scott, in his prefatory note to the ballad of " King Henrie," after referring to its resemblance to that of the " Marriage of Sir Gawaine " and the Wife of Bath's Tale, cites what he considers as the " original," as follows, from Torfoeus (Hrolffi Kralcii, Hist., Hafn. 1715, p. 49) :

Icelandic

HELLGIUS, Rex Danise, mserore ob omissam con- K. Heigi, grieved jugem vexatus, solus agebat, et subducens se death, liwl in •

, . ..,.,.. solitary house.

hommum commercio, segregem domum, omnis famulitu impatiens, incolebat. Accidit auteni, ut, nocte concubia, One night he

hears a cry out-

lamentabihs cujusdam ante lores ejulantis sonus auribus side; opens the

. door, and sees a

ejus obreperet. Jixpergeiactus igitur, recluso ostio, hideous-looking

, . . . , , . . , woman, whom he

informe quoddam muheris simulacrum, habitu corpons iet» in. faedum, veste squalore obsita, pallore, macie frigorisque tyrannide prope modum peremptum, deprehendit ; quod precibus obsecratus, ut qui jam miserorum jerumnas ex propria calamitate pensare didicisset, in domum in- tromisit; ipse lectum petit. At mulier, ne hac quidem she begs to share benignitate contenta, thori consortium obnixk flagitabat, die. ' ' * addens id tante referre, ut nisi impetraret, omnino sibi moriendum esset. Quod, ea lege, ne ipsum attingeret, He consents,

TJ ,. but she must not

concessum est. Ideo nee complexu earn dignatus Rex, touch him. avertit sese. Cum autem prima luce forte oculos ultro At dawn he finds

. „ . . by his side a lovely

citroque converteret, eximiae tornije virgmeni lecto re- virKin, who teiis

j ... !_•••! him she is of the

ceptam auimadvertit ; quse statim ipsi placers ctepit :

causam igitur tarn repentinae mutationis cnriosius in-

daganti, respondit Virgo, se unam e subterraneorum race of gnomes,

hominum genere diris novercalibus devotam, tarn tetra fouuTrm tm8"

et execrabili specie, quali primo comparuit, damnatum, pr^ '"* a

quond thori cujusdam principis socia h'eret, multos

reges hac do re sollicitasse. Jam actis pro prsestito

beneficio gratiis, discessum maturans, a rege formse ejus

illecebris capto comprimitur. Deinde petit, si prolem

T)14 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY:

iieigi embraces ex hoc congressu progigni contigerit, sequente hyeme,

lier, and slie

exacts iiis promise eodem aiini tenipore, ante fores positam in sedes re-

to receive their

offspring, if iiny, ciperet, seque ejus patrem pronteri non gravaretur,

or danger should ....

follow. secus non leve miortunium insecuturum prsedixit : A

From this he quo prjBcepto cum rex postea exorbitasset, nee pne

departs, when an

infant is laid at his foriDus jacentem infantem pro suo agnoscere voluisset, and upbraids him, a<l eain iterum, sed corrugata fronte, acccssit, obque

but will turn the • i x .c j • -L • i_ • •

danger on ins son. violatam Mem acrius oojurgatum ab immmente pen- culo, prsestiti olim beneficii gratia, exempturam pollice- batur, ita tamen ut tota ultionis rabies in filium ejus effusa graves aliquando levitatis illius paenas exigeret.

From tins union Ex liac tarn dissimilium naturarum commixione, Skulda,

Skulda, a woman,

who did wonders, versuti et vcrsatilis aniini mulier, nata fuisse memora-

was born.

tnr ; quse utramque nattiram participans prodigiosorum operum effectrix perhibetur.

This Norse tale more closely resembles the ballad of King Henrie than those of Sir Gawaine : in both a king is living in a solitary house when the loathly lady conies knocking at the door, and being admitted gets leave to lie in his bed ; on the other hand, in Gawaine's Wedding with Dame Kagnell, as in King Henrie, she has a most voracious appetite, eating and drinking all that is set before her. The story is differently told from any of the preceding in another Icelandic version, of which Prof. Child gives the following abstract :

Inotljcr ItftouMt icrsion.

GKIMR was on the verge of marriage with Lopthsena, but a week before the appointed day the bride was gone, and nobody knew what had become of her. Her father had given her a step-mother five years before, and the step-mother had been far from kind ; but what then ] Gri'iur was restless and unhappy, and got no tidings. A year of scarcity coming, he left home with two of his people. After an adventure with four trolls, he had a fight with twelve men, in which, though they were all slain, he lost his comrades, and was very badly wounded. As he lay on the ground, looking only for death, a woman passed, if so she might be called ;

FOR THE WIFE OF BATIKS TALE. 515

for she was not taller than a child of seven years, so stout that Grimr's arms would not go round her, mis-shapen, bald, black, ugly, and disgusting in every particular. She came up to Grimr, and asked him if he would accept his life from her. " Hardly," said he ; "you are so loathsome." But life was precious, and he presently consented. She took him up and ran Avith him, as if he were a babe, till she came to a large cave ; there she set him clown, and it seemed to Grimr that she was uglier than before. "Now pay me for saving your life," she said, " and kiss me." " I cannot," said Grimr, " you look so diabolical." " Expect no help, then, from me," said she ; " and I see that it will soon be all over with you." " Since it must be, loth as I am," said Grimr, and went and kissed her ; she seemed not so bad to kiss as to look at. When night came she made up a bed, and asked Grimr whether he would lie alone, or with her. "Alone," he answered. "Then," said she, "I shall take no pains about healing your wounds." Grimr said he would rather lie with her, if he had no other chance, and she bound up his wounds, so that he seemed to feel no more of them. ~No sooner was Grimr abed than he fell asleep, and when he woke, he saw lying by him almost the fairest woman he had ever laid eyes on, and marvellously like his true-love Lopthsena. At the bedside he saw lying the troll-casing which she had worn ; he jumped up and burned this.1 The woman was very faint; he sprinkled her witli water, and she came to, and said, " It is well for both of us ; I saved thy life first, and thou hast freed me from bondage." It was indeed Lopthsena, whom the step-mother had transformed into a horrible shape, odious to men and trolls, which she should never come out of till a man should consent to three things — which no man ever would — to accept his life at her hands, to kiss her, and to share her bed.2

The first part of the story of " The Daughter of King Under- \Vaves " in Campbell's Popular Tales of the West Hir/khouls, vol. iii., p. 403 f., was probably derived from the same source as that of

1 See end of note, p. 500. •

2 Grims saga lo<5inkimm, Ral'u, Fornalchir Sogur, ii. H3-152.

516 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

the Icelandic tale of King Helgi, the father of Hrolfr Kraki, though some of the details and the conclusion are very different :

ONE dark and stormy night, when the Finn were together, a creature of uncouth aspect, whose hair reached to her heels, knocked at the door of Fionn and besought shelter, but on his look- ing out and seeing such a hideous being, he refused to admit her, and she went away screaming. Then she went to Oisean, who also refused to let her in ; but when she next applied to Diarmaid, he said to her: "Thou art a strange, hideous creature; thy hair is down to thy heels; but come in." When she had entered she said : " 0 Diarmaid, I have spent seven years in travelling over ocean and sea, and during all that time till now I have not passed a night beneath a roof. Let me come near the fire." " Come up," said Diarmaid ; and when she drew near the fire the people of Finn began to flee, she was so hideous. " Go to the farther side," said Diarmaid to them, " and let the creature come to the warmth of the fire." So they went to the other side, but she had not been long at the fire when she sought to be under the blanket beside Diarmaid himself. " Thou art growing bold," said he : " first thou didst ask me to let thee in, then thou didst seek to come to the fire, and now thou askest leave to come under the blanket with me ; but come." She went under the blanket, and he turned a fold of it between them. She was not long thus when he started and gazed at her, and saw by his side the finest drop of blood that ever was, from the beginning of the universe till the end of the world. He called to the others to come and see the most beautiful woman that man ever saw, and they were astonished and covered her up. When she awoke, she said: "Art thou awake, Diarmaid ?" and he answered: "I am awake." Then said she : " Where wouldst thou rather that the very finest castle thou hast ever seen should be built?" "Up above Eeinn Eudainn, if I had my choice," and Diarmaid slept, and she said no more to him.

There went out one early, before the day, riding, and he saw a castle built upon a hill. He cleared his sight, to see if it was really

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 517

there ; then he saw it, and went home, and did not say a word. Another went out and also saw it, and said nothing. Then the day was brightened, and the two came in, telling that the castle was most surely there. She sat up and said : "Arise, Diarmaid, go up to thy castle, and be not stretched there any longer." " If there were a castle to which I might go," said Diarmaid. " Look out," said she, " and see if there be a castle there." He looked out and saw a castle, and came in, saying to her : "I will go up to the castle, if thou wilt go with me." " I will do that, Diarmaid ; but say not to me thrice how thou didst find me." " I will never say how I found thee," replied Diarmaid. So they went to the castle together. That was a beautiful castle ! There was not the shadow of a thing that was of use for a castle that was not in it, even to a herd for the geese. The meat was on the board, and there were maidservants and men- servants about it. They spent three days in the castle together, and then she said to him : " Thou art turning sorrowful, because thou art not with thy people ; and thou hadst best go to the Finn, and thy meat and drink will be no worse than they are." " Who will take care of the greyhound bitch and her three pups?" said Diarmaid. "What fear is there for them?" said she, and then Darnaiaid went away and reached the people of Finn.

The rest of the story is a curious variant of the Cupid and Psyche group of legends. Fionn, Oisean, and another of the Finn, envious of Diarmaid's good luck, which might have been that of any of them had they not refused the woman admittance, visit her one after the other and each obtains of her one of the greyhound's pups. When Diarmaid returns after each of the two first visits, he says to the dog that if his bride had borne in mind how he had found her, with her hair down to her heels, she would not have given away the pup. She asks what he had said, and he begs her pardon ; but when he comes back after the third pup had been given away and repeats the same remark, he finds himself without wife or castle, and lying in a moss-hole. He sets out in quest of her, and after much trouble discovers her in a palace under the sea, but his love for her is now suddenly changed into dislike — a curious departure from the usual conclusion of tales of this class.

CH. ORIG. 36

518 21. THE KNIGHT AND THK LOATHLY LADY :

The old traveller Sir John Mandeville, like Herodotus, is doubt- less to be credited, as a rule, when he tells us of what he himself saw, but when he begins a narrative with " men seyn " we may be sure he is simply about to repeat some fabulous account of " antres vast and deserts idle ; of men whose heads do grow beneath their shoulders," and other monsters. In the following tale of a damsel transformed into a frightful dragon, he takes care to let us know that it is only from hearsay :

from UlankMIle.

" Some Men seyn, that in the He of Lango is jit the Doughtre of Ypocras,1 in forme and lykenesse of a gret Dragoun, that is an hundred Fadme of lengthe,2 as Men seyn : For I have not seen hire. And thei of the lies callen hire, Lady of the Lond. And sche lyethe in an olde Castelle, in a Cave, and schewethe twyes or thryes in the Zeer. And sche dothe non harm to no Man, but }if Men don hire harm. And sche was thus chaunged and transformed, from a fair Damysele, in to lyknesse of a Dragoun, be a Goddesse, that was clept Deane.3 And Men seyn, that sche schalle so endure in that forme of a Dra- goun, unto the tyme that a Knyghte come, that is so hardy, that dar come to hire and kiss hire on the Mouthe : And then schalle sche turne ajen to hire owne Kynde, and ben a Woman ajen : But aftre that sche schalle not liven longe. And it is not long siththen, that a Knighte of the Rodes, that was hardy and doughty in Armes, seyde that he wolde kyssen hire. And whan he was upon his Coursere, and wente to the Castelle, and entred into the Cave, the Dragoun lifte up hire Hed a^enst him. And whan the Knyghte saw hire in that Forme so hiclous and so horrible, he fleyghe awey. And the Dragoun bare the Knyghte upon a Roche,4 mawgre his Hede ; and from that Roche, sche caste him in to the See : and so was lost bothe Hors and Man. And also a jonge Man, that wiste not of the Dra- goun, wente out of a Schipp, and wente thorghe the He, til that he come to the Castelle, and cam in to the Cave ; and wente so longe,

1 Hippocrates.

2 A hundred fathoms long — something like a monster ! 3 Diana. * Rock.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATHES TALE. 519

til that he fond a Chambre, and there he saughe a Darnysele, that kembed hire Hede, and lokede in a Myrour ; and sche hadde meche Tresoure abouten hire :l and he trowed, that sche hadde ben a comoun Woman, that dwelled there to receyve Men to Folye. And he abode, tille the Damysele saughe the Schadewe of him in the Myrour. And sche turned hire toward him, and asked hym, what he wolde. And he seyde, he wolde ben hire Limman or Paramour. And sche asked him, }if that he were a Knyghte. And he seyde, nay. And than sche seyde, that he myghte not ben hire Lemman : But sche bad him gon a3en unto his Felowes, and make him Knyghte, and come ajen upon the Morwe, and sche scholde come out of the Cave before him ; and thanne come and kysse hire on the Mowthe, and have no Drede ; for I schalle do the no maner harm, alle be it that thou see me in Lyknesse of a Dragoun. For thoughe thou see me hidouse and hor- rible to loken onne, I do the to wytene,2 that it is made be Enchaunte- ment. For withouten doute, I am non other than thou seest now, a Woman ; and therfore drede the noughte. And $if thou kysse me, thou schalt have alle this Tresoure, and be my Lord, and Lord also of alle that He. And he departed fro hire and wente to his Felowes to Schippe, and leet make him Knyghte, and cam a^en upon the Morwe, for to kysse this Damysele. And whan he saughe hire comen out of the Cave, in forme of a Dragoun, so. hidouse and so horrible, he hadde so grete drede, that he fleyghe a^en to the Schippe ; and sche folewed him. And whan sche saughe, that he turned not a^en, sche began to crye, as a thing that hadde meche Sorwe : and thanne sche turned a$en, in to hire Cave ; and anon the Knyghte dyedc. And siththen hidrewards, myghte no Knyghte se hire, but that he dyede anon. But whan a Knyghte cornethe, that is so hardy to kisse hire, he schalle not dye ; but he schalle turne the Damysele in to hire righte Forme and kyndely Schapp, and he schal be Lord of alle the Con trey es and lies aboveseyd."a

1 From the most ancient times serpents and dragons were believed to be the guardians of hidden treasure.

* I give thee to know.

3 The Voiage and Tram He of Sir John, Maunderllle, A?., etc. Ixeprinted from the edition of A.D. 1725 ; with an Introduction, Additional Notes, and Glossary, by J. O. Ilalliwell. London, 183'J. Chap, iv., pp. '23 — 2ti.

