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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11417 ***
+
+FRENCH MEDIAEVAL ROMANCES
+
+_From the Lays of Marie de France_
+
+_Translated by Eugene Mason_.
+
+
+
+1911
+
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+
+The tales included in this little book of translations are derived
+mainly from the "Lays" of Marie de France. I do not profess them to be
+a complete collection of her stories in verse. The ascription varies.
+Poems which were included in her work but yesterday are withdrawn
+to-day, and new matter suggested by scholars to take the place of the
+old. I believe it to be, however, a far fuller version of Marie's
+"Lays" than has yet appeared, to my knowledge, in English. Marie's
+poems are concerned chiefly with love. To complete my book I have
+added two famous mediaeval stories on the same excellent theme.
+This, then, may be regarded as a volume of French romances, dealing,
+generally, with one aspect of mediaeval life.
+
+An age so feminist in its sympathies as ours should be attracted the
+more easily to Marie de France, because she was both an artist and a
+woman. To deliver oneself through any medium is always difficult. For
+a woman of the Middle Ages to express herself publicly by any means
+whatever was almost impossible. A great lady, a great Saint or
+church-woman, might do so very occasionally. But the individuality
+of the ordinary wife was merged in that of her husband, and for one
+Abbess of Shrewsbury or Whitby, for one St. Clare or St. Hilda, there
+were how many thousand obscure sisters, who were buried in the daily
+routine of a life hidden with Christ in God! Doubtless the artistic
+temperament burst out now and again in woman, and would take no
+denial. It blew where it listed, appearing in the most unexpected
+places. A young nun in a Saxon convent, for instance, would write
+little dramas in Latin for the amusement and edification of the noble
+maidens under her charge. These comedies, written in the days of the
+Emperor Otho, can be read with pleasure in the reign of King George,
+by those who find fragrant the perfumes of the past. They deal with
+the pious legends of the Saints, and are regarded with wistful
+admiration by the most modern of Parisian playwrights. In their
+combination of audacity and simplicity they could only be performed by
+Saxon religious in the times of Otho, or by marionettes in the more
+self-conscious life of to-day. Or, again, an Abbess, the protagonist
+of one of the great love stories of the world, by sheer force of
+personality, would compose letters to one--how immeasurably her moral
+inferior, in spite of his genius--expressing with an unexampled
+poignancy the most passionate emotions of the heart. Or, to take my
+third illustration, here are a woman's poems written in an age when
+literature was almost entirely in the hands of men. Consider the
+strength of character which alone induced these three ladies to stray
+from the beaten paths of their sex. To the average woman it was
+enough to be an object of art herself, or to be the inspiration of
+masterpieces by man. But these three women of the Middle Ages--and
+such as they--shunned the easier way, and, in their several spheres,
+were by deliberate effort, self-conscious artists.
+
+The place and date of birth of Marie de France are unknown--indeed
+the very century in which she lived has been a matter of dispute. Her
+poems are written in the French of northern France; but that does not
+prove her necessarily to be a Frenchwoman. French was the tongue
+of the English Court, and many Englishmen have written in the same
+language. Indeed, it is a very excellent vehicle for expression.
+Occasionally, Marie would insert English words in her French text, the
+better to convey her meaning; but it does not follow therefrom that
+the romances were composed in England. It seems strange that so
+few positive indications of her race and home are given in her
+poems--nothing is contained beyond her Christian name and the bare
+statement that she was of France. She took great pride in her work,
+which she wrought to the best of her ability, and was extremely
+jealous of that bubble-reputation. Yet whilst this work was an
+excellent piece of self-portraiture, it reveals not one single fact
+or date on which to go. A consensus of critical opinion presumes that
+Marie was a subject of the English Crown, born in an ancient town
+called Pitre, some three miles above Rouen, in the Duchy of Normandy.
+This speculation is based largely on the unwonted topographical
+accuracy of her description of Pitre, given in "The Lay of the Two
+Lovers." Such evidence, perhaps, is insufficient to obtain a judgment
+in a Court of Law. The date when Marie lived was long a matter of
+dispute. The Prologue to her "Lays" contains a dedication to some
+unnamed King; whilst her "Fables" is dedicated to a certain Count
+William. These facts prove her to have been a person of position and
+repute. The King was long supposed to be Henry the Third of England,
+and this would suggest that she lived in the thirteenth century.
+An early scholar, the Abbé de La Rue, in fact, said that this was
+"undoubtedly" the case, giving cogent reasons in support of his
+contention. But modern scholarship, in the person of Gaston Paris,
+has decided that the King was Henry the Second, of pious memory; the
+Count, William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, his natural son by Fair
+Rosamund; and that Marie must be placed in the second half of the
+twelfth century. This shows that scholarship is not an exact science,
+and that such words as "doubtless" should not be employed more than
+necessary. A certain Eastern philosopher, when engaged in instructing
+the youth of his country, used always to conclude his lectures with
+the unvarying formula, "But, gentlemen, all that I have told you is
+probably wrong." This sage was a wise man (not always the same thing),
+and his example should be had in remembrance. It seems possible (and
+one hesitates to use a stronger word) that the "Lays" of Marie were
+actually written at the Court of Henry of England. From political
+ambition the King was married to Eleanor of Aquitaine, a lady of
+literary tastes, who came from a family in which the patronage of
+singers was a tradition. Her husband, too, had a pronounced liking for
+literature. He was fond of books, and once paid a visit to Glastonbury
+to visit King Arthur's tomb. These, perhaps, are limited virtues, but
+Henry the Second had need of every rag. It is somewhat difficult to
+recognise in that King of the Prologue, "in whose heart all gracious
+things are rooted," the actual King who murdered Becket; who turned
+over picture-books at Mass, and never confessed or communicated. It is
+yet more difficult to perceive "joy as his handmaid" who, because of
+the loss of a favourite city, threatened to revenge himself on God, by
+robbing Him of that thing--_i.e._, the soul--He desired most in him;
+and whose very last words were an echo of Job's curse upon the day
+that he was born. Marie's phrases may be regarded, perhaps, as a
+courtly flourish, rather than as conveying truth with mathematical
+precision. If not, we should be driven to suggest an alternative to
+the favourite simile of lying like an epitaph. But I think it unlikely
+that Marie suffered with a morbidly sensitive conscience. There is
+little enough real devotion to be met with in her "Lays"; and if
+her last book--a translation from the Latin of the Purgatory of St.
+Patrick--is on a subject she avoids in her earlier work, it was
+written under the influence of some high prelate, and may be regarded
+as a sign that she watched the shadows cast by the western sun
+lengthening on the grass.
+
+Gaston Paris suggests 1175 as an approximate date for the composition
+of the "Lays" of Marie de France. Their success was immediate and
+unequivocal, as indeed was to be expected in the case of a lady
+situated so fortunately at Court. We have proof of this in the
+testimony of Denis Pyramus, the author who wrote a Life of St. Edmund
+the King, early in the following century. He says, in that poem, "And
+also Dame Marie, who turned into rhyme and made verses of 'Lays' which
+are not in the least true. For these she is much praised, and her
+rhyme is loved everywhere; for counts, barons, and knights greatly
+admire it, and hold it dear. And they love her writing so much, and
+take such pleasure in it, that they have it read, and often copied.
+These Lays are wont to please ladies, who listen to them with delight,
+for they are after their own hearts." It is no wonder that the lords
+and ladies of her century were so enthralled by Marie's romances, for
+her success was thoroughly well deserved. Even after seven hundred
+years her colours remain surprisingly vivid, and if the tapestry is
+now a little worn and faded in places, we still follow with interest
+the movements of the figures wrought so graciously upon the arras. Of
+course her stories are not original; but was any plot original at
+any period of the earth's history? This is not only an old, but an
+iterative world. The source of Marie's inspiration is perfectly clear,
+for she states it emphatically in quite a number of her Lays. This
+adventure chanced in Brittany, and in remembrance thereof the Bretons
+made a Lay, which I heard sung by the minstrel to the music of his
+rote. Marie's part consisted in reshaping this ancient material in her
+own rhythmic and coloured words. Scholars tell us that the essence of
+her stories is of Celtic rather than of Breton origin. It may be so;
+though to the lay mind this is not a matter of great importance one
+way or the other; but it seems better to accept a person's definite
+statement until it is proved to be false. The Breton or Celtic
+imagination had peculiar qualities of dreaminess, and magic and
+mystery. Marie's mind was not cast in a precisely similar mould.
+Occasionally she is successful enough; but generally she gives the
+effect of building with a substance the significance of which she does
+not completely realise. She may be likened to a child playing with
+symbols which, in the hand of the enchanter, would be of tremendous
+import. Her treatment of Isoude, for example, in "The Lay of the
+Honeysuckle," is quite perfect in tone, and, indeed, is a little
+masterpiece in its own fashion. But her sketch of Guenevere in "The
+Lay of Sir Launfal" is of a character that one does not recall with
+pleasure. To see how Arthur's Queen might be treated, we have but
+to turn to the pages of a contemporary, and learn from Chrestien de
+Troyes' "Knight of the Cart," how an even more considerable poet
+than Marie could deal with a Celtic legend. The fact is that Marie's
+romances derive farther back than any Breton or Celtic dream. They
+were so old that they had blown like thistledown about the four
+quarters of the world. Her princesses came really neither from Wales
+nor Brittany. They were of that stuff from which romance is shaped.
+"Her face was bright as the day of union; her hair dark as the night
+of separation; and her mouth was magical as Solomon's seal." You can
+parallel her "Lays" from folklore, from classical story and antiquity.
+Father and son fight together unwittingly in "The Lay of Milon";
+but Rustum had striven with Sohrab long before in far Persia, and
+Cuchulain with his child in Ireland. Such stories are common property.
+The writer takes his own where he finds it. Marie is none the less
+admirable because her stories were narrated by the first man in Eden;
+neither are Boccaccio and the Countess D'Aulnoy blameworthy since they
+told again what she already had related so well. Marie, indeed, was an
+admirable narrator. That was one of her shining virtues. As a piece of
+artful tale telling, a specimen of the craft of keeping a situation in
+suspense, the arrival of the lady before Arthur's Court, in "The Lay
+of Sir Launfal," requires a deal of beating. The justness and fineness
+of her sentiment in all that concerns the delicacies of the human
+heart are also remarkable. But her true business was that of the
+storyteller. In that trade she was almost unapproachable in her day.
+There may have been--indeed, there was--a more considerable poet
+living; but a more excellent writer of romances, than the author of
+"Eliduc," it would have been difficult to find.
+
+The ladies who found the "Lays" of Marie after their own hearts
+were not only admirers of beautiful stories; they had the delicate
+privilege also of admiring themselves in their habit as they
+lived--perhaps even lovelier than in reality--amidst their accustomed
+surroundings. The pleasure of a modern reader in such tales as these
+is enhanced by the light they throw on the household arrangements and
+customs of the gentlefolk of the twelfth and thirteenth centuries. It
+may be of interest to consider some of these domestic arrangements, as
+illustrated by stories included in the present volume.
+
+The corporate life of a mediaeval household centered in the hall. It
+was office and dining and billiard room, and was common to gentle and
+simple alike. The hall was by far the largest room in the house. It
+was lighted by windows, and warmed by an open fire of logs. The smoke
+drifted about the roof, escaping finally by the simple means of a
+lantern placed immediately above the hearth. A beaten floor was
+covered by rushes and fresh hay, or with rugs in that part affected by
+the more important members of the household. The lord himself and his
+wife sat in chairs upon a raised daïs. The retainers were seated
+on benches around the wall, and before them was spread the dining
+table--a mere board upon trestles--which was removed when once the
+meal was done. After supper, chess and draughts were played, or (as
+we may see in "The Lay of the Thorn") minstrels sang ballads and the
+guest contributed to the general entertainment by the recital of such
+jests and adventures as commended themselves to his taste. If the hall
+may be considered as the dining room of the mediaeval home, the garden
+might almost be looked upon as the drawing room. You would probably
+get more real privacy in the garden than in any other part of the
+crowded castle, including the lady's chamber. It is no wonder that
+we read of Guenevere taking Launfal aside for a little private
+conversation in her pleasaunce. It was not only the most private,
+but also the most delightful room in the house--ceiled with blue and
+carpeted with green. The garden was laid out elaborately with a perron
+and many raised seats. Trees stood about the lawn in tubs, and there
+was generally a fountain playing in the centre, or possibly a pond,
+stocked with fish. Fruit trees and flower beds grew thickly about the
+garden, and a pleasanter place of perfume and colour and shade it
+would be difficult to imagine in the summer heat. The third room of
+which we hear continually in these romances is the lady's chamber. It
+served the purpose of a boudoir as well as that of a sleeping room,
+and consequently had little real privacy. It contained the marriage
+chest with its store of linen, and also the bed. This bed recurs
+eternally in mediæval tales. It was used as a seat during the day, and
+as a resting-place of nights. It was a magnificent erection, carved
+and gilded, and inlaid with ivory. Upon it was placed a mattress of
+feathers, and a soft pillow. The sheets were of linen or silk, and
+over all was spread a coverlet of some precious material. An excellent
+description of such a couch is given in "The Lay of Gugemar." This
+chamber served also as a bath room, and there the bath was taken,
+piping hot, in the strange vessel, fashioned somewhat like a churn,
+that we see in pictures of the Middle Ages.
+
+Of the dress of the ladies who moved about the castle, seeing
+themselves reflected from Marie's pages as in a polished mirror, I
+am not competent to speak. The type of beauty preferred by the old
+romancers was that of a child's princess of fairy tale--blue-eyed,
+golden-haired, and ruddy of cheek. The lady would wear a shift of
+linen, "white as meadow flower." Over this was worn a garment of fur
+or silk, according to the season; and, above all, a vividly coloured
+gown, all in one line from neck to feet, shapen closely to the figure,
+or else the more loosely fitting bliaut. Her girdle clipped her
+closely about the waist, falling to the hem of her skirt, and her feet
+were shod in soundless shoes, without heels. The hair was arranged in
+two long braids, brought forward over her shoulders; as worn by those
+smiling Queens wrought upon the western porch of Chartres Cathedral.
+Out of doors, and, indeed, frequently within, as may be proved by a
+reference to "The Lay of the Ash Tree," the lady was clad in a mantle
+and a hood. It must have taken a great deal of time and travail to
+appear so dainty a production. But to become poetry for others, it is
+necessary for a woman first to be prose to herself.
+
+I am afraid the raw material of this radiant divinity had much to
+endure before she suffered her sea change. In mediaeval illustrations
+we see the maiden sitting demurely in company, with downcast eyes, and
+hands folded modestly in her lap. This unnatural restraint was induced
+by the lavish compulsion of the rod. If there was one text, above all
+others, approved and acted upon by fathers and mothers of the Middle
+Ages, it was that exhorting parents not to cocker their child, neither
+to wink at his follies, but to beat him on the sides with a stick.
+Turn to "The Lay of the Thorn," and mark the gusto with which a mother
+disciplines her maid. Parents trained their children with blows.
+Husbands (ah, the audacity of the mediaeval husband) scattered the
+like seeds of kindness on their wives. In a book written for the
+edification of his unmarried daughters, Chaucer's contemporary, the
+Knight of La Tour Landry, tells the following interesting anecdote.
+A man had a scolding wife, who railed ungovernably upon him before
+strangers, "and he that was angry of her governance smote her with his
+first down to the earth; and then with his foot he struck her on the
+visage, and broke her nose; and all her life after that she had her
+nose crooked, the which shent and disfigured her visage after, that
+she might not for shame show her visage, it was so foul blemished. And
+this she had for her evil and great language that she was wont to say
+to her husband. And therefore the wife ought to suffer, and let the
+husband have the words, and to be master." May I give yet another
+illustration before we pass from the subject. This time it is taken
+not from a French knight, but from a sermon of the great Italian
+preacher, St. Bernardino of Siena. "There are men who can bear more
+patiently with a hen that lays a fresh egg every day than with their
+own wives; and sometimes when the hen breaks a pipkin or a cup he
+will spare it a beating, simply for love of the fresh egg which he
+is unwilling to lose. Oh, raving madmen! who cannot bear a word from
+their own wives, though they bear them such fair fruit; but when the
+woman speaks a word more than they like, then they catch up a stick,
+and begin to cudgel her; while the hen that cackles all day, and gives
+you no rest, you take patience with her for the sake of her miserable
+egg--and sometimes she will break more in your house than she herself
+is worth, yet you bear it in patience for the egg's sake. Many
+fidgetty fellows, who sometimes see their wives turn out less neat and
+dainty than they would like, smite them forthwith; and meanwhile the
+hen may make a mess on the table, and you suffer her. Have patience;
+it is not right to beat your wife for every cause, no!"
+
+At the commencement of this Introduction I stated that Marie's
+romances are concerned mainly with love. Her talent was not very
+wide nor rich, and I have no doubt that there were facets of her
+personality which she was unable to get upon paper. The prettiest
+girl in the world can only give what she has to give. By the time any
+reader reaches the end of this volume he will be assured that the
+stories are stories of love. Probably he will have noticed also that,
+in many cases, the lady who inspires the most delicate of sentiments
+is, incidentally, a married woman. He may ask why this was so; and in
+answer I propose to conclude my paper with a few observations upon the
+subject of mediaeval love.
+
+I doubt in my own mind whether romance writers do not exaggerate what
+was certainly a characteristic of the Middle Ages. To be ordinary
+is to be uninteresting; and it is obvious that the stranger the
+experience, the more likely is it to attract the interest and
+attention of the hearer. Blessed is the person--as well as the
+country--who has no history. But it was really very difficult for
+the twelfth century poet to write a love story, with a maiden as the
+central figure. The noble maiden seldom had a love story. It is
+true enough that she was sometimes referred to in the choice of her
+husband: two young ladies in "A Story of Beyond the Sea" are both
+consulted in the matter. As a rule, however, her inclination was not
+permitted to stand in the way of the interests of her parents or
+guardians. She was betrothed in childhood, and married very young, for
+mercenary or political reasons, to a husband much older than herself.
+We read of a girl of twelve being married to a man of fifty. There was
+no great opportunity for a love story here; and the strange entreaty,
+on the part of the nameless French poet, to love the maidens for the
+sake of Christ's love, passed over the heads of the romance writers.
+Not that the mediæval maidens showed any shrinking from matrimony.
+"Fair daughter, I have given you a husband." "Blessed be God," said
+the damsel. There spoke a contented spirit. Things have changed, and
+we can but sigh after the good old times.
+
+But the maiden inevitably became the wife, and the whirligig of Time
+brought in his revenges. The lady now found herself the most important
+member of her sex, in a dwelling filled with men. She had few women
+about her person, and the confidant of a great dame in old romance is,
+frequently enough, her chamberlain. These young men had no chance of
+marriage, and naturally strove to gain the attention of a lady, whose
+favour was to them so important a matter. A mediæval knight was the
+sworn champion of God and the ladies--but more especially the latter.
+The chatelaine, herself, found time hang heavily on her hands.
+Amusements were few; books limited in number; a husband not of
+absorbing interest; so she turned to such distractions as presented
+themselves. The prettier a lady, the sweeter the incense and flattery
+swung beneath her nose; for this was one of the disadvantages of
+marrying an attractive woman. "It is hard to keep a wife whom everyone
+admires; and if no one admires her it is hard to have to live with her
+yourself." One of these distractions took the shape of Courts of Love,
+where the bored but literary chatelaine discussed delicate problems of
+conduct pertaining to the heart. The minstrel about the lady's castle,
+for his part, sought her favourable notice not only by his songs but
+also by giving an object lesson of his melancholy condition. One would
+imagine that his proceedings were not always calculated to further
+their purpose. A famous singer, for instance, in honour of a lady who
+was named Lupa, caused himself to be sewn in a wolf's skin, and ran
+before the hounds till he was pulled down, half dead. Another great
+minstrel and lover bought a leper's gown and bowl and clapper from
+some afflicted wretch. He mutilated his forefinger, and sat before his
+lady's door, in the company of a piteous crowd of sick and maimed, to
+await her alms. No doubt he trusted that his devotion would procure
+him a different kind of charity. From such discussions as these, and
+from conduct such as this, a type of love came into being which was
+peculiar to the period. Since the lovers were not bound in the sweet
+and common union of children and home, since on the side of the lady
+all was of grace and nought of debt, they searched out other bands to
+unite them together. These they found in a system of devotion, silence
+and faithfulness, which added a dignity to their relations. These
+virtues they took so seriously that we find the Chatelaine of Vergi
+dying because she believed her lover to have betrayed her trust. The
+mediaeval romancer contemplated such unions with joy and pity; but
+for all their virtues we must not deceive ourselves with words. Such
+honour was rooted in dishonour, and the measure of their guilt was
+that they debased the moral currency. Presently the greatest of all
+the poets of the Middle Ages would arise, to teach a different fashion
+of devotion. His was a love that sought no communion with its object,
+neither speech nor embrace. It was sufficient for Dante to contemplate
+Beatrice from afar, as one might kneel before the picture of a saint.
+I do not say that a love like this--so spiritual and so aloof--will
+ever be possible to men. It did not suffice even to Dante, for all
+his tremendous moral muscle. Human love must always and inevitably be
+founded on a physical basis. But the burning drop of idealism that
+Dante contributed to the passion of the Middle Ages has made possible
+the love of which we now and again catch a glimpse in the union of
+select natures. And that the seed of such flowering may be carried
+about the world is one of the fairest hopes and possibilities of the
+human race.
+
+EUGENE MASON.
+
+The originals of these narratives are to be found in Roquefort's
+edition of the Poésies de Marie de France; in a volume of the
+Nouvelles Françoises en Prose, edited by Moland and D'Héricault; and
+in M. Gaston Raynaud's text of La Chatelaine de Vergi.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+INTRODUCTION
+
+I. PROLOGUE BY WAY OF DEDICATION
+
+II. THE LAY OF GUGEMAR
+
+III. THE LAY OF THE DOLOROUS KNIGHT
+
+IV. THE LAY OF ELIDUC
+
+V. THE LAY OF THE NIGHTINGALE
+
+VI. THE LAY OF SIR LAUNFAL
+
+VII. THE LAY OF THE TWO LOVERS
+
+VIII. THE LAY OF THE WERE-WOLF
+
+IX. THE LAY OF THE ASH TREE
+
+X. THE LAY OF THE HONEYSUCKLE
+
+XI. THE LAY OF EQUITAN
+
+XII. THE LAY OF MILON
+
+XIII. THE LAY OF YONEC
+
+XIV. THE LAY OF THE THORN
+
+XV. THE LAY OF GRAELENT
+
+XVI. A STORY OF BEYOND THE SEA
+
+XVII. THE CHATELAINE OF VERGI
+
+
+
+
+
+I
+
+
+PROLOGUE
+
+BY WAY OF DEDICATION
+
+Those to whom God has given the gift of comely speech, should not hide
+their light beneath a bushel, but should willingly show it abroad. If
+a great truth is proclaimed in the ears of men, it brings forth fruit
+a hundred-fold; but when the sweetness of the telling is praised of
+many, flowers mingle with the fruit upon the branch.
+
+According to the witness of Priscian, it was the custom of ancient
+writers to express obscurely some portions of their books, so that
+those who came after might study with greater diligence to find the
+thought within their words. The philosophers knew this well, and were
+the more unwearied in labour, the more subtle in distinctions, so that
+the truth might make them free. They were persuaded that he who would
+keep himself unspotted from the world should search for knowledge,
+that he might understand. To set evil from me, and to put away my
+grief, I purposed to commence a book. I considered within myself
+what fair story in the Latin or Romance I could turn into the common
+tongue. But I found that all the stories had been written, and
+scarcely it seemed the worth my doing, what so many had already done.
+Then I called to mind those Lays I had so often heard. I doubted
+nothing--for well I know--that our fathers fashioned them, that men
+should bear in remembrance the deeds of those who have gone before.
+Many a one, on many a day, the minstrel has chanted to my ear. I would
+not that they should perish, forgotten, by the roadside. In my turn,
+therefore, I have made of them a song, rhymed as well as I am able,
+and often has their shaping kept me sleepless in my bed.
+
+In your honour, most noble and courteous King, to whom joy is a
+handmaid, and in whose heart all gracious things are rooted, I have
+brought together these Lays, and told my tales in seemly rhyme. Ere
+they speak for me, let me speak with my own mouth, and say, "Sire, I
+offer you these verses. If you are pleased to receive them, the fairer
+happiness will be mine, and the more lightly I shall go all the days
+of my life. Do not deem that I think more highly of myself than I
+ought to think, since I presume to proffer this, my gift." Hearken now
+to the commencement of the matter.
+
+
+
+
+II
+
+
+THE LAY OF GUGEMAR
+
+Hearken, oh gentles, to the words of Marie. When the minstrel tells
+his tale, let the folk about the fire heed him willingly. For his part
+the singer must be wary not to spoil good music with unseemly words.
+Listen, oh lordlings, to the words of Marie, for she pains herself
+grievously not to forget this thing. The craft is hard--then approve
+the more sweetly him who carols the tune. But this is the way of the
+world, that when a man or woman sings more tunably than his fellows,
+those about the fire fall upon him, pell-mell, for reason of their
+envy. They rehearse diligently the faults of his song, and steal away
+his praise with evil words. I will brand these folk as they deserve.
+They, and such as they, are like mad dogs--cowardly and felon--who
+traitorously bring to death men better than themselves. Now let the
+japer, and the smiler with his knife, do me what harm they may. Verily
+they are in their right to speak ill of me.
+
+Hearken, oh gentles, to the tale I set before you, for thereof the
+Bretons already have made a Lay. I will not do it harm by many words,
+and here is the commencement of the matter. According to text and
+scripture, now I relate a certain adventure, which bechanced in the
+realm of Brittany, in days long gone before.
+
+In that time when Arthur maintained his realm, the now in peace, the
+now in war, the King counted amongst his vassals a certain baron,
+named Oridial. This knight was lord of Leon, and was very near to his
+prince's heart, both in council chamber and in field. From his wife he
+had gotten two children, the one a son and the other a fair daughter.
+Nogent, he had called the damsel at the font, and the dansellon was
+named Gugemar--no goodlier might be found in any realm. His mother had
+set all her love upon the lad, and his father shewed him every good
+that he was able. When the varlet was no more a child, Oridial sent
+him to the King, to be trained as a page in the courtesies of the
+Court. Right serviceable was he in his station, and meetly praised
+of all. The term of his service having come, and he being found of
+fitting years and knowledge, the King made him knight with his own
+hand, and armed him in rich harness, according to his wish. So Gugemar
+gave gifts to all those about his person, and bidding farewell, took
+leave, and departed from the Court. Gugemar went his way to Flanders,
+being desirous of advancement, for in that kingdom ever they have
+strife and war. Neither in Loraine nor Burgundy, Anjou nor Gascony,
+might be found in that day a better knight than he, no, nor one his
+peer. He had but one fault, since of love he took no care. There was
+neither dame nor maiden beneath the sky, however dainty and kind, to
+whom he gave thought or heed, though had he required her love of any
+damsel, very willingly would she have granted his desire. Many there
+were who prayed him for his love, but might have no kiss in return. So
+seeing that he refrained his heart in this fashion, men deemed him a
+strange man, and one fallen into a perilous case.
+
+In the flower of his deeds the good knight returned to his own land,
+that he might see again his father and lord, his mother and his
+sister, even as he very tenderly desired. He lodged with them for the
+space of a long month, and at the end of that time had envy to hunt
+within the wood. The night being come, Gugemar summoned his prickers
+and his squires, and early in the morning rode within the forest.
+Great pleasure had Gugemar in the woodland, and much he delighted in
+the chase. A tall stag was presently started, and the hounds being
+uncoupled, all hastened in pursuit--the huntsmen before, and the good
+knight following after, winding upon his horn. Gugemar rode at a great
+pace after the quarry, a varlet riding beside, bearing his bow, his
+arrows and his spear. He followed so hotly that he over-passed the
+chase. Gazing about him he marked, within a thicket, a doe hiding with
+her fawn. Very white and wonderful was this beast, for she was without
+spot, and bore antlers upon her head. The hounds bayed about her, but
+might not pull her down. Gugemar bent his bow, and loosed a shaft
+at the quarry. He wounded the deer a little above the hoof, so that
+presently she fell upon her side. But the arrow glanced away, and
+returning upon itself, struck Gugemar in the thigh, so grievously,
+that straightway he fell from his horse upon the ground. Gugemar lay
+upon the grass, beside the deer which he had wounded to his hurt. He
+heard her sighs and groans, and perceived the bitterness of her pity.
+Then with mortal speech the doe spake to the wounded man in such
+fashion as this, "Alas, my sorrow, for now am I slain. But thou,
+Vassal, who hast done me this great wrong, do not think to hide from
+the vengeance of thy destiny. Never may surgeon and his medicine heal
+your hurt. Neither herb nor root nor potion can ever cure the wound
+within your flesh: For that there is no healing. The only balm to
+close that sore must be brought by a woman, who for her love will
+suffer such pain and sorrow as no woman in the world has endured
+before. And to the dolorous lady, dolorous knight. For your part you
+shall do and suffer so great things for her, that not a lover beneath
+the sun, or lovers who are dead, or lovers who yet shall have their
+day, but shall marvel at the tale. Now, go from hence, and let me die
+in peace."
+
+Gugemar was wounded twice over--by the arrow, and by the words he was
+dismayed to hear. He considered within himself to what land he must go
+to find this healing for his hurt, for he was yet too young to die. He
+saw clearly, and told it to his heart, that there was no lady in his
+life to whom he could run for pity, and be made whole of his wound. He
+called his varlet before him,
+
+"Friend," said he, "go forthwith, and bring my comrades to this place,
+for I have to speak with them."
+
+The varlet went upon his errand, leaving his master sick with the heat
+and fever of his hurt. When he was gone, Gugemar tore the hem from his
+shirt, and bound it straitly about his wound. He climbed painfully
+upon the saddle, and departed without more ado, for he was with child
+to be gone before any could come to stay him from his purpose. A green
+path led through the deep forest to the plain, and his way across the
+plain brought him to a cliff, exceeding high, and to the sea. Gugemar
+looked upon the water, which was very still, for this fair harbourage
+was land-locked from the main. Upon this harbour lay one only vessel,
+bearing a rich pavilion of silk, daintily furnished both without and
+within, and well it seemed to Gugemar that he had seen this ship
+before. Beneath the sky was no ship so rich or precious, for there was
+not a sail but was spun of silk, and not a plank, from keel to mast,
+but showed of ebony. Too fair was the nave for mortal man, and Gugemar
+held it in sore displeasure. He marvelled greatly from what country it
+had come, and wondered long concerning this harbour, and the ship that
+lay therein. Gugemar got him down from his horse upon the shore, and
+with mighty pain and labour climbed within the ship. He trusted to
+find merchantmen and sailors therein, but there was none to guard, and
+none he saw. Now within the pavilion was a very rich bed, carved by
+cunning workmen in the days of King Solomon. This fair bed was wrought
+of cypress wood and white ivory, adorned with gold and gems most
+precious. Right sweet were the linen cloths upon the bed, and so soft
+the pillow, that he who lay thereon would sleep, were he sadder than
+any other in the world. The counterpane was of purple from the vats
+of Alexandria, and over all was set a right fair coverlet of cloth of
+gold. The pavilion was litten by two great waxen torches, placed in
+candlesticks of fine gold, decked with jewels worth a lord's ransom.
+So the wounded knight looked on ship and pavilion, bed and candle, and
+marvelled greatly. Gugemar sat him down upon the bed for a little,
+because of the anguish of his wound. After he had rested a space he
+got upon his feet, that he might quit the vessel, but he found that
+for him there was no return. A gentle wind had filled the sails, and
+already he was in the open sea. When Gugemar saw that he was far from
+land, he was very heavy and sorrowful. He knew not what to do, by
+reason of the mightiness of his hurt. But he must endure the adventure
+as best he was able; so he prayed to God to take him in His keeping,
+and in His good pleasure to bring him safe to port, and deliver him
+from the peril of death. Then climbing upon the couch, he laid his
+head upon the pillow, and slept as one dead, until, with vespers, the
+ship drew to that haven where he might find the healing for his hurt.
+
+Gugemar had come to an ancient city, where the King of that realm held
+his court and state. This King was full of years, and was wedded to
+a dame of high degree. The lady was of tender age, passing fresh and
+fair, and sweet of speech to all. Therefore was the King jealous of
+his wife beyond all measure. Such is the wont of age, for much it
+fears that old and young cannot mate together, and that youth will
+turn to youth. This is the death in life of the old.
+
+The castle of this ancient lord had a mighty keep. Beneath this tower
+was a right fair orchard, together with a close, shut in by a wall of
+green marble, very strong and high. This wall had one only gate, and
+the door was watched of warders, both night and day. On the other side
+of this garden was the sea, so that none might do his errand in the
+castle therefrom, save in a boat. To hold his dame in the greater
+surety, the King had built a bower within the wall; there was no
+fairer chamber beneath the sun. The first room was the Queen's chapel.
+Beyond this was the lady's bedchamber, painted all over with shapes
+and colours most wonderful to behold. On one wall might be seen Dame
+Venus, the goddess of Love, sweetly flushed as when she walked the
+water, lovely as life, teaching men how they should bear them in loyal
+service to their lady. On another wall, the goddess threw Ovid's book
+within a fire of coals. A scroll issuing from her lips proclaimed that
+those who read therein, and strove to ease them of their pains, would
+find from her neither service nor favour. In this chamber the lady was
+put in ward, and with her a certain maiden to hold her company. This
+damsel was her niece, since she was her sister's child, and there was
+great love betwixt the twain. When the Queen walked within the garden,
+or went abroad, this maiden was ever by her side, and came again with
+her to the house. Save this damsel, neither man nor woman entered in
+the bower, nor issued forth from out the wall. One only man possessed
+the key of the postern, an aged priest, very white and frail. This
+priest recited the service of God within the chapel, and served the
+Queen's plate and cup when she ate meat at table.
+
+Now, on a day, the Queen had fallen asleep after meat, and on her
+awaking would walk a little in the garden. She called her companion to
+her, and the two went forth to be glad amongst the flowers. As they
+looked across the sea they marked a ship drawing near the land, rising
+and falling upon the waves. Very fearful was the Queen thereat, for
+the vessel came to anchorage, though there was no helmsman to direct
+her course. The dame's face became sanguine for dread, and she turned
+her about to flee, because of her exceeding fear. Her maiden, who was
+of more courage than she, stayed her mistress with many comforting
+words. For her part she was very desirous to know what this thing
+meant. She hastened to the shore, and laying aside her mantle, climbed
+within this wondrous vessel. Thereon she found no living soul, save
+only the knight sleeping fast within the pavilion. The damsel looked
+long upon the knight, for pale he was as wax, and well she deemed
+him dead. She returned forthwith to the Queen, and told her of this
+marvel, and of the good knight who was slain.
+
+"Let us go together on the ship," replied the lady. "If he be dead we
+may give him fitting burial, and the priest shall pray meetly for his
+soul. Should he be yet alive perchance he will speak, and tell us of
+his case."
+
+Without more tarrying the two damsels mounted on the ship, the lady
+before, and her maiden following after. When the Queen entered in the
+pavilion she stayed her feet before the bed, for joy and grief of what
+she saw. She might not refrain her eyes from gazing on the knight,
+for her heart was ravished with his beauty, and she sorrowed beyond
+measure, because of his grievous hurt. To herself she said, "In a bad
+hour cometh the goodly youth." She drew near the bed, and placing her
+hand upon his breast, found that the flesh was warm, and that the
+heart beat strongly in his side. Gugemar awoke at the touch, and
+saluted the dame as sweetly as he was able, for well he knew that he
+had come to a Christian land. The lady, full of thought, returned him
+his salutation right courteously, though the tears were yet in her
+eyes. Straightway she asked of him from what realm he came, and of
+what people, and in what war he had taken his hurt.
+
+"Lady," answered Gugemar, "in no battle I received this wound. If it
+pleases you to hear my tale I will tell you the truth, and in nothing
+will I lie. I am a knight of Little Brittany. Yesterday I chased a
+wonderful white deer within the forest. The shaft with which I struck
+her to my hurt, returned again on me, and caused this wound upon my
+thigh, which may never be searched, nor made whole. For this wondrous
+Beast raised her plaint in a mortal tongue. She cursed me loudly, with
+many evil words, swearing that never might this sore be healed, save
+by one only damsel in the world, and her I know not where to find.
+When I heard my luckless fate I left the wood with what speed I might,
+and coming to a harbour, not far from thence, I lighted on this ship.
+For my sins I climbed therein. Then without oars or helm this boat
+ravished me from shore; so that I know not where I have come, nor what
+is the name of this city. Fair lady, for God's love, counsel me of
+your good grace, for I know not where to turn, nor how to govern the
+ship."
+
+The lady made answer, "Fair sir, willingly shall I give you such good
+counsel as I may. This realm and city are the appanage of my husband.
+He is a right rich lord, of high lineage, but old and very full of
+years. Also he is jealous beyond all measure; therefore it is that I
+see you now. By reason of his jealousy he has shut me fast between
+high walls, entered by one narrow door, with an ancient priest to keep
+the key. May God requite him for his deed. Night and day I am guarded
+in this prison, from whence I may never go forth, without the
+knowledge of my lord. Here are my chamber and my chapel, and here I
+live, with this, my maiden, to bear me company. If it pleases you to
+dwell here for a little, till you may pass upon your way, right gladly
+we shall receive you, and with a good heart we will tend your wound,
+till you are healed."
+
+When Gugemar heard this speech he rejoiced greatly. He thanked the
+lady with many sweet words, and consented to sojourn in her hall
+awhile. He raised himself upon his couch, and by the courtesy of the
+damsels left the ship. Leaning heavily upon the lady, at the end he
+won to her maiden's chamber, where there was a fair bed covered with a
+rich dossal of broidered silk, edged with fur. When he was entered in
+this bed, the damsels came bearing clear water in basins of gold, for
+the cleansing of his hurt. They stanched the blood with a towel of
+fine linen, and bound the wound strictly, to his exceeding comfort. So
+after the vesper meal was eaten, the lady departed to her own chamber,
+leaving the knight in much ease and content.
+
+Now Gugemar set his love so fondly upon the lady that he forgot his
+father's house. He thought no more of the anguish of his hurt, because
+of another wound that was beneath his breast. He tossed and sighed in
+his unrest, and prayed the maiden of his service to depart, so that
+he might sleep a little. When the maid was gone, Gugemar considered
+within himself whether he might seek the dame, to know whether her
+heart was warmed by any ember of the flame that burned in his. He
+turned it this way and that, and knew not what to do. This only was
+clear, that if the lady refused to search his wound, death, for him,
+was sure and speedy.
+
+"Alas," said he, "what shall I do! Shall I go to my lady, and pray her
+pity on the wretch who has none to give him counsel? If she refuse
+my prayer, because of her hardness and pride, I shall know there is
+nought for me but to die in my sorrow, or, at least, to go heavily all
+the days of my life."
+
+Then he sighed, and in his sighing lighted on a better purpose; for he
+said within himself that doubtless he was born to suffer, and that
+the best of him was tears. All the long night he spent in vigil and
+groanings and watchfulness. To himself he told over her words and her
+semblance. He remembered the eyes and the fair mouth of his lady, and
+all the grace and the sweetness, which had struck like a knife at his
+heart. Between his teeth he cried on her for pity, and for a little
+more would have called her to his side. Ah, had he but known the fever
+of the lady, and how terrible a lord to her was Love, how great had
+been his joy and solace. His visage would have been the more sanguine,
+which was now so pale of colour, because of the dolour that was his.
+But if the knight was sick by reason of his love, the dame had small
+cause to boast herself of health. The lady rose early from her bed,
+since she might not sleep. She complained of her unrest, and of Love
+who rode her so hardly. The maiden, who was of her company, saw
+clearly enough that all her lady's thoughts were set upon the knight,
+who, for his healing, sojourned in the chamber. She did not know
+whether his thoughts were given again to the dame. When, therefore,
+the lady had entered in the chapel, the damsel went straightway to the
+knight. He welcomed her gladly, and bade her be seated near the bed.
+Then he inquired, "Friend, where now is my lady, and why did she rise
+so early from her bed?"
+
+Having spoken so far, he became silent, and sighed.
+
+"Sir," replied the maiden softly, "you love, and are discreet, but be
+not too discreet therein. In such a love as yours there is nothing to
+be ashamed. He who may win my lady's favour has every reason to be
+proud of his fortune. Altogether seemly would be your friendship, for
+you are young, and she is fair."
+
+The knight made answer to the maiden, "I am so fast in the snare, that
+I pray the fowler to slay me, if she may not free me from the net.
+Counsel me, fair sweet friend, if I may hope of kindness at her hand."
+
+Then the maiden of her sweetness comforted the knight, and assured him
+of all the good that she was able. So courteous and debonair was the
+maid.
+
+When the lady had heard Mass, she hastened back to the chamber. She
+had not forgotten her friend, and greatly she desired to know whether
+he was awake or asleep, of whom her heart was fain. She bade her
+maiden to summon him to her chamber, for she had a certain thing in
+her heart to show him at leisure, were it for the joy or the sorrow of
+their days.
+
+Gugemar saluted the lady, and the dame returned the knight his
+courtesy, but their hearts were too fearful for speech. The knight
+dared ask nothing of his lady, for reason that he was a stranger in a
+strange land, and was adread to show her his love. But--as says the
+proverb--he who will not tell of his sore, may not hope for balm to
+his hurt. Love is a privy wound within the heart, and none knoweth of
+that bitterness but the heart alone. Love is an evil which may last
+for a whole life long, because of man and his constant heart. Many
+there be who make of Love a gibe and a jest, and with specious words
+defame him by boastful tales. But theirs is not love. Rather it is
+folly and lightness, and the tune of a merry song. But let him who
+has found a constant lover prize her above rubies, and serve her with
+loyal service, being altogether at her will. Gugemar loved in this
+fashion, and therefore Love came swiftly to his aid. Love put words in
+his mouth, and courage in his heart, so that his hope might be made
+plain.
