The Lays of Marie de France

m i n g l i n g v o i c e sSeries editor: Manijeh Mannani

Give us wholeness, for we are broken.But who are we asking, and why do we ask? — Phyllis Webb

National in scope, Mingling Voices draws on the work of both

new and established poets, novelists, and writers of short stories.

The series especially, but not exclusively, aims to promote authors

who challenge traditions and cultural stereotypes. It is designed

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Mingling Voices is also open to literary works that delineate the

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Series Titles

Poems for a Small Park E. D. Blodgett

Dreamwork Jonathan Locke Hart

Windfall Apples: Tanka and Kyoka Richard Stevenson

The dust of just beginning Don Kerr

Roy & Me: This Is Not a Memoir Maurice Yacowar

Zeus and the Giant Iced Tea Leopold McGinnis

Praha E. D. Blodgett

Musing Jonathan Locke Hart

Dustship Glory Andreas Schroeder

The Kindness Colder Than the Elements Charles Noble

The Metabolism of Desire: The Poetry of Guido Cavalcanti Translated by David R. Slavitt

kiyâm Naomi McIlwraith

Sefer Ewa Lipska, translated by Barbara

Bogoczek and Tony Howard

The Lays of Marie de France Translated by David R. Slavitt

t r a n s l a t e d b y

David R. Slavitt

Copyright © 2013 David R. Slavitt

Published by AU Press, Athabasca University

1200, 10011 – 109 Street, Edmonton, ab t5j 3s8

978-1-927356-35-7 (paper) 978-1-927356-36-4 (pdf) 978-1-927356-37-1 (epub)

A volume in Mingling Voices.

issn 1917-9405 (print) 1917-9413 (digital)

Cover and interior design by Natalie Olsen, Kisscut Design.

Printed and bound in Canada by Marquis Book Printers.

Library and Archives Canada Cataloguing in Publication

Marie, de France, 12th cent.

[Lais. English]

The lays of Marie de France / translated by David R. Slavitt.

(Mingling voices, 1917-9405 ; 14)

Translated from the Old French.

Issued also in electronic formats.

isbn 978-1-927356 -35-7

1. Marie, de France, 12th cent. — Translations into English.

2. Lays — Translations into English. i. Slavitt, David R., 1935–

ii. Title. iii.Title: Lais. English. iv. Series: Mingling voices ; 14

pq1494.l3e5 2013 841'.1 c2013-9011 14-5

We acknowledge the f inancial support of the Government of Canada

through the Canada Book Fund (cbf) for our publishing activities.

Assistance provided by the Government of Alberta, Alberta Multi-

media Development Fund.

This publication is licensed under a Creative Commons licence,

Attribution–Noncommercial–No Derivative Works 2.5 Canada:

see www.creativecommons.org. The text may be reproduced for non-

commercial purposes, provided that credit is given to the original author.

To obtain permission for uses beyond those outlined in the Creative

Commons licence, please contact AU Press, Athabasca University,

at aupress@athabascau.ca.

For Janet

Contents

Foreword . . . ix

T h e La y s o f M a r i e d e F r a n c e

Prologue . . . 3

i Guigemar . . . 5

i i equitan . . . 27

i i i Le fresne . . . 35

i v Bisclavret . . . 47

v Lanval . . . 55

v i The Two Lovers . . . 71

v i i Yonec . . . 77

v i i i Laüstic . . . 89

i x Milun . . . 93

x chaitivel . . . 105

x i chevrefoil . . . 1 1 1

x i i eliduc . . . 1 15

For Further Reading . . . 147

The Lays of Marie de France Interior.indd 7 13-09-27 11:41 AM

ix

Foreword

Marie who? A number of suggestions have been proposed for the identity of this wonderful twelfth-century poet. Marie, Abbess of Shaftesbury, the illegitimate daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet and half-sister to Henry II, King of England, is a plausible candidate, but Marie, Abbess of Reading, Marie I of Boulogne, Marie, Abbess of Barking, and Marie de Meulan, wife of Hugh Talbot, are all possibilities. There were a lot of Maries, after all, but only a few who could read and write in English, Latin, and Anglo-Norman French. It is not inappropriate, however, for her to be a bit mysterious and even emblematic as the author of these strange, suggestive, and intriguing poems. One important thing we do know about her is that she also translated the Ysopet, a collection of 103 Aesopic fables, which could have influenced the Lais but at least suggest something about her taste in literature. There is a fabulous quality to these poems, which are at one and the same time childish and very knowing, innocent and sophisticated. The order of the poems is different in different manuscripts of the Lais, and it may well be that Marie didn’t write all of them — but the ones she did write were good enough to have the others attributed to her, perhaps as an homage. Or it could have been that a scribe threw in another two or three that he liked,

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had space for, and that looked to him to be similar. The unnamed king she addresses at the end of the prologue was almost certainly Henry II of England (ruled 1154–89), her half-brother — assuming she was the Abbess of Shaftesbury. The Norman Conquest, for all its cruelty, brought European political and literary life to England. In the twelfth century, the French were producing chansons

de geste, as well as love lyrics of the troubadours and trouvères and a number of religious and philosophical works from writers such as St. Bernard and Abelard. Marie — any of these Maries — would have been educated in France, almost certainly in a convent, and would have been familiar with most of these examples of the efflorescence of the eleventh and twelfth centuries. These are courtly poems, which is to say that they fall within the tradition of sophisticated literature that requires an appropriate audience of the kind one generally f inds at courts of kings and noblemen. They are full of wit and elegance. If they pretend to be simple folktales, they rely on the capacity of their readers (or, more likely, hearers) to understand their ambiguity and richness. One might think of these poems as toys for adults, for they are decorous variations on themes from fairy tales and Märchen. Marie’s subjects are the charms and diff iculties of love of various kinds and the way that goodness and wickedness are rewarded and punished in a complicated world. But it would be a disservice to her and to the poems to try to extract a philosophical or political “position” from pieces that are, I think, written as entertainments and deliberately mixed in

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approach and attitude. The form itself imposes certain constraints, for the lai is shorter than the romance, which means that love tends to strike suddenly so that we can concentrate on the crises of various kinds and the frequently surprising dénouements. Longer than a lyric, shorter than a chanson, the lai has its own natural domain to which Marie was particularly well suited. My intention in making this new translation was not to supply students in comp lit courses with yet another text (although I hope that even the reluctant readers among them may be surprised to discover that what they have been assigned is actually fun). On the contrary, I saw in these lais an opportunity to show off, just as Marie was showing off. It was a challenge to try to reproduce the panache of the originals. I wanted to convey not only the sense of the poems but also, beyond the meat of meaning, the sizzle of the poetry — which transcends time and place. If these pieces had been written this year by a Mary Francis from New London, they’d be very much worth reading.

The Lays of Marie de France

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p ro L o g u e

If one has received from God the greatgift of eloquence, it is his fateand duty to exercise and displaythese talents. If one would compose a layhe must speak or rather writeas well as he can for men’s delightand appreciation. The talent will f irstblossom in his company’s thirstfor more and ever more of the same.Then people will hear of him: his namewill spread about him. In his pursuitof fame these blossoms will bloom, and fruitmay even appear in the form of booksin library shelves and tables and nooks.Some poets dare to be obscureto engage the scholars (although perhaps fewersimple readers). Priscian describeshow poets can dupe the scholarly tribesand by this contrarian endeavorcontrive for their works to live forever.The scholars’ glosses and citationsprovide them with harmless occupationsby which they avoid the rudenessesof the rough-and-tumble world that isthe lot of most. My original schemewas to f ind a Latin text that would seemto lend itself to a version in ourFrench and pass a pleasant hour.But others have done such things before

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and I wanted to occupy myself with a moreworthwhile project. I thought of the laysI had heard in my younger daysthat I could preserve for those who careabout bold knights and ladies fair.Some of these I have put into rhymenot merely to pass some idle timebut to do some good. Late into the nightI have sat and worked by candlelight. I did this in your honour, sire,whom all good men respect and admire,a paragon of virtue and taste.If your kind acceptance gracedmy little verses it would pleaseme greatly, and upon my kneesI offer them to you, hoping to wina royal smile. Let us begin.

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i g u i g e Ma r

A good story deserves to bewell told. My gracious lords, Marieunderstands her obligationon such a fortunate occasionwhen an interesting storypresents itself. And yet I worrythat any show of excellence invites envy of women’s or men’sachievements. Slanders, insults, and liesattend me. Everybody triesto sneer at whatever one composes — they joke and even thumb their noses.They are cowardly dogs that bite,mean, malicious, and full of spite.But I refuse to be deterredas, line by line and word by word,I do my best to compose my lay,whatever the jealous critics say.I shall relate some tales to youfrom Brittany that I know are trueand worthy of your attention. In a friendly spirit, let us begin.

This was back in Hoilas’s reign,when in battles men were slainor badly wounded. One of the king’sbarons, trusted in all things, was lord of Liun: his given namewas Oridial. He enjoyed great fame

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for valour. His wife had borne him twochildren, a beautiful daughter whowas called Noguent and a son,a smart and very handsome one,named Guigemar. His mother dotedon him, and his father was devoted.Too soon he grew to the proper ageto be sent away to serve as pagein the court of a distant king. The ladexcelled there because he hadcourtesy and charm and witand with them he showed that he was f itfor knighthood. The king’s ceremonial swordtouched his shoulder and that lordpromoted him deservedlyto the ranks of noble chivalryand gave him a set of armor, too,to equip him for f ighting and derring-do.Guigemar gave gifts to thosewho had been kind to him. He choseto go to Flanders, which was invitingbecause of its continual f ighting,which was the road to fame. He showedallegiance to the chivalric codeand a puissance which was such that hehad no equal in Burgundy,Gascony, Lorraine, Anjou,or anywhere else. The whole world knewthat Guigemar was brave and abovereproach — except in matters of love,to which he was indifferent. Hehad many an opportunity

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from beautiful noble ladies whomade it clear that if he would woohe would win them instantly.But somehow he seemed not to beinterested or even aware.It puzzled his friends; he didn’t care,but went on his solitary wayand there was nothing they could say.

Having earned great fame as a knight,he decided after a while that he mightgo home to visit his parents and hissister whom he’d begun to miss,and they were longing to see him, too,but after a month with them he grewrestless and thought it might be wiseto engage in some strenuous exerciselike hunting. He called on friendly knightsand summoned beaters and when the lightsof the stars gave way to the rising sunthey set out together for the onekind of venery he foundagreeable. It was at the soundof a horn that the grooms let the hounds goto quarter the ground with their noses lowto catch the scent of a suitable stag.Guigemar and the knights would lagbehind with weapons at the ready,hoping for a stag, but hefound a hind, completely white,with a fawn beside her. At this sightthe hounds bayed and the hind darted

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out of the bush. As soon as she startedGuigemar f ired an arrow that foundthe animal’s forehead. She fell to the groundbut the arrow somehow ricochetedreturning to the knight where it madea passage through his thigh and through his horse’s skin from which it drewa trickle of blood. The knight fell downinto the thick grass on the groundclose to the hind, that said somehow,

“I am fatally wounded, and nowas long as you live you will feelpain from your wound that will not heal. No root or herb or elixir willever be of help untilyou find a woman willing tosuffer even more pain than youcan imagine, more pain than any otherwoman has felt, wife or mother,for the sake of your love, and you’ll undergoequal anguish — so much sothat lovers will be astonished byyour torments. Now go and let me die.”

The knight was dismayed hearing thisand wondered what would alleviate hissuffering and if there could bea woman anywhere whom hecould love or be loved by. Appalledby what the hind had said, he calledhis page and ordered him to rideto fetch his companions. Then he tried

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to bind the wound as well as he could,remounted his horse that stoodnearby and managed to ride away.It’s inconsistent: what can I say?He felt ashamed at having beenso badly wounded and in chagrinwas reluctant to be seen in this condition. He did not stay for hisfriends but disappeared intothe wood on a path that led him throughthe trees to an open space where hefound a stream that ran to the sea.He came to a harbor that he did notremember (or had he forgot?)in which was a ship ready to sail.The planks of her decks were ebony andher sail was silk and very grand.He advanced to the shore and climbed aboardthis mysterious vessel, called out a wordof greeting but heard no reply.The ship was deserted. He wondered why,but he saw a bed of cypress woodinlaid with gold and ivory, goodenough for Solomon of old.In the silken bedclothes were threads of goldand the pillow was such that any knightwhose head had touched it would never turn white.The coverlet was sable linedwith satin. Guigemar reclinedon the bed in need of a few minutes’ rest — but he slept for an hour, or so he guessed.He was about to disembark

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but he could make out in the darkthat the ship was now on the high seaswith its sail bellied out in the breeze.He was not afraid but he realizedhis helplessness — which he despised. He was in pain but this he could bear.He prayed to God to take good careof him and help him to surviveand guide the vessel to let it arriveat some safe harbor. Exhausted, helay down again and amazinglyfell asleep as the ship progressedheading generally westeven with no one at the helmto arrive at last at an unknown realm.The lord who ruled over it was oldand very jealous. He controlledhis wife who was so beautiful that he doubted she was dutiful(although he had no reason tobut still this is what old men do).He’d built her a lovely garden atthe foot of the keep, with high walls thatenclosed it — except for its view of the sea.There were guards, as you would expect, in threeshifts around the clock. Alsothere was a chapel where she could gofor solace, with paintings high aboveon the walls. Venus, the goddess of love,was shown in one in the act of throwinga volume of Ovid into the glowingfire that waits for sinners who read

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its naughty pages and pay them heed.As her companion, the husband supplieda niece of his to be at her sidefor entertainment. Add to this mise

en scène a priest whose privities’wounds made his vows of chastitysuperfluous entirely.He recited masses and was ableas well to wait on the women at table.

Late one afternoon, the wifeas she did almost every day of her lifewent after dinner to take her easein the garden, dozing under the trees.When she awoke the women talkedof this and that and, as they walkedthey noticed a ship that lay hove towithout any apparent crew.The lady thought that this was queerand felt apprehension and even fear,but her companion, curious,bolder, and more adventurous,proposed that they should take togethera further look to discover whetherit might be good. Her show of spiritencouraged the lady and they drew near itand boarded the vessel: a ghost ship butfor the knight on the bed with his eyes shut.Asleep? Wounded? Dead? The twoconferred about what they should do.The lady thought that if he was dead they should fetch the priest: a mass should be said

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and he should be buried. “But if he is not,we can speak with him and ask him whatbrought him here and who he is.”The two of them decided that thiswas correct and they advanced to the bedwhere the knight was lying, in some dreadthat the youth with this beautiful body had faceddanger and died. What a great waste!She put her hand upon his chest.It was warm! There were heartbeats, too! She guessedhe was alive . . . And then he woke,looked up into her face, and spoke,rejoicing to f ind that the ship had cometo rest in a place where there seemed to be somehope of care for the wound he bore.The lady asked him from what warhe had arrived here. He told her how he had shot the hind that had to becharmed for the arrow somehow bouncedand wounded his thigh. And the hind announcedthat its only possible cure could comefrom the hand of a damsel. (He omitted somedetails about how she would sufferas he would also. This was enough forthe moment, he thought.) He told her howhe boarded the vessel that pointed its prowto bring him here and he asked her for help. He was tired. His leg was sore.He did not know how to steerthe ship that had managed to bring him here.She in her turn explained to himabout her husband and the grim

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constraints he had put on her, increasedby the watchful eye of her jailor-priest.

“If you wish to remain until you are healed,we shall be happy to keep you concealedand take care of you as well as we can.”The knight thanked her for her generous planand he raised himself up from the bed. The twowomen helped him to take a fewsteps and then a few more until,relying on them and on sheer will,he reached their chamber at last where he fell down on the maiden’s bed. Then sheand her mistress brought water in bowlsto wash his wound and bind it in towelsof f inest linen. They gave him careand attention, and set aside a shareof their food for him. His gratitudetransmogrif ied into a moodhe admitted to himself at lastwas love for the lady, and, downcast,he remembered what the hind had saidin her dying threat. As he lay in bedhe could not imagine what heshould do. What if he were to berejected? He would die of a grieffrom which there could be no relief.He recalled her speech, her sparkling eyes,and proceeded then to anatomizethe many aspects of her perfectionthat had inspired his affection.He had not dared imagine — letalone expect — that she might yet

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f ind in her heart the same affection.Hopelessly and in deep dejectionhe was unwilling to betrayhis passion for her in any wayand he feared to make any mention ofthis onset of unexpected love,which he thought would be a great mistake.The lady, who’d spent all night awake,arose in the morning fearfullyto face another day when shewould have to dissimulate and hidethe feelings of passion that insideher breast were burning. Her niece could seeher pallor by which her miserybetrayed itself. It hardly tookmore than a fleeting, cursory look.She decided that she wouldhelp the couple if she couldand went to the bed where Guigemar lay,for candor is often the only wayto sort these matters out, and shewas the soul of kindness and decency.

