The Lay of Marie and Vignettes in Verse Part 15

Much had she sought to meet the knight alone; Now in these words she made her pa.s.sion known: 'Lanval!' she said, 'thy worth, long season past, 'In my deserv'd esteem hath fix'd thee fast: 'Tis thine this prosperous presage to improve:-- Say, gentle knight, canst thou return my love?

The knight, ye wot, love's paragon ador'd, And, had his heart been free, rever'd his word; True to his king, the fealty of his soul Abhorr'd all commerce with a thought so foul.

In fine, the sequel of my tale to tell, From the shent queen such bitter slander fell, That, with an honest indignation strong, The fatal secret 'scap'd Sir Lanval's tongue: 'Yes!' he declar'd, 'he felt love's fullest power!

Yes!' he declar'd, 'he had a paramour!

But one, so perfect in all female grace, Those charms might scarcely win her handmaid's place; Those charms, were now one menial damsel near, Would lose this little light, and disappear.'

Strong degradation sure the words implied; The queen stood mute, she could not speak for pride; But quick she turn'd, and to her chamber sped, There prostrate lay, and wept upon her bed; There vow'd the coming of her lord to wait, Nor mov'd till promis'd vengeance seal'd her hate.

The king, that day devoted to the chace, Ne'er till the close of evening sought the place; Then at his feet the fair deceiver fell, And gloss'd her artful tale of mischief well; Told how a saucy knight his queen abus'd, With prayer of proffer'd love, with scorn refus'd; Thereat how rudely rail'd the ruffian shent, With slanderous speech and foul disparagement, And boastfully declar'd such charms array'd The veriest menial where his vows were paid, That, might one handmaid of that dame be seen, All eyes would shun with scorn imperial Arthur's queen.

The weeping tale of her, his heart ador'd, Wak'd the quick wrath of her deluded lord; Sternly he menac'd some disastrous end By fire or cord, should soon that wretch attend, And straight dispatched three barons bold to bring The culprit to the presence of his king.

Lanval! the while, the queen no longer near, Home to his chamber hied with heavy cheer: Much did he dread his luckless boast might prove The eternal forfeit of his lady's love; And, all impatient his dark doom to try, And end the pangs of dire uncertainty, His humble prayer he tremblingly preferr'd, Wo worth the while! his prayer no more was heard.

O! how he wail'd! how curs'd the unhappy day!

Deaf still remained the unrelenting fay.

Him, thus dismay'd, the approaching barons found; Outstretch'd he lay, and weeping, on the ground; To reckless ears their summons they declar'd, Lost was his fay, for nought beside he car'd; So forth they led him, void of will or word, Dead was his heart within, his wretched life abhorr'd.

They reach the presence; there he hears surpriz'd The mortal charge of felony devis'd: Stern did the monarch look, and sharp upbraid For foul seducement of his queen a.s.say'd: The knight, whose loyal heart disdain'd the offence, With generous warmth affirm'd his innocence; He ne'er devis'd seduction:--for the rest, His speech discourteous, frankly he confess'd; Influenc'd with ire his lips forwent their guard; He stood prepared to bide the court's award.

Straight from his peers were chosen judges nam'd: Then fix the trial, with due forms proclaim'd; By them 'tis order'd that the accus'd a.s.sign Three men for pledge, or in a prison pine.

Lanval! 'tis told, had pa.s.s'd from foreign strand, And kinsmen none there dwelt on English land; And well he knew that in the hour of proof Friends for the most part fail, and stand aloof: Sue them he would not, but with manly pride In silence turn'd, and toward his prison hied.

With generous grief the deed Sir Gawaine view'd; Dear to the king was he, and nephew of his blood, But liberal worth past nature's ties prevail'd, And sympathy stood forth, if friends.h.i.+p fail'd; Nor less good-will full many a knight inspir'd; With general voice the prisoner all requir'd, All pledg'd their fiefs he should not fail the day, And homeward bore him from the court away.