+
+"Lady," said he, "I die for your love. I am in fever because of my
+wound, and if you care not to heal my hurt I would rather die. Fair
+friend, I pray you for grace. Do not gainsay me with evil words."
+
+The lady hearkened with a smile to Gugemar's speech. Right daintily
+and sweetly she replied, "Friend, yea is not a word of two letters. I
+do not grant such a prayer every day of the week, and must you have
+your gift so quickly?"
+
+"Lady," cried he, "for God's sake pity me, and take it not amiss. She,
+who loves lightly, may make her lover pray for long, so that she may
+hide how often her feet have trodden the pathway with another friend.
+But the honest dame, when she has once given her heart to a friend,
+will not deny his wish because of pride. The rather she will find her
+pride in humbleness, and love him again with the same love he has
+set on her. So they will be glad together, and since none will have
+knowledge or hearing of the matter, they will rejoice in their youth.
+Fair, sweet lady, be this thy pleasure?"
+
+When the lady heard these words well she found them honest and true.
+Therefore without further prayings and ado she granted Gugemar her
+love and her kiss. Henceforward Gugemar lived greatly at his ease, for
+he had sight and speech of his friend, and many a time she granted him
+her embrace and tenderness, as is the wont of lovers when alone.
+
+For a year and a half Gugemar dwelt with his lady, in solace and great
+delight. Then Fortune turned her wheel, and in a trice cast those
+down, whose seat had been so high. Thus it chanced to them, for they
+were spied upon and seen.
+
+On a morning in summer time the Queen and the damoiseau sat fondly
+together. The knight embraced her, eyes and face, but the lady stayed
+him, saying, "Fair sweet friend, my heart tells me that I shall lose
+you soon, for this hidden thing will quickly be made clear. If you are
+slain, may the same sword kill me. But if you win forth, well I know
+that you will find another love, and that I shall be left alone with
+my thoughts. Were I parted from you, may God give me neither joy, nor
+rest, nor peace, if I would seek another friend. Of that you need have
+no fear. Friend, for surety and comfort of my heart deliver me now
+some sark of thine. Therein I will set a knot, and make this covenant
+with you, that never will you put your love on dame or maiden, save
+only on her who shall first unfasten this knot. Then you will ever
+keep faith with me, for so cunning shall be my craft, that no woman
+may hope to unravel that coil, either by force or guile, or even with
+her knife."
+
+So the knight rendered the sark to his lady, and made such bargain as
+she wished, for the peace and assurance of her mind.
+
+For his part the knight took a fair girdle, and girt it closely about
+the lady's middle. Right secret was the clasp and buckle of this
+girdle. Therefore he required of the dame that she would never grant
+her love, save to him only, who might free her from the strictness of
+this bond, without injury to band or clasp. Then they kissed together,
+and entered into such covenant as you have heard.
+
+That very day their hidden love was made plain to men. A certain
+chamberlain was sent by that ancient lord with a message to the Queen.
+This unlucky wretch, finding that in no wise could he enter within the
+chamber, looked through the window, and saw. Forthwith he hastened
+to the King, and told him that which he had seen. When the agèd lord
+understood these words, never was there a sadder man than he. He
+called together the most trusty sergeants of his guard, and coming
+with them to the Queen's chamber, bade them to thrust in the door.
+When Gugemar was found therein, the King commanded that he should be
+slain with the sword, by reason of the anguish that was his. Gugemar
+was in no whit dismayed by the threat. He started to his feet, and
+gazing round, marked a stout rod of fir, on which it is the use for
+linen to be hung. This he took in hand, and faced his foes, bidding
+them have a care, for he would do a mischief to them all. The King
+looked earnestly upon the fearless knight, inquiring of him who he
+was, and where he was born, and in what manner he came to dwell within
+his house. So Gugemar told over to him this story of his fate. He
+showed him of the Beast that he had wounded to his hurt; of the nave,
+and of his bitter wound; of how he came within the realm, and of the
+lady's surgery. He told all to the ancient lord, to the last moment
+when he stood within his power. The King replied that he gave no
+credence to his word, nor believed that the story ran as he had said.
+If, however, the vessel might be found, he would commit the knight
+again to the waves. He would go the more heavily for the knight's
+saining, and a glad day would it be if he made shipwreck at sea. When
+they had entered into this covenant together, they went forth to the
+harbour, and there discovered the barge, even as Gugemar had said. So
+they set him thereon, and prayed him to return unto his own realm.
+
+Without sail or oar the ship parted from that coast, with no further
+tarrying. The knight wept and wrung his hands, complaining of his
+lady's loss, and of her cherishing. He prayed the mighty God to grant
+him speedy death, and never to bring him home, save to meet again
+with her who was more desirable than life. Whilst he was yet at his
+orisons, the ship drew again to that port, from whence she had first
+come. Gugemar made haste to get him from the vessel, so that he might
+the more swiftly return to his own land. He had gone but a little way
+when he was aware of a squire of his household, riding in the company
+of a certain knight. This squire held the bridle of a destrier in his
+hand, though no man rode thereon. Gugemar called to him by name, so
+that the varlet looking upon him, knew again his lord. He got him to
+his feet, and bringing the destrier to his master, set the knight
+thereon. Great was the joy, and merry was the feast, when Gugemar
+returned to his own realm. But though his friends did all that they
+were able, neither song nor game could cheer the knight, nor turn him
+from dwelling in his unhappy thoughts. For peace of mind they urged
+that he took to himself a wife, but Gugemar would have none of their
+counsel. Never would he wed a wife, on any day, either for love or for
+wealth, save only that she might first unloose the knot within his
+shirt. When this news was noised about the country, there was neither
+dame nor damsel in the realm of Brittany, but essayed to unfasten the
+knot. But there was no lady who could gain to her wish, whether by
+force or guile.
+
+Now will I show of that lady, whom Gugemar so fondly loved. By the
+counsel of a certain baron the ancient King set his wife in prison.
+She was shut fast in a tower of grey marble, where her days were bad,
+and her nights worse. No man could make clear to you the great pain,
+the anguish and the dolour, that she suffered in this tower, wherein,
+I protest, she died daily. Two years and more she lay bound in prison,
+where warders came, but never joy or delight. Often she thought upon
+her friend.
+
+"Gugemar, dear lord, in an evil hour I saw you with my eyes. Better
+for me that I die quickly, than endure longer my evil lot. Fair
+friend, if I could but win to that coast whence you sailed, very
+swiftly would I fling myself in the sea, and end my wretched life."
+When she had said these words she rose to her feet, and coming to
+the door was amazed to find therein neither bolt nor key. She issued
+forth, without challenge from sergeant or warder, and hastening to the
+harbour, found there her lover's ship, made fast to that very rock,
+from which she would cast her down. When she saw the barge she climbed
+thereon, but presently bethought her that on this nave her friend had
+gone to perish in the sea. At this thought she would have fled again
+to the shore, but her bones were as water, and she fell upon the deck.
+So in sore travail and sorrow, the vessel carried her across the
+waves, to a port of Brittany, guarded by a castle, strong and very
+fair. Now the lord of this castle was named Meriadus. He was a right
+warlike prince, and had made him ready to fight with the prince of a
+country near by. He had risen very early in the morning, to send forth
+a great company of spears, the more easily to ravage this neighbour's
+realm. Meriadus looked forth from his window, and marked the ship
+which came to port. He hastened down the steps of the perron, and
+calling to his chamberlain, came with what speed he might to the nave.
+Then mounting the ladder he stood upon the deck. When Meriadus found
+within the ship a dame, who for beauty seemed rather a fay than a mere
+earthly woman, he seized her by her mantle, and brought her swiftly to
+his keep. Right joyous was he because of his good fortune, for lovely
+was the lady beyond mortal measure. He made no question as to who had
+set her on the barge. He knew only that she was fair, and of high
+lineage, and that his heart turned towards her with so hot a love as
+never before had he put on dame or damsel. Now there dwelt within the
+castle a sister of this lord, who was yet unwed. Meriadus bestowed the
+lady in his sister's chamber, because it was the fairest in the tower.
+Moreover he commanded that she should be meetly served, and held
+in all reverence. But though the dame was so richly clothed and
+cherished, ever was she sad and deep in thought. Meriadus came often
+to cheer her with mirth and speech, by reason that he wished to gain
+her love as a free gift, and not by force. It was in vain that he
+prayed her for grace, since she had no balm for his wound. For answer
+she showed him the girdle about her body, saying that never would she
+give her love to man, save only to him who might unloose the buckle of
+that girdle, without harm to belt or clasp. When Meriadus heard these
+words, he spoke in haste and said,
+
+"Lady, there dwells in this country a very worthy knight, who will
+take no woman as wife, except she first untie a certain crafty knot in
+the hem of a shirt, and that without force or knife. For a little I
+would wager that it was you who tied this knot."
+
+When the lady heard thereof her breath went from her, and near she
+came to falling on the ground. Meriadus caught her in his arms, and
+cut the laces of her bodice, that she might have the more air. He
+strove to unfasten her girdle, but might not dissever the clasp. Yea,
+though every knight in the realm essayed to unfasten that cincture, it
+would not yield, except to one alone.
+
+Now Meriadus made the lists ready for a great jousting, and called to
+that tournament all the knights who would aid him in his war. Many a
+lord came at his bidding, and with them Gugemar, amongst the first.
+Meriadus had sent letters to the knight, beseeching him, as friend and
+companion, not to fail him in this business. So Gugemar hastened to
+the need of his lord, and at his back more than one hundred spears.
+All these Meriadus welcomed very gladly, and gave them lodging within
+his tower. In honour of his guest, the prince sent two gentlemen to
+his sister, praying her to attire herself richly, and come to hall,
+together with the dame whom he loved so dearly well. These did as they
+were bidden, and arrayed in their sweetest vesture, presently entered
+in the hall, holding each other by the hand. Very pale and pensive was
+the lady, but when she heard her lover's name her feet failed beneath
+her, and had not the maiden held her fast, she would have fallen on
+the floor. Gugemar rose from his seat at the sight of the dame, her
+fashion and her semblance, and stood staring upon her. He went a
+little apart, and said within himself, "Can this be my sweet friend,
+my hope, my heart, my life, the fair lady who gave me the grace of her
+love? From whence comes she; who might have brought her to this far
+land? But I speak in my folly, for well I know that this is not my
+dear. A little red, a little white, and all women are thus shapen.
+My thoughts are troubled, by reason that the sweetness of this lady
+resembles the sweetness of that other, for whom my heart sighs and
+trembles. Yet needs must that I have speech of the lady."
+
+Gugemar drew near to the dame. He kissed her courteously, and found
+no word to utter, save to pray that he might be seated at her side.
+Meriadus spied upon them closely, and was the more heavy because of
+their trouble. Therefore he feigned mirth.
+
+"Gugemar, dear lord, if it pleases you, let this damsel essay to untie
+the knot of your sark, if so be she may loosen the coil."
+
+Gugemar made answer that very willingly he would do this thing. He
+called to him a squire who had the shirt in keeping, and bade him seek
+his charge, and deliver it to the dame. The lady took the sark in
+hand. Well she knew the knot that she had tied so cunningly, and was
+so willing to unloose; but for reason of the trouble at her heart, she
+did not dare essay. Meriadus marked the distress of the damsel, and
+was more sorrowful than ever was lover before.
+
+"Lady," said he, "do all that you are able to unfasten this coil."
+
+So at his commandment she took again to her the hem of the shirt, and
+lightly and easily unravelled the tie.
+
+Gugemar marvelled greatly when he saw this thing. His heart told him
+that of a truth this was his lady, but he could not give faith to his
+eyes.
+
+"Friend, are you indeed the sweet comrade I have known? Tell me truly
+now, is there about your body the girdle with which I girt you in your
+own realm?"
+
+He set his hands to her waist, and found that the secret belt was yet
+about her sides.
+
+
+"Fair sweet friend, tell me now by what adventure I find you here, and
+who has brought you to this tower?"
+
+So the lady told over to her friend the pain and the anguish and the
+dolour of the prison in which she was held; of how it chanced that she
+fled from her dungeon, and lighting upon a ship, entered therein, and
+came to this fair haven; of how Meriadus took her from the barge, but
+kept her in all honour, save only that ever he sought for her love;
+"but now, fair friend, all is well, for you hold your lady in your
+arms."
+
+Gugemar stood upon his feet, and beckoned with his hand.
+
+"Lords," he cried, "hearken now to me. I have found my friend, whom
+I have lost for a great while. Before you all I pray and require of
+Meriadus to yield me my own. For this grace I give him open thanks.
+Moreover I will kneel down, and become his liege man. For two years,
+or three, if he will, I will bargain to serve in his quarrels, and
+with me, of riders, a hundred or more at my back."
+
+Then answered Meriadus, "Gugemar, fair friend, I am not yet so shaken
+or overborne in war, that I must do as you wish, right humbly. This
+woman is my captive. I found her: I hold her: and I will defend my
+right against you and all your power."
+
+When Gugemar heard these proud words he got to horse speedily, him and
+all his company. He threw down his glove, and parted in anger from
+the tower. But he went right heavily, since he must leave behind his
+friend. In his train rode all those knights who had drawn together
+to that town for the great tournament. Not a knight of them all but
+plighted faith to follow where he led, and to hold himself recreant
+and shamed if he failed his oath.
+
+
+That same night the band came to the castle of the prince with whom
+Meriadus was at war. He welcomed them very gladly, and gave them
+lodging in his tower. By their aid he had good hope to bring this
+quarrel to an end. Very early in the morning the host came together to
+set the battle in array. With clash of mail and noise of horns they
+issued from the city gate, Gugemar riding at their head. They drew
+before the castle where Meriadus lay in strength, and sought to take
+it by storm. But the keep was very strong, and Meriadus bore himself
+as a stout and valiant knight. So Gugemar, like a wary captain, sat
+himself down before the town, till all the folk of that place were
+deemed by friend and sergeant to be weak with hunger. Then they took
+that high keep with the sword, and burnt it with fire. The lord
+thereof they slew in his own hall; but Gugemar came forth, after such
+labours as you have heard, bearing his lady with him, to return in
+peace to his own land.
+
+From this adventure that I have told you, has come the Lay that
+minstrels chant to harp and viol--fair is that song and sweet the
+tune.
+
+
+
+
+III
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE DOLOROUS KNIGHT
+
+Hearken now to the Lay that once I heard a minstrel chanting to his
+harp. In surety of its truth I will name the city where this story
+passed. The Lay of the Dolorous Knight, my harper called his song,
+but of those who hearkened, some named it rather, The Lay of the Four
+Sorrows.
+
+In Nantes, of Brittany, there dwelt a dame who was dearly held of
+all, for reason of the much good that was found in her. This lady was
+passing fair of body, apt in book as any clerk, and meetly schooled in
+every grace that it becometh dame to have. So gracious of person was
+this damsel, that throughout the realm there was no knight could
+refrain from setting his heart upon her, though he saw her but one
+only time. Although the demoiselle might not return the love of so
+many, certainly she had no wish to slay them all. Better by far that
+a man pray and require in love all the dames of his country, than run
+mad in woods for the bright eyes of one. Therefore this dame gave
+courtesy and good will to each alike. Even when she might not hear a
+lover's words, so sweetly she denied his wish that the more he held
+her dear and was the more her servant for that fond denial. So because
+of her great riches of body and of heart, this lady of whom I tell,
+was prayed and required in love by the lords of her country, both by
+night and by day.
+
+Now in Brittany lived four young barons, but their names I cannot
+tell. It is enough that they were desirable in the eyes of maidens for
+reason of their beauty, and that men esteemed them because they were
+courteous of manner and open of hand. Moreover they were stout and
+hardy knights amongst the spears, and rich and worthy gentlemen of
+those very parts. Each of these four knights had set his heart upon
+the lady, and for love of her pained himself mightily, and did all
+that he was able, so that by any means he might gain her favour. Each
+prayed her privily for her love, and strove all that he could to make
+him worthy of the gift, above his fellows. For her part the lady was
+sore perplexed, and considered in her mind very earnestly, which of
+these four knights she should take as friend. But since they all were
+loyal and worthy gentlemen, she durst not choose amongst them; for
+she would not slay three lovers with her hand so that one might have
+content. Therefore to each and all, the dame made herself fair and
+sweet of semblance. Gifts she gave to all alike. Tender messages she
+sent to each. Every knight deemed himself esteemed and favoured above
+his fellows, and by soft words and fair service diligently strove to
+please. When the knights gathered together for the games, each of
+these lords contended earnestly for the prize, so that he might be
+first, and draw on him the favour of his dame. Each held her for his
+friend. Each bore upon him her gift--pennon, or sleeve, or ring. Each
+cried her name within the lists.
+
+Now when Eastertide was come, a great tournament was proclaimed to be
+held beyond the walls of Nantes, that rich city. The four lovers were
+the appellants in this tourney, and from every realm knights rode
+to break a lance in honour of their dame. Frenchman and Norman and
+Fleming; the hardiest knights of Brabant, Boulogne and Anjou; each
+came to do his devoir in the field. Nor was the chivalry of Nantes
+backward in this quarrel, but till the vespers of the tournament was
+come, they stayed themselves within the lists, and struck stoutly for
+their lord. After the four lovers had laced their harness upon them,
+they issued forth from the city, followed by the knights who were of
+their company in this adventure. But upon the four fell the burden of
+the day, for they were known of all by the embroidered arms upon their
+surcoat, and the device fashioned on the shield. Now against the four
+lovers arrayed themselves four other knights, armed altogether in
+coats of mail, and helmets and gauntlets of steel. Of these stranger
+knights two were of Hainault, and the two others were Flemings. When
+the four lovers saw their adversaries prepare themselves for the
+combat, they had little desire to flee, but hastened to join them in
+battle. Each lowered his spear, and choosing his enemy, met him so
+eagerly that all men wondered, for horse and man fell to the earth.
+The four lovers recked little of their destriers, but freeing their
+feet from the stirrups bent over the fallen foe, and called on him to
+yield. When the friends of the vanquished knights saw their case,
+they hastened to their succour; so for their rescue there was a great
+press, and many a mighty stroke with the sword.
+
+The damsel stood upon a tower to watch these feats of arms. By their
+blazoned coats and shields she knew her knights; she saw their
+marvellous deeds, yet might not say who did best, nor give to one the
+praise. But the tournament was no longer a seemly and ordered battle.
+The ranks of the two companies were confused together, so that every
+man fought against his fellow, and none might tell whether he struck
+his comrade or his foe. The four lovers did well and worshipfully, so
+that all men deemed them worthy of the prize. But when evening was
+come, and the sport drew to its close, their courage led them to
+folly. Having ventured too far from their companions, they were set
+upon by their adversaries, and assailed so fiercely that three were
+slain outright. As to the fourth he yet lived, but altogether mauled
+and shaken, for his thigh was broken, and a spear head remained in his
+side. The four bodies were fallen on the field, and lay with those who
+had perished in that day. But because of the great mischief these
+four lovers had done their adversaries, their shields were cast
+despitefully without the lists; but in this their foemen did
+wrongfully, and all men held them in sore displeasure.
+
+Great were the lamentation and the cry when the news of this mischance
+was noised about the city. Such a tumult of mourning was never before
+heard, for the whole city was moved. All men hastened forth to the
+place where the lists were set. Meetly to mourn the dead there rode
+nigh upon two thousand knights, with hauberks unlaced, and uncovered
+heads, plucking upon their beards. So the four lovers were placed each
+upon his shield, and being brought back in honour to Nantes, were
+carried to the house of that dame, whom so greatly they had loved.
+When the lady knew this distressful adventure, straightway she fell
+to the ground. Being returned from her swoon, she made her complaint,
+calling upon her lovers each by his name.
+
+"Alas," said she, "what shall I do, for never shall I know happiness
+again. These four knights had set their hearts upon me, and despite
+their great treasure, esteemed my love as richer than all their
+wealth. Alas, for the fair and valiant knight! Alas, for the loyal and
+generous man! By gifts such as these they sought to gain my favour,
+but how might lady bereave three of life, so as to cherish one. Even
+now I cannot tell for whom I have most pity, or who was closest to my
+mind. But three are dead, and one is sore stricken; neither is there
+anything in the world which can bring me comfort. Only this is there
+to do--to give the slain men seemly burial, and, if it may be, to heal
+their comrade of his wounds."
+
+So, because of her great love and nobleness, the lady caused these
+three distressful knights to be buried well and worshipfully in a
+rich abbey. In that place she offered their Mass penny, and gave rich
+offerings of silver and of lights besides. May God have mercy on them
+in that day. As for the wounded knight she commanded him to be carried
+to her own chamber. She sent for surgeons, and gave him into their
+hands. These searched his wounds so skilfully, and tended him with so
+great care, that presently his hurt commenced to heal. Very often was
+the lady in the chamber, and very tenderly she cherished the stricken
+man. Yet ever she felt pity for the three Knights of the Sorrows, and
+ever she went heavily by reason of their deaths.
+
+Now on a summer's day, the lady and the knight sat together after
+meat. She called to mind the sorrow that was hers; so that, in a
+space, her head fell upon her breast, and she gave herself altogether
+to her grief. The knight looked earnestly upon his dame. Well he might
+see that she was far away, and clearly he perceived the cause.
+
+"Lady," said he, "you are in sorrow. Open now your grief to me. If you
+tell me what is in your heart perchance I may find you comfort."
+
+"Fair friend," replied she, "I think of what is gone, and remember
+your companions, who are dead. Never was lady of my peerage, however
+fair and good and gracious, ever loved by four such valiant gentlemen,
+nor ever lost them in one single day. Save you--who were so maimed and
+in such peril--all are gone. Therefore I call to mind those who loved
+me so dearly, and am the saddest lady beneath the sun. To remember
+these things, of you four I shall make a Lay, and will call it the Lay
+of the Four Sorrows."
+
+When the knight heard these words he made answer very swiftly, "Lady,
+name it not the Lay of the Four Sorrows, but, rather, the Lay of the
+Dolorous Knight. Would you hear the reason why it should bear this
+name? My three comrades have finished their course; they have nothing
+more to hope of their life. They are gone, and with them the pang of
+their great sorrow, and the knowledge of their enduring love for you.
+I alone have come, all amazed and fearful, from the net wherein they
+were taken, but I find my life more bitter than my comrades found the
+grave. I see you on your goings and comings about the house. I may
+speak with you both matins and vespers. But no other joy do I get--
+neither clasp nor kiss, nothing but a few empty, courteous words.
+Since all these evils are come upon me because of you, I choose death
+rather than life. For this reason your Lay should bear my name, and be
+called the Lay of the Dolorous Knight. He who would name it the Lay
+of the Four Sorrows would name it wrongly, and not according to the
+truth."
+
+"By my faith," replied the lady, "this is a fair saying. So shall the
+song be known as the Lay of the Dolorous Knight."
+
+Thus was the Lay conceived, made perfect, and brought to a fair birth.
+For this reason it came by its name; though to this day some call it
+the Lay of the Four Sorrows. Either name befits it well, for the story
+tells of both these matters, but it is the use and wont in this land
+to call it the Lay of the Dolorous Knight. Here it ends; no more is
+there to say. I heard no more, and nothing more I know. Perforce I
+bring my story to a close.
+
+
+
+
+IV
+
+
+THE LAY OF ELIDUC
+
+Now will I rehearse before you a very ancient Breton Lay. As the tale
+was told to me, so, in turn, will I tell it over again, to the best of
+my art and knowledge. Hearken now to my story, its why and its reason.
+
+In Brittany there lived a knight, so courteous and so brave, that in
+all the realm there was no worthier lord than he. This knight was
+named Eliduc. He had wedded in his youth a noble lady of proud race
+and name. They had long dwelt together in peace and content, for their
+hearts were fixed on one another in faith and loyalty. Now it chanced
+that Eliduc sought his fortune in a far land, where there was a great
+war. There he loved a Princess, the daughter of the King and Queen of
+those parts. Guillardun was the maiden's name, and in all the realm
+was none more fair. The wife of Eliduc had to name, Guildeluec, in her
+own country. By reason of these two ladies their story is known as the
+Lay of Guildeluec and Guillardun, but at first it was rightly called
+the Lay of Eliduc. The name is a little matter; but if you hearken to
+me you shall learn the story of these three lovers, in its pity and
+its truth.
+
+Eliduc had as lord and suzerain, the King of Brittany over Sea. The
+knight was greatly loved and cherished of his prince, by reason of his
+long and loyal service. When the King's business took him from his
+realm, Eliduc was his master's Justice and Seneschal. He governed the
+country well and wisely, and held it from the foe with a strong hand.
+Nevertheless, in spite of all, much evil was appointed unto him.
+Eliduc was a mighty hunter, and by the King's grace, he would chase
+the stag within the woods. He was cunning and fair as Tristan, and
+so wise in venery, that the oldest forester might not gainsay him in
+aught concerning the shaw. But by reason of malice and envy, certain
+men accused him to the King that he had meddled with the royal
+pleasaunce. The King bade Eliduc to avoid his Court. He gave no reason
+for his commandment, and the knight might learn nothing of the cause.
+Often he prayed the King that he might know whereof he was accused.
+Often he begged his lord not to heed the specious and crafty words of
+his foes. He called to mind the wounds he had gained in his master's
+wars, but was answered never a word. When Eliduc found that he might
+get no speech with his lord, it became his honour to depart. He
+returned to his house, and calling his friends around him, opened
+out to them this business of the King's wrath, in recompense for his
+faithful service.
+
+"I did not reckon on a King's gratitude; but as the proverb says, it
+is useless for a farmer to dispute with the horse in his plough. The
+wise and virtuous man keeps faith to his lord, and bears goodwill to
+his neighbour, not for what he may receive in return."
+
+Then the knight told his friends that since he might no longer stay in
+his own country, he should cross the sea to the realm of Logres, and
+sojourn there awhile, for his solace. His fief he placed in the hands
+of his wife, and he required of his men, and of all who held him dear,
+that they would serve her loyally. Having given good counsel to the
+utmost of his power, the knight prepared him for the road. Right heavy
+were his friends and kin, that he must go forth from amongst them.
+
+Eliduc took with him ten knights of his household, and set out on his
+journey. His dame came with him so far as she was able, wringing her
+hands, and making much sorrow, at the departure of her husband. At the
+end he pledged good faith to her, as she to him, and so she returned
+to her own home. Eliduc went his way, till he came to a haven on the
+sea. He took ship, and sailed to the realm of Totenois, for many kings
+dwell in that country, and ever there were strife and war. Now, near
+to Exeter, in this land, there dwelt a King, right rich and strong,
+but old and very full of years. He had no son of his body, but one
+maid only, young, and of an age to wed. Since he would not bestow this
+damsel on a certain prince of his neighbours, this lord made mortal
+war upon his fellow, spoiling and wasting all his land. The ancient
+King, for surety, had set his daughter within a castle, fair and very
+strong. He had charged the sergeants not to issue forth from the
+gates, and for the rest there was none so bold as to seek to storm the
+keep, or even to joust about the barriers. When Eliduc was told of
+this quarrel, he needed to go no farther, and sojourned for awhile
+in the land. He turned over in his mind which of these princes dealt
+unjustly with his neighbour. Since he deemed that the agèd king was
+the more vexed and sorely pressed in the matter, he resolved to aid
+him to the best of his might, and to take arms in his service. Eliduc,
+therefore, wrote letters to the King, telling him that he had quitted
+his own country, and sought refuge in the King's realm. For his part
+he was willing to fight as a mercenary in the King's quarrel, and if a
+safe conduct were given him, he and the knights of his company would
+ride, forthwith, to their master's aid. This letter, Eliduc sent by
+the hands of his squires to the King. When the ancient lord had read
+the letter, he rejoiced greatly, and made much of the messengers. He
+summoned his constable, and commanded him swiftly to write out the
+safe conduct, that would bring the baron to his side. For the rest he
+bade that the messengers meetly should be lodged and apparelled, and
+that such money should be given them as would be sufficient to their
+needs. Then he sealed the safe conduct with his royal seal, and sent
+it to Eliduc, straightway, by a sure hand.
+
+When Eliduc came in answer to the summons, he was received with great
+honour by the King. His lodging was appointed in the house of a grave
+and courteous burgess of the city, who bestowed the fairest chamber on
+his guest. Eliduc fared softly, both at bed and board. He called to
+his table such good knights as were in misease, by reason of prison or
+of war. He charged his men that none should be so bold as to take pelf
+or penny from the citizens of the town, during the first forty days of
+their sojourn. But on the third day, it was bruited about the streets,
+that the enemy were near at hand. The country folk deemed that they
+approached to invest the city, and to take the gates by storm. When
+the noise and clamour of the fearful burgesses came to the ears of
+Eliduc, he and his company donned their harness, and got to horse,
+as quickly as they might. Forty horsemen mounted with him; as to the
+rest, many lay sick or hurt within the city, and others were captives
+in the hands of the foe. These forty stout sergeants waited for no
+sounding of trumpets; they hastened to seek their captain at his
+lodging, and rode at his back through the city gate.
+
+"Sir," said they, "where you go, there we will follow, and what you
+bid us, that shall we do."
+
+"Friends," made answer the knight, "I thank you for your fellowship.
+There is no man amongst us but who wishes to molest the foe, and do
+them all the mischief that he is able. If we await them in the town,
+we defend ourselves with the shield, and not with the sword. To my
+mind it is better to fall in the field than to hide behind walls; but
+if any of you have a wiser counsel to offer, now let him speak."
+
+"Sir," replied a soldier of the company, "through the wood, in good
+faith, there runs a path, right strict and narrow. It is the wont of
+the enemy to approach our city by this track. After their deeds of
+arms before the walls, it is their custom to return by the way they
+came, helmet on saddle bow, and hauberk unbraced. If we might catch
+them, unready in the path, we could trouble them very grievously, even
+though it be at the peril of our lives."
+
+"Friends," answered Eliduc, "you are all the King's men, and are bound
+to serve him faithfully, even to the death. Come, now, with me where
+I will go, and do that thing which you shall see me do. I give you my
+word as a loyal gentleman, that no harm shall hap to any. If we gain
+spoil and riches from the foe, each shall have his lot in the ransom.
+At the least we may do them much hurt and mischief in this quarrel."
+
+Eliduc set his men in ambush, near by that path, within the wood. He
+told over to them, like a cunning captain, the crafty plan he had
+devised, and taught them how to play their parts, and to call upon
+his name. When the foe had entered on that perilous path, and were
+altogether taken in the snare, Eliduc cried his name, and summoned his
+companions to bear themselves like men. This they did stoutly, and
+assailed their enemy so fiercely that he was dismayed beyond measure,
+and his line being broken, fled to the forest. In this fight was the
+constable taken, together with fifty and five other lords, who owned
+themselves prisoners, and were given to the keeping of the squires.
+Great was the spoil in horse and harness, and marvellous was the
+wealth they gained in gold and ransom. So having done such great deeds
+in so short a space, they returned to the city, joyous and content.
+
+The King looked forth from a tower. He feared grievously for his men,
+and made his complaint of Eliduc, who--he deemed--had betrayed him in
+his need. Upon the road he saw a great company, charged and laden with
+spoil. Since the number of those who returned was more than those who
+went forth, the king knew not again his own. He came down from the
+tower, in doubt and sore trouble, bidding that the gates should be
+made fast, and that men should mount upon the walls. For such coil as
+this, there was slender warrant. A squire who was sent out, came back
+with all speed, and showed him of this adventure. He told over the
+story of the ambush, and the tale of the prisoners. He rehearsed how
+the constable was taken, and that many a knight was wounded, and many
+a brave man slain. When the King might give credence thereto, he had
+more joy than ever king before. He got him from his tower, and going
+before Eliduc, he praised him to his face, and rendered him the
+captives as a gift. Eliduc gave the King's bounty to his men. He
+bestowed on them besides, all the harness and the spoil; keeping, for
+his part, but three knights, who had won much honour in the battle.
+From this day the King loved and cherished Eliduc very dearly. He held
+the knight, and his company, for a full year in his service, and at
+the end of the year, such faith had he in the knight's loyalty, that
+he appointed him Seneschal and Constable of his realm.
+
+Eliduc was not only a brave and wary captain; he was also a courteous
+gentleman, right goodly to behold.
+
+That fair maiden, the daughter of the King, heard tell of his deeds,
+and desired to see his face, because of the good men spake of him. She
+sent her privy chamberlain to the knight, praying him to come to her
+house, that she might solace herself with the story of his deeds, for
+greatly she wondered that he had no care for her friendship. Eliduc
+gave answer to the chamberlain that he would ride forthwith, since
+much he desired to meet so high a dame. He bade his squire to saddle
+his destrier, and rode to the palace, to have speech with the lady.
+Eliduc stood without the lady's chamber, and prayed the chamberlain to
+tell the dame that he had come, according to her wish. The chamberlain
+came forth with a smiling face, and straightway led him in the
+chamber. When the princess saw the knight, she cherished him very
+sweetly, and welcomed him in the most honourable fashion. The knight
+gazed upon the lady, who was passing fair to see. He thanked her
+courteously, that she was pleased to permit him to have speech with so
+high a princess. Guillardun took Eliduc by the hand, and seated him
+upon the bed, near her side. They spake together of many things, for
+each found much to say. The maiden looked closely upon the knight, his
+face and semblance; to her heart she said that never before had she
+beheld so comely a man. Her eyes might find no blemish in his person,
+and Love knocked upon her heart, requiring her to love, since her time
+had come. She sighed, and her face lost its fair colour; but she cared
+only to hide her trouble from the knight, lest he should think her the
+less maidenly therefore. When they had talked together for a great
+space, Eliduc took his leave, and went his way. The lady would have
+kept him longer gladly, but since she did not dare, she allowed him
+to depart. Eliduc returned to his lodging, very pensive and deep in
+thought. He called to mind that fair maiden, the daughter of his
+King, who so sweetly had bidden him to her side, and had kissed him
+farewell, with sighs that were sweeter still. He repented him right
+earnestly that he had lived so long a while in the land without
+seeking her face, but promised that often he would enter her palace
+now. Then he remembered the wife whom he had left in his own house. He
+recalled the parting between them, and the covenant he made, that good
+faith and stainless honour should be ever betwixt the twain. But the
+maiden, from whom he came, was willing to take him as her knight! If
+such was her will, might any pluck him from her hand?
+
+All night long, that fair maiden, the daughter of the King, had
+neither rest nor sleep. She rose up, very early in the morning, and
+commanding her chamberlain, opened out to him all that was in her
+heart. She leaned her brow against the casement.
+
+"By my faith," she said, "I am fallen into a deep ditch, and sorrow
+has come upon me. I love Eliduc, the good knight, whom my father made
+his Seneschal. I love him so dearly that I turn the whole night upon
+my bed, and cannot close my eyes, nor sleep. If he assured me of his
+heart, and loved me again, all my pleasure should be found in his
+happiness. Great might be his profit, for he would become King of this
+realm, and little enough is it for his deserts, so courteous is he and
+wise. If he have nothing better than friendship to give me, I choose
+death before life, so deep is my distress."
+
+When the princess had spoken what it pleased her to say, the
+chamberlain, whom she had bidden, gave her loyal counsel.
+
+"Lady," said he, "since you have set your love upon this knight, send
+him now--if so it please you--some goodly gift-girdle or scarf or
+ring. If he receive the gift with delight, rejoicing in your favour,
+you may be assured that he loves you. There is no Emperor, under
+Heaven, if he were tendered your tenderness, but would go the more
+lightly for your grace."
+
+The damsel hearkened to the counsel of her chamberlain, and made
+reply, "If only I knew that he desired my love! Did ever maiden woo
+her knight before, by asking whether he loved or hated her? What if he
+make of me a mock and a jest in the ears of his friends! Ah, if the
+secrets of the heart were but written on the face! But get you ready,
+for go you must, at once."
+
+"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "I am ready to do your bidding."
+
+"You must greet the knight a hundred times in my name, and will place
+my girdle in his hand, and this my golden ring."
+
+When the chamberlain had gone upon his errand, the maiden was so
+sick at heart, that for a little she would have bidden him return.
+Nevertheless, she let him go his way, and eased her shame with words.
+
+"Alas, what has come upon me, that I should put my heart upon a
+stranger. I know nothing of his folk, whether they be mean or high;
+nor do I know whether he will part as swiftly as he came. I have done
+foolishly, and am worthy of blame, since I have bestowed my love very
+lightly. I spoke to him yesterday for the first time, and now I pray
+him for his love. Doubtless he will make me a song! Yet if he be the
+courteous gentleman I believe him, he will understand, and not deal
+hardly with me. At least the dice are cast, and if he may not love me,
+I shall know myself the most woeful of ladies, and never taste of joy
+all the days of my life."
+
+
+Whilst the maiden lamented in this fashion, the chamberlain hastened
+to the lodging of Eliduc. He came before the knight, and having
+saluted him in his lady's name, he gave to his hand the ring and the
+girdle. The knight thanked him earnestly for the gifts. He placed the
+ring upon his finger, and the girdle he girt about his body. He said
+no more to the chamberlain, nor asked him any questions; save only
+that he proffered him a gift. This the messenger might not have, and
+returned the way he came. The chamberlain entered in the palace and
+found the princess within her chamber. He greeted her on the part of
+the knight, and thanked her for her bounty.
+
+"Diva, diva," cried the lady hastily, "hide nothing from me; does he
+love me, or does he not?"
+
+"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "as I deem, he loves you, and truly.
+Eliduc is no cozener with words. I hold him for a discreet and prudent
+gentleman, who knows well how to hide what is in his heart. I gave him
+greeting in your name, and granted him your gifts. He set the ring
+upon his finger, and as to your girdle, he girt it upon him, and
+belted it tightly about his middle. I said no more to him, nor he to
+me; but if he received not your gifts in tenderness, I am the more
+deceived. Lady, I have told you his words: I cannot tell you his
+thoughts. Only, mark carefully what I am about to say. If Eliduc had
+not a richer gift to offer, he would not have taken your presents at
+my hand."
+
+"It pleases you to jest," said the lady. "I know well that Eliduc does
+not altogether hate me. Since my only fault is to cherish him too
+fondly, should he hate me, he would indeed be blameworthy. Never again
+by you, or by any other, will I require him of aught, or look to him
+for comfort. He shall see that a maiden's love is no slight thing,
+lightly given, and lightly taken again--but, perchance, he will not
+dwell in the realm so long as to know of the matter."
+
+"Lady, the knight has covenanted to serve the King, in all loyalty,
+for the space of a year. You have full leisure to tell, whatever you
+desire him to learn."
+
+When the maiden heard that Eliduc remained in the country, she
+rejoiced very greatly. She was glad that the knight would sojourn
+awhile in her city, for she knew naught of the torment he endured,
+since first he looked upon her. He had neither peace nor delight, for
+he could not get her from his mind. He reproached himself bitterly.
+He called to remembrance the covenant he made with his wife, when he
+departed from his own land, that he would never be false to his oath.
+But his heart was a captive now, in a very strong prison. He desired
+greatly to be loyal and honest, but he could not deny his love for the
+maiden--Guillardun, so frank and so fair.
+
+Eliduc strove to act as his honour required. He had speech and sight
+of the lady, and did not refuse her kiss and embrace. He never spoke
+of love, and was diligent to offend in nothing. He was careful in
+this, because he would keep faith with his wife, and would attempt no
+matter against his King. Very grievously he pained himself, but at the
+end he might do no more. Eliduc caused his horse to be saddled, and
+calling his companions about him, rode to the castle to get audience
+of the King. He considered, too, that he might see his lady, and learn
+what was in her heart. It was the hour of meat, and the King having
+risen from table, had entered in his daughter's chamber. The King was
+at chess, with a lord who had but come from over-sea. The lady sat
+near the board, to watch the movements of the game. When Eliduc came
+before the prince, he welcomed him gladly, bidding him to seat himself
+close at hand. Afterwards he turned to his daughter, and said,
+"Princess, it becomes you to have a closer friendship with this lord,
+and to treat him well and worshipfully. Amongst five hundred, there is
+no better knight than he."
+
+When the maiden had listened demurely to her father's commandment,
+there was no gayer lady than she. She rose lightly to her feet, and
+taking the knight a little from the others, seated him at her side.
+They remained silent, because of the greatness of their love. She did
+not dare to speak the first, and to him the maid was more dreadful
+than a knight in mail. At the end Eliduc thanked her courteously for
+the gifts she had sent him; never was grace so precious and so kind.
+The maiden made answer to the knight, that very dear to her was the
+use he had found for her ring, and the girdle with which he had belted
+his body. She loved him so fondly that she wished him for her husband.
+If she might not have her wish, one thing she knew well, that she
+would take no living man, but would die unwed. She trusted he would
+not deny her hope.
+
+"Lady," answered the knight, "I have great joy in your love, and thank
+you humbly for the goodwill you bear me. I ought indeed to be a
+happy man, since you deign to show me at what price you value our
+friendship. Have you remembered that I may not remain always in your
+realm? I covenanted with the King to serve him as his man for the
+space of one year. Perchance I may stay longer in his service, for I
+would not leave him till his quarrel be ended. Then I shall return to
+my own land; so, fair lady, you permit me to say farewell."
+
+The maiden made answer to her knight, "Fair friend, right sweetly I
+thank you for your courteous speech. So apt a clerk will know, without
+more words, that he may have of me just what he would. It becomes my
+love to give faith to all you say."