She entered his room and sat down nearthe bed. Delighted to see her here,he asked where his lady had gone and whyshe’d risen so early. The maiden’s replywas, “You are in love, and should not concealthe fact from her or yourself. What you feel,she feels also. What you must dois think of her constantly and be true,which will not be diff icult, for she

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is beautiful and she can seethat you are handsome.” To this the knightlistened in transports of delightand said he’d be in a sorry stateif she did not reciprocate.

“Help me, sweet friend. I am at the brinkof madness and am unable to think.The maiden assured him that she would dowhat he and her mistress would want her to.Whatever was possible she would tryto accomplish for them, and he could relyon her good will. At once he could seeher courtliness and nobility.

As soon as the lady was done with mass, she inquired of the obliging lasshow the knight was doing, how he had slept through the night, and nowhow he looked. The maid repliedthat she should go to Guigemar’s sideand ask him directly. “He would receiveyou graciously, I do believe.”

It was not so simple as she’d expected,for the knight was afraid of being rejectedand did not want to presume or presstoo hard, although in great distress.He was afraid she might take offenceat what he said and order him hence.Still, one who keeps his infirmityconcealed is not very likely to becured. On the other hand, he thought

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of the ladies’ men of the court who oughtto behave better and how they flirtwith women who are playful and pertas this one was so clearly not.He could not decide exactly whatto say or how to say it. His paindecided the question. He could not remainin this discomfort for years and years.Having no choice then, he confessedto the passion for her that in his breastblazed in fury. “If you will notcure me of this ailment I’ve got,I shall perish. I do imploreyour mercy. I languish and am heartsore.” The lady replied that she would needtime to reflect. The question he’dput to her was not of the kindto which she was accustomed. Inclinedone way by her heart and another byher head, she allowed herself a sighto which he answered: “In God’s name,some women play at love as a game,enjoying the courtship that gives them a feelingof beauty and makes them more appealing.A wiser woman should be preparedto rejoice in a love that is privately shared.If she loves a man and is sure that heloves her too, what can there bebut joy and delight that are the goalof every philosophical soul?This argument seemed so persuasivethat she felt no need to be evasive

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but granted him her love as shekissed his mouth repeatedly,and his response to this was to pressforward manfully to addresstheir mutual discomfort. Thenthey lay together as women and mendo to fondle and embraceeach other, emboldened now to facetheir future together. Joy beyond measurewe wish them both and every pleasure.

The arrangement lasted for a yearand a half, but we all learn to fearFortune’s vicissitudes as sheturns her wheel capriciouslyin her reversals and surprises.One man falls; another risesEventually they were found out.(Did anyone have any doubt?)One morning as they lay besideeach other, the thoughtful lady sighedand suggested that sooner or later theywould run out of luck. She went on to say,

“If you die, I, too, wish to die.If you manage somehow to flyaway and survive, I am quite surethat among the many ladies who’reable to see your beauty youwill f ind a suitable one. Or two. But I shall have to remain here, sad,lonely, bereft, and nearly mad.”Guigemar answered, “Do not say

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such things. I swear there is no waythat I could turn to another. MayI f ind no peace or joy if Ibreak this promise. You may relyon what I am telling you.” “My dear,allay, if you can, my nagging fear.Give me your shirt and allow me toput a knot in its tail. One who,without the use of scissors or knife, can undo the knot you may take as a wife,mistress, or concubine with mypermission.” Guigemar in replyasked for the same kind of pledge from her,and gave her a belt on which there wereintricate buckles here and there.A man who did not cut or tearthe belt but contrive to remove it somehowhe would approve for her and allowher to take as a lover. The twoagreed and found other things to do.

That of course was the very day whenthe lord sent one of his serving mento deliver a message. When he could not gainentry he peered through a window panehigh off the ground and there he spiedthe lovers. To say what he’d seen insidethe room he ran back to his lordto report. The master reached for his sword,took three burly men along,and went to the chamber to right this wrong.They broke down the door and entered in

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to the scene of the couple’s sordid sin.He ordered his men to kill the knight,who stood up to meet them and, to f ight,grabbed a laundry pole that hecould use as a weapon. If he were to bekilled he could at least take one or two with him, if only for fun.The lord, impressed by this, asked whohe was and how he had managed toenter the lady’s chamber. The knightexplained about how he’d shot the whitehind, and what it had said, and thenthe ship that appeared without any mento steer it that had brought him here.The lord thought this was rather queer,either nonsense or else a joke.He thought for a moment and then spoke,telling the knight that if he couldsummon that vessel back, it wouldbe permitted that he embark.To this he added a last remark,that if the knight on that ghost shipwere somehow to survive the trip,he would be distressed to hearthe news. But it would give him cheerto be informed that the knight had drowned.They went to the harbor and there they foundthe vessel waiting. Without delayGuigemar boarded and sailed away.Kneeling on the polished deckthe knight prayed for a storm and a wreckthat would take his life if he could not see

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his sweetheart again. Mortalitywas the only relief he could think of forhis ailment. But he reached the shoreof his homeland and left the ship behindas he made his way up the shingle to f inda youth he had raised who was now a squireto another knight from a nearby shire.The youth recognized him at once and hedismounted and bowed, delighted to seeGuigemar again. At a canterthey rode together exchanging banterwhile the young man assured him that he would bewelcomed home with sincerity.He was, but the knight, neverthelessseemed downcast and in some distress.A few of his friends, concerned for him,suggested he marry: he took a dimview of this suggestion. He saidhe’d promised not to romance or wedany maiden or dame who could notwithout violence undo the knotsomeone had made in the tail of his shirt.It was an unlikely thing to assertand news of this extraordinaryrequirement was broadcast veryfar and wide. Many women cameto make an attempt at the strange gamein which Guigemar himself would bethe prize for someone’s dexterity.I hardly need report that nonewas successful. It simply couldn’t be done.

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Meanwhile, the lady he’d left behindwas locked in a tower and confinedto a single room in which her tearsflowed as she prayed for death. Two yearsshe spent this way. Indeed, her onlyhope was to put an end to a lonelyexistence: if she could get to the seashe could drown herself and it would bedone with. She imagined thisand in her dreams whispered into hisear of her grief and her despair.Could he not help her? Did he not care?She arose one day as if in a trance to discover that by some curious chancethe door had been left unbolted and shewas able to pass through it, freeand unhindered. She headed rapidly fora large rock that stood on the shorefrom which she planned to leap to her death.She ran until she was out of breathand there was that ghost ship tied up besideit, waiting for an outgoing tide.She boarded it for she knew it was howGuigemar had left and nowit would take her as well. She wouldhave thrown herself overboard if she could,but she was exhausted, an utter wreck,and she collapsed upon the deck.The vessel carried her, as wemight have expected, to Brittanyand either through fate or merely luckto the fortif ied castle of Mariaduc.

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Looking out of his window henoticed the ship — a mysteryfor there seemed to be no sailors aboard.He summoned his chamberlain, took his sword,and, in the brief inspection he made, hefound, of course, the beautiful ladywhom he led to his castle. He gave her every comfort she might crave.She was, he could see, of noble bloodand beautiful. She would be a goodwife and mother, he thought, and fellin love with her. He had her dwellin her own apartments in which shehad his sister for company.She was richly dressed and fed with raredainties he had his cooks prepare.He professed his love for her in manyways but she did not pay anyheed to his declarations. Sadand distracted, she told him at lastof the belt she wore that bound her fastto another man — or it was boththe belt she had on and also the oathshe had taken. This news was notat all welcome. He wondered whatwas going on, for he’d had wordof a knight with a similarly absurdconstraint — a knot someone had madein his shirt tail no one could undo.

“And I think that that someone was you.”Hearing this, the lady sighed,and her tears fell fast to make two wide

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rivulets down her cheeks. But hetook no notice and brutallyundid the laces of her dressto unfasten the belt, but without success.In a f it of petulance he invitedothers to try it, but no knight didbetter. Each night after dinnerthey played the game, but with never a winner.

There came in time a threat of war,which Meriaduc was ready for, but he proposed instead to holda tournament with brave and boldknights of each side to joust and decidethe casus belli and take great pridein what they’d done. From near and far he invited knights, and Guigemarwas one of these. (He was promised a greatreward in order to compensatehim for his trouble.) With this wentevery kind of complimentand protestations of friendship. Thesepleasant words and courtesiesbrought Guigemar, accompanied by a hundred knights, each ready to tryhis luck and skill. Lodging them allin a tower richly decked with allkinds of tapestries, the hostwelcomed them and gave a mostpersuasive expression of gratitude.He sent then for his sister, as you’dexpect, and the lady with her whom

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he longed for. The two entered the roomhand in hand. Hearing his namethe lady almost fainted. The sameGuigemar? The name is rare.How many other gentlemen bearthat odd cognomen? But then he spoke,

“Sweetheart! Darling! My heart brokewhen I sailed away.” But can it beshe? The similarityis great but how did she come here?Is she an illusion as I fear?Uncertain as he was, he guessedthat he might put her to the testby sitting beside her. Casual chatbetween them about this and thatwould make it clear. He took a chairclose to her but a silent starewas all he was able to get from her.Meriaduc saw how they werenonplussed, and said the knight should seewhether the woman beside him could bethe one to untie the challenging knotin the tail of his shirt. On the spotGuigemar ordered that it be broughtand given to the lady he thoughtwould be able to untie it, but shewas afraid and, full of misery,refused even to try unlessMeriaduc permitted. “Yes,”he said, “do what you can with it.”Instantly, without a whitof trouble, she untied the knot,

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delighting Guigemar. But whatabout the belt? If this was she,she would have it still, and heplaced his hands on her hips to feelfor the belt. It was there, and she was real!

“Beloved,” he said, “my fondest dreamsare realized, for indeed it seemsthat you are here beside me. Whobrought you here?” Her answer tothese questions you all know: how shefound herself at liberty,went to drown herself but then saw the ship. This best of menhad housed her here with all respectand behaviour that was quite correct,although he kept proposing to heras constantly he tried to woo her.But here was Guigemar, and sheat last was as happy as she could be.Guigemar rose and said, “I imploreyou, Meriaduc, to restoremy love to me. I shall be yourvassal for three years or fourwith my hundred knights.” But the latter replied,

“I am not in need of vassals. I’drather keep her. I was the onewho found her and I declare that noneshall take her away from me.” But whenGuigemar heard this, he had his menmount and ride away. With himcame other knights who took a dimview of Meriaduc’s deportment.

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They were a most impressive assortmentand they all went to join the foeof Meriaduc — which meant, you know,that the war was ended before it began.But Guigemar, a determined man,returned to Meriaduc to laysiege to his town and in this wayforce him to give the lady back.Others appeared. There was no lackof spirited knights to give him aidin his cause. Their numbers madean overwhelming force. Insidethe town many men and women died,slowly starving to death. At last,made desperate by the protracted fast,and having lost heart as well as weight,someone opened the main gate.Guigemar stormed the castle and slewits lord, as we would expect him to.With joy he took his lady and theirtroubles vanished into thin air.

With harp and zither this f ine storyhas come into the repertory.

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i i e q u i Ta n

The Bretons were noble people whocomposed these lays in order toremember what had been said and doneand preserve it from oblivion. One tale concerns a courtly man,a lord of Nantes, named Equitan.

Greatly admired and well loved, heupheld the code of chivalryand gave himself to the pleasures of love.Those who lack understanding ofthis kind of living cannot befully alive and cannot seehow a man who is under the swayof love can have his reason give wayto passion’s arbitrary commands.Governing Equitan left in the handsof a seneschal who was loyal and braveso that the master could follow — savein times of war — his inclinationsfor novel and ever more keen sensations,pursuing animals in the chase,fishing in his favorite place,or other rather gentler artsof making love and breaking hearts.

His seneschal was married toan extremely beautiful woman whowas so attractive as to produce

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great misfortune. Her eyes were bright,her nose was slender, her skin was white,his lips were perfectly formed. Let us saythat she was nature’s nonpareil.The king had often heard her praisedand not surprisingly this raiseda frisson of interest in his mind,such that he contrived to f inda way to meet her (as he had nevermanaged to do). He was quite cleverand went on a hunt in the region whereshe lived — and as long as he was there,he thought it proper to make a callat the castle of his seneschal(who happened at that moment to beaway on Equitan’s business, as wemight have guessed). There were, therefore,during the visit occasions galorefor him to express his admirationfor her grace, her beauty, her cultivationand hint at the keenness of his desirefor her, as love’s spark burst into fire.

That night, in bed, as he turned and tossed,knowing that he had nearly crossedthe line, and it was indecent and wrongfor him to proceed with this, but the strongpower of Love had seized him and hehad no will to resist it or freehimself from its clutches. He had to blamehimself for forgetting how, in a game,there are winners and losers, and he was one

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of the latter group. What could be done?He could not betray his seneschal whohad always given him his trueallegiance and would be deeply grievedif he discovered he’d been deceived.But could such a beautiful woman bewithout a lover? Then why not he?Perhaps the seneschal had by nowresigned himself . . . Might he allowsuch liaisons? Would it be fairif the two men were somehow to sharethis gorgeous woman between them? All nighthe tried not to think about her, but lightwas appearing in the sky and hewas wide awake and in misery.

In this condition of abject woehe told himself that he did not knowwhether the woman’s inclinationsmight match his own. His speculationswere otherwise otiose and absurd,which gave him hope, for it occurredto him that there might be a wayout of this mess. At break of dayhe rose and set out to hunt for game,and the seneschal, who was back now, camealong to keep him company.But Equitan complained that hedid not feel well and returned to goto bed. His companion of course had noidea of what the matter wasand he sent his wife to learn the cause

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of their lord’s distress — a woman canoften do better at this than a man.She had no plausible reason notto go although she had guessed whatwas troubling him. She made her visitto ask their visitor, “What is itthat ails you?” And he answered, “You!There’s nothing I can say or do,I am in love with you, and unlessyou bring relief for my distressI shall surely die.” She said,pursing her lips and shaking her head,

“I must have time to consider sucha problem. I fear that you very muchoutrank me and that, should I complywith your wishes, you would by and byabandon me. If I confessedmy love and granted your request,our feelings would not be equally shared.I am your vassal, and you are preparedto be my lord in love. As I wellknow, such an inequityin love is a disability:a poor man’s love, though it be rude,is full of joy and gratitude,while a prince or a king will take it forgranted, so that the lesser is more.If I were to place my love and trustin a higher station than mine, I mustexpect unhappiness to followpleasures that would be brief and shallow.The powerful man takes as his right

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the love he desires, if but for a night.”To these words Equitan replied,

“Say not so!” and with some pridesuggested that these were the calculationsof merchants and men in such occupations,but not of courtliness, for wehave higher ideals and are therefore freeof tradesmen’s reckonings. Those whoplay such tricks — and I trust they are few — are laughingstocks. You now may bemy vassal, but love’s peripetywould make you queen and me the servantloyal, obedient, and fervent.I surrender myself to you and swear that I shall forever doyour bidding — if you do not allowme to die for your sake now.”Many other things he said to her as he protested and pledso ardently that in the endshe was unable to defendherself and (as we thought she’d do)gave him her soul and body, too.They exchanged rings and with them sworeto love each other forever more,and they kept these oaths, which were to bethe cause of their deaths, as we shall see.

Their love lasted for years withoutarousing any suspicion or doubton anyone’s part. The king would sayhe needed to be bled — that way

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claiming a privacy in which shecould visit him in secrecyfor the doors to his suite were locked and noneunless he was summoned would take it uponhimself to intrude. The lord had nodesire for other women, althoughthe courtiers proposed many times that heshould take a wife so that there might bean heir. He would not hear of thisand declined to allow discussions in hispresence, but the seneschal’s wife heard the rumors that were rifeand worried that if he might bemarried to someone, then surely shewould be cast off and sent away.She soon found an occasion to saythat she was worried, and understoodthat it would be for the country’s goodif he were to marry, but in that caseshe would, for lack of his embrace,wither away, sicken, and die,and she tried her hardest not to cry.Equitan replied that hewould never marry and said that shecould rely on his word. “Indeed,” he said,

“if your husband were to die, we’d wedat once, and you would share my throne.”In that phrase, the seed was sewn,and she began at once to contrivescenarios that would let her arriveat the widowhood to which he had madereference. But she’d need his aid.

