THE EIGHTH STORY
[Day the Second]
THE COUNT OF ANTWERP, BEING FALSELY ACCUSED, GOETH INTO EXILE AND LEAVETH HIS TWO CHILDREN IN DIFFERENT PLACES IN ENGLAND, WHITHER, AFTER AWHILE, RETURNING IN DISGUISE AND FINDING THEM IN GOOD CASE, HE TAKETH SERVICE AS A HORSEBOY IN THE SERVICE OF THE KING OF FRANCE AND BEING APPROVED INNOCENT, IS RESTORED TO HIS FORMER ESTATE
The ladies sighed amain over the fortunes of the fair Saracen; but whoknoweth what gave rise to those sighs? Maybe there were some of themwho sighed no less for envy of such frequent nuptials than for pity ofAlatiel. But, leaving that be for the present, after they had laughedat Pamfilo's last words, the queen, seeing his story ended, turned toElisa and bade her follow on with one of hers. Elisa cheerfully obeyedand began as follows: "A most ample field is that wherein we go to-daya-ranging, nor is there any of us but could lightly enough run, notone, but half a score courses there, so abounding hath Fortune made itin her strange and grievous chances; wherefore, to come to tell of oneof these latter, which are innumerable, I say that:
When the Roman Empire was transferred from the French to theGermans,[121] there arose between the one and the other nation anexceeding great enmity and a grievous and continual war, by reasonwhereof, as well for the defence of their own country as for theoffence of that of others, the King of France and a son of his, withall the power of their realm and of such friends and kinsfolk as theycould command, levied a mighty army to go forth upon the foe; and erethey proceeded thereunto,--not to leave the realm withoutgovernance,--knowing Gautier, Count of Antwerp,[122] for a noble anddiscreet gentleman and their very faithful friend and servant, and forthat (albeit he was well versed in the art of war) he seemed to themmore apt unto things delicate than unto martial toils, they left himvicar general in their stead over all the governance of the realm ofFrance and went on their way. Gautier accordingly addressed himselfwith both order and discretion to the office committed unto him, stillconferring of everything with the queen and her daughter-in-law, whom,for all they were left under his custody and jurisdiction, he honourednone the less as his liege ladies and mistresses.
[Footnote 121: _i.e._ A.D. 912, when, upon the death of Louis III, thelast prince of the Carlovingian race, Conrad, Duke of Franconia, waselected Emperor and the Empire, which had till then been hereditary inthe descendants of Charlemagne, became elective and remainedthenceforth in German hands.]
[Footnote 122: _Anguersa_, the old form of _Anversa_, Antwerp. Allversions that I have seen call Gautier Comte d'_Angers_ or _Angiers_,the translators, who forgot or were unaware that Antwerp, as part ofFlanders, was then a fief of the French crown, apparently taking itfor granted that the mention of the latter city was in error andsubstituting the name of the ancient capital of Anjou on their ownresponsibility.]
Now this Gautier was exceedingly goodly of his body, being maybeforty years old and as agreeable and well-mannered a gentleman asmight be; and withal, he was the sprightliest and daintiest cavalierknown in those days and he who went most adorned of his person. Hiscountess was dead, leaving him two little children, a boy and a girl,without more, and it befell that, the King of France and his son beingat the war aforesaid and Gautier using much at the court of theaforesaid ladies and speaking often with them of the affairs of thekingdom, the wife of the king's son cast her eyes on him andconsidering his person and his manners with very great affection, wassecretly fired with a fervent love for him. Feeling herself young andlusty and knowing him wifeless, she doubted not but her desire mightlightly be accomplished unto her and thinking nought hindered herthereof but shamefastness, she bethought herself altogether to putthat away and discover to him her passion. Accordingly, being one dayalone and it seeming to her time, she sent for him into her chamber,as though she would discourse with him of other matters.