+
+The two lovers spoke together no further; each was well assured of
+what was in the other's heart. Eliduc rode back to his lodging, right
+joyous and content. Often he had speech with his friend, and passing
+great was the love which grew between the twain.
+
+Eliduc pressed on the war so fiercely that in the end he took captive
+the King who troubled his lord, and had delivered the land from its
+foes. He was greatly praised of all as a crafty captain in the field,
+and a hardy comrade with the spear. The poor and the minstrel counted
+him a generous knight. About this time that King, who had bidden
+Eliduc avoid his realm, sought diligently to find him. He had sent
+three messengers beyond the seas to seek his ancient Seneschal. A
+strong enemy had wrought him much grief and loss. All his castles were
+taken from him, and all his country was a spoil to the foe. Often and
+sorely he repented him of the evil counsel to which he had given ear.
+He mourned the absence of his mightiest knight, and drove from his
+councils those false lords who, for malice and envy, had defamed him.
+These he outlawed for ever from his realm. The King wrote letters to
+Eliduc, conjuring him by the loving friendship that was once between
+them, and summoning him as a vassal is required of his lord, to hasten
+to his aid, in that his bitter need. When Eliduc heard these tidings
+they pressed heavily upon him, by reason of the grievous love he bore
+the dame. She, too, loved him with a woman's whole heart. Between the
+two there was nothing but the purest love and tenderness. Never by
+word or deed had they spoiled their friendship. To speak a little
+closely together; to give some fond and foolish gift; this was the sum
+of their love. In her wish and hope the maiden trusted to hold the
+knight in her land, and to have him as her lord. Naught she deemed
+that he was wedded to a wife beyond the sea.
+
+"Alas," said Eliduc, "I have loitered too long in this country, and
+have gone astray. Here I have set my heart on a maiden, Guillardun,
+the daughter of the King, and she, on me. If, now, we part, there is
+no help that one, or both, of us, must die. Yet go I must. My lord
+requires me by letters, and by the oath of fealty that I have sworn.
+My own honour demands that I should return to my wife. I dare not
+stay; needs must I go. I cannot wed my lady, for not a priest in
+Christendom would make us man and wife. All things turn to blame. God,
+what a tearing asunder will our parting be! Yet there is one who will
+ever think me in the right, though I be held in scorn of all. I will
+be guided by her wishes, and what she counsels that will I do. The
+King, her sire, is troubled no longer by any war. First, I will go to
+him, praying that I may return to my own land, for a little, because
+of the need of my rightful lord. Then I will seek out the maiden, and
+show her the whole business. She will tell me her desire, and I shall
+act according to her wish."
+
+The knight hesitated no longer as to the path he should follow. He
+went straight to the King, and craved leave to depart. He told him
+the story of his lord's distress, and read, and placed in the King's
+hands, the letters calling him back to his home. When the King had
+read the writing, and knew that Eliduc purposed to depart, he was
+passing sad and heavy. He offered the knight the third part of his
+kingdom, with all the treasure that he pleased to ask, if he would
+remain at his side. He offered these things to the knight--these, and
+the gratitude of all his days besides.
+
+"Do not tempt me, sire," replied the knight. "My lord is in such
+deadly peril, and his letters have come so great a way to require me,
+that go I must to aid him in his need. When I have ended my task, I
+will return very gladly, if you care for my services, and with me a
+goodly company of knights to fight in your quarrels."
+
+The King thanked Eliduc for his words, and granted him graciously the
+leave that he demanded. He gave him, moreover, all the goods of his
+house; gold and silver, hound and horses, silken cloths, both rich and
+fair, these he might have at his will. Eliduc took of them discreetly,
+according to his need. Then, very softly, he asked one other gift.
+If it pleased the King, right willingly would he say farewell to the
+princess, before he went. The King replied that it was his pleasure,
+too. He sent a page to open the door of the maiden's chamber, and to
+tell her the knight's request. When she saw him, she took him by
+the hand, and saluted him very sweetly. Eliduc was the more fain of
+counsel than of claspings. He seated himself by the maiden's side, and
+as shortly as he might, commenced to show her of the business. He had
+done no more than read her of his letters, than her face lost its fair
+colour, and near she came to swoon. When Eliduc saw her about to fall,
+he knew not what he did, for grief. He kissed her mouth, once and
+again, and wept above her, very tenderly. He took, and held her fast
+in his arms, till she had returned from her swoon.
+
+"Fair dear friend," said he softly, "bear with me while I tell you
+that you are my life and my death, and in you is all my comfort. I
+have bidden farewell to your father, and purposed to go back to my own
+land, for reason of this bitter business of my lord. But my will is
+only in your pleasure, and whatever the future brings me, your counsel
+I will do."
+
+"Since you cannot stay," said the maiden, "take me with you, wherever
+you go. If not, my life is so joyless without you, that I would wish
+to end it with my knife."
+
+Very sweetly made answer Sir Eliduc, for in honesty he loved honest
+maid, "Fair friend, I have sworn faith to your father, and am his man.
+If I carried you with me, I should give the lie to my troth. Let this
+covenant be made between us. Should you give me leave to return to my
+own land I swear to you on my honour as a knight, that I will come
+again on any day that you shall name. My life is in your hands.
+Nothing on earth shall keep me from your side, so only that I have
+life and health."
+
+Then she, who loved so fondly, granted her knight permission to
+depart, and fixed the term, and named the day for his return. Great
+was their sorrow that the hour had come to bid farewell. They gave
+rings of gold for remembrance, and sweetly kissed adieu. So they
+severed from each other's arms.
+
+Eliduc sought the sea, and with a fair wind, crossed swiftly to the
+other side. His lord was greatly content to learn the tidings of his
+knight's return. His friends and his kinsfolk came to greet him, and
+the common folk welcomed him very gladly. But, amongst them all, none
+was so blithe at his home-coming as the fair and prudent lady who was
+his wife. Despite this show of friendship, Eliduc was ever sad, and
+deep in thought. He went heavily, till he might look upon his friend.
+He felt no happiness, nor made pretence of any, till he should meet
+with her again. His wife was sick at heart, because of the coldness of
+her husband. She took counsel with her soul, as to what she had done
+amiss. Often she asked him privily, if she had come short or offended
+in any measure, whilst he was without the realm. If she was accused by
+any, let him tell her the accusation, that she might purge herself of
+the offence.
+
+"Wife," answered Eliduc, "neither I, nor any other, charge you with
+aught that is against your honour to do. The cause of my sorrow is
+in myself. I have pledged my faith to the King of that country, from
+whence I come, that I will return to help him in his need. When my
+lord the King has peace in his realm, within eight days I shall be
+once more upon the sea. Great travail I must endure, and many pains I
+shall suffer, in readiness for that hour. Return I must, and till then
+I have no mind for anything but toil; for I will not give the lie to
+my plighted word."
+
+Eliduc put his fief once more in the hands of his dame. He sought
+his lord, and aided him to the best of his might. By the counsel and
+prowess of the knight, the King came again into his own. When the term
+appointed by his lady, and the day she named for his return drew near,
+Eliduc wrought in such fashion that peace was accorded between the
+foes. Then the knight made him ready for his journey, and took thought
+to the folk he should carry with him. His choice fell on two of his
+nephews, whom he loved very dearly, and on a certain chamberlain of
+his household. These were trusted servitors, who were of his inmost
+mind, and knew much of his counsel. Together with these went his
+squires, these only, for Eliduc had no care to take many. All these,
+nephew and squire and chamberlain, Eliduc made to promise, and confirm
+by an oath, that they would reveal nothing of his business.
+
+The company put to sea without further tarrying, and, crossing
+quickly, came to that land where Eliduc so greatly desired to be. The
+knight sought a hostel some distance from the haven, for he would
+not be seen of any, nor have it bruited that Eliduc was returned. He
+called his chamberlain, and sent him to his friend, bearing letters
+that her knight had come, according to the covenant that had been
+made. At nightfall, before the gates were made fast, Eliduc issued
+forth from the city, and followed after his messenger. He had clothed
+himself in mean apparel, and rode at a footpace straight to the city,
+where dwelt the daughter of the King. The chamberlain arrived before
+the palace, and by dint of asking and prying, found himself within the
+lady's chamber. He saluted the maiden, and told her that her lover
+was near. When Guillardun heard these tidings she was astonied beyond
+measure, and for joy and pity wept right tenderly. She kissed the
+letters of her friend, and the messenger who brought such welcome
+tidings. The chamberlain prayed the lady to attire and make her ready
+to join her friend. The day was spent in preparing for the adventure,
+according to such plan as had been devised. When dark was come,
+and all was still, the damsel stole forth from the palace, and the
+chamberlain with her. For fear that any man should know her again,
+the maiden had hidden, beneath a riding cloak, her silken gown,
+embroidered with gold. About the space of a bow shot from the city
+gate, there was a coppice standing within a fair meadow. Near by this
+wood, Eliduc and his comrades awaited the coming of Guillardun. When
+Eliduc saw the lady, wrapped in her mantle, and his chamberlain
+leading her by the hand, he got from his horse, and kissed her right
+tenderly. Great joy had his companions at so fair a sight. He set
+her on the horse, and climbing before her, took bridle in glove,
+and returned to the haven, with all the speed he might. He entered
+forthwith in the ship, which put to sea, having on board none, save
+Eliduc, his men, and his lady, Guillardun. With a fair wind, and a
+quiet hour, the sailors thought that they would swiftly come to shore.
+But when their journey was near its end, a sudden tempest arose on the
+sea. A mighty wind drove them far from their harbourage, so that their
+rudder was broken, and their sail torn from the mast. Devoutly they
+cried on St. Nicholas, St. Clement, and Madame St. Mary, to aid them
+in this peril. They implored the Mother that she would approach her
+Son, not to permit them to perish, but to bring them to the harbour
+where they would come. Without sail or oar, the ship drifted here and
+there, at the mercy of the storm. They were very close to death, when
+one of the company, with a loud voice began to cry, "What need is
+there of prayers! Sir, you have with you, her, who brings us to our
+death. We shall never win to land, because you, who already have a
+faithful wife, seek to wed this foreign woman, against God and His
+law, against honour and your plighted troth. Grant us to cast her in
+the sea, and straightway the winds and the waves will be still."
+
+When Eliduc heard these words he was like to come to harm for rage.
+
+"Bad servant and felon traitor," he cried, "you should pay dearly for
+your speech, if I might leave my lady."
+
+Eliduc held his friend fast in his arms, and cherished her as well as
+he was able. When the lady heard that her knight was already wedded
+in his own realm, she swooned where she lay. Her face became pale and
+discoloured; she neither breathed nor sighed, nor could any bring
+her any comfort. Those who carried her to a sheltered place, were
+persuaded that she was but dead, because of the fury of the storm.
+Eliduc was passing heavy. He rose to his feet, and hastening to his
+squire, smote him so grievously with an oar, that he fell senseless on
+the deck. He haled him by his legs to the side of the ship and flung
+the body in the sea, where it was swiftly swallowed by the waves. He
+went to the broken rudder, and governed the nave so skilfully, that it
+presently drew to land. So, having come to their fair haven, they cast
+anchor, and made fast their bridge to the shore. Dame Guillardun lay
+yet in her swoon, and seemed no other than if she were really dead.
+Eliduc's sorrow was all the more, since he deemed that he had slain
+her with his hand. He inquired of his companions in what near place
+they might lay the lady to her rest, "for I will not bid her farewell,
+till she is put in holy ground with such pomp and rite as befit the
+obsequies of the daughter of a King." His comrades answered him never
+a word, for they were all bemused by reason of what had befallen.
+Eliduc, therefore, considered within himself to what place he should
+carry the lady. His own home was so near the haven where he had come,
+that very easily they could ride there before evening. He called to
+mind that in his realm there was a certain great forest, both long and
+deep. Within this wood there was a little chapel, served by a holy
+hermit for forty years, with whom Eliduc had oftimes spoken.
+
+"To this holy man," he said, "I will bear my lady. In his chapel he
+shall bury her sweet body. I will endow him so richly of my lands,
+that upon her chantry shall be founded a mighty abbey. There some
+convent of monks or nuns or canons shall ever hold her in remembrance,
+praying God to grant her mercy in His day."
+
+Eliduc got to horse, but first took oath of his comrades that never,
+by them, should be discovered, that which they should see. He set his
+friend before him on the palfrey, and thus the living and the dead
+rode together, till they had entered the wood, and come before the
+chapel. The squires called and beat upon the door, but it remained
+fast, and none was found to give them any answer. Eliduc bade that one
+should climb through a window, and open the door from within. When
+they had come within the chapel they found a new made tomb, and writ
+thereon, that the holy hermit having finished his course, was made
+perfect, eight days before Passing sad was Eliduc, and esmayed. His
+companions would have digged a second grave, and set therein, his
+friend; but the knight would in no wise consent, for--he said--he
+purposed to take counsel of the priests of his country, as to building
+some church or abbey above her tomb. "At this hour we will but lay her
+body before the altar, and commend her to God His holy keeping."
+He commanded them to bring their mantles and make a bed upon the
+altar-pace. Thereon they laid the maiden, and having wrapped her close
+in her lover's cloak, left her alone. When the moment came for Eliduc
+to take farewell of his lady, he deemed that his own last hour had
+come. He kissed her eyes and her face.
+
+"Fair friend," said he, "if it be pleasing to God, never will I bear
+sword or lance again, or seek the pleasures of this mortal world. Fair
+friend, in an ill hour you saw me! Sweet lady, in a bitter hour you
+followed me to death! Fairest, now were you a queen, were it not for
+the pure and loyal love you set upon me? Passing sad of heart am I for
+you, my friend. The hour that I have seen you in your shroud, I will
+take the habit of some holy order, and every day, upon your tomb, I
+will tell over the chaplet of my sorrow."
+
+Having taken farewell of the maiden, Eliduc came forth from the
+chapel, and closed the doors. He sent messages to his wife, that he
+was returning to his house, but weary and overborne. When the dame
+heard these tidings, she was happy in her heart, and made ready to
+greet him. She received her lord tenderly; but little joy came of her
+welcome, for she got neither smiles in answer, nor tender words in
+return. She dared not inquire the reason, during the two days Eliduc
+remained in the house. The knight heard Mass very early in the
+morning, and then set forth on the road leading to the chapel where
+the maiden lay. He found her as he had parted, for she had not come
+back from her swoon, and there was neither stir in her, nor breath. He
+marvelled greatly, for he saw her, vermeil and white, as he had known
+her in life. She had lost none of her sweet colour, save that she was
+a little blanched. He wept bitterly above her, and entreated for her
+soul. Having made his prayer, he went again to his house.
+
+On a day when Eliduc went forth, his wife called to her a varlet of
+her household, commanding him to follow his lord afar off, and mark
+where he went, and on what business. She promised to give him harness
+and horses, if he did according to her will. The varlet hid himself in
+the wood, and followed so cunningly after his lord, that he was not
+perceived. He watched the knight enter the chapel, and heard the
+cry and lamentation that he made. When Eliduc came out, the varlet
+hastened to his mistress, and told her what he had seen, the tears and
+dolour, and all that befell his lord within the hermitage. The lady
+summoned all her courage.
+
+"We will go together, as soon as we may, to this hermitage. My lord
+tells me that he rides presently to the Court to speak with the King.
+I knew that my husband loved this dead hermit very tenderly, but I
+little thought that his loss would make him mad with grief."
+
+The next day the dame let her lord go forth in peace. When, about
+noon, Eliduc rode to the Court to greet his King, the lady rose
+quickly, and carrying the varlet with her, went swiftly to the
+hermitage. She entered the chapel, and saw the bed upon the
+altar-pace, and the maiden thereon, like a new sprung rose. Stooping
+down the lady removed the mantle. She marked the rigid body, the long
+arms, and the frail white hands, with their slender fingers, folded on
+the breast. Thus she learned the secret of the sorrow of her lord. She
+called the varlet within the chapel, and showed him this wonder.
+
+"Seest thou," she said, "this woman, who for beauty shineth as a gem!
+This lady, in her life, was the lover of my lord. It was for her that
+all his days were spoiled by grief. By my faith I marvel little at
+his sorrow, since I, who am a woman too, will--for pity's sake or
+love--never know joy again, having seen so fair a lady in the dust."
+
+So the wife wept above the body of the maiden. Whilst the lady
+sat weeping, a weasel came from under the altar, and ran across
+Guillardun's body. The varlet smote it with his staff, and killed it
+as it passed. He took the vermin and flung it away. The companion of
+this weasel presently came forth to seek him. She ran to the place
+where he lay, and finding that he would not get him on his feet,
+seemed as one distraught. She went forth from the chapel, and hastened
+to the wood, from whence she returned quickly, bearing a vermeil
+flower beneath her teeth. This red flower she placed within the mouth
+of that weasel the varlet had slain, and immediately he stood upon his
+feet. When the lady saw this, she cried to the varlet,
+
+"Throw, man, throw, and gain the flower."
+
+The servitor flung his staff, and the weasels fled away, leaving that
+fair flower upon the floor. The lady rose. She took the flower, and
+returned with it swiftly to the altar pace. Within the mouth of the
+maiden, she set a flower that was more vermeil still. For a short
+space the dame and the damsel were alike breathless. Then the maiden
+came to herself, with a sigh. She opened her eyes, and commenced to
+speak.
+
+"Diva," she said, "have I slept so long, indeed!"
+
+When the lady heard her voice she gave thanks to God. She inquired of
+the maiden as to her name and degree. The damsel made answer to her,
+"Lady, I was born in Logres, and am daughter to the King of that
+realm. Greatly there I loved a knight, named Eliduc, the seneschal of
+my sire. We fled together from my home, to my own most grievous fault.
+He never told me that he was wedded to a wife in his own country, and
+he hid the matter so cunningly, that I knew naught thereof. When I
+heard tell of his dame, I swooned for pure sorrow. Now I find that
+this false lover, has, like a felon, betrayed me in a strange land.
+What will chance to a maiden in so foul a plight? Great is that
+woman's folly who puts her trust in man."
+
+"Fair damsel," replied the lady, "there is nothing in the whole world
+that can give such joy to this felon, as to hear that you are yet
+alive. He deems that you are dead, and every day he beweeps your swoon
+in the chapel. I am his wife, and my heart is sick, just for looking
+on his sorrow. To learn the reason of his grief, I caused him to
+be followed, and that is why I have found you here. It is a great
+happiness for me to know that you live. You shall return with me to my
+home, and I will place you in the tenderness of your friend. Then I
+shall release him of his marriage troth, since it is my dearest hope
+to take the veil."
+
+When the wife had comforted the maiden with such words, they went
+together to her own house. She called to her servitor, and bade him
+seek his lord. The varlet went here and there, till he lighted on
+Eliduc. He came before him, and showed him of all these things. Eliduc
+mounted straightway on his horse, and waiting neither for squire or
+companion, that same night came to his hall. When he found alive, her,
+who once was dead, Eliduc thanked his wife for so dear a gift. He
+rejoiced beyond measure, and of all his days, no day was more happy
+than this. He kissed the maiden often, and very sweetly she gave him
+again his kiss, for great was the joy between the twain. The dame
+looked on their happiness, and knew that her lord meetly had bestowed
+his love. She prayed him, therefore, that he would grant her leave to
+depart, since she would serve God as a cloistered nun. Of his wealth
+she craved such a portion as would permit her to found a convent. He
+would then be able to wed the maiden on whom his heart was set, for it
+was neither honest nor seemly that a man should maintain a wife with
+either hand.
+
+Eliduc could do no otherwise than consent. He gave the permission she
+asked, and did all according to her will. He endowed the lady of his
+lands, near by that chapel and hermitage, within the wood. There he
+built a church with offices and refectory, fair to see. Much wealth he
+bestowed on the convent, in money and estate. When all was brought to
+a good end, the lady took the veil upon her head. Thirty other ladies
+entered in the house with her, and long she ruled them as their
+Abbess, right wisely and well.
+
+Eliduc wedded with his friend, in great pomp, and passing rich was the
+marriage feast. They dwelt in unity together for many days, for ever
+between them was perfect love. They walked uprightly, and gave alms of
+their goods, till such a time as it became them to turn to God. After
+much thought, Eliduc built a great church close beside his castle.
+He endowed it with all his gold and silver, and with the rest of his
+land. He set priests there, and holy layfolk also, for the business of
+the house, and the fair services of religion.
+
+When all was builded and ordered, Eliduc offered himself, with them,
+that he--weak man--might serve the omnipotent God. He set with the
+Abbess Guildeluec--who once was his dame--that wife whom he loved so
+dearly well. The Abbess received her as a sister, and welcomed her
+right honourably. She admonished her in the offices of God, and taught
+her of the rules and practice of their holy Order. They prayed to God
+for their friend, that He would grant him mercy in His day. In turn,
+he entreated God for them. Messages came from convent and monastery as
+to how they fared, so that each might encourage the other in His way.
+Each strove painfully, for himself and his, to love God the more
+dearly, and to abide in His holy faith. Each made a good end, and the
+mercy of God was abundantly made clear to all.
+
+Of the adventure of these three lovers, the courteous Bretons made
+this Lay for remembrance, since they deemed it a matter that men
+should not forget.
+
+
+
+
+V
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE NIGHTINGALE
+
+Now will I tell you a story, whereof the Breton harper already has
+made a Lay. Laustic, I deem, men name it in that country, which, being
+interpreted, means rossignol in French, and nightingale in good plain
+English.
+
+In the realm of Brittany stands a certain rich and mighty city, called
+Saint Malo. There were citizens of this township two knights, so well
+spoken and reputed of all, that the city drew therefrom great profit
+and fame. The houses of these lords were very near the one to the
+other. One of the two knights had to wife a passing fair lady, right
+gracious of manner and sweet of tongue. Wondrous pleasure found this
+dame to array herself richly, after the wont and fashion of her time.
+The other knight was yet a bachelor. He was well accounted of amongst
+his fellows as a hardy knight and as an honourable man. He gave
+hospitality gladly. Largely he gained, largely he spent, and willingly
+bestowed gifts of all that he had.
+
+This bachelor set his love upon his neighbour's wife. By reason of his
+urgent prayers, his long suit and service, and by reason that all men
+spake naught of him but praise--perchance, also, for reason that he
+was never far from her eye--presently this lady came to set her heart
+on him again. Though these two friends loved right tenderly, yet were
+they so private and careful in their loves that none perceived what
+was in their hearts. No man pried on them, or disturbed their goings
+and comings. These were the more easy to devise since the bachelor and
+the lady were such near neighbours. Their two houses stood side by
+side, hall and cellar and combles. Only between the gardens was built
+a high and ancient wall, of worn gray stone. When the lady sat within
+her bower, by leaning from the casement she and her friend might speak
+together, he to her, and she to him. They could also throw messages in
+writing, and divers pretty gifts, the one to the other. Little enough
+had they to displease them, and greatly were they at their ease, save
+only that they might not take their pleasure together, so often as
+their hearts had wished. For the dame was guarded very straitly when
+her husband was abroad. Yet not so strictly but that they might have
+word and speech, the now by night and now by day. At least, however
+close the watch and ward, none might hinder that at times these fair
+lovers stood within their casements, and looked fondly on the other's
+face.
+
+Now after these friends had loved for a great space it chanced that
+the season became warm and sweet. It was the time when meadow and
+copse are green; when orchards grow white with bloom, and birds break
+into song as thickly as the bush to flower. It is the season when he
+who loves would win to his desire. Truly I tell you that the knight
+would have done all in his power to attain his wish, and the lady, for
+her part, yearned for sight and speech of her friend. At night, when
+the moon shone clearly in the sky, and her lord lay sleeping at her
+side, often the dame slipped softly from her bed, and hastening to the
+casement, leaned forth to have sight of him who watched. The greater
+part of the dark they kept vigil together, for very pleasant it is to
+look upon your friend, when sweeter things are denied.
+
+This chanced so often, and the lady rose so frequently from her bed,
+that her lord was altogether wrathful, and many a time inquired the
+reason of her unrest.
+
+"Husband," replied the dame, "there is no dearer joy in this world,
+than to hear the nightingale sing. It is to hearken to the song that
+rises so sweetly on the night, that I lean forth from the casement.
+What tune of harp or viol is half so fair! Because of my delight in
+his song, and of my desire to hear, I may not shut my eyes till it be
+morn."
+
+When the husband heard the lady's words he laughed within himself for
+wrath and malice. He purposed that very soon the nightingale should
+sing within a net. So he bade the servants of his house to devise
+fillets and snares, and to set their cunning traps about the orchard.
+Not a chestnut tree nor hazel within the garth but was limed and
+netted for the caging of this bird. It was not long therefore ere the
+nightingale was taken, and the servants made haste to give him to the
+pleasure of their lord. Wondrous merry was the knight when he held him
+living in his hand. He went straightway to the chamber of his dame,
+and entering, said,
+
+"Wife, are you within? Come near, for I must speak with you. Here is
+the nightingale, all limed and taken, who made vigil of your sleeping
+hours. Take now your rest in peace, for he will never disturb you
+more."
+
+When the lady understood these words she was marvellously sorrowful
+and heavy. She prayed her lord to grant her the nightingale for a
+gift. But for all answer he wrung his neck with both hands so fiercely
+that the head was torn from the body. Then, right foully, he flung the
+bird upon the knees of the dame, in such fashion that her breast
+was sprinkled with the blood. So he departed, incontinent, from the
+chamber in a rage.
+
+The lady took the little body in her hands, and wept his evil fate.
+She railed on those who with nets and snares had betrayed the
+nightingale to his death; for anger and hate beyond measure had gained
+hold on her heart.
+
+"Alas," cried she, "evil is come upon me. Never again may I rise from
+my bed in the night, and watch from the casement, so that I may see my
+friend. One thing I know full well, that he will deem my love is no
+more set upon him. Woe to her who has none to give her counsel. This I
+will do. I will bestow the nightingale upon him, and send him tidings
+of the chance that has befallen."
+
+So this doleful lady took a fair piece of white samite, broidered with
+gold, and wrought thereon the whole story of this adventure. In this
+silken cloth she wrapped the body of the little bird, and calling to
+her a trusty servant of her house, charged him with the message, and
+bade him bear it to her friend. The varlet went his way to the knight,
+and having saluted him on the part of the lady, he told over to him
+the story, and bestowed the nightingale upon him. When all had been
+rehearsed and shown to him, and he had well considered the matter,
+the knight was very dolent; yet in no wise would he avenge himself
+wrongfully. So he caused a certain coffret to be fashioned, made not
+of iron or steel, but of fine gold and fair stones, most rich and
+precious, right strongly clasped and bound. In this little chest he
+set the body of the nightingale, and having sealed the shrine, carried
+it upon him whenever his business took him abroad.
+
+This adventure could not long be hid. Very swiftly it was noised about
+the country, and the Breton folk made a Lay thereon, which they
+called the Lay of the Laustic, in their own tongue.
+
+
+
+
+VI
+
+
+THE LAY OF SIR LAUNFAL
+
+I will tell you the story of another Lay. It relates the adventures
+of a rich and mighty baron, and the Breton calls it, the Lay of Sir
+Launfal.
+
+King Arthur--that fearless knight and courteous lord--removed to
+Wales, and lodged at Caerleon-on-Usk, since the Picts and Scots did
+much mischief in the land. For it was the wont of the wild people of
+the north to enter in the realm of Logres, and burn and damage at
+their will. At the time of Pentecost, the King cried a great feast.
+Thereat he gave many rich gifts to his counts and barons, and to the
+Knights of the Round Table. Never were such worship and bounty shown
+before at any feast, for Arthur bestowed honours and lands on all his
+servants--save only on one. This lord, who was forgotten and misliked
+of the King, was named Launfal. He was beloved by many of the Court,
+because of his beauty and prowess, for he was a worthy knight, open of
+heart and heavy of hand. These lords, to whom their comrade was dear,
+felt little joy to see so stout a knight misprized. Sir Launfal was
+son to a King of high descent, though his heritage was in a distant
+land. He was of the King's household, but since Arthur gave him
+naught, and he was of too proud a mind to pray for his due, he had
+spent all that he had. Right heavy was Sir Launfal, when he considered
+these things, for he knew himself taken in the toils. Gentles, marvel
+not overmuch hereat. Ever must the pilgrim go heavily in a strange
+land, where there is none to counsel and direct him in the path.
+
+Now, on a day, Sir Launfal got him on his horse, that he might take
+his pleasure for a little. He came forth from the city, alone,
+attended by neither servant nor squire. He went his way through a
+green mead, till he stood by a river of clear running water. Sir
+Launfal would have crossed this stream, without thought of pass or
+ford, but he might not do so, for reason that his horse was all
+fearful and trembling. Seeing that he was hindered in this fashion,
+Launfal unbitted his steed, and let him pasture in that fair meadow,
+where they had come. Then he folded his cloak to serve him as a
+pillow, and lay upon the ground. Launfal lay in great misease, because
+of his heavy thoughts, and the discomfort of his bed. He turned from
+side to side, and might not sleep. Now as the knight looked towards
+the river he saw two damsels coming towards him; fairer maidens
+Launfal had never seen. These two maidens were richly dressed in
+kirtles closely laced and shapen to their persons and wore mantles
+of a goodly purple hue. Sweet and dainty were the damsels, alike in
+raiment and in face. The elder of these ladies carried in her hands a
+basin of pure gold, cunningly wrought by some crafty smith--very fair
+and precious was the cup; and the younger bore a towel of soft white
+linen. These maidens turned neither to the right hand nor to the left,
+but went directly to the place where Launfal lay. When Launfal saw
+that their business was with him, he stood upon his feet, like a
+discreet and courteous gentleman. After they had greeted the knight,
+one of the maidens delivered the message with which she was charged.
+
+"Sir Launfal, my demoiselle, as gracious as she is fair, prays that
+you will follow us, her messengers, as she has a certain word to speak
+with you. We will lead you swiftly to her pavilion, for our lady is
+very near at hand. If you but lift your eyes you may see where her
+tent is spread."
+
+Right glad was the knight to do the bidding of the maidens. He gave no
+heed to his horse, but left him at his provand in the meadow. All his
+desire was to go with the damsels, to that pavilion of silk and divers
+colours, pitched in so fair a place. Certainly neither Semiramis in
+the days of her most wanton power, nor Octavian, the Emperor of all
+the West, had so gracious a covering from sun and rain. Above the tent
+was set an eagle of gold, so rich and precious, that none might count
+the cost. The cords and fringes thereof were of silken thread, and the
+lances which bore aloft the pavilion were of refined gold. No King on
+earth might have so sweet a shelter, not though he gave in fee the
+value of his realm. Within this pavilion Launfal came upon the Maiden.
+Whiter she was than any altar lily, and more sweetly flushed than the
+new born rose in time of summer heat. She lay upon a bed with napery
+and coverlet of richer worth than could be furnished by a castle's
+spoil. Very fresh and slender showed the lady in her vesture of
+spotless linen. About her person she had drawn a mantle of ermine,
+edged with purple dye from the vats of Alexandria. By reason of the
+heat her raiment was unfastened for a little, and her throat and the
+rondure of her bosom showed whiter and more untouched than hawthorn in
+May. The knight came before the bed, and stood gazing on so sweet a
+sight. The Maiden beckoned him to draw near, and when he had seated
+himself at the foot of her couch, spoke her mind.
+
+"Launfal," she said, "fair friend, it is for you that I have come from
+my own far land. I bring you my love. If you are prudent and discreet,
+as you are goodly to the view, there is no emperor nor count, nor
+king, whose day shall be so filled with riches and with mirth as
+yours."
+
+When Launfal heard these words he rejoiced greatly, for his heart was
+litten by another's torch.
+
+"Fair lady," he answered, "since it pleases you to be so gracious, and
+to dower so graceless a knight with your love, there is naught that
+you may bid me do--right or wrong, evil or good--that I will not do to
+the utmost of my power. I will observe your commandment, and serve in
+your quarrels. For you I renounce my father and my father's house.
+This only I pray, that I may dwell with you in your lodging, and that
+you will never send me from your side."
+
+When the Maiden heard the words of him whom so fondly she desired to
+love, she was altogether moved, and granted him forthwith her heart
+and her tenderness. To her bounty she added another gift besides.
+Never might Launfal be desirous of aught, but he would have according
+to his wish. He might waste and spend at will and pleasure, but in his
+purse ever there was to spare. No more was Launfal sad. Right merry
+was the pilgrim, since one had set him on the way, with such a gift,
+that the more pennies he bestowed, the more silver and gold were in
+his pouch.
+
+But the Maiden had yet a word to say.
+
+"Friend," she said, "hearken to my counsel. I lay this charge upon
+you, and pray you urgently, that you tell not to any man the secret of
+our love. If you show this matter, you will lose your friend, for ever
+and a day. Never again may you see my face. Never again will you have
+seisin of that body, which is now so tender in your eyes."
+
+Launfal plighted faith, that right strictly he would observe this
+commandment. So the Maiden granted him her kiss and her embrace, and
+very sweetly in that fair lodging passed the day till evensong was
+come.
+
+Right loath was Launfal to depart from the pavilion at the vesper
+hour, and gladly would he have stayed, had he been able, and his lady
+wished.
+
+"Fair friend," said she, "rise up, for no longer may you tarry. The
+hour is come that we must part. But one thing I have to say before you
+go. When you would speak with me I shall hasten to come before your
+wish. Well I deem that you will only call your friend where she may
+be found without reproach or shame of men. You may see me at your
+pleasure; my voice shall speak softly in your ear at will; but I must
+never be known of your comrades, nor must they ever learn my speech."
+
+Right joyous was Launfal to hear this thing. He sealed the covenant
+with a kiss, and stood upon his feet. Then there entered the two
+maidens who had led him to the pavilion, bringing with them rich
+raiment, fitting for a knight's apparel. When Launfal had clothed
+himself therewith, there seemed no goodlier varlet under heaven, for
+certainly he was fair and true. After these maidens had refreshed him
+with clear water, and dried his hands upon the napkin, Launfal went
+to meat. His friend sat at table with him, and small will had he to
+refuse her courtesy. Very serviceably the damsels bore the meats, and
+Launfal and the Maiden ate and drank with mirth and content. But one
+dish was more to the knight's relish than any other. Sweeter than the
+dainties within his mouth, was the lady's kiss upon his lips.
+
+When supper was ended, Launfal rose from table, for his horse stood
+waiting without the pavilion. The destrier was newly saddled and
+bridled, and showed proudly in his rich gay trappings. So Launfal
+kissed, and bade farewell, and went his way. He rode back towards the
+city at a slow pace. Often he checked his steed, and looked behind
+him, for he was filled with amazement, and all bemused concerning this
+adventure. In his heart he doubted that it was but a dream. He was
+altogether astonished, and knew not what to do. He feared that
+pavilion and Maiden alike were from the realm of faery.
+
+Launfal returned to his lodging, and was greeted by servitors, clad
+no longer in ragged raiment. He fared richly, lay softly, and spent
+largely, but never knew how his purse was filled. There was no lord
+who had need of a lodging in the town, but Launfal brought him to
+his hall, for refreshment and delight. Launfal bestowed rich gifts.
+Launfal redeemed the poor captive. Launfal clothed in scarlet the
+minstrel. Launfal gave honour where honour was due. Stranger and
+friend alike he comforted at need. So, whether by night or by day,
+Launfal lived greatly at his ease. His lady, she came at will and
+pleasure, and, for the rest, all was added unto him.
+
+Now it chanced, the same year, about the feast of St. John, a company
+of knights came, for their solace, to an orchard, beneath that tower
+where dwelt the Queen. Together with these lords went Gawain and his
+cousin, Yvain the fair. Then said Gawain, that goodly knight, beloved
+and dear to all,
+
+"Lords, we do wrong to disport ourselves in this pleasaunce without
+our comrade Launfal. It is not well to slight a prince as brave as he
+is courteous, and of a lineage prouder than our own."
+
+Then certain of the lords returned to the city, and finding Launfal
+within his hostel, entreated him to take his pastime with them in that
+fair meadow. The Queen looked out from a window in her tower, she and
+three ladies of her fellowship. They saw the lords at their pleasure,
+and Launfal also, whom well they knew. So the Queen chose of her Court
+thirty damsels--the sweetest of face and most dainty of fashion--and
+commanded that they should descend with her to take their delight in
+the garden. When the knights beheld this gay company of ladies come
+down the steps of the perron, they rejoiced beyond measure. They
+hastened before to lead them by the hand, and said such words in their
+ear as were seemly and pleasant to be spoken. Amongst these merry and
+courteous lords hasted not Sir Launfal. He drew apart from the throng,
+for with him time went heavily, till he might have clasp and greeting
+of his friend. The ladies of the Queen's fellowship seemed but kitchen
+wenches to his sight, in comparison with the loveliness of the maiden.
+When the Queen marked Launfal go aside, she went his way, and seating
+herself upon the herb, called the knight before her. Then she opened
+out her heart.
+
+"Launfal, I have honoured you for long as a worthy knight, and have
+praised and cherished you very dearly. You may receive a queen's whole
+love, if such be your care. Be content: he to whom my heart is given,
+has small reason to complain him of the alms."
+
+"Lady," answered the knight, "grant me leave to go, for this grace is
+not for me. I am the King's man, and dare not break my troth. Not for
+the highest lady in the world, not even for her love, will I set this
+reproach upon my lord."
+
+When the Queen heard this, she was full of wrath, and spoke many hot
+and bitter words.
+
+"Launfal," she cried, "well I know that you think little of woman and
+her love. There are sins more black that a man may have upon his soul.
+Traitor you are, and false. Right evil counsel gave they to my lord,
+who prayed him to suffer you about his person. You remain only for his
+harm and loss."
+
+Launfal was very dolent to hear this thing. He was not slow to take up
+the Queen's glove, and in his haste spake words that he repented long,
+and with tears.
+
+"Lady," said he, "I am not of that guild of which you speak. Neither
+am I a despiser of woman, since I love, and am loved, of one who would
+bear the prize from all the ladies in the land. Dame, know now and be
+persuaded, that she, whom I serve, is so rich in state, that the very
+meanest of her maidens, excels you, Lady Queen, as much in clerkly
+skill and goodness, as in sweetness of body and face, and in every
+virtue."
+
+The Queen rose straightway to her feet, and fled to her chamber,
+weeping. Right wrathful and heavy was she, because of the words that
+had besmirched her. She lay sick upon her bed, from which, she said,
+she would never rise, till the King had done her justice, and righted
+this bitter wrong. Now the King that day had taken his pleasure within
+the woods. He returned from the chase towards evening, and sought the
+chamber of the Queen. When the lady saw him, she sprang from her bed,
+and kneeling at his feet, pleaded for grace and pity. Launfal--she
+said--had shamed her, since he required her love. When she had put him
+by, very foully had he reviled her, boasting that his love was already
+set on a lady, so proud and noble, that her meanest wench went more
+richly, and smiled more sweetly, than the Queen. Thereat the King
+waxed marvellously wrathful, and swore a great oath that he would set
+Launfal within a fire, or hang him from a tree, if he could not deny
+this thing, before his peers.
+
+Arthur came forth from the Queen's chamber, and called to him three
+of his lords. These he sent to seek the knight who so evilly had
+entreated the Queen. Launfal, for his part, had returned to his
+lodging, in a sad and sorrowful case. He saw very clearly that he had
+lost his friend, since he had declared their love to men. Launfal sat
+within his chamber, sick and heavy of thought. Often he called upon
+his friend, but the lady would not hear his voice. He bewailed his
+evil lot, with tears; for grief he came nigh to swoon; a hundred times
+he implored the Maiden that she would deign to speak with her knight.
+Then, since the lady yet refrained from speech, Launfal cursed his hot
+and unruly tongue. Very near he came to ending all this trouble with
+his knife. Naught he found to do but to wring his hands, and call upon
+the Maiden, begging her to forgive his trespass, and to talk with him
+again, as friend to friend.
+
+But little peace is there for him who is harassed by a King. There
+came presently to Launfal's hostel those three barons from the Court.
+These bade the knight forthwith to go with them to Arthur's presence,
+to acquit him of this wrong against the Queen. Launfal went forth, to
+his own deep sorrow. Had any man slain him on the road, he would
+have counted him his friend. He stood before the King, downcast and
+speechless, being dumb by reason of that great grief, of which he
+showed the picture and image.
+
+Arthur looked upon his captive very evilly.
+
+"Vassal," said he, harshly, "you have done me a bitter wrong. It was a
+foul deed to seek to shame me in this ugly fashion, and to smirch the
+honour of the Queen. Is it folly or lightness which leads you to boast
+of that lady, the least of whose maidens is fairer, and goes more
+richly, than the Queen?"
+
+Launfal protested that never had he set such shame upon his lord.
+Word by word he told the tale of how he denied the Queen, within the
+orchard. But concerning that which he had spoken of the lady, he owned
+the truth, and his folly. The love of which he bragged was now lost to
+him, by his own exceeding fault. He cared little for his life, and was
+content to obey the judgment of the Court.
+
+Right wrathful was the King at Launfal's words. He conjured his barons
+to give him such wise counsel herein, that wrong might be done to
+none. The lords did the King's bidding, whether good came of the
+matter, or evil. They gathered themselves together, and appointed a
+certain day that Launfal should abide the judgment of his peers. For
+his part Launfal must give pledge and surety to his lord, that he
+would come before this judgment in his own body. If he might not give
+such surety then he should be held captive till the appointed day.
+When the lords of the King's household returned to tell him of their
+counsel, Arthur demanded that Launfal should put such pledge in his
+hand, as they had said. Launfal was altogether mazed and bewildered at
+this judgment, for he had neither friend nor kindred in the land. He
+would have been set in prison, but Gawain came first to offer himself
+as his surety, and with him, all the knights of his fellowship. These
+gave into the King's hand as pledge, the fiefs and lands that they
+held of his Crown. The King having taken pledges from the sureties,
+Launfal returned to his lodging, and with him certain knights of his
+company. They blamed him greatly because of his foolish love, and
+chastened him grievously by reason of the sorrow he made before men.
