At first 'twas mov'd, that straight conducted thence, Some meet confinement should chastise the offence; When one grave peer, in honest hope to wave The dire debasement of a youth so brave, Produc'd this purpose, with such reasoning grac'd, 'Twas with the general plaudit soon embrac'd: ''Twas urg'd,' he said, 'and sure the offence he blam'd, Their queen by base comparison was sham'd; That he, the prisoner, with strange fury mov'd, Had prais'd too proudly the fair dame he lov'd; First, then, 'twere meet this mistress should be seen There in full court, and plac'd beside the queen; So might they judge of passion's mad pretence, Or truth had wrought the ungrateful preference.'

So spoke the judge; Sir Lanval hears the doom, And weens his hour of destiny is come; Quench'd is the lore that erst, in happier day, Won to his whisper'd prayer the willing fay; And the last licence pitying laws devise, Serves but to close the count of miseries!

When, lo! strange shouts of joy and clamourous cheers, Rose from without, and stay'd the astonish'd peers: At hand two damsels entering in were seen, Lovely alike their look, and noble was their mien; On a grey dappled steed each lady rode, That pac'd for pride, as conscious of his load; 'Lo here!' 'twas murmured round with new delight, 'Lo here, the mistress of the Breton knight!' The twain meanwhile pass'd onward undelay'd, And to the king their graceful greetings paid, Then told their lady's coming, and desir'd Such harbourage as highest rank requir'd.

E'en as they spoke, twain others, lovelier fair, Of stature loftier, of more royal air, Came proudly on: of gold their purfled vest, Well shap'd, each symmetry of limb confess'd: On goodly mules from farthest Spain they brought, This pair the presence of the sovereign sought.

The impatient king, ere well their lips had power, To claim fit harbourage of board and bower, Led on their way; and, court'sies scantly done, Back to the peers be sped, and press'd the judgment on; For much, meseems, his vengeful heart misgave Some thwarting chance the Breton knight might save.

Just were his boding fears: new shouts ascend Of loud acclaim; and wide the welkin rend. A female form the wondering peers behold, Too bright for mixture of earth's mortal mould: The gridelin pall that down her shoulders flow'd Half veil'd her snow-white courser as she rode; On her fair hand a sparrow-hawk was plac'd, Her steed's sure steps a following grey-hound trac'd And, as she pass'd, still pressing to the right Female and male, and citizen and knight, What wight soe'er in Carduel's walls was found, Swell'd the full quire, and spread the joy around.

Lanval, the while, apart from all the rest, Sat sadly waiting for his doom unbless'd: (Not that he fear'd to die: death rather sued; For life was nought, despoil'd of all its good:) To his dull ears his hastening friends proclaim The fancied form and presence of his dame; Feebly he rais'd his head: and, at the sight, In a strange extacy of wild delight, ''Tis she! 'tis she!' was all his faultering cry, 'I see her once again now satisfied I die!'

Thus while he spake, the peers with seemly state. Led by their king, the illustrious stranger wait; Proud Carduel's palace hail'd its princely guest, And thus the dame the assembled court address'd. 'List, king, and barons!—Arthur, I have lov'd A knight most loyal in thy service prov'd; Him, by thy foul neglect, reduc'd to need, These hands did recompense; they did thy deed. He disobey's me; I forbore to save; I left him at the portal of the grave: Firm loyalty hath well that breach repair'd— He loves me still, nor shall he lack reward. 'Barons! your court its judgment did decree, Quittance or death, your queen compar'd with me: Behold the mistress of the knight is come, Now judge between us? and pronounce the doom.'

All cry aloud, the words of love were right, And one united voice acquits the knight. Back from the palace turns the parting fay, And with her beauteous damsels speeds away: Her, as she pass'd the enraptur'd Lanval view'd; High on the portal's marble steps he stood; On his tall steed he sprang with vigorous bound; Thenceforth their footsteps never wight hath found.

But 'tis the Breton tale, they both are gone To the fair isle of fertile Avalon; There, in the lap of love for ever laid, By sorrow unassail'd, in bliss embay'd, They make their won: for me, where'er they dwell, No farther tale befalls me here to tell.

Thomas Chestre translated this tale in the reign of Henry 6, but the extracts published by Mr. Warton, differ in some particulars from the tale here given.



No. VI.—LES DEUX AMANTS.