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He promised that he would gladly dowhatever she required him to,and she explained her plan: he shouldcome to her husband’s castle where goodhunting was to be found, and thereafter this exercise, declarethat he would like a bath. The mencould both bathe together, but whenthe tubs were prepared the one would becomfortably warm, but other shewould have f illed with water boiling hotso that one who stepped in it could notsurvive. Her husband’s death would appearto the world to be an accident. Clearand simple it was, and he agreedthat this was the way they would proceed. A couple of months go by and the timecomes for them to commit their crime.On the third day of his visit thereat his seneschal’s palace, in a raremoment of convivialityEquitan suggests they both be bled and then take a nice bath torelax as gentlemen often do.The lady arranged for a pair of tubs to be brought to the bedroom for their scrubs,one, of course, with the boiling water. Equitan looked at her and thought herlovelier than ever and tookhis pleasure with her in a donnybrookof erotic positions. A girl was on guard

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at the locked door, after all, to wardoff visitors. But the seneschal cameand he thought the girl’s excuses were lame.It was his house, after all, and heknocked at the door impatiently,and then, suspecting, or angry, or both,in a f it of fury and waxing wroth,he broke down the door and saw his wifewith the lord to whose service he’d given his life.Resistless, he approached the bedresolved that one or both would be deadimmediately. Equitanbeing naked, was not the manhe would have been wearing clothes, and hejumped into one of the tubs . . . But you seehe chose wrong and his last breathwas a scream as he was boiled to death. It was clear to the seneschal that thisboiling tub was intended as his.One of the would-be murderers yetremained alive, and he could not lether get away, so he threw her in the water headfirst for her share in their sin.Men and women have often foundthat the evil they plan can reboundand strike them down who intended to strike.It’s poetic justice or something like. All this happened as I have recited,for the Bretons tell the tale that I did.

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i i i L e F re s n e

I shall tell you the lay of Le Fresneor, if you’ve heard it, tell it again.There lived in Brittany in the pasttwo knights, neighbours, and, if not fastfriends, then friendly. Both had muchwealth and were worthy and valiant, with suchqualities as knights display.Both were recently married and theylived in amity, till one dayone of the wives conceived and thengave birth to two sons. Thank God, and Amen.Full of joy the father sentword to his neighbour of friendly intent — to ask that he be godfather to onewho would bear his name as his godson.The messenger knelt as he brought wordto the knight who, as soon as he heard,offered the messenger a f ine steedas a token of thanks and wished him Godspeed.The wife, however, an envious, proudand deceitful woman, wondered aloudthat this was a shame and blot uponthe neighbour’s honour. To father a sonis a splendid thing, but no woman cangive birth to twin sons of one man,and it followed that there would have to bea question about their paternity.The husband was taken aback. He glaredat his wife to whom he at once declared,

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“The lady’s reputation isunblemished, and to speak like thisis wicked.” All the servants heardtheir master’s disapproval, and wordof his remarks immediately spread throughout all Brittanyin which all women, rich and poor,were either roused to anger orcontempt that in their bosoms burned.The messenger, when he returnedto the knight, his master, made a short,precise, and accurate reportof what he’d heard. The knight was sad,felt betrayed, and wished he hadbeen less trusting. Had she done wrong?Had his wife deceived him all along?She had been utterly blameless, but heconfined her now under lock and keyand appointed faithful servants to keepwatch over her both awake and asleep.

That same year, the neighbour who hadfor mischievous reasons started the badrumor discovered that, for her sins,she had conceived and was bearing twins,girls as it happened, but even so,the words she had said not long agoremained to indict her. Who could dreamof such a reversal? Honour, esteem . . .all gone — because of her jest(to which the woman had never confessed)about how twins were proof that she

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had indulged in some promiscuity.Retribution was only fair,except that her husband would have a sharethat he did not deserve in her disgrace.What could she do to save his face?She decided that she could murder oneof the babies and, when that was done,make amends to God. This wouldmaintain her repute as a loyal and goodwife. What other way could sheavoid the smirks and calumny?Her serving women were horrif iedby the prospect of this infanticideand wept bitterly in the hopethat she might f ind other ways to copewith her diff iculty. One lady in waitingsuggested a way of extricatingherself: “Give one of the children to me,and I’ll take her away. You’ll never seethe girl again or undergoslanders. There is a church I knowto which I shall take her and there God canfind for her some worthy manto care for her and treat her well.The lady thanked the mademoiselleand offered her a reward if shecould perform this act of charity.They swaddled the child in a piece of f inelinen, and then, providing a sign to the world of the baby’s noble birth, wrapped her in a brocade of great worthfrom Constantinople. One more thing:

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tied by a piece of ribbon, a ringmade of an ounce of gold and setwith a large ruby in a baguettecut. Its band was inscribed with smallletters — as we shall have cause to recall.

That night, when darkness had fallen, the maidtook the baby and, unafraid,followed a path that led intoa wood she had to travel throughto get to the town on the other sideand its abbey where pious nuns abide.Large it was and well endowed,and the sisters and their abbess were proudof their good works. This was her aim,and by the time the sun rose she cameto the outskirts of the town with farmsfrom which watchdogs sounded alarms.She reached the abbey and at the doorknelt down with the infant to imploreGod for his mercy by which he might keepsafe the child who lay asleepin its little bundle. Close by there stoodan ash tree that would be a goodsafe place to deposit the child,protected from roving packs of wilddogs. In the tree, she could be hiddenaway but not too well. As bidden,she left the child and returned to tellher mistress how all things were well.

A porter, at dawn of the following day,

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readied the abbey for people to pray,lighting the candles, ringing the bells,and paying attention to whatever elsehad to be done in the church. At last he opened the doors and as he cast his eyes about he happened to seethe bundle someone had put in the tree.A penitent thief returning what he had stolen — his gains ill got? The cautious porter went to look more closely and found there in the crookof a branch the baby. Thank God! Hecarried it home with him carefullyto his widowed daughter suckling her newborn child — so that they wereable to help the foundling. The porterappealed to the kindness of his daughter,who cradled the infant in her arm,bathed her, dried her so she would be warm,and gave her mother’s milk. The poor thingwas hungry! When they found the ringand the f ine brocade they were impressedand not unreasonably they guessedthat she had come from nobility.Therefore the porter went to seethe abbess after she’d said her prayersto inform the lady of these affairsand seek her advice. The abbess thoughthe had done well so far but oughtto bring it to her for her f irst handinspection. The porter, at her commandfetched the child. The abbess took

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her into her arms and at f irst lookdecided to raise her herself. “She’ll bemy niece, we’ll say. Do you agree?”The porter promised his silence, and thenthe abbess said, “We’ll name her “Le Fresne,”for the ash tree in which she was put.But whatever happens, keep your mouth shut.”

The girl grew up in the abbey’s pleasantlands. It was clear that she was no peasant,but, graceful, charming, and quick to learn, showed breeding one could at once discern.At length she grew to the age when Naturetransforms young girls, giving them statureand beauty, to which she also broughta talent for speaking that she’d been taughtby the sisters who were devotedto her, for on her each one doted.

There was in the nearby town of Dola knight named Gurun, a noble soul,who heard reports of this demoiselleof whom so many spoke so well.This was more than enough to piquehis curiosity — he would seekan audience with her on his journeyback from an impending tourney.The abbess was happy enough to showher prize pupil off who was sointelligent and even wise,as he saw in her lovely eyes.He was smitten but also aware

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that if he dallied too long thereor returned too often the abbess mighttighten the reins that were already tightand he might never again be allowedto see her. That thought was a cloudmarring an otherwise azure sky.But Gurun devised a plan wherebyhe might establish himself as a greatbenefactor, enlarge their estate,and in return would be given hisown rooms in the premises,where he could come and go as he liked with all impunity.There would be no unseemly grinsfor a gift like this for remission of sins.This arrangement allowed him freeaccess and the libertyto speak to the girl whenever the whimcrossed his mind or prompted him.Interest, attraction, and then passionpossessed him in the usual fashion,Then, as sometimes can occur,reciprocal feelings were roused in her.At last, when he thought the time was rightto speak to the girl forthrightly, the knighttook her hand in his and declaredthat he adored her and thought she caredfor him as well. She said she did.He then said it was time to bidfarewell to the abbey to consummatetheir love. “If you should hesitateyou might in time conceive and be

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an embarrassment for the nunnery.We ought not risk offending youraunt whom I know you adore.I shall love you and I swearthat you shall be as happy therein my castle as you have been herein this otherworldly atmosphere.It was flattering to be thus addressedby a great knight whom she loved as the bestof men. She also was excitedto see this world he had invitedher to explore with him and share.Agreeing to follow him anywhere,she fetched her brocade and the gold ring she had from the abbess who toldthe story of how these were with her when shewas found on a branch of that ash treefor whom she’d been named. These relics werepuzzling mementos of herprevious life and she put them ina casket, setting out to beginyet another life she couldnot imagine. The knight was goodand kind and loved her as did alsohis companions and servants from high to low.But some of the other knight and peersdisapproved and into his earsthere came whispers of those who thoughthis life was improper and that he oughtto marry a woman of noble linewho could give him an heir, as a concubinecould never do. To them, it was clear

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that he wasn’t behaving as a peermust do. To press him on this questionthey made a more specif ic suggestionabout a worthy man who hada suitable daughter, not at all badlooking, and also rich. His heir,she would bring with her a cleartitle to many hectares of land,woods and pastures that her handwould put in his. Her name, they said, was La Codre, and they urged him to wedthis sensible paragon and put byhis present woman. With a slyplay on the names, they said that hemust bear in mind that the hazel tree — la codre — bears fruit, but ash trees can’t.A man can’t always do as he’d wantand finally Gudrun had to yieldto these demands. What was concealedfrom all of them was how the twogirls were twins (even though youmay have already intuited this).La Fresne did not even take it amisswhen the other young lady arrived to bemarried to Gudrun. Amazingly, shecontinued there as a servant mightas a part of the household of the knight.The only words of doubt were thoseof the bride’s mother who had to supposethat there might be friction between the twowomen, and she expressed the viewthat Gudrun should marry her off and be

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rid of her so that tranquilitymight be maintained in his household.Le Fresne, however, was good as goldand welcomed and waited upon the bride,whatever she might have felt inside.The whole court was astonished to seehow generous a young woman could be,and even the bride’s mother (hers too)was amazed and wished that she might undoher demand that Le Fresne be sent away.On the evening before the wedding dayLe Fresne and others went to prepare the bridal chamber with every care. As they worked, she supervisedtheir labors with attentive eyes,and when she saw them making the bedshe interrupted and shook her head.The bed linen was dull and notpretty enough. She cared a lotabout her lord, so she remadethe bed with a coverlet of her brocadeto honour him and wish them bothwell as they came to plight their troth.The Archbishop of Dol appearedat the bedside to ask God’s blessing.The bride in another room was dressingand now with her mother entered the room.The mother in the relative gloom(only a few candles were lit)glanced at the bed, then stared at it.The brocade was familiar. Shehad given a piece of it once to be

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a token of her love for the twinshe had given away — a sinshe had regretted with bitter tearsshe had been shedding now for years.She asked the major domo from whomthe fabric had come. “I must assumethe master’s lady brought it hereto give the room a touch of cheer.”She asked the girl then, who told her thatit was from the abbess who’d told her notto lose it. “And there was another thingshe gave me with it — a golden ring.”The mother asked if she might seethe jewel. At f irst suspiciouslyshe studied it and she realizedwith certainty what she’d surmised.

“You are my daughter!” she managed to saybefore she fainted dead away.When she recovered she asked that herhusband be summoned instanter.

He hurried to her, and on her kneesshe offered her apologiesand begged him to pardon her if he could.He had supposed all things were goodand could not imagine what she had doneeither to him or to anyone.

“You have my pardon,” he said. “But for whatI’ve no idea. What fault have you gotto confess to me?” She told him at onceabout the neighbour who’d had two sonsand how she had slandered the woman and thenwas all too nicely punished when

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she became pregnant with girl twins.One she sent away and sincethen has regretted the evil thingshe did. She mentioned the gold ringand the piece of brocade by which they could seethat their long-lost daughter was she.This is the damsel with whom the knight fell in love, although in spiteof his affection for her he is wedto our other daughter instead.He could have been angry but the lordseemed pleased and for concordand peace all around he sent for the knightand archbishop to set things right,which both of them were pleased to do.The archbishop suggested a wayto dissolve the marriage the following daywhen Gurun could marry the one he had firstloved until he had been coercedto make this match that was said to be better.The father was delighted and let herbe heiress to half of his estate.After this wedding he, his spouse, and his other daughter returned to their house.La Codre not long afterwards madea rich marriage — and this time stayedhappily married. Again and againthe vicissitudes of our Le Fresnehave been told by f iresides and theyare what I offer you now as my lay.

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i v B i s c Lav r e T

There is another Breton layI must not omit of Bisclavret(the Normans give him another name,

“Garwaf,” but the two are the same). It hasn’t happened lately, but thenevery once in a while some menwere transformed into werewolves and wentinto the forests where they spenttheir lives doing mischief. They would eatanybody they happened to meet.One who was affected that way,as you have guessed, was Bisclavret.

There was in Brittany long agoa baron with whom the world had nocomplaint. He was noble and handsome, too.He advised his lord and was one of the fewto whom he listened with great attention.The baron had, I ought to mention,a wife who was pretty and worthy as well.They loved each other, but I must tellhow every week he would go awayand not return until the third day.Nobody had the foggiest guessabout where he’d gone. This caused distressin the wife’s mind. Although she knewthat husbands don’t have to answer totheir wives, she said in the nicest way,

“My dear sweet love, can you not say

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where you go when you’re not here?There is nothing in the world I fearmore than your anger, but can you perhapsforgive me for my wifely lapsethat arises from my concern for you?”He was in a good mood and drewher to him in an embrace.He kissed her and still was close to her facewhen he told her to ask whatever sheliked, and if her question could beanswered, he would enlighten her.With a sweet smile and almost a purrshe said, “I am so upset withoutyour presence here! Allay my doubtand quiet my fear. I have to knowwhat you do and where you go.Do you have a lover somewhere?That would be wrong of you and unfair.If it’s something else, then put to restthe curiosity in my breast.”

“Have mercy,” he said, “your inquirycan only bring great harm to meif I answer you, and will be of noearthly good to you. I knowthat I may lose your love, and I,if that should happen, would surely die.”This ought to have silenced her but of coursegave her curiosity forceand urgency it hadn’t hadbefore. She persisted, and the sadhusband, with his eyes downcast,replied to her question and at last

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told her that he sometimes becamea werewolf. It was with some shamethat he explained how, in the wood,he lived on whatever prey he couldcapture and kill. She digested thisand then inquired of him what hiscostume was in these bizarreforays. “Lady, werewolves arecompletely naked,” was his reply.She laughed at this (I can’t guess why)and asked him where he hid his clothes — to make conversation, I suppose.

“Don’t ask me that, I pray you. If Iwere somehow to lose them it would be mylot to remain a werewolf foreverunless they were returned, and neverwalk the earth as a man again.”This should have satisf ied her, but whenshe heard him say this, she swore that sheloved him and would eternally.For him to keep secrets from her would showdoubt on his part. “I have done nowrongs to you! You have no causefor any suspicions!” And without pauseshe continued in that vein, accusing,wheedling, bullying, and abusing.Finally, he broke down and toldher how near the wood there was an oldchapel that has a bush close by.

“There is a broad flat stone that Ihave hollowed out in which I storemy clothing until I am ready for

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my return.” She was wide-eyedand appeared to have been satisfied,but she was alarmed and filled with fearto learn that her husband was a were-wolf. How ghastly! How could sheand such a creature have intimacy?

How to get rid of him was heronly question. The answers wereclear enough — for there was a knightwho had been paying her court and was quiteardent. She had never returned the passion with which he said he burned, but she let him know that that could changeif he were to help her to arrangea bit of mischief. “I offer younot only my love but my body, too,if you will do me a service.” Heagreed to this with alacrity.She told him about her husband and hishiding place for his clothes. At thisthe knight immediately obeyed — and thus was Bisclavret betrayedby his faithless wife. Because he hadvanished before, the court was sadbut not surprised. They quartered the groundof the wood but not a trace was foundand even his friends had to giveup, having their lives to live.The knight married the lady heloved and they lived happily.

