Yet what of poor Aurelius? He had lost everything. So he cursed the day he was born. ‘Oh God,’ he cried, ‘I owe a thousand pounds of gold to the magician! What am I going to do? I am ruined. I will need to sell everything I own, and roam the streets as a beggar. I cannot stay here and be a source of perpetual shame to my family. My only hope is that he will be merciful towards me. I will suggest to him that I pay the debt by instalments, year by year, on a certain day. If he is kind enough to agree, I will never let him down.’
So with aching heart he went to his strongbox, unlocked it, and took out about five hundred pounds of gold. He presented the money to the magician, and asked him if he could pay the rest at a later date. ‘I have never broken a promise in my life, sir,’ he said. ‘I will repay my debt to you. Even if I have to go begging in my bare tunic, you will get your money. I swear it. If you can give me two or three years, I would be very grateful. Otherwise I will have to sell my patrimony, house and all. There is nothing else I can tell you.’
The philosopher listened silently and solemnly. ‘Did I not make an agreement with you?’
‘Yes, sir, you did. Most certainly.’
‘Did you not enjoy the lady, as you wished?’
‘No. Alas, I did not.’
‘Why not? Tell me the whole story.’
So Aurelius went through the entire sequence of events. There is no need for me to repeat them, is there? ‘Arveragus,’ he said, ‘is such a worthy knight that he would rather die of shame and distress than allow his wife to break her oath.’ Then he told the magician all about the anguish experienced by Dorigen at the thought of being unfaithful to her husband. She would rather have lost her life. She had made her original promise quite innocently. She had no knowledge of magic and illusion. ‘So I felt sorry for her, sir. Arveragus sent her to me without conditions, and I freely returned her to him. That is the gist of it.’
The scholar answered him very gently. ‘Dear brother, both of you acted with honour and magnanimity. You are a squire. He is a knight. I hope to God that a scholar can act just as wisely. A magician can also be a gentleman, you know. So, sir, I acquit you of the thousand pounds. It will be as if we had never met or made an agreement. You are as new to me as that flower, rising out of the earth. I won’t take a penny from you for my work. You have paid me for my meat and drink. That is enough. So farewell. Good day to you!’ And, with that, he mounted his horse and went on his way.
Now, fellow pilgrims, answer this riddle. Which one of these gentlemen was the most generous? Let me know before we ride any further, will you?
Heere is ended the Frankeleyns Tale
The Physician’s Tale
Heere folweth the Phisiciens Tale
There was, a Roman historian tells us, a knight called Virginius. He was a worthy and honourable man, with plenty of money and plenty of friends. He had only one daughter, however, a beautiful girl without equal in the whole world. Dame Nature had formed and moulded her with such care that it was as if she were ready to proclaim, ‘Look at my work here. I, Nature, have created a perfect creature in exactly the manner I wished. Who could counterfeit this beauty? Who could possibly imitate it? Pygmalion himself could do no better, even though he laboured at his forge or at his easel. Apelles and Zeuxis would do a whole lot worse, however well they tried to use their pen or brush. No sculptor could match me, either. God above has given me the power to make and unmake all the creatures of the world. I am His representative on earth. I can paint and play just as I please. All things under the moon are susceptible to my sway. I ask nothing for my work, of course. I am in perfect agreement with my superior in heaven. I do all things in honour of Him above. That is why I made this perfect beauty.’ That, I imagine, is what the dame would say.
This girl, in which Nature took such delight, was just fourteen years old. Just as the dame can paint the lily white, and bestow the blush of pink upon the rose, so did she apply her skill to the little limbs of the infant before she was born. The sun turned her hair golden, like the rays of the morning. Even so, she was a thousand times more virtuous than she was beautiful. There was nothing lacking in her, nothing I cannot praise. She was chaste in body and in soul. She was a virgin in spirit as well as in flesh; she was humble and patient, never straying from the path of virtue. She was always sober and respectful in conversation, too, and although she may have been as wise as Pallas Athene she was measured in her speech. She did not put on airs and graces. She never tried to be clever. She was the perfect female, in other words, always evincing modesty and grace. She busied herself with her womanly tasks, hating sloth and idleness before all else. She did not pay homage to Bacchus, either. She knew well enough that wine, as well as youth, can provoke excitement. You do not throw oil or fat upon the fire. There were times, in fact, when she feigned illness in order to escape vain company; she was uneasy at feasts and parties and dances, where there were bound to be intrigues and amours. Those are occasions when youths, little more than children, grow up too fast. It is dangerous for them, as all experience tells us. She will be mature enough when she becomes a woman and a wife. Not before then.
There may be some of a certain age among you here, who are governesses to young girls. Don’t take anything amiss. I am only telling you the truth. You have been chosen to instruct the daughters of noble families for two reasons, as you well know. Either you have kept your chastity and set a good example, or you have fallen into sin and know all the signs of frailty. You know the old dance, and have forsaken it for ever. So, for God’s sake, teach your charges to stay out of trouble. A poacher is the best gamekeeper, after all. A thief knows how to secure his own house. So keep them safe. You know best how to do it. Do not wink at any vice, lest you yourself be damned for wickedness. Then you would be a traitor to the whole household. Of all the sins in the world, the worst is the betrayal of innocence. It is unforgivable.
And listen, mothers and fathers, I am addressing you also. You must safeguard and defend all of the children in your care. Be careful not to give them a bad example. Make sure that you chastise them properly. Otherwise, they are lost. You will pay dearly for their sins, I can assure you of that. The careless shepherd loses many sheep; the wolf comes out of the wood, and destroys the lambs. I could think of other examples, but I must get on with my story.
This young maiden, Virginia, did not need any governess to teach her virtue. Her own life was itself a study in virtue, a book of goodness in which every page set an example to modest virgins. She was so honest and prudent that her fame spread throughout the country, where she was acclaimed for her beauty as well as her graciousness. All that loved virtue also loved her. Of course there were certain envious people who resented her happiness and wished her nothing but misfortune or tragedy. Saint Augustine has described those miscreants very well.
So Virginia went into town one day, with her mother, in order to visit one of the temples there. That was the custom. It so happened that the town magistrate, who was also the governor of the region, caught sight of her as she walked past him. He could not help but notice her. His heart beat faster. He was at once infatuated with her beauty. And he said to himself, ‘I want her, and I will have her!’