520 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

Mandeville's wonderful tale is quite unique. In all other stories or legends of the kind the enchanted person is not apparently per- mitted to reveal the means by which the spell may be done away ; but here the "dragoun" young lady tells all about it to every one who visits her ; and it is passing strange that no fortune-hunter could be found bold enough to imprint a kiss on her monstrous mouth, when assured that she should be thereby instantly changed back into her original form of a super-eminently beautiful damsel, willing to reward him with her hand in marriage, and " wealth beyond the dreams of avarice " ! Sir John does not give us to understand that this unhappy lady was immortal, so it were useless for any enterprising youth, with an eye on the " main chance," to think of setting forth in quest of her at this time of day.

There is an interesting analogue of the chief feature of the Wife of Bath's Tale in a Turkish story-book of a mystical cast, entitled, "Phantasms from the Presence of God," written, in 1796-7, by 'Ali 'Aziz Efendi, the Cretan,1 which is to this effect :

fektslj gnaiope.

A beautiful young orphan girl, exceedingly poor, returning home with water one day, is accosted by a very ugly old man, who asks her to marry him. She consents, for she thinks her condition could hardly be worse. After being married they sail for Abyssinia, where they reside for some little time. One day the old man was gone to the bazaar, and the girl began to long for his return, saying to her- self : " Would that my husband were come, that I might talk with him." When the old man came, she ran to meet him with as much joy as if the world had become her own, and when he beheld her longing in her face, and her countenance glowing with delight, he suddenly shook himself and became a young man of seventeen years, a sun of the world — a darling of the age ; and he clasped her round

1 Mukhayyaldt-i Lcdun-i illdhi-i Giridli 'Ali 'Aziz Efendi. My friend Mr. E. J. W. Gibb has favoured me with a reading of part of his translation of this curious work, which lie is preparing for publication, and from which I have made the abstract of the story that follows.

FOR THE WIFE OF BATH'S TALE. 521

the neck and blessed her, saying : " 0 my lady, my Emma, like as thou hast delivered me from this plight, may God help thee in the Hereafter from the torment of hell!"1 Then he took her hy the hand, and they entered the inner room, and the youth addressed her thus : " My lady, I am not of the sons of Adam. I am Eetini Shah, king of the fairies of the land of Jabulsd. With us a parent's curse against a child forthwith comes to pass. One day while jesting with my aged mother, I said to her : ' Thou dost not love me.' These words were grievous to her, and she said : ' If God will, my son, may thou assume a vile form of seventy years old, and until a fair girl of the children of Adam desire thy beauty, may thou not return to thy first estate.' No sooner had she uttered this speech than, lo ! I assumed that form which thou sawest, and it is full forty years that I have wandered the world in that shape, seeking a cure for my woe. I saw that thy poverty was exceeding great, and as the indications of truth and chastity were visible in thy face, I fancied that I might, with much kindness, in some way win and reconcile thee to myself. And lo ! thou hast yearned for me, and, praise be to God most high, my beauty has returned to its old estate. Now am I thy husband, and thy freed slave ; henceforth grieve not, nor sorrow for anything. Accept me again as husband, if thou desire ; send me away, if thou desire : my loins are girt in thy service till the Resurrection Day." Needless to add that Sitt Emma was more than charmed with her rejuvenated husband, who supplied her with wealth galore, and came all the way from his fairy dominions once every week to enjoy her society.

Sanshnt gmtlope.

I do not remember any exact parallel to the Wife of Bath's Tale in Indian fiction, though the step-dame's transforming the damsel into a hideous hag, so to remain until a knight should consent to marry her, which occurs in other versions, has many analogues in such story-books as the Kathd Sarit Sdgara, where a celestial being having incurred the wrath of a deity is condemned to be re-born on.

1 How very absurd is the popular notion that Muslims deny the existence of the soul in woman !

f>22 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY :

the earth in human form, or as a snake or other animal, the "curse," or punishment, to cease when certain tilings should occur. This power of " cursing " is also acquired by holy men — rishis — through the virtue of their austerities, and they often transform an offender into some kind of beast. Thus in section the eleventh of the Introductory Book of the Mahdbhdrata we are told of a rishi who was engaged in the Agni-liotra, or fire-sacrifice, when a friend in sport made a sham snake of blades of grass, and attempted to frighten him with it. The rishi, burning with wrath on discovering the deceit, exclaimed : " Since thou hast made a powerless snake to frighten me, thou shalt be turned even into a venomless snake thyself by my curse." The culprit, well knowing the power of the ascetic, thus addressed him, lowly bending, and with joined hands : " 0 friend, I have done this by way of jest, to excite thy laughter. It behoveth thee to forgive me, and to revoke thy curse." But this, it would appear, was impos- sible : the curse itself was irrevocable, and such being the case, rishis should certainly be careful not to "let their angry passions rise," as they do so often — in story-books. But the duration of the curse could be limited, and so the rishi, perceiving the culprit's terror, said : " What I have spoken must come to pass. But when Euru, the pure son of Praraati, shall appear thou shalt be delivered from the curse the moment thou seest him," and this takes place in the fulness of time.

Legends similar to the tale of the Knight and the Loathly Lady seem to be of universal currency and of very ancient date. Have we not all listened to them in the nursery, and been especially charmed with the tale of " The Frog Prince " 1 And there are several parallels to it among the natives of South Africa. To cite two examples only, in conclusion :

&too |iiiffir gualogucs.

In Theal's Kaffir Folk-Lore a youth refrains from killing a crocodile, and in return it gives him many cattle and a great quantity of millet. Then the crocodile said to him : " You must send your sister for the purpose of being married to me." The

FOR THE WIFE OF BATHES TALE. 523

crocodile gave one of his daughters to the young man, and his sister went to the village of the crocodile to be a bride. They said to her : " Whom do you choose to be your husband1? " The girl replied : " I choose Crocodile." Her husband said to her : " Lick my face." She did so, and the crocodile cast off his skin and arose a man of great strength and fine appearance, and told her that he had been so trans- formed by the enemies of his father's house (ed. 1882, p. 37). — In another story (p. 53) a girl goes to be the bride of the snake with five heads, who had devoured her sister because she was afraid of him ; and having baked and served him with bread to his satisfaction, he became a man, and she was ever afterwards the wife he loved best.

-^T

NOTE.

"WOMEN DESIRE SOVEREIGNTY."

THE " self-willed " disposition of women is harped upon by many of our old English authors. In a curious 16th century tract entitled The Wyll of the Devyll (Ballad Society Publications) occurs the following bequest: "Item. I give to all women sovereignty, which they most desire, and that they never lack excuse." And, in his Breviary of Health, Andrew Borde says of woman: "She is subject to man, except it be there where the white mare is the better horse; therefore, ut homo non cantet cum cuculo, let every man please his wife in all matters, and dis- please her not, but let her have her own wyll, for that she wyll have, who so ever say nay ; " — according to the proverbial lines —

" The man's a fool who thinks by force of skill To stem the torrent of a woman's will ; For if she will, she will, you may depend on't, And if she won't, she won't, and there's an end on't."

It would appear from the above passage from Borde that the wife who ruled her husband was then called the "white mare" — in modern times she is termed the " gray mare," and the origin of the expression is thus accounted for :

A gentleman, who had " seen the world," one day gave his son a pair of horses, and a basket of eggs, saying, ' ' Do you travel upon the high- road until you come to the first house in which there is a married couple. If you find that the husband is master there, give him one of the horses. If, on the other hand, the wife is ruler, give her an egg. Return at once if you part with a horse, but do not come back so long as you keep both horses, and there is an egg remaining in your basket." Off went the youth, full of his mission, and called at so many houses without finding the husband really master that all his eggs save one were gone, and riding onward he came to a house where he must make his final trial. He alighted and knocked at the door. The good wife opened it for him and curtsied. " Is your husband at home:'" "No," but she would call him from the hay-field. lu he came, wiping his brows. Tho

524 21. THE KNIGHT AND THE LOATHLY LADY.

young man told them his errand. "Why," said the good wife, simpering and twiddling a corner of her apron, " I always do as John wants me to do ; he is my master — aren't you, John ? " To which John replied, "Yes." "Then," said the youth, "I am to give you a horse; which will you take?" Quoth John, (> I think we'll have the bay gelding." " If we have a choice, husband," said the wife, " I think the gray mare will suit us better." " No," replied John ; " the bay for me ; he is more square in the front, and has much better legs." " Now," said the wife, " I don't think so ; — the gray mare is the better horse, and I shall never be contented unless I get that one." "You must take an egg," cried the youth, giving her the only one he had left, and he then returned home, with both horses, to inform his father how he had sped iu his mission.

There is a similar Arabian story told of the Khalif Harun er-Rashid, who figures so often in the Arabian Nights : how he gave one of his favourite companions a great number of donkeys, one of which he was to present to each man whom he found not to be under ' ' petticoat government " — for it is a mistake to suppose that, although women of a certain class are bought and sold for the harams of Muslims, the actual wife may not sometimes rule her lord very despotically ; but on this subject see Lane's Modern Egyptians. The favourite returned without having disposed of a single ass, at which Harun made merry, declaring himself to be the only man in his dominions who was master of his haram, including even his chief wife, Zubayde. Their conversation happened to take place in a room where they might be overheard by that pious but exceedingly jealous lady, and the favourite saw his opportunity of turning the laugh against the Khalif himself. So he began to describe in glowing terms the personal charms of a girl he pretended to have seen in the course of his journeyings, upon which Harun, in alarm lest Zubayde should hear this account of the strange beauty, whispered: " Don't talk quite so loud." This was what the companion expected, so he exclaimed in great glee : "0 Commander of the Faithful, it is you who must take a donkey ! "

GLASGOW, January, 18S8.

525

22.

ENGLISH ABSTEACT OF AN EAELY FEENCH VEESION

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

526

Jl noble JEarquesse,

JU he, bib ribe a hunting;

harb bg a forre0t 0ibe, Jl faire anb comely maiben, JU 0he bib sit a spinning,

hi0 gentle v&t £0pibe. Jft00t faire anb comely, ^.nb at camels grace toa0 she,

although in 0imple attire: (She 0ung full 0toeetlj), §Eith plca0ant bcrgce tnel0bi0u0lti, tohich set the Iorb0 heart on fire, more he lonkt, the more he might; tj) breab hi0 heart0 belight, to this comelg bamsell then he toent;

(iob speeb (quoth he), thou famous flotoer, Jfaire mistresse of this homelg botoer, lobe anb bertue toith stueet content,

HISTORY OF PATIENT GRISSELL.

527

THE PATIENT GRISELDA:

ENGLISH ABSTRACT OF AN EARLY FRENCH VERSION OF THE CLERK'S TALE.

BY W. A. CLOUSTON.

IN striking contrast to the motif of. the Wife of Bath's Tale is that of the Clerk's Tale of the Patient Griselda — such a wife as "ne'er was, nor is, nor e'er shall be!"1 The admirable note, by Professor Hales, on the characters of Griselda and the Marquis, appended to the Latin and Italian versions (p. 173 ff.), leaves little to be added by subsequent commentators. The tale may indeed be considered as a protest against the abuse of women so common in mediaeval litera- ture. But as it stands almost alone, it could have had little influence in causing a reaction in men's minds. It may be that the motif of the tale was rendered abortive from the characters of Griselda and the Marquis being so very much exaggerated, or overdrawn — so much out of keeping with human nature ; and one can easily conceive that the Patient Griselda would be often held up by men to their wives in mockery of their sex in general, just as they were frequently twitted by their gross-minded lords with stories of female artifice and profli- gacy taken from example-books, such as that which caused a "row" between the Wife of Bath and Jenkins her husband — in which, as usual, he came off second-best. My only object in presenting the following translation of Le Grand's prose version of the fabliau of Griselda is to show its close resemblance to Petrarch's Latin story — the details of each run so exactly parallel that either they must have been derived from a common source or one has been taken from the other.

1 According to Le Grand, in his prefatory remarks on the fabliau of Gri- selda, Noguier asserts that Griselda is not an imaginary person, but that this Phoenix of women actually lived about the year 1003 ; and Philippe Foresti, the Italian historiographer, also gives her story as true ; — it is just as true as the Italian legend of Santa Gugieluia — eee ante, pp. 409, 410.

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ftjre fabliau of 6rtselba.

IN Lombardy, on the confines of Piedmont, is a noble country, called the country of Saluces, whose lords have borne from all time the title of Marquis. Of all those lords the most illustrious and powerful was Walter. He was handsome, well made, and endowed with all the gifts of nature ; but he had one fault, that of loving too much the liberty of celibacy, and displeased when marriage WHS hinted to him, which sorely grieved his barons and vassals. They assembled to confer on the subject, and appointed certain deputies to speak to Walter in their name, as follows : " Marquis, our only master and sovereign lord, the love which we bear you has inspired us with boldness to come and speak with you ; for everything which you possess is pleasing to us, and we think ourselves happy in having such a master. But, dear sire, you know that years roll and pass by, and never return. Although you are in the flower of your manhood, nevertheless old age and death, from which no one is free, happen every day. Your vassals, who will never refuse to obey you, request you to allow them to seek for you a lady of noble birth, beautiful and virtuous, who would be worthy of becoming your wife. Grant, sire, this favour to your loyal subjects, in order that, in the event of any misfortune befalling your high and noble person, they should not be without a master." To this address Walter, much affected, answered kindly : " My friends, it is true I please myself in enjoying that liberty which one feels in my situation, and which is lost in marriage, if I may believe those who have tried it. An- other inconvenience of that union is that we are not sure the children we so much desire are really our own. Yet, my friends, I promise you to marry ; and I hope that the good God will give me one with whom I shall be able to live a happy life. But I wish also that you first promise me one thing, namely, that her whom I choose, whoever she may be, daughter of rich or poor man, you will respect and honour as your lady, and that there will be no one amongst you who will dare to blame or murmur at my choice." The barons and subjects promised faithfully to observe what the Marquis their lord demanded of them. They thanked him for having

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deferred to their request, and were informed by him of the day for his marriage, which caused great joy throughout the country of Saluces.

Now at a short distance from the castle there was a village in which the labourers dwelt, and through which the Marquis passed when he went to the chase. Amongst the villagers was an old man called Janicola, poor, bowed down by infirmities, and quite unable to walk. Often in a miserable cottage dwells the blessing of Heaven ; and of this that good old man was a proof, for there remained to him from his marriage a daughter, named Griselda, with a perfectly-formed person, but a soul still more beautiful, who kindly supported and comforted his old age. During the day she watched the sheep which belonged to them ; in the evening, when she had brought them home, she prepared their frugal meal, raised and laid her father ; in short, all those services which a daughter should do for a father the virtuous Griselda performed for poor Janicola. For a long time the Marquis had known by common report of the virtue and modest conduct of this poor girl. Often in going to the chase he stopped and looked at her; and in his heart he had already decided that if he ever did marry, it would only be Griselda.