His friends, for sure they well that t.i.tle claim, First thought the licence of his tongue to blame; But, when they mark'd how deeply he was mov'd, They sooth'd and cherish'd rather than reprov'd.

Each day, as mute he sat in desperate grief, They spoke kind words of comfort and relief; Each day, howe'er they sought, howe'er they sued, Scarce might they win his lips to taste of food: 'Come, welcome death!' forever was his cry; 'Lo, here a wretch who wishes but to die!'

So still he wail'd, till woe such mastery wan They trembled for his n.o.bler powers of man; They fear'd lest reason's tottering rule should end And to a moping ideot sink their friend.

At length came on the day, long since decreed, When the sad knight should suffer or be freed.

From every part the a.s.sembling barons meet: Each judge, as fore-ordain'd, a.s.sumes his seat; The king, too strongly sway'd by female pride, O'er the grave council will himself preside, And, while the presence of his queen inspires, Goads on the judgment as her wrath requires.

There might be seen that honourable band Late for the prisoner pledg'd in fief and land; Slow they advance, then stand before the board, Whiles all behold the entrusted thrall restor'd.

With many a question next the accus'd was prov'd; Then, while the votes were given, awhile remov'd.

But those brave warriors, when they weigh'd the plight And the fair promise of this hapless knight, His youth, for yet he reach'd not manhood's prime; His gallant mien, his life without a crime, His helpless state by kindred unsustain'd, In a strange court and in a foreign land, All cried aloud, were Lanval doom'd to die, It were a doom of shame and cruelty.

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

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

When, lo! strange shouts of joy and clamourous cheers, Rose from without, and stay'd the astonish'd peers: At hand two damsels entering in were seen, Lovely alike their look, and n.o.ble was their mien; On a grey dappled steed each lady rode, That pac'd for pride, as conscious of his load; 'Lo here!' 'twas murmured round with new delight, 'Lo here, the mistress of the Breton knight!'

The twain meanwhile pa.s.s'd onward undelay'd, And to the king their graceful greetings paid, Then told their lady's coming, and desir'd Such harbourage as highest rank requir'd.

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

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

Just were his boding fears: new shouts ascend Of loud acclaim; and wide the welkin rend.

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

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

Thus while he spake, the peers with seemly state.

Led by their king, the ill.u.s.trious stranger wait; Proud Carduel's palace hail'd its princely guest, And thus the dame the a.s.sembled court address'd.

'List, king, and barons!--Arthur, I have lov'd A knight most loyal in thy service prov'd; Him, by thy foul neglect, reduc'd to need, These hands did recompense; they did thy deed.

He disobey's me; I forbore to save; I left him at the portal of the grave: Firm loyalty hath well that breach repair'd-- He loves me still, nor shall he lack reward.

'Barons! your court its judgment did decree, Quittance or death, your queen compar'd with me: Behold the mistress of the knight is come, Now judge between us? and p.r.o.nounce the doom.'

All cry aloud, the words of love were right, And one united voice acquits the knight.

Back from the palace turns the parting fay, And with her beauteous damsels speeds away: Her, as she pa.s.s'd the enraptur'd Lanval view'd; High on the portal's marble steps he stood; On his tall steed he sprang with vigorous bound; Thenceforth their footsteps never wight hath found.

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

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

No. VI.--LES DEUX AMANTS.

In Neustria, now called Normandy is a single mountain of unusual height and verdure, railed the mountain "of the two lovers," in consequence of an adventure to which it gave rise, and of which the Bretons have formed a lay. Close to it are the remains of a city, now reduced to a few houses, but formerly opulent, founded by the king of the Pistreins, whence it was called Depistreins, and the neighbouring valley Val de Pistre. This king had one only daughter, whom he loved so much that he could not bear to be separated from her. With a view to check the pursuits of the lovers, whom her beauty and accomplishments attracted, he published a decree, that her hand should never be granted but to a suitor who should be able to carry her, without resting, from the bottom to the top of the adjoining mountain. Many attempted the enterprise, for presumption is common; none achieved it, because its execution was barely possible. The suitors disappeared, one by one, and the beautiful princess seemed doomed to eternal celibacy. There was one youth, the son of a neighbouring baron, who was a favourite with the king and the whole court, and whose a.s.siduities, which were dictated by an unconquerable and sincere pa.s.sion, ultimately gained the lady's warmest affections.

