urgent prayers, his long suit and service, and by reason that all men
spake naught of him but praise--perchance, also, for reason that he
was never far from her eye--presently this lady came to set her heart
on him again. Though these two friends loved right tenderly, yet were
they so private and careful in their loves that none perceived what
was in their hearts. No man pried on them, or disturbed their goings
and comings. These were the more easy to devise since the bachelor and
the lady were such near neighbours. Their two houses stood side by
side, hall and cellar and combles. Only between the gardens was built
a high and ancient wall, of worn gray stone. When the lady sat within
her bower, by leaning from the casement she and her friend might speak
together, he to her, and she to him. They could also throw messages in
writing, and divers pretty gifts, the one to the other. Little enough
had they to displease them, and greatly were they at their ease, save
only that they might not take their pleasure together, so often as
their hearts had wished. For the dame was guarded very straitly when
her husband was abroad. Yet not so strictly but that they might have
word and speech, the now by night and now by day. At least, however
close the watch and ward, none might hinder that at times these fair
lovers stood within their casements, and looked fondly on the other's
face.
Now after these friends had loved for a great space it chanced that
the season became warm and sweet. It was the time when meadow and
copse are green; when orchards grow white with bloom, and birds break
into song as thickly as the bush to flower. It is the season when he
who loves would win to his desire. Truly I tell you that the knight
would have done all in his power to attain his wish, and the lady, for
her part, yearned for sight and speech of her friend. At night, when
the moon shone clearly in the sky, and her lord lay sleeping at her
side, often the dame slipped softly from her bed, and hastening to the
casement, leaned forth to have sight of him who watched. The greater
part of the dark they kept vigil together, for very pleasant it is to
look upon your friend, when sweeter things are denied.
This chanced so often, and the lady rose so frequently from her bed,
that her lord was altogether wrathful, and many a time inquired the
reason of her unrest.
"Husband," replied the dame, "there is no dearer joy in this world,
than to hear the nightingale sing. It is to hearken to the song that
rises so sweetly on the night, that I lean forth from the casement.
What tune of harp or viol is half so fair! Because of my delight in
his song, and of my desire to hear, I may not shut my eyes till it be
morn."
When the husband heard the lady's words he laughed within himself for
wrath and malice. He purposed that very soon the nightingale should
sing within a net. So he bade the servants of his house to devise
fillets and snares, and to set their cunning traps about the orchard.
Not a chestnut tree nor hazel within the garth but was limed and
netted for the caging of this bird. It was not long therefore ere the
nightingale was taken, and the servants made haste to give him to the
pleasure of their lord. Wondrous merry was the knight when he held him
living in his hand. He went straightway to the chamber of his dame,
and entering, said,
"Wife, are you within? Come near, for I must speak with you. Here is
the nightingale, all limed and taken, who made vigil of your sleeping
hours. Take now your rest in peace, for he will never disturb you
more."
When the lady understood these words she was marvellously sorrowful
and heavy. She prayed her lord to grant her the nightingale for a
gift. But for all answer he wrung his neck with both hands so fiercely
that the head was torn from the body. Then, right foully, he flung the
bird upon the knees of the dame, in such fashion that her breast
was sprinkled with the blood. So he departed, incontinent, from the
chamber in a rage.
The lady took the little body in her hands, and wept his evil fate.
She railed on those who with nets and snares had betrayed the
nightingale to his death; for anger and hate beyond measure had gained
hold on her heart.
"Alas," cried she, "evil is come upon me. Never again may I rise from
my bed in the night, and watch from the casement, so that I may see my
friend. One thing I know full well, that he will deem my love is no
more set upon him. Woe to her who has none to give her counsel. This I
will do. I will bestow the nightingale upon him, and send him tidings
of the chance that has befallen."
So this doleful lady took a fair piece of white samite, broidered with
gold, and wrought thereon the whole story of this adventure. In this
silken cloth she wrapped the body of the little bird, and calling to
her a trusty servant of her house, charged him with the message, and
bade him bear it to her friend. The varlet went his way to the knight,
and having saluted him on the part of the lady, he told over to him
the story, and bestowed the nightingale upon him. When all had been
rehearsed and shown to him, and he had well considered the matter,
the knight was very dolent; yet in no wise would he avenge himself
wrongfully. So he caused a certain coffret to be fashioned, made not
of iron or steel, but of fine gold and fair stones, most rich and
precious, right strongly clasped and bound. In this little chest he
set the body of the nightingale, and having sealed the shrine, carried
it upon him whenever his business took him abroad.
