Versions of only two of the Lays can be given; but it will be better to
lay before the reader an abstract of the whole collection, which is in
many respects interesting, because it was certainly written in this
country, was never printed, and is known to exist only in one
manuscript, viz. Harl. MSS. No. 978.
About 56 lines at the beginning of the work are intended as a general
prologue; and 26 more form the introduction to the first Lay. This
prefatory matter is written in a style of considerable obscurity, which
the author defends by the example of the ancients, and quotes Priscian
as her authority. But the doctrine she means to inculcate is, that those
who possess talents are bound to employ them; and that study is always
good as a preservative from vice and from affliction. She tells us, she
had therefore form'd a plan of translating, from Latin into romance,
_some good history_, but found her project had been anticipated by
others. She then thought of the numerous lays which she _had heard, and
carefully treasured in her memory_. These, she was sure, must be new to
the generality of her readers; and, in this confidence, she offers to
the king the fruits of her labours. After complaining she has met with
envy and persecution where she deserved praise, she declares her
intention to persevere, and relate, as briefly as possible, such stories
as she _knows to be true_, and to have been _formed into lays by the
Britons_.
Les contes ke jeo sai _rerrais,
Dunt li Bretun ont fait ces lais_,
Vus conterai asez briefment, &c.
The Lays are twelve in number; nine of which, with the above
introduction, are extracted, with some trifling abridgment, from the
Specimens of early English Metrical Romances, by George Ellis, Esq.; the
two in verse from Way's Fabliaux; and the other from the notes to Sir
Tristrem, by Walter Scott, Esq.
No. 1.--_The Lay of_ SIR GUGEMER, _or_ GUIGEMAR.
While Arthur reign'd, (so chim'd, in earlier day,
Loud to the twanging harp the Breton lay,)
While Arthur reign'd, two kingdoms born to bless,
Great Britain's king, and suzerain of the less;
A lord of Leon, one of fair report
Among the vassal barons of his court,
Own'd for his son a youth more bravely thew'd
Than aught both countries yet had seen of good.
Dame Nature gave the mould; his sire combin'd
Due culture, exercise of limbs and mind,
Till the rare strippling, now no longer boy,
Chang'd his fond parents' fearful hope for joy.
His name was Gugemar: as strength grew on,
To Arthur's court the sire consign'd his son.
There soon in feats of arms the youth excell'd,
Magnanimous, in sports, or deadly field.
Chief of the Table-round, from time to time
Illustrious Arthur mark'd his opening prime,
Then dealt him noble meed; the honour high,
From his own hand, of glorious chivalry.
Knightly in arms he was; one grievous blot,
So deem'd full many a courtly dame, I wot,
Cross'd the full growth of his aspiring days,
And dimm'd the lustre of meridian praise:
With bootless artifice their lures they troll'd;
Still, Gugemer lov'd not, or nothing told.
The court's accustom'd love and service done,
To his glad sire returns the welcome son.
Now with his father dwelt he, and pursued
Such pastimes as are meet for youth of noble blood.
The woods of Leon now would shrilly sound
Oft with his joyous shout and choral hound
At length, one morn his disadventurous dart,
Lanc'd, as the game was rous'd, at hind or hart,
Wing'd through the yielding air its weetless way,
And pierc'd unwares a metamorphos'd fay.
Lo! back recoiling straight, by fairy craft,
Back to its master speeds the reeking shaft;
Deep in his sinewy thigh inflicts a wound,
And strikes the astonish'd hunter to the ground,
While, with a voice which neither bray'd nor spoke,
Thus fearfully the beast her silence broke:--
"Pains, agonizing pains must thou endure,
Till wit of lady's love shall work the cure:
Wo, then, her fated guerdon she shall find
The heaviest that may light on womankind!"
Sir Gugemer, who strove, with courage vain,
Up from the earth to rise, distraught with pain,
While hies his varlet home for succour strong,
Crawls slow with trailing limb the sward along;
'Twas part precipitate, steep rocky shore;
Hoarse at its foot was heard old Ocean's roar;
And in a shelter'd cove at anchor rode,
Close into land, where slept the solemn flood,
A gallant bark, that with its silken sails
Just bellying, caught the gently rising gales,
And from its ebon sides shot dazzling sheen
Of silvery rays with mingled gold between.