The count, whose thought was far from that of the lady, betook himselfto her without any delay and at her bidding, seated himself by herside on a couch; then, they being alone together, he twice asked herthe occasion for which she had caused him come thither; but she madehim no reply. At last, urged by love and grown all vermeil for shame,well nigh in tears and all trembling, with broken speech she thusbegan to say: 'Dearest and sweet friend and my lord, you may easily asa man of understanding apprehend how great is the frailty both of menand of women, and that more, for divers reasons, in one than inanother; wherefore, at the hands of a just judge, the same sin indiverse kinds of qualities of persons should not in equity receive onesame punishment. And who is there will deny that a poor man or a poorwoman, whom it behoveth gain with their toil that which is needful fortheir livelihood, would, an they were stricken with Love's smart andfollowed after him, be far more blameworthy than a lady who is richand idle and to whom nothing is lacking that can flatter her desires?Certes, I believe, no one. For which reason methinketh the thingsaforesaid [to wit, wealth and leisure and luxurious living] shouldfurnish forth a very great measure of excuse on behalf of her whopossesseth them, if, peradventure, she suffer herself lapse intoloving, and the having made choice of a lover of worth and discretionshould stand for the rest,[123] if she who loveth hath done that.These circumstances being both, to my seeming, in myself (besideseveral others which should move me to love, such as my youth and theabsence of my husband), it behoveth now that they rise up in my behalffor the defence of my ardent love in your sight, wherein if they availthat which they should avail in the eyes of men of understanding, Ipray you afford me counsel and succour in that which I shall ask ofyou. True is it, that availing not, for the absence of my husband, towithstand the pricks of the flesh nor the might of love-liking, thewhich are of such potency that they have erst many a time overcome andyet all days long overcome the strongest men, to say nothing of weakwomen,--and enjoying the commodities and the leisures wherein you seeme, I have suffered myself lapse into ensuing Love his pleasures andbecoming enamoured; the which,--albeit, were it known, I acknowledgeit would not be seemly, yet,--being and abiding hidden, I hold[124]well nigh nothing unseemly; more by token that Love hath been insomuchgracious to me that not only hath he not bereft me of due discernmentin the choice of a lover, but hath lent me great plenty thereof[125]to that end, showing me yourself worthy to be loved of a lady such asI,--you whom, if my fancy beguile me not, I hold the goodliest, themost agreeable, the sprightliest and the most accomplished cavalierthat may be found in all the realm of France; and even as I may saythat I find myself without a husband, so likewise are you without awife. Wherefore, I pray you, by the great love which I bear you, thatyou deny me not your love in return, but have compassion on my youth,the which, in very deed, consumeth for you, as ice before the fire.'
[Footnote 123: _i.e._ of her excuse.]
[Footnote 124: Lit. Thou holdest (or judges); but _giudichi_ in thetext is apparently a mistake for _giudico_.]
[Footnote 125: _i.e._ of discernment.]
With these words her tears welled up in such abundance that, albeitshe would fain have proffered him yet other prayers, she had no powerto speak farther, but, bowing her face, as if overcome, she letherself fall, weeping, her head on the count's bosom. The latter, whowas a very loyal gentleman, began with the gravest reproofs to rebukeso fond a passion and to repel the princess, who would fain have castherself on his neck, avouching to her with oaths that he had liefer betorn limb from limb than consent unto such an offence against hislord's honour, whether in himself or in another. The lady, hearingthis, forthright forgot her love and kindling into a furious rage,said, 'Felon knight that you are, shall I be this wise flouted by youof my desire? Now God forbid, since you would have me die, but I haveyou put to death or driven from the world!' So saying, she set herhands to her tresses and altogether disordered and tore them; then,rending her raiment at the breast, she fell to crying aloud andsaying, 'Help! Help! The Count of Antwerp would do me violence.' Thecount, seeing this, misdoubting far more the courtiers' envy than hisown conscience and fearful lest, by reason of this same envy, morecredence
should be given to the lady's malice than to his owninnocence, started up and departing the chamber and the palace asquickliest he might, fled to his own house, where, without takingother counsel, he set his children on horseback and mounting himselfto horse, made off with them, as most he might, towards Calais.
Meanwhile, many ran to the princess's clamour and seeing her in thatplight and hearing [her account of] the cause of her outcry, not onlygave credence to her words, but added[126] that the count's gallantbearing and debonair address had long been used by him to win to thatend. Accordingly, they ran in a fury to his houses to arrest him, butfinding him not, first plundered them all and after razed them to thefoundations. The news, in its perverted shape, came presently to thearmy to the king and his son, who, sore incensed, doomed Gautier andhis descendants to perpetual banishment, promising very great guerdonsto whoso should deliver him to them alive or dead.
