have gone astray. Here I have set my heart on a maiden, Guillardun,
the daughter of the King, and she, on me. If, now, we part, there is
no help that one, or both, of us, must die. Yet go I must. My lord
requires me by letters, and by the oath of fealty that I have sworn.
My own honour demands that I should return to my wife. I dare not
stay; needs must I go. I cannot wed my lady, for not a priest in
Christendom would make us man and wife. All things turn to blame. God,
what a tearing asunder will our parting be! Yet there is one who will
ever think me in the right, though I be held in scorn of all. I will
be guided by her wishes, and what she counsels that will I do. The
King, her sire, is troubled no longer by any war. First, I will go to
him, praying that I may return to my own land, for a little, because
of the need of my rightful lord. Then I will seek out the maiden, and
show her the whole business. She will tell me her desire, and I shall
act according to her wish."
The knight hesitated no longer as to the path he should follow. He
went straight to the King, and craved leave to depart. He told him
the story of his lord's distress, and read, and placed in the King's
hands, the letters calling him back to his home. When the King had
read the writing, and knew that Eliduc purposed to depart, he was
passing sad and heavy. He offered the knight the third part of his
kingdom, with all the treasure that he pleased to ask, if he would
remain at his side. He offered these things to the knight--these, and
the gratitude of all his days besides.
"Do not tempt me, sire," replied the knight. "My lord is in such
deadly peril, and his letters have come so great a way to require me,
that go I must to aid him in his need. When I have ended my task, I
will return very gladly, if you care for my services, and with me a
goodly company of knights to fight in your quarrels."
The King thanked Eliduc for his words, and granted him graciously the
leave that he demanded. He gave him, moreover, all the goods of his
house; gold and silver, hound and horses, silken cloths, both rich and
fair, these he might have at his will. Eliduc took of them discreetly,
according to his need. Then, very softly, he asked one other gift.
If it pleased the King, right willingly would he say farewell to the
princess, before he went. The King replied that it was his pleasure,
too. He sent a page to open the door of the maiden's chamber, and to
tell her the knight's request. When she saw him, she took him by
the hand, and saluted him very sweetly. Eliduc was the more fain of
counsel than of claspings. He seated himself by the maiden's side, and
as shortly as he might, commenced to show her of the business. He had
done no more than read her of his letters, than her face lost its fair
colour, and near she came to swoon. When Eliduc saw her about to fall,
he knew not what he did, for grief. He kissed her mouth, once and
again, and wept above her, very tenderly. He took, and held her fast
in his arms, till she had returned from her swoon.
"Fair dear friend," said he softly, "bear with me while I tell you
that you are my life and my death, and in you is all my comfort. I
have bidden farewell to your father, and purposed to go back to my own
land, for reason of this bitter business of my lord. But my will is
only in your pleasure, and whatever the future brings me, your counsel
I will do."
"Since you cannot stay," said the maiden, "take me with you, wherever
you go. If not, my life is so joyless without you, that I would wish
to end it with my knife."
Very sweetly made answer Sir Eliduc, for in honesty he loved honest
maid, "Fair friend, I have sworn faith to your father, and am his man.
If I carried you with me, I should give the lie to my troth. Let this
covenant be made between us. Should you give me leave to return to my
own land I swear to you on my honour as a knight, that I will come
again on any day that you shall name. My life is in your hands.
Nothing on earth shall keep me from your side, so only that I have
life and health."
Then she, who loved so fondly, granted her knight permission to
depart, and fixed the term, and named the day for his return. Great
was their sorrow that the hour had come to bid farewell. They gave
rings of gold for remembrance, and sweetly kissed adieu. So they
severed from each other's arms.
Eliduc sought the sea, and with a fair wind, crossed swiftly to the
other side. His lord was greatly content to learn the tidings of his
knight's return. His friends and his kinsfolk came to greet him, and
the common folk welcomed him very gladly. But, amongst them all, none
was so blithe at his home-coming as the fair and prudent lady who was
his wife. Despite this show of friendship, Eliduc was ever sad, and
deep in thought. He went heavily, till he might look upon his friend.