Meanwhile the day which he had fixed for his marriage came round, and the palace was crowded with dames, knights, citizens, and people of every condition. All were making inquiries of each other regarding the wife of their lord, but no one could answer. The Marquis set out from his palace, as if with the intention of meeting his bride, and all the ladies and knights followed him. He wended his way to the village, and entered the cottage of Janicola, to whom he said : " Janicola, I know you have always loved me ; to-day I exact a proof of it : grant me your daughter in marriage." The poor man, astonished at this request, humbly replied: "Sire, you are my master and lord, and I should wish whatever you wish." The maiden all this time was standing near her old father, quite abashed, for she was not accustomed to receive such a guest. Then the Marquis thus addressed her : " Griselda, I wish you to become my wife. Your father consents, and I venture to think that you will not refuse ; but first answer me one question which I will ask

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of you before him : I desire a wife who will be submissive to me in everything, who will only wish what I wish, and, whatever my caprices may be, will always be ready to fulfil them. If you become mine, will you consent to observe these conditions?" Griselda replied : " My lord, I shall be ever willing to do whatever you may please to command. Should you order my death, I promise you to suffer it without complaining." " Enough," said the Marquis ; at the same time taking her hand and leading her out of the house, he presented her to his barons and people, saying : " My friends, here is •my wife — here is your lady, whom I request you to love and honour as you do myself." After these words he conducted her to the palace, where the matrons took off her rustic garments in order to deck her in a rich dress and nuptial ornaments. Griselda blushed, and trembled all over; and you yourself, after having been seen a moment before in your village, should you suddenly appear with a crown on your head, I am quite sure would not be able to check the same kind of astonishment. The marriage was celebrated the same day. The palace resounded with all kinds of musical instruments ; there was everywhere nothing but shouts of joy ; subjects as well as their lord appeared to be enchanted. Hitherto Griselda had been much admired for her virtuous conduct, but now, mild, affable, and obliging, she was more loved than she had been esteemed ; and, both among those who had known her before her elevation and those who knew her afterwards, there was not one who envied her good fortune. In due course Griselda gave birth to a daughter, who promised to be one day as beautiful as herself. Although the Marquis and his subjects would have more heartily welcomed the advent of a son, there was great rejoicing throughout Saluces. The infant was nursed in the palace by its mother; but as soon as it was weaned, Walter, who had devised a plan for testing his wife's obedience, 'although, charmed day after day by her virtues, he loved her more and more, entered her chamber, and, with the air of a man troubled about something, spoke to her as follows: "Griselda, you have not perhaps forgotten what was your condition before becoming my wife. I had, however, almost forgot it myself, and my tender love for thee, of which thou hast received many proofs, might assure thee of

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it. But for some time, and especially since our child was born, my vassals murmur,, and even haughtily complain of being destined one day to become the vassals of a grand-daughter of Janicola, and I, whose interest it is to preserve their friendship, am now compelled to make to them a sacrifice which pains me grievously. I would not act, however, until I had forewarned you ; and I come to ask your permission, and exhort you to exercise that patience which you promised me before becoming my spouse." Griselda humbly replied, without showing any tokens of grief : "My beloved lord, you are my lord and master ; my daughter and myself belong to you ; and you may command me in anything, for I shall never forget the obedience and submission which I promised and owe you." Such moderation and gentleness astonished the Marquis. He retired with a look of the utmost pain, while in his heart full of love and admiration for his wife. When he was alone he called an old servant, attached to him for thirty years, to whom he explained his plan, and sent him at once to Griselda. " Madame," said he, "deign to pardon the sad commission which I have undertaken, but my lord requests your daughter." At these words Griselda, recalling the conversation which she had recently had with Walter, concluded that he had sent the man to take away her child and put it to death. She stifled her grief, nevertheless, restrained her tears, and without making the least complaint or uttering a sigh, took the infant out of its cradle, looked at it tenderly for a long time, then making the sign of the cross on its forehead, and kissing it for the last time, she handed it to the servant. When Walter learned from his servant of his wife's courage and submission, he was full of admiration of her virtue ; but when he took the infant in his arms, and saw it cry, his heart Avas so moved that he was on the point of relinquishing his cruel trial. Recovering himself, however, he commanded his trusty servitor to carry the infant secretly to his sister, the Countess d'Empeche, at Boulogne, and desire her, in his name, to bring it up under her own care, but so that nobody — not even the count, her husband — should have knowledge of the secret. The servant accord- ingly delivered the child to the countess, who caused it to be privately educated, as her brother had desired.

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The Marquis continued to live with Griselda as before, and often did he look on her face to discover whether she nourished either grief or resentment, but she always showed him the same love and respect, never betraying any symptoms of sadness, and neither in his presence nor absence referred to her daughter. Four years had thus passed, when Griselda gave birth to a son, which completed the happiness of the Marquis, and the joy of all his people. Griselda nursed this infant as she had done the other ; but when it was two years old Gautier resolved to make another trial of his wife's patience, and came to tell her of his barons' dissatisfaction, in almost the same words he had formerly ascribed to them regarding her daughter. 0 what agony must that incomparable woman have felt at that moment, when reflecting that she had already lost her daughter, and now saw that her little son was about to be also taken from her! What it must have been I need not tell the tender mother — not even the stranger could at such a sentence have refrained from tears ! Queens, princesses, marchionesses, women of all degrees, hearken to the answer of Griselda to her lord, and profit by the example : " My dear lord," said she, " I formerly swore to you, and still swear, never to wish anything that you do not wish. When, on entering your palace, I threw off my poor garments, at the same time I resolved to know no will except your own. If it were possible for me to guess at anything before it was expressed, you would see your slightest desires foreseen and fulfilled. Command me now in whatever you please. If you wish my death, I agree to it; for death is nothing in comparison to the unhappiness of displeasing you." Walter was more and more astonished. Any one who had not known Griselda so well would have concluded that such firm- ness of soul was merely want of feeling ; but he, who was frequently a witness of her tenderness while she was nursing her children, could ascribe it only to the love which she had for himself. The Marquis sent his old servitor again to Boulogne with his son, where he was brought up along with his little sister.

After two such cruel proofs Walter ought to have felt certain of his wife's submissiveness to his will, and refrained from afflicting her farther. But his was one of those jealous hearts which nothing can

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cure, for whom the grief of others is a source of pleasure. As for Griselda, she not ouly appeared to have forgotten her double bereave- ment, but showed herself more than ever tender and affectionate towards her husband, nevertheless he purposed to make a still more severe experiment of her obedience. His daughter was now twelve years of age, and his son eight, and he sent a message to his sister the countess, desiring her to bring them to him ; at the same time he caused it to be noised abroad that he was about to divorce his wife in order to take another. This news soon reached Griselda. She was told that a young person of high birth, and beautiful as a fairy, was coming to be wedded to the Marquis of Saluces. Whether she was astounded at this, I leave you to decide. Meanwhile she continued to wait on him whom she was bound to obey in every- thing which he imposed upon her. Walter sent for her, and in the presence of his barons thus addressed her : " Griselda, during the past twelve years I have been pleased with you as my wife, because I have looked at your virtue instead of your birth. But I must have an heir — my subjects demand it; and Rome permits me to take a wife worthy of me. She will arrive here in the course of a few days, therefore prepare to give up thy present position. Take thy dowry with thee, and summon up all thy fortitude." Griselda replied : " My lord, I am not ignorant that the daughter of Janicola was not suited for your wife ; and in this palace, of which you made me the lady, I take God to witness, that every day, whilst thanking him for that honour, I felt myself unworthy of it. I leave, without regret, since such is your will, the place where I have been so happy, and I return to die in the cottage where I was born, and where I shall still be able to render my father those services which I was forced to delegate to a stranger. As for the dowry of which you speak, you well know, my lord, that with a pure heart I could only bring you poverty, respect, and love. All the dresses which I have worn here belong to you. Allow me to leave them, and take my own, which I have preserved. Here is the ring with which you wedded me. I came away poor from my father's house, and poor shall I return thither ; only wishing to carry with me the honour of

having been the irreproachable wife of such a husband." The CH. ORIG. 37

53 I 22. THE PATIENT GRISELDA :

is was si i moved by these words that he could not keep back his tears, and was forced to go out to conceal his emotion. Griselda left all her beautiful dresses, her jewels, and head-ornaments, and putting on her rustic clothes returned to her own village, accom- panied by many barons, knights, and ladies, who were bathed in tears and regretted so much virtue. She alone wept not, but walked on in silence with head bent down. They arrived at the cottage of Janicola, who did not appear astonished at the event. From the first the marriage had caused him to fear that sooner or later the Marquis would grow weary of his daughter and send her back to him. The old man tenderly embraced Griselda, and, with- out exhibiting anger or grief, thanked the ladies and gentlemen for their condescension in having accompanied his daughter, exhorting them to love their lord sincerely and to serve him loyally. But imagine the sorrow which the good Janicola must have felt when he reflected that his daughter after such a long period of pleasure and luxury should be in want during the rest of her life ; this, however, gave Griselda no concern, and she cheered her father's spirits.

In the mean time the Count and Countess d'Empeche, with Walter's two children, and attended by a great company of knights and ladies, were drawing near Saluces. The Marquis, to complete this last trial, sent for Griselda, who immediately came on foot and in the dress of a peasant. " Daughter of Janicola," said Walter to her, " to-morrow my wife arrives, and as no one in my palace knows so well as you what can please me, and I wish, to receive her with all honour, as well as my brother, my sister, and the others who accompany her, I desire you to superintend all arrangements, and especially to attend upon my new wife." "Sire," replied Griselda, " I have received such favours from you that as long as God permits me to live I will consider it a duty to do whatever may give you pleasure." She then went and gave the necessary orders to the officers and servants of the palace, and herself made ready the bridal bed for her whose approaching arrival had caused her own expulsion. When the young lady appeared, Griselda, instead of showing any signs of emotion, as one might have expected, went out to meet her, saluted her respectfully, and conducted her into the nuptial

FOR THE CLERK'S TALE. 535

room. By a secret instinct,1 for which she could nut account, she was delighted with the company of the young people, and never grew weary of looking at them and admiring their beauty.

The hour of feasting arrived, and when all were assembled at table the Marquis sent for Griselda, and showing her his bride — who to her natural brilliancy added a dazzling dress — asked her what she thought of the lady. " My lord," replied she, " you could not choose one more beautiful and virtuous ; and if God hear the prayers which I offer up for you every day, you will be happy with her. But in mercy, my lord, spare this one the painful anguish which another has endured. Younger and more tenderly brought up, her heart would not have the strength to sustain such trials, and she might die of them." At these words tears fell from the eyes of the Marquis. He could dissemble no more ; and admiring that unalter- able gentleness and that virtue which nothing could weary out, he exclaimed : " Griselda, my dearly beloved Griselda ! this is too much ! To try your love, I have done more than any other man under heaven has dared even to imagine, and I have only found in you obedience, tenderness, and devotion." Then drawing near to Griselda, who suddenly lowered her head at these encomiums, he clasped her in his arms, and bedewing her with his tears, he added in presence of the numerous assembly : " Incomparable woman ! you only are worthy of being my wife, and such you alone shall ever be ! You, as well as my subjects, believed me the executioner of your children. But they were simply removed some distance from you. My sister, in whose hands I entrusted them, has just brought them hither. Behold, there they are ! And you, my daughter and son, come and throw yourselves at the knees of your honourable mother." Griselda could not bear with so much joy coming upon her suddenly ; she swooned, but when the assistance which was lavished upon her brought her back to consciousness, she took the two children, covered them with kisses and tears, and held them long pressed to her bosom. Every one of the assembled guests was

1 This absurd notion of " blood speaking to blood" frequently occurs in Asiatic fictions ; it has no more foundation in fact than the other superstition that a dog will recognize his old master after many years' absence — as to which, see Byron 1

536 22. THE PATIENT GRISELDA :

affected even to weeping. At length cries of joy resounded, and that festival which had been prepared in honour of Walter's new wife became a triumph for the patient Griselda. The Marquis caused old Janicola to be brought to the palace of Saluces : Walter had only appeared to neglect him till he had made trial of his daughter, and he honoured the good man during the rest of his life. Walter and Griselda lived for twenty years longer in the most per- fect concord. They saw their children married and their offspring ; and after Walter died his son succeeded to the estate, to the great satisfaction of all his subjects.1

The differences between the French and Latin versions, it will be seen on comparison, are few and immaterial : for the Countess d'Empeche, at Boulogne, Petrarch has the Countess of Pavia ; and while in the fabliau Griselda is represented as putting on her old peasant dress before leaving the palace, in the Latin story she returns to her father's cottage in her shift only, and her father had kept her old gown, expecting she should be sent back some day. In other respects both stories tally. As Petrarch plainly states that he was familiar with the tale long before he had read it in the Decameron, we may, I think, safely conclude that he knew it from a fabliau, which was probably also the source of Boccaccio's novel. Le Grand remarks, that Boccaccio has omitted the affecting and ingenuous address of the vassals to their lord, in order to induce him to marry, and the touching picture of Griselda's attentions to her bedridden father ; and it seems to me that the existence of these incidents in the Latin story is alone sufficient evidence that it was not adapted from the version in the Decameron. Boccaccio is credited by Le Grand with " some taste " in rejecting the " improbable " state- ment that old Janicola, who required to be helped in and out of bed daily, lived twelve years " after being abandoned " ; but Janicola was not altogether abandoned to his fate, since Griselda, when about to quit the palace, speaks of him as having been cared for, though not by one of his own kin.

1 Le Grand's Fabliaux, on Contes, du XIIT et dtt, XHIf siecle. Ed. 1781, tome ii., pp. 232 — 252.

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Whether the tale of Griselda was originally composed in France, it seems certain that it was first dramatized in that country under the title of Mistere de Griseldis, of which a copy in MS. is preserved in the Bibliotheque Rationale, Paris. In England it formed the subject of a drama, entitled Patient Grissil, written towards the end of the 16th century, by Thos. Dekker, Hy. Chettle, and W. Haughton, which was reprinted in 1841 for the (old) Shakspere Society. As a puppet-play it was a popular favourite so late as the year 1770, according to Thos. "VYarton, in his History of English Poetry. Under date, August 30, 1667, Pepys enters in his Diary : "To Bartholomew fayre, to walk up and down ; and there, among other things, find my Lady Castlemaine at a puppet-play (Patient Grizell), and the street full of people expecting her coming out. I confess I did wonder at her courage to come abroad, thinking the people would abuse her ; but they, silly people, do not know the work she makes, and therefore suffered her with great respect to take a coach, and she away without any trouble at all." One cannot help also " wondering " whether my Lady Castlemaine, while seeing the puppet-play per- formed, thought of another Griselda, who had left her country to become the neglected and insulted consort of the heartless and sensual Second Charles — probably not ! In Pepys' day the name of Griselda, or Grissel, seems to have been as proverbial for patience as that of the Man of Uz. Butler in his Hudibras — the wit and humour of which, by the way, had no chann for Pepys, since he tells us " it hath not a good liking in me, though I tried by twice or three times' reading to bring myself to think it witty " — speaks of

" words, far bitterer than wormwood,

That would in Job or Grizel stir mood. " l

1 Before the Restoration the Diarist was a Presbyterian, or an Independ- ent ; and it is said that he suggested as a text for a sermon on the execution of King Charles, " The memory of the wicked shall rot " — a circumstance whicli, in after years, when he was " making his pile," gave him no little con- cern, lest it should come to be known by "old Rowley." He was all his life a Dissenter at heart, as is evident from many passages in his Diary, and hence Butler's incomparable satire of the Presbyter Knight who "went a colonelling" wooed his smiles in vain.