[Footnote 126: Sic (_aggiunsero_); but _semble_ should mean "believed,in addition."]
The count, woeful for that by his flight he had, innocent as he was,approved himself guilty, having, without making himself known or beingrecognized, reached Calais with his children, passed hastily over intoEngland and betook himself in mean apparel to London, wherein ere heentered, with many words he lessoned his two little children, andespecially in two things; first, that they should brook with patiencethe poor estate, whereunto, without their fault, fortune had broughtthem, together with himself,--and after, that with all wariness theyshould keep themselves from ever discovering unto any whence or whosechildren they were, as they held life dear. The boy, Louis by name,who was some nine and the girl, who was called Violante and was someseven years old, both, as far as their tender age comported, very wellapprehended their father's lessons and showed it thereafter by deed.That this might be the better done,[127] he deemed it well to changetheir names; wherefore he named the boy Perrot and the girl Jeannetteand all three, entering London, meanly clad, addressed themselves togo about asking alms, like as we see yonder French vagabonds do.
[Footnote 127: _i.e._ That the secret might be the better kept.]
They being on this account one morning at a church door, it chancedthat a certain great lady, the wife of one of the king's marshals ofEngland, coming forth of the church, saw the count and his two littleones asking alms and questioned him whence he was and if the childrenwere his, to which he replied that he was from Picardy and that, byreason of the misfeasance of a rakehelly elder son of his, it hadbehoved him depart the country with these two, who were his. The lady,who was pitiful, cast her eyes on the girl and being much taken withher, for that she was handsome, well-mannered and engaging, said,'Honest man, an thou be content to leave thy daughter with me, I willwillingly take her, for that she hath a good favour, and if she provean honest woman, I will in due time marry her on such wise that sheshall fare well.' This offer was very pleasing to the count, whopromptly answered, 'Yes,' and with tears gave up the girl to the lady,urgently commending her to her care.
Having thus disposed of his daughter, well knowing to whom, heresolved to abide there no longer and accordingly, begging his wayacross the island, came, not without sore fatigue, as one who wasunused to go afoot, into Wales. Here dwelt another of the king'smarshals, who held great state and entertained a numerous household,and to his court both the count and his son whiles much resorted toget food. Certain sons of the said marshal and other gentlemen'schildren being there engaged in such boyish exercises as running andleaping, Perrot began to mingle with them and to do as dextrously asany of the rest, or more so, each feat that was practised among them.The marshal, chancing whiles to see this and being much taken withthe manners and fashion of the boy, asked who he was and was told thathe was the son of a poor man who came there bytimes for alms;whereupon he caused require him of the count, and the latter, whoindeed besought God of nought else, freely resigned the boy to him,grievous as it was to him to be parted from him. Having thus providedhis son and daughter, he determined to abide no longer in England andpassing over into Ireland, made his way, as best he might, toStamford, where he took service with a knight belonging to an earl ofthe country, doing all such things as pertain unto a lackey or ahorseboy, and there, without being known of any, he abode a greatwhile in unease and travail galore.
Meanwhile Violante, called Jeannette, went waxing with the gentlewomanin London in years and person and beauty and was in such favour bothwith the lady and her husband and with every other of the house andwhoso else knew her, that it was a marvellous thing to see; nor wasthere any who noted her manners and fashions but avouched her worthyof every greatest good and honour. Wherefore the noble lady who hadreceived her from her father, without having ever availed to learn whohe was, otherwise than as she had heard from himself, was purposed tomarry her honourably according to that condition whereof she deemedher. But God, who is a just observer of folk's deserts, knowing her tobe of noble birth and to bear, without fault, the penalty of another'ssin, ordained otherwise, and fain must we believe that He of Hisbenignity permitted that which came to pass to the end that the gentledamsel might not fall into the hands of a man of low estate.
