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diff --git a/38110.txt b/38110.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..70cef2b --- /dev/null +++ b/38110.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8295 @@ +The Project Gutenberg eBook, Aucassin & Nicolette, Edited by Eugene Mason, +Translated by Eugene Mason + + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + + + + +Title: Aucassin & Nicolette + And Other Mediaeval Romances and Legends + + +Editor: Eugene Mason + +Release Date: November 23, 2011 [eBook #38110] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-646-US (US-ASCII) + + +***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE*** + + +E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Diane Monico, and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) + + + +Everyman's Library +Edited by Ernest Rhys + +Romance + +AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE +And Other Mediaeval Romances and Legends. + +With an Introduction by + +EUGENE MASON + + * * * * * + +THE PUBLISHERS OF _EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY_ WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND FREELY +TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED VOLUMES TO BE +COMPRISED UNDER THE FOLLOWING THIRTEEN HEADINGS: + +TRAVEL . SCIENCE . FICTION + +THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY + +HISTORY . CLASSICAL + +FOR YOUNG PEOPLE + +ESSAYS . ORATORY + +POETRY & DRAMA + +BIOGRAPHY + +REFERENCE + +ROMANCE + +[Illustration] + +IN FOUR STYLES OF BINDING: CLOTH, +FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP; LEATHER, +ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP; LIBRARY +BINDING IN CLOTH, & QUARTER PIGSKIN + +LONDON: J. M. DENT & SONS, LTD. + +NEW YORK: E. P. DUTTON & CO. + + * * * * * + +[Illustration: + +A ROMANCE, +AND IT +ME TOOK +TO READ +& DRIVE +THE NIGHT +AWAY + +CHAUCER] + + +AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE +and other Mediaeval Romances and Legends +translated from the French by + +EUGENE MASON + + + + + + + +London & Toronto +Published By J. M. Dent +& Sons Ltd & in New York +by E. P. Dutton & Co + +First Issue Of This Edition 1910 +Reprinted 1912, 1915 + + + + +INTRODUCTION + + +The little tales brought together in this volume are drawn from the +literature of the Middle Ages, and in many cases were written in France +of the thirteenth century. I hope that they may be found interesting in +themselves, but to appreciate them fully they should be considered in +their relations to a definite historical background. Their conceptions +of society, of religion, of politics, of humour--that precious gift +which always dies so young--are not common to all of us to-day. They +are of the thirteenth century, and we of the twentieth. We may not be +better than our forefathers, but a great chasm of seven hundred years +yawns between us and them. To enjoy their work without reserve it is +necessary for a time to breathe the same air that was breathed--roughly +speaking--by the subjects of St. Louis of France. + +It is possible to love the period known as the Middle Ages, or it is +possible to detest it. But you cannot ignore it, nor find it +flavourless on the palate, because that period possesses character, +"character, that personal quality, that idiosyncrasy which, no doubt, +you are the richer for possessing, be it morally bad or good--for it is +surely better to have a bad character than none, and if you are a +church, better to be like the Badia than the City Temple." Indeed, it +is evident that the personal equation must largely determine what any +writer's conception of the Middle Ages is. A great modern poet, for +instance, loved the Middle Ages because economic conditions pressed +less hardly on the poor; because London was small and white and clean; +because chivalry afforded opportunity for that decorative treatment of +knightly episodes which makes his poetry so attractive. Yet across the +Channel, much at the same time, an equally distinguished poet treated +of the same period in a book of poems which it is instructive to +consider side by side with the work of William Morris, and the +Frenchman's verse is lurid with fire and bigotry, and the tale of +man's inhumanity to man. And the strange point is that both writers +could give chapter and verse for the very different type of story they +selected. Again, the religious temperament is apt to look back fondly +to the Middle Ages as the "Age of Faith." To such minds mediaevalism is +a period of easy acquiescence in spiritual authority, a state of health +before the world grew sick with our modern disease of doubt. Certainly +these centuries produced saints whose arresting examples and haunting +words must always be the glory of Christianity, and it is equally +certain that the offices and doctrines of the Church entered far more +intimately into the lives of the common folk than they do to-day. But +side by side with faith there was a "spirit of rebellion and revolt +against the moral and religious ideas of the time." It may be found in +many strangely different shapes: in the life of Abelard; in the +extraordinary spread of witchcraft; and--in its supreme literary +expression, perhaps--in a famous passage of "Aucassin and Nicolette." +And, to take a third illustration of the same difficulty, were the +Middle Ages years of sheer lyric beauty, or rather years of +inexpressible ugliness and filth? "If you love the very words 'Middle +Age'; if they conjure up to your mind glowing old folios of black +letter with gilt and florid initials; crimson and green and blue pages +in which slim ladies with spiked head-dresses walk amid sparse flowers +and trees like bouquets, or where men-at-arms attack walled cities no +bigger than themselves, or long-legged youths with tight waists and +frizzed hair kiss girls under apple-trees; or a king is on a dais with +gold lilies for his background, minstrels on their knees before him, +lovers in the gallery"--well, if you accept all this dainty +circumstance, you get sheer lyric beauty, and nothing else. Only there +is another side, a side not very pleasant to dwell upon, and it may +perhaps be hinted at by saying that such a necessary of the toilet as a +pocket-handkerchief was not generally known in this Age of Beauty. +Perhaps it would be truer to hold that the Middle Ages comprised all +these things--the knight-errant and the tormentor; the altar and the +witch's Sabbath; a dream of loveliness having its roots in slime and +squalor. These centuries were both "enormous and delicate." They were +great enough to include opposites, and to square the circle. You may +love them, or you may hate them; but they cannot be given the go-by. + +The philosophy of the Middle Ages--that is to say, the idea which +governed their political and theological conceptions--was both simple +and profound. The Emperor or King was considered to be the guardian of +the temporal order of things, just as the Pope was held to be the +supreme authority in matters of eternal and spiritual concern. It was +an idea fascinating in its simplicity, but life is a tangled and +complex matter, and in practice, planets, which in theory moved +strictly in their own orbits, were continually striking across each +other's path. Even St. Louis, the King, who carried saintliness to the +extreme limit permitted to man, was involved in frequent political +quarrels with the supreme head of his Church, and by one of the little +ironies of fate came within measurable distance of excommunication. The +King--again in theory--was the owner of all his realm. This was +necessary to abolish Heptarchies. But for the support of the Crown he +parcelled out his realm amongst great lords, and thus established +Heptarchies again. The great barons, in their turn, divided their +estates amongst knights, bound to assist them in their quarrels, and to +furnish a certain number of soldiers to their service. Amongst these +knights sprang up one of the supreme institutions of the Middle +Ages--the institution of chivalry. "It took its birth in the interior +of the feudal mansions, without any set purpose beyond that of +declaring, first, the admission of the young man to the rank and +occupation of the warrior; secondly, the tie which bound him to his +feudal superior--his lord, who conferred upon him the arms of +knighthood. But when once the feudal society had acquired some degree +of stability and confidence, the usages, the feelings, the +circumstances of every kind which attended the young man's admission +among the vassal warriors, came under two influences, which soon gave +them a fresh direction, and impressed them with a novel character. +Religion and imagination, poetry and the Church, laid hold on chivalry, +and used it as a powerful means of attaining the objects they had in +view, of meeting the moral wants which it was their business to provide +for." Throughout a long apprenticeship, in a castle which contained +practically but one woman, the wife of his lord and she removed how +infinitely from him in distance and in station, the young squire was +trained to feel towards all women something of the dreamy devotion with +which art and religion taught him to regard Our Lady herself. And the +apprenticeship culminated in the ceremony of knighthood, with all the +mystical significance of the symbolism preserved for us in the little +story of Sir Hugh of Tabarie and the Sultan Saladin, carefully +calculated to impress the recipient in the highest degree. Devotion to +God, to his king, and to his lady--these were the ideals of knighthood, +not always, unfortunately, its realities. But ideals are difficult of +realization in so faulty a world as ours. The Black Prince was the very +pattern of chivalry in his youth, yet Froissart remarks in his account +of the battle of Poitiers that "the Prince of Wales, who was as +courageous and cruel as a lion, took great pleasure this day in +fighting and chasing his enemies." The conduct of that perfect gentle +knight, Sir Graelent, towards the lady he discovered bathing in the +fountain, was far from chivalrous, according to modern notions, and yet +I can assure the reader that I have walked delicately as Agag, and gone +to the verge of weakness, in recounting the incident. Finally, here is +a passage from a letter written by a knight of the fourteenth century +to the Tyrant of Mantua, relating to a French girl, Jeannette, which is +sufficiently explicit. "Let her be detained at my suit, for if you +should have a thousand golden florins spent for her, I will pay them +without delay, for if I should have to follow her to Avignon I will +obtain this woman. Now, my lord, should I be asking a trifle contrary +to law, yet ought you not to cross me in this, for some day I shall do +more for you than a thousand united women could effect; and if there be +need of me in a matter of greater import, you shall have for the asking +a thousand spears at my back." Ah, well, ideals that are realized cease +to be ideals. + +Just as this worship of woman was the great social note of the Middle +Ages, so the devotion to the Blessed Virgin was the distinguishing +religious feature of those times. In honour of Our Lady were erected +the magnificent Gothic cathedrals--those masterpieces of moral +elevation--which stud the fair land of France like painted capitals +upon a written page. In these buildings the genius of the Middle Ages +found its supreme expression. Above the crowded market-place and narrow +mediaeval street rose those incomparable churches, "like Gothic queens +at prayer, alone, silent and adorned." In her honour, too, they were +made beautiful with glass and statuary, so that never before nor since +were churches filled with such an entrancing congregation, never had +buildings such wonderful eyes. And at a time when masons built to her +honour and theologians defined her position, the story-tellers were not +slack in her praise. The three legends relating to the Virgin, which I +have included in this book of translations, are but specimens of an +immense literature devoted to her service. "Our Lady's Tumbler" is, to +the modern taste, one of the most appealing of all these legends, but +there are others nearly, if not quite, so beautiful. Once upon a time +there was a monk who was so ignorant that he was exposed to the rebuke +of his brethren. But in his devotion to Our Lady he took for his +meditation five psalms, each commencing with a letter of her name. And +when it pleased God that his end should come, there happened a very +beauteous miracle, for from his mouth came forth five fresh roses, +sweet, crimson and leafy, in honour of the five letters of the name of +Maria. Again, how exquisite is the story of the nun who by frailty of +heart fled from her cloister to give herself over to sin. After many +long years she returned to the nunnery, having lost her innocence, but +not her faith, for during all her wanderings she had never omitted her +habit of prayer to Our Lady. But, to her surprise, always she was +addressed by her sisters as if she had never gone from amongst them. +For the Blessed Virgin, having clothed herself with the vesture and +seeming of the truant who loved her, even in sin, took also upon her +the duties of a sacristan from which she had fled, so that no single +person had noticed the absence from her cloister of the faithless nun. + +Yet, after all, the Middle Ages delighted to honour Our Lady as the +tender Mother rather than as the Queen of Heaven. In numberless +miniatures, and on the portals of the cathedrals raised to her glory, +she stands presenting her Child to the adoration of men. It is as the +instrument of the Incarnation that her ultimate dignity consists. +Indeed, the religion of the Middle Ages can only be appreciated by +regarding it in the light of the doctrine of the Incarnation. Christ is +God. The Mass--the popular service instituted by Himself--is an +extension of His Incarnation. The Blessed Virgin is to be held in +peculiar veneration as the Mother of God. The two threads can easily be +seen twined together in that story of how Our Lady tourneyed whilst the +knight was at Mass. But belief in the Incarnation is the keystone of +mediaeval theology, and the only explanation of the lives of those +saints who poured out their years like water in the service of God and +man. + +The authors of the stories brought together in this book from various +sources are, in some cases, identified, but in others are unknown. They +may, perhaps, be regarded as representative of the three classes who +are responsible for this kind of fiction--the monk, the trouvere and +the professional minstrel. The monk, for his part, wrote in French +seldom enough. He was a scholar, and when he had something to say, +preferred to deliver himself in Latin, the language common to all +educated men. But, for once, in the thirteenth century, a monk of +Soissons, named Gautier de Coinci, translated into French verse a great +collection of the miracles of Our Lady. From this garner I have +selected the legend "Of a Jew who took as Surety the Image of Our +Lady." Gautier de Coinci may not have been a supreme poet--that saving +grace comes seldom enough--but his industry was certainly abnormal. His +labour of love must have been the occupation of a lifetime, and it is +pleasant to recall the old monk, in silent scriptorium and shady +cloister, turning the Latin legends into fluent and pious verse. + +The trouvere was drawn from the same class as the troubadour, and the +circumstances of their lives were in essentials much the same. He lived +very probably in some nobleman's castle, where he composed his stories +as a sort of amateur, and recited the verses to an audience more or +less select. His pride forbade him to appear personally before the +populace, but it permitted him to provide wandering minstrels with +copies of these poems, and so entertain the common folk by deputy. In +the lord's castle it was, of course, another matter. On summer +afternoons he would recite before the baron's household, where they +were seated on the steps of the garden terrace, each in his order and +degree. You can feel the hush and heat of the Provencal evening, whilst +the sombre cypresses spire into the sky, and the olives whisper, and, +far below, the broad stretches of the Rhone are suffused with the +lovely light and colour of southern France. Or, in winter, after +supper, when the tables were cleared, the trouvere would recite in +hall. At the feet of the ladies sat their knights on silken cushions, +fettered with silver chains, each to his friend. It was an audience +rich and idle, familiar with the fantastic lives of the troubadours, +and with the wanton judgments of the Courts of Love. For such a company +no flower of sentiment could be too highly scented, and no tale come +amiss, save only that it spoke of love. + +If the trouveres were "the aristocracy of this literature," the +minstrel was its "democracy." Sometimes he rose almost to the status of +the trouvere, composing his own stories, and reciting them even in +kings' houses. Generally, however, the minstrel was but a strolling +player, speaking other men's thoughts, and wandering over the length +and breadth of the land. Occasionally he went alone with his viol. At +other times he was accompanied by bears, or a little troupe of singing +boys or dancing girls. The minstrel might have the good fortune to give +his entertainment before some knight or count. At any rate, the common +folk heard him gladly, before the church or on the village green. If he +was lucky, the homeless minstrel got free lodgings for the night at +some hospitable monastery, but occasionally he was turned from the +door, with hard words, because of St. Bernard's saying that "the tricks +of the jongleurs can never please God." Once upon a time such a +minstrel as this knocked at a monastery door, and asked for +hospitality. He was received without indecent joy, and the +guest-master, forgetting that a grace conferred unwillingly is no +favour at all, provided the guest with black bread, salted vegetables, +cold water, and a hard and dirty pallet. The abbot obviously felt no +passion for strolling vagabonds, and had appointed a guest-master after +his own heart. On the morrow, when the minstrel was leaving the +monastery, he met the abbot returning from a short journey. To revenge +himself, at any rate, on one of the two, the minstrel accosted him +effusively. "My lord," said he, "I thank you and all the community from +the bottom of my heart, for Brother such-an-one has welcomed me like +Christ Himself last night. He lighted a fire in my chamber, and served +me with choice wines, excellent fish, and more dishes than I am able to +recall. And this morning when he bade me farewell he gave me shoes, +and these leathern laces, and a knife." When the abbot heard this he +was filled with anger, and, parting shortly from the minstrel, he +hastened to the monastery, and promptly relieved the guest-master of +his office, before the latter could offer a word of explanation. Thus +was the minstrel revenged on this grudging heart. + +If, however, any reader would like to see closer the actual life of a +minstrel of the thirteenth century, I would suggest that he obtain the +excellent little book on Rutebeuf, one of the most famous of them all, +published in the Grands Ecrivains Francais series. There he may read of +the poet's bare cupboard, and the unfurnished lodging, where he lived +with his ugly and dowerless old wife, who brought him but fifty years +with her soup. He coughs with cold and gapes with hunger. He has no +mattress, but only straw, and a bed of straw is not a bed. He fears to +face his wife without money for food and rent. If he cannot dig, +emphatically, to beg he is not ashamed. All his goods are in pawn, and +his time is wasted in the tavern, playing dice, which are his curse and +his downfall. Well, Rutebeuf is not the first nor the last to be ruined +by dice. How the Devil must smile! Do you remember the legend of the +making of these little figures? A merchant who sold himself to the +Devil was bidden by him to make a six-sided piece of bone, and to mark +each side with a number. One point was to insult the only true God. Two +points were to insult God and the Blessed Virgin. Three points to +insult the Holy Trinity. Four points to insult the four Evangelists. +Five points to insult the Sacred Wounds; and six points to insult the +Days of Creation. From that hour the little figures spread rapidly +through the world, to man's confusion. Such is the picture Rutebeuf +paints of his life--a life curiously anticipative of that of many a +Bohemian poet since. It is not a very attractive picture, and though +for artistic and other reasons the shadows may be unduly darkened, yet +in the main it is doubtless substantially correct. + +The stories written by such men as these are racy of their soil, and +give the very form and pressure of their times. I have tried to make my +little selection representative, and have included in this book not +only romances of love and chivalry, but legends of devotion and +moralities. Greatly daring, I have translated a specimen of their +humour even--not too characteristic, I hope, of the robust merriment +of the feudal period. These stories will be found illustrative of some +of the ideas with which the mind of the Middle Ages was concerned. The +devotion to the Blessed Sacrament and to Our Lady; the languid and +overwrought sentiment of love; the mystical ceremonies of knighthood; +all these things are illuminated by the tales which follow this +Introduction. Bound up with them are customs and ideas which to the +modern mind are, perhaps, less happy. It seems odd, for instance, that +the feudal knight should see nothing repugnant in accepting money and +clothing from the lady who had given him already the supreme favour of +her love. It is possible to entertain a high ideal of friendship +without being prepared to cut the throats of your children for the sake +of your friend. Yet this is what Amile did for Amis in the great epic +of friendship of the Middle Ages. In its stark adherence to a +superhuman standard, it puts one in mind of the animal-like patience of +Griselda--which story (not included here) may perhaps be regarded as +the modest ideal of the mediaeval husband. It is strange, too, to find +in stories so concerned with the knightly exercises of the tourney and +the joust, no hint of the singular disfavour in which these games (or, +perhaps, pursuits) were held by the Church. Popes prohibited them; St. +Louis forbade them. Those slain therein were refused burial in +consecrated ground. The Church testified, "Of those who fell in +tournament there is no question but that they go down to hell, unless +they are aided by the great benefit of absolution." At Cologne sixty +knights and squires were killed, and the cries were heard all about of +demons carrying off their souls to perdition. Apparently all this +tremendous machinery failed utterly in its purpose. The most pious +knights strove in tournaments equally with the most reckless, +and--according to Miss Knox, to whose admirable _Court of a Saint_ I am +indebted--a son of St. Louis himself was thrown at a tourney, and was +afterwards weak in intellect as a consequence. + +Nor is it only with the lives of the rich that the mediaeval minstrel +was concerned. He dealt, too, with the lives and aspirations of that +yet more numerous class, the poor. Such a story as "The Three Thieves" +is indeed a picture of the home of the hind. We see the mean mud and +timber hovel, into which the thieves broke so easily, with its +cauldron upon the fire of fagots, its big bedstead, and the little +lean-to byre. The peasant's tools stood around the wall, whilst outside +was the garden, in which a wise ordinance of St. Louis required that +pot-herbs should be planted. And if the tale of "The Three Thieves" +shows us the home of the peasant, his soul is stripped for us to the +quick, in--of all places in the world of literature--"Aucassin and +Nicolette." Amongst the full-blown flowers of sentiment in that +incomparable love-story is placed an episode which, in its violence and +harsh realism, has been likened to a spot of blood and mud on a silver +ground. Possibly it was inserted merely to show the hero's good heart, +or is simply an instance of that artistic use of contrast so noticeable +throughout the book. Any way, there are few things in feudal literature +more striking than the meeting of the "dansellon" with the tattered, +hideous ploughman, the one weeping in delicate grief, the other +telling, dry-eyed, the sordid story of the abject poor. It is very far +from being the happiest incident in the romance, but it is certainly +one of the most memorable. One wonders how it was taken by an audience +that concerned itself so little with the interests of the serf, and +whose literature never mentioned that class, except in scorn. Was the +author possibly of the ploughman's kindred, like Chaucer's parish +priest in _The Canterbury Tales_? Had the stinging whips of captivity +taught him sympathy with unpoetical sorrows; or is this an early hint +of the coming storm! "They are clothed in velvet, and warm in their +furs and their ermines, while we are covered with rags. They have wine +and spices and fair bread; and we, oat-cake and straw, and water to +drink. They have leisure and fine houses; we have pain and labour, the +rain and the wind in the fields." We cannot tell; but comparing this +dainty make-belief with that tragic misery, we feel the significance of +the peasant's cry, "Woe to those who shall sorrow at the tears of such +as these." + +I hope I have not dwelt unduly on these stories considered as pictures +of the customs and philosophy of their times. Perhaps, after all, these +matters are of interest to the archaeologist and the ecclesiologist +rather than to the general reader. Not being a scholar myself, I have +no pretension to write for scholars. My object is more modest. I have +tried to bring together a little garland for the pleasure of the +amateurs of beautiful tales. To me these mediaeval stories are +beautiful, and I have striven to decant them from one language into +another with as little loss as may be. To this end I have refined a +phrase, or, perhaps, softened an incident here and there. I do not +pretend that they are perfect works of art. "All poets are unequal, +except the bad, and they are uniformly bad." Sometimes a story drags, +or there are wearisome repetitions. The psychology occasionally strikes +a modern reader as remarkably summary. When Amis, for example, became a +leper, we are gravely told that his wife held him in bitter hatred, and +many a time strove to strangle him. Here is an author who, obviously, +is astonished at nothing. But in reading these narratives you will +remember how they have delighted, and been used by, writers in some +cases greater than their own authors. Is it possible, for instance, to +peruse "The Lay of the Little Bird" without recalling Shelley's +"Sensitive Plant"? The tale of "The Divided Horsecloth" is told, in +another version, both by Montaigne and Browning. The principal incident +of "King Florus and the Fair Jehane" is used by Shakespeare in +"Cymbeline." "Our Lady's Tumbler" and "A Jew who took as Surety the +Image of Our Lady" have been re-written by Monsieur Anatole France with +such perfection of art and artistry as to be the admiration and despair +of all who come after him. + +It should not be forgotten that the majority of these stories were +intended to be recited, and not read. Repetition, therefore, is the +more easily excused. This also accounts for the dramatic use of +dialogue, so noticeable in "The Palfrey" and in "Aucassin and +Nicolette." But it is evident that this Introduction, already +over-long, will not permit me to go _seriatim_ through these tales, +"Item, a grey eye or so. Item, two lips, indifferent red." Let me +therefore content myself with appreciating the most lovely of them all, +"Aucassin and Nicolette." + +A single copy of "Aucassin and Nicolette," transcribed in the +thirteenth century, and preserved as by miracle, has retained for us +not only a charming tale, but also an unique specimen of the minstrel's +craft. Without it we could not have gathered that so elaborate a +blending of prose and verse was possible to a strolling player of +mediaeval France. The cante-fable was designed for recitation, with +illustrative gesture, to the accompaniment of viol and pipes. In this, +and not only in this, it seems to suggest an Eastern origin, and +to-day, in any Moorish coffee-house, the tales of the _Arabian Nights_ +are delivered in a manner very similar to that witnessed in Provence +seven hundred years ago. The peculiar quality of pleasure afforded by +"Aucassin and Nicolette" is not to be found in the story itself. That, +indeed, is very simple, and, perhaps, a trifle hackneyed. Aucassin, the +only son of the Count of Beaucaire, is passionately in love with +Nicolette, a beautiful girl of unknown parentage, bought of the +Saracens, whom his father will not permit him to marry. The story turns +on the adventures of these fond lovers, until at the end their common +fidelity is rewarded. Portions have faded sadly, like old tapestry, and +the laughter sounds especially hollow, for of all precious things fun +dies soonest. But in "Aucassin" the part is emphatically greater than +the whole, and its charm must rather be sought in its graceful turns of +speech--jewels, five words long--and in the pictorial quality which +makes it more a series of pictures than a narrative. Who can forget the +still night of May on which Nicolette escapes from her prison, and +hurries through the garden, kilting her skirt against the dew; or the +ruined tower in whose kindly shadow she remains hidden, whilst the +watch march along the moonlit street, their swords beneath their +mantles; or that bower of branches, built by her own white hands, +through the trellis-work of which her lover looks upon the stars! In +such felicitous picture-making the dainty little classic is equalled by +no work of its period. + +May I express the pious wish that every reader may find it all as +delightful to read as I have found it to transcribe? + +EUGENE MASON. + + NOTE.--The originals of these narratives are to be found in + Romania; in the _Fabliaux et Contes des Poetes Francois_, + edited by Barbazan et Meon; in two volumes of the _Nouvelles + Francoises en prose_, edited by Moland and D'Hericault; and + in _Les Miracles de la Sainte Vierge_, by Gautier de Coinci. + + + + +CONTENTS + + + PAGE + +'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND OF NICOLETTE 1 + +THE STORY OF KING CONSTANT, THE EMPEROR 39 + +OUR LADY'S TUMBLER 53 + +THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD 67 + +THE DIVIDED HORSECLOTH 75 + +SIR HUGH OF TABARIE 85 + +THE STORY OF KING FLORUS AND OF THE FAIR JEHANE 91 + +OF THE COVETOUS MAN AND OF THE ENVIOUS MAN 129 + +OF A JEW WHO TOOK AS SURETY THE IMAGE OF OUR LADY 133 + +THE LAY OF GRAELENT 145 + +THE THREE THIEVES 161 + +THE FRIENDSHIP OF AMIS AND AMILE 173 + +OF THE KNIGHT WHO PRAYED WHILST OUR LADY TOURNEYED +IN HIS STEAD 195 + +THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRIES 199 + +THE STORY OF ASENATH 203 + +THE PALFREY 213 + + + + +MEDIAEVAL ROMANCE + + + + +'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND OF NICOLETTE + + + Who will deign to hear the song + Solace of a captive's wrong, + Telling how two children met, + Aucassin and Nicolette; + How by grievous pains distraught, + Noble deeds the varlet wrought + For his love, and her bright face! + Sweet my rhyme, and full of grace, + Fair my tale, and debonair. + He who lists--though full of care, + Sore astonied, much amazed, + All cast down, by men mispraised, + Sick in body, sick in soul, + Hearing shall be glad and whole, + So sweet the tale. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +How the Count Bougars of Valence made war on Count Garin of Beaucaire, +war so great, so wonderful, and so mortal, that never dawned the day +but that he was at the gates and walls and barriers of the town, with a +hundred knights and ten thousand men-at-arms, on foot and on horse. So +he burned the Count's land, and spoiled his heritage, and dealt death +to his men. The Count Garin of Beaucaire was full of years, and frail; +he had long outworn his day. He had no heir, neither son nor daughter, +save one only varlet, and he was such as I will tell you. Aucassin was +the name of the lad. Fair he was, and pleasant to look upon, tall and +shapely of body in every whit of him. His hair was golden, and curled +in little rings about his head; he had grey and dancing eyes, a clear, +oval face, a nose high and comely, and he was so gracious in all good +graces that nought in him was found to blame, but good alone. But Love, +that high prince, so utterly had cast him down, that he cared not to +become knight, neither to bear arms, nor to tilt at tourneys, nor yet +to do aught that it became his name to do. + +His father and his mother spake him thus-- + +"Son, don now thy mail, mount thy horse, keep thy land, and render aid +to thy men. Should they see thee amongst them the better will the +men-at-arms defend their bodies and their substance, thy fief and +mine." + +"Father," said Aucassin, "why speakest thou in such fashion to me? May +God give me nothing of my desire if I become knight, or mount to horse, +or thrust into the press to strike other or be smitten down, save only +that thou give me Nicolette, my sweet friend, whom I love so well." + +"Son," answered the father, "this may not be. Put Nicolette from mind. +For Nicolette is but a captive maid, come hither from a far country, +and the Viscount of this town bought her with money from the Saracens, +and set her in this place. He hath nourished and baptized her, and held +her at the font. On a near day he will give her to some young bachelor, +who will gain her bread in all honour. With this what hast thou to do? +Ask for a wife, and I will find thee the daughter of a king, or a +count. Were he the richest man in France his daughter shalt thou have, +if so thou wilt." + +"Faith, my father," said Aucassin, "what honour of all this world would +not Nicolette, my very sweet friend, most richly become! Were she +Empress of Byzantium or of Allemaigne, or Queen of France or England, +low enough would be her degree, so noble is she, so courteous and +debonair, and gracious in all good graces." + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin was of Beaucaire, + Of the mighty castle there, + But his heart was ever set + On his fair friend, Nicolette. + Small he heeds his father's blame, + Or the harsh words of his dame. + "Fool, to weep the livelong day, + Nicolette trips light and gay. + Scouring she from far Carthage, + Bought of Paynims for a wage. + Since a wife beseems thee good + Take a wife of wholesome blood." + "Mother, naught for this I care, + Nicolette is debonair; + Slim the body, fair the face, + Make my heart a lighted place; + Love has set her as my peer, + Too sweet, my dear." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When the Count Garin of Beaucaire found that in nowise could he +withdraw Aucassin his son from the love of Nicolette, he sought out the +Viscount of the town, who was his man, and spake him thus-- + +"Sir Count, send Nicolette your god-child straightly from this place. +Cursed be the land wherefrom she was carried to this realm; for because +of her I lose Aucassin, who will not become knight, nor do aught that +it becometh knight to do. Know well that were she once within my power +I would hurry her to the fire; and look well to yourself, for you stand +in utmost peril and fear." + +"Sire," answered the Viscount, "this lies heavy upon me, that ever +Aucassin goes and he comes seeking speech with my ward. I have bought +her with my money, and nourished and baptized her, and held her at the +font. Moreover, I am fain to give her to some young bachelor, who will +gain her bread in all honour. With this Aucassin your son had nought to +do. But since this is your will and your pleasure, I will send her to +so far a country that nevermore shall he see her with his eyes." + +"Walk warily," replied the Count Garin, "for great evil easily may fall +to you of this." + +So they went their ways. + +Now the Viscount was a very rich man, and had a rich palace standing +within a garden. In a certain chamber of an upper floor he set +Nicolette in ward, with an old woman to bear her company, and to watch; +and he put there bread and meat and wine and all things for their need. +Then he placed a seal upon the door, so that none might enter in, nor +issue forth, save only that there was a window looking on the garden, +strict and close, whereby they breathed a little fresh air. + +Now is sung: + + Nicolette is prisoned fast, + In a vaulted chamber cast, + Shaped and carven wondrous well, + Painted as by miracle. + At the marble casement stayed + On her elbow leaned the maid; + Golden showed her golden hair, + Softly curved her eyebrows rare, + Fair her face, and brightly flushed, + Sweeter maiden never blushed. + In the garden from her room + She might watch the roses bloom, + Hear the birds make tender moan; + Then she knew herself alone. + "'Lack, great pity 'tis to place + Maid in such an evil case. + Aucassin, my liege, my squire, + Friend, and dear, and heart's desire, + Since thou dost not hate me quite + Men have done me foul despite, + Sealed me in this vaulted room, + Thrust me to this bitter doom. + But by God, Our Lady's Son, + Soon will I from here begone, + So it be won." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Nicolette was prisoned in the chamber, as you have heard and known. The +cry and the haro went through all the land that Nicolette was stolen +away. Some said that she had fled the country, and some that the Count +Garin of Beaucaire had done her to death. Whatever man may have +rejoiced, Aucassin had no joy therein, so he sought out the Viscount of +the town and spake him thus-- + +"Sir Viscount, what have you done with Nicolette, my very sweet friend, +the thing that most I love in all the world? Have you borne her off, or +hidden her from my sight? Be sure that should I die hereof, my blood +will be required of you, as is most just, for I am slain of your two +hands, since you steal from me the thing that most I love in all the +world." + +"Fair sire," answered the Viscount, "put this from mind. Nicolette is a +captive maid whom I brought here from a far country. For her price I +trafficked with the Saracens, and I have bred and baptized her, and +held her at the font. I have nourished her duly, and on a day will give +her to some young bachelor who will gain her bread in honourable +fashion. With this you have nought to do; but only to wed the daughter +of some count or king. Beyond this, what profit would you have, had +you become her lover, and taken her to your bed? Little enough would be +your gain therefrom, for your soul would lie tormented in Hell all the +days of all time, so that to Paradise never should you win." + +"In Paradise what have I to do? I care not to enter, but only to have +Nicolette, my very sweet friend, whom I love so dearly well. For into +Paradise go none but such people as I will tell you of. There go those +aged priests, and those old cripples, and the maimed, who all day long +and all night cough before the altars, and in the crypts beneath the +churches; those who go in worn old mantles and old tattered habits; who +are naked, and barefoot, and full of sores; who are dying of hunger and +of thirst, of cold and of wretchedness. Such as these enter in +Paradise, and with them have I nought to do. But in Hell will I go. For +to Hell go the fair clerks and the fair knights who are slain in the +tourney and the great wars, and the stout archer and the loyal man. +With them will I go. And there go the fair and courteous ladies, who +have friends, two or three, together with their wedded lords. And there +pass the gold and the silver, the ermine and all rich furs, harpers and +minstrels, and the happy of the world. With these will I go, so only +that I have Nicolette, my very sweet friend, by my side." + +"Truly," cried the Viscount, "you talk idly, for never shall you see +her more; yea, and if perchance you spoke together, and your father +heard thereof, he would burn both me and her in one fire, and yourself +might well have every fear." + +"This lies heavy upon me," answered Aucassin. + +Thus he parted from the Viscount making great sorrow. + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin departed thus + Sad at heart and dolorous; + Gone is she his fairest friend, + None may comfort give or mend, + None by counsel make good end. + To the palace turned he home, + Climbed the stair, and sought his room. + In the chamber all alone + Bitterly he made his moan, + Presently began to weep + For the love he might not keep. + "Nicolette, so gent, so sweet, + Fair the faring of thy feet, + Fair thy laughter, sweet thy speech, + Fair our playing each with each, + Fair thy clasping, fair thy kiss, + Yet it endeth all in this. + Since from me my love is ta'en + I misdoubt that I am slain; + Sister, sweet friend." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Whilst Aucassin was in the chamber lamenting Nicolette, his friend, the +Count Bougars of Valence, wishful to end the war, pressed on his +quarrel, and setting his pikemen and horsemen in array, drew near the +castle to take it by storm. Then the cry arose, and the tumult; and the +knights and the men-at-arms took their weapons, and hastened to the +gates and the walls to defend the castle, and the burgesses climbed to +the battlements, flinging quarrels and sharpened darts upon the foe. +Whilst the siege was so loud and perilous the Count Garin of Beaucaire +sought the chamber where Aucassin lay mourning, assotted upon +Nicolette, his very sweet friend, whom he loved so well. + +"Ha, son," cried he, "craven art thou and shamed, that seest thy best +and fairest castle so hardly beset. Know well that if thou lose it +thou art a naked man. Son, arm thyself lightly, mount to horse, keep +thy land, aid thy men, hurtle into the press. Thou needest not to +strike another, neither to be smitten down, but if they see thee +amongst them, the better will they defend their goods and their bodies, +thy land and mine. And thou art so stout and strong that very easily +thou canst do this thing, as is but right." + +"Father," answered Aucassin, "what sayest thou now? May God give me +nought that I require of Him if I become knight, or mount to horse, or +thrust into the press to strike knight or be smitten down, save only +thou givest me Nicolette, my sweet friend, whom I love so well." + +"Son," replied the father, "this can never be. Rather will I suffer to +lose my heritage, and go bare of all, than that thou shouldest have +her, either as woman or as dame." + +So he turned without farewell. But when Aucassin saw him part he stayed +him, saying-- + +"Father, come now, I will make a true bargain with thee." + +"What bargain, fair son?" + +"I will arm me, and thrust into the press on such bargain as this, that +if God bring me again safe and sound, thou wilt let me look on +Nicolette, my sweet friend, so long that I may have with her two words +or three, and kiss her one only time." + +"I pledge my word to this," said the father. + +Of this covenant had Aucassin much joy. + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin the more was fain + Of the kiss he sought to gain, + Rather than his coffers hold + A hundred thousand marks of gold. + At the call his squire drew near, + Armed him fast in battle gear; + Shirt and hauberk donned the lad, + Laced the helmet on his head, + Girt his golden-hilted sword, + Came the war-horse at his word, + Gripped the buckler and the lance, + At the stirrups cast a glance; + Then most brave from plume to heel + Pricked the charger with the steel, + Called to mind his absent dear, + Passed the gateway without fear + Straight to the fight. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Aucassin was armed and horsed as you have heard. God! how bravely +showed the shield about his neck, the helmet on his head, and the +fringes of the baldric upon his left thigh. The lad was tall and +strong, slender and comely to look upon, and the steed he bestrode was +great and speedy, and fiercely had he charged clear of the gate. Now +think not that he sought spoil of oxen and cattle, nor to smite others +and himself escape. Nay, but of all this he took no heed. Another was +with him, and he thought so dearly upon Nicolette, his fair friend, +that the reins fell from his hand, and he struck never a blow. Then the +charger, yet smarting from the spur, bore him into the battle, amidst +the thickest of the foe, so that hands were laid upon him from every +side, and he was made prisoner. Thus they spoiled him of shield and +lance, and forthwith led him from the field a captive, questioning +amongst themselves by what death he should be slain. When Aucassin +marked their words, + +"Ha, God," cried he, "sweet Creature, these are my mortal foes who lead +me captive, and who soon will strike off my head; and when my head is +smitten, never again may I have fair speech with Nicolette, my sweet +friend, whom I hold so dear. Yet have I a good sword, and my horse is +yet unblown. Now if I defend me not for her sake, may God keep her +never, should she love me still." + +The varlet was hardy and stout, and the charger he bestrode was right +fierce. He plucked forth his sword, and smote suddenly on the right +hand and on the left, cutting sheer through nasal and headpiece, +gauntlet and arm, making such ruin around him as the wild boar deals +when brought to bay by hounds in the wood; until he had struck down ten +knights, and hurt seven more, and won clear of the _melee_, and rode +back at utmost speed, sword in his hand. + +The Count Bougars of Valence heard tell that his men were about to hang +Aucassin, his foe, in shameful wise, so he hastened to the sight, and +Aucassin passed him not by. His sword was yet in hand, and he struck +the Count so fiercely upon the helm, that the headpiece was cleft and +shattered upon the head. So bewildered was he by the stroke that he +tumbled to the ground, and Aucassin stretched forth his hand, and took +him, and led him captive by the nasal of the helmet, and delivered him +to his father. + +"Father," said Aucassin, "behold the foe who wrought such war and +mischief upon you! Twenty years hath this war endured, and none was +there to bring it to an end." + +"Fair son," replied his father, "better are such deeds as these than +foolish dreams." + +"Father," returned Aucassin, "preach me no preachings; but carry out +our bargain." + +"Ha, what bargain, fair son?" + +"How now, father, hast thou returned from the market? By my head, I +will remember, whosoever may forget; so close is it to my heart. Didst +thou not bargain with me when I armed me and fared into the press, that +if God brought me again safe and sound, thou wouldst grant me sight of +Nicolette, my sweet friend, so long that I might have with her two +words or three, and kiss her once? Such was the bargain, so be thou +honest dealer." + +"I," cried the father, "God aid me never should I keep such terms. Were +she here I would set her in the flames, and thou thyself might well +have every fear." + +"Is this the very end?" said Aucassin. + +"So help me God," said his father; "yea." + +"Certes," said Aucassin, "grey hairs go ill with a lying tongue." + +"Count of Valence," said Aucassin, "thou art my prisoner?" + +"Sire," answered the Count, "it is verily and truly so." + +"Give me thy hand," said Aucassin. + +"Sire, as you wish." + +So each took the other's hand. + +"Plight me thy faith," said Aucassin, "that so long as thou drawest +breath, never shall pass a day but thou shalt deal with my father in +shameful fashion, either in goods or person, if so thou canst!" + +"Sire, for God's love make me not a jest, but name me a price for my +ransom. Whether you ask gold or silver, steed or palfrey, pelt or fur, +hawk or hound, it shall be paid." + +"What!" said Aucassin; "art thou not my prisoner?" + +"Truly, sire," said the Count Bougars. + +"God aid me never," quoth Aucassin, "but I send thy head flying, save +thou plight me such faith as I said." + +"In God's name," cried he, "I plight such affiance as seems most meet +to thee." + +He pledged his troth, so Aucassin set him upon a horse, and brought him +into a place of surety, himself riding by his side. + +Now is sung: + + When Count Garin knew his son + Aucassin still loved but one, + That his heart was ever set + Fondly on fond Nicolette; + Straight a prison he hath found, + Paved with marble, walled around, + Where in vault beneath the earth + Aucassin made little mirth, + But with wailing filled his cell + In such wise as now I tell. + "Nicolette, white lily-flow'r, + Sweetest lady found in bow'r; + Sweet as grape that brimmeth up + Sweetness in the spiced cup. + On a day this chanced to you; + Out of Limousin there drew + One, a pilgrim, sore adread, + Lay in pain upon his bed, + Tossed, and took with fear his breath, + Very dolent, near to death. + Then you entered, pure and white, + Softly to the sick man's sight, + Raised the train that swept adown, + Raised the ermine-bordered gown, + Raised the smock, and bared to him + Daintily each lovely limb. + Then a wondrous thing befell, + Straight he rose up sound and well, + Left his bed, took cross in hand, + Sought again his own dear land. + Lily-flow'r, so white, so sweet, + Fair the faring of thy feet, + Fair thy laughter, fair thy speech, + Fair our playing each with each. + Sweet thy kisses, soft thy touch, + All must love thee over much. + 'Tis for thee that I am thrown + In this vaulted cell alone; + 'Tis for thee that I attend + Death, that comes to make an end, + For thee, sweet friend." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Aucassin was set in prison as you have heard tell, and Nicolette for +her part was shut in the chamber. It was in the time of summer heat, in +the month of May, when the days are warm, long and clear, and the +nights coy and serene. Nicolette lay one night sleepless on her bed, +and watched the moon shine brightly through the casement, and listened +to the nightingale plain in the garden. Then she bethought her of +Aucassin, her friend, whom she loved so well. She called also to mind +the Count Garin of Beaucaire, her mortal foe, and feared greatly to +remain lest her hiding-place should be told to him, and she be put to +death in some shameful fashion. She made certain that the old woman who +held her in ward was sound asleep. So she rose, and wrapped herself in +a very fair silk mantle, the best she had, and taking the sheets from +her bed and the towels of her bath, knotted them together to make so +long a rope as she was able, tied it about a pillar of the window, and +slipped down into the garden. Then she took her skirt in both hands, +the one before, and the other behind, and kilted her lightly against +the dew which lay thickly upon the grass, and so passed through the +garden. Her hair was golden, with little love-locks; her eyes blue and +laughing; her face most dainty to see, with lips more vermeil than ever +was rose or cherry in the time of summer heat; her teeth white and +small; her breasts so firm that they showed beneath her vesture like +two rounded nuts; so frail was she about the girdle that your two hands +could have spanned her, and the daisies that she brake with her feet in +passing, showed altogether black against her instep and her flesh, so +white was the fair young maiden. + +She came to the postern, and unbarring the gate, issued forth upon the +streets of Beaucaire, taking heed to keep within the shadows, for the +moon shone very bright, and thus she fared until she chanced upon the +tower where her lover was prisoned. The tower was buttressed with +pieces of wood in many places, and Nicolette hid herself amongst the +pillars, wrapped close in her mantle. She set her face to a crevice of +the tower, which was old and ruinous, and there she heard Aucassin +weeping within, making great sorrow for the sweet friend whom he held +so dear; and when she had hearkened awhile she began to speak. + +Now is sung: + + Nicolette, so bright of face, + Leaned within this buttressed place, + Heard her lover weep within, + Marked the woe of Aucassin. + Then in words her thought she told, + "Aucassin, fond heart and bold, + What avails thine heart should ache + For a Paynim maiden's sake. + Ne'er may she become thy mate, + Since we prove thy father's hate, + Since thy kinsfolk hate me too; + What for me is left to do? + Nothing, but to seek the strand, + Pass o'er sea to some far land." + Shore she then one golden tress, + Thrust it in her love's duress; + Aucassin hath seen the gold + Shining bright in that dark hold, + Took the lock at her behest, + Kissed and placed it in his breast, + Then once more his eyes were wet + For Nicolette. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she would fare into another +country, he was filled with anger. + +"Fair sweet friend," said he, "this be far from thee, for then wouldst +thou have slain me. And the first man who saw thee, if so he might, +would take thee forthwith and carry thee to his bed, and make thee his +leman. Be sure that if thou wert found in any man's bed, save it be +mine, I should not need a dagger to pierce my heart and slay me. +Certes, no; wait would I not for a knife; but on the first wall or the +nearest stone would I cast myself, and beat out my brains altogether. +Better to die so foul a death as this, than know thee to be in any +man's bed, save mine." + +"Aucassin," said she, "I doubt that thou lovest me less than thy words; +and that my love is fonder than thine." + +"Alack," cried Aucassin, "fair sweet friend, how can it be that thy +love should be so great? Woman cannot love man, as man loves woman; for +woman's love is in the glance of her eye, and the blossom of her +breast, and the tip of the toe of her foot; but the love of man is set +deep in the hold of his heart, from whence it cannot be torn away." + +Whilst Aucassin and Nicolette were thus at odds together, the town +watch entered the street, bearing naked swords beneath their mantles, +for Count Garin had charged them strictly, once she were taken, to put +her to death. The warder from his post upon the tower marked their +approach, and as they drew near heard them speaking of Nicolette, +menacing her with death. + +"God," said he, "it is great pity that so fair a damsel should be +slain, and a rich alms should I give if I could warn her privily, and +so she escape the snare; for of her death Aucassin, my liege, were +dead already, and truly this were a piteous case." + +Now is sung: + + Brave the warder, full of guile, + Straight he sought some cunning wile; + Sought and found a song betime, + Raised this sweet and pleasant rhyme. + "Lady of the loyal mind, + Slender, gracious, very kind, + Gleaming head and golden hair, + Laughing lips and eyes of vair! + Easy, Lady, 'tis to tell + Two have speech who love full well. + Yet in peril are they met, + Set the snare, and spread the net. + Lo, the hunters draw this way, + Cloaked, with privy knives, to slay. + Ere the huntsmen spie the chace + Let the quarry haste apace + And keep her well." + +Now they say and tell and relate. + +"Ah," said Nicolette, "may the soul of thy father and of thy mother +find sweetest rest, since in so fair and courteous a manner hast thou +warned me. So God please, I will indeed keep myself close, and may He +keep me too." + +She drew the folds of her cloak about her, and crouched in the darkness +of the pillars till the watch had passed beyond; then she bade farewell +to Aucassin, and bent her steps to the castle wall. The wall was very +ruinous, and mended with timber, so she climbed the fence, and went her +way till she found herself between wall and moat. Gazing below, she saw +that the fosse was very deep and perilous, and the maid had great fear. + +"Ah, God," cried she, "sweet Creature, should I fall, my neck must be +broken; and if I stay, to-morrow shall I be taken, and men will burn +my body in a fire. Yet were it better to die, now, in this place, than +to be made a show to-morrow in the market." + +She crossed her brow, and let herself slide down into the moat, and +when she reached the bottom, her fair feet and pretty hands, which had +never learned that they could be hurt, were so bruised and wounded that +the blood came from them in places a many; yet knew she neither ill nor +dolour because of the mightiness of her fear. But if with pain she had +entered in, still more it cost her to issue forth. She called to mind +that it were death to tarry, and by chance found there a stake of +sharpened wood, which those within the keep had flung forth in their +defence of the tower. With this she cut herself a foothold, one step +above the other, till with extreme labour she climbed forth from the +moat. Now the forest lay but the distance of two bolts from a crossbow, +and ran some thirty leagues in length and breadth; moreover, within +were many wild beasts and serpents. She feared these greatly, lest they +should do her a mischief; but presently she remembered that should men +lay hands upon her, they would lead her back to the city to burn her at +the fire. + +Now is sung: + + Nicolette the fair, the fond, + Climbed the fosse and won beyond; + There she kneeled her, and implored + Very help of Christ the Lord. + "Father, King of majesty, + Where to turn I know not, I. + So, within the woodland gloom + Wolf and boar and lion roam, + Fearful things, with rav'ning maw, + Rending tusk and tooth and claw. + Yet, if all adread I stay, + Men will come at break of day, + Treat me to their heart's desire, + Burn my body in the fire. + But by God's dear majesty + Such a death I will not die; + Since I die, ah, better then + Trust the boar than trust to men. + Since all's evil, men and beast, + Choose I the least." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Nicolette made great sorrow in such manner as you have heard. She +commended herself to God's keeping, and fared on until she entered the +forest. She kept upon the fringes of the woodland, for dread of the +wild beasts and reptiles; and hiding herself within some thick bush, +sleep overtook her, and she slept fast until six hours of the morn, +when shepherds and herdsmen come from the city to lead their flocks to +pasture between the wood and the river. The shepherds sat by a clear, +sweet spring, which bubbled forth on the outskirts of the greenwood, +and spreading a cloak upon the grass, set bread thereon. Whilst they +ate together, Nicolette awoke at the song of the birds and the +laughter, and hastened to the well. + +"Fair children," said she, "God have you in His keeping." + +"God bless you also," answered one who was more fluent of tongue than +his companions. + +"Fair child," said she, "do you know Aucassin, the son of Count Garin +of this realm?" + +"Yes, we know him well." + +"So God keep you, pretty boy," said she, "as you tell him that within +this wood there is a fair quarry for his hunting; and if he may take +her he would not part with one of her members for a hundred golden +marks, nor for five hundred, nay, nor for aught that man can give." + +Then looking upon her steadfastly, their hearts were troubled, the maid +was so beautiful. + +"Will I tell him?" cried he who was readier of word than his +companions. "Woe to him who speaks of it ever, or tells Aucassin what +you say. You speak not truth but faery, for in all this forest there is +no beast--neither stag, nor lion, nor boar--one of whose legs would be +worth two pence, or three at the very best, and you talk of five +hundred marks of gold. Woe betide him who believes your story, or shall +spread it abroad. You are a fay, and no fit company for such as us, so +pass upon your road." + +"Ah, fair child," answered she, "yet you will do as I pray. For this +beast is the only medicine that may heal Aucassin of his hurt. And I +have here five sous in my purse, take them, and give him my message. +For within three days must he hunt this chace, and if within three days +he find not the quarry, never may he cure him of his wound." + +"By my faith," said he, "we will take the money, and if he comes this +way we will give him your message, but certainly we will not go and +look for him." + +"As God pleases," answered she. + +So she bade farewell to the shepherds, and went her way. + +Now is sung: + + Nicolette as you heard tell + Bade the shepherd lads farewell, + Through deep woodlands warily + Fared she 'neath the leafy tree; + Till the grass-grown way she trod + Brought her to a forest road, + Whence, like fingers on a hand, + Forked sev'n paths throughout the land. + There she called to heart her love, + There bethought her she would prove + Whether true her lover's vows. + Plucked she then young sapling boughs, + Grasses, leaves that branches yield, + Oak shoots, lilies of the field; + Built a lodge with frond and flow'r, + Fairest mason, fairest bow'r! + Swore then by the truth of God + Should her lover come that road, + Nor for love of her who made + Dream a little in its shade, + 'Spite his oath no true love, he, + Nor fond heart, she. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Nicolette builded the lodge, as you have heard; very pretty it was and +very dainty, and well furnished, both outside and in, with a tapestry +of flowers and of leaves. Then she withdrew herself a little way from +the bower, and hid within a thicket to spy what Aucassin would do. And +the cry and the haro went through all the realm that Nicolette was +lost. Some had it that she had stolen away, and others that Count Garin +had done her to death. Whoever had joy thereof, Aucassin had little +pleasure. His father, Count Garin, brought him out of his prison, and +sent letters to the lords and ladies of those parts bidding them to a +very rich feast, so that Aucassin, his son, might cease to dote. When +the feast was at its merriest, Aucassin leaned against the musicians' +gallery, sad and all discomforted. No laugh had he for any jest, since +she, whom most he loved, was not amongst the ladies set in hall. A +certain knight marked his grief, and coming presently to him, said-- + +"Aucassin, of such fever as yours I, too, have been sick. I can give +you good counsel, if you are willing to listen." + +"Sir knight," said Aucassin, "great thanks; good counsel, above all +things, I would hear." + +"Get to horse," said he; "take your pleasure in the woodland, amongst +flowers and bracken and the songs of the birds. Perchance, who knows? +you may hear some word of which you will be glad." + +"Sir knight," answered Aucassin, "great thanks; this I will do." + +He left the hall privily, and went down-stairs to the stable where was +his horse. He caused the charger to be saddled and bridled, then put +foot in stirrup, mounted, and left the castle, riding till he entered +the forest, and so by adventure came upon the well whereby the shepherd +lads were sitting, and it was then about three hours after noon. They +had spread a cloak upon the grass, and were eating their bread, with +great mirth and jollity. + +Now is sung: + + Round about the well were set + Martin, Robin, Esmeret; + Jolly shepherds, gaily met, + Frulin, Jack and Aubriet. + Laughed the one, "God keep in ward + Aucassin, our brave young lord. + Keep besides the damsel fair, + Blue of eye and gold of hair, + Gave us wherewithal to buy + Cate and sheath knife presently, + Horn and quarter staff and fruit, + Shepherd's pipe and country flute; + God make him well." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When Aucassin marked the song of the herdboys he called to heart +Nicolette, his very sweet friend, whom he held so dear. He thought she +must have passed that way, so he struck his horse with the spurs and +came quickly to the shepherds. + +"Fair children, God keep you." + +"God bless you," replied he who was readier of tongue than his fellows. + +"Fair children," said he, "tell over again the song that you told but +now." + +"We will not tell it," answered he who was more fluent of speech than +the others; "sorrow be his who sings it to you, fair sir." + +"Fair children," returned Aucassin, "do you not know me?" + +"Oh yes, we know well that you are Aucassin, our young lord; but we are +not your men; we belong to the Count." + +"Fair children, sing me the song once more, I pray you!" + +"By the Wounded Heart, what fine words! Why should I sing for you, if I +have no wish to do so? Why, the richest man in all the land--saving the +presence of Count Garin--would not dare to drive my sheep and oxen and +cows from out his wheatfield or his pasture, for fear of losing his +eyes. Wherefore, then, should I sing for you, if I have no wish to do +so?" + +"God keep you, fair children; yet you will do this thing for me. Take +these ten sous that I have here in my purse." + +"Sire, we will take the money; but I will not sing for you, since I +have sworn not to do so; but I will tell it in plain prose, if such be +your pleasure." + +"As God pleases," answered Aucassin; "better the tale in prose than no +story at all." + +"Sire, we were in this glade between six and nine of the morn, and were +breaking our bread by the well, just as we are doing now, when a girl +came by, the loveliest thing in all the world, so fair that we doubted +her a fay, and she brimmed our wood with light. She gave us money, and +made a bargain with us that if you came here we would tell you that you +must hunt in this forest, for in it is such a quarry that if you may +take her you would not part with one of her members for five hundred +silver marks, nor for aught that man can give. For in the quest is so +sweet a salve that if you take her you shall be cured of your wound; +and within three days must the chace be taken, for if she be not found +by then, never will you see her more. Now go to your hunting if you +will, and if you will not, let it go, for truly have I carried out my +bargain with her." + +"Fair children," cried Aucassin, "enough have you spoken, and may God +set me on her track." + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin's fond heart was moved + When this hidden word he proved + Sent him by the maid he loved. + Straight his charger he bestrode, + Bade farewell, and swiftly rode + Deep within the forest dim, + Saying o'er and o'er to him; + "Nicolette, so sweet, so good, + 'Tis for you I search this wood; + Antlered stag nor boar I chase, + Hot I follow on your trace. + Slender shape and deep, blue eyes, + Dainty laughter, low replies, + Fledge the arrow in my heart. + Ah, to find you, ne'er to part! + Pray God give so fair an end, + Sister, sweet friend." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Aucassin rode through the wood in search of Nicolette, and the charger +went right speedily. Do not think that the spines and thorns were +pitiful to him. Truly it was not so; for his raiment was so torn that +the least tattered of his garments could scarcely hold to his body, and +the blood ran from his arms and legs and flanks in forty places, or at +least in thirty, so that you could have followed after him by the blood +which he left upon the grass. But he thought so fondly of Nicolette, +his sweet friend, that he felt neither ill nor dolour. Thus all day +long he searched the forest in this fashion, but might learn no news of +her, and when it drew towards dusk he commenced to weep because he had +heard nothing. He rode at adventure down an old grass-grown road, and +looking before him saw a young man standing, such as I will tell you. +Tall he was, and marvellously ugly and hideous. His head was big and +blacker than smoked meat; the palm of your hand could easily have gone +between his two eyes; he had very large cheeks and a monstrous flat +nose with great nostrils; lips redder than uncooked flesh; teeth yellow +and foul; he was shod with shoes and gaiters of bull's hide, bound +about the leg with ropes to well above the knee; upon his back was a +rough cloak; and he stood leaning on a huge club. Aucassin urged his +steed towards him, but was all afeared when he saw him as he was. + +"Fair brother, God keep you." + +"God bless you too," said he. + +"As God keeps you, what do you here?" + +"What is that to you?" said he. + +"Truly, naught," answered Aucassin. "I asked with no wish to do you +wrong." + +"And you, for what cause do you weep?" asked the other, "and make such +heavy sorrow? Certainly, were I so rich a man as you are, not the whole +world should make me shed a tear." + +"Do you know me, then?" said Aucassin. + +"Yes, well I know you to be Aucassin, the son of the Count, and if you +will tell me why you weep, well, then I will tell you what I do here." + +"Certes," said Aucassin, "I will tell you with all my heart. I came +this morning to hunt in the forest, and with me a white greyhound, the +swiftest in the whole world. I have lost him, and that is why I weep." + +"Hear him," cried he, "by the Sacred Heart, and you make all this +lamentation for a filthy dog! Sorrow be his who shall esteem you more. +Why, there is not a man of substance in these parts who would not give +you ten or fifteen or twenty hounds--if so your father wished--and be +right glad to make you the gift. But for my part I have full reason to +weep and cry aloud." + +"And what is your grief, brother?" + +"Sire, I will tell you. I was hired by a rich farmer to drive his +plough, with a yoke of four oxen. Now three days ago, by great +mischance, I lost the best of my bullocks, Roget, the very best ox in +the plough. I have been looking for him ever since, and have neither +eaten nor drunk for three days, since I dare not go back to the town, +because men would put me into prison, as I have no money to pay for my +loss. Of all the riches of the world I have nought but the rags upon my +back. My poor old mother, too, who had nothing but one worn-out +mattress, why, they have taken that from under her, and left her lying +on the naked straw. That hurts me more than my own trouble. For money +comes and money goes; if I have lost to-day, why, I may win to-morrow; +and I will pay for my ox when pay I can. Not for this will I wring my +hands. And you--you weep aloud for a filthy cur. Sorrow take him who +shall esteem you more." + +"Certes, thou art a true comforter, fair brother, and blessed may you +be. What is the worth of your bullock?" + +"Sire, the villein demands twenty sous for his ox. I cannot beat the +price down by a single farthing." + +"Hold out your hand," said Aucassin; "take these twenty sous which I +have in my purse, and pay for your ox." + +"Sire," answered the hind, "many thanks, and God grant you find that +for which you seek." + +So they parted from each other, and Aucassin rode upon his way. The +night was beautiful and still, and so he fared along the forest path +until he came to the seven cross-roads where Nicolette had builded her +bower. Very pretty it was, and very dainty, and well furnished both +outside and in, ceiling and floor, with arras and carpet of freshly +plucked flowers; no sweeter habitation could man desire to see. When +Aucassin came upon it he reined back his horse sharply, and the +moonbeams fell within the lodge. + +"Dear God," cried Aucassin, "here was Nicolette, my sweet friend, and +this has she builded with her fair white hands. For the sweetness of +the house and for love of her, now will I dismount, and here will I +refresh me this night." + +He withdrew his foot from the stirrup, and the charger was tall and +high. He dreamed so deeply on Nicolette, his very sweet friend, that he +fell heavily upon a great stone, and his shoulder came from its socket. +He knew himself to be grievously wounded, but he forced him to do all +that he was able, and fastened his horse with the other hand to a +thorn. Then he turned on his side, and crawled as best he might into +the lodge. Looking through a crevice of the bower he saw the stars +shining in the sky, and one brighter than all the others, so he began +to repeat-- + +Now is sung: + + Little Star I gaze upon + Sweetly drawing to the moon, + In such golden haunt is set + Love, and bright-haired Nicolette. + God hath taken from our war + Beauty, like a shining star. + Ah, to reach her, though I fell + From her Heaven to my Hell. + Who were worthy such a thing, + Were he emperor or king? + Still you shine, oh, perfect Star, + Beyond, afar. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When Nicolette heard Aucassin speak these words she hastened to him +from where she was hidden near by. She entered in the bower, and +clasping her arms about his neck, kissed and embraced him straitly. + +"Fair sweet friend, very glad am I to find you." + +"And you, fair sweet friend, glad am I to meet." + +So they kissed, and held each other fast, and their joy was lovely to +see. + +"Ah, sweet friend," cried Aucassin, "it was but now that I was in +grievous pain with my shoulder, but since I hold you close I feel +neither sorrow nor wound." + +Nicolette searched his hurt, and perceived that the shoulder was out of +joint. She handled it so deftly with her white hands, and used such +skilful surgery, that by the grace of God (who loveth all true lovers) +the shoulder came back to its place. Then she plucked flowers, and +fresh grass and green leafage, and bound them tightly about the setting +with the hem torn from her shift, and he was altogether healed. + +"Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, let us take thought together +as to what must be done. If your father beats the wood to-morrow, and +men take me, whatever may chance to you, certainly I shall be slain." + +"Certes, fair sweet friend, the sorer grief would be mine. But so I may +help, never shall you come to his hands." + +So he mounted to horse, and setting his love before him, held her fast +in his arms, kissing her as he rode, and thus they came forth to the +open fields. + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin, that loving squire, + Dainty fair to heart's desire, + Rode from out the forest dim + Clasping her he loved to him. + 'Laced upon the saddle bow + There he kissed her, chin and brow, + There embraced her, mouth and eyes. + But she spake him, sweetly wise; + "Love, a term to dalliance, + Since for us no home in France + Seek we Rome or far Byzance?" + "Sweet my love, all's one to me, + Dale or woodland, earth or sea; + Nothing care I where we ride + So I hold you at my side." + So, enlaced, the lovers went, + Skirting town and battlement, + Rocky scaur, and quiet lawn; + Till one morning, with the dawn, + Broke the cliffs down to the shore, + Loud they heard the surges roar, + Stood by the sea. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Aucassin dismounted upon the sand, he and Nicolette together, as you +have heard tell. He took his horse by the bridle, and his damsel by the +hand, and walked along the beach. Soon they perceived a ship, +belonging to merchants of those parts, sailing close by, so Aucassin +made signs to the sailors, and presently they came to him. For a +certain price they agreed to take them upon the ship, but when they had +reached the open sea a great and marvellous storm broke upon the +vessel, and drove them from land to land until they drew to a far-off +country, and cast anchor in the port of the castle of Torelore. Then +they asked to what realm they had fared, and men told them that it was +the fief of the King of Torelore. Then inquired Aucassin what manner of +man was this king, and whether there was any war, and men answered-- + +"Yes, a mighty war." + +So Aucassin bade farewell to the merchants, and they commended him to +God. He belted his sword about him, climbed to horse, taking his love +before him on the saddle bow, and went his way till he came to the +castle. He asked where the King might be found, and was told that he +was in child-bed. + +"Where, then, is his wife?" + +And they answered that she was with the host, and had carried with her +all the armed men of those parts. When Aucassin heard these things he +marvelled very greatly. He came to the palace door and there +dismounted, bidding Nicolette to hold the bridle. Then, making his +sword ready, he climbed the palace stair, and searched until he came to +the chamber where the King lay. + +Now is sung: + + Hot from searching, Aucassin + Found the room and entered in; + There before the couch he stayed + Where the King, alone, was laid, + Marked the King, and marked the bed, + Marked this lying-in, then said, + "Fool, why doest thou this thing?" + "I'm a mother," quoth the King: + "When my month is gone at length, + And I come to health and strength, + Then shall I hear Mass once more + As my fathers did before, + Arm me lightly, take my lance, + Set my foe a right fair dance, + Where horses prance." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When Aucassin heard the King speak thus he took the linen from the bed, +and flung it about the chamber. He saw a staff in the corner, so he +seized it, returned to the bed, and beat the King so rudely therewith, +that he was near to die. + +"Ha, fair sire," cried the King, "what do you require of me? Are you +mad that you treat me thus in my own house?" + +"By the Sacred Heart," said Aucassin, "bad son of a shameless mother, I +will strike with the sword if you do not swear to me that man shall +never lie in child-bed in your realm again." + +He plighted troth, and when he was thus pledged, "Sire," required +Aucassin, "bring me now where your wife is with the host." + +"Sire, willingly," said the King. + +He got to horse, and Aucassin mounted his, leaving Nicolette at peace +in the Queen's chamber. The King and Aucassin rode at adventure until +they came to where the Queen was set, and they found that the battle +was joined with roasted crab-apples and eggs and fresh cheeses. So +Aucassin gazed upon the sight and marvelled greatly. + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin hath drawn his rein, + From the saddle stared amain, + Marked the set and stricken field, + Cheered the hearts that would not yield. + They had carried to the fight + Mushrooms, apples baked aright, + And for arrows, if you please, + Pelted each with good fresh cheese. + He who muddied most the ford + Bore the prize in that award. + Aucassin, the brave, the true, + Watched these deeds of derring do, + Laughed loudly too. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When Aucassin saw this strange sight he went to the King and asked of +him-- + +"Sire, are these your foes?" + +"Yea, sire," answered the King. + +"And would you that I should avenge you on them?" + +"Yea," answered he, "right willingly." + +So Aucassin took sword in hand, and throwing himself in the _melee_, +struck fiercely on the right and on the left, and slew many. When the +King saw the death that Aucassin dealt he snatched at his bridle and +cried-- + +"Hold, fair sire, deal not with them so cruelly." + +"What," said Aucassin, "was it not your wish that I should avenge you +on your enemies?" + +"Sire," replied the King, "too ready is such payment as yours. It is +not our custom, nor theirs, to fight a quarrel to the death." + +Thereon the foemen fled the field. + +The King and Aucassin returned in triumph to the castle of Torelore, +and the men of the country persuaded the King that he should cast +Aucassin forth from the realm, and give Nicolette to his son, for she +seemed a fair woman of high lineage. When Nicolette heard thereof she +had little comfort, so began to say-- + +Now is sung: + + Simple folk, and simple King, + Deeming maid so slight a thing. + When my lover finds me sweet, + Sweetly shapen, brow to feet, + Then know I such dalliance, + No delight of harp, or dance, + Sweetest tune, or fairest mirth, + All the play of all the earth + Seems aught of worth. + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Aucassin abode in the castle of Torelore in ease and great delight, +having with him Nicolette his sweet friend, whom he loved so well. +Whilst his days passed in so easy and delightful a manner a great +company of Saracens came in galleys oversea and beset the castle, and +presently took it by storm. They gathered together the spoil, and bore +off the townsfolk, both men and women, into captivity. Amongst these +were seized Nicolette and Aucassin, and having bound Aucassin, both +hands and feet, they flung him into one vessel, and bestowed Nicolette +upon another. Thereafter a great tempest arose at sea, and drove these +galleys apart. The ship whereon Aucassin lay bound, drifted idly, here +and there, on wind and tide, till by chance she went ashore near by the +castle of Beaucaire, and the men of that part hurrying to the wreck, +found Aucassin, and knew him again. When the men of Beaucaire saw their +lord they had much joy, for Aucassin had lived at the castle of +Torelore in all ease for three full years, and his father and his +mother were dead. They brought him to the castle of Beaucaire, and +knelt before him; so held he his realm in peace. + +Now is sung: + + Aucassin hath gained Beaucaire, + Men have done him homage there; + Holds he now in peace his fief, + Castellan and count and chief. + Yet with heaviness and grief + Goeth he in that fair place, + Lacking love and one sweet face; + Grieving more for one bright head + Than he mourneth for his dead. + "Dearest love, and lady kind, + Treasure I may never find, + God hath never made that strand + Far o'er sea or long by land, + Where I would not seek such prize + And merchandize." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +Now leave we Aucassin and let us tell of Nicolette. The ship which +carried Nicolette belonged to the King of Carthage, and he was her +father, and she had twelve brothers, all princes or kings in the land. +When they saw the beauty of the girl, they made much of her, and bore +her in great reverence, and questioned her straitly as to her degree, +for certainly she seemed to them a very gracious lady and of high +lineage. But she could not tell them aught thereof, for she was but a +little child when men sold her into captivity. So the oarsmen rowed +until the galley cast anchor beneath the city of Carthage, and when +Nicolette gazed on the battlements and the country round about, she +called to mind that there had she been cherished, and from thence borne +away when but an unripe maid; yet she was not snatched away so young +but that she could clearly remember that she was the daughter of the +King of Carthage, and once was nourished in the city. + +Now is sung: + + Nicolette, that maid demure, + Set her foot on alien shore; + Marked the city fenced with walls, + Gazed on palaces and halls. + Then she sighed, "Ah, little worth + All the pomp of all the earth, + Since the daughter of a king, + Come of Sultan's blood, they bring + Stripped to market, as a slave. + Aucassin, true heart and brave, + Sweet thy love upon me steals, + Urges, clamours, pleads, appeals; + Would to God that peril past + In my arms I held you fast; + Would to God that in this place + We were stayed in one embrace, + Fell your kisses on my face, + My dear, my fere." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When the King of Carthage heard Nicolette speak in this wise he put his +arms about her neck. + +"Fair sweet friend," said he, "tell me truly who you are, and be not +esmayed of me." + +"Sire," answered she, "truly am I daughter to the King of Carthage, and +was stolen away when but a little child, full fifteen years ago." + +When they heard her say this thing they were assured that her words +were true, so they rejoiced greatly, and brought her to the palace in +such pomp as became the daughter of a king. They sought to give her +some king of those parts as husband and baron, but she had no care to +marry. She stayed in the palace three or four days, and considered in +her mind by what means she might flee and seek Aucassin. So she +obtained a viol, and learned to play thereon; and when on a certain day +they would have given her in marriage to a rich king among the Paynim, +she rose at night and stole away secretly, wandering until she came to +the seaport, where she lodged with some poor woman in a house near the +shore. There, by means of a herb, she stained her head and face, so +that her fairness was all dark and discoloured; and having made herself +coat and mantle, shirt and hose, she equipped her in the guise of a +minstrel. Then, taking her viol, she sought out a sailor, and persuaded +him sweetly to grant her a passage in his ship. They hoisted sail, and +voyaged over the rough seas until they came to the land of Provence; +and Nicolette set foot on shore, carrying her viol, and fared playing +through the country, until she came to the castle of Beaucaire, in the +very place where Aucassin was. + +Now is sung: + + 'Neath the keep of strong Beaucaire + On a day of summer fair, + At his pleasure, Aucassin + Sat with baron, friend and kin. + Then upon the scent of flow'rs, + Song of birds, and golden hours, + Full of beauty, love, regret, + Stole the dream of Nicolette, + Came the tenderness of years; + So he drew apart in tears. + Then there entered to his eyes + Nicolette, in minstrel guise, + Touched the viol with the bow, + Sang as I will let you know. + "Lords and ladies, list to me, + High and low, of what degree; + Now I sing, for your delight, + Aucassin, that loyal knight, + And his fond friend, Nicolette. + Such the love betwixt them set + When his kinsfolk sought her head + Fast he followed where she fled. + From their refuge in the keep + Paynims bore them o'er the deep. + Nought of him I know to end. + But for Nicolette, his friend, + Dear she is, desirable, + For her father loves her well; + Famous Carthage owns him king, + Where she has sweet cherishing. + Now, as lord he seeks for her, + Sultan, Caliph, proud Emir. + But the maid of these will none, + For she loves a dansellon, + Aucassin, who plighted troth. + Sworn has she some pretty oath + Ne'er shall she be wife or bride, + Never lie at baron's side + Be he denied." + +Now they say and tell and relate: + +When Aucassin heard Nicolette sing in this fashion he was glad at +heart, so he drew her aside, and asked-- + +"Fair sweet friend," said Aucassin, "know you naught of this Nicolette, +whose ballad you have sung?" + +"Sire, truly, yes; well I know her for the most loyal of creatures, and +as the most winning and modest of maidens born. She is daughter to the +King of Carthage, who took her when Aucassin also was taken, and +brought her to the city of Carthage, till he knew for certain that she +was his child, whereat he rejoiced greatly. Any day he would give her +for husband one of the highest kings in all Spain; but rather would she +be hanged or burned than take him, however rich he be." + +"Ah, fair sweet friend," cried the Count Aucassin, "if you would return +to that country and persuade her to have speech with me here, I would +give you of my riches more than you would dare to ask of me or to take. +Know that for love of her I choose not to have a wife, however proud +her race, but I stand and wait; for never will there be wife of mine +if it be not her, and if I knew where to find her I should not need to +grope blindly for her thus." + +"Sire," answered she, "if you will do these things I will go and seek +her for your sake, and for hers too; because to me she is very dear." + +He pledged his word, and caused her to be given twenty pounds. So she +bade him farewell, and he was weeping for the sweetness of Nicolette. +And when she saw his tears-- + +"Sire," said she, "take it not so much to heart; in so short a space +will I bring her to this town, and you shall see her with your eyes." + +When Aucassin knew this he rejoiced greatly. So she parted from him, +and fared in the town to the house of the Viscountess, for the +Viscount, her god-father, was dead. There she lodged, and opened her +mind fully to the lady on all the business; and the Viscountess +recalled the past, and knew well that it was Nicolette whom she had +cherished. So she caused the bath to be heated, and made her take her +ease for fully eight days. Then Nicolette sought a herb that was called +celandine, and washed herself therewith, and became so fair as she had +never been before. She arrayed her in a rich silken gown from the +lady's goodly store; and seated herself in the chamber on a rich stuff +of broidered sendal; then she whispered the dame, and begged her to +fetch Aucassin, her friend. This she did. When she reached the palace, +lo, Aucassin in tears, making great sorrow for the long tarrying of +Nicolette, his friend; and the lady called to him, and said-- + +"Aucassin, behave not so wildly; but come with me, and I will show you +that thing you love best in all the world; for Nicolette, your sweet +friend, is here from a far country to seek her love." + +So Aucassin was glad at heart. + +Now is sung: + + When he learned that in Beaucaire + Lodged his lady, sweet and fair, + Aucassin arose, and came + To her hostel, with the dame: + Entered in, and passed straightway + To the chamber where she lay. + When she saw him, Nicolette + Had such joy as never yet; + Sprang she lightly to her feet + Swiftly came with welcome meet. + When he saw her, Aucassin + Oped both arms, and drew her in, + Clasped her close in fond embrace, + Kissed her eyes and kissed her face. + In such greeting sped the night, + Till, at dawning of the light, + Aucassin, with pomp most rare, + Crowned her Countess of Beaucaire. + Such delight these lovers met, + Aucassin and Nicolette. + Length of days and joy did win, + Nicolette and Aucassin, + Endeth song and tale I tell + With marriage bell. + + + + +THE STORY OF KING CONSTANT, THE EMPEROR + + +Now telleth the tale that once upon a time there lived an Emperor of +Byzantium, the which town is now called Constantinople, but in ancient +days it was called Byzantium. In days long since there reigned in this +city an Emperor; a Paynim he was, and was held to be a great clerk in +the laws of his religion. He was learned in a science called astronomy, +and knew the courses of the stars, the planets and the moon; moreover, +in the stars he read many marvels; he had knowledge of many things +which the Paynims study deeply, and had faith in divinations, and in +the answers of the Evil One--that is to say, the Adversary. He knew, +besides, much of enchantments and sorceries, as many a Paynim doth to +this very day. + +Now it chanced that the Emperor Muselin fared forth one night, he and a +certain lord of his together, and went their ways about this city of +Constantinople, and the moon shone very clear. They heard a Christian +woman, travailing of child, cry aloud as they passed before her house; +but the husband of this dame was set in the terrace upon his roof, and +now he prayed God to deliver her from her peril, and again he prayed +that she might not be delivered. When the Emperor had listened to his +words for a long time, he said to the knight-- + +"Have you heard this caitif who prays now that his wife may not be +delivered of her child, and again that she may be delivered? Surely he +is viler than any thief, for every man should show pity to woman, and +the greater pity to her in pain with child. But may Mahound and +Termagaunt aid me never if I hang him not by the neck, so he give me +not fair reason for this deed. Let us now go to him." + +So they went, and the Emperor spake him thus, "Caitif, tell me truly +why thou prayest thy God in this fashion, now that He should deliver +thy wife in her labour, and again that she should not be delivered; +this must I know!" + +"Sire," answered he, "I will tell you readily. Truly I am a clerk, and +know much of a science that men call astrology. I have learned, too, +the courses of the stars and the planets, and thus I knew well that +were my wife delivered in that hour when I prayed God to close her +womb, then the child must be for ever lost, and certainly would he be +hanged, or drowned, or set within the fire. But when I saw the hour was +good, and the case fair, then I prayed God that she might be delivered; +and I cried to Him, so that of His mercy He heard my prayer, and now +the boy is born to a goodly heritage; blessed be God and praised be His +Name." + +"Now tell me," said the King, "to what fair heritage is this child +born?" + +"Sire," said he, "with all my heart. Know, sire, of a truth that the +child born in this place shall have to wife the daughter of the Emperor +of this town, she who was born but eight days since, and shall become +Emperor and lord of this city, and of the whole world." + +"Caitif," cried the Emperor, "never can it come to pass as thou +sayest." + +"Sire," answered he, "so shall it be seen, and thus behoveth it to be." + +"Certes," said the Emperor, "great faith hath he who receives it." + +Then they went from the house, but the Emperor commanded his knight +that he should bear away the child in so privy a manner, if he were +able, that none should see the deed. The knight came again to the +house, and found two women in the chamber, diligently tending the +mother in her bed, but the child was wrapt in linen clothes, and was +laid upon a stool. Thereupon the knight entered the room, and set hands +upon the child, and placed him on a certain table used for chess, and +carried him to the Emperor, in so secret a fashion that neither nurse +nor mother saw aught thereof. Then the Emperor struck the child with a +knife, wounding him from the stomach to the navel, protesting to the +knight that never should son of such a miscreant have his daughter to +wife, nor come to sit