Marie de France

Marie de France was a French woman poet, probably active in England and perhaps a half sister of Henry II. Virtually nothing is known of her life; both her given name and its geographical specification come from her manuscripts, though one contemporary reference to her work and popularity remains.

The Lais of Marie de France (translated by Judith P. Shoaf):

• EQUITAN
• LE FRESNE
• BISCLAVRET
• LANVAL
• YONEC
• LAUSTIC
• CHAITIVEL
• CHEVREFOIL

EQUITAN

They were noble indeed, those barons,
Lords of Brittany, the Bretons!
The Bretons, for valor, in those days,
For courtliness,
and noble ways,
Took adventures they heard tell
Of such men as such things befell- -
Then, to recall them, lais they’d make
Lest men forget, for memory’s sake.
One such there is which I have heard
Of which one can’t forget one word,
About Equitan who was so courtly,
Lord, judge, and king in Nantes country.
Equitan was much admired, and
Much beloved in his own land.
He loved sports and amorous sport- -
That’s why his was a knightly court.
Long life is not the recompense
For love without measure or sense;
But love itself is the measure of
Love; reason can’t be kept in love.
Equitan had a seneschal,
A good knight, worthy, loyal,
Overseer of all his estate,
His manager and magistrate.
Except for war, no task, no thing- -
No emergency- -could draw the king
From his hunting and his pleasures,
And enjoying the river’s leisures.
The seneschal had taken a bride
Who later brought evil to the countryside.
She was terribly beautiful,
Well-bred and respectable,
With a nice body, a good figure.
She was a masterwork of Nature:
Grey eyes in a lovely face,
Lovely mouth, nose in the right place.
In the kingdom she had no peer.
Her praises reached the king’s own ear.
Often he would send to greet her
Gifts he’d have his men bring her.
He desired her without seeing her.
Soon as he could, he got to meet her.
Hunting pleasure of a private sort,
He went into the country for sport.
In the manor of his seneschal,
The castle where the lady stayed,
The king took shelter at nightfall;
He needed rest, so hard he’d played.
Now he can talk to her, apart,
Reveal his worth, show her his heart.
He finds her courtly, wise, proper,
Beautiful in face and figure,
Friendly, too, lively, not cold.
Love enlists him in his household.
Love shot an arrow in his direction
And the wound it made’s immense.
He hit his heart; this infection
Does not call for prudent sense.
This lady’s love’s assault is rude:
He becomes sad, thoughtful, subdued.
Now he puts himself on trial,
Offers no defense or denial:
That night he gets no sleep in bed,
But blames and scolds himself instead.
“Alas,” he says, “what has fate tried,
Leading me into this countryside?
I saw this lady; now a dart
Of agony has struck my heart.
It makes my body shake and shiver.
I think I really have to love her.
If I love her, it’s wrong, after all:
She’s the wife of my seneschal.
I must keep faith with him lovingly,
As I want him to do unto me.
If by some trick he found out,
I know it would bother him a lot.
Still, wouldn’t it be a pity
If just for him I went crazy?
The lady’s so lovely, it’d be sad
If she didn’t love, if no lover she had!
What good are all her courtly ways
If she never learns love’s plays?
Under heaven, any man, if she loved
Him, would be terribly improved!
If he does hear it somewhere or other,
The sensechal shouldn’t bother,
For he can’t have her to himself!
Indeed, I want to share his wealth.”
He said this, and he sighed so deep,
Then lay thinking, without sleep,
Then spoke and said, “Now, just what
Is troubling me? I’m so worried, but
I haven’t yet tried to discover
If she’ll take me for her lover.
I will find out, right away!
If she feels what I feel,
My sorrow can begin to heal.
God! It’s so long yet until day!
I won’t get any rest this slow
Night- -I lay down so long ago.”
He lay awake till it was light,
Longing for dawn in this sad plight.
He got up, he left for the hunt,
But soon, weary, back he went.
He didn’t feel well, he said;
He went to his room and to bed.
The seneschal is chagrined;
He doesn’t know what ill wind
Blows shivers and trembling on the king.
His wife is the reason for everything.
To amuse himself and to console
Him, he has her come chat in his room.
He opens up his heart and soul,
Tells her: for her he’s near his doom;
She alone can grant him cheer,
Or decide his death is near.
“My lord,” the lady tells the king,
“I need to think about this thing.
This first time, you understand,
I haven’t thought it out or planned.
You are a king of the highest nobility;
I am not rich- -well, little me,
You shouldn’t think of me this way,
As a lover or partner in love-play.
If you did what you want with me,
I am sure as sure can be
Pretty soon you’d leave me there,
And I would be the worse for wear.
If it happens that I love you,
And what you ask for I give you,
Still it’s not an equal share;
As lovers, we’re an uneven pair.
Since you are a king of royal might,
And my husband owes you such respect,
You may be thinking, I expect,
To collect a love-tax as your right.
Love’s worhtless without equality.
Better a poor man’s loyalty
If sense and worth are in that man;
And his love gives greater joy than
That of a king or prince, if he
Holds in his heart no loyalty.
If any one loves up higher
Than one’s wealth lets one aspire,
Then one is afraid of everything.
The rich man fears, for his part,
Someone may steal his lady’s heart,
For he wants her just because he’s king.”
Equitan’s answer cannot wait:
“Lady, please, please don’t say it!
These are not courtly men or women,
No, it is a bourgeois bargain,
If for wealth or feudal respect
They work so hard towards a low object.
Under heaven’s no lady, wise and nice,
Courtly- -and how noble a heart, hers,
Setting on love a good high price
So she’s not always changing partners- -
So poor, her cloak’s her whole estate,
But a rich prince in a castle royal
Wouldn’t suffer for her, and wait,
And love her well, and be loyal.
Fickle lovers, who think they’re slick,
Always ready to play some trick,
Are themselves deceived- -they lose face.
We’ve seen this in more than one case.
If they lose out, it’s not surprising;
They earned it by their enterprising.
Dear lady, I give myself to you!
Don’t think of me as your king; do
Call me your friend and servitor!
I swear to you, I tell you sure,
That I will do whatever you say
Don’t let me die for you today!
You’re the lady, I’m the servant here;
Proud one, hear this beggar’s prayer!”
The king talked on and on, and he
Begged her so to have mercy,
He convinced her his love was true,
So she gave him her body, too.
They pledged their troth, exchanging rings,
In faith forever- -each other’s kings.
They kept faith, as lovers and friends;
They died of it, and met their ends.
For a long time, their love endured,
And no-one ever heard a word.
When the times came for them to meet,
To talk together, the discreet
King would have the message spread
That he would be privately bled.
The bedroom doors were closed then.
You couldn’t find such bold men
As, unless sent for by the king,
Would go inside for anything.
The seneschal sat as magistrate,
Judging cases, hearing debate.
So long the king loved this person
He’d no desire for another woman.
A bride, marriage- -he didn’t love it;
He never let anyone speak of it.
The populace thought this an evil;
Even the wife of the seneschal
Heard this, often; it weighed on her,
And she feared to lose her lover.
When she spoke alone with him
(She should make him glad to get her,
Embrace him, hug his neck, kiss him,
Play lovers’ games together)
She wept and poured out tears instead.
The king wondered- -what, he said,
Was the matter, why’d she cry?
Came the lady’s sad reply:
“My Lord, it’s for our love I mourn.
Love’s turned to pain and I am torn.
You’ll take a wife, a king’s daughter,
And you’ll leave me behind forever.
I’ve heard the talk, I know it’s true.
And me, alas! what will I do?
For you I ought to simply die–
I know no other comfort, I!”
The king spoke lovingly: “My dear,
Lovely girl, you needn’t fear!
No indeed, I won’t take a bride,
Or leave you for another’s side.
Hear the truth, believe what I say:
If your husband were out of the way,
My wife, my queen is what you’d be- -
I wouldn’t let anyone stop me!”
The lady thanked him for what he’d said;
She was very grateful indeed,
And if he could promise, guaranteed,
He wouldn’t leave her to love or wed,
She’d arrange, with the greatest speed,
That her husband would be dead.
This will be easy to accomplish
With his help- -and he will wish
To help? He answers, yes, he will;
There is nothing she could tell
Him to do he wouldn’t do, if he could- -
Madness or wisdom, folly or good.
“Lord,” she began, “If it seems best,
Come hunting soon in the forest
Where I live, in that land.
In the castle of my husband
Stay awhile; be bled there; say
You’ll have a bath on the third day.
My lord will have blood drawn, too,
And take his bath along with you;
Don’t let him off- -tell him that he
Must do it, keep you company!
And I will have them warm the water,
And order the two tubs brought- -
His bath will be boiling, hotter.
Under heaven no living man ought
To survive that scalding death
Before sitting down in that bath.
When he’s dead, completely scalded,
Have your men and his recalled; bid
Them look at him, show them how
He died suddenly in his bath just now.”
The king agreed to this all;
He would be at her beck and call.
Less than three months pass, and bring
To the country the huntsman king.
He has himself bled, feeling ill,
And with him his seneschal.
The king says he’ll bathe, the third day;
The seneschal lets him have his way.
“You’ll have your bath,” he says, “with me.”
The seneschal answers, “I agree.”
The lady has them heat the water;
She has the two tubs brought her.
Beside the bed- -plans haven’t changed- -
She has the two bathtubs arranged.
The boiling water’s poured all
In the tub of the seneschal.
This good man is up and about;
To please himself, he’d just stepped out.
The lady comes to speak to the king;
He pulled her close as anything;
On her husband’s bed they lay,
Enjoying every sport and play.
In that place they lay together
Just behind the tub of water.
The door was under watch and ward- -
A girl was supposed to act as guard.
The seneschal came back in a hurry;
He knocked; the girl held the door fast;
Then he struck it in such a fury
His blows forced her to open at last.
He finds the king there in that place
Twined with his wife in close embrace.
The king looked up; he saw how he came.
To cover his vile, base, low shame,
Feet first into the tub he leapt.
And he was belly-naked,
stripped;
Taking no heed except to hide,
Scalded, blanched, there he died.
His evil plan turned back on him;
Safe and sound stands his would-be victim.
The seneschal watched everything
That happened- -tub, hot water, king.
He picked up his wife that minute
And plunged her headfirst down in it.
Thus they met their death, these two:
First the king, then the woman, too.
Anyone who wants to listen to reason
Can find here a moral for any season:
He who seeks to harm his neighbor
Will be the victim of his own labor.
It happened just as I have said now.
The Bretons made a lay to tell how
Equitan ended his noble life
And how much she loved him, that wife.