This adventure could not long be hid. Very swiftly it was noised about
the country, and the Breton folk made a Lay thereon, which they
called the Lay of the Laustic, in their own tongue.
VI
THE LAY OF SIR LAUNFAL
I will tell you the story of another Lay. It relates the adventures
of a rich and mighty baron, and the Breton calls it, the Lay of Sir
Launfal.
King Arthur--that fearless knight and courteous lord--removed to
Wales, and lodged at Caerleon-on-Usk, since the Picts and Scots did
much mischief in the land. For it was the wont of the wild people of
the north to enter in the realm of Logres, and burn and damage at
their will. At the time of Pentecost, the King cried a great feast.
Thereat he gave many rich gifts to his counts and barons, and to the
Knights of the Round Table. Never were such worship and bounty shown
before at any feast, for Arthur bestowed honours and lands on all his
servants--save only on one. This lord, who was forgotten and misliked
of the King, was named Launfal. He was beloved by many of the Court,
because of his beauty and prowess, for he was a worthy knight, open of
heart and heavy of hand. These lords, to whom their comrade was dear,
felt little joy to see so stout a knight misprized. Sir Launfal was
son to a King of high descent, though his heritage was in a distant
land. He was of the King's household, but since Arthur gave him
naught, and he was of too proud a mind to pray for his due, he had
spent all that he had. Right heavy was Sir Launfal, when he considered
these things, for he knew himself taken in the toils. Gentles, marvel
not overmuch hereat. Ever must the pilgrim go heavily in a strange
land, where there is none to counsel and direct him in the path.
Now, on a day, Sir Launfal got him on his horse, that he might take
his pleasure for a little. He came forth from the city, alone,
attended by neither servant nor squire. He went his way through a
green mead, till he stood by a river of clear running water. Sir
Launfal would have crossed this stream, without thought of pass or
ford, but he might not do so, for reason that his horse was all
fearful and trembling. Seeing that he was hindered in this fashion,
Launfal unbitted his steed, and let him pasture in that fair meadow,
where they had come. Then he folded his cloak to serve him as a
pillow, and lay upon the ground. Launfal lay in great misease, because
of his heavy thoughts, and the discomfort of his bed. He turned from
side to side, and might not sleep. Now as the knight looked towards
the river he saw two damsels coming towards him; fairer maidens
Launfal had never seen. These two maidens were richly dressed in
kirtles closely laced and shapen to their persons and wore mantles
of a goodly purple hue. Sweet and dainty were the damsels, alike in
raiment and in face. The elder of these ladies carried in her hands a
basin of pure gold, cunningly wrought by some crafty smith--very fair
and precious was the cup; and the younger bore a towel of soft white
linen. These maidens turned neither to the right hand nor to the left,
but went directly to the place where Launfal lay. When Launfal saw
that their business was with him, he stood upon his feet, like a
discreet and courteous gentleman. After they had greeted the knight,
one of the maidens delivered the message with which she was charged.
"Sir Launfal, my demoiselle, as gracious as she is fair, prays that
you will follow us, her messengers, as she has a certain word to speak
with you. We will lead you swiftly to her pavilion, for our lady is
very near at hand. If you but lift your eyes you may see where her
tent is spread."
Right glad was the knight to do the bidding of the maidens. He gave no
heed to his horse, but left him at his provand in the meadow. All his
desire was to go with the damsels, to that pavilion of silk and divers
colours, pitched in so fair a place. Certainly neither Semiramis in
the days of her most wanton power, nor Octavian, the Emperor of all
the West, had so gracious a covering from sun and rain. Above the tent
was set an eagle of gold, so rich and precious, that none might count
the cost. The cords and fringes thereof were of silken thread, and the
lances which bore aloft the pavilion were of refined gold. No King on
earth might have so sweet a shelter, not though he gave in fee the
value of his realm. Within this pavilion Launfal came upon the Maiden.