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A year came and went and oneday the king went out for the funof hunting in that forest whereBisclavret had made his lair.The hounds picked up his distinctive scentand followed him wherever he went.They were about to leap and tearhim to bits but arriving therewas the king, whom Bisclavret espied.The werewolf ran up to his side,took hold of his stirrup, and kissed his shoe,which beasts in the woods don’t often do.The king was impressed and he summoned his partyto see what had given him such a start. Hethought it was strange and marveled aloudthat the animal could be endowedwith intelligence and could plead for itslife. “A beast that has such witsI will protect, and on those groundsI order that you restrain the hounds.”

The king, because it was late in the day,returned to the palace with Bisclavretfollowing closely, afraid to beeven momentarilyseparated from his benefactor.The king, because the beast could distract oramuse, was delighted to have him there,and he ordered his kitchen staff to preparewhatever foods the wolf might eat.The animal seemed tame, even sweet,and became a palace pet. It kept

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watch at night while his majesty slept.

Is this the happy ending? Notquite. So, let me tell you whathappened next, when the king held courtand summoned his nobles of every sortto assemble before him to celebratea festival. Among these greatpeers of the land was the knight you mayrecall, for the wife of Bisclavrethad married him. He hadn’t the leastidea about the king’s pet beastbut when he entered the palace hallthe wolf with no hesitation at allleapt on him and sank his jawsinto his thigh. (He had good causebut no one knew what that might be.)He might have killed him instantlybut the king spoke sharply and raised a stickas if to beat him, which did the trick.Twice more during the day this samekind of attack occurred. The blame,some said, was the wolf’s, but others believedthat the wolf itself might have been aggrievedby the knight somehow, for none but hehad aroused the wolf’s ferocity.Back and forth the reasoning wentin their good natured argument,and the king enjoyed it although he tendedtoward those who excused what his animal friend did.

Some time later the king on his way

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elsewhere, near the forest of Bisclavretdecided to rest for the night and found a convenient inn. Word went aroundof the royal visit. Bisclavret’s spouse,dressed in her f inest, left the housewith a basket of elegant dainties to bringto the inn, hoping to please the king.When Bisclavret saw her, hedashed toward her. He could not berestrained even by several men.He pounced upon the woman and thenbit her nose from off her face.There were guards and huntsmen all over the placeabout to kill the wolf, but a wiseman told the king: “No one deniesthe gentleness of the beast. There mustbe some reason for what he has justdone. He has to have some kind of grudgeagainst her and her husband. Judgehis case as you would that of a man.Question the lady and see if you canfind some reason for his rage.”The king heard the words of the mageand ordered the woman taken awayand put on the rack until she would saywhat she had done to provoke such hateas the wolf’s behaviour might demonstrate.A shriek, a whimper, a plea, a curse,pain, and the fear of even worse . . .To make it stop, she had to exposeher plot and the knight’s theft of the clothesof Bisclavret, since which time he

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had not been seen. The wolf was he,she was certain. The king demandedthe clothes be fetched and they soon were handedto him who put them down beforethe wolf in a bundle on the floor.But the animal seemed indifferent tothis offering. The wise man whohad spoken before explained that it mightbe from embarrassment or fright.He might not want to be seen as hewas transformed back to humanity.

“Put him in your room with thisbundle and we shall learn what isthe matter. If he has privacy,that may be enough. We’ll see.”The king took this advice and putthe wolf in his bedroom. The doors were shut.Two hours later two barons and heentered the chamber quietlyto f ind Bisclavret on the bed, asleep.The king embraces him. They weeptogether in their joy. How grand!The king restores Bisclavret’s landand gives him even more. The wifeand the knight he banishes for life.They depart and, as one hears,have children, but the girls she bearsare born without noses on their faces,the outward sign of their disgraces.

This is the truth, and do not doubt it.The Bretons still tell tales about it.

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v L a n va L

I shall tell you another lay,a true story: it happened this wayto a noble man whose name, in Breton,is Lanval. Now, let me go on.

You have heard of Arthur whowas a great king. He had gone toCarlisle, where the Scots and Picts had comeon raids, and he wanted to keep them fromprogressing further into his landsin their ragged and destructive bands.

It was at Pentecost and he gaverich gifts to his noble and bravebarons and knights of the Round Table.In all the world, no one would be ableto find a f iner companyof men. To each the king awardedlands and wives as he thought accordedwith what they had done and had deserved and how each one of them had served.But there was one whom he forgotand for whose sake, somehow, there was nota good word anyone put in.Valorous, he was able to winjousts and battles, and generous,so that others were envious.The son of a noble king, he’d cometo join Arthur’s household from

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a distant land. Arthur neverrewarded him for any endeavor,and it never crossed his mind to askfor any payment for a taskhe thought he owed by courtesyand thus was reduced to penury.For all these reasons, disrespectedand unrewarded, he was dejectedfar away from his home with nofriend to whom he was able to goto ask for advice on how to contriveto keep himself and his hopes alive.

One day he mounted his horse and wentinto the country to try to contenthimself with flowers and pale blue skies,having been told that in this wiseone can restore a troubled soulsometimes; that was his only goal.He reached a meadow that had a brookand he dismounted. His horse then tooka chill and trembled. Lanval removedits bridle and saddle, for he lovedthe animal. He let it grazein the meadow and gambol in the waysthat horses do. Stretched out uponthe grass, he allowed himself a yawn,and then he noticed downstream twodamsels dressed in tunics of blue,beautiful of f igure and faceand approaching with incredible grace.One carried vessels of gold and one

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a linen towel with embroidery donein tiny stitches. Being polite,Lanval rose, as any knightwould, to greet them. One of them said,

“Our mistress, whose tent is up ahead,welcomes you. She is wise and fair.Come with us. We will take you there.”The horse was happily grazing, and hesaw no reason not to begrateful. He followed along behindthe two and was amazed to f inda pavilion of which Semiramis wouldhave been proud. Octavian never stoodin a f iner tent. The top was gracedby a golden eagle that had been placedto catch the sunlight and declarethe enormous wealth and glory thereof the occupant, who turned out to bea maiden of great beauty: shesurpassed the lily and the rose.She lay on the bed in languid reposeon a coverlet that surely cost more than a castle would. The damsel worea filmy shift, for the day was warm,and it displayed her lovely formto great advantage. Her complexion mighthave rivaled even the hawthorn’s white.

The maiden called the knight to comecloser, which he did with somehesitation. She put him at easeat once, saying such words as these:

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“My friend, I have come from a distant landin search of you to bestow my handand the rest of me as well, if youare one of the truly worthy few.I shall make you happier thanan emperor or a king. You canenjoy the rich life you have earned.”To this Lanval at once returned:

“Nothing could please me more than to beloved by you. You will f ind in mea loyal servant. Nothing you askwill be too onerous a taskfor me to undertake. I shallresist any other large or smalltemptations but serve only youas I shall be honoured and grateful to do.” She invited him forthwith into bedand while he was lying there she said,

“I shall grant you one more thing — that any wish you make will bringinstant fulf illment. Give awayor spend however much you may,you will have more to give or spend,a bottomless treasure that cannot end.But there is one proviso that Igive you and you must live by:you must promise not to revealour love or the source of your wealth. You sealyour lips or else you lose me for good.Do you agree? Have you understood?”They romped and frolicked all that day,but then the lady sent him away

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with a promise that whenever hewished for her, immediatelyshe would appear, eager to dohis bidding. “And no man but youwill see or hear me.” Of course, at thishe was delighted, gave her a kiss,and then obediently arose.The damsels gave him rich new clothes,which suited him and made him looklike some fine prince in a picture book.They brought water and towels and stoodwhile he washed. They then brought food.He and the lady dined on dishesof dainty meats and delicious f ishes.At last he embraced her and said farewell,but there was no way he could tellhow grateful he was or make mention ofhis delight and abiding love.He trotted off toward town and was insome confusion: had it beena dream? A fantasy? A spell?There simply was no way to tell,and when he got home he was surprisedthat his staff had been metamorphosized,increased in number as he could seeand dressed in the fanciest livery.He gave a party that night, a f ine spread with every kind of wineand to this he contrived to inviteevery noble and every knight. It gave him satisfaction to feedthe rich as well as those in need.

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He gave to the poor, and many in jailhe either set free or paid their bail.It was a life of joy beyond measurethat was only increased by his nightly pleasurefor he could call his beloved, and she would appear before him instantly.

Shortly after St. John’s Day somethirty knights or more had cometo relax and spend an agreeable hourin the gardens beneath the queen’s watch tower.Gawain was among them; his fairand noble cousin Ywain was there.Gawain remarked that it wasn’t rightthat they had treated Lanval with such slightrespect. “He is a generous manand courtly, too. What reason canthere be for our behaviour? Hecomes from a land across the seawhere his father is a king. And yethe is the one we always forget.For instance, now, look around. I fearyou will notice that Lanval’s not here.”They went to ask him to join them all,which he was unable to recalltheir having done before. Even so,he thanked them and said he would go.

The queen and three of her ladies werereclining near an aperturein the stone wall when she caught sightof Lanval — a most attractive knight.

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She summoned, without hesitating,thirty of her ladies-in-waiting, the prettiest ones especially,to come with her to the garden to beentertained by the gentlemen thereand take the refreshing morning air.The knights, delighted, gathered aboutthe women who had deigned to come outand banter with them in courtly ways,admiring them and offering praise — all but Lanval, that is, who withdrewto the garden’s edge, impatient toreturn to his beloved and kissand embrace her. He had no interest in this.The queen noticed that he was notparticipating, and to the spotwhere he was seated she went at once.Thinking he must be a perfect dunce,she explained that she wanted himand to penetrate into his dimbrain, she promised him gifts if hewould come to her in secrecy.But he declined. “I serve the kingand cannot betray him or do such a thingas you have proposed. It would not beallowed by the code of chivalry.”The queen was furious — and ashamed,and he was the one whom she blamed.

“Lanval,” she said, “I have heard it saidthat you do not welcome women in bed.You have your pages and grooms, and yousport with them as some men do,

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and this is sinful and wicked. The kingcannot endure the taint you bringto the court and the entire nation.He cannot risk his soul’s salvationfor the sake of your peculiar tasteor allow himself to be disgraced.”

Lanval, not at all pleased, replied,“Lady, what you suggest in your snideand snarky way is not at all true.The fact is I love a lady whois worth far more than any I know.And let me tell you before I gothat any one of her serving lassesin body and face and worth surpassesyou, not to mention goodness of heart.Now, if you’ll let me, I’ll depart.”But it was the queen who left and shewas in tears and mortif ied that hehad spoken so. She took to her bedand to her chambermaids she saidshe’d never get up again unlessthe king would in his mercilessness,in the name justice and of the right,punish this disrespectful knight.

The king returned from a splendid dayof hunting. He came to the queen to saygood-afternoon, but she was distressed.She fell on her knees and in tears addressedhis majesty: “Lanval has madeshameful remarks to me. I’m afraid

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he is not f it to be serving you.He had the nerve to compare me toanother lady whose servants weremore beautiful. He said he’d preferany one of them to me!”The king was displeased, for not only shehad been insulted but he also.Was he a man of honour or no?He swore to the queen that unless this knightcould defend himself in court he mightbe facing the gallows or even the stake.He sent for three of his men to takeLanval prisoner. They wentto fetch him — already penitent,for he had been stupid and absurdand had lost his love by breaking his word,nor could he summon her in his painto apologize if not to explain.A hundred times he called out and moreto ask her forgiveness and to implorethat she come and speak with him again,even if he was the worst of men.He cursed his brain, he cursed his loosetongue, and he heaped more abuseon his faithlessness. What could he do?I shall impart the story to you.

The guards arrived to take him awayto court. There could be no delay!The king had summoned him, and the queenhad accused him and she seemed most keenthat Lanval should be tried and found

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guilty and upon some groundor other be condemned to die.Lanval took this in with a sighand didn’t care. He was either brave orconvinced they were doing him a favor.Before the king he was subdued,while the king, in a very angry moodsaid to him, “Vassal, you have been ill-advised to slander the queen and stillmore culpable for insulting me.You boasted rather stupidlythat the lady whom you love surpassesthe queen in beauty and even the lasseswho serve her are more fair than she.”Lanval explained most temperatelythat he was blameless and had not soughtthe queen’s love, although he oughtnot to have spoken as he had,which he regretted, for the sadtruth was that he had offendedhis love and now their affair was ended.He did not apologize or pleadfor mercy. Whatever the king decreedwould satisfy him. The king repliedthat a panel of knights would have to decidewhat should be done — lest there might bean appearance of impropriety.The knights agreed on a time when theymight meet, and Lanval on that daygave his promise that he would appear.But who would pledge? He had no nearrelatives or friends who might

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give surety in case of flighton Lanval’s part. It was Gawain whooffered to stand bail, and a fewof his friends joined in the offer. The kinggave them Lanval and told them to bringhim to the trial or all their landsand fiefs would be forfeit. They gave their handsand seals to this and then they alldeparted to escort Lanvalback to his lodgings. There they consoledthe knight and, trying to cheer him, toldstories of love’s folly. Each daythey visited him to keep awayall morbid thoughts of suicidethat are sinful and must be defied.

On the day appointed for hearing casesthe barons assembled in their placesbefore the king and queen for the trialof Lanval, who stood silent whilethe charges were read. The king demandeda just verdict that should be handeddown from the barons, deciding onthe testimony, pro and con. Some of them wanted to please the kingin this as they did in everything,The Count of Cornwall, for instance, declared:

“The king accuses his vassal who dareddisplease him and insult the queen.The honour one owes his lord must meanthat Lanval has in some way erredif not in deed, then surely in word.

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Unless he can prove the truth of whathe said and thereby show it was notto spite or annoy her majesty.If he can, then he must go free,but otherwise, he must expectbanishment — which would be the correctpenalty.” And they told the knight why his beloved must come to testify. He answered that she would not appearto help his case. The verdict was clear — and the king pressed hard for them to givetheir verdict in the affirmativeas he and the queen asked them to doin an action that would be fair and true.

There was hardly any doubt which waythey would decide, but even as theywere ready to announce it theysaw two maidens a little wayoff but approaching quickly, dressedin purple taffeta of the bestquality. They were a gorgeous pair,but who these ladies were and wherethey came from was a mystery.Gawain asked if one could beLanval’s lover, but he said no.The two dismounted and with slowrespectful steps approach the throneof Arthur to make their purpose known.They wanted chambers prepared that mightbe suitable for their mistress, with whitesilk curtains and a luxurious bed

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on which she may deign to lay her head.“Our mistress wishes to lodge with you,”they said, and he was most willing toaccomplish this and accommodatethese two, as well, in rooms of state.

When they were gone the king inquiredas to the baron’s decision. Tiredof waiting, they answered him that theyneeded further time to saywhat should be done. There was argumentand contention now and bitter dissent,which only came to a stop when twomore beautiful maidens came into viewriding Spanish mules and wearingPhrygian silk. As they were staringat these new visitors, Ywain alertedLanval and asked him or, rather, blurted,

“How gorgeous they are! Could one of them beyour love?” He shook his head and hedenied ever having seen them before. As they dismounted, the barons sworethey never had seen anyone whocompared in beauty to these two.The elder spoke to the king and saidthat he must arrange a room and a bedfitting for their mistress whom he would be meeting presently.The king assured them that he would do what they had asked and sent them tojoin the others to eat and restas he would have offered any guest.

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When they had gone, the king declaredthat the time for a verdict had come — and he daredthe barons to delay (an implicitthreat, I think, for what else is it?).

Just as they were about to saywhat decision they’d come to, theysaw another maiden appearon a white palfrey, caparisonedmagnificently. They were stunned,every one of them, by the greatcost of it — what man’s estatecould pay for it? And its rider, too,was breathtaking — her eyes, bright blue,were dazzling; her neck was white,and her blonde hair glistened in the light.She wore a tunic over a shiftthat showed a glimpse of her snowdrift-white skin. Or say it was white as milk.The cloak she wore was of heavy silk.On her wrist a sparrowhawk rodeand at her side a wolfhound strodeelegantly. Those who sawher passing by were struck with awe.

