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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/38110-8.txt b/38110-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..12ddf4d --- /dev/null +++ b/38110-8.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-8859-1 + + +***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 Mediæval 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 mediævalism 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 +mediæval 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 +mediæval 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 trouvère 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 trouvère 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 Provençal 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 trouvère 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 trouvères were "the aristocracy of this literature," the +minstrel was its "democracy." Sometimes he rose almost to the status of +the trouvère, 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 Écrivains Français 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 mediæval 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 mediæval 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 archæologist 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 mediæval 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 +mediæval 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 Poètes François_, + edited by Barbazan et Méon; in two volumes of the _Nouvelles + Françoises en prose_, edited by Moland and D'Héricault; 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 + + + + +MEDIÆVAL 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 Carthàge, + 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 +agèd 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 _mêlée_, 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 spicèd 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 _mêlée_, +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-Forêt, 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 38110-8.txt or 38110-8.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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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 <a href = "http://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a></pre> +<p>Title: Aucassin & Nicolette</p> +<p> And Other Mediaeval Romances and Legends</p> +<p>Editor: Eugene Mason</p> +<p>Release Date: November 23, 2011 [eBook #38110]</p> +<p>Language: English</p> +<p>Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1</p> +<p>***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE***</p> +<p> </p> +<h3>E-text prepared by Bethanne M. Simms, Diane Monico,<br /> + and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team<br /> + (http://www.pgdp.net)</h3> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<p> </p> + +<h2>EVERYMAN'S LIBRARY<br /> + +EDITED BY ERNEST RHYS<br /><br /></h2> + + + + +<h2>ROMANCE<br /><br /></h2> + +<h1> +AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE<br /> +<small>AND OTHER MEDIÆVAL</small><br /> +<small>ROMANCES AND LEGENDS.</small><br /> +<small>WITH AN INTRODUCTION</small><br /> +<small>BY EUGENE MASON</small> +</h1> + + + +<hr class="r65" /> +<div class="center"> +<table border="1" cellpadding="8" cellspacing="0" summary="ad"> +<tr> +<td align="center">THE PUBLISHERS OF <i>EVERYMAN'S<br /> +LIBRARY</i> WILL BE PLEASED TO SEND<br /> +FREELY TO ALL APPLICANTS A LIST<br /> +OF THE PUBLISHED AND PROJECTED<br /> +VOLUMES TO BE COMPRISED UNDER<br /> +THE FOLLOWING THIRTEEN HEADINGS:</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align="center">TRAVEL · SCIENCE · FICTION<br /> +THEOLOGY & PHILOSOPHY<br /> +HISTORY · CLASSICAL<br /> +FOR YOUNG PEOPLE<br /> +ESSAYS · ORATORY<br /> +POETRY & DRAMA<br /> +BIOGRAPHY<br /> +REFERENCE<br /> +ROMANCE</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align="center"><div class="figcenter" style="width: 84px;"> +<img src="images/i002.png" width="84" height="49" alt=""/> +</div></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align="center">IN FOUR STYLES OF BINDING: CLOTH,<br /> +FLAT BACK, COLOURED TOP; LEATHER,<br /> +ROUND CORNERS, GILT TOP; LIBRARY<br /> +BINDING IN CLOTH, & QUARTER PIGSKIN</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align="center"><span class="smcap">London:</span> J. M. DENT & SONS, <span class="smcap">Ltd.</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">New York:</span> E. P. DUTTON & CO.</td> +</tr> +</table> +</div> +<hr class="tb" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 319px;"> +<img src="images/i004.jpg" width="319" height="500" alt="" title=""/> +<span class="caption">A ROMANCE,<br /> +AND IT<br /> +ME TOOK<br /> +TO READ<br /> +& DRIVE<br /> +THE NIGHT<br /> +AWAY<br /><br /> + +CHAUCER</span> +</div> + +<hr class="tb" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 312px;"> +<img src="images/i005.jpg" width="312" height="500" alt="" title=""/> +<span class="caption">AUCASSIN &<br /> +NICOLETTE<br /> +<i>and other Mediaeval<br /> +Romances<br /> +and Legends<br /> +translated from<br /> +the French by<br /> +Eugene Mason</i><br /> +<br /><br /><br /> +LONDON & TORONTO<br /> +PUBLISHED BY J. M. DENT<br /> +& SONS <span class="smcap">Ltd</span> & IN NEW YORK<br /> +BY E. P. DUTTON & CO</span> +</div> + +<hr class="r5" /> +<p class="center"><small> +<span class="smcap">First Issue of this Edition</span> . . 1910<br /> +<span class="smcap">Reprinted</span> . . . . . . . . . . . . 1912, 1915<br /> +</small></p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_vii" id="Page_vii">[Pg vii]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="INTRODUCTION" id="INTRODUCTION"></a>INTRODUCTION</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_viii" id="Page_viii">[Pg viii]</a></span> +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 mediævalism 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_ix" id="Page_ix">[Pg ix]</a></span> +them, or you may hate them; but they cannot be given the +go-by.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_x" id="Page_x">[Pg x]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 mediæval street rose those incomparable<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xi" id="Page_xi">[Pg xi]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xii" id="Page_xii">[Pg xii]</a></span> +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 mediæval 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.</p> + +<p>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 trouvère 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.</p> + +<p>The trouvère 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 Provençal +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiii" id="Page_xiii">[Pg xiii]</a></span> +southern France. Or, in winter, after supper, when the +tables were cleared, the trouvère 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.</p> + +<p>If the trouvères were "the aristocracy of this literature," +the minstrel was its "democracy." Sometimes he rose +almost to the status of the trouvère, 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xiv" id="Page_xiv">[Pg xiv]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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 +Écrivains Français 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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xv" id="Page_xv">[Pg xv]</a></span> +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 mediæval 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 <i>Court of a Saint</i> I am +indebted—a son of St. Louis himself was thrown at a +tourney, and was afterwards weak in intellect as a consequence.</p> + +<p>Nor is it only with the lives of the rich that the mediæval +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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvi" id="Page_xvi">[Pg xvi]</a></span> +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 <i>The Canterbury Tales</i>? 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."</p> + +<p>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 +archæologist 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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xvii" id="Page_xvii">[Pg xvii]</a></span> +to bring together a little garland for the pleasure of the +amateurs of beautiful tales. To me these mediæval 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.</p> + +<p>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 +<i>seriatim</i> 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."</p> + +<p>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 mediæval France.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xviii" id="Page_xviii">[Pg xviii]</a></span> +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 +<i>Arabian Nights</i> 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.</p> + +<p>May I express the pious wish that every reader may find +it all as delightful to read as I have found it to transcribe?</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">Eugene Mason.</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Note.</span>—The originals of these narratives are to be found +in Romania; in the <i>Fabliaux et Contes des Poètes François</i>, +edited by Barbazan et Méon; in two volumes of the +<i>Nouvelles Françoises en prose</i>, edited by Moland and +D'Héricault; and in <i>Les Miracles de la Sainte Vierge</i>, by +Gautier de Coinci.</p></div> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_xix" id="Page_xix">[Pg xix]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CONTENTS" id="CONTENTS"></a>CONTENTS</h2> + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="8" cellspacing="0" summary="toc"> +<tr> +<td align="left"> </td><td align="right"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND OF NICOLETTE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE STORY OF KING CONSTANT, THE EMPEROR</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_39">39</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">OUR LADY'S TUMBLER</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_53">53</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_67">67</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE DIVIDED HORSECLOTH</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_75">75</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">SIR HUGH OF TABARIE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_85">85</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE STORY OF KING FLORUS AND OF THE FAIR JEHANE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_91">91</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">OF THE COVETOUS MAN AND OF THE ENVIOUS MAN</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_129">129</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">OF A JEW WHO TOOK AS SURETY THE IMAGE OF OUR LADY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_133">133</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE LAY OF GRAELENT</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_145">145</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE THREE THIEVES</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_161">161</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE FRIENDSHIP OF AMIS AND AMILE</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">OF THE KNIGHT WHO PRAYED WHILST OUR LADY TOURNEYED IN HIS STEAD</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_195">195</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRIES</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_199">199</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE STORY OF ASENATH</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_203">203</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">THE PALFREY</td><td align="right"><a href="#Page_213">213</a></td></tr> +</table> +</div> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h2><big>MEDIÆVAL ROMANCE</big></h2> + + + + +<h2><a name="TIS_OF_AUCASSIN_AND_OF_NICOLETTE" id="TIS_OF_AUCASSIN_AND_OF_NICOLETTE"></a>'TIS OF AUCASSIN AND OF NICOLETTE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Who will deign to hear the song<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Solace of a captive's wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Telling how two children met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin and Nicolette;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How by grievous pains distraught,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Noble deeds the varlet wrought<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For his love, and her bright face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet my rhyme, and full of grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair my tale, and debonair.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who lists—though full of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sore astonied, much amazed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All cast down, by men mispraised,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sick in body, sick in soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hearing shall be glad and whole,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So sweet the tale.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>His father and his mother spake him thus—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span> +or England, low enough would be her degree, so +noble is she, so courteous and debonair, and +gracious in all good graces."