LE FRESNE

In Brittany lived, yesteryear,
Two knights- -they were neighbors, near,
Rich men, the sort who do what they want- -
Noble knights, bold, proud, valiant.
They’d lived near each other all their life,
And each had married himself a wife.
Soon one lady grew big with child;
When her nine months was fulfilled,
In one birth she produced two boys.
Her good lord could not count his joys- -
Then, to add to his joys’ savor
He sent word to his good neighbor
His wife’s had not one son, but two!
So many children inside her grew- -
He’ll give one boy to his friend to raise,
And with his own name to baptize.
At his table sits the rich man- -
Look! here comes his friend’s footman;
In front of the high table he kneels;
His message, word for word, he tells.
The lord thanked God for the news, of course,
And gave the messenger a fine horse.
The knight’s wife smiled just a little
(She sat right beside him at table)
For she was full of envy and pride;
She loved saying cruel things; she lied.
This time she really lost her head:
Right in front of everyone, she said,
“So help me God, I do wonder
Where this gentleman found the advisor
Who told him to ask my lord to foster
A child born of shame and dishonor.
For his wife bore two boys, not one,
To his dishonor, and her own.
It’s quite true, as we all know well,
That never was, nor will we hear tell,
Nor could it happen on this earth
That one woman in a single birth
Had two separate sons, except where
Two separate men had put them there.”
Her lord looked her over, long and hard,
Then scolded her for what he’d heard:
“Lady,” he said, “let it drop!
You shouldn’t say such things, so stop!
The truth is that, all her life,
That lady’s been a faithful wife.”
Everyone in the house heard
And remembered every word.
It was talked about and repeated
Until all Brittany had heeded.
The lady was hated for her slur
(Later, worse will come to her)- -
Poor wife or rich wife, every and each
Who heard it hated her for her speech.
The messenger went back to his lord
And told him the story, every word.
When he’d heard it told and explained,
He suffered, was confused and pained.
His good wife, his children’s mother,
He mistrusted now altogether,
And he guarded her, almost in prison,
Though she had given him no reason.
The lady who’d come up with this smear
Got pregnant herself within the year,
And pregnant, in fact, with twins.
Now her neighbor, the good wife, wins!
She carried them until she was due,
And bore two daughters. It hurts too
Much- -she suffers awful torments.
To herself now she laments:
“Alas!” she says, “What shall I do?
I’ll never regain my honor, it’s true!
My good name! No, shame thrives and lives.
My lord and all his relatives
Will never believe me now, for sure,
Once they hear of this adventure,
For I have judged myself a criminal;
I spoke ill of all women, all- -
For didn’t I say that it’s never been
Nor have we ourselves ever seen
A woman who bore two children
Unless she had known two men?
Now I have two; it’s plain to see,
The worst of it’s turned back on me.
You can slander others and lie
But not know it’ll hit you in the eye;
A person may speak ill of a person
Who’s more worth praising than the first one.
Now, to avoid castigation
I must kill one of these children.
I’d rather make it up to God
Than live in shame, under a cloud.”
The women in the room there with her
Comforted her but they told her
They couldn’t let her act as she spoke- -
Killing people is no joke.
The lady kept a damsel; she
Came from the best kind of family.
She’d brought her up with great care
And loved her and held her dear.
She heard how the lady cried,
Wept and mourned and piteously sighed.
This tormented the poor maid; she
Came to comfort her dear lady.
“Madame,” she said, “Now there’s no need- -
Stop mourning so- -listen, heed
Me! Give one of these babes to me- -
I’ll take it and you will be free.
I’ll see you never feel shame or pain,
Or ever have to see her again.
I’ll dump her somewhere on church ground
(I’ll carry her there safe and sound).
Some holy man’ll find her in the church;
God willing, he’ll find her a nurse.”
She spoke thus, and the lady heard
With greatest joy; she gave her word
If the girl carried this task forward
She’d give her a rich reward.
In a fine linen scarf they lapped
The noble babe, then gently wrapped
Her in a wheel-stitched silk brocade.
A gift from her lord, it was made
In Constantinople- -he’d been there;
No-one ever saw a cloth so fair.
With a piece of bodice-string
She tied on Baby’s arm a ring,
A big ring, pure gold, an ounce heavy,
Set with a fine rosy ruby,
And letters engraved all around.
Wherever the baby might be found,
Anyone would know, at once and truly,
She had been born to good family.
The damsel picked up the infant
And left the lady’s room that instant.
That night, after the sun was down,
She slipped quietly out of town.
She took her way along a high road
Which led her into the wild wood.
She keeps to the path through the forest shade
To the other side, still holding the babe;
Off the main road she never veers.
Far away, to the right, she hears
Dogs bark, cocks crow to call the dawn.
That way, she knows, she’ll find a town.
Quick as she can she makes her way
In the direction she heard dogs bay.
In a town of beauty and wealth
This young woman finds herself.
In the town is an abbey
Richly endowed in every way;
I happen to know, here live some nuns
And a prudent abbess runs
It. The maiden spots the steeple, tall,
Sees the abbey towers and wall.
She goes there at her quickest rate
And stops before the abbey gate.
She lays down the child she’s borne all night
And kneels down, humble in God’s sight.
She begins her prayer this way:
“God, by your holy name I pray
If it please you, please, dear Lord,
Protect this child, be its safeguard.”
When she’d finished all her prayer
She happened to look behind her.
She saw an ash tree thick and wide
With boughs and branches on every side;
At its fork it branched in four.
Shade is what it was planted for.
She picked the baby up again
And ran to the ash tree- -”fresne.”
She put the child up, left her there;
God watch over you, was her prayer.
Now the maiden goes back home
To tell her lady what she’s done.
In the abbey there was a porter
Who used to open the church door- -
The gate through which the people pass
When they come to hear the Mass.
That night he was up betimes,
Lit lamps and candles, rang the chimes,
Opened the church, ready for Mass.
He glimpsed the cloth up in the ash.
He supposed it was some loot, seized
By a robber, hidden in the trees.
He had no other theory.
Quickly he went to the tree,
Felt around, and found the child.
Now he thanks God’s mercy mild.
He doesn’t leave the babe in the boughs,
But takes it right home to his house.
He has a daughter; she’s a widow- -
Her lord died leaving her a little
One in the cradle, still at her breast.
The good man calls her from her rest:
“Get up, get up, my dear daughter- -
Light fire and candles, bring some water!
I’ve got a child, newborn, you see.
I found it outside, in the ash tree.
With your own milk you will nurse it.
Warm it up now, gently wash it!”
She does just as he commands- -
Lights fire, takes the child in her hands,
Bathes the baby, gets it warm,
Nurses it with her own milk.
She finds the ring tied on its arm;
They see the rich, fine piece of silk.
They understand and both agree
This child is of the nobility.
The next day, when the good abbess
Leaves church after hearing Mass,
The porter comes to speak to her.
He wants to tell the adventure
Of the baby he found in the tree.
The abbess commands that he
Bring this foundling child around
To her, just as it was found.
The porter goes home quickly,
Brings the baby back gladly,
Shows my lady abbess the child.
She looks it over for a while;
She herself will have someone raise
This child as her niece, so she says.
She sternly forbids the porter
Ever to tell just how he brought her.
So the abbess brings the girl up now.
Because she was found in the ash-tree bough
(Ash is “fresne”), they called her “Le Fresne,”
And Le Fresne is her name among men.
The lady tells folk she’s her niece;
Thus a long time hidden, in peace,
Dwelling within the abbey close,
Gently brought up, the damsel grows.
When she reaches that age and stature
Where beauty is formed by nature,
There’s no lovelier girl in Brittany,
No young lady more versed in courtesy.
Her noble nature was easy to teach
Good manners and gentleness of speech.
All who saw her loved this damsel,
Admired her, prized her as a marvel.
The lord of Dol was a noble prince- -
No better lived before or since.
I’ll tell you his name before I’m done:
His subjects called their lord Gurun.
He heard tell of this hidden maiden,
And began to love her unbidden.
He went jousting to a tourney,
And returned by way of the abbey.
He asked for the damsel fair;
The abbess showed her to him there.
He saw her, so beautiful, wisely ruled
By prudence, polite, well-bred and -schooled.
If he can’t have her love, he mused,
He will curse Fate and feel abused.
He’s lost; how to do it? If he went
Too often to visit the convent,
The abbess’d think what might occur,
And he’d never get to set eyes on her.
He comes up with one strategy:
He resolves to endow the abbey;
He’ll give land with such generosity
The abbey will benefit in perpetuity.
As benefactor, his only request
Is a room there, just a place to rest.
To join their brother- and sisterhoods
He’s donated plenty of worldly goods;
It seems his purpose ends and begins
With obtaining remission of his sins.
Often he goes there to stay,
Talking to the girl all day.
With prayers and promises he haunts
Her till she gives him what he wants.
When he’s sure of her affection,
He one day makes this proposition:
“Beauty,” he says, “before this is over
Truth will out: you’ve made me your lover.
Now come live with me! Come, leave!
You know, as I think and believe,
If your aunt discovers our affair,
It’ll be so hard for her to bear,
And if you should get pregnant here
She’d be so angry, having you near.
If you will just take my advice,
You’ll come home with me- -don’t think twice.
For I will never fail or hurt you- -
I will tell you what’s best to do.”
She, whose love always increases,
Gives in and does whatever pleases
Him. She goes off with him alone;
He takes her to his castle home.
She brings her ring and silk brocade,
Hoping they’ll someday be of aid.
The abbess had given them to her,
Telling her the whole adventure
How she had been sent to the abbey,
How she was found lying in the ash tree.
The silk and ring were her only present
From whoever it was who first sent
Her; she had no other legacies;
But she had raised her as her niece.
The girl looked them carefully over,
Then shut them up in a little coffer.
Now she brings this coffer along;
To leave or forget it would be wrong.
The knight who took her from the abbey
Loves and cherishes her dearly,
And his servants and the men of his hall- -
There isn’t one, big man or small,
Who doesn’t love her noble ways,
And honor her as worth all praise.
Long had she lived with him this way
When his vassal knights one day
Began to treat this as a grievance.
Often and often they spoke to advance
Their plan: he’ll take some noble bride,
And send this other from his side;
If he had an heir, they’d be glad,
Who’d have from him, as he had had,
His title, lands, and property.
What a crime- -what a pity
If, because of this concubine,
He had no child in the legal line.
From now on, he loses his feudal rights;
He won’t be lord of his vassal knights
Unless he does what they want him to.
The knight grants them their due:
He’ll take a wife, with their advice.
Have they looked into a likely choice?
“My lord,” they said, “Near our manor
Lives a nobleman, your equal in honor;
His one daughter’s his heir, as it stands- -
With her you could get vast lands.
She’s called La Codre, the Hazel Tree,
No damsel for miles is so lovely.
Leave the Ash now lying there,
And trade her for the Hazel fair.
The Hazel gives sweet nuts and pleasure;
Barren Ash, fruitless, is no treasure.
We’ll try to arrange to get this bride
To give you, if God’s on our side.”
They do what they can to attract
This marriage; soon they have a contract.
Alas! fate strikes a cruel blow
For none of these good men even know
These two damsels’ past adventure:
Each is the other one’s twin sister!
Her sister’s hidden from Le Fresne- -
Her lover marries the other one.
When she learns another’s in her place,
She never makes an ugly face,
But serves her lord3 with sweet patience,
And treats his court with deference.
The knights of the lord’s household,
Squires, servants young and old,
They all mourn for Le Fresne,
For now they’ll never see her again.
The wedding day comes; her lord sends
Invitation to all his friends,
Dol’s archbishop especially,
Who owes him feudal loyalty.
Now they present him with his bride.
Her mother’s come there, at her side.
She fears that young girl, for her part,
Who, they say, holds this lord’s heart;
She’d make mischief, surely, if she could,
Between her daughter and her lord.
They’ll have to dump her, get her out,
She’ll talk to her son-in-law about
Marrying her off to some gentleman- -
He’ll be free of her then. That’s her plan.
The wedding feast was richly laid;
Music, games of all sorts were played.
The damsel had gone to the bedroom.
For all she’d seen, no sign of gloom
Hinted feelings deeply troubled,
Or, by a little anger, ruffled.
In the bride’s entourage, sweetly,
She’d served everyone politely.
They marveled at her lack of venom,
All who saw her, men and women.
Her mother too had looked her over;
Her heart began to prize and love her.
She thought, and said, if she had known
What she was like, this other one,
She’d never have lost out to her daughter- -
She’d not have taken her lord and master.
So, that night, to help prepare
The wedding bed for the bridal pair,4
The damsel went to the bridal chamber;
She doffed her cloak (to disencumber
Herself for work), called servants there,
Showed them exactly how and where
Her lord liked things done and set;
For she had often noticed it.
When they’d prepared the wedding bed
On top they tossed an old bedspread.
The cloth was just some thin, worn stuff;
The girl saw it- -she’d seen enough
To know it’s no good, not suitable;
It weighed down her heart with trouble.
She opened her coffer, took her brocade,
On her lord’s bed this silk she laid.
She did this to honor the pair,
Since the archbishop would be there
To sign them with the cross and bless
Them- -it’s his job, he can’t do less.
When everyone had left the chamber,
The lady brought in her daughter.
She wants to put her to bed; best
Begin, she says, by getting undressed.
She sees the silk brocade spread there;
She’s never seen a cloth so fair
Except the one in which she wrapped her
Baby daughter when she hid her.
Now she remembers that lost child;
Her heart trembles, she grows wild.
She calls in the head chamberlain.
“Tell me, as you’re a Christian, when
And where did you find this fine brocade?”
“Madame,” he answered, “that’s easily said;
The damsel brought it, for the bed;
She dumped it on top of the old spread,
An ugly one- -she saw that in a wink.
The brocade belongs to her, I think.”
Next the lady called her in;
She came and stood before her, then
Respectfully she doffed her cloak.
Finally the mother spoke.
“Beauty, dear, don’t hide the truth!
Where did you find this fine silk cloth?
Where’d it come from? How’d you get it? Who,
If it was a gift, gave it to you?”
The girl answers, “Madame, please,
My aunt, the abbess- -I’m her niece- -
Who raised me, she gave this to me
And told me to keep it carefully.
I was given this and a golden ring
By those who sent me, a foundling.”
“Beauty, may I see the ring?”
“Yes, ma’am, that’s an easy thing.”
She brought the ring to the mother,
Who very carefully looked it over.
Identification was easily made;
She knew the ring and the silk brocade.
She doubted no more, she knew, believed,
That this girl was her daughter indeed.
She can’t hide it; so all can hear,
“You are my daughter, beauty dear!”
She cries. From pain and pity she fell
Back in a faint, and lay there a spell.
When she’s revived from her swoon,
She calls her lord to the bedroom.
He comes, worried, full of fears.
The moment her husband appears,
She falls at his feet, clasps his knees,
Lets her kisses mix with her pleas,
Begging pardon for her sin.
He can’t make out the case she’s in.
“Lady,” he said, “What do you mean?
There’s only ever been good will between
Us. Whatever you did, I forgive it!
Say what you want; I will give it!”
“Lord, since you grant me pardon,
I’ll tell you all, so now listen!
Once, long ago, my evil nature
Let me speak nonsense of my neighbor:
I vilified her for having twins- -
I blackened myself, for my sins.
I gave birth; truth is, when I did,
I bore two daughters- -one I hid,
Had her dumped in a church by my maid.
I sent with her our silk brocade
And the gold ring you gave to me
When first you spoke of love to me.
I can no longer hide anything:
I’ve found the brocade and the ring!
I recognize this girl, our daughter.
Through my folly we almost lost her!
And this is the same demoiselle
(Beautiful, wise and good as well)
Who was so loved by that knight
Who has married her sister tonight!”
The lord replied, “I am glad of this!
Never before have I known such bliss!
Now we’ve found our girl who was lost,
God has given us joy rejoiced,
Before we could double the treachery.
Daughter,” he said, “Come here to me!”
The girl rejoiced at heart, for sure,
When she heard this adventure.
Her father won’t wait; from the room
He goes himself to fetch the groom
(His son-in-law) and archbishop,
And tell the tale from start to finish. Up
The knight’s heart rejoicing flew,
At this adventure, when he knew.
The archbishop said it’d be all right
To leave things as they were that night.
Tomorrow he’ll divorce or divide
The knight from his espoused bride.
They all agreed on this good plan.
Thus separated was wife from man
And he married his dear, next day,
And her father gave the bride away,
For his heart was warm toward her;
He made her his half-inheritor.
He and his wife and their daughter
Stayed till the wedding-feast was over.
Then they returned to their own country,
Taking La Coudre, the Hazel Tree;
They found her a fine rich groom
And married her off nearer home.
When this story got around,
Just as it happened, people found
A lai of it, Le Fresne, the Ash Tree;
The named the lai after the lady.