Lanval’s friends went to conveynews of this maiden’s arrival and theyexpressed the hope that she might save him.Lanval sighed. Their description gave himcertainty that it was she,his beloved. “If she has come for me,

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then I am happy. But if not,it makes no difference to me whatthey may do to me.” It was thenthat the lady entered the palace and menfell silent. None had beheldsuch beauty as was unparalleled.The king, well-mannered, rose from his seatand held out his hand to her to greetan honoured visitor. She lether cloak drop (and she was lovelier yetthan she’d been before). She then addressedthe king: “I come, as you may have guessed,because I have loved Lanval whom you seestanding here. I understand hehas been accused in your court. He meantno harm and had no bad intent.He never sought the love of the queen,or behaved like a vulgar libertine.The queen was wrong to say otherwise.And as for his foolish boast, your eyesmay be the judge of what he claimed.Your barons need not be ashamedto grant that he spoke the truth and allowhim to go free. Let them speak now.”The king agreed that it should beas the judges said, and immediatelythey acquitted him. The lady withdrewand so did those in her retinue.

Outside the great hall there stooda huge block of marble, goodfor guards to stand on. Onto this stone

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Lanval climbed, for leaving the throne-room the lady would pass close byand when she did, the knight could tryto jump on her palfrey’s crupper, which hemanaged to do successfully.He went with her and from then ondwelt with her in Avalonon a lovely island, the Bretons say,and who would know any better than they?

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v i T h e T wo L ov e rs

This happened in Normandy many yearsago, a story to call forth tearsof sympathy from those who carefor lovers: this unfortunate pairdied for love. And even todaythe Bretons tell their tale in a laythey call “The Two Lovers,” and Ishall tell it to you or, anyway, try.

There is in Neustria (which we callNormany now) a mountain, talland beetling, where two lovers lie.On one side of the mountain, the highlord of the Pistrians built a townhe called Pîtres, which has come downto our own time, and you can seethe walls of the houses and buildings heerected, and we still referto the Valley of Pîtres. Living therewith the king was his beautiful daughter, whohad brought him joy and comfort, too,since the death of her mother, the queen.Possessive, as some fathers have beenas widowers, this ruler wentto great lengths to try to preventyoung men from seeking his daughter’s hand.He proclaimed throughout the kingdom that she could marry no man unless hewas able to carry her in his arms

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up the mountain beyond the farmsthat loomed up into the sky.Many young men came to trybut not even the strongest couldget more than halfway up. They wouldsooner or later put her downand, ashamed of themselves, return to town.After a time there were fewer and stillfewer who came to try, untilit seemed that her father’s plan had been cleverand that she would remain unwed forever.

There was in that country a young sonof a count, noble and handsome, onewho strove to excel and gain prestige.He came to the court to visit his liege and fell in love with the daughter whom hecourted, addressing her ardently.She found him engaging and thinking ofher poor chances of married lovebecause of her father’s arbitraryrules, she chose to do the verything most fathers fear and gaveher love to the young man who was braveenough to agree to conceal their connectionand any signs of their affection.They loved each other deeply, but thishaving to hide it diminished their blissand tested the young man’s limited patience. After a number of awkward occasionswhen they had almost been found outhe came to her to speak about

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elopement. They could run away.The alternative was that they could stayand he would have to try to carryher up the mountain so they could marry.He was afraid that he would failin this attempt but did not prevail,for she answered him that if they wereto flee, her father, missing herwould be in torment and miseryfor which she would be responsible. Shehad another idea — she hadan aunt in Salerno. rich, half-mad,but of great skill in medical lore,familiar with herbs and the uses forvarious roots. “You’ll have from mea letter that will explain how weneed her assistance. She will makepotions and pastes for you to takethat will increase your strength untilyou can succeed, as I know you will,in carrying me to the very peakof the mountain, as you must do to seekmy hand.” The young man now had causefor hope and his demeanor wastransformed. The next day at dawnhe said goodbye and he was gone.

He returned home for money and clothes,pack horses, servants, and all of thosethings one needs for a journey. From therehe went on to Salerno wherethe aunt lived. He gave her the note,

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which she read through (I need not quotethe text). She then put into her mixerall the ingredients for an elixirfor strength as well as endurance. Hetried it and it worked. So sheput some into a vessel he couldtake back with him. He made goodtime and soon arrived at the courtwhere he settled in and then in shortorder asked the king for hisdaughter. His majesty smiled at this,thinking how many burly menhad tried and failed. Cheerfully, then,he gave his permission. She, meanwhile,had been preparing for this trial,eating nothing so as to weighas little as possible on that day.She also wore a gauzy shiftthat would be no added burden to lift.

The king summoned the gentry andthe commoners throughout the landto come and see the candidatefor his daughter’s hand who would demonstratehis strength in the now conventional way.As the king presented his daughter theyall applauded. Before the trialthe young man handed her the phialcontaining the potion for her to hold. (Of the power of its contents he’d toldher long before.) At the bank of the Seinethe young man lifted her up and then

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began the climb and ascended tothe halfway point. From her he drewgreat happiness and courage. Sheurged him to drink from the phial, but hesaid that he felt strong and had noneed for the medicine yet to goon. Besides I do not desireto let them see me stopping. Higherup, perhaps, when I cannot gothree steps more, I shall let you know,and then I’ll drink.” Two-thirds of the wayto the top, in pain, he heard her say,

“Stop, my love. You are tired, I think.This is the moment when you should drinkthe potion.” But he took no heed ofher offer, relying only on loveto get him to the peak. In vainshe offered again, and he, in pain,refused and trudged on to the top,which he did reach — only to stop,totter, and fall, never to moveagain. They terrif ied maiden stroveto revive him. She held the phial to his lipsand urged him to take little sipsbut he could not speak. He had no breath,and this she recognized as death.The heart he had given her had triedtoo hard and broken, and he had died.She wailed and moaned and threw awaythe potion in a circular spray(wherever drops of it touched the groundshepherds say that flowers abound).

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What then of the girl? She lay down besidethe body of the man and cried,took him in her arms to embrace,kissed his eyelids, lips, and face.Her heart, too, broke in its woeand she stopped breathing, dead also.Below, the king grew worried, waitingfor them to return, and, hesitatingonly a little climbed to discoverhis daughter dead with her dead lover.He fainted but recovered to weepat what had happened and to keepa three-day vigil there on the crestof the mountain. Then, at his behest,a marble sarcophagus was madeinto which the bodies were laid.

Because of what happened there it was namedthe Mountain of Two Lovers. The famedcouple are thus celebratedby the Breton lay I have just narrated.

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v i i yo n e c

As long as I am recording these lays, I’ll set down, if you please,a tale not many people knowof what took place long years ago,explaining the strange circumstanceof Yonec’s birth — not here in France but in the British Isles. I’ll tellwhat I heard and remember well:how it was that his mother cameto meet his father, a knight by the nameof Muldumarec whom she hadas a lover to keep from going mad.

There was a very rich old manwho, toward the end of his life span,admitted at last to his mortal stateand desired to pass on his greatholdings to someone who bore his namein order to maintain his claimeven after death. It stoodto reason that a marriage couldprovide him with a son and heir.He found a maiden, young and fair,courtly, and from a noble line — exactly suited for his design.Her beauty was great enough to exciteif not his desires in the nighthis suspicions and jealousy.To put his mind at rest, then, he

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recruited his sister, a widow, severeand loyal, to keep an eye and earopen and be companion and guardto the bride. In a tower, the windows barred,the young wife lived a solitarylife like that in a monasteryor cloister with never a visitorto divert, amuse, or comfort her.There were servants of course; they had been toldnot to converse with their mistress — the oldwoman’s instructions were crystal clear.

In this way time passed, year by year,and the poor wife bewailed her plight and cried.She longed for death but suicidewas out of the question. The holy booksforbid it. Still, she lost her looksas women do, however fair,who ignore their maquillage and hair.There was no child. An older man,whatever he wants, must do as he can,and that, no doubt, was why he kepther locked away alone. She weptas she often did. One day the crone,fetching a psalter, left her aloneto complain aloud — how she would becaptive until death set her free.She cursed his red eyes f illed with rheum,and her callous parents who’d given her to him.But mostly it was the husband shedespised and cursed elaborately.He’d not been baptized, she was sure,

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except in the rivers of hell or a sewer.Errant knights, valiant and bold,rescue maidens in stories toldto children, but could she believe in them? Was there no reprievethat God might somehow deign to granta miserable supplicant?The poor girl’s eyelids, as she prayed,were closed. But, then, at the moment she madethe sign of the cross and said Amen,a large bird approached and thenentered her room. It looked like a hawkbut unlike most birds it could talk.The creature alit on the chamber floorand folded its wings. Then, beforeher eyes, it changed its form to thatof a noble knight — exactly whatshe had been praying might appear.She was stricken nonetheless with fearand she covered her eyes. But into her earthe creature spoke: “Be not afraid,for I am the one for whom you prayed.I mean you no harm. A hawk, as you know,is a noble bird. I swear this is so,and I also swear that my love for youis as ardent and steadfast as it is true.I have never loved another but Icould not come to you save byyour invitation. I heard your wordsfloating upon the air where birdssoar and swoop. And now I am here.”The lady was calmed and feeling her fear

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diminish, managed at last to reply.“Sir knight,” she said, “I welcome you,but before I decide what I must do,I ask if you believe in the Lord.”(The question was not quite absurd,for he was a handsome young man and shefeared evil and duplicity.)

“Assure me,” she said, “if you can.” He then revealed to her a plan,a demonstration, and a testthat would put all her doubts to rest.She could feign illness and, in her fear,send for a priest so she could hearthe sacred service and be shrivenso that her sins might be forgiven.

“I shall assume your form,” he said,“and receive the consecrated breadthat is the body of Christ, and youwill hear me recite the Credo, too.”This was a proof she could not question,and she agreed to his suggestion.He took her place in the bed and whenthe sister-in-law came back againwith the psalter she had gone for, heasked that with all celeritya priest be summoned. The woman shookher head and with an angry looksaid that their lord was out in the woodhunting, and that therefore nobody couldbe allowed to enter the room.

“What good can a priest do in the tomb?”the knight inquired. The crone, in fright,

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supposed that a priest would be all right,and sent for one. Promptly hearrived with the corpus domini,

which the knight received. He also drainedthe wine that the chalice had contained.Thereupon the priest withdrewas did the guardian woman, too,leaving the knight and lady there.I’ve never seen a couple so fair.All night long, they exchanged embraces,endearments, and laughter that those in their placesalways have and always will.Time, as a courtesy, stood still,but then, in the east, the light of dawncame inexorably on.The knight took his leave. The lady entreatedhim to return. He gave her a heatedkiss and promised whenever sheinvited him, he would instantlyappear, but he warned that she should becareful and moderate. Otherwise hemight be discovered. The woman mightsee or at least suspect and indictthe two before her jealous brother,and, one thing following on the other,the knight would have no power toresist: there’d be nothing he could doto prevent his death. “This being the case,be cautious,” he said. A f inal embraceand he was a hawk again and flewout of the window and into the blue.The next day and the day after

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that her mood was better. Her laughtershe had to suppress but she could smilein cautious silence once in a while.She took better care of her hair and nailsand no longer f illed her chamber with wails,for she was content to wait untilher lover returned so they could fillthe night with pleasure. What more could there befor woman’s perfect felicity?She never had any awkward waitfor her lover who came to her, early or late,and all she had to do to preservethis happiness was, with some nerve,maintain her usual reticentdemeanor and drop no slightest hint.Still, she could not conceal her returnedradiance from the love that burnedwithin her bosom. Her eagle-eyedhusband noticed. He took asidehis sister in his uneasinessto ask, but she could not venture a guessas to what could have happened, but sheagreed to do exactly as heinstructed, pretend to go out one daywhile in reality she’d stay,watching the young wife to seewhat kind of mischief it could be.How could the lady know what these twowere conspiring and plotting to do?

It is only a matter of two or three days before they act. The sister stays

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while the husband says he’s summoned to courtand pretends to leave. The trip will be short,he tells his wife, and she sees him rideaway in a coach. (She assumes he’s inside.)Eager to learn if she would embarrassherself, the old woman, behind an arras,waited and watched to satisfyher curiosity. By and by,the hawk appeared and became a knight,handsome and more than average in height,and he and the lady with warm embracesand words of endearment that in such casesare usual took advantage of theirdelightful moment together to share.The old woman was not surprisedat what took place that her brother surmisedwas likely, but the change from birdto man and back required a wordat least of explanation and sheswore it had happened mysteriously.The husband, not so full of aweabout what his sister said she saw,set about devising a wayby which he might make the intruder pay.He had his smithy forge steel spikeswith razor sharp points at the ends the likesof which we have never seen or heardto inconvenience this bird.These he had his workmen secureon the sides of the window’s embrasurethrough which the knight had come. Mon Dieu,

it was a wicked answer to

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the knight who was unawareof the danger that was waiting there.Confident and with passionate speedwhen the lady longed for his visit he’dappear, as he did, this time, pell-mell,but it did not work out quite so wellas hitherto, and as he sailedinto the window, a spike impaledhis feathered breast from which his blooderupted in a mortal flood.He lay down on the bed, which hestained as he bled copiously,and he said to her, “Alas, I die,just as I predicted to youI would. There is nothing we can do.She sighed and wept and fainted away,but he roused her and she heard him saythat it would not help them to grieve,but she had been able to conceiveand would soon bear a valiant sonwho would avenge what had been doneto them as soon as the right time came.

“Yonec,” he said, “shall be his name.Until then he shall comfort you,as a son and heir is supposed to do.”

He was in great pain and therefore hadto leave her. The lady, driven mad,followed, risking a terrible fallof twenty feet, which did not at alldiscourage her. Barefoot, wearing a lacynightgown she followed the bloody trace he

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left as he progressed untilit terminated at a hill.But, no, there was, as she could see,an opening in it through which shecould follow after each crimson markBut in the tunnel it was darkand she had to grope her way, a blindwoman who was trying to f indher stricken lover. She went as fastas she could until there was light at lastand she emerged into a greenmeadow that would have seemed sereneif it had not been for the dismal redtrail along which she now sped.She reached a dazzling city wherethe silver spires in the airglittered in pride. Around the walla river provided a naturalmoat. At last she found a gateunlocked and she did not hesitatebut entered at once, not did she stopher pursuit as, drop after crimson drop,the blood led her to the palace. Noone challenged her or said hellobut let her pass at once intoroom after room. She hurried throughuntil she found a knight asleep,but not her knight. She had to keepgoing and then, in another roomshe could make out in the gloomanother knight, but not yet himfor whom she searched. In the next dim

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chamber, richer than any beforewith gold and silken bedclothes, more opulent than I can sayshe recognized him, ashen graybut still alive. He welcomed herand took her in his arms. They weretogether again, but he told her hewould die that night. “You have to fleeor the citizens in their grief will blameyou for their loss instead of mypassion for you.” “I’d rather diehere with you than go back to him, she said. “My prospects there are dim!”

“No, no,” he answered. “Take this ringand wear it always. It will bringprotection to you. He will not recallwhat happened with us. Nothing at allwill trouble him. You have my word.But also, darling, take my sword.Let no man touch it but keep it untilmy son has grown, for then he willmake proper use of it.” Then hegave her a tunic to wear as shetraveled. When they exchanged their goodbyestears were streaming from their eyes.As she left the palace and towncopious tears were streaming downand to her sighs the funeral belladded its voice with the knight’s death knell.She collapsed and only an act of willcould keep her going on untilshe came to the hill and its passage to

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her home town. There, it all came trueas the knight had said it would. The oldman did not accuse or scold,slander, or mock, but was quite correctin his dealings with her in every respect.

In time, the son was born, a stronglad with a sense of right and wrong,handsome, generous, worthy, kind.One could not in that kingdom findYonec’s better, and he grewup to be a f ine man whowas dubbed a knight. And now you shall hearwhat happened to him in that same year.The custom there was that one goeson the feast of St. Aaron the martyr to thoseplaces where the saint had prayedor had captured, or had stayedhidden. The husband, wife, and nowthe young man, too, set out. Allowa day or two to travel therebut they reached a castle and abbey wherethey spent the night. Then at dawnthey went to mass. But before they were gonethe abbot invited them to seethe chapter house and its f inery.This they agreed to do and he tookthem all around to admire and . . . Look!At that elegant tomb with the rich brocadesurrounded by its colonnade of candelabras of amethyst.

“Who is buried there?” They inquired.

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“A knight, much loved here and admired,the strongest and bravest ever born,whom the monks and the townspeople mourneven today,” the abbot replied.