He felt no happiness, nor made pretence of any, till he should meet
with her again. His wife was sick at heart, because of the coldness of
her husband. She took counsel with her soul, as to what she had done
amiss. Often she asked him privily, if she had come short or offended
in any measure, whilst he was without the realm. If she was accused by
any, let him tell her the accusation, that she might purge herself of
the offence.
"Wife," answered Eliduc, "neither I, nor any other, charge you with
aught that is against your honour to do. The cause of my sorrow is
in myself. I have pledged my faith to the King of that country, from
whence I come, that I will return to help him in his need. When my
lord the King has peace in his realm, within eight days I shall be
once more upon the sea. Great travail I must endure, and many pains I
shall suffer, in readiness for that hour. Return I must, and till then
I have no mind for anything but toil; for I will not give the lie to
my plighted word."
Eliduc put his fief once more in the hands of his dame. He sought
his lord, and aided him to the best of his might. By the counsel and
prowess of the knight, the King came again into his own. When the term
appointed by his lady, and the day she named for his return drew near,
Eliduc wrought in such fashion that peace was accorded between the
foes. Then the knight made him ready for his journey, and took thought
to the folk he should carry with him. His choice fell on two of his
nephews, whom he loved very dearly, and on a certain chamberlain of
his household. These were trusted servitors, who were of his inmost
mind, and knew much of his counsel. Together with these went his
squires, these only, for Eliduc had no care to take many. All these,
nephew and squire and chamberlain, Eliduc made to promise, and confirm
by an oath, that they would reveal nothing of his business.
The company put to sea without further tarrying, and, crossing
quickly, came to that land where Eliduc so greatly desired to be. The
knight sought a hostel some distance from the haven, for he would
not be seen of any, nor have it bruited that Eliduc was returned. He
called his chamberlain, and sent him to his friend, bearing letters
that her knight had come, according to the covenant that had been
made. At nightfall, before the gates were made fast, Eliduc issued
forth from the city, and followed after his messenger. He had clothed
himself in mean apparel, and rode at a footpace straight to the city,
where dwelt the daughter of the King. The chamberlain arrived before
the palace, and by dint of asking and prying, found himself within the
lady's chamber. He saluted the maiden, and told her that her lover
was near. When Guillardun heard these tidings she was astonied beyond
measure, and for joy and pity wept right tenderly. She kissed the
letters of her friend, and the messenger who brought such welcome
tidings. The chamberlain prayed the lady to attire and make her ready
to join her friend. The day was spent in preparing for the adventure,
according to such plan as had been devised. When dark was come,
and all was still, the damsel stole forth from the palace, and the
chamberlain with her. For fear that any man should know her again,
the maiden had hidden, beneath a riding cloak, her silken gown,
embroidered with gold. About the space of a bow shot from the city
gate, there was a coppice standing within a fair meadow. Near by this
wood, Eliduc and his comrades awaited the coming of Guillardun. When
Eliduc saw the lady, wrapped in her mantle, and his chamberlain
leading her by the hand, he got from his horse, and kissed her right
tenderly. Great joy had his companions at so fair a sight. He set
her on the horse, and climbing before her, took bridle in glove,
and returned to the haven, with all the speed he might. He entered
forthwith in the ship, which put to sea, having on board none, save
Eliduc, his men, and his lady, Guillardun. With a fair wind, and a
quiet hour, the sailors thought that they would swiftly come to shore.
But when their journey was near its end, a sudden tempest arose on the
sea. A mighty wind drove them far from their harbourage, so that their
rudder was broken, and their sail torn from the mast. Devoutly they
cried on St. Nicholas, St. Clement, and Madame St. Mary, to aid them
in this peril. They implored the Mother that she would approach her
Son, not to permit them to perish, but to bring them to the harbour
where they would come. Without sail or oar, the ship drifted here and
there, at the mercy of the storm. They were very close to death, when
one of the company, with a loud voice began to cry, "What need is
there of prayers! Sir, you have with you, her, who brings us to our
death. We shall never win to land, because you, who already have a
faithful wife, seek to wed this foreign woman, against God and His
law, against honour and your plighted troth. Grant us to cast her in
the sea, and straightway the winds and the waves will be still."