BISCLAVRET

Since I’m making lais, Bisclavret
Is one I don’t want to forget.
In Breton, “Bisclavret”‘s the name;
“Garwolf” in Norman means the same.
Long ago you heard the tale told- -
And it used to happen, in days of old- -
Quite a few men became garwolves,
And set up housekeeping in the woods.
A garwolf is a savage beast,
While the fury’s on it, at least:
Eats men, wreaks evil, does no good,
Living and roaming in the deep wood.
Now I’ll leave this topic set.
I want to tell you about Bisclavret.
In Brittany there dwelt a lord;
Wondrous praise of him I’ve heard:
A handsome knight, an able man,
He was, and acted like, a noble man.
His lord the King held him dear,
And so did his neighbors far and near.
He’d married a worthy woman, truly;
Always she acted so beautifully.
He loved her, she him: they loved each other.
But one thing was a bother:
Every week he was lost to her
For three whole days, she didn’t know where,
What became of him, what might befall
Him; his people knew nothing at all.
He came home to his house one day,
So joyous he was, happy and gay;
She began to ask him and inquire:
“My lord,” she said, “my friend, my dear,
There’s just one thing I might care
To ask, if only I might dare- -
But I’m afraid that you’ll get angry,
And, more than anything, that scares me.”
He hugged her when he heard all this,
Drew her close and gave her a kiss.
“My lady,” he said, “Ask me now!
Anything you want to know,
If I can, I’ll tell you.” “Sir,
By my faith, you work my cure.
My lord, I’m in terror every day,
Those days when you’ve gone away,
My heart is so full of fear,
I’m so afraid I’ll lose you, dear- -
If I don’t get some help, some healing,
I will die soon of what I’m feeling!
Where do you go? Now you must say
What life you live, where do you stay?
You are in love- -that’s it, I know- -
And you do wrong if this is so!”
“My lady,” he said, “Please, God above!
I’ll suffer great harm if I tell you:
I’ll drive you off, right out of love,
And lose my own self if I do.”
The lady heard how he refused.
She was not the least amused.
She brought it up again, and often
She would flatter him and cozen
Him to tell her his adventure- -
Till, hiding nothing, he told her.
“My lady, I turn bisclavret;
I plunge into that great forest.
In thick woods I like it best.
I live on what prey I can get.”
When he’d told her all the story
She asked, inquired one thing more: he
Undressed? Or what did he wear?
“My lady,” he said, “I go all bare.”
“Where are your clothes? Tell, for God’s sake.”
“My lady, I won’t say this, no;
For if I lost them by this mistake,
From that moment on, I’d know
I’d stay a bisclavret forever;
Nothing could help me, I’d never
Change back till I got them again.
That’s why I don’t want it known.”
“My lord,” the lady replied, “It’s true
More than all the world I love you.
You should hide nothing from me, nor
Ever doubt I’m loyal in any affair.
That would not seem like true friendship.
How have I ever sinned? What slip
Makes me seem untrustworthy to you?
Do what’s right! Now tell me, do!”
She nagged him thus, and thus harassed
Him till he just had to tell, at last.
“My lady,” he said, “near that wood,
Where I come home, along that road,
Standing there is an old chapel,
Which often serves me well.
The stone is there, hollow and wide,
Beneath a bush, dug out inside;
I put my clothes there under the bush
Until I can come back to the house.”
The lady heard this marvel, this wonder.
In terror she blushed all bright red,
Filled with fear by this adventure.
Often and often passed through her head
Plans to get right out, escape, for
She didn’t want ever to share his bed.
A knight in that country there
Who long had loved the lady fair,
Begging her so, praying hard,
Giving generously to win her regard
(She had never loved him before this,
Nor let him think her love was his)- -
She sent a messenger to bring
Him to her, and told him everything.
“My friend, my dear,” she said, “be glad!
You’ve been tormented, driven, sad
Wanting what I’ll give you today- -
No-one will ever say you nay- -
I grant you my love and my body, too:
Take me, make me your lover, you!”
He thanks her very gratefully.
He takes her pledge made solemnly- -
She swears an oath on the engagement.
Then she told him how her lord went
Away, and what he turned into.
The path he’d always taken to
Enter the forest- -this she shows;
She sent him to get his clothes.
Thus was Bisclavret betrayed
And by his own wife waylaid.
Having lost him so often, indeed,
Everyone generally agreed
That he had finally left for good.
He was looked for, inquiries pursued,
But they couldn’t find a trace.
Finally they closed the case.
The lady’s marriage was celebrated
To the fellow who’d loved and waited.
So, a whole year, matters rest,
Until the King went hunting one day.
He went straight to the forest
Where the bisclavret used to stay.
When the hounds were loosed and let
Run, they found the bisclavret.
They chased him always that long day,
The huntsmen and the coursing dogs,
Till they had him- -almost- -at bay
And they would have torn him to rags,
But then he picked out the King
And ran there for mercy. To beg,
He seizes the King’s stirrup-ring,
And kisses his foot and leg.
The King sees this, and feels great fear;
He calls all his companions over.
“My lords,” he says, “come, come here!
Behold this marvel, see this wonder.
How this beast bows down to me!
Its sense is human. It begs for mercy.
Drive me those dogs away again,
See that no-one strikes a blow!
This beast understands, feels like a man.
Let’s get going! You’re all too slow!
To the beast my peace I’ll grant.
Now, no more today will I hunt.”
With that, the King turns and goes.
The bisclavret follows him close;
It won’t escape, it stays right near.
Losing him is its only fear.
The King leads it back to his castle keep;
It pleases him, his delight is deep
For he’s never seen such a creature.
He’s decided it’s a marvel of nature,
And treats it as a great treasure.
He tells his people it’s his pleasure
For them to take the best of care
Of it; let no-one harm it, or dare
To strike it, for love of the King.
It must be fed well and given drink.
They’re all glad to care for and keep
It; every day it goes to sleep
Among the knights, close to the King.
Every man thinks it a precious thing,
For it’s so gentle, well-bred, polite,
It never would do what isn’t right.
Wherever the King might go
It didn’t want to be separated, so
It went along with him constantly.
That it loved him was easy to see.
Now listen to what happened next.
The King was holding court; he’d asked
That all his barons attend him,
Those who owed their land to him,
To help him hold his high feast-day,
And see him served in a royal way.
That very knight came to the feast,
Well equipped and richly dressed,
Who had married Bisclavret’s wife.
He never thought nor reckoned
To find him so close in his life.
He came to the palace; the second
That Bisclavret saw him standing around,
He made for him with a single bound,
Bit into him and dragged him off.
He would have treated him very rough
If the King hadn’t called him back
And threatened him with a stick.
He tried to bite him twice before night.
Many folks were amazed at the sight;
For never had he acted this way
To any man he’d seen, until this day.
All those of the household insist
There must be a reason he’s doing this.
He’s hurt him, gave him some offense- -
For he’d be glad to take vengeance.
This time he lets it drop
Until the feast has broken up
And the lords take leave; each baron
Returns to his home, one by one.
The knight has left, I happen to know,
Among the very first to go,
He whom Bisclavret attacked;
He hates him- -not a surprising fact.
Some time later (not very long,
I think, unless I heard it wrong),
The King went riding in the wood,
That courteous King, so wise and good,
That wood where they’d found Bisclavret,
And he came along with him. At
Night, time to retire for the day,
In a country lodging he lay.
Bisclavret’s wife knew it; she dressed
Herself in her attractive best,
Next day, to go speak to the King- -
Sent him a gift, some costly thing.
When Bisclavret saw her entrance,
No man could have held him back;
He ran like mad to the attack- -
Listen now to his fine vengeance:
He tore her nose right off her face.
Could anything be worse than this is?
Now they surround him in that place,
They’re ready to cut him in pieces,
When a wise fellow tells the King,
“My Lord,” he says, “Hear what I say:
It’s with you this beast’s been living
And every one of us here today
Has watched him a long time; beside
Him we’ve traveled far and wide.
He’s never before hurt anyone,
Or shown a criminal disposition,
Except to this lady you see here.
By the faith I owe you, it’s clear
He holds some grudge or other
Against her and her lord together.
This is the wife of that knight who
Used to be so dear to you,
Who was lost such a long time ago;
What happened to him, we don’t know.
Now try this lady with some torture,
And see if she doesn’t have more to
Tell you why the beast hates her!
If she knows, make her say it!
Many strange things we see occur
In Brittany, early and late.”
With this advice the King agrees.
On the one hand, the knight they seize;
The lady’s taken, on the other,
And seriously made to suffer.
From pain just as much as from fear,
She told him her lord’s whole affair:
How she’d betrayed him, she said,
And taken away the clothes that he shed,
The adventure he’d told, so she’d know,
What he became and where he’d go.
Since she’d stolen all his linen,
In his lands he’d not been seen;
But she believed- -her mind was set- -
The beast was indeed Bisclavret.
The King wants the clothes on the spot;
Whether the lady wants to or not
She has them brought back out
And given to the Bisclavret.
They set them down in front of his nose,
But Bisclavret ignores the clothes.
That wise fellow speaks to the King,
Who’d given the other advice, too:
“Sire, you’re doing the wrong thing.
He will never make the least
Move to get dressed in front of you
And change from the form of a beast.
This is terrible- -you don’t know- -
Something he’s far too ashamed to show.
Have him taken to your own room,
And his lost clothes brought with him;
A good long time, leave him alone;
Then we’ll see if he becomes a man.”
The King himself took Bisclavret
Inside, and closed all the doors tight;
He returned when the time was done.
He brought along two barons, not one.
They entered the chamber, all three.
On the king’s royal bed, they see
Lying fast asleep, the knight.
The king ran to hug him tight;
He kissed him a hundred times that day.
When he catches his breath, he hands
Him back all his fiefs and lands,
And more presents than I will say.
The lady, now, they expell
From that realm, from that time forward.
He goes with her, as well,
For whom she betrayed her lord.
She had plenty of children; grown,
They were, all of them, quite well-known,
By their looks, their facial assembly:
More than one woman of that family
Was born without a nose to blow,
And lived denosed. It’s true! It’s so!
The adventure you have heard
Is true- -don’t doubt a single word.
Of Bisclavret they made the lay,
To remember, forever and a day.