“He was our ruler, but he diedfor the love of a lady. It was his fate.Since his death we have had to waitfor the son he said would come to ruleover us one day and who’llavenge his murder.” Hearing thisthe lady sobbed and said, “It isthe plan of the Lord that took us here.Your father is buried in this greattomb.” She explained about the birdwho was really a knight, and, keeping her word,handed him the sword she had keptfor him, and she fell on the tomb and wept,and died. She did not live to seethe vengeance her son then took as herepaid the old man for the twodeaths — of his father and now the newdeath of his mother. Born and bredfor this moment he cut off the headof Muldemarec. When the people heardwhat had happened, their hearts were stirredand they welcomed Yorec, demanding thathe accept the throne where his father had sat.This story of love’s consequenceof grief has been often told and, hence,composed from its details this layis what I set down for you today.

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v i i i L a ü s T i c

The Bretons’ title for this talein English would be “The Nightingale,”or in the French, “Le Rossignol.”The narrative is the same in alllanguages. In St. Malothere lived two knights long ago,both of whom dwelt in fortif iedhouses that stood side by side.Each of these were men of f inerepute whom no one could malign.One of the knights was married toa wise and excellent woman whoconducted herself properlyand was all that a good wife should be.The other one was famous for his valour in tournaments and in war.He loved his next-door neighbour’s wifeand wooed her day by day and weekby week, and fervently did speakof his longing for her and, for her part,she felt growing within her hearta warmth for him but, circumspect,they took care that none might detecttheir feelings, which they were able to do,living in buildings adjacent toeach other, so that when she stoodat her bedroom window she had a goodview of him and he of herand neither of them had to stir

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to have a private conversation. For quite some time, this odd relationcontinued as with cautious skilleach of them at the window sillspoke to the other in f ine words ofeternal and all consuming love.

In the summertime, when the tender cropsare pierced to the root with sweet raindrops,when the meadows turn a deeper greenand the brightly coloured flowers preento the songs of birds that call and respond,even the sternest hearts grow fondand feel a freshening of desire,the aim of the knight’s ambition grew higherand he and the lady both wanted moreintimacy than hitherto, forobvious reasons, but what could they do?At night when the moon was bright she arose,went to the window, and struck a poseone sees sometimes in portraiture,inviting and yet still demure.For hours they gazed at each other incontemplation. (That’s no sin.)The husband after a time becameannoyed that she stood at that samewindow for hours. He asked her whyshe did this, and her quick replywas that the song of the nightingaleis a joy beside which others pale.

“With those who do not appreciatetheir song I must commiserate

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for here for our earthly ears and eyesare morsels of true paradise.”The husband, hearing this, was rudeand laughed at her lofty attitude.He gave his servants orders that theyshould set out snares for this irksome prey,and bird lime too on the chestnut trees.I cannot say which one of theseworked, but they caught the bird at lastand brought it to him and, right away.With the bird in hand, he went to sayto his wife that this was the creature that hadkept her awake and driven him mad.

“Now it will trouble you no more,” he promised. She asked for it, but beforehe handed it over, out of spite, he wrung its neck (it took but a slighttwist) and he hurled it at her sothat the drops of its blood spattered belowher breast on her linen tunic. Hethereupon left the room, and shecursed all those who had set the snaresand diminished, even if unawares,the one joy of her life. She weptfor the bird and for herself and keptthinking how she could no morestand at the window. “He will think me a poorlover, surely, and faint of heart.I must contrive a way to impartto him what has happened.” She putthe tiny copse in silk that was shotwith threads of gold and gave it to

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one of her servants whom she knewwas trustworthy to deliver the thingalong with a message that would bringthe sad news of what had occurredand explain the gift of a poor dead bird.The knight listened attentivelyand was grieved of course. But what could hedo? He had a casket madeof gold and jewels in which he laidthe body of the nightingalethat he carried with him without fail.

Of this the Bretons composed a laythey sing in sorrow, even today.

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i x M i L u n

One who tries to present a newstory must pay attention toverisimilitude and thento entertaining the women and mento whom he speaks. I shall now tellthe tale of “Milun” and I may as wellsay a word or two about how and why I wrote what you’re reading now.

Milun, born in Wales, was a knightwho triumphed in every tourney and fight,for no one had been able to unhorse him. Everybody knewhis reputation, which had spreadthroughout Scotland. It may be saidthat in Gotland, Ireland, and even as faras Norway he was a kind of star,a model of strength and chivalry,admired universally.He was as you will understandenvied by some; on the other handhe was loved and honoured by even morefor his ability and forhis courtliness. There lived nearbya wealthy nobleman whom Icannot name (it has slipped my mind)and he had a daughter, sweet and refined,who’d heard of Milun, and from this sheconceived a passion and wanted to be

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his love. She sent to tell him this.Milun of course was charmed and hisanswer was that he would be trueand so forth and so on, as youcan imagine. He sent back word that hewould like to meet her privately,if that could be arranged. He senta golden ring, significantof abiding love. The messenger borethe ring to his mistress and the moreimportant news that he would comeas soon as he had a message fromher to do so. In her delightshe sent for him and they met at nightin the garden her bedroom opened on.Then, at dawn, he would be gone.

Terrif ic, right? It was for a timebut they were taking chances, and I’msure you’re not surprised to discoverthat she got pregnant. She told her loverwhat had happened and was upset:her reputation, because she’d letthis come about was gone and she faced punishment. She might even betortured or else sold as a slave.(The curious reason that she gavefor such concerns was that these had beenthe ancient family custom inthese awkward cases.) True or not,Milun answered that he’d do what-ever she wanted. She had a sister

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in Northumbria; she’d enlist herhelp. She said, “When the child is born,you’ll take it to her, and when you’ve swornthat it is ours, she’ll accept it and seethat it is brought up properly,male or female, whatever it is.I’ll give it the ring and along with thisletter with its father’s nameand the story of its mother’s shame.When the child has grown to the ageof reason, it will reach the stagewhen my sister can give it the ring and the letter,and tell it to try to f ind its begetter,so that one day you may seeyour offspring and may think of me.”

He agreed to do this for her. She gavebirth (with the aid of a loyal and braveservant who had helped her hideher state) to a baby boy. With prideshe gave him to this nurse who hungthe golden ring around his youngneck. In his swaddling they hida silk purse with a note to bidthe world be kind to him. His bedhad a costly pillow beneath his headand a coverlet with marten trimto keep him warm and comfort him.The nurse then gave Milun the childand as he accepted it he smiled.He set off that night with a fewservants he trusted on the way to

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Northumbria. They had to pausemany times a day — there wasa wet nurse he’d brought along to keepthe baby fed. When he was asleepagain they would set forth and makewhat speed they could for the baby’s sake.They reached the aunt at last and hegave her the infant. As soon as shelearned whose child it was she sworeto love him and do everything forhis welfare. Milun thanked her andreturned to his own native land.

But then what happens? Milun goesto fight as a mercenary — thoseengagements can bring wealth and fame.The woman he had loved becameengaged to a nobleman nearby,which was a prospect that made her cryand bemoan her fate, for Milun stillwas the one she loved. A bitter pillto marry someone else, who woulddiscover that her maidenhoodwas long gone and that she’d hada child, which he would think was bad.What then to do? Would she now bea servant doomed to miserythat would continue without end?

“I had expected happinessbut I f ind myself in deep distresswith servants who I realizeare guardians and even spies

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who seem to be resentful oftheir betters when we fall in love.”She concluded with a sighand even the wish that she might die.But eventually there came the daywhen her bridegroom came to take her away.

At length Milun returned and hewas sad, as one would expect him to be,but still he was able to take some cheeron account of the fact that she lived nearenough for him to hope. But howcould he let her know that he was nowat home again? He wrote a notethat he tied around the snowy throatof a pet swan, the loveliestof birds. In the feathers of its breasthe hid the paper. He called a squireand told him to put on different attireand take the swan to the castle wherehis beloved lived. When he got therehe was to see that she receivedthe bird herself. The lad believedhe could do this and was on his waywith the swan, proceeding without delay.As soon as he reached the castle hespoke to the porter quietly,explaining that he was by tradea fowler and that he had madethe trip here to present this birdto the lady within of whom he’d heardgood things — hoping that she might be

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a friend in any emergencyin which bird catchers sometimes getentangled in someone’s legal net.The porter explained that nobodywas allowed to speak to the lady, but hecould find a spot in which he mighthave a chance to give her the whiteswan he carried. The squire expressedhis gratitude to this brightest and bestof fellows. The porter entered the hallwhere a couple of knights sat at a smalltable playing chess. He cameback and led the squire the sameway. The knights, intent on their board,did not look up as they tiptoed towardthe lady’s quarters. They knocked at the doorand explained to a maid the reason fortheir visit. The lady accepted the swanand ordered the servants who waited uponher to care for the bird — but the maidtold her what the squire badeher say — that nobody else but hershould receive it from the offerer.It was a lovely specimenas the lady noticed at once, but thenshe stroked its snow-white feathers and foundthe letter that had been tied aroundits neck. Immediately she knew from whom it came. She took a fewbreaths and ordered, “Let money be given the man who brought it to me.”

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When she was alone with only oneserving maid, the knot was undone,the seal broken, and the envelope opened in a moment of hopeshe tried to control, but she’d hardly begunto read when she saw the name “Milun”at the top of the paper. As she spelledout the dear letters teardrops welledup in her eyes so it took hera moment or two before the blurresolved to meaningful words: he wroteof how he had suffered in all his remotetravels both night and day. She coulddecide for him if his life wouldbe worth living. She had to devisea way to avoid suspicious eyesso they could meet. He would complywith any instruction she sent him byreturn swan. Let the birdgo and it would return with wordof what she proposed. She brooded uponhis plan and decided to feed the swanwell and then withdraw all foodso it would be hungry and therefore wouldreturn at once to its native groundwhere it knew its usual food could be found.She cared for it for a month to allowit to regain its strength. Somehowshe got hold of ink and a pento write a note to Milun and whenshe’d f inished hung it on the birdas he had done. And it all occurred

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exactly as she’d planned: it f lewback home to Milun’s town and tohis very dwelling where it alit.Delighted. Milun made much of itand immediately had it fed.Only then was it that he readits message that confirmed that shestill loved him and could never behappy without him. Thus, the twosent the notes that the swan flewback and forth for twenty yearsof f idelity. It even appearsthat now and then they managed tomeet, although these occasions were few,but no guards can frustrate foreverthe schemes of lovers who are clever.

Meanwhile, the sister (remember her?)brought up the baby, handsomerand stronger every day. He grewto an age when she entrusted tohis care the letter and the ringand related to him everythingshe knew about him. He was delightedand set his heart on getting knighted.

“To have a father of such rarequalities would be hard to bearif I did not attempt to achievea like fame. I’ll have to leave,”he said and set out at once to bea perfect model of chivalry.

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He went to Southampton where he crossedthe English Channel, tempest-tossed,to reach Barfleur and then from thereto Brittany, a region wherehe jousted in tournaments and wonall his contests. He played for funand gave poor knights a goodly shareof his winnings. People everywheresang praises of “The Peerless One,”which is what how they referred to him, for noneknew his name. But his reputationspread nonetheless, and the approbationreached the ears of Milun who thoughtanyone else who was famous oughtto be tested — could this upstart bebetter in combat even than he?If not, he should be unhorsed,taught to respect his betters, and forcedto acknowledge freely that Milunwas the best in the world. When that was done,he would search for the son who hebelieved had recently crossed the sea.All this he set down in a notehe tied around the old swan’s throat,and his love, approving, wrote to sayshe did not wish to stand in his way.He travelled to Normandy and thento Brittany, met many men,took part in tournaments, and heentertained most lavishly.

He spent the entire winter there

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till Easter when from everywhereknights came to Mont St Michel to f indworthy opponents of every kind — Normans, Flemish, Bretons, too,and French. (From England, very few.)It was easy for Milun to spotthis arriviste. He had a lotof time to study his technique:how he spurred his horse to seekan opponent’s weakness and how he struckblows that couldn’t have been sheer luck.Milun did well enough but heawaited the opportunityto meet this rising star and showwhat jousting was like years ago.At last he drew the other’s nameand mounted his charger. He nearly cameto unhorsing him but his lance broke.The other, in a counterstroke,unseated Milun and he fellto the ground — where onlookers could tellhis age, revealing his white beard and white hair. The other knighttook the horse by the reins and hepresented it respectfullyto its rider: “Sir, I do regretmy act against an elder. Letme help you mount your steed again.Milun got up and it was then — a most extraordinary thing — he saw and recognized the ringthe other wore. He said, “For the love

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of God, tell me what you know ofyour parents. Who was your father? Whowas you mother? No knight has been able to dowhat you just did. My admirationyou have. But give me the information!”The other said, “I was fathered bya Welshmen named Milun, and mymother was some rich man’s daughterwhose love, it is said, Milun had sought. Herchild was sent to Northumbria whereher sister — my aunt — assumed my care.My hope is that I may find this knightand show him the ring and other quitepersuasive tokens. Then I shall seeif he will acknowledge and cherish me.”Milun could hear no more. He leaptforward and with one hand kepta grip on the other’s hauberk whilehe announced, “You are my son and I’lllove you. My life is whole once more,You are the one I’ve been looking for.”They wept for joy as they embracedand then they turned together and facedthe other knights who were delightedwitnessing an old wrong righted.

Later, alone, the father explainedhow his love for the lady remainedas fresh as ever and he went oneven to tell him about the swanand how it carried their secret notesover the castle’s walls and moats.

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The son was enchanted by all of thisand on the instant offered hishelp to bring his father and mothertogether again. It would be no botherto kill the husband so that the twocould marry as most parents do.

The next day they headed home with a breezethat was fresh and fair. The vagariesof life being what they are, they’d gonenot very far when they came upona servant from Milun’s lady whoseduty it was to deliver the newsto Milun that the husband was dead.He told her what the lady had said — that he should hasten to her at once.The father’s reaction and the son’swas to thank heaven. Nothing stoodin their way now and they couldget married. Which they did forthwith.Before the summoned kin and kith,the brave son gave his mother awayand they all lived happily from that day.Not all endings are tragic and wemay share in their felicity.

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x c ha i T i v e L

There is an old lay I shall tellthat is widely known as “Chaitivel,”which means “the unhappy one,” but youwill hear of “Les Quatre Deuls,” too,or “the four sorrows.” With either namethe plot and the characters are the same.

In Nantes, a city in Brittany,there dwelt a lady of high degree,intelligent, and fair of facewhom any knight with any traceof spirit would want to love and claimfor himself. She thought it was a shamethat loving all of them would not bepossible. Still with courtesy shewanted not to give offenceto any of them. It made no sensebut it was true that a man could fallsafely in love with any and allwomen in the land. But refusea single suitor, and ladies can losetheir reputations and risk even more.Therefore women must with a storeof coquettish small talk and jokes divertall suitors and keep them from feeling hurt.Their attentions are a kindof flattery: she could bear in mindtheir intent, in a clumsy way.to compliment her. Night and day,

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admirers swarmed about her and shewas the object of their gallantry.

There lived in Brittany at that timefour young men (I’m afraid that I’mignorant of their names). Each onewas handsome, brave, and courtly. Nonecould be impugned for even a smallfault — except that they were allin love with the lady and, trying to showthe depth of their passions, were willing to goto any lengths to demonstratetheir merits, which in each were great.Among them how could she possibly choose?And why pick one, if she had to losethe other three? To each she displayeda friendly mien, and each she repaidwith letters and her presents. Althoughshe couldn’t let anybodyknowabout the others’ successes, shemaneuvered quite successfullyamong the unsuspecting four,each of whom in tourneys woreher love tokens or coloured stripsof her clothing and upon the lipsof each of them there was the samebattle cry — the lady’s name.

With the exercise of impressive tactshe maintained this delicate balancing actuntil one year at Eastertideknights came to Nantes from far and wide

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for a tournament — French and Flemish, too,and from Brabant and from Anjou,as well as those who lived nearbywho appeared there, each resolved to tryfor the glory that success produces.There was some boasting, but no excuse isadequate to explain the f ightsthat broke out among the assembled knights.When the four lovers left the towntogether others tracked them down — two from Flanders and two from Hainault — delighted to battle any foe.The lovers, when they looked around,saw them coming but stood their ground,lowered their lances to charge, and theyunhorsed each of the four that way.They did not trouble themselves aboutthe riderless horses but withoutdelay gathered around the fallenwhose friends, responding to their call inhaste, were coming to the defenceof their friends — or that was their pretense — with swords and battle-axes. They,the four lovers, in this mêléewere splendid in this critical hour.The lady, meanwhile, high in her towerwas able to follow all the actionfrom which she took much satisfaction.