In Neustria, now called Normandy is a single mountain of unusual height and verdure, railed the mountain "of the two lovers," in consequence of an adventure to which it gave rise, and of which the Bretons have formed a lay. Close to it are the remains of a city, now reduced to a few houses, but formerly opulent, founded by the king of the Pistreins, whence it was called Depistreins, and the neighbouring valley Val de Pistre. This king had one only daughter, whom he loved so much that he could not bear to be separated from her. With a view to check the pursuits of the lovers, whom her beauty and accomplishments attracted, he published a decree, that her hand should never be granted but to a suitor who should be able to carry her, without resting, from the bottom to the top of the adjoining mountain. Many attempted the enterprise, for presumption is common; none achieved it, because its execution was barely possible. The suitors disappeared, one by one, and the beautiful princess seemed doomed to eternal celibacy. There was one youth, the son of a neighbouring baron, who was a favourite with the king and the whole court, and whose assiduities, which were dictated by an unconquerable and sincere passion, ultimately gained the lady's warmest affections. It was long a secret to all the world: but this discretion became, at length, almost intolerable; and the youth, hopeless of fulfilling the condition which alone could obtain her hand, earnestly conjured her to fly from her father's court. To this she would not consent, but suggested a mode of accomplishing their wishes more compatible with her filial piety: "I have," said she, "a rich aunt, who resides, and has studied during thirty years, at Salerno. In that celebrated school she has so completely acquired the art of medicine; has learned so many salves and drugs; has so studied herbs and roots, that she will be enabled to compose for you electuaries and drinks, capable of communicating the degree of vigour necessary to the accomplishment of the trial prescribed by my father. To her you shall bear a letter from me, and at your return shall demand me from the king, on the terms to which he has himself assented." The lover thanked her; went home, provided the necessary assortment of rich clothes, and other merchandize, of palfreys, beasts of burthen and attendants, and set off for Salerno. His mission was successful: the good aunt's electuaries rendered him much more athletic than before; and he brought back, in a small vial, an elixir capable of instantly restoring strength at the moment of complete exhaustion. He therefore was full of confidence, and claimed the trial. The king having summoned all his principal vassals to behold the ceremony, conducted his daughter into the great plain on the banks of the Seine, and found the youth already stationed at the foot of the mountain. The lovely princess had scarcely tasted food since the departure of her lover; she would gladly have wasted herself to the lightness of air for the purpose of diminishing his labour. She wore only a single robe which closely enveloped her. Her lover catching her up with one hand, and bearing the precious vial in the other, appeared perfectly unconscious of the burthen, and bore her, with the rapidity of lightning, more than half way up the mountain: but here she perceived his breath began to fail, and conjured him to have recourse to his medicine. He replied, that he was still full of vigour; was too much within sight of the multitude below, that their cries on seeing him stop, even for an instant, would annoy and dishearten him; and that, while able to proceed alone, he would not appeal to preternatural assistance. At two-thirds of the height she felt him totter under the weight, and again repeated her earnest entreaties. But he no longer heard or listened: exerting his whole remains of strength, he staggered with her to the top, still bearing the untasted vial in his hand, and dropped dead on the ground. His mistress, thinking he had only fainted, knelt down by his side, applied the elixir to his lips, but found that life had left him. She then dashed the vial on the ground, uttered a dreadful shriek, threw herself on the body, and instantly expired. The king and his attendants, much surprized at not seeing them return, ascended the mountain, and found the youth fast locked in the arms of the princess. By command of her father they were buried on the spot in a marble coffin, and the mountain still retains the name of "The Two Lovers." Around their tomb the ground exhibits an unceasing verdure; and hither the whole country resort for the most valuable herbs employed in medicine, which owe their origin to the contents of the marvellous vial.[77]



No. VII.—YWONEC.

There lived once in Britain a rich old knight, lord of Caerwent, a city situated on the river Duglas. He had married, when far advanced in years, a young wife of high birth, and transcendant beauty, in hopes of having an heir; but when, at the end of seven years, this hope was frustrated, he locked her up in his strong castle, under the care of his sister, an aged widow lady, of great devotion and asperity of temper. His own amusements were confined to the chace; those of his sister to thumbing the Psalter, and chanting its contents: the young lady had no solace but tears. One morning in April, when the birds began to sing the songs of love, the old gentleman had risen early, and awakened his sister, who carefully shut the doors after him, while he sallied forth for the woods, and his young wife began her usual lamentations. She execrated the hour when she was born, and the fatal avarice of her parents, for having united her to an old, jealous tyrant, afraid of his own shadow, who debarred her even from going to church. She had heard the country round her prison was once famed for adventures; that young and gallant knights used to meet, without censure or impediment, beautiful and affectionate mistresses; but her lot was endless misery (for her tyrant was certainly immortal), unless the supreme Disposer of events should, by some miracle, suspend the listlessness of her existence. She had scarcely finished this ejaculation, when the shadow of a bird, which nearly intercepted all the light proceeding from the narrow window of her room, arrested her attention, and a falcon of the largest size flew into the chamber, and perched at the foot of her bed. While she gazed, it gradually assumed the figure of a young and handsome knight. She started, changed colour, and drew a veil over her face, but still gazed and listened, with some fear, much astonishment, but more pleasure. The knight soon broke silence. He begged her not to be alarmed; confessed his mode of visiting was new, and rather mysterious; but that a falcon was a gentle and noble bird, whose figure ought not to create suspicion. He was a neighbouring prince, who had long loved her, and wished to dedicate the remainder of his days to her service. The lady, gradually removing her veil, ingenuously told him, he was much handsomer, and apparently more amiable, than any man she had ever seen; and she should be happy to accept him as a lover, if such a connection could be legitimate, and if he was orthodox. The prince entered at large into the articles of his creed; and concluded by advising that she should feign herself sick, send for his chaplain, and direct him to bring the host; "when," said he, "I will assume your appearance, and receive the Sacrament in your stead." The lady was satisfied with this proposal; and, when the old woman came in, and summoned her to rise, she professed to be at the point of death, and entreated the immediate assistance of the chaplain. Such a request, in the absence of her lord, could not be regularly granted; but a few screams, and a fainting fit, removed the old lady's doubts, and she hobbled off in search of the chaplain, who immediately brought the host; and Muldumaric (the falcon-prince) assuming the appearance of his mistress, went through the sacred ceremony with becoming devotion, which they both considered as a marriage contract. The lady's supposed illness enabled the prince to protract his visit; but at length the moment of separation came, and she expressed her wish for the frequent repetition of their interviews.—"Nothing is so easy," said Muldumaric; "whenever you express an ardent wish to see me, I will instantly come. But beware of that old woman: she will probably discover our secret, and betray it to her brother; and I announce to you, the moment of discovery will be that of my death." With these words he flew off. His mistress, with all her caution, was unable to conceal entirely the complete change in her sensations. Her solitude, formerly so irksome, became the source of her greatest delight; her person, so long neglected, again was an object of solicitude; and her artful and jealous husband, on his return from the chase, often discovered in her features the traces of a satisfaction his conscience told him he was not the author of. His vague suspicions were, after a time, communicated to his sister; but being, as she thought, the young lady's sole companion, and not able to reproach herself with any enlivening qualities, she could not account for this contented demeanour. At length she was commanded to conceal herself in his wife's apartments during his absence, to watch indefatigably, and report whatever she could discover. The result was a full confirmation of all his suspicions. He now exerted himself in devising means of vengeance: he secretly prepared and placed before the fatal window a trap, composed of sharpened steel arrows, and, rising long before day, set off on his usual occupation. The old lady, carefully shutting the doors after him, returned to her bed till day break; and his wife, awakened at this unusual hour, could not refrain from uttering an ardent wish for the company of her dear Muldumaric. He was instantly at her side; but had received his death wound, and she found herself sprinkled with his blood. Overpowered by fear and surprize, she could scarcely hear him say he died for her, and that his prophecy was accomplished. She fainted in his arms; but he conjured her to preserve her life, and announcing she would have a son, whom she must call Ywonec, and who was destined to be the avenger of both his parents. He then hastily departed through an open and unguarded window. His mistress, uttering a piteous scream, threw herself out of the same window, and pursued his flight by the trace of his blood, which the first beams of morning enabled her to distinguish. At length she arrived at a thick wood, where she was soon surrounded with darkness; but pursued the beaten track, and emerged into a meadow, where, recovering the trace of blood, she pursued it to a large city of unexampled magnificence, which she entered, and proceeded to the palace. No one was visible in the streets. In the first apartment she found a knight asleep. She knew him not, and passed on to the next, where she found a second equally unknown to her. She entered the third room; and on a bed, which almost dazzled her by the splendour of its ornaments, and which was surrounded by numerous torches blazing in golden candlesticks, she recognised her dear Muldumaric, and sunk almost lifeless with fatigue and terror by his side. Though very near his last moments, he was still able to comfort and instruct her. He adjured her to return instantly, while she could escape the notice of his subjects, to whom, as their story was known, she would be particularly obnoxious. He gave her a ring, in virtue of which he assured her she would in future escape the persecution, and even the jealousy of her husband. He then put into her hands his sword, with directions that it should never be touched by man till his son was dubbed a knight; when it must be delivered to him with due solemnity, near the tomb of his father, at the moment he should learn the secret of his birth, and the miseries produced by it. She would then see the first use to which her boy would put it. The prince had nearly spent his last breath in the service of his beloved mistress; he could only instruct her by signs to put on a magnificent robe which lay near him, and hasten her departure. She staggered through the town, arrived in the solitary fields, heard the distant knell announce her lover's death, and sunk exhausted to the ground. At length the air revived her; she slowly renewed her journey, and returned to her castle, which, by virtue of her ring, she entered undisturbed. Till the birth of her son, and from that time to the conclusion of his education, she lived in silent anguish, and in patient expectation of the day of vengeance. The young Ywonec, by his beauty and address, recalled to her mind the loved image of his father; and at length she beheld him, with a throbbing heart, invested, amidst the applause of all the spectators, with the dignity of knighthood. The hour of retribution was now fast approaching. At the feast of St. Aaron, in the same year, the baron was summoned with his family to Caerleon, where the festival was held with great solemnity. In the course of their journey they stopped for the night in a spacious abbey, where they were received with the greatest hospitality. The good abbot, for the purpose of detaining his guests another day, exhibited to them the whole of the apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in which they beheld a vast sepulchral monument, covered with a superb pall, fringed with gold, and surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled the air with fumes of incense. The guests naturally inquired concerning the name and quality of the person who reposed in that splendid tomb; and were told it was the late king of that country; the best, the handsomest, the wisest, the most courteous and liberal of mankind; that he was treacherously slain at Caerwent, for his love to the lady of that castle; that since his death his subjects had respected his dying injunctions, and reserved the crown for a son, whose arrival they still expected with much anxiety. On hearing this story the lady cried aloud to Ywonec, "Fair son, thou hast heard how Providence hath conducted us hither. Here lies thy father whom this old man slew with felony. I now put into thy hands the sword of thy sire; I have kept it long enough." She then proceeded to tell him the sad adventure of his birth, and, having with much difficulty concluded the recital, fell dead on the tomb of her husband. Ywonec, almost frantic with grief and horror, instantly sacrificed his hoary stepfather to the manes of his parents, and having caused his mother to be interred with suitable honours, accepted from his subjects the crown they had reserved for the representative of a long line of royal ancestors.