upon his throne. He would even have plucked the +heart from out the breast, but the knight dissuaded him, saying-- + +"Ah, sire, for the love of God, what is this thing that you would do! +Such a deed becomes you naught, and if men heard thereof, great +reproach would be yours. Enough have you done, for he is more than dead +already. But if it be your pleasure to take further trouble in the +matter, give him to me, and I will cast him in the sea." + +"Yea," cried the Emperor, "throw him in the water, for I hate him too +much." + +The knight took the child, wrapped him in a piece of broidered silk, +and went with him towards the water. But on his way, pity came into his +heart, and he thought within himself that never should new-born babe be +drowned by him; so he set him, swathed in the silken cloth, on a warm +muck-heap, before the gate of a certain abbey of monks, who at that +hour were chanting matins. When the monks kept silence from their +singing, they heard the crying of the child, and carried him to the +Lord Abbot, who commanded that so fair a boy should be cherished of +them. So they unswathed him from the piece of stuff, and saw the grisly +wound upon his body. As soon, therefore, as it was day the Abbot sent +for physicians, and inquired of them at what cost they would cure the +child of his hurt; and they asked of him one hundred pieces of gold. +But he answered that such a sum was beyond his means, and that the +saving of the child would prove too costly. Then he made a bargain with +the surgeons to heal the child of his wound for eighty golden pieces; +and afterwards he brought him to the font, and caused him to be named +COUSTANT, because of his costing the abbey so great a sum to be made +whole. + +Whilst the doctors were about this business, the Abbot sought out a +healthy nurse, in whose breast the infant lay till he was healed of his +hurt, for his flesh was soft and tender, and the knife wound grew +together quickly, but ever after on his body showed the gash. The child +grew in stature, and to great beauty. When he was seven years old the +Abbot put him to school, where he proved so fair a scholar that he +passed all his class-mates in aptness and knowledge. When he was twelve +years of age the boy had come to marvellous beauty; no fairer could you +find in all the land; and when the Abbot saw how comely was the lad and +how gracious, he caused him to ride in his train when he went abroad. + +Now it chanced that the Abbot wished to complain to the Emperor of a +certain wrong that his servants had done to the abbey. So the Abbot +made ready a rich present, for the abbey and monastery were his +vassals, although this Emperor was but a Saracen. When the Abbot had +proffered his goodly gift, the Emperor appointed a time, three days +thence, to inquire into the matter, when he would lie at a castle of +his, some three miles out from the city of Byzantium. On the day fixed +by the Emperor, the Abbot got to horse, with his chaplain, his squire, +and his train; and amongst them rode Constant, so goodly in every whit +that all men praised his exceeding beauty, and said amongst themselves +that certainly he came of high peerage, and would rise to rank and +wealth. Thus rode the Abbot towards the castle where the Emperor lay, +and when they met, he greeted him and did him homage, and the Emperor +bade him to enter within the castle, where he would speak with him of +his wrong. The Abbot bowed before him and answered-- + +"Sire, as God wills." + +The Abbot called Constant to him, for the lad carried the prelate's hat +of felt, whilst he talked with the Emperor, and the Emperor gazed on +the varlet, and saw him so comely and winning, that never before had he +seen so fair a person. Then he asked who the boy was; and the Abbot +answered that he knew little, save that he was his man, and that the +abbey had nourished him from his birth--"and truly were this business +of ours finished, I could relate fine marvels concerning him." + +"Is this so?" said the Emperor; "come now with me to the castle, and +there you shall tell me the truth." + +The Emperor returned to the castle, and the Abbot was ever at his side, +as one who had a heavy business, and he made the best bargain that he +might, for the Emperor was his lord and suzerain. But the matter did +not put from the Emperor's mind the great beauty of the lad, and he +commanded the Abbot to bring the varlet before him. So the boy was sent +for, and came with speed. When Constant stood in the presence, the +Emperor praised his beauty, and said to the Abbot that it was a great +pity that so fair a child should be a Christian. The Abbot replied that +it was rather a great happiness, for one day he would render to God an +unspotted soul. When the Emperor heard this thing he laughed at his +folly, saying the laws of Christ were of nothing worth, and that hell +was the portion of such as put faith in them. Sorely grieved was the +Abbot when he heard the Paynim jest in this fashion, but he dared not +to answer as he wished, and spake soft words to him right humbly. + +"Sire, so it pleases the Almighty, such souls are not lost, for, with +all sinners, they go to the mercy of the Merciful." + +The Emperor inquired when the boy came to his hands, and the Abbot +replied that fifteen years before he was found by night on the +muck-heap before the abbey door. + +"Our monks heard the wail of a tiny child as they came from chanting +matins, so they searched for him, and carried him to me. I looked on +the child, and he was very fair, so that I bade them to take him to the +font and to cherish him duly. He was swathed in a rich stuff of scarlet +silk, and when he was unwrapped I saw on his stomach a grievous wound; +so I sent for doctors and surgeons, and bargained with them to cure him +of his hurt for eighty pieces of gold. Afterwards we baptized him, and +gave him the name of COUSTANT, because of his costing so great a sum to +be made whole. Yet, though he be healed of his wound, never will his +body lose the mark of that grisly gash." + +When the Emperor heard this story he knew well that it was the child +whom he had sought to slay in so felon a fashion; so he prayed the +Abbot to give the lad to his charge. Then replied the Abbot that he +would put the matter before his Chapter, but that for his own part the +boy should be given to the King very willingly. Never a word, for good +or evil, spake the King; so the Abbot took leave, and returned to the +monastery, and calling a Chapter of his monks, told them that the +Emperor demanded Constant from their hands. + +"But I answered that I must speak to you to know your pleasure therein. +Now answer if I have done aright." + +"What, sire, done rightly!" cried the gravest and wisest of all the +monks; "evilly and foolishly have you done in not giving him just what +he asked at once. If you will hear our counsel, send Constant to him +now as he requires, lest he be angry with us, for quickly can he do us +much mischief." + +Since it seemed to all the Chapter good that Constant should be sent to +the Emperor, the Abbot bade the prior to go upon this errand, and he +obeyed, saying, "As God pleases." + +He got to horse, and Constant with him, and riding to the Emperor, +greeted him in the name of the Abbot and the abbey; then taking +Constant by the hand, gave him to the Emperor formally, in such names +and in their stead. The Paynim received him as one angered that a +nameless man and vagabond must have a king's daughter to wife, and well +he thought in his heart to serve him some evil turn. + +When the Emperor held Constant in his power, he pondered deeply how he +might slay him, and no man speak a word. It chanced at this time that +the Emperor had business which called him to the frontier of his realm, +a very long way off, a full twelve days' journey. He set forth, +carrying Constant in his train, yet brooding how to do him to death; +and presently he caused letters to be written in this wise to the +castellan of Byzantium. + + "I, the Emperor of Byzantium, and lord of Greece, make him, + the governor of my city, to know that as soon as he shall + read this letter he shall slay, or cause to be slain, the + bearer of this letter, forthwith, upon the delivery thereof. + As your proper body to you is dear, so fail not this + command." + +Such was the letter Constant carried, and little he knew that it was +his death he held in hand. He took the warrant, which was closely +sealed, and set out upon his way, riding in such manner that in less +than fifteen days he reached Byzantium, the town we now call +Constantinople. When the varlet rode through the gate it was the +dinner-hour, so (by the will of God) he thought he would not carry his +letter to table, but would wait till men had dined. He came with his +horse to the palace garden, and the weather was very hot, for it was +near to Midsummer day. The pleasaunce was deep and beautiful, and the +lad unbitted his horse, loosened the saddle, and let him graze; then he +threw himself down beneath the shelter of a tree, and in that sweet and +peaceful place presently fell sound asleep. + +Now it happened that when the fair daughter of the Emperor had dined, +she entered the garden, and with her four of her maidens, and soon they +began to run one after the other, in such play as is the wont of +damsels when alone. Playing thus, the fair daughter of the Emperor +found herself beneath the tree where Constant lay sleeping, and he was +flushed as any rose. When the Princess saw him, she would not willingly +withdraw her eyes, saying to her own heart that never in her life had +she beheld so comely a person. Then she called to her that one of her +companions who was her closest friend, and made excuses to send the +others forth from the garden. The fair maiden took her playfellow by +the hand, and brought her towards the slumbering youth, saying-- + +"Sweet friend, here is rich and hidden treasure. Certes, never in all +my days have I seen so gracious a person. He is the bearer of letters, +and right willingly would I learn his news." + +The two damsels came near the sleeping lad, and softly withdrew the +letter. When the Princess read the warrant she began to weep very +bitterly, and said to her companion, "Certainly this is a heavy +matter." + +"Ah, madame," said her fellow, "tell me all the case." + +"Truly," answered the Princess, "could I but trust you fully, such +heaviness should soon be turned to joy." + +"Lady," replied she, "surely you may trust me; never will I make known +that which you desire to be hid." + +So that maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, caused her fellow to +pledge faith by all that she held most dear, and then she revealed what +the letter held; and the girl answered her-- + +"Lady, what would you do herein?" + +"I will tell you readily," said the Princess. "I will put within his +girdle another letter from my father in place of this, bidding the +castellan to give me as wife to this comely youth, and to call all the +people of this realm to the wedding banquet; for be sure that the youth +is loyal and true, and a man of peerage." + +When the maiden heard this she said within herself that such a turn +were good to play. + +"But, Lady, how may you get the seal of your father to the letter?" + +"Very easily," answered the Princess; "ere my father left for the +marches he gave me eight sheets of parchment, sealed at the foot with +his seal, but with nothing written thereon, and there will I set all +that I have told you." + +"Lady," said she, "right wisely have you spoken; but lose no time, and +hasten lest he awake." + +"I will go now," said the Princess. + +The fair maiden, the daughter of the Emperor, went straight to her +wedding chest, and drew therefrom one of the sealed parchments left her +by her father, so that she might borrow moneys in his name should +occasion arise. For, always was this king and his people at war with +felon and mighty princes whose frontiers were upon his borders. Thereon +she wrote her letter in such manner as this-- + + "I, King Muselin, Emperor of Greece and of Byzantium the + great city, to my Castellan of Byzantium greeting. I command + you to give the bearer of this letter to my fair daughter in + marriage, according to our holy law; for I have heard, and + am well persuaded, that he is of noble descent and right + worthy the daughter of a king. And, moreover, at such time + grant holiday and proclaim high festival to all burgesses of + the city, and throughout my realm." + +In such fashion wrote and witnessed the letter of that fair maiden the +daughter of the Emperor. So when her letter was finished she hastened +to the garden, she and her playmate together, and finding Constant yet +asleep, placed privily the letter beneath his girdle. Then the two +girls began to sing and to make such stir as must needs arouse him. The +lad awoke from his slumber, and was all amazed at the beauty of the +lady and her companion. They drew near, and the Princess gave him +gracious greeting, whereupon Constant got to his feet and returned her +salutation right courteously. She inquired of him as to his name and +his business, and he answered that he was the bearer of letters from +the Emperor to the governor of the city. The girl replied that she +would bring him at once to the presence of the castellan; so she took +him by the hand and led him within the palace; and all within the hall +rose at the girl's approach, and did reverence to their Lady. + +The demoiselle sought after the castellan, who was in his chamber, and +there she brought the varlet, who held forth his letter, and added +thereto the Emperor's greeting. The seneschal made much of the lad, +kissing his hand; but the maid for her part kissed both letter and +seal, as one moved with delight, for it was long since she had learned +her father's news. Afterwards she said to the governor that it were +well to read the dispatch in counsel together, and this she said +innocently as one who knew nothing of what was therein. To this the +castellan agreed, so he and the maiden passed to the council chamber +alone. Thereupon the girl unfolded the letter, and made it known to the +governor, and she seemed altogether amazed and distraught as she read. +But the castellan took her to task. + +"Lady, certainly the will of my lord your father must be done; +otherwise will his blame come upon us with a heavy hand." + +But the girl made answer to this-- + +"How, then, should I be married, and my lord and father far away? A +strange thing this would be; and certainly will I not be wed." + +"Ah, lady," cried the castellan, "what words are these? Your father's +letter biddeth you to marry, so give not nay for yea." + +"Sire," said the demoiselle, to whom time went heavy till all was +done--"speak you to the lords and dignitaries of this realm, and take +counsel together. So they deem that thus it must be, who am I to +gainsay them?" + +The castellan approved such modest and becoming words, so he took +counsel with the barons, and showed them his letter, and all agreed +that the letter must be obeyed, and the commandment of the Emperor +done. Thus was wedded according to Paynim ritual Constant, that comely +lad, to the fair daughter of the Emperor. The marriage feast lasted +fifteen days, and all Byzantium kept holiday and high festival; no +business was thought of in the city, save that of eating and drinking +and making merry. This was all the work men did. + +The Emperor tarried a long time in the borders of his land, but when +his task was ended he returned towards Byzantium. Whilst he was about +two days' journey from the city, there met him a messenger with letters +of moment. The King inquired of him as to the news of the capital, and +the messenger made answer that there men thought of nought else but +drinking and eating and taking their ease, and had so done for a whole +fortnight. + +"Why is this?" asked the Emperor. + +"Why, sire, do you not remember?" + +"Truly, no," said the Emperor; "so tell me the reason." + +"Sire," replied the varlet, "you sent to your castellan a certain +comely lad, and he bore with him letters from you commanding that he +should be wed to your daughter, the fair Princess, since after your +death he would be Emperor in your stead, for he was a man of lineage, +and well worthy so high a bride. But your daughter refused to marry +such an one, till the castellan had spoken with the lords; so he showed +the council your letter, and they all advised him to carry out your +will. When your daughter knew that they were all of one mind, she dared +no longer to withstand you, and consented to your purpose. In just such +manner as this was your daughter wedded, and a merrier city than yours +could no man wish to see." + +When the Emperor heard this thing from the messenger, he marvelled +beyond measure, and turned it over in his thoughts; so presently he +inquired of the varlet how long it was since Constant had wedded his +daughter, and whether he had bedded with her. + +"Yea, sire," answered the varlet, "and since it is more than three +weeks that they were married, perchance one day will she be mother as +well as wife." + +"Truly it were a happy hazard," said the Emperor, "and since the thing +has fallen thus, let me endure it with a smiling face, for nothing else +is left to do." + +The Emperor went on his way until he reached Byzantium, and all the +city gave him loyal greeting. Amongst those who came to meet him was +the fair Princess with her husband, Constant, so gracious in person +that no man was ever goodlier. The Emperor, who was a wise prince, made +much of both of them, and laid his two hands on their two heads, and +held them so for long, for such is the fashion of blessing amongst the +Paynim. That night the Emperor considered this strange adventure, and +how it must have chanced, and so deeply did he think upon it that well +he knew that the game had been played him by his daughter. He did not +reproach her, but bade them bring the letter he sent to the governor, +and when it was shown him he read the writing therein, and saw that it +was sealed with his very seal. So, seeing the way in which the thing +had come to pass, he said within himself that he had striven against +those things which were written in the stars. + +After this the Emperor made Constant, his newly wedded son, a belted +knight, and gave and delivered to him his whole realm in heritage after +his death. Constant bore himself wisely and well, as became a good +knight, bold and chivalrous, and defended the land right well against +all its foes. In no long while his lord the Emperor died, and was laid +in the grave, according to Paynim ritual, with great pomp and ceremony. +The Emperor Constant reigned in his stead, and greatly he loved and +honoured the Abbot who had cherished him, and he made him Chancellor of +his kingdom. Then, by the advice of the Abbot, and according to the +will of God, the All Powerful, the Emperor Constant brought his wife to +the font, and caused all men of that realm to be converted to the law +of Jesus Christ. He begot on his wife an heir, whom he christened +Constantine, and who became true Christian and a very perfect knight. +In his day was the city first called Constantinople, because of +Constant his father, who cost the abbey so great a sum, but before then +was the city known as Byzantium. + +So endeth in this place the story of King Constant the Emperor. + + + + +OUR LADY'S TUMBLER + + +Amongst the lives of the ancient Fathers, wherein may be found much +profitable matter, this story is told for a true ensample. I do not say +that you may not often have heard a fairer story, but at least this is +not to be despised, and is well worth the telling. Now therefore will I +say and narrate what chanced to this minstrel. + +He erred up and down, to and fro, so often and in so many places, that +he took the whole world in despite, and sought rest in a certain Holy +Order. Horses and raiment and money, yea, all that he had, he +straightway put from him, and seeking shelter from the world, was +firmly set never to put foot within it more. For this cause he took +refuge in this Holy Order, amongst the monks of Clairvaux. Now, though +this dancer was comely of face and shapely of person, yet when he had +once entered the monastery he found that he was master of no craft +practised therein. In the world he had gained his bread by tumbling and +dancing and feats of address. To leap, to spring, such matters he knew +well, but of greater things he knew nothing, for he had never spelled +from book--nor Paternoster, nor canticle, nor creed, nor Hail Mary, nor +aught concerning his soul's salvation. + +When the minstrel had joined himself to the Order he marked how the +tonsured monks spoke amongst themselves by signs, no words coming from +their lips, so he thought within himself that they were dumb. But when +he learned that truly it was by way of penance that speech was +forbidden to their mouths, and that for holy obedience were they +silent, then considered he that silence became him also; and he +refrained his tongue from words, so discreetly and for so long a space, +that day in, day out, he spake never, save by commandment; so that the +cloister often rang with the brothers' mirth. The tumbler moved amongst +his fellows like a man ashamed, for he had neither part nor lot in all +the business of the monastery, and for this he was right sad and +sorrowful. He saw the monks and the penitents about him, each serving +God, in this place and that, according to his office and degree. He +marked the priests at their ritual before the altars; the deacons at +the gospels; the sub-deacons at the epistles; and the ministers about +the vigils. This one repeats the introit; this other the lesson; +cantors chant from the psalter; penitents spell out the Miserere--for +thus are all things sweetly ordered--yea, and the most ignorant amongst +them yet can pray his Paternoster. Wherever he went, here or there, in +office or cloister, in every quiet corner and nook, there he found +five, or three, or two, or at least one. He gazes earnestly, if so he +is able, upon each. Such an one laments; this other is in tears; yet +another grieves and sighs. He marvels at their sorrow. Then he said, +"Holy Mary, what bitter grief have all these men that they smite the +breast so grievously! Too sad of heart, meseems, are they who make such +bitter dole together. Ah, St. Mary, alas, what words are these I say! +These men are calling on the mercy of God, but I--what do I here! Here +there is none so mean or vile but who serves God in his office and +degree, save only me, for I work not, neither can I preach. Caitif and +shamed was I when I thrust myself herein, seeing that I can do nothing +well, either in labour or in prayer. I see my brothers upon their +errands, one behind the other; but I do naught but fill my belly with +the meat that they provide. If they perceive this thing, certainly +shall I be in an evil case, for they will cast me out amongst the dogs, +and none will take pity on the glutton and the idle man. Truly am I a +caitif, set in a high place for a sign." Then he wept for very woe, and +would that he was quiet in the grave. "Mary, Mother," quoth he, "pray +now your Heavenly Father that He keep me in His pleasure, and give me +such good counsel that I may truly serve both Him and you; yea, and may +deserve that meat which now is bitter in my mouth." + +Driven mad with thoughts such as these, he wandered about the abbey +until he found himself within the crypt, and took sanctuary by the +altar, crouching close as he was able. Above the altar was carved the +statue of Madame St. Mary. Truly his steps had not erred when he sought +that refuge; nay, but rather, God who knows His own had led him thither +by the hand. When he heard the bells ring for Mass he sprang to his +feet all dismayed. "Ha!" said he; "now am I betrayed. Each adds his +mite to the great offering, save only me. Like a tethered ox, naught I +do but chew the cud, and waste good victuals on a useless man. Shall I +speak my thought? Shall I work my will? By the Mother of God, thus am I +set to do. None is here to blame. I will do that which I can, and +honour with my craft the Mother of God in her monastery. Since others +honour her with chant, then I will serve with tumbling." + +He takes off his cowl, and removes his garments, placing them near the +altar, but so that his body be not naked he dons a tunic, very thin and +fine, of scarce more substance than a shirt. So, light and comely of +body, with gown girt closely about his loins, he comes before the Image +right humbly. Then raising his eyes, "Lady," said he, "to your fair +charge I give my body and my soul. Sweet Queen, sweet Lady, scorn not +the thing I know, for with the help of God I will essay to serve you in +good faith, even as I may. I cannot read your Hours nor chant your +praise, but at the least I can set before you what art I have. Now will +I be as the lamb that plays and skips before his mother. Oh, Lady, who +art nowise bitter to those who serve you with a good intent, that which +thy servant is, that he is for you." + +Then commenced he his merry play, leaping low and small, tall and high, +over and under. Then once more he knelt upon his knees before the +statue, and meekly bowed his head. "Ha!" said he, "most gracious Queen, +of your pity and your charity scorn not this my service." Again he +leaped and played, and for holiday and festival, made the somersault of +Metz. Again he bowed before the Image, did reverence, and paid it all +the honour that he might. Afterwards he did the French vault, then the +vault of Champagne, then the Spanish vault, then the vaults they love +in Brittany, then the vault of Lorraine, and all these feats he did as +best he was able. Afterwards he did the Roman vault, and then, with +hands before his brow, danced daintily before the altar, gazing with a +humble heart at the statue of God's Mother. "Lady," said he, "I set +before you a fair play. This travail I do for you alone; so help me +God, for you, Lady, and your Son. Think not I tumble for my own +delight; but I serve you, and look for no other guerdon on my carpet. +My brothers serve you, yea, and so do I. Lady, scorn not your villein, +for he toils for your good pleasure; and, Lady, you are my delight and +the sweetness of the world." Then he walked on his two hands, with his +feet in the air, and his head near the ground. He twirled with his +feet, and wept with his eyes. "Lady," said he, "I worship you with +heart, with body, feet and hands, for this I can neither add to nor +take away. Now am I your very minstrel. Others may chant your praises +in the church, but here in the crypt will I tumble for your delight. +Lady, lead me truly in your way, and for the love of God hold me not in +utter despite." Then he smote upon his breast, he sighed and wept most +tenderly, since he knew no better prayer than tears. Then he turned him +about, and leaped once again. "Lady," said he, "as God is my Saviour, +never have I turned this somersault before. Never has tumbler done such +a feat, and, certes, it is not bad. Lady, what delight is his who may +harbour with you in your glorious manor. For God's love, Lady, grant me +such fair hostelry, since I am yours, and am nothing of my own." Once +again he did the vault of Metz; again he danced and tumbled. Then when +the chants rose louder from the choir, he, too, forced the note, and +put forward all his skill. So long as the priest was about that Mass, +so long his flesh endured to dance, and leap and spring, till at the +last, nigh fainting, he could stand no longer upon his feet, but fell +for weariness on the ground. From head to heel sweat stood upon him, +drop by drop, as blood falls from meat turning upon the hearth. "Lady," +said he, "I can no more, but truly will I seek you again." Fire +consumed him utterly. He took his habit once more, and when he was +wrapped close therein, he rose to his feet, and bending low before the +statue, went his way. "Farewell," said he, "gentlest Friend. For God's +love take it not to heart, for so I may I will soon return. Not one +Hour shall pass but that I will serve you with right good will, so I +may come, and so my service is pleasing in your sight." Thus he went +from the crypt, yet gazing on his Lady. "Lady," said he, "my heart is +sore that I cannot read your Hours. How would I love them for love of +you, most gentle Lady! Into your care I commend my soul and my body." + +In this fashion passed many days, for at every Hour he sought the crypt +to do service, and pay homage before the Image. His service was so much +to his mind that never once was he too weary to set out his most +cunning feats to distract the Mother of God, nor did he ever wish for +other play than this. Now, doubtless, the monks knew well enough that +day by day he sought the crypt, but not a man on earth--save God +alone--was aware of aught that passed there; neither would he, for all +the wealth of the world, have let his goings in be seen, save by the +Lord his God alone. For truly he believed that were his secret once +espied he would be hunted from the cloister, and flung once more into +the foul, sinful world, and for his part he was more fain to fall on +death than to suffer any taint of sin. But God considering his +simplicity, his sorrow for all he had wrought amiss, and the love which +moved him to this deed, would that this toil should be known; and the +Lord willed that the work of His friend should be made plain to men, +for the glory of the Mother whom he worshipped, and so that all men +should know and hear, and receive that God refuses none who seeks His +face in love, however low his degree, save only he love God and strive +to do His will. + +Now think you that the Lord would have accepted this service, had it +not been done for love of Him? Verily and truly, no, however much this +juggler tumbled; but God called him friend, because he loved Him much. +Toil and labour, keep fast and vigil, sigh and weep, watch and pray, +ply the sharp scourge, be diligent at Matins and at Mass, owe no man +anything, give alms of all you have--and yet, if you love not God with +all your heart, all these good deeds are so much loss--mark well my +words--and profit you naught for the saving of your soul. Without +charity and love, works avail a man nothing. God asks not gold, neither +for silver, but only for love unfeigned in His people's hearts, and +since the tumbler loved Him beyond measure, for this reason God was +willing to accept his service. + +Thus things went well with this good man for a great space. For more +years than I know the count of, he lived greatly at his ease, but the +time came when the good man was sorely vexed, for a certain monk +thought upon him, and blamed him in his heart that he was never set in +choir for Matins. The monk marvelled much at his absence, and said +within himself that he would never rest till it was clear what manner +of man this was, and how he spent the Hours, and for what service the +convent gave him bread. So he spied and pried and followed, till he +marked him plainly, sweating at his craft in just such fashion as you +have heard. "By my faith," said he, "this is a merry jest, and a fairer +festival than we observe altogether. Whilst others are at prayers, and +about the business of the House, this tumbler dances daintily, as +though one had given him a hundred silver marks. He prides himself on +being so nimble of foot, and thus he repays us what he owes. Truly it +is this for that; we chant for him, and he tumbles for us. We throw him +largesse: he doles us alms. We weep his sins, and he dries our eyes. +Would that the monastery could see him, as I do, with their very eyes; +willingly therefore would I fast till Vespers. Not one could refrain +from mirth at the sight of this simple fool doing himself to death with +his tumbling, for on himself he has no pity. Since his folly is free +from malice, may God grant it to him as penance. Certainly I will not +impute it to him as sin, for in all simplicity and good faith, I firmly +believe, he does this thing, so that he may deserve his bread." So the +monk saw with his very eyes how the tumbler did service at all the +Hours, without pause or rest, and he laughed with pure mirth and +delight, for in his heart was joy and pity. + +The monk went straight to the Abbot and told him the thing from +beginning to end, just as you have heard. The Abbot got him on his +feet, and said to the monk, "By holy obedience I bid you hold your +peace, and tell not this tale abroad against your brother. I lay on you +my strict command to speak of this matter to none, save me. Come now, +we will go forthwith to see what this can be, and let us pray the +Heavenly King, and His very sweet, dear Mother, so precious and so +bright, that in her gentleness she will plead with her Son, her Father, +and her Lord, that I may look on this work--if thus it pleases Him--so +that the good man be not wrongly blamed, and that God may be the more +beloved, yet so that thus is His good pleasure." Then they secretly +sought the crypt, and found a privy place near the altar, where they +could see, and yet not be seen. From there the Abbot and his monk +marked the business of the penitent. They saw the vaults he varied so +cunningly, his nimble leaping and his dancing, his salutations of Our +Lady, and his springing and his bounding, till he was nigh to faint. So +weak was he that he sank on the ground, all outworn, and the sweat fell +from his body upon the pavement of the crypt. But presently, in this +his need, came she, his refuge, to his aid. Well she knew that +guileless heart. + +Whilst the Abbot looked, forthwith there came down from the vault a +Dame so glorious, that certainly no man had seen one so precious, nor +so richly crowned. She was more beautiful than the daughters of men, +and her vesture was heavy with gold and gleaming stones. In her train +came the hosts of Heaven, angel and archangel also; and these pressed +close about the minstrel, and solaced and refreshed him. When their +shining ranks drew near, peace fell upon his heart; for they contended +to do him service, and were the servants of the servitor of that Dame +who is the rarest Jewel of God. Then the sweet and courteous Queen +herself took a white napkin in her hand, and with it, gently fanned her +minstrel before the altar. Courteous and debonair, the Lady refreshed +his neck, his body and his brow. Meekly she served him as a handmaid in +his need. But these things were hidden from the good man, for he +neither saw nor knew that about him stood so fair a company. + +The holy angels honour him greatly, but they can no longer stay, for +their Lady turns to go. She blesses her minstrel with the sign of God, +and the holy angels throng about her, still gazing back with delight +upon their companion, for they await the hour when God shall release +him from the burden of the world, and they possess his soul. + +This marvel the Abbot and his monk saw at least four times, and thus at +each Hour came the Mother of God with aid and succour for her man. +Never doth she fail her servants in their need. Great joy had the Abbot +that this thing was made plain to him. But the monk was filled with +shame, since God had shown His pleasure in the service of His poor +fool. His confusion burnt him like fire. "Dominus," said he to the +Abbot, "grant me grace. Certainly this is a holy man, and since I have +judged him amiss, it is very right that my body should smart. Give me +now fast or vigil or the scourge, for without question he is a saint. +We are witnesses to the whole matter, nor is it possible that we can be +deceived." But the Abbot replied, "You speak truly, for God has made us +to know that He has bound him with the cords of love. So I lay my +commandment upon you, in virtue of obedience, and under pain of your +person, that you tell no word to any man of that you have seen, save to +God alone and me." "Lord," said he, "thus I will do." On these words +they turned them, and hastened from the crypt; and the good man, having +brought his tumbling to an end, presently clothed himself in his habit, +and joyously went his way to the monastery. + +Thus time went and returned, till it chanced that in a little while the +Abbot sent for him who was so filled with virtue. When he heard that he +was bidden of the Abbot, his heart was sore with grief, for he could +think of nothing profitable to say. "Alas!" said he, "I am undone; not +a day of my days but I shall know misery and sorrow and shame, for well +I trow that my service is not pleasing to God. Alas! plainly doth He +show that it displeases Him, since He causes the truth to be made +clear. Could I believe that such work and play as mine could give +delight to the mighty God! He had no pleasure therein, and all my toil +was thrown away. Ah me, what shall I do? what shall I say? Fair, gentle +God, what portion will be mine? Either shall I die in shame, or else +shall I be banished from this place, and set up as a mark to the world +and all the evil thereof. Sweet Lady, St. Mary, since I am all +bewildered, and since there is none to give me counsel, Lady, come thou +to my aid. Fair, gentle God, help me in my need. Stay not, neither +tarry, but come quickly with Your Mother. For God's love, come not +without her, but hasten both to me in my peril, for truly I know not +what to plead. Before one word can pass my lips, surely will they bid +me 'Begone.' Wretched that I am, what reply is he to make who has no +advocate? Yet, why this dole, since go I must?" He came before the +Abbot, with the tears yet wet upon his cheeks, and he was still weeping +when he knelt upon the ground. "Lord," prayed he, "for the love of God +deal not harshly with me. Would you send me from your door? Tell me +what you would have me do, and thus it shall be done." Then replied the +Abbot, "Answer me truly. Winter and summer have you lived here for a +great space; now, tell me, what service have you given, and how have +you deserved your bread?" "Alas!" said the tumbler, "well I knew that +quickly I should be put upon the street when once this business was +heard of you, and that you would keep me no more. Lord," said he, "I +take my leave. Miserable I am, and miserable shall I ever be. Never yet +have I made a penny for all my juggling." But the Abbot answered, "Not +so said I; but I ask and require of you--nay, more, by virtue of holy +obedience I command you--to seek within your conscience and tell me +truly by what craft you have furthered the business of our monastery." +"Lord," cried he, "now have you slain me, for this commandment is a +sword." Then he laid bare before the Abbot the story of his days, from +the first thing to the last, whatsoever pain it cost him; not a word +did he leave out, but he told it all without a pause, just as I have +told you the tale. He told it with clasped hands, and with tears, and +at the close he kissed the Abbot's feet, and sighed. + +The holy Abbot leaned above him, and, all in tears, raised him up, +kissing both his eyes. "Brother," said he, "hold now your peace, for I +make with you this true covenant, that you shall ever be of our +monastery. God grant, rather, that we may be of yours, for all the +worship you have brought to ours. I and you will call each other +friend. Fair, sweet brother, pray you for me, and I for my part will +pray for you. And now I pray you, my sweet friend, and lay this bidding +upon you, without pretence, that you continue to do your service, even +as you were wont heretofore--yea, and with greater craft yet, if so you +may." "Lord," said he, "truly is this so?" "Yea," said the Abbot, "and +verily." So he charged him, under peril of discipline, to put all +doubts from his mind; for which reason the good man rejoiced so greatly +that, as telleth the rhyme, he was all bemused, so that the blood left +his cheeks, and his knees failed beneath him. When his courage came +back, his very heart thrilled with joy; but so perilous was that +quickening that therefrom he shortly died. But theretofore with a good +heart he went about his service without rest, and Matins and Vespers, +night and day, he missed no Hour till he became too sick to perform his +office. So sore was his sickness upon him that he might not rise from +his bed. Marvellous was the shame he proved when no more was he able to +pay his rent. This was the grief that lay the heaviest upon him, for of +his sickness he spake never a word, but he feared greatly lest he +should fall from grace since he travailed no longer at his craft. He +reckoned himself an idle man, and prayed God to take him to Himself +before the sluggard might come to blame. For it was bitter to him to +consider that all about him knew his case, so bitter that the burden +was heavier than his heart could bear, yet there without remedy he must +lie. The holy Abbot does him all honour; he and his monks chant the +Hours about his bed, and in these praises of God he felt such delight +that not for them would he have taken the province of Poitou, so great +was his happiness therein. Fair and contrite was his confession, but +still he was not at peace; yet why say more of this, for the hour had +struck, and he must rise and go. + +The Abbot was in that cell with all his monks; there, too, was company +of many a priest and many a canon. These all humbly watched the dying +man, and saw with open eyes this wonder happen. Clear to their very +sight, about that lowly bed, stood the Mother of God, with angel and +archangel, to wait the passing of his soul. Over against them were set, +like wild beasts, devils and the Adversary, so they might snatch his +spirit. I speak not to you in parable. But little profit had they for +all their coming, their waiting, and their straining on the leash. +Never might they have part in such a soul as his. When the soul took +leave of his body, it fell not in their hands at all, for the Mother of +God gathered it to her bosom, and the holy angels thronging round, +quired for joy, as the bright train swept to Heaven with its burthen, +according to the will of God. To these things the whole of the +monastery was witness, besides such others as were there. So knew they +and perceived that God sought no more to hide the love He bore to His +poor servant, but rather would that his virtues should be plain to each +man in that place; and very wonderful and joyful seemed this deed to +them. Then with meet reverence they bore the body on its bier within +the abbey church, and with high pomp commended their brother to the +care of God; nor was there monk who did not chant or read his portion +that day within the choir of the mighty church. + +Thus with great honour they laid him to his rest, and kept his holy +body amongst them as a relic. At that time spake the Abbot plainly to +their ears, telling them the story of this tumbler and of all his life, +just as you have heard, and of all that he himself beheld within the +crypt. No brother but kept awake during that sermon. "Certes," said +they, "easy is it to give credence to such a tale; nor should any doubt +your words, seeing that the truth bears testimony to itself, and +witness comes with need; yea, without any doubt have we full assurance +that his discipline is done." Great joy amongst themselves have all +within that place. + +Thus endeth the story of the minstrel. Fair was his tumbling, fair was +his service, for thereby gained he such high honour as is above all +earthly gain. So the holy Fathers narrate that in such fashion these +things chanced to this minstrel. Now, therefore, let us pray to God--He +Who is above all other--that He may grant us so to do such faithful +service that we may win the guerdon of His love. + +Here endeth the Tumbler of Our Lady. + + + + +THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD + + +Once upon a time, more than a hundred years ago, there lived a rich +villein whose name I cannot now tell, who owned meadows and woods and +waters, and all things which go to the making of a rich man. His manor +was so fair and so delightsome that all the world did not contain its +peer. My true story would seem to you but idle fable if I set its +beauty before you, for verily I believe that never yet was built so +strong a keep and so gracious a tower. A river flowed around this fair +domain, and enclosed an orchard planted with all manner of fruitful +trees. This sweet fief was builded by a certain knight, whose heir sold +it to a villein; for thus pass baronies from hand to hand, and town and +manor change their master, always falling from bad to worse. The +orchard was fair beyond content. Herbs grew there of every fashion, +more than I am able to name. But at least I can tell you that so sweet +was the savour of roses and other flowers and simples, that sick +persons, borne within that garden in a litter, walked forth sound and +well for having passed the night in so lovely a place. Indeed, so +smooth and level was the sward, so tall the trees, so various the +fruit, that the cunning gardener must surely have been a magician, as +appears by certain infallible proofs. + +Now in the middle of this great orchard sprang a fountain of clear, +pure water. It boiled forth out of the ground, but was always colder +than any marble. Tall trees stood about the well, and their leafy +branches made a cool shadow there, even during the longest day of +summer heat. Not a ray of the sun fell within that spot, though it were +the month of May, so thick and close was the leafage. Of all these +trees the fairest and the most pleasant was a pine. To this pine came a +singing bird twice every day for ease of heart. Early in the morning he +came, when monks chant their matins, and again in the evening, a little +after vespers. He was smaller than a sparrow, but larger than a wren, +and he sang so sweetly that neither lark nor nightingale nor blackbird, +nay, nor siren even, was so grateful to the ear. He sang lays and +ballads, and the newest refrain of the minstrel and the spinner at her +wheel. Sweeter was his tune than harp or viol, and gayer than the +country dance. No man had heard so marvellous a thing; for such was the +virtue in his song that the saddest and the most dolent forgot to +grieve whilst he listened to the tune, love flowered sweetly in his +heart, and for a space he was rich and happy as any emperor or king, +though but a burgess of the city or a villein of the field. Yea, if +that ditty had lasted a hundred years, yet would he have stayed the +century through to listen to so lovely a song, for it gave to every man +whilst he hearkened, love, and riches, and his heart's desire. + +But all the beauty of the pleasaunce drew its being from the song of +the bird; for from his chant flowed love which gives its shadow to the +tree, its healing to the simple, and its colour to the flower. Without +that song the fountain would have ceased