The following day, the tournamentbegan, and all the contests wentwell for the four lovers, who

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among them carried off all the blueribbons. It was only later while theywere celebrating they went astrayin a dark alley that men whom they’dbested during the tourney madea sneak attack from the side and spilledtheir blood in the gutter. Three were killedand the fourth was wounded in the thighquite badly, but he didn’t die.Bizarrely, their assailants thenregretted having murdered these men,which was more than they had meant to do.A clamor soon arose and grewto huge proportions as people camefrom all directions to look with shameat what had happened. Visors were doffedas thousands of men carried aloftthe three corpses, each on its shield,and bore them from the killing f ield.News of this misfortune soonspread. The lady fell into a swoonas soon as she heard it, but then she wokeand in between her sobs she spoke,lamenting each by name. “Alas,that such a thing has come to pass!I loved each of them, as I shouldhave done, for each of them was good,so good, in fact, that I could not chooseamong them and did not want to losea single one.” And having saidthis, she resolved to bury the deadand do what she could for the fourth knight

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who still could recover. To the abbey she sentfunds that the funeral sacramentmight be observed. The doctors didall they could for the invalid,but she helped, visiting the dearlad, whom she endeavored to cheer.But when she was alone she was f illedwith grief for the three who had been killed.

Sometime later, the lady metthat knight in the garden. Her cheeks were wetwith tears, and he asked her to confessto him the reason for her distress.

“Put aside your grief, and becomforted if you can. Tell mewhat troubles you?” She nodded her headand in a mournful manner said,

“I think of your companions who aredead and gone. I have been farmore fortunate in love than anylady I know to have had so manysplendid men in love with me.That moment of felicityhas vanished, but I want my griefto be remembered. Time is a thief,but poetry can defy it. Ishall write a lay recording myexperience. I’ll call it ‘The FourSorrows,’ I think.” She could say no morefor the knight said that she should indeedcompose such a lay for people to read.

“But call it ‘The Unhappy One.’

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They days of the other three are doneand their longing for you has cooled, but Iremain alive and it is mydestiny to meet like thisthe woman I love but know the blissI sought I cannot have. I longfor her embrace that would be wrongand, therefore, I suffer with every breathand envy the others in their death.The true name you should give your layis ‘The Unhappy One.’ In my dismayI beg you to recognize the truename you should be giving toyour poem.” With this suggestion shecould not argue but had to agree.

Thus was the lay begun and thuswas it completed and given to us.Some give it one name, but others call it

“The Unhappy One,” for after all itlends itself to either namewith the people and their deeds the same.Here it ends, for there’s no morethat I have heard or can vouch for.

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x i c h e v r e Fo i L

I am pleased to recount a lay I’ve heard and also read of the wayTristram and the queen were broughtdown together by love, which oughtto offer pleasure but also canbring pain and death to woman and man.

Because Tristram loved the queen,his angry uncle, King Mark, had beenforced to banish him. He wentto Wales where he was born and spenta whole year there. But then he choseto risk his life — as many of thosewho are in love are moved to do,when there is no alternative toperishing of loneliness.Tristram was in such great distressthat he was not concerned at allabout the danger that in Cornwall,if he were discovered, he would die.On stealth and cunning he could relyas he went through forests where he could hide,emerging only at eventidefor a little food and shelter, dodgingsuspicious eyes in peasants’ lodging.In one of these, he asked for wordabout the king, and they had heardof a proclamation summoningbarons to Tintagel where the king

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at Pentecost would be holding courtand there would be merrymaking and sport.(Tristram reasoned that there was a fairto excellent chance the queen would be there.)He even knew the route that shewould have to take, and therefore hecould see her passing by and notbe seen, himself. He knew a spotin the woods by the roadside. There he founda hazel branch that lay on the groundthat he cut it in half and squared, and thenhe carved his name upon it. Whenthe queen saw this (as she’d done before)she recognized it and even moreimportant knew what it meant — that hewas hiding behind some handy tree.The rest of the message was implied:that he loved her still; that he’d nearly diedapart from her; that he’d been waitingfor hours and days anticipatinga glimpse of the one to whom foreverhe was joined; that he could neverimagine life without her. Hehad once made a metaphor that shehad liked about the hazel andthe honeysuckle, which can standtogether but, if someone triesto separate them, each plant dies.He didn’t always have to spellout what she understood so well.

As the queen ambled along the road,

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she saw the upright stick that showedthe letters of Tristram’s name. She knewwhat it meant, for it was clearthat he wanted her to stop near hereto rest for a bit. Obedientlythey did what she asked. She summoned toher side a trusted servant whocould accompany her into the wood.Faithful Brenguein understoodand together they ventured into the treeswhere immediately theseladies found the man who waitedfor her to come with his breath bated.She told him how he had to proceedto reconcile with King Mark: he’dheard the whispers and had had nochoice but to order Tristram to go.But Yseult had calculated howMark might relent enough to allowTristram’s return. He promised to doexactly what she told him to.She turned to leave but could not move,as if she were paralyzed by loveand only by an act of willcould she walk away from him in the stillof the afternoon. Both of them weptin this dream that was not a dream and kepthappening even when the twowere awake after the night was through.

Back in Wales, the joyful loverhad the time to ponder over

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what might happen, now that theycould be reunited. He wrote a layto express the hope and joy they shared(ironic now, because they faredless well that he’d expected). In English it is “Gotelef.” Its twinin French is “Chevrefoil,” and youwill f ind in both mixed joy and rue.

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x i i e L i d u c

I shall tell you a Breton lay,or at least as much of it as I mayremember and understand. There wasa knight (many begin as this does),courtly, valiant, and of some fame.Eliduc was this person’s name.He and his wife, who was wise and ofan excellent family, were in loveand had lived together for many yearscontentedly, but it appearsthat when he went in search of paidmartial service he found a maidhe was unable to ignore.

“Beautiful” is but a poor,inadequate adjective. Guilliadunwas her name and there was noneto rival her. Meanwhile, his spouseremained at home and kept his house.Her name was Guildelüec. And the layis about these rival women, for theyare its true subject. (But “Eliduc”is shorter and that title took.)I shall now tell the tale to youthat I have been assured is true.

Eliduc’s lord was Brittany’s kingwho trusted him in everythingand cherished him. When the king was goneit was Eliduc he counted on

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to protect the kingdom. This can bea golden opportunityfor any courtier but with suchprominence there can be muchjealousy from others whothink they are deserving, too.Slanderous accusations camefrom all sides so that his good namewas badly blemished. He was abused,though never formally accusedand the king, for no specif ic cause,banished him. There were no lawshe’d broken and he had served longand well and knew the king was wrong.He importuned the king to providehim a chance to argue his side, which was that the mud of slander couldbefoul a man whose conduct was good.The king refused to grant his pleaand there was no alternative — he had to leave the country wherehe’d lived for years. It was most unfair.The rustics say of a lord that whenhe chastises his plowman, thenit is not by love but only f iefthat he rules — and this is my belief.Eliduc at any ratedecided then to emigrateacross the sea to Logres, thereto refresh himself in better air.He would leave his wife at home and hebade his men to see that she

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was well cared for, and his friends likewise.Then, wiping the tears from her eyes,he promised his f idelity.

He and his party went to seato arrive at Totnes where he foundbattles over disputed groundamong the region’s kings who allwere caught up in continual brawl.

In the region, not far awayfrom Exeter, a wizened, gray,but very powerful king residedto whom Heaven had not providedan heir; his majesty had insteada daughter, and it may be saidthat she was a great beauty, whichwas a bonus, because she was so rich.Her father had refused to awardher to the local peers: discordfollowed and one of her suitors madewar on the old man. Having laidwaste his tenants’ f ields, he attackedthe castle. Hearing of this fact,Eliduc was delighted, for hesaw an opportunityhe could not ignore. He offered his aidif it was required. He also madethe request that the king, if he had noneed of him, might let him gowith safe conduct to travel throughthe land to f ind somebody who

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might have other employment for him. The king, knowing his prospects were dim,welcomed the messenger warmly and toldhis constable to take what goldthis baron would need for a month and findhim and his companions the kindof lodgings they deserved. He prepareda welcoming banquet Eliduc sharedwith all the poor knights in the town.Honoured as if he wore a crown,Eliduc found that life againwas worth living for him and his men.He ordered them to refuse to takemoney or gifts for appearance’s sake — at least until the fortieth day.(They weren’t f ighting just for the pay.)

On their third day, there was a greatcry through the city that at the gatethe enemy would soon appearto assault the town, which was full of fear.Eliduc heard this and ordered his mento arm themselves to be ready whenthe fight should come. There were forty moreknights in the town who were prisoners orrecuperating from wounds. When theysaw Eliduc prepare for the fraythey, too, readied themselves to f ightand offered their arms to the puissant knight:

“Lord,” they said, “we shall join with youand help you in what you must do.”He expressed his thanks to them and then

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asked if any of these menknew of a narrow pass or defilewhere they might enjoy an advantage whiledefending the town. One replied:

“I know of such a place besidea dense thicket where there’s a narrowpath for a handcart or wheelbarrow.This would be the way that theywould have to return from their f irst foray.Often when they come back they arewithout their armor, for spoils of warare all their palfreys are able to bear.It would be good to attack them there,humiliate them and, in hot pursuit,inflict much damage and steal their loot.”Eliduc approved of thisplan and to encourage hisforces said to them, “Good friends,I pledge that we shall achieve our ends.He who never risks his allmust have a heart that is weak and small,for only the willingness to bedefeated brings men victory. As you are vassals of this king,come with me and whatever thingI do here, you must do also. I promise that there will be noobstacle to deter us fromthe triumph that must surely comeif we stand together, and the famethat we earn together will grace each name.”They cheered him and then led the way

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to the bushes in the wood where theycould fall upon the enemy,which they soon did most vigorously.The enemy was surprised and fled,each man running just aheadof his pursuer. It was a rout,the king would be happy to hear about.In fact the king was in his towerconvincing himself hour by hourthat Eliduc might have fled or, worse,joined the enemy — a reversethat would mean the end of the kingdom — butin any event the gates were shutand he ordered each man to his poston the walls to shoot at any hostthat might approach. Instead there camea squire riding fast to claima victory for Eliduc.It was like a tale in a story bookof many prisoners, many killed,and many wounded. Cheering f illedthe air and the king descended to meetEliduc whose swift and sweetvictory had saved the day.Eliduc gave the prizes awaykeeping for himself only threehorses of high quality.He gave the prisoners over, too — twenty-nine, give or take a few — to the constable for him to holdfor the king until they were ransomed with gold.The king, in gratitude for this great

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success, gave him care of the statefor a year’s term, receiving his allegiance in exchange for this.

Courtly, wise, and handsome, heenjoyed a wide celebrity:soon the king’s daughter heardall about him and she sent wordby her chamberlain to summon him tojoin her to talk, as people do.Guilliadun was surprised she had notmet him before, and there was a lotshe wanted to hear about him fromhis own lips. She bade him come,and he replied with thanks to saythat he was already on his way.He took a fellow knight alongso there could not be any wrongand malicious misinterpretation of his visit and their conversation.When he arrived, therefore, he sentthe chamberlain f irst, and off he wentto announce the visitors. When theymet at last, in this formal way,he could not help but notice that shewas as beautiful as she was kindto have invited him. Her mindwas lively and inquisitive,and he was diverted by their give-and-take. She too was much impressedby Eliduc, who seemed the bestof men. She took his hand and led

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him to a seat on her daybed,where they spoke of many things while sheconsidered that there could not bea braver, better looking mananywhere. And, as it can,Love dispatched its mischief makerto descend from the skies and take herin his grasp to make her sighand her face go pale. She had to trynot to let him notice thiseffect he had on her with hismere presence. At length he aroseto bring the interview to a close.Reluctantly she let him goon his way, and he did so.Riding home, he felt an uneasehe could not quite define, for thesesighs of hers had been flatteringbut also cautionary. The thingwas complicated, for she was appealingenough to produce in him a feelingof happiness that was inconsistentwith his marriage to the distantwoman to whom he had sworn an oathof loyalty that he was loathto violate, was hardly dimin his memory, and troubled him.

On the maiden’s side there was no debate.Her esteem for him was greatand she wanted him to be her lover.At dawn as soon as the night was over,

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she called her chamberlain to her side.(She trusted him and could confideher deepest secrets to him.) She said:

“I love this soldier. All last nightI could not close my eyes. My plightis most unfortunate. Either hewill return my love and live with me,as almost any man would doif he had an ambition tosit on a throne and wear a crown.Otherwise, my heart is downas I think of the alternative,for I shall be unwilling to live.”As the echo of her words was dyingit was replaced by muffled crying.The chamberlain reflected uponall this and gave his opinion onwhat she should do. “You must let him knowhow you are feeling. Either say soor send him a sash or a ring that will speakas clearly to him about what you seek.If he responds to this as he should,the outcome cannot be but good.What emperor is there on the earthwho would not be glad if one of your worthwanted his love? You must providethe opening he will throw wide.”She answered him, “How can I tell from here if he thinks ill or wellof such a gesture? Whatever hemay feel, he will accept from meand keep any token I may send.

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If he be enemy rather than friend,he could enjoy the chance to makea joke of me for vanity’s sake.Report to me what you can readin his face and voice, to which give heedas well as you can. He may betrayhis true feelings either way.Greet him a thousand times for meand we shall see what we shall see.”Forthwith, the chamberlain departed,while she remained behind. She startedto call him back but changed her mind.She was more than vexed to f indher heart had been taken unawaresby a stranger, for in these affairsshe had no practice. Who was he,a member of the nobilityor a commoner? In any case,he would leave and go someplaceelse, and she will be left to mourn,sorry that she was ever bornand feeling stupid, giving wayto a whim as she had done today.She had only met him yesterdayand this morning she had sent to saythat she was begging for his love.But the die was cast with no way ofgoing back. He would have a replythat she would flourish or die by.

The chamberlain, meanwhile, made hasteto deliver the ring and the sash for the waist

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to Eliduc. The knight seemed pleasedas he took the sash and the ring he easedonto his f inger. Of course, he sent his thanks and every complimentback to her. But he said no moreexcept to offer the chamberlain forhis services a gift that hedeclined, albeit courteously.The servant returned to his lady whoasked him if he had any cluethat might somehow make manifestEliduc’s feelings. He expressedhis confidence that the knight was nota f ickle person. “He knows whatyou meant and he meant. I believeit was not his purpose to deceive.”

“But what did he give you in return?Nothing? Did he mean to spurnmy display of importunity,consigning me to misery?”The chamberlain replied, “I’d sayhe could have found another wayto express a lack of interest thanby accepting your gifts. He’s not a manto give offence inadvertentlyto a lady and to chivalry.”

“I know he does not hate me, for Inever gave him cause. If mylove tokens elicit noresponse from him, then abject woeis what he deserves. But I go mad.I cannot think until I have had

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a chance to speak with him vis-à-visand judge his attitude toward me.I will let him see how Isuffer, and he’ll be affected bypity for me. But even so,what will that mean? How can I knowif he will stay with me? Dear Lord!”Her hopes and doubts of her heart warred.

“He and the king have both agreedon a year of service. Would you needmore time than that to learn if hedesires you reciprocally?”This cheering news improved her state of mind at once. If she had a year,she had rather less reason for fear.

She had no notion that, for his part,Eliduc was sad at heart,unable to take pleasure fromthe joys of life that did not comefrom thinking of her. But even thiswas mixed with bitterness for hispromise to his wife. His braintold him clearly that he should remainfaithful to her, but in his breastwere feelings that could not be suppressed. Guilliadun’s charms were more than hecould ignore, and he desired to bewith her, near her, talking, embracing,and more. But he knew he was facingdishonour if he let himself goa step in that direction, so

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he temporized — and his distresspersisted, worsened, and in the end hewent to f ind a modus vivendito see the king and, if he could,the maiden as well and find some goodanswer that would leave all threein honour and in dignity.