It was long a secret to all the world: but this discretion became, at length, almost intolerable; and the youth, hopeless of fulfilling the condition which alone could obtain her hand, earnestly conjured her to fly from her father's court. To this she would not consent, but suggested a mode of accomplis.h.i.+ng their wishes more compatible with her filial piety: "I have," said she, "a rich aunt, who resides, and has studied during thirty years, at Salerno. In that celebrated school she has so completely acquired the art of medicine; has learned so many _salves_ and drugs; has so studied _herbs_ and _roots_, that she will be enabled to compose for you _electuaries_ and _drinks_, capable of communicating the degree of vigour necessary to the accomplishment of the trial prescribed by my father. To her you shall bear a letter from me, and at your return shall demand me from the king, on the terms to which he has himself a.s.sented." The lover thanked her; went home, provided the necessary a.s.sortment of rich clothes, and other merchandize, of palfreys, beasts of burthen and attendants, and set off for Salerno. His mission was successful: the good aunt's electuaries rendered him much more athletic than before; and he brought back, in a small vial, an elixir capable of instantly restoring strength at the moment of complete exhaustion. He therefore was full of confidence, and claimed the trial. The king having summoned all his princ.i.p.al va.s.sals to behold the ceremony, conducted his daughter into the great plain on the banks of the Seine, and found the youth already stationed at the foot of the mountain. The lovely princess had scarcely tasted food since the departure of her lover; she would gladly have wasted herself to the lightness of air for the purpose of diminis.h.i.+ng his labour. She wore only a single robe which closely enveloped her. Her lover catching her up with one hand, and bearing the precious vial in the other, appeared perfectly unconscious of the burthen, and bore her, with the rapidity of lightning, more than half way up the mountain: but here she perceived his breath began to fail, and conjured him to have recourse to his medicine. He replied, that he was still full of vigour; was too much within sight of the mult.i.tude below, that their cries on seeing him stop, even for an instant, would annoy and dishearten him; and that, while able to proceed alone, he would not appeal to preternatural a.s.sistance. At two-thirds of the height she felt him totter under the weight, and again repeated her earnest entreaties. But he no longer heard or listened: exerting his whole remains of strength, he staggered with her to the top, still bearing the untasted vial in his hand, and dropped dead on the ground. His mistress, thinking he had only fainted, knelt down by his side, applied the elixir to his lips, but found that life had left him. She then dashed the vial on the ground, uttered a dreadful shriek, threw herself on the body, and instantly expired. The king and his attendants, much surprized at not seeing them return, ascended the mountain, and found the youth fast locked in the arms of the princess. By command of her father they were buried on the spot in a marble coffin, and the mountain still retains the name of "The Two Lovers." Around their tomb the ground exhibits an unceasing verdure; and hither the whole country resort for the most valuable herbs employed in medicine, which owe their origin to the contents of the marvellous vial.[77]

No. VII.--YWONEC.

There lived once in Britain a rich old knight, lord of Caerwent, a city situated on the river Duglas. He had married, when far advanced in years, a young wife of high birth, and transcendant beauty, in hopes of having an heir; but when, at the end of seven years, this hope was frustrated, he locked her up in his strong castle, under the care of his sister, an aged widow lady, of great devotion and asperity of temper.