LANVAL

The adventure of another lay,
Just as it happened, I’ll relay:
It tells of a very nice nobleman,
And it’s called Lanval in Breton.
King Arthur was staying at Carduel- -
That King of valiant and courtly estate- -
His borders there he guarded well
Against the Pict, against the Scot,
Who’d cross into Logres to devastate
The countryside often, and a lot.
He held court there at Pentecost,
The summer feast we call Whitsun,
Giving gifts of impressive cost
To every count and each baron
And all knights of the Round Table.
Never elsewhere so many, such able

Knights assembled! Women and land

He shared out with generous hand

To all but one who’d served. Lanval

He forgot: no man helped his recall.
For being brave and generous,
For his beauty and his prowess,
He was envied by all the court;
Those who claimed to hold him dear,
If Fortune had brought him up short,
Would not have shed a kindly tear.
A king’s son, he’d a noble lineage,
But now, far from his heritage,
He’d joined the household of the King.
He’d spent all the money he could bring
Already. The King gave him no more- -
He gave just what Lanval asked for.
Now Lanval knows not what to do;
He’s very thoughtful, very sad.
My lords, I don’t astonish you:
A man alone, with no counsel- -or bad- -
A stranger in a strange land
Is sad, when no help’s at hand.
This knight- -by now you know the one- -
Who’d served the King with many a deed,
One day got on his noble steed
And went riding, just for fun.
Alone he rode out of the town,
And came to a meadow- -still alone- -
Dismounted by a flowing brook.
But his horse trembled now and shook,
So he took off the tackle and let him go,
Rolling free in the broad meadow.
The knight took his own cloak, folded
It into a pillow for his head.
He lay thinking of his sad plight;
He saw nothing to bring delight.
He lay thus, in a kind of daze,
Following the river-bank with his gaze.
Then he saw coming two ladies,
The fairest he’d seen in all his days.
They were both quite richly dressed,
In deep-dyed tunics, of the best
Silk, fastened with tight-tied laces;
And very lovely were their faces.
A bowl was borne by the elder maid,
Golden, delicate, finely made
(I tell the truth without fail or foul)
- -The younger maiden carried a towel.
These two ladies came straightaway
To the place where Lanval lay.
Lanval, mannerly, well-bred,
Quickly scrambled to his feet;
The ladies spoke, first to greet
Him, then with a message. They said,
“Lord Lanval, the lady we owe duty- -
A lady of valor, wisdom, beauty- -
It’s for you our lady has sent
Us. Now come along with us, do!
Safely we’ll conduct you through- -
Not far- -look, you can see her tent!”
The knight went with them, of course;
He forgot all about his horse,
Grazing in the meadow right in front of him.
They brought him where a tent rose above him,
A lovely, well-placed pavilion.
Semiramis, Queen of Babylon,
When her power was on the rise,
And she was so rich as well as so wise,
Or Octavian, who ruled the whole map,
Couldn’t have paid for one tent-flap.
On top was set an eagle, pure gold;
How much it cost, more or less- -
Or the cords or the poles to hold
Up the tent walls- -I couldn’t guess.
No King under heaven, with all his wealth,
Could ever buy any of this for himself.
This tent was the maiden’s bower:
New-blown rose, lily-flower,
When in Spring their petals unfurl- -
Lovelier than these was this girl.
She lay upon so rich a bed,
You’d pay a castle for the sheet- -
In just her slip she was clothèd.
Her body was well-shaped, and sweet.
A rich mantle of white ermine,
Lined with silk, alexandrine,
Was her quilt, but she’d pushed it away,
On account of the heat; she didn’t hide
Her face, neck, breast, her whole side,
All whiter than hawthorn blossom in May.
The knight took a step toward
The maiden; she called him forward;
Near the bed he sat down, near.
“Lanval,” she said, “my friend, my dear,
I left my lands to come where you are;
To find you I have come so far!
Be valiant and courtly in everything,
And no emperor, count or king
Ever had joy or blessings above you;
For, more than any thing, I love you.”
He looks at her; he sees her beauty;
Love pricks him, strikes in him the spark- -
Now his heart blazes in the dark.
He answers gently, as is his duty,
“Beauty,” he says, “If it please you,
And this great joy should befall
Me, that you grant your love,
I’ll be at your beck and call,
To fulfill whatever needs you
Have, wise or foolish- -you are above
Me, my only commandant.
All others for you I abandon.
From you I never want to part:
That hope is strongest in my heart.”
When the girl hears what he has to say,
This man so filled with love for her,
She gives him her love, and what’s more, her
Body; now Lanval is on his way!
Afterwards, she gives a present:
Anything he may ever want
He’ll get, as far as his needs extend;
Generously he may give and spend- -
She will find the wherewithal.
Lanval has found a noble hostel:
The more he spends, in buying bold,
The more he’ll have of silver and gold.
“Now I warn you,” she says, “my fair
Friend- -a warning, an order, a prayer:
Don’t reveal yourself to any man!
I tell you, if you break this ban,
You will have lost me forever!
If this love is known, ever,
Never again of me you’ll catch sight;
As for my body, you lose any right.”
Lanval can sincerely say,
What she orders, he’ll obey.
He’s lain down beside her on the bed- -
Now is Lanval well lodged and fed!
He postpones rising from her side
Well into the shadows of evening-tide
And would have stayed longer, I guess,
If his sweet friend had said yes.
“Sweet friend,” she says, “Get up! No more
Can you linger here- -out the door
You go now. Here I will stay- -
But this one thing I have to say:
If ever you want my conversation,
You won’t be able to think of a place
Where a man may have his girl, and no eye chase
Them with reproach or accusation,
That I won’t be with you- -see if I shan’t- -
To do anything you want.
No man but you will see me when
I’m with you, or hear my words then.”
Hearing this, his joy was beyond compare.
He kissed her, and then he arose.
The two maidens who’d brought him there
Furnished him with the richest clothes;
All dressed up, to tell the truth,
Heaven looked not down on a handsomer youth.
Nor was he foolish, like a peasant:
They gave him water- -he didn’t resent
Washing his hands, and drying them well
On the towel. Now they served a meal.
With his darling friend he dined- -
Not the sort of thing that’s declined.
Courteously the maidens serve;
He accepts gladly, without reserve.
There was plenty of one special dish
Which satisfied his dearest wish:
Of sweet kisses there was no end,
And between courses he hugged his friend.
When they’d arisen from the last course,
The maidens brought him his own horse
Properly saddled, equiped with bridle- -
The service here was never idle.
He mounts the horse, he takes his leave;
He rides off towards the city,
Looking back often. Pity
Lanval, who feels great fear and grief!
Thinking of his adventure, he goes
Along; doubts fill his heart; he knows
Not what to believe; dazzled, the youth
Can’t believe that it’s the truth.
Now home to his hostel he comes,
And finds his men wearing new costumes.
That night he holds a jolly feast,
But where it comes from, no-one has the least
Idea.
There’s no poor knight in town
Who needs a place to lay his head down,
But Lanval invites him to his hostel
And has him served richly and well.
Lanval was now the richest donor,
Lanval ransomed all the prisoners,
Lanval dressed jugglers and jongleurs,
Lanval did all men every honor:
To stranger and to citizen
Lanval would gladly have given.
Lanval had great joy and delight:
Whether by day or in the night,
He could often see his friend.
Everything is at his command.
It was that year (I think I can say)
After St. John’s or Midsummer’s Day,
Some thirty knights- -knighthood’s flower- -
Went out to do some playing
In the orchard near the tower
Where Queen Guinevere was staying.
Among these knights was Gawain,
And his cousin, handsome Yvain.
Gawain said (valiant, frank and free,
The love of every man held he),
“In God’s name, my lords, we sin
Against Lanval, our companion,
So courtly and generous in everything- -
And his father’s a wealthy king- -
He should be here; we’ve done him wrong.”
Right away they all turned back;
To his hostel they followed the track,
And begged Lanval to come along.
At a window, framed in stone,
The Queen leaned out- -not alone,
But with three ladies. Lo and behold,
She spotted the knights of the King’s household.
She recognized, and stared at, Lanval.
She gave one of her ladies a call.
She wants a group of maidens collected,
For beauty and manners they’re selected,
To stroll and play with the Queen
In the orchard, where the knights were seen.
Thirty girls she leads, or more.
Down the steps and out the door.
Here to meet them come the knights,
Greatly gladdened by such sights.
Hand-in-hand, their conversations
Are free of low-class intimations.
Lanval goes off all alone,
Far from the others; for his own
Friend he just can’t wait- -not much- -
For her kiss, her embrace, her touch.
Little he cares about others’ delight
When he can’t enjoy his own!
The Queen saw him go off alone,
And she headed straight for that knight.
She sat near him, she called him over,
She spoke as her heart would move her:
“Lanval, I really do respect you,
I really care, I really love,
And you can have all my love.
Tell me what you want! I expect you
Must be happy at what I say.
I’m offering to go all the way.”
“Lady,” he said, “Let me go!
I never thought to love you so!
I’ve served the King for many a day;
His faith in me I won’t betray.
Not for you, your love, or anything
Would I ever act against my King!”
The Queen’s heart filled with anger;
Furious, she spoke a slander:
“Lanval,” she said, “I think they’re right.
You don’t care much for such delight;
People have told me again and again
That women offer you no pleasure- -
With a few well-schooled young men
You prefer to pass your leisure.
Peasant coward, faithless sinner,
My lord the King is hardly the winner
In letting your sort hang around;
He’s losing God’s own grace, I’ve found!”
Lanval is anguished by these lies;
Quickly the accused replies.
He says a thing, in that angry moment,
Of which he’ll many times repent.
“My lady: That job- -don’t doubt it,
I wouldn’t know how to go about it.
But I do love- -I alone love
A lady who’d win the prize
Over all women I’ve known of.
And I’ll tell you this, without disguise,
Just because you need to know:
Her serving maids, a poor or low
One, even, the poorest in her train,
Is better than you are, Lady Queen:
In beauty of body and of face,
In goodness and in well-bred grace.”
Away now went the Queen,
Up to her room, all crying.
Pain and anger drove her wild- -
She’d been insulted and reviled.
Sick with it, she took to her bed.
Never would she get up, she said,
Unless the King her complaint oversaw,
And gave her justice according to law.
The King had just come home from the wood;
His day’s hunting had been good.
He went into the Queen’s chamber.
She cried out, loud, when first she
Saw him, fell at his feet, begged mercy,
Accused Lanval- -he had shamed her!
He’d asked her for a love-affair,
She’d said no, with this result:
He’d offered her an ugly insult.
He boasted of a friend so fair,
So full of pride, breeding, honor,
That the chambermaid who waited on her- -
The lowliest, poorest of the poor- -
Compared to the Queen, was worth far more.
The King was angry, to the core.
His oath against Lanval he swore:
In court he’d prove he was no liar,
Or else he’d hang, or die by fire.
The King left the Queen’s bedroom,
Called three of his barons to him,
Sent them to bring in Lanval.
Now sorrow and evil befall
Him: coming home to his inn,
He sees right away the trouble he’s in.
His darling friend now is lost;
He told their love; this is the cost.
In his room alone he languished,
Sadly thoughtful, madly anguished;
Time after time he called her name,
But his dear friend never came.
He breathes out sighs and complaints,
Sometimes he even faints.
A hundred times he begs mercy of her- -
Won’t she speak to her dear lover?
He curses his tongue, the heart he couldn’t hide- -
It’s a wonder he doesn’t commit suicide.
All his crying and begging and braying,
Self-hatred, self-abuse, humble praying,
All bring no mercy from his dear,
Not even just the chance to see her.
Alas, will he ever find content?
The men whom the King sent
Arrive, the message they relay:
He must come to court without delay.
The King commands, no-one refuses him.
The Queen herself accuses him.
Lanval, in pain, does as they say- -
They’d have killed him if he had his way.
Mute, he stands before the King;
In his sorrow, he can’t say a thing,
But his sorrow is obvious.
The King speaks, angry, malicious:
“Vassal, against me is your crime!
You acted like a peasant this time.
You debase me, shame, demean
Me, by slandering my Queen!
Madness, foolishness to boast
A lover nobler than we’ve ever seen,
Whose chambermaid would seem the most
Fair and worthy, beside the Queen!”
Lanval begins his own defense:
Against his lord’s honor he’s made no offense;
He refutes, word for word,
The demand for love the Queen says she heard.
But as for what he said afterwards,
He admits the truth of those words,
How he boasted of love and his lover- -
It grieves him now; he’s lost her forever.
For this crime, yes, pay he must
Whatever the court deems is just.
The King’s anger still was strong;
He called a council of all his knights,
To tell him to act within his rights,
For he didn’t want to be called wrong.
The men came to give advice,
Whether they thought it nasty or nice.
Into the council they all went,
And came up with this judgement:
Until his trial Lanval would go free,
If he gave hostages as guarantee
To his lord that he’d come back when
The court could convene on this case again.
For the trial, more lords would arrive in a hurry;
Today, only the King’s household was the jury.
The knights went back to the King
And explained to him their finding.
The King demanded the hostages;
Lanval’s alone, lost, without access
To parents or friends who might avail;
Gawain gave himself up as bail,
And all his companions then came forward, too.
The King said, “I give him to you,
But whatever fiefs and lands
You hold from me, are now in my hands.”
Whatever they had, they pledged it all.
Now back to his hostel went Lanval,
And with him all the knights came.
They were ready to scold and blame
Lanval for being still so sad.
They cursed such a love as mad.
Every day at his house they’d meet,
Checking on him, just to find
If he’d drunk water, if he’d still eat;
They feared Lanval might lose his mind.
On the day set for the trial,
The barons have travelled many a mile
To be there; the Queen’s there, and the King,
And now Lanval’s hostages bring
Him in. They’re so sorry for him.
A hundred knights or more, I guess,
Would have done anything for him
So he could walk free away from this case,
So wrongful are the accusations!
The King asks a verdict of his barons,
Based on the charge and defense plea.
Now it’s all up to the lords’ jury.
They have gone to find their verdict
But they wonder, a little panicked
About this noble foreign knight
Who finds himself in such a plight.
More than one is ready to bring
Him in “guilty,” to please the King.
Hear the Count of Cornwall speak:
“Never let us be so wrong, so weak!
Whoever weeps or laughs, it’s all one- -
Justice, always, must be done.
The King has spoken against his vassal,
The man I hear you call Lanval;
The King has made the allegation.
A felony’s the accusation:
His crime is that he had a tiff
With the Queen, boasting of a fair love.
The King is the only plaintiff.
Now by any law I’m aware of,
And by my faith as a lord in this isle,
Lanval should not even be on trial- -
Except that honor in everything
Is owed by all men to their king.
We will make him swear an oath,
And the King will pardon him for us.
And, if he can prove the truth,
And his lady appears before us
So that it is clearly seen
It was no lie that upset the Queen,
Then Lanval is vindicated:
No malice there is indicated.
But if he can’t prove his defense
Then we must pronounce this sentence:
He loses his right to serve the King,
And the King will send him packing.”
They sent word to the accused knight
And told him how he must defend
Himself: he must make his dear friend
Come into court, to prove he’s right.
He can’t do it, is Lanval’s answer;
He will never get any help from her.
Back to the judges the messengers go,
But will they get get help there? No.
The King is pushing on the jury- -
The Queen’s the one who’s in a hurry.
As they got ready to pass sentence,
Two maidens rode into their presence,
On two lovely ambling palfreys.
Very attractive they were, these ladies:
Silken garments, scarlet, thin,
Were all they wore over naked skin.
Everyone enjoyed these sights.
Gawain, and with him three knights,
Went to tell Lanval, and show
Him the lovely maidens two.
Gladdened, he begs Lanval to declare
Which of these is his friend so fair.
Lanval told them he doesn’t know
Who they are, whence they come, where they go.
The pair meanwhile passed by, riding
On horseback still; in the same tone,
They dismounted before the high throne
Where sat the lord Arthur, the King.
Their beauty was a great delight,
And their speech was most polite:
“Make ready several rooms, O King,
Hang all the walls with silk covering,
So that my lady may come in;
She wishes to make your home her inn.”
Gladly he granted this request;
Two knights he called, to show them the best
Rooms above; they led them away.
Just then they had no more to say.
The King calls his barons, and now he
Demands the verdict and penalty.
They’ve angered him, he lets them know,
By their delays- -they’re just too slow.
“Lord, we lost our judgement of the law,”
They said, “because of the maidens we saw.
We’ve not looked into a decision, then,
And now we’ll just have to begin again.”
Thoughtful, they got back together,
But then they heard some noise and bother.
They went and saw what caused the to-do:
Prettily equipped maidens, two,
Dressed in silk with a fresh finish,
And riding on two fine mules, Spanish.
They saw them riding down the road.
The knights were filled with greatest joy;
They told each other this must bode
Well for Lanval, that brave fine boy.
Now Yvain went, and with him all
His companions, to find Lanval.
“My Lord,” he said, “Now rejoice!
For the love of God, find your voice!
Two young ladies are coming here,
Very refined, so very fair.
Truly this is your friend, your dear!”
Lanval was quick to declare
He recognized neither of them;
He didn’t know them, didn’t love them.
The ladies rode at a steady pace,
And dismounted before the King’s dais.
Most of the courtiers praised them for
Their bodies, their faces, their color.
Either of these girls was worth more
Than the Queen was now, or ever before.
The older was polite and good;
Sweetly she made herself understood:
“Let us be given the rooms, O King,
Set aside for our lady’s lodging:
She comes to you with something to say.”
The King has them led away
Up to the rooms to join the others.
About the mules, neither bothers.
When he’s got rid of the maidens,
The King sends for his barons:
They must pass sentence right away;
Too long they’ve stretched this trial-day.
The Queen’s anger won’t abate,
When she’s made to wait and wait.
They’d have passed sentence then and there,
When there came wandering a horse laden,
Ambling through town, with a maiden;
Never in this world was maid so fair.
A gentle white palfrey she rode;
Sweet and soft he carried his load- -
His beautiful head and neck pleased
All; under heaven, he’s the fairest beast.
Richly adorned were all his trappings:
Under heaven, all counts or kings
Could only afford such saddle or reins
By sale or mortgage of their domains.
This was how the maiden dressed up:
Of white linen, her camisole
Was made so that it showed both whole
Sides, shining where it laced up.
Her body was slim, long-waisted, tall,
Her neck was whiter than fresh snow-fall.
Grey were her eyes, white her face,
Lovely her mouth, nose in the right place,
Brown eyebrows, forehead smooth and fair,
Bright blond, crisply curling hair- -
The radiant light of pure gold thread
Fades by the brightness of her head.
Deep purple-red silk is her cloak,
Which she’s draped in folds all around;
On her fist she bears a hawk,
And behind her runs a greyhound.
In the whole town, great men and small,
Old men and babies, one and all
Came running just to watch this show.
When they saw her riding, these folk
Knew her beauty was no joke.
Still she rode on, so very slow.
The judges spot her; on their honor,
She is a marvel, they all say,
Any man who sets eyes on her,
Pleasure warms him straightaway.
Those who love the knight Lanval
Come running to him now to tell
Him about the maiden come to court
Who will free him, please the Lord.
“My lord, a maiden’s come to town,
But she’s neither tawny nor brown,
No- -just the most beautiful girl
Of all girls living in the world.”
Lanval hears them; he lifts his eyes;
He knows her well; deeply he sighs.
The blood mounts up into his face.
He speaks with the greatest haste:
“My faith,” he cries, “It is my friend!
I don’t care if my life should end,
Or who kills me, if she has mercy;
I’m healed again, when her I see.”
The lady rides in at the palace door,
Lovelier than any, since or before,
To come there. Up to the King she rides,
And dismounts, so she can be seen from all sides.
She drops her cloak upon the floor,
So that they all can see her more.
The King, well-bred and most polite,
Stands up to meet her, as is right.
The others, after they observe her,
Crowd up to honor her and serve her.
Once they’ve all tired out their eyes,
And praised her beauty to the skies,
She began to have her say there,
For she didn’t want to stay there:
“Arthur,” she said, “Now listen to me!
And all your barons whom here I see.
O King, I have loved your vassal,
This one, here! I mean Lanval.
In your court he’s accused of crime.
I didn’t want him to have a bad time
For what he said; all along,
You know, the Queen was in the wrong;
He never asked anything of her;
As for his boasting of his lover,
If the law’s satisfied by what you see,
May your barons set him free!”
The King approves in advance
Any judgement the barons make.
They decide- -and it doesn’t take
Long- -Lanval’s made the perfect defense.
He is freed by their verdict,
And the maiden makes her exit.
The King can’t keep her there at all
She has enough servants of her own.
There was set, outside the hall
A great dark marble mounting-stone,
For an armed knight to climb on his horse,
When from the castle he set his course.
Lanval had climbed up there to wait.
When the maiden came out the gate
Lanval made his leap, at full speed,
Up behind her, onto her steed.
With her he’s gone to Avalon- -
Or so say the poets in Breton- -
To the fair island far away
She ravished that noble youth;
No-one can say any more with truth,
And I have no more to tell of this lay.