FOOTNOTES:

[77] The subject of this romance appears to have been taken from the ecclesiastical history of Normandy. There is still remaining, near Rouen, the priory of the Lovers, which tradition reports to have been founded by the father on the very same spot where they perished, and on the tomb which contained them. M. de la Mere's Dissertation.



No. 8.—LAUSTIC.

The author tells us, this lay is called, in the Breton tongue, Laustic,[78] and in "right English," the Nihtegale (Nightingale). It is very well written, and contains many picturesque descriptions; in the district of St. Malos is the town of Bon, which derives its name from the goodness of two knights who formerly dwelt in it. One was married; the other was in love with his neighbour's wife, who returned his affection. The houses were so near, being only separated by a wall, that they could easily, from the windows of their respective bed chambers, interchange glances, talk without being overheard, and toss to each other little presents and symbols of attachment. For the purpose of enjoying this amusement, the lady, during the warm nights of spring and summer, used to rise, and throwing a mantle over her, repair to the window, and stay there till near the dawn of day. Her husband, much annoyed by this practice, roughly asked what was the object which so constantly allured her from her bed, and was told that it was the sweet voice of the Nightingale. Having heard this he set all his servants to work, spread on every twig of his hazels and chesnut trees a quantity of bird-lime, and set throughout the orchard so many traps and springs, that the nightingale was shortly caught. Immediately running to his wife, and twisting the bird's neck, he tossed it into her bosom so hastily that she was sprinkled with the blood; adding that her enemy was now dead, and she might in future sleep in quiet. The lady, who, it seems, was not fertile in expedients, submitted to the loss of her nightly conversations, and was contented with exculpating herself towards her lover by sending him the dead bird inclosed in a bag of white satin, on which she embroidered the history of its fate; and her gallant paramour caused his mistress's present to be inclosed in a golden box, richly studded with gems, which he constantly carried about his person.[79]

FOOTNOTES:

[78] Laustic is still a Nightingale in the Breton language, and l'eaustic is the French manner of speaking.