His own amus.e.m.e.nts were confined to the chace; those of his sister to thumbing the Psalter, and chanting its contents: the young lady had no solace but tears. One morning in April, when the birds began to sing the songs of love, the old gentleman had risen early, and awakened his sister, who carefully shut the doors after him, while he sallied forth for the woods, and his young wife began her usual lamentations. She execrated the hour when she was born, and the fatal avarice of her parents, for having united her to an old, jealous tyrant, afraid of his own shadow, who debarred her even from going to church. She had heard the country round her prison was once famed for adventures; that young and gallant knights used to meet, without censure or impediment, beautiful and affectionate mistresses; but her lot was endless misery (for her tyrant was certainly immortal), unless the supreme Disposer of events should, by some miracle, suspend the listlessness of her existence. She had scarcely finished this e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.i.o.n, when the shadow of a bird, which nearly intercepted all the light proceeding from the narrow window of her room, arrested her attention, and a falcon of the largest size flew into the chamber, and perched at the foot of her bed.

While she gazed, it gradually a.s.sumed the figure of a young and handsome knight. She started, changed colour, and drew a veil over her face, but still gazed and listened, with some fear, much astonishment, but more pleasure. The knight soon broke silence. He begged her not to be alarmed; confessed his mode of visiting was new, and rather mysterious; but that a falcon was a gentle and n.o.ble bird, whose figure ought not to create suspicion. He was a neighbouring prince, who had long loved her, and wished to dedicate the remainder of his days to her service. The lady, gradually removing her veil, ingenuously told him, he was much handsomer, and apparently more amiable, than any man she had ever seen; and she should be happy to accept him as a lover, if such a connection could be legitimate, and if he was orthodox. The prince entered at large into the articles of his creed; and concluded by advising that she should feign herself sick, send for his chaplain, and direct him to bring the host; "when," said he, "I will a.s.sume your appearance, and receive the Sacrament in your stead." The lady was satisfied with this proposal; and, when the old woman came in, and summoned her to rise, she professed to be at the point of death, and entreated the immediate a.s.sistance of the chaplain. Such a request, in the absence of her lord, could not be regularly granted; but a few screams, and a fainting fit, removed the old lady's doubts, and she hobbled off in search of the chaplain, who immediately brought the host; and Muldumaric (the falcon-prince) a.s.suming the appearance of his mistress, went through the sacred ceremony with becoming devotion, which they both considered as a marriage contract. The lady's supposed illness enabled the prince to protract his visit; but at length the moment of separation came, and she expressed her wish for the frequent repet.i.tion of their interviews.--"Nothing is so easy," said Muldumaric; "whenever you express an ardent wish to see me, I will instantly come. But beware of that old woman: she will probably discover our secret, and betray it to her brother; and I announce to you, the moment of discovery will be that of my death." With these words he flew off. His mistress, with all her caution, was unable to conceal entirely the complete change in her sensations. Her solitude, formerly so irksome, became the source of her greatest delight; her person, so long neglected, again was an object of solicitude; and her artful and jealous husband, on his return from the chase, often discovered in her features the traces of a satisfaction his conscience told him he was not the author of. His vague suspicions were, after a time, communicated to his sister; but being, as she thought, the young lady's sole companion, and not able to reproach herself with any enlivening qualities, she could not account for this contented demeanour. At length she was commanded to conceal herself in his wife's apartments during his absence, to watch indefatigably, and report whatever she could discover. The result was a full confirmation of all his suspicions. He now exerted himself in devising means of vengeance: he secretly prepared and placed before the fatal window a trap, composed of sharpened steel arrows, and, rising long before day, set off on his usual occupation. The old lady, carefully shutting the doors after him, returned to her bed till day break; and his wife, awakened at this unusual hour, could not refrain from uttering an ardent wish for the company of her dear Muldumaric. He was instantly at her side; but had received his death wound, and she found herself sprinkled with his blood. Overpowered by fear and surprize, she could scarcely hear him say he died for her, and that his prophecy was accomplished. She fainted in his arms; but he conjured her to preserve her life, and announcing she would have a son, whom she must call Ywonec, and who was destined to be the avenger of both his parents. He then hastily departed through an open and unguarded window. His mistress, uttering a piteous scream, threw herself out of the same window, and pursued his flight by the trace of his blood, which the first beams of morning enabled her to distinguish. At length she arrived at a thick wood, where she was soon surrounded with darkness; but pursued the beaten track, and emerged into a meadow, where, recovering the trace of blood, she pursued it to a large city of unexampled magnificence, which she entered, and proceeded to the palace. No one was visible in the streets. In the first apartment she found a knight asleep. She knew him not, and pa.s.sed on to the next, where she found a second equally unknown to her. She entered the third room; and on a bed, which almost dazzled her by the splendour of its ornaments, and which was surrounded by numerous torches blazing in golden candlesticks, she recognised her dear Muldumaric, and sunk almost lifeless with fatigue and terror by his side. Though very near his last moments, he was still able to comfort and instruct her. He adjured her to return instantly, while she could escape the notice of his subjects, to whom, as their story was known, she would be particularly obnoxious.