+Every day they came to his chamber, to know of his meat and drink, for
+much they feared that presently he would become mad.
+
+The lords of the household came together on the day appointed for this
+judgment. The King was on his chair, with the Queen sitting at his
+side. The sureties brought Launfal within the hall, and rendered him
+into the hands of his peers. Right sorrowful were they because of his
+plight. A great company of his fellowship did all that they were able
+to acquit him of this charge. When all was set out, the King demanded
+the judgment of the Court, according to the accusation and the answer.
+The barons went forth in much trouble and thought to consider this
+matter. Many amongst them grieved for the peril of a good knight in
+a strange land; others held that it were well for Launfal to suffer,
+because of the wish and malice of their lord. Whilst they were thus
+perplexed, the Duke of Cornwall rose in the council, and said,
+
+"Lords, the King pursues Launfal as a traitor, and would slay him with
+the sword, by reason that he bragged of the beauty of his maiden,
+and roused the jealousy of the Queen. By the faith that I owe this
+company, none complains of Launfal, save only the King. For our part
+we would know the truth of this business, and do justice between the
+King and his man. We would also show proper reverence to our own liege
+lord. Now, if it be according to Arthur's will, let us take oath of
+Launfal, that he seek this lady, who has put such strife between him
+and the Queen. If her beauty be such as he has told us, the Queen will
+have no cause for wrath. She must pardon Launfal for his rudeness,
+since it will be plain that he did not speak out of a malicious heart.
+Should Launfal fail his word, and not return with the lady, or should
+her fairness fall beneath his boast, then let him be cast off from our
+fellowship, and be sent forth from the service of the King."
+
+This counsel seemed good to the lords of the household. They sent
+certain of his friends to Launfal, to acquaint him with their
+judgment, bidding him to pray his damsel to the Court, that he might
+be acquitted of this blame. The knight made answer that in no wise
+could he do this thing. So the sureties returned before the judges,
+saying that Launfal hoped neither for refuge nor for succour from
+the lady, and Arthur urged them to a speedy ending, because of the
+prompting of the Queen.
+
+The judges were about to give sentence upon Launfal, when they saw
+two maidens come riding towards the palace, upon two white ambling
+palfreys. Very sweet and dainty were these maidens, and richly clothed
+in garments of crimson sendal, closely girt and fashioned to their
+bodies. All men, old and young, looked willingly upon them, for fair
+they were to see. Gawain, and three knights of his company, went
+straight to Launfal, and showed him these maidens, praying him to
+say which of them was his friend. But he answered never a word. The
+maidens dismounted from their palfreys, and coming before the dais
+where the King was seated, spake him fairly, as they were fair.
+
+"Sire, prepare now a chamber, hung with silken cloths, where it is
+seemly for my lady to dwell; for she would lodge with you awhile."
+
+This gift the King granted gladly. He called to him two knights of his
+household, and bade them bestow the maidens in such chambers as were
+fitting to their degree. The maidens being gone, the King required of
+his barons to proceed with their judgment, saying that he had sore
+displeasure at the slowness of the cause.
+
+"Sire," replied the barons, "we rose from Council, because of the
+damsels who entered in the hall. We will at once resume the sitting,
+and give our judgment without more delay."
+
+The barons again were gathered together, in much thought and trouble,
+to consider this matter. There was great strife and dissension amongst
+them, for they knew not what to do. In the midst of all this noise and
+tumult, there came two other damsels riding to the hall on two Spanish
+mules. Very richly arrayed were these damsels in raiment of fine
+needlework, and their kirtles were covered by fresh fair mantles,
+embroidered with gold. Great joy had Launfal's comrades when they
+marked these ladies. They said between themselves that doubtless they
+came for the succour of the good knight. Gawain, and certain of his
+company, made haste to Launfal, and said, "Sir, be not cast down.
+Two ladies are near at hand, right dainty of dress, and gracious of
+person. Tell us truly, for the love of God, is one of these your
+friend?"
+
+But Launfal answered very simply that never before had he seen these
+damsels with his eyes, nor known and loved them in his heart.
+
+The maidens dismounted from their mules, and stood before Arthur, in
+the sight of all. Greatly were they praised of many, because of their
+beauty, and of the colour of their face and hair. Some there were who
+deemed already that the Queen was overborne.
+
+The elder of the damsels carried herself modestly and well, and
+sweetly told over the message wherewith she was charged.
+
+"Sire, make ready for us chambers, where we may abide with our lady,
+for even now she comes to speak with thee."
+
+The King commanded that the ladies should be led to their companions,
+and bestowed in the same honourable fashion as they. Then he bade the
+lords of his household to consider their judgment, since he would
+endure no further respite. The Court already had given too much time
+to the business, and the Queen was growing wrathful, because of the
+blame that was hers. Now the judges were about to proclaim their
+sentence, when, amidst the tumult of the town, there came riding to
+the palace the flower of all the ladies of the world. She came mounted
+upon a palfrey, white as snow, which carried her softly, as though she
+loved her burthen. Beneath the sky was no goodlier steed, nor one more
+gentle to the hand. The harness of the palfrey was so rich, that no
+king on earth might hope to buy trappings so precious, unless he sold
+or set his realm in pledge. The Maiden herself showed such as I will
+tell you. Passing slim was the lady, sweet of bodice and slender of
+girdle. Her throat was whiter than snow on branch, and her eyes were
+like flowers in the pallor of her face. She had a witching mouth, a
+dainty nose, and an open brow. Her eyebrows were brown, and her golden
+hair parted in two soft waves upon her head. She was clad in a shift
+of spotless linen, and above her snowy kirtle was set a mantle of
+royal purple, clasped upon her breast. She carried a hooded falcon
+upon her glove, and a greyhound followed closely after. As the Maiden
+rode at a slow pace through the streets of the city, there was none,
+neither great nor small, youth nor sergeant, but ran forth from his
+house, that he might content his heart with so great beauty. Every man
+that saw her with his eyes, marvelled at a fairness beyond that of any
+earthly woman. Little he cared for any mortal maiden, after he had
+seen this sight. The friends of Sir Launfal hastened to the knight, to
+tell him of his lady's succour, if so it were according to God's will.
+
+"Sir comrade, truly is not this your friend? This lady is neither
+black nor golden, mean nor tall. She is only the most lovely thing in
+all the world."
+
+When Launfal heard this, he sighed, for by their words he knew again
+his friend. He raised his head, and as the blood rushed to his face,
+speech flowed from his lips.
+
+"By my faith," cried he, "yes, she is indeed my friend. It is a small
+matter now whether men slay me, or set me free; for I am made whole of
+my hurt just by looking on her face."
+
+The Maiden entered in the palace--where none so fair had come
+before--and stood before the King, in the presence of his household.
+She loosed the clasp of her mantle, so that men might the more easily
+perceive the grace of her person. The courteous King advanced to meet
+her, and all the Court got them on their feet, and pained themselves
+in her service. When the lords had gazed upon her for a space, and
+praised the sum of her beauty, the lady spake to Arthur in this
+fashion, for she was anxious to begone.
+
+"Sire, I have loved one of thy vassals,--the knight who stands in
+bonds, Sir Launfal. He was always misprized in thy Court, and his
+every action turned to blame. What he said, that thou knowest; for
+over hasty was his tongue before the Queen. But he never craved her in
+love, however loud his boasting. I cannot choose that he should come
+to hurt or harm by me. In the hope of freeing Launfal from his bonds,
+I have obeyed thy summons. Let now thy barons look boldly upon my
+face, and deal justly in this quarrel between the Queen and me."
+
+The King commanded that this should be done, and looking upon her
+eyes, not one of the judges but was persuaded that her favour exceeded
+that of the Queen.
+
+Since then Launfal had not spoken in malice against his lady, the
+lords of the household gave him again his sword. When the trial had
+come thus to an end the Maiden took her leave of the King, and made
+her ready to depart. Gladly would Arthur have had her lodge with him
+for a little, and many a lord would have rejoiced in her service, but
+she might not tarry. Now without the hall stood a great stone of dull
+marble, where it was the wont of lords, departing from the Court, to
+climb into the saddle, and Launfal by the stone. The Maiden came
+forth from the doors of the palace, and mounting on the stone, seated
+herself on the palfrey, behind her friend. Then they rode across the
+plain together, and were no more seen.
+
+The Bretons tell that the knight was ravished by his lady to an
+island, very dim and very fair, known as Avalon. But none has had
+speech with Launfal and his faery love since then, and for my part I
+can tell you no more of the matter.
+
+
+
+
+VII
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE TWO LOVERS
+
+Once upon a time there lived in Normandy two lovers, who were passing
+fond, and were brought by Love to Death. The story of their love was
+bruited so abroad, that the Bretons made a song in their own tongue,
+and named this song the Lay of the Two Lovers.
+
+In Neustria--that men call Normandy--there is verily a high and
+marvellously great mountain, where lie the relics of the Two Children.
+Near this high place the King of those parts caused to be built a
+certain fair and cunning city, and since he was lord of the Pistrians,
+it was known as Pistres. The town yet endures, with its towers and
+houses, to bear witness to the truth; moreover the country thereabouts
+is known to us all as the Valley of Pistres.
+
+This King had one fair daughter, a damsel sweet of face and gracious
+of manner, very near to her father's heart, since he had lost his
+Queen. The maiden increased in years and favour, but he took no heed
+to her trothing, so that men--yea, even his own people--blamed him
+greatly for this thing. When the King heard thereof he was passing
+heavy and dolent, and considered within himself how he might be
+delivered from this grief. So then, that none should carry off his
+child, he caused it to be proclaimed, both far and near, by script and
+trumpet, that he alone should wed the maid, who would bear her in his
+arms, to the pinnacle of the great and perilous mountain, and that
+without rest or stay. When this news was noised about the country,
+many came upon the quest. But strive as they would they might not
+enforce themselves more than they were able. However mighty they were
+of body, at the last they failed upon the mountain, and fell with
+their burthen to the ground. Thus, for a while, was none so bold as to
+seek the high Princess.
+
+Now in this country lived a squire, son to a certain count of that
+realm, seemly of semblance and courteous, and right desirous to win
+that prize, which was so coveted of all. He was a welcome guest at the
+Court, and the King talked with him very willingly. This squire had
+set his heart upon the daughter of the King, and many a time spoke in
+her ear, praying her to give him again the love he had bestowed upon
+her. So seeing him brave and courteous, she esteemed him for the gifts
+which gained him the favour of the King, and they loved together in
+their youth. But they hid this matter from all about the Court. This
+thing was very grievous to them, but the damoiseau thought within
+himself that it were good to bear the pains he knew, rather than
+to seek out others that might prove sharper still. Yet in the end,
+altogether distraught by love, this prudent varlet sought his friend,
+and showed her his case, saying that he urgently required of her that
+she would flee with him, for no longer could he endure the weariness
+of his days. Should he ask her of the King, well he knew that by
+reason of his love he would refuse the gift, save he bore her in his
+arms up the steep mount. Then the maiden made answer to her lover, and
+said,
+
+"Fair friend, well I know you may not carry me to that high place.
+Moreover should we take to flight, my father would suffer wrath and
+sorrow beyond measure, and go heavily all his days. Certainly my love
+is too fond to plague him thus, and we must seek another counsel, for
+this is not to my heart. Hearken well. I have kindred in Salerno, of
+rich estate. For more than thirty years my aunt has studied there the
+art of medicine, and knows the secret gift of every root and herb.
+If you hasten to her, bearing letters from me, and show her your
+adventure, certainly she will find counsel and cure. Doubt not that
+she will discover some cunning simple, that will strengthen your body,
+as well as comfort your heart. Then return to this realm with your
+potion, and ask me at my father's hand. He will deem you but a
+stripling, and set forth the terms of his bargain, that to him alone
+shall I be given who knows how to climb the perilous mountain, without
+pause or rest, bearing his lady between his arms."
+
+When the varlet heard this cunning counsel of the maiden, he rejoiced
+greatly, and thanking her sweetly for her rede, craved permission to
+depart. He returned to his own home, and gathering together a goodly
+store of silken cloths most precious, he bestowed his gear upon the
+pack horses, and made him ready for the road. So with a little company
+of men, mounted on swift palfreys, and most privy to his mind, he
+arrived at Salerno. Now the squire made no long stay at his lodging,
+but as soon as he might, went to the damsel's kindred to open out his
+mind. He delivered to the aunt the letters he carried from his friend,
+and bewailed their evil case. When the dame had read these letters
+with him, line by line, she charged him to lodge with her awhile, till
+she might do according to his wish. So by her sorceries, and for
+the love of her maid, she brewed such a potion that no man, however
+wearied and outworn, but by drinking this philtre, would not be
+refreshed in heart and blood and bones. Such virtue had this medicine,
+directly it were drunken. This simple she poured within a little
+flacket, and gave it to the varlet, who received the gift with great
+joy and delight, and returned swiftly to his own land.
+
+The varlet made no long sojourn in his home. He repaired straightway
+to the Court, and, seeking out the King, required of him his fair
+daughter in marriage, promising, for his part, that were she given
+him, he would bear her in his arms to the summit of the mount. The
+King was no wise wrath at his presumption. He smiled rather at his
+folly, for how should one so young and slender succeed in a business
+wherein so many mighty men had failed. Therefore he appointed a
+certain day for this judgment. Moreover he caused letters to be
+written to his vassals and his friends--passing none by--bidding them
+to see the end of this adventure. Yea, with public cry and sound of
+trumpet he bade all who would, come to behold the stripling carry his
+fair daughter to the pinnacle of the mountain. And from every region
+round about men came to learn the issue of this thing. But for her
+part the fair maiden did all that she was able to bring her love to a
+good end. Ever was it fast day and fleshless day with her, so that by
+any means she might lighten the burthen that her friend must carry in
+his arms.
+
+Now on the appointed day this young dansellon came very early to the
+appointed place, bringing the flacket with him. When the great company
+were fully met together, the King led forth his daughter before them;
+and all might see that she was arrayed in nothing but her smock. The
+varlet took the maiden in his arms, but first he gave her the flask
+with the precious brewage to carry, since for pride he might not
+endure to drink therefrom, save at utmost peril. The squire set forth
+at a great pace, and climbed briskly till he was halfway up the mount.
+Because of the joy he had in clasping his burthen, he gave no thought
+to the potion. But she--she knew the strength was failing in his
+heart.
+
+"Fair friend," said she, "well I know that you tire: drink now, I pray
+you, of the flacket, and so shall your manhood come again at need."
+
+But the varlet answered,
+
+"Fair love, my heart is full of courage; nor for any reason will I
+pause, so long as I can hold upon my way. It is the noise of all this
+folk--the tumult and the shouting--that makes my steps uncertain.
+Their cries distress me, I do not dare to stand."
+
+But when two thirds of the course was won, the grasshopper would have
+tripped him off his feet. Urgently and often the maiden prayed him,
+saying,
+
+"Fair friend, drink now of thy cordial."
+
+But he would neither hear, nor give credence to her words. A mighty
+anguish filled his bosom. He climbed upon the summit of the mountain,
+and pained himself grievously to bring his journey to an end. This he
+might not do. He reeled and fell, nor could he rise again, for the
+heart had burst within his breast.
+
+When the maiden saw her lover's piteous plight, she deemed that he had
+swooned by reason of his pain. She kneeled hastily at his side, and
+put the enchanted brewage to his lips, but he could neither drink nor
+speak, for he was dead, as I have told you. She bewailed his evil lot,
+with many shrill cries, and flung the useless flacket far away. The
+precious potion bestrewed the ground, making a garden of that desolate
+place. For many saving herbs have been found there since that day by
+the simple folk of that country, which from the magic philtre derived
+all their virtue.
+
+But when the maiden knew that her lover was dead, she made such
+wondrous sorrow, as no man had ever seen. She kissed his eyes and
+mouth, and falling upon his body, took him in her arms, and pressed
+him closely to her breast. There was no heart so hard as not to be
+touched by her sorrow; for in this fashion died a dame, who was fair
+and sweet and gracious, beyond the wont of the daughters of men.
+
+Now the King and his company, since these two lovers came not again,
+presently climbed the mountain to learn their end. But when the King
+came upon them lifeless, and fast in that embrace, incontinent he fell
+to the ground, bereft of sense. After his speech had returned to him,
+he was passing heavy, and lamented their doleful case, and thus did
+all his people with him.
+
+Three days they kept the bodies of these two fair children from earth,
+with uncovered face. On the third day they sealed them fast in a
+goodly coffin of marble, and by the counsel of all men, laid them
+softly to rest on that mountain where they died. Then they departed
+from them, and left them together, alone.
+
+Since this adventure of the Two Children this hill is known as the
+Mountain of the Two Lovers, and their story being bruited abroad, the
+Breton folk have made a Lay thereof, even as I have rehearsed before
+you.
+
+
+
+
+VIII
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE WERE-WOLF
+
+Amongst the tales I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay of
+the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land. Bisclavaret
+he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him Garwal.
+
+It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a
+christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as
+a Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the
+thick forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he
+does. He goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in
+order to devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf,
+that I have to tell.
+
+In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all
+his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office
+and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to
+the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy
+dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set
+on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had
+this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from
+her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did
+any of his house know the business which called him forth.
+
+On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether
+joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in
+this fashion, "Husband," said she, "and fair, sweet friend, I have a
+certain thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this
+gift, but I fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to
+have an empty hand, than to gain hard words."
+
+When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very
+tenderly, and kissed her.
+
+"Wife," he answered, "ask what you will. What would you have, for it
+is yours already?"
+
+"By my faith," said the lady, "soon shall I be whole. Husband, right
+long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home.
+I rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So
+fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any
+comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now,
+where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who
+loves so closely, bring you to harm?"
+
+"Wife," made answer the lord, "nothing but evil can come if I tell you
+this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you but
+knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be lost
+indeed."
+
+When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to
+put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required
+him the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was
+overborne, and told her all the story, hiding naught.
+
+"Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey
+and roots, within the thickest of the wood."
+
+After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more as
+to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.
+
+"Wife," said he, "I go naked as a beast."
+
+"Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?"
+
+"Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even be
+marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the
+days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my
+clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my
+lair."
+
+"Husband," replied the lady to him, "I love you better than all the
+world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any
+tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made
+forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now
+your heart, and tell what is good to be known."
+
+So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could
+no longer refrain, but told her all.
+
+"Wife," said he, "within this wood, a little from the path, there is a
+hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where oftentimes
+I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone, concealed by
+a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my raiment, till I
+would return to my own home."
+
+On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because of
+her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and turned
+over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her from
+him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a great
+while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This knight had
+spent long years in her service, but little enough had he got thereby,
+not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a letter, and
+meeting, made her purpose plain.
+
+"Fair friend," said she, "be happy. That which you have coveted so
+long a time, I will grant without delay. Never again will I deny your
+suit. My heart, and all I have to give, are yours, so take me now as
+love and dame."
+
+Right sweetly the knight thanked her for her grace, and pledged her
+faith and fealty. When she had confirmed him by an oath, then she told
+him all this business of her lord--why he went, and what he became,
+and of his ravening within the wood. So she showed him of the chapel,
+and of the hollow stone, and of how to spoil the Were-Wolf of his
+vesture. Thus, by the kiss of his wife, was Bisclavaret betrayed.
+Often enough had he ravished his prey in desolate places, but from
+this journey he never returned. His kinsfolk and acquaintance came
+together to ask of his tidings, when this absence was noised abroad.
+Many a man, on many a day, searched the woodland, but none might find
+him, nor learn where Bisclavaret was gone.
+
+The lady was wedded to the knight who had cherished her for so long a
+space. More than a year had passed since Bisclavaret disappeared. Then
+it chanced that the King would hunt in that self-same wood where the
+Were-Wolf lurked. When the hounds were unleashed they ran this way and
+that, and swiftly came upon his scent. At the view the huntsman winded
+on his horn, and the whole pack were at his heels. They followed him
+from morn to eve, till he was torn and bleeding, and was all adread
+lest they should pull him down. Now the King was very close to the
+quarry, and when Bisclavaret looked upon his master, he ran to him for
+pity and for grace. He took the stirrup within his paws, and fawned
+upon the prince's foot. The King was very fearful at this sight, but
+presently he called his courtiers to his aid.
+
+"Lords," cried he, "hasten hither, and see this marvellous thing. Here
+is a beast who has the sense of man. He abases himself before his foe,
+and cries for mercy, although he cannot speak. Beat off the hounds,
+and let no man do him harm. We will hunt no more to-day, but return to
+our own place, with the wonderful quarry we have taken."
+
+The King turned him about, and rode to his hall, Bisclavaret following
+at his side. Very near to his master the Were-Wolf went, like any dog,
+and had no care to seek again the wood. When the King had brought him
+safely to his own castle, he rejoiced greatly, for the beast was fair
+and strong, no mightier had any man seen. Much pride had the King in
+his marvellous beast. He held him so dear, that he bade all those who
+wished for his love, to cross the Wolf in naught, neither to strike
+him with a rod, but ever to see that he was richly fed and kennelled
+warm. This commandment the Court observed willingly. So all the day
+the Wolf sported with the lords, and at night he lay within the
+chamber of the King. There was not a man who did not make much of the
+beast, so frank was he and debonair. None had reason to do him wrong,
+for ever was he about his master, and for his part did evil to none.
+Every day were these two companions together, and all perceived that
+the King loved him as his friend.
+
+Hearken now to that which chanced.
+
+The King held a high Court, and bade his great vassals and barons, and
+all the lords of his venery to the feast. Never was there a goodlier
+feast, nor one set forth with sweeter show and pomp. Amongst those who
+were bidden, came that same knight who had the wife of Bisclavaret for
+dame. He came to the castle, richly gowned, with a fair company, but
+little he deemed whom he would find so near. Bisclavaret marked his
+foe the moment he stood within the hall. He ran towards him, and
+seized him with his fangs, in the King's very presence, and to the
+view of all. Doubtless he would have done him much mischief, had not
+the King called and chidden him, and threatened him with a rod. Once,
+and twice, again, the Wolf set upon the knight in the very light of
+day. All men marvelled at his malice, for sweet and serviceable was
+the beast, and to that hour had shown hatred of none. With one consent
+the household deemed that this deed was done with full reason, and
+that the Wolf had suffered at the knight's hand some bitter wrong.
+Right wary of his foe was the knight until the feast had ended, and
+all the barons had taken farewell of their lord, and departed, each to
+his own house. With these, amongst the very first, went that lord whom
+Bisclavaret so fiercely had assailed. Small was the wonder that he was
+glad to go.
+
+No long while after this adventure it came to pass that the courteous
+King would hunt in that forest where Bisclavaret was found. With the
+prince came his wolf, and a fair company. Now at nightfall the King
+abode within a certain lodge of that country, and this was known of
+that dame who before was the wife of Bisclavaret. In the morning the
+lady clothed her in her most dainty apparel, and hastened to the
+lodge, since she desired to speak with the King, and to offer him a
+rich present. When the lady entered in the chamber, neither man nor
+leash might restrain the fury of the Wolf. He became as a mad dog in
+his hatred and malice. Breaking from his bonds he sprang at the lady's
+face, and bit the nose from her visage. From every side men ran to the
+succour of the dame. They beat off the wolf from his prey, and for a
+little would have cut him in pieces with their swords. But a certain
+wise counsellor said to the King,
+
+"Sire, hearken now to me. This beast is always with you, and there is
+not one of us all who has not known him for long. He goes in and out
+amongst us, nor has molested any man, neither done wrong or felony to
+any, save only to this dame, one only time as we have seen. He has
+done evil to this lady, and to that knight, who is now the husband of
+the dame. Sire, she was once the wife of that lord who was so close
+and private to your heart, but who went, and none might find where he
+had gone. Now, therefore, put the dame in a sure place, and
+question her straitly, so that she may tell--if perchance she knows
+thereof--for what reason this Beast holds her in such mortal hate. For
+many a strange deed has chanced, as well we know, in this marvellous
+land of Brittany."
+
+The King listened to these words, and deemed the counsel good. He laid
+hands upon the knight, and put the dame in surety in another place. He
+caused them to be questioned right straitly, so that their torment was
+very grievous. At the end, partly because of her distress, and partly
+by reason of her exceeding fear, the lady's lips were loosed, and she
+told her tale. She showed them of the betrayal of her lord, and how
+his raiment was stolen from the hollow stone. Since then she knew not
+where he went, nor what had befallen him, for he had never come
+again to his own land. Only, in her heart, well she deemed and was
+persuaded, that Bisclavaret was he.
+
+Straightway the King demanded the vesture of his baron, whether this
+were to the wish of the lady, or whether it were against her wish.
+When the raiment was brought him, he caused it to be spread before
+Bisclavaret, but the Wolf made as though he had not seen. Then that
+cunning and crafty counsellor took the King apart, that he might give
+him a fresh rede.
+
+"Sire," said he, "you do not wisely, nor well, to set this raiment
+before Bisclavaret, in the sight of all. In shame and much tribulation
+must he lay aside the beast, and again become man. Carry your wolf
+within your most secret chamber, and put his vestment therein. Then
+close the door upon him, and leave him alone for a space. So we shall
+see presently whether the ravening beast may indeed return to human
+shape."
+
+The King carried the Wolf to his chamber, and shut the doors upon
+him fast. He delayed for a brief while, and taking two lords of his
+fellowship with him, came again to the room. Entering therein, all
+three, softly together, they found the knight sleeping in the King's
+bed, like a little child. The King ran swiftly to the bed and taking
+his friend in his arms, embraced and kissed him fondly, above a
+hundred times. When man's speech returned once more, he told him of
+his adventure. Then the King restored to his friend the fief that was
+stolen from him, and gave such rich gifts, moreover, as I cannot tell.
+As for the wife who had betrayed Bisclavaret, he bade her avoid his
+country, and chased her from the realm. So she went forth, she and her
+second lord together, to seek a more abiding city, and were no more
+seen.
+
+The adventure that you have heard is no vain fable. Verily and indeed
+it chanced as I have said. The Lay of the Were-Wolf, truly, was
+written that it should ever be borne in mind.
+
+
+
+
+IX
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE ASH TREE
+
+Now will I tell you the Lay of the Ash Tree, according to the story
+that I know.
+
+In ancient days there dwelt two knights in Brittany, who were
+neighbours and close friends. These two lords were brave and worthy
+gentlemen, rich in goods and lands, and near both in heart and home.
+Moreover each was wedded to a dame. One of these ladies was with
+child, and when her time was come, she was delivered of two boys. Her
+husband was right happy and content. For the joy that was his, he sent
+messages to his neighbour, telling that his wife had brought forth two
+sons, and praying that one of them might be christened with his name.
+The rich man was at meat when the messenger came before him. The
+servitor kneeled before the dais, and told his message in his ear. The
+lord thanked God for the happiness that had befallen his friend,
+and bestowed a fair horse on the bringer of good tidings. His wife,
+sitting at board with her husband, heard the story of the messenger,
+and smiled at his news. Proud she was, and sly, with an envious heart,
+and a rancorous tongue. She made no effort to bridle her lips, but
+spoke lightly before the servants of the house, and said,
+
+"I marvel greatly that so reputable a man as our neighbour, should
+publish his dishonour to my lord. It is a shameful thing for any wife
+to have two children at a birth. We all know that no woman brings
+forth two at one bearing, except two husbands have aided her therein."
+
+Her husband looked upon her in silence for awhile, and when he spoke
+it was to blame her very sternly.
+
+"Wife," he said, "be silent. It is better to be dumb, than to utter
+such words as these. As you know well, there is not a breath to
+tarnish this lady's good name."
+
+The folk of the house, who listened to these words, stored them in
+their hearts, and told abroad the tale, spoken by their lady. Very
+soon it was known throughout Brittany. Greatly was the lady blamed for
+her evil tongue, and not a woman who heard thereof--whether she were
+rich or poor--but who scorned her for her malice. The servant who
+carried the message, on his return repeated to his lord of what he had
+seen and heard. Passing heavy was the knight, and knew not what to
+do. He doubted his own true wife, and suspected her the more sorely,
+because she had done naught that was in any way amiss.
+
+The lady, who so foully slandered her fellow, fell with child in the
+same year. Her neighbour was avenged upon her, for when her term was
+come, she became the mother of two daughters. Sick at heart was she.
+She was right sorrowful, and lamented her evil case.
+
+"Alas," she said, "what shall I do, for I am dishonoured for all
+my days. Shamed I am, it is the simple truth. When my lord and his
+kinsfolk shall hear of what has chanced, they will never believe me
+a stainless wife. They will remember how I judged all women in my
+plight. They will recall how I said before my house, that my neighbour
+could not have been doubly a mother, unless she had first been doubly
+a wife. I have the best reason now to know that I was wrong, and I am
+caught in my own snare. She who digs a pit for another, cannot tell
+that she may not fall into the hole herself. If you wish to speak
+loudly concerning your neighbour, it is best to say nothing of him
+but in praise. The only way to keep me from shame, is that one of my
+children should die. It is a great sin; but I would rather trust to
+the mercy of God, than suffer scorn and reproach for the rest of my
+life."
+
+The women about her comforted her as best they might in this trouble.
+They told her frankly that they would not suffer such wrong to be
+done, since the slaying of a child was not reckoned a jest. The lady
+had a maiden near her person, whom she had long held and nourished.
+The damsel was a freeman's daughter, and was greatly loved and
+cherished of her mistress. When she saw the lady's tears, and heard
+the bitterness of her complaint, anguish went to her heart, like a
+knife. She stooped over her lady, striving to bring her comfort.
+
+"Lady," she said, "take it not so to heart. Give over this grief, for
+all will yet be well. You shall deliver me one of these children, and
+I will put her so far from you, that you shall never see her again,
+nor know shame because of her. I will carry her safe and sound to the
+door of a church. There I will lay her down. Some honest man shall
+find her, and--please God--will be at the cost of her nourishing."
+
+Great joy had the lady to hear these words. She promised the maiden
+that in recompense of her service, she would grant her such guerdon
+as she should wish. The maiden took the babe--yet smiling in her
+sleep--and wrapped her in a linen cloth. Above this she set a piece of
+sanguine silk, brought by the husband of this dame from a bazaar in
+Constantinople--fairer was never seen. With a silken lace they bound
+a great ring to the child's arm. This ring was of fine gold, weighing
+fully an ounce, and was set with garnets most precious.
+
+Letters were graven thereon, so that those who found the maid might
+understand that she came of a good house. The damsel took the child,
+and went out from the chamber. When night was come, and all was still,
+she left the town, and sought the high road leading through the
+forest. She held on her way, clasping the baby to her breast, till
+from afar, to her right hand, she heard the howling of dogs and the
+crowing of cocks. She deemed that she was near a town, and went the
+lighter for the hope, directing her steps, there, whence the noises
+came. Presently the damsel entered in a fair city, where was an Abbey,
+both great and rich. This Abbey was worshipfully ordered, with many
+nuns in their office and degree, and an Abbess in charge of all. The
+maiden gazed upon the mighty house, and considered its towers and
+walls, and the church with its belfry. She went swiftly to the door,
+and setting the child upon the ground, kneeled humbly to make her
+prayer.
+
+"Lord," said she, "for the sake of Thy Holy Name, if such be Thy will,
+preserve this child from death."
+
+Her petition ended, the maiden looked about her, and saw an ash tree,
+planted to give shadow in a sunny place. It was a fair tree, thick and
+leafy, and was divided into four strong branches. The maiden took the
+child again in her arms, and running to the ash, set her within the
+tree. There she left her, commending her to the care of God. So she
+returned to her mistress, and told her all that she had done.
+
+Now in this Abbey was a porter, whose duty it was to open the doors of
+the church, before folk came to hear the service of God. This night
+he rose at his accustomed hour, lighted candles and lamps, rang the
+bells, and set wide the doors. His eyes fell upon the silken stuff
+within the ash. He thought at first that some bold thief had hidden
+his spoil within the tree. He felt with his hand to discover what it
+might be, and found that it was a little child. The porter praised
+God for His goodness; he took the babe, and going again to his house,
+called to his daughter, who was a widow, with an infant yet in the
+cradle.
+
+"Daughter," he cried, "get from bed at once; light your candle, and
+kindle the fire. I bring you a little child, whom I have found within
+our ash. Take her to your breast; cherish her against the cold, and
+bathe her in warm water."
+
+The widow did according to her father's will. She kindled a fire, and
+taking the babe, washed and cherished her in her need. Very certain
+she was, when she saw that rich stuff of crimson samite, and the
+golden ring about the arm, that the girl was come of an honourable
+race. The next day, when the office was ended, the porter prayed the
+Abbess that he might have speech with her as she left the church. He
+related his story, and told of the finding of the child. The Abbess
+bade him to fetch the child, dressed in such fashion as she was
+discovered in the ash. The porter returned to his house, and showed
+the babe right gladly to his dame. The Abbess observed the infant
+closely, and said that she would be at the cost of her nourishing,
+and would cherish her as a sister's child. She commanded the porter
+strictly to forget that he took her from the ash. In this manner it
+chanced that the maiden was tended of the Abbess. The lady considered
+the maid as her niece, and since she was taken from the ash, gave her
+the name of Frêne. By this name she was known of all, within the Abbey
+precincts, where she was nourished.
+
+When Frêne came to that age in which a girl turns to woman, there was
+no fairer maiden in Brittany, nor so sweet a damsel. Frank, she was,
+and open, but discreet in semblance and in speech. To see her was to
+love her, and to prize her smile above the beauty of the world. Now at
+Dol there lived a lord of whom much good was spoken. I will tell you
+his name. The folk of his country called him Buron. This lord heard
+speak of the maiden, and began to love her, for the sweetness men
+told of her. As he rode home from some tournament, he passed near the
+convent, and prayed the Abbess that he might look upon her niece. The
+Abbess gave him his desire. Greatly was the maiden to his mind.
+Very fair he found her, sweetly schooled and fashioned, modest and
+courteous to all. If he might not win her to his love, he counted
+himself the more forlorn. This lord was at his wits end, for he knew
+not what to do. If he repaired often to the convent, the Abbess would
+consider of the cause of his comings, and he would never again see the
+maiden with his eyes. One thing only gave him a little hope. Should he
+endow the Abbey of his wealth, he would make it his debtor for ever.
+In return he might ask a little room, where he might abide to have
+their fellowship, and, at times, withdraw him from the world. This he
+did. He gave richly of his goods to the Abbey. Often, in return, he
+went to the convent, but for other reasons than for penitence and
+peace. He besought the maiden, and with prayers and promises,
+persuaded her to set upon him her love. When this lord was assured
+that she loved him, on a certain day he reasoned with her in this
+manner.
+
+"Fair friend," said he, "since you have given me your love, come with
+me, where I can cherish you before all the world. You know, as well
+as I, that if your aunt should perceive our friendship, she would be
+passing wrath, and grieve beyond measure. If my counsel seems good,
+let us flee together, you with me, and I with you. Certes, you shall
+never have cause to regret your trust, and of my riches you shall have
+the half."
+
+When she who loved so fondly heard these words, she granted of her
+tenderness what it pleased him to have, and followed after where he
+would. Frêne fled to her lover's castle, carrying with her that silken
+cloth and ring, which might do her service on a day. These the Abbess
+had given her again, telling her how one morning at prime she was
+found upon an ash, this ring and samite her only wealth, since she was
+not her niece. Right carefully had Frêne guarded her treasure from
+that hour. She shut them closely in a little chest, and this coffret
+she bore with her in her flight, for she would neither lose them nor
+forget.
+
+The lord, with whom the maiden fled, loved and cherished her very
+dearly. Of all the men and servants of his house, there was not
+one--either great or small--but who loved and honoured her for her
+simplicity. They lived long together in love and content, till the
+fair days passed, and trouble came upon this lord. The knights of his
+realm drew together, and many a time urged that he should put away his
+friend, and wed with some rich gentlewoman. They would be joyous if a
+son were born, to come after to his fief and heritage. The peril was
+too great to suffer that he remained a bachelor, and without an heir.
+Never more would they hold him as lord, or serve him with a good
+heart, if he would not do according to their will.
+
+There being naught else to do, the lord deferred to this counsel of
+his knights, and begged them to name the lady whom he needs must wed.
+
+"Sir," answered they, "there is a lord of these parts, privy to our
+counsel, who has but one child, a maid, his only heir. Broad lands
+will he give as her dowry. This damsel's name is Coudre, and in all
+this country there is none so fair. Be advised: throw away the ash rod
+you carry, and take the hazel as your staff.[1] The ash is a barren
+stock; but the hazel is thick with nuts and delight. We shall be
+content if you take this maiden as your wife, so it be to the will of
+God, and she be given you of her kinsfolk."
+
+Buron demanded the hand of the lady in marriage, and her father and
+kin betrothed her to the lord. Alas! it was hid from all, that these
+two were twin sisters. It was Frêne's lot to be doubly abandoned, and
+to see her lover become her sister's husband. When she learned that
+her friend purposed taking to himself a wife, she made no outcry
+against his falseness. She continued to serve her lord faithfully, and
+was diligent in the business of his house. The sergeant and the varlet
+were marvellously wrathful, when they knew that she must go from
+amongst them. On the day appointed for the marriage, Buron bade his
+friends and acquaintance to the feast. Together with these came
+the Archbishop, and those of Dol who held of him their lands. His
+betrothed was brought to his home by her mother. Great dread had the
+mother because of Frêne, for she knew of the love that the lord bore
+the maiden, and feared lest her daughter should be a stranger in her
+own hall. She spoke to her son-in-law, counselling him to send Frêne
+from his house, and to find her an honest man for her husband. Thus
+there would be quittance between them. Very splendid was the feast.
+Whilst all was mirth and jollity, the damsel visited the chambers, to
+see that each was ordered to her lord's pleasure. She hid the torment
+in her heart, and seemed neither troubled nor downcast. She compassed
+the bride with every fair observance, and waited upon her right
+daintily.
+
+[Footnote 1: This is a play on words; Frêne in the French, meaning
+ash, and Coudre meaning hazel.]
+
+Her courage was marvellous to that company of lords and ladies, who
+observed her curiously. The mother of the bride regarded her also, and
+praised her privily. She said aloud that had she known the sweetness
+of this lady, she would not have taken her lover from her, nor spoiled
+her life for the sake of the bride. The night being come the damsel
+entered in the bridal chamber to deck the bed against her lord. She
+put off her mantle, and calling the chamberlains, showed them how
+their master loved to lie. His bed being softly arrayed, a coverlet
+was spread upon the linen sheets. Frêne looked upon the coverlet:
+in her eyes it showed too mean a garnishing for so fair a lord.
+She turned it over in her mind, and going to her coffret she took
+therefrom that rich stuff of sanguine silk, and set it on the couch.
+This she did not only in honour of her friend, but that the Archbishop
+might not despise the house, when he blessed the marriage bed,
+according to the rite. When all was ready the mother carried the bride
+to that chamber where she should lie, to disarray her for the night.
+Looking upon the bed she marked the silken coverlet, for she had never
+seen so rich a cloth, save only that in which she wrapped her child.
+When she remembered of this thing, her heart turned to water. She
+summoned a chamberlain.
+
+"Tell me," she said, "tell me in good faith where this garniture was
+found."
+
+"Lady," he made reply, "that you shall know. Our damsel spread it on
+the bed, because this dossal is richer than the coverlet that was
+there before."
+
+The lady called for the damsel. Frêne came before her in haste, being
+yet without her mantle. All the mother moved within her, as she plied
+her with questions.
+
+"Fair friend, hide it not a whit from me. Tell me truly where this
+fair samite was found; whence came it; who gave it to you? Answer
+swiftly, and tell me who bestowed on you this cloth?"
+
+The damsel made answer to her:
+
+"Lady, my aunt, the Abbess, gave me this silken stuff, and charged me
+to keep it carefully. At the same time she gave me a ring, which those
+who put me forth, had bound upon me."
+
+"Fair friend, may I see this ring?"
+
+"Certes, lady, I shall be pleased to show it."
+
+The lady looked closely on the ring, when it was brought. She knew
+again her own, and the crimson samite flung upon the bed. No doubt was
+in her mind. She knew and was persuaded that Frêne was her very child.
+All words were spoken, and there was nothing more to hide.
+
+"Thou art my daughter, fair friend."
+
+Then for reason of the pity that was hers, she fell to the ground, and
+lay in a swoon. When the lady came again to herself, she sent for her
+husband, who, all adread, hastened to the chamber. He marvelled the
+more sorely when his wife fell at his feet, and embracing him closely,
+entreated pardon for the evil that she had done.
+
+Knowing nothing of her trespass, he made reply, "Wife, what is this?
+Between you and me there is nothing to call for forgiveness. Pardon
+you may have for whatever fault you please. Tell me plainly what is
+your wish."
+
+"Husband, my offence is so black, that you had better give me
+absolution before I tell you the sin. A long time ago, by reason of
+lightness and malice, I spoke evil of my neighbour, whenas she bore
+two sons at a birth. I fell afterwards into the very pit that I had
+digged. Though I told you that I was delivered of a daughter, the
+truth is that I had borne two maids. One of these I wrapped in our
+stuff of samite, together with the ring you gave me the first time we
+met, and caused her to be laid beside a church. Such a sin will out.
+The cloth and the ring I have found, and I have recognised our maid,
+whom I had lost by my own folly. She is this very damsel--so fair and
+amiable to all--whom the knight so greatly loved. Now we have married
+the lord to her sister."