</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin was of Beaucaire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the mighty castle there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But his heart was ever set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his fair friend, Nicolette.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Small he heeds his father's blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or the harsh words of his dame.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">"Fool, to weep the livelong day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nicolette trips light and gay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scouring she from far Carthàge,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bought of Paynims for a wage.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since a wife beseems thee good<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Take a wife of wholesome blood."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Mother, naught for this I care,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nicolette is debonair;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slim the body, fair the face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Make my heart a lighted place;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love has set her as my peer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Too sweet, my dear."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sire," answered the Viscount, "this lies heavy<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Walk warily," replied the Count Garin, "for +great evil easily may fall to you of this."</p> + +<p>So they went their ways.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nicolette is prisoned fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In a vaulted chamber cast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaped and carven wondrous well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Painted as by miracle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the marble casement stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On her elbow leaned the maid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Golden showed her golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softly curved her eyebrows rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair her face, and brightly flushed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweeter maiden never blushed.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the garden from her room<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She might watch the roses bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hear the birds make tender moan;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she knew herself alone.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"'Lack, great pity 'tis to place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Maid in such an evil case.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, my liege, my squire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Friend, and dear, and heart's desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since thou dost not hate me quite<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men have done me foul despite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sealed me in this vaulted room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrust me to this bitter doom.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But by God, Our Lady's Son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Soon will I from here begone,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So it be won."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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 agèd 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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"This lies heavy upon me," answered Aucassin.</p> + +<p>Thus he parted from the Viscount making great +sorrow.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin departed thus<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sad at heart and dolorous;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gone is she his fairest friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None may comfort give or mend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">None by counsel make good end.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the palace turned he home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Climbed the stair, and sought his room.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the chamber all alone<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bitterly he made his moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Presently began to weep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For the love he might not keep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Nicolette, so gent, so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair the faring of thy feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair thy laughter, sweet thy speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair our playing each with each,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair thy clasping, fair thy kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet it endeth all in this.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since from me my love is ta'en<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I misdoubt that I am slain;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sister, sweet friend."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So he turned without farewell. But when +Aucassin saw him part he stayed him, saying—</p> + +<p>"Father, come now, I will make a true bargain +with thee."</p> + +<p>"What bargain, fair son?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I pledge my word to this," said the father.</p> + +<p>Of this covenant had Aucassin much joy.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin the more was fain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the kiss he sought to gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rather than his coffers hold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hundred thousand marks of gold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the call his squire drew near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Armed him fast in battle gear;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shirt and hauberk donned the lad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laced the helmet on his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Girt his golden-hilted sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came the war-horse at his word,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gripped the buckler and the lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At the stirrups cast a glance;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then most brave from plume to heel<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pricked the charger with the steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Called to mind his absent dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Passed the gateway without fear<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Straight to the fight.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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,</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span> +unblown. Now if I defend me not for her sake, +may God keep her never, should she love me still."</p> + +<p>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 <i>mêlée</i>, and rode back at utmost speed, sword in +his hand.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Fair son," replied his father, "better are such +deeds as these than foolish dreams."</p> + +<p>"Father," returned Aucassin, "preach me no +preachings; but carry out our bargain."</p> + +<p>"Ha, what bargain, fair son?"</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Is this the very end?" said Aucassin.</p> + +<p>"So help me God," said his father; "yea."</p> + +<p>"Certes," said Aucassin, "grey hairs go ill with +a lying tongue."</p> + +<p>"Count of Valence," said Aucassin, "thou art +my prisoner?"</p> + +<p>"Sire," answered the Count, "it is verily and +truly so."</p> + +<p>"Give me thy hand," said Aucassin.</p> + +<p>"Sire, as you wish."</p> + +<p>So each took the other's hand.</p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"What!" said Aucassin; "art thou not my +prisoner?"</p> + +<p>"Truly, sire," said the Count Bougars.</p> + +<p>"God aid me never," quoth Aucassin, "but I +send thy head flying, save thou plight me such +faith as I said."</p> + +<p>"In God's name," cried he, "I plight such +affiance as seems most meet to thee."</p> + +<p>He pledged his troth, so Aucassin set him upon +a horse, and brought him into a place of surety, +himself riding by his side.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When Count Garin knew his son<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin still loved but one,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That his heart was ever set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fondly on fond Nicolette;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight a prison he hath found,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paved with marble, walled around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where in vault beneath the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin made little mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But with wailing filled his cell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such wise as now I tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Nicolette, white lily-flow'r,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetest lady found in bow'r;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet as grape that brimmeth up<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetness in the spicèd cup.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a day this chanced to you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of Limousin there drew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One, a pilgrim, sore adread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay in pain upon his bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tossed, and took with fear his breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Very dolent, near to death.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then you entered, pure and white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Softly to the sick man's sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised the train that swept adown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised the ermine-bordered gown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised the smock, and bared to him<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Daintily each lovely limb.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then a wondrous thing befell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight he rose up sound and well,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left his bed, took cross in hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sought again his own dear land.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lily-flow'r, so white, so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair the faring of thy feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair thy laughter, fair thy speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair our playing each with each.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet thy kisses, soft thy touch,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All must love thee over much.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis for thee that I am thrown<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In this vaulted cell alone;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis for thee that I attend<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Death, that comes to make an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For thee, sweet friend."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span> +showed altogether black against her instep and +her flesh, so white was the fair young maiden.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nicolette, so bright of face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leaned within this buttressed place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard her lover weep within,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked the woe of Aucassin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then in words her thought she told,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Aucassin, fond heart and bold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What avails thine heart should ache<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For a Paynim maiden's sake.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er may she become thy mate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since we prove thy father's hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since thy kinsfolk hate me too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What for me is left to do?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing, but to seek the strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pass o'er sea to some far land."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shore she then one golden tress,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thrust it in her love's duress;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin hath seen the gold<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shining bright in that dark hold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Took the lock at her behest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kissed and placed it in his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then once more his eyes were wet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For Nicolette.