No. IX.—MILUN.[80]

Milun was a knight of South Wales. His strength and prowess were such, that he never met an adversary who was able to unhorse him. His reputation spread far beyond the borders of his own country, and he was known and admired in Ireland, Norway, Gothland, Loegria (England), and Albany (Scotland). At no great distance from his castle dwelt an opulent baron, who had an only daughter, courteous and beautiful. Hearing his praises from all quarters, she became enamoured, and sent a messenger to say, her heart was at his service if he thought it worth acceptance. Milun, whose affections were not pre-engaged, returned an answer expressive of gratitude, sent his gold ring as a symbol of inviolable constancy; and, having fixed her messenger in his interests by magnificent presents, arranged with him a secure place of meeting. Their intercourse was managed so discreetly as to excite no suspicion; till the young lady, sending for her lover, represented to him that longer concealment was impossible. By an ancient law she was subject, on discovery, at her father's option, to be punished with instant death or sold as a slave; and she saw no means of escaping this frightful alternative. Milun listened in silent horror, but could suggest no expedient, when her old nurse undertook to conceal the rest, if the child could be properly disposed of; and for this the young lady found a ready contrivance. She had a sister richly married in Northumberland, to whom Milun might cause the child to be conveyed, with a letter explaining all, and his gold ring, by means of which it might, in due time, discover and make itself known to its parents. It proved to be a boy; the ring was hung about its neck, with a purse containing the letter; he was placed in a soft cradle, swathed in the finest linen, with an embroidered pillow under his head, and a rich coverlid edged with sable to protect him from the cold. Milun, in delivering him to the attendants, ordered that during the journey he should stop seven times in the day, for the purpose of being washed, fed, and put to sleep. The nurse, and all the servants who attended, had been selected with great care, and performed their charge with fidelity; and the Northumbrian lady assured her sister, by a letter which they brought back, that she accepted the charge with pleasure. This being settled, Milun left his castle for a short time on some military business, and during his absence the young lady's father resolved to bestow her in marriage on a neighbouring baron. She was now almost reduced to despair, her lover, to whom she was more than ever attached, was absent; to avow to her new husband what had happened was impossible, and to conceal it extremely difficult. But she was compelled to submit. The marriage took place; and Milun, on his return, was scarcely less distressed than his mistress, till he recollected she was still in the neighbourhood, and he might perhaps be able to devise some means of procuring an interview. He had a favourite swan, long accustomed to feed out of his hand. Having written and sealed a letter, he tied it round its neck, and finding it effectually concealed by the feathers, called a favourite servant, and directed him to repair to the lady's habitation, devise some contrivance for gaining admission, and deliver the same into her own hands. The man executed his commission with great ingenuity. He represented himself to the porter of the castle as a poacher; stated that he had just caught a fine swan close to Caerleon; and much wished to conciliate the future intercession of the lady by presenting it to her. The porter, after some hesitation, went to explore the anti-chamber; and, finding in it only two knights, intent on a game of chess, returned immediately, and conducted the man to his lady's apartment, which, on his knocking, was opened to them. Having graciously accepted the present, she was going to recommend the swan to the care of one of her valets; but the messenger observing "it was a royal bird, who would only accept food from her own hand," and desiring her to caress it, she soon perceived the letter, and changed colour, but recovering herself, dismissed the messenger with a present, turned out her own attendants, excepting one maid, and proceeded to examine the mystery. It contained the warmest protestations of her lover's unalterable attachment, expressed a hope that she might be able to point out a secure place of meeting; and shewed her an easy method of continuing the correspondence. "The swan, already tame, might, by good feeding, be easily attached to her; after which, if debarred from meat during three days, he would, when set at liberty, fly back to his old master." After kissing the welcome letter till she had nearly obliterated its contents she proceeded to put in practice his injunctions; and having by stealth procured some parchment and ink, made an equally tender reply, which, being tied round the swan's neck, was rapidly and faithfully conveyed to Milun. During twenty years they kept up, by this means, a regular correspondence, and their frequent interviews were managed with a secresy which secured them against detection. In the mean time their son, after receiving an excellent education, had been dubbed a knight, and learned from his aunt the name of his father, and the mystery of his birth. Inflamed with a noble ambition, he resolved instantly to set off for foreign countries and to surpass his sire in military glory. The next day he communicated the project to his aunt, who gave him a number of instructions for his future conduct; which, lest he should forget, she repeated more than once, and accompanied her admonitions with such liberal presents as would enable him to rival in splendour the richest of his competitors. He repaired to Southampton; landed at Barbefluet (Barfleur); passed into Britany; engaged, by his generosity, a numerous attendance of poor knights, eclipsed the proudest of his rivals by superior liberality; vanquished the stoutest; gained the prize in every tournament; and, though he concealed his name, was quickly known through the country by the appellation of "The Knight without a Peer." The fame of this youthful warrior at length reached the care of his father. From the first moment of his bestriding a horse, that father had never encountered an equal; and as he trusted age had added to his address more than it had yet subtracted from his vigour, he hoped to prove, by the overthrow of this unknown, that his high renown was owing to the absence of Milun. After this exploit he meant to go in quest of his son, whose departure into foreign countries he had lately learnt, and having obtained the permission of his mistress, embarked for Normandy, and thence proceeded into Bretagne. The tournaments did not begin till the festival of Easter; Milun, therefore, who arrived before the end of winter, spent the interval in travelling from place to place, in exercising hospitality, and searching out the most meritorious knights, whom he attached to himself by his liberality. At length the festival took place, at Mont St. Michel, and was attended by a crowd of French, Flemish, Norman and Breton, knights, though by very few English. Milun enquired minutely into the arms and devises of the unknown knight, and had no difficulty in procuring ample information. The tournament began: the two rivals separately acquired a manifest superiority, and bore down all who opposed them, but the opinions of the assembly were divided between the two. The strength and address of the veteran appeared invincible, yet the suppleness and activity of the youth attracted still more admiration. Even Milun himself beheld him with a mixture of wonder and delight, and summoned all his skill and strength when he rode to encounter this formidable adversary. His spear was too well-directed to miss its aim; but it flew into a thousand splinters, while that of the youth remained entire, and threw him at some distance upon the ground. By the violence of the shock the ventail of his helmet was broken off, and displayed his beard and hair, gray with age; when the youth, bringing back his horse, courteously requested him to remount, expressing his regret at having, by his accidental victory, sullied the fame of a respectable veteran. Milun, surveying him with increased admiration, discovered on his finger, while he held the rein, his own ring, and earnestly conjured him to relate his history, and the names of his parents. He obeyed, and was proceeding to tell all he knew, when the old knight again springing from his horse, and catching him by the skirts of his coat of mail, hailed him as his son, and received him in his arms as he dismounted to request the paternal benediction. The tournament being over, they retired amidst the tears and applauses of the assembly, and retreated to their inn, where Milun related the whole series of his adventures. The young man listened till the end with respectful attention; and then exclaimed, "In faith, fair sire, I will unite you to my mother. I will kill her present husband, and you shall marry her." This being arranged, they parted for the night. On the next day they arrived at the sea: embarked; landed in Wales after a short and pleasant passage; and were proceeding to Milun's castle, when they were met by a messenger bearing a letter to Milun from his lady, in which she announced the death of her husband, and requested him to hasten his return. At this joyful news they hurried on to the lady's castle; and she had the satisfaction of being for ever united to her lover, at the same time that she embraced a son every way worthy of his accomplished parents. On this occasion says the author, "the ancients made a lay which I have here set down in writing, and which I always relate with fresh pleasure."