A favouring fairy had beheld the blow
Dealt the young hunter by her mortal foe:
Thence grown his patroness, she vows to save,
And cleaves with magick help the sparkling wave:
Now, by a strange resistless impulse driven,
The knight assays the lot by fortune given:
Lo, now he climbs, with fairy power to aid,
The bark's steep side, on silken cordage stay'd;
Gains the smooth deck, and, wonders to behold,
A couch of cypress spread with cloth of gold,
While from above, with many a topaz bright,
Two golden globes sent forth their branching light:
And longer had he gaz'd, but sleep profound,
Wrought by the friendly fairy, wrapt him round.
Stretch'd on the couch the hunter lies supine,
And the swift bark shoots lightly o'er the brine.
For, where the distant prospect fading dies,
And sea and land seem mingling with the skies,
A massy tower of polish'd marble rose;
There dwelt the fair physician of his woes:
Nogiva was the name the princess bore;
Her spouse old, shrewd, suspicious evermore,
Here mew'd his lovely consort, young and fair,
And watch'd her with a dotard's bootless care.
Sure, Love these dotards dooms to jealous pain,
And the world's laugh, when all their toil proves vain.
This lord, howe'er, did all that mortal elf
Could do, to keep his treasure to himself:
Stay'd much at home, and when in luckless hour
His state affairs would drag him from his tower,
Left with his spouse a niece himself had bred,
To be the partner of her board and bed;
And one old priest, a barren lump of clay,
To chant their mass, and serve them day by day.
Her prison room was fair; from roof to floor
With golden imageries pictur'd o'er;
There Venus might be seen, in act to throw
Down to the mimick fire that gleam'd below
The 'Remedies of Love' Dan Ovid made;
Wrathful the goddess look'd, and ill-repaid;
And many more than I may well recall,
Illumining throughout the sumptuous wall.
For the old ghostly guide--to do him right--
He harbour'd in his breast no jailor's spite;
Compassionate and poor, he bore in mind
His prisoner's health might languish, much confin'd
And oft would let her feet and fancy free,
Wander along the margin of the sea.
There then it chanc'd, upon the level sand,
That aunt and niece were pacing hand in hand,
When onward to the marble tower they spied
With outspread sail the fairy vessel glide:
Both felt a momentary fear at first,
(As women oft are given to think the worst)
And turn'd for flight; but ere they far were fled,
Look'd round to view the object of their dread;
Then, seeing none on board, they backward hied,
Perchance by fairy influence fortified,
Where the trim bark was run its course to end,
And now both dames its ebon deck ascend;
There on a couch, a silken pall beneath,
So wrapt in sleep he scarcely seem'd to breathe,
Sir Gugemer they spied, defil'd with gore,
And with a deadly pale his visage o'er:
They fear them life was fled; and much his youth,
And much his hap forlorn did move their ruth:
With lily hand his heart Nogiva press'd,
"It beats!" she cried, "beats strong within his breast!"
So loud her sudden voice express'd delight,
That from his swoon awoke the wondering knight:
His name, his country, straight the dames demand,
And what strange craft had steer'd his bark to land?
He, on his elbow rais'd, with utterance weak,
Such as his feeble strength avail'd to speak,
Recounts his piteous chance, his name, his home,
How up the vessel's side ere while he clomb,
And then sunk down in sleep; but who impell'd
Its ebon keel, or tissued canvas swell'd,
He wist not: faint, and lacking vital heat,
He sought some needful aid from looks so sweet.
"So brave a knight!--to yield of succour nought--
What heart of flint could cherish such a thought?
Yet where to harbour him, and how to hide?--
The husband not at home, means must be tried!"--
So thought these dames, I ween, that fateful hour,
While feebly onward to the marble tower,
Propp'd, right and left, by snowy shoulders twain,
Sir Gugemer repair'd with mickle pain.
There on a bed of down they plac'd their guest,
Cleans'd the deep wound, with healing balsam dress'd,
Brought, for his plight most fit, choice simple food,
And, watchful how he far'd, attendant stood;
Till now returning strength grew swiftly on,
And his firm voice confess'd his anguish gone.