When Eliduc heard these words he was like to come to harm for rage.
"Bad servant and felon traitor," he cried, "you should pay dearly for
your speech, if I might leave my lady."
Eliduc held his friend fast in his arms, and cherished her as well as
he was able. When the lady heard that her knight was already wedded
in his own realm, she swooned where she lay. Her face became pale and
discoloured; she neither breathed nor sighed, nor could any bring
her any comfort. Those who carried her to a sheltered place, were
persuaded that she was but dead, because of the fury of the storm.
Eliduc was passing heavy. He rose to his feet, and hastening to his
squire, smote him so grievously with an oar, that he fell senseless on
the deck. He haled him by his legs to the side of the ship and flung
the body in the sea, where it was swiftly swallowed by the waves. He
went to the broken rudder, and governed the nave so skilfully, that it
presently drew to land. So, having come to their fair haven, they cast
anchor, and made fast their bridge to the shore. Dame Guillardun lay
yet in her swoon, and seemed no other than if she were really dead.
Eliduc's sorrow was all the more, since he deemed that he had slain
her with his hand. He inquired of his companions in what near place
they might lay the lady to her rest, "for I will not bid her farewell,
till she is put in holy ground with such pomp and rite as befit the
obsequies of the daughter of a King." His comrades answered him never
a word, for they were all bemused by reason of what had befallen.
Eliduc, therefore, considered within himself to what place he should
carry the lady. His own home was so near the haven where he had come,
that very easily they could ride there before evening. He called to
mind that in his realm there was a certain great forest, both long and
deep. Within this wood there was a little chapel, served by a holy
hermit for forty years, with whom Eliduc had oftimes spoken.
"To this holy man," he said, "I will bear my lady. In his chapel he
shall bury her sweet body. I will endow him so richly of my lands,
that upon her chantry shall be founded a mighty abbey. There some
convent of monks or nuns or canons shall ever hold her in remembrance,
praying God to grant her mercy in His day."
Eliduc got to horse, but first took oath of his comrades that never,
by them, should be discovered, that which they should see. He set his
friend before him on the palfrey, and thus the living and the dead
rode together, till they had entered the wood, and come before the
chapel. The squires called and beat upon the door, but it remained
fast, and none was found to give them any answer. Eliduc bade that one
should climb through a window, and open the door from within. When
they had come within the chapel they found a new made tomb, and writ
thereon, that the holy hermit having finished his course, was made
perfect, eight days before Passing sad was Eliduc, and esmayed. His
companions would have digged a second grave, and set therein, his
friend; but the knight would in no wise consent, for--he said--he
purposed to take counsel of the priests of his country, as to building
some church or abbey above her tomb. "At this hour we will but lay her
body before the altar, and commend her to God His holy keeping."
He commanded them to bring their mantles and make a bed upon the
altar-pace. Thereon they laid the maiden, and having wrapped her close
in her lover's cloak, left her alone. When the moment came for Eliduc
to take farewell of his lady, he deemed that his own last hour had
come. He kissed her eyes and her face.
"Fair friend," said he, "if it be pleasing to God, never will I bear
sword or lance again, or seek the pleasures of this mortal world. Fair
friend, in an ill hour you saw me! Sweet lady, in a bitter hour you
followed me to death! Fairest, now were you a queen, were it not for
the pure and loyal love you set upon me? Passing sad of heart am I for
you, my friend. The hour that I have seen you in your shroud, I will
take the habit of some holy order, and every day, upon your tomb, I
will tell over the chaplet of my sorrow."