Whiter she was than any altar lily, and more sweetly flushed than the
new born rose in time of summer heat. She lay upon a bed with napery
and coverlet of richer worth than could be furnished by a castle's
spoil. Very fresh and slender showed the lady in her vesture of
spotless linen. About her person she had drawn a mantle of ermine,
edged with purple dye from the vats of Alexandria. By reason of the
heat her raiment was unfastened for a little, and her throat and the
rondure of her bosom showed whiter and more untouched than hawthorn in
May. The knight came before the bed, and stood gazing on so sweet a
sight. The Maiden beckoned him to draw near, and when he had seated
himself at the foot of her couch, spoke her mind.
"Launfal," she said, "fair friend, it is for you that I have come from
my own far land. I bring you my love. If you are prudent and discreet,
as you are goodly to the view, there is no emperor nor count, nor
king, whose day shall be so filled with riches and with mirth as
yours."
When Launfal heard these words he rejoiced greatly, for his heart was
litten by another's torch.
"Fair lady," he answered, "since it pleases you to be so gracious, and
to dower so graceless a knight with your love, there is naught that
you may bid me do--right or wrong, evil or good--that I will not do to
the utmost of my power. I will observe your commandment, and serve in
your quarrels. For you I renounce my father and my father's house.
This only I pray, that I may dwell with you in your lodging, and that
you will never send me from your side."
When the Maiden heard the words of him whom so fondly she desired to
love, she was altogether moved, and granted him forthwith her heart
and her tenderness. To her bounty she added another gift besides.
Never might Launfal be desirous of aught, but he would have according
to his wish. He might waste and spend at will and pleasure, but in his
purse ever there was to spare. No more was Launfal sad. Right merry
was the pilgrim, since one had set him on the way, with such a gift,
that the more pennies he bestowed, the more silver and gold were in
his pouch.
But the Maiden had yet a word to say.
"Friend," she said, "hearken to my counsel. I lay this charge upon
you, and pray you urgently, that you tell not to any man the secret of
our love. If you show this matter, you will lose your friend, for ever
and a day. Never again may you see my face. Never again will you have
seisin of that body, which is now so tender in your eyes."
Launfal plighted faith, that right strictly he would observe this
commandment. So the Maiden granted him her kiss and her embrace, and
very sweetly in that fair lodging passed the day till evensong was
come.
Right loath was Launfal to depart from the pavilion at the vesper
hour, and gladly would he have stayed, had he been able, and his lady
wished.
"Fair friend," said she, "rise up, for no longer may you tarry. The
hour is come that we must part. But one thing I have to say before you
go. When you would speak with me I shall hasten to come before your
wish. Well I deem that you will only call your friend where she may
be found without reproach or shame of men. You may see me at your
pleasure; my voice shall speak softly in your ear at will; but I must
never be known of your comrades, nor must they ever learn my speech."
Right joyous was Launfal to hear this thing. He sealed the covenant
with a kiss, and stood upon his feet. Then there entered the two
maidens who had led him to the pavilion, bringing with them rich
raiment, fitting for a knight's apparel. When Launfal had clothed
himself therewith, there seemed no goodlier varlet under heaven, for
certainly he was fair and true. After these maidens had refreshed him
with clear water, and dried his hands upon the napkin, Launfal went
to meat. His friend sat at table with him, and small will had he to
refuse her courtesy. Very serviceably the damsels bore the meats, and
Launfal and the Maiden ate and drank with mirth and content. But one
dish was more to the knight's relish than any other. Sweeter than the
dainties within his mouth, was the lady's kiss upon his lips.
When supper was ended, Launfal rose from table, for his horse stood
waiting without the pavilion. The destrier was newly saddled and
bridled, and showed proudly in his rich gay trappings. So Launfal
kissed, and bade farewell, and went his way. He rode back towards the
city at a slow pace. Often he checked his steed, and looked behind
him, for he was filled with amazement, and all bemused concerning this
adventure. In his heart he doubted that it was but a dream. He was
altogether astonished, and knew not what to do. He feared that
pavilion and Maiden alike were from the realm of faery.
Launfal returned to his lodging, and was greeted by servitors, clad
no longer in ragged raiment. He fared richly, lay softly, and spent
largely, but never knew how his purse was filled. There was no lord
who had need of a lodging in the town, but Launfal brought him to
his hall, for refreshment and delight. Launfal bestowed rich gifts.
