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Gladly would I call to remembrance a lay whereof I have heard men speak;
I will tell you its name and its story, and show you the city whence it
sprang. Some call it The Woful Knight, but many there are who name it
The Four Sorrows.
At Nantes in Bretaigne dwelt a lady who was rich in beauty and wisdom
and all seemliness. And in that land was no knight of prowess who, and
if he did but see her, straightway loved her not and besought her. She
could in no wise love them all, yet none did she wish to renounce. And
better it is to love and woo all the ladies of the land than to rob
one fool of his motley, for he will speedily fall to fighting over it,
whereas a lady doth pleasure to all in fair friendliness. And though it
be not her will to hearken to them, yet ought she not to give them ill
words, but rather hold them dear and honour them, and render them
service and thanks. Now the lady of whom I would tell you was so besought
in love by reason of her beauty and worth that many a one had a hand
therein.
In Bretaigne, in those days, lived four barons; their names I cannot
tell you, but though they were young of age, yet were they comely,
brave, and valiant knights, generous, courteous, and free-handed; of
gentle birth were they in that land, and held in high honour. These four
loved the lady, and strove in well doing for her sake; and each did his
uttermost to win her and her love. Each sought her by himself, and set
thereto all his intent; and there was not one but thought to succeed
above all the rest.
Now the lady was of right great discretion, and much bethought her to
inquire and discover which it were best to love; for all alike were of
such great worship that she knew not how to choose the best among them.
And in that she was not minded to lose three for one, she made fair
semblance to each, and gave them tokens, and sent them messengers; of
the four not one knew how it stood with other, and none could she bring
herself to reject. So each one hoped by entreaty and loyal service to
speed better than the rest. And wheresoever knights come together, each
wished to be the first in well doing, if that he might, to thereby
please his lady. All alike called her their love, each one wore her
favour, whether ring or sleeve or pennon, and each cried her name in
the tourney.
And she on her part loved them all, and bore them all in hand, until it
fell that after an Easter time, a tournament was cried before the city
of Nantes. To learn the worth of the four lovers, many a man came from
other lands,--Frenchmen and Normans, Flemings and Angevins, and men of
Brabant, and of Boulogne, and likewise those from near at hand; all
alike came thither with good will, and long time sojourned there. And
on the evening of the tourney they joined battle full sharply.
The four lovers had armed themselves and issued out of the city: and
though their knights followed after, on them fell the burden. Those from
abroad knew them by their pennons and shields, and against them they
sent four knights, two Flemings and two Hainaulters, ready dight for the
onset; not one but was keen to join battle. And the four lovers on their
part, when they saw the knights come against them, were of no mind to
give back. At full speed, with lowered lance, each man chooseth his
fellow, and they come together so stoutly that the four out-landers are
brought to ground. No care had the four comrades for the horses, rather
they let them run free, and they took their stand above the fallen
knights, who anon are rescued by their fellows. Great was the press in
that rescue, and many a blow was struck with sword.
The lady, meantime, was on a tower, whence she might well behold her men
and their followers; she seeth her lovers bear themselves right bravely,
and which among them deserveth best she knoweth not.
So the tourney was begun, and the ranks increased and thickened; and
many a time that day before the gate was the battle renewed. The four
lovers did right valiantly, that they won praise above all the rest,
till evening fell and it was time to dispart. Then far from their men,
too recklessly they set their lives in jeopardy; dearly they paid for
it, for there three were slain, and the fourth hurt and so wounded in
thigh and body that the lance came out at his back. Right through were
they smitten, and all four fell to ground. They who had slain them threw
down their shields upon the field; unwittingly had they done it, and
right heavy were they therefor. So the noise arose and the cry; never
was sorrow heard like unto that. They of the city hasted thither, for no
whit did they fear those outlanders. Two thousand were there that for
sorrow for the four knights unlaced their ventails, and tore their hair
and their beards. All alike shared that grief.
Then each of those four was laid upon a shield, and carried into the
city to the lady who had loved them, and so soon as she heard the
adventure, she fell down on the hard ground in a swoon. When she
recovered her wit, she made sore lament for each by name. "Alas," saith
she, "what shall I do? Never more shall I know gladness. These four
knights I loved, and each by himself I desired, for of great worship
were they, and they loved me more than aught else that liveth. By reason
of their beauty and prowess, their valour and generosity, I led them
to set their thoughts on love of me, and I would not lose all three by
taking one. Now I know not which I should pity most; yet can I not
feign or disemble herein. One I see wounded and three slain; nothing
have I in the world to comfort me. Now will I let bury the dead; and if
the wounded knight may be healed, gladly will I do what I may herein,
and fetch him good doctors of physic." So she made him be carried into
her own chambers. Then she directed that the others be made ready;
richly and nobly she appareled them with great love. And to a rich
abbey, wherein they were buried, she made great gifts and offerings.
Now may God grant them sweet mercy.
Meantime she had summoned wise leeches, and had set them in charge of
the knight, who lay wounded in her own chamber until he began to mend.
Often she went to see him, and sweetly she comforted him; but much she
regretted the other three, and made great lament for them.
And one summer day after meat, when she was talking with the knight,
she remembered her of her great sorrow, and bent low her head. So she
fell deep in thought, and he, beginning to watch her, perceived her
thoughtfulness. Courteously he addressed her: "Lady, you are in
distress. What is in your thoughts? Tell me, and let be your sorrow.
Surely you should take comfort." "Friend," saith she, "I fell
a-thinking, and remembered me of your comrades. Never will any lady of
my lineage, however fair and worthy and wise she may be, love another
such four, or in one day lose them all, as I lost all,--save you alone,
who were wounded and in sore jeopardy of death. And in that I have
so loved ye four, I would that my griefs were held in remembrance,
wherefore of you I will make a lay, and call it The Four Sorrows."
When he had heard her, quickly the knight made answer: "Dame, make the
new lay, but call it The Woful Knight. And I will show you why it should
be so named: the other three long since died, and spent all their
worldly life in the great torment they endured by reason of the love
they bore you. But I, who have escaped with life, all uncounselled and
all woful, often see her whom I love most in the world come and go,
and speak to me morning and evening, yet may I have neither kiss nor
embrace, nor any joy of her, save that of speech only. A hundred such
sorrows you make me endure; rather had I suffer death. For this reason
shall the lay be named for me; The Woful Knight shall it be called, and
whosoever termeth it The Four Sorrows will change its true name." "By my
faith," saith she, "this pleaseth me well; now let us call it The Woful
Knight."
Thus was the lay begun, and thereafter ended and spread abroad; but of
those that carried it through the land some called it The Four Sorrows.
Each of the names suiteth the lay well, for the matter demandeth both;
but commonly it is called The Woful Knight. Here it endeth and goeth no
farther; more there is not so far as I have heard or known, and no more
will I tell you.