YONEC

Now I’ve taken up the making of lais,
I won’t lay it down, though heavy it weighs.
Adventures I’ve known in my time,
I will retell them all in rhyme.
I’ve been thinking, and wanting too
To tell the tale of Yonec to you:
Whence his birth, how his father
First came visiting his mother- -
His name who begot Yonec
Was, properly, Muldumarec.
Long ago in Britain there thrived
A rich old man, antique, long-lived.
His power in Caerwent was never denied;
They called him lord in that countryside.
Caerwent’s on the river Duelas,
Once deep enough for ships to pass.
Into old age this lord had passed.
In order to make his fortunes last,
He took a wife to get children, heirs;
After him, all this would be theirs.
High-born was this noble maid,
Wise, well-mannered, and lovely indeed,
When to the rich man they gave her.
For her loveliness he loved her- -
Her beauty and sweetness roused his ardor,
So he planned carefully how to guard her.
He locked her up in a tower, alone,
In a big room paved with stone.
He had an elderly sister,
Widowed, a Mrs. with no Mister,
He put her in there with his wife,
To hold her to a righteous life.
Other women were there, I presume,
Somewhere in a separate room,
But the lady never said even “How do you do?”
Unless the old woman told her to.
He kept her there more than seven years- -
They never did engender heirs;
From that tower she didn’t descend
Not for a relative, not for a friend.
When the lord came to sleep with her,
No valet nor any porter
Dared to enter the tower room,
Or light a candle in the gloom.
The lady lived in sorrow and pain;
With weeping, sighing, weeping again,
She lost her beauty, as a lady would
Who didn’t care if she looked good.
For herself, the best wish she could make her
Was for swift death to come soon and take her.
It was the month of April; spring
Set those little birds to sing.
The lord arose in early morning,
Dressed himself to go out hunting.
He roused up, too, the old woman
To lock the door tight behind him.
He gave the order, she’d obey;
The lord and his men rode away.
The old woman took her psalm-book along,
And sat mumbling David’s song.
The lady lay awake in distress;
Now she picked out the sun’s brightness.
She saw the old woman had gone
Out and left her all alone.
She began to sigh and complain;
Her weeping began all over again:
“Alas! I was born on an evil day!
Hard and cruel is my destiny!
This tower is a prison for me,
And only death will set me free.
What’s he afraid of, that jealous
Old man, keeping me in this fortress?
He’s a fool, crazy, always afraid
Somehow, somewhere, he’ll be betrayed.
I can’t even go to church
To hear Mass, do God’s works.
If I was able to talk with people,
Go out, enjoy those pleasures peaceable,
I’d be so sweet to him, so good,
Even if I wasn’t in the mood.
A curse on my family
And on all those, collectively,
Who gave this jealous man my hand,
Gave me his body for husband!
I pull and pull- -naught comes of it:
I wish and wish, but he won’t die of it.
Instead of his being baptized,
In Hell’s river his boat capsized
His sinews are tough, his veins tough,
The blood that fills them’s alive enough….
“Often I’ve heard the tale told
How people found, in days of old,
In this same land, adventures bright,
The sad redeemed, the wronged made right.
A knight might find a maiden-lover
Sweet and fair, by thinking of her;
Ladies could find lovers who
Were handsome, gentle, valiant, true- -
Nor were they blamed for such affairs:
They alone ever saw their lovers.
If this can be- -if it did happen- -
If this ever came to any woman- -
God, who have power over all,
Please hear, please answer now my call!”
When she’d spoken this sad word,
She picked out the shadow of a great bird
Through a narrow window. She
Didn’t know what it might be.
It entered her room flying- -
Jesses on its feet- -a hawk it seemed,
Moulted five or six times in its life.
It settled there, in front of the wife.
After it had rested a minute,
And she’d closely inspected it,
It became a knight, handsome, gentle.
The lady thought this was a marvel- -
Her blood stirred and began to race.
In her fear she hid her face.
The knight was gentle, courteous;
He addressed her, speaking first, thus:
“Lady,” he said, “Fear ye not, no!
The hawk’s a gentle bird, you know;
Though how and why remain a mystery,
Still, you see that you may trust me,
And take me for your friend, your dear.
For this,” he said, “I came here.
I’ve loved you for a long time now.
In my heart I yearned for you. I vow,
I never loved any woman but you,
Nor will love any other; I’ll be true.
Still, I couldn’t come here where you are,
Or come forth out of my own land
Unless you had made that prayer.
Now at last I can be your friend!”
The lady was now reassured;
She uncovered her head and spoke a word
In response to what the knight asked of her;
She told him she would make him her lover
If he believed in God above;
This would make possible their love.
For his beauty was very great:
Never in her life, early nor late,
Had she seen a knight so handsome,
Nor will she ever, in days to come.
“Lady,” he said, “How well you speak!
Not for anything would I wreak
That wrong, be your occasion of sin- -
The guilt, the doubt, the suspicion.
I firmly believe in the Creator,
Who freed us from that sad state where
We’d been thrust by Adam our father
When he bit that apple bitter;
He is and was and will be ever
Light and life to each poor sinner.
If my word you cannot credit,
Ask for your chaplain to visit;
Say you’ve a sudden ill, an ailment;
For this you want the sacrament
Which God established in this world
So that we sinners may be healed.
Then I’ll take on your form and face,
Receive Christ’s body in your place.
And so that you’ll have no more need
To doubt me, I’ll say my whole Creed.”
She approved of what he’d said.
He lay beside her on her bed,
But he didn’t want to caress her,
Nor embrace her yet, nor kiss her.
Just then the old woman came home,
Found the lady awake in her room,
Told her it was time she rose,
Wanted to bring in the day’s clothes.
The lady said she had some disease- -
They’d better go alert her priest,
And tell him to come to her, quick,
She feared death, she was so sick.
The old woman said, “Well, suffer away!
My lord has gone to the woods today,
And no-one but me will come in here!”
The lady felt a terrible fear;
She faked a faint, and there she lay.
The old woman saw this with dismay.
She unlocked the door and ran
Off to find the good chaplain.
Soon as he could, the priest came, swiftly,
Bringing with him Corpus Christi.
The knight received the sacred bread,
Drank wine from the chalice in her stead.
Now the good chaplain is gone;
The old woman locks up the door again.
The lady lies beside her dear;
You never saw such a lovely pair.
When they’ve laughed and played enough,
And told each other their hearts’ truth,
The knight takes his leave of his dame
To go back to his own land, as he came.
Sweetly, softly she makes her prayer
That he’ll return often to see her.
“Lady,” he said, “when it’s your pleasure!
I won’t let slip a single chance;
But in your wishing find some measure,
Or else our ruin you’ll advance;
That old woman’s a traitor, all right;
She’ll spy on us both day and night.
She’ll learn of the love between us,
And tell her lord how she’s seen us.
If it all happens as I’ve said,
And we are indeed betrayed,
I will never be able to fly
Away again, except to die.”
With this he goes, the lovers part,
She’s left alone with a joyful heart.
Next day she gets up, not at all sick.
She was so happy all that week.
She learned she has a precious body,
And she recovers all her beauty.
Now she really prefers to exist
Home alone- -other pleasures aren’t missed.
She longs often to see her knight
And take from him her own delight.
As soon as her husband leaves the tower,
Night or day, late or early the hour,
She has all she could want of her love.
Long may she rejoice, please God above!
Because of the joy in which she moved,
From seeing so often the man she loved,
Her form and face were quite renewed.
Her husband was a sly man, shrewd;
In his heart he knew that she
Had changed from what she used to be;
He begins to doubt his sister.
One day he begins to ask her,
Isn’t it a marvel how
His wife just loves to dress up now?
He wonders why this might be so.
The old woman says she doesn’t know- -
No-one can have speech or sight of her,
And she has no friend or lover.
There’s just one thing: she’s gladder when she
Is left alone than she used to be.
This small change is what she’s spied.
To this the husband has replied:
“By faith,” he says, “I believe you!
Now here’s something you must do:
In the morning, I’ll rise early,
And, when you’ve shut the door behind me,
You must pretend to go outside;
Leave her lying in bed by herself.
But really, secretly, you’ll hide
Some place you can see by stealth
Where this comes from, what it might be,
That’s making my lady so happy.”
They parted, agreed upon their plans.
Alas! They are in evil hands,
The couple for whom she lies in wait- -
They’ll be deceived, yes, and betrayed!
In three days, as I heard the story,
The husband pretended to go on a journey.
For his wife, this story he fed her:
The King has sent for him by letter.
He’ll return as fast as he can, for sure.
He leaves the room and shuts the door.
So the old woman got out of bed;
Right there, behind the curtain, she hid.
She’d hear and see, hidden so
Everything she wanted to know.
Wide awake under her bedcover,
The lady’s longing for her lover.
He comes- -he doesn’t hesitate- -
He’s not an hour or a moment late.
They make each other happy now,
By what their words and faces show,
Until it’s time to rise for the day- -
Now he must be on his way.
The old woman’s watching. She spies
How he comes in, then away he flies.
Indeed, she fears and feels the shock
Of seeing him first man, then hawk.
When the lord returned to his abode
(For he hadn’t gone far down the road)
The old woman explained aright
All the truth about the knight,
And in deep thought he is wrapt.
He orders: the knight will be trapped
And killed by deceits his wits
Devise. He has them forge iron spits,
Tips clad with steel; never razor
In this world was ever sharper.
When he has had these made,
Forked and toothed on every side,
He has them fixed around the window,
Fastened tight in close-set row,
Just where the knight passes in
When he comes to his lady friend.
Dear God! Why can’t he know the treason
Prepared against him by this felon?
Next day, early in the morn,
The husband gets up before dawn,
And announces he’s hunting today.
The old woman sees him on his way,
Then back on her bed she lies,
To sleep; the sun has yet to rise.
The lady’s awake, alert to await
The man she loves with loyal faith;
He could come to her now, she says,
And be with her in peace and ease;
As soon as she’s prayed such
A prayer he comes, nor delays much;
He comes flying through the window,
But the spits are fixed there now;
One pierces his body, deep;
Scarlet blood begins to seep.
Knowing this wound is his doom,
Freed of the spike, he enters her room.
He alights on the bed beside the lady,
So that her sheets are all bloody.
She sees the blood and the awful gash.
Anguish makes her white as ash.
He tells her, “My sweet love, my friend,
Your love’s brought my life to its end.
I told you it would happen thus:
Your form and face have slain us.”
Hearing this, she fainted and fell;
She seemed dead for a short spell.
Sweetly he offers her comfort:
Her sorrow and pain aren’t worth
It: by him her pregnancy’s begun;
She’ll bear his strong and valiant son.
This child will heal her ache and shame.
She’ll see that Yonec is his name.
Someday he will kill his and her
Enemy, be their avenger.
The knight cannot stay with her longer,
For the wound’s bleeding is stronger.
Sadly, sadly, away he goes.
But, with a great cry, she follows.
She gets out through a window- -
It’s a miracle she’s not killed below,
For the wall was twenty feet deep
Right there where she made her leap.
Aside from her shift she was nude
As she set herself to track the blood
Which from the wounded knight was flowing
To mark a path for her going.
She followed this road; it wound
Along until it came to a mound.
There was an entrance to this hill;All around the door she saw the spill
Of blood, but could see nothing farther.
Then she thought she knew her lover
Had passed this way and gone in here.
She entered, too, this place of fear.
Within, she found no spark of light,
Yet she followed the road aright
Until she came forth from the mound
Where lovely meadows spread around.
The grass here was soaked with blood- -
Her fears returned now in full flood.
Across the field she followed the trace.
There was a city near that place
All enclosed by a great wall.
No house there, or tower or hall
Seemed made of anything but silver;
Rich was the work of the city’s builder.
Marshes lay at the town’s edges,
And the forests and the neat hedges.
Near to the castle, on the other side,
All around flowed a river wide,
Where boats and ships could dock and anchor;
Three hundred sails- -more- -crowd the bank there.
The lower gate is quite unclosed- -
Into the town the lady goes
Still following the blood, fresh red;
Through town and to the keep it led.
No-one spoke to her, no-one;
She saw no living man nor woman.
She came to the palace courtyard;
The stones were bloody, soaked and smeared.
She entered a lovely room in the keep
And found a knight there, fast asleep;
She went on, not knowing him,
Into another, larger room;
A bed, nothing more, came to light,
And, upon it, a sleeping knight.
She’s passed through this and come
Into a third great fine room,
And here she finds her lover’s bed.
Of purest gold is the bedstead;
I couldn’t guess the bedclothes’ value;
Candlesticks and chandeliers, too,Kept aflame both night and day,
Are worth a city’s treasury.
The moment that she caught a sight
Of him, she recognized the knight.
Swift and fearful, she goes toward him.
In a faint she falls athwart him.
Her lover takes her in loving arms,
Cries out at how fortune harms
Them both. When her faint has passed,
He comforts her sweetly, at last.
“My lovely love, by God! Hear my plea!
Leave this place! You must flee!
I will die before daybreak,
And here there will be such heartache,
That if my people found you here,
They would torture you, my dear;
My people know what you have cost me- -
That it’s for your love they’ve lost me.
I ache with worry for you.”
“My love,” she says, “I implore you,
I’d much rather die here with you,
Than suffer what my husband will do;
He’ll kill me if I return.”
The knight can answer this concern.
He gives her a little ring,
And teaches her to use the thing:
As long as she keeps it safe, she’ll see
Her lord will have no memory
Of anything that has just passed;
For this she won’t be harrassed.
He gives her and commends his sword
To her, forbids her with a strong word
Ever to yield it to any man;
She must keep it for his son’s hand.
When he shall be strong, full-grown,
A valiant knight, worth some renown,
To some festival she’ll go,
Her husband and her son in tow.
They will come to an abbey;
They’ll see a tomb, hear someone say
How he’s dying all over again,
And how wrongly he’s been slain.
Then she must give him the sword;He must be told then, word for word,
The adventure of his birth, his father’s name.
They’ll see how he makes his claim.
When he’s told her all this,
He gives her a rich silk dress,
Which he commands her to wear;
Then he sends her away from there.
With the ring, then, she goes,
And the sword to comfort her woes.
She’s passed the city gate and door,
And gone half a league, no more,
When she hears the tolling bells,
Mourning cries from the castle halls.
In her sorrow at hearing these chimes
She falls into a faint four times.
When she finally comes around,
She makes her way to the mound,
Enters, passes through to the other side,
And finds herself back in her own countryside.
Together with her husband, her lord,
She dwelt for many a day afterward,
And never did he bring an accusation,
Insult or mock her for what she’d done.
Their son was born; they did all to rear
Him safe and well; they held him dear.
They gave him Yonec for a name;
No-one could find in that domain
A man so handsome, so valorous,
So worthy, liberal, generous.
When his age was right,
They dubbed him a knight.
After his knighting, that very same year,
What happened- -listen now and you’ll hear!
At the Feast of Saint Aaron,
Which was celebrated at Caerleon
(As well as at many another town),
A formal order had been sent down
To the lord to go there with his friends,
As the country’s custom demands.
He brought along his wife and son;
Rich were his clothes and caparison.
It’s time to go, and they go,
But where they’re going they don’t know.
They took along with them a lad,
Who led them along down the right road,
Till they came to a castle tall,
In this world the fairest of all.
Within the castle stood an abbey
Where deeply pious folks live and pray.
The boy got rooms there for them all
(Their young guide to the festival).
In the abbot’s own chamber
They were served well, and with honor.
They go to hear Mass the next day,
Then they’re ready to be on their way.
The abbot comes to have his say:
He begs them to prolong their stay;
He’ll show them his dormitory,
His chapter-house, his refectory.
Since their lodgings are of the best,
The lord gladly grants this request.
Later, when they’d finished dining,
They set out to tour the buildings.
First they come to the chapter room;
There they found a huge tomb
Draped with silk on which stitched wheels rolled,
And banded across with expensive gold.
At the head, the feet, to left and right,
Were candles, twenty, burning bright.
The candlesticks were of the purest
Gold, the censers of amethyst
In which that day they burned incense
Around the tomb, in reverence.
They inquired now, their demand
Of the natives of that land
Was, whose tomb this might be?
What man lay there so honorably?
Now their tears began to fall,And weeping they began their tale,
That this was the very best knight,
Strongest, proudest, first in a fight,
Handsomest, most loved, most worthy of love
Of any born here under heaven above.
“He was the king of this country- -
Never was any lord so courtly.
At Caerwent he had been taken,
For a lady’s love he was slain.
Since then we’ve never had a lord;
Rather have we awaited some word
Of his son, begotten on that lady;
He commanded us to be ready.”
Having heard all this narration,
The lady called out loud to her son:
“Dear son,” she said, “Do you hear
How God Himself has led us here?
Here lies your own father, whom
This vile old man murdered, in this tomb.
This sword I give you was his before you;
I have kept it a long time for you.”
Everyone heard, as she taught him
Who his father was, how he begot him,
How he used to come to her,
How her husband committed murder;
She told the truth; then on the tomb
She fell fainting in a swoon.
In her faint, she passed on;
She never spoke again to anyone.
When her son saw that she was dead,
He took off his stepfather’s head.
So with the sword of his father
He avenged the pain of his mother.
Everyone in the city soon knew
All that had happened, true as true.
They took the lady with great honor
And laid her there beside her lover.
They made Yonec their lord, there and then,
And afterwards went home again.
Some who heard this adventure told
Made a lai, when the tale was already old,
Of pity, of sorrow, of pain, ofAll they once suffered for their love.