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Examples of patient, dutiful wives, like Griselda, are almost as rare in Asiatic as in European popular tales, though we have seen something of the kind in versions of " The innocent, persecuted Wife " (aivte, p. 368 ff .) ; and in the earlier literature of India — before it could be affected by baleful Muslim notions regarding women — there occur several notable tales of faithful, virtuous, obedient wives. A queen who figures in the Katlid Sarit S<i<jnr<i (Tavvney's translation, vol. i., p. 355 ff.) presents some resemblance to Griselda. The wives of King Virabhuja, envious of his favourite, queen Gunavara, conspire to cause her destruction. They tell the king that she carries on a criminal intrigue with Surakshita, the superintendent of the women's apartments in the palace — it is the gossip of the whole haram. The king thinks this impossible, but resolves to test them both. He sends for the young man, and with assumed anger, accuses him of having killed a Brahman ;l so he must at once go to the holy places, and not return until he has cleansed his soul of the sin. The young man, with every token of astonishment in his countenance and protesting his innocence, quits the royal judgment-hall and sets out on his pilgrimage. "Then the king went into the presence of that queen Gunavara, full of love, and anger, and sober reflection. Then she, seeing that his mind was troubled, asked him anxiously : ' My husband, why are you seized to-day with a sudden fit of despondency ] ' When the king heard that, he gave her this feigned answer : ' To-day, my queen, a great astrologer came to me and said : " King, you must place the queen Gunavara for some time in a dungeon, and you must yourself live a life of chastity, otherwise your kingdom will certainly be overthrown, and she will surely die." Having said this, the astrologer departed ; hence my present despondency.' When the king said this, the queen Gunavara, who was devoted to her husband, distracted with fear and love, said to him : ' Why do you not cast me this very day into a dungeon, my husband1? I am highly favoured if I can benefit you, even at the sacrifice of my life. Let me die ; but let

1 The most heinous crime that c;in be committed by a Hindu. The Bnihinans have interpolated the Mulidhluintta with numerous passages exalt- ing their own caste : priestcraft is the same everywhere !

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not my lord have misfortune. For a husband is the chief refuge of wives in this world and the next.' Having heard this speech, the king said to himself, with tears in his eyes, 'I think there is no guilt in her, nor in that Sarakshita ; for I saw that the colour in his face did not change, and he seemed without fear. Alas, nevertheless I must ascertain the truth of that rumour.' After reflecting thus, the king in his grief said to the queen : ' Then it is best that a dungeon should be made here, queen.' She replied: 'Very good.' So the king had a dungeon, easy of access, made in the women's apartments, and placed the queen in it. And he comforted her son by telling him exactly what he had told the queen. And she for her part thought the dungeon heaven, because it was all for the king's good. For good women have no pleasure of their own ; to them their husband's pleasure is pleasure." — Xeedless to add that the innocence of the devoted queen and of the young man is made manifest in the end.

We have a noble example of a faithful wife in Sita, the spouse of Rama, as portrayed in the great Hindu epic, Rdmnijfuiii. She thus pleads with her husband for leave to accompany him into banishment, according to Sir Monier Williams' rendering of the passage :

•' A wife must share her husband's fate. My duty is to follow thee Where'er thou goest. Apart from thee, I would not dwell in heaven itself. Deserted by her lord, a wife is like a miserable corpse. Close as thy shadow would I cleave to thee in this life and hereafter. Thou art my king, my guide, my only refuge, my divinity. It is my fixed resolve to follow thee. If thou must wander forth Through thorny, trackless forests, I will go before thee, treading down The prickly brambles to make smooth thy path. Walking before thee, I Shall feel no weariness; the forest-thorns will seem like silken robes; The bed of leaves a couch of down. To me the shelter of thy presence Is better far tha.n stately palaces, and paradise itself.

Protected by thy arm, gods, demons, men shall have no power to haunt me. With thee I'll live contentedly on roots and fruits. Sweet or not sweet, If given by thy hand, they will to me be like the food of life. Roaming with thee in desert wastes, a thousand years will be a day ; Dwelling with thee, e'en hell itself would be to me a heaven of bliss."1

1 In similar language Adam, after learning that Eve had plucked the forbidden fruit, says to her:

" If Death Goiisort with thee, Death is to me as Life.'' — Paradise Lost.

540 22. THE PATIENT GRISELDA.

So, too, in the beautiful episode of the Mahdbhdrata, the tale of Nala and Damayanti, when !N"ala proposes that his wife should leave him to his fate in the forest, and return to her parents, Damayanti replies (Dean Milman's graceful translation) :

" Truly all my heart is breaking, and my sinking members fail, When, O King, thy desperate counsel once I think on, once again. Robbed of kingdom, robbed of riches, naked, worn with thirst and hunger, Shall I leave thee in a forest, shall I wander from thee far? Wlien thou, sad and famine-stricken, tbinkest of thy former bliss, In the wild wood, 0 my husband, I will soothe thy weariness. Like a wife is no physician ; in a state so sad as thine, Medicine none is like her kindness — Nala, speak I not the truth ? "

And in the tale of Dushmanta and Sakuntala, which is the subject of a fine drama by Kalidasa, who has been styled the Shak- spere of India (another episode in the Mahdbhdrata), we are told that " she is a true wife whose heart is devoted to her lord. The wife is man's half. The wife is the first of friends. They that have wives have the means of being cheerful. They that have wives can achieve good fortune. Sweet-speeched wives are as friends on occasions of joy. They are as mothers in hours of sickness and woe." — Sentiments such as these are very seldom found in the writings of Muslims.

NOTE.

Two English versions of the Tale of Griselda will be found reprinted in vol. iii. of the Percy Society publications. One is a prose tract entitled : " The Ancient, True, and Admirable History of Patient Grisel, a Poore Mans Daughter in France : shewing how Maides by her Example, in their Good Behaviour, may marrie Rich Husbandes ; and likewise Wives by their Patience and Obedience may gain much Glorie. Written first in French " &c. London, 1619; the other is in ballad form and entitled: "The Pleasant and Sweet History of Patient Grissell. shewing how she, from a Poore Mans Daughter, came to be a great Lady in France, being a Patterne to all Vertuous Women. Translated out of Italian." London, n. d. The editor considers that both are at least as old as 1390, and they "are in truth vernacular productions, the in- cidents only being derived either from one language or from the other." But I think the prose version bears unmistakable evidence of having been to a con- siderable extent translated from the French version of which an abstract is given in the foregoing paper.

GLASGOW, March, 1888.

541

ADDITIONAL NOTES.

"Les Mille et un Jours: Contes Persans," pp. 385-387. — M. Galland was accused by scholars of having himself invented a number of the tales in his Mille et une Nuits, because they were not to be found in any of the known Arabic texts of the Elf Layla wa Layla, or Thousand and one Nights ; but M. Hermann Zotenberg has lately shown that the substance of them was communicated to the illustrious Frenchman by a Maronite of Aleppo, while on a visit to Paris. Another eminent French orientalist, M. Petis de la Croix (1645-1713), is com- monly believed to have translated his Mille et un Jours : Contes Persans direct from a Turkish story-book entitled Al-Faraj ba'd dl-Shidda,1 or Joy after Distress ; and I am confident that his integrity in this respect will yet be as clearly vindicated. To Chaucer students this question can possess little interest, except such as may attach to the version of ' ' The Innocent Persecuted Wife" found in that work of P. de la Croix, of which an abstract is given, ante, in pp. 388-390 ; but pending the results of an investigation, now in progress, as to the source whence the tales in Les Mille et un Jours were derived, I take this opportunity of placing on record all that has been as yet ascertained.

(1) The work entitled Les Mille et nn Jours : Contes Persans was first published, as a translation, by Petis de la Croix, at Paris, in five small vols., 1710-1712. It was reprinted in the Cabinet des Fees, tomes xiv. and xv., Geneva and Paris, 1786. The following is from the " Avertisse- ment" prefixed to the 14th vol. of the Cabinet des Fees : " Nous devons ces Contes au celebre Dervis Modes [i. e. Mukhlis], que la Perse met au nornbre de ses grands personnages. II etoit chef des Sofis d'Ispahan, et il avoit douze disciples, qui portoient de longues robes de laine blanche. Les grands et le peuple avoient pour lui une veneration singuliere, a cause qu'il etoit de la race de Mahomet ; et ils le craignoient, parce qu'il passoit pour un savant cabaliste. Le roi Schah-Soliman memo le re- spectoit a un point, que si par hasard il le rencontroit sur son passage, ce prince desceudoit aussitot de cheval, et lui alloit baiser les etriers.2 Modes etant encore fort jeune, s'avisa de traduire en Persan des comedies Indiennes, qui ont ete traduites en toutes les langues orientales, et dont on voit a la bibliotheque du roi une traduction Turque, sous le titre de Alfaraga Badal-Schidda, ce qui signifie la joie apres I'affliction. Mais

1 This Turkish story-book is wholly different from the Persian work, derived from an Arabic collection bearing the same title, of which a brief description is given in Dr. Rieu's Catftfor/ue of /V/-s/<^ .I/.S'V. in tln< /},-/ti*h J/"">v?<;«, vol.ii.,p. 750, and which comprises nearly 300 short stories and anecdotes, mostly of the times of the early Khalifs.

- European monarchs used to assist church dignitaries to mount and alight from their horses or mules, the poor priest-ridden creatures ! — not the mules and horses, but the monarchs, I mean.

042 ADDITIONAL NOTES.

le traducteur Persan, pour donner a son ouvrage un air original, mit ces comedies en Contes, qu'il appela Hezaryek-Rouz, c'est-a-dire, Mille et un Jour [sic]. II contia son manuscrit au sieur Petis de la Croix, qui etoit en liaison d'amitie avec lui a Ispahan en 1675, et meme il lui permit d'en prendre une copie."

The passage, in the foregoing extract, in which Mukhlis the darvesh is said to have adapted the tales from ' ' comedies Indiennes, qui ont e'te' traduites en toutes les langues orientales," including the Turkish, under the title of Al-b'araj ba'd al-Shidda, is rather ambiguous. Probably the meaning is, not that the so-called Indian comedies, but the Persian Tales of Mukhlis, have been translated into several Eastern languages. The statement of the Ispahan! darvesh to Petis de la Croix, that he took his tales from Indian sources, may be fairly considered as a pure fiction. Persian authors often pretend that they have obtained their materials from learned Brahmans, when they actually took them out of the Arabic ; though several Persian works of fiction have certainly been translated direct from 'the Sanskrit, such as the romance of Kamalata and Kamarupa.

In the " Avertissement du Traducteur" prefixed to the second vol. of Les Mille et un Jours as reprinted in the Cabinet des Fees, t. xv., we find the Persian author and his work referred to as follows: " Comme Dervis Modes s'est sans doute propose de rendre son Ouvrage aiissi utile qu'agreable aux Musulmans, il a rempli la plupart de ses Contes de faux Miracles de Mahomet, ainsi qu'on le peut voir dans quelques-uns de ce Volume ; mais je n'ai pas voulu traduire les autres, de peur d'ennuyer le Lecteur. II y a des Contes encore qui sont si licencieux, que la bienseance ne m'a pas perinis d'en donner la traduction. Si les Moeurs des Orientaux peuvent les souffrir, la purete des notres ne sauroit s'en accommoder." He adds: " J'ai done etc oblige de faire quelque derangement pour 1'Original, pour suivre toujours la meme liaison des Contes. On passe tout d'un coup du 203* Jour au 960". Mais ce passage se fait de maniere qu'il ne sera senti que de ceux qui s'amuseront a compter les Jours. Pour les autres Lecteurs, ils ne s'en appercevront pas, et ils liront le Livre entier sans faire reflexion que les Mille et un Jour [sic] n'y sont pas tous employes."

(2) There are, I understand, seven MS. copies of the Turkish collec- tion, Al-Farttj ba'd al-Shidda, preserved in the Bibliotheque Nationale, Pans. M. E. Pagnan, lately of that Library and now professor in the Ecole des Lettres, Algiers, has kindly furnished me with the titles of the 42 tales contained in one of these — No. 377, anc.fonds — which he thinks was written about the end of the 9th century of the Hijra (say, A.D. 1480), of which at least one-fourth are also found in Les Mille et un Jours ; the 30th tale being similar to the story of Repsima, of which I have given an epitome, ante, p. 388 ff. ; and that Petis de la Croix did not take this story from the Turkish book seems evident from the circumstance that in the latter the name of the heroine is not Repsima but Aruiya, which is also her name in the same story found in a collection, without a title, written probably about the beginning of the 17th century, described in Dr. Rieu's Catalogue of Persian Jlf.SS. in the British Museum, vol. ii. p. 759, second col. (Or. 237), and p. 7GO, where it is entitled " The Arab, his wife Aruiya, and his brother."1

1 Possibly this MS., which has several of the tales in Petis' work, is similar to that referred to by Sir William Ouseley in his Travel*, vol. ii. p. 21, note: " Ou the

ADDITIONAL XoTES. 043

(3) The only ground, apparently, for supposing Pctis <le la Croix to have taken the tales of the Mllle et nn Jours from the Turkish story- book Al-Faraj ba'<l al-tiht<l<.la are: (1) That the transcript which he is said to have made of the Persian text while in Ispahan has never been discovered ; and (2) that they are found in the Turkish collection. And the charge of imposition on the part of the learned Frenchman would seem to be strongly supported by the existence of a copy of the Turkish book dating more than two hundred years before the time when he is said to have obtained the Ifazdr i'e Yek Ruz from the author himself. But it would be utterly absurd to suppose for a moment that the Persian work was derived from the Turkish : all the story-books in the Turkish language are translations from the Arabic or Persian. The tales in .!/ Fiirn/\ &c., like those in the Persian MS. without title, by Hubbi, above referred to, are not connected by a leading or frame-story, as is the case of those in the Mille ft mi ./oitr.t, while the sequence of the tales is different in all the three. It is possible that the Ispahan i darvesh adapted his tales from some Arabic or an older Persian collection, and inserted them in a frame-story, after the plan of the Arabian Nights, the title of which he also imitated.1

Whatever may have become of Petis de la Croix' transcript of the Hezdr u Yek Ritz, several of his tales are found in Persian ; his work did not appear till some years after the publication of his Contes T/n-cs (1708), a portion of the Qirq Vezir Tdrikhi (History of the Forty Va/irs), so what possible object could he have had in issuing a translation of another Turkish collection as " Persian Tales" ?