Having taken farewell of the maiden, Eliduc came forth from the
chapel, and closed the doors. He sent messages to his wife, that he
was returning to his house, but weary and overborne. When the dame
heard these tidings, she was happy in her heart, and made ready to
greet him. She received her lord tenderly; but little joy came of her
welcome, for she got neither smiles in answer, nor tender words in
return. She dared not inquire the reason, during the two days Eliduc
remained in the house. The knight heard Mass very early in the
morning, and then set forth on the road leading to the chapel where
the maiden lay. He found her as he had parted, for she had not come
back from her swoon, and there was neither stir in her, nor breath. He
marvelled greatly, for he saw her, vermeil and white, as he had known
her in life. She had lost none of her sweet colour, save that she was
a little blanched. He wept bitterly above her, and entreated for her
soul. Having made his prayer, he went again to his house.
On a day when Eliduc went forth, his wife called to her a varlet of
her household, commanding him to follow his lord afar off, and mark
where he went, and on what business. She promised to give him harness
and horses, if he did according to her will. The varlet hid himself in
the wood, and followed so cunningly after his lord, that he was not
perceived. He watched the knight enter the chapel, and heard the
cry and lamentation that he made. When Eliduc came out, the varlet
hastened to his mistress, and told her what he had seen, the tears and
dolour, and all that befell his lord within the hermitage. The lady
summoned all her courage.
"We will go together, as soon as we may, to this hermitage. My lord
tells me that he rides presently to the Court to speak with the King.
I knew that my husband loved this dead hermit very tenderly, but I
little thought that his loss would make him mad with grief."
The next day the dame let her lord go forth in peace. When, about
noon, Eliduc rode to the Court to greet his King, the lady rose
quickly, and carrying the varlet with her, went swiftly to the
hermitage. She entered the chapel, and saw the bed upon the
altar-pace, and the maiden thereon, like a new sprung rose. Stooping
down the lady removed the mantle. She marked the rigid body, the long
arms, and the frail white hands, with their slender fingers, folded on
the breast. Thus she learned the secret of the sorrow of her lord. She
called the varlet within the chapel, and showed him this wonder.
"Seest thou," she said, "this woman, who for beauty shineth as a gem!
This lady, in her life, was the lover of my lord. It was for her that
all his days were spoiled by grief. By my faith I marvel little at
his sorrow, since I, who am a woman too, will--for pity's sake or
love--never know joy again, having seen so fair a lady in the dust."
So the wife wept above the body of the maiden. Whilst the lady
sat weeping, a weasel came from under the altar, and ran across
Guillardun's body. The varlet smote it with his staff, and killed it
as it passed. He took the vermin and flung it away. The companion of
this weasel presently came forth to seek him. She ran to the place
where he lay, and finding that he would not get him on his feet,
seemed as one distraught. She went forth from the chapel, and hastened
to the wood, from whence she returned quickly, bearing a vermeil
flower beneath her teeth. This red flower she placed within the mouth
of that weasel the varlet had slain, and immediately he stood upon his
feet. When the lady saw this, she cried to the varlet,
"Throw, man, throw, and gain the flower."
The servitor flung his staff, and the weasels fled away, leaving that
fair flower upon the floor. The lady rose. She took the flower, and
returned with it swiftly to the altar pace. Within the mouth of the
maiden, she set a flower that was more vermeil still. For a short
space the dame and the damsel were alike breathless. Then the maiden
came to herself, with a sigh. She opened her eyes, and commenced to
speak.
"Diva," she said, "have I slept so long, indeed!"
When the lady heard her voice she gave thanks to God. She inquired of
the maiden as to her name and degree. The damsel made answer to her,
"Lady, I was born in Logres, and am daughter to the King of that
realm. Greatly there I loved a knight, named Eliduc, the seneschal of
my sire. We fled together from my home, to my own most grievous fault.
He never told me that he was wedded to a wife in his own country, and
he hid the matter so cunningly, that I knew naught thereof. When I
heard tell of his dame, I swooned for pure sorrow. Now I find that
this false lover, has, like a felon, betrayed me in a strange land.
What will chance to a maiden in so foul a plight? Great is that
woman's folly who puts her trust in man."