to spring, and the green +garden become a little dry dust, for in its sweetness lay all their +virtue. + +The villein, who was lord of this domain, walked every day within his +garden to hearken to the bird. On a certain morning he came to the well +to bathe his face in the cold spring, and the bird, hidden close +within the pine branches, poured out his full heart in a delightful +lay, from which rich profit might be drawn. + +"Listen," chanted the bird in his own tongue, "listen to my voice oh, +knight, and clerk, and layman, ye who concern yourselves with love, and +suffer with its dolours: listen, also, ye maidens, fair and coy and +gracious, who seek first the gifts and beauty of the world. I speak +truth and do not lie. Closer should you cleave to God than to any +earthly lover, right willingly should you seek His altar, more firmly +should you hold to His commandment than to any mortal's pleasure. So +you serve God and Love in such fashion, no harm can come to any, for +God and Love are one. God loves sense and chivalry; and Love holds them +not in despite. God hates pride and false seeming; and Love loveth +loyalty. God praiseth honour and courtesy; and fair Love disdaineth +them not. God lendeth His ear to prayer; neither doth Love refuse it +her heart. God granteth largesse to the generous; but the grudging man, +and the envious, the felon and the wrathful, doth He abhor. But +courtesy and honour, good sense and loyalty, are the leal vassals of +Love, and so you hold truly to them, God and the beauty of the world +shall be added to you besides." + +Thus told the bird in his song. + +But when he saw the villein beneath the pine hearkening to his words, +straight he changed his note, for well he knew him to be covetous and +disloyal, and so he sang in quite another fashion. + +"Oh, river, cease to flow; crumble, thou manor, keep and tower; let the +grass wither with the rose, and the tall tree stand bare, for the +gentle dames and knights come no more who once delighted in my song, +and to whom this fountain was dear. In place of the brave and generous +knights, set upon honour, stands this envious churl, greedy of naught +but money. Those came to hear my song for solace, and for love of love; +he but to eat and drink the more, and for ease of his gluttony." + +And when the bird had thus spoken he took his flight. + +Now the villein, who had listened to this song, thought within himself +that might he snare so marvellous a bird, very easily could he sell him +at a great price; or if he might not sell him, at least he could set +him fast in a cage and hearken his lay at pleasure both early and late. +So he climbed within the tree and sought and searched and pried until +he marked the branch from whence the bird was wont to sing. There he +set a cunning snare, and waited to see what time should make clear. At +the hour of vespers the bird returned to the orchard, and lighting upon +the branch was fast taken in the net. Then the villein came forth, and +mounting quickly, joyously seized him in his hand. + +"Small profit will you have of your labour," said the bird, "for I can +pay but a poor ransom." + +"At least I shall be paid in songs," answered the villein. "You were +wont to sing for your own pleasure, now you will carol for mine." + +"Think not so," replied the bird. "He who is used to the freedom of +wood and meadow and river cannot live prisoned in a cage. What solace +may I find there, or joy? Open your hand, fair sweet friend, for be +assured no captive has a heart for songs." + +"By my faith, then, you shall be served at table." + +"Never will you have dined worse, for there is nothing of me. I pray +you to let me go, for it were a sin to slay me." + +"By my faith, you talk and talk; the more you plead, the less will I +grant." + +"Certes," answered the bird, "you are in your right, for such is the +law. Many a time have I heard tell that the uncharitable granteth no +alms. But there is a proverb that teaches that often man gives in his +own interest what cannot be taken from him by force. Now, if you +release me from this net I will make you free of three secrets which +are little known to men of your lineage, and from which you may draw +much profit." + +"Tell me these secrets," said the villein, "and I will open my hand." + +"Such faith have I in you," answered the bird, "that I will speak only +when you free me from the snare." + +The villein opened his hand, and the bird flew to a place of surety. +His feathers were all ruffled, for he had been grossly handled by a +glove not of silk but of wool, so he preened and plumed himself +carefully with his beak. But the villein grew impatient, and urged him +to pay his ransom. Now the bird was full of guile, so presently he made +answer to the churl. + +"Hear now the first of my three weighty secrets--Do not believe all +that you may hear." + +The villein frowned with anger, and answered that he knew it well. + +"Fair friend, forget it never," replied the bird. + +"Much I fear that I did foolishly in letting you from the snare. This +secret was plain to me before; but now tell me the two others." + +"They are fair and wise," said the bird. "Listen well to my second +weighty secret--Do not regret what you have never lost." + +"You mock me," cried the villein, "and do wrong to the faith you +plighted with me. You pledged your word to tell me three secrets known +but little to men of such lineage as mine, and you give me musty +proverbs told over by all the world. Certes, what manner of man is he +who weeps over what he has never had!" + +"Shall I tell it once again," replied the bird, "for great fear have I +lest it should travel from your mind." + +"By my head," answered the villein, "I am a fairer scholar than you +think. These two proverbs have naught to teach me; but hold truly to +our covenant and bargain, and let the third secret contain a graver +matter." + +"Listen well to my third secret," said the bird, "for he who receives +it shall never be poor." + +"Ah, tell me this secret quickly," cried the churl, "for it draws near +the hour of meat, and truly, beyond all things, do I desire to grow +rich." + +Now when the bird heard him-- + +"This be thy punishment, oh, thou false churl--What you hold in your +hand, never throw between your feet." + +Then was the villein all wrathful; but when words came to him to speak, +he said-- + +"And are these your three mighty secrets! Why, these are but children's +riddles, which I have known ever since I was born. You have but lied to +me, and of all your teaching had I full knowledge long before." + +"By my faith," responded the bird, "had you known my third secret never +would you have let me from your hand." + +"You say well," said the villein, "but at least knew I the two other +proverbs." + +"Ah," said the bird, with malice, "but this proverb was worth a hundred +of the others." + +"In what manner?" inquired the villein. + +"What, know you not what has chanced to you? Had you slain me when I +was in your power that day would have been the happiest of your life. +For in my body is a jewel, so precious and so rare, that it weighs at +least three ounces. Yea, the virtue of this stone is such that he who +owns it has but to wish, and lo, his desire is fulfilled." + +When the villein heard this thing he beat upon his breast, he tore his +raiment, and disfigured his face with his nails, crying out that he was +wretched and undone. The bird from his refuge in the tree rejoiced +greatly to observe the churl's miserable plight, and said nothing till +his enemy's clothes were torn to rags, and his hands sore wounded in +many places. Then he spake-- + +"Miserable churl, when you held me fast in your rude hand, easy was it +to know that I was no larger than a sparrow or a finch, and weighed +less than half an ounce. How, then, could a precious stone, three +ounces in weight, be hid in my body? Now will I prove to you that of my +three secrets you understood not a single one. You asked me what man +was fool enough to weep over that which he had never lost, and even now +I watch your tears fall for a jewel which was never yours, nor will be +ever. You had faith in all that I was pleased to tell you, trusting all +you heard; and in your folly you flung the bird you held in hand +between your very feet. Fair friend, con over my three secrets, and +learn wisdom even from the counsel of a bird." + +When he had spoken thus he took his flight, and from that hour the +orchard knew him no more. With the ceasing of his song the leaves +withered from the pine, the garden became a little dry dust, and the +fountain forgot to flow. Thus the rich villein lost his pleasaunce, +which once was fair beyond content. And remember well, fair lords and +dames, that truly speaks the proverb, "He who covet another's good, oft +loses his own," as we may learn from the "Lay of the Little Bird." + + + + +THE DIVIDED HORSECLOTH + + +Each owes it to his fellows to tell as best he may, or, better still, +to write with fair enticing words, such deeds and adventures as are +good and profitable for us to know. For as men come and go about their +business in the world, many things are told them which it is seemly to +keep in remembrance. Therefore, it becomes those who say and relate, +diligently and with fair intent to keep such matters in thought and +study, even as did our fathers before us. Theirs is the school to which +we all should pass, and he who would prove an apt scholar, and live +beyond his day, must not be idle at his task. But the world dims our +fine gold: the minstrel is slothful, and singers forget to sing, +because of the pain and travail which go to the finding of their songs. +So without waiting for any to-morrow, I will bring before you a certain +adventure which chanced, even as it was told to me. + +Some seven years ago it befell that a rich burgess of Abbeville +departed from the town, together with his wife, his only son, and all +his wealth, his goods and plenishing. This he did like a prudent man, +since he found himself at enmity with men who were stronger and of more +substance than he. So, fearing lest a worse thing should bechance him, +from Abbeville he went up to Paris. There he sought a shop and +dwelling, and paying his service, made himself vassal and burgess of +the King. The merchant was diligent and courteous, his wife smiling and +gracious, and their son was not given over to folly, but went soberly, +even as his parents taught him. Much were they praised of their +neighbours, and those who lived in the same street often set foot in +their dwelling. For very greatly are those loved and esteemed by their +fellows who are courteous in speech and address. He who has fair words +in his mouth receives again sweet words in his ear, and foul words and +foul deeds bring naught but bitterness and railing. Thus was it with +this prudent merchant. For more than seven years he went about his +business, buying and selling, concerning himself with matters of which +he had full knowledge, putting by of his earnings a little every day, +like a wise and worthy citizen. So this wealthy merchant lived a happy +blameless life, till, by the will of God, his wife was taken from him, +who had been his companion for some thirty years. Now these parents had +but one only child, a son, even as I have told you before. Very +grievously did he mourn the death of her who had cherished him so +softly, and lamented his mother with many tears, till he came nigh to +swoon. Then, to put a little comfort in his heart, his father said to +him-- + +"Fair son, thy mother is dead, and we will pray to God that He grant +her mercy in that day. But dry now thine eyes and thy face, for tears +can profit thee nothing. By that road we all must go, neither can any +man pass Death upon the way, nor return to bring us any word. Fair son, +for thee there is goodly comfort. Thou art a young bachelor, and it is +time to take thee a wife. I am full of years, and so I may find thee a +fair marriage in an honourable house I will endow thee with my +substance. I will now seek a bride for thee of birth and breeding--one +of family and descent, one come of ancient race, with relations and +friends a gracious company, a wife from honest folk and from an honest +home. There, where it is good and profitable to be, I will set thee +gladly, nor of wealth and moneys shalt thou find a lack." + +Now in that place were three brethren, knights of high lineage, cousins +to mighty lords of peerage, bearing rich and honourable blazons on +their shields. But these knights had no heritage, since they had pawned +all that they owned of woods and houses and lands, the better to take +their pleasure at the tourney. Passing heavy and tormented were these +brethren because in no wise might they redeem their pledge. The eldest +of these brothers had a daughter, but the mother of the maid was dead. +Now this damsel owned in Paris a certain fair house, over against the +mansion of the wealthy merchant. The house was not of her father's +heritage, but came to her from her mother, who had put the maid in ward +to guardians, so that the house was free from pledge. She received in +rent therefrom the sum of twenty Paris pounds every year, and her dues +were paid her right willingly. So the merchant, esteeming her a lady of +family and estate, demanded her hand in marriage of her father and of +all her friends. The knight inquired in his turn of the means and +substance of the merchant, who answered very frankly-- + +"In merchandise and in moneys I have near upon fifteen hundred pounds. +Should I tell you that I had more, I should lie, and speak not the +truth. I have besides one hundred Paris pounds, which I have gained in +honest dealings. Of all this I will give my son the half." + +"Fair sir," made answer the knight, "in no wise can this be agreed to. +Had you become a Templar, or a White or a Black monk you would have +granted the whole of your wealth either to the Temple or your Abbey. By +my faith, we cannot consent to so grudging an offer, certes, sir +merchant, no." + +"Tell me then what you would have me do." + +"Very willingly, fair, dear sir. We would that you grant to your son +the sum and total of your substance, so that he be seised of all your +wealth, and this in such fashion that neither you, nor any in your +name, may claim return of any part thereof. If you consent to this the +marriage can be made, but otherwise he shall never wed our child and +niece." + +The merchant turned this over for a while, now looking upon his son, +now deep in thought. But very badly he was served of all his thought +and pondering. For at the last he made reply to him and said-- + +"Lord, it shall even be done according to your will. This is our +covenant and bargain, that so your daughter is given to my son I will +grant him all that I have of worth. I take this company as witness that +here I strip myself of everything I own, so that naught is mine, but +all is his, of what I once was seised and possessed." + +Thus before the witnesses he divested himself utterly of all his +wealth, and became naked as a peeled wand in the eyes of the world, for +this merchant now had neither purse nor penny, nor wherewithal to break +his fast, save it were given him by his son. So when the words were +spoken and the merchant altogether spoiled, then the knight took his +daughter by the hand and handfasted her with the bachelor, and she +became his wife. + +For two years after this marriage the husband and the dame lived a +quiet and peaceful life. Then a fair son was born to the bachelor, and +the lady cherished and guarded him fondly. With them dwelt the merchant +in the same lodging, but very soon he perceived that he had given +himself a mortal blow in despoiling himself of his substance to live on +the charity of others. But perforce he remained of their household for +more than twelve years, until the lad had grown up tall, and began to +take notice, and to remember that which often he heard of the making of +his father's marriage. And well he promised himself that it should +never go from mind. + +The merchant was full of years. He leaned upon his staff, and went bent +with age, as one who searches for his lost youth. His son was weary of +his presence, and would gladly have paid for the spinning of his +shroud. The dame, who was proud and disdainful, held him in utter +despite, for greatly he was against her heart. Never was she silent, +but always was she saying to her lord-- + +"Husband, for love of me, send your father upon his business. I lose +all appetite just for the sight of him about the house." + +"Wife," answered he, "this shall be done according to your wish." + +So because of his wife's anger and importunity, he sought out his +father straightway, and said-- + +"Father, father, get you gone from here. I tell you that you must do +the best you can, for we may no longer concern ourselves with you and +your lodging. For twelve years and more we have given you food and +raiment in our house. Now all is done, so rise and depart forthwith, +and fend for yourself, as fend you must." + +When the father heard these words he wept bitterly, and often he cursed +the day and the hour in which he found he had lived too long. + +"Ah, fair, sweet son, what is this thou sayest to me! For the love of +God turn me not from thy door. I lie so close that thou canst not want +my room. I require of thee neither seat in the chimney corner, nor soft +bed of feathers, no, nor carpet on the floor; but only the attic, where +I may bide on a little straw. Throw me not from thy house because I +eat of thy bread, but feed me without grudging for the short while I +have to live. In the eyes of God this charity will cover all thy sins +better than if thou went in haircloth next the flesh." + +"Fair father," replied the bachelor, "preach me no preachings, but get +you forth at once, for reason that my wife would have you gone." + +"Fair son, where then shall I go, who am esteemed of nothing worth?" + +"Get you gone to the town, for amongst ten thousand others very easily +you may light on good fortune. Very unlucky you will be if there you +cannot find a way to live. Seek your fortune bravely. Perchance some of +your friends and acquaintance will receive you into their houses." + +"Son, how then shall men take me to their lodging, when you turn me +from the house which I have given you? Why should the stranger welcome +that guest whom the son chases from his door? Why should I be received +gladly by him to whom I have given naught, when I am evilly entreated +of the rich man for whose sake I go naked?" + +"Father," said he, "right or wrong, I take the blame upon my own head; +but go you must because it is according to my will." + +Then the father grieved so bitterly that for a little his very heart +would have broken. Weak as he was, he raised himself to his feet and +went forth from the house, weeping. + +"Son," said he, "I commend thee to God; but since thou wilt that I go, +for the love of Him give me at least a portion of packing cloth to +shelter me against the wind. I am asking no great matter; nothing but a +little cloth to wrap about me, because I am but lightly clad, and fear +to die for reason of the cold." + +Then he who shrank from any grace of charity made reply-- + +"Father, I have no cloth, so neither can I bestow, nor have it taken +from me." + +"Fair, sweet son, my heart trembles within me, so greatly do I dread +the cold. Give me, then, the cloth you spread upon your horse, so that +I come to no evil." + +So he, seeing that he might not rid himself of his father save by the +granting of a gift, and being desirous above all that he should part, +bade his son to fetch this horsecloth. When the lad heard his father's +call he sprang to him, saying-- + +"Father, what is your pleasure?" + +"Fair son," said he, "get you to the stable, and if you find it open +give my father the covering that is upon my horse. Give him the best +cloth in the stable, so that he may make himself a mantle or a habit, +or any other sort of cloak that pleases him." + +Then the lad, who was thoughtful beyond his years, made answer-- + +"Grandsire, come now with me." + +So the merchant went with him to the stable, exceedingly heavy and +wrathful. The lad chose the best horsecloth he might find in the +stable, the newest, the largest, and the most fair; this he folded in +two, and drawing forth his knife, divided the cloth in two portions. +Then he bestowed on his grandfather one half of the sundered +horsecloth. + +"Fair child," said the old man, "what have you done? Why have you cut +the cloth that your father has given me? Very cruelly have you treated +me, for you were bidden to give me the horsecloth whole. I shall +return and complain to my son thereof." + +"Go where you will," replied the boy, "for certainly you shall have +nothing more from me." + +The merchant went forth from the stable. + +"Son," said he, "chastise now thy child, since he counts thy word as +nothing but an idle tale, and fears not to disobey thy commandment. +Dost thou not see that he keeps one half of the horsecloth?" + +"Plague take thee!" cried the father; "give him all the cloth." + +"Certes," replied the boy, "that will I never do, for how then shall +you be paid? Rather will I keep the half until I am grown a man, and +then give it to you. For just as you have chased him from your house, +so I will put you from my door. Even as he has bestowed on you all his +wealth, so, in my turn, will I require of you all your substance. +Naught from me shall you carry away, save that only which you have +granted to him. If you leave him to die in his misery, I wait my day, +and surely will leave you to perish in yours." + +The father listened to these words, and at the end sighed heavily. He +repented him of the evil that he purposed, and from the parable that +his child had spoken took heed and warning. Turning himself about +towards the merchant, he said-- + +"Father, return to my house. Sin and the Enemy thought to have caught +me in the snare, but, please God, I have escaped from the fowler. You +are master and lord, and I render all that I have received into your +hands. If my wife cannot live with you in quiet, then you shall be +served and cherished elsewhere. Chimney corner, and carpet, pillow and +bed of feathers, at your ease you shall have pleasure in them all. I +take St. Martin to witness that never will I drink stoup of wine, +never carve morsel from dish, but that yours shall be the richer +portion. Henceforth you shall live softly in the ceiled chamber, near +by a blazing fire, clad warmly in your furred robe, even as I. And all +this is not of charity, but of your right, for, fair sweet father, if I +am rich it is because of your substance." + +Thus the brave witness and the open remonstrance of a child freed his +father from the bad thoughts that he harboured. And deeply should this +adventure be considered of those who are about to marry their children. +Let them not strip themselves so bare as to have nothing left. For he +who gives all, and depends upon the charity of others, prepares a rod +for his own back. + + + + +SIR HUGH OF TABARIE + + +In the years when Saladin was King, there lived a Prince in Galilee, +who was named Sir Hugh of Tabarie. On a day he was with other Christian +men who gave battle to the Turks, and, since it pleased God to cast His +chivalry behind Him, Sir Hugh was taken prisoner, and many another +stout knight with him. When dusk closed down on the field, the Prince +was led before Saladin, who, calling him straightway to mind, rejoiced +greatly and cried-- + +"Ah, Sir Hugh, now are you taken." + +"Sire," answered the brave knight, "the greater grief is mine." + +"By my faith, Hugh, every reason have you for grief, since you must +either pay your ransom or die." + +"Sire, I am more fain to pay ransom than to die, if by any means I may +find the price you require of me." + +"Is that truly so?" said the King. + +"Sire," said Sir Hugh, "in the fewest words, what is the sum you demand +of me?" + +"I ask of you," replied the King, "one hundred thousand besants." + +"Sire, such a sum is too great a ransom for a man of my lands to pay." + +"Hugh," said the King, "you are so good a knight, and so hardy, that +there is none who hears of your prison and this ransom, but will gladly +send of his riches for your ease." + +"Sire," said he, "since thus it must be, I promise to pay the sum you +require, but what time do you grant me to find so mighty a ransom?" + +"Hugh," said the King, "I accord you the grace of one year. If within +the year you count me out the tale of these besants, I will take it +gladly; but if you fail to gain it, then must you return to your +prison, and I will hold you more willingly still." + +"Sire, I pledge my word and my faith. Now deliver me such a safe +conduct that I may return in surety to my own land." + +"Hugh, before you part I have a privy word to speak to you." + +"Sire, with all my heart, and where?" + +"In this tent, close by." + +When they were entered into the pavilion, the Emperor Saladin sought to +know of Sir Hugh in what fashion a man was made knight of the Christian +chivalry, and required of him that he should show it to his eyes. + +"Sire, whom then should I dub knight?" + +"Myself," answered the King. + +"Sire, God forbid that I should be so false as to confer so high a gift +and so fair a lordship even upon the body of so mighty a prince as +you." + +"But wherefore?" said the King. + +"For reason, sire, that your body is but an empty vessel." + +"Empty of what, Sir Hugh?" + +"Sire, of Christianity and of baptism." + +"Hugh," said he, "think not hardly of me because of this. You are in my +hand, and if you do the thing that I require of you, what man is there +to blame you greatly when you return to your own realm. I seek this +grace of you, rather than of another, because you are the stoutest and +most perfect knight that ever I may meet." + +"Sire," said he, "I will show you what you seek to know, for were it +but the will of God that you were a christened man, our chivalry would +bear in you its fairest flower." + +"Hugh," said he, "that may not be." + +Thereupon Sir Hugh made ready all things necessary for the making of a +knight; and having trimmed the hair and beard of the King in seemly +fashion, he caused him to enter within a bath, and inquired-- + +"Sire, do you understand the meaning of this water?" + +"Hugh, of this I know nothing." + +"Sire, as the little child comes forth from the waters of baptism clean +of sin, so should you issue from this bath washed pure of all stain and +villainy." + +"By the law of the Prophet, Sir Hugh, it is a fair beginning." + +Then Sir Hugh brought the Sultan before an untouched bed, and having +laid him therein, he said-- + +"Sire, this bed is the promise of that long rest in Paradise which you +must gain by the toils of chivalry." + +So when the King had lain softly therein for a little space, Sir Hugh +caused him to stand upon his feet, and having clothed him in a fair +white vesture of linen and of silk, said-- + +"Sire, this spotless stole you first put on is but the symbol of a body +held and guarded clean." + +Afterwards he set upon the King a gown of scarlet silk, and said-- + +"Sire, this vermeil robe keeps ever in your mind the blood a knight +must shed in the service of his God and the defence of Holy Church." + +Then taking the King's feet in his hands, he drew thereon shoes of +brown leather, saying-- + +"Sire, these brown shoes with which you are shod, signify the colour of +that earth from which you came, and to which you must return; for +whatever degree God permits you to attain, remember, O mortal man, that +you are but dust." + +Then Sir Hugh raised the Sultan to his feet, and girt him with a white +baldrick, saying-- + +"Sire, this white cincture I belt about your loins is the type of that +chastity with which you must be girded withal. For he who would be +worthy of such dignity as this must ever keep his body pure as any +maid." + +After this was brought to Sir Hugh a pair of golden spurs, and these he +did upon the shoes with which the Sultan was shod, saying-- + +"Sire, so swiftly as the destrier plunges in the fray at the prick of +these spurs, so swiftly, so joyously, should you fight as a soldier of +God for the defence of Holy Church." + +Then at the last Hugh took a sword, and holding it before the King, +said-- + +"Sire, know you the three lessons of this glaive?" + +"What lessons are these?" + +"Courage, justice and loyalty. The cross at the hilt of his sword gives +courage to the bearer, for when the brave knight girds his sword upon +him he neither can, nor should, fear the strong Adversary himself. +Again, sire, the two sharp edges of the blade teach loyalty and +justice, for the office of chivalry is this, to sustain the weak +against the strong, the poor before the rich, uprightly and loyally." + +The King listened to all these words very heedfully, and at the end +inquired if there was nothing more that went to the making of a +knight. + +"Sire, there is one thing else, but that I dare not do." + +"What thing is this?" + +"It is the accolade." + +"Grant me now this accolade, and tell me the meaning thereof." + +"Sire, the accolade is a blow upon the neck given with a sword, and the +significance thereof is that the newly made knight may always bear in +mind the lord who did him that great courtesy. But such a stroke will I +not deal to you, for it is not seemly, since I am here your prisoner." + +That night Saladin, the mighty Sultan, feasted in his chamber, with the +fifty greatest lords of his realm, emirs, governors and admirals, and +Sir Hugh of Tabarie sat on a cushion at his feet. At the close of the +banquet Sir Hugh rose up before the King and said-- + +"Sire, grant me grace. I may not forget that you bade me to seek out +all fair and honourable lords, since there is none who would not gladly +come to my help in this matter of my ransom. But, fair Sir King, in all +the world shall I never find a lord so wise, so hardy, and so courteous +as yourself. Since you have taught me this lesson, it is but just and +right that I should pray you to be the first to grant me aid herein." + +Then Saladin laughed loudly out of a merry heart, and said-- + +"Pray God that the end be as sweet as the beginning. Truly, Sir Hugh, I +will not have it on my conscience that you miss your ransom because of +any meanness of mine, and therefore, without guile, for my part I will +give you fifty thousand good besants." + +Then the great Sultan rose from his throne, and taking Prince Hugh with +him, came to each of the lords in turn--emir, governor and +admiral--and prayed of him aid in the business of this ransom. So all +the lords gave largely out of a good heart, in such measure that Sir +Hugh presently acquitted himself of his ransom, and returned to his own +realm from amongst the Paynim. + + + + +THE STORY OF KING FLORUS AND OF THE FAIR JEHANE + + +Here begins the story of a certain King who was named King Florus of +Ausay. This King Florus was a very stout knight, and a gentleman of +proud descent. He was wedded to the daughter of the Prince of Brabant, +a gentlewoman of high lineage. Very fair was the maid when she became +his dame, slender of shape and dainty of fashion, and the story telleth +that she was but fifteen summers old when King Florus became her lord, +and he was but of seventeen years. A right happy life they passed +together, as becometh bride and groom who wed fondly in their youth; +yet because he might have no child of her King Florus was often dolent, +and she for her part was vexed full grievously. This lady was very +gracious of person, and very devout towards God and Holy Church. She +gave alms willingly, and was so charitable that she nourished and +clothed the needy, kissing their hands and feet. Moreover, so constant +and private in service was she to the lepers of the lazar house, both +men and women, that the Holy Ghost dwelt within her. Her lord, King +Florus, so long as his realm had peace, rode forth as knight-errant to +all the tournaments in Allemaigne and France and many other lands of +which the noise reached him; thereon he spent much treasure, and gained +great honour thereby. + +But now my tale ceases to speak of him, and telleth of a knight who +dwelt in the marches of Flanders and of Hainault. This knight was wise +in counsel, and brave of heart, very sure and trusty. He had to wife a +right fair lady, of whom he had one daughter, young and fresh, named +Jehane, a maid of some twelve years. Many sweet words were spoken of +this maiden, for in all the country round was none so fair. Her mother +prayed often to her lord that he should grant the girl in marriage, but +so given were all his thoughts to the running of tourneys that he +considered nothing of the trothing of his child, though his wife +admonished him ever on his return from the jousts. + +This knight had for squire a man named Robert, the bravest squire in +any Christian realm. His prowess and his praise were such that oft he +aided his lord to bear away the prize from the tournaments whereat he +ran. So great was his praise that his lady spake him thus-- + +"Robert, more careth my lord for these joustings than for any words I +speak, which thing is grievous to me, for I would that he gave care and +pains to wed this daughter of mine. I pray you, therefore, for love of +me, that if you may, you tell him that very ill he does, and is greatly +to be blamed, not to marry his own fair child, for there is no knight +of these parts, however rich his state, who would not gladly welcome +such a bride." + +"Lady," said Robert, "you have well spoken. Very readily will I speak +thereof, and since my lord asks often of my counsel, every hope have I +that he will take heed to my words." + +"Robert," said the lady, "you will find me no niggard, so you do this +task." + +"Lady," said Robert, "your prayer is guerdon enough for me. Be assured +I will do all that I may." + +"I am content," returned the lady. + +Now within a little space the knight made ready to fare to a +tournament very far from his land. When he came to the field, he (with +a certain knight in whose company he rode) was joined to one party, and +his banner was carried to the lodging of his lord. The tilting began, +and such deeds did the knight, by the cunning service of his squire, +that he bore off the honour and the prize of that tourney from the one +side and the other. On the second day the knight prepared to return to +his own country; so Robert took him often to task and blamed him +greatly that he had not bestowed his fair daughter in marriage. Having +heard this many times, at the end his lord replied-- + +"Robert, thou and thy lady give me no peace in the matter of the +marriage of my daughter; but at present I see and know of none in my +parts to whom I am content to give her." + +"Ah, sir," cried Robert, "there is no knight in your realm who would +not receive her right joyously." + +"Robert, fair friend, they are worth nothing, not one of them; neither +will I bestow her there with my good will. I know of no man in the +world who is worthy of her, save one man only, and he, forsooth, is no +knight." + +"Sir, tell me his name," answered Robert, "and I will find means to +speak to him so privily that the marriage shall be made." + +"Certes, Robert," returned the knight, "meseems thou art very desirous +that my daughter shall be wedded." + +"Sir," quoth Robert, "you speak truly, for it is full time." + +"Robert," said the knight, "since thou art so hot to carol at her +wedding, she shall soon enough be married if thou accord thereto." + +"Certes, sir," said Robert, "right willingly will I consent thereto." + +"To that you pledge your word?" demanded the knight. + +"Truly, sir, yes," answered Robert. + +"Robert, thou hast served me very faithfully, and ever have I found +thee skilled and true. Such as I am, that thou hast made of me; for by +thine aid at the tourneys have I gained five hundred pounds of rent. +'Twas but a short time since that I had but five hundred; whereas now I +have one thousand pounds from rent of land. This, therefore, I owe to +thee, and I acquit me of my debt by giving thee my fair daughter, so +thou art willing to take her at my hand." + +"Ah, sir," cried Robert, "for the pity of God, say not thus. I am too +low a man to snatch at so high a maiden, nor dare I pretend to one so +rich and gracious as my demoiselle, since there is no knight in all the +realm, whate'er his breeding, who would not count it honour to be her +lord." + +"Robert, know of a surety that never shall knight of this country call +her his; but I will bestow her on thee, if thou refusest her not, and +for her dowry shall she bring thee four hundred pounds from rent of my +lands." + +"Ah, sir," said Robert, "you are pleased to make a mock of me." + +"Robert," said the knight, "be assured this is no jest." + +"Ah, sir, neither my lady nor her mighty kin will endure to consent +thereto." + +"Robert," said the knight, "this matter concerns none of them. Hold, I +give thee my glove, and I invest thee with four hundred pounds of my +land, and this is my warrant for the delivery thereof." + +"Sir," said Robert, "I will not refuse so goodly a gift, since it is +given with so true a heart." + +"Robert," replied the knight, "the grant is sealed." + +So the knight granted him his glove, and invested him with rights in +that fair maiden and her land. + +Thus they passed upon their ways until it fortuned that this knight +returned to his own house. When he was entered therein, his wife--that +comely dame--received him right sweetly, and said-- + +"Husband, for the love of God, give thought at this time to the +marriage of our maid." + +"Dame," said her lord, "thou hast spoken so often of this matter that I +have trothed her already." + +"Sir," inquired the lady, "to whom?" + +"Certes, dame, I have pledged her to a man who will ever be loyal and +true. I have given her to Robert, my squire." + +"To Robert! Alas the day," quoth the lady. "Robert is but a naked man, +nor is there a knight, however noble, in all this realm who would not +have taken her gladly. Certainly Robert shall have none of her." + +"Dame, have her he shall, for I have delivered to him as my daughter's +portion four hundred pounds in rent of land, and all his rights therein +I warrant and will maintain." + +When the lady heard this thing she was sore troubled, and said to her +lord that of a surety should Robert never possess her maid. + +"Dame," said her husband, "have her he shall, with good will or with +bad will, for I have made a covenant with him, and will carry out my +bargain." + +When the lady heard these words of her lord she sought her chamber, and +wept and lamented very grievously. After her tears were shed then she +sent to seek her brothers and other kinsmen of her house, and showed +them of that thing her lord would do, and they said-- + +"Lady, what have we to do herein? We have no care to go counter to your +lord, for he is a stout knight, weighty of counsel and heavy of hand. +Moreover, can he not do as he will with his daughter, and his land +besides? Know you well that for this cause will none of us hang shield +about his neck." + +"Alas," said the lady, "never may my heart find happiness again, if +thus I lose my child. At the least, fair lords, I pray and require you +to show him that should he make this marriage he acts not rightly, nor +after his own honour." + +"Lady," said they, "this we will do full willingly." + +So they sought out the knight and acquitted themselves of their task, +and he answered them in courteous wise-- + +"Fair lords, I will tell you what I can do for your love. So it be your +pleasure, I will defer this marriage on such understanding as I now +declare. You are great lords, and are rich in gold and lands. Moreover, +you are near of kin to this fair maid of mine, whom very tenderly I +love. If on your part you will endue her with four hundred pounds of +rent on your lands, I, on mine, will disavow this bond of marriage, and +will wed the girl according to your wise counsel." + +"In the name of God," answered they with one accord, "would you spoil +us of all the wealth in our wallets?" + +"Since, then," replied the knight, "you may not do this thing, suffer +me to do as I will with my own." + +"Sir, with right good mind," answered they. + +Then the knight sent for his chaplain, and before him affianced Robert +and his fair daughter together, appointing a certain day for the +marriage. But on the third day Robert prayed his lord that he would +dub him knight, since it was not seemly that he should take a wife so +fair and of such high station till he was of her degree. His lord +agreed thereto with a glad heart, and on the morrow granted him his +desire; therefore after the third day he married the fair maid with +great joy and festival. + +At the hour Messire Robert was made knight he spake thus to his lord-- + +"Sir, once when I was in grievous peril of death, I vowed to seek St. +James's shrine on the morrow of that day I gained my spurs. I pray you +be not wroth with me if to-morrow morn it becomes my honour to wend +thither directly after this marriage, for in no wise will I fail to +observe my vow." + +"Certes, Messire Robert, if you do this despite to my daughter, and go +lonely upon your road, very rightly will you be held to blame." + +"Sir," said he, "so it pleases God, I shall soon return, but go I must +on peril of my soul." + +When a certain knight of the lord's household heard these words, +greatly he reproached Messire Robert for parting from his bride at such +an hour, but Robert answered him that he durst not break his oath. + +"Truly," said the knight, who was named Raoul, "truly if you wend thus +to St. James's shrine, leaving so fair a bride but a wedded maid, very +surely will I win her love ere you return. Certain proofs, moreover, +will I give that I have had my way with her; and to this will I pledge +my lands against the lands our lord has granted you, for mine are fully +worth the rents of yours." + +"My wife," answered Messire Robert, "does not come of a race to deal me +so shrewd a wrong, and since I give no credence to your words, +willingly will I make the wager, if so it pleases you." + +"Yes," said Raoul, "and to this you pledge your faith?" + +"Yea," said Messire Robert, "willingly. And you?" + +"I, too, pledge my faith. Now let us seek our lord forthwith, and set +before him our bargain." + +"That is my desire also," said Messire Robert. + +Then they went straight to their lord and laid before him this wager, +and plighted troth to observe their covenant. So in the morning Messire +Robert was married to the fair maiden, and when the bridal Mass was +ended, incontinent he parted from the hall, without tasting the wedding +meats, and set forth on his way, a pilgrim to Compostella. + +Now ceaseth the tale to speak of him, and telleth of Raoul, who was hot +in thought as to how he might gain the wager and have to do with the +fair lady. So relateth the tale that the lady behaved very discreetly +whilst her husband was on pilgrimage, for she spent much time upon her +knees in church, praying God to bring her lord again. For his part +Messire Raoul was in a heat in what manner he might win the wager, for +more and more it seemed to him that he should lose his land. He sought +speech with an old dame who attended on the lady, promising that so she +brought him in such a place and hour that he might speak privily to +Madame Jehane, and have his will, then he would deal so largely with +her, that never in her life should she be poor. + +"Certes, sir," said the crone, "you are so lovely a knight, so sweet in +speech and so courteous, that verily it is my lady's duty to set her +love upon you, and it will be my pleasure to toil in your service." + +So the knight took forty sous from his pouch, and gave them to her that +she might buy a kirtle. The old woman received them greedily, and +hiding the money in a secret place promised to speak to her lady. The +knight bade farewell, and went his way, but the crone tarried in that +place, and when her lady entered from the church said straitly-- + +"Lady, for God's love, tell me truly, when my lord went to Compostella +did he leave you a maid?" + +"Why ask you such a question, Dame Hersent?" + +"Because, lady, I believe you to be a virgin wife!" + +"Certes, Dame Hersent, and that I am, nor do I know woman who would be +aught else in my case." + +"Lady," returned Dame Hersent, "ah, the pity of it! If you but knew the +joy that women have in company of the man they love, you would say that +there is no fonder happiness to be found on earth. Greatly I marvel, +therefore, that you love not, _par amours_, seeing that every lady +loveth with her friend. Were the thing but pleasing to you, fair +falleth the chance, for well I know a knight, comely of person, sweet +and wise of speech, who asks naught better than to set on you his love. +Very rich is he, and lovelier far than the shamed recreant who has left +you in this plight. If you are not too fearful to grant him grace, you +can have of him all that you please to ask, and such joy moreover as no +lady can hope for more." + +Whilst the crone was speaking, the lady, who was but a woman, felt her +senses stir within. Curiously she inquired who this knight should be. + +"Who is he, lady? God above! one has no fear to cry his name! Who +should it be but that lovely lord, so courteous, so bold, Messire +Raoul, of your father's house, the sweetest heart of all the world." + +"Dame Hersent," said the lady, "you will do well to let these words be, +for I have no wish to do myself such wrong, neither come I of such +stock as goes after shame." + +"Dame," replied the old woman, "I know it well; but never can you have +the joy of maid with man." + +Thus ended their discourse; but presently Sir Raoul came again to the +crone, and she made plain to him how she had spoken to her lady, and in +what fashion she was answered. + +"Dame Hersent," said the knight, "so should a virtuous lady reply; but +I pray you speak again with her of this matter, for the archer does not +wing the bird with a first arrow; and, stay, take these twenty sous, +and buy a lining to your coat." + +So that ancient dame took the gift, and wearied the lady with enticing +words, but nothing came of all her proffers. + +Slowly or quickly thus passed the days, till came the tidings that Sir +Robert was on his way from Compostella, and was already near to Paris. +Very speedily this news was noised abroad, and Sir Raoul, fearing +greatly to lose his lands, again sought speech with the crone. Then +said the old woman that in no wise could she snare the bird, but that +for the great love she bore him this thing she would do--so he would +recompense her service--namely, that she would put matters in such a +case that none should be in the house save himself and the lady, and +then he