In sooth, the fay, protectress of his worth,
Had shower'd down balm, unknown to wights on earth;
One night achieves his cure; but other smart
Plays o'er the weetless region of his heart;
Pains, such as beam from bright Nogiva's eyes,
Flit round his bed, and quiral [Errata: genial] slumber flies.
Now, as the ruddy rays of morning peer,
Him seem'd his kind physician's step drew near;
She comes; his cheeks with new-found blushes burn;
Nogiva--she, too, blushes in her turn:
Love sure had neither spar'd; yet at the last
Faintly she asks him how the night had pass'd?
O! how the trembling patient then confess'd
Strange malady at heart, and banish'd rest:
And sued once more for life, restor'd so late,
Now hers alone to grant, the mistress of his fate.
She speaks assurance kind with witching smile,
"No ill from sickness felt so little while!"
Yet nought the knight believes; a kiss, I ween,
Fell from her dainty lips, and clos'd the scene.
One year or more within some secret bower,
So dwelt the knight beneath the marble tower;
Thoughts of his sire, at last, how he might bear
His son's long absence, so awaken'd care,
Needs must he back to Leon: vainly here
Sues fond Nogiva's interdicting tear.
"Sad leave reluctantly I yield!" she cries,
"Yet take this girdle, knit with mystick ties,
Wed never dame till first this secret spell
Her dextrous hands have loosen'd:--so farewell!"
"Never, I swear, my sweet! so weal betide!"
With heavy heart Sir Gugemer replied;
Then hied him to the gate, when lo! at hand
Nogiva's hoary lord is seen to stand,
(Brought by the fairy foe's relentless ire,)
And lustily he calls for knight and squire:
Now with his trusty blade, of temper good,
The stout knight clears his course to ocean's flood,
Sweeps right and left the scatter'd rout away,
And climbs the bark of his protectress fay;
Light glides the ebon keel the waters o'er,
And his glad footsteps press his native shore.
His father, who had long time, woe-begone,
Bewail'd the absence of his darling son;
Ween'd the best course to hold him now for life,
Should be to link him closely to a wife.
Sir Gugemer, urg'd sore, at length avows,
He never will take woman's hand for spouse,
Save her's, whose fingers, skill'd in ladies' lore,
Shall loose that knot his mystick girdle bore.
Straight all that Bretany contain'd of fair,
Widows, and dainty maids, the adventure dare:
Clerks were they all, I ween; but knots like these
May not be loos'd when earthly beauties please.
Thus while it fares with those, in dungeon deep
See sad Nogiva never cease to weep!
Doom'd by her jealous lord's revengeful mood,
The well her beverage, bitter bread her food,
Lo there with iron gyves chain'd down she lies,
And wails unheard her hopeless miseries:
Scarce brooking longer life, but that the thought
Of Gugemer some gleams of solace brought:
Him would she name full oft, and oft implore
Heaven, but to view his winning face once more.
Long had she sorrow'd thus; her fairy friend
Hears at the last, and bids her sufferings end:
Burst by her magic touch the fetters fall,
Wide springs the gate, and quakes the obdurate wall;
Close to the shore the enchanted pinnace glides,
Feels its fair guest within its arching sides,
Then ploughs the foaming main with gallant state,
Till Bretany's far coast receives the freight.
Meriadus--(that name the monarch bore,
Where first Nogiva's footsteps prest the shore,)
Meriadus such charms not vainly view'd;
He saw, felt love, and like a sovereign woo'd:
She briefly answers:--"None this heart may move,
This bosom none inspire with mutual love,
Save he whose skill this girdle shall unbind,
Fast round my waist with mystick tie confin'd."
Much strove Meriadus, strove much in vain,
Strove every courtly gallant of his train:
All foil'd alike, he blazons far and wide
A tournament, and there the emprize be tried!
There who may loose the band, and win the expectant bride!
Sir Gugemer, when first the tidings came
Of the quaint girdle, and the stranger dame.
Ween'd well Nogiva's self, his dame alone,
Bore this mysterious knot so like his own.