+
+The husband made answer, "Wife, if your sin be double, our joy is
+manifold. Very tenderly hath God dealt with us, in giving us back our
+child. I am altogether joyous and content to have two daughters for
+one. Daughter, come to your father's side."
+
+The damsel rejoiced greatly to hear this story. Her father tarried no
+longer, but seeking his son-in-law, brought him to the Archbishop, and
+related the adventure. The knight knew such joy as was never yet. The
+Archbishop gave counsel that on the morrow he would part him and her
+whom he had joined together. This was done, for in the morning he
+severed them, bed and board. Afterwards he married Frêne to her
+friend, and her father accorded the damsel with a right good heart.
+Her mother and sister were with her at the wedding, and for dowry her
+father gave her the half of his heritage. When they returned to their
+own realm they took Coudre, their daughter, with them. There she was
+granted to a lord of those parts, and rich was the feast.
+
+When this adventure was bruited abroad, and all the story, the Lay of
+the Ash Tree was written, so called of the lady, named Frêne.
+
+
+
+
+X
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE HONEYSUCKLE
+
+With a glad heart and right good mind will I tell the Lay that men
+call Honeysuckle; and that the truth may be known of all it shall be
+told as many a minstrel has sung it to my ear, and as the scribe hath
+written it for our delight. It is of Tristan and Isoude, the Queen.
+It is of a love which passed all other love, of love from whence came
+wondrous sorrow, and whereof they died together in the self-same day.
+
+King Mark was sorely wrath with Tristan, his sister's son, and bade
+him avoid his realm, by reason of the love he bore the Queen. So
+Tristan repaired to his own land, and dwelt for a full year in South
+Wales, where he was born. Then since he might not come where he would
+be, Tristan took no heed to his ways, but let his life run waste to
+Death. Marvel not overmuch thereat, for he who loves beyond measure
+must ever be sick in heart and hope, when he may not win according
+to his wish. So sick in heart and mind was Tristan that he left his
+kingdom, and returned straight to the realm of his banishment, because
+that in Cornwall dwelt the Queen. There he hid privily in the deep
+forest, withdrawn from the eyes of men; only when the evening was
+come, and all things sought their rest, he prayed the peasant and
+other mean folk of that country, of their charity to grant him shelter
+for the night. From the serf he gathered tidings of the King. These
+gave again to him what they, in turn, had taken from some outlawed
+knight. Thus Tristan learned that when Pentecost was come King Mark
+purposed to hold high Court at Tintagel, and keep the feast with pomp
+and revelry; moreover that thither would ride Isoude, the Queen.
+
+When Tristan heard this thing he rejoiced greatly, since the Queen
+might not adventure through the forest, except he saw her with his
+eyes. After the King had gone his way, Tristan entered within the
+wood, and sought the path by which the Queen must come. There he cut a
+wand from out a certain hazel-tree, and having trimmed and peeled it
+of its bark, with his dagger he carved his name upon the wood. This he
+placed upon her road, for well he knew that should the Queen but mark
+his name she would bethink her of her friend. Thus had it chanced
+before. For this was the sum of the writing set upon the wand, for
+Queen Isoude's heart alone: how that in this wild place Tristan had
+lurked and waited long, so that he might look upon her face, since
+without her he was already dead. Was it not with them as with the
+Honeysuckle and the Hazel tree she was passing by! So sweetly laced
+and taken were they in one close embrace, that thus they might remain
+whilst life endured. But should rough hands part so fond a clasping,
+the hazel would wither at the root, and the honeysuckle must fail.
+Fair friend, thus is the case with us, nor you without me, nor I
+without you.
+
+Now the Queen fared at adventure down the forest path. She spied the
+hazel wand set upon her road, and well she remembered the letters
+and the name. She bade the knights of her company to draw rein, and
+dismount from their palfreys, so that they might refresh themselves a
+little. When her commandment was done she withdrew from them a space,
+and called to her Brangwaine, her maiden, and own familiar friend.
+Then she hastened within the wood, to come on him whom more she loved
+than any living soul. How great the joy between these twain, that once
+more they might speak together softly, face to face. Isoude showed him
+her delight. She showed in what fashion she strove to bring peace
+and concord betwixt Tristan and the King, and how grievously his
+banishment had weighed upon her heart. Thus sped the hour, till it
+was time for them to part; but when these lovers freed them from
+the other's arms, the tears were wet upon their cheeks. So Tristan
+returned to Wales, his own realm, even as his uncle bade. But for the
+joy that he had had of her, his friend, for her sweet face, and for
+the tender words that she had spoken, yea, and for that writing upon
+the wand, to remember all these things, Tristan, that cunning harper,
+wrought a new Lay, as shortly I have told you. Goatleaf, men call this
+song in English. Chèvrefeuille it is named in French; but Goatleaf
+or Honeysuckle, here you have the very truth in the Lay that I have
+spoken.
+
+
+
+
+XI
+
+
+THE LAY OF EQUITAN
+
+In ancient days many a noble lord lived in Brittany beyond the Seas.
+By reason of their courtesy and nobleness they would gladly keep
+in remembrance the deeds that were done in the land. That these
+marvellous things should not be forgotten they fashioned them into
+Lays. Amongst these Lays I have heard tell of one which is not made to
+die as though it had never been.
+
+Equitan, lord of Nantes, was a loyal and courteous gentleman, of great
+worth, beloved by all in his own country. He was set on pleasure, and
+was Love's lover, as became a gentle knight. Like many others who dote
+on woman, he observed neither sense nor measure in love. But it is in
+the very nature of Love that proportion cannot enter into the matter.
+
+Equitan had for seneschal a right brave and loyal knight, who was
+captain of his army, and did justice in his realm. He was often abroad
+upon his master's business, for the King would not forego his delight
+for any reason whatever. To dance, to hunt, to fish within the
+river--this was all his joy. This seneschal was married to a wife,
+by whom great evil came upon the land. Very desirable was the lady;
+passing tender of body, and sweet of vesture, coiffed and fretted with
+gold. Her eyes were blue; her face warmly coloured, with a fragrant
+mouth, and a dainty nose. Certainly she had no peer in all the realm.
+The King had heard much in praise of this lady and many a time
+saluted her upon the way. He had also sent her divers gifts. Often he
+considered in his mind how best he might get speech with the dame. For
+his privy pleasure this amorous King went to chase in that country
+where the seneschal had his castle. The lady being in her own house,
+Equitan craved a lodging for the night. By this means when the hunt
+was done, he could speak with her, and show what was in his heart.
+Equitan found the lady as discreet as courteous. He looked closely
+upon her, for she was fair of face and person, and sweet of semblance
+and address. Love bound him captive to his car. The god loosed a shaft
+which entered deeply in his breast. The arrow pierced to his heart,
+and from thenceforth he cared nothing for measure, or kingship, or
+delight. Equitan was so surprised of the lady, that he remained silent
+and pensive. He heard nothing, and nothing he could do. All night he
+lay in unrest upon the bed, reproaching himself for what had come to
+pass.
+
+"Alas," said he, "what evil fate has led me into this land! The sight
+only of this lady has put such anguish into my heart that my members
+fail beneath me. It is Love, I deem, who rides me thus cruelly. But
+if I love this lady I shall do a great wrong. She is the wife of my
+seneschal, and it is my duty to keep the same love and faith to him as
+I would wish him to observe with me. If by any means I could know what
+is in her mind, I should be the easier, for torment is doubled that
+you bear alone. There is not a dame, however curst, but would rather
+love than not; for if she were a contemner of love where would be her
+courtesy? But if she loves, there is not a woman under the sky who
+would not suck thereout all the advantage that she may. If the matter
+came to the ears of the seneschal, he ought not to think too hardly
+of me. He cannot hope to keep such treasure for himself alone; and,
+certes, I shall claim my portion."
+
+Equitan tossed on his bed, and sighed. His thoughts were still on the
+lady, so that in a little he said, "I think of the ford, before I come
+to the river. I go too quickly, for I know not yet whether the lady
+will take me as her friend. But know I will as swiftly as I can, since
+I cannot get rest or sleep. I will come before her as soon as it is
+day, and if she feels as I feel, the sooner I shall be rid of my
+pain."
+
+The King kept vigil till the daylight came at last. He arose and went
+forth, as if to the chase. He returned presently, telling that he
+was sick, and going straight to his chamber, lay upon his bed. The
+seneschal was very troubled, for he could not imagine the sickness of
+which his master felt the pangs. He counselled his wife to seek their
+guest, that she might cheer and comfort him in his trouble. When they
+were alone the King opened to her his heart. He told her that he was
+dying for her love, and that if she had no more than friendship to
+offer, he preferred death before life.
+
+"Sire," replied the dame, "I require a little time to think of what
+you say, for I cannot answer yes or no, without thought, in a business
+of this moment. I am not of your wealth, and you are too high a lord,
+for your love to do more than rest lightly on me. When you have had
+your desire, it will as lightly fly away. My sorrow would be overlong,
+if I should love you, and grant you what you wish. It is much the
+best that between you and me love should not be spoken of. You are
+a puissant prince; my husband is one of your vassals, and faith and
+trust should bind us--not the dangerous bond of love. Love is only
+lasting between like and like. Better is the love of an honest man--so
+he be of sense and worth--than that of a prince or king, with no
+loyalty in him. She who sets her love more highly than she can reach,
+may pluck no fruit from the tree. The rich man deems that love is his
+of right. He prays little of his friend, for he thinks none dare
+take her from his hand, and that her tenderness is his by prize of
+lordship."
+
+When she had ceased, Equitan made answer, "Lady, I can offer you but
+short thanks for your words, since they savour of scant courtesy. You
+speak of love as a burgess makes a bargain. Those who desire to get,
+rather than to give, often find that they have the worser half of the
+business. There is no lady under heaven--so she be courteous and kind
+and of a good heart--but would grant her grace to a true lover, even
+though she have beneath her cloak only a rich prince in his castle.
+Those who care but for a fresh face--tricksters in love as a cozener
+with dice--are justly flouted and deceived, as oftentimes we see. None
+wastes pity on him who receives the stripes he deserves. Dear lady,
+let me make myself plain. Do not regard me as your King; look on me as
+your servant and your friend. I give my word and plight my troth that
+all my happiness shall be found in your pleasure. Let me not die for
+your love. You shall be the Dame, and I the page; you shall be the
+scornful beauty, and I the prayer at your knee."
+
+The King prayed the lady so urgently, so tenderly he sued for grace,
+that at the last she assured him of her love, and gave him the gift
+of her heart. They granted rings one to another, and pledged affiance
+between them. They kept this faith, and guarded this love, till they
+died together, and there was an end to all.
+
+Equitan and the lady loved for a great while without it coming to the
+ears of any. When the King desired to have speech of his friend,
+he told his household that he would be alone, since it was the day
+appointed for his bleeding. The King having shut the doors of his
+chamber, there was none so bold as to enter therein, save he were
+bidden of his lord. Whilst he was busied in this fashion, the
+seneschal sat in open court to hear the pleas and right the wrong. He
+was as much to the King's mind, as his wife was to the King's heart.
+The lord was so assotted upon the lady that he would neither take
+to himself a wife, nor listen to a word upon the matter. His people
+blamed him loudly, so loudly that it came to the ears of the lady. She
+was passing heavy, for she feared greatly that the barons would have
+their way. When next she had speech with Equitan, in place of the kiss
+and sweetness of her customary greeting, she came before him making
+great sorrow and in tears. The King inquiring the reason of her
+dolour, the lady replied, "Sire, I lament our love, and the trouble I
+always said would be mine. You are about to wed the daughter of some
+King, and my good days are over. Everybody says so, and I know it to
+be true. What will become of me when you put me away! I will die,
+rather than lose you, for I may have no other comfort."
+
+The King made answer very tenderly, "Fair friend, you need not fear.
+There will never be wife of mine to put you from me. I shall never
+wed, except your husband die, and then it is you who would be my queen
+and lady. I will leave you for no other dame."
+
+The lady thanked him sweetly for his words. Much was she beholden to
+him in her heart. Since she was assured that he would not leave her
+for any other, she turned over swiftly in her mind the profit that
+would come from her husband's death. Much happiness might be bought at
+a little cost, if Equitan would lend his aid.
+
+The King made answer that he would do her will to the utmost of his
+power, whether her counsel were for good or evil.
+
+"Sire," said the lady, "let it please you to hunt the forest within
+the country where I dwell. You can lodge in my lord's castle, and
+there you must be bled. Three days after your surgery is done, you
+must call for your bath. My lord shall be bled with you, so that he
+may go to his bathing at the same time. It will be your part to keep
+him at your side, and make him your constant companion. It will be
+mine to heat the water, and to carry the baths to your chamber. My
+husband's bath shall boil so fiercely, that no breathing man, having
+entered therein, may come forth living. When he is dead you must call
+for your people, and show them how the seneschal has died suddenly in
+his bath."
+
+Because of his love the King granted her desire, and promised to do
+according to her will. Before three months were done the King rode to
+the chase within the lady's realm. He caused surgeons to bleed him for
+his health, and the seneschal with him. He said that he would take his
+bath on the third day, and the seneschal required his, too, to be made
+ready. The lady caused the water to be heated, and carried the baths
+to the chamber. According to her device she set a bath beside each
+bed, filling with boiling water that bath which her lord should enter.
+Her lord had gone forth for a little, so for a space the King and the
+lady were alone. They sat on the husband's bed, and looked tenderly
+each on the other, near by that heated bath. The door of the chamber
+was kept by a young damsel to give them warning. The seneschal made
+haste to return, and would have struck on the door of the chamber, but
+was stayed by the maiden. He put her by, and in his impatience flung
+the door wide open. Entering he found his master and his wife clasped
+in each other's arms. When the King saw the seneschal he had no
+thought but to hide his dishonour. He started up, and sprang with
+joined feet in the bath that was filled with boiling water. There he
+perished miserably, in the very snare he had spread for another, who
+was safe and sound. The seneschal marked what had happened to the
+King. In his rage he turned to his wife, and laying hands upon her
+thrust her, head first, in the self-same bath. So they died together,
+the King first, and the lady afterwards, with him.
+
+Those who are willing to listen to fair words, may learn from this
+ensample, that he who seeks another's ill often brings the evil upon
+himself.
+
+As I have told you before, of this adventure the Bretons made the Lay
+of Equitan, the lady whom he loved, and of their end.
+
+
+
+
+XII
+
+
+THE LAY OF MILON
+
+He who would tell divers tales must know how to vary the tune. To
+win the favour of any, he must speak to the understanding of all. I
+purpose in this place to show you the story of Milon, and--since few
+words are best--I will set out the adventure as briefly as I may.
+
+Milon was born in South Wales. So great was his prowess that from the
+day he was dubbed knight there was no champion who could stand before
+him in the lists. He was a passing fair knight, open and brave,
+courteous to his friends, and stern to his foes. Men praised his name
+in whatever realm they talked of gallant deeds--Ireland, Norway, and
+Wales, yea, from Jutland even to Albania. Since he was praised by the
+frank, he was therefore envied of the mean. Nevertheless, by reason of
+his skill with the spear, he was counted a very worshipful knight, and
+was honourably entreated by many a prince in divers lands.
+
+In Milon's own realm there lived a lord whose name has gone from
+mind. With this baron dwelt his daughter, a passing fair and gracious
+damsel. Much talk had this maiden heard of Milon's knightly deeds, so
+that she began to set her thoughts upon him, because of the good men
+spoke of him. She sent him a message by a sure hand, saying that if
+her love was to his mind, sweetly would it be to her heart. Milon
+rejoiced greatly when he knew this thing. He thanked the lady for her
+words, giving her love again in return for her own, and swearing that
+he would never depart therefrom any day of his days. Beyond this
+courteous answer Milon bestowed on the messenger costly gifts, and
+made him promises that were richer still.
+
+"Friend," said he, "of your charity I pray you that I may have speech
+with my friend, in such a fashion that none shall know of our meeting.
+Carry her this, my golden ring. Tell her, on my part, that so she
+pleases she shall come to me, or, if it be her better pleasure, I will
+go to her."
+
+The messenger bade farewell, and returned to his lady. He placed the
+ring in her hand, saying that he had done her will, as he was bidden
+to do.
+
+Right joyous was the damsel to know that Milon's love was tender as
+her own. She required her friend to come for speech within the private
+garden of her house, where she was wont to take her delight. Milon
+came at her commandment. He came so often, and so dearly she loved
+him, that in the end she gave him all that maid may give. When the
+damsel perceived how it was with her, she sent messages to her friend,
+telling him of her case, and making great sorrow.
+
+"I have lost my father and all his wealth," said the lady, "for when
+he hears of this matter he will make of me an example. Either I shall
+be tormented with the sword, or else he will sell me as a slave in a
+far country."
+
+(For such was the usage of our fathers in the days of this tale).
+
+Milon grieved sorely, and made answer that he would do the thing the
+damsel thought most seemly to be done.
+
+"When the child is born," replied the lady, "you must carry him
+forthwith to my sister. She is a rich dame, pitiful and good, and is
+wedded to a lord of Northumberland. You will send messages with the
+babe--both in writing and by speech--that the little innocent is her
+sister's child. Whether it be a boy or girl his mother will have
+suffered much because of him, and for her sister's sake you will pray
+her to cherish the babe. Beyond this I shall set your signet by a lace
+about his neck, and write letters wherein shall be made plain the name
+of his sire, and the sad story of his mother. When he shall have grown
+tall, and of an age to understand these matters, his aunt will give
+him your ring, and rehearse to him the letter. If this be done,
+perchance the orphan will not be fatherless all his days."
+
+Milon approved the counsel of the lady, and when her time had come she
+was brought to bed of a boy. The old nurse who tended her mistress
+was privy to the damsel's inmost mind. So warily she went to work, so
+cunning was she in gloss and concealment, that none within the palace
+knew that there was aught to hide. The damsel looked upon her boy, and
+saw that he was very fair. She laced the ring about his neck, and set
+the letter that it were death to find, within a silken chatelaine. The
+child was then placed in his cradle, swathed close in white linen. A
+pillow of feathers was put beneath his head, and over all was laid a
+warm coverlet, wadded with fur. In this fashion the ancient nurse
+gave the babe to his father, who awaited him within the garden. Milon
+commended the child to his men, charging them to carry him loyally, by
+such towns as they knew, to that lady beyond the Humber. The servitors
+set forth, bearing the infant with them. Seven times a day they
+reposed them in their journey, so that the women might nourish
+the babe, and bathe and tend him duly. They served their lord so
+faithfully, keeping such watch upon the way, that at the last they
+won to the lady to whom they were bidden. The lady received them
+courteously, as became her breeding. She broke the seal of the letter,
+and when she was assured of what was therein, marvellously she
+cherished the infant. These having bestowed the boy in accordance with
+their lord's commandment, returned to their own land.
+
+Milon went forth from his realm to serve beyond the seas for guerdon.
+His friend remained within her house and was granted by her father in
+marriage to a right rich baron of that country. Though this baron was
+a worthy knight, justly esteemed of all his fellows, the damsel was
+grieved beyond measure when she knew her father's will. She called to
+mind the past, and regretted that Milon had gone from the country,
+since he would have helped her in her need.
+
+"Alas!" said the lady, "what shall I do? I doubt that I am lost, for
+my lord will find that his bride is not a maid. If this becomes known
+they will make me a bondwoman for all my days. Would that my friend
+were here to free me from this coil. It were good for me to die rather
+than to live, but by no means can I escape from their hands. They
+have set warders about me, men, old and young, whom they call my
+chamberlains, contemners of love, who delight themselves in sadness.
+But endure it I must, for, alas, I know not how to die."
+
+So on the appointed day the lady was wedded to the baron, and her
+husband took her to dwell with him in his fief.
+
+When Milon returned to his own country he was right heavy and
+sorrowful to learn of this marriage. He lamented his wretched case,
+but in this he found comfort, that he was not far from the realm where
+the lady abode whom so tenderly he loved. Milon commenced to think
+within himself how best he might send letters to the damsel that he
+was come again to his home, yet so that none should have knowledge
+thereof. He wrote a letter, and sealed it with his seal. This message
+he made fast to the neck, and hid within the plumage of a swan that
+was long his, and was greatly to his heart. He bade his squire to
+come, and made him his messenger.
+
+"Change thy raiment swiftly," said he, "and hasten to the castle of my
+friend. Take with thee my swan, and see that none, neither servant nor
+handmaid, delivers the bird to my lady, save thyself alone."
+
+The squire did according to his lord's commandment. He made him ready
+quickly, and went forth, bearing the swan with him. He went by the
+nearest road, and passing through the streets of the city, came before
+the portal of the castle. In answer to his summons the porter drew
+near.
+
+"Friend," said he, "hearken to me. I am of Caerleon, and a fowler by
+craft. Within my nets I have snared the most marvellous swan in the
+world. This wondrous bird I would bestow forthwith upon your lady, but
+perforce I must offer her the gift with my own hand."
+
+"Friend," replied the porter, "fowlers are not always welcomed of
+ladies. If you come with me I will bring you where I may know whether
+it pleases my lady to have speech with you and to receive your gift."
+
+The porter entered in the hall, where he found none but two lords
+seated at a great table, playing chess for their delight. He swiftly
+returned on his steps, and the fowler with him, so furtively withal
+that the lords were not disturbed at their game, nor perceived aught
+of the matter. They went therefore to the chamber of the lady. In
+answer to their call the door was opened to them by a maiden, who
+led them before her dame. When the swan was proffered to the lady
+it pleased her to receive the gift. She summoned a varlet of her
+household and gave the bird to his charge, commanding him to keep it
+safely, and to see that it ate enough and to spare.
+
+"Lady," said the servitor, "I will do your bidding. We shall never
+receive from any fowler on earth such another bird as this. The swan
+is fit to serve at a royal table, for the bird is plump as he is
+fair."
+
+The varlet put the swan in his lady's hands. She took the bird kindly,
+and smoothing his head and neck, felt the letter that was hidden
+beneath its feathers. The blood pricked in her veins, for well she
+knew that the writing was sent her by her friend. She caused the
+fowler to be given of her bounty, and bade the men to go forth from
+her chamber. When they had parted the lady called a maiden to her aid.
+She broke the seal, and unfastening the letter, came upon the name of
+Milon at the head. She kissed the name a hundred times through her
+tears. When she might read the writing she learned of the great pain
+and dolour that her lover suffered by day and by night. In you--he
+wrote--is all my pleasure, and in your white hands it lies to heal me
+or to slay. Strive to find a plan by which we may speak as friend to
+friend, if you would have me live. The knight prayed her in his letter
+to send him an answer by means of the swan. If the bird were well
+guarded, and kept without provand for three days, he would of a surety
+fly back to the place from whence he came, with any message that the
+lady might lace about his neck.
+
+When the damsel had considered the writing, and understood what was
+put therein, she commanded that her bird should be tended carefully,
+and given plenteously to eat and to drink. She held him for a month
+within her chamber, but this was less from choice, than for the craft
+that was necessary to obtain the ink and parchment requisite for her
+writing. At the end she wrote a letter according to her heart, and
+sealed it with her ring. The lady caused the swan to fast for three
+full days; then having concealed the message about his neck, let him
+take his flight. The bird was all anhungered for food, and remembering
+well the home from which he drew, he returned thither as quickly as
+his wings might bear him.
+
+He knew again his town, and his master's house, and descended to the
+ground at Milon's very feet. Milon rejoiced greatly when he marked his
+own. He caught the bird by his wings, and crying for his steward, bade
+him give the swan to eat. The knight removed the missive from the
+messenger's neck. He glanced from head to head of the letter, seeking
+the means that he hoped to find, and the salutation he so tenderly
+wished. Sweet to his heart was the writing, for the lady wrote that
+without him there was no joy in her life, and since it was his desire
+to hear by the swan, it would be her pleasure also.
+
+For twenty years the swan was made the messenger of these two lovers,
+who might never win together. There was no speech between them, save
+that carried by the bird. They caused the swan to fast for three days,
+and then sent him on his errand. He to whom the letter came, saw to
+it that the messenger was fed to heart's desire. Many a time the swan
+went upon his journey, for however strictly the lady was held of her
+husband, there was none who had suspicion of a bird.
+
+The dame beyond the Humber nourished and tended the boy committed to
+her charge with the greatest care. When he was come to a fitting age
+she made him to be knighted of her lord, for goodly and serviceable
+was the lad. On the same day the aunt read over to him the letter, and
+put in his hand the ring. She told him the name of his mother, and his
+father's story. In all the world there was no worthier knight, nor a
+more chivalrous and gallant gentleman. The lad hearkened diligently to
+the lady's tale. He rejoiced greatly to hear of his father's prowess,
+and was proud beyond measure of his renown. He considered within
+himself, saying to his own heart, that much should be required of his
+father's son, and that he would not be worthy of his blood if he did
+not endeavour to merit his name. He determined therefore that he would
+leave his country, and seek adventure as a knight errant, beyond the
+sea. The varlet delayed no longer than the evening. On the morrow he
+bade farewell to his aunt, who having warned and admonished him for
+his good, gave him largely of her wealth, to bring him on his way. He
+rode to Southampton, that he might find a ship equipped for sea, and
+so came to Barfleur. Without any tarrying the lad went straight to
+Brittany, where he spent his money and himself in feasts and in
+tourneys. The rich men of the land were glad of his friendship, for
+there was none who bore himself better in the press with spear or with
+sword. What he took from the rich he bestowed on such knights as were
+poor and luckless. These loved him greatly, since he gained largely
+and spent freely, granting of his wealth to all. Wherever this knight
+sojourned in the realm he bore away the prize. So debonair was he and
+chivalrous that his fame and praise crossed the water, and were noised
+abroad in his own land. Folk told how a certain knight from beyond the
+Humber, who had passed the sea in quest of wealth and honour, had so
+done, that by reason of his prowess, his liberality, and his modesty,
+men called him the Knight Peerless, since they did not know his name.
+
+This praise of the good knight, and of his deeds, came to be heard of
+Milon. Very dolent was he and sorely troubled that so young a knight
+should be esteemed above his fathers. He marvelled greatly that the
+stout spears of the past had not put on their harness and broken a
+lance for their ancient honour. One thing he determined, that he
+would cross the sea without delay, so that he might joust with the
+dansellon, and abate his pride. In wrath and anger he purposed to
+fight, to beat his adversary from the saddle, and bring him at last
+to shame. After this was ended he would seek his son, of whom he had
+heard nothing, since he had gone from his aunt's castle. Milon caused
+his friend to know of his wishes. He opened out to her all his
+thought, and craved her permission to depart. This letter he sent by
+the swan, commending the bird to her care.
+
+When the lady heard of her lover's purpose, she thanked him for his
+courtesy, for greatly was his counsel to her mind. She approved his
+desire to quit the realm for the sake of his honour, and far from
+putting let and hindrance in his path, trusted that in the end he
+would bring again her son. Since Milon was assured of his friend's
+goodwill, he arrayed himself richly, and crossing the sea to Normandy,
+came afterwards into the land of the Bretons. There he sought
+the friendship of the lords of that realm, and fared to all the
+tournaments of which he might hear. Milon bore himself proudly, and
+gave graciously of his wealth, as though he were receiving a gift.
+He sojourned till the winter was past in that land, he, and a brave
+company of knights whom he held in his house with him. When Easter
+had come, and the season that men give to tourneys and wars and the
+righting of their private wrongs, Milon considered how he could meet
+with the knight whom men called Peerless. At that time a tournament
+was proclaimed to be held at Mont St. Michel. Many a Norman and Breton
+rode to the game; knights of Flanders and of France were there in
+plenty, but few fared from England. Milon drew to the lists amongst
+the first. He inquired diligently of the young champion, and all men
+were ready to tell from whence he came, and of his harness, and of the
+blazon on his shield. At length the knight appeared in the lists and
+Milon looked upon the adversary he so greatly desired to see. Now in
+this tournament a knight could joust with that lord who was set over
+against him, or he could seek to break a lance with his chosen foe. A
+player must gain or lose, and he might find himself opposed either
+by his comrade or his enemy. Milon did well and worshipfully in the
+press, and was praised of many that day. But the Knight Peerless
+carried the cry from all his fellows, for none might stand before him,
+nor rival him in skill and address. Milon observed him curiously. The
+lad struck so heavily, he thrust home so shrewdly, that Milon's hatred
+changed to envy as he watched. Very comely showed the varlet, and
+much to Milon's mind. The older knight set himself over against the
+champion, and they met together in the centre of the field. Milon
+struck his adversary so fiercely, that the lance splintered in his
+gauntlet; but the young knight kept his seat without even losing a
+stirrup. In return his spear was aimed with such cunning that he bore
+his antagonist to the ground. Milon lay upon the earth bareheaded, for
+his helmet was unlaced in the shock. His hair and beard showed
+white to all, and the varlet was heavy to look on him whom he had
+overthrown. He caught the destrier by the bridle, and led him before
+the stricken man.
+
+"Sir," said he, "I pray you to get upon your horse. I am right grieved
+and vexed that I should have done this wrong. Believe me that it was
+wrought unwittingly."
+
+Milon sprang upon his steed. He approved the courtesy of his
+adversary, and looking upon the hand that held his bridle, he knew
+again his ring. He made inquiry of the lad.
+
+"Friend," said he, "hearken to me. Tell me now the name of thy sire.
+How art thou called; who is thy mother? I have seen much, and gone to
+and fro about the world. All my life I have journeyed from realm to
+realm, by reason of tourneys and quarrels and princes' wars, yet never
+once by any knight have I been borne from my horse. This day I am
+overthrown by a boy, and yet I cannot help but love thee."
+
+The varlet answered, "I know little of my father. I understand that
+his name is Milon, and that he was a knight of Wales. He loved the
+daughter of a rich man, and was loved again. My mother bore me in
+secret, and caused me to be carried to Northumberland, where I was
+taught and tended. An old aunt was at the costs of my nourishing. She
+kept me at her side, till of all her gifts she gave me horse and arms,
+and sent me here, where I have remained. In hope and wish I purpose to
+cross the sea, and return to my own realm. There I would seek out my
+father, and learn how it stands between him and my mother. I will show
+him my golden ring, and I will tell him of such privy matters that he
+may not deny our kinship, but must love me as a son, and ever hold me
+dear."
+
+When Milon heard these words he could endure them no further. He got
+him swiftly from his horse, and taking the lad by the fringe of his
+hauberk, he cried, "Praise be to God, for now am I healed. Fair
+friend, by my faith thou art my very son, for whom I came forth from
+my own land, and have sought through all this realm."
+
+The varlet climbed from the saddle, and stood upon his feet. Father
+and son kissed each other tenderly, with many comfortable words. Their
+love was fair to see, and those who looked upon their meeting, wept
+for joy and pity.
+
+
+Milon and his son departed from the tournament so soon as it came
+to an end, for the knight desired greatly to speak to the varlet at
+leisure, and to open before him all his mind. They rode to their
+hostel, and with the knights of their fellowship, passed the hours in
+mirth and revelry. Milon spoke to the lad of his mother. He told him
+of their long love, and how she was given by her father in marriage to
+a baron of his realm. He rehearsed the years of separation, accepted
+by both with a good heart, and of the messenger who carried letters
+between them, when there was none they dared to trust in, save only
+the swan.
+
+The son made answer,
+
+"In faith, fair father, let us return to our own land. There I will
+slay this husband, and you shall yet be my mother's lord."
+
+This being accorded between them, on the morrow they made them ready
+for the journey, and bidding farewell to their friends, set forth for
+Wales. They embarked in a propitious hour, for a fair wind carried the
+ship right swiftly to its haven. They had not ridden far upon their
+road, when they met a certain squire of the lady's household on his
+way to Brittany, bearing letters to Milon. His task was done long
+before sundown in chancing on the knight. He gave over the sealed
+writing with which he was charged, praying the knight to hasten to his
+friend without any tarrying, since her husband was in his grave. Milon
+rejoiced greatly when he knew this thing. He showed the message to his
+son, and pressed forward without pause or rest. They made such speed,
+that at the end they came to the castle where the lady had her
+lodging. Light of heart was she when she clasped again her child.
+These two fond lovers sought neither countenance of their kin, nor
+counsel of any man. Their son handselled them together, and gave the
+mother to his sire. From the day they were wed they dwelt in wealth
+and in sweetness to the end of their lives.
+
+Of their love and content the minstrel wrought this Lay. I, also, who
+have set it down in writing, have won guerdon enough just by telling
+over the tale.
+
+
+
+
+XIII
+
+
+THE LAY OF YONEC
+
+Since I have commenced I would not leave any of these Lays untold.
+The stories that I know I would tell you forthwith. My hope is now to
+rehearse to you the story of Yonec, the son of Eudemarec, his mother's
+first born child.
+
+In days of yore there lived in Britain a rich man, old and full of
+years, who was lord of the town and realm of Chepstow. This town is
+builded on the banks of the Douglas, and is renowned by reason of many
+ancient sorrows which have there befallen. When he was well stricken
+in years this lord took to himself a wife, that he might have children
+to come after him in his goodly heritage. The damsel, who was bestowed
+on this wealthy lord, came of an honourable house, and was kind and
+courteous, and passing fair. She was beloved by all because of her
+beauty, and none was more sweetly spoken of from Chepstow to Lincoln,
+yea, or from there to Ireland. Great was their sin who married the
+maiden to this aged man. Since she was young and gay, he shut her fast
+within his tower, that he might the easier keep her to himself. He set
+in charge of the damsel his elder sister, a widow, to hold her more
+surely in ward. These two ladies dwelt alone in the tower, together
+with their women, in a chamber by themselves. There the damsel might
+have speech of none, except at the bidding of the ancient dame. More
+than seven years passed in this fashion. The lady had no children for
+her solace, and she never went forth from the castle to greet her
+kinsfolk and her friends. Her husband's jealousy was such that when
+she sought her bed, no chamberlain or usher was permitted in her
+chamber to light the candles. The lady became passing heavy. She spent
+her days in sighs and tears. Her loveliness began to fail, for she
+gave no thought to her person. Indeed at times she hated the very
+shadow of that beauty which had spoiled all her life.
+
+Now when April had come with the gladness of the birds, this lord rose
+early on a day to take his pleasure in the woods. He bade his sister
+to rise from her bed to make the doors fast behind him. She did his
+will, and going apart, commenced to read the psalter that she carried
+in her hand. The lady awoke, and shamed the brightness of the sun with
+her tears. She saw that the old woman was gone forth from the chamber,
+so she made her complaint without fear of being overheard.
+
+"Alas," said she, "in an ill hour was I born. My lot is hard to be
+shut in this tower, never to go out till I am carried to my grave. Of
+whom is this jealous lord fearful that he holds me so fast in prison?
+Great is a man's folly always to have it in mind that he may be
+deceived. I cannot go to church, nor hearken to the service of God. If
+I might talk to folk, or have a little pleasure in my life, I should
+show the more tenderness to my husband, as is my wish. Very greatly
+are my parents and my kin to blame for giving me to this jealous old
+man, and making us one flesh. I cannot even look to become a widow,
+for he will never die. In place of the waters of baptism, certainly he
+was plunged in the flood of the Styx. His nerves are like iron, and
+his veins quick with blood as those of a young man. Often have I heard
+that in years gone by things chanced to the sad, which brought their
+sorrows to an end. A knight would meet with a maiden, fresh and fair
+to his desire. Damsels took to themselves lovers, discreet and brave,
+and were blamed of none. Moreover since these ladies were not seen of
+any, except their friends, who was there to count them blameworthy!
+Perchance I deceive myself, and in spite of all the tales, such
+adventures happened to none. Ah, if only the mighty God would but
+shape the world to my wish!"
+
+When the lady had made her plaint, as you have known, the shadow of a
+great bird darkened the narrow window, so that she marvelled what it
+might mean. This falcon flew straightway into the chamber, jessed and
+hooded from the glove, and came where the dame was seated. Whilst
+the lady yet wondered upon him, the tercel became a young and comely
+knight before her eyes. The lady marvelled exceedingly at this
+sorcery. Her blood turned to water within her, and because of her
+dread she hid her face in her hands. By reason of his courtesy the
+knight first sought to persuade her to put away her fears.
+
+"Lady," said he, "be not so fearful. To you this hawk shall be as
+gentle as a dove. If you will listen to my words I will strive to make
+plain what may now be dark. I have come in this shape to your tower
+that I may pray you of your tenderness to make of me your friend. I
+have loved you for long, and in my heart have esteemed your love above
+anything in the world. Save for you I have never desired wife or maid,
+and I shall find no other woman desirable, until I die. I should have
+sought you before, but I might not come, nor even leave my own realm,
+till you called me in your need. Lady, in charity, take me as your
+friend."
+
+The lady took heart and courage whilst she hearkened to these words.
+Presently she uncovered her face, and made answer. She said that
+perchance she would be willing to give him again his hope, if only she
+had assurance of his faith in God. This she said because of her fear,
+but in her heart she loved him already by reason of his great beauty.
+Never in her life had she beheld so goodly a youth, nor a knight more
+fair.
+
+"Lady," he replied, "you ask rightly. For nothing that man can give
+would I have you doubt my faith and affiance. I believe truly in God,
+the Maker of all, who redeemed us from the woe brought on us by our
+father Adam, in the eating of that bitter fruit. This God is and was
+and ever shall be the life and light of us poor sinful men. If you
+still give no credence to my word, ask for your chaplain; tell him
+that since you are sick you greatly desire to hear the Service
+appointed by God to heal the sinner of his wound. I will take your
+semblance, and receive the Body of the Lord. You will thus be
+certified of my faith, and never have reason to mistrust me more."
+
+When the sister of that ancient lord returned from her prayers to the
+chamber, she found that the lady was awake. She told her that since it
+was time to get her from bed, she would make ready her vesture.
+The lady made answer that she was sick, and begged her to warn the
+chaplain, for greatly she feared that she might die. The agèd dame
+replied,
+
+"You must endure as best you may, for my lord has gone to the woods,
+and none will enter in the tower, save me."
+
+Right distressed was the lady to hear these words. She called a
+woman's wiles to her aid, and made seeming to swoon upon her bed. This
+was seen by the sister of her lord, and much was she dismayed. She set
+wide the doors of the chamber, and summoned the priest. The chaplain
+came as quickly as he was able, carrying with him the Lord's Body. The
+knight received the Gift, and drank of the Wine of that chalice; then
+the priest went his way, and the old woman made fast the door behind
+him.
+
+The knight and the lady were greatly at their ease; a comelier and a
+blither pair were never seen. They had much to tell one to the other,
+but the hours passed till it was time for the knight to go again to
+his own realm. He prayed the dame to give him leave to depart, and she
+sweetly granted his prayer, yet so only that he promised to return
+often to her side.
+
+"Lady," he made answer, "so you please to require me at any hour, you
+may be sure that I shall hasten at your pleasure. But I beg you to
+observe such measure in the matter, that none may do us wrong. This
+old woman will spy upon us night and day, and if she observes our
+friendship, will certainly show it to her lord. Should this evil
+come upon us, for both it means separation, and for me, most surely,
+death."
+
+The knight returned to his realm, leaving behind him the happiest lady
+in the land. On the morrow she rose sound and well, and went lightly
+through the week. She took such heed to her person, that her former
+beauty came to her again. The tower that she was wont to hate as her
+prison, became to her now as a pleasant lodging, that she would not
+leave for any abode and garden on earth. There she could see her
+friend at will, when once her lord had gone forth from the chamber.
+Early and late, at morn and eve, the lovers met together. God grant
+her joy was long, against the evil day that came.
+
+The husband of the lady presently took notice of the change in
+his wife's fashion and person. He was troubled in his soul, and
+misdoubting his sister, took her apart to reason with her on a day.
+He told her of his wonder that his dame arrayed her so sweetly, and
+inquired what this should mean. The crone answered that she knew no
+more than he, "for we have very little speech one with another. She
+sees neither kin nor friend; but, now, she seems quite content to
+remain alone in her chamber."
+
+The husband made reply,
+
+"Doubtless she is content, and well content. But by my faith, we must
+do all we may to discover the cause. Hearken to me. Some morning when
+I have risen from bed, and you have shut the doors upon me, make
+pretence to go forth, and let her think herself alone. You must hide
+yourself in a privy place, where you can both hear and see. We shall
+then learn the secret of this new found joy."
+
+Having devised this snare the twain went their ways. Alas, for those
+who were innocent of their counsel, and whose feet would soon be
+tangled in the net.
+
+Three days after, this husband pretended to go forth from his house.
+He told his wife that the King had bidden him by letters to his Court,
+but that he should return speedily. He went from the chamber, making
+fast the door. His sister arose from her bed, and hid behind her
+curtains, where she might see and hear what so greedily she desired
+to know. The lady could not sleep, so fervently she wished for her
+friend. The knight came at her call, but he might not tarry, nor
+cherish her more than one single hour. Great was the joy between them,
+both in word and tenderness, till he could no longer stay. All this
+the crone saw with her eyes, and stored in her heart. She watched the
+fashion in which he came, and the guise in which he went. But she was
+altogether fearful and amazed that so goodly a knight should wear the
+semblance of a hawk. When the husband returned to his house--for
+he was near at hand--his sister told him that of which she was the
+witness, and of the truth concerning the knight. Right heavy was he
+and wrathful. Straightway he contrived a cunning gin for the slaying
+of this bird. He caused four blades of steel to be fashioned, with
+point and edge sharper than the keenest razor. These he fastened
+firmly together, and set them securely within that window, by which
+the tercel would come to his lady. Ah, God, that a knight so fair
+might not see nor hear of this wrong, and that there should be none to
+show him of such treason.
+
+On the morrow the husband arose very early, at daybreak, saying that
+he should hunt within the wood. His sister made the doors fast behind
+him, and returned to her bed to sleep, because it was yet but dawn.