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span></p> + +<p>When Aucassin heard Nicolette say that she +would fare into another country, he was filled with +anger.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Aucassin," said she, "I doubt that thou lovest +me less than thy words; and that my love is fonder +than thine."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span> +were dead already, and truly this were a piteous +case."</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Brave the warder, full of guile,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight he sought some cunning wile;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sought and found a song betime,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised this sweet and pleasant rhyme.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Lady of the loyal mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slender, gracious, very kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gleaming head and golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughing lips and eyes of vair!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Easy, Lady, 'tis to tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Two have speech who love full well.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet in peril are they met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set the snare, and spread the net.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lo, the hunters draw this way,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cloaked, with privy knives, to slay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ere the huntsmen spie the chace<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let the quarry haste apace<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And keep her well."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nicolette the fair, the fond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Climbed the fosse and won beyond;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There she kneeled her, and implored<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Very help of Christ the Lord.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Father, King of majesty,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where to turn I know not, I.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, within the woodland gloom<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wolf and boar and lion roam,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fearful things, with rav'ning maw,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rending tusk and tooth and claw.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet, if all adread I stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men will come at break of day,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treat me to their heart's desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Burn my body in the fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But by God's dear majesty<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such a death I will not die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since I die, ah, better then<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trust the boar than trust to men.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since all's evil, men and beast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Choose I the least."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Fair children," said she, "God have you in His +keeping."</p> + +<p>"God bless you also," answered one who was +more fluent of tongue than his companions.</p> + +<p>"Fair child," said she, "do you know Aucassin, +the son of Count Garin of this realm?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, we know him well."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then looking upon her steadfastly, their hearts +were troubled, the maid was so beautiful.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"As God pleases," answered she.</p> + +<p>So she bade farewell to the shepherds, and went +her way.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nicolette as you heard tell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bade the shepherd lads farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through deep woodlands warily<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fared she 'neath the leafy tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the grass-grown way she trod<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brought her to a forest road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whence, like fingers on a hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Forked sev'n paths throughout the land.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">There she called to heart her love,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There bethought her she would prove<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whether true her lover's vows.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Plucked she then young sapling boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grasses, leaves that branches yield,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oak shoots, lilies of the field;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Built a lodge with frond and flow'r,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fairest mason, fairest bow'r!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swore then by the truth of God<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Should her lover come that road,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nor for love of her who made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dream a little in its shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Spite his oath no true love, he,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Nor fond heart, she.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Aucassin, of such fever as yours I, too, have +been sick. I can give you good counsel, if you +are willing to listen."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sir knight," said Aucassin, "great thanks; +good counsel, above all things, I would hear."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sir knight," answered Aucassin, "great thanks; +this I will do."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Round about the well were set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Martin, Robin, Esmeret;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Jolly shepherds, gaily met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Frulin, Jack and Aubriet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughed the one, "God keep in ward<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, our brave young lord.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Keep besides the damsel fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Blue of eye and gold of hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gave us wherewithal to buy<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cate and sheath knife presently,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Horn and quarter staff and fruit,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shepherd's pipe and country flute;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">God make him well."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span> +horse with the spurs and came quickly to the +shepherds.</p> + +<p>"Fair children, God keep you."</p> + +<p>"God bless you," replied he who was readier of +tongue than his fellows.</p> + +<p>"Fair children," said he, "tell over again the +song that you told but now."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Fair children," returned Aucassin, "do you +not know me?"</p> + +<p>"Oh yes, we know well that you are Aucassin, +our young lord; but we are not your men; we +belong to the Count."</p> + +<p>"Fair children, sing me the song once more, I +pray you!"</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"God keep you, fair children; yet you will do +this thing for me. Take these ten sous that I have +here in my purse."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"As God pleases," answered Aucassin; "better +the tale in prose than no story at all."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Fair children," cried Aucassin, "enough have +you spoken, and may God set me on her track."</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin's fond heart was moved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When this hidden word he proved<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sent him by the maid he loved.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Straight his charger he bestrode,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bade farewell, and swiftly rode<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep within the forest dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saying o'er and o'er to him;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Nicolette, so sweet, so good,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis for you I search this wood;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Antlered stag nor boar I chase,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hot I follow on your trace.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slender shape and deep, blue eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dainty laughter, low replies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fledge the arrow in my heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, to find you, ne'er to part!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pray God give so fair an end,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sister, sweet friend."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>Aucassin rode through the wood in search of +Nicolette, and the charger went right speedily. Do<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Fair brother, God keep you."</p> + +<p>"God bless you too," said he.</p> + +<p>"As God keeps you, what do you here?"</p> + +<p>"What is that to you?" said he.</p> + +<p>"Truly, naught," answered Aucassin. "I asked +with no wish to do you wrong."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do you know me, then?" said Aucassin.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"And what is your grief, brother?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Certes, thou art a true comforter, fair brother, +and blessed may you be. What is the worth of +your bullock?"</p> + +<p>"Sire, the villein demands twenty sous for his ox. +I cannot beat the price down by a single farthing."</p> + +<p>"Hold out your hand," said Aucassin; "take +these twenty sous which I have in my purse, and +pay for your ox."</p> + +<p>"Sire," answered the hind, "many thanks, and +God grant you find that for which you seek."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little Star I gaze upon<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetly drawing to the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such golden haunt is set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Love, and bright-haired Nicolette.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God hath taken from our war<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beauty, like a shining star.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah, to reach her, though I fell<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From her Heaven to my Hell.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who were worthy such a thing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were he emperor or king?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still you shine, oh, perfect Star,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Beyond, afar.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Fair sweet friend, very glad am I to find you."</p> + +<p>"And you, fair sweet friend, glad am I to meet."</p> + +<p>So they kissed, and held each other fast, and +their joy was lovely to see.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Aucassin," said she, "fair sweet friend, let us<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Certes, fair sweet friend, the sorer grief would +be mine. But so I may help, never shall you come +to his hands."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, that loving squire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dainty fair to heart's desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rode from out the forest dim<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasping her he loved to him.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Laced upon the saddle bow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There he kissed her, chin and brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There embraced her, mouth and eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she spake him, sweetly wise;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Love, a term to dalliance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since for us no home in France<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seek we Rome or far Byzance?"<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Sweet my love, all's one to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dale or woodland, earth or sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nothing care I where we ride<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So I hold you at my side."