Launfal redeemed the poor captive. Launfal clothed in scarlet the
minstrel. Launfal gave honour where honour was due. Stranger and
friend alike he comforted at need. So, whether by night or by day,
Launfal lived greatly at his ease. His lady, she came at will and
pleasure, and, for the rest, all was added unto him.
Now it chanced, the same year, about the feast of St. John, a company
of knights came, for their solace, to an orchard, beneath that tower
where dwelt the Queen. Together with these lords went Gawain and his
cousin, Yvain the fair. Then said Gawain, that goodly knight, beloved
and dear to all,
"Lords, we do wrong to disport ourselves in this pleasaunce without
our comrade Launfal. It is not well to slight a prince as brave as he
is courteous, and of a lineage prouder than our own."
Then certain of the lords returned to the city, and finding Launfal
within his hostel, entreated him to take his pastime with them in that
fair meadow. The Queen looked out from a window in her tower, she and
three ladies of her fellowship. They saw the lords at their pleasure,
and Launfal also, whom well they knew. So the Queen chose of her Court
thirty damsels--the sweetest of face and most dainty of fashion--and
commanded that they should descend with her to take their delight in
the garden. When the knights beheld this gay company of ladies come
down the steps of the perron, they rejoiced beyond measure. They
hastened before to lead them by the hand, and said such words in their
ear as were seemly and pleasant to be spoken. Amongst these merry and
courteous lords hasted not Sir Launfal. He drew apart from the throng,
for with him time went heavily, till he might have clasp and greeting
of his friend. The ladies of the Queen's fellowship seemed but kitchen
wenches to his sight, in comparison with the loveliness of the maiden.
When the Queen marked Launfal go aside, she went his way, and seating
herself upon the herb, called the knight before her. Then she opened
out her heart.
"Launfal, I have honoured you for long as a worthy knight, and have
praised and cherished you very dearly. You may receive a queen's whole
love, if such be your care. Be content: he to whom my heart is given,
has small reason to complain him of the alms."
"Lady," answered the knight, "grant me leave to go, for this grace is
not for me. I am the King's man, and dare not break my troth. Not for
the highest lady in the world, not even for her love, will I set this
reproach upon my lord."
When the Queen heard this, she was full of wrath, and spoke many hot
and bitter words.
"Launfal," she cried, "well I know that you think little of woman and
her love. There are sins more black that a man may have upon his soul.
Traitor you are, and false. Right evil counsel gave they to my lord,
who prayed him to suffer you about his person. You remain only for his
harm and loss."
Launfal was very dolent to hear this thing. He was not slow to take up
the Queen's glove, and in his haste spake words that he repented long,
and with tears.
"Lady," said he, "I am not of that guild of which you speak. Neither
am I a despiser of woman, since I love, and am loved, of one who would
bear the prize from all the ladies in the land. Dame, know now and be
persuaded, that she, whom I serve, is so rich in state, that the very
meanest of her maidens, excels you, Lady Queen, as much in clerkly
skill and goodness, as in sweetness of body and face, and in every
virtue."
The Queen rose straightway to her feet, and fled to her chamber,
weeping. Right wrathful and heavy was she, because of the words that
had besmirched her. She lay sick upon her bed, from which, she said,
she would never rise, till the King had done her justice, and righted
this bitter wrong. Now the King that day had taken his pleasure within
the woods. He returned from the chase towards evening, and sought the
chamber of the Queen. When the lady saw him, she sprang from her bed,
and kneeling at his feet, pleaded for grace and pity. Launfal--she
said--had shamed her, since he required her love. When she had put him
by, very foully had he reviled her, boasting that his love was already
set on a lady, so proud and noble, that her meanest wench went more
richly, and smiled more sweetly, than the Queen. Thereat the King
waxed marvellously wrathful, and swore a great oath that he would set
Launfal within a fire, or hang him from a tree, if he could not deny
this thing, before his peers.
Arthur came forth from the Queen's chamber, and called to him three
of his lords. These he sent to seek the knight who so evilly had
entreated the Queen. Launfal, for his part, had returned to his
lodging, in a sad and sorrowful case. He saw very clearly that he had
lost his friend, since he had declared their love to men. Launfal sat
within his chamber, sick and heavy of thought. Often he called upon
his friend, but the lady would not hear his voice. He bewailed his
evil lot, with tears; for grief he came nigh to swoon; a hundred times
he implored the Maiden that she would deign to speak with her knight.
