THE EMPEROR OF ROME AND HIS THREE DAUGHTERS.
Theodosius was emperor of Rome, mighty in power, and wise in counsel. He had no son, but three daughters, whom he loved exceedingly. Now when they were come of full age, the emperor called unto him the eldest and said: “How much lovest thou me?”
“More than mine ownself,” replied the eldest.
“It is good,” rejoined her father; “thou shalt be rewarded for thy love.”
So he married her unto a neighboring king of great power and wealth. Then he sent for his second daughter, and asked her the same question.
“Even as I do myself,” was the reply.
At this the emperor was well pleased, and he kissed his child, and said: “I will reward thee for this thy love.” So he married her unto one of the greatest nobles of his realm.
At last he sent for his youngest daughter, and when she was come into his presence, he asked her likewise how much she loved him.
Theodosia bowed her head, and bent her knee to her father, as she mildly replied: “Even as my father deserveth.”
Then was the emperor hurt with her reply, and he said: “Lovest thou me no more than this? thy reward shall be less than thy sisters.” So he married her unto a poor but good lord, who was one of the lesser nobles of his kingdom.
Time passed away, misfortune came upon the emperor, and his kingdom was all but taken from him by the king of Egypt. Then said he to himself: “I will appeal to my children.” So he wrote to his eldest daughter for aid.
“My lord, the king, I have here a letter from my father,” said the eldest daughter to her husband, “he asketh help of us in his misfortunes.”
“Is it not just that we should aid him?” replied the king; “we will raise an army, and go and fight for him.”
“Nay, my lord,” rejoined his wife, “consider the expense; send my father five knights to keep him company in his wanderings.”
“Alas, alas!” said the aged emperor when he read his eldest child’s answer, “in her was my chief trust; she, that loved me more than herself, hath done only this much, how then shall I trust the other two?”
Then wrote he to the second daughter, who, when she read her father’s letter, advised her husband to grant him food, lodging, and raiment, during the time of his need. The emperor was sore grieved at this reply. “Now have I tried my two daughters, and have found them wanting, let me try the third,” so he wrote to his youngest child.
When the messenger brought the emperor’s letter to Theodosia, she wept sorely as she read how that her father was driven from his capital, and was become a wanderer in his own kingdom. Then went she to her husband and said:
“Oh, my dear lord, by thy love towards me, succor me in this great distress; my father is driven from his capital by the king of Egypt, and even now wanders up and down his own kingdom, homeless and unattended.”
“As thou wiliest, Theodosia,” replied the noble, “so will I do.”
“Gather then a great army, raise again my father’s banner, and go, my lord, fight for my father’s throne, and under God’s blessing thou shalt conquer.”
Gladly the noble obeyed the wishes of his wife; gladly did he summon his retainers and friends, and raise the royal standard. His example was all that was required; numbers flocked to the royal standard, for they wished well to the emperor, but lacked a leader. Then led he his forces against the king of Egypt, and long and fierce was the battle; but at length the emperor’s friends prevailed, the Egyptian was driven from the land, and the emperor reseated on his throne. It was a happy day for his people when Theodosius reascended his throne: round him stood all his nobles, and on his right hand his youngest daughter, and on his left her noble husband, to whom he was indebted for his restoration. Before his footstool stood his other children and their husbands, and sought to do him homage. But the emperor forbade them, and turning to his nobles he said:
“The child that loved me but as I deserved, hath succored me in this my time of trouble; the twain that professed to love me more abundantly, have failed in the trial God ordained to them and to me. I pray ye, my nobles and knights, to ratify this my wish. When I die, let the kingdom pass to her and to her husband, for she succored her father and her country; but for these other two, let them go hence.”
And the nobles and knights with one accord said: “It is well said; be it so.”
“Is the Merchant of Venice among the list of plots borrowed from the Gesta?” asked Herbert.
“It is inscribed as a debtor to two tales: to the one, for the incident of the bond; to the other, for that of the three caskets.”
“I thought,” said Frederick Thompson, “the incident of Shylock’s bond came from the Italian of Fiorentino, a novelist of the fourteenth century.”
“It is found there, and is generally translated from his work in the preface to the play, but is also found, in almost the same words, in the English Gesta, in the story of Selestinus, the Wise Emperor, who had a Fair Daughter.”
“You claim also the incident of the Three Caskets.”
“I claim one form of it for my old monks in the story of The Carpenter and the Owner of the Lost Treasure, and another form in the tale found in the English Gesta of the emperor Anselmus.”
“What is the legend of the carpenter?” asked Herbert.
“He is supposed to have found some gold, and to be doubting whether he should restore it to its owner, whom chance has led to the carpenter’s cottage in his inquiries after his lost treasure. To satisfy his mind he makes three cakes; one he fills with earth, another with bones, and the third has a piece of gold within it. On giving his guest the choice, the traveller is led by the weight to choose the one full of earth, and claiming a portion of that containing bones, should the first not satisfy his hunger, he gives the lightest to his host. Thus convinced that the man does not deserve his lost treasure, the carpenter drives him from his hut, and distributes the money to the poor.”
“This is but a slight hint,” said Herbert; “the choice is exactly contrary to that of the play.”
“In the latter story, whether original or copied, the choice is identical with that in the Merchant of Venice. The moral the writer intended to read was the deceitfulness of outward appearances.”
“The old proverb,” suggested Thompson, “all is not gold that glitters.”
“I will read now the form of the story in the English Gesta.”