<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So, enlaced, the lovers went,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Skirting town and battlement,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Rocky scaur, and quiet lawn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till one morning, with the dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Broke the cliffs down to the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Loud they heard the surges roar,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stood by the sea.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"Yes, a mighty war."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Where, then, is his wife?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Hot from searching, Aucassin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Found the room and entered in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There before the couch he stayed<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where the King, alone, was laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked the King, and marked the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked this lying-in, then said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Fool, why doest thou this thing?"<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">"I'm a mother," quoth the King:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"When my month is gone at length,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I come to health and strength,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then shall I hear Mass once more<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As my fathers did before,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Arm me lightly, take my lance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set my foe a right fair dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Where horses prance."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Ha, fair sire," cried the King, "what do you +require of me? Are you mad that you treat me +thus in my own house?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>He plighted troth, and when he was thus +pledged, "Sire," required Aucassin, "bring me +now where your wife is with the host."</p> + +<p>"Sire, willingly," said the King.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin hath drawn his rein,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From the saddle stared amain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked the set and stricken field,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cheered the hearts that would not yield.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">They had carried to the fight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mushrooms, apples baked aright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for arrows, if you please,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pelted each with good fresh cheese.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He who muddied most the ford<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Bore the prize in that award.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, the brave, the true,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watched these deeds of derring do,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Laughed loudly too.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>When Aucassin saw this strange sight he went +to the King and asked of him—</p> + +<p>"Sire, are these your foes?"</p> + +<p>"Yea, sire," answered the King.</p> + +<p>"And would you that I should avenge you on +them?"</p> + +<p>"Yea," answered he, "right willingly."</p> + +<p>So Aucassin took sword in hand, and throwing +himself in the <i>mêlée</i>, 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—</p> + +<p>"Hold, fair sire, deal not with them so cruelly."</p> + +<p>"What," said Aucassin, "was it not your wish +that I should avenge you on your enemies?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Thereon the foemen fled the field.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span></p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Simple folk, and simple King,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deeming maid so slight a thing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When my lover finds me sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetly shapen, brow to feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then know I such dalliance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No delight of harp, or dance,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweetest tune, or fairest mirth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the play of all the earth<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Seems aught of worth.<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Aucassin hath gained Beaucaire,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Men have done him homage there;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Holds he now in peace his fief,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Castellan and count and chief.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet with heaviness and grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Goeth he in that fair place,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lacking love and one sweet face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Grieving more for one bright head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Than he mourneth for his dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Dearest love, and lady kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Treasure I may never find,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">God hath never made that strand<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Far o'er sea or long by land,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where I would not seek such prize<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And merchandize."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Nicolette, that maid demure,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Set her foot on alien shore;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">Marked the city fenced with walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Gazed on palaces and halls.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then she sighed, "Ah, little worth<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the pomp of all the earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since the daughter of a king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come of Sultan's blood, they bring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stripped to market, as a slave.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, true heart and brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sweet thy love upon me steals,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Urges, clamours, pleads, appeals;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would to God that peril past<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In my arms I held you fast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Would to God that in this place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We were stayed in one embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fell your kisses on my face,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My dear, my fere."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>When the King of Carthage heard Nicolette +speak in this wise he put his arms about her neck.</p> + +<p>"Fair sweet friend," said he, "tell me truly who +you are, and be not esmayed of me."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Neath the keep of strong Beaucaire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a day of summer fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At his pleasure, Aucassin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sat with baron, friend and kin.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then upon the scent of flow'rs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Song of birds, and golden hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Full of beauty, love, regret,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Stole the dream of Nicolette,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came the tenderness of years;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he drew apart in tears.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then there entered to his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nicolette, in minstrel guise,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Touched the viol with the bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sang as I will let you know.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">"Lords and ladies, list to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High and low, of what degree;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now I sing, for your delight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, that loyal knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And his fond friend, Nicolette.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such the love betwixt them set<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When his kinsfolk sought her head<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fast he followed where she fled.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From their refuge in the keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Paynims bore them o'er the deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nought of him I know to end.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span><br /></span> +<span class="i0">But for Nicolette, his friend,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dear she is, desirable,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For her father loves her well;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Famous Carthage owns him king,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where she has sweet cherishing.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now, as lord he seeks for her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sultan, Caliph, proud Emir.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the maid of these will none,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she loves a dansellon,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, who plighted troth.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sworn has she some pretty oath<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ne'er shall she be wife or bride,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never lie at baron's side<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Be he denied."<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>Now they say and tell and relate:</p> + +<p>When Aucassin heard Nicolette sing in this +fashion he was glad at heart, so he drew her aside, +and asked—</p> + +<p>"Fair sweet friend," said Aucassin, "know you +naught of this Nicolette, whose ballad you have +sung?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So Aucassin was glad at heart.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span></p> + +<p>Now is sung:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When he learned that in Beaucaire<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lodged his lady, sweet and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin arose, and came<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To her hostel, with the dame:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Entered in, and passed straightway<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the chamber where she lay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she saw him, Nicolette<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Had such joy as never yet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sprang she lightly to her feet<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swiftly came with welcome meet.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When he saw her, Aucassin<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oped both arms, and drew her in,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clasped her close in fond embrace,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Kissed her eyes and kissed her face.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In such greeting sped the night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till, at dawning of the light,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin, with pomp most rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Crowned her Countess of Beaucaire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Such delight these lovers met,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Aucassin and Nicolette.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Length of days and joy did win,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nicolette and Aucassin,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Endeth song and tale I tell<br /></span> +<span class="i2">With marriage bell.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_KING_CONSTANT_THE_EMPEROR" id="THE_STORY_OF_KING_CONSTANT_THE_EMPEROR"></a>THE STORY OF KING CONSTANT, THE EMPEROR</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Now tell me," said the King, "to what fair +heritage is this child born?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Caitif," cried the Emperor, "never can it come +to pass as thou sayest."