Then, since the lady yet refrained from speech, Launfal cursed his hot
and unruly tongue. Very near he came to ending all this trouble with
his knife. Naught he found to do but to wring his hands, and call upon
the Maiden, begging her to forgive his trespass, and to talk with him
again, as friend to friend.
But little peace is there for him who is harassed by a King. There
came presently to Launfal's hostel those three barons from the Court.
These bade the knight forthwith to go with them to Arthur's presence,
to acquit him of this wrong against the Queen. Launfal went forth, to
his own deep sorrow. Had any man slain him on the road, he would
have counted him his friend. He stood before the King, downcast and
speechless, being dumb by reason of that great grief, of which he
showed the picture and image.
Arthur looked upon his captive very evilly.
"Vassal," said he, harshly, "you have done me a bitter wrong. It was a
foul deed to seek to shame me in this ugly fashion, and to smirch the
honour of the Queen. Is it folly or lightness which leads you to boast
of that lady, the least of whose maidens is fairer, and goes more
richly, than the Queen?"
Launfal protested that never had he set such shame upon his lord.
Word by word he told the tale of how he denied the Queen, within the
orchard. But concerning that which he had spoken of the lady, he owned
the truth, and his folly. The love of which he bragged was now lost to
him, by his own exceeding fault. He cared little for his life, and was
content to obey the judgment of the Court.
Right wrathful was the King at Launfal's words. He conjured his barons
to give him such wise counsel herein, that wrong might be done to
none. The lords did the King's bidding, whether good came of the
matter, or evil. They gathered themselves together, and appointed a
certain day that Launfal should abide the judgment of his peers. For
his part Launfal must give pledge and surety to his lord, that he
would come before this judgment in his own body. If he might not give
such surety then he should be held captive till the appointed day.
When the lords of the King's household returned to tell him of their
counsel, Arthur demanded that Launfal should put such pledge in his
hand, as they had said. Launfal was altogether mazed and bewildered at
this judgment, for he had neither friend nor kindred in the land. He
would have been set in prison, but Gawain came first to offer himself
as his surety, and with him, all the knights of his fellowship. These
gave into the King's hand as pledge, the fiefs and lands that they
held of his Crown. The King having taken pledges from the sureties,
Launfal returned to his lodging, and with him certain knights of his
company. They blamed him greatly because of his foolish love, and
chastened him grievously by reason of the sorrow he made before men.
Every day they came to his chamber, to know of his meat and drink, for
much they feared that presently he would become mad.
The lords of the household came together on the day appointed for this
judgment. The King was on his chair, with the Queen sitting at his
side. The sureties brought Launfal within the hall, and rendered him
into the hands of his peers. Right sorrowful were they because of his
plight. A great company of his fellowship did all that they were able
to acquit him of this charge. When all was set out, the King demanded
the judgment of the Court, according to the accusation and the answer.
The barons went forth in much trouble and thought to consider this
matter. Many amongst them grieved for the peril of a good knight in
a strange land; others held that it were well for Launfal to suffer,
because of the wish and malice of their lord. Whilst they were thus
perplexed, the Duke of Cornwall rose in the council, and said,
"Lords, the King pursues Launfal as a traitor, and would slay him with
the sword, by reason that he bragged of the beauty of his maiden,
and roused the jealousy of the Queen. By the faith that I owe this
company, none complains of Launfal, save only the King. For our part
we would know the truth of this business, and do justice between the
King and his man. We would also show proper reverence to our own liege
lord. Now, if it be according to Arthur's will, let us take oath of
Launfal, that he seek this lady, who has put such strife between him
and the Queen. If her beauty be such as he has told us, the Queen will
have no cause for wrath. She must pardon Launfal for his rudeness,
since it will be plain that he did not speak out of a malicious heart.
Should Launfal fail his word, and not return with the lady, or should
her fairness fall beneath his boast, then let him be cast off from our
fellowship, and be sent forth from the service of the King."
This counsel seemed good to the lords of the household. They sent
certain of his friends to Launfal, to acquaint him with their
judgment, bidding him to pray his damsel to the Court, that he might
be acquitted of this blame. The knight made answer that in no wise
could he do this thing. So the sureties returned before the judges,
saying that Launfal hoped neither for refuge nor for succour from
the lady, and Arthur urged them to a speedy ending, because of the
prompting of the Queen.