could act according to his pleasure, whether she would or +whether she would not. So Raoul answered that he desired no other +thing. + +"This I will do," said the old woman. "Messire shall come again in +eight days, and on that day shall my lady bathe within her bower. I +will see that all her household are forth from the castle, so may you +come privily to her chamber, and have your desire of her, whether she +cry yea or whether she cry nay." + +"You have fairly spoken," answered he. + +Hard upon this came letters from Messire Robert that he would be at +the castle on Sunday. On the Thursday, therefore, the crone caused the +bath to be heated in the bower, and the lady disarrayed herself to +enter therein. Then the old woman sent messages to Sir Raoul that he +should come speedily, and moreover she caused all the household to go +forth from that place. Sir Raoul came to the bower, and entering, +saluted the lady, but she deigned no reply to his greeting, and said-- + +"Sir Raoul, of a truth I thank you for this courtesy, yet you might +have asked if such a visit would be according to my wish. Accursed may +you be for a most ungentle knight." + +But Sir Raoul made reply-- + +"Madame, for God's sake have pity upon me, for I die for love of you. +Lady, as you hope for grace, so grant grace to me." + +"Sir Raoul," cried she, "never for pity will I grant you this day, or +any day, the grace of my love. Know well that if you do not leave me +alone in peace certainly will I tell your lord, my father, the honour +that you require of me, for I am no such woman as you think." + +"Nay, lady, is it so indeed?" + +"Yes, and very surely," replied she. + +Then Sir Raoul sprang forward, and clasping her in his arms (for he was +very mighty) bore her towards her bed. As they strove he saw beneath +her right breast a black spot upon the groin, and thought within +himself that here was certain proof that he had had to do with her. But +as he carried her towards the bed his spurs caught within the serge +valence about the foot thereof, so that they fell together, the lord +below and the lady above; whereupon she rose lightly to her feet, and +seizing a billet of wood from the hearth, smote him upon the head so +shrewdly that the blood dropped upon the rushes from the wound. When +Sir Raoul knew his wound to be both deep and large no more he desired +to play, so he arose from the floor and departed straightway from that +chamber to his own lodging, a long mile thence, and sought a surgeon +for his hurt. For her part the faithful lady called upon Dame Hersent, +and returning to her bath, complained to her of this strange adventure +with the knight. + +Very great and rich was the feast that the father of the fair lady +ordained against the home-coming of Sir Robert. Many a lord was bidden +to his hall, and amongst these my lord, Sir Raoul, his knight; but he +sent messages that he might not come, for reason of his sickness. On +the Sunday came Sir Robert, and was sweetly welcomed of all; but the +father of the fair lady sought out Sir Raoul, nor would hold him +excused from the feast because of his grievous wound. Therefore he +tired his face and his wound the best that he was able, and went to +hall, where all day long the lords and ladies sat at meat and drink, +and rose for morris and to dance. + +When closed the night Sir Robert sought his chamber, and very +graciously the lady received him, as it becometh every wife to receive +her husband. On the morrow again the guests were gathered about the +board, but after dinner uprose Sir Raoul demanding that Messire Robert +should pay his wager, since he had had to do with his wife, by sign and +token of a certain black spot beneath her right breast. + +"Of that I know nothing," answered Sir Robert, "for I have not looked +so boldly upon her." + +"I require you by the faith that you have pledged me to take heed, and +to do me justice herein." + +"That will I, truly," answered Sir Robert. + +When came the night once more, then Sir Robert observed his wife +curiously, and marked the black spot upon her white body, whereat the +greater grief was his. In the morning he sought out Sir Raoul, and +owned before his lord that he had lost the bet. Sick at heart was he +throughout the day. When darkness came he went to the stable, and +saddling his palfrey, issued forth from the courtyard, taking with him +what he might carry of his wealth. So he set forth on the road to +Paris, and coming to the city sojourned therein for some three days. +There the tale ceaseth to speak of him, and telleth of his wife. + +Very dolent and right heavy was the fair lady that thus her lord had +fled his house. Very long and right greatly she considered the reason +of his flight. She wept and lamented her widowhood, even till such time +as her father entered her chamber, and said that it were much better +that she had never wed, since she had brought him to shame, him, and +all her house, and told her how and why. When she heard this thing she +was sick of heart, and swore that never had she done such deed; but her +words profited her nothing, for though a woman gave her body to be +burned, yet would none believe her clean of sin, once such blame is set +upon her. + +Very early in the night the lady rose from the bed, and taking what +wealth she had in her coffer, saddled a palfrey and took the road. She +had sheared her dainty tresses to the shoulder, and in all points was +clad as a boy. In this manner came she to Paris, seeking for her +husband, for to her heart she declared that never would she give over +her search until they were met together once more. So she rode at +adventure, a squire searching for her lord. Now on a morning she +departed from Paris, and riding on the way to Orleans came to Tombe +Isoire, and there met with Sir Robert, her husband. Her heart was very +full as she drew close and saluted him, and he rendered her greeting +for greeting, saying-- + +"Fair friend, God give you heart's desire." + +"Sir," said she, "from whence come you?" + +"Certes, fair friend, I am of Hainault." + +"Sir, and whither go you?" + +"Forsooth, fair friend, little I know where my path may lead me, nor +have I home where I may dwell. Where Fortune hales me, thither I must +go, and the Dame looks not kindly on me, for I have lost the thing that +most I loved in all the world, and she hath lost me. Moreover with her +went house and lands that were fair and deep. But tell me, what is your +name, and whither doth God bring you?" + +"Certes, sir," answered Jehane, "I purpose to seek Marseilles, near by +the sea, where as I hope there is noise of war. There, if I may, will I +enter the service of some hardy captain and learn the trade of arms, so +it be God's pleasure. For such is my plight that in nowise can I stay +in my own country. To my eyes, sir, you seem a knight whom I would +serve very gladly, if such was your will, nor of my fellowship could +you take any harm." + +"Fair friend," answered Messire Robert, "truly am I a belted knight, +and in what place the battle is set, there would I gladly ride. But +tell me now, what is your name?" + +"Sir, my name is John." + +"It is right welcome," said the knight. + +"And you, sir, what is your name?" + +"John, my name is Robert." + +"Sir Robert, join me to your company as squire, and I will serve you to +the utmost of my power." + +"John, so would I do gladly, but I have so little money in my pouch, +that ere three days are gone I must sell my very steed; therefore I +may take no squire." + +"Sir," said John, "be not troubled thereat, for God will provide, if so +it seems good to Him. But where are you set to dine?" + +"John, my dinner is a simple business, for I have nothing in my purse +save three sous of Paris." + +"Sir, be not troubled thereat, for on my part I have with me nearly ten +pounds of Tournay money, and these are as your own, since your wallet +is not heavy to your wish." + +"Fair friend, thanks, and thanks again." + +The two comrades rode at a brisk pace to Montlhery, where John found +meat for his lord, and they ate together. When they had eaten they +sought their chamber, the knight lying in a fair bed, and John sleeping +in another, at his feet. Refreshed with sleep, John rose and did the +harness upon their horses, so they mounted and passed upon their way. +Journeying thus at last they lighted at Marseilles upon the Sea, but to +their grief they might not hear the rumour of any war. There for the +time my story ceases to speak of the two of them, and returns to +Messire Raoul, that false knight, who, by leasing, had wrongly gained +the land of Sir Robert. + +For more than seven years did Messire Raoul hold the lands of Sir +Robert against law and right. Then a sore sickness took hold upon him, +and afflicted him so grievously that very near he came to death. Much +he feared the wrong he had wrought to that fair lady, the daughter of +his lord, and to her husband besides, for by reason of his malice were +they utterly undone. So great was his sin that he dared not show the +matter to the priest, but tossed upon his bed in utter unrest. On a +certain day when his sickness lay too heavy upon him he bade his +chaplain draw near his bed, for this priest was a wise confessor, loyal +and true, and very close to the sick man's heart. Then he spake-- + +"Father--my father in God, if not according to the flesh--the time is +come when I must die. For God's love give me now your counsel, as you +are a ghostly man, for on my soul there lies a sin so ugly and so black +that scarcely may I hope to be anealed." + +The priest prayed him to speak more plainly, so that he might aid him +to the utmost of his power, wherefore Sir Raoul brought himself to tell +the story that you have heard. At the end he begged the chaplain for +the love of God to show him what he must do to obtain the grace of +pardon for a sin so dark. + +"Sir," said the priest, "be not altogether cast down, for so you are +willing to do such penance as I lay upon you, I will take your sin on +me and on my own soul, and you shall be clean." + +"Now tell me of this penance," said the knight. + +"Sir, within a year of your recovery from this sickness must you take +the cross and pass beyond the sea, and in all places where men ask the +reason of your pilgrimage, there you must tell the story of this bitter +wrong. Moreover, this day must you give hostages to God that thus you +will do." + +"All this will I do gladly." + +"Sir, what rich pledge can you offer, therefore?" + +"The best," replied the knight. "You, yourself, shall be hostage and +surety for me; and on my honour as a knight well will I redeem my +pledge." + +"Sir," said the priest, "in the hand of God am I set as your pledge." + +The sick man turned from death to life, and soon was altogether healed. +A full year passed away, and yet he had not taken the cross. Right +often the holy man reminded him of his bond, but he treated the +covenant as a jest. Then the chaplain told him straitly that except he +discharged him as his surety before God, he would tell the whole matter +to the father of the fair lady whom he had utterly destroyed. When the +knight heard this he said to the chaplain that within six months would +he seek the sea for the springtide crossing, and thereto he plighted +faith. But now the story ceases to speak of Messire Raoul, and returns +to King Florus of Ausay, of whom it has told nought for a great while. + +A right happy life led King Florus and his wife together, as becomes +bride and groom who wed fondly in their youth, but very dolent and sore +of heart were they that they might get no child. The lady caused Masses +to be sung, and was urgent in prayer for her desire, but since it was +not according to the will of God, no gain she got thereby. On a day +there came to the castle of King Florus a holy hermit who dwelt deep +within the great forest of Ausay, in a very desolate place. The queen +received him very gladly, and because he was a wise man and a holy, +would be shriven by him of her sins. So she bared him her secret wound, +and told him of her grief that she might have no child by her lord. + +"Ah, madame," said the holy man, "it becometh you patiently to suffer +the pleasure of our Lord. When it is His will, then shall the barren +become a joyful mother of children." + +"Certes, sir," said the lady, "would that it were now, for less dear am +I to my lord therefor. Moreover the high barons of this realm cast the +thing against me, and give counsel to my lord that he should put the +barren woman away and take another bride." + +"Truly, madame," said the holy man, "grievously would he sin against +God and Holy Church by such a deed." + +"Ah, sir, pray you to God for me that I may bear a child to my lord, +for much I doubt that he will put me away." + +"Madame," said the holy man, "prayers of mine are little worth, save by +the will of God, yet such as they are you shall have them willingly." + +Hardly had this holy man departed from the lady, when the barons of the +realm drew together before the King, and counselled him that he should +put away his wife, since by her he might have no child, and take +another bride. Moreover, if he would not abide by their counsel, then +would they withdraw their fealty, for in no case should the kingdom +remain without an heir. King Florus feared his barons greatly, and gave +credence to their word, so he promised to send his wife to her kindred, +and prayed the lords to seek him another queen, which thing was +accorded between them. When the lady knew thereof she was stricken to +the heart, but nothing might she do, for well she understood that her +lord was purposed to forsake her. Therefore she sent to seek that +hermit who was her confessor, and when he was come she set before him +this business of the barons, and how they would bring another wife to +her husband. "So I pray you, fair father, to aid me with counsel as to +what I must do." + +"Lady," said the holy man, "if it be thus, you must suffer it as best +you may, for against king and barons you can make no head." + +"Sir," said the gentle lady, "you speak truly; so, if it pleases God, I +will dwell as an anchoress near to you, for then shall I serve God all +the days of my life, and yet draw some stay and comfort from your +presence." + +"Lady," said the prudent man, "that were too hazardous a thing, for +you are too tender in years, and fair and fresh. But I will tell you +what to do. Near by my hermitage is a convent of White Nuns, very quiet +and devout. If you go thither, right gladly will they receive you, as +well by reason of your blameless life as of your high degree." + +"Sir," said she, "wisely have you spoken, and this I will do, since so +you counsel me." + +On the morrow King Florus spake to his wife, and said-- + +"Since you may have no child by me, needs must we say farewell. I tell +you truly that the parting presses hardly upon me, for never again +shall woman lie so nearly to my heart as you have lain." + +Then might he speak no more because of tears, and the lady wept with +him. + +"Husband," said she, "for God's love have pity upon me, for where may I +hide myself, and what may I find to do?" + +"Wife, so it pleases God, your good days are not yet past, for +honourably and in rich estate shall you return to your own friends in +your own land." + +"Lord," said the dame, "I require none of this gear. So it please you, +I will bestow me in a certain convent of nuns, if it will receive me, +and there I will serve God all my life; for since I lose your love I am +she whose heart shall never harbour love again." + +So King Florus and the lady wept together very bitterly. + +On the third day the Queen set forth to her convent; and the fresh +Queen came to the palace in great pomp, and held revel and festival +with her friends. For four years did King Florus possess this lady, yet +never might he get an heir. So now the story ceases to speak of King +Florus, and turns again to Messire Robert and to John, who were come +to Marseilles. + +Very sad was Sir Robert when he came to the city that he might hear of +no arming in all the land; so he said to John-- + +"What shall we do? You have lent me much money, for the which I owe you +more than thanks. I will give it you again, though I have to sell my +very palfrey, to discharge me of the debt." + +"Sir," said John, "if it please you give heed to me, and I will show +you what we have to do. There remain yet to us one hundred Tournay +sous. If you grant me leave, I will turn our two good horses into +better money. With this I will make French bread, for I am the lightest +baker of whom you have heard, and I doubt but little that we shall gain +our money and our livelihood besides." + +"John," said Sir Robert, "I am content that you should do according to +your will." + +The next day John sold his two horses for ten pounds Tournay. With +these he bought corn, and carried it to the mill. Afterwards he bought +baskets and set to work at his oven to bake good French bread. So white +and so fresh were these loaves of his baking that he sold more than the +best baker of the town, and prospered so greatly that within two years +he had put by well one hundred pounds for their need. + +Then said John to his lord-- + +"Would it not be good to hire a fair large house, with cellarage for +wine, that we might offer hostelry and lodging to wealthy folk from +home?" + +"John," answered Sir Robert, "your will is mine, for every reason have +I for content with you." + +Then John hired a house, both fair and great, and there gave lodging to +honest folk, gaining money very plenteously. He clad his lord in costly +raiment, so that Sir Robert bestrode his own palfrey, and sat at meat +and drink with the most honourable of the town. Moreover John caused +his board to be furnished with all manner of wines and store, so that +his companions marvelled greatly at the abundance thereof. With all +this so bravely did John prosper that within four years he had put by +more than three hundred pounds, besides the furnishing of inn and +bakery, which very well was worth another fifty pounds. But here the +story ceases to speak of John and Sir Robert, and turneth again to tell +of Messire Raoul. + +Now telleth the tale that the chaplain pressed Sir Raoul right +earnestly that he should pass beyond the sea, and thus discharge his +surety from the bond, for much he feared that the knight would yet find +reason to remain. So instant was the priest in pleading, that Sir Raoul +saw well that go he must. He made him ready for his journey, spending +money without stint, and at the end set forth upon the road, him and +his three squires. He drew presently to Marseilles-on-Sea, and there +sought lodging at the French Hostelry owned by Sir Robert and by John. +When John set eyes upon him he knew him well, because he had seen him +many times, and for reason of the scar of the wound that he had given +him. The knight sojourned in the town for fifteen days, till he might +find passage in some vessel going oversea. Whilst he was dwelling at +the inn John took him apart and asked him of the purpose of his +journey, whereat Messire Raoul told him openly all the occasion +thereof, just as the tale hath related already. John listened to his +story, but answered naught for good or evil. Presently Sir Raoul caused +his harness and his gear to be bestowed on the nave, and mounted in the +ship, but for eight days it might not depart from forth the harbour. On +the ninth day the vessel sailed from port on its way to the Holy +Sepulchre. Thus Sir Raoul did his pilgrimage, and there made honest +confession of his sins. In sign of penitence his confessor charged him +strictly to restore to the knight and his lady the fief he held in +scorn of law and right; and Sir Raoul promised straitly that when he +came again to his own land he would carry out the wishes of his heart. +So parting from Jerusalem he voyaged to Acre, and took passage in the +first homing ship, as a man who desires above all things to look upon +the face of his own country. He adventured on the sea, and fared so +speedily, by night as by day, that in less than three months he cast +anchor at the port of Aigues Mortes. Parting from the harbour he stayed +not till he was come to Marseilles, where he rested eight days at the +inn owned by Sir Robert and John, which inn men called the French +Hostelry; but Sir Robert did not recall him to mind, for he thought but +little of Sir Raoul. At the end of eight days he set forth from +Marseilles with his three squires, and at length returned to his own +home, where his household received him gladly, for he was a great lord, +very rich in land and in store. His chaplain inquired of him if any had +asked the reason for his journey. + +"Yes," said he, "in three places, to wit, Marseilles, Acre, and +Jerusalem. Moreover that priest who shrived me counselled me to give +back his lands to my lord, Sir Robert, so I may find him, or if I may +not hear of him, to his wife or his heirs." + +"Certes," said the chaplain, "he gave you godly counsel." + +So Messire Raoul dwelt in his own house for a great while in peace and +ease; and there the tale ceaseth to speak of him, and returns to +Messire Robert and to John. + +Sir Robert and John dwelt as citizens in Marseilles for the space of +six years. At the end of six years had they put by in a sure place the +sum of six hundred pounds. John and his business prospered exceedingly, +for so gentle was he and diligent, that he was beloved of all his +neighbours. Men spake almost too well of him, and he maintained his +lord in such estate and worship that it was marvellous to see. When the +end of the seventh year drew near, John sought occasion to speak +soberly to Sir Robert his lord, and said-- + +"Sir, we have dwelt a great while in this city, and have been so +fortunate in our dealings that we have gained nearly six hundred pounds +in money and in silver vessels." + +"Certes," said Sir Robert, "all this, John, is not mine, but yours, for +you have earned it." + +"Sir," said John, "saving your grace, it is not mine, but yours, for +you are my own true lord, and never, please God, will I take another." + +"John, I thank you heartily," said Robert. "I hold you not as servant, +but as comrade and as friend." + +"Sir," said John, "all my days have I given you loyal service, and so +will I ever do." + +"By my faith," said Sir Robert, "what you require of me, that is my +pleasure. But as to returning to my own country, I know not what to +say. So much have I lost there that never can it be made up to me." + +"Sir," answered John, "fret not over your loss, for, so God pleases, +you shall hear good news when you come into your own land. And be not +fearful of anything, for in whatever place we shall be, please God, I +shall gather enough for me and for you." + +"Certes, John," said Sir Robert, "I will do that which pleases you, and +lodge wheresoe'er you will." + +"Sir," said John, "now will I sell our goods and make ready for the +journey, for we shall part within fifteen days." + +So John sold all the fair furnishing of his houses, and bought thereout +three horses, a palfrey for his lord, another for himself, and a pack +horse for the road. Then they bade farewell to their neighbours and to +the most worshipful citizens of the town, who grieved sorely at their +going. + +Sir Robert and John travelled so hardily that in less than three weeks +they drew to their own country, and Sir Robert caused it to be told to +his lord, whose daughter he had wedded, that he was near at hand. The +lord was merry at heart, for much he hoped that his daughter might be +with her husband; and so she was, but hid in the trappings of a squire. + +The lord greeted Robert warmly, but when he could learn no tidings of +his daughter, his mirth was turned into sorrow; nevertheless he made a +rich banquet for Sir Robert, and bade his knights and his neighbours to +the feast. Amongst these came Sir Raoul who held Sir Robert's land in +his despite. Great was the merriment on that day and the morrow, and +during all this joy Sir Robert told to John the story of his wager, and +of the manner in which Sir Raoul spoiled him of his land. + +"Sir," said John, "challenge him to combat as a false traitor, and I +will fight the battle in your stead." + +"John," said Sir Robert, "this you shall not do." + +Thus they left the matter till the morrow, when John came to Sir +Robert, and said that he was purposed to speak to the father of his +wife. So they sought the lord, and John spake him thus-- + +"Sir, you are, after God, the lord of my master Sir Robert, who in the +years that are gone married your child. As you know, a wager was made +between him and Sir Raoul, who said that ere Sir Robert came home from +St. James's shrine he would gain the lady to his wish. Sir Raoul spake +falsely, and is a most disloyal and traitor knight, for never had he +part or share in your daughter's love. All which I am ready to prove +upon his body." + +Then Robert strode forth and said-- + +"John, fair friend, this business is mine alone, nor because of it +shall you hang shield about your neck." + +So Sir Robert held forth his gage to his lord, and Sir Raoul tendered +gage of battle in return, though but fearfully; for needs must he +defend himself, or be proclaimed recreant and traitor. Thus were the +pledges given, and the day for the ordeal by battle pronounced to be +fifteen days thence without appeal. + +Now hearken well to this strange story of John, and what he did. John, +who more sweetly was named Madame Jehane, had in the house of her +father a certain cousin, who was a fair demoiselle of some twenty-five +years. To this cousin Jehane went and discovered the whole matter, +telling her all the story, from the first thing to the last. She prayed +her, moreover, to keep the business hidden, until such time and hour as +she should make herself known to her father. The cousin--to whom Jehane +was very well known--promised readily to conceal the matter, saying +that never should the secret be made plain by her fault. Then was the +chamber of her cousin made fresh and ready for Madame Jehane. Therein +for the two weeks before the battle Jehane bathed and perfumed her, and +took her ease as best she might, for well had she reason to look her +fairest. Also she caused women to shape closely to her figure four +goodly gowns; one was of scarlet, one of vair, one of peacock blue, +and one of trailing silk. Thus with rest and peace she came once more +to the fulness of her beauty, and was so dainty, fresh and fair, that +no lady showed her peer in all the world. + +As for Sir Robert, very greatly was he discomforted during all these +fifteen days at the loss of John his squire, for he knew nothing of his +fate. Nevertheless on the appointed day he got himself into his +harness, and prepared him for the battle stoutly and with a good heart. + +On the appointed day the two knights entered within the lists together. +Drawing apart for a little space, they rushed furiously the one on the +other, and gave such mighty strokes with the blades of their great +swords that their horses were borne to the ground beneath them. Sir +Raoul was wounded lightly in the left side, so Sir Robert getting first +upon his feet came swiftly to him, and smote him with all his force +upon the helm. So mighty was the blow that the sword sheared clear +through the helmet to the coif of steel, but the coif was so strong +that the head was not wounded; nevertheless of that stroke he reeled so +that had he not caught at his saddle, certainly he had fallen to the +earth. Then Sir Raoul, who was a very stout champion, struck Sir Robert +so fiercely upon the headpiece that he was all bemused, and the sword +glancing downwards upon the shoulder hacked off the mail of the +hauberk, but did him no hurt. Thereat Sir Robert smote him again with +all the strength that he was able, and the blow lighting upon the +buckler carried away a quarter of the shield. When Sir Raoul knew the +hardiness of his foe much he feared for the issue of the combat, and +well he wished himself once more beyond the sea, and Sir Robert settled +safely on his land. However, he put forward all his prowess, and +pressed Sir Robert so grimly that with one great stroke he clove to the +boss upon the very middle of Sir Robert's shield. For his part Sir +Robert struck fairly at Sir Raoul's helm, but he thrust his shield +before him, and that mighty blow passing clean through the buckler came +full upon the charger's neck, so that horse and rider tumbled to the +ground. Messire Raoul climbed stoutly to his feet, as a valiant man who +had often ridden with the spears, but Sir Robert lighted from his +steed, for he would not deign to fight at vantage with a foe on foot. + +Now strove the two knights together, hand to hand, in such fashion that +shield and helm and hauberk were hewn in pieces, and the blood ran from +their bodies by reason of their trenchant glaives. Had they been able +to deal such blows as in the first passage of their arms, very quickly +both one and the other had been slain, for of their shields scarce +enough held together to cover their gauntlets. The fear of death or +shame was now before their eyes, and the nearness of their persons +summoned them to bring this judgment to an end. Sir Robert gripped his +sword in both hands, and with all the greatness of his strength smote +Sir Raoul upon the helm. Half the shattered headpiece fell upon his +shoulders, and the sword cutting through the coif made a grisly wound. +So bewildered was Sir Raoul at the stroke that he was beaten to the +knee; but he rose lightly again, though, since he knew that his head +was naked, very fearful was he of death. He ran therefore at Sir +Robert, smiting with all his power at the remnants of his shield. +Through shield and helmet went the glaive to the depth of full three +fingers, but the wearied sword coming full upon the coif of steel brake +in pieces, for the armourer's work was very strong. When Sir Raoul +looked upon the shards of his sword, and remembered that his head was +naked, much he doubted of his end. Nevertheless he stooped to the +ground, and seizing a great stone in both his hands flung it at Sir +Robert with all his might. Sir Robert stepped aside quickly, avoiding +the cast, and ran in upon his adversary, who turned his back and took +to flight about the lists. So Sir Robert cried that save his foe +admitted himself recreant and shamed he would slay him with the sword. + +"Gentle knight," answered Sir Raoul, "I yield thee what remaineth of my +sword, and throw myself entirely on thy grace. Show mercy on me, gentle +knight, and pray thy lord and mine that he have pity upon me, and spare +my life. Take back thy land that I have held against both law and +right, and therewith take my own; for all I said against that fair and +spotless lady was just foul lies." + +When my lord, Sir Robert, heard these words he thought within himself +that Sir Raoul might do no more. Therefore he prayed his lord so +urgently to pardon Sir Raoul for this felony, that his prayer was +accorded on such terms that Sir Raoul should abide over sea for all his +days. + +In such fashion Sir Robert won back his land, and added that of Sir +Raoul besides. But in this thing he found little comfort, for grief of +heart over the fair and faithful lady from whom he had parted. +Moreover, in no wise could he forget John, his squire, who was lost to +him also. His lord, too, shared in his sorrow, for reason that he might +never gain tidings of his one fair child. + +But Madame Jehane, who had spent two weeks in her cousin's chamber in +all ease and comfort, when she heard that her husband had gained the +battle, was greatly content. As we know, she had caused her women to +shape closely to her person four goodly gowns, and of these she arrayed +herself in the most rich, which was of cloth of silk, banded with fine +Arabian gold. So shapely was she of body, so bright of face, and so +gracious of address that nothing more lovely could be found in all the +world, so that her very cousin, even, marvelled at her exceeding +beauty. For the bathing, the tiring, and ease of mind and body of the +past fifteen days had given her back her early freshness, as was +wonderful to see. Very sweet, very ravishing showed Madame Jehane in +her silken robe banded with gold. So when she was ready she called to +her cousin, and said-- + +"How seem I to thee?" + +"Why, dame, the prettiest person in all the world." + +"Now, fair cousin, I will tell thee what thou shalt do. Go thou +straight to my father, and tell him to be heavy no more, but rather +merry and glad, because thou bringest him good news of his daughter. +Tell him that she is sound and well, and that so he come with thee, he +shall see her with his eyes. Then lead him here, and he will greet me +again, I deem, right willingly." + +The maiden answered that gladly would she give the message, so she +sought out the father of Madame Jehane, and said as she was bidden. +When the lord heard thereof he wondered at this strange thing, and +going after the damsel found his daughter in her chamber. When he saw +her face he cast his arms about her neck, shedding tears of joy and +pity, yea, such was his happiness that scarcely could he find a word. +When he might speak he asked where she had been so long a while. + +"Fair father," said the lady, "you shall hear it in good time. But, for +the love of God, cause my mother to come to me speedily, for I die +till I see her once again." + +The lord sent incontinent for his wife, and when she was come into the +chamber where her daughter lay, and saw and knew her face, straight she +fell down in a swoon for joy, and might not speak for a great space. +But when her senses were come to her again no man could conceive the +joy and festival she made above her child. + +Whilst mother and daughter held each other fast, the father of the fair +lady went in quest of Sir Robert, and meeting him said thus-- + +"Fair sweet son, very joyful news have I to share with you." + +"Certes," said Sir Robert, "of joy have I great need, but God alone can +help my evil case, for sad at heart am I for the loss of my sweet wife, +and sad, besides, for the loss of him who did me more good than any +other in the world, for John, my faithful squire." + +"Sir Robert," said the lord, "spoil not your life for John; squires can +be met with at every turning. But as to your wife, I have a certain +thing to tell, for I come from her but now, and know well that she is +the most peerless lady in all the world." + +When Messire Robert heard this he fell a-trembling with joy, and said +to his lord-- + +"Ah, sir, for God's love bring me to see that this is true!" + +"Right willingly," said the lord, "come now with me." + +The lord went before and Robert followed after, till they were come to +the chamber where mother and daughter yet clasped each other close, +weeping with joy the one upon the other. When they knew their husbands +near they drew apart, and as soon as Sir Robert saw his wife he ran to +her with open arms, and embraced her. So they kissed each the other +with many little kisses, and wept for joy and pity. Yea, they held each +to the other in this fashion whilst a man might run ten acres of land, +nor ceased enlacing. Then the lord commanded that the tables should be +spread for supper; so they ate with mirth and merriment. + +After supper, when the songs and the dances were done, they went to +their beds, neither was Sir Robert parted from the Lady Jehane, for +they were right happy to be met together again, and talked of many +things. At the last Sir Robert asked of her where she had been so great +a time, and she said-- + +"Husband, it is over long a story to tell, but you shall hear it all at +a more convenient season. Tell me, rather, what you have done, and +where you have been all this while." + +"Wife," said Sir Robert, "I will tell you gladly." + +So he told her all the tale she knew by rote, and of John his squire, +who gained him bread, and said that so distressed was he at the loss of +his companion that never would he give over the search till he had +found him, yea, that he would saddle with the morn and part. + +"Husband," said the lady, "that would be madness. Are you set again to +leave me, and what shall I do thereof?" + +"Certes, lady, I can do none other; for never man did such things for +his friend as he has done for me." + +"Husband," said the wife, "what he did for you was but his duty; he did +no more than what he should have done." + +"Wife," said Messire Robert, "by your speech you should have known +him." + +"Truly," answered the lady, "truly, I should know him well, for never +aught of what he did was hid from me." + +"Lady," said Sir Robert, "I marvel at such words." + +"Sir," said she, "there is no need for wonder. If I tell you, yea and +verily, that such a thing is true, will you honestly believe my word?" + +"Wife," said he, "on my honour." + +"Believe, then, what I am about to tell you, for know assuredly that I +am that very John whom you would seek and this is how it happed. When I +was told the matter of the wager, and of the treason of Messire Raoul; +when, too, I knew that you were fled because of your grief at my +faithlessness, and by reason of the land that for ever you had lost, +then was I more cast down than any woman since woman first was made. So +I clipped my hair close to my head, and taking all the money in my +chest, about ten pounds Tournay, I arrayed me in the guise of a squire, +and followed after you to Paris, coming up with you at Tombe Isoire. +From there we companied together, even to Marseilles, where I served +you as my own liege lord for near seven years, nor do I grudge you +varlet's service. And know for truth that I am innocent and clean of +that deed the foul knight fastened upon me, as clearly now appears, for +he has been put to shame in open field, and has publicly confessed his +treason." + +Having spoken thus, Madame Jehane embraced Sir Robert, her lord, and +kissed him very sweetly on the mouth. When Messire Robert was persuaded +that she, indeed, was John, his faithful squire, his joy was greater +far than thought or words may express, and much he marvelled that so +high a lady could prove so lowly and so serviceable. For which thing he +loved her the more dearly all the days of his life. + +Thus came together these two parted lovers; thus, on their own domain, +which was both broad and fair, they lived a happy life, as becometh +lovers in their youth. Often Sir Robert rode to tournaments in the +train of his lord, and much honour he gained and such wealth, moreover, +that his land became twice as great as that he had. After the death of +the father and mother of Lady Jehane he became the heir to all their +substance. So stout a knight was he, that by his prowess he was made a +double banneret, and was worth four thousand pounds in land. Yet always +must he be a childless man, to his exceeding grief, though for more +than ten years he was with his wife after the combat with Sir Raoul. + +After the term of ten years, by the will of God--which is mightier than +the strength of man--the pains of death gat hold upon him. He met death +like a brave knight, assoiled by the rites of Holy Church, and was laid +in his grave with great honour. His wife, the fair lady, mourned so +grievously upon him, that all about her felt pity for her sorrow. Yet, +during the days, the sharpness of her grief was assuaged, and she came +to take a little comfort, though as yet it was but a little. + +The Lady Jehane bore herself during her widowhood as a devout and +kindly lady, devoted to God and Holy Church. Very humble was she and +right charitable, dearly cherishing the poor and needy. So good was she +that no tongue might say aught of her but praise; and so fair that all +who looked upon her owned that she was the mirror of all ladies in the +world for beauty and for virtue. But now for a little space the tale +ceases to speak of her, and returns to tell of King Florus, for it has +been dumb of him o'erlong. + +King Florus of Ausay lay at his own castle sorely grieved and vexed at +the departure of his first wife, for she whom the barons had seated in +her chair, though fresh and gracious, might not bring that peace of +heart which was that lady's gift. Four years they lived together, yet +never might have an heir. At the end thereof the pains of death seized +the lady, so she was buried amidst the weeping of her friends, and with +such fair state and service as were fitting to the dignity of a queen. + +King Florus remained a widower for above two years. He was yet a young +man, for he was no more than forty-five years of age, and his barons +prayed him that he would seek another wife. + +"Certes," answered King Florus, "I desire not greatly to do this thing, +for I have had two wives, yet might not get an heir by either. Moreover +the first wife that I had was so virtuous and so fair, and so dearly +did I love her in my heart for her exceeding goodlihead, that never is +she absent from my thoughts. I tell you truly that never again will I +wed till I may meet a woman sweet and good as she. God rest her soul, +for as I hear she passed away in that White convent where she was +withdrawn." + +"Ah, sire," said a knight who was in his private counsel, "many a +comely dame goes about the realm whom you have never seen. One at least +I know who for kindness and for beauty has not her like in all the +world. If you but saw her fairness, if you but knew her worth, you +would own that fortunate indeed were he--yea, though a king--who might +own such rich treasure. She is a gentlewoman, discreet, and rich in +money and in lands, and, if you will, I can tell you many a tale of her +discretion and of her worth." + +The King replied that gladly would he hear; so the knight related how +the lady set out to follow after her lord, how she came up with him and +brought him to Marseilles, and the many kindnesses and the great +services she rendered him, just as the tale hath told before. Thereat +King Florus marvelled much, and said privily to the knight that very +gladly would he become the husband of such a wife. + +"Sire," answered the knight, who was near neighbour to Madame Jehane, +"I will seek the lady, if such is your good pleasure, and will speak +her so fairly, if I may, that in marriage you twain may be one." + +"Yea," said King Florus, "get you speedily to horse, and I pray you to +be diligent in your embassy." + +The knight passed straightway upon his errand, and without any tarrying +came to the land where dwelt that lovely lady whom the tale calls +Madame Jehane. He found her in a certain castle of hers, and she +welcomed him gladly as a neighbour and a friend. When they might have +some private speech together, the knight conveyed to her the +commandment of King Florus, that she should ride to him and be wedded +as his wife. When the lady heard his word she smiled more sweetly than +ever siren sang, and answered softly to the knight-- + +"Your king knows less of women, nor is he so courteous, as fame has +bruited, to command that I should hasten to him that he may take me as +his wife. Certes, I am not a handmaid to ride to him for wages. But +tell your king rather to come to me if he finds my love so desirable +and sweet, and woo me to receive him as husband and as spouse. For +truly the lord should pray and require the lady, and not the lady the +lord." + +"Lady," answered the knight, "all that you have told me will I tell +him again; but I doubt that he will come for pride." + +"Sir knight," said the lady, "he will do the thing that pleases him; +but in this matter he shows neither courtesy nor reason." + +"Lady," said the knight, "in God's name, so let it be. With leave I +take farewell to seek my lord the King, and will tell him as I am +bidden. So if there is any over-word give it me before I part." + +"Yea," said the lady. "Take to him my greeting, and add my fairest +thanks for the honour to which he calls me." + +The knight parted from the lady forthwith, and on the fourth day +returned to King Florus of Ausay, whom he found in his chamber, deep in +business with his privy council. The knight saluted the King, who gave +him his salutation again, and seating him by his side, asked how it +chanced in this matter of the lady. Then the knight gave the message +with which she charged him; how she would not come, for she was no +kitchen-maid to haste at his bidding for her wages; but that rather +should a lord pray and require of a lady; how that she sent him her +fairest greeting, and her sweetest thanks for the honour he craved of +her. + +When King Florus heard these words, he pondered in his seat, nor did +any man speak for a great space. + +"Sire," said a knight, who was of his inmost mind, "what do you +consider so deeply? Certes, all these words most richly become a +discreet and virtuous lady, and--so help me God--she is both wise and +brave. In good faith you will do well to fix upon a day when you can +seek her, and send her greetings and letters that on such a day you +will arrive to do her honour, and to crave her as your bride." + +"Certes," said King Florus, "I will send her letters that I will lie at +her castle for Easter, and that she make all ready to receive her +husband and her King." + +Then King Florus bade the knight who was his messenger to prepare +himself within three days to carry these tidings to his lady. On the +third day the knight set forth, and, riding hard, brought messages to +the lady that the King would spend Easter at her castle. So she +answered that since it was God's will it was woman's too, and that she +would take counsel with her friends, and would array herself to receive +him as the honour of a lady and his greatness required. At these words +the knight returned to his lord, King Florus, and gave him the answer +of the fair lady as you have heard. So King Florus of Ausay made him +ready for his journey, and with a great company set forth to the +country of this fair dame. When he was come there he took and married +her with great pomp and festival. Then he brought her to his own realm, +where she was welcomed of all most gladly. And King Florus joyed +exceedingly over his wife because of her great beauty, and because of +the right judgment and high courage that were in her. + +Within the year that the King had taken her to wife the fair Jehane was +delivered of a daughter, and afterwards she rejoiced as the mother of a +son. The boy was named Florence, and the girl Flora. The boy Florence +was very goodly to see, and after he was made knight was esteemed the +hardiest warrior of his day, insomuch that he was chosen to be Emperor +of Constantinople. A mighty prince was he, and wrought great mischief +and evil to the Paynims. As to the Princess Flora, she became the Queen +of her father's realm, and the son of the King of Hungary took her as +wife, so was she lady of two