FOOTNOTES:

[79] This lay has been translated into English metre, under the title of "the Nythingale." Bibl. Cotton. Calig. A. 11.

[80] Perhaps Milwr, a warrior.



* * * * *

No. X.—CHAITIVEL.

There lived formerly, at Nantes in Bretagne, a lady of such exquisite beauty that no one could behold her with impunity. All the young men of the town were rivals for her smiles; but four, nearly of the same age, and of equal birth and accomplishments, soon eclipsed all the rest of the competitors. Each of these four deserved, and obtained, a place in her affections; but their merits were so equal that she was unable to make a choice. At tournaments she sent to all some mark of distinction; a ring, a scarf, a pennant, or other ornament; and all ascribed to her, as mistress of their actions, the exploits they had the good fortune to perform. It happened once, that Nantes was appointed for the celebration of a tournament at the Easter festival. The four knights set out to meet the foreign ones, and proposed to joust with an equal number: the offer was accepted, and the contest ended to the advantage of the town. On the following day the four young lovers still further distinguished themselves; but the spectacle at length degenerated, as was frequently the case, into a real combat, in which three out of the four were accidentally slain, and the fourth dangerously wounded. They were brought back to the lady, who caused the three to be magnificently interred, and summoned the best physicians of the town to assist her attendance on the survivor. Their joint efforts were at length successful. He became convalescent; and, finding his passion revive with his returning health, daily importuned the lady for her hand, to which there now remained no other equal claimant. But she gave him to understand, that feeling herself singular in misfortune, by having lost in one day three admirers of superior merit, she would not consent to bear to the bridal ceremony a heart consumed by eternal regret; and that, as a monument of her grief, she intended to compose a lay, the title of which should be "Les quatre Dols," (the four griefs). The lover, instead of attempting to argue her out of this resolution, only employs his eloquence in convincing her that the title of the new lay ought to be "Le Chaitivel," (the wretch), because his rivals had found in death the end of their disappointments, while he was doomed to a life of sorrow and privation. The lady having assented to this change, the story is abruptly brought to a conclusion.

* * * * *

No. XI.—Translation of the Lai DEE CHEVREFOIL:

(From Notes to Sir Tristrem, edited by Walter Scott, Esq.)

I am much pleased with the lay which is called Chevrefoil. Let me relate to you truly on what occasion it was made, and by whom. Many persons have narrated the story to me; and I have also found it in writing, in the work which treats of Tristrem, and of the Queen; and of their constant love, from which they suffered a thousand sorrows; and expired on the same day.[81]

King Markes had been much offended with his nephew, Tristrem; and had banished him on account of his attachment to the queen. The knight retired into the country where he was born; spent there a whole year of affliction; and, being still forbidden to return, became careless of life. Do not wonder at this; for a true lover, where his wishes are crossed by insuperable obstacles, can set no bounds to his grief. Tristrem, therefore, thus driven to despair, left his home; passed into Cornwall, the abode of the queen, and concealed himself in the thickest part of the forest; from which he issued only at the close of the day, at which time he took up his lodgings among the peasants and the poorest of mankind. After frequent questions to these his hosts, concerning the public news of the court, he at length learned the king had convoked his barons, and summoned them to attend him at Pentecost, at the castle of Tintagel. Tristrem was rejoiced at this news; because it was impossible the queen could arrive at the meeting without giving him an opportunity of getting sight of her during the journey. On the appointed day, therefore, be took his station, in that part of the wood through which the road passed, cut down a branch of codre (hazel), smoothed it, wrote his name on it with the point of his knife, together with other characters, which the queen would well know how to decypher. He perceives her approaching; he sees her examine with attention every object on her road. In former times they had recognized each other by means of a similar device; and he trusts, that, should she cast her eyes on the stick, she will suspect it to belong to her lover. This was the purport of the characters traced on it: "That he had long been waiting at a distance, in hopes of being favoured with some expedient which might procure him a meeting, without which he could no longer exist. It was with these two, as with the chevrefoil and the codre. When the honey-suckle has caught hold of the codre, and encircled it by its embraces, the two will live together and flourish; but if any one resolves to sever them, the codre suddenly dies, and the honey-suckle with it. Sweet friend, so it is with us; I cannot live without you, nor you without me."

The queen slowly riding on, perceives the stick, and recognizes the well-known characters. She orders the knights who accompany her to stop. She is tired; she will get off her horse for a short time, and take some repose. She calls to her only her maid, her faithful Brenguein; quits the road, plunges into the thickest part of the forest, and finds him whom she loved more than all the world. Both were delighted beyond measure at this meeting, which gives them full leisure to concert their future projects. She tells him, that he may now be easily reconciled to his uncle. That the king has often regretted his absence, and attributes to the malicious accusations of their common enemies, the severe measure of his banishment. After a long conversation, the queen tears herself from him; and they separate with mutual grief. Tristrem returned to South-Wales, from whence he was soon recalled by his uncle; but, in the mean time, he had repeated to himself, over and over again, every word of his mistress's late conversation; and, while full of the joy he felt at having seen her, he composed (being a perfect master of the lays) a new lay, describing his stratagem, its success, his delight, and the very words uttered by the queen. I will tell you the name of this lay it is called Goat-leaf in English, and Chevre-foil in French. I have now told you the whole truth.[82]

FOOTNOTES:

[81] Marie, who drew all her materials from Bretagne, probably refers to some Armorican edition, of the history of these ill-fated lovers.