</p> + +<p>"Sire," answered he, "so shall it be seen, and +thus behoveth it to be."</p> + +<p>"Certes," said the Emperor, "great faith hath +he who receives it."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yea," cried the Emperor, "throw him in the +water, for I hate him too much."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span> +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 <span class="smcap">Coustant</span>, because of his costing +the abbey so great a sum to be made whole.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"Sire, as God wills."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"Is this so?" said the Emperor; "come now with +me to the castle, and there you shall tell me the +truth."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Sire, so it pleases the Almighty, such souls are +not lost, for, with all sinners, they go to the mercy +of the Merciful."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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 <span class="smcap">Coustant</span>, 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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"But I answered that I must speak to you to +know your pleasure therein. Now answer if I +have done aright."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p> +<div class="blockquot"><p>"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."</p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span> +took her playfellow by the hand, and brought her +towards the slumbering youth, saying—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"Ah, madame," said her fellow, "tell me all the +case."</p> + +<p>"Truly," answered the Princess, "could I but +trust you fully, such heaviness should soon be +turned to joy."</p> + +<p>"Lady," replied she, "surely you may trust me; +never will I make known that which you desire to +be hid."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Lady, what would you do herein?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>When the maiden heard this she said within +herself that such a turn were good to play.</p> + +<p>"But, Lady, how may you get the seal of your +father to the letter?"</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span> +with nothing written thereon, and there will I set +all that I have told you."</p> + +<p>"Lady," said she, "right wisely have you +spoken; but lose no time, and hasten lest he +awake."</p> + +<p>"I will go now," said the Princess.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"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."</p></div> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Lady, certainly the will of my lord your father +must be done; otherwise will his blame come upon +us with a heavy hand."</p> + +<p>But the girl made answer to this—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Ah, lady," cried the castellan, "what words are +these? Your father's letter biddeth you to marry, +so give not nay for yea."</p> + +<p>"Sire," said the demoiselle, to whom time went +heavy till all was done—"speak you to the lords<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span> +and dignitaries of this realm, and take counsel +together. So they deem that thus it must be, who +am I to gainsay them?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Why is this?" asked the Emperor.</p> + +<p>"Why, sire, do you not remember?"</p> + +<p>"Truly, no," said the Emperor; "so tell me the +reason."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span> +said within himself that he had striven against +those things which were written in the stars.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>So endeth in this place the story of King +Constant the Emperor.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OUR_LADYS_TUMBLER" id="OUR_LADYS_TUMBLER"></a>OUR LADY'S TUMBLER</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Whilst the Abbot looked, forthwith there came +down from the vault a Dame so glorious, that certainly<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span> +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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Here endeth the Tumbler of Our Lady.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LAY_OF_THE_LITTLE_BIRD" id="THE_LAY_OF_THE_LITTLE_BIRD"></a>THE LAY OF THE LITTLE BIRD</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span> +close within the pine branches, poured out his full +heart in a delightful lay, from which rich profit +might be drawn.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Thus told the bird in his song.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>And when the bird had thus spoken he took his +flight.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Small profit will you have of your labour," said +the bird, "for I can pay but a poor ransom."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"By my faith, then, you shall be served at +table."</p> + +<p>"Never will you have dined worse, for there is<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span> +nothing of me. I pray you to let me go, for it +were a sin to slay me."</p> + +<p>"By my faith, you talk and talk; the more you +plead, the less will I grant."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Tell me these secrets," said the villein, "and I +will open my hand."</p> + +<p>"Such faith have I in you," answered the bird, +"that I will speak only when you free me from the +snare."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hear now the first of my three weighty secrets—Do +not believe all that you may hear."</p> + +<p>The villein frowned with anger, and answered +that he knew it well.</p> + +<p>"Fair friend, forget it never," replied the bird.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"They are fair and wise," said the bird. "Listen +well to my second weighty secret—Do not regret +what you have never lost."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"Shall I tell it once again," replied the bird, "for +great fear have I lest it should travel from your +mind."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Listen well to my third secret," said the bird, +"for he who receives it shall never be poor."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Now when the bird heard him—</p> + +<p>"This be thy punishment, oh, thou false churl—What +you hold in your hand, never throw between +your feet."</p> + +<p>Then was the villein all wrathful; but when +words came to him to speak, he said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"By my faith," responded the bird, "had you +known my third secret never would you have let +me from your hand."</p> + +<p>"You say well," said the villein, "but at least +knew I the two other proverbs."</p> + +<p>"Ah," said the bird, with malice, "but this +proverb was worth a hundred of the others."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span></p> + +<p>"In what manner?" inquired the villein.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span> +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."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_DIVIDED_HORSECLOTH" id="THE_DIVIDED_HORSECLOTH"></a>THE DIVIDED HORSECLOTH</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span> +and profitable to be, I will set thee gladly, nor of +wealth and moneys shalt thou find a lack."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Tell me then what you would have me do."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Husband, for love of me, send your father upon +his business. I lose all appetite just for the sight +of him about the house."</p> + +<p>"Wife," answered he, "this shall be done according +to your wish."</p> + +<p>So because of his wife's anger and importunity, +he sought out his father straightway, and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Fair father," replied the bachelor, "preach me +no preachings, but get you forth at once, for reason +that my wife would have you gone."</p> + +<p>"Fair son, where then shall I go, who am +esteemed of nothing worth?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span> +me, because I am but lightly clad, and fear to die +for reason of the cold."</p> + +<p>Then he who shrank from any grace of charity +made reply—</p> + +<p>"Father, I have no cloth, so neither can I bestow, +nor have it taken from me."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Father, what is your pleasure?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then the lad, who was thoughtful beyond his +years, made answer—</p> + +<p>"Grandsire, come now with me."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span> +horsecloth whole. I shall return and complain to +my son thereof."</p> + +<p>"Go where you will," replied the boy, "for certainly +you shall have nothing more from me."</p> + +<p>The merchant went forth from the stable.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Plague take thee!" cried the father; "give him +all the cloth."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="SIR_HUGH_OF_TABARIE" id="SIR_HUGH_OF_TABARIE"></a>SIR HUGH OF TABARIE</h2> + + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Ah, Sir Hugh, now are you taken."</p> + +<p>"Sire," answered the brave knight, "the greater +grief is mine."</p> + +<p>"By my faith, Hugh, every reason have you for +grief, since you must either pay your ransom or +die."</p> + +<p>"Sire, I am more fain to pay ransom than to +die, if by any means I may find the price you +require of me."</p> + +<p>"Is that truly so?" said the King.</p> + +<p>"Sire," said Sir Hugh, "in the fewest words, +what is the sum you demand of me?"</p> + +<p>"I ask of you," replied the King, "one hundred +thousand besants."</p> + +<p>"Sire, such a sum is too great a ransom for a +man of my lands to pay."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Hugh, before you part I have a privy word to +speak to you."</p> + +<p>"Sire, with all my heart, and where?"</p> + +<p>"In this tent, close by."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Sire, whom then should I dub knight?"</p> + +<p>"Myself," answered the King.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"But wherefore?" said the King.</p> + +<p>"For reason, sire, that your body is but an empty +vessel."</p> + +<p>"Empty of what, Sir Hugh?"</p> + +<p>"Sire, of Christianity and of baptism."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Hugh," said he, "that may not be."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Sire, do you understand the meaning of this +water?"</p> + +<p>"Hugh, of this I know nothing."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"By the law of the Prophet, Sir Hugh, it is a +fair beginning."</p> + +<p>Then Sir Hugh brought the Sultan before an +untouched bed, and having laid him therein, he +said—</p> + +<p>"Sire, this bed is the promise of that long rest +in Paradise which you must gain by the toils of +chivalry."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Sire, this spotless stole you first put on is but +the symbol of a body held and guarded clean."</p> + +<p>Afterwards he set upon the King a gown of +scarlet silk, and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then taking the King's feet in his hands, he +drew thereon shoes of brown leather, saying<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then Sir Hugh raised the Sultan to his feet, and +girt him with a white baldrick, saying—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then at the last Hugh took a sword, and holding +it before the King, said—</p> + +<p>"Sire, know you the three lessons of this +glaive?"</p> + +<p>"What lessons are these?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sire, there is one thing else, but that I dare not +do."</p> + +<p>"What thing is this?"</p> + +<p>"It is the accolade."</p> + +<p>"Grant me now this accolade, and tell me the +meaning thereof."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then Saladin laughed loudly out of a merry +heart, and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then the great Sultan rose from his throne, and +taking Prince Hugh with him, came to each of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span> +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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_KING_FLORUS_AND" id="THE_STORY_OF_KING_FLORUS_AND"></a>THE STORY OF KING FLORUS AND +OF THE FAIR JEHANE</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But now my tale ceases to speak of him, and +telleth of a knight who dwelt in the marches of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Robert," said the lady, "you will find me no +niggard, so you do this task."</p> + +<p>"Lady," said Robert, "your prayer is guerdon +enough for me. Be assured I will do all that I +may."</p> + +<p>"I am content," returned the lady.</p> + +<p>Now within a little space the knight made ready<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sir," cried Robert, "there is no knight in +your realm who would not receive her right +joyously."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sir, tell me his name," answered Robert, "and +I will find means to speak to him so privily that +the marriage shall be made."</p> + +<p>"Certes, Robert," returned the knight, "meseems +thou art very desirous that my daughter shall be +wedded."</p> + +<p>"Sir," quoth Robert, "you speak truly, for it is +full time."</p> + +<p>"Robert," said the knight, "since thou art so hot +to carol at her wedding, she shall soon enough be +married if thou accord thereto."</p> + +<p>"Certes, sir," said Robert, "right willingly will +I consent thereto."