On to the tournament elate he hies,
There his liege lady greets his wistful eyes:
What now remain'd? "Meriadus! once more
I view," he cries, "the mistress I adore;
Long have our hearts been one! great king, 'tis thine
Twin [Errata: Twain] lovers, sadly sunder'd long, to join.
So will I straight do homage, so remain
Thy liegeman three full years, sans other gain,
Thine with a hundred knights, and I their charge maintain."
Brave was the proffer, but it prosper'd nought;
Love rul'd alone the unyielding monarch's thought.
Then Gugemer vows vengeance, then in arms
Speaks stern defy, and claims Nogiva's charms:
And, for his cause seem'd good, anon behold
Many a strange knight, and many a baron bold,
Brought by the tourney's fame, on fiery steeds
Couch lance to aid; and mortal strife succeeds.
Long time beleagur'd gape the castle walls;
First in the breach the indignant monarch falls:
Nogiva's lord next meets an equal fate;
And Gugemer straight weds the widow'd mate.
No. II.--EQUITAN;
A prince of Bretagne, so passionately attached to chivalrous amusements,
that he cared neither for business nor gallantry. Nothing but the
necessity of heading his troops could withdraw him from the pleasures of
hunting and hawking; and all affairs of state were managed by his
steward, a man of equal loyalty and experience. Unfortunately this
steward had a beautiful wife: the prince heard her much praised; and
insensibly began to think his sport most agreeable, when it conducted
him, at the end of the day, to the steward's castle; where he had a
natural opportunity of seeing and conversing with the lovely hostess.
Overcome by his passion, almost before he was conscious of it, he began
by reflecting on the baseness of the part he was preparing to act; and
ended, by determining not to endure the misery of privation and
disappointment, if he could succeed in seducing her. Having devised, in
the course of a sleepless night, as many arguments as were necessary to
satisfy his own morality, and formed a plan for securing a long
interview, he set off for the chase; returning after a short time, under
pretence of sudden indisposition, and retiring to bed, he sent to
request a visit from the lady, who then received a very long and
eloquent declaration of love. To this she replied, at first, by proper
expostulations; but when at length assured, with the utmost solemnity,
that if her husband was dead she should become the partner of his
throne, she suddenly gave way, and proposed, with his assistance, to
destroy the steward, so artfully, that neither should incur the
slightest suspicion. Equitan, far from being startled at this atrocious
proposition, assured her of his concurrence, and she continued thus:
"Return, sir, for the present, to your court; then come to pursue your
diversion in this forest, and again take up your abode under our roof.
You must once more pretend to be indisposed; cause yourself to be
blooded; and on the third day order a bath, invite my husband to bathe
and afterwards to dine with you. I will take care to prepare the bathing
tubs: that which I destine for him shall be filled with boiling water,
so that he will be instantly scalded to death; after which you will call
in your and his attendants, and explain to them how your affectionate
steward had expired in the act of bathing." At the end of three months
every thing was arranged for the execution of this diabolical plot; but
the steward, who had risen early for some purpose of business or
amusement, happening to stay rather beyond the time, the lovers had met
during his absence, forgetting that their guilty project was not yet
accomplished. A maid was stationed at the door, near which stood the
fatal bath; but the husband returning with precipitation, suddenly
forced it open, in spite of her feeble opposition, and discovered his
wife in the arms of Equitan. The prince, under the first impulse of
surprize and remorse, started from the bed, and, heedlessly plunging
into the boiling bath, was instantly suffocated or scalded to death. The
husband, almost at the same instant, seized on his guilty partner, and
threw her headlong after her paramour. Thus were the wicked punished, by
the means which they contrived for the destruction of another; and such
is the substance of the lay which was composed by the Bretons under the
name of Equitan.
* * * * *
No. III.--LAY LE FRAINE.
This ancient and curious little poem, translated from the French of
Marie, is preserved in the Auchinlech MSS. It was communicated by Mr.
Walter Scott to Mr. Ellis, and is inserted amongst his Miscellaneous
Romances. It is mutilated in two places, and wants the conclusion. These
defects are supplied from the French prose.