Galland informs us in the " Avertissement " to the 9th vol. of his Mille et nne Nuits, that the tales of "Prince Zayn al-Asnam and the King of the Genii" and " Codadad (Khudadad) and his Brothers" were inserted in the preceding vol. without his knowledge ; and M. Zotenberg, in his interesting essay, " Sur quelques Manuscrits des Mille et uue Nuits et de la traduction de Galland," prefixed to an Arabic text of the well-known tale of " Aladdin ; or, the Wonderful Lamp " (Paris, 1888), says that these two stories were translated by Petis de la Croix from the Turkish, and were intended to appear in his Mille et un Jours. They are certainly found in the Turkish Al-Faraj, &c. But M. Zotenberg is apparently not aware that the story of Zayn al-Asnam also occurs in the Persian collection without a title, by Hubbi, described in Dr. Eieu's

same pla'i as these Tales [i. e. the Ar</l>i</n Xiijhts] a Persian author composed the Hitzdr u ydi Ru;, or Thousand auil oiie Days, a collection of eutertainiug stories, of which Petis de la Croix published a French trans ation, sufficiently accurate, though differing in some proper names fr )m my manuscript containing part of the original work. Thus the fair Repsima (if L<:s Mille et n it .Jours (jour 95"<) is styled Anrah in my copy, and her husband goes to Misr. or Egypt, not to the 'cote des Indes,' as in the printed translation." — In the work of Petis de la Croix, however, the name of Aruiya is that of the heroine of another tale (" Histoire de la belle Arouya ''), in which she cleverly entraps three city dignitaries who wooed her to unholy love.

1 I have before remarked (p. 386) that a tale somewhat similar to the frame of the .Ififfe et n» Jours is found in the Persian Tiiti \dnut, which may have been imitated by Mukhli*. There is a Tehigii collection, written on palm-leaves, entitled K<ii/iir,iliahu Clitir/tra,novr in the Government Lihnry. Madras, which seems formed on the same plan. It is thus described by Dr. H. H. Wilson in his Catalogue of the Mackenzie MSS., vol. i., p. 328: "Story of the marriage of K-tyi'irabahu with Mrig.'mkavati, daughter of the king of Lita, or L'r. In order to induce the prince to seek her hand, the minister, Bhagur.'iyaiia, repeats a number of apologues and tales, which constitute the composition."

544 ADDITIONAL NOTES.

Catalogue, where it is the 12th tale, and is entitled " Zayd al-Ihtisham, the King of the Jinns, and the slave Mubarak " ; and it may be assumed that both the tales in question were in the Persian text translated by P. de la Oroix. But M. Fagnan will probably ere long clear up all this mystery, and, as I believe, at the same time show that the learned French orientalist, like Galland, has been most unjustly accused of literary fraud.

The Enchanted Tree, p. 348, 351, 353. — There is a characteristic version of this story in the Masnavi — of which great work Mr. E. H. "Whinfield has recently published a very useful epitome — by Jelal ad- Din Eumi, the celebrated Sufi, or Muslim mystic, and founder of the sect known as the Dancing Darveshes, who was born, in Balkh, A.D. 1207, and died, at Qonya (the ancient Iconium), A.D. 1273. As in all the European versions, it is a pear-tree which the woman climbs up, and when at the top she pretends that she sees her husband act the part of a catamite with a vile sodomite. He replies : " Come down at once ! Your head is dizzy — you are stark mad ! " When she has come down, her husband climbs the tree, and she at once clasps her gallant to her breast. The husband cries out: " O vile harlot !" and so on. Quoth the woman : ' ' No one is here but myself. You are mad — why do you talk so foolishly ? " He continues upbraiding her, and she answers : "It is all owing to this pear-tree. When I was at the top of it I was deluded just as you are. Come down at once, and see for yourself that no one is here." — In his notice of this story, Mr. Whinfield has modestly omitted the woman's accusing her husband of pederasty, the unnatural vice to which Persians and Turks, and indeed Asiatics generally, are said to be much addicted.

A tale somewhat resembling that of the Third "Veda" — ante, p. 347 — occurs in an Urdu book of stories turning on the deceits of women, entitled Nauratan, or the Nine Jewels, described by Captain E. C. Temple in a valuable paper on the Bibliography of Indian Folklore, in the Folklore Journal for 1886, p. 285 : A man had a chaste wife, over whom he kept strict watch, despite her remonstrances, so she played a trick on him by way of retaliation. She pretended to be very ill, and declared that no one could prescribe for her complaint but her old nurse, who was sent for at once, and between the two a plan was con- cocted to "pay off" the husband for his causeless jealousy. Nothing could cure her, they said, but ajar of magic (jddi Jed mailed), which the husband must bring overnight and take away next morning to a place which the nurse would point out. The man paid 500 rupis for the jar of magic, and brought it home as ordered, though it was very heavy — and no wonder, for it contained a young man, who remained with the lady all night. In the morning, while it was still dark, the husband carried off the jar of "magic," but on the road he stumbled and tipped the young man out, breaking the jar, whereupon he got a good thrash- ing. Eeturning home, he was delighted to find his wife perfectly cured, and afterwards left her in peace, and never did he know what had happened to him. — This is just the sort of tale which the old Italian novelists would have delighted to recount, had it been known to them.

The Bobbers and the Treasure-Trove, p. 418 ff. — Through the Arabs this story was doubtless introduced into Barbary. Under the

ADDITIONAL NOTES. 545

title of "Lea Trois Voleurs" M. Eene Basset gives it in his Contes J'o/iiihiires Berleres (Paris, 1887), the only variation from the Arabian version being that instead of three men finding a lump of gold, three robbers kill a traveller and take his money, as in the version from Westfalia, cited in p. 434.

Changing Earth, into Gold, p. 425, 1. 2, and note. — In an Indian story-book, described by Dr. H. H. Wilson in his Catalogue of the Mackenzie Oriental MSS., " a poor Jangam having solicited alms of Kinnaraja, one of Basava's chief disciples, the latter touched the stones about him with his staff, and converting them into gold, bade the Jangam help himself." And in Dr. R. Mitra's Sanskrit Buddhist Literature of Nepal, p. 100, we have another instance: "When Dhar- masri was very young, Dipankura, who was passing by, asked to be given what he could afford with good will. He gave a handful of dust, which was instantly changed into gold." — The spittle of St. Helena is said to have possessed the virtue of turning earth into the same precious metal : Christian as well as Muslim hagiology owes much to Buddhist legends.

The Tell-Tale Bird, p. 442 ff. — A different form of this story was also current in Europe during mediaeval times. It is thus told in ch. xvi. of The Book of the Knight de La Tour Landry, compiled for the instruction of his daughters; one of the publications of the Early English Text Society :

" Ther was a woman that had a pie in a cage, that spake and wolde telle talys that she saw do. An*d so it happed that her husbonde made keepe a gret ele in a litelle ponde in his gardin, to that entent to yeue1 it [to] sum of his frendes that wolde come to see hym ; but the wyff, whanever her husbonde was oute, saide to her maide, ' Late us ete the gret ele, and y wille saie to my husbond that the otour hathe eten hym; ' and so it was done. And whan the good man was come, the pye began to telle hym how her maistresse had eten the ele. And he yode2 to the ponde, and fonde not the ele. And he asked his wiff wher the ele was become. And she wende3 to haue excused her, but he said her, ' Excuse you not, for y wote welle ye haue eten yt, for the pye hathe told me.' And so ther was gret noyse betwene the man and his wiff for etinge of the ele. But whanne the good man was gone, the maistress and the maide come to the pie, and plucked of alle the fedres on the pyes hede, saieing, ' Thou hast discouered us of the ele ' ; and thus was the pore pye plucked. But euer after, whanne the pie sawe a balled or a pilled man, or a woman with an highe forhede, the pie saide to him, ' Ye spake of the ele.' — And therfor here is an ensaumple that no woman shulde ete no lycorous morcelles in the absens and without we ting4 of her husbond, but yef 5 it so were that it be with folk of worshippe, to make hem6 chere; for this woman was afterwards mocked for the pye and the ele."

In the Masnavi of Jelal ad-Dm, Book First, we are told that a parrot kept by a grocer chanced to overturn a jar full of oil, and the man, enraged at the loss of so much of his valuable stock-in-trade, struck the unlucky bird and knocked out all its head-feathers. For a long time after this the parrot sulked on its perch, and the oil-man regretted his severity towards it, sorely missing the bird's prattle, which had amused

1 Yeue, Give. 2 Yode, Went. 3 Wende = ? hoped. * Wetiny, knowledge ; cognisance. 6 But yef, unless. 6 Hem, them.

546 ADDITIONAL XOTKS.

both himself and his customers. One day, however, the pa rrot began to speak again. Seeing an old bald-headed darvesh stop at the shop and ask alms, the bird called out to him : ' ! Have you also upset an oil-jar !' " — This story found its way into Italy in the 15th century, when it assumed this form : A parrot belonging to Count Fiesco was discovered one day stealing some roast meat from, the kitchen. The cook, full of rage, ran after the bird with a kettle of boiling water, which he threw at it, completely scalding off all the feathers from its head. Some time afterwards, while Count Fiesco was engaged in conversation with an abbot, the parrot, observing the shaven crown of his reverence, hopped up to him and asked : ' ' What ! do you like roast meat too ? "l — A parallel to the old English version in the Knight's " Book" is found in the Rev. J. Hinton Knowles' Folk-Tales of Kashmir, a recent addition to Messrs. Triibner's ' ' Oriental Series."

The Knight and the Loathly Lady, p. 483 ff. — The inventive power of dramatists seems to be very limited. Even at the present day a French play has been based upon the Wife of Bath's Tale, as will be seen from the following paragraph which appeared in a recent issue of the St. James's Gazette :

"M. Claretie (a Paris correspondent says) has had a really happy thought in asking M. Theodore de Banville to read his one-act piece, ' Le Baiser,' to the committee of the Comedie Francaise. A few weeks ago the correspondent gave an account of a company of amateurs who devote their talents exclusively to the interpretation of hitherto unper- formed dramatic works. ' Le Baiser ' was the chief attraction of the last of the soirees given by M. Antoine, the chief actor and director of the troupe : Pierrot is about to enjoy his mid-day meal in solitude when there appears an old woman, on whom he takes pity, and she requites him for his kindness by asking him for a kiss. Her appearance is not tempting, but Pierrot accedes to her request, whereupon the old crone straightway regains her lost youth and beauty. She had been con- demned to grow old on earth until the kiss of a young man should restore her to her place among her sister- spirits. Pierrot, Pygmalion- like, of course falls in love with the beauty which he has evoked into new life, but the fairy turns a deaf ear to his supplications ; and when she hears the voices of her companions calling to her in the clouds she spreads her wings and is lost to view."

"O most lame and impotent conclusion!" Why did M. Claretie not make the fairy bestow some reward on the gallant youth who had the hardihood to kiss her shrivelled lips, and thereby restore her to her original form ? In a folk-tale she would assuredly have bestowed on her deliverer a supernatural gift, or gifts — for the fairies of popular fictions are never ungrateful for services rendered them, bvit repay their benefactors most liberally. The dramatic effect of the fairy's ascent to the clouds is doubtless very fine — but I cannot help sympathising with poor Pierrot !

The nursery tale of " The Frog Prince" has been already mentioned as analogous to the Wife of Bath's Tale (p. 522), and I may as well reproduce here a curious Scotch version, partly in recitative and partly

1 For an English variant, see Memoir of Eev. K. H. Barbara, prefixed to 3rd Series of the Inijutdsby Legends, 1855, pp. 131—133.

ADDITIONAL XOTF.S. Til"

in verse, given by Robert Chambers in his collection 6f Scottish Songs; an old Annandale nurse being the story-teller :

" A poor widow, you see, was once baking bannocks; and she sent her dauchter to the well at the world's end, with a wooden dish, to bring water. When the lassie cam to the well, she fand it dry ; but there was a padda [-«'. e. a frog] that cam loup-loup-loupin, and loupit into her dish. Says the padda to the lassie, ' I'll gie ye plenty o' water, if ye'll be my wife.' The lassie didna like the padda, but she was fain to say she wad tak him, just to get the water ; and, ye ken, she never thought that the puir brute wad be serious, or wad ever say ony mair about it. Sae she got the water, and took it hame to her mother ; and she heard nae mair o' the padda till that night, when, as she and her mother were sitting by the fireside, what do they hear but the puir padda at the outside o' the door, singing wi' a' his micht :

' O open the door, my hinnie, my heart, O open the door, my aiu true love ; Remember the promise that yon and I made, Douu i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

Says the mother, ' What noise is that at the door, dauchter ? ' — ' Hout ! ' says the lassie, ' it's naething but a filthy padda.' — ' Open the door,' says the mother, ' to the puir padda.' Sae the lassie opened the door, and the padda cam loup-loup-loupin in, and sat down by the ingle-side. Then out sings he :

' O gie me my supper, my hinnie, my heart, O gie me my supper, my ain true love ; Kemember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

' Hout ! ' quo' the dauchter, ' wad I gie a supper to a filthy padda ? ' — ' Ou, ay,' quo' the mother, ' gie the puir padda his supper.' Sae the padda got his supper. After that out he sings again :

' O put me to bed, my hinnie, my heart, O put me to bed, my ain true love ; Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

' Hout ! ' quo' the dauchter, ' wad I put a filthy padda to bed ? ' — ' Ou, ay,' says the mother, 'put the puir padda to his bed.' And sae she put the padda to his bed. Then out he sang again (for the padda hadna got a' he wanted yet) :

' O come to your bed, my hinnie, my heart, O come to your bed, my aiu true love ; Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

' Hout ! ' quo' the dochter, ' wad I gang to bed wi' a filthy padda ? ' — ' Gae 'wa, lassie,' says the mother ; ' e'en gang to bed wi' the puir padda.' And sae the lassie did gang to bed wi' the padda. Weel, what wad ye think ? He's no content yet ; but out he sings again :

' Come, tak me to your bosom, my hinnie, my heart, Come, tak me to your bosom, my ain true love ; Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

' Lord have a care o' us I ' says the lassie, ' wad I tak a filthy padda to my bosom, dae ye think?' 'Ou, ay,' quo' the mother, 'just be doing

548 ADDITIONAL XOTES.

your gudeman's biildin, and tak him to your bosom.' Sae the lassie did tak the pad da to her bosom. After that he sings out :

' Now fetch me an aix, my hiiinie, my heart, Now fetch me an aix, my am true love ; Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

She brought the axe in a minute, and he sang again :

' Now chap aff my head, my hinnie, my heart, Now chap aff my head, my ain true love ; Remember the promise that you and I made, Doun i' the meadow, where we twa met.'