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p> + +<p>"To that you pledge your word?" demanded the +knight.</p> + +<p>"Truly, sir, yes," answered Robert.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sir," said Robert, "you are pleased to +make a mock of me."</p> + +<p>"Robert," said the knight, "be assured this is +no jest."</p> + +<p>"Ah, sir, neither my lady nor her mighty kin +will endure to consent thereto."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said Robert, "I will not refuse so goodly +a gift, since it is given with so true a heart."</p> + +<p>"Robert," replied the knight, "the grant is +sealed."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> + +<p>So the knight granted him his glove, and invested +him with rights in that fair maiden and her +land.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Husband, for the love of God, give thought at +this time to the marriage of our maid."</p> + +<p>"Dame," said her lord, "thou hast spoken so +often of this matter that I have trothed her +already."</p> + +<p>"Sir," inquired the lady, "to whom?"</p> + +<p>"Certes, dame, I have pledged her to a man who +will ever be loyal and true. I have given her to +Robert, my squire."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Lady," said they, "this we will do full willingly."</p> + +<p>So they sought out the knight and acquitted +themselves of their task, and he answered them in +courteous wise—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"In the name of God," answered they with one +accord, "would you spoil us of all the wealth in +our wallets?"</p> + +<p>"Since, then," replied the knight, "you may not +do this thing, suffer me to do as I will with my +own."</p> + +<p>"Sir, with right good mind," answered they.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>At the hour Messire Robert was made knight +he spake thus to his lord—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said he, "so it pleases God, I shall soon +return, but go I must on peril of my soul."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Yes," said Raoul, "and to this you pledge your +faith?"</p> + +<p>"Yea," said Messire Robert, "willingly. And +you?"</p> + +<p>"I, too, pledge my faith. Now let us seek our +lord forthwith, and set before him our bargain."</p> + +<p>"That is my desire also," said Messire Robert.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"Lady, for God's love, tell me truly, when my +lord went to Compostella did he leave you a maid?"</p> + +<p>"Why ask you such a question, Dame +Hersent?"</p> + +<p>"Because, lady, I believe you to be a virgin +wife!"</p> + +<p>"Certes, Dame Hersent, and that I am, nor do +I know woman who would be aught else in my +case."</p> + +<p>"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, <i>par amours</i>, 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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Dame," replied the old woman, "I know it well; +but never can you have the joy of maid with man."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So that ancient dame took the gift, and wearied +the lady with enticing words, but nothing came of +all her proffers.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"You have fairly spoken," answered he.</p> + +<p>Hard upon this came letters from Messire Robert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>But Sir Raoul made reply—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Nay, lady, is it so indeed?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and very surely," replied she.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Of that I know nothing," answered Sir Robert, +"for I have not looked so boldly upon her."</p> + +<p>"I require you by the faith that you have +pledged me to take heed, and to do me justice +herein."</p> + +<p>"That will I, truly," answered Sir Robert.</p> + +<p>When came the night once more, then Sir Robert<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span> +Her heart was very full as she drew close and +saluted him, and he rendered her greeting for +greeting, saying—</p> + +<p>"Fair friend, God give you heart's desire."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said she, "from whence come you?"</p> + +<p>"Certes, fair friend, I am of Hainault."</p> + +<p>"Sir, and whither go you?"</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Sir, my name is John."</p> + +<p>"It is right welcome," said the knight.</p> + +<p>"And you, sir, what is your name?"</p> + +<p>"John, my name is Robert."</p> + +<p>"Sir Robert, join me to your company as squire, +and I will serve you to the utmost of my power."</p> + +<p>"John, so would I do gladly, but I have so little +money in my pouch, that ere three days are gone I<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span> +must sell my very steed; therefore I may take no +squire."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"John, my dinner is a simple business, for I +have nothing in my purse save three sous of +Paris."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Fair friend, thanks, and thanks again."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Now tell me of this penance," said the knight.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"All this will I do gladly."</p> + +<p>"Sir, what rich pledge can you offer, therefore?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said the priest, "in the hand of God am I +set as your pledge."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Truly, madame," said the holy man, "grievously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span> +would he sin against God and Holy Church +by such a deed."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Lady," said the prudent man, "that were too<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said she, "wisely have you spoken, and +this I will do, since so you counsel me."</p> + +<p>On the morrow King Florus spake to his wife, +and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then might he speak no more because of tears, +and the lady wept with him.</p> + +<p>"Husband," said she, "for God's love have pity +upon me, for where may I hide myself, and what +may I find to do?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So King Florus and the lady wept together very +bitterly.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span> +again to Messire Robert and to John, who were +come to Marseilles.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"John," said Sir Robert, "I am content that you +should do according to your will."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Then said John to his lord—</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"John," answered Sir Robert, "your will is mine, +for every reason have I for content with you."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Certes," said the chaplain, "he gave you godly +counsel."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Sir Robert and John dwelt as citizens in Marseilles +for the space of six years. At the end of<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Certes," said Sir Robert, "all this, John, is not +mine, but yours, for you have earned it."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"John, I thank you heartily," said Robert. "I +hold you not as servant, but as comrade and as +friend."</p> + +<p>"Sir," said John, "all my days have I given you +loyal service, and so will I ever do."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Certes, John," said Sir Robert, "I will do that +which pleases you, and lodge wheresoe'er you +will."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Sir," said John, "now will I sell our goods and +make ready for the journey, for we shall part +within fifteen days."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said John, "challenge him to combat as +a false traitor, and I will fight the battle in your +stead."</p> + +<p>"John," said Sir Robert, "this you shall not do."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Sir, you are, after God, the lord of my master +Sir Robert, who in the years that are gone married<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>Then Robert strode forth and said—</p> + +<p>"John, fair friend, this business is mine alone, +nor because of it shall you hang shield about your +neck."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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;<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"How seem I to thee?"</p> + +<p>"Why, dame, the prettiest person in all the +world."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Fair father," said the lady, "you shall hear it +in good time. But, for the love of God, cause my<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span> +mother to come to me speedily, for I die till I see +her once again."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Fair sweet son, very joyful news have I to +share with you."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>When Messire Robert heard this he fell a-trembling +with joy, and said to his lord—</p> + +<p>"Ah, sir, for God's love bring me to see that +this is true!"</p> + +<p>"Right willingly," said the lord, "come now +with me."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Wife," said Sir Robert, "I will tell you +gladly."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Husband," said the lady, "that would be madness. +Are you set again to leave me, and what +shall I do thereof?"</p> + +<p>"Certes, lady, I can do none other; for never +man did such things for his friend as he has done +for me."</p> + +<p>"Husband," said the wife, "what he did for you +was but his duty; he did no more than what he +should have done."</p> + +<p>"Wife," said Messire Robert, "by your speech +you should have known him."</p> + +<p>"Truly," answered the lady, "truly, I should<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span> +know him well, for never aught of what he did +was hid from me."</p> + +<p>"Lady," said Sir Robert, "I marvel at such +words."</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"Wife," said he, "on my honour."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>King Florus of Ausay lay at his own castle<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The King replied that gladly would he hear; so<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yea," said King Florus, "get you speedily to +horse, and I pray you to be diligent in your +embassy."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Lady," answered the knight, "all that you have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span> +told me will I tell him again; but I doubt that he +will come for pride."</p> + +<p>"Sir knight," said the lady, "he will do the +thing that pleases him; but in this matter he shows +neither courtesy nor reason."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yea," said the lady. "Take to him my greeting, +and add my fairest thanks for the honour to +which he calls me."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When King Florus heard these words, he pondered +in his seat, nor did any man speak for a +great space.</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Here finishes the tale of King Florus and the +fair Jehane.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OF_THE_COVETOUS_MAN_AND_OF" id="OF_THE_COVETOUS_MAN_AND_OF"></a>OF THE COVETOUS MAN AND OF +THE ENVIOUS MAN</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Very careful was the saint to observe his covenant, +and of four eyes these comrades lost three,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span> +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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OF_A_JEW_WHO_TOOK_AS_SURETY" id="OF_A_JEW_WHO_TOOK_AS_SURETY"></a>OF A JEW WHO TOOK AS SURETY +THE IMAGE OF OUR LADY</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<hr class="tb" /> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span> +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!"</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>But the Christian made answer to him—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"If things are thus, I can lend you nothing," +answered the Jew; "for grievously I doubt that you +may not carry out your bargain."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Now in his heart the Jew greatly desired and +longed to make this Christian his bondsman. +Therefore, laughing, he replied—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>When he had prayed his prayer to Our Lady, +he sprang lightly to his feet, and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>He rose lightly to his feet, though with a tearful +face, and the Jew straightway counted out to him<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span> +he was at sea. He well-nigh swooned when the +day came to his heart and memory.</p> + +<p>"Ah, gentle Lady of the King of Glory! sweet +Maid and debonair!" cried he; "unhappy wretch, +what can I do?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>In this manner the good merchant made his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Fair Sir Jew, receive your own. By me God +redeems the merchant from his debt, and henceforth +he is free, quite free of you."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"Oh, faithful Christian! oh, faithful Christian!"</p> + +<p>Thereat the burgess began to smile, and made +reply that he would learn the meaning of those +words.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then he, whose only hope was in God, made +answer to the Jew, and said—</p> + +<p>"I owe you nothing, since all that was your due +has been paid to the uttermost doit."