The noble lady with whom Jeannette dwelt had of her husband one onlyson, whom both she and his father loved with an exceeding love, bothfor that he was their child and that he deserved it by reason of hisworth and virtues. He, being some six years older than Jeannette andseeing her exceeding fair and graceful, became so sore enamoured ofher that he saw nought beyond her; yet, for that he deemed her to beof mean extraction, not only dared he not demand her of his father andmother to wife, but, fearing to be blamed for having set himself tolove unworthily, he held his love, as most he might, hidden; whereforeit tormented him far more than if he had discovered it; and thus itcame to pass that, for excess of chagrin, he fell sick and thatgrievously. Divers physicians were called in to medicine him, who,having noted one and another symptom of his case and beingnevertheless unable to discover what ailed him, all with one accorddespaired of his recovery; whereat the young man's father and mothersuffered dolour and melancholy so great that greater might not bebrooked, and many a time, with piteous prayers, they questioned him ofthe cause of his malady, whereto or sighs he gave for answer orreplied that he felt himself all wasting away.
It chanced one day that, what while a doctor, young enough, butexceedingly deeply versed in science, sat by him and held him by thearm in that part where leaches use to seek the pulse, Jeannette, who,of regard for his mother, tended him solicitously, entered, on someoccasion or another, the chamber where the young man lay. When thelatter saw her, without word said or gesture made, he felt the amorousardour redouble in his heart, wherefore his pulse began to beatstronglier than of wont; the which the leach incontinent noted andmarvelling, abode still to see how long this should last. As soon asJeannette left the chamber, the beating abated, wherefore it seemed tothe physician he had gotten impartment of the cause of the young man'sailment, and after waiting awhile, he let call Jeannette to him, as hewould question her of somewhat, still holding the sick man by the arm.She came to him incontinent and no sooner did she enter than thebeating of the youth's pulse returned and she being gone again,ceased. Thereupon, it seeming to the physician that he had full enoughassurance, he rose and taking the young man's father and mother apart,said to them, 'The healing of your son is not in the succour ofphysicians, but abideth in the hands of Jeannette, whom, as I have bysure signs manifestly recognized, the young man ardently loveth,albeit, for all I can see, she is unaware thereof. You know now whatyou have to do, if his life be dear to you.'
The gentleman and his lady, hearing this, were well pleased, inasmuchas some means was found for his recoverance, albeit it irked them sorethat the means in question should be that whereof they misdoubtedthem, to wit, that they should give Jeannette to their son to wife.Accordingly, the physician being gone, they went into the sick man andthe lady bespoke him thus: 'Son mine, I could never have believed thatthou wouldst keep from me any desire of thine, esp
ecially seeingthyself pine away for lack thereof; for that thou shouldst have beenand shouldst be assured that there is nought I can for thycontentment, were it even less than seemly, which I would not do asfor myself. But, since thou hast e'en done this, God the Lord hathbeen more pitiful over thee than thou thyself and that thou mayst notdie of this sickness, hath shown me the cause of thine ill, which isno otherwhat than excess of love for some damsel or other, whoever shemay be; and this, indeed, thou needest not have thought shame todiscover, for that thine age requireth it, and wert thou notenamoured, I should hold thee of very little account. Wherefore, myson, dissemble not with me, but in all security discover to me thineevery desire and put away from thee the melancholy and thethought-taking which be upon thee and from which proceedeth this thysickness and take comfort and be assured that there is nothing of thatwhich thou mayst impose on me for thy satisfaction but I will do it tothe best of my power, as she who loveth thee more than her life.Banish shamefastness and fearfulness and tell me if I can do aught tofurther thy passion; and if thou find me not diligent therein or if Ibring it not to effect for thee, account me the cruellest mother thatever bore son.'
The young man, hearing his mother's words, was at first abashed, butpresently, bethinking himself that none was better able than she tosatisfy his wishes, he put away shamefastness and said thus to her:'Madam, nothing hath wrought so effectually with me to keep my lovehidden as my having noted of most folk that, once they are grown inyears, they choose not to remember them of having themselves beenyoung. But, since in this I find you reasonable, not only will I notdeny that to be true which you say you have observed, but I will, toboot, discover to you of whom [I am enamoured], on condition that youwill, to the best of your power, give effect to your promise; and thusmay you have me whole again.' Whereto the lady (trusting overmuch inthat which was not to come to pass for her on such wise as she deemedin herself) answered freely that he might in all assurance discover toher his every desire, for that she would without any delay addressherself to contrive that he should have his pleasure. 'Madam,' thensaid the youth, 'the exceeding beauty and commendable fashions of ourJeannette and my unableness to make her even sensible, still less tomove her to pity, of my love and the having never dared to discover itunto any have brought me whereas you see me; and if that which youhave promised me come not, one way or another, to pass, you may beassured that my life will be brief.'