LAUSTIC

The adventure in my next tale
The Bretons made into a lai
Called “Laustic,” I’ve heard them say,
In Brittany; in French they call
The “laustic” a “rossignol”
And in good English, “nightingale.”
Near St. Malo there was a town
(Somewhere thereabouts) of great renown.
Two knights lived there, no lowly vassals,
In houses that were built like castles.
These barons were so good, their fame
Gave their village goodness’s own name.
One of them had married lately:
Polite and polished, such a lady!
She was wise to her own worth
(- -Normal in ladies of high birth).
The other lord was a bachelor,
Famed for prowess and for valor,
Loved by all, for he knew how to live:
Joust a lot, spend a lot, what you have give
Away freely. He loved the wife of his neighbor.
He begged so much, and prayed yet more
- -And goodness was his striking feature- -
So she loved him more than any creature,
Because of the deeds he was famous for,
And because he lived in the castle next door.
Wisely and well they loved, these lovers;
They guarded their love under various covers
And hid it from general sight,
Lest anyone think it not right.
But who’d suspect? Who would suppose…?
Their two houses were built so close,
Together they stood, side-by-side,
No bar, no fencing to divide
Tower from tower, hall from hall- -
Nothing but one high dark stone wall.
At the window of her bedroom suite
The lady would stand, and, oh! how sweet!
Talking thence with her loving friend
On the other side. They’d often send
Love-gifts flying through the air- -
Toss and catch. Those evenings were fair:
Nothing’s missing from their pleasure!
They had all they wanted, at their leisure,
Except coming together alone, you know,
And going as far as they’d like to go.
For her man used to guard and restrict
Her when he rode out in the district.
Still, day or night, if either lover
Longed to set eyes upon the other,
They had their hope and their refuge:
No-one detected their subterfuge,
No-one could tell her not to stare
Out her own window- -and he’d be there.
Long had they loved each other dear
When there came the summer of one year.
Now woods and meadows are green again,
Orchards in blossom are seen again,
The birdie all his sweet notes showers
In joyous play on the sweet flowers.
A man or woman who loves someone- -
Where else would their sweet thoughts run?
To tell the truth about this knight:
That’s where his thoughts run, all right;
And the lady, at her window, higher,
Speaks, and looks, only desire.
Nights, when the moon her pale light shed,
When her husband had gone to bed,
The lady rose up from his side,
Wrapped herself in a mantle wide,
Went to stand at the window, true
To her friend waiting there, she knew;
For both their lives were just the same,
They waked all night till morning came.
The rapture of looking made them so glad
(That rapture the only one they had).
She stood there so often, so often got up,
That her lord and master got all het up;
Then he’d ask her to represent
Why she got up and where she went.
“Lord,” she said, “That girl or boy
Has never known this good world’s joy
Who never heard the laustic’s song.
That’s why I stand here all night long.
I hear him sing so sweet at night,
It seems to me just pure delight;
I feel pleasure, such longing- -I
Need to listen- -I can’t shut my eye.”
He listened to her, every word,
Laughed, cruel, angry, at what he heard.
He made his plan, which must not fail:
He would trap the nightingale.
For every house-servant one task he set,
To fashion a snare, or a trap, or a net.
In the orchard they spread them; no big
Strong chestnut tree nor hazel twig
Lacked some snare or sticky lime.
Of course, they caught the bird, in time.
They took it to their lord, the husband.
Glad to be holding in his hand
The laustic, still full of life,
He went to show it to his wife.
“Lady, where are you? Speak some word
to us! Look! I caught this bird- -
Come here, now! See how my lime glue
Got him! This nightingale kept you
Awake so often, night-long, when
You should sleep in peace. Well, never again!”
The lady listened to her master
Hurt and angry at this disaster.
- -Could she have the bird? If her lord willed it?
In a fit of temper her lord killed it.
With both hands the neck he broke
(A vile deed, worthy of churlish folk!)
And at the lady he threw the body,
Getting her chemise all bloody
A little, in front, on the breast.
He left, not waiting to see the rest.
The lady took up the body small.
Weeping hard, she cursed them all,
Those traitors to the laustic
Who made the traps and snares to sneak
Away her joy forever more!
“Alas,” she said, “my love next door!
Never again I’ll rise up at night
To stand at the window, to catch a sight
of my friend as oft I used to do!
I know one thing, as true as true:
When I’m not there, my faith he’ll doubt.
This is a problem I must think out.
I’ll send my friend this nightingale.
All that’s happened, he’ll hear the tale.”
The birdie she covered with a fold
Of samite, all in precious gold
Embroidered and inscribed.
She called her servant and described
The message and package she wanted to send.
He took both next door to her friend.
The servant came to the knight next door
And greeted him with his lady’s favor.
He spoke his piece as she’d bade him speak
And handed over the laustic.
When he’d told the story and shown the bird
The knight, who’d listened to every word,
Was sad as could be at how things had turned out.
No vile churl he, though, no lazy lout:
He ordered the best smith to mold
A tiny vessel, all pure gold
(No iron or steel), and good stones,
Precious ones, expensive ones,
And make a good tight-fitting lid.
Inside, the laustic he hid.
Then he sealed up this reliquary
To ever after with him carry.
This adventure was widely known:
They couldn’t hide it for more than a week.
It was sung as a lai by some Breton
And men call it “Laustic.