[82] From this, which forms no part of the Sir Tristrem of Thomas, the Rhymer, it is evident that the same tale was popular in France, at least thirty years before the probable date of that work.



No. XII.—ELIDUC.

This is stated to be a very old Breton lay. Its original title was "Guildeluec ha Gualadun," from the names of the two heroines; but it was afterwards more commonly stiled, The Lay of Eliduc.

Eliduc was a knight of Bretagne, much admired for military prowess, courtesy, and political sagacity; in consequence of which, his sovereign, who loved and admired him, was in the habit of entrusting to his management the most important cares of government. Indeed, so great was his influence at court, that he enjoyed, almost as completely as the king, the privilege of the chace in the royal forests. But the favour of sovereigns is always precarious; and so adroit were his enemies, that he was suddenly deprived of all his honours, and even banished the country, without being able to obtain from his once indulgent master, the privilege of knowing his crimes, or being confronted with his accusers. Fortunately he was in the prime of life, fond of adventure, and not of a temper to despond. He retired to his castle, convened his friends, and communicated to them the king's injustice, and his own projects; which were, to embark for England, and there enter into the pay of the first king who might want his assistance. But he had a wife, the fair and amiable Guildeluec, whom he tenderly loved; and whom, as he was unwilling to carry her into exile, he earnestly recommended to their care and attentions. He then selected ten knights as his companions, and departed for the sea-coast, escorted by nearly all his friends and vassals, and accompanied by his wife, who was almost frantic with grief at this cruel separation, and whom he could scarcely reconcile to her fate, by repeating again and again the most solemn assurances of eternal and inviolable fidelity. At length he embarked with a fair wind, and landing at Totness, in Devonshire, proceeded towards Exeter. The king of this district had an only daughter, heiress of his dominions; and, having refused to bestow her on a neighbouring prince, was at that time involved in a most distressful war, and besieged in his capital. Eliduc went no further: he sent a message to the distressed king, offering his assistance; and requesting, should the proposal be rejected, a safe conduct through the country. The king most gladly accepted the offer, and ordered his constable to prepare a house for the reception of the welcome guests, and issue a suitable sum of money, with a supply of provisions for their monthly expenditure. Eliduc and his attendants were magnificently entertained. His inn was the house of the richest burgess in the town, and the grand tapestry room[83] was surrendered to the knight by its proprietor. Eliduc on his part was equally liberal. He issued strict orders to his attendants, that during the first forty days, none of them should accept either pay or provisions from the court; and during this time kept, at his own expence, a profuse table for the accommodation of such knights as were unprovided with other means of subsistence. On the third day, an alarm was spread that the enemy had again over-run the country, and might shortly be expected at the gates. Eliduc flew to arms; and, having assembled his ten knights, was soon after joined by fourteen more from different parts of the city, who declared themselves ready to encounter, under his commands, any inequality of numbers. Eliduc praised their zeal; but observed, that this intemperate valour was more fitted for the lists of a tournament than for useful service; and requested that they, who knew the country, would shew him some defile in which he could hope to attack the enemy on equal terms. They pointed out a hollow way in the neighbouring forest, by which the invaders usually passed and returned; and Eliduc, while hastening there, described the measures he meant to pursue, and exhorted them to follow him with vigour. All was so well planned and executed, that the foe were surprized laden with booty; and their commander, with thirty principal officers, seized on his palfrey, and made prisoners almost without resistance. The squires and other attendants at the same time secured a large quantity of baggage, and the troop immediately hastened their return towards the city, where their appearance excited no small consternation. The king, having mounted a watch-tower, had descried his small garrison of knights engaged in a distant action with very superior numbers; after which, seeing a large body in full march for the city, he concluded Eliduc had betrayed him; caused the gates to be shut, the alarm to be sounded, and commanded the citizens to defend the walls. But being quickly undeceived, he welcomed his deliverer with transports of joy and gratitude; and, after receiving his oath of allegiance for a year, invested him with the supreme military command, and assigned ample pensions to himself and all his attendants. The king's daughter, the beautiful Guilliadun, became anxious in her turn to behold the extraordinary stranger, who had confirmed her father in his throne, by means of a troop of knights, who scarcely appeared competent to the defence of the walls. She invited him to an audience, to which he was formally introduced by one of her chamberlains; seated him near her on a bed; and entered into conversation on a variety of indifferent topics. But during the discourse, she could not help remarking that this consummate warrior and statesman was young and handsome; and found her heart completely engaged. After sighing and turning pale, and making many reflections on the indelicacy of avowing her passion, she would probably have done it, if the knight had not, by respectfully taking leave, put an end to the interview. He, in the mean time, had not been blind to her perfections, her youth, beauty, simplicity and frankness of character, and, above all, those artless sighs which assured him of her affection, had made an indelible impression on his heart. At length the image of his wife, and his solemn assurances of fidelity, interrupted the dream of happiness in which he had involuntarily indulged; but the interruption became painful; and while he mentally repeated the promise of adhering to duty, he felt that promise disavowed by his inclination. Guilliadun, after a sleepless night, found it impossible to keep her secret, and having summoned a trusty chamberlain, confided to him her sudden, and, as she thought, inexplicable passion. After a long discussion, she at length, at his suggestion, dispatched him to the knight with the usual salutations of courtesy, and with the present of her ring and a rich girdle. Eliduc immediately replied by an equally courteous message; put the ring on his finger; bound the girdle round his loins; offered a rich present to the chamberlain, who declined it; but avoided all discussion on the subject of his message. The impatient princess was almost driven to despair by the report of her chamberlain, who, though convinced that Eliduc could not be insensible to the kindness of his mistress, was unable to satisfy her mind, or even his own, concerning the cause of such extreme discretion. Both, indeed, were ignorant of the conflicts by which he was agitated. To recall his former fondness for his wife, and to conciliate his duty and affection, was no longer possible: to