hesitated, for her love for the knight was very great. Then she bent
forward, and laid the stem of the flower between the rosy lips of the
entranced Guilliadun. Immediately there were signs of life. The girl
stirred, a blush came into her cheeks, and her lips parted. When her
eyes opened, Guildeluec sighed and said, "Truly, never was there seen so
fair a creature."
Guildeluec soon explained to the awakened princess where she was, and
received her fervent thanks for delivery from so strange a spell. With
many tears, Guilliadun confessed to her unknown friend her love for the
knight Eliduc, and the way she had followed him from her father's court.
Guildeluec heard her tale in silence, and when it was at an end, led
her away from the hermitage to the palace, where the queen took the
princess under her charge, and in the evening presented her with much
pomp to the members of her court. When Eliduc saw Guilliadun alive and
well, richly clad and lovelier than before, his heart rejoiced, but he
turned away from her. Then came forward Guildeluec, who, with the
queen's permission, released him from his pledge to her, and gave him
back his ring, saying she had determined to retire to a convent and
devote her days to holy works.
[Illustration: Guildeluec Reviving Guilliadun.]
The queen then placed Guilliadun's hand in that of Eliduc. They were
married with great rejoicings; but when the blessing was said over them
by the priest, the knight fancied he heard a sigh breathed close in his
ear. He looked around; there was no one in sight, save the group of nuns
behind a grating, whose voices rose pure and clear in the strains of the
bridal hymn.
THE FALCON-KING.
(_From one of Marie's Lays._)
There lived once, in Britain, an old knight who was lord of Caerwent, a
city situated on the River Douglas. He was wealthy and avaricious, and
the sole heir to his possessions, a lovely daughter, he kept locked up
in a high tower, under the care of a cross governess. His one fear was
that this daughter would marry, and thus give some one the right to lay
claim to the gold that was dearer to him than life itself. To prevent
her from getting a husband, the old knight used every method he could
think of to keep off visitors; and any stray caller at the castle was
set upon by fierce dogs, who would tear one to pieces as soon as gnaw a
beef-bone!
Day after day the father rode off to the hunt, the governess told her
beads, and the damsel moped within the tower. One morning she was at her
wheel, singing a mournful ditty, and sighing from time to time, as she
glanced over the tree-tops at the roofs and spires of the distant city,
when suddenly the sky above her window was darkened, and she heard a
whirring noise, as of mighty wings astir. A falcon of huge size and
noble mien flew in at the casement, and lit submissively at her feet.
The maiden stroked his proud head, and at once the bird changed to a
beautiful young man, who, in a gentle voice, begged her to have no fear
of him, as he was not only a devoted lover but the humblest of her
slaves.
"Bid me go if you will," said the prince, "and deeply as I should regret
your command, you will see how quickly I shall obey it. Long have I
watched you from afar, and dearly I love you. For your sake, I have
acquired the art of magic, enabling me to assume this shape in order to
reach your prison."
"Oh! but I _don't_ want you to go!" cried the poor little mewed-up
damsel, who was tired to death of having nobody to talk to.
As she had never seen a man younger than her father, it was a great
astonishment to her to find that the prince's hair was dark and his
cheek unwrinkled and rosy as a ripe peach.
What he meant by being a lover, she did not in the least understand.
Only, it was pleasant to hear him talk in his kind, low voice; and
praises were so rare to her, that they sounded sweet as honey dropping
from his lips.
As a matter of course, the afternoon passed quickly; but at last,
startled by the noise of a key grating in the lock of the door, the
prince quickly assumed his bird-shape, and promising to come again upon
the morrow, flew out of the window. The governess could not imagine what
had put her prisoner in such a silly state of cheerfulness, as she
thought it; and, boxing the poor girl's ears for smiling, gave her a
long piece of poetry to learn by heart, and allowed her nothing but
bread and water for her tea.
Next day the falcon came again, and for many days he continued his
visits, until the girl grew to love him as he loved her, and promised to
be his wife. Once a month the chaplain was accustomed to come to see
her, and to make her say a catechism the longest ever heard of. When
next the day came around for his visit, what was her surprise, instead
of the stern chaplain, to find a gentle and kind old priest, who, when
left alone with her, avowed himself to be a friend of the falcon-prince.
