Once upon a time, more than a hundred years ago, there lived a rich
villein whose name I cannot now tell, who owned meadows and woods and
waters, and all things which go to the making of a rich man. His manor
was so fair and so delightsome that all the world did not contain its
peer. My true story would seem to you but idle fable if I set its
beauty before you, for verily I believe that never yet was built so
strong a keep and so gracious a tower. A river flowed around this fair
domain, and enclosed an orchard planted with all manner of fruitful
trees. This sweet fief was builded by a certain knight, whose heir sold
it to a villein; for thus pass baronies from hand to hand, and town and
manor change their master, always falling from bad to worse. The
orchard was fair beyond content. Herbs grew there of every fashion,
more than I am able to name. But at least I can tell you that so sweet
was the savour of roses and other flowers and simples, that sick
persons, borne within that garden in a litter, walked forth sound and
well for having passed the night in so lovely a place. Indeed, so
smooth and level was the sward, so tall the trees, so various the
fruit, that the cunning gardener must surely have been a magician, as
appears by certain infallible proofs.
Now in the middle of this great orchard sprang a fountain of clear,
pure water. It boiled forth out of the ground, but was always colder
than any marble. Tall trees stood about the well, and their leafy
branches made a cool shadow there, even during the longest day of
summer heat. Not a ray of the sun fell within that spot, though it were
the month of May, so thick and close was the leafage. Of all these
trees the fairest and the most pleasant was a pine. To this pine came a
singing bird twice every day for ease of heart. Early in the morning he
came, when monks chant their matins, and again in the evening, a little
after vespers. He was smaller than a sparrow, but larger than a wren,
and he sang so sweetly that neither lark nor nightingale nor blackbird,
nay, nor siren even, was so grateful to the ear. He sang lays and
ballads, and the newest refrain of the minstrel and the spinner at her
wheel. Sweeter was his tune than harp or viol, and gayer than the
country dance. No man had heard so marvellous a thing; for such was the
virtue in his song that the saddest and the most dolent forgot to
grieve whilst he listened to the tune, love flowered sweetly in his
heart, and for a space he was rich and happy as any emperor or king,
though but a burgess of the city or a villein of the field. Yea, if
that ditty had lasted a hundred years, yet would he have stayed the
century through to listen to so lovely a song, for it gave to every man
whilst he hearkened, love, and riches, and his heart's desire.
But all the beauty of the pleasaunce drew its being from the song of
the bird; for from his chant flowed love which gives its shadow to the
tree, its healing to the simple, and its colour to the flower. Without
that song the fountain would have ceased to spring, and the green
garden become a little dry dust, for in its sweetness lay all their
virtue.
The villein, who was lord of this domain, walked every day within his
garden to hearken to the bird. On a certain morning he came to the well
to bathe his face in the cold spring, and the bird, hidden close
within the pine branches, poured out his full heart in a delightful
lay, from which rich profit might be drawn.
"Listen," chanted the bird in his own tongue, "listen to my voice oh,
knight, and clerk, and layman, ye who concern yourselves with love, and
suffer with its dolours: listen, also, ye maidens, fair and coy and
gracious, who seek first the gifts and beauty of the world. I speak
truth and do not lie. Closer should you cleave to God than to any
earthly lover, right willingly should you seek His altar, more firmly
should you hold to His commandment than to any mortal's pleasure. So
you serve God and Love in such fashion, no harm can come to any, for
God and Love are one. God loves sense and chivalry; and Love holds them
not in despite. God hates pride and false seeming; and Love loveth
loyalty. God praiseth honour and courtesy; and fair Love disdaineth
them not. God lendeth His ear to prayer; neither doth Love refuse it
her heart. God granteth largesse to the generous; but the grudging man,
and the envious, the felon and the wrathful, doth He abhor. But
courtesy and honour, good sense and loyalty, are the leal vassals of
Love, and so you hold truly to them, God and the beauty of the world
shall be added to you besides."
Thus told the bird in his song.
But when he saw the villein beneath the pine hearkening to his words,
straight he changed his note, for well he knew him to be covetous and
disloyal, and so he sang in quite another fashion.
"Oh, river, cease to flow; crumble, thou manor, keep and tower; let the
grass wither with the rose, and the tall tree stand bare, for the
gentle dames and knights come no more who once delighted in my song,
and to whom this fountain was dear. In place of the brave and generous
knights, set upon honour, stands this envious churl, greedy of naught
but money. Those came to hear my song for solace, and for love of love;
he but to eat and drink the more, and for ease of his gluttony."
And when the bird had thus spoken he took his flight.
Now the villein, who had listened to this song, thought within himself
that might he snare so marvellous a bird, very easily could he sell him
at a great price; or if he might not sell him, at least he could set
him fast in a cage and hearken his lay at pleasure both early and late.
So he climbed within the tree and sought and searched and pried until
he marked the branch from whence the bird was wont to sing. There he
set a cunning snare, and waited to see what time should make clear. At
the hour of vespers the bird returned to the orchard, and lighting upon
the branch was fast taken in the net. Then the villein came forth, and
mounting quickly, joyously seized him in his hand.
"Small profit will you have of your labour," said the bird, "for I can
pay but a poor ransom."
"At least I shall be paid in songs," answered the villein. "You were
wont to sing for your own pleasure, now you will carol for mine."
"Think not so," replied the bird. "He who is used to the freedom of
wood and meadow and river cannot live prisoned in a cage. What solace
may I find there, or joy? Open your hand, fair sweet friend, for be
assured no captive has a heart for songs."
"By my faith, then, you shall be served at table."
"Never will you have dined worse, for there is nothing of me. I pray
you to let me go, for it were a sin to slay me."
"By my faith, you talk and talk; the more you plead, the less will I
grant."
"Certes," answered the bird, "you are in your right, for such is the
law. Many a time have I heard tell that the uncharitable granteth no
alms. But there is a proverb that teaches that often man gives in his
own interest what cannot be taken from him by force. Now, if you
release me from this net I will make you free of three secrets which
are little known to men of your lineage, and from which you may draw
much profit."
"Tell me these secrets," said the villein, "and I will open my hand."
"Such faith have I in you," answered the bird, "that I will speak only
when you free me from the snare."
The villein opened his hand, and the bird flew to a place of surety.
His feathers were all ruffled, for he had been grossly handled by a
glove not of silk but of wool, so he preened and plumed himself
carefully with his beak. But the villein grew impatient, and urged him
to pay his ransom. Now the bird was full of guile, so presently he made
answer to the churl.
"Hear now the first of my three weighty secrets--Do not believe all
that you may hear."
The villein frowned with anger, and answered that he knew it well.
"Fair friend, forget it never," replied the bird.
"Much I fear that I did foolishly in letting you from the snare. This
secret was plain to me before; but now tell me the two others."
"They are fair and wise," said the bird. "Listen well to my second
weighty secret--Do not regret what you have never lost."
"You mock me," cried the villein, "and do wrong to the faith you
plighted with me. You pledged your word to tell me three secrets known
but little to men of such lineage as mine, and you give me musty
proverbs told over by all the world. Certes, what manner of man is he
who weeps over what he has never had!"
"Shall I tell it once again," replied the bird, "for great fear have I
lest it should travel from your mind."
"By my head," answered the villein, "I am a fairer scholar than you
think. These two proverbs have naught to teach me; but hold truly to
our covenant and bargain, and let the third secret contain a graver
matter."
"Listen well to my third secret," said the bird, "for he who receives
it shall never be poor."
"Ah, tell me this secret quickly," cried the churl, "for it draws near
the hour of meat, and truly, beyond all things, do I desire to grow
rich."