</p> + +<p>Very cunning was this Jew; therefore he +replied—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So they, and a great company with them, went +to the minster, which was filled altogether with the +press.</p> + +<p>Then the citizen, hoping all things of his God,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then the Image made answer in these very +words—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_LAY_OF_GRAELENT" id="THE_LAY_OF_GRAELENT"></a>THE LAY OF GRAELENT</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Tell me truly, hast thou not often heard speak +of that fair knight, Sir Graelent, whose praise is in +all men's mouths?"</p> + +<p>"Lady," answered the chamberlain, "I know him +for a courteous gentleman, well spoken of by all."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Passing gracious and rich is your gift, lady, +and doubtless he will receive it with marvellous joy.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Go before, fair friend," answered the knight, +"for I will follow you at once."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>With these words Sir Graelent took his leave +of the Queen, and went his way.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"I have no saddle," replied the squire.</p> + +<p>"Friend," said the demoiselle, "I will lend you +bridle and saddle as well."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then Graelent answered still more merrily—</p> + +<p>"Lady, needs must I suffer your wrath. But at +least I will guard your raiment till you come forth<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span> +from the well; and, fairest, very dainty is your +body in my eyes."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span> +to stand forth upon the dais. Then he boasted +before the company—</p> + +<p>"Lord barons, how seems it to you? Beneath +the sky is there a lovelier queen than mine, be she +maid, dame or demoiselle?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Right heavy was the King when he heard these +words. He conjured Graelent to tell him straightly +if he knew a daintier dame.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sire, and thirty times more gracious than +the Queen."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Sire," answered the knight, "she is not here, +for in no wise might I find her. Now do with me +according to your will."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then the King spoke with a high voice to his +barons.</p> + +<p>"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!'"</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span> +slow pace before the King, and dismounting from +the palfrey, spoke very courteously in this fashion—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Stay, Graelent, the stream is deep, and it is +death for you to follow."</p> + +<p>Graelent took no heed to her words, but forced<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Graelent," said she, "you may not pass this +river, however mightily you pain yourself, therefore +must you remain alone on this shore."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But the Breton folk still hold firmly that Graelent +yet liveth with his friend. His destrier, when he<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_THREE_THIEVES" id="THE_THREE_THIEVES"></a>THE THREE THIEVES</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"There is no man in the world who can do such +a feat," answered Barat.</p> + +<p>"Certes, there is such a man," said Haimet, "and +you shall see him at his task, if you will only look +at me."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span> +a merry heart, and addressing himself to his comrades, +showed the eggs that he had stolen.</p> + +<p>"Friends," said he, "here are the eggs, ready +for boiling upon a fire!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Certes," answered Haimet, "they shall be set +again beneath the bird, and not a shell of them +all shall be broken."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Friends, how seems it to you? Fingers like +mine should pick up a good living."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Are they so long as that?" said Barat; "shew +them to us, and hide them not away."</p> + +<p>Then Haimet lifted his tunic and stared upon +his legs, for he was without breeches.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Lord!" said he, "how can this have chanced? +Where, then, are my hosen?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Dame, where is your husband?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Gentles," answered she, unknowing of these +cheats, "he is in the wood, gathering fagots for +the fire."</p> + +<p>"May God prosper his work," said they +devoutly.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>When Travers returned to his home—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Husband," answered the wife, "if you take the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span> +bacon down from the ceiling, perchance these +thieves may not find it when they come."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>Then they listened in the darkness of the room +to the breathing of those upon the bed.</p> + +<p>Travers did not dare to sleep, and finding that +his wife was becoming drowsy, roused her, saying—</p> + +<p>"Wife, this is no time for sleep. I shall go +about the house to see that all is fast."</p> + +<p>"Do not leave me," answered his wife.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Barat came swiftly to the bed, like the bold and +cunning thief he was.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Marion," said he, "fair sister, I have a certain +thing to ask you, but dare not do so, for fear you +think me mad."</p> + +<p>"That I will never deem you, husband, by St. +Paul; but I will counsel you to the best of my +power."</p> + +<p>"I slept so soundly that I cannot remember where +we bestowed the bacon yester night, so bemused +am I with dreams."</p> + +<p>"God help you, husband, to find more seasonable +jests; is it not hid beneath the bin upon the floor?"</p> + +<p>"In God's name, sister, you speak truly, and I +will go to feel if it is yet there."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now Travers returned to his bed, first carefully +fastening his doors.</p> + +<p>"Certes," said his wife, "dazed you must have +been to ask me what had become of our bacon."</p> + +<p>"God help me," cried Travers, "when did I ask +you this question?"</p> + +<p>"Why, but now, husband."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span> +anxious to take his own again, quickened his steps, +and coming to him said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>Thinking that his wife was speaking to him, +Travers held forth the bacon.</p> + +<p>"Sister," said he, "God is yet above the Devil. +You see we have again our own."</p> + +<p>Then he, who never thought to lay hands upon +the meat, seized upon it greedily.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Do not wait for me, husband, but get to bed +as quickly as you can, for now you may sleep without +any fear."</p> + +<p>So Travers returned to his own house, and Barat +hastened to his brother, bearing the bacon with him.</p> + +<p>When Travers found his wife in tears—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span> +the tree, and saw above him the hanged man, tall, +grotesque and horrible to see, naked in his very +shirt.</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>"God help me," cried Barat, "it seems to me +that he is about to fall."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Husband, you are welcome home, for you have +proven your worth. Never did there live a braver +man than you."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Husband," answered she, "ill luck go with +them. Sleep soundly and in peace, for there is none +to do you wrong."</p> + +<p>So Dame Maria kept vigil whilst Travers slept, +for very greatly had he need of rest.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Haimet," said he, "the bacon is cooking, and +much I grieve that there is none for us."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span> +an end. Climb down; let us give and take. Let +each of us have his share of the bacon."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>For this reason was the proverb made, oh, +gentles, that "Bad is the company of thieves."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_FRIENDSHIP_OF_AMIS_AND_AMILE" id="THE_FRIENDSHIP_OF_AMIS_AND_AMILE"></a>THE FRIENDSHIP OF AMIS AND AMILE</h2> + + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So the Count rejoiced in his heart, and he +and his people praised the counsel of that ancient +man.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then the Pope made answer—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Take this gift in witness that I have baptized +you in St. Saviour's Church."</p> + +<p>So the knights received the cups with great joy,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span> +and rendered him grace for his gift, and parting +from thence repaired each to his own home in all +comfort and solace.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span> +of his father, he said to those who journeyed with +him in the way—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p> + +<p>"We are recreant, inasmuch as we have forgotten +all this while to seek for Amile."</p> + +<p>So he left two men-at-arms, together with his +precious cup, and set forth towards Paris.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Pray thou to our Lord and His saints for +me that they give me grace to meet Amis, my +friend."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Hasten quickly to Paris," said the pilgrim,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span> +"and there shalt thou find him whom so fondly +thou seekest."</p> + +<p>So Amis hastened instantly to the city.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Who are you, knights, that are so eager to slay +Amis the Banished and his companions?"</p> + +<p>When Amile heard these words he knew well the +voice of Amis, his comrade, so he answered +him—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>In this fashion they tarried long with the King, +but at the end of three years Amis said to Amile—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"I will observe thy bidding," answered Amile, +"but make no long tarrying from my side."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Whilst Amile was busied with these matters there +came to him Arderay, the traitor, full of envy, +and said—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span> +of friendship and of brotherhood, and I will swear +to you the like oath on the holy Gospels."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Have no fear, Amile, but stand up and acquit +thee of this blame."</p> + +<p>Then Amile stood upon his feet and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span> +returned not on the appointed day the lady should +be banished ever from the royal bed.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Let us leave here our companions," returned +Amis, sighing, "and enter in this wood to make the +matter clear."</p> + +<p>Then Amis, having heard, reproached Amile, +and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>But Amile answered him—</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>And Amis replied—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Is this a time for play? I have matter for tears +rather than for claspings, for since I parted from<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span> +thee have I suffered many bitter griefs, yea, and yet +must suffer."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Beware lest thy body draw near in any wise to +mine, for then will I slay thee with this sword."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then answered the King right courteously—</p> + +<p>"Be stout of heart, oh Count, for if you prove +Arderay to be false I will give thee my daughter +Belisant to wife."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span> +would it be a shame to him for all his days. So he +spake in such manner as this to Arderay.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>But Arderay was right wroth at these words, +and replied—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now Amis abode with his wife, but by the permission +of God he became a leper, and his sickness<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"Deliver me from the hands of this wicked +woman, and take with you my cup secretly, and +bear us to the tower of Bericain."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Flee swiftly from hence, if ye care aught for +your lives."</p> + +<p>Then Amis wept grievously, and said—</p> + +<p>"Oh Thou, God most pitiful and compassionate, +grant me to die, or give me help in this my +extremity."</p> + +<p>Again he said to the men-at-arms—</p> + +<p>"Carry me now to the church of the Father of +Rome; perchance God of His loving kindness will +there give alms to the beggar."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Fair sir, bear witness how loyally we have<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>Then answered Amis in his tears—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>And Amile said to him—</p> + +<p>"Go quickly, and bring him hither to me."</p> + +<p>When the leper was come before his comrade, +Amile inquired of him who he was, and how he +came to own such a cup.</p> + +<p>"I am of Castle Bericain," said he, "and the +cup was given me by the Apostle of Rome who +baptized me."