+The lady lay awake, considering of the knight whom she loved so
+loyally. Tenderly she called him to her side. Without any long
+tarrying the bird came flying at her will. He flew in at the open
+window, and was entangled amongst the blades of steel. One blade
+pierced his body so deeply, that the red blood gushed from the wound.
+When the falcon knew that his hurt was to death, he forced himself to
+pass the barrier, and coming before his lady fell upon her bed, so
+that the sheets were dabbled with his blood. The lady looked upon her
+friend and his wound, and was altogether anguished and distraught.
+
+"Sweet friend," said the knight, "it is for you that my life is lost.
+Did I not speak truly that if our loves were known, very surely I
+should be slain?"
+
+On hearing these words the lady's head fell upon the pillow, and for a
+space she lay as she were dead. The knight cherished her sweetly. He
+prayed her not to sorrow overmuch, since she should bear a son who
+would be her exceeding comfort. His name should be called Yonec. He
+would prove a valiant knight, and would avenge both her and him by
+slaying their enemy. The knight could stay no longer, for he was
+bleeding to death from his hurt. In great dolour of mind and body he
+flew from the chamber. The lady pursued the bird with many shrill
+cries. In her desire to follow him she sprang forth from the window.
+Marvellous it was that she was not killed outright, for the window was
+fully twenty feet from the ground. When the lady made her perilous
+leap she was clad only in her shift. Dressed in this fashion she set
+herself to follow the knight by the drops of blood which dripped from
+his wound. She went along the road that he had gone before, till she
+lighted on a little lodge. This lodge had but one door, and it was
+stained with blood. By the marks on the lintel she knew that Eudemarec
+had refreshed him in the hut, but she could not tell whether he was
+yet within. The damsel entered in the lodge, but all was dark, and
+since she might not find him, she came forth, and pursued her way. She
+went so far that at the last the lady came to a very fair meadow. She
+followed the track of blood across this meadow, till she saw a city
+near at hand. This fair city was altogether shut in with high walls.
+There was no house, nor hall, nor tower, but shone bright as silver,
+so rich were the folk who dwelt therein. Before the town lay a still
+water. To the right spread a leafy wood, and on the left hand, near by
+the keep, ran a clear river. By this broad stream the ships drew to
+their anchorage, for there were above three hundred lying in the
+haven. The lady entered in the city by the postern gate. The gouts of
+freshly fallen blood led her through the streets to the castle. None
+challenged her entrance to the city; none asked of her business in the
+streets; she passed neither man nor woman upon her way. Spots of red
+blood lay on the staircase of the palace. The lady entered and found
+herself within a low ceiled room, where a knight was sleeping on a
+pallet. She looked upon his face and passed beyond. She came within a
+larger room, empty, save for one lonely couch, and for the knight who
+slept thereon. But when the lady entered in the third chamber she saw
+a stately bed, that well she knew to be her friend's. This bed was of
+inwrought gold, and was spread with silken cloths beyond price. The
+furniture was worth the ransom of a city, and waxen torches in sconces
+of silver lighted the chamber, burning night and day. Swiftly as the
+lady had come she knew again her friend, directly she saw him with her
+eyes. She hastened to the bed, and incontinently swooned for grief.
+The knight clasped her in his arms, bewailing his wretched lot, but
+when she came to her mind, he comforted her as sweetly as he might.
+
+"Fair friend, for God's love I pray you get from hence as quickly as
+you are able. My time will end before the day, and my household, in
+their wrath, may do you a mischief if you are found in the castle.
+They are persuaded that by reason of your love I have come to my
+death. Fair friend, I am right heavy and sorrowful because of you."
+
+The lady made answer, "Friend, the best thing that can befall me is
+that we shall die together. How may I return to my husband? If he
+finds me again he will certainly slay me with the sword."
+
+The knight consoled her as he could. He bestowed a ring upon his
+friend, teaching her that so long as she wore the gift, her husband
+would think of none of these things, nor care for her person, nor seek
+to revenge him for his wrongs. Then he took his sword and rendered it
+to the lady, conjuring her by their great love, never to give it to
+the hand of any, till their son should be counted a brave and worthy
+knight. When that time was come she and her lord would go--together
+with the son--to a feast. They would lodge in an Abbey, where should
+be seen a very fair tomb. There her son must be told of this death;
+there he must be girt with this sword. In that place shall be
+rehearsed the tale of his birth, and his father, and all this bitter
+wrong. And then shall be seen what he will do.
+
+When the knight had shown his friend all that was in his heart, he
+gave her a bliaut, passing rich, that she might clothe her body, and
+get her from the palace. She went her way, according to his command,
+bearing with her the ring, and the sword that was her most precious
+treasure. She had not gone half a mile beyond the gate of the city
+when she heard the clash of bells, and the cries of men who lamented
+the death of their lord. Her grief was such that she fell four
+separate times upon the road, and four times she came from out her
+swoon. She bent her steps to the lodge where her friend had refreshed
+him, and rested for awhile. Passing beyond she came at last to her own
+land, and returned to her husband's tower. There, for many a day, she
+dwelt in peace, since--as Eudemarec foretold--her lord gave no thought
+to her outgoings, nor wished to avenge him, neither spied upon her any
+more.
+
+In due time the lady was delivered of a son, whom she named Yonec.
+Very sweetly nurtured was the lad. In all the realm there was not his
+like for beauty and generosity, nor one more skilled with the spear.
+When he was of a fitting age the King dubbed him knight. Hearken now,
+what chanced to them all, that self-same year.
+
+It was the custom of that country to keep the feast of St. Aaron with
+great pomp at Caerleon, and many another town besides. The husband
+rode with his friends to observe the festival, as was his wont.
+Together with him went his wife and her son, richly apparelled. As the
+roads were not known of the company, and they feared to lose their
+way, they took with them a certain youth to lead them in the straight
+path. The varlet brought them to a town; in all the world was none so
+fair. Within this city was a mighty Abbey, filled with monks in
+their holy habit. The varlet craved a lodging for the night, and the
+pilgrims were welcomed gladly of the monks, who gave them meat and
+drink near by the Abbot's table. On the morrow, after Mass, they would
+have gone their way, but the Abbot prayed them to tarry for a little,
+since he would show them his chapter house and dormitory, and all the
+offices of the Abbey. As the Abbot had sheltered them so courteously,
+the husband did according to his wish.
+
+Immediately that the dinner had come to an end, the pilgrims rose from
+table, and visited the offices of the Abbey. Coming to the chapter
+house they entered therein, and found a fair tomb, exceeding great,
+covered with a silken cloth, banded with orfreys of gold. Twenty
+torches of wax stood around this rich tomb, at the head, the foot, and
+the sides. The candlesticks were of fine gold, and the censer swung in
+that chantry was fashioned from an amethyst. When the pilgrims saw
+the great reverence vouchsafed to this tomb, they inquired of the
+guardians as to whom it should belong, and of the lord who lay
+therein. The monks commenced to weep, and told with tears, that in
+that place was laid the body of the best, the bravest, and the fairest
+knight who ever was, or ever should be born. "In his life he was King
+of this realm, and never was there so worshipful a lord. He was slain
+at Caerwent for the love of a lady of those parts. Since then the
+country is without a King. Many a day have we waited for the son of
+these luckless lovers to come to our land, even as our lord commanded
+us to do."
+
+When the lady heard these words she cried to her son with a loud voice
+before them all.
+
+"Fair son," said she, "you have heard why God has brought us to this
+place. It is your father who lies dead within this tomb. Foully was he
+slain by this ancient Judas at your side."
+
+With these words she plucked out the sword, and tendered him the
+glaive that she had guarded for so long a season. As swiftly as she
+might she told the tale of how Eudemarec came to have speech with his
+friend in the guise of a hawk; how the bird was betrayed to his death
+by the jealousy of her lord; and of Yonec the falcon's son. At the end
+she fell senseless across the tomb, neither did she speak any further
+word until the soul had gone from her body. When the son saw that his
+mother lay dead upon her lover's grave, he raised his father's sword
+and smote the head of that ancient traitor from his shoulders. In
+that hour he avenged his father's death, and with the same blow gave
+quittance for the wrongs of his mother. As soon as these tidings were
+published abroad, the folk of that city came together, and setting the
+body of that fair lady within a coffin, sealed it fast, and with due
+rite and worship placed it beside the body of her friend. May God
+grant them pardon and peace. As to Yonec, their son, the people
+acclaimed him for their lord, as he departed from the church.
+
+Those who knew the truth of this piteous adventure, after many days
+shaped it to a Lay, that all men might learn the plaint and the dolour
+that these two friends suffered by reason of their love.
+
+
+
+
+XIV
+
+
+THE LAY OF THE THORN
+
+Whosoever counts these Lays as fable, may be assured that I am not of
+his mind. The dead and past stories that I have told again in divers
+fashions, are not set down without authority. The chronicles of these
+far off times are yet preserved in the land. They may be read by the
+curious at Caerleon, or in the monastery of St. Aaron. They may be
+heard in Brittany, and in many another realm besides. To prove how
+the remembrance of such tales endures, I will now relate to you the
+adventure of the Two Children, making clear what has remained hidden
+to this very hour.
+
+In Brittany there lived a prince, high of spirit, fair of person,
+courteous and kind to all. This Childe was a King's son, and there
+were none to cherish him but his father and his father's wife, for
+his mother was dead. The King held him dearer than aught else in the
+world, and close he was to the lady's heart. The lady, for her part,
+had a daughter by another husband than the King. Very dainty was the
+maiden, sweet of colour and of face, passing young and fair. Both
+these children, born to so high estate, were right tender of age, for
+the varlet, who was the elder of the twain, was but seven years. The
+two children loved together very sweetly. Nothing seemed of worth to
+one, if it were not shared with the other. They were nourished at the
+same table, went their ways together, and lived side by side. The
+guardians who held them in ward, seeing their great love, made no
+effort to put them apart, but allowed them to have all things in
+common. The love of these children increased with their years, but
+Dame Nature brought another love to youth and maid than she gave to
+the child. They delighted no more in their old frolic and play. Such
+sport gave place to clasp and kisses, to many words, and to long
+silences. To savour their friendship they took refuge in an attic of
+the keep, but all the years they had passed together, made the new
+love flower more sweetly in their hearts, as each knew well. Very pure
+and tender was their love, and good would it have been if they could
+have hidden it from their fellows. This might not be, for in no great
+while they were spied upon, and seen.
+
+It chanced upon a day that this prince, so young and debonair, came
+home from the river with an aching head, by reason of the heat. He
+entered in a chamber, and shutting out the noise and clamour, lay
+upon his bed, to ease his pain. The Queen was with her daughter in a
+chamber, instructing her meetly in that which it becomes a maid to
+know. Closer to a damsel's heart is her lover than her kin. So soon as
+she heard that her friend was come again to the house, she stole forth
+from her mother, without saying word to any, and accompanied by none,
+went straight to the chamber where he slept. The prince welcomed her
+gladly, for they had not met together that day. The lady, who thought
+no wrong, condoled with him in his sickness, and of her sweetness gave
+him a hundred kisses to soothe his hurt. Too swiftly sped the time
+in this fashion. Presently the Queen noticed that the damsel was no
+longer with her at her task. She rose to her feet, and going quickly
+to the chamber of the prince, entered therein without call or knock,
+for the door was unfastened on the latch. When the Queen saw these two
+lovers fondly laced in each other's arms, she knew and was certified
+of their love. Right wrathful was the Queen. She caught the maiden
+by the wrist, and shut her fast in her room. She prayed the King to
+govern his son more strictly, and to hold him in such ward about the
+Court that he might get no speech with the damsel. Since he could have
+neither sight nor word of his friend, save only the sound of weeping
+from her chamber, the prince determined to tarry no further in the
+palace. He sought his father the self-same hour, and showed him what
+was in his mind.
+
+"Sire," said he, "I crave a gift. If it pleases you to be a father to
+your son, make me now a knight. I desire to seek another realm, and to
+serve some prince for guerdon. The road calls me, for many a knight
+has won much riches with his sword."
+
+The King did not refuse the lad's request, but accorded it should be
+even as he wished. He prayed the prince to dwell for a year about the
+Court, that he might the more readily assist at such tourneys and
+follow such feats of arms as were proclaimed in the kingdom. This the
+prince agreed to do--the more readily because there was nothing else
+to be done. He remained therefore at the Court, moving ever by his
+father's side. The maiden, for her part, was in the charge of her
+mother, who reproached her always for that she had done amiss. The
+Queen did not content herself with reproaches and threats. She used
+the sharp discipline upon her, so that the maiden suffered grievously
+in her person. Sick at heart was the varlet whilst he hearkened to the
+beatings, the discipline and the chastisement wherewith her mother
+corrected the damsel. He knew not what to do, for well he understood
+that his was the fault, and that by reason of him was her neck bowed
+down in her youth. More and more was he tormented because of his
+friend.
+
+More and more the stripes with which she was afflicted became heavier
+for him to bear. He shut himself close within his chamber, and making
+fast the door, gave his heart over to tears.
+
+"Alas," cried he, "what shall I do! How may the ill be cured that I
+have brought on us by my lightness and folly! I love her more than
+life, and, certes, if I may not have my friend I will prove that I can
+die for her, though I cannot live without her."
+
+Whilst the prince made this lamentation, the Queen came before the
+King.
+
+"Sir," said she, "I pledge my oath and word as a crowned lady that I
+keep my daughter as strictly as I may. Think to your own son, and see
+to it that he cannot set eyes on the maid. He considers none other
+thing but how to get clasp and speech of his friend."
+
+For this reason the King guarded his son about the Court as closely as
+the Queen held the maiden in her chamber. So vigilant was the watch
+that these pitiful lovers might never have word together. They had no
+leisure to meet; they never looked one on the other; nor heard tidings
+of how they did, whether by letter or by sergeant.
+
+They lived this death in life till the same year--eight days before
+the Feast of St. John--the varlet was dubbed knight. The King spent
+the day in the chase, and returning, brought with him great store of
+fowl and venison that he had taken. After supper, when the tables were
+removed, the King seated himself for his delight upon a carpet spread
+before the dais, his son and many a courteous lord with him. The fair
+company gave ear to the Lay of Alys, sweetly sung by a minstrel from
+Ireland, to the music of his rote. When his story was ended, forthwith
+he commenced another, and related the Lay of Orpheus; none being so
+bold as to disturb the singer, or to let his mind wander from the
+song. Afterwards the knights spoke together amongst themselves. They
+told of adventures which in ancient days had chanced to many, and were
+noised about Brittany. Amongst these lords sat a damsel, passing sweet
+of tongue. In her turn she told of a certain adventure which awaited
+the adventurous at the Ford of the Thorn, once every year, on the
+vigil of St. John, "but much I doubt whether now there be knights
+so bold as to dare the perils of that passage." When the newly made
+knight heard these words his pride quickened within him. He considered
+that although he was belted with the sword, he had as yet done no deed
+to prove his courage in the eyes of men. He deemed the time had come
+to show his hardihood, and to put to silence the malicious lips. He
+stood upon his feet, calling upon damsel, King and barons to hearken
+to his voice, and spake out manfully in the ears of great and small.
+
+"Lords," cried he, "whatever says the maiden, I boast before you all
+that on St. John's Eve I will ride alone to the Ford of the Thorn, and
+dare this adventure, whether it bring me gain or whether it bring me
+loss."
+
+The King was right heavy to hear these words. He thought them to be
+the gab and idle speech of a boy.
+
+"Fair son," said he, "put this folly from your mind."
+
+But when the King was persuaded that whether it were foolishness or
+wisdom the lad was determined to go his way, and abide the issue of
+the adventure,
+
+"Go swiftly," said he, "in the care of God. Since risk your life you
+must, play it boldly like a pawn, and may God grant you heart's desire
+and happy hours."
+
+The self-same night, whilst the lad lay sleeping in his bed, that
+fair lady, his friend, was in much unrest in hers. The tidings of her
+lover's boast had been carried quickly to her chamber, and sorely was
+she adread for what might chance. When the Eve of St. John was come,
+and the day drew towards evening, the varlet, with all fair hopes,
+made him ready to ride to the Ford Adventurous. He had clad himself
+from basnet to shoes in steel, and mounted on a strong destrier, went
+his road to essay the Passage of the Thorn. Whilst he took his path
+the maiden took hers. She went furtively to the orchard, that she
+might importune God to bring her friend again, safe and sound to his
+own house. She seated herself on the roots of a tree, and with sighs
+and tears lamented her piteous case.
+
+"Father of Heaven," said the girl, "Who was and ever shall be, be
+pitiful to my prayer. Since it is not to Thy will that any man should
+be wretched, be merciful to a most unhappy maid. Fair Sire, give back
+the days that are gone, when my friend was at my side, and grant that
+once again I may be with him. Lord God of Hosts, when shall I be
+healed? None knows the bitterness of my sorrow, for none may taste
+thereof, save such as set their heart on what they may not have. These
+only, Lord, know the wormwood and the gall."
+
+Thus prayed the maiden, seated on the roots of that ancient tree, her
+feet upon the tender grass. At the time of her orisons much was she
+sought and inquired after in the palace, but none might find where she
+had hidden. The damsel herself was given over altogether to her love
+and her sorrow, and had no thought for anything, save for prayers and
+tears. The night wore through, and dawn already laced the sky, when
+she fell on a little slumber, in the tree where she was sheltered. She
+woke with a start, but returned to her sleep more deeply than before.
+She had not slept long, when herseemed she was ravished from the
+tree--but I cannot make this plain for I know no wizardry--to that
+Ford of the Thorn, where her friend and lover had repaired. The knight
+looked upon the sleeping maiden, and marvelled at so fair a sight. All
+adread was the lady when she came from her slumber, for she knew not
+where she lay, and wondered greatly. She covered her head by reason of
+her exceeding fear, but the knight consoled her courteously.
+
+"Diva," said he, "there is no reason for terror. If you are an earthly
+woman, speaking with a mortal tongue, tell me your story. Tell me in
+what guise and manner you came so suddenly to this secret place."
+
+The maiden began to be of more courage, till she remembered that she
+was no longer in the orchard of the castle. She inquired of the knight
+to what haunt she had come.
+
+"Lady," he made answer, "you are laid at the Ford of the Thorn, where
+adventures chance to the seeker, sometimes greatly against the mind,
+and sometimes altogether according to the heart."
+
+"Ah, dear God," cried the lady, "now shall I be made whole. Sir, look
+a little closer upon me, for I have been your friend. Thanks be to
+God, who so soon has heard my prayer."
+
+This was the beginning of adventures which happened that night to the
+seeker. The maiden hastened to embrace her lover. He got him nimbly
+from his horse, and taking her softly between his arms, kissed her
+with more kisses than I can tell. Then they sat together beneath the
+thorn, and the damsel told how she fell asleep within that old tree in
+the pleasaunce, of how she was rapt from thence in her slumber, and of
+how, yet sleeping, he came upon her by the Ford. When the knight had
+hearkened to all that she had to say, he looked from her face, and
+glancing across the river, marked a lord, with lifted lance, riding
+to the ford. This knight wore harness of a fair vermeil colour, and
+bestrode a horse white of body, save for his two ears, which were red
+as the rider's mail. Slender of girdle was this knight, and he made no
+effort to enter the river, but drew rein upon the other side of the
+passage, and watched. The varlet said to his friend that it became
+his honour to essay some feats of arms with this adversary. He got to
+horse, and rode to the river, leaving the maiden beneath the thorn.
+Had she but found another horse at need, very surely would she have
+ridden to his aid. The two knights drew together as swiftly as their
+steeds could bear them. They thrust so shrewdly with the lance, that
+their shields were split and broken. The spears splintered in the
+gauntlet, and both champions were unhorsed by the shock, rolling on
+the sand; but nothing worse happened to them. Since they had neither
+squire nor companion to help them on their feet, they pained them
+grievously to get them from the ground. When they might climb upon
+their steeds, they hung again the buckler about the neck, and lowered
+their ashen spears. Passing heavy was the varlet, for shame that his
+friend had seen him thrown. The two champions met together in the
+onset, but the prince struck his adversary so cunningly with the
+lance, that the laces of his buckler were broken, and the shield fell
+from his body. When the varlet saw this he rejoiced greatly, for he
+knew that the eyes of his friend were upon him. He pressed his quarrel
+right fiercely, and tumbling his foe from the saddle, seized his horse
+by the bridle.[2]
+
+The two knights passed the ford, and the prince feared sorely because
+of the skill and mightiness of his adversary. He could not doubt that
+if they fell upon him together he would perish at their hands. He put
+the thought from mind, for he would not suspect them of conduct so
+unbecoming to gentle knight, and so contrary to the laws of chivalry.
+If they desired some passage of arms, doubtless they would joust as
+gentlemen, and each for himself alone. When these three knights were
+mounted on their steeds, they crossed the ford with courtesy and
+order, each seeking to give precedence to his companion. Having come
+to the bank the stranger knights prayed the prince to run a course for
+their pleasure. He answered that it was his wish, too, and made him
+ready for the battle. The prince rejoiced greatly when he saw one of
+these two adversaries ride a little apart, that he might the more
+easily observe the combat. He was assured that he would suffer no
+felony at their hands. For their part the two knights were persuaded
+that they had to do with an errant who had ridden to the ford for no
+other gain than honour and praise. The two adversaries took their
+places within the lists. They lowered their lance, and covering their
+bodies with the shield, smote fiercely together. So rude was the shock
+that the staves of the spears were broken, and the strong destriers
+were thrown upon their haunches. Neither of the good knights had lost
+his saddle. Each of the combatants got him to his feet, and drawing
+the sword, pressed upon his fellow, till the blood began to flow. When
+the knight who judged this quarrel saw their prowess, he came near,
+and commanded that the battle should cease. The adversaries drew
+apart, and struck no further blow with the sword. Right courteously
+and with fair words he spake to the prince. "Friend," said the knight,
+"get to your horse, and break a lance with me. Then we can go in
+peace, for our time grows short. You must endure till the light be
+come if you hope to gain the prize. Do your devoir, valiantly,
+for should you chance to be thrown in this course, or slain by
+misadventure, you have lost your desire. None will ever hear of this
+adventure; all your life you will remain little and obscure. Your
+maiden will be led away by the victor, seated on the good Castilian
+horse you have gained by right of courage. Fight bravely. The
+trappings of the destrier are worth the spoil of a king's castle, and
+as for the horse himself he is the swiftest and the fairest in the
+world. Be not amazed that I tell you of these matters. I have watched
+you joust, and know you for a hardy knight and a gallant gentleman.
+Besides I stand to lose horse and harness equally with you."
+
+[Footnote 2: There is here some omission in the manuscript.]
+
+The prince listened to these words, and accorded that the knight spoke
+wisely and well. He would willingly have taken counsel of the maiden,
+but first, as surely he knew, he must joust with this knight. He
+gathered the reins in his glove, and choosing a lance with an ashen
+staff, opposed himself to his adversary. The combatants met together
+so fiercely that the lance pierced the steel of the buckler; yet
+neither lost stirrup by the shock. When the prince saw this he smote
+the knight so shrewdly that he would have fallen from the saddle, had
+he not clung to the neck of his destrier. Of his courtesy the prince
+passed on, and refrained his hand until his enemy had recovered his
+seat. On his return he found the knight full ready to continue his
+devoir. Each of the champions plucked forth his sword, and sheltered
+him beneath his shield. They struck such mighty blows that the
+bucklers were hewn in pieces, but in spite of all they remained firm
+in the saddle. The maiden was aghast whilst she watched the melée. She
+had great fear for her friend, lest mischief should befall him, and
+she cried loudly to the knight that, for grace, he should give over
+this combat, and go his way. Very courteous was the knight, and meetly
+schooled in what was due to maidens. He saluted the damsel, and,
+together with his companion, rode straightway from the ford. The
+prince watched them pass for a little, then without further tarrying
+he went swiftly to the maiden, where, all fearful and trembling, she
+knelt beneath the thorn. The lady stood upon her feet as her lover
+drew near. She climbed behind him on the saddle, for well she knew
+that their pains were done. They fared so fast that when it was yet
+scarce day they came again to the palace. The King saw them approach,
+and rejoiced greatly at his son's prowess; but at this he marvelled
+much, that he should return with the daughter of the Queen.
+
+The self-same day of this home-coming--as I have heard tell--the King
+had summoned to Court his barons and vassals because of a certain
+quarrel betwixt two of his lords. This quarrel being accorded between
+them, and come to a fair end, the King related to that blithe company
+the story of this adventure. He told again that which you know, of how
+the prince defended the Ford, of the finding of the maiden beneath the
+thorn, of the mighty joust, and of that white horse which was taken
+from the adversary.
+
+The prince both then and thereafter caused the horse to be entreated
+with the greatest care. He received the maiden to wife, and cherished
+her right tenderly. She, and the steed on which she would always ride,
+were his richest possessions. The destrier lived many years in much
+honour, but on a day when his master was taking the harness from his
+head, he fell and died forthwith.
+
+Of the story which has been set before you the Bretons wrought a Lay.
+They did not call the song the Lay of the Ford, although the adventure
+took place at a river; neither have they named it The Lay of the Two
+Children. For good or ill the rhyme is known as the Lay of the Thorn.
+It begins well and endeth better, for these kisses find their fruition
+in marriage.
+
+
+
+
+XV
+
+
+THE LAY OF GRAELENT
+
+Now will I tell you the adventure of Graelent, even as it was told to
+me, for the Lay is sweet to hear, and the tune thereof lovely to bear
+in mind.
+
+Graelent was born in Brittany of a gentle and noble house, very comely
+of person and very frank of heart. The King who held Brittany in that
+day, made mortal war upon his neighbours, and commanded his vassals to
+take arms in his quarrel. Amongst these came Graelent, whom the King
+welcomed gladly, and since he was a wise and hardy knight greatly was
+he honoured and cherished by the Court. So Graelent strove valiantly
+at tourney and at joust, and pained himself mightily to do the enemy
+all the mischief that he was able. The Queen heard tell the prowess of
+her knight, and loved him in her heart for reason of his feats of arms
+and of the good men spoke of him. So she called her chamberlain apart,
+and said, "Tell me truly, hast thou not often heard speak of that fair
+knight, Sir Graelent, whose praise is in all men's mouths?"
+
+"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "I know him for a courteous
+gentleman, well spoken of by all."
+
+"I would he were my friend," replied the lady, "for I am in much
+unrest because of him. Go thou, and bid him come to me, so he would be
+worthy of my love." "Passing gracious and rich is your gift, lady, and
+doubtless he will receive it with marvellous joy. Why, from here to
+Troy there is no priest even, however holy, who in looking on your
+face would not lose Heaven in your eyes."
+
+Thereupon the chamberlain took leave of the Queen, and seeking
+Graelent within his lodging saluted him courteously, and gave him the
+message, praying him to come without delay to the palace.
+
+"Go before, fair friend," answered the knight, "for I will follow you
+at once."
+
+So when the chamberlain was gone Graelent caused his grey horse to be
+saddled, and mounting thereon, rode to the castle, attended by his
+squire. He descended without the hall, and passing before the King
+entered within the Queen's chamber. When the lady saw him she embraced
+him closely, and cherished and honoured him sweetly. Then she made the
+knight to be seated on a fair carpet, and to his face praised him
+for his exceeding comeliness. But he answered her very simply and
+courteously, saying nothing but what was seemly to be said. Then the
+Queen kept silence for a great while, considering whether she should
+require him to love her for the love of love; but at the last, made
+bold by passion, she asked if his heart was set on any maid or dame.
+
+"Lady," said he, "I love no woman, for love is a serious business,
+not a jest. Out of five hundred who speak glibly of love, not one
+can spell the first letter of his name. With such it is idleness,
+or fulness of bread, or fancy, masking in the guise of love. Love
+requires of his servants chastity in thought, in word and in deed. If
+one of two lovers is loyal, and the other jealous and false, how may
+their friendship last, for Love is slain! But sweetly and discreetly
+love passes from person to person, from heart to heart, or it is
+nothing worth. For what the lover would, that would the beloved; what
+she would ask of him that should he go before to grant. Without accord
+such as this, love is but a bond and a constraint. For above all
+things Love means sweetness, and truth, and measure; yea, loyalty to
+the loved one and to your word. And because of this I dare not meddle
+with so high a matter."
+
+The Queen heard Graelent gladly, finding him so tripping of tongue,
+and since his words were wise and courteous, at the end she discovered
+to him her heart.
+
+"Friend, Sir Graelent, though I am a wife, yet have I never loved my
+lord. But I love you very dearly, and what I have asked of you will
+you not go before to grant?"
+
+"Lady," said he, "give me pity and forgiveness, but this may not be.
+I am the vassal of the King, and on my knees have pledged him loyalty
+and faith, and sworn to defend his life and honour. Never shall he
+have shame because of me."
+
+With these words Sir Graelent took his leave of the Queen, and went
+his way.
+
+Seeing him go in this fashion the Queen commenced to sigh. She was
+grieved in her heart, and knew not what to do. But whatever chanced
+she would not renounce her passion, so often she required his love by
+means of soft messages and costly gifts, but he refused them all. Then
+the Queen turned from love to hate, and the greatness of her passion
+became the measure of her wrath, for very evilly she spoke of Graelent
+to the King. So long as the war endured Graelent remained in that
+realm. He spent all that he had upon his company, for the King grudged
+wages to his men. The Queen persuaded the King to this, counselling
+him that by withholding the pay of the sergeants, Graelent might in no
+wise flee the country, nor take service with another lord. So at the
+end Graelent was wonderfully downcast, nor was it strange that he was
+sad, for there remained nothing which he might pledge, but one poor
+steed, and when this was gone, no horse had he to carry him from the
+country.
+
+It was now the month of May, when the hours are long and warm. The
+burgess, with whom Graelent lodged, had risen early in the morning,
+and with his wife had gone to eat with neighbours in the town. No one
+was in the house except Graelent, no squire, nor archer, nor servant,
+save only the daughter of his host, a very courteous maid. When the
+hour for dinner was come she prayed the knight that they might sit at
+board together. But he had no heart for mirth, and seeking out his
+squire bade him bridle and saddle his horse, for he had no care to
+eat.
+
+"I have no saddle," replied the squire.
+
+"Friend," said the demoiselle, "I will lend you bridle and saddle as
+well."
+
+So when the harness was done upon him, Graelent mounted his horse, and
+went his way through the town, clad in a cloak of sorry fur, which
+he had worn overlong already. The townsfolk in the street turned and
+stared upon him, making a jest of his poverty, but of their jibes
+he took no heed, for such act but after their kind, and seldom show
+kindliness or courtesy.
+
+Now without the town there spread a great forest, thick with trees,
+and through the forest ran a river. Towards this forest Graelent rode,
+deep in heavy thought, and very dolent. Having ridden for a little
+space beneath the trees, he spied within a leafy thicket a fair white
+hart, whiter even than snow on winter branches. The hart fled before
+him, and Graelent followed so closely in her track that man and deer
+presently came together to a grassy lawn, in the midst of which sprang
+a fountain of clear, sweet water. Now in this fountain a demoiselle
+disported herself for her delight. Her raiment was set on a bush near
+by, and her two maidens stood on the bank busied in their lady's
+service. Graelent forgot the chase at so sweet a sight, since never
+in his life had he seen so lovely a dame. For the lady was slender in
+shape and white, very gracious and dainty of colour, with laughing
+eyes and an open brow, certainly the most beautiful thing in all the
+world. Graelent dared not draw nigh the fountain for fear of troubling
+the dame, so he came softly to the bush to set hands upon her raiment.
+The two maidens marked his approach, and at their fright the lady
+turned, and calling him by name, cried with great anger,
+
+"Graelent, put my raiment down, for it will profit you little even if
+you carry it away, and leave me naked in this wood. But if you are
+indeed too greedy of gain to remember your knighthood, at least return
+me my shift, and content yourself with my mantle, since it will bring
+you money, as it is very good."
+
+"I am not a merchant's son," answered Graelent merrily, "nor am I a
+huckster to sell mantles in a booth. If your cloak were worth the
+spoil of three castles I would not now carry it from the bush. Come
+forth from your bathing, fair friend, and clothe yourself in your
+vesture, for you have to say a certain word to me."
+
+"I will not trust myself to your hand, for you might seize upon me,"
+answered the lady, "and I tell you frankly that I put no faith in your
+word, nor have had any dealings with your school."
+
+Then Graelent answered still more merrily, "Lady, needs must I suffer
+your wrath. But at least I will guard your raiment till you come forth
+from the well and, fairest, very dainty is your body in my eyes."
+
+When the lady knew that Graelent would not depart, nor render again
+her raiment, then she demanded surety that he would do her no hurt.
+This thing was accorded between them, so she came forth from the
+fountain, and did her vesture upon her. Then Graelent took her gently
+by the left hand, and prayed and required of her that she would grant
+him love for love. But the lady answered, "I marvel greatly that you
+should dare to speak to me in this fashion, for I have little reason
+to think you discreet. You are bold, sir knight, and overbold, to seek
+to ally yourself with a woman of my lineage."
+
+Sir Graelent was not abashed by the dame's proud spirit, but wooed and
+prayed her gently and sweetly, promising that if she granted him her
+love he would serve her in all loyalty, and never depart therefrom
+all the days of his life. The demoiselle hearkened to the words of
+Graelent, and saw plainly that he was a valiant knight, courteous and
+wise. She thought within herself that should she send him from her,
+never might she find again so sure a friend. Since, then, she knew him
+worthy of her love, she kissed him softly, and spoke to him in this
+manner, "Graelent, I will love you none the less truly, though we have
+not met until this day. But one thing is needful that our love may
+endure. Never must you speak a word by which this hidden thing may
+become known. I will furnish you with deniers in your purse, with
+cloth of silk, with silver and with gold. Night and day will I stay
+with you, and great shall be the love between us twain. You shall
+see me riding at your side; you may talk and laugh with me at your
+pleasure, but I must never be seen of your comrades, nor must they
+know aught concerning your bride. Graelent, you are loyal, brave, and
+courteous, and comely enough to the view. For you I spread my snare
+at the fountain; for you shall I suffer heavy pains, as well I knew
+before I set forth on this adventure. Now must I trust to your
+discretion, for if you speak vainly and boastfully of this thing then
+am I undone. Remain now for a year in this country, which shall be for
+you a home that your lady loves well. But noon is past, and it is time
+for you to go. Farewell, and a messenger shortly shall tell you that
+which I would have you do."
+
+Graelent took leave of the lady, and she sweetly clasped and kissed
+him farewell. He returned to his lodging, dismounted from his steed,
+and entering within a chamber, leaned from the casement, considering
+this strange adventure. Looking towards the forest he saw a varlet
+issue therefrom riding upon a palfrey. He drew rein before Graelent's
+door, and taking his feet from the stirrup, saluted the knight. So
+Graelent inquired from whence he rode, and of his name and business.
+
+"Sir," answered he, "I am the messenger of your lady. She sends you
+this destrier by my hand, and would have me enter in your service, to
+pay your servitors their wages and to take charge of your lodging."
+
+When Graelent heard this message he thought it both good and fair. He
+kissed the varlet upon the cheek, and accepting his gift, caused the
+destrier--which was the noblest, the swiftest and the most speedy
+under the sun--to be led to the stable. Then the varlet carried his
+baggage to his master's chamber, and took therefrom a large cushion
+and a rich coverlet which he spread upon the couch. After this he drew
+thereout a purse containing much gold and silver, and stout cloth
+fitting for the knight's apparel. Then he sent for the host, and
+paying him what was owing, called upon him to witness that he was
+recompensed most largely for the lodging. He bade him also to seek out
+such knights as should pass through the town to refresh and solace
+themselves in the company of his lord. The host was a worthy man. He
+made ready a plenteous dinner, and inquired through the town for such
+poor knights as were in misease by reason of prison or of war. These
+he brought to the hostelry of Sir Graelent, and comforted them with
+instruments of music, and with all manner of mirth. Amongst them sat
+Graelent at meat, gay and debonair, and richly apparelled. Moreover,
+to these poor knights and the harpers Graelent gave goodly gifts, so
+that there was not a citizen in all the town who did not hold him in
+great worship, and regard him as his lord.
+
+From this moment Graelent lived greatly at his ease, for not a cloud
+was in his sky. His lady came at will and pleasure; all day long they
+laughed and played together, and at night she lay softly at his side.
+What truer happiness might he know than this? Often, besides, he rode
+to such tournaments of the land as he was able, and all men esteemed
+him for a stout and worthy knight. Very pleasant were his days, and
+his love, and if such things might last for ever he had nothing else
+to ask of life.
+
+When a full year had passed by, the season drew to the Feast of
+Pentecost. Now it was the custom of the King to summon at that tide
+his barons and all who held their fiefs of him to his Court for a rich
+banquet. Amongst these lords was bidden Sir Graelent. After men had
+eaten and drunk the whole day, and all were merry, the King commanded
+the Queen to put off her royal robes, and to stand forth upon the
+dais. Then he boasted before the company,
+
+"Lord barons, how seems it to you? Beneath the sky is there a lovelier
+Queen than mine, be she maid, lady or demoiselle?"
+
+So all the lords made haste to praise the Queen, and to cry and affirm
+that in all the world was neither maid nor wife so dainty, fresh and
+fair. Not a single voice but bragged of her beauty, save only that
+of Graelent. He smiled at their folly, for his heart remembered his
+friend, and he held in pity all those who so greatly rejoiced in the
+Queen. So he sat with covered head, and with face bent smiling to the
+board. The Queen marked his discourtesy, and drew thereto the notice
+of the King.
+
+"Sire, do you observe this dishonour! Not one of these mighty lords
+but has praised the beauty of your wife, save Graelent only, who makes
+a mock of her. Always has he held me in envy and despite."
+
+The King commanded Graelent to his throne, and in the hearing of all
+bade the knight to tell, on his faith as vassal to his liege, for what
+reason he had hid his face and laughed.
+
+"Sire," answered Graelent to the King, "Sire, hearken to my words. In
+all the world no man of your lineage does so shameful a deed as this.
+You make your wife a show upon a stage. You force your lords to praise
+her just with lies, saying that the sun does not shine upon her peer.
+One man will tell the truth to your face, and say that very easily can
+be found a fairer dame than she."
+
+Right heavy was the King when he heard these words. He conjured
+Graelent to tell him straightly if he knew a daintier dame.
+
+"Yes, Sire, and thirty times more gracious than the Queen."
+
+The Queen was marvellously wrathful to hear this thing, and prayed her
+husband of his grace to compel the knight to bring that woman to the
+Court of whose beauty he made so proud a boast.
+
+"Set us side by side, and let the choice be made between us. Should
+she prove the fairer let him go in peace; but if not, let justice be
+done on him for his calumny and malice."
+
+So the King bade his guards to lay hands on Graelent, swearing that
+between them never should be love nor peace, nor should the knight
+issue forth from prison, until he had brought before him her whose
+beauty he had praised so much.
+
+Graelent was held a captive. He repented him of his hasty words, and
+begged the King to grant him respite. He feared to have lost his
+friend, and sweated grievously with rage and mortification. But though
+many of the King's house pitied him in his evil case, the long days
+brought him no relief, until a full year went by, and once again the
+King made a great banquet to his barons and his lieges. Then was
+Graelent brought to hall, and put to liberty on such terms that he
+would return bringing with him her whose loveliness he had praised
+before the King. Should she prove so desirable and dear, as his boast,
+then all would be well, for he had naught to fear. But if he returned
+without his lady, then he must go to judgment, and his only hope would
+be in the mercy of the King.
+
+Graelent mounted his good horse, and parted from the Court sad and
+wrathful. He sought his lodging, and inquired for his servant, but
+might not find him. He called upon his friend, but the lady did not
+heed his voice. Then Graelent gave way to despair, and preferred death
+to life. He shut himself within his chamber, crying upon his dear one
+for grace and mercy, but from her he got neither speech nor comfort.
+So seeing that his love had withdrawn herself from him by reason of
+his grievous fault, he took no rest by night or day, and held his life
+in utter despite. For a full year he lived in this piteous case, so
+that it was marvellous to those about him that he might endure his
+life.
+
+On the day appointed the sureties brought Graelent where the King was
+set in hall with his lords. Then the King inquired of Graelent where
+was now his friend.
+
+"Sire," answered the knight, "she is not here, for in no wise might I
+find her. Now do with me according to your will."
+
+"Sir Graelent," said the King, "very foully have you spoken. You have
+slandered the Queen, and given all my lords the lie. When you go from
+my hands never will you do more mischief with your tongue."
+
+Then the King spoke with a high voice to his barons.
+
+"Lords, I pray and command you to give judgment in this matter. You
+heard the blame that Graelent set upon me before all my Court. You
+know the deep dishonour that he fastened on the Queen. How may such a
+disloyal vassal deal honestly with his lord, for as the proverb tells,
+'Hope not for friendship from the man who beats your dog!'"
+
+The lords of the King's household went out from before him, and
+gathered themselves together to consider their judgment. They kept
+silence for a great space, for it was grievous to them to deal harshly
+with so valiant a knight. Whilst they thus refrained from words a
+certain page hastened unto them, and prayed them not to press the
+matter, for (said he) "even now two young maidens, the freshest maids
+in all the realm, seek the Court. Perchance they bring succour to
+the good knight, and, so it be the will of God, may deliver him from
+peril." So the lords waited right gladly, and presently they saw two
+damsels come riding to the palace. Very young were these maidens, very
+slender and gracious, and daintily cloaked in two fair mantles. So
+when the pages had hastened to hold their stirrup and bridle, the
+maidens dismounted from their palfreys and entering within the hall
+came straight before the King.
+
+"Sire," said one of the two damsels, "hearken now to me. My lady
+commands us to pray you to put back this cause for a while, nor to
+deliver judgment therein, since she comes to plead with you for the
+deliverance of this knight."