The prologue begins by observing, that in ancient times, lays, intended
to be accompanied by the harp, were composed on all sorts of subjects.
Some both of war, and some of woe;
And some of joy and mirth also;
And some of treachery and of guile;
Of old aventures that fell while;
And some of _bourdes_[33] and ribaudy;
And many there beth of fairy;
Of all thinges that men seth,
Most of love, forsooth, there beth.
In Bretayne, by old time,
These lays were made, so sayeth this rhyme, &c.
The Bretons never failed converting into lays all the anecdotes they
thought worth consigning to memory; and the following was thus composed,
and called Lay le Fraine (frêne), or "The Aventure of the Ash."
In the "West countrie" lived two knights, men of opulence, friends from
their infancy, and married about the same time. One of the ladies having
twins, her husband sent to announce the event to his friend.
The messenger goth, and hath nought forgete,
And findeth the knight at his mete;
And fair he gret, in the hall,
The lord, the levedi, the meynè all;
And sith then, on knees down him set,
And the lord full fair he gret.
"He bade that thou should to him _te_,[34]
And, for love, his _gossibbe_[35] be."
"Is his levedi deliver'd _with sounde?_"[36]
"Ya, sir, y-thonked be God, _yestronde._"[37]
"And whether a maiden child, other a knave?"
"Tway sones, sir, God hem save!"
The knight thereof was glad and blithe,
And thonked Godes sonde swithe,
And granted his errand in all thing,
And gaf him a palfray for his tiding.
Then was the lady of the house
A proud dame, and malicious,
_Hoker-full, iche mis-segging_,[38]
Squeamous, and eke scorning;
To iche woman she had envie;
She spake these words of felonie:
"Ich have wonder, thou messenger,
Who was thy lordes conseillor,
To teach him about to send,
And tell shame _in iche an end!_"[39]
"That his wife hath tway children y-bore!
Well may iche man wite therfore
That tway men her han hodde in bower:
That is hir bothe dishonour!"
The messenger was sorely abashed by these unexpected and unjust
reflections; the husband reprimanded his wife very severely for the
intemperance of her tongue; and all the women of the country, amongst
whom the story rapidly circulated, united in prayer, that her calumny
might receive some signal punishment. Accordingly, the lady shortly
after brought into the world two daughters. She was now reduced to the
alternative of avowing herself guilty of a calumny against her innocent
neighbour, or of imputing to herself, in common with the other, a crime
of which she had not been guilty; unless she could contrive to remove
one of the twins. The project of destroying her own child, was, at
first, rejected with horror; but after revolving the subject in her
mind, and canvassing with great logical acuteness the objections to this
atrocious measure, she determined to adopt it, because she could
ultimately cleanse herself from the sin, by doing private penance, and
obtaining absolution.
Having thus removed her scruples, she called the midwife, and directed
her to destroy one of the infants, and to declare that one only had been
born. But she refused; and the unnatural mother was reduced to seek for
a more submissive and supple agent. She had a maid-servant, educated in
the family, to whom she imparted her difficulties; and this confidential
counsellor at once proposed a contrivance for removing them: "Give me
the child," said she, "and be assured that, without destroying, I will
so remove it, that it shall never give you any further trouble. There
are many religious houses in the neighbourhood, whose inhabitants cannot
be better employed than in nursing and educating orphan children. I will
take care your infant shall be discovered by some of these good people,
under whose care, by the blessing of Providence, it will thrive and
prosper; and in the mean time I will take such means that its health
shall not suffer. Dismiss your sorrow, therefore, and trust in my
discretion." The lady was overjoyed, and accepted the offer with
assurances of eternal gratitude.
As it was her wish that those who should find the child might know it
was born of noble parents,
She took a rich _baudekine_,[40]
That her lord brought from _Constantine_,[41]
And lopped the little maiden therein;
And took a ring of fine gold,
And on her arm it knit,
With a lace of silk in _plit._[42]
The maid took the child her _mid_,[43]
And stole away in an even tide,
And passed over a wild heath;
Thorough field and thorough wood she _geth_,[44]
All the winter-long night.
The weather was clear, the moon was light,
So that she com by a forest side;
She wox all weary, and gan abide.