"As your father is a wicked and unworthy son of the church, and the
prince a noble and devoted one, I cannot but approve of the marriage
between you and your beloved," the old man said. "The ceremony will now
be performed, and may heaven's blessing rest upon you both."
The falcon-prince arrived at the same moment, bearing in his beak a
wedding-ring of large bright diamonds. The couple were married, and the
prince told his wife that, very soon, he would be able to furnish her
also with wings to leave the tower.
One day the governess, coming in unexpectedly, found the girl toying
with a beautiful ring, which she hurriedly concealed in her mattress.
Spite of all the governess' efforts, she could not find the jewel; nor
could she succeed in drawing from her captive any explanation of how she
had come by it. The governess told the father, who redoubled his
precautions and set spies to watch upon the outside of the tower. In a
few days, the spies reported to him that they had seen a bird of the
largest size fly in at the maiden's window, remain there for some hours,
and then fly out again.
"I'll be a match for this carrier-pigeon of hers!" said the old knight
with malicious glee. That night a trap was set upon the outside of the
window, surrounded by sharp knives, so that anything passing through it
would inevitably be caught or wounded grievously. The young wife awaited
her husband anxiously, for it was the day fixed for her escape. Soon he
arrived; but as he touched the window the trap fell, and although he
managed to pass in, a long trail of blood was left behind him.
"Lose no time, my beloved!" he said, in a voice altered by pain. "Our
enemies are upon us. Put this bracelet on your arm, and spring into the
air after me, without fear."
She obeyed, and found herself upborne by magic wings, which carried her
more swiftly than the wind over forest tops, shining river, and city
spires and domes. Glorious as was her airy flight, she could see that
her companion grew weaker. They arrived in a country adjoining the one
in which she had lived, and stopped immediately above a splendid
palace--alighting in the marble balcony of a chamber furnished with the
utmost magnificence. Here the falcon regained his man's shape, and, with
despair, his wife saw that he was deathly pale, while the blood poured
from a wound beneath his heart.
"I am dying," he exclaimed. "Help me to my bed yonder, and may heaven
grant me strength to tell my people that you are their lawful queen."
The poor wife aided her husband to lie down, but when he would have
spoken to her again, his voice was gone--a moment more, and he was dead.
And now in what a mournful plight the pretty new queen found herself!
Soon the attendants would, no doubt, come flocking into the room, to
discover their sovereign murdered in his bed, and a stranger cowering by
his side. Terror lent speed to her feet, and hastening back to the
balcony, she ran down a long flight of stairs communicating with the
outer court and garden of the palace. Thence she escaped to wander into
the forest, and until day broke again she never ceased to walk. For some
days she remained concealed in the forest, living upon fruit and
berries, until at last hunger drove her to the cottage of a poor
laborer. The wife of this man was very ill, and the queen offered to
stay and nurse her, which was gratefully accepted. So faithful and
devoted an attendant she proved that, when the woman of the house got
well, both husband and wife insisted their stranger guest should make
her home with them. In this secluded retreat, where only a stray
huntsman now and then passed by, the queen remained until a beautiful
son was born to her. And now, she felt a burning desire to have her boy
educated in a manner worthy of his father's rank; and poverty, that had
seemed so light a burden to herself, grew heavy when it weighed on him.
When the baby was three years old, a gay hunting-party passed that way,
among them a rich and childless lady, who, charmed with the beauty of
the boy, offered to adopt him on the spot.
The poor queen wept so bitterly at thought of parting with her treasure,
that the lady, who was a kind-hearted person, proposed she should
accompany them and serve in the capacity of the boy's governess.
To this plan the queen made no objection; and, bidding an affectionate
farewell to her humble friends, she took her place with the boy in a
travelling carriage sent to fetch them.
