“THE EMPEROR’S DAUGHTER.”
Many centuries ago there reigned a great and good emperor, whose name was Pompey. He had an only daughter, of remarkable beauty, whom he loved so dearly, that day and night he ordered five of his most valiant knights to watch over her; and on pain of their lives to guard her from harm. Day and night did these brave men keep watch and ward over the lady’s chamber. A lamp burned above the door, that the approach of an enemy might be more readily detected; and a faithful mastiff lay on the threshold, whose watchfulness was as unremitting as his bark was loud and shrill. But all these precautions were fruitless. The princess loved the world and its pleasures; and sighed to mingle in its busy scenes, and gaze upon its gorgeous pageants. One day as she looked from her window a certain duke rode by, and he looked upon her beauty, and loved her with a false love.
Day after day did the duke endeavor to withdraw the princess from her guardians, and numerous were the devices by which he sought to accomplish his designs upon her and her father’s throne. At length by the promise of unbounded pleasure, the duke persuaded the princess to overturn the lamp that burned at her chamber door, and to poison the dog that lay at her threshold.
That same night, when the lamp was quenched, and the mastiff silenced, the duke stole upon the guard and bore away with him the maiden.
On the morrow, great was the confusion at the emperor’s court. Men rode hither and thither in pursuit of the fugitives, for no one knew which way they had fled. One knight alone hit upon their track; a great and terrible knight he was, the emperor’s champion; and he came upon them and slew the duke, and brought the maiden back to her father.
Very wroth was the emperor with his daughter, and he left her to bewail her sins in solitude. Time and reflection brought repentance, and the princess bewailed her sins bitterly.
Now there was a good old man at Pompey’s court, who was ever ready to intercede with the emperor on behalf of penitent offenders, and to whose words Pompey listened willingly. This lord came to the emperor and told him of his daughter’s repentance; and his words were pleasant to the emperor, so that the father was reconciled to his child, and she was betrothed by him to a nobleman of worth and power.
Many and precious were the bridal gifts the princess received.
The good old lord gave her a robe of the finest and richest wool, on which was worked this moral: “I have raised thee up, beware how thou fall again.” He gave her also a ring, of which the legend was: “What have I done? How much? Why?”
From her father she received a golden coronet, on which was engraved: “Thy dignity is from me.”
From the king’s champion, who rescued her from her seducer, she received a ring, and the legend was: “I have loved thee, do thou return my love.”
The king’s son gave her a ring, and on it was written: “Thou art noble, despise not thy nobility.” Whilst on that which her brother presented to her was engraved: “Approach, fear not, I am thy brother.”
The last gift was from her husband, a golden signet that confirmed her inheritance, and which bore this motto: “Now thou art espoused, be faithful.”
The princess received these gifts with gratitude, and parted not with them but with her life.
“The meanings of some of these presents are clearly too recondite to be guessed at,” remarked Herbert on the conclusion of the tale.
“You will say so, when we read them. But first of the actors in the tale,” rejoined Lathom, “the emperor is our Heavenly Father, and his daughter, the human soul which he delivers to the five senses, armed by the powers of baptism, to guard from injury. The burning lamp is the will, shining brilliantly in good works and dispelling the gloom of sin. The watchful dog is conscience; as often as the soul breaks any of the commands of God, it may be said to look abroad on the world and its dangers. Then comes the devil, the great seducer, whose triumph over the soul is easy, when the lamp of the will is extinguished, and the barking of conscience is silenced. Then God arises as our champion, and fights for us against the world, the flesh, and the devil, and leads back the sinning soul to the palace of the heavenly king. The sage Lord, the Mediator, is our Saviour: ‘for he is our peace, who hath made both one.’”
“This is tolerably clear and probable,” said Thompson.
“The marriage presents will compensate for it. From him, continues the moral, we received the aforesaid gifts: first a cloak descending to the ankle, that is, his most precious skin; and said to be of delicate texture, because it was woven with stripes, blood, bruises, and other various instances of malice; of which texture nothing more is meant than this: ‘I have raised thee up, because I have redeemed thee; do not throw thyself into further evil.’ That same Christ, our king, gave to us a glorious crown, that is, when he submitted to be crowned for our sakes. And of a truth, ‘thy dignity is from me,’ even from that crown. Christ is our champion, who gave us a sign—that is, the hole in his right hand; and we ourselves can see how faithfully it is written: ‘I have loved thee, do thou also love.’ He gave us another ring, which is the puncture in his left hand, where we see written: ‘What have I done? How much? Why?’ ‘What have I done?’ I have despoiled myself, receiving the form of a servant. ‘How much?’ I have made God and man. ‘Why?’ To redeem the lost. Concerning these three, Zechariah xiii., ‘What are the wounds in the middle of thy hands?’ and he answered, saying: ‘I am wounded by these men in their house, who loved me.’ Christ is our brother, and son of the Eternal King. He gave us a third ring,—to wit, the hole in his right foot; and what can be understood by it, but, ‘Thou art noble, despise not thy nobility?’ In like manner, Christ is our brother-german. And he gave us a fourth ring, the puncture in his left foot, on which is written, ‘Approach, fear not, I am thy brother.’ Christ is also our spouse; he gave us a signet, with which he confirmed our inheritance: that is, the wound made in his side by the spear, on account of the great love with which he loved us. And what can this signify, but, ‘Thou art joined to me through mercy. Sin no more.’”
“You have established the character of the Gesta for recondite moralization,” said Thompson, “will you give us a tale rather more intelligible?”
“Willingly,” rejoined Lathom, “you shall have the tale that Gower has versified.”