Soon after she gan heark,
Cockes crow, and dogs bark;
She arose, and thither wold;
Near and nearer, she gan behold,
Walls and houses fell the seigh,
A church, with steeple fair and high;
Then was there nother street no town,
But an house of religion;
An order of nuns, well y-dight,
To servy God both day and night.
The maiden abode no _lengore_;[45]
But yede her to the church door,
And on her knees she sate her down,
And said, weepand, her orisones.
"O Lord," she said, "Jesus Christ,
That sinful mannes _bedes_,[46]
_Underfong_[47] this present,
And help this seli innocent!
That it mote y-christen'd be,
For Marie love, thy mother free!"
She looked up, and by her seigh
An asche, by her, fair and high,
Well y-boughed, of mickle price;
The body was hollow, as many one is.
Therin she laid the child for cold,
In the _pel_,[48] as it was, _byfold_[49]
And blessed it with all her might.
With that it gan to dowe light.
The fowles up, and sung on bough,
And acre-men yede to the plough,
The maiden turned again anon,
And took the way she had ere gon.
The porter of the abbey arose,
And did his office in the close;
Rung the bells and tapers light,
Laid forth books, and all ready dight.
The church door be undid,
And seigh anon, in the _stede_,[50]
The pel liggen in the tree,
And thought well that it might be,
That thieves had y-robbed somewhere,
And gone there forth, and let it there.
Therto he yede, and it unwound,
And the maiden child therin he found.
He took it up between his honde,
And thanked Jesu Christes sonde,
And home to his house he it brought,
And took it to his daughter, and her besought
That she should keep it as she con,
For she was _melche, and couthe thon._[51]
She bade it suck, and it wold,
For it was nigh dead for cold.
Anon, fire she a-light,
And warmed it well _aplight_,[52]
She gave it suck upon her _barm_,[53]
And siththen, laid it to sleep warm.
And when the mass was y-done,
The porter to the abbesse com full soon.
"Madame, what rede ye of this thinge?
To-day, right in the morning,
Soon after the first _stound_,[54]
A little maiden child ich found
In hollow ash thin out
And a pel her about;
A ring of gold also was there;
How it came thither I wot ne'er."
The abbesse was a-wondered of this thing.
"Go," she said, "on _hying_[55]
And fetch it hither, I pray thee;
It is welcome to God and me.
Ich will it helpen as I can,
And segge it to my kinswoman."
The porter anon it gan forth bring,
With the pel, and with the ring.
The abbesse let clepe a priest anon,
And let it christen in function.
And for it was in an ash y-found,
She cleped it _Frain_ in that stound.
The name[56] of the ash is a frain,
After the language of Bretayn;
_Forthy_[57] Le Frain men clepeth this lay,
More than ash, in each country.
This Frain thriv'd from year to year;
The abbess niece men ween'd it were.
The abbess her gan teach, and _beld._[58]
By that she was twelve winter eld,
In all England there was none
A fairer maiden than she was one.
And when she couthe ought of _manhede,_[59]
She bade the abbesse her _wisse_[60] and rede,
Which were her kin, one or other,
Father or mother, sister or brother.
The abbesse her in council took,
To tellen her she nought forsook,
How she was founden in all thing;
And took her the cloth and the ring,
And bade her keep it in that stede;
And, therwhiles she lived, so she did.
Then was there, in that cuntré,
A rich knight of land and fee,
Proud, and young, and jollif,
And had not yet y-wedded wife.
He was stout, of great renown,
And was y-cleped Sir Guroun.
He heard praise that maiden free,
And said, he would her see.
He dight him in the way anon,
And jolliflich thither is gone,
And bode his man segge, verament,
He should toward a tournament.
The abbesse, and the nonnes all,
Fair him grette in the guest-hall;
And damsel Frain, so fair of mouth,
Grette him fair, as she well couth.
And swithe well he gan devise,
Her semblant, and her gentrise,
Her lovesome eyen, her _rode_[61] so bright.
And commenced to love her anon-right;
And thought how he might take on,
To have her for his lemon [Errata: leman].