* * * * *
Years rolled on, and the child born in the forest had reached the age
of twenty-one. He was a handsome, manly youth, and skilled in all
athletic exercises. About this time, the family of his adopted mother
was invited to be present at a great religious ceremony in an abbey upon
the borders of a neighboring kingdom. Among the many attendants of the
nobles summoned for the occasion, was the real mother, who came dressed
in deep mourning and wearing a veil over her face; and one of the guests
was the wicked old knight, her father. The abbot of the monastery threw
open the doors of the chapel, that had long been sealed, and all flocked
into it. There, in the centre, stood a bier covered with cloth of gold
and surrounded by blazing wax-lights, while about it knelt an hundred
priests, at prayer. After a mass had been sung, the abbot announced that
in yonder bier lay the remains of the late king, their master, who, as
all his faithful subjects knew, was foully murdered twenty-one years
before; and that, by the terms of the king's will, found some time after
his death, the throne rightfully belonged to a lady who had been married
in secret by their sovereign, and was by him commended to their truest
love and honor. "For many long years," added the good abbot, "we have
sought vainly for the widow of our lamented ruler; not the faintest
trace of her has ever been found, and we have resolved to meet here and
choose to-day a successor to our king."
"Here is a worthy successor to your king!" cried a voice from the
throng; and the unfortunate queen, throwing back her veil, pointed to
her astonished son. "Behold the rightful heir! Who dares to say that he
is not the image of his father? _I_ am the queen you have so long
sought, and this youth is, unknown to himself, my son. In proof of it,
here is the marriage ring given me by the king."
"And in proof of it," exclaimed a venerable priest, coming forward, "I
attest that _I_ performed the marriage ceremony between our king and
this poor lady. Her appearance and her claim remove the seal from my
promise of secresy, and I unhesitatingly declare this youth to be our
lawful sovereign."
All eyes turned upon the young man, and all tongues proclaimed his
marvellous resemblance to the king. The abbot knelt at the young man's
feet and offered him a golden crown carried on a velvet cushion. Loud
cries of joy and cheers filled the air, when suddenly the unfortunate
queen was seen to totter toward the bier of her husband.
"I am glad to die on this spot," she said, snatching up the sword that
lay upon the tomb and placing it in her son's hand; then, bidding him
avenge the sad fate of his parents, she immediately expired. At the same
moment, a white-haired knight tried to steal away from the church; but
when the ancient priest perceived him, the fugitive was denounced as the
murderer of their king. Seized by the populace, the wretched old miser
was hurried to instant death; his grandson was carried in triumph to the
palace, and there installed as king.
The new monarch reigned long and wisely--an example for all future
sovereigns.
EGLAMOUR AND CRYSTABELL.
(_From Ellis' Abstract of Copy in Garrick Collection._)
[Illustration: _Eglamour & Crystabell._]
Count Prinsamour, an independent sovereign of Artois, was famed for his
skill in training young men in the courtesy and accomplishments of
chivalry. His court was the resort of all youths who wished to excel in
those important arts. His daughter Crystabell, the heiress of Count
Prinsamour's dominions, was very beautiful and accomplished, and her
father designed to marry her to some powerful monarch. The tournaments
instituted at his court were in her honor, and for her sake all the
hotheaded young knights in training broke their lances.
Crystabell herself had no desire to leave her own country to become the
wife of a foreign monarch. She loved the free and stirring air around
her father's castle, and had, unknown to the count, fallen in love with
a young knight, Sir Eglamour, who was ever victorious in the numerous
tournaments ridden in her name.
Eglamour, on his side, looked up to the young countess as to a star. He
never dreamed of winning her love, because he was only a knight, without
wealth or lands, depending upon his sword alone to make his way through
life. At last, one day, something that Crystabell said made him think
that she cared for him more than for the rest of her followers. Sorely
troubled, and yet strangely happy, the young man wandered off to think
it over. He finally resolved to ask advice of the chamberlain, who had
always stood his friend. That personage counselled him to give up all
thoughts of the countess, who, he said, was destined by her father to be
the bride of a rich and great king. Eglamour sighed, and admitted that
his friend was right. But that night, in the solitude of his chamber, he
addressed a prayer to God:
"Lord," he said, "grant me a boon,
As thou on rood me bought!
The erle's daughter, fair and free,
That she may my wife be!
For she is most in my thought:
That I may wed her to my wife,
And in joy to lead our life!
From care then were I brought."
In those days a true knight thought it no shame to his manhood to take
the burden of his every-day cares and lay it in all simplicity at the
feet of his Maker. When his devotions were at an end, Sir Eglamour slept
soundly, and awoke in better heart.