"Fair damsel," replied the lady, "there is nothing in the whole world
that can give such joy to this felon, as to hear that you are yet
alive. He deems that you are dead, and every day he beweeps your swoon
in the chapel. I am his wife, and my heart is sick, just for looking
on his sorrow. To learn the reason of his grief, I caused him to
be followed, and that is why I have found you here. It is a great
happiness for me to know that you live. You shall return with me to my
home, and I will place you in the tenderness of your friend. Then I
shall release him of his marriage troth, since it is my dearest hope
to take the veil."
When the wife had comforted the maiden with such words, they went
together to her own house. She called to her servitor, and bade him
seek his lord. The varlet went here and there, till he lighted on
Eliduc. He came before him, and showed him of all these things. Eliduc
mounted straightway on his horse, and waiting neither for squire or
companion, that same night came to his hall. When he found alive, her,
who once was dead, Eliduc thanked his wife for so dear a gift. He
rejoiced beyond measure, and of all his days, no day was more happy
than this. He kissed the maiden often, and very sweetly she gave him
again his kiss, for great was the joy between the twain. The dame
looked on their happiness, and knew that her lord meetly had bestowed
his love. She prayed him, therefore, that he would grant her leave to
depart, since she would serve God as a cloistered nun. Of his wealth
she craved such a portion as would permit her to found a convent. He
would then be able to wed the maiden on whom his heart was set, for it
was neither honest nor seemly that a man should maintain a wife with
either hand.
Eliduc could do no otherwise than consent. He gave the permission she
asked, and did all according to her will. He endowed the lady of his
lands, near by that chapel and hermitage, within the wood. There he
built a church with offices and refectory, fair to see. Much wealth he
bestowed on the convent, in money and estate. When all was brought to
a good end, the lady took the veil upon her head. Thirty other ladies
entered in the house with her, and long she ruled them as their
Abbess, right wisely and well.
Eliduc wedded with his friend, in great pomp, and passing rich was the
marriage feast. They dwelt in unity together for many days, for ever
between them was perfect love. They walked uprightly, and gave alms of
their goods, till such a time as it became them to turn to God. After
much thought, Eliduc built a great church close beside his castle.
He endowed it with all his gold and silver, and with the rest of his
land. He set priests there, and holy layfolk also, for the business of
the house, and the fair services of religion.
When all was builded and ordered, Eliduc offered himself, with them,
that he--weak man--might serve the omnipotent God. He set with the
Abbess Guildeluec--who once was his dame--that wife whom he loved so
dearly well. The Abbess received her as a sister, and welcomed her
right honourably. She admonished her in the offices of God, and taught
her of the rules and practice of their holy Order. They prayed to God
for their friend, that He would grant him mercy in His day. In turn,
he entreated God for them. Messages came from convent and monastery as
to how they fared, so that each might encourage the other in His way.
Each strove painfully, for himself and his, to love God the more
dearly, and to abide in His holy faith. Each made a good end, and the
mercy of God was abundantly made clear to all.
Of the adventure of these three lovers, the courteous Bretons made
this Lay for remembrance, since they deemed it a matter that men
should not forget.
V
THE LAY OF THE NIGHTINGALE
Now will I tell you a story, whereof the Breton harper already has
made a Lay. Laustic, I deem, men name it in that country, which, being
interpreted, means rossignol in French, and nightingale in good plain
English.
In the realm of Brittany stands a certain rich and mighty city, called
Saint Malo. There were citizens of this township two knights, so well
spoken and reputed of all, that the city drew therefrom great profit
and fame. The houses of these lords were very near the one to the
other. One of the two knights had to wife a passing fair lady, right
gracious of manner and sweet of tongue. Wondrous pleasure found this
dame to array herself richly, after the wont and fashion of her time.
The other knight was yet a bachelor. He was well accounted of amongst
his fellows as a hardy knight and as an honourable man. He gave
hospitality gladly. Largely he gained, largely he spent, and willingly
bestowed gifts of all that he had.