The lady, to whom it appeared more a time for comfort than forreproof, said, smilingly, 'Alack, my son, hast thou then for thissuffered thyself to languish thus? Take comfort and leave me do, oncethou shalt be recovered.' The youth, full of good hope, in a veryshort time showed signs of great amendment, whereas the lady, beingmuch rejoiced, began to cast about how she might perform that whichshe had promised him. Accordingly, calling Jeannette to her one day,she asked her very civilly, as by way of a jest, if she had a lover;whereupon she waxed all red and answered, 'Madam, it concerneth notneither were it seemly in a poor damsel like myself, banished fromhouse and home and abiding in others' service, to think of love.'Quoth the lady, 'An you have no lover, we mean to give you one, inwhom you may rejoice and live merry and have more delight of yourbeauty, for it behoveth not that so handsome a girl as you are abidewithout a lover.' To this Jeannette made answer, 'Madam, you took mefrom my father's poverty and have reared me as a daughter, whereforeit behoveth me to do your every pleasure; but in this I will nowisecomply with you, and therein methinketh I do well. If it please yougive me a husband, him do I purpose to love, but none other; for that,since of the inheritance of my ancestors nought is left me save onlyhonour, this latter I mean to keep and preserve as long as life shallendure to me.'
This speech seemed to the lady very contrary to that whereto shethought to come for the keeping of her promise to her son,--albeit,like a discreet woman as she was, she inwardly much commended thedamsel therefor,--and she said, 'How now, Jeannette? If our lord theking, who is a young cavalier, as thou art a very fair damsel, wouldfain have some easance of thy love, wouldst thou deny it to him?'Whereto she answered forthright, 'The king might do me violence, butof my consent he should never avail to have aught of me save what washonourable.' The lady, seeing how she was minded, left parleying withher and bethought herself to put her to the proof; wherefore she toldher son that, whenas he should be recovered, she would contrive toget her alone with him in a chamber, so he might make shift to havehis pleasure of her, saying that it appeared to her unseemly that sheshould, procuress-wise, plead for her son and solicit her own maid.
With this the young man was nowise content and presently waxedgrievously worse, which when his mother saw, she opened her mind toJeannette, but, finding her more constant than ever, recounted whatshe had done to her husband, and he and she resolved of one accord,grievous though it seemed to them, to give her to him to wife,choosing rather to have their son alive with a wife unsorted to hisquality than dead without any; and so, after much parley, they did;whereat Jeannette was exceeding content and with a devout heartrendered thanks to God, who had not forgotten her; but for all thatshe never avouched herself other than the daughter of a Picard. As forthe young man, he presently recovered and celebrating his nuptials,the gladdest man alive, proceeded to lead a merry life with his bride.
Meanwhile, Perrot, who had been left in Wales with the King ofEngland's marshal, waxed likewise in favour with his lord and grew upvery goodly of his person and doughty as any man in the island,insomuch that neither in tourneying nor jousting nor in any other actof arms was there any in the land who could cope with him; whereforehe was everywhere known and famous under the name of Perrot thePicard. And even as God had not forgotten his sister, so on like wiseHe showed that He had him also in mind; for that a pestilentialsickness, being come into those parts, carried off well nigh half thepeople thereof, besides that most part of those who survived fled forfear into other lands; wherefore the whole country appeared desert. Inthis mortality, the marshal his lord and his lady and only son,together with many others, brothers and nephews and kinsmen, all died,nor was any left of all his house save a daughter, just husband-ripe,and Perrot, with sundry other serving folk. The pestilence beingsomewhat abated, the young lady, with the approof and by the counselof some few gentlemen of the country[128] left alive, took Perrot, forthat he was a man of worth and prowess, to husband and made him lordof all that had fallen to her by inheritance; nor was it long ere theKing of England, hearing the marshal to be dead and knowing the worthof Perrot the Picard, substituted him in the dead man's room and madehim his marshal. This, in brief, is what came of the two innocentchildren of the Count of Antwerp, left by him for lost.