betray and dishonour the amiable Guilliadun would be infamous; and to encourage her passion and his own, without being hurried too far, was extremely difficult; yet on this he ultimately resolved; and, having mounted his horse, set off for the palace under pretence of paying his court to the king, but with the real view of obtaining an interview with his daughter. The monarch was at that moment in the apartment of the princess, to whom, while be played a game of chess with a foreign knight, he explained the moves. On the entrance of Eliduc he immediately introduced him to her, enjoining her to entertain and form an acquaintance with a knight, who had few equals in merit; and the young lady, gladly obeying the injunction, retired with her lover to the farther end of the apartment. After a long silence equally painful to both, and which each ineffectually attempted more than once to interrupt, Eliduc luckily bethought himself of returning thanks for the ring and girdle; which, as he assured her, he valued far beyond all his earthly possessions. This warmth of expression encouraging the princess, she frankly proceeded to make an avowal of her passion, declaring, if he should reject her hand, there was no other man on earth whom she would ever accept as a husband; and, when he mysteriously replied, that, as far as his wishes were concerned, there could be no bar, but that it was his purpose, after the year of service for which he was pledged to her father, to return and establish himself in his own country, she told him she had full confidence in his honour, and was persuaded, when the time arrived, he would make all proper arrangements for her future destiny. Thus ended the interview to their mutual satisfaction. Eliduc, watchful, enterprizing, and indefatigable, soon recovered for her father all the lost provinces, and insured future tranquillity by the capture of his enemy; but scarcely was the war concluded, when the knight received an embassy from his former master, whose ingratitude had been punished by the loss of half his kingdom, and the jeopardy of the rest, adjuring him to come with all speed to the rescue of a country which was now purged of the monsters whose false accusations had occasioned his exile. Such an embassy, a few months sooner would have been most welcome, but to part with Guilliadun now appeared the heaviest of misfortunes. He felt, however, that duty called him away, and determined to obey the summons. He went to the king; read the letters he had received; and earnestly requested leave to depart, though his stipulated term of service was not expired; observing, at the same time, that the state of his majesty's affairs no longer required his attendance; and, promising at the first appearance of difficulty, he would return with a powerful body of knights. The king, after making the most splendid offers to detain him, unwillingly yielded; but to obtain the consent of Guilliadun was far more difficult. Trusting that she possessed the whole heart of her lover, and perfectly unconscious that his hand had been previously given to another, she insisted on accompanying him, and threatened to destroy herself in case of his refusal. His remonstrances were accompanied by fainting fits, which terrified Eliduc into a solemn promise of unqualified submission to her will; but he represented, that having sworn fealty to her father, she could not now go with him, without a breach of his oath; whereas, after the expiration of his term of service, he could, without disgrace, comply with her wishes; and he promised, on the honour of a knight, that if she would fix a day, he would return and carry her off. With this promise she was satisfied, and after many tears, and a mutual exchange of rings, ultimately permitted him to depart. The return of Eliduc gave infinite pleasure to his friends, to the king his master, and above all, to his excellent wife, who now hoped she should be indemnified, by his beloved society, for her long and dreary hours of widowhood. But she beheld, with surprise and consternation that he harboured some secret grief, and anxiously enquired if any thing in her conduct had given him displeasure. Eliduc assured her of the contrary, but told her, in apparent confidence, that he was forced by his oath to return to the king whom he had lately quitted, so soon as he should have settled the affairs of his own country; that he had much to endure, much to accomplish; and that, harassed as he was on all sides, he should never regain his former gaiety till he should have extricated himself from all his difficulties. In the mean time, his mere name had inspired the enemy with alarm; his re-appearance at the head of the armies brought back victory to the royal standard; he saw and seized the moment of making an advantageous peace; and, having done so, prepared for the execution of a more pleasing enterprise. Taking with him only two nephews, a chamberlain and a trusty squire, all of whom he swore to secresy, he embarked for Loegria; stationed his vessel at some distance from the harbour of Totness; and landing his chamberlain alone, and in disguise, sent him, with secret instructions to the princess. The confidant executed his commission with address; made his way unobserved to the chamber of Guilliadun, informed her of his master's arrival, and explained the measures he had devised for her escape. They waited for the approach of night; when Guilliadun, without any other attendant, having muffled herself in a short and warm mantle, which concealed the richness of her usual garments, followed him out of the town, to a small wood, where Eliduc, who had deferred his landing till evening, awaited her. The knight instantly placed her on a horse, springing on another, and taking her rein in his hand, hurried forward to the sea, and embarked without having excited the slightest suspicion of the enterprise, to which none were privy excepting those on board. Both wind and tide were favourable; they arrived near the coast of Bretagne, and were on the point of entering the harbour, when a sudden squall from the shore split their mast, rent their sail, and exposed them for some hours to the most imminent danger. All exertions to guide the vessel being ineffectual, they had recourse to prayers, invoking St. Nicholas and St. Clement, and requesting the intercession of the blessed Virgin and her Son, that they might be permitted to land in safety. The storm continued; when one of the sailors suddenly exclaimed, "Sir knight, you carry with you the cause of our calamity. In defiance of God, religion, justice and honour, you are carrying off that lady, having already a beautiful and lawful wife in your own country. Permit us to throw your paramour into the sea, and we shall speedily find our prayers effectual." The princess was then lying, almost exhausted with fatigue, sickness, and fear, in the arms of her lover; who, though bursting with rage, could only express it by execrations, which he vented as loudly as he could in the hope of drowning the hateful voice of the mariner, but the fatal assurance "Eliduc was already married," had reached the ear, and sunk deeply into the heart of Guilliadun. She fainted, and though he and his friends employed all the means in their power for her recovery, they were unable to produce any symptom of returning animation, a general exclamation of grief pronounced her dead; when the knight, starting from the body, seized an oar, felled at one blow the presumptuous