kingdoms. + +Such honour as this God gave to the fair lady because of her true and +loyal heart. For many years King Florus lived happily with his virtuous +wife, and when it was the will of God that his days should end, he took +back to his Maker a stainless soul. The lady endured to live but six +months after him, and departed from this world as became so good and +loyal a dame with a quiet mind. + +Here finishes the tale of King Florus and the fair Jehane. + + + + +OF THE COVETOUS MAN AND OF THE ENVIOUS MAN + + +Once upon a time, more than one hundred years ago, there lived two +companions, who spent their days together very evilly. The one of these +comrades was so brimmed with envy, that you might find no heart so rank +with the gall of bitterness. The other was so filled with covetousness, +that nothing sufficed of all that could be given to him. Now +covetousness is so foul a vice, that often she bringeth many men to +shame. Covetousness lendeth out her money upon usury, and deceiveth +with her balances, so that he who lendeth may have the greater gain. +But envy is the worser sin, since she grudges joy to others, and is +desirous of all the wealth of all the world. + +On a day the envious man and the covetous man were about their business +together, and they came upon St. Martin walking in the fields. But the +saint had been but a little space in their company when he perceived +very clearly the evil desires that were rooted in the hidden places of +their hearts. Thus they fared till they lighted on two beaten paths, +one going this way, and the other that, and a chapel stood between the +ways. There St. Martin stayed his steps, and beckoned to these +evil-minded men. + +"Lords," said he, "I take this path to the right that I may enter +within the church. I am St. Martin, who bestowed his cloak on the +beggar, and that you may always keep in mind this meeting I will give, +in turn, to each of you a gift. He who makes known to me his prayer +shall have his desire granted forthwith. But to him who refrains from +words, straightway shall be given twice as much as is bestowed upon his +fellow." + +So when St. Martin was gone, the covetous man considered within himself +that if he left his companion to require a gift, he would receive twice +as much as him, and sweetly enjoy a double gain. + +"Make your prayer, fair fellow, to the holy saint," said he, "for very +surely you will receive of him all that you may ask. Ask largely of +him, for he will largely give. If you go prudently about the matter you +will be wealthy all your life." + +But he whose heart was brimmed with venom and envy dared not to ask +according to his desire, for reason that he feared to die of grief and +malice that his comrade's portion should be larger than his. Thus for a +great while they kept their tongues from speech, turning the business +over, this way and that. + +"Wait no longer, lest a mischief befall you," cried at last the +covetous man. "Yea you or nay you, I must have the double of your +share, for all your cunning and caution. Ask, or I will beat you more +grievously than ever yet was beaten donkey at Pont." + +"Sire," answered the envious man, "pray I will, since it is better to +receive a gift than stripes. If I require of the saint, money or houses +or lands, very surely will you receive of his bounty twice that he +giveth to me. But, so I am able, of all these shall you get nothing. +Holy St. Martin, I pray and require of your clemency that I may lose +one of my eyes, so that my fellow may lose both of his; thus shall he +be pained and grieved in double measure." + +Very careful was the saint to observe his covenant, and of four eyes +these comrades lost three, since the envious man became one-eyed, and +the covetous man a poor blind beggar. Thus these fair friends were +ruined by their gain. But sorrow may he have who lets his heart be +troubled by their wretched plight, for these men were not of sterling +gold, but of false alloy. + + + + +OF A JEW WHO TOOK AS SURETY THE IMAGE OF OUR LADY + + +So many marvels are written of the sweet miracles of Our Lady, that +amongst them I scarce know which to choose. Yet, alas! I have not that +long leisure to set them forth before you every one. Then must it be +with me as with him who walks abroad through summer meadows deep in +flowers. Before, behind, on either side, he sees the countless blossoms +of the field. Blue, vermeil, gold, they dance upon the green. Then, +since he may not gather all, he plucks a rose, a lily, here and there, +as he may find them to his hand. So from amongst the number of Our +Lady's lovely deeds I pluck a leaf, one here, one there, and wreathe +this artless garland, lest I have naught to cast before her feet. + + * * * * * + +In days long past--as the scribe hath truly written--there lived in the +strong city of Byzantium a certain citizen, who held Our Lady very +dear. Rich he was, and of great worship, because of his wealth and of +the praise of men. To keep his station in the eyes of his fellows, he +spent his substance so largely, and thereto so wantonly, that in a +little while he had wasted all his goods, and naught remained to do but +that he must sell his very lands. Yet so rich of heart was this burgess +that not poverty even might make him knot his purse. He still kept open +house, and gave goodly cheer to all, ever borrowing more and more, +spending and vending, wasting and hasting to scatter everything he had. +For of poverty he had neither heed nor fear, so long as he might find +a man to lend. But at the last he was utterly undone. All his friends +passed him by when they saw how deeply he was sunk in debt, and that to +no lender did he e'er repay what he owed. For he who borrows, never +paying back again, neither seeking from others that which is his due, +very quickly loses his credit, yea, though he be the King of France. + +The good citizen was sore vexed, and knew not what to do or say, when +he found that his creditors pressed him hardly, and that he was wholly +disappointed of those friends in whom he put his trust. Sore was his +sorrow, deep his distress, and bitter his shame, his wrath and sadness, +when by no means whatever might he grant his customary bounty, nor of +his charity give alms and benefits to the poor. So long as he was a man +of worship, with store of gold and silver, great were his doles to +those of low estate. But such was the malice wherewith Dame Fortune +pursued him, and such the shame and loss she set upon him, that he had +nothing left to give to others, or to keep for himself. And since Dame +Fortune looked upon him with a frowning countenance, there was none to +welcome him with a smiling face. + +Now this unhappy burgess knew not what to do, for some of his +acquaintance gazed the other way, whilst men, to whom he had done +naught but good, jested upon him openly in the street. Doubtless such +is the way of the world to those honest folk who are cast beneath at +the turn of Fortune's wheel. Therefore those to whom he had shown the +greatest kindness requited him with the utmost despite, counting him +viler than a dog; and those, who in his day of prosperity loved and +affected his company, were the very men who now mocked and despised +him. Well say the Scriptures, Put not your trust in man. For in these +days faith is so rare and so forgetful, that the son fails the father +in his peril, and the mother may not count upon her maid. Mad is he who +strips himself for others, for so soon as he comes before them naked, +then they cry, "Beggar, begone!" + +When this citizen, who for so long a while had known such great honour, +saw himself so scorned, and found that in all the town he had neither +kinsman nor friend, he knew not what to say or do, nor whom to take for +counsel in his need. So, by the will of God, he turned in his despair +to a certain Jew, the richest in all the city. Him he sought out +straightway, with a face aflame, and said-- + +"Master Jew, here is my case. All my daughters, all my sons, all my +friends, and, very surely, all of those to whom I have done most good +in this world, have failed me utterly and every one. I am stripped of +all my substance. Foolish have I been, and unlucky, since I wasted all +I had on those very clerks and laymen who desert me now. I am a +merchant of great knowledge, and so you will lend me of your treasure, +I count to gain so largely, that never shall I have to pray another for +a loan; for of your wealth will I make such usage that all will think +the more of me thereby." + +"Because you have dealt so generously with others," answered the Jew, +"in this very hour will I lend you freely of my moneys if you can give +me pledge or surety for them." + +But the Christian made answer to him-- + +"Fair, sweet friend, all my kinsfolk and acquaintance have cast me +utterly behind them, neither care they for me any more, notwithstanding +that they thrive by reason of my gifts and toil. I can offer no kinsman +as surety, nor have I a friend in the world. But though I can give +neither pledge nor surety, strive how I may, yet I swear to you now on +my faith and conscience, that, without fail, I will repay you your loan +and your substance on the very day that the debt becomes due." + +"If things are thus, I can lend you nothing," answered the Jew; "for +grievously I doubt that you may not carry out your bargain." + +"Fair, sweet friend," he made reply, "since then I neither have, nor +think to have, a pledge to offer, take now in pledge, I pray you, my +Maker, in whom is all my faith, this Jesus Christ, the King of Heaven, +the King of kings, the God of gods. If you have not your money returned +on the very day that you shall name, I swear to you by God, fair +brother Jew, and by His Mother, so tender and so dear, that I will +become your villein and your serf, in such wise and fashion as any +other slave of yours; so that with a ring about my neck you may sell me +in the market-place, just as any brute beast." + +Now in his heart the Jew greatly desired and longed to make this +Christian his bondsman. Therefore, laughing, he replied-- + +"I believe but little that Jesus Christ, the son of Mary, whom our +forefathers crucified on a cross of wood, was truly God. But inasmuch +as He was doubtless a holy man, and a prophet of mighty name, if you +will put Him in pledge in such manner that you will serve me all your +life should you fail me in this our bargain, why, I will take your +pledge without demur." + +"Fairly have you spoken," said he, "by my soul. Let us go straightway +to the church of Our Lady, the most glorious Mother of God." + +A great company of Christians and of Jews went with them to the church, +and many a clerk and layman was witness to their device and covenant. +Without any delay, the wretched merchant kneeled him down before the +Statue, whilst the hot tears rushed to his eyes, and over-ran and +wetted all his face, because of the poverty which drove him to this +deed. The unhappy man knew not what to do in his plight, but he cast +his burden upon the Lord, and, weeping, prayed God's precious Mother +that she would deign to set wretchedness and bondage far from him. But +very fearful was he, and sore adread in his heart. + +When he had prayed his prayer to Our Lady, he sprang lightly to his +feet, and said-- + +"Friend Jew, by my soul see here my Surety. In giving you this Child +and this Image, I give you Jesus Christ, Himself, as pledge. He created +me, and He fashioned me. 'Tis He Who is my bond for your moneys. A +richer pledge you may not think to have, so help me God, now and for +evermore." + +He placed the hand of the Child in that of the Jew, and forthwith +delivered the pledge and plighted faith. Then, yet upon his knees, most +pitifully, with eyes all wet, he cried aloud in the hearing of +Christian and of Jew-- + +"Fair Lord God, most merciful, most mighty and most sure, at the end of +this business, I beseech Thee with clasped hands, fair, kindest Father, +that by the pleadings of Thy sweet Mother, if it should happen that on +the appointed day for any cause I may not give again the wealth I owe +the Jew, then of Thy courtesy pay Thou my debt, and without an hour's +delay redeem Thy pledge and faith. For if but one single day I fail to +keep faith, then his serf must I be all the days of my life, save only +that I break my oath sworn on this Image." + +He rose lightly to his feet, though with a tearful face, and the Jew +straightway counted out to him a great sum of money, to deal with in +the future as he had dealt with his own. But he had lost the desire to +play, for he remembered too plainly that of such mirth comes +bitterness. The scalded man hates boiling water, and well he knew, and +clearly he perceived, that he who is in rags goes shivering in the +wind. + +The honest merchant--whom God kept in charge--went forth with a light +heart, that leaped and fluttered in his breast, because of the wealth +he had in seisin. He bargained for a bark that lay in harbour, and +since he had much skill in such business, he stored the ship with +divers kinds of merchandise. Then putting his trust in God, and +commending body and goods to His keeping, he hoisted sail, and set +forth upon the water. He voyaged to divers lands, and trafficked with +the merchants thereof to such purpose, that before the year had gone by +he was no more in dread of beggary. God increased his store, so that he +prospered in every market. But the gains and riches of the merchant in +nowise made him grudging of his substance. Freely was given to him, +freely he gave to others, for the love of God Who for every man ripens +His harvest. + +In a short while the merchant became very rich. One market opened +another market, and money made more money. So greatly did his substance +multiply that at the end, the story tells us, he might not keep the +count of his wealth. So to set field by field, and house by house, he +travelled in many strange lands. One day darkened, and the next day +dawned, but he never gave thought to that certain day when he must +return to the Jew the loan of which he had made so fruitful a use. He +called it not to mind until there was but one single day between him +and the appointed time, and as it chanced he bethought him thereof +when he was at sea. He well-nigh swooned when the day came to his +heart and memory. + +"Ah, gentle Lady of the King of Glory! sweet Maid and debonair!" cried +he; "unhappy wretch, what can I do?" + +So sore was his grief that with clenched hands he beat upon his breast, +and presently with locked teeth fell fainting to the deck, where he lay +senseless for a great space. The sailors ran to his succour, and, +pressing about him, cried out and lamented his evil case, for certainly +they deemed that he was dead. Passing heavy were they at this sad +mischance, for not one word could they draw from his lips, nor for all +their pains might they find in him either pulse or breath. When he was +returned a little from his swoon, he addressed himself to prayer, +weeping and sighing for a great while, because for grief he found no +words to say. + +"Alas!" cried he, "alas, my luckless lot! What a besotted merchant have +I been! How foully has misfortune stolen upon me! How has the Adversary +beguiled me, and snared my thoughts, that I might not better mark the +appointed day! Surely on the tables of my heart should it have been +written that for pledge I gave Jesus Christ, and His Mother, sweet and +dear. Alas! very right is it that I should go heavy, and that my heart +should be sick and sad, since never by day nor by night have I taken +thought how to return that mighty debt which so affrights me now. +Affrighted, alas! much cause have I to fear. Were a bird now to quit +the ship, yet should he not wing to Byzantium in thirty days--no, nor +in forty. Foul fall the day, for I am quite undone. Alas! for the shame +I have brought upon my kin. Very great riches are very little worth, +since thus am I snared and taken." + +In this manner the good merchant made his complaint, and with many +sighs bewailed his wretched plight. But when he had eased his heart +with words, the Holy Spirit wrought upon him, so that his courage came +to him again, and he said-- + +"What is here for tears? Rather should I take comfort in that He, Who +hath power over all, is holden as my pledge. Let me place the matter in +His mighty hand, nor concern myself overmuch with what is His business +more than mine. I owe the money, but He will pay my debt; and thus by +His balm shall I be healed. On the morrow must I repay the money that I +owe, but there is yet a full night before the money need be counted to +the Jew. I will not concern myself greatly with this matter, but +commend myself humbly to His will. No other thing is there to do, for +none can deliver me from my trouble, save Him alone. He is my Surety, +and very surely will He discharge me from this debt, for without Him +there is no redemption." + +Then straightway the merchant took a strong, clamped coffer, and sealed +within it the debt which he must now restore the Jew. Without waiting +for the morrow, he cast it into the sea with his own hand, and with +tears commended it to that great Lord and God Who holds every man in +His good keeping, and to Whom earth and sea are ministers and servants +alike. So He Who is of such high and puissant majesty, that naught He +wills to do is burdensome or heavy to Him, was pleased to steer that +coffer with its precious load of besants through the waters, so that it +made more than a thousand leagues in that one night. Thus with the dawn +it drew right to Byzantium, and on the appointed day the casket and the +treasure came to the shore. + +Now by the will of God it chanced that the rich Jew, who lent the +Christian of his moneys, lived in a fair dwelling near by the sea. A +certain servant of his rose early from his bed to walk on the shore in +the cool summer dawn, and spied the casket, which had but just drawn to +land. So, without taking off his raiment, he sprang into the sea that +he might lay hold upon it; but he was not able, for the coffer tossed +grievously whenever he would make it his own. Very covetous was the +varlet of this coffer, yet might he never set his hand upon it. For the +casket moved warily, as though it would say, "Go your road, since in +nowise am I yours." + +So presently the servant sought his lord, and returned with him to the +shore. And forthwith the coffer drew to the very feet of the Jew, and +seemed to him to say-- + +"Fair Sir Jew, receive your own. By me God redeems the merchant from +his debt, and henceforth he is free, quite free of you." + +Then the Jew entered swiftly within his door, bearing the casket with +him, and when he had counted over its great riches, he hid the treasure +in a privy place at the foot of his bed, so that none might know of the +matter. Moreover, he found within a certain letter news that, very +soon, this merchant, who so far had voyaged in so many lands, would +seek Byzantium in ships laden with tissues and broideries and all +manner of stuffs and merchandise. So the friends and acquaintance of +the merchant rejoiced greatly at his prosperity, and the whole city +welcomed him with mirth and festival. All men made much of his +home-coming, and clerk and layman joined alike in the feast. + +When the Jew heard the noise of the joyous greeting vouchsafed to the +citizen, he rose up quickly, and sought him out without delay. They +spoke at great length together, and many words passed between the +twain. At the last the Jew made mention of his money, as if he sought +to know when payment should be made. For presently in his merry talk, +yet laughing, he took the Christian by the hand, and wagging his head +from side to side, said-- + +"Oh, faithful Christian! oh, faithful Christian!" + +Thereat the burgess began to smile, and made reply that he would learn +the meaning of those words. + +"By the Law, it means that I have lent you monies in heaped-up measure +from my wealth, to be repaid me on a day now gone. Since you have +failed in bond and faith, now holds the bargain, that should you break +your covenant, though but for one single day, then all the years of +your life must you labour as my serf. If now you throw me back your +bond, then I must reckon your Holy Faith and your plighted word as +worth just two grains of dust upon a balance." + +Then he, whose only hope was in God, made answer to the Jew, and said-- + +"I owe you nothing, since all that was your due has been paid to the +uttermost doit." + +Very cunning was this Jew; therefore he replied-- + +"Many an honest man was witness to the loan, but what witness can you +bring to the payment of the debt? There is little new in such a plea as +yours." + +"Right easily can I find proof of quittance, and to spare. All this +would make me fear, indeed, were not such a mighty Surety at my side. +But so you will come with me to the church, where my pledge was taken, +very surely will I show you proof of the redemption of my bond." + +So they, and a great company with them, went to the minster, which was +filled altogether with the press. + +Then the citizen, hoping all things of his God, and rooted deeply in +his trust, bowed himself down with clasped hands right humbly to the +floor before the Image of Our Lady. From his very heart, with all his +soul, he prayed and required of her that she would obtain of her sweet +Son to hearken to his prayer, and his words were broken by his sighs. +Afterwards he cried with a clear voice in the hearing of them all, and +said-- + +"Lord Jesus, so truly as Thou art the very Son of God, witness for me +to this Hebrew of the truth as it is known to Thee. Very God of Very +God, exalt now Thine honour, and for the glory of Thy Name make clear +whether I have discharged me of this debt or not." + +Then the Image made answer in these very words-- + +"It is a true testimony that to the appointed day this Jew has been +paid in full whatsoever you have had of him. In proof whereof the +casket yet remains hid in a privy place beneath his bed, from whence he +took the debt I paid him in your place." + +When the Jew heard this marvel he was filled with confusion, and was +greatly astonied, so that he knew not what to say, nor what to do. So +by the grace and lovingkindness of the Holy Spirit that very day he was +baptized, and became a christened man, nor did he ever after waver in +that faith. + +So every year it was the gracious custom of all good citizens to keep +this wonder in remembrance with dances and midnight revelry, with feast +and high solemnity. And this holy day was observed in Byzantium, the +mighty city, which Constantine, the noble Emperor, afterwards called +Constantinople. + + + + +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 spake 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 very 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 realm. + +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 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, dame 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 nought 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 a 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 was Sir Graelent 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 shore." + +Again the lady set her palfrey to the river, but Graelent could not +suffer to see her go upon her way without him. 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. + + + + +THE THREE THIEVES + + +This story tells that once upon a time there were three thieves faring +together, who had robbed many people, both church folk and lay. One of +these thieves was named Travers, but though he was in the company of +two robbers, yet he was not altogether such as they. They, indeed, were +thieves by descent as well as by choice, for their father was hanged +for his misdeeds. The one was called Haimet, and the other Barat, but +which was the more cunning workman at his trade it would be hard to +tell. + +The three companions were passing one day through a high and leafy +wood, when Haimet spied a magpie's nest hidden within an oak. He went +beneath the tree, and his sharp eyes quickly perceived that the bird +was sitting upon her eggs. This thing he showed to Travers, and +afterwards to his brother. + +"Friends," said he, "would not he be a good thief who might take these +eggs, and so softly descend the tree that the magpie knew nought +thereof?" + +"There is no man in the world who can do such a feat," answered Barat. + +"Certes, there is such a man," said Haimet, "and you shall see him at +his task, if you will only look at me." + +Haimet set hands upon the oak, and climbed lightly up the great tree, +as one who had no fear to fall. He came to the nest, and parting the +straw softly from beneath, drew forth the eggs coyly and delicately. +Then he descended to the ground with a merry heart, and addressing +himself to his comrades, showed the eggs that he had stolen. + +"Friends," said he, "here are the eggs, ready for boiling upon a fire!" + +"Truly," said Barat, "no man's fingers are nimbler than yours, and if +you can only return the eggs to the nest, why I will own freely that +you are the most cunning thief of us all." + +"Certes," answered Haimet, "they shall be set again beneath the bird, +and not a shell of them all shall be broken." + +So he came again to the oak, and mounted swiftly into the tree, hand +over hand. Now he had gone but a little way when Barat hastened to the +tree, and climbed therein even more lightly and surely than his +brother. He followed him secretly from branch to branch, for Haimet was +intent upon his task, and gave no thought to those he had left below. +Then, whilst Haimet returned the eggs to the rifled nest, he stole the +very breeches from his legs, and forthwith descended to the ground. +When Travers saw this he was sick at heart, because he knew well he +might never do such feats as these. Presently Haimet came down to his +companions, and said-- + +"Friends, how seems it to you? Fingers like mine should pick up a good +living." + +"I know not how it looks to me," answered Barat. "Your fingers are +quick enough, but your brains must be very dull, since they cannot +procure you even hosen for your legs." + +"Yes, truly, I have hosen, and those altogether new, for it was but the +other day I laid hands upon the cloth, and they reach to my very +ankles." + +"Are they so long as that?" said Barat; "shew them to us, and hide them +not away." + +Then Haimet lifted his tunic and stared upon his legs, for he was +without breeches. + +"Lord!" said he, "how can this have chanced? Where, then, are my +hosen?" + +"I do not think that you have any, fair fellow," said Travers. "There +is no such thief as Barat, from here to Nevers, or so it seems to me. +Cunning indeed is the thief who can steal from a thief. But for my part +I am not meant for your trade, for I cannot spell even its A B C. A +hundred times should I be taken in my simplicity, where you would +escape by guile. I will return to my own village where I was married to +my wife. Mad must I have been to forsake it to become a thief. I am +neither fool nor idler, and know well how to toil in the fields, to +winnow and to reap. With the help of God I am yet strong enough to gain +my bread, so I go my way, and commend you to God His keeping." + +So Travers parted from the company of the two thieves, and travelled by +hill and dale till he came at last to his own country. His comely wife, +Dame Maria, bore him no grudge for his absence, but welcomed his return +with much joy, as was her husband's due. He settled down amongst his +friends and acquaintance, and earned his living honestly and well. He +prospered greatly, so that he had enough and to spare, both of this and +of that. Now, towards Christmas, Travers killed a pig which he had +fattened all the year. He hung the bacon from a rafter of his house, +but better had he done, and much trouble would he have escaped, had he +sold it in the village, as you will see who read this story. + +On a day when Travers was cutting fagots within a coppice, Haimet and +Barat, seeking what they might find, lighted on his house, and found +Dame Maria spinning at her wheel. Then said these rogues whose business +it was to cozen the simple-- + +"Dame, where is your husband?" + +"Gentles," answered she, unknowing of these cheats, "he is in the wood, +gathering fagots for the fire." + +"May God prosper his work," said they devoutly. + +So they seated themselves, and looked about the house, high and low, at +larder and hearth-stone, in every nook and corner. Presently Barat, +raising his head, saw the side of bacon hanging from the rafters. He +drew the attention of Haimet to the meat, saying-- + +"Travers pains himself greatly to hide this bacon in his room. He fears +lest we should live a little at his cost, or taste his savoury meat. +Yet taste we will, if so we may." + +Then they took their leave, and going a short distance, hid themselves +behind a hedge, where each set to work upon the sharpening of a stake. + +When Travers returned to his home-- + +"Husband," said his wife, Dame Maria, "two men have sought you who +frightened me greatly, for I was alone in the house, and they would not +tell me their business. They were mean and shifty to look upon, and +there is not a thing in all the room that they have not taken stock +of--not the bacon, nor anything else--knife, reaping-hook, nor axe, for +their eyes were in every place at once." + +"Well I know who they are and what they want of me," said Travers, "for +they have seen me often. We have lost our bacon, I promise you, since +Barat and Haimet have come to seek it for themselves. It is to no +purpose that we have cured it in the smoke, of that I am very sure. In +an evil hour I killed my pig, and certainly it were better to have sold +it last Saturday when I was able." + +"Husband," answered the wife, "if you take the bacon down from the +ceiling, perchance these thieves may not find it when they come." + +Therefore, because of the importunity of his wife, Travers mounted on a +stool and cut the cord, so that the bacon fell upon the floor. But not +knowing where to bestow the meat, they let it remain even where it had +fallen, having first covered it with the vessel in which they kneaded +their bread. Then, sad at heart, they went to bed to take what rest +they might. + +When the night was come, those who were so desirous of the bacon came +to the house, and with their stakes made a hole in the wall near to the +threshold, a hole so large that you might have trundled a mill-stone +therein. Thereby they entered softly, and groped warily about the +house. Now Barat went from stool to table till he came beneath the +rafter from whence the bacon hung. He knew by touch that the cord was +severed, and he whispered in his brother's ear that he had not found +the meat, "But," said the thief, "Travers is a fool if he thinks to +conceal it for long." + +Then they listened in the darkness of the room to the breathing of +those upon the bed. + +Travers did not dare to sleep, and finding that his wife was becoming +drowsy, roused her, saying-- + +"Wife, this is no time for sleep. I shall go about the house to see +that all is fast." + +"Do not leave me," answered his wife. + +But Travers, who was a prudent man, rose from his bed to make sure of +all his goods. He came to the kneading trough, and raising it a little +from the ground, felt the bacon safely beneath. Then taking a great axe +in his hand he went out to visit his cow in her byre. + +Barat came swiftly to the bed, like the bold and cunning thief he was. + +"Marion," said he, "fair sister, I have a certain thing to ask you, but +dare not do so, for fear you think me mad." + +"That I will never deem you, husband, by St. Paul; but I will counsel +you to the best of my power." + +"I slept so soundly that I cannot remember where we bestowed the bacon +yester night, so bemused am I with dreams." + +"God help you, husband, to find more seasonable jests; is it not hid +beneath the bin upon the floor?" + +"In God's name, sister, you speak truly, and I will go to feel if it is +yet there." + +Being desirous to keep his word, Barat lifted the trough and drew forth +the bacon. Then he rejoined Haimet, who was near by, and the two +thieves hastened towards the coppice, making much of each other because +of the success of their trick. + +Now Travers returned to his bed, first carefully fastening his doors. + +"Certes," said his wife, "dazed you must have been to ask me what had +become of our bacon." + +"God help me," cried Travers, "when did I ask you this question?" + +"Why, but now, husband." + +"Sister, our bacon has walked off. Never shall we see it more, unless I +may steal it from these thieves. But they are the most cunning robbers +in all the land." + +Travers went out forthwith in quest of the rogues who had carried off +his bacon. He took a short cut through a field of wheat, and following +the path very swiftly, presently found himself between the tricksters +and the wood. Haimet was very near to cover, but Barat went more +heavily, seeing that his load was right heavy. So Travers, being +anxious to take his own again, quickened his steps, and coming to him +said-- + +"Give it to me, for you are weary, seeing you have carried it so long a +road. Sit down now, and take a little rest." + +Barat, thinking that he had met with Haimet, gladly placed the bacon on +the shoulders of Travers, and went his way. But Travers turned him back +to his own house, and hastened towards his home by the nearest path. +Now Barat, deeming that Haimet followed after, ran towards the wood +until he overtook his brother. When he knew him again he had great +fear, because he thought him behind. But when Haimet saw him stagger, +he cried out, "Let me bear the bacon for a while. I think it little +likely that I shall fall beneath its weight, as you are near to do. +Certainly you are overdone." + +"God give me health," answered Barat, "for Travers has made a fool of +us. It is he who carries his bacon on his own shoulders. But the game +is not finished yet, and I have yet a throw to make." + +Travers proceeded on his way in quietness and peace, as one who had +nought to fear from any man. But Barat, wet with haste, overtook him in +the end. He had taken off his shirt and wrapped it about his head like +a coif, and as much as he was able bore himself in the semblance of a +woman. + +"Alas," cried he, "very nearly am I dead by reason of the loss and +mischief dealt me by these wicked men. God, what has become of my +husband, who has suffered so many things at their hands?" + +Thinking that his wife was speaking to him, Travers held forth the +bacon. + +"Sister," said he, "God is yet above the Devil. You see we have again +our own." + +Then he, who never thought to lay hands upon the meat, seized upon it +greedily. + +"Do not wait for me, husband, but get to bed as quickly as you can, for +now you may sleep without any fear." + +So Travers returned to his own house, and Barat hastened to his +brother, bearing the bacon with him. + +When Travers found his wife in tears-- + +"Certes, Mary," said he, "all this has come upon us by reason of our +sins. I thought to charge your shoulders with our bacon in the garden, +but now I know well that these rogues have bestowed it upon theirs. +Heavens, I wonder where he learned to play the part of a woman so +bravely in manner and in speech! Hard is the lesson I am set to learn +in school, because of a flitch of bacon. But, please God, I will find +them this night, yea, though I walk till I have no sole to my shoe, and +supplant them yet." + +Travers took the path leading to the wood, and entering in the coppice, +saw the red blaze of a fire which these two thieves had litten. He +heard their voices lifted in dispute, so he concealed himself behind an +oak, and listened to their words. At the end Barat and Haimet agreed +that it were better to eat the bacon forthwith, lest a new cast of the +dice should go against them. Whilst they went to seek dry cones and +brushwood for the fire, Travers crept privily to the oak beneath which +it was burning. But the wood was damp and green, so that more smoke and +smother came from that fire than flame. Then Travers climbed into the +tree, and by the aid of bough and branch came at last to the place +where he would be. The two thieves returned presently with cones and +brambles. These they threw upon the fire in handfuls, saying that very +soon it would grill their bacon, and Travers hearkened to their speech. +He had stripped himself to his shirt, and hung from a limb of the oak +by his arm. Now, in a while, Haimet lifted his eyes to the tree, and +saw above him the hanged man, tall, grotesque and horrible to see, +naked in his very shirt. + +"Barat," whispered he, "our father is spying upon us. Behold him +hanging from this branch in a very hideous fashion. Surely it is he +come back to us, is it not?" + +"God help me," cried Barat, "it seems to me that he is about to fall." + +Then because of their fear the two thieves fled from that place, +without leisure to eat, or to bear away, the bacon they had stolen. + +When Travers marked their flight he tarried no longer in the oak, but +taking his bacon, returned straightway to his house, with none to give +him nay. His wife praised him to his face, saying-- + +"Husband, you are welcome home, for you have proven your worth. Never +did there live a braver man than you." + +"Sister," said he, "take wood from the cellar, and make a fire. +Certainly we must eat our bacon, if we would call it our own." + +Dame Maria lighted a fire with fagots upon the hearth; she put water in +the cauldron, and hung it on the hook above the fire. Travers for his +part carefully cut the bacon for which he had suffered so great +trouble, and put it in the pot till all was full. When this was done-- + +"Fair sister," said he, "watch by the fire, if you can keep awake. I +have not slept this night, and will rest a little on the bed. But I +will not take off my clothes, because I still am troubled of these +thieves." + +"Husband," answered she, "ill luck go with them. Sleep soundly and in +peace, for there is none to do you wrong." + +So Dame Maria kept vigil whilst Travers slept, for very greatly had he +need of rest. + +During this time Barat lamented in the wood, for well he knew, when he +found the bacon gone, that Travers had played this trick upon them. + +"Certes," said he, "we have lost the meat because of our fearful +hearts, and it belongs to Travers by right of courage. A good breakfast +he will make, for he deems that none can take it from him. He will look +upon us as dirt, if we leave it in his hands. Let us go to his house +and mark where he has bestowed it." + +The two thieves hastened to the door of Travers' house. Barat set his +eye to a crevice therein, and saw a sight which gave him little joy, +for the pot was boiling upon the fire. + +"Haimet," said he, "the bacon is cooking, and much I grieve that there +is none for us." + +"Let it boil in peace till it is fit for eating," answered Haimet. "I +shall not give Travers quittance in this matter till he has paid me +wages for my toil." + +Haimet sought a long stake which he cut from a hazel tree, and +sharpened it with his knife. Then he climbed upon the roof of the +house, and uncovered a little space above the spot where the cauldron +boiled upon the fire. Through this opening he could see the wife of +Travers sound asleep, for she was weary of her vigil, and nodded over +the hearth. Haimet lowered the rod, which he had sharpened like a dart, +and struck it in the pot so adroitly that he drew forth a portion of +the bacon from out the cauldron. This he raised cunningly to the roof, +and had great joy of his fishing. Then awoke Travers from his sleep, +and saw this thing, and marked the thief, who was both malicious and +strong. + +"Gossip, upon my roof," said he, "it is not reasonable of you to strip +the covering from over my head. In this manner we shall never come to +an end. Climb down; let us give and take. Let each of us have his share +of the bacon." + +So Haimet descended from the roof, and the bacon was taken from the +cauldron. Dame Maria divided the meat into three portions, for the +thieves had no care to let Travers part the lots. The two brothers took +two portions, and Travers one; but his was not the best, for all that +he had nourished the pig. + +For this reason was the proverb made, oh, gentles, that "Bad is the +company of thieves." + + + + +THE FRIENDSHIP OF AMIS AND AMILE + + +In the days of Pepin, King of the Franks, a boy was born in the Castle +of Bericain to a father of Allemaigne, of noble descent and of great +holiness. His father and mother, who had no other child, vowed to God +and to St. Peter and St. Paul that if God vouchsafed him breath he +should be carried to Rome for his baptism. At the same hour a vision +was seen of the Count of Alverne--whose wife was near her day--in which +he saw the Apostle of Rome, who baptized many children in his palace, +and confirmed them with the anointing of holy oil. When the Count awoke +from his sleep he inquired of the wise men of those parts what this +thing might mean. Then a certain wise old man, having heard his words, +by the counsel of God made answer, and said-- + +"Rejoice greatly, Count, for a son shall now be born to thee great in +courage and in virtue, and thou shalt carry him to Rome, so that he may +be baptized by the Apostle." + +So the Count rejoiced in his heart, and he and his people praised the +counsel of that ancient man. + +The child was born, and cherished dearly, and when he was of the age of +two years his father prepared to carry him to Rome, according to his +purpose. On his way he came to the city of Lucca, and there fell in +with a certain nobleman of Allemaigne who was on pilgrimage to Rome, +that there he might baptize his son. Each greeted the other, and +inquired of his name and business; and when they knew they were in the +like case, and bound on the same errand, they took each other as +companion with a kind heart, and voyaged together to Rome. The two +children, also, loved so dearly, that one would not eat save the other +ate with him; so that they fed from the same dish, and lay in the one +bed. In such manner as this the fathers carried the boys before the +Apostle at Rome, and said to him-- + +"Holy Father, whom we believe and know to be seated in the chair of St. +Peter the Apostle, we, the Count of Alverne, and the Chatelain of +Castle Bericain, humbly pray your Holiness that you would deign to +baptize the sons they have carried here from a distant land, and to +accept this humble offering from their hands." + +Then the Pope made answer-- + +"It is very meet to come with such a gift before me, but of such I have +no need. Give it, therefore, to the poor, who cry for alms. Right +willingly will I baptize the children, and may the Father, the Son and +the Holy Ghost ever fold them close in the love of the Holy Trinity." + +So at that one time the Apostle baptized the two children in St. +Saviour's Church, and he gave to the son of the Count of Alverne the +name of Amile, and to the son of the Chatelain of Castle Bericain gave +he the name of Amis. Many a knight of Rome held them at the font, and +answered in their name as god-parents, according to the will of God. +Then, when the Sacrament of Baptism was at an end, the Apostle +commanded to be brought two wooden cups, fair with gold and set with +costly stones, of one workmanship, size and fashion, and these he +handed to the children, saying-- + +"Take this gift in witness that I have baptized you in St. Saviour's +Church." + +So the knights received the cups with great joy, and rendered him +grace for his gift, and parting from thence repaired each to his own +home in all comfort and solace. + +To the child of the Knight of Bericain God also gave a gift, the gift +of such wise understanding that men might almost believe that he was +another Solomon. + +When Amis was of the age of thirty years a fever seized upon his +father, and he began to admonish his son in words such as these-- + +"Fair, dear son, my end is near at hand, but thou shalt tarry for a +season, and be thine own lord. Firstly, fair son, observe the +commandments of God, and be of the chivalry of Jesus Christ. Keep faith +with thy overlords, and turn not thy back on thy companions and thy +friends. Defend the widow and the orphan; be pitiful to the captive and +to all in need; think every day upon that day which shall be thy last. +Forsake not the society and friendship of the son of the Count of +Alverne, for the Apostle of Rome baptized you together on one day, and +graced you with one gift. Are you not alike in all things--in beauty, +in comeliness, and in strength, so that whosoever sees you, thinks you +to be sons of one mother?" + +Having spoken these words, he was houselled of the priest, and died in +our Lord; and his son gave him fitting burial, and paid him all such +service as is meetly required for the dead. + +After the death of his father divers evil persons wrought Amis much +mischief, because of the envy they felt towards him; but nevertheless +he bore them no ill will, and patiently suffered all the wrong and +malice that they did. Let me tell you, then, without more words, that +such was his case that he and his servants were cast forth from the +heritage of his fathers, and driven from the gate of his own keep. But +when he had called to mind the words of his father, he said to those +who journeyed with him in the way-- + +"The wicked have spoiled me wrongfully of my inheritance, yet have I +good hope that the Lord is on my side. Come now, let us seek the Court +of Count Amile, my comrade and my friend. Peradventure he will give us +of his goods and lands; but if not, then will we gather to Hildegarde, +the Queen, wife of King Charles of France, the stay and support of the +disinherited." + +So those of his company made answer that they would follow where he +led, and would serve him as his men. They rode, therefore, to the court +of the Count, but might not find him, for reason that he had passed to +Bericain to comfort Amis, his companion, because of the death of his +father. When Amile might not find Amis, he departed from the castle, +greatly vexed, and resolved within himself that he would not solace +himself in his own fief until he had met with Amis, his friend. +Therefore he rode on this quest through France and Allemaigne, seeking +news of him from all his kindred, but finding none. + +Now Amis, together with his company, for his part sought diligently for +Amile his friend, until it chanced that on a day a certain lord gave +him harbourage, and at his bidding Amis told him of this adventure. +Then said the nobleman-- + +"Dwell ye with me, sir knights, and I will give my daughter to your +lord, because of the wisdom men report of him, and you, for your own +part, shall be made rich in silver, in gold and in lands." + +They rejoiced greatly at his word, and the wedding feast was celebrated +with marvellous joy. But when they had tarried in that place for one +year and six months, Amis called together his ten companions and spake +to them. + +"We are recreant, inasmuch as we have forgotten all this while to seek +for Amile." + +So he left two men-at-arms, together with his precious cup, and set +forth towards Paris. + +Now for the space of nearly two years Amile had sought for Amis without +pause or rest. Drawing near to Paris he lighted upon a pilgrim and +asked of him if perchance he knew aught of Amis, whom evil men had +hunted from his lands. The palmer said "Nay," wherefore Amile divested +himself of his cloak, and gave it to the pilgrim, saying-- + +"Pray thou to our Lord and His saints for me that they give me grace to +meet Amis, my friend." + +So he saluted the pilgrim, and went his way to Paris, seeking in every +place for news of Amis his friend, and finding none. But the pilgrim, +passing swiftly upon his road, came upon Amis about the hour of +vespers, and they saluted each the other. Then Amis inquired of the +palmer whether he had seen or heard, in any land or realm, aught of +Amile, the son of the Count of Alverne. + +"What manner of man art thou," answered the palmer all astonied, "that +thou makest mock of a pilgrim? Thou seemest to me that very Amile who +but this morn sought of me if I had seen Amis, his friend. I know not +for what reason thou hast changed thine apparel, thy company, thy +horses and thy arms, nor why thou askest of me the same question thou +didst require at nine hours of the morn when thou gavest me this +cloak." + +"Be not angry with me," said Amis, "for I am not the man you deem; but +I am Amis who searches for his friend Amile." + +So he gave him money from his pouch, and prayed him that he would +require of our Lord that He might grant him grace to find Amile. + +"Hasten quickly to Paris," said the pilgrim, "and there shalt thou +find him whom so fondly thou seekest." + +So Amis hastened instantly to the city. + +It chanced upon the morrow that Amile departed from Paris, and took his +ease within a daisied meadow near by the pleasant waters of the Seine. +Whilst he ate there with his knights there came that way Amis with his +men-at-arms. So Amile and his company armed themselves forthwith, and +rode forth before them at adventure. Then Amis said to his companions-- + +"Behold these French knights who seek to do us a mischief. Stand +stoutly together, and so shall we defend our lives. If we but escape +this peril soon shall we be within the walls of Paris, and sweetly +shall we be entreated at the palace of the King." + +Then drew the two companies together with loosened rein, with lance in +rest, and with brandished sword, in such fashion that it seemed as if +none might escape alive from the fury of that onset. But God, the all +powerful, Who knoweth all, and bringeth to a good end the travail of +the just, suffered not that spears should meet in that encounter. So +when they were near at hand Amis cried aloud-- + +"Who are you, knights, that are so eager to slay Amis the Banished and +his companions?" + +When Amile heard these words he knew well the voice of Amis, his +comrade, so he answered him-- + +"Oh thou, Amis, most dear, sweet as rest to my labour, know me for +Amile, son of the Count of Alverne, who have not given over my quest +for thee these two whole years." + +Then forthwith they lighted from their steeds, and clasped and kissed +each the other, giving grace to God Who granteth the treasure to the +seeker. Moreover, upon the guard of Amile's sword, wherein was set a +holy relic, they swore faith, and friendship, and fellowship to death, +the one with the other. So set they forth from that place, riding +together to the Court of Charles, the King of France. There they moved +amongst the lords, young, discreet and wise, fair to see, shapen +wondrously alike in form and face, beloved of all men and held of all +in honour. There, too, the King received them with much courtesy, +making of Amis his treasurer, and to Amile gave he the office of +seneschal. + +In this fashion they tarried long with the King, but at the end of +three years Amis said to Amile-- + +"Fair, sweet companion, I desire greatly to see my wife, whom I have +left so long. Stay thou at Court, and for my part I will return so soon +as I may. But have thou no dealings with the daughter of the King, and, +more than all, beware and keep thee from the malice of Arderay the +felon knight." + +"I will observe thy bidding," answered Amile, "but make no long +tarrying from my side." + +On these words Amis departed from the Court; but Amile for his part saw +with his eyes that the daughter of the King was fair, and knew the +princess, in love, as soon as he was able. Thus the commandment and the +warning of Amis, his companion, passed quickly from his mind; yet think +not too hardly of the young man, forasmuch that he was not more holy +than David, nor wiser than Solomon, David's son. + +Whilst Amile was busied with these matters there came to him Arderay, +the traitor, full of envy, and said-- + +"Thou dost not know, comrade, thou dost not know that Amis has stolen +gold from the King's treasury, and therefore hath he taken flight. +Since things are thus I require that you swear to me fealty of +friendship and of brotherhood, and I will swear to you the like oath on +the holy Gospels." + +Having pledged such troth as this, Amile feared not to betray his +secret to the felon knight. Now when Amile bore bason and ewer to the +King, that he might wash his hands, then said that false Arderay to his +lord-- + +"Take no water from the hands of this recreant, Sir King, for he is +worthier of death than of life, since he has plucked from the Queen's +daughter the flower of her maidenhood." + +When Amile heard this thing he was so fearful that he fell upon the +floor, and answered not a word, so that the courteous King raised him +to his feet, and said-- + +"Have no fear, Amile, but stand up and acquit thee of this blame." + +Then Amile stood upon his feet and said-- + +"Sir King, give no ready credence to the lies of this traitor Arderay, +for well I know that you are an upright judge, turning neither for love +nor hate out of the narrow way. Grant me, therefore, time for counsel +with my friends, so that I may purge myself of this charge before you, +and in single combat with Arderay, the traitor, prove him to be a liar +before all your Court." + +The King gave to both champions till three hours after noon that each +might take counsel with his friends, and bade that at such time they +should stand before him to fulfil their devoir. At the appointed hour +they came before the King. With Arderay for friend and witness came +Herbert the Count; but Amile found none to stand at his side, save only +Hildegarde, the Queen. So sweetly did the lady plead his cause that she +prevailed upon her lord to grant Amile such further respite for counsel +that he might seek Amis, his friend; yet nevertheless only on such +covenant that if Amile returned not on the appointed day the lady +should be banished ever from the royal bed. + +Whilst Amile was on his way to take counsel with his friend, he chanced +on Amis, his comrade, who repaired to the Court of the King. So he +alighted from his steed, and kneeling at the feet of his companion, +said-- + +"Oh thou, my one hope of surety, I have not obeyed the charge you laid +upon me, and am truly blamed by reason of my dealings with the daughter +of the King. Therefore must I endure ordeal of battle with the false +Arderay." + +"Let us leave here our companions," returned Amis, sighing, "and enter +in this wood to make the matter clear." + +Then Amis, having heard, reproached Amile, and said-- + +"Let us now exchange our garments and our horses, and thou, for thy +part, get thee gone to my house, whilst I ride to do judgment by combat +for thee upon this traitor." + +But Amile answered him-- + +"How then may I go about thine house, seeing that I know not thy wife +nor thy household, nor ever have looked upon their face?" + +And Amis replied-- + +"Very easily mayest thou do this thing, so thou dost but walk +prudently; but take thou good heed to have no dealings with my wife." + +Thereupon the two companions departed one from the other, with tears; +Amis riding to the Court of the King in the guise of Amile, and Amile +to the house of his comrade in the guise of Amis. Now the wife of Amis, +seeing him draw near, hastened to embrace him whom she thought was her +lord, and would have kissed him. But Amile said-- + +"Is this a time for play? I have matter for tears rather than for +claspings, for since I parted from thee have I suffered many bitter +griefs, yea, and yet must suffer." + +And that night as they made ready to lie together in one bed, Amile set +his naked sword between the twain, and said to his brother's wife-- + +"Beware lest thy body draw near in any wise to mine, for then will I +slay thee with this sword." + +In such fashion passed the night, and every night, until Amis repaired +secretly to the castle to know certainly whether Amile kept faith and +word in this matter of his wife. + +The day appointed for the combat now was come, and the Queen awaited +Amile, sick of heart; for Arderay, that traitor, cried aloud, that +certainly ought she never to come near the King's bed, since she had +suffered and consented to Amile's dealings with her maid. Whilst +Arderay boasted thus, Amis entered within the Court of the King at the +hour of noon, clad in the apparel of his comrade, and said-- + +"Right debonair and Lord Justicier of this realm, here stand I to seek +ordeal of battle with this false Arderay, because of the blame he has +laid upon me, the Queen, and the Princess, her child." + +Then answered the King right courteously-- + +"Be stout of heart, oh Count, for if you prove Arderay to be false I +will give thee my daughter Belisant to wife." + +On the morning of the morrow Arderay and Amis rode into the lists, +armed from plume to heel, in the presence of the King and of much +people. But the Queen with a great company of maidens and widows and +dames went from church to church, giving gifts of money and of torches, +and praying God for the safety of the champion of her daughter. Now +Amis considered in his heart that should he slay Arderay he would be +guilty of his blood before the eyes of God, and if he were overthrown +then would it be a shame to him for all his days. So he spake in such +manner as this to Arderay. + +"Foul counsel hast thou followed, Sir Count, so ardently to seek my +death, and to thrust this life of thine into grievous peril of hurt. So +thou wilt withdraw the reproach thou hast fastened upon me, and avoid +this mortal strife, thou canst have of me friendship and loyal +service." + +But Arderay was right wroth at these words, and replied-- + +"No care have I for friendship or service of thine; rather will I swear +to the truth as that truth is, and smite thy head from thy shoulders." + +Then Arderay swore that his foe had done wrong to the daughter of the +King, and Amis made oath that he lied. Thereupon, incontinent they +drove together, and with mighty strokes strove one against the other +from the hour of tierce till it was nones. And at nones Arderay fell +within the lists; and Amis struck off his head. + +The King lamented that Arderay was dead, but rejoiced that his daughter +was proved clean from stain. He gave the Princess to Amis for dame, and +with her, as dowry, a mighty sum in gold and silver, and a city near by +the sea where they might dwell. So Amis rejoiced greatly in his bride; +and returned as quickly as he might to the castle where he had hidden +Amile, his companion. When Amile saw him hastening homewards with many +horsemen, he was sore adread that Amis was overthrown, and made ready +to escape. But Amis sent messages to him that he should return in all +surety, since he had avenged him upon Arderay, and thus, by proxy, was +he married to the daughter of the King. So Amile repaired from that +place, and dwelt with his dame in that city which was her heritage. + +Now Amis abode with his wife, but by the permission of God he became a +leper, and his sickness was so heavy upon him that he could not leave +his bed, for whom God loveth him He chasteneth. His wife--who was named +Obias--for this cause hated him sorely, and sought his death many a +time in shameful fashion. When Amis perceived her malice he called to +him two of his men-at-arms, Azonem and Horatus, and said to them-- + +"Deliver me from the hands of this wicked woman, and take with you my +cup secretly, and bear us to the tower of Bericain." + +When they drew near to the castle men came out before them asking of +the sickness and of the man whom they carried there. Then they answered +that this was Amis, their lord, who was a leper, for which cause they +prayed them to show him some pity. But mercilessly they beat the +sergeants, and tumbled Amis forth from the litter in which he was +borne, crying-- + +"Flee swiftly from hence, if ye care aught for your lives." + +Then Amis wept grievously, and said-- + +"Oh Thou, God most pitiful and compassionate, grant me to die, or give +me help in this my extremity." + +Again he said to the men-at-arms-- + +"Carry me now to the church of the Father of Rome; perchance God of His +loving kindness will there give alms to the beggar." + +When they were come to Rome, Constantine the Apostle, full of pity and +of sanctity, together with many a knight of those who had held Amis at +the font, came before him and supplied the wants of Amis and his +servants. But after three years a great famine came upon the city--a +famine so grievous that the father put his very offspring from the +door. Then Azonem and Horatus spake to Amis-- + +"Fair sir, bear witness how loyally we have served you from the death +of your father, even to this day, and that never have we done against +your bidding. But now we dare no longer to bide with you, since we have +no heart to die of hunger. For this cause we pray you to acquit us of +our service, so that we may avoid this mortal pestilence." + +Then answered Amis in his tears-- + +"Oh, my dear children, not servants but sons, my only comfort, I pray +you for the love of God that you forsake me not here, but that you bear +me to the city of my comrade, Count Amile." + +And these, willing to obey his commandment, carried him to that place +where Amile lay. Now when they came before the court of Amile's house +they began to sound their clappers, as the leper is wont to do; so when +Amile heard the sound thereof he bade a servitor of his to carry to the +sick man bread and meat, and the cup which was given to him at Rome +brimmed with rich wine. When the man-at-arms had done the bidding of +his lord, he came to him again, and said-- + +"Sir, by the faith which is your due, if I held not your cup within my +hand, I should believe it to be the cup that the sick man beareth even +now, for they are alike in workmanship and height." + +And Amile said to him-- + +"Go quickly, and bring him hither to me." + +When the leper was come before his comrade, Amile inquired of him who +he was, and how he came to own such a cup. + +"I am of Castle Bericain," said he, "and the cup was given me by the +Apostle of Rome who baptized me." + +When Amile heard these words he knew within himself that this was Amis, +his comrade, who had delivered him from death, and given him the +daughter of the King of France as dame. So at once he fell upon his +neck, and began to weep and lament his evil case, kissing and +embracing him. When his wife heard this thing she ran forth with fallen +hair, weeping and making great sorrow, for she bore in mind that this +was he who had done judgment on Arderay. Forthwith they set him in a +very fair bed, and said to him-- + +"Tarry with us, fair sir, until the will of God is done on you, for all +that we have is as thine own." + +So he dwelt with them, he and his two men-at-arms likewise. + +Now on a night when Amis and Amile lay together in a chamber, without +other company, God sent Raphael, His angel, to Amis, who spake him +thus-- + +"Amis, sleepest thou?" + +And he, deeming that Amile had called him, answered-- + +"I sleep not, fair dear companion." + +And the angel said to him-- + +"Thou hast well spoken, for thou art the companion of the citizens of +Heaven, and like Job and Tobit hast suffered all things meekly and with +patience. I am Raphael, an angel of our Lord, who am come to show thee +medicine for thy healing, for God hath heard thy prayers. Thou must bid +Amile, thy comrade, to slay his two children with the sword, and wash +thee in their blood, that thus thy body may become clean." + +Then Amis replied-- + +"This be far from me, that my comrade be blood-guilty for my health." + +But the angel said-- + +"It is meet that he should do this thing." + +On these words the angel departed from him. + +Now Amile also, in his sleep, had heard these words, and he awoke, and +said-- + +"Comrade, who is this who hath spoken to thee?" + +And Amis answered that no man had spoken. "But I prayed our Lord, as is +my wont." + +But Amile said-- + +"It is not thus, but some one hath spoken with thee." + +Then he rose from the bed, and went to the door of the chamber, and +finding it fast, said-- + +"Tell me, fair brother, who hath said to thee these hidden words." + +Then Amis began to weep bitterly, and denied not that it was Raphael, +the angel of our Lord, who had said to him, "Amis, our Lord sends word +to thee that thou biddest Amile to slay his two children with the +sword, and to wash thee in their blood, that thou mayest be clean of +thy leprosy." + +And Amile was sorely distressed on hearing these words, and said-- + +"Amis, gladly have I given thee sergeant and damsel and all the riches +that I had, and in fraud thou feignest that the angel hath bidden me to +slay my two little ones with the sword." + +Then Amis broke out into weeping, and said-- + +"I know that I have told thee of a grievous matter, but not of mine own +free will; I pray thee therefore that thou cast me not forth from thy +house." + +And Amile answered him that the covenant he had made with him he would +not depart from till the hour of death. "But I adjure thee by the faith +between me and thee, and by our fellowship, and by the baptism given to +us twain at Rome, that thou tell me truly whether it was man or angel +who spoke to thee of this thing." + +And Amis made reply-- + +"So truly as the angel hath held converse with me this night, so may +God make me clean of my infirmity." + +Then Amile began to weep privily, and to consider within his heart. "If +this man was willing to die in my stead before the King, why then +should I not slay mine own for him! He hath kept faith with me even +unto death: shall I not therefore keep faith with him! Abraham was +saved by faith, and by faith have the saints proved mightier than +kings. Yea, God saith in the Gospel, 'Whatsoever ye would that men +should do unto you, even so do unto them.'" + +Then Amile delayed no more, but went to his wife's chamber, and bade +her to attend the Divine Office; so the Countess sought the church, as +was her wont to do, and the Count took his sword and went to the bed +where lay the children, and they were asleep. And bending above them he +wept bitterly, and said-- + +"Hath any man heard of such father who was willing to slay his child? +Alas, alas, my children, no longer shall I be your father, but your +cruel murderer." + +The children awoke because of their father's tears which fell upon +them, and looking upon his face began to laugh. Since therefore they +were about the age of three years he said to them-- + +"Your laughter will turn to tears, for now your innocent blood shall be +shed." + +He spoke thus, and cut off their heads; and making straight their limbs +upon the bed, he set their heads to their bodies, and covered all with +the coverlet, as if they slept. So he washed his companion with the +blood of that slaying, and said-- + +"Lord God, Jesus Christ, Who hast bidden men to keep faith on earth, +and didst cleanse the leper with Thy word, deign Thou to make clean my +comrade, for love of whom I have shed the blood of my children." + +Straightway was Amis made whole of his leprosy, and they gave grace to +our Lord with great joy, saying-- + +"Blessed be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, who saveth those +who put their trust in Him." + +And Amile clad his comrade from his own rich apparel; and passing to +the church to render thanks in that place, the bells rang without +ringers, as was the will of God. When the people of the city heard +thereof they hastened to behold this marvel. Now the wife of the Count, +when she saw the twain walking together, began to question which was +her husband, and said, "Well I know the vesture which they wear, but +which is Amile, that I know not," and the Count said-- + +"I am Amile, and this, my companion, is Amis, who is healed." + +Then the Countess marvelled greatly, and said-- + +"Easy is it to see that he is healed, but much desire I to know the +manner of that healing." + +"Render thanks to our Lord," returned the Count, "nor seek curiously of +the fashion of that cleansing." + +The hour of tierce was now come, and neither of the parents had yet +entered in the chamber where the children lay, but the father went +heavily for reason of their death. The Countess asked therefore for her +sons that they might share in the joy, but the Count replied-- + +"Nay, dame, but let the children sleep." + +Then entering by himself within the chamber to bewail his children, he +found them playing in the bed and about their necks, in the place of +that mortal wound, showed as it were a crimson thread. So he clasped +them in his arms, and bore them to their mother, saying-- + +"Dame, rejoice greatly, for thy sons whom I had slain with the sword, +at the bidding of the angel, are alive, and by their blood is Amis +cleansed and healed." + +When the Countess heard this thing she said-- + +"Count, why was I not with thee to gather the blood of my children, +that I too might have washed Amis, thy comrade and my lord?" + +And the Count answered her-- + +"Dame, let be these words; rather let us dedicate ourselves to our +Lord, who hath wrought such marvels in our house." + +So from that day, even unto their deaths, they lived together in +perfect chastity; and for the space of ten days the people of that city +held high festival. But on that very day that Amis was made clean, the +devil seized upon his wife, and breaking her neck, carried off her +soul. + +After these things Amis rode to the castle of Bericain, and laid siege +thereto, and sat before it for so long a time that those within the +castle yielded themselves into his hand. He received them graciously, +forgetting his anger against them, and forgiving them the wrongs that +they had done, so that from thenceforth he dwelt peaceably amongst +them, and with him, in his own house, lived the elder son of Count +Amile. There he served our Lord with all his heart. + +Now Adrian, being at this time Pope of Rome, sent letters to Charles, +King of France, praying him to come to his aid against Didier, King of +the Lombards, who wrought much mischief to him and the Church. Now +Charles lay in the town of Thionville, and to that place came Peter, +the envoy of the Apostle, with messages from the Pope praying him to +hasten to the succour of Holy Church. For this cause Charles sent +letters to the said Didier requiring him to render to the Holy Father +the cities and all other things which he had wrongfully seized, and +promising that if he would do this thing the said Charles would send +him in return the sum of forty thousand pieces of gold, in gold and +silver. But he would not do right, neither for prayers nor for gifts. + +Then the stout King Charles summoned to his aid all his men--bishops, +abbots, dukes, princes, marquises, and other stout knights. Divers of +these he sent to Cluses to guard the pass, and of this number was +Albin, Bishop of Angers, a man of great holiness. + +King Charles himself, with a large company of spears, drew towards +Cluses by the way of Mont Cenis, and he sent Bernard, his uncle, with +other knights, thither by way of Mont Saint-Bernard. The vanguard of +the host said that Didier, with all his strength, lay at Cluses, which +town he had made strong with iron chains and works of stone. Whilst +Charles approached to Cluses he sent messengers to Didier, requiring +him to render to the Holy Father the cities which he had taken, but he +would not heed his prayer. Again Charles sent him other letters +demanding three children of the Justices of Lombardy as hostages, until +such time as he had yielded up the cities of the Church; in which case +for his part he would return to France with all his spears, without +battle and without malice. But neither for this nor for that would he +stint. + +When God the All-powerful had beheld the hard heart and the malice of +this Didier, and found that the French desired greatly to return, He +put so fearful a trembling in the hearts of the Lombards that they took +to flight, though there was none that pursued, leaving behind them +their tents and all their harness. So Charles and his host followed +after them, and Frenchman, German, Englishman and divers other people +entered hot after them into Lombardy. + +Amis and Amile were of the host, and very near to the person of the +King. Always they strove to follow our Lord in good works, and were +constant in fast, in vigil, in giving of alms, in succouring the widow +and the orphan, in assuaging often the wrath of the King, in patient +suffering of evil men, and in piteous dealings within the Roman realm. + +But though Charles had a great army drawn together in Lombardy, King +Didier feared not to come before him with his little host--for there +where Didier had a priest, Charles had a bishop; where one had a monk, +the other had an abbot; if this had a knight, that had a prince; if +Didier had a man-at-arms, then Charles had a duke or a count. What +shall I tell you; for a single knight on the one side Charles could +number thirty pennons. And the two hosts fell each upon the other with +a tumult of battle cries, and with banners in array; and the stones and +arrows flew from here and there, and knights were smitten down on every +side. + +For the space of three days the Lombards strove so valiantly that they +slew a very great company of Charles's men. But on the third day +Charles set in order the hardiest and bravest of his host and said to +them-- + +"Go now, and win this battle, or return no more." + +So King Didier together with the host of the Lombards fled to the place +called Mortara, which was then known as Belle-Foret, because the +country was so fair, there to refresh themselves and their horses. On +the morning of the next day King Charles with his army drew near the +town, and found the Lombards arrayed for the battle. So fierce was the +combat that a great multitude of men were slain, both of one party and +the other, and for reason of this slaying was the place named Mortara. +There, too, on that field died Amis and Amile, for as it had pleased +God to make their lives lovely and pleasant together, so in their +deaths they were not divided. There also many another hardy knight was +slain with the sword. But Didier, together with his Justiciary, and all +the multitude of the Lombards, fled to Pavia; and King Charles followed +closely after him and lay before the city, and invested it on every +side; and lying there he sent to France to seek the Queen and his +children. But St. Albin, the Bishop of Angers, and many another bishop +and abbot counselled the King and Queen that they should bury those who +fell in that battle, and build in that place a church. This counsel +greatly pleased the King, so that on the field were built two churches, +one by bidding of Charles in honour of St. Eusebius of Verceil, and the +other by bidding of the Queen in honour of St. Peter. + +Moreover the King caused to be brought the two coffins of stone wherein +were buried Amis and Amile, and Amile was carried to the church of St. +Peter, and Amis to the church of St. Eusebius. But on the morrow the +body of Amile in his coffin of stone was found in the church of St. +Eusebius near by the coffin of his comrade, Amis. So have you heard the +story of this marvellous fellowship which could not be dissevered, even +by death. This miracle did God for His servants--that God Who gave such +power to His disciples that in His strength they might move even +mountains. Because of this wonder the King and Queen tarried there for +thirty days, giving fit burial to the bodies of the slain, and +honouring those ministers with many rich gifts. + +But all this while the host of Charles toiled mightily for the taking +of the city before which it lay. Our Lord also tormented those within +the walls so grievously that they might not bear their harness by +reason of weakness and of death. At the end of ten months Charles took +Didier the King, and all those who were with him, and possessed himself +of the city and of all that realm. So Didier the King and his wife were +led as captives into France. + +But St. Albin, who in his day gave life to the dead and light to the +blind, ordained clerks, and priests and deacons in the aforesaid church +of St. Eusebius, and bade them always to hold in tireless keeping the +bodies of those two comrades, Amis and Amile, who suffered death under +Didier, King of Lombardy, the 12th day of October, and are now with our +Lord Jesus Christ, Who liveth and reigneth with the Father and the Holy +Ghost, world without end. Amen. + + + + +OF THE KNIGHT WHO PRAYED WHILST OUR LADY TOURNEYED IN HIS STEAD + + +Sweet Jesus, what brave warfare doth he make, and how nobly doth he +joust, whose feet devoutly seek the church where the Divine Office is +rendered, and who assists at the holy mysteries of Him, the spotless +Son of the Mother Maid. For this cause will I tell you a certain story, +even as it was told to me, for a fair ensample. + +There was once a knight, esteemed of all as a wise and courteous lord, +stout and of great valour, who dearly loved and honoured the Virgin +Mary. The fame of this knight was bruited about all chivalry; so to +make proof alike of lisping squire and burly man-at-arms, he set forth +to a tourney, together with a strong company. Now by the will of God it +chanced that when the day of the tournament was come he fared speedily +towards the field, because he would be first at the breaking of the +spears. Near by the road was builded a little church, and the bells +thereof rang loud and clear to call men to the singing of the holy +Mass. So without doubt or hesitation this knight dismounted at the +door, and entered within the church to hearken to the service of God. +At an altar therein a priest chanted meetly and with reverence a Mass +of the holy Virgin Mary. Then another Mass was begun, the good knight +yet kneeling devoutly on his knees, and praying our Lady with an +earnest heart. When the second Mass came to its appointed end, +straightway a third Mass was commenced, forthwith and in the selfsame +place. + +"Sir, by the holy Body of God," said the squire to his lord, "the hour +to tourney hurries by. Why tarry you here? Depart from hence, I pray +you. Let us keep to our own trade, lest men deem you hermit or +hypocrite, or monk without the cowl!" + +"Friend," answered the knight, "most worshipfully doth he tourney who +hearkens to the service of God upon his knees. When the Masses are +altogether at an end, we will go upon our way. Till then, please God, +part from here will I not. But so that all are said, then will I joust +to the very utmost of my might, according to the will of God." + +With these words the knight refrained from further speech, and turning +himself again towards the altar took refuge in the holy liturgy, till +the last prayer came to a close with the last chant. Then they got to +horse, as was their bounden duty, and rode with speed towards that +place where the lists were set for the great play. So, presently, the +knights who were returning from the tournament, discomfited and +overborne, met him who had carried off all the prizes of the game. They +saluted the knight who was on his way from the Divine Offerings, and, +joining themselves to his company, praised him to his face, affirming +that never before had knight done such feats of arms as he had wrought +that day, to his undying fame. Moreover many amongst them drew near and +yielded themselves his captives, saying-- + +"We are your prisoners, for truly we may not deny that you have +overthrown us in the field." + +Then, taking thought, the knight was amazed no more, for quickly he +perceived that She had been upon his business in the press, about whose +business he had been within the chapel. + +So he called these knights and his fellowship around him, and said +right courteously-- + +"I pray you, one and all, to hearken to my words, for I have that to +tell you which never has been heard of ears." + +Then he told over to them, word for word, how that he had not jousted +in the tournament, neither had broken lance nor hung shield about his +neck, by reason of those Masses he had heard, but verily he believed +that the Maiden, whom humbly he had besought within the chapel, had +worn his harness in the lists. "Altogether lovely in my eyes is this +tournament wherein She has done my devoir; but very foully shall I +requite such gracious service if I seek another Lady, or in my folly +return to the vanities of the world. Therefore I pledge my word to God +in truth, that henceforth I will never fight, save in that tourney +where He sits, the one true Judge, Who knows the loyal knight, and +recompenses him according to his deeds." + +Then he bade them farewell right piteously, and many of his company +wept tenderly as they took their leave. But he, parting from them, went +his way to an abbey, to become the servant of the Handmaid of the Lord, +and to follow in that path which leadeth to a holy end. + +So, clearly we may perceive from this ensample, that the gracious God, +in Whom we put our faith, loves, cherishes, and delights to honour that +man who gladly tarries before His holy altar at the offering of the +Mass, and who willingly serves His Mother, so gentle and so dear. Of +much profit is this custom, and he who is quiet in the land and wise, +will always continue to walk in the way his feet were set in youth, +yea, even to that time when he is old and grey-headed. + + + + +THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRIES + + +A certain priest having need to go to market, caused his mare to be +saddled and brought to his door. The mare had carried her master for +two years, and was high and well nourished, for during these years +never had she known thirst nor hunger, but of hay and of oats ever had +she enough and to spare. The priest climbed to the saddle and set out +upon his journey, and well I remember that it was the month of +September, for in that season mulberries grow upon the bushes in great +plenty and abundance. The priest rode upon his way repeating his hours, +his matins and his vigils. As he drew near the gate of the town the +path ran through a certain deep hollow, and raising his eyes from his +book the priest marked a bush thick with mulberries, bigger, blacker +and more ripe than any he had ever seen. Desire entered his heart, for +very covetous was he of this fair fruit, and gradually checking the +pace of his mare, he presently caused her to stand beside the bush. Yet +one thing still was wanting to his delight. The mulberries near the +ground were set about with spines and thorns, whilst the sweetest of +all hung so high upon the tree that in no wise could he reach them from +his seat. This thing the priest saw, so in a while he climbed up, and +stood with his two feet upon the saddle, whence by leaning over a +little he could pluck the fruit. Then he chose the fairest, the ripest, +and the sweetest of all these mulberries, eating them as swiftly and +greedily as he might, whilst the mare beneath him moved never a whit. +Now, when this priest had eaten as many mulberries as he was able, he +glanced downwards, and saw that the mare was standing still and coy, +with her head turned towards the bank of that deep road. Thereat the +priest rejoiced very greatly, for his two feet were yet upon the +saddle, and the mare was very tall. + +"God!" said he, "if any one now should cry 'Gee up!'" He thought and +spoke the words at the same moment, whereat the mare was suddenly +frighted, and springing forward on the instant tumbled the luckless +priest into the bush where the thorns and briars grew sharpest and +thickest. There he lay in that uneasy bed, nor might move from one side +to the other, backwards or forwards, for all the money in the mint. + +The mare galloped straight to her own stable, but when the priest's +household saw her return in this fashion they were greatly +discomforted. The servants cursed her for an evil and a luckless jade, +whilst the cook maid swooned like any dame, for well she believed that +her master was dead. When they were returned a little to themselves +they ran to and fro, here and there, about the country searching for +the priest, and presently on their way to the market town they drew +near to that bush where their master yet lay in much misease. On +hearing their words bewailing his piteous case, the priest raised a +lamentable voice, and cried-- + +"Diva, Diva, do not pass me by. This bush is an uneasy bed, and here I +lie very hurt and troubled and utterly cast down. Do you not see how my +blood is staining these thorns and briars a vermeil red?" + +The servants hurried to the bush, and stared upon the priest. + +"Sir," said they, "who has flung you herein?" + +"Alas," answered he, "'tis sin that has undone me. This morning when I +rode this way reading in my Book of Hours, I desired over greatly to +eat of the mulberries growing hereon, and so I fell into the sin of +gluttony. Therefore this bush gat hold upon me. But help me forth from +this place, for I wish now for no other thing but to have a surgeon for +my hurts, and to rest in my own house." + +Now by this little story we may learn that the prudent man does not cry +aloud all he may think in his heart, since by so doing many an one has +suffered loss and shame, as we may see by this fable of the Priest and +the Mulberries. + + + + +THE STORY OF ASENATH + + +In the first of the seven years of great plenty Pharaoh sent forth +Joseph to lay up corn, and gather food within the cities. So Joseph +went out over all the land of Egypt, and came in the country of +Heliopolis, where lived Poti-pherah, the priest, and chief counsellor +of the great King. His daughter, Asenath, was the fairest of all the +virgins of the earth; and seemed rather to be a daughter of Israel than +an Egyptian. But Asenath was scornful and proud, and a despiser of men. +No man of all the sons of men had seen her with his eyes, for she +lodged within a strong tower, tall and wide, near by the habitation of +Poti-pherah, the priest. Now high upon this tower were ten chambers. +The first chamber was fair and great, and was builded of marble blocks +of divers colours; the walls were of precious stones set in a chasing +of gold, and the ceiling thereof was golden. There stood the gods of +the Egyptians in metal of silver and gold, and Asenath bowed before +them and offered sacrifice, every day of all the days. The second +chamber was the habitation of Asenath, and was adorned cunningly with +ornaments of gold and silver, with costly gems, and with arras and +stuffs most precious. In the third chamber was brought together the +wealth of all the world, and in that place also were set the aumbries +of Asenath. Seven virgins, her fellows, lodged in the seven other +chambers. They were very fair, and no man had spoken with them, nor any +male child. + +The chamber of Asenath was pierced with three windows; the first, +which was very wide, looked towards the east, the second looked towards +the south, and the third was set towards the north. Here was spread a +couch of gold, covered with a purple coverlet, embroidered with golden +thread, and hemmed with jacinths. There slept Asenath, with no +bed-fellow, neither had man sat ever upon her bed. About this house was +a goodly garden, closed round with a very strong wall, and entered by +four iron gates. Each door had for warders eighteen men, very mighty +and young, well armed and full of valour. At the right side of the +garden sprang a fountain of living water, and near by the fountain a +cistern which gave of this water to all the trees of the garden, and +these trees bore much fruit. And Asenath was queenly as Sarah, gracious +as Rebecca, and fair as Rachel. + + +_How Joseph rebuked Asenath because she worshipped idols._ + +Joseph sent a message to Poti-pherah that he would come to his house. +So Poti-pherah rejoiced greatly, saying to his daughter, "Joseph, the +friend of God, enters herein. I would give thee to him as his wife." + +But Asenath was sore vexed when she heard these words, and said-- + +"No captive shall ever be my husband, but only the son of a king." + +Whilst they spake thus together, a messenger came before them and +cried, "Joseph is here"; so Asenath fled to her chamber high within the +tower. Now Joseph was seated in Pharaoh's own chariot of beaten gold, +and it was drawn by four horses, white as snow, with bridles and +harness of gold. Joseph was clad in a vesture of fine linen, white and +glistering, and his mantle was of purple, spun with gold. He wore a +golden circlet upon his head, and in this crown were set twelve stones, +most precious, each stone having for ornament a golden star. Moreover +he held in his hand the royal sceptre, and an olive branch charged with +fruit. Poti-pherah and his wife hastened to meet him, and bowed before +him to the ground. They led him within the garden, and caused the doors +to be shut. But when Asenath regarded Joseph from on high the tower, +she repented her of the words she spoke concerning him, and said-- + +"Behold the sun and the chariot of the sun! Certainly this Joseph is +the child of God; for what father could beget so fair an offspring, and +what womb of woman could carry such light." + +Joseph entered in the house of Poti-pherah, and whilst they washed his +feet he asked what woman had looked forth from the window of the tower. + +"Let her go forth from the house," he commanded. + +This he said because he feared lest she should desire him, and should +send him messages and divers gifts, even as other women of her nation, +whom he had refused with holy indignation. But Poti-pherah replied-- + +"Sire, this is my daughter, who is a virgin, and hateth men; neither +hath she seen any man save me, her father, and thyself this very day. +If thou wilt, she shall come before thee and salute thee." + +Then Joseph thought within himself, "Since she hateth man, she will not +cast her eyes upon me." So he answered to her father-- + +"Since your daughter is a virgin, I will cherish her even as my +sister." + +Then her mother went out to seek Asenath, and brought her before +Joseph. + +"Salute thy brother," said Poti-pherah, "who hateth the strange woman, +even as thou hatest man." + +"God keep thee," replied Asenath, "for thou art blessed of God most +high." + +And Joseph answered, "May the God of life bless thee evermore." + +Then commanded Poti-pherah that she should kiss Joseph; but as she drew +near Joseph set his hand against her breast and said-- + +"It is not meet that a man who worships the living God, and eateth the +bread of life and drinketh from the chalice without corruption, should +embrace the strange woman, who bows down before deaf and dumb idols; +who serves them with the kisses of her mouth; is anointed with their +reprobate oil, and eats an accursed bread, and drinks unsanctified wine +from their table." + + + _Of the penitence of Asenath, and of the consolation of an + angel; how he came from Heaven to the chamber of Asenath, + and spake with her and sweetly comforted her._ + +When Asenath heard Joseph speak these words she was sore vexed, even +unto tears; wherefore Joseph took pity upon her and blessed her, laying +his hand upon her head. Asenath rejoiced greatly at the benediction. +She sought her bed, sick with fear and joy, and renounced the gods +before whom she bowed, and humbled herself to the ground. So Joseph ate +and drank, and when he rose to go Poti-pherah prayed him to tarry till +the morrow; but he might not, and parted, having promised to return +within eight days. + +Then Asenath put on sad raiment, such as she wore at the death of her +brother, and went clothed in a garment of heaviness. She closed the +doors of her chamber upon her and wept. Moreover she flung forth all +her idols by the window set towards the north; all the royal meat she +gave to the dogs; she put dust upon her head, lay upon the ground, and +lamented bitterly for seven days. + +But the eighth morning, at the hour when the cock crows and the dogs +howl at the breaking of the day, Asenath looked forth from the window +giving to the east, and saw a star shining clear, and the heavens open, +and there appeared a great light. She fell to earth with her face in +the dust, and a man descended from the heavens and stood by her head, +calling on her by her name. But Asenath answered nothing, because of +the greatness of her fear. Then the man called her a second time, +saying, "Asenath! Asenath!" and she replied-- + +"Lord, here am I. Tell me whom thou art." + +And he said-- + +"I am Prince of the House of God and Captain of His Host. Rise, stand +upon thy feet, for I have to speak with thee." + +Then Asenath raised her head, and saw a man by her side who in all +points was, as it were, Joseph. He was clad in a white stole, and bore +the royal sceptre in his hand, and a crown was upon his brow. His face +was as the lightning, his eyes as rays of the sun, and the hair of his +head like a flame of fire. At the sight of him Asenath was sore afraid, +and hid her face upon the ground. But the Angel raised her to her feet, +and comforted her, saying-- + +"Put off this black raiment with which thou art clothed, and this +girdle of sadness. Remove the sackcloth from thy body, and the dust +from thine head; cleanse thy face and thy hands with living water, and +adorn thee with fair apparel, for I have somewhat to say to thee." + +So she adorned herself with speed, and when she came to him again he +said-- + +"Asenath, take off this ornament from thine head, for thou art virgin. +Rejoice, and be of good cheer, for thy name is written in the Book of +Life, and shall never be taken away. Thou