I'se -warrant she wasna lang o' obeying him in this request ! For, ye ken, what kind o' a gudeman was a bit padda likely to be ? But, lock- an-daisie, what d' ye think ? She hadna weel chappit aff his head, as he askt her to do, before he starts up, the bonniest prince that ever was seen. And, of course, they lived happy a' the rest o' their days."

In the German version (Grimm's collection) a princess accidentally drops her golden ball into a well, and a frog puts up his head and offers to restore it to her on condition that she'll love him, let him live with her, eat off a golden plate, and sleep on her couch. She promises to do all the frog requires, in order to get back her golden ball. At night the frog comes to her door and chants :

' Open the door, my princess dear, Open the door, to thy own true love here ! And mind the words that you and I said By the fountain cool in the greensward shade ! '

She opens the door, and after the frog has supped off a golden dish, he sleeps on her couch till morning, when he goes away. This happens three nights in succession, but when the princess awakes on the third morning, she is astonished to see, instead of the frog, a handsome young prince, gazing on her with the most beautiful eyes she had ever seen, and standing at the head of her bed. He then explains how he had been enchanted by a spiteful fairy, and so on.

The close affinity which these Scotch and German tales bear to that of the Wife of Bath, and more especially to our first Icelandic and the Gaelic versions, to the Wedding of Sir Gawain and Dame Bagnall, and to the ballad of King Henrie, is very evident ; and the nursery form of the story may have been adapted from a more complex version, in which the grand question of ' ' What do women most desire ? " is not quite suitable for the little ones.

In another of Grimm's Kinder und Hausmarchen, entitled " Der Goldene Vogel," and called in one of our English translations "The Fox's Brush," three brothers set out, in succession, in quest of a golden bird for their father. The two elder ill-use an old fox they meet on their way, and are consequently unsuccessful ; but the youngest (usually the favourite of Fortune in fairy tales) is kind towards the fox, who, in reward, carries him to the place and instructs him how to obtain the object of his search ; and the adventurous youth not only brings home the Golden Bird, but a beauteous princess as his bride. "After the marriage, he went one day to walk in the wood, and there the old fox met him once more, and besought him, with tears in his eyes, to be so kind as to cut off his head and his brush. At last he did so, though sorely against his will; and in the same moment the fox was changed

ADDITIONAL NOTES. 549

into a prince, and the princess knew him to be her own brother, who had been lost a great many years, for a spiteful fairy had enchanted him with a spell that could only be broken by some one getting the Golden Bird and some one cutting off his head and brush." — The same story, under the title of "The Golden Bird," is found in the second series of Sir G. W. Dasent's Norse tales, called, not very aptly, Tales from the Fjeld. And there is one very similar in the Wortley Montagu MS. Arabic text of the Thousand and One Nights, preserved in the Bodleian Library— I think it is told of the Sultan of Yemen's Three Sons. — Not farther to multiply instances, I may mention that in the mediaeval romance of Cleriadus, the hero, among other exploits, subdues a lion that had ravaged all England, but turns out to be a gallant knight, metamorphosed by the malevolence of a fairy.

The Patient Griselda, p. 528 ff. — Dutiful, obedient, submissive husbands are not usually held up, either in fiction or in real life, as models for imitation : on the contrary, they are the subjects of ridicule and infinite jest. Whether it be true, according to the old saw, that " he who has a wife has a master," I cannot say, for — " I'm a plain man, and in a single station ! "

But I strongly suspect that there exist — and have always existed — at least amongst ourselves, far more " gray mares" than Griseldas. And in these double-distilled days, when we hear so much about " Woman's Bights," I can readily conceive the utterly contemptuous feelings of one of the " Shrieking Sisterhood" (not to put too fine a point upon it) while reading the tale of the peasant girl who became the lawful wife of a prince, and submitted to the removal of her children — their very destruction, as she believed — and to be degraded from her high estate, without a murmur of remonstrance — "the poor, spiritless creature!" methinks I hear some "strong-minded female" exclaim : "Why, she did not deserve to have her children restored to her and to be reinstated in the palace ! "

In fairy romances there are many instances of male Griseldas ; for it is common, when a man is to be united to a supernatural being of the other sex, for the latter to impose upon him, as the condition of their union, unquestioning submission to whatsoever she may please to do or say. One example will suffice, especially as it presents some resemblance to the Tale of Griselda, as regards her children. It is the second tale of Les MiUe et un Jours (concerning which work I have told all I know in a preceding note), and is entitled " Histoire du Boi Buzvanschad et de la Princess Cheheristani " ; and it is also found in the Turkish story- book, Al-Faraj, &c., No. 4, under the title of the "Story of Bidzvan- shad, the Chinaman, and the Sheristani Lady"; and also in the Persian collection, without title, written by Hubbi, preserved in the Brit. Mus., No. 15, "Buzvanshah and the Daughter of the Peris." In this tale, King Buzvanshiid, of China, falls deeply in love with a surpassingly beautiful damsel, who proves to be Sheheristani, daughter of the King of the Genii; and after numerous adventures he is finally married to the charmer — " the torment of the world," to employ the regulation Eastern phrase— on this condition: He must blindly comply with her in all things. Should she do aught that may seem strange or be displeasing to him, he must be careful not to blame or reprove her for it. Quoth he : CH. OIUG. 38

550 ADDITIONAL NOTES.

4 ' So far from blaming any of your actions, my beloved, 1 swear to approve of them all " ; and so they settled down to the duties of wedded life. In the fulness of time the lady gives birth to a son, beautiful as, &c. &c. &c. Kuzvanshad was engaged in the chase when the joyful news was brought to him, and "he returned with all speed to the palace to see the child, which at the time the mother held in her arms near a great fire. He took the little prince, and after having kissed him very gently, for fear of hurting him, he returned him to the queen, and she immediately cast him into the fire ; when on the instant the fire and the new-born infant disappeared. This wonderful occurrence troubled the king not a little. But how great soever his grief might be for the loss of his son, he bore in mind the promise he had given to the queen. He indulged his sorrows in silence and retired to his closet, where he wept, saying : ' Am I not very wretched ? Heaven grants me a son. I see him thrown into the flames ? ' " and so on, and so on. Within the following year a daughter is born (whose beauty, of course, neither tongue nor pen could describe), and the queen delivers it to the tender mercies of a great white she-dog, who vanished with the royal baby. Still poor King Ruzvanshad said nothing — he suffered in silence. In course of time his territories were invaded by the Moguls, and he bravely went forth at the head of his army to repel the insolent foe. Sheheristani appears unexpectedly, accompanied by her fairy attendants, whom she causes to destroy all the food which has been brought to the camp. This proved more than her hitherto submissive spouse could endure, and he demanded to know why she had thus exposed his entire army to certain starvation. And now the beauteous Sheheristani con- descends to explain her former conduct with regard to the children. "The great fire," said she, "was really a wise salamander, to whom I entrusted the education of the young prince. The white she-dog was a fairy who has instructed the princess in all accomplishments." Then she ordered the children to be brought to her, and the king on beholding their grace and beauty was quite ravished. He presently finds, however, that the most severe affliction is in store for him. The queen proceeds to explain that she caused the food to be destroyed because it had been poisoned by the chief of the commissariat, who had been bribed to do so by the enemy. "And now," says she, " I must take away our children and leave you for ever ; since you have broken our compact by question- ing one of my actions"; and before the poor king could say "Jack Robinson," the charming Sheheristani and the children vanished ! After some time, however, they were all reunited, and lived long and happily. — And may such also be the lot of all who read this true story !

W. A. C.

GLASGOW, May, 1888.

* * *

CHAUCER'S "SQUIRE'S TALE."

I may here mention that I am engaged in collecting materials for an Essay on the ' Squire's Tale,' as an Introduction to John Lane's ' Continuation,' which has already been issued to Members. W. A. G,

it

APPENDIX.

A COMPLAINT AGAINST FORTUNE.1

[Shirley's vellum MS. Harl 7333, leaf 30, back.]

11 Here next folowith a LiteH Tretys by Wey of compleint Ageins Fortune.

FOrtune alas • alas what haue I gylt The piaynttf 1 In prison) thus to lye here desolate Art thou the better to haue thus yspyltt. N~ay nay god wote . but for fou wilt debate 4

With Query wight . eij>er erly or late And art chaungeable eke as is the mone From wele to woo thou bringest a man f ul . sone. 7

For like a whele that turnyth" ay aboute 8

Now vp now douu) . now est west north & south"

So farist thou now . fou drivest ynne & oute

As don) the wedris oute of* the wyndis mouth 1 1

In the no trust is secher2 / thou art so selcouth [! or en]

And canst neuer still where abide.

When) men wene sekir to be . J?ou makest hem slide 14

1 This was sent by accident to the printer, and set. So it's just put here to get rid of it, as more or less an illustration of Chaucer's Fortune.

iit APPENDIX. A COMPLAINT AGAINST FORTUNE.

^T I wote ful wele both lordis prince and kyng 15

Thou hast or this welewors I-ouerthrowe.

Thi condicion) is euer so varying

That now fou laughist . & now fou makist a mowe 18

Alas fortune who may the trust or trowe

But yit I pray . that in somwe manere wise

So turne tin \vhele . fat I may yit arise. 21

11 Why nad I rather died an Innocent/ 22

Or seke in bed ful ofte whan I haue layn)

Than had my name be paired not ne shent

Better hit had be so . fan thus to haue me slayn) 25

But what to stryve with the it may not geyri)

And yit thou wotest/ I suffre and shame.

For fat / that I god wote am not to blame. 28

IT But who a long hit were . wold1 I wete 29

That wrongfully I lye thus in prison)

Saturnus or Mars . I trow I may hit wyte

Or some infortunate constellacion) 32

But this I wote as for conclusion)

Be it by destyny or fortunece chaunce

In prison) here I suffre moche myschaunce. 35

JTeas of1 thi wordis fat are both lewid & nyce Fortune 36

Wenest thou . fat god chastith f e for nought

Though" f ou be giltles I graunt wele of* this vyce

Hit is for synnes fat thou hast forwrought 39

U That now ptrauntre fuH liteH are in thi thought [ooi. 2]

Therfore be glad . for hit is writen) thus

Maxima etemin morwm semper paciencia virtus 42

APPENDIX. A COMPLAINT AGAINST FORTUNE. iii f

11 Thow wotest wele eke god chastiseth whom lie lovith 43

That of1 his grace ]>e graunt be oon of1 thoo

Eke who J?at wiH: be saued? hym behovith

Suffre in this world? aduersite or he go. 46

Thus fortune grace wynne for present woo.

The best conceyt eke I can) yeve the.

Esto forti Animo cum sis dampnatws unqiiam. 49

U Fare wele fortune pan) & do right as J>e liste 50

Complayne wiH I now . to the Sustres thre.

That whan I crope oute of1 my inodirs cheste

Forthwith" anon) thei shope my desteney 53

Cloto come forth . what seist thou let se

Wilt thou no lenger J>e stace of1 my lif1 holde

Or be my yeris come vp . dey I shulde 56

U If it be so the nombre of1 my daies 57

Be comen) vp . that I may not hem pace

Why nadde I than by othir maner weyes

Ordeyned me to dye . in othir place 60

And not in prison) / is there non othir grace

Wille . lachesis my threde no lenger twyne

Be-ster the than & aft my sorow fyne. 63

11 And Antrapos J>at makis an ende of1 aH 64

Cut1 of1 the threde . wherto wilt Jjou tarye

And help me hens sith I nedis. shali

That men to Chirch my corps myght carye 67

And my soule to god & seint mary

I now be-take / and pray hem yeve me space

My rightes . AH to receiue or I pace. 70

ivt APPENDIX. — A COMPLAINT AGAINST FORTUNE.

51 The worste of1 AH / that grevith me so sore 71

Is that my fame is lost & aH my good Io3

And spredith wyde euer lengere the more

As wele amonge my frendis as my foos 74

For wykked sclaundre . wiH in no wise be close.

But with the wenges of1 envy fleth a lofte

There as good los slepitn fuH stiH and softe. 77

11 Whan I was fre . and in bounchief at ese 78

In company oner att where I went

No man seid J>an . J?at I did hem displese

]Sre worthie was no thing to be shent* 81

And thus with faire wordis was I blent

And he fat seid wold me neuer faile.

I myght for him synke or saile. 84

U Thei wold me onys not yeve a draught of1 drynke 85

Ne say ffrend . Wilt fou aught with me.

The soth" is said . such" frendship sone doth synke

That from his frend fleeth in aduersite 88

And wiH not bid / but in prosperite

Suche faynecl frendis lord ]>er& be fuH many

Fy on her flateryng / fai are not worth a peny. 91

11 I haue no ffrende fat wilt me now visite 92

In prison) here to comfort me . of1 care

Of sorow y-now I haue . of1 ioy but lite.

Fare wele my blys . & aH: my welfare 95

To telle my sorowe / my wittes be aH bare.

There is no man) can) teH my heuynesse.

Saue oonly • Ekko / that can bcre me witnesse. 98

APPENDIX. — A COMPLAINT AGAINST FORTUNE. vf

U Now & cure lord / J>e kyng of1 blis Ihesus 99

Shul(J with his fynger here on erth write.

Amonges hem that me accusen) thus [leaf si, coi. i]

I trow thei wold! on me haue liteii dispite 102

And with her mouthis say but right alite

Nomore fan ded f e men) . fat soughten) wreche

Vpon) the woman) . fat take was in spouce breche. 105

U Fy on this world? it is but fantesye 106

Seurete is non . in no degre ne state

Aswele a kyng as a knafe shal dye

Not wetyng where ne whan) erly or late 109

When) men be meriest . alday deth seith" chek mate

There is no man) shall here alway abide

The richest man) eke / from his good shal slide. 112

H Then best is Jms/ fie world to set at nought 113

And mekely suffre aH aduersite.

That may vs vaile of1 synnes we haue wrought

In mede encresyng or relesynge parde. 116

Of1 peynes which in purgatory be

And so wille I be glad . so god me save

To suffre men me wrongfully deprave 119

H Ther is nomore I se now at ei^e 120

fees fayned goddis & goddesse . vaile right nought

Fortune & eke thi Sustresse I dene

For I wiH go to hiw pat me hath bought 123

To whom I pray and euer haue be-sought

My synnes aH/ fat he wold? relesse.

And furthermore yit pray I or I cesse. 12 G

Vlf APPENDIX. A COMPLAINT AGAINST FORTUNE.

11 AH holy Chirclie fat is fi veray spouse 127

Benigne lorde kepe from aH: damage

And make thi people to be vertuouse.

The for to seme in euery maner age 130

With" fervent loue & hertes hool corage

And alle fat erre ; oo lord! in any side

Or fou do right/ let mercy be her guyde 133

H And stedfastly fou make vs to perceyver 134

In veray feith & hooly Chirche beleve

And vs to blys bryng fat lastith euer1

And mary vs help . both morow and eve 137

And of this world? when we take cure leve.