+
+When the Queen heard this message she was filled with shame, and made
+speed to get her from the hall Hardly had she gone than there entered
+two other damsels, whiter and more sweetly flushed even than their
+fellows. These bade the King to wait for a little, since their
+mistress was now at hand. So all men stared upon them, and praised
+their great beauty, saying that if the maid was so fair, what then
+must be the loveliness of the dame. When, therefore, the demoiselle
+came in her turn, the King's household stood upon their feet to give
+her greeting. Never did woman show so queenly to men's sight as did
+this lady riding to the hall. Passing sweet she was to see, passing
+simple and gracious of manner, with softer eyes and a daintier face
+than girl of mother born. The whole Court marvelled at her beauty, for
+no spot or blemish might be found in her body. She was richly dressed
+in a kirtle of vermeil silk, broidered with gold, and her mantle was
+worth the spoil of a king's castle. Her palfrey was of good race,
+and speedy; the harness and trappings upon him were worth a thousand
+livres in minted coin. All men pressed about her, praising her face
+and person, her simplicity and queenlihead. She came at slow pace
+before the King, and dismounting from the palfrey, spoke very
+courteously in this fashion.
+
+"Sire," said she, "hearken to me, and you, lord barons, give heed to
+my pleading. You know the words Graelent spake to the King, in the
+ears of men, when the Queen made herself a show before the lords,
+saying that often had he seen a fairer lady. Very hasty and foolish
+was his tongue, since he provoked the King to anger. But at least he
+told the truth when he said that there is no dame so comely but that
+very easily may be found one more sweet than she. Look now boldly upon
+my face, and judge you rightly in this quarrel between the Queen and
+me. So shall Sir Graelent be acquitted of this blame."
+
+Then gazing upon her, all the King's household, lord and lackey,
+prince and page, cried with one voice that her favour was greater than
+that of the Queen. The King himself gave judgment with his barons that
+this thing was so; therefore Sir Graelent was acquitted of his blame,
+and declared a free man.
+
+When judgment was given the lady took her leave of the King, and
+attended by her four damsels departed straightway from the hall upon
+her palfrey. Sir Graelent caused his white horse to be saddled, and
+mounting, followed hotly after her through the town. Day after day
+he rode in her track, pleading for pity and pardon, but she gave him
+neither good words nor bad in answer. So far they fared that at last
+they came to the forest, and taking their way through a deep wood rode
+to the bank of a fair, clear stream. The lady set her palfrey to the
+river, but when she saw that Graelent also would enter therein she
+cried to him,
+
+"Stay, Graelent, the stream is deep, and it is death for you to
+follow."
+
+Graelent took no heed to her words, but forced his horse to enter the
+river, so that speedily the waters closed above his head. Then the
+lady seized his bridle, and with extreme toil brought horse and rider
+back again to land.
+
+"Graelent," said she, "you may not pass this river, however mightily
+you pain yourself, therefore must you remain alone on this bank."
+
+Again the lady set her palfrey to the river, but Graelent could not
+suffer to see her go upon her way alone. Again he forced his horse to
+enter the water; but the current was very swift and the stream was
+very deep, so that presently Graelent was torn from his saddle, and
+being borne away by the stream came very nigh to drown. When the four
+maidens saw his piteous plight they cried aloud to their lady, and
+said,
+
+"Lady, for the love of God, take pity on your poor friend. See, how he
+drowns in this evil case. Alas, cursed be the day you spake soft words
+in his ear, and gave him the grace of your love. Lady, look how the
+current hurries him to his death. How may your heart suffer him to
+drown whom you have held so close! Aid him, nor have the sin on your
+soul that you endured to let the man who loved you die without your
+help."
+
+When the lady heard the complaint of her maidens, no longer could
+she hide the pity she felt in her heart. In all haste she turned her
+palfrey to the river, and entering the stream clutched her lover by
+the belt. Thus they won together to the bank. There she stripped the
+drowned man of his raiment, and wrapping him fast in her own dry
+mantle cherished him so meetly that presently he came again to life.
+So she brought him safely into her own land, and none has met Sir
+Graelent since that day.
+
+But the Breton folk still hold firmly that Graelent yet liveth with
+his friend. His destrier, when he escaped him from the perilous river,
+grieved greatly for his master's loss. He sought again the mighty
+forest, yet never was at rest by night or day. No peace might he find,
+but ever pawed he with his hoofs upon the ground, and neighed so
+loudly that the noise went through all the country round about. Many a
+man coveted so noble a steed, and sought to put bit and bridle in his
+mouth, yet never might one set hands upon him, for he would not suffer
+another master. So each year in its season the forest was filled with
+the cry and the trouble of this noble horse which might not find its
+lord.
+
+This adventure of the good steed and of the stout knight, who went
+to the land of faery with his love, was noised abroad throughout all
+Brittany, and the Bretons made a Lay thereof which was sung in
+the ears of many people, and was called a Lay of the Death of Sir
+Graelent.
+
+
+
+
+XVI
+
+
+A STORY OF BEYOND THE SEA
+
+In times gone by there lived a Count of Ponthieu, who loved chivalry
+and the pleasures of the world beyond measure, and moreover was a
+stout knight and a gallant gentleman. In the self-same day there lived
+a Count of St. Pol, who was lord of much land, and a right worthy man.
+One grief he had, that there was no heir of his body; but a sister was
+his, a prudent woman and a passing good gentlewoman, who was dame of
+Dommare in Ponthieu. This lady had a son, Thibault by name, who was
+heir to this County of St. Pol, but he was a poor man so long as his
+uncle lived. He was a prudent knight, valiant and skilled with the
+spear, noble and fair. Greatly was he loved and honoured of all honest
+people, for he was of high race and gentle birth.
+
+The Count of Ponthieu, of whom the tale hath spoken, had to wife a
+very worthy lady. He and his dame had but one child, a daughter,
+very good and gracious, who increased with her days in favour and in
+virtues; and the maid was of some sixteen years. The third year after
+her birth her mother died, whereof she was sorely troubled and right
+heavy. The Count, her father, took to himself another wife with no
+long tarrying, a dame of gentle race and breeding. Of this lady he got
+him quickly a son; very near was the boy to his father's heart. The
+lad grew with his years in stature and in valour, and gave promise to
+increase in all good qualities.
+
+The Count of Ponthieu marked my lord Thibault of Dommare. He summoned
+the knight to his castle, and made him of his house for guerdon. When
+Sir Thibault was of his fellowship he rejoiced greatly, for the Count
+prospered in goods and in praise by reason of his servant's deeds. As
+they came from a tournament on a day, the Count and my lord Thibault
+together, the Count required of his companion and said,
+
+"Thibault, by the aid of God tell me truly which jewel of my crown
+shines the fairest in your eyes!"
+
+"Sir," replied Messire Thibault, "I am only a beggar, but so help me
+God, of all the jewels in your crown I love and covet none, save only
+my demoiselle, your daughter."
+
+When he heard this thing the Count had great content. He laughed in
+his heart and said,
+
+"Thibault, I will grant her to the beggar, if it be to her mind."
+
+"Sir," answered he, "thanks and gramercy. May God make it up to you."
+
+Then went the Count to his daughter, and said,
+
+"Fair daughter, I have promised you in marriage, so it go not against
+your heart."
+
+"Sir," inquired the maid, "to whom?"
+
+"In the name of God, to a loyal man, and a true man, of whom much is
+hoped; to a knight of my own household, Thibault of Dommare."
+
+"Dear sir," answered the maiden sweetly, "if your county were a
+kingdom, and I were the king's only child, I would choose him as my
+husband, and gladly give him all that I had."
+
+"Daughter," said the Count, "blessed be your pretty person, and the
+hour that you were born."
+
+Thus was this marriage made. The Count of Ponthieu and the Count of
+St. Pol were at the feast, and many another honourable man besides.
+Great was the joy in which they met, fair was the worship, and
+marvellous the delight. The bride and groom lived together in all
+happiness for five years. This was their only sorrow, that it pleased
+not our Lord Jesus Christ that they should have an heir to their
+flesh.
+
+On a night Sir Thibault lay in his bed. He considered within himself
+and said,
+
+"Lord, whence cometh it that I love this dame so fondly, and she me,
+yet we may have no heir of our bodies to serve God and to do a little
+good in the world?"
+
+Then he remembered my lord St. James, the Apostle of Spain, who gives
+to the fervent supplicant that which rightly he desires. Earnestly, to
+his own heart, he promised that he would walk a pilgrim in his way.
+His wife lay sleeping at his side, but when she came from out her
+sleep, he took her softly in his arms, and required of her that she
+would bestow on him a gift.
+
+"Sir," said the lady, "what gift would you have?"
+
+"Wife," he made answer, "that you shall know when it is mine."
+
+"Husband," said she, "if it be mine to grant, I will give it you,
+whatever the price."
+
+"Wife," he said, "I pray you to grant me leave to seek my lord St.
+James the Apostle, that he may intercede with our Lord Jesus Christ to
+bestow on us an heir of our flesh, whereby God may be served in this
+world and Holy Church glorified."
+
+"Sir," cried the lady, "sweet and dear it is that you should crave
+such bounty, and I grant the permission you desire right willingly."
+
+Deep and long was the tenderness that fell betwixt these twain. Thus
+passed a day, and another day, and yet a third. On this third day it
+chanced that they lay together in their bed, and it was night. Then
+said the dame,
+
+"Husband, I pray and require of you a gift."
+
+"Wife," he replied, "ask, and I will give it you, if by any means I
+can."
+
+"Husband," she said, "I require leave to come with you on this errand
+and journey."
+
+When Messire Thibault heard this thing he was right sorrowful, and
+said,
+
+"Wife, grievous would be the journey to your body, for the way is very
+long, and the land right strange and perilous."
+
+Said she,
+
+"Husband, be not in doubt because of me. You shall be more hindered of
+your squire than of your wife."
+
+"Dame," said he, "as God wills and as you wish."
+
+The days went, and these tidings were so noised abroad that the Count
+of Ponthieu heard thereof. He commanded my lord Sir Thibault to his
+house, and said,
+
+"Thibault, you are a vowed pilgrim, as I hear, and my daughter too!"
+
+"Sir," answered he, "that is verily and truly so."
+
+"Thibault," replied the Count, "as to yourself what pleases you is to
+my mind also, but concerning my daughter that is another matter."
+
+"Sir," made answer Sir Thibault, "go she must, and I cannot deny her."
+
+"Since this is so," said the Count, "part when you will. Make ready
+for the road your steeds, your palfreys, and the pack horses, and I
+will give you riches and gear enough for the journey."
+
+"Sir," said Messire Thibault, "thanks and gramercy."
+
+Thus these pilgrims arrayed them, and sought that shrine with
+marvellous joy. They fared so speedily upon the way, that at length
+they came near to my lord St. James, by less than two days faring.
+That night they drew to a goodly town. After they had eaten in the
+hostel, Sir Thibault called for the host and inquired of him the road
+for the morrow, how it ran, and whether it were smooth.
+
+"Fair sir," replied the innkeeper to the knight, "at the gate of this
+town you will find a little wood. Beyond the wood a strong smooth road
+runs for the whole day's journey."
+
+Hearing this they asked no more questions, but the beds being laid
+down, they went to their rest. The morrow broke full sweetly. The
+pilgrims rose lightly from their beds as soon as it was day, and made
+much stir and merriment. Sir Thibault rose also, since he might not
+sleep, but his head was heavy. He therefore called his chamberlain,
+and said,
+
+"Rise quickly, and bid the company to pack the horses and go their
+way. Thou shalt remain with me, and make ready our harness, for I am a
+little heavy and disquieted."
+
+The chamberlain made known to the sergeants the pleasure of their
+lord, so that presently they took the road. In no great while Messire
+Thibault and his dame got them from the bed, and arraying their
+persons, followed after their household. The chamberlain folded the
+bed linen, and it was yet but dawn, though warm and fair. The three
+went forth through the gate of the city, those three together, with no
+other companion save God alone, and drew near to the forest. When they
+came close they found two roads, the one good, the other ill; so that
+Sir Thibault said to his chamberlain,
+
+"Put spurs to your horse, and ride swiftly after our people. Bid them
+await our coming, for foul it is for lady and knight to pass through
+this wood with so little company."
+
+The servitor went speedily, and Messire Thibault entered the forest.
+He drew rein beside the two roads, for he knew not which to follow.
+
+"Wife," he said, "which way is ours?"
+
+"Please God, the good," she answered.
+
+Now in this wood were robbers, who spoiled the fair way, and made wide
+and smooth the false, so that pilgrims should mistake and wander from
+the path. Messire Thibault lighted from his horse. He looked from one
+to the other, and finding the wrong way broader and more smooth than
+the true, he cried,
+
+"Wife, come now; in the name of God, this."
+
+They had proceeded along this road for some quarter of a mile when the
+path grew strict and narrow, and boughs made dark the way.
+
+"Wife," said the knight, "I fear that we fare but ill."
+
+When he had thus spoken he looked before him, and marked four armed
+thieves, seated on four strong horses, and each bore lance in hand.
+Thereupon he glanced behind him, and, lo, four other robbers, armed
+and set in ambush, so he said,
+
+"Dame, be not affrighted of aught that you may see from now."
+
+Right courteously Sir Thibault saluted the robbers in his path, but
+they gave no answer to his greeting. Afterwards he sought of them
+what was in their mind, and one replied that he should know anon.
+The thief, who had thus spoken, drew towards my lord Thibault, with
+outstretched sword, thinking to smite him in the middle. Messire
+Thibault saw the blow about to fall, and it was no marvel if he feared
+greatly. He sprang forward nimbly, as best he might, so that the
+glaive smote the air. Then as the robber staggered by, Sir Thibault
+seized him fiercely, and wrested the sword from his hand. The knight
+advanced stoutly against those three from whom the thief had come. He
+struck the foremost amidst the bowels, so that he perished miserably.
+Then he turned and went again to that one who had first come against
+him with the sword, and slew him also. Now it was decreed of God that
+after the knight had slain three of this company of robbers, that
+the five who were left, encompassed him round about, and killed his
+palfrey. Sir Thibault tumbled flat upon his back, although he was not
+wounded to his hurt. Since he had neither sword nor other harness
+he could do no more. The thieves therefore stripped him to his very
+shirt, his boots and hosen, and binding him hand and foot with a
+baldrick, cast him into a thorn bush, right thick and sharp. When
+they had done this they hastened to the lady. From her they took her
+palfrey and her vesture, even to the shift. Passing fair was the lady;
+she wept full piteously, and never was dame more sorrowful than she.
+Now one of these bold robbers stared upon the lady, and saw that she
+was very fair. He spoke to his companions in this fashion,
+
+"Comrades, I have lost my brother in this broil. I will take this
+woman for his blood money."
+
+But the others made answer,
+
+"I, too, have lost my kin. I claim as much as you, and my right is
+good as yours."
+
+So said a third, and a fourth, and a fifth. Then spake yet another.
+
+"In keeping of the lady will be found neither peace nor profit. Rather
+let us lead her from here within the forest, there do our pleasure
+upon her, and then put her again upon the path, so that she may go her
+way."
+
+Thus they did as they had devised together, and left her on the road.
+
+Right sick at heart was Messire Thibault when he saw her so entreated,
+but nothing could he do. He bore no malice against his wife by reason
+of that which had befallen, for well he knew that it, was by force,
+and not according to her will. When he saw her again, weeping bitterly
+and altogether shamed, he called to her, and said,
+
+"Wife, for God's love unloose me from these bonds, and deliver me from
+the torment that I suffer, for these thorns are sharper than I can
+endure."
+
+The lady hastened to the place where Sir Thibault lay, and marked a
+sword flung behind the bush, belonging to one of those felons that
+were slain. She took the glaive, and went towards her lord, filled
+full of wrath and evil thoughts because of what had chanced to her.
+She feared greatly lest her husband should bear malice for that which
+he had seen, reproaching her upon a day, and taunting her for what was
+past. She said,
+
+"Sir, you are out of your pain already."
+
+She raised the sword, and came towards her husband, thinking to strike
+him midmost the body. When he marked the falling glaive he deemed that
+his day had come, for he was a naked man, clad in nought but his shirt
+and hosen. He trembled so sorely that his bonds were loosed, and the
+lady struck so feebly that she wounded him but little, severing that
+baldrick with which his hands were made fast. Thereat the knight brake
+the cords about his legs, and leaping upon his feet, cried, "Dame,
+by the grace of God it is not to-day that you shall slay me with the
+sword."
+
+Then she made answer, "Truly, sir, the sorer grief is mine."
+
+Sir Thibault took the sword, and set it again in the sheath,
+afterwards he put his hand upon the lady's shoulder, and brought her
+back by the path they had fared. At the fringe of the woodland he
+found a large part of his fellowship, who were come to meet him. When
+these saw their lord and lady so spoiled and disarrayed they inquired
+of them, "Sir, who hath put you in this case?"
+
+He set them by, saying that they had fallen amongst felons who had
+done them much mischief.
+
+Mightily the sergeants lamented; but presently they fetched raiment
+from the packs, and arrayed them, for enough they had and to spare. So
+they climbed into the saddle, and continued their journey.
+
+They rode that day, nor for aught that had chanced did Messire
+Thibault show sourer countenance to the lady. At nightfall they came
+to a goodly town, and there took shelter in an inn. Messire Thibault
+sought of his host if there was any convent of nuns in those parts
+where a lady might repose her. The host made answer to him,
+
+"Sir, you are served to your wish. Just beyond the walls is a right
+fair religious house, with many holy women."
+
+On the morrow Messire Thibault went to this house, and heard Mass.
+Afterwards he spoke to the Abbess and her chapter, praying that he
+might leave his lady in their charge, until his return; and this they
+accorded very willingly. Messire Thibault bestowed the lady in this
+convent, with certain of his house to do her service, and went his way
+to bring his pilgrimage to a fair end. When he had knelt before the
+shrine, and honoured the Saint, he came again to the convent and the
+lady. He gave freely of his wealth to the house, and taking to himself
+his wife, returned with her to their own land, in the same joy and
+honour as he had brought her forth, save only that they lay not
+together.
+
+Great was the gladness of the folk of that realm when Sir Thibault
+returned to his home. The Count of Ponthieu, the father of his wife
+was there, and there, too, was his uncle the Count of St. Pol. Many
+worthy and valiant gentlemen came for his welcome, and a fair company
+of dames and maidens likewise honoured the lady. That day the Count
+of Ponthieu sat at meat with my lord Thibault, and ate from the same
+dish, the two together. Then it happed that the Count spake to him,
+
+"Thibault, fair son, he who journeys far hears many a strange matter
+and sees many strange sights, which are hidden from those who sit over
+the fire. Tell me therefore, of your favour, something of all you have
+seen and heard since you went from amongst us."
+
+Messire Thibault answered shortly that he knew no tale worth the
+telling. The Count would take no denial, but plagued him so sorely,
+begging him of his courtesy to tell over some adventure, that at the
+last he was overborne.
+
+"Sir, I will narrate a story, since talk I must; but at least let it
+be in your private ear, if you please, and not for the mirth of all."
+
+The Count replied that his pleasure was the same. After meat, when men
+had eaten their fill, the Count rose in his chair, and taking my lord
+Thibault by the hand, entreated,
+
+"Tell me now, I pray, that which it pleases you to tell, for there are
+few of the household left in hall."
+
+Then Messire Thibault began to relate that which chanced to a knight
+and a dame, even as it has been rehearsed before you in this tale;
+only he named not the persons to whom this lot was appointed. The
+Count, who was wise and sober of counsel, inquired what the knight had
+done with the lady. Thibault made answer that the knight had brought
+the lady back by the way she went, with the same joy and worship as he
+led her forth, save only that they slept not together.
+
+"Thibault," said the Count, "your knight walked another road than I
+had trod. By my faith in God and my love for you, I had hanged this
+dame by her tresses to a tree. The laces of her gown would suffice if
+I could find no other cord."
+
+"Sir," said Messire Thibault, "you have but my word. The truth can
+only be assured if the lady might bear witness and testify with her
+own mouth."
+
+"Thibault," said the Count, "know you the name of this knight?"
+
+"Sir," cried Messire Thibault, "I beg you again to exempt me from
+naming the knight to whom this sorrow befell. Know of a truth that his
+name will bring no profit."
+
+"Thibault," said the Count, "it is my pleasure that his name should
+not be hid."
+
+"Sir," answered Thibault, "tell I must, as you will not acquit me; but
+I take you to witness that I speak only under compulsion, since gladly
+I would have kept silence, had this been your pleasure, for in the
+telling there is neither worship nor honour."
+
+"Thibault," replied the Count, "without more words I would know
+forthwith who was the knight to whom this adventure chanced. By the
+faith that you owe to your God and to me, I conjure you to tell me his
+name, since it is in your mind."
+
+"Sir," replied Messire Thibault, "I will answer by the faith I owe
+my God and you, since you lay this charge upon me. Know well, and be
+persuaded, that I am the knight on whom this sorrow lighted. Hold it
+for truth that I was sorely troubled and sick of heart. Be assured
+that never before have I spoken to any living man about the business,
+and moreover that gladly would I have held my peace, had such been
+your will."
+
+When the Count heard this adventure he was sore astonied, and
+altogether cast down. He kept silence for a great space, speaking
+never a word. At the last he said, "Thibault, was it indeed my child
+who did this thing?"
+
+"Sir, it is verily and truly so."
+
+"Thibault," said the Count, "sweet shall be your vengeance, since you
+have given her again to my hand."
+
+Because of his exceeding wrath the Count sent straightway for his
+daughter, and demanded of her if those things were true of which
+Messire Thibault had spoken. She inquired of the accusation, and her
+father answered, "That you would have slain him with the sword, even
+as he has told me?"
+
+"Sir, of a surety."
+
+"And wherefore would you slay your husband?"
+
+"Sir, for reason that I am yet heavy that he is not dead."
+
+When the Count heard the lady speak in this fashion, he answered her
+nothing, but suffered in silence until the guests had departed. After
+these were gone, the Count came on a day to Rue-sur-Mer, and Messire
+Thibault with him, and the Count's son. With them also went the lady.
+Then the Count caused a ship to be got ready, very stout and speedy,
+and he made the dame to enter in the boat. He set also on the ship an
+untouched barrel, very high and strong. These three lords climbed into
+the nave, with no other company, save those sailors who should labour
+at the oar. The Count commanded the mariners to put the ship to sea,
+and all marvelled greatly as to what he purposed, but there was none
+so bold as to ask him any questions. When they had rowed a great way
+from the land, the Count bade them to strike the head from out the
+barrel. He took that dame, his own child, who was so dainty and so
+fair, and thrust her in the tun, whether she would or whether she
+would not. This being done he caused the cask to be made fast again
+with staves and wood, so that the water might in no manner enter
+therein. Afterwards he dragged the barrel to the edge of the deck, and
+with his own hand cast it into the sea, saying,
+
+"I commend thee to the wind and waves."
+
+Passing heavy was Messire Thibault at this, and the lady's brother
+also, and all who saw. They fell at the Count's feet, praying him of
+his grace that she might be delivered from the barrel. So hot was his
+wrath that he would not grant their prayer, for aught that they might
+do or say. They therefore left him to his rage, and turning to the
+Heavenly Father, besought our Lord Jesus Christ that of His most sweet
+pity He would have mercy on her soul, and give her pardon for her
+sins.
+
+The ship came again to land, leaving the lady in sore peril and
+trouble, even as the tale has told you. But our Lord Jesus Christ, who
+is Lord and Father of all, and desireth not the death of a sinner, but
+rather that he should turn from his wickedness and live--as each day
+He showeth us openly by deed, by example and by miracle--sent succour
+to this lady, even as you shall hear. For a ship from Flanders, laden
+with merchandise, marked this barrel drifting at the mercy of winds
+and waters, before ever the Count and his companions were come ashore.
+One of the merchants said to his comrades,
+
+"Friends, behold a barrel drifting in our course. If we may reach it,
+perchance we may find it to our gain."
+
+This ship was wont to traffic with the Saracens in their country, so
+the sailors rowed towards the barrel, and partly by cunning and partly
+by strength, at the last got it safely upon the deck. The merchants
+looked long at the cask. They wondered greatly what it could be, and
+wondering, they saw that the head of the barrel was newly closed. They
+opened the cask, and found therein a woman at the point of death, for
+air had failed her. Her body was gross, her visage swollen, and the
+eyes started horribly from her head. When she breathed the fresh air
+and felt the wind blow upon her, she sighed a little, so that the
+merchants standing by, spoke comfortably to her, but she might not
+answer them a word. In the end, heart and speech came again to her.
+She spoke to the chapmen and the sailors who pressed about her, and
+much she marvelled how she found herself amongst them. When she
+perceived that she was with merchants and Christian men she was the
+more easy, and fervently she praised Jesus Christ in her heart,
+thanking Him for the loving kindness which had kept her from death.
+For this lady was altogether contrite in heart, and earnestly desired
+to amend her life towards God, repenting the trespass she had done
+to others, and fearing the judgment that was rightly her due. The
+merchants inquired of the lady whence she came, and she told them the
+truth, saying that she was a miserable wretch and a poor sinner, as
+they could see for themselves. She related the cruel adventure which
+had chanced to her, and prayed them to take pity on a most unhappy
+lady, and they answered that mercy they would show. So with meat and
+drink her former beauty came to her again.
+
+Now this merchant ship fared so far that she came to the land of the
+Paynims, and cast anchor in the port of Aumarie. Galleys of these
+Saracens came to know their business, and they answered that they were
+traffickers in divers merchandise in many a realm. They showed them
+also the safe conduct they carried of princes and mighty lords that
+they might pass in safety through their countries to buy and sell
+their goods. The merchants got them to land in this port, taking the
+lady with them. They sought counsel one of the other to know what it
+were best to do with her. One was for selling her as a slave, but his
+companion proposed to give her as a sop to the rich Soudan of Aumarie,
+that their business should be the less hindered. To this they all
+agreed. They arrayed the lady freshly in broidered raiment, and
+carried her before the Soudan, who was a lusty young man. He accepted
+their gift, receiving the lady with a right glad heart, for she was
+passing fair. The Soudan inquired of them as to who she was.
+
+"Sire," answered the merchants, "we know no more than you, but
+marvellous was the fashion in which she came to our hands."
+
+The gift was so greatly to the Soudan's mind that he served the
+chapmen to the utmost of his power. He loved the lady very tenderly,
+and entreated her in all honour. He held and tended her so well, that
+her sweet colour came again to her, and her beauty increased beyond
+measure. The Soudan sought to know by those who had the gift of
+tongues as to the lady's home and race, but these she would not reveal
+to any. He was the more thoughtful therefore, because he might see
+that she was a dame of birth and lineage. He inquired of her as to
+whether she were a Christian woman, promising that if she would deny
+her faith, he would take her as his wife, since he was yet unwed. The
+lady saw clearly that it were better to be converted by love than
+perforce; so she answered that her religion was to do her master's
+pleasure. When she had renounced her faith, and rejected the Christian
+law, the Soudan made her his dame according to the use and wont of
+this country of the Paynim. He held her very dear, cherishing her in
+all honour, for his love waxed deeper as the days wore on.
+
+In due time it was with this lady after the manner of women, and she
+came to bed of a son. The Soudan rejoiced greatly, being altogether
+merry and content. The lady, for her part, lived in fair fellowship
+with the folk of her husband's realm. Very courteous was she, and
+very serviceable, so that presently she was instructed in the Saracen
+tongue. In no long while after the birth of her son she conceived of
+a maid, who in the years that befell grew passing sweet and fair, and
+richly was she nurtured as became the daughter of so high a prince.
+Thus for two years and a half the lady dwelt with the Paynim in much
+softness and delight.
+
+Now the story keeps silence as to the lady and the Soudan, her
+husband, till later, as you may hear, and returns to the Count of
+Ponthieu, the son of the Count, and to my lord Thibault of Dommare,
+who were left grieving for the dame who was flung into the sea, as you
+have heard, nor knew aught of her tidings, but deemed that she were
+rather dead than alive. Now tells the story--and the truth bears
+witness to itself and is its own confirmation--that the Count was in
+Ponthieu, together with his son, and Messire Thibault. Very heavy was
+the Count, for in no wise could he get his daughter from his mind,
+and grievously he lamented the wrong that he had done her. Messire
+Thibault dared not take to himself another wife, because of the
+anguish of his friend. The son of the Count might not wed also;
+neither durst he to become knight, though he was come to an age when
+such things are greatly to a young man's mind.
+
+On a day the Count considered deeply the sin that he had committed
+against his own flesh. He sought the Archbishop of Rheims in
+confession, and opened out his grief, telling in his ear the crime
+that he had wrought. He determined to seek those holy fields beyond
+the sea, and sewed the Cross upon his mantle. When Messire Thibault
+knew that his lord, the Count, had taken the Cross, he confessed him,
+and did likewise. And when the Count's son was assured of the purpose
+of his sire and of Messire Thibault, whom he loved dearly, he took the
+Cross with them. Passing heavy was the Count to mark the Sign upon his
+son's raiment.
+
+"Fair son, what is this you have done; for now the land remains
+without a lord!"
+
+The son answered, and said, "Father, I wear the Sign first and
+foremost for the love of God; afterwards for the saving of my soul,
+and by reason that I would serve and honour Him to the utmost of my
+power, so long as I have life in my body."
+
+The Count put his realm in ward full wisely. He used diligence in
+making all things ready, and bade farewell to his friends. Messire
+Thibault and the son of the Count ordered their business, and the
+three set forth together, with a fair company. They came to that holy
+land beyond the sea, safe of person and of gear. There they made
+devout pilgrimage to every place where they were persuaded it was meet
+to go, and God might be served. When the Count had done all that
+he was able, he deemed that there was yet one thing to do. He gave
+himself and his fellowship to the service of the Temple for one year;
+and at the end of this term he purposed to seek his country and his
+home. He sent to Acre, and made ready a ship against his voyage. He
+took his leave of the Knights Templar, and other lords of that land,
+and greatly they praised him for the worship that he had brought them.
+When the Count and his company were come to Acre they entered in the
+ship, and departed from the haven with a fair wind. But little was
+their solace. For when they drew to the open sea a strong and horrible
+tempest sprang suddenly upon them, so that the sailors knew not where
+they went, and feared each hour that all would be drowned. So piteous
+was their plight that, with ropes, they bound themselves one to
+another, the son to the father, the uncle to the nephew, according as
+they stood. The Count, his son, and Messire Thibault for their part,
+fastened themselves together, so that the same end should chance to
+all. In no long time after this was done they saw land, and inquired
+of the shipmen whither they were come. The mariners answered that this
+realm belonged to the Paynim, and was called the Land of Aumarie. They
+asked of the Count,
+
+"Sire, what is your will that we do? If we seek the shore, doubtless
+we shall be made captives, and fall into the hands of the Saracen."
+
+The Count made answer, "Not my will, but the will of Jesus Christ be
+done. Let the ship go as He thinks best. We will commit our bodies and
+our lives to His good keeping, for a fouler and an uglier death we
+cannot die, than to perish in this sea."
+
+They drove with the wind along the coast of Aumarie, and the galleys
+and warships of the Saracens put out to meet them. Be assured that
+this was no fair meeting, for the Paynims took them and led them
+before the Soudan, who was lord of that realm. There they gave him
+the goods and the bodies of these Christians as a gift. The Soudan
+sundered this fair fellowship, setting them in many places and in
+divers prisons; but since the Count, his son, and Messire Thibault
+were so securely bound together, he commanded that they should be cast
+into a dungeon by themselves, and fed upon the bread of affliction and
+the water of affliction. So it was done, even as he commanded. In this
+prison they lay for a space, till such time as the Count's son fell
+sick. His sickness was so grievous that the Count and Messire Thibault
+feared greatly that this sorrow was to death.
+
+Now it came to pass that the Soudan held high Court because of the day
+of his birth, for such was the custom of the Saracens. After they had
+well eaten, the Saracens stood before the Soudan, and said,
+
+"Sire, we require of you our right."
+
+He inquired of what right they were speaking, and they answered,
+
+"Sire, a Christian captive to set as a mark for our arrows."
+
+When the Soudan heard this he gave no thought to such a trifle, but
+made reply,
+
+"Get you to the prison, and take out that captive who has the least of
+life in him."
+
+The Paynim hastened to the dungeon, and brought forth the Count,
+bearded, unkempt and foredone. The Soudan marked his melancholy case,
+so he said to them, "This man has not long to live; take him hence,
+and do your will on him."
+
+The wife of the Soudan, of whom you have heard, the daughter of this
+very Count, was in the hall, when they brought forth her father to
+slay him. Immediately that her eyes fell upon him the blood in her
+veins turned to water; not so much that she knew him as her sire, but
+rather that Nature tugged at her heart strings. Then spake the dame to
+the Soudan, "Husband, I, too, am French, and would gladly speak with
+this poor wretch ere he die, if so I may."
+
+"Wife," answered the Soudan, "truly, yes; it pleases me well."
+
+The lady came to the Count. She took him apart, and bidding the
+Saracens fall back, she inquired of him whence he was.
+
+"Lady, I am from the kingdom of France, of a county that men call
+Ponthieu."
+
+When the lady heard this her bowels were moved. Earnestly she demanded
+his name and race.
+
+"Of a truth, lady, I have long forgotten my father's house, for I have
+suffered such pain and anguish since I departed, that I would rather
+die than live. But this you may know, that I--even the man who speaks
+to you--was once the Count of Ponthieu."
+
+The lady hearkened to this, but yet she made no sign. She went from
+the Count, and coming to the Soudan, said,
+
+"Husband, give me this captive as a gift, if such be your pleasure. He
+knows chess and draughts and many fair tales to bring solace to the
+hearer. He shall play before you, and we will make our pastime of his
+skill."
+
+"Wife," answered the Soudan, "I grant him to you very willingly; do
+with him as you wish."
+
+The lady took the captive, and bestowed him in her chamber. The
+gaolers sought another in his stead, and brought forth my lord
+Thibault, the husband to the dame. He came out in tatters, for he was
+clothed rather in his long hair and great beard, than in raiment. His
+body was lean and bony, and he seemed as one who had endured pain and
+sorrow enough, and to spare. When the lady saw him she said to the
+Soudan,
+
+"Husband, with this one also would I gladly speak, if so I may."
+
+"Wife," answered the Soudan, "it pleases me well."
+
+The lady came to my lord Thibault, and inquired of him whence he was.
+
+"Lady, I am of the realm of that ancient gentleman who was taken from
+prison before me. I had his daughter to wife, and am his knight."
+
+The lady knew well her lord, so she returned to the Soudan, and said
+to him, "Husband, great kindness will you show me, if you give me this
+captive also."
+
+"Wife," said the Soudan, "I grant him to you very willingly."
+
+She thanked him sweetly, and bestowed the gift in her chamber, with
+the other.
+
+The archers hastened together, and drawing before the Soudan said,
+"Sire, you do us wrong, for the day is far spent."
+
+They went straight to the prison, and brought forth the son of the
+Count, shagged and filthy, as one who had not known of water for many
+a day. He was a young man, so young that his beard had not come on
+him, but for all his youth he was so thin and sick and weak, that
+he scarce could stand upon his feet. When the lady saw him she had
+compassion upon him. She came to him asking whose son he was and of
+his home, and he replied that he was son to that gentleman, who was
+first brought out of the dungeon. She knew well that this was her
+brother, but she made herself strange unto him.
+
+"Husband," said she to the Soudan, "verily you will shew kindness to
+your wife beyond measure if you grant me this captive. He knows chess
+and draughts and other delights passing fair to see and hear."
+
+And the Soudan made answer, "Wife, by our holy law if they were a
+hundred I would give them all to you gladly."
+
+The lady thanked him tenderly, and bestowed the captive swiftly in
+her chamber. The Saracens went again to the prison and fetched out
+another, but the lady left him to his fate, when she looked upon his
+face. So he won a martyr's crown, and our Lord Jesus Christ received
+his soul. As for the dame, she hid herself from the sight, for it gave
+her little joy, this slaying of the Christian by the Paynims.
+
+The lady came to her chamber, and at her coming the captives would
+have got them to their feet, but she made signs that they should
+remain seated. Drawing close she made gestures of friendship. The
+Count, who was very shrewd, asked at this, "Lady, when will they slay
+us?"
+
+She answered that their time had not yet come.
+
+"Lady," said he, "the sorer grief is ours, for we are so anhungered,
+that for a little our souls would leave our bodies."
+
+The lady went out, and bade meat to be made ready. This she carried
+in, giving to each a little, and to each a little drink. When they had
+eaten, they had yet greater hunger than before. In this manner she fed
+them, little by little, ten times a day, for she deemed that should
+they eat to their desire, they would die of repletion. For this reason
+she caused them to break their fast temperately. Thus the good lady
+dealt with them for the first seven days, and at nights, by her grace,
+they lay softly at their ease. She did away with their rags, and clad
+them in seemly apparel. When the week was done she set before them
+meat and drink to their heart's desire, so that their strength
+returned to them again. They had chess and draughts, and played these
+games to their great content. The Soudan was often with them. He
+watched the play, and took pleasure in their gladness. But the lady
+refrained, so that none might conceive, either by speech or fashion,
+that he had known her before.
+
+Now a short while after this matter of the captives, the story tells
+that the Soudan had business enough of his own, for a mighty Sultan
+laid waste his realm, and sought to do him much mischief. To avenge
+his wrong the Soudan commanded his vassals from every place, and
+assembled a great host. When the lady knew this, she entered the
+chamber where the captives lay, and sitting amidst them lifted her
+hand, and said, "Sirs, you have told me somewhat of your business; now
+will I be assured whether you are true men or not. You told me that in
+your own land you were once the Count of Ponthieu, that this man was
+wedded to your daughter, and that this other was your son. Know that I
+am a Saracen, having the science of astrology; so I tell you plainly
+that you were never so near to a shameful death, as you are now, if
+you hide from me the truth. What chanced to your daughter, the wife of
+this knight?"
+
+"Lady," replied the Count, "I deem her to be dead."
+
+"How came she to her death?"
+
+"Certes, lady," said the Count, "because for once she received her
+deserts."
+
+"Tell me of these deservings," said the dame.
+
+Then the Count began to tell, with tears, of how she was wedded, but
+was yet a barren wife; how the good knight vowed pilgrimage to my lord
+St. James in Galicia, and how the lady prayed that she might go with
+him, which prayer he granted willingly. He told how they went their
+way with joy, till alone, in the deep wood, they met with sturdy
+felons who set upon them. The good knight might do nothing against so
+many, for he was a naked man; but despite of all, he slew three, and
+five were left, who killed his palfrey, and spoiling him to the very
+shirt, bound him hands and feet, and flung him into a thorn bush. They
+spoiled the lady also and stole her palfrey from her. When they looked
+upon her, and saw that she was fair, each would have taken her.
+Afterwards they accorded that she should be to all, and having
+had their will in her despite, they departed and left her weeping
+bitterly. This the good knight saw, so he besought her courteously to
+unloose his hands, that they might get them from the wood. But the
+lady marked a sword belonging to one of these felons that were slain.
+She handselled it, and hastening where he lay, cried in furious
+fashion, "You are unbound already." Then she raised the naked sword,
+and struck at his body. But by the loving kindness of God, and the
+vigour of the knight, she but sundered the bonds that bound him, so
+that he sprang forth, and wounded as he was, cried, "Dame, by the
+grace of God it is not to-day that you shall kill me with the sword."
+
+At this word that fair lady, the wife of the Soudan, spoke suddenly,
+and said,
+
+"Ah, sir, you have told the tale honestly, and very clear it is why
+she would have slain him."
+
+"For what reason, lady?"
+
+"Certes," answered she, "for reason of the great shame which had
+befallen her."
+
+When Messire Thibault heard this he wept right tenderly, and said,
+"Alas, what part had she in this wickedness! May God keep shut the
+doors of my prison if I had shown her the sourer face therefore,
+seeing that her will was not in the deed."
+
+"Sir," said the lady, "she feared your reproach. But tell me which is
+the more likely, that she be alive or dead?"
+
+"Lady," said Thibault, "we know not what to think."
+
+"Well I know," cried the Count, "of the great anguish we have
+suffered, by reason of the sin I sinned against her."
+
+"If it pleased God that she were yet living," inquired the lady, "and
+tidings were brought which you could not doubt, what would you have to
+say?"
+
+"Lady," said the Count, "I should be happier than if I were taken from
+this prison, or were granted more wealth than ever I have had in my
+life."
+
+"Lady," said Messire Thibault, "so God give me no joy of my heart's
+dearest wish, if I had not more solace than if men crowned me King of
+France."
+
+"Certes, lady," said the dansellon, who was her brother, "none could
+give or promise me aught so sweet, as the life of that sister, who was
+so fair and good."
+
+When the lady hearkened to these words her heart yearned with
+tenderness. She praised God, rendering Him thanks, and said to them,
+"Be sure that you speak with unfeigned lips."
+
+And they answered and said that they spoke with unfeigned lips. Then
+the lady began to weep with happy tears, and said to them, "Sir, now
+may you truly say that you are my father, for I am that daughter on
+whom you wrought such bitter justice. And you, Messire Thibault, are
+my lord and husband; and you, sir dansellon, are my brother."
+
+Then she rehearsed to them in what manner she was found of the
+chapmen, and how they bestowed her as a gift on the Soudan. They were
+very glad, and rejoiced mightily, humbling themselves before her, but
+she forbade them to show their mirth, saying, "I am a Saracen, and
+have renounced the faith; otherwise I should not be here, but were
+dead already. Therefore I pray and beseech you as you love your lives
+and would prolong your days, whatever you may see or hear, not to show
+me any affection, but keep yourselves strange to me, and leave me to
+unravel the coil. Now I will tell why I have revealed myself to you.