He thought, "Gificcome her to
More than ich have y-do,
The abbesse will _souchy_[62] guile,
And _wide_[63] her away in a little while."
He compassed another _suchesoun;_[64]
To be brother of that religion.
"Madam," he said to the abbesse,
_"I-lovi_[65] well, in all goodness,
Ich will give one and other
Londes and rentes, to become your brother,[66]
That ye shall ever fare the _bet_[67]
When I come to have recet."[68]
At few wordes they ben _at one._
He graithes him[69], and forth is gone.
Oft he com, by day and night,
To speak with that maiden bright;
So that, with his fair _behest_,[70]
And with his glosing, at lest
She granted him to don his will,
When he will, loud and still.
"Leman," he said, "thou must let be
The abbesse _thy neice_,[71] and go with me;
For ich am riche, of swich powere,
Ye finde bet than thou hast here."
The maiden grant, and to him trist,
And stole away, that no man wist;
With her took she no thing
But her pel and her ring.
When the abbess gan aspy
That she was with the knight _owy_,[72]
She made mourning in her thought,
And her _bement_,[73] and gained nought.
So long she was in his castel,
That all his meynie loved her well.
To rich and poor she gan her 'dress,
That all her loved more and less;
And thus she led with him her life,
Right as she had been his wedded wife.
His knightes com, and to him speke,
And holy church commandeth eke,
Some lordis daughter for to take,
And his leman all forsake.
And said, him were well more fair
In wedlock to get him an heir,
Than lead his life with swiche one,
Of whose kin he knew none.
And said, "Here besides, is a knight
That hath a daughter fair and bright,
That shall bear his heritage,
Taketh her in marriage!"
Loth him was for that deed to do,
Oc, at last, he granted therto.
The _forward_[74] was y-marked aright,
And were at one, and troth plight.
Allas! that he no had y-wit,
Ere the forward were y-suit!
That she, and his leman also,
Sistren were, and twinnes two!
Of o father begeten they were,
Of o mother born _y-fere_:[75]
That _hi_[76] so were ne wist none,
Forsooth, I say, but God alone.
The new bride was graithed with oil,
And brought home to the lord is host,
Her father come with her also,
The levedi her mother, and other mo.
The bishop of the lond, withouten fail,
Come to do the spousail.
* * * * *
The young rival of Le Frain was distinguished like her sister, by a
sylvan appellation; her name was _Le Codre_ (Corylus, the Hazel), and
the knight's tenants had sagaciously drawn a most favourable prognostic
of his future happiness, from the superiority of nuts to vile ash-keys;
but neither he nor any of his household were disposed to augur
favourably of a marriage which tended to deprive them of the amiable
orphan. The feast was magnificent, but dull; and never were apparent
rejoicings more completely marred by a general feeling of constraint and
formality. Le Frain alone, concealing the grief which preyed on her
heart, was all zeal and activity; and, by her unceasing attentions,
conciliated the pity and esteem of the bride, and even of her mother,
who had hitherto felt the utmost anxiety to procure her dismissal. At
the conclusion of the banquet she employed herself in the decoration of
the bridal chamber, and having observed that the covering of the bed was
not sufficiently costly, spread over it the magnificent mantle she had
received from the abbess, and had hitherto preserved with the utmost
solicitude. She had scarcely left the room when the bride entered it
accompanied by her mother, who casting her eyes on this splendid mantle,
surveyed it with feelings of the most poignant remorse, and immediately
recognized the testimony of her crime. She questioned the chamberlains,
who were unable to explain the appearance of an ornament they had never
before beheld; she then interrogated Le Frain, and, at the end of a
short examination, fell into a swoon, exclaiming, "Fair child, thou art
my daughter!" Her husband was then summoned, and she confessed to him
with tears, and every expression of penitence, the sinful act she had
committed, and the providential discovery of her daughter by means of
the mantle and the ring, both of which were presents from himself. The
knight embraced his child with the utmost tenderness, and prevailed on
the bishop to dissolve the just solemnized marriage, and unite their
son-in-law to the original object of his affections. The other sister
was shortly after bestowed on a neighbouring lord, and the adventures
of Le Frain and Le Codre were formed into a Lay, which received its name
from the former.