Or fat the fende oure soulys fan betrappe

Helpe blisfuH quene. & couer vs with thi lappe. 140

U Lette not be spilt . fat thi sone dere bought 141

Vpon) f e crosse with deth and woundis smert/.

And namely hym fat his synnes forthought

Hare in fis lyf1 . with meke & contrite hert/. 144

And f e of1 grace . to aske ay vpstert/.

Now lady swete I can) nomore now say

But rew on me . and helpe me when I dey 147

Explicit le compleint Agein Fortune./

551

GENERAL INDEX.

BY W. MORRIS AVOOD.

AcLAND-HooD, Sir Alexander, his Early English MS. containing the Story of Constance, 222.

Adolphus's fable of "The Blind Man and his Fair Wife " (like the Merchant's Tale), 179. [In Latin.]

" Advocatio (de) et Diabolo," 106.

.ZEsop's fable, " De Caeco et ejus Uxore," 180. [In Latin.]

" Al-Faraja ba'd al-Sbidda," Turkish story-book, 366 ; 541 ; 549.

Alfred, King, credited as the first translator of JSsop's fable of the Cock and Fox, 115.

" Alphonsus of Lincoln," a story like Chaucer's Prioress's Tale, 108—110. [In Latin.]

Anjou, Italian miracle-play of the Duchess of, 404 et seq.

Anthony, St., 433.

" Arabian Nights," 352 ; 353 ; 368 ; 371 ; 379 ; 549.

Arabian version of the Merchant's Tale, 353 ; versions of the M;m of Law's Tale, 368 — 385 ; versions of the Pardoner's Tale, 426—430.

Arbuthnot, F. F., his notice of Shaikh Farid-ud-din Attar, 423.

Attar, Shaikh Farid-ud-din, notice of, 423.

" Atti dell' Accademia di Vienna," 404.

" Avadanas," Indian tales and apo- logues, 432.

" Bahar-i Danish," a Persian ro- mance, 313, 457.

" Bakhtyar Nama," 352 : 390.

Banville, T. de, 546.

Barbary version of the Pardoner's Tale, 544. <JH. ORIG.

Barbazan's " Fabliaux et Contes," 87; 359.

Basiw (Baisieux), Jakes or Jacques de, his story of "The Priest's Bladder," 135—144.

Basset, Rene", his "Contes populaires Berberes," 545.

Beaumont and Fletcher's play, "The Triumph of Honour," adapted from the Franklin's Tale, 338.

" Beauty unadorned," 472.

Bell, Robert, mistaken in attribut- ing to a French original the Second Nun's Tale, 190 ; his note on Breton and Welsh names, 333.

Benfey's opinion that many popular stories are traceable to a Buddhist origin, 296.

Beranger-Feraud, English transla- tion of his French version of a Senegambian popular tale, 314.

Bercheur, Pierre, author of the " Gesta Romanorum," 56.

" Beryn, Tale of," 336 ; 454.

Boccaccio's story of Griseldis, 153 —170 [in Italian] ; Pear-tree Story, 186 — 188 [in Italian]; Italian version of the Franklin's Tale, 328—331; story of the Lover's Heart, referred to, 479.

Boiardo's Italian version of the Franklin's Tale, 334—338.

" Book of Sindibad " and its deriva- tives, 322 ; 452.

Border Ballad of "King Henrie," 509.

Borde's " Breviary of Health," 523.

"Boy (The) killed by a Jew for singing Gaude Maria ! " 251 — 276.

39

552

GENERAL INDEX.

Braga, Theophilus, his Portuguese version of a story like the Par- doner's Tale, 435.

"Brahman (The) who learned the Fifth Veda," 343 et seq.

Brabmany duck, note on the, 292.

Brock, Edmund, translator and editor of Nicholas Trivet's French "Life of Constance," iii, 1—53. [Old-French text and English translation.]

Brunate, the tradition of Guglielma at, 409, 410.

Buddha's Ten Laws and Five Pre- cepts, 302.

Buddhist "Birth-Stories," 417.

Buddhist origin of many Asiatic and European popular fictions, considered, 296 ; original of the Pardoner's Tale, 418.

Burmese version of the Franklin's Tale, 298—305.

Burton, Lady Isabel, 463.

Burton, Sir R. F., 352 ; his transla- tion of the " Arabian Nights " quoted, 352; 368—378; 428— 430.

Butler's " Hudibras," 333 ; 537.

Campbell's " Popular Tales of the West Highlands," quoted, 326; 500; 516.

Caxton, W., his English version of -32sop's fable of "A blind Mau and his Wife," 181, 182 ; his " Life of St. Cecilia," 207—219.

Chabaille's " Supplement au Roman de Renart," 113.

Chambers's " Scottish Songs," 546.

Chanticlere and Pertelote, Chaucer's tale of, remarks on by Dr. Furni- vall, 112, 113.

Chastity, Tests of, 357.

Chaucer, his version of the story of Constance, vii — x; Dr. Furnivall's note on the likelihood of his being in Milan, 150 ; reason for con- sidering that his Franklin's Tale was not adapted from Boccaccio, 322.

Child, Prof., 498.

Children, Want of, a reproach among Asiatics, 454.

"Christ and his Disciples," a story like the Pardoner's Tale, 131. [In Italian.]

" Ciento Novelle Antike," extract from, 131.

Claretie, M., 546.

Clark, J. T., 447.

"Cleridus," Romance of, 549.

Clerk's Tale, Petrarch's Latinversion, and Boccaccio's Italian version of the story from which it was re- told by Chaucer, 149—172 ; Eng- lish abstract of an Early French version, 525 ; additional note, 549.

Clouston, W. A., his analogues and variants of the Franklin's Tale ("The Damsel's Rash Promise"), 289—340 ; of the Merchant's Tale ("The Enchanted Tree"), 341— 364 ; of the Man of Law's Tale ( " The Innocent, Persecuted Wife"), 365- -414; of the Par- doner's Tale ("The Robbers and the Treasure-Trove"), 415—436 ; of the Manciple's Tale ("The Tell-Tale Bird"), 437—480; of the Wife of Bath's Tale ("The Knight and the Loathly Lady "), 481—524; of the Clerk's Tale ("The Patient Griselda"), 525— 540; Additional Notes, 541 ff; his " Book of Sindibad," referred to, 322 ; his " Bakhtyar Nama," quoted, 390 ; his " Popular Tales and Fictions," referred to, 357.

Cluny, legend of the Sacristan of, referred to, 410.

Cockatoo, Tale of the Prudent, 462.

" Comedia Lydiae," Boccaccio's and Chaucer's stories of the Pear- tree, apparently taken from the, 364.

Constance, The Life of, by Nicholas Trivet, edited and translated by Edm. Brock, iii; 1 — 53; an Early- English version of, 221—250; Asiatic and other European ver- sions of, 365 — 414.

" Contes Devots," 397.

Crane, Prof. T. F., 417 ; his "Italian Popular Tales," 467.

Crescenza, the story of 406.

GENERAL INDEX.

553

"Damsel's (The) Rash Promise," the Indian original and Asiatic and European variants of the Franklin's Tale, 291—340.

D'Ancona, A., his " Sacre Rappre- sentazione " referred to and quoted, 402 et seq.

Dante's " Paradise " quoted, to show which lines Chaucer translated, in the preamble to the Second Nun's Tale, 191.

Daserit's, Sir G. W., Norse Tales, 549.

D'Aussy, Legrand, his remarks on Basiw's " Story of a Priest's Bladder," 144. See also Le Grand.

De Beauvais, Vincent, translation of his version of the Man of Law's Tale, 400.

De Coincy, Gautier, his tale of "The Boy killed by a Jew for singing Gaude Maria!" 251 — 272. [In French.]

De Fuego, J. M., his " Peregrina Doctora," 406.

De la Croix, Petis, his translation of the Persian "Thousand and One Days," 385 ; 541.

De Vendome, Matthieu, his version of a Pear-tree story, 183 — 185. [In Latin.]

De Vignay, Jehan de, his French translation of the " Legenda Aurea," quoted, 190 ; 193—205.

Des Periers, Bonaventure, probably the chief compiler of " The Hep- tamer on," 356.

" Devil, Wyll of the," 523.

Discipulus, the appellation of John Herolt, 104.

D'Israeli's " Curiosities of Liter- ature," 479.

" Dolopathos," Latin version of the " Seven Wise Masters," 322 ; 442 ; 451.

Dowson, J., his note on the four Vedas, 344.

Du Meril, Edelestand, his note on the Eastern origin of Chaucer's Merchant's Tale, 178 ; 183.

Dunlop's "History of Fiction," quoted, 402.

Dushmanta and Sakuntala, story of, 510.

Early-English " Life of St. Cecilia," in rhyme, 208 — 218 ; version of the Story of Constance, 221 — 250.

Early-French version of " The Inno- cent Persecuted Wife," 397.

Eberhard, Dr., 451.

Ellis' " Early English Metrical Ro- mances," 447.

Emare, outline of the tale of (Cott. MS. Calig. A. ii.), x — xi.

"Enchanted Tree (The)," Asiatic analogues of Chaucer's Mer- chant's Tale, 343—364 ; 544.

English origin suggested for Chaucer's tale of Chanticleer, 115.

English (two) plays like the Frank- lin's Tale, 338—340.

" Fables of Bidpai," referred to, 296.

Fagnan, E., 542.

Farsi, Hugues, author of "Contes Devots," 397.

Fausboll, Prof., editor of the Pali Jataka-book, 417.

Ferrari, Padre A., 409.

Ferrari's Life of S. Gug'iehna, 411.

Fifth Veda, the Brahman who learned the, 343 et seq.

" Florence of Rome, Le bone," 56.

Forbes' "Oriental Memoirs," quoted, 456.

"Fortalitium Fidei," 108.

"Fortune, A Complaint against," from Shirley's MS. Harl. 7333, App. If — vi {following p. 550).

"Forty Vazirs," a Turkish story- book, 322 ; 325; 351; 452; 520;

543.: .

Francis, H. H., his "discovery" of the original of Chaucer's Par- doner's Tale, 418 ; his mistaken " merriment," 421.

Franklin's Tale, analogues of Chaucer's, 289—340.

French versions of the Reve's Tale, 85—102; of the Nun's Priest's Tale, 111— 128; of the Pardoner's Tale, 435 ; of the Manciple's Tale, 442 ; of the Clerk's Tale, 525.

Friar's Tale, two Latin stories like Chaucer's, 103—106.

554

GENERAL INDEX.

Frog Prince, story of the, 522 ; 546

—548. Furnivall, Dr. F. J., Forewords, 3* ;

editorial remarks, side-notes, and

foot-notes by, 56—250.

Gaelic version of the Franklin's

Tale, 326—328 ; of the Wife of

Bath's Tale, 516. Galland's " Mille et une Nuits,"

541. "Gawain (Sir) and Dame Ragnell,

Wedding of," 498 ; " Marriage of

Sir Gawain," 501. Gellert, the legend of, ref. to, 410. German versions of the Man of

Law's Tale, 406 ; of the Pardoner's

Tale, 434. Germano- Jewish version of the

Franklin's Tale, 317—319. Gerrans' translation of the "Tiiti

Nama " (Parrot-Book), 453. "Gesta Romanorum," quoted, 55. Gibb, E. J. W., his translation of

" The Forty Vazirs " quoted, 322 ;

351 ; of another Turkish story- book, 520.

" Gil Bias," quoted, 350. Giovanni's Italian version of the

Man of Law's Tale, 56 ; 402. Glichezare (or Glichesaere), Hein-

rich der, author of " Reinhart

Fuchs," 113.

Gold, Turning earth into, 425 ; 545. Golden Age, 453. " Golden Legende," Caxton's Life of

St. Cecilia quoted from the, 207

—219. "Gombert (de) et des deux Clers,"

Trench fabliau of, 87—92. Gower's versification of the story of

Constance, v — vi ; his version of

"The Tell-Tale Bird," 440; his

"Tale of Florent," 483. "Gray Mare the Better Horse,"

523. Greek version of the Manciple's

Tale, 451. Grimm's " Deutsche Sagen," 406 ;

German Popular Tales, 548 ;

" Teutonic Mythology," 477. Griseldis (or Griselda), Tale of,

149—176; 525; 549.

"Guglielma, Santa," Italian miracle- play of, 403.

Gunadhy a, author of " Vrihat Katha," 296.

Habicht, Dr., note on his German translation of the "Arabian Nights," 325.

Hales, Prof. J. W., on the Tale of Griselda, 173.

Hariri, El, quoted, 458.

Harun er-Rashid and the Donkeys, 524.

Hartland, E. S., translations by, of Italian miracle-plays, 403 et seq.

Hebrew version of the Franklin's Tale, 315—317.

" Heptameron," the, 356.

Hermenegildo, Frei, his Portuguese version of the Pardoner's Tale. 435.

"Hermit (The), Death, and the Robbers," a story like the Par- doner's Tale, 132, 133. [In Italian.]

Herolt, John, better known as "Dis- cipulus," 104 ; his Latin stories like the Friar's Tale, 105, 106.

" Hitopadesa," a Sanscrit book of Fables, 350 ; 458.

Horses, Intelligent and Talking, 477.

Horstrnann, Dr. Carl, his edition of " The Paris Beggar-Boy murdered by a Jew for singing Alma re- demptoris Mater I " 277 — 285, and of " The Monk who honoured the Virgin," 286—288.

Horwood, A. J., 222.

" Husband and M;igpie,"01d-FrenHi and Old-English versions of the Manciple's Tale, 442 — 450.

Icelandic versions of the Wife of Bath's Tale, 513—516.

Ildegarde, the legend of, 406.

Indian original of the Franklin's Tale, 291— '295.

Indian queen like Griselda, story cf, 538.

Indo-Persian version of the Frank- lin's Tale, 313, 314; of the Mer- chant's Tale, 348 et seq.

" Ingoldsby Legends," 546.

555

"Innocent Persecuted Wife (The),"

Asiatic and European analogues

of the Man of Law's Tale, 365 —

414. " Isengrimus," an early story-book,

113. Italian and Latin versions of the

tale of Patient Grissell, 149—172. Italian miracle-play of St. Antonio,

433. Italian versions of the Man of Law's

Tale, 403—405 ; 407—412.

Januensis, Jacobus (or Jacobus a Voragine), compiler of the " Le- genda Aurea," 190 ; quoted, 192 —204.

"Jataka," or Birth-Story, explana- tion of the term, 417.

Jelal ad-din Rumi, 544, 545.

Jephson, Mr., his French origin of Chaucer's tale of St. Cecilia dis- proved, 190.

Jesus, note on the Muslim belief in his capability of working miracles, 424.

u Johann Valentin Andreas Chy- mische Hochzeit Christian! Ro- senkreutz," a story quoted from this anonymous book, 331.