CHAITIVEL

Fancy moves me to recollect
A lai I’ve heard people discuss.
I’ll tell you the adventure, direct,
And give the city’s name that was
Its birthplace, and its given name:
Someone called it Chaitivel;
Plenty of folks, all the same,
Call it “Four Mournings” as well.
At Nantes in Brittany there dwelled
A fine lady; she excelled
In beauty, and in schooling too,
And every ornamental virtue.
In all the land there was no knight
Worthy in deeds, but at first sight- -
One glimpse- -he would love her,
Begging, trying for her favor.
She couldn’t be everybody’s lover,
But she didn’t want to kill them, either.
From each and every lady of
The land, a man should seek some love.
Try to take a rag from a crazy man,
He’ll hit you back hard as he can;
But a lady thanks you for your desires,
More even than good-will requires.
Even if she doesn’t want to hear them,
She shouldn’t use her words to smear them,
But honor them and hold them dear,
Thank and serve them with good cheer.
The lady I want to tell you of
Who was begged so much to grant her love- -
For her beauty, for a prize so sweet
Day and night they all compete.
In Brittany four barons there were,
But I don’t know their names, these four.
They didn’t have much age on them,
But they were still all quite handsome,
Worthy knights and valorous,
Free-spending, courteous, generous.
They were highly valued and
Were the gentry of that land.
These four were in love with the lady.
Their task- -doing really well- -was weighty:
To have the lady and have her love
Each of them, hard as he could, strove.
Each for himself, they wanted her,
To this each devoted his labors,
And every one of them was sure
He could outperform all others.
The lady was full of good sense.
She considered, in her conscience,
Trying to know, to ask which of
These men would be the best to love.
They’re all each better than the rest- -
She cannot manage to choose the best.
Losing three for one- -this she hates.
So on each she turned a smiling face,
To all she gave her love-favors,
Sent messages to all these lovers.
None of them knew about the others, either
But none of them could bear to leave her.
By his prayers and service sweet,
Each thought he’d make out the best.
Whenever knights gathered for a meet,
Each wanted first place in every test,
To do well, if he could, and so measure
Up to providing his lady’s pleasure.
They all treated her as their lover,
They all carried her love-favor,
Ring or sleeve or banner-flame
And all had one war-cry: her name.
She loved all four, all four pleased her
Until, in the time after Easter,
In front of her city of Nantes
There was proclaimed a tournament.
To get to know these four true loves
Knights came from other lands in droves:
Frenchmen of France and Normans rode forth,
Flemish and Brabants from the North,
Boulognais and Angevins appear,
And others from other countries near.
Gladly they all made the journey,
And stayed there for quite a while.
On the evening of the tourney,
They traded blows in serious style.
The four true loves, well-armed all,
Sallied forth from the city wall.
After them rode knights galore,
But the burden of defense was on the four.
Each was known to the knights on the field
By his enseign and his shield.
They send four knights to the assault,
Two from Flanders, two from Hainault.
Armed for attack, spurring on, no knight
Wasn’t looking for someone to fight.
The defenders saw them coming.
No-one wished to flee or tarry.
Lances lowered and spurs humming,
Each picked out his adversary.
They struck together with such force
The four attackers each fell off his horse.
The four steeds caused no distress- -
They let them run off riderless- -
Over the victims their stand they made.
Their knights hurried to bring them aid.
The rescue became a free-for-all
Many felt the sword-blows fall.
The lady stood upon a tower,
Easily spotted her own and their followers- -
Saw them helping out her lovers;
She didn’t know which to value higher.
Now the tournament began.
Ranks grew, the crowd thickened.
Before the gate again and again
Into a mêlée the jousting quickened.
The four true lovers did so well
They took the overall prize outright,
Until the time when evening fell
And they should have stopped the fight.
Crazy men, they fought far away
From their own knights; for this they’ll pay:
Three of them were killed dead
And the fourth had a wound that bled
Through the thigh- -the body speared- -
On the other side the lance-head appeared.
All were pierced through by the blows;
All four fell there in the fields.
Those who’d proved their mortal foes
Now cast down on the ground their shields.
Deeply they mourn the dead;
They knew not what they did.
They raise a great cry of warning.
Never was there heard such mourning.
The knights of the town rode to the site,
Never fearing the others would fight.
To mourn the knights fallen there
Two thousand men in that place
Undid their helmet visor-lace,
Tore their beards and ripped their hair.
Mourning was their common plight.
Upon his shield they laid each knight
And brought them inside the city wall
To the lady who’d loved them all.
When with the adventure she was acquainted
Down on the hard ground she fell, fainted.
When her fainting spell is over,
Naming them, she mourns each lover.
“Alas,” she says, “What shall I do?
I will never be happy again!
I loved these four knights, it’s true!
Each for himself, I wanted these men.
They had the greatest good in themselves,
And they loved me more than anything else.
Because of their beauty, prowess, power,
Generous spirit, noble valor,
I made all their love-thoughts turn to me;
I wouldn’t take one if I’d lose three.
I don’t know which I should feel worst for,
But I can’t hide or pretend any more.
Three are dead; one wounded I see;
Nothing on earth can comfort me.
I’ll have the dead men buried, first,
And if the wounded man can be nursed
Gladly I’ll be involved, and send him
The best doctors to attend him.”
She has him borne to her rooms. Then she
Had them lay out the other three:
With love, with noble sentiments,
She adorned them, and at great expense.
A very wealthy monastic foundation
Got a huge endowment, a big donation,
From her when they were buried there.
May God show them His merciful care!
She sent for wise men of medicine,
Had them brought to the knight in
Her room where he lay, wounded, until
He turned the corner, began to heal.
She went to see him frequently,
Comforted him like a good lady.
Still, she mourned the other three,
And lamented them all painfully.
One summer day, when their fast was broken,
The lady to the knight had spoken,
Then, overcome by her great sorrow,
Bent her head, her face in shadow;
She fell into fierce concentration.
This caught the knight’s attention.
He saw that she was deep in thought.
He addressed her, as he ought.
“Lady, you’re in a fearful state!
What are you thinking? Tell me, now.
Let your pain go, before it’s too late!
You must be comforted somehow.”
“My friend,” she said, “I was reflecting
On your companions, recollecting.
No lady of such rank as mine- -
Be she so lovely, wise, good, fine- -
Ever will love four such men as they
Were, and lose them all in one day.
Except for you alone, wounded in the thigh
So badly you feared you might die.
Because I loved you so much, my sorrows
Should be recollected for all tomorrows.
I will make a lay about all you,
And “The Four Mournings” I’ll call you.”
Quickly the knight answered
Her, when this he heard.
“Lady, make the lai afresh!
Call it Chaitivel- -The Wretch!
And I will show you the reason why
This is the name it should go by.
The others died a while ago,
Their days in this world were through.
They suffered terrible pain and woe
From the love they had for you.
But I, who got off with my life,
Wretched, confused, lost in strife- -
The thing in the world I could love so
I watch day after day come and go
Talking to me morning, evening- -yet
I can’t enjoy it, not so much
As a kiss, an embrace, a touch.
Talking is all the good I get.
With so many such griefs you torture me,
I’d be better off dead, truth to tell.
That’s why the lai should be named after me,
And be called `The Wretch’- -`Chaitivel.
Calling it `Four Mournings,’ from this day,
Is changing the right name of the lai.”
“By my faith,” she said, “I like this well;
Now we will call it `Chaitivel.’”
Thus the lai was begun,
Finished, and given two names, not one:
Those who first took it abroad
Called it “Four Mournings”- -well, some did.
Both names in fact are a good fit,
For the subject-matter requires it.
“Chaitivel”‘s the name you usually hear.
Here it ends, there is no more;
I have not heard, I cannot say,
I won’t tell you any more today.

CHEVREFOIL

It’s my pleasure and I want truly
For the lai men call Chevrefoil
(Honeysuckle), the truth to tell:
Why it was made, how it all befell.
More than one has told me or spoken,
And I’ve found it also written
About the Queen and Sir Tristram,
Their love so true, so pure, from
Which their sorrows multiplied- -
Then, in a single day, both died.
King Mark was angry and then some- -
Angry at his nephew Tristram;
He banished him beyond his border,
Because of the Queen, for he loved her.
He goes home to whence he hails- -
He was born in South Wales.
3
He lives there for one whole year.
He could not go back to see her.
But then he’s ready to risk it all- -
Death, destruction, any downfall.
Don’t be too surprised, really:
Any true love who loves loyally
Suffers, and depression haunts
Him when he can’t have what he wants.
Tristram suffers, his thoughts roam,
So he slips himself away from home.
He goes straight into Cornwall,
There where the Queen is known to dwell.
He hid himself in the forest alone,
Wanting to be seen by none.
But he crept forth in the evening light
When men seek shelter for the night.
With peasants and the poorest folk
That night he his lodgings took.
He asked the news- -just anything
About the doings of the King?
They told him then what they had heard:
The barons, summoned by the King’s word,
Must come to Tintagel castle, where
The King wishes to hold court; there
At Pentecost, at Whitsunday,
They’ll gather for joy, sport, and play.
The Queen, of course, will take part.
Tristram hears, joy fills his heart.
No way she can go to Tintagel
Without his seeing how she’ll travel.
The day the king was on the move,
Sir Tristram came into a grove
Through which, he knew, the road lay
The crowd must use to pass this way.
He cut a hazel in half there,
Shaped and trimmed it, neatly square.
When he had prepared this staff,
He autographed it with his knife.
If the Queen saw this invention,
She would pay it great attention;
For this had all happened before- -
She’d realized thus that he was there.
She’ll recognize it, easy, quick,
As soon as she sees her lover’s stick.
This is the gist of what he wrote,
The message he sent her, as he spoke:
That he’d stayed there for quite a while,
Waiting, lingering in exile,
Spying, trying to learn or hear
How he could find a way to see her,
For without her he cannot live.
For those two, it’s just like with
The sweet honeysuckle vine
That on the hazel tree will twine:
When it fastens, slips itself right
Around the trunk, ties itself tight,
Then the two survive together.
But should anyone try to sever
Them, the hazel dies right away,
And the honeysuckle, the same day.
“Dear love, that’s our story, too:
Never you without me, me without you!”
The Queen was riding through the wood.
She looked around, as far as she could;
She saw the staff, paid heed to it,
And, by the letters on it, knew it.
The knights who led the cavalcade
Accompanying her- -quite a parade- -
She commands to halt their progress;
She wants to dismount, take a rest.
What the Queen commands, they do.
She wanders far from her retinue.
She calls out to her own maiden
To come to her- -good, true Brengvein.
She leaves the path, a step or two;In the woods she finds that man who
Loves her more than any other.
They show their joy, to be together- -
He can talk to her at leisure,
She speaks to him all her pleasure.
Then she outlines every little thing
Needed to make peace with the King,
For it weighs heavy on her husband
Thus to have sent him from the land- -
Accusers forced him, it wasn’t fair.
Now she goes, she leaves her friend there.
But when it’s time for them to sever,
Each begins weeping for such a lover.
Tristram goes back to Wales as before.
Till his uncle commands that he be sent for.
Because of the joy, the delight
He found in his beloved’s sight,
And because of what he’d written,
Exactly as the Queen had spoken,
To keep those words in memory sharp,
Tristram, who played so well the harp,
Made of this a brand-new lai.
The name is easy for me to say:
English folk call it “Goatleaf,”
French “Chevrefoil” (“Honeysuckle,” in brief).
I’ve spoken for you the whole truth of the lai
Which I recounted for you today.