He gave her a ring, in virtue of which he a.s.sured her she would in future escape the persecution, and even the jealousy of her husband. He then put into her hands his sword, with directions that it should never be touched by man till his son was dubbed a knight; when it must be delivered to him with due solemnity, near the tomb of his father, at the moment he should learn the secret of his birth, and the miseries produced by it. She would then see the first use to which her boy would put it. The prince had nearly spent his last breath in the service of his beloved mistress; he could only instruct her by signs to put on a magnificent robe which lay near him, and hasten her departure. She staggered through the town, arrived in the solitary fields, heard the distant knell announce her lover's death, and sunk exhausted to the ground. At length the air revived her; she slowly renewed her journey, and returned to her castle, which, by virtue of her ring, she entered undisturbed. Till the birth of her son, and from that time to the conclusion of his education, she lived in silent anguish, and in patient expectation of the day of vengeance. The young Ywonec, by his beauty and address, recalled to her mind the loved image of his father; and at length she beheld him, with a throbbing heart, invested, amidst the applause of all the spectators, with the dignity of knighthood. The hour of retribution was now fast approaching. At the feast of St. Aaron, in the same year, the baron was summoned with his family to Caerleon, where the festival was held with great solemnity. In the course of their journey they stopped for the night in a s.p.a.cious abbey, where they were received with the greatest hospitality. The good abbot, for the purpose of detaining his guests another day, exhibited to them the whole of the apartments, the dormitory, the refectory, and the chapter-house, in which they beheld a vast sepulchral monument, covered with a superb pall, fringed with gold, and surrounded by twenty waxen tapers in golden candlesticks, while a vast silver censer, constantly burning, filled the air with fumes of incense. The guests naturally inquired concerning the name and quality of the person who reposed in that splendid tomb; and were told it was the late king of that country; the best, the handsomest, the wisest, the most courteous and liberal of mankind; that he was treacherously slain at Caerwent, for his love to the lady of that castle; that since his death his subjects had respected his dying injunctions, and reserved the crown for a son, whose arrival they still expected with much anxiety. On hearing this story the lady cried aloud to Ywonec, "Fair son, thou hast heard how Providence hath conducted us. .h.i.ther. Here lies thy father whom this old man slew with felony. I now put into thy hands the sword of thy sire; I have kept it long enough."

She then proceeded to tell him the sad adventure of his birth, and, having with much difficulty concluded the recital, fell dead on the tomb of her husband. Ywonec, almost frantic with grief and horror, instantly sacrificed his h.o.a.ry stepfather to the manes of his parents, and having caused his mother to be interred with suitable honours, accepted from his subjects the crown they had reserved for the representative of a long line of royal ancestors.

FOOTNOTES:

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

No. 8.--LAUSTIC.

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

FOOTNOTES:

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

No. IX.--MILUN.[80]