art born again this very day +and quickened anew. For thou shalt receive the Bread of Blessing, and +drink of the Wine without corruption; and be anointed with the Holy +Chrism. Yea, I have given thee for wife to Joseph, and thou no more +shall be called Asenath, but a name shall be given thee of fair refuge, +for thy Penitance hath come before the High King, of whom she is the +daughter, and thou shalt ever live before Him in mirth and gladness." + +Then inquired she of the Angel his name, but he answered-- + +"My name is written by the finger of God in the Book of the most high +King, but all that is written therein may not be told, neither is it +proper for the hearing of mortal man." + + + _Of the table and of the honey that Asenath set before the + Angel, and how the Angel blessed Asenath._ + +But Asenath caught the angel by his mantle, and said-- + +"If I have found favour in thine eyes, sit for a little space upon this +bed, where never man has sat, and I will spread the table before my +lord." + +And the Angel replied, "Do quickly." + +So Asenath set a fair linen cloth upon the table, and put thereon new +bread of a sweet savour. Then said the Angel-- + +"Give me also a little honey in the honeycomb." + +So Asenath was grievously troubled because she had no honey to set +before her guest. But the Angel comforted her, saying-- + +"Look within thine aumbrey, and thou shalt find withal to furnish thy +table." + +Then she hastened thereto, and found a store of virgin honey, white as +snow, of sweetest savour. So she spake to the Angel-- + +"Sire, I had no honey, but thou spakest the word, and it is there, and +the perfume thereof is as the breath of thy mouth." + +The Angel smiled at the understanding of Asenath, and placed his hand +upon her head, and said-- + +"Blessed be thou, O Asenath, because thou hast forsaken thy idols, and +believed in our living Lord. Yea, blessed are they whom Penitence +bringeth before Him, for they shall eat of this honey gathered by the +bees of Paradise from the dew of the roses of Heaven; and those who eat +thereof shall never see death, but shall live for evermore." + +Then the Angel stretched forth his hand and took of the honeycomb and +break it; and he ate a little, and gave the rest to the mouth of +Asenath, saying-- + +"This day hast thou eaten of the Bread of Life, and art anointed with +the Holy Chrism. Beauty is given thee for ashes; for virtue shall never +go from thee, neither shall thy youth wither, nor thy fairness fail; +but thou shalt be as the strong city builded as a refuge for the +children of our Lord, Who is King for ever more." + +Then the Angel touched the honeycomb, and it became unbroken as before. +Again he stretched forth his hand, and with his finger signed the cross +thereon, and there where his finger touched came forth blood. So he +spake to Asenath, and said-- + +"Behold this honey!" + +Whilst she gazed thereon, she saw bees come forth from that honey, some +white as snow, others vermeil as jacinths, and they gathered about her, +and set virgin honey in the palm of her hand; and she ate thereof, and +the Angel with her. + +"Bees," said the Angel, "return now to your own place." + +So they passed through that window which gave upon the east, and took +their way to Paradise. + +"Faithful as these bees are the words which I have spoken." + +Then the Angel put forth his hand three times, and touched the honey, +and fire came forth and consumed the honey without singeing the table, +and the perfume which came from the honey and the fire was very sweet. + + +_Of the blessing of the seven maidens, and of the marriage of Asenath, +as set forth in the story._ + +Asenath said to the Angel-- + +"Lord, I have with me seven virgins, born in one night, and nourished +with me from my childhood until now. I will seek them, and thou shalt +bless them, even as thou hast blessed me." + +So she brought them before him, and he blessed them, saying-- + +"May the most high God bless you, and make you to be seven strong +columns of the City of Refuge." + +Afterwards he bade Asenath to carry forth the table, and whilst she +went about her task, the Angel vanished from her eyes. But looking +towards the east she saw, as it were, a chariot drawn by four horses +ascending towards Heaven. So Asenath prayed to God right humbly that He +would pardon the boldness with which she had spoken to the Captain of +His Host. + +Whilst she prayed thus a messenger came to Poti-pherah saying that +Joseph, the friend of God, sought his house, and was even then at his +door. Asenath hastened to meet him, and awaited his coming before the +offices of the house. When Joseph entered the garden she bowed herself +before him, and washed the dust from his feet, telling him the words +which the Angel had spoken concerning her. The next day Joseph prayed +Pharaoh that he might have Asenath to wife, and Pharaoh gave him the +woman. He set also garlands of gold upon their heads, the fairest that +cunning smiths could fashion, and caused them to embrace in the sight +of men. So for seven days was kept high feast and festival, nor might +any man labour for those days. He also gave them new names, calling +Joseph, the Son of God, and Asenath, Daughter of the Most High King. + +Before the time of the seven lean years Asenath bore two sons. And +Joseph called the name of the firstborn Manasseh, which is to say +Forgetfulness; "For," said he, "God hath made me to forget all my toil, +and all my father's house." And the name of the second was called +Ephraim, which is to say Fruitfulness; "For," said he, "God hath caused +me to be fruitful in the land of my affliction." + + + + +THE PALFREY + + +That men may bear in mind the fair deeds that woman has done, and to +tell of her sweetness and frankness, this tale is here written. For +very right it is that men should hold in remembrance the excellent +virtues that can so easily be perceived in her. But grievous is it, and +very heavy to me, that all the world does not laud and praise women to +the height which is their due. Ah, God, if but they kept their hearts +whole and unspotted, true and strong, the world would not contain so +rich a treasure. The greater pity and sorrow, then, that they take not +more heed to their ways, and that so little stay and stability are to +be found in them. Too often the heart of a woman seems but a +weathercock upon a steeple, whirled about in every wind that blows; so +variable is woman's heart, and more changeable than any wind. But the +story that I have taken upon me to narrate shall not remain untold +because of the fickle-hearted, nor for reason of those who grudge +praise to the frank and pure; therefore, give ear to this Lay of the +Marvellous Palfrey. + +Once upon a time a certain knight, courteous and chivalrous, rich of +heart, but poor in substance, had his dwelling in the county of +Champagne. So stout of heart was this lord, so wise in counsel, and so +compact of honour and all high qualities, that had his fortune been +equal to his deserts he would have had no peer amongst his fellows. He +was the very pattern of the fair and perfect knight, and his praise +was ever in the mouth of men. In whatever land he came he was valued at +his proper worth, since strangers esteemed him for the good that was +told of him, and rumour but increased his renown. When he had laced the +helmet on his head, and ridden within the lists, he did not court the +glances of the dames, nor seek to joust with those who were of less +fame than he, but there where the press was thickest he strove mightily +in the heart of the stour. In the very depths of winter he rode upon +his horse, attired in seemly fashion (since in dress may be perceived +the inclinations of the heart) and this although his substance was but +small. For the lands of this knight brought him of wealth but two +hundred pounds of rent, and for this reason he rode to tourneys in hope +of gain as well as in quest of honour. + +This knight had set all his earthly hope and thoughts on gaining the +love of a certain noble lady. The father of the damsel was a puissant +Prince, lacking nought in the matter of wealth, and lord of a great +house furnished richly as his coffers. His fief and domain were fully +worth one thousand pounds a year, and many an one asked of him his fair +daughter in marriage, because her exceeding beauty was parcel of the +loveliness of the world. The Prince was old and frail; he had no other +child than the maiden, and his wife had long been dead. His castle was +builded in a deep wood, and all about it stretched the great forest, +for in the days of my tale Champagne was a wilder country then than +now. + +The gentle knight who had set his heart on the love of the fair lady +was named Messire William, and he lived within the forest in an ancient +manor some two miles from the palace of the Prince. In their love they +were as one, and ever they fondly dreamed one upon the other; but the +Prince liked the matter but little, and had no mind that they should +meet. So when the knight would gaze upon the face of his mistress, he +went secretly by a path that he had worn through the profound forest, +and which was known of none save him. By this path he rode privily on +his palfrey, without gossip or noise, to visit the maiden, many a time. +Yet never might these lovers see each other close, however great was +their desire, for the wall of the courtyard was very high, and the +damsel was not so hardy as to issue forth by the postern. So for their +solace they spoke together through a little gap in the wall, but ever +between them was the deep and perilous fosse, set thickly about with +hedges of thorn and spine, so that never closer might they meet. The +castle of the Prince was builded upon a high place, and was strongly +held with battlement and tower; moreover bridge and portcullis kept his +door. The ancient knight, worn by years and warfare, seldom left his +lodging, for he might no longer get him to horse. He lived within his +own house, and ever would have his daughter seated at his side, to +cheer his lonely age with youth. Often this thing was grievous to her, +for she failed to come to that fair spot where her heart had taken +root. But the brave knight in nowise forgot the road that he had worn, +and asked for nothing more than to see her somewhat closer with his +eyes. + +Now the tale tells that in spite of his poverty the knight owned one +thing that was marvellously rich. The palfrey on which he rode had not +his like in all the world. It was grey and of a wonderful fair colour, +so that no flower was so bright in semblance, nor did any man know of +so beautiful a steed. Be assured that not in any kingdom could be +discovered so speedy a horse, nor one that carried his rider so softly +and so surely. The knight loved his palfrey very dearly, and I tell you +truly that in nowise would he part with him for any manner of wealth, +though the rich folk of that country, and even from afar, had coveted +him for long. Upon this fair palfrey Messire William went often to his +lady, along the beaten path through the solitary forest, known but to +these two alone. Right careful was he to keep this matter from the +father of the demoiselle; and thus, though these two lovers had such +desire one of the other, they might not clasp their arms about the +neck, nor kiss, nor embrace, nor for their solace, even, hold each +other by the hand. Nought could they do but speak, and hearken softly +to such sweet words, for well they knew that should the old Prince know +thereof, very swiftly would he marry his daughter to some rich lord. + +Now the knight considered these things within himself, and day by day +called to remembrance the wretched life that was his, for he might not +put the matter from his mind. So at the end he summoned all his +courage, and for weal or woe resolved that he would go to the aged +Prince and require of him his daughter for his wife, let that betide +what may. For very clear it was to him that such a life he could not +lead for every day of the week. On a certain day he made himself ready, +and repaired to the castle where the demoiselle dwelt with her father. +He was welcomed very gladly by the Prince and his company, for he was +esteemed a courteous and gentle knight, and bragged of by all men as a +valiant gentleman, who was lacking in no good qualities. + +"Sire," said the knight, "I ask you of your grace to listen to my +words. I enter in your house to crave of you such a gift as may God put +it in your heart to bestow." + +The old man looked upon him fixedly, and afterwards inquired-- + +"What is it you would have? Tell me now, for by my faith I will aid +you if I may, yet in all things saving my honour." + +"Yea, sire, very easily you may do this thing, if so you please. May +God but grant that such is your pleasure." + +"I will grant you the gift if it seems to me well, and I will refuse +you the boon if it seems to me ill. Nothing will you get from me, +neither gift, nor promise, nor blame, that it is not fitting for me to +bestow." + +"Sire," answered he, "I will tell you the gift I crave at your hand. +You know who I am, and right well you knew my father. Well, too, you +know my manor and my household, and all those things wherein I take my +pleasure and delight. In guerdon of my love, I pray--so it may please +you, sire--your daughter as my wife. God grant that my prayer may not +disturb your heart, and that my petition may not be refused to my +shame. For I will not hide from you that although I am not of her +fellowship, yet have I spoken from afar with my demoiselle, and +perceived those fair virtues which all men praise. Greatly is my lady +loved and esteemed in these parts, for truly there is not her like in +all the world. I have been too rash, since I have dared to require so +gracious a gift, but so you deign to give to my asking, joyous and +merry shall I go for all my days. Now have I told you my petition; so +answer me according to my hope and your good pleasure." + +The old man had no need for counsel in this matter, so without delay he +made answer to the knight-- + +"I have heard with patience what you had to tell. Certes, and without +doubt, my daughter is fair, and fresh, and pure, and a maiden of high +descent. For myself, I am a rich vavasour, and come of noble ancestry, +having fief and land worth fully one thousand pounds each year in +rent. Think you I am so besotted as to give my daughter to a knight who +lives by play! I have no child but one, who is close and dear to my +heart, and after I am gone all my wealth will be hers. She shall wed no +naked man, but in her own degree; for I know not any prince of this +realm, from here even to Lorraine, however wise and brave, of whom she +would not be more than worthy. It is not yet a month agone since such a +lord as this prayed her at my hand. His lands were worth five hundred +pounds in rent, and right willingly would he have yielded them to me, +had I but hearkened to his suit. But my daughter can well afford to +wait, for I am so rich that she may not easily lose her price, nor miss +the sacrament of marriage. Too high is this fruit for your seeking, for +there is none in this realm, nor from here to Allemaigne, however high +his race, who shall have her, save he be count or king." + +The knight was all abashed at these proud words. He did not wait for +further shame, but took his leave, and went as speedily as he might. +But he knew not what to do, for Love, his guide, afflicted him very +grievously, and bitterly he complained him thereof. When the maiden +heard of this refusal, and was told the despiteful words her father had +spoken, she was grieved in her very heart, for her love was no girl's +light fancy, but was wholly given to the knight, far more than any one +can tell. So when the knight--yet heavy and wrathful--came to the +accustomed trysting place to speak a little to the maiden, each said to +the other what was in the mind. There he opened out to her the news of +his access to her father, and of the disaccord between the twain. + +"Sweet my demoiselle," said the knight, "what is there to do? It seems +better to me to quit my home, and to dwell henceforth amongst +strangers in a far land, for my last hope is gone. I may never be +yours, neither know I how these things will end. Cursed be the great +wealth with which your father is so puffed up. Better had it been that +you were not so rich a dame, for he would have looked upon my poverty +with kinder eyes if his substance were not so great." + +"Certes," answered she, "very gladly would I be no heiress, but only +simple maid, if all things were according to my will. Sire, if my +father took heed only to your good qualities, by my faith he would not +pain himself to prevent your coming to me. If he but weighed your +little riches in the balance against your great prowess, right soon +would he conclude the bargain. But his heart cannot be moved: he does +not wish what I would have, nor lament because I may wring my hands. If +he accorded with my desire, right speedily would this matter be ended. +But age and youth walk not easily together, for in the heart is the +difference between the old and young. Yet so you do according to my +device, you shall not fail to gain what you would have." + +"Yea, demoiselle, by my faith, I will not fail herein; so tell me now +your will." + +"I have determined on a thing to which I have given thought many a time +and oft. Very surely you remember that you have an uncle who is right +rich in houses and in goods. He is not less rich than my father; he has +neither child, wife nor brother, nor any kindred of his blood nearer +than you. Well is it known that all his wealth is yours when he is +dead, and this in treasure and in rent is worth sixty marks of virgin +gold. Now go to him without delay, for he is old and frail; tell him +that between my father and yourself is such a business that it may not +come to a good end unless he help therein. But that if he would promise +you three hundred pounds of his land, and come to require grace of my +father, very soon can the affair be ended. For my father loves him +dearly, and each counts the other an honourable man. Your uncle holds +my father as prudent and wise: they are two ancient gentlemen, of ripe +years, and have faith and affiance the one in the other. Now if for +love of you your uncle would fairly seek my father and speak him thus, +'I will deliver to my nephew three hundred pounds of my lands, so that +you give him your child,' why, the marriage will be made. I verily +believe that my father would grant your uncle his request, if only he +would ask me of him. And when we are wedded together, then you can +render again to your uncle all the land that he has granted you. And so +sweetly do I desire your love, that right pleasing I shall find the +bargain." + +"Fairest," cried the knight, "verily and truly there is nothing I crave +in comparison with your love; so forthwith I will find my uncle, and +tell him this thing." + +The knight bade farewell, and went his way, yet thoughtful and +bewildered and sad, by reason of the shame which had been put upon him. +He rode at adventure through the thick forest upon his grey palfrey. +But as he rode fear left him, and peace entered in his heart, because +of the honest and wise counsel given him by the fair maiden. He came +without hindrance to Medet, where his uncle had his dwelling, but when +he was entered into the house he bewailed his lot, and showed himself +all discomforted. So his uncle took him apart into a privy chamber, and +there he opened out his heart, and made plain to him all this business. + +"Uncle," said he, "if you will do so much as to speak to her sire, and +tell him that you have granted me three hundred pounds of your land, I +will make this covenant with you, and plight you my faith, my hand in +yours, that when I have wedded her who is now denied me, that I will +render again and give you quittance for your land. Now I pray that you +will do what is required of you." + +"Nephew," answered the uncle, "this I will do willingly, since it +pleases me right well. By my head, married you shall be, and to the +pearl of all the country, for good hope have I to bring this matter to +an end." + +"Uncle," said the knight, "put your hand to my task, and so press on +with the business that time may go swiftly to the wedding. For my part +I will arm me richly, and ride to the tournament at Galardon, where, by +the aid of God, I trust to gain such ransom as will be helpful to me. +And I pray you to use such diligence that I may be married on my +return." + +"Fair nephew, right gladly," answered he, "for greatly it delights me +that so gracious and tender a lady shall be your bride." + +So without further tarrying Messire William went his way, merry of +heart because of his uncle's promise that without let he should have as +wife that maid whom so dearly he desired. For of other happiness he +took no heed. Thus blithe and gay of visage he rendered him to the +tournament, as one who had no care in all the world. + +On the morrow, very early in the morning, the uncle got to horse, and +before the hour of prime came to the rich mansion of that old Prince, +and of her whose beauty had no peer. He was welcomed with high +observance, for the ancient lord loved him very dearly, seeing that +they were both of the same years, and were rich and puissant princes, +near neighbours in that land. Therefore he rejoiced greatly that one so +high in station did honour to his house, and spread before him a fair +banquet, with many sweet words, for the old Prince was frank and +courteous of heart, and knew to praise meetly where honour was due. +When the tables were cleared, the two spake together of old faces and +old stories, shields, and swords and spears, and of many a doughty +deed, in the most loving fashion. But the uncle of the good knight +would not forget his secret thought, and presently discovered it to the +Prince in saying-- + +"What go I now to tell you? I love you very truly, as you may easily +perceive. I am come to require a favour at your hand. May God put it +into your heart to lend your ear to my prayer in such a fashion that +the matter may be brought to a right fair end." + +"By my head," answered the old Prince, "you are so near to my heart +that you are not likely to be refused aught that you may ask of me. +Tell me, that I may grace you with the gift." + +"Sire, thanks and thanks again, for I would do the same by you," +returned the uncle of the knight, who no longer cared to hide his privy +mind. "I am come to pray of you, fair sire, the hand of your virtuous +maid in marriage. When we once were wed I would endow her with my +wealth to the utmost of my power. You know well that I have no heir of +my body, which troubles me sorely; and I will keep good faith with you +herein, for I am he who loves you dearly. When your daughter is +bestowed upon me, it would not be my care to separate father and child, +nor to withdraw my wealth from yours, but all our substance should be +as one, and we would enjoy together in common that which God has given +us." + +When he whose heart was crafty heard these words, he rejoiced greatly, +and made reply-- + +"Sire, I will give her to you right gladly, for you are a loyal and an +honourable man. I am more content that you have required her of me than +if the strongest castle of these parts had been rendered to my hand. +To none other in the world would I grant my maid so willingly as to +you, for you are prudent and hardy, and many a time have I proved ere +now that I may have confidence in your faith." + +Then was promised and betrothed the damsel to a husband of whom she had +little envy, for she was persuaded that another had asked her as his +wife. When the maiden knew the truth thereof she was altogether amazed +and sorrowful, and often she swore by St. Mary that never should she be +wedded of him. Right heavy was she, and full of tears, and grievously +she lamented her fate. + +"Alas, unhappy wretch, for now I am dead. What foul treason has this +old traitor done, for which he justly should be slain! How shamefully +he has deceived that brave and courteous knight, whose honour is +untouched by spot. By his wealth this aged, ancient man has bought me +at a price. May God requite it to his bosom, for he purposes to commit +a great folly, since the day we are wed he takes his mortal foe to +wife. How may I endure that day! Alas, may God grant that I shall never +see that hour, for too great is the anguish that I suffer because of +this treason. If I were not fast in prison, right swiftly would I get +quit of this trouble, but nought is there for me to do, since in no +wise can I flee from this manor. So stay I must, and suffer as my +father wills, but truly my pain is more than I can bear. Ah, God, what +will become of me, and when shall he return who so foully is betrayed. +If he but knew the trick his uncle has set on him, and how, too, I am +taken in the snare, well I know that he would die of grief. Ah, if he +but knew! Sure I am that he would ride with speed, and that soon these +great woes would be as they had never been. Too sorely is my heart +charged with sorrow, and better I love to die than to live. Alas, that +this old man ever should cast his thought upon me, but none may deliver +me now, for my father loves him because of his wealth. Fie on age! Fie +upon riches! Never may bachelor wed with loving maid save he have money +in his pouch. Cursed be the wealth which keeps me from him wherein I +have my part, for truly my feet are caught in a golden net." + +In this wise the maiden bewailed her lot, by reason of her great +misease. For so sweetly was her heart knit in the love of her fair +bachelor, that in nowise might she withdraw her thoughts from him. +Therefore she held in the more despite him to whom her father had given +her. Old he was, very aged, with a wrinkled face, and red and peering +eyes. From Chalons to Beauvais there was no more ancient knight than +he, nor from there to Sens a lord more rich, for that matter. But all +the world held him as pitiless and felon; whilst so beautiful and brave +was the lady, that men knew no fairer heiress, nor so courteous and +simple a maiden, no, not within the Crown of France. How diverse were +these twain. On one side was light, and on the other darkness; but +there was no spot in the brightness, and no ray within the dark. But +the less grief had been hers had she not set her love on so perilous a +choice. + +Now he to whom the damsel was betrothed, because of his exceeding +content, made haste to appoint some near day for the wedding. For he +knew little that she was as one distraught by reason of the great love +she bore his nephew, as you have heard tell. So her father made all +things ready, very richly, and when the third day was come he sent +letters to the greybeards, and to those he deemed the wisest of that +land, bidding them to the marriage of his daughter, who had bestowed +her heart elsewhere. Since he was well known to all the country round, +a great company of his friends came together to the number of thirty, +to do honour to his house, since not one of them but owed him service +for his lands. Then it was accorded between them that the demoiselle +should be wedded early on the morrow, and her maidens were bidden to +prepare their lady for the wedding on the appointed day and hour. But +very wrathful and troubled in heart were the maidens by reason of this +thing. + +The Prince inquired of the damsels if his daughter was fitly arrayed +against her marriage, and had content therein, or was in need of aught +that it became her state to have. + +"Nothing she needs, fair sire," made answer one of her maidens, "so far +as we can see; at least so that we have palfreys and saddles enow to +carry us to the church, for of kinsfolk and of cousins are a many near +this house." + +"Do not concern yourself with the palfreys," replied the Prince, "for I +trow we shall have to spare. There is not a lord bidden to the wedding +whom I have not asked to lend us from his stables." + +Then, making no further tarrying, he returned to his own lodging, with +peace and confidence in his heart. + +Messire William, that brave and prudent knight, had little thought that +this marriage was drawing so near its term. But Love held him so fast +that he made haste to return, for ever the remembrance of her face was +before his eyes. Since love flowered so sweetly within his heart, he +parted from the tournament in much content, for he deemed that he rode +to receive the gift he desired beyond all the world. Such he hoped was +the will of God, and such the end of the adventure. Therefore he +awaited in his manor, with what patience he might, the fair and +pleasant tidings his uncle must presently send him, to hasten to the +spousal of his bride. Since he had borne off all the prizes of the +tourney, he bade a minstrel to his hall, and sang joyously to the +playing of the viol. Yet, though all was revelry and merriment, often +he looked towards the door to see one enter therein with news. Much he +marvelled when the hour would bring these welcome words, and often he +forgot to mark the newest refrains of the minstrel, because his +thoughts were otherwhere. At the time hope was growing sick a varlet +came into the courtyard. When Messire William saw him the heart in his +breast leaped and fluttered for joy. + +"Sire," said the varlet, "God save you. My lord, your friend, whom well +you know, has sent me to you in his need. You have a fair palfrey, than +which none goes more softly in the world. My lord prays and requires of +you that for love of him you will lend him this palfrey, and send it by +my hand forthwith." + +"Friend," answered the knight, "for what business?" + +"Sire, to carry his lady daughter to the church, who is so dainty-sweet +and fair." + +"For what purpose rides she to church?" + +"Fair sire, there to marry your uncle to whom she is betrothed. Early +to-morrow morn my lady will be brought to the ancient chapel deep +within the forest. Hasten, sire, for already I tarry too long. Lend +your palfrey to your uncle and my lord. Well we know that it is the +noblest horse within the realm, as many a time has been proved." + +When Messire William heard these words-- + +"God," said he, "then I am betrayed by him in whom I put my trust; to +whom I prayed so much to help me to my hope. May the Lord God assoil +him never for his treasonable deed. Yet scarcely can I believe that he +has done this wrong. It is easier to hold that you are telling me +lies." + +"Well, you will find it truth to-morrow at the ringing of prime; for +already is gathered together a company of the ancient lords of these +parts." + +"Alas," said he, "how, then, am I betrayed and tricked and deceived." + +For a very little Messire William would have fallen swooning to the +earth, had he not feared the blame of his household. But he was so +filled with rage and grief that he knew not what to do, nor what to +say. He did not cease lamenting his evil case till the varlet prayed +him to control his wrath. + +"Sire, cause the saddle to be set forthwith on your good palfrey, so +that my lady may be carried softly to the church." + +Then Messire William considered within himself to know whether he +should send his grey palfrey to him whom he had cause to hate more than +any man. + +"Yea, without delay," said he, "since she who is the soul of honour has +nothing to do with my trouble. My palfrey shall bear her gladly, in +recompense of the favours she has granted me, for naught but kindness +have I received of her. Never shall I have of her courtesies again, and +all my joy and happiness are past. Now must I lend my palfrey to the +man who has betrayed me to my death, since he has robbed me of that +which I desired more than all the world. No man is bound to return love +for treason. Very rash is he to require my palfrey of me, when he +scrupled not to take the sweetness, the beauty and the courtesy with +which my demoiselle is endowed. Alas, now have I served her in vain, +and my long hope is altogether gone. No joy in my life is left, save to +send her that thing which it breaks my heart to give. Nevertheless, +come what may, my palfrey shall go to the most tender of maidens. Well +I know that when she sets her eyes upon him she will bethink her of +me; of me and of my love, for I love and must love her all the days of +my life, yea, though she has given her heart to those who have wounded +mine. But sure am I that this thing is not seemly to her, for Cain, who +was brother to Abel, wrought no fouler treason." + +In this manner the knight bewailed his heavy sorrow. Then he caused a +saddle to be set upon the palfrey, and calling the servitor delivered +the horse to his keeping. So the varlet forthwith went upon his way. + +Messire William, yet heavy and wrathful, shut himself fast within his +chamber to brood upon his grief. He charged his household that if there +was a man so bold as to seek to hearten him in his sorrow he would +cause him to be hanged. For his part he had no care for mirth, and +would live withdrawn from men, since he might never lose the pain and +sorrow that weighed upon his heart. + +But whilst the knight was in this case, the servant in custody of the +palfrey returned with all the speed he might to the castle of the old +Prince, where all was merriment and noise. + +The night was still and serene, and the house was filled with a great +company of ancient lords. When they had eaten their full, the Prince +commanded the watch that, without fail, all men should be roused and +apparelled before the breaking of the day. He bade, too, that the +palfrey and the horses should be saddled and made ready at the same +hour, without confusion or disarray. Then they went to repose +themselves and sleep. But one amongst them had no hope to sleep, +because of the great unrest she suffered by reason of her love. All the +night she could not close her eyes. Others might rest: she alone +remained awake, for her heart knew no repose. + +Now shortly after midnight the moon rose very bright, and shone +clearly in the heavens. When the warder saw this thing, being yet giddy +with the wine that he had drunken, he deemed that the dawn had broken. + +"Pest take it," said he, "the lords should be about already." + +He sounded his horn and summoned and cried-- + +"Arouse you, lords, for day is here." + +Then those, yet drowsy with sleep, and heavy with last night's wine, +got them from their beds all bewildered. The squires, too, made haste +to set saddles upon the horses, believing that daybreak had come, +though before the dawn would rise very easily might the horses go five +miles, ambling right pleasantly. So when the company which should bring +this demoiselle to the chapel deep within the forest were got to horse, +her father commended his maid to the most trusty of his friends. Then +the saddle was put upon the grey palfrey; but when it was brought +before the damsel her tears ran faster than they had fallen before. Her +guardian recked nothing of her weeping, for he knew little of maidens, +and considered that she wept because of leaving her father and her +father's house. So her tears and sadness were accounted as nought, and +she mounted upon her steed, making great sorrow. They took their way +through the forest, but the road was so narrow that two could not ride +together side by side. Therefore the guardian put the maiden before, +and he followed after, because of the straitness of the path. The road +was long, and the company were tired and weary for want of sleep. They +rode the more heavily, because they were no longer young, and had the +greater need for rest. They nodded above the necks of their chargers, +and up hill and down dale for the most part went sleeping. The surest +of this company was in charge of the maiden, but this night he had +taken so little sleep in his bed that he proved an untrusty warder, +for he forgot everything, save his desire to sleep. The maiden rode, +bridle in hand, thinking of nought except her love and her sorrow. +Whilst she followed the narrow path, the barons who went before had +already come forth upon the high road. They dozed in their saddles, and +the thoughts of those few who were awake were otherwhere, and gave no +heed to the demoiselle. The maiden was as much alone as though she +fared to London. The grey palfrey knew well this ancient narrow way, +for many a time he had trodden it before. The palfrey and the maiden +drew near a hillock within the forest, where the trees stood so close +and thick that no moonlight fell within the shadow of the branches. The +valley lay deeply below, and from the high road came the noise of the +horses' iron shoes. Of all that company many slept, and those who were +awake talked together, but none gave a thought to the maiden. The grey +palfrey knew nothing of the high road, so turning to the right he +entered within a little path which led directly to the house of Messire +William, But the knight, in whose charge the damsel was placed had +fallen into so heavy a slumber that his horse stood at his pleasure on +the way. Therefore she was guarded of none--save of God--and dropping +the rein upon the palfrey's neck, she let him have his will. The +knights who preceded her rode a great while before they found that she +was not behind them, and he who came after kept but a poor watch and +ward. Nevertheless she had not escaped by her choice, for she recked +nought of the path that she followed, nor of the home to which she +would come. The palfrey followed the track without hesitation, for many +a time he had journeyed therein, both winter and summer. The weeping +maiden looked this way and that, but could see neither knight nor +baron, and the forest was very perilous, and all was dark and obscure. +Much she marvelled what had become of all her company, and it was no +wonder that she felt great fear. None regarded her safety, save God and +the grey palfrey, so she commended herself to her Maker, whilst the +horse ambled along the road. Nevertheless she had dropped the rein from +her fingers, and kept her lips from uttering one single cry, lest she +should be heard of her companions. For she chose rather to die in the +woodlands than to endure such a marriage as this. The maiden was hid in +thought, and the palfrey, in haste to reach his journey's end, and +knowing well the path, ambled so swiftly, that soon he came to the +borders of the forest. A river ran there both dark and deep, but the +horse went directly to the ford, and passed through as quickly as he +was able. He had won but little beyond when the maiden heard the sound +of a horn, blown from that place where she was carried by the grey +palfrey. The warder on his tower blew shrilly on his horn, and the +demoiselle felt herself utterly undone, since she knew not where she +had come, nor how to ask her way. But the palfrey stayed his steps on a +bridge which led over the moat running round the manor. When the watch +heard the noise of the palfrey thereon, he ceased his winding, and +coming from the tower demanded who it was who rode so hardily on the +bridge at such an hour. Then the demoiselle made reply-- + +"Certes, it is the most unlucky maid of mother born. For the love of +God give me leave to enter in your house to await the day, for I know +not where to go." + +"Demoiselle," answered he, "I dare not let you or any other in this +place, save at the bidding of my lord, and he is the most dolorous +knight in all the world, for very foully has he been betrayed." + +Whilst the watch spoke of the matter he set his eye to a chink in the +postern. He had neither torch nor lantern, but the moon shone very +clear, and he spied the grey palfrey, which he knew right well. Much he +marvelled whence he came, and long he gazed upon the fair lady who held +the rein, and was so sweetly clad in her rich new garnishing. Forthwith +he sought his lord, who tossed upon his bed with little delight. + +"Sire," said he, "be not wrath with me. A piteous woman, tender of +years and semblance, has come forth from the woodland, attired right +richly. It seems to me that she is cloaked in a scarlet mantle, edged +with costly fur. This sad and outworn lady is mounted on your own grey +palfrey. Very enticing is her speech; very slim and gracious is her +person. I know not, sire, if I am deceived, but I believe there is no +maiden in all the country who is so dainty, sweet and fair. Well I deem +that it is some fay whom God sends you, to bear away the trouble which +is spoiling your life. Take now the gold in place of the silver you +have lost." + +Messire William hearkened to these words. He sprang forth from his bed +without further speech, and with nothing but a surcoat on his back +hastened to the door. He caused it to be opened forthwith, and the +demoiselle cried to him pitifully in a loud voice-- + +"Woe is me, gentle lord, because of the sorrow I have endured this +night. Sire, for the love of God turn me not away, but suffer me to +enter in your house. I beg for shelter but a little while. But much I +fear by reason of a company of knights who are pained greatly, since +they have let me from their hands. Sir Knight, be surety for the maid +whom Fortune has guided to your door, for much am I sorrowful and +perplexed." + +When Messire William heard her voice he was like to swoon with joy. He +knew again the palfrey which was so long his own. He gazed upon the +lady, and knew her in his heart. I tell you truly that never could man +be more happy than was he. He lifted her from the palfrey and brought +her within his home. There he took her by the right hand, kissing her +more than twenty times; and for her part the lady let him have his way, +because she had looked upon his face. When the two sought each other's +eyes, very great was the joy that fell between the twain, and all their +sorrow was as if it had never been. So when the damsel had put aside +her mantle, they seated themselves merrily on silken cushions, fringed +with gold. They crossed their brows again and yet again, lest they +should wake and find this thing a dream. Then the maiden told her +bachelor this strange adventure, and said-- + +"Blessed be the hour in which God brought me to this place, and +delivered me from him who sought to add my marriage chest to his own +coffers." + +When morning was come Messire William arrayed himself richly, and led +the demoiselle within the chapel of his own house. Then, without delay, +he called his chaplain to him, and was forthwith wedded to the fair +lady by a rite that it was not lawful to call in question. So when the +Mass was sung, blithe was the mirth of that household, squire and +maiden and man-at-arms. + +Now when that company which so lightly had lost the maiden came +together at the ancient chapel, they were very weary by having ridden +all the night, and were sore vexed and utterly cast down. The old +Prince demanded his daughter of him who had proved so untrusty a +guardian. Knowing not what to say, he made answer straightly-- + +"Sire, because of the strictness of the way I put the maid before, and +I followed after. The forest was deep and dark, and I know not where +she turned from the path. Moreover I nodded in my saddle till I was +waked by my companions, for I deemed that she was yet in my company, +but she was altogether gone. I cannot tell what has become of the +damsel, for very basely have we kept our trust." + +The old Prince sought his daughter in every place, and inquired of her +from every person, but he might not find her whereabouts, nor hear of +any who had seen the maid. Yet all men marvelled at her loss, for none +was able to bring him any news. The ancient bridegroom, that the +demoiselle should have wed, grieved yet more at the loss of his bride, +but to no purpose did he seek her, for the hind had left no slot. Now +as the two lords were riding with their company in such fear as this, +they saw upon the road a certain squire making towards them in all +haste. When he was come to them he said-- + +"Sire, Messire William sends by me assurance of the great friendship he +bears you. He bids me say that early this morning, at the dawn of day, +he married your daughter, to his great happiness and content. Sire, he +bids you welcome to his house. He also charged me to say to his uncle, +who betrayed him so shamefully, that he pardons him the more easily for +his treason, since your daughter has given him herself as a gift." + +The old Prince hearkened to this wonder, but said no word in reply. He +called together all his barons, and when they were assembled in hall, +he took counsel as to whether he should go to the house of Sir William, +and bring with him the lord to whom his daughter was betrothed. Yet +since the marriage was done, nothing could make the bride again a maid. +So, making the best of a bad bargain, he got to horse forthwith, and +all his barons with him. When the company came to the manor they were +welcomed with all fair observance, for right pleasing was this to +Messire William, since he had all things to his own desire. Whether he +would, or whether he would not, nought remained to the old Prince but +to embrace his son-in-law; whilst as to that greybeard of a bridegroom, +he consoled himself with what crumbs of comfort he could discover. +Thus, since it was the will of God that these lovers should be wed, it +pleased the Lord God also that the marriage should prove lasting. + +Messire William, that courteous and chivalrous knight, lost not his +hardihood in marriage, but ever sought advancement, so that he was +esteemed of the counts and princes of his land. In the third year of +his marriage the old Prince (as the tale tells us) died, because his +time was come. So all that he died possessed of in wealth and lands and +manors, together with the rich garnishing thereof, became the heritage +of the knight. After this, Death laid hands upon his uncle, who, too, +was very rich. And Sir William, who was not simple, nor grudging of +heart, nor little of soul, nor blusterous with his neighbours, +inherited all the goods that were his. + +So the story which I have told you endeth in this fashion, in +accordance with the truth, and to your pleasure. + + +THE END + + +[Illustration: + +THE +TEMPLE PRESS +LETCHWORTH +ENGLAND] + + +[Illustration: + +EVERYMAN, +I WILL GO WITH +THEE +& BE THY GVIDE +IN THY MOST NEED +TO GO BY THY SIDE] + + + + + * * * * * + + + + +Transcriber's note: + + +Page 23: Added closing quotes: Sister, sweet friend." + + + +***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE*** + + +******* This file should be named 38110.txt or 38110.zip ******* + + +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: +http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/1/1/38110 + + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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