Jorjun, story of the Sultan of, 315.

Joseph and Potiphar's Wife, numer- ous analogues of the story of, 367.

Joseph the son of Jacob, his beauty proverbial among Muslims, 454.

Julien, Stanislas, his translation of a Chinese Buddhist legend, 432.

Kabir, Sayyid, the miracle of, 425.

Kadiri's abridgment of the Parrot- Book, 453.

Kaffir analogues of the Wife of Bath's Tale, 522.

Kalmuk Tales quoted, 467.

Kashmiri version of the Pardoner's Tale, 430.

"Katha Sarit Sagara," remarks on the, 295—297 ; quoted, 538.

" Kayurabahu Charitra," Indian story-book, 543.

Kdlcr's " Romans des Sept Sages/' 363; 3G4; 442.

Kelly, W. K., his translation of Boc-

caccio's version of the Franklin's Tale quoted, 328 et seq.

"Knight and Loathly Lady," vari- ants and analogues of the Wife of Bath's Tale, 481—524 ; 546.

" Knight de La Tour Landry, Book of the," 545.

Knowles, Rev. J. Hinton, his Kash- miri version of the Pardoner's Tale, 430 ; " Folk Tales of Kash- mir," 546.

Kohler, Dr. R., mentioned, 331.

Kuhn's " Westfalische Sagen," &c., 434.

Kurroglu, the Persian bandit-poet, 478.

Latin and Italian versions of the

tale of Patient Grissell, 149—172. Le Grand's "Fabliaux," quoted, 350 ;

397.

Le Sage, the French novelist, 386. Lebbe, M. C. S., his Arabic version

of the Pardoner's Tale, 426. Leclerc, Victor, his summary of

Basiw's "Story of a Priest's

Bladder," 136. " Legenda Aurea," by Jacobi a

Voragine, the life of St. Cecilia

quoted from the, 192—204. [In

Latin.] " Legemie Doree," translated by

Jehan de Viguay, the life of St.

Cecilia quoted, from the, 193 —

205. [In French.] Levi, Israel, 315. " Libro di Novelle," extract from,

132.

" Lincoln, Alphonsus of," 108 et srq. Lover's Heart, Story of the, 469; 479. Lucky and unlucky days, note on,

293. Lydgate, John, probably the author

of " The Monk who honoured the

Virgin," 278.

Madden, Sir F., 56.

Muliabharata," the great Indian epic, 455 ; 538 ; 540.

Malcolm, Sir J., quotation from his "Sketches of Persia," 306—310.

Manciple's Tale, Latin source and other European versions and ana- logues, 437—480 ; 545.

556

GENERAL INDEX.

Mandeville's "Travels " quoted, 518.

Man-of-Law's Tale, analogues of, iii; 1—84; 221—250; Asiatic and European versions of, 365 — 414.

Manni, a Boccaccio commentator, 332.

Margaret, Queen of Navarre, the " Heptameron " attributed to, 356.

Marie de France, her fable of the Cock and Fox, one of the sources of the Nun's Priest's Tale, 112; text of, 116—126.

" Marriage of Sir Gawain." 501.

" Masnavi " of Jelal-ed Din, quoted, 544 ; 545.

Meon's unscientific editing of the " Roman du Renart" reprehended, 112—113.

Merchant's Tale, five versions of a Pear-tree story like the, 177—188 ; analogues of the, 343 — 364 ; 544.

Merelaus the Emperor, the story of the wife of, 57—70. [In Old- English.]

Messiah, Breath of the, 424.

Michel, F.,his "Huguesde Lincoln," 109.

"Mille et un Jours," Persian Tales, 385—387; 541—544; 549.

" Miller (The) and the two Clerks," French fabliau of, 93—100.

Milton, quoted, 539.

Miracle-plays similar to the Man of Law's Tale, 403 ; to the Pardoner's Tale, 433.

Mitra's "Sanskrit Buddhist Liter- ature of Nepal," 545.

Money, In praise and dispraise of. 458, 459.

Monier-Williams, Sir M., 539.

" Monk (The) who honoured the Vir- gin," an analogue of the Prioress's Tale, 286—288.

Monti, Pietro, note by, concerning the legendary Gugliehna, 409.

" Morlini Novellae," extract from, 134.

Morris, Rev. Dr. R., the first to point out the resemblance of the Par- doner's Tale to one of the Bud- dhist Birth-Stories, 418.

Mukhlis, a dervish, compiler of the " Hazar u Yek Ruz," 386 ; 541.

Mussafia, A., 404.

Naishapur, the siege of, by Chan- gez Khan, 423.

Nakhshahi, compiler of the "Tuti Nama," 310 ; 452.

Nala and Damayanti, story of, 540.

"Narration de quodam Senescallo Sceleroso," 105.

Nats, ogres, and their various con- geners, note on, 300.

"Nauratan," an Urdu story-book, 544.

Nicol, Henry, notes by, on two French fabliaux, 101 — 102 ; his notes to " How Reynard caught Chanticleer," 127, 128 ; his notes to the " Tale of the Priest's Blad- der," 145—147 ; he edits Gautier de Coincy's story, "The Boy killed by a Jew for singing Gaude Maria I " 251—272.

Nicolas, Sir Harris, his note on the time when Petrarch translated Boccaccio's story of Griseldis, 150.

Nun's Priest's Tale, the source of Chaucer's, 111—128.

Occleve's version of the tale of

" Merelaus," 56. Offa, King, Matthew Paris's Life of,

73—84. "Officious Father-in-Law (The),"

story of the, 355. " Orientalist (The)," 357. Ouseley, Sir W., his Persian MS. of

the "Hazar u Yek Ruz," 386;

542. Ovid's tale of Phcebus and the Crow,

the source of the Manciple's Tale,

439. [In Latin.]

Panjabf Legend, like the Manciple's

Tale, 469. Pardoner's Tale, two Italian stories

and one Latin story like the.

129 — 134 ; Buddhist original anu

Asiatic and European versions of,

415—436; 544. Paris, Matthew, his story of " King

Offa's intercepted letters and ban-

isht Queen," 73—84. [In Latin.] Paris, Paulin, his .account of a

French story like the Pardoner's

Tale, 435.

GENERAL INDEX.

557

" Paris (The) Beggar-Boy murdered by a Jew for singing Alma re- de-mptoris Mater ! " an analogue of the Prioress's Tale, 277—285.

Parrot-Book — see " Tuti Nama."

Payne, J., his translation of the Arabic version of the Merchant's Tale, 353.

Pear-tree Story, five versions of a, 177 — 188; various versions of the, 348 et seq.

" Peasant (The) in the Tree," story of, 364.

Pepys' "Diary" quoted, 537.

Persian versions of the Franklin's Tale, 306—312 ; of the Man of Law's Tale, 388—396 ; of the Par- doner's Tale, 423 ; of the Man- ciple's Tale, 453—466.

Petrarch's letter to Boccaccio, 151, 152 [in Latin] ; tale of Griseldis, 153—172. [In Latin.]

Pope's plagiarism of Chaucer, 333.

Poquet, the Abbe, his edition of Gautier de Coincy's " Miracles de la Sainte Vierge," 252.

Portuguese version of the Pardoner's Tale, 435.

Potiphar's wife and Joseph, numer- ous analogues of the story of, 367.

" Priest's Bladder, The Tale of the," a story like the Summoner's Tale, 135—144. [In Old-French.]

Prioress's Tale, a Latin story like the, 107—110; "The Boy killed by a Jew for singing Gaude Maria!" an analogue of the,251 — 273; "The Paris Beggar -Boy murdered by a Jew for singing Alma redemptoris Mater!" an- other analogue, 277—285 ; " The Monk who honoured the Virgin," a third analogue, 286—288.

Pulci, Antonia, English outline of her miracle-play of Santa Gugli- elma, 403.

" Qirq Vezfr Tarikhi " — see " Forty Vazirs."

RadlofPs South-Siberian Tales, 320. " Kagnell (Dame) and Sir Gawain, Wedding of," 408.

Raksh, the famous steed of Rustam, 477.

Ralston's Tibetan Tales, 431.

" Ramayana," the great Indian epic, quoted, 539.

Rasalu, Raja, Legend of, 469.

Reeve's Tale, two French fabliaux like the, 85—100. [In Old- French.]

" Reinardus Vulpes," an early story- book, 113.

" Reinhart Fuchs," the German original of the French " Roman du Renart."

" Retrospective Review," an inap- preciative critique of Chaucer's Pardoner's Tale in the, 436.

"Reynard (How) caught Chanti- cleer," the source of the Nun's Priest's Tale, 111— 126. [In Old- French.]

Rieu, Dr. Charles, his Catalogue of Persian MSS. in British Museum, 453 ; 541 ; 542.

Ritson's " Metrical Romances," 56.

"Robbers (The) and the Treasure- trove," Buddhistic original and Asiatic and European versions, of the Pardoner's Tale, 415—436 ; 544.

"Roman du Renart," one of the sources of the Nun's Priest's Tale, 112.

Ross, Dr. David, 314.

Rowley's " Search for Money," quoted, 459.

Riickert, Dr. F., his text and trans- lation of Farid-ud-din's version of the Pardoner's Tale, 423.

Russians, contempt of the Asiatics for, 348.

Rustam, the Persian Hercules, 477.

Ruzvanshad and his Fairy Bride, 549.

Sachs, Hans, his stories like the Par- doner's Tale, 434.

" Sacre Representazione," 402.

Sa'di's "Gulistan," quoted, 393.

"Saineresse (La)," fabliau of, 359.

Salt, a pledge of hospitality in the East, 475.

Sandal-wood, its varieties and uses, 456.

558

GENERAL INDEX.

Samlras, M., a Chaucer critic, 135, 136.

Sanskrit version of the Franklin's Tale, 291—295 ; analogue of the Wife of Bath's Tale, 521.

Scott, Dr. Jonathan, his translation of the " Bahar-i-Danish," quoted, 313, 314 ; 344.

Second Nun's Tale, four versions of the, 189—219.

Senegambian popular tale, quoted, 314.

" Shah Nama " (Book of Kings),471 ; 477.

Siberian version of the Franklin's Tale, 320.

" Sindibad, Book of," 322 ; 452.

Sinhalese story of Woman's Wiles, 358.

Sita's devotion to her husband Rama, 539.

Smith, Miss L. Toulmin, 56.

Somadeva, author of the "Katha Sarit Sagara," 296.

Spanish version of the Man of Law's Tale, 406.

Sparks, Capt. T. P., his translation of the " Princess Thoo-dhamrna T.sari " quoted, 297 et seq.

Spenser's plagiarism of Chaucer, 333.

Spina, Alphonsus a, the compiler of " Fort.ilitium Fidei," 108.

St. Cecilia, remarks on the original of Chaucer's story of, 190, 191; four versions of the legend of, 192—219 ; the Latin and French versions from the "Golden Le- gend " printed on opposite pages, 192 — 205 ; an Early - English rhymed version and Caxton's Life of, printed on opposite pages, 207 —219.

St. Cloud, Pierre de, compiler of the " Roman du Renart," 113.

Stratonice, the old Greek story of, 315.

Suckling, Sir John, quoted, 472.

Sufiism, note on, 423.

"Suka Saptati," an Indian story- book, 310 ; 452.

Summoner's Tale, an Old-French story like the, 135—144.

Swaffam, legend of the Pedlar of, referred to, 410.

Swynnerton's Panjabi Legends, 476 ;

480. " Syntipas," a Greek version of the

Book of Sindibad, quoted, 451.

Tawney, Prof. C. H., 291; 418; 538.

" Tell-Tale Bird," Latin source, and other European and Asiatic ana- logues of the Manciple's Tale, 437—480 ; 545.

Temple, Capt. R. C.,425; 468; 544.

Ten Brink, Prof. B., on the source of the Nun's Priest's Tale, 113.

" Thousand and One Duys " — see " Mille et un Jours."

Tibetan version of the Pardoner's Tale, 431.

Tirrea Bede = Fifth Veda, 351.

Transmutation of earth into gold, the power of, often ascribed to holy men, in Eastern fictions, 425.

"Treasure (The) in the Tiber," a story like the Pardoner's Tale, 134. [In Latin.]

Treasure-Tree, note on the ancient myth of the, 336.

" Treasure-Trove, The Robbers and the," 415 ; 544.

Trial of chastity, illustration of, 357.

Trivet, Nicholas, the author of the " Life of Constance," short ac- count of him and his works, iii — v.

Turkish Version of the Franklin's Tale, 322—325; of the Man of Law's Tale, 351 ; analogue of the Wife of Bath's Tale, 520 et scq.

"Tuti Nama," or Parrot-Book, 310; 312 ; 452 ; 453—466.

"'Twas I," outline of the operetta of (Covent Garden, 1825), 356.

" Two Merry Milkmaids," a comedy apparently founded on Boccacciu's talc of Uianora, 340.

Tyrwliitt's notes on the origin of "Chanticleer," 112, 115; on the original of Chaucer's Clerk's Tale, 150 ; on the origin of Chaucer's Merchant's Tale, 178; on the origin of the Second Nun's Tale, 190.

GENERAL INDEX.

559

Ulric, an ancient Viennese professor, 178.

"Vazfr's Pious Daughter (The)," 390.

" Vedabbha Jataka," the original of Chaucer's Pardoner's Tale, 417.

Verney, Lady, her Burmese version of the Franklin's Tale, 305.

" Vescie a Prestre," Jakes de Basiw's story of the (like Chaucer's Sum- moner's Tale), 135—144.

Vestris, Madame, 357.

Vignay, Jehan de. his French ver- sion of the Second Nun's Tale, 193.

Vincent of Beauvais' Latin version of the Man of Law's Tale, 400.

" Violette, Roman de la," 56.

Von Schiefner, F. A., his translation of the Tibetan version of "The Robbers and the Treasure-trove," 432.

Voragine, Jacobus a — see Jamiensis.

Warner's version of the story of " The Robbers and the Treasure- trove," 426.

Warton's note on John Herolt, 104.

Weber's " Metrical Romances," 447.

" Wedding of Sir Gawain and Rag- nell," 498.

Whinrield, E. H., 544.

Wliittington and his Cat, the legend of, 410.

Wife of Bath's Tale, variants and analogues of, 481 — 524 ; 546.

Wilson, Dr. H. H., his " Catalogue of the Mackenzie Oriental MSS.," 543; 545.

Woman's Wiles, stories of, 343 et seq.; Sinhalese story of, 358.

'• Women Desire Sovereignty," 523.

Wright, Thomas, his note on Cliaucer's "Constance," 56; his " Anecdota Literaria," 93 ; his " Archseologia," 105; a fable re- produced from his "Latin Stories," 180. [In Latin.]

" Ysoude (Queen) and Sir Tristrem," 363.

Zotenberg, Hermann, 541 ; 543.

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