After a while, Sir Eglamour fell ill, and the count desired his
daughter, who was skilled in medicine, as were all great ladies of the
time, to attend upon the invalid. Crystabell, followed by her damsels,
went at once into the sick-room. She found Sir Eglamour feverish and
unhappy, and on bending down to minister to him, his pulse throbbed so
violently at her touch, that the tears of sympathy came into her eyes.
"I have betrayed my love," thought Sir Eglamour; but what was his
happiness when the lady bent down to kiss his lips, confessing that the
chamberlain had told her what was the real cause of his malady; and, to
comfort Eglamour, she bid him live for her sake.
After this, Eglamour got well rapidly; but he felt it right and
honorable to inform the count, at once, how matters stood between the
two young people. The count, who, although a brave knight, was largely
governed by selfish ambition, refused Sir Eglamour with scorn. Then,
after thinking a while, he told the youth that he would only bestow his
daughter upon the champion who might accomplish three perilous feats of
arms, each one of which would expose the candidate to the most imminent
danger; and that the victor should not only receive the hand of
Crystabell, but in time inherit the whole territory of Artois.
Overjoyed, Sir Eglamour accepted the conditions without delay. He
declared he was ready to set off that day or the next upon the
enterprise. He did not suspect the count's real purpose in setting him
this task, which was to destroy the rash knight who presumed to love his
daughter.
"At a little distance to the westward," said the count, "there is a
forest of noble trees belonging to a most terrible giant, named Maroke.
In a part of the forest shut off for the giant's own hunting ground, are
three deer, famed for their size and speed. To hunt one of these
celebrated animals is, of course, to challenge an encounter with their
owner. Consider whether you have courage enough for such an
enterprise."
Sir Eglamour smiled, promised to kill the giant, and hurried off to tell
his lady-love. Crystabell trembled and wept, but bid her lover
God-speed. She told him that no man ever set forth upon a more arduous
journey in a Christian country, but that she gloried in his brave
spirit. She gave him a good greyhound, from whom no deer that ever ran
had yet escaped--also a sword, once found in the sea, the only one of
the kind in the world, and which could carve in two any helmet of steel
or iron. Eglamour kissed her farewell, as he received these gifts, and
set out with a light heart.
Reaching the giant's park, he followed the wall to a massive gate, burst
it open, and entered the wood. This forest was of huge cypress trees,
and Eglamour had the luck soon to come upon the three deer grazing
quietly. They were the most immense creatures he had ever seen; and
singling out the largest, he attacked it. With the help of the dun
greyhound, he brought the stag to earth, and set to work to carve his
spoil. Laden with venison, he then approached the giant's castle,
blowing his horn at intervals; and, when arrived there, he sounded a
wild and merry blast, which roused Maroke from sleep and brought him in
fury to the gate. Sir Eglamour politely asked the monster to give him
leave to pass through the grounds with his prey.
The giant, gnashing his teeth in rage, answered by aiming a blow with
his club at the saucy young knight's head. Sir Eglamour, at the same
moment, drew Crystabell's sword, which shone so brightly as to dazzle
the eyes of Maroke, striking him stone-blind where he stood. Then
followed a mighty combat. Blind as the giant was, he fought well and
skilfully for three entire days. At the end of the third day, Sir
Eglamour rallied all his strength and drove his sword into the giant's
heart, a thrust which sent Maroke crashing like a forest tree to earth.
Sir Eglamour, having cut off his enemy's head, carried it, together with
the slaughtered stag, back to the court of his sovereign. The count
received him ruefully; but fair Crystabell laughed and rejoiced, while
the courtiers covered their champion with praises. After Eglamour was
rested and refreshed, the count hurried him off again. This time he was
to journey to the distant land of Satyn, where his task was to fetch
away the head of a prodigious boar, the terror of that ill-fated
country, half of whose inhabitants the creature had already eaten up.
