"Then for your lordship's quips and quick
jests," says Sir Giles Goosecap, in a play of
Elizabeth's day, "why Gesta Romanorum were
nothing to them." The collection includes the
Bond story and the tale of the Three Caskets
joined into one in the plot of the Merchant of
Venice. Gower, Chaucer, and other old poets,
borrowed tales from the collection for fresh
telling in verse. One of the tales was even, in
much later time, transformed by Parnell into his
poem of the Hermit.

What we now propose is, without being at all
antiquarian, and disregarding the set morals
appended, to amuse ourselves with some of these
stock tales that entertained our forefathers five
hundred years ago.

Not a few of them are oddly inconsequential.
Here, for example, is one that seems to consist
of two different halves badly joined. There
reigned some time in Rome a wise and mighty
emperor, named Anselm, who died leaving three
sons, all of whom he had loved very much.
Before his death he called them to him,
separately, and to the first he said, "My dear and
well-beloved son, I have spent all that I had in
my war with the King of Egypt; nothing remains
to me but a precious tree that stands in the
middle of my empire. I give to thee all that is
under the earth and above the earth of the same
tree." "O my revered father," quoth he, "I
thank you much." To the second son the king
said the same, except that he bequeathed him
all that is great and small of the same tree; and
to the third son he said the same, except that he
bequeathed him all that is wet and dry of the same
tree. So after their father's death the three
brothers met at the tree, and they all claimed it.
But the third son said, "Let us not strive together.
Hereby dwells a king full of reason. Let
us abide by his judgment." His brethren said the
counsel was good, and they all went to the King
of Reason. The king said that the will must
stand; and turning to the elder brother, said,
"You must be bled in the arm." By all means.
When that was done, he said, "Dig up your
father, and bring me a bone out of his breast."
The bone of the father was brought and soaked
in the blood of the son, then taken out and
dried, and when it was dried it was washed, and
when it was washed the blood vanished clean
away. So was done and so happened with the
blood of the second son. So was done with the
blood of the third son; but when it came to the
washing of the bone, the blood and the bone
clave together so that they could not be parted.
Then the King of Reason said that the youngest
was the only lawful son of his father, and gave
him the whole inheritance. Great was the king's
wisdom!

So great was wisdom in the noble emperor
named Alexander, who made a law for the good
of the poor, that nobody who ate plaice should
turn the fish in his plate on pain of death. The
plaice being white side uppermost, when the
white side was eaten the black side was to be
left. Whoever turned the fish, and ate the
black side of it, was doomed to death. But to
alleviate the harshness of the sentence, he must
have three wishes granted him; three wishes,
whatever they might be, except his life. Now
there came to court one day, an earl and his son,
who did not know of this law, and the earl being
very hungry and liking his fish, when he had
eaten the white side of a plaice turned it to eat
the black. He was at once seized and
condemned to die. But the son entreated the
emperor that he might die in place of his father.
"Certainly," said the emperor. "So that one
dies for the offence, I am content." "And the
three wishes before death are mine?" "Ask
what you will," replied the emperor, "no man
shall say you nay." " First, I wish to marry
your fair daughter." The emperor, who would
not be himself a breaker of the law, granted that
wish, and the earl's son was married to his
daughter. "What next?" "Next, I wish for
all your treasure." The emperor, who would
not be a breaker of the law, gave all his treasure
to the earl's son, who immediately scattered it
among the poor. "And next?" " That my
lord will immediately cause to be put out, the
eyes of all that saw my father eat the black side
of the plaice." Then nobody could be found who
would stand forth as witness against the earl.
Whereupon said the youth, "My lord, why shall
my father die, or I for him, when there is no
man to accuse him of anything?" So, the son
saved his own father, and made for himself a
father-in-law of the emperor.

Another story is the source of Schiller's ballad
of Fidolin, "the Road to the Iron Foundry."
There is a count for an emperor, a page for a
nephew, and jealousy is the bad breath. The
rest agrees almost exactly, although Schiller
found the tale, not in the printed Gesta, but still
living in Alsatian tradition. The mighty
emperor was named Martin, and he had, say the
Gesta, great love for his brother's son, named
Fulgentius, whom the emperor's uncle, who was
steward of the empire, envied. Wherefore the
steward told the emperor falsely, how his
nephew had defamed him to his subjects by saying
that "his breath stank so, as to kill the man
who served him with the cup."

"And does it stink so?"

"My lord," quoth the steward, "I never
perceived a sweeter breath in my days than yours
is."

Then said the emperor,

"I pray thee, good friend, give me proof of
what you tell against my nephew."

"Note him tomorrow when he serves you
with the cup,"answered the steward, "and you
shall see him, because of your breath, turn away
his face."

"I will so note him," said the emperor.

Then went the wicked steward to Fulgentius,
and taking him aside, said,

"Dear friend, you are a near kinsman, and
will let me, for love, tell you of a fault whereof
my lord the emperor often complains. He
thinks even of putting you away for it."

"Tell me,"said the youth, "and let me be
ruled by you. It may be a fault I can amend."