The king had finished his meal and goneto his daughter’s chambers to look onas a chess master from overseasschooled her in the intricaciesof play, and it was to this roomthat Eliduc was led by a groomand announced. The king at once invitedthe guest to take a chair. The knight did.Then to his daughter the king gavethe instruction that this noble and braveknight should be given honour, for heis one in f ive hundred. Shewas happy to be ordered to dowhat she would have, impromptu.She arose and led him to a seatacross the room where their discreetwords might not be overheard,which at f irst appeared absurdbecause she dared not speak directlyto him. At length the knight, correctly,thanked her for the presents hehad received from her, and to this shesaid she was glad to hear this forit was a gift that meant much more —

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with the ring and sash she had given her-self, body and soul, as it were.She wanted to become his wife.Otherwise, for the rest of her life,she would accept no other man.Then she asked him for his plan.

“Lady,” he said, “I am grateful to you,and your esteem means much. I doswear to you I will never forget it.My oath, to which you may give credit,requires me to stay a yearin service to your father here.After that, I plan to leaveand return home. I do not deceiveor mean to mislead you in any way.”To this, all the lady could saywas: “I thank you profusely. Youare wise and will know what to doabout me by the time the year has come to an end. I do not fear,for along with my love you have my trust,and I know you will be kind and just.”

This was by far the best outcomeEliduc could have hoped for fromtheir conversation. He had survivedan awkwardness and they had contriveda way in which he could still seeand talk with her and yet feel freeof those pangs of guilt that otherwisemight have obnubilated their skies.Meanwhile, his martial efforts were so

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successful that the king’s arch foehe managed to capture and liberatethe entire land. It seemed that fatewas smiling upon him. His reputationgrew by the day throughout the nation.

But then a messenger from his lord at home arrived: by f ire and swordhis land was being laid waste and hewas losing castles. Belatedlyhe regretted his having banished sucha fellow as Eliduc — whom he muchneeded now. Those who hadaccused him and had given badadvice about him were banished nowforever. “By your oath and vow,I call you home in my time of great need. You must not hesitatebut come at once, as I know you will.”These words could not help but f illEliduc with perturbation.Love was the cause of his agitation,a pure love on which there had notever been even the slightest spotof sinfulness — except for the slightomission on the part of the knightto say he was married. Of his intentionto return to his wife, he should have made mention.Her hope, as he well knew, was that shemight marry him, though this would beunthinkable in Christian practice.

“Alas,” he said, “the simple fact is

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that I have been here too long and Imust leave not only this land but mybeloved, whom I’ll miss. I shouldhave known that life, when it seems good,is only preparing us for a fallthat is sure to follow. To my lord’s callI must respond. I cannot refuse,even if I fear that the newsmay be her death or even my own.But I need not face the question alone.With Guillaidun I shall discussthe constraints that have entangled usand I shall do as she says, for I knowshe will realize that I must go.Her father’s lands are now at peaceand he can well afford to releaseme from my promise to him when myservice at home is required bymy own liege lord. I shall explainall this to her and ascertainher wishes. Whatever she may decide,I shall let her be my guide.”

Forthwith, the knight went to the kingboth to tell him the news and to bringthe letter for him to read. It was clearthat there was no way to keep him here,but even so he offered the knighttreasure and something more that mightdetain him — a third of the kingdom. But no,Eliduc said he had to go:

“My lord is in distress and I

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must go to him at once, but mypromise to you is that if there bea moment of need, then instantlyI shall return with a force of mento do what I can to help you again.”For this the king was grateful. He gavemuch gold and silver and many bravedogs and horses. Some of thisEliduc accepted as hisproper earnings. With exquisitetact, he asked if he could visitthe king’s daughter in order to saygoodbye to her in a gracious way.The king was pleased by this requestand a squire was sent as his behestto arrange the meeting. As soon as heappeared in her apartment, shegreeted him a thousand times(poets exaggerate in rhymes).He began to explain his quandarybut before he had finished, shesaw where his argument was leadingand she fainted away, succeedingin arranging things so that Eliduceven without thinking tookher into his arms and, having goneso far, found himself going onto kiss her mouth and weep with her.

“Sweet love,” he heard himself aver,“you are my life and death; you are my comfort and my best hope. Ihave taken leave of your father, but you

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are the one to decide what I must do,whatever the consequences. I can’ttake you with me, as much as I wantto do that. I would seem to betraymy oath to your father. But set a dayby which you want me to come back hereand I promise you that I’ll reappear,only providing that I still live.That being the case, then giveme your leave to go.” That seemedacceptable, though not what she’d dreamed. But because of her love for him she hadto let him go, although she was sadto say goodbye. They gave and tookrings and kisses, and Eliduc,having temporized, departed,his pain diminishing after he’d started.

At home his lord was joyful when he returned, as was his wife, but thenthat was to be expected. She stillwas beautiful, wise, and good, but the thrillof their reunion was somewhat lessthan it should have been. His happinesswas torn by his vivid memories ofGuillaidun and of their love.Conflicted as he was, his moodwas dark and he was so subduedthat his wife was worried about him. Sheasked him what the matter could be.Had he heard some slanderer sayshe’d misbehaved in any way

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when he was gone? If this was the case,she would be glad of a chance to faceany accuser and prove that shehad been all a wife was supposed to be.He managed to answer that he had notaccused her or ever doubted her. Whatwas troubling him was another thingaltogether — he’d given a kinghis word to serve for a year and yethere he was, having seemed to forgeta promise, or even worse, to breakan oath he’d given. She should not mistakethe cause of his discomfort. He waspersuasive enough, explaining the causeof his abstraction. He and his lordtook actions that were moving towarda restoration of order and peacein which the various parties could ceasetheir skirmishing. With this behindhim, Eliduc could set his mindon Guilladun and returning toher. He took only a fewcompanions: two nephews and theirsquires, a servant . . . He had them swearto silence, which they were willing to do.He put to sea and this small crewsoon arrived on the other side,and although he did not exactly hide,he found a quiet out-of-the-wayinn at which his party could stay.He sent his chamberlain to tellhis beloved that all was now well

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and that he had kept his word. That nightshe was to go where the servant mightlead her — out of town to a place where he would be waiting for her embrace.The servant changed his garments and wentto the king’s palace where he’d been sentand there he asked for an interviewwith the princess and was shown intoher chambers. When she heard him speakher mood, which had been dark and bleak,brightened at once. She even kissedthe servant, having so much missedhis master. He recited allthe details of how, after nightfall,they would proceed together tothe spot arranged for a rendezvous.She was willing and eager and theytogether managed to get awayfrom the castle and the town, though shewas afraid at each step lest there besomeone who might recognize heror someone’s spy about to surprise her.

Not more than a bow-shot from the city’s gate, concealed by somewoods, there was a meadow whereEliduc waited. When she got therehe dismounted to kiss and embracehis beloved. Then, with easy grace,he helped her mount. He got up, too,and they rode off to meet the crewon a ship at Totnes he had arranged.

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They boarded and, before the wind changed,put to sea. For the f irst few hoursthey made good progress, but nature’s powersturned on them and the ship rolledand pitched as the weather worsened. Coldwinds whipped the rain and sprayinto an angry froth that theycould neither escape from nor sail through.It got so bad that one of the crewcried aloud: “What do we thinkwe’re doing? We’re all going to sinkbecause of that woman you brought along,knowing full well that you did wrong.At home you have a loyal wifebut you are willing to risk your lifeand ours for the sake of this one! No! Cast her overboard. Let her go.And the storm will abate and we shall besaved without the taint that shebrings with her!” Almost madwith anger at what he just hadheard, Eliduc shouted: “Son of a whore, if you say even onemore word, you die!” He held, meanwhile,the girl in his arms because the vileweather had made her sea-sick and hewas trying to comfort her. But she,having heard what the sailor said,fainted away as if she were dead — or that is what Eliduc thought she was.Angry that without any causethe sailor had said such a dreadful thing,

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he picked up an oar and took a swingat the sailor, knocking him flat on the deckand very possibly breaking his neck.With the toe of his boot Eliduc shovedhim overboard. The woman he’d lovedwas hardly benefited, but hetook some satisfaction that shehad been avenged. In a moment or twothe villain’s body sank from view.Eliduc went to the helm to steerthe vessel into the harbor and heredrop anchor. He looked again and shelay motionless and appeared to beindeed dead. His lamentationwas loud as was his supplicationthat he should have died with her. But nowhe realized that the question was howproperly to bury her.A king’s daughter one should interin consecrated ground with a f ineand stately service as a signof respect that she was entitled to.He asked for suggestions from the crewbut none had any to propose.In Eliduc’s memory there arosethe thought of a wood near home whereina hermit had lived, wizened and thin,and he had built a chapel wherethose inclined might say a prayer.This was not far from his home and hedecided that the chapel could beher resting place. It was holy ground,

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and to her memory he could foundan abbey or convent devoted toprayer and penitence. He and his crewcarried the lady’s body thereand he required them all to swearanother oath of silence. They traveled all night and at the break of daycame to the chapel where they knocked and called. The front door was unlockedand they went inside to f ind the tombof the hermit. They could read in the gloomthe date of his death: eight days beforehis fresh grave had been dug in the floor.The others thought that this was whatthey should do for the lady, butEliduc wanted advice from wisemen who could properly analyzecannon law about the wayto found an abbey or church. When theyhad made this clear, he would know betterthe rules in their spirit and their letter.In the meantime, they’d lay her outbefore the chapel altar, devoutbut unspecif ic. He wanted noerrors in any punctiliothat might apply to her resting place.He said goodbye and kissed her face,telling her how deep was his regretthat they had ever met — and yetshe had been his greatest delight.Never again would he deign to f ightbut he promised, when she was buried, to take

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holy orders and, for her sake,keep a vigil here at her tomb,sharing with her its constant gloom.This was his promise to the poorgirl as he closed the chapel door.

He had sent word home to tellhis wife that he was coming, unwelland sick at heart but alive. She waspleased and did as a good wife does,meeting him to welcome him back,but she found his mood and mien were black.He spoke to no one and no one daredaddress him. Although the household sparedno efforts to see to his comfort, hewas the picture of human misery.After two days at home he heardmass and then, without a word,went back to the chapel to prayat the altar where the lady lay.She had not recovered consciousness.She did not seem to breathe much lessmove. But he thought her colour was goodfor someone who, as he understood,had been dead for days. He weptin anguish and prayed for her while he keptbeating his breast until his griefhad brought him a modicum of relief.Then he returned to his house and the samebrooding over his guilt and shame.

The wife grew increasingly alert

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to his moods by which she was puzzled and hurt.She asked one of her servants if hecould follow surreptitiouslyand report to her where Eliduc wentevery day: his emolumentwould be a set of arms and a horse.He was delighted and, of course,agreed to do this. On the next dayhe followed his master all the wayto the chapel where, not far from the doorhe heard the lamentations pourforth from the knight and cries of woe.He returned home to let the wife knowwhere it was that Eliduc wentand what he did there. What this meantshe could not guess. The hermit had diedbut that was a while ago. She triedto account for such a show of griefthat seemed to her beyond belief.

That afternoon, the husband hadan appointment with the king and, cladin his f inest, went to court — so sheexploited this opportunityof going with the servant tothe chapel in search of any clue.There on a catafalque the maidon a bed of lovely flowers was laid,the skin pale, the body slender, her beauty enough to account for tenderfeelings of any man. She knewat once that here was the object that drew

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her husband’s presence, and evidence ofhis passionate and abiding love,which might, after her death, have turnedto pity. The wife felt herself spurnedso that never again could sheimagine a moment’s felicity.In a trance she knelt down to the floorand began to pray — not so much forthe soul of the lady as for her own,feeling that she was all alone,worse off than the woman on the bed,who knew that peace we assume the deadprobably have. But then from outof a cranny, came a weasel snoutand the rest of the animal that ranacross the body. The serving manstruck it with a stick and the blowkilled it — or that seemed to be so.But another weasel appeared and itcame up to the f irst, poked it a bitwith its forepaw, and sniffed but couldnot make it move. It ran to the woodin search of some herbal medicineand soon it was back and it put inthe mouth of the other a brilliant redflower that brought it back from the dead.The lady, having witnessed these strange events, got up from her kneesand ordered her servant not to allowthe weasel to get away. Somehowhe managed to graze it with his stickwhich was enough to do the trick

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for from its mouth it dropped the flowerthat had such great restorative power.The lady snatched it, put it inthe maiden’s mouth, and watched her beginto breathe again and then to movea finger and from this to improve.Soon she revived and opened her eyesto remark in a tone of mild surprise:

“How long I have slept!” The wifethanked the Lord from whom comes lifeand asked the maiden to tell her name,and how she got here, and whence she came.The maiden answered pleasantly, “I was born in the land of Logres, where my father is the king. I loved a knight named Eliduc, a man of mightand valour, with whom I ran awayonly to f ind out to my dismaythat he was married. He had not saida word about a wife. Insteadhe had lied to me and Ifainted, although I did not die.I am left in a distant land,abandoned. I do not understandhow he could have done this toone to whom he swore to be true — even though the story is oldof gullible maidens and often told.”

“My dear,” the other said, “he has beendistraught, for the trance that you were inhe took for death. Now every day

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he comes here to this chapel to prayfor you or even to you. I am his wife and couldn’t stand byand see him in such deep despair.I followed him to find out wherehe went and I discovered you.I’m joyful, as he will be too.I shall return you to him and freehim to be with you. As for meI shall take the veil and livein a convent as a contemplative.”The girl revived and was comfortedby what the generous wife had said.

Back home she sent a servant toher husband to report the newdevelopment. Without delayEliduc mounted and sped away.When he arrived home, amazed,he saw the girl alive and gazedinto her eyes to ascertainthat she was no figment of his brainbut a real person. He kissed her faceand held her in a warm embrace,and the wife, seeing this, demandedto be let go now. She was candidand said she wanted to be a nun,which would be convenient for everyone.If Eliduc could only transfer a suitable tract of land to her she’d found an abbey, not far awayfrom the hermitage. What could he say?

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Grateful, relieved, he of course agreed to everything she had asked, for he’dfeared a much knottier complication.The wife took the veil of consecrationwith thirty other nuns. With thesewho were dedicated to pietiesand good works she established a lifethat was even better than being a wife.

Eliduc married the princess the wayhe’d hoped to do. Their wedding daywas elegant with many guestsand impressive services. The testsof life were past, and they lived togetherin a climate of only balmy weather.They distributed much in alms to the poorand the love they shared was deep and secure.At length they reached that age when theybegan to think of how best to obeyGod’s will and express their gratitude. It was, then, in this pious moodthat Eliduc had a church erected for which a visiting architect dida splendid job. With the silver and goldand tracts of land that would upholdthe brothers, Eliduc also lavishedgems on the order he established.Then he joined it as a servantof almighty God. And his wife, in ferventagreement, joined the nunnery where the f irst wife was the abbess and therethe two of them lived in harmony

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like sisters in a family.They prayed that a merciful God might lookwith favor upon their Eliducas he in his turn asked for theirsalvation in an earnest prayer.From time to time in letters theysent and received, each could conveygood wishes and ask how the others fared.Each one of them loved God and caredabout the others, and each one cameto a good end, free of any blame.

It is from the story of these threethat the Bretons composed this lay to bea memorialization ofthe possibilities of love.

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For Further Reading

The text of the lais is available in Oeuvres complètes: les

lais, les fables, le Purgatoire de saint Patrick, translated from the ancient French by Nathalie Desgrugillers (Clermont-Ferrand: Paleo, 2003); or in Marie de France:

Lais, edited by Alfred Ewert (Oxford: Blackwell, 1944), or in Poésies de Marie de France, poète anglo-normand du

XIIIe siècle, 2 vols., edited by B. de Roquefort (Paris: Chasseriau, 1819–20).

There are a number of general studies of Marie de France, the most easily accessible to the Anglophone reader being Glyn S. Burgess, The Lais of Marie de

France: Text and Context (Athens: University of Georgia Press, 1987); Paula Clifford, Marie de France: Lais (London: Grant and Cutler, 1981); Emmanuel J. Mickel, Jr., Marie de France (New York: Twayne, 1974); and Sharon Kinoshita and Peggy McCracken, Marie de

France: A Critical Companion (Cambridge, UK: D. S. Brewer, 2012).

There are a few other translations, but if I had liked any of them, I shouldn’t have felt a need to do this one.

DR S

A Note on the Type

The serif face is Centaur mt, the best known recreation of a roman type

cut by Nicolas Jenson in 1469. Frederic Warde designed the italic in 1925

and gave it the separate name of Arrighi. Monotype combined the two

designs for release in 1929. The sanserif is itc Legacy Sans, designed in

1992 by Ronald Arnholm as an unserifed version of Jenson’s work.