seaman, threw him by the foot into the sea, took possession of the helm, and directed it so skilfully that the vessel reached the harbour in safety. They all landed, and in a very few hours might reach the castle of Eliduc, which was not far from the coast; but where could he deposit the body of his mistress, how inter it with all the honours suitable to her rank and merit? he at length recollected, that in the forest which surrounded his mansion, dwelt an aged hermit, at whose cell the corpse might remain till its interment: he could then enjoy the sad pleasure of visiting daily the object of all his solicitude, and he determined to found on the spot an abbey, in which a number of monks should pray for ever for the soul of the lovely and injured Guilliadun. He then mounted his palfrey, and, carrying the body in his arms, proceeded with his attendants to the hermitage. The door was shut; and they discovered, after having at length procured an entrance, the grave of the holy man, who had expired a few days before. Eliduc caused a bed to be made within the chapel; and placing on it his mistress, whose deadly paleness had not yet injured her beauty, burst into a flood of tears, kissed her lips and eyes, as if in the hopes of restoring their animation; and solemnly pronounced a vow, that from the date of her interment he would never more exercise the functions of a knight; but, after having erected an abbey on the spot, sanctified by her remains, would assume himself the monastic habit, and daily visit her tomb to express his love, his grief, and his remorse. He then, with difficulty tore himself from the body, and departed; having first sent a messenger to his castle to announce that he was arrived, but so much fatigued and way-worn, as to require nothing but repose and solitude. His wife met him with her usual gentleness of affection; but instantly saw in his haggard looks that his heart laboured with some misery which her tenderness was unable to remove. His manners were such as to awaken without satisfying her curiosity. He rose at day break, spent some hours at prayers, walked alone into the forest, proceeded instinctively to the fatal hermitage, and returned late in the evening, bearing with him, as it appeared, an additional load of misery. He saw with astonishment that death seemed to abstain from ravaging the beauties of Guilliadun; he involuntarily gave way to the most flattering hopes; and, after many long sad hours of tears and fruitless prayer, retired in anguish and disappointment. On the third day he gave notice he should go to court, and pass the evening with the king. His wife, in the mean time, by the promise of the most tempting rewards, had engaged one of her pages to follow his master at a distance, during his forest walk, and report what he should see and hear; and the page, having on that morning executed his commission, she determined to take advantage of Eliduc's absence to visit the hermitage, and discover, if possible, the cause of that excessive grief to which he gave way; and of which the death of the old hermit, much as he might have loved him, was far from affording a satisfactory explanation. She set forth with the page, entered the chapel, beheld, with much surprize, a bed handsomely ornamented; and, on lifting up the covering, saw, with still more astonishment, the young and blooming Guilliadun, "qui resemblot rose nuvele." The faultless beauty of a living rival might have excited some indignation in the bosom of the most patient wife, but the eyes of the lovely object before her, appeared closed for ever; and Guildeluec could find no place in her heart, for any sentiments but those of admiration and pity. After calling her page to survey the spectacle which fully explained and excused her husband's immoderate grief, she sat down by the bed to reflect on the past, and decide on her own future conduct. During, the long absence of Eliduc she had devoted the greater part of her time to religious exercises, and now clearly saw that to them only could she look for comfort. Having convinced herself of this necessity, she turned, with tears in her eyes, to the fair object of her husband's regret; when a circumstance, apparently trifling, involuntarily arrested her attention. A weasel, creeping from under the altar, ran upon the bed, and passing several times over the face of the entranced Guilliadun, so far incensed the page, that with a blow of his stick he laid it dead at his feet, and then threw it on the floor. The animal had lain there only a few moments, when another weasel, coming from the same hole, ran up, and attempted awhile to sport with it, and then, after exhibiting every appearance of grief, suddenly ran off into the wood, and returned with a flower of a beautiful vermilion colour, which it carefully inserted into the mouth of the dead animal. The effect was sudden, the weasel instantaneously got upon its legs, and was preparing to escape; when the lady exclaimed to the page, to strike it again, and he aimed a second blow, that caused the creature to drop the flower, which Guildeluec instantly seized, and carefully placed between the lips of Guilliadun. The plant had not lost its efficacy. The princess, awakening from her trance, expressed her surprise at having slept so long, and then gazed with astonishment at the bed on which she lay, at the walls of the chapel by which she was surrounded, and at the two unknown figures, of Guildeluec and the page; who, kneeling by her side, loudly expressed their thanksgiving to the Almighty for what they thought her miraculous resurrection. At length the good lady, having finished her devotions, began to question the fair stranger respecting her birth and preceding adventures, which she related with the utmost candour and exactness, till the fatal moment when the discovery of Eliduc's prior marriage had deprived her of sense and motion. The rest was better known to her hearers than herself; and Guildeluec, more and more charmed with her innocence, and frankness, after avowing herself, lost no time in comforting her, by the assurance that all her hopes and wishes might now be speedily gratified. "Your youthful beauty," said she, "might captivate any heart, and your merit will fix for ever that of Eliduc, who is unalterably attached to you, and whose grief for your loss was such as to preclude all hopes of consolation. It is my intention to take the veil, and abandon all claim to those affections which are estranged from me for ever. In restoring you to the now wretched Eliduc, I shall promote, by the only means in my power, that happiness to which I have hitherto been the unintentional obstacle." Guilliadun consented, with silent gratitude, to accept the sacrifice so generously offered, and was united to her lover as soon as the solemn ceremony had taken place, by which Guildeluec consecrated the remainder of her days to heaven, in a nunnery erected and endowed by her husband, on the site of the ancient hermitage. Their union was followed by many years of happiness; and they closed a life of charity and benevolence by following the pious example of Guildeluec, who received Guilliadun into her order, while Eliduc took the cowl in a monastery, to the endowment of which he dedicated the remainder of his worldly possessions. From the adventure of these three, "the olde gentil Bretons" (li auncien Bretun curteis) formed a lay to transmit to future ages.

FOOTNOTES:

[83]

La bele chambre encurtinee Li ad li ostes deliveree.