To reach the land of Satyn, Sir Eglamour had to travel a fortnight by
sea, a fortnight by land. Arriving there at nightfall, he thought it
prudent to spend the night in resting on the borders of the forest. At
sunrise next day he approached the den of the horrible boar, who had
just come back from taking his morning drink in the sea. The animal was
a terror to look upon, having flaming eyes and tusks a yard long. He lay
gnawing some human bones and growling frightfully, surrounded by dead
bodies, many of which were clad in knightly armor. At once Sir Eglamour
dashed at him with a shout--"For God and Crystabell!" The boar whetted
his long tusks and set upon his adversary, killing at the first blow Sir
Eglamour's noble horse, his own tough hide remaining unhurt by the
spear. Sir Eglamour now had recourse to his magic sword, and found to
his joy that, wherever he struck, the boar's hide was cut; although the
length of the animal's tusks made it difficult to close with him. This
combat, like that with the giant, lasted three days, and at the end Sir
Eglamour, by a sudden swift movement, made a terrible blow at the
creature's neck, severing the head from his body.
Long before the close of this memorable fight, the boar's snorts of rage
and defiance had attracted to the spot the King of Satyn and fifteen of
his knights, who happened to be hunting in the forest. When the boar
dropped dead, Sir Eglamour fell over him, and lay there completely
exhausted. The king and his men drew near, showered compliments on the
strange knight's bravery, and told him that the wicked beast of whom he
had rid them had sometimes destroyed as many as forty men in one day.
The king ordered a cloth to be laid upon the grass, and Sir Eglamour was
regaled with venison and rich wine, which brought strength back to his
arm and hope to his heart. The king's men then attempted to cut up the
boar, but failed, owing to the toughness of his hide. The sword of Sir
Eglamour was put into requisition, and in a moment the beast was cleft
asunder along the back bone. The meat was distributed among the knights
and men-at-arms, Sir Eglamour claiming the head alone. The King of Satyn
afterward ordered for the champion a warm bath of certain sweet-scented
herbs that healed his wounds and in which he rested pleasantly till
break of day. Then the party went on to the king's palace, where Sir
Eglamour was asked to stay and recover from his fatigue.
Now it happened that the boar just slain was an intimate friend of
Manas, a huge and frightful giant, own brother to Maroke. Manas had
fallen in love with the King of Satyn's daughter, and had vowed to carry
her off. When Manas came prowling around the castle that evening, and
beheld on the point of a spear over the gateway the head of his friend
the boar, he flew into an awful passion, foaming at the mouth; and as he
looked on that head--
"Alas!" he cried, "art thou dead?
My trust was all in thee!
Now, by the law that I live in,
My little speckled hoglin,
Dear bought shall thy death be!"
Manas beat upon the door and walls of the castle in a fury, demanding
the surrender of the murderer of his dear little speckled hoglin.
Presently, Sir Eglamour, fully armed and equipped, mounted on a fiery
courser, and with lance in rest, attacked the giant at full speed.
Manas resisted vigorously, and in an instant overthrew man and horse.
The king, the princess, and the court, who had assembled on the walls of
the castle, began to tremble for the safety of their champion. But Sir
Eglamour, lightly springing to his feet, drew his invincible sword, and
closing with the giant, cut off his right arm. The monster roared with
pain, but continued to fight, though yelling at intervals as loudly as
ever, till near sunset, when the patient knight, who had hitherto
suffered him to exhaust himself by his own efforts, suddenly rushed
forward and completed the victory! The boar and Manas being dead,
Eglamour now took his leave of the grateful King of Satyn and his court,
who rejoiced greatly over the death of their two adversaries. The heads
of the boar and the giant Manas were carefully packed up, and in due
time Eglamour laid them at the feet of his faithful Crystabell.
Count Prinsamour, secretly disgusted at his knight's success, at once
sent him off on another enterprise, more dangerous than the two
preceding ones. Eglamour and Crystabell, now seeing that the false
count was determined to prevent their marriage, parted from each other
with many tears. But Crystabell vowed to marry him, with or without her
father's leave, so soon as he should return, if ever he did, from the
present journey.
The third mission was to kill a tremendous dragon, at that time
desolating the country around the gates of Rome. After sundry adventures
by the way, Eglamour encountered the beast, and fought it long and
valiantly. He succeeded in cutting off its wings, tail, and head; but at
last he fell himself, exhausted by his wounds and poisoned by the
dragon's sting, and was carried from the field.