[Footnote 128: _Paesani_, lit., countrymen; but Boccaccio evidentlyuses the word in the sense of "vassals."]
Eighteen years were now passed since the count's flight from Paris,when, as he abode in Ireland, having suffered many things in a verysorry way of life, there took him a desire to learn, as he might, whatwas come of his children. Wherefore, seeing himself altogether changedof favour from that which he was wont to be and feeling himself, forlong exercise, grown more robust of his person than he had been whenyoung and abiding in ease and idlesse, he took leave of him with whomhe had so long abidden and came, poor and ill enough in case, toEngland. Thence he betook himself whereas he had left Perrot and foundhim a marshal and a great lord and saw him robust and goodly ofperson; the which was mighty pleasing unto him, but he would not makehimself known to him till he should have learned how it was withJeannette. Accordingly, he set out and stayed not till he came toLondon, where, cautiously enquiring of the lady with whom he had lefthis daughter and of her condition, he found Jeannette married to herson, which greatly rejoiced him and he counted all his past adversitya little thing, since he had found his children again alive and ingood case.
Then, desirous of seeing Jeannette, he began beggarwise, to haunt theneighbourhood of her house, where one day Jamy Lamiens, (for so wasJeannette's husband called,) espying him and having compassion on him
,for that he saw him old and poor, bade one of his servants bring himin and give him to eat for the love of God, which the man readily did.Now Jeannette had had several children by Jamy, whereof the eldest wasno more than eight years old, and they were the handsomest andsprightliest children in the world. When they saw the count eat, theycame one and all about him and began to caress him, as if, moved bysome occult virtue, they divined him to be their grandfather. He,knowing them for his grandchildren, fell to fondling and making muchof them, wherefore the children would not leave him, albeit he who hadcharge of their governance called them. Jeannette, hearing this,issued forth of a chamber therenigh and coming whereas the count was,chid them amain and threatened to beat them, an they did not whattheir governor willed. The children began to weep and say that theywould fain abide with that honest man, who loved them better thantheir governor, whereat both the lady and the count laughed. Now thelatter had risen, nowise as a father, but as a poor man, to do honourto his daughter, as to a mistress, and seeing her, felt a marvellouspleasure at his heart. But she nor then nor after knew him any whit,for that he was beyond measure changed from what he was used to be,being grown old and hoar and bearded and lean and swart, and appearedaltogether another man than the count.
The lady then, seeing that the children were unwilling to leave himand wept, when she would have them go away, bade their governor letthem be awhile and the children thus being with the good man, itchanced that Jamy's father returned and heard from their governor whathad passed, whereupon quoth the marshal, who held Jeannette indespite, 'Let them be, God give them ill-luck! They do but hark backto that whence they sprang. They come by their mother of a vagabondand therefore it is no wonder if they are fain to herd withvagabonds.' The count heard these words and was mightily chagrinedthereat; nevertheless, he shrugged his shoulders and put up with theaffront, even as he had put up with many others. Jamy, hearing how thechildren had welcomed the honest man, to wit, the count, albeit itmisliked him, nevertheless so loved them that, rather than see themweep, he commanded that, if the good man chose to abide there in anycapacity, he should be received into his service. The count answeredthat he would gladly abide there, but he knew not to do aught otherthan tend horses, whereto he had been used all his lifetime. A horsewas accordingly assigned to him and when he had cared for it, hebusied himself with making sport for the children.
Whilst fortune handled the Count of Antwerp and his children on suchwise as hath been set out, it befell that the King of France, aftermany truces made with the Germans, died and his son, whose wife wasshe through whom the count had been banished, was crowned in hisplace; and no sooner was the current truce expired than he again begana very fierce war. To his aid the King of England, as a new-madekinsman, despatched much people, under the commandment of Perrot hismarshal and Jamy Lamiens, son of the other marshal, and with them wentthe good man, to wit, the count, who, without being recognized of any,abode a pretty while with the army in the guise of a horseboy, andthere, like a man of mettle as he was, wrought good galore, more thanwas required of him, both with counsels and with deeds.