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"Tarry with us, fair sir, until the will of God is +done on you, for all that we have is as thine own."</p> + +<p>So he dwelt with them, he and his two men-at-arms +likewise.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Amis, sleepest thou?"</p> + +<p>And he, deeming that Amile had called him, +answered—</p> + +<p>"I sleep not, fair dear companion."</p> + +<p>And the angel said to him—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then Amis replied—</p> + +<p>"This be far from me, that my comrade be blood-guilty +for my health."</p> + +<p>But the angel said—</p> + +<p>"It is meet that he should do this thing."</p> + +<p>On these words the angel departed from him.</p> + +<p>Now Amile also, in his sleep, had heard these +words, and he awoke, and said—</p> + +<p>"Comrade, who is this who hath spoken to +thee?"</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span></p> + +<p>And Amis answered that no man had spoken. +"But I prayed our Lord, as is my wont."</p> + +<p>But Amile said—</p> + +<p>"It is not thus, but some one hath spoken with +thee."</p> + +<p>Then he rose from the bed, and went to the door +of the chamber, and finding it fast, said—</p> + +<p>"Tell me, fair brother, who hath said to thee +these hidden words."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>And Amile was sorely distressed on hearing +these words, and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then Amis broke out into weeping, and +said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>And Amis made reply—</p> + +<p>"So truly as the angel hath held converse with +me this night, so may God make me clean of my +infirmity."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.'"</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Your laughter will turn to tears, for now your +innocent blood shall be shed."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Straightway was Amis made whole of his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span> +leprosy, and they gave grace to our Lord with +great joy, saying—</p> + +<p>"Blessed be God, the Father of our Lord Jesus +Christ, who saveth those who put their trust in +Him."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"I am Amile, and this, my companion, is Amis, +who is healed."</p> + +<p>Then the Countess marvelled greatly, and said—</p> + +<p>"Easy is it to see that he is healed, but much +desire I to know the manner of that healing."</p> + +<p>"Render thanks to our Lord," returned the +Count, "nor seek curiously of the fashion of that +cleansing."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Nay, dame, but let the children sleep."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Dame, rejoice greatly, for thy sons whom I +had slain with the sword, at the bidding of the<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span> +angel, are alive, and by their blood is Amis +cleansed and healed."</p> + +<p>When the Countess heard this thing she said—</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>And the Count answered her—</p> + +<p>"Dame, let be these words; rather let us dedicate +ourselves to our Lord, who hath wrought such +marvels in our house."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Go now, and win this battle, or return no +more."</p> + +<p>So King Didier together with the host of the +Lombards fled to the place called Mortara, which +was then known as Belle-Forêt, 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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>But all this while the host of Charles toiled +mightily for the taking of the city before which it<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="OF_THE_KNIGHT_WHO_PRAYED_WHILST" id="OF_THE_KNIGHT_WHO_PRAYED_WHILST"></a>OF THE KNIGHT WHO PRAYED WHILST<br /> +OUR LADY TOURNEYED IN HIS STEAD</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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!"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"We are your prisoners, for truly we may not +deny that you have overthrown us in the field."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>So he called these knights and his fellowship +around him, and said right courteously<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PRIEST_AND_THE_MULBERRIES" id="THE_PRIEST_AND_THE_MULBERRIES"></a>THE PRIEST AND THE MULBERRIES</h2> + + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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?"</p> + +<p>The servants hurried to the bush, and stared upon +the priest.</p> + +<p>"Sir," said they, "who has flung you herein?"</p> + +<p>"Alas," answered he, "'tis sin that has undone +me. This morning when I rode this way reading<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_STORY_OF_ASENATH" id="THE_STORY_OF_ASENATH"></a>THE STORY OF ASENATH</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>The chamber of Asenath was pierced with three<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span> +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.</p> + + +<p><i>How Joseph rebuked Asenath because she +worshipped idols.</i></p> + +<p>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."</p> + +<p>But Asenath was sore vexed when she heard +these words, and said—</p> + +<p>"No captive shall ever be my husband, but only +the son of a king."</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Let her go forth from the house," he commanded.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then Joseph thought within himself, "Since she +hateth man, she will not cast her eyes upon me." +So he answered to her father—</p> + +<p>"Since your daughter is a virgin, I will cherish +her even as my sister."</p> + +<p>Then her mother went out to seek Asenath, and +brought her before Joseph.</p> + +<p>"Salute thy brother," said Poti-pherah, "who<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span> +hateth the strange woman, even as thou hatest +man."</p> + +<p>"God keep thee," replied Asenath, "for thou art +blessed of God most high."</p> + +<p>And Joseph answered, "May the God of life +bless thee evermore."</p> + +<p>Then commanded Poti-pherah that she should +kiss Joseph; but as she drew near Joseph set his +hand against her breast and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>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.</i></p></div> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Lord, here am I. Tell me whom thou art."</p> + +<p>And he said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So she adorned herself with speed, and when she +came to him again he said—</p> + +<p>"Asenath, take off this ornament from thine<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>Then inquired she of the Angel his name, but he +answered—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Of the table and of the honey that Asenath set +before the Angel, and how the Angel blessed +Asenath.</i></p></div> + +<p>But Asenath caught the angel by his mantle, +and said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>And the Angel replied, "Do quickly."</p> + +<p>So Asenath set a fair linen cloth upon the table, +and put thereon new bread of a sweet savour. Then +said the Angel—</p> + +<p>"Give me also a little honey in the honeycomb."</p> + +<p>So Asenath was grievously troubled because she +had no honey to set before her guest. But the Angel +comforted her, saying—</p> + +<p>"Look within thine aumbrey, and thou shalt find +withal to furnish thy table."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p> + +<p>Then she hastened thereto, and found a store of +virgin honey, white as snow, of sweetest savour. +So she spake to the Angel—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The Angel smiled at the understanding of +Asenath, and placed his hand upon her head, and +said—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"Behold this honey!"</p> + +<p>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.</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span></p> + +<p>"Bees," said the Angel, "return now to your own +place."</p> + +<p>So they passed through that window which gave +upon the east, and took their way to Paradise.</p> + +<p>"Faithful as these bees are the words which I +have spoken."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + + +<p><i>Of the blessing of the seven maidens, and of the +marriage of Asenath, as set forth in the story.</i></p> + +<p>Asenath said to the Angel—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>So she brought them before him, and he blessed +them, saying—</p> + +<p>"May the most high God bless you, and make +you to be seven strong columns of the City of +Refuge."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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."</p> + + +<hr class="chap" /> +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PALFREY" id="THE_PALFREY"></a>THE PALFREY</h2> + + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The old man looked upon him fixedly, and afterwards +inquired—</p> + +<p>"What is it you would have? Tell me now, for<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span> +by my faith I will aid you if I may, yet in all things +saving my honour."</p> + +<p>"Yea, sire, very easily you may do this thing, if +so you please. May God but grant that such is +your pleasure."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>The old man had no need for counsel in this +matter, so without delay he made answer to the +knight—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Yea, demoiselle, by my faith, I will not fail +herein; so tell me now your will."</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Fair nephew, right gladly," answered he, "for +greatly it delights me that so gracious and tender +a lady shall be your bride."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>When he whose heart was crafty heard these +words, he rejoiced greatly, and made reply—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Then, making no further tarrying, he returned to +his own lodging, with peace and confidence in his +heart.</p> + +<p>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,<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Friend," answered the knight, "for what +business?"</p> + +<p>"Sire, to carry his lady daughter to the church, +who is so dainty-sweet and fair."</p> + +<p>"For what purpose rides she to church?"</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>When Messire William heard these words—</p> + +<p>"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."</p><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"Alas," said he, "how, then, am I betrayed and +tricked and deceived."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"Sire, cause the saddle to be set forthwith on +your good palfrey, so that my lady may be carried +softly to the church."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>Now shortly after midnight the moon rose very<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"Pest take it," said he, "the lords should be +about already."</p> + +<p>He sounded his horn and summoned and cried—</p> + +<p>"Arouse you, lords, for day is here."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span> +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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>Whilst the watch spoke of the matter he set his<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>When Messire William heard her voice he was +like to swoon with joy. He knew again the palfrey<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span> +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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span> +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."</p> + +<p>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—</p> + +<p>"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."</p> + +<p>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<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span> +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.</p> + +<p>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.</p> + +<p>So the story which I have told you endeth in this +fashion, in accordance with the truth, and to your +pleasure.</p> + + + + +<p class="p4 center">THE END</p> + +<hr class="chap" /> +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 97px;"> +<img src="images/i256.png" width="97" height="100" alt="Made at the Temple Press Letchworth Great Britain" title=""/> +</div> +<hr class="chap" /> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 600px;"> +<img src="images/i257.jpg" width="600" height="476" alt="" title=""/> +<span class="caption">EVERYMAN,<br /> +I WILL GO WITH<br /> +THEE<br /> +& BE THY GVIDE<br /> +IN THY MOST NEED<br /> +TO GO BY THY SIDE</span> +</div> + +<hr class="r65" /> + + +<p><b>Transcriber's Note</b><br /><br /> + + +Page <a href="#Page_23">23</a>: Added closing quotes: Sister, sweet friend."</p> + +<p> </p> +<p> </p> +<hr class="pg" /> +<p>***END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK AUCASSIN & NICOLETTE***</p> +<p>******* This file should be named 38110-h.txt or 38110-h.zip *******</p> +<p>This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:<br /> +<a href="http://www.gutenberg.org/dirs/3/8/1/1/38110">http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/1/1/38110</a></p> +<p>Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed.</p> + +<p>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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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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