+My husband, the Soudan, rides presently to battle. I know well,
+Messire Thibault, that you are a hardy knight, and I will pray the
+Soudan to take you with him. If ever you were brave, now is the time
+to make it plain. See to it that you do him such service that he have
+no grievance against you."
+
+The lady departed forthwith, and coming before the Soudan, said,
+"Husband, one of my captives desires greatly to go with you, if such
+be your pleasure."
+
+"Wife," answered he, "I dare not put myself in his hand, for fear that
+he may do me a mischief."
+
+"Husband, he will not dare to be false, since I hold his companions as
+hostages."
+
+"Wife," said he, "I will take him with me, because of your counsel,
+and I will deliver him a good horse and harness, and all that warrior
+may require."
+
+The lady returned straightway to the chamber. She said to Messire
+Thibault, "I have persuaded the Soudan to bring you to the battle. Act
+therefore manfully."
+
+At this her brother knelt at her knee, praying her to plead with the
+Soudan that he might go also.
+
+"That I may not do," said she, "or the thing will be too clear."
+
+The Soudan ordered his business, and went forth, Messire Thibault
+being with him, and came upon the enemy. According to his word, the
+Soudan had given to the knight both horse and harness. By the will of
+Jesus Christ, who faileth never such as have faith and affiance in
+Him, Messire Thibault did such things in arms that in a short space
+the enemies of the Soudan were put under his feet. The Soudan rejoiced
+greatly at his knight's deeds and his victory, and returned bringing
+many captives with him. He went straight to the dame, and said, "Wife,
+by my law I have naught but good to tell of your prisoner, for he has
+done me faithful service. So he deny his faith, and receive our holy
+religion, I will grant him broad lands, and find him a rich heiress in
+marriage."
+
+"Husband, I know not, but I doubt if he will do this thing."
+
+No more was spoken of the matter; but the lady set her house in order,
+as best she was able, and coming to her captives said, "Sirs, go
+warily, so that the Saracens see nothing of what is in our mind; for,
+please God, we shall yet win to France and the county of Ponthieu."
+
+On a day the lady came before the Soudan. She went in torment, and
+lamented very grievously.
+
+"Husband, it is with me as it was before. Well I know it, for I have
+fallen into sore sickness, and my food has no relish in my mouth, no,
+not since you went to the battle."
+
+"Wife, I am right glad to hear that you are with child, although your
+infirmity is very grievous unto me. Consider and tell me those things
+that you deem will be to your healing, and I will seek and procure
+them whatever the cost."
+
+When the lady heard this, her heart beat lightly in her breast. She
+showed no semblance of joy, save this only, that she said, "Husband,
+my old captive tells me that unless I breathe for awhile such air as
+that of my native land, and that quickly, I am but dead, for in nowise
+have I long to live."
+
+"Wife," said the Soudan, "your death shall not be on my conscience.
+Consider and show me where you would go, and there I will cause you to
+be taken."
+
+"Husband, it is all one to me, so I be out of this city."
+
+Then the Soudan made ready a ship, both fair and strong, and garnished
+her plenteously with wines and meats.
+
+"Husband," said the lady to the Soudan, "I will take of my captives
+the aged and the young, that they may play chess and draughts at my
+bidding, and I will carry with me my son for my delight."
+
+"Wife," answered he, "your will is my pleasure. But what shall be done
+with the third captive?"
+
+"Husband, deal with him after your desire."
+
+"Wife, I desire that you take him on the ship; for he is a brave man,
+and will keep you well, both on land and sea, if you have need of his
+sword."
+
+The lady took leave of the Soudan, bidding him farewell, and urgently
+he prayed her to return so soon as she was healed of her sickness. The
+stores being put upon the ship and all things made ready, they entered
+therein and set sail from the haven. With a fair wind they went very
+swiftly, so that the shipmen sought the lady, saying, "Madam, this
+wind is driving the boat to Brindisi. Is it your pleasure to take
+refuge there, or to go elsewhere?"
+
+"Let the ship keep boldly on her course," answered the lady to them,
+"for I speak French featly and other tongues also, so I will bring you
+to a good end."
+
+They made such swift passage by day and by night, that according to
+the will of Our Lord they came quickly to Brindisi. The ship cast
+anchor safely in the harbour, and they lighted on the shore, being
+welcomed gladly by the folk of that country. The lady, who was very
+shrewd, drew her captives apart, and said, "Sirs, I desire you to
+call to mind the pledge and the covenant you have made. I must now be
+certain that you are true men, remembering your oaths and plighted
+words. I pray you to let me know, by all that you deem of God, whether
+you will abide or not by our covenant together; for it is yet not too
+late to return to my home."
+
+They answered, "Lady, know beyond question that the bargain we have
+made we will carry out loyally. By our faith in God and as christened
+men we will abide by this covenant; so be in no doubt of our
+assurance."
+
+"I trust you wholly," replied the lady; "but, sirs, see here my son,
+whom I had of the Soudan, what shall we do with him?"
+
+"Lady, the boy is right welcome, and to great honour shall he come in
+our own land."
+
+"Sirs," said the dame, "I have dealt mischievously with the Soudan,
+for I have stolen my person from him, and the son who was so dear to
+his heart."
+
+The lady went again to the shipmen, and lifting her hand, said to
+them, "Sirs, return to the Soudan whence you came, and greet him with
+this message. Tell him that I have taken from him my body and the son
+he loved so well, that I might deliver my father, my lord, and my
+brother from the prison where they were captive."
+
+When the sailors heard this they were very dolent, but there was
+naught that they might do. They set sail for their own country, sad
+and very heavy by reason of the lady, of the young lad, whom they
+loved greatly, and of the captives who were escaped altogether from
+their hand.
+
+For his part the Count arrayed himself meetly by grace of merchants
+and Templars, who lent him gladly of their wealth. He abode in the
+town, together with his fellowship, for their solace, till they made
+them ready for the journey, and took the road to Rome. The Count
+sought the Pontiff, and his company with him. Each confessed him
+of the secrets of his heart, and when the Bishop heard thereof,
+he accepted their devotion, and comforted them right tenderly. He
+baptised the child, who was named William. He reconciled the lady with
+Holy Church, and confirmed the lady and Messire Thibault her lord, in
+their marriage bond, reknitting them together, giving penance to each,
+and absolution for their sins. After this they made no long sojourn
+in Rome, but took their leave of the Apostle who had honoured them so
+greatly. He granted them his benison, and commended them to God. So
+they went their way in great solace and delight, praising God and His
+Mother, and all the calendar of saints, and rendering thanks for the
+mercies which had been vouchsafed to them. Journeying thus they
+came at last to the country of their birth, and were met by a fair
+procession of bishops and abbots, monks and priests, who had desired
+them fervently. But of all these welcomes they welcomed most gladly
+her who was recovered from death, and had delivered her sire, her
+lord, and her brother from the hands of the Paynim, even as you have
+heard. There we leave them for awhile, and will tell you of the
+shipmen and Saracens who had fared with them across the sea.
+
+The sailors and Saracens who had carried them to Brindisi, returned
+as quickly as they were able, and with a fair wind cast anchor before
+Aumarie. They got them to land, very sad and heavy, and told their
+tidings to the Soudan. Right sorrowful was the Soudan, and neither for
+time nor reason could he forget his grief. Because of this mischief he
+loved that daughter the less who tarried with him, and showed her the
+less courtesy. Nevertheless the maiden increased in virtue and in
+wisdom, so that the Paynim held her in love and honour, praising her
+for the good that was known of her. But now the story is silent as to
+that Soudan who was so tormented by reason of the flight of his dame
+and captives; and comes again to the Count of Ponthieu, who was
+welcomed to his realm with such pomp and worship, as became a lord of
+his degree.
+
+In no long while after his return the son of the Count was dubbed
+knight, and rich was the feast. He became a knight both chivalrous and
+brave. Greatly he loved all honourable men, and gladly he bestowed
+fair gifts on the poor knights and poor gentlewomen of the country.
+Much was he esteemed of lord and hind, for he was a worthy knight,
+generous, valiant and debonair, proud only to his foes. Yet his days
+on earth were but a span, which was the sorer pity, for he died
+lamented of all.
+
+Now it befell that the Count held high Court, and many a knight and
+lord sat with him at the feast. Amongst these came a very noble man
+and knight, of great place, in Normandy, named my lord Raoul des
+Preaux. This Raoul had a daughter, passing sweet and fair. The Count
+spoke so urgently to Raoul and to the maiden's kin that a marriage
+was accorded between William, his grandson, the son of the Soudan of
+Aumarie, and the daughter of my lord Raoul, the heiress to all his
+wealth. William wedded the damsel with every rich observance, and in
+right of his wife this William became Lord of Preaux.
+
+For a long while the realm had peace from its foes.
+
+Messire Thibault dwelt with the lady, and had of her two sons, who
+in later days were worthy gentlemen of great worship. The son of the
+Count of Ponthieu, of whom we have spoken much and naught but good,
+died shortly after, to the grief of all the land. The Count of St. Pol
+was yet alive; therefore the two sons of my lord Thibault were heirs
+to both these realms, and attained thereto in the end. That devout
+lady, their mother, because of her contrite heart, gave largely to
+the poor; and Messire Thibault, like the honourable gentleman he was,
+abounded in good works so long as he was quick.
+
+Now it chanced that the daughter of the lady, who abode with the
+Soudan her father, increased greatly in favour and in virtue. She was
+called The Fair Captive, by reason that her mother had left her in
+the Soudan's keeping, as you have heard. A certain brave Turk in the
+service of the Soudan--Malakin of Baudas by name--saw this damsel, so
+fair and gracious, and desired her dearly in his heart, because of the
+good men told of her. He came before his master, and said to him,
+
+"Sire, in return for his labour your servant craves a gift."
+
+"Malakin," returned the Soudan, "what gift would you have?"
+
+"Sire, I would dare to tell it to your face, if only she were not so
+high above my reach."
+
+The Sultan who was both shrewd and quick witted made reply,
+
+"Say out boldly what is in your mind, for I hold you dear, and
+remember what you have done. If there is aught it beseems me to
+grant--saving only my honour--be assured that it is yours."
+
+"Sire, well I know that your honour is without spot, nor would I seek
+anything against it. I pray you to bestow on your servant--if so it be
+your pleasure--my lady your daughter, for she is the gift I covet most
+in all the world."
+
+The Soudan kept silence, and considered for a space. He knew well that
+Malakin was both valiant and wise, and might easily come to great
+honour and degree. Since the servant was worthy of his high desire,
+the Soudan said, "By my law you have required of me a great thing, for
+I love my daughter dearly, and have no other heir. You know well, and
+it is the simple truth, that she comes of the best and bravest blood
+in France, for her mother is the child of the Count of Ponthieu. But
+since you too are valiant, and have done me loyal service, for my part
+I will give her to you willingly, save only that it be to the maiden's
+mind."
+
+"Sire," said Malakin, "I would not take her against her wish."
+
+The Soudan bade the girl be summoned. When she came, he said, "Fair
+daughter, I have granted you in marriage, if it pleases you."
+
+"Sir," answered the maiden, "my pleasure is in your will."
+
+The Soudan took her by the hand, saying, "Take her, Malakin, the maid
+is yours."
+
+Malakin received her with a glad heart, and wedded her according to
+the Paynim rite, bringing her to his house right joyously, with the
+countenance of all his friends. Afterwards he returned with her to his
+own land. The Soudan escorted them upon their way, with such a fair
+company of his household as seemed good to him. Then he bade farewell
+to his child and her lord, and returned to his home. But a great part
+of his fellowship he commanded to go with her for their service,
+Malakin came back to his own land, where he was welcomed right gladly
+of his friends, and served and honoured by all the folk of his realm.
+He lived long and tenderly with his wife, neither were they childless,
+as this story testifies. For of this lady, who was called the Fair
+Captive, was born the mother of that courteous Turk, the Sultan
+Saladin, an honourable, a wise, and a conquering lord.
+
+
+
+
+XVII
+
+
+THE CHATELAINE OF VERGI
+
+There are divers men who make a great show of loyalty, and pretend to
+such discretion in the hidden things they hear, that at the end folk
+come to put faith in them. When by their false seeming they have
+persuaded the simple to open out to them their love and their deeds,
+then they noise the matter about the country, and make it their song
+and their mirth. Thus it chances that the lesser joy is his who has
+bared to them his heart. For the sweeter the love, the more bitter is
+the pang that lovers know, when each deems the other to have bruited
+abroad the secret he should conceal. Oftentimes these blabbers do such
+mischief with their tongue, that the love they spoil comes to its
+close in sorrow and in care. This indeed happened in Burgundy to a
+brave and worthy knight, and to the Lady of Vergi. This knight loved
+his lady so dearly that she granted him her tenderness, on such
+covenant as this--that the day he showed her favour to any, that very
+hour he would lose the love and the grace she bestowed on him. To seal
+this bond they devised together that the knight should come a days to
+an orchard, at such hour as seemed good to his friend. He must remain
+coy in his nook within the wall till he might see the lady's lapdog
+run across the orchard. Then without further tarrying he should enter
+her chamber, knowing full well she was alone, whom so fondly he
+desired to greet. This he did, and in this fashion they met together
+for a great while, none being privy to their sweet and stolen love,
+save themselves alone.
+
+The knight was courteous and fair, and by reason of his courage was
+right welcome to that Duke who was lord of Burgundy. He came and went
+about the Court, and that so often that the Duchess set her mind upon
+him. She cared so little to hide her thought, that had his heart not
+been in another's keeping, he must surely have perceived in her eyes
+that she loved him. But however tender her semblance the knight showed
+no kindness in return, for he marked nothing of her inclination.
+Passing troubled was the dame that he should treat her thus; so that
+on a day she took him apart, and sought to make him of her counsel.
+
+"Sir, as men report, you are a brave and worthy knight, for the which
+give God thanks. It would not be more than your deserts, if you had
+for friend a lady in so high a place that her love would bring to you
+both honour and profit. How richly could such a lady serve you!"
+
+"Lady," said he, "I have never yet had this in my thought."
+
+"By my faith," she answered, "it seems to me that the longer you wait,
+the less is your hope. Perchance the lady will stoop very readily from
+her throne, if you but kneel at her knee."
+
+The knight replied, "Lady, by my faith, I know little why you speak
+such words, and I understand their meaning not at all. I am neither
+duke nor count to dare to set my love in so high a seat. There is
+nought in me to gain the love of so sovereign a dame, pain me how I
+may."
+
+"Such things have been," said she, "and so may chance again. Many more
+marvellous works have been wrought than this, and the day of miracles
+is not yet past. Tell me, know you not yet that you have gained the
+love of some high princess, even mine?"
+
+The knight made answer forthwith, "Lady, I know it not. I would desire
+to have your love in a fair and honourable fashion; but may God keep
+me from such love between us, as would put shame upon my lord. In no
+manner, nor for any reason, will I enter on such a business as would
+lead me to deal my true and lawful lord so shrewd and foul a wrong."
+
+Bitter at heart was the dame to see her love so scorned.
+
+"Fie upon you," she cried, "and who required of you any such thing?"
+
+"Ah, lady, to God be the praise; you have said enough to make your
+meaning passing plain."
+
+The lady strove no more to show herself kind to him. Great was the
+wrath and sharp the malice that she hid within her heart, and well she
+purposed that, if she might, she would avenge herself speedily. All
+the day she considered her anger. That night as she lay beside the
+Duke she began to sigh, and afterwards to weep. Presently the Duke
+inquired of her grief, bidding her show it him forthwith.
+
+"Certes," said the dame, "I make this great sorrow because no prince
+can tell who is his faithful servant, and who is not. Often he gives
+the more honour and wealth to those who are traitors rather than
+friends, and sees nothing of their wrong."
+
+"In faith, wife," answered the Duke, "I know not why you speak these
+words. At least I am free of such blame as this, for in nowise would I
+nourish a traitor, if only a traitor I knew him to be."
+
+"Hate then this traitor," cried she,--and she named a name--"who gives
+me no peace, praying and requiring me the livelong day that I should
+grant him my love. For a great while he had been in this mind--as he
+says--but did not dare to speak his thoughts. I considered the whole
+matter, fair lord, and resolved to show it you at once. It is likely
+enough to be true that he cherished this hope, for we have never heard
+that he loves elsewhere. I entreat you in guerdon, to look well to
+your own honour, since this, as you know, is your duty and right."
+
+Passing grievous was this business to the Duke. He answered to the
+lady,
+
+"I will bring it to a head, and very quickly, as I deem."
+
+That night the Duke lay upon a bed of little ease. He could neither
+sleep nor rest, by reason of that lord, his friend, who, he was
+persuaded, had done him such bitter wrong as justly to have forfeited
+his love. Because of this he kept vigil the whole night through. He
+rose very early on the morrow, and bade him come whom his wife had put
+to blame, although he had done nothing blameworthy. Then he took him
+to task, man to man, when there were but these two together.
+
+"Certes," he said, "it is a heavy grief that you who are so comely
+and brave, should yet have no honour in you. You have deceived me the
+more, for I have long believed you to be a man of good faith, giving
+loyalty, at least, to me, in return for the love I have given to you.
+I know not how you can have harboured such a felon's wish, as to pray
+and require the Duchess to grant you her grace. You are guilty of such
+treachery that conduct more vile it would be far to seek. Get you
+hence from my realm. You have my leave to part, and it is denied to
+you for ever. If you return here it will be at your utmost peril, for
+I warn you beforehand that if I lay hands upon you, you will die a
+shameful death."
+
+When the knight heard this judgment, such wrath and mortification
+were his that his members trembled beneath him. He called to mind his
+friend, of whom he would have no joy, if he might not come and go and
+sojourn in that realm from which the Duke had banished him. Moreover
+he was sick at heart that his lord should deem him a disloyal traitor,
+without just cause. He knew such sore discomfort that he held himself
+as dead and betrayed.
+
+"Sire," said he, "for the love of God believe this never, neither
+think that I have been so bold. To do that of which you wrongfully
+charge me, has never entered my mind, not one day, nor for one single
+hour. Who has told you this lie has wrought a great ill."
+
+"You gain nothing by such denials," answered the Duke, "for of a
+surety the thing is true. I have heard from her own lips the very
+guise and fashion in which you prayed and required her love, like the
+envious traitor that you are. Many another word it may well be that
+you spoke, as to which the lady of her courtesy keeps silence."
+
+"My lady says what it pleases her to say," replied the dolorous
+knight, "and my denials are lighter than her word. Naught is there for
+me to say; nothing is left for me to do, so that I may be believed
+that this adventure never happened."
+
+"Happen it did, by my soul," said the Duke, remembering certain words
+of his wife. Well he deemed that he might be assured of the truth,
+if but the lady's testimony were true that this lord had never loved
+otherwhere. Therefore the Duke said to the knight, "If you will pledge
+your faith to answer truly what I may ask, I shall be certified by
+your words whether or not you have done this deed of which I misdoubt
+you."
+
+The knight had but one desire--to turn aside his lord's wrath, which
+had so wrongfully fallen upon him. He feared only lest he should be
+driven from the land where lodged the dame who was the closest to his
+mind. Knowing nothing of what was in the Duke's thought, he considered
+that his question could only concern the one matter; so he replied
+that without fraud or concealment he would do as his lord had said.
+Thus he pledged his faith, and the Duke accepted his affiance.
+
+When this was done the Duke made question,
+
+"I have loved you so dearly that at the bottom of my heart I cannot
+believe you guilty of such shameless misdoing as the Duchess tells me.
+I would not credit it a moment, if you yourself were not the cause of
+my doubtfulness. From your face, the care you bestow upon your person,
+and a score of trifles, any who would know, can readily see that you
+are in love with some lady. Since none about the Court perceives
+damsel or dame on whom you have set your heart, I ask myself whether
+indeed it may not be my wife, who tells me that you have entreated her
+for love. Nothing that any one may do can take this suspicion from my
+mind, except you tell me yourself that you love elsewhere, making it
+so plain that I am left without doubt that I know the naked truth. If
+you refuse her name you will have broken your oath, and forth from my
+realm you go as an outlawed man."
+
+The knight had none to give him counsel. To himself he seemed to stand
+at the parting of two ways, both one and the other leading to death.
+If he spoke the simple truth (and tell he must if he would not be a
+perjurer) then was he as good as dead; for if he did such wrong as to
+sin against the covenant with his lady and his friend, certainly he
+would lose her love, so it came to her knowledge. But if he concealed
+the truth from the Duke, then he was false to his oath, and had lost
+both country and friend. But little he recked of country, so only he
+might keep his Love, since of all his riches she was the most dear.
+The knight called to heart and remembrance the fair joy and the solace
+that were his when he had this lady between his arms. He considered
+within himself that if by reason of his misdoing she came to harm, or
+were lost to him, since he might not take her where he went, how could
+he live without her. It would be with him also, as erst with the
+Castellan of Couci, who having his Love fast only in his heart, told
+over in his song,
+
+  Ah, God, strong Love, I sit and weep alone,
+    Remembering the solace that was given;
+  The tender guise, the semblance that was shown
+    By her, my friend, my comrade, and my Heaven.
+
+  When grief brings back the joy that was mine own,
+    I would the heart from out my breast were riven.
+  Ah, Lord, the sweet words hushed, the beauty flown;
+    Would God that I were dead, and low, and shriven.
+
+The knight was in anguish such as this, for he knew not whether to
+make clear the truth, or to lie and be banished from the country.
+
+Whilst he was deep in thought, turning over in his mind what it were
+best to do, tears rose in his heart and flowed from his eyes, so that
+his face was wet, by reason of the sorrow that he suffered. The Duke
+had no more mirth than the knight, deeming that his secret was so
+heavy that he dared not make it plain. The Duke spoke swiftly to his
+friend,
+
+"I see clearly that you fear to trust me wholly, as a knight should
+trust his lord. If you confess your counsel privily to me, you cannot
+think that I shall show the matter to any man. I would rather have my
+teeth drawn one by one, than speak a word."
+
+"Ah," cried the knight, "for God's love, have pity, Sire. I know not
+what I ought to say, nor what will become of me; but I would rather
+die than lose what lose I shall if she only hears that you have the
+truth, and that you heard it from my lips, whilst I am a living man."
+
+The Duke made answer,
+
+"I swear to you by my body and my soul, and on the faith and love I
+owe you again by reason of your homage, that never in my life will I
+tell the tale to any creature born, or even breathe a word or make a
+sign about the business."
+
+With the tears yet running down his face the knight said to him,
+
+"Sire, right or wrong, now will I show my secret. I love your niece of
+Vergi, and she loves me, so that no friends can love more fondly."
+
+"If you wish to be believed," replied the Duke, "tell me now, if any,
+save you two alone, knows anything of this joy?"
+
+And the knight made answer to him,
+
+"Nay, not a creature in the world."
+
+Then said the Duke,
+
+"No love is so privy as that. If none has heard thereof, how do you
+meet together, and how devise time and place?"
+
+"By my faith, Sire, I will tell you all, and keep back nothing, since
+you know so much of our counsel."
+
+So he related the whole story of his goings to and fro within the
+pleasaunce; of that first covenant with his friend, and of the office
+of the little dog.
+
+Then said the Duke,
+
+"I require of you that I may be your comrade at such fair meeting.
+When you go again to the orchard, I too, would enter therein, and
+mark for myself the success of your device. As for my niece she shall
+perceive naught."
+
+"Sire, if it be your will it is my pleasure also; save, only, that you
+find it not heavy or burdensome. Know well that I go this very night."
+
+The Duke said that he would go with him, for the vigil would in no
+wise be burdensome, but rather a frolic and a game. They accorded
+between them a place of meeting, where they would draw together on
+foot, and alone. When nightfall was come they fared to the hostel of
+the Duke's niece, for her dwelling was near at hand. They had not
+tarried long in the garden, when the Duke saw his niece's lapdog run
+straight to that end of the orchard where the knight was hidden.
+Wondrous kindness showed the knight to his lady's dog. Immediately he
+took his way to her lodging, and left his master in his nook by the
+wall. The Duke followed after till he drew near the chamber, and held
+himself coy, concealing him as best he might. It was easy enough to
+do this, for a great tree stood there, high and leafy, so that he was
+covered close as by a shield. From this place he marked the little dog
+enter the chamber, and presently saw his niece issue therefrom, and
+hurry forth to meet her lover in the pleasaunce. He was so close that
+he could see and hear the solace of that greeting, the salutation of
+her mouth and of her hands. She embraced him closely in her fair white
+arms, kissing him more than a hundred times, whilst she spoke many
+comforting words. The knight for his part kissed her again, and held
+her fast, praising her with many tender names.
+
+"My lady, my friend, my love," said he, "heart and mistress and hope,
+and the sum of all that I hold dear, know well that I have yearned to
+be with you as we are now, every day and all day long since we met."
+
+"Sweet lord, sweet friend, sweet love," replied the lady, "never has a
+day nor an hour gone by but I was awearied of its length. But I grieve
+no longer over the past, for I have my heart's desire when you are
+with me, joyous and well. Right welcome are you to your friend."
+
+And the knight made answer,
+
+"Love, you are welcome and wellmet."
+
+From his place of hiding, near the entrance to the chamber, the Duke
+hearkened to every word. His niece's voice and face were so familiar
+to him, that he could not doubt that the Duchess had lied. Greatly was
+he content, for he was now assured that his friend had not done amiss
+in that of which he had misdoubted him. All through the night he kept
+watch and ward. But during his vigil the dame and the knight, close
+and sleepless in the chamber, knew such joy and tenderness as it is
+not seemly should be told or heard, save of those who hope themselves
+to attain such solace, when Love grants them recompense for all their
+pains. For he who desires nothing of this joy and quittance, even
+if it were told him, would but listen to a tongue he could not
+understand, since his heart is not turned to Love, and none can know
+the wealth of such riches, except Love whisper it in his ear. Of such
+kingdom not all are worthy: for there joy goes without anger, and
+solace is crowned with fruition. But so fleet are things sweet, that
+to the lover his joy seems to find but a brief content. So pleasant
+is the life he passes that he wishes his night a week, his week to
+stretch to a month, the month become a year, and one year three, and
+three years twenty, and the twenty attain to a hundred. Yea, when the
+term and end were reached, he would that the dusk were closing, rather
+than the dawn had come.
+
+This was the case with the lover whom the Duke awaited in the orchard.
+When day was breaking, and he durst remain no longer, he came with his
+lady to the door. The Duke marked the fashion of their leave-taking,
+the kisses given and granted, the sighs and the weeping as they bade
+farewell. When they had wept many tears, and devised an hour for their
+next meeting, the knight departed in this fashion, and the lady shut
+the door. But so long as she might see him, she followed his going
+with her pretty eyes, since there was nothing better she could do.
+
+When the Duke knew the postern was made fast, he hastened on his road
+until he overtook the knight, who to himself was making his complaint
+of the season, that all too short was his hour. The same thought
+and the self same words were hers from whom he had parted, for the
+briefness of the time had betrayed her delight, and she had no praises
+for the dawn. The knight was deep in his thought and speech, when he
+was overtaken by the Duke. The Duke embraced his friend, greeting him
+very tenderly. Then he said to him,
+
+"I pledge my faith that I will love you all the days of my life, never
+on any day seeking to do you a mischief, for you have told me the very
+truth, and have not lied to me by a single word."
+
+"Sire," he made answer, "thanks and gramercy. But for the love of
+God I require and pray of you that it be your pleasure to hide this
+counsel; for I should lose my love, and the peace and comfort of my
+life--yea, and should die without sin of my own, if I deemed that any
+other in this realm than yourself knew aught of the business."
+
+"Now speak of it never," replied the Duke. "Know that the counsel
+shall be kept so hidden, that by me shall not a syllable be spoken."
+
+On this covenant they came again whence they had set forth together.
+That day, when men sat at meat, the Duke showed to his knight a
+friendlier semblance and a fairer courtesy than ever he had done
+before. The Duchess felt such wrath and despitefulness at this,
+that--without any leasing--she rose from the table, and making
+pretence of sudden sickness, went to lie upon her bed, where she found
+little softness. When the Duke had eaten and washed and made merry, he
+afterwards sought his wife's chamber, and causing her to be seated on
+her bed, commanded that none should remain, save himself. So all men
+went forth at his word, even as he had bidden. Thereupon the Duke
+inquired of the lady how this evil had come to her, and of what she
+was sick. She made answer,
+
+"As God hears me, never till I ate at table did I deem that you had so
+little sense or decency, as when I saw you making much of him, who, I
+have told you already, strove to bring shame and disgrace on me. When
+I watched you entreat him with more favour than even was your wont,
+such great sorrow and such great anger took hold on me, that I could
+not contain myself in the hall."
+
+"Sweet friend," replied the Duke, "know that I shall never
+believe--either from your lips or from those of any creature in the
+world--that the story ever happened as you rehearsed it. I am so deep
+in his counsel that he has my quittance, for I have full assurance
+that he never dreamed of such a deed. But as to this you must ask of
+me no more."
+
+The Duke went straightway from the chamber, leaving the lady sunk in
+thought. However long she had to live, never might she know an hour's
+comfort, till she had learnt something of that secret of which the
+Duke forbade her to seek further. No denial could now stand in her
+way, for in her heart swiftly she devised a means to unriddle this
+counsel, so only she might endure until the evening, and the Duke was
+in her arms. She was persuaded that, beyond doubt, such solace would
+win her wish more surely than wrath or tears. For this purpose she
+held herself coy, and when the Duke came to lie at her side she betook
+herself to the further side of the bed, making semblance that his
+company gave her no pleasure. Well she knew that such show of anger
+was the device to put her lord beneath her feet. Therefore she turned
+her back upon him, that the Duke might the more easily be drawn by
+the cords of her wrath. For this same reason when he had no more than
+kissed her, she burst out,
+
+"Right false and treacherous and disloyal are you to make such a
+pretence of affection, who yet have never loved me truly one single
+day. All these years of our wedded life I have been foolish enough to
+believe, what you took such pains in the telling, that you loved
+me with a loyal heart. To-day I see plainly that I was the more
+deceived."
+
+"In what are you deceived?" inquired the Duke.
+
+"By my faith," cried she, who was sick of her desire, "you warn me
+that I be not so bold as to ask aught of that of which you know the
+secret."
+
+"In God's name, sweet wife, of what would you know?"
+
+"Of all that he has told you, the lies and the follies he has put in
+your mind, and led you to believe. But it matters little now whether I
+hear it or not, for I remember how small is my gain in being your true
+and loving wife. For good or for ill I have shown you all my counsel.
+There was nothing that was known and seen of my heart that you were
+not told at once; and of your courtesy you repay me by concealing your
+mind. Know, now, without doubt, that never again shall I have in you
+such affiance, nor grant you my love with such sweetness, as I have
+bestowed them in the past."
+
+
+Thereat the Duchess began to weep and sigh, making the most tender
+sorrow that she was able. The Duke felt such pity for her grief that
+he said to her,
+
+"Fairest and dearest, your wrath and anger are more heavy than I can
+bear; but learn that I cannot tell what you wish me to say without
+sinning against my honour too grievously."
+
+Then she replied forthwith,
+
+"Husband, if you do not tell me, the reason can only be that you do
+not trust me to keep silence in the business. I wonder the more sorely
+at this, because there is no matter, either great or small, that you
+have told me, which has been published by me. I tell you honestly that
+never in my life could I be so indiscreet."
+
+When she had said this, she betook her again to her tears. The Duke
+kissed and embraced her, and was so sick of heart that strength failed
+him to keep his purpose.
+
+"Fair wife," he said to her, "by my soul I am at my wits' end. I have
+such trust and faith in you that I deem I should hide nothing, but
+show you all that I know. Yet I dread that you will let fall some
+word. Know, wife--and I tell it you again--that if ever you betray
+this counsel you will get death for your payment."
+
+The Duchess made answer,
+
+"I agree to the bargain, for it is not possible that I should deal you
+so shrewd a wrong."
+
+Then he who loved her, because of his faith and his credence in her
+word, told all this story of his niece, even as he had learned it from
+the knight. He told how those two were alone together in the shadow of
+the wall, when the little dog ran to them. He showed plainly of that
+coming forth from the chamber, and of the entering in; nothing was
+hid, he concealed naught of that he had heard and seen. When the
+Duchess understood that the love of a mighty dame was despised for the
+sake of a lowly gentlewoman, her humiliation was bitter in her mouth
+as death. She showed no semblance of despitefulness, but made covenant
+and promise with the Duke to keep the matter close, saying that should
+she repeat his tale he might hang her from a tree.
+
+Time went very heavily with the lady, till she could get speech with
+her, whom she hated from the hour she knew her to be the friend of him
+who had caused her such shame and grief. She was persuaded that for
+this reason he would not give her love, in return for that she set on
+him. She confirmed herself in her purpose, that at such time and place
+she saw the Duke speaking with his niece, she would go swiftly to the
+lady, and tell out all her mind, hiding nothing because it was evil.
+Neither time nor place was met, till Pentecost was come, and the Duke
+held high Court, commanding to the feast all the ladies of his realm,
+amongst the first that lady, his niece, who was the Chatelaine of
+Vergi. When the Duchess looked on her, the blood pricked in her veins,
+for reason that she hated her more than aught else in the world. She
+had the courage to hide her malice, and greeted the lady more gladly
+than ever she had done before. But she yearned to show openly the
+anger that burned in her heart, and the delay was much against her
+mind. On Pentecost, whilst the tables were removed, the Duchess
+brought the ladies to her chamber with her, that, apart from the
+throng, they might the more graciously attire them for the dance. She
+deemed her hour had come, and having no longer the power to refrain
+her lips, she said gaily, as if in jest,
+
+"Chatelaine, array yourself very sweetly, since there is a fair and
+worthy lord you have to please."
+
+The lady answered right simply,
+
+"In truth, madam, I know not what you are thinking of; but for my part
+I wish for no such friendship as may not be altogether according to my
+honour and to that of my lord."
+
+"I grant that readily," replied the Duchess, "you are a good mistress,
+and have an apt pupil in your little dog."
+
+The ladies returned with the Duchess to the hall, where the dances
+were already set. They had listened to the tale, but could not mark
+the jest. The chatelaine remained in the chamber. Her colour came and
+went, and because of her wrath and trouble the heart throbbed thickly
+in her breast. She passed within a tiring chamber, where a little
+maiden was lying at the foot of the bed; but for grief she might not
+perceive her. The chatelaine flung herself upon the bed, bewailing her
+evil plight, for she was exceedingly sorrowful. She said,
+
+"Ah, Lord God, take pity on me! What may this mean, that I have
+listened to my lady's reproaches because of the training of my little
+dog! This she can have learned from none--as well I know--save from
+him whom I have loved, and who has betrayed me. He would never have
+shown her this thing, except that he was her familiar friend, and
+doubtless loves her more dearly than me, whom he has betrayed. I see
+now the value of his oaths, since he finds it so easy to fail in his
+covenant. Sweet God, and I loved him so fondly, more fondly than any
+woman has loved before; who never had him from my thoughts one single
+hour, whether it were night or day. For he was my mirth and my carol;
+in him were my joy and my pleasure; he alone was my solace and
+comfort. Ah, my friend, how can this have come; you who were always
+with me, even when I might not see you with my eyes! What ill has
+befallen you, that you durst prove false to me? I deemed you more
+faithful--God take me in His keeping--than ever was Tristan to Isoude.
+May God pity a poor fool, I loved you half as much again than I had
+love for myself. From the first to the last of our friendship, never
+by thought, or by word, or by deed, have I done amiss; there is no
+wrong doing, trifling or great, to make plain your hatred, or to
+excuse so vile a betrayal as this scorning of our love for a fresher
+face, this desertion of me, this proclaiming of our secret. Alas, my
+friend, I marvel greatly; for as God is my witness my heart was not
+thus towards you. If God had offered me all the kingdoms of the world,
+yea, and His Heaven and its Paradise besides, I would have refused
+them gladly, had my gain meant the losing of you. For you were my
+wealth and my song and my health, and nothing can hurt me any more,
+since my heart has learnt that yours no longer loves me. Ah, lasting,
+precious love! Who could have guessed that he would deal this blow, to
+whom I gave the grace of my tenderness--who said that I was his lady
+both in body and in soul, and he the slave at my bidding. Yea, he told
+it over so sweetly, that I believed him faithfully, nor thought in any
+wise that his heart would bear wrath and malice against me, whether
+for Duchess or for Queen. How good was this love, since the heart in
+my breast must always cleave to his! I counted him to be my friend, in
+age as in youth, our lives together; for well I knew that if he died
+first I should not dare to endure long without him, because of the
+greatness of my love. The grave, with him, would be fairer, than life
+in a world where I might never see him with my eyes. Ah, lasting,
+precious love! Is it then seemly that he should publish our counsel,
+and destroy her who had done him no wrong? When I gave him my love
+without grudging, I warned him plainly, and made covenant with him,
+that he would lose me the self same hour that he made our tenderness a
+song. Since part we must, I may not live after so bitter a sorrow; nor
+would I choose to live, even if I were able. Fie upon life, it has no
+savour in it. Since it pleases me naught, I pray to God to grant me
+death, and--so truly as I have loved him who requites me thus--to have
+mercy on my soul. I forgive him his wrong, and may God give honour and
+life to him who has betrayed and delivered me to death. Since it
+comes from his hand, death, meseems, is no bitter potion; and when I
+remember his love, to die for his sake is no grievous thing."
+
+When the chatelaine had thus spoken she kept silence, save only that
+she said in sighing,
+
+"Sweet friend, I commend you to God."
+
+With these words she strained her arms tightly across her breast, the
+heart failed her, and her face lost its fair colour. She swooned in
+her anguish, and lay back, pale and discoloured in the middle of the
+bed, without life or breath.
+
+Of this her friend knew nothing, for he sought his delight in the
+hall, at carol and dance and play. But amongst all those ladies he had
+no pleasure in any that he saw, since he might not perceive her to
+whom his heart was given, and much he marvelled thereat. He took the
+Duke apart, and said in his ear,
+
+"Sire, whence is this that your niece tarries so long, and comes not
+to the dancing? Have you put her in prison?"
+
+The Duke looked upon the dancers, for he had not concerned himself
+with the revels. He took his friend by the hand, and led him directly
+to his wife's chamber. When he might not find her there he bade the
+knight seek her boldly in the tiring chamber; and this he did of his
+courtesy that these two lovers might solace themselves with clasp and
+kiss. The knight thanked his lord sweetly, and entered softly in the
+chamber, where his friend lay dark and discoloured upon the bed. Time
+and place being met together, he took her in his arms and touched her
+lips. But when he found how cold was her mouth, how pale and rigid her
+person, he knew by the semblance of all her body that she was quite
+dead. In his amazement he cried out swiftly,
+
+"What is this? Alas, is my dear one dead?"
+
+The maiden started from the foot of the bed where she still lay,
+making answer,
+
+"Sir, I deem truly that she be dead. Since she came to this room
+she has done nothing but call upon death, by reason of her friend's
+falsehood, whereof my lady assured her, and because of a little dog,
+whereof my lady made her jest. This sorrow brought her to her death."
+
+When the knight understood from this that the words he had spoken to
+the Duke had slain his friend, he was discomforted beyond measure.
+
+"Alas," said he, "sweet love, the most gracious and the best that ever
+knight had, loyal and true, how have I slain you, like the faithless
+traitor that I am! It were only just that I should receive the wages
+for my deed, so that you could have gone free of blame. But you were
+so faithful of heart that you took it on yourself to pay the price.
+Then I will do justice on myself for the treason I have wrought."
+
+The knight drew from its sheath a sword that was hanging from the
+wall, and thrust it throught his heart. He pained himself to fall
+upon his lady's body; and because of the mightiness of his hurt, bled
+swiftly to death. The maiden fled forth from the chamber, when she
+marked these lifeless lovers, for she was all adread at what she saw.
+She lighted on the Duke, and told him all that she had heard and seen,
+keeping back nothing. She showed him the beginning of the matter, and
+also of the little dog, whereof the Duchess had spoken.
+
+Hearken all to what befell. The Duke went straightway to the tiring
+chamber, and drew from out the wound that sword by which the knight
+lay slain. He said no word, but hastened forthwith to the hall where
+the guests were yet at their dancing. Entering there he acquitted
+himself of his promise, for he smote the Duchess on the head with the
+naked sword he carried in his hand. He struck the blow without one
+word, since his wrath was too deep for speech. The Duchess fell at his
+feet, in the sight of the barons of his realm, whereat the feast was
+sorely troubled, for in place of mirth and carol, now were blood and
+death. Then the Duke told loudly and swiftly, before all who cared to
+hear, this pitiful story, in the midst of his Court. There was not one
+but wept, and his tears were the more piteous when he beheld those two
+lovers who lay dead in the chamber, and the Duchess in her hall. So
+the Court broke up in dole and anger, for of this deed came mighty
+mischief. On the morrow the Duke caused the lovers to be laid in one
+tomb, and the Duchess in a place apart. But of this adventure the Duke
+had such bitterness that never was he known to laugh again. He took
+the Cross, and went beyond the sea, where joining himself to the
+Knights Templar, he never returned to his own realm.
+
+Ah, God! all this mischief and encumbrance chanced to the knight by
+reason of his making plain that he should have hid, and of publishing
+what his friend forbade him to speak, if he would keep her love. From
+this ensample we may learn that it is not seemly to love, and tell. He
+who blabs and blazons his friendship gets not one kiss the more; but
+he who goes discreetly preserves life and love and fame. For the
+friendship of the discreet lover falls not before the mine of such
+false and felon pryers as burrow privily into their neighbour's secret
+love.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of French Mediaeval Romances from the
+Lays of Marie de France, by Marie de France
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 11417 ***