During the war, it came to pass that the Queen of France fellgrievously sick and feeling herself nigh unto death, contrite for allher sins, confessed herself unto the Archbishop of Rouen, who was heldof all a very holy and good man. Amongst her other sins, she relatedto him that which the Count of Antwerp had most wrongfully sufferedthrough her; nor was she content to tell it to him alone, nay, butbefore many other men of worth she recounted all as it had passed,beseeching them so to do with the king that the count, an he were onlife, or, if not, one of his children, should be restored to hisestate; after which she lingered not long, but, departing this life,was honourably buried. Her confession, being reported to the king,moved him, after he had heaved divers sighs of regret for the wrongdone to the nobleman, to let cry throughout all the army and in manyother parts, that whoso should give him news of the Count of Antwerpor of either of his children should for each be wonder-well guerdonedof him, for that he held him, upon the queen's confession, innocent ofthat for which he had gone into exile and was minded to restore him tohis first estate and more.
The count, in his guise of a horseboy, hearing this and being assuredthat it was the truth,[129] betook himself forthright to Jamy Lamiensand prayed him go with him to Perrot, for that he had a mind todiscover to them that which the king went seeking. All three beingthen met together, quoth the count to Perrot, who had it already inmind to discover himself, 'Perrot, Jamy here hath thy sister to wifenor ever had any dowry with her; wherefore, that thy sister may not goundowered, I purpose that he and none other shall, by making theeknown as the son of the Count of Antwerp, have this great reward thatthe king promiseth for thee and for Violante, thy sister and his wife,and myself, who am the Count of Antwerp and your father.' Perrot,hearing this and looking steadfastly upon him, presently knew him andcast himself, weeping, at his feet and embraced him, saying, 'Fathermine, you are dearly welcome.' Jamy, hearing first what the countsaid and after seeing what Perrot did, was overcome at once with suchwonderment and such gladness that he scarce knew what he should do.However, after awhile, giving credence to the former's speech and soreashamed for the injurious words he had whiles used to thehostler-count, he let himself fall, weeping, at his feet and humblybesought him pardon of every past affront, the which the count, havingraised him to his feet, graciously accorded him.
[Footnote 129: _i.e._ that it was not a snare.]
Then, after they had all three discoursed awhile of each one's variousadventures and wept and rejoiced together amain, Perrot and Jamy wouldhave reclad the count, who would on nowise suffer it, but willed thatJamy, having first assured himself of the promised guerdon, should,the more to shame the king, present him to the latter in that his thenplight and in his groom's habit. Accordingly, Jamy, followed by thecount and Perrot, presented himself before the king, and offered,provided he would guerdon him according to the proclamation made, toproduce to him the count and his children. The king promptly let bringfor all three a guerdon marvellous in Jamy's eyes and commanded thathe should be free to carry it off, whenas he should in very deedproduce the count and his children, as he promised. Jamy, then,turning himself about and putting forward the count his horseboy andPerrot, said, 'My lord, here be the father and the son; the daughter,who is my wife and who is not here, with God's aid you shall soonsee.'
The king, hearing this, looked at the count and albeit he was sorechanged from that which he was used to be, yet, after he had awhileconsidered him, he knew him and well nigh with tears in his eyesraised him--for that he was on his knees before him--to his feet andkissed and embraced him. Perrot, also, he graciously received andcommanded that the count should incontinent be furnished anew withclothes and servants and horses and harness, according as his qualityrequired, which was straightway done. Moreover, he entreated Jamy withexceeding honour and would fain know every particular of his[130] pastadventures. Then, Jamy being about to receive the magnificent guerdonsappointed him for having discovered the count and his children, theformer said to him, 'Take these of the munificence of our lord theking and remember to tell thy father that thy children, hisgrandchildren and mine, are not by their mother born of a vagabond.'Jamy, accordingly, took the gifts and sent for his wife and mother toParis, whither came also Perrot's wife; and there they allforegathered in the utmost joyance with the count, whom the king hadreinstated in all his good and made greater than he ever was. Thenall, with Gautier's leave, returned to their several homes and heuntil his death abode in Paris more worshipfully than ever."
[Footnote 130: _Quaere_, the Count's?]
The Decameron of Giovanni Boccaccio Page 22