chance the young knight might even yet live, and if he did, then ill
would it be for him; so he turned himself back thinking to slay the
knight there and then lest he challenge him later. So he drew his
sword, and thrust Tyolet through the body, and went his way, thinking
that he had slain him.
Then came that traitor knight to the court of King Arthur, and shewed
the white foot, and demanded the hand of the maiden. But the white
brachet, which had led Tyolet to the stag had he not brought--of that
knew he naught.
Then he claimed by covenant that fair maiden, since, he said, he had
smitten off the white foot of the stag and brought it to court. But the
King, who was wise enow, demanded eight days' grace to await Tyolet's
return, ere he would assemble his court, for he had with him but those
of his household--good knights all, frank and courteous. So the knight
must needs grant that respite--and abide at court till the eight days
were ended.
But he knew not that that good and courteous knight, Sir Gawain, had
set forth secretly to seek Tyolet, for the brachet had come back to
court alone, and Gawain deemed surely it would guide him to the knight.
And indeed it led him truly to the meadow where he found Tyolet lying
lifeless among the lions.
When Gawain saw the knight and the slaughter he had wrought, he mourned
the ill-chance greatly, and dismounting spake softly to his friend,
and Tyolet answered him feebly, telling him what had brought him to
this pass; and as he spake there rode up a maiden, fair to look upon,
mounted upon a mule, and greeted Gawain courteously. Then Gawain
returned her greeting, and called her to him, and embraced her, praying
her very gently and very courteously that she would bear this knight,
who was indeed a right valiant knight, to the leech of the Black
Mountain; and the maiden did even as he besought her, and bare Tyolet
to the leech, praying him to care for him for the sake of Sir Gawain.
The leech willingly received the knight, and did off his armour, laying
him on a table. Then he washed his wounds, and freed them from the
clotted blood which was all around them, and saw that he would do well,
and would be whole again within the month. But Sir Gawain went his way
back to court and dismounted within the hall. And he found there the
knight who had brought the white foot; he had dwelt at court till the
eight days were passed, and now he came to the King, saluting him, and
praying him to keep the covenant which the maiden of Logres had herself
devised, and to which King Arthur had given consent--to wit, that
whosoever should bring her the white foot, him would she take for lord;
and King Arthur said, "'Tis the truth."
But when Gawain heard this he sprang forward swiftly, and said to the
King: "Sire, 'tis not so; were it not that here before thee who art
the king I may not give the lie to any man, be he knight or squire, I
would say that he doth lie, and never won the white foot or the stag
in the manner of which he vaunteth himself. Great shame doth he do to
knights who would boast himself of another's deeds and clothe himself
with another's mantle; who would steal the goods from another's store,
and deck himself with that which belongeth to another; who by the hand
of another would joust, and draw forth from the thicket the fearsome
serpent. Nor shall it thus be seen in this court; what thou sayest is
worth naught, make thine assault elsewhere, seek elsewhere for what
thou desirest, this maiden is not for thee!"
"Of a faith," quoth the knight, "Sir Gawain, now dost thou hold me for
a coward and a villain, since thou sayest that I dare not lay lance in
rest for jousting, and know how to steal goods from another's store,
and draw the serpent from the thicket by another's hand. But thou
speakest falsely as thou wilt find, if thou thinkest to prove thy words
by force of arms, and deemest that thou wilt not find me in the field!"
While they thus strove together behold Tyolet, who had come thither in
haste and had dismounted without the hall. The King rose from his seat
to meet him, and threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him for
the great love which he bare to him; and Tyolet bowed before him as
fitting before his lord.
Then Gawain embraced him, and Urian, and Kay, and Yvain the son of
Morgain, and the good knight Lodoer, and all the other knights.
But the knight who would fain win the maiden through the foot which
Tyolet had given to him, and which he had brought thither, spake again
to Arthur, and again made request.
But Tyolet, when he knew that he demanded the maiden, spake courteously
to him, and asked him gently: "Sir Knight, tell me here in the presence
of the King, by what right dost thou claim this maiden?"
"Of a faith," he said, "I will tell thee. It is because I brought her
the white foot of the stag; the King and she herself had so pledged it."
"Didst thou then smite off the foot? If it be true, it may not be
denied."
"Yea, I smote it off, and brought it hither with me."
"And who then slew the seven lions?"
The knight looked upon him and said never a word, but reddened, and
waxed wrathful.
Then Tyolet spake again: "Sir Knight, who was he who was smitten with
the sword, and who was he who smote him? Tell me, I pray thee, for of a
truth I think me that last wast thou!" And the knight frowned, as one
ashamed.
"But that was, methinks, to return evil for good when thou didst that
deed. In all good faith I gave thee the foot which I had smitten from
off the stag, and for that didst thou give me such guerdon as went nigh
to slay me; dead ought I to be in very truth. I gave thee a gift: of
that do I now repent me. With the sword thou didst carry didst thou
smite me through the body, thinking to have slain me. If thou would'st
deny it, here will I tend to King Arthur my gage that I will prove it
before this noble company."
But when the knight heard that, since he feared death more than shame,
he cried him mercy, knowing that he spake truth. Nothing dared he
gainsay, but yielded himself to King Arthur to do his commandment.
Then Tyolet, taking counsel with the King and his barons, pardoned him,
and the knight fell on his knees and kissed his feet. Then Tyolet
raised him up and kissed him, and from that day forward they spake no
more of that matter. The knight gave back the stag's foot, and Tyolet
gave it to the damsel.
The lily and the new-blown rose, when it bloometh first in the fair
summer-time, are less fair than was that maiden. Then Tyolet prayed
her hand in marriage, and with her consent did King Arthur give her to
him. She led him back with her to her land, there was he king, and she
queen--and here the lay of Tyolet findeth ending.
The Were-Wolf
[Illustration]
"_Sir Marrok, the good knight that was betrayed with his wife, for she
made him seven year a Werwolf._"--MORTE D'ARTHUR, book xix. chap. 11.
In the days of King Arthur there lived in Brittany a valiant knight of
noble birth and fair to look upon; in high favour with his lord and
much loved by all his fellows. This knight was wedded to a fair and
gracious lady whom he loved tenderly, and she too loved her lord, but
one thing vexed her sorely--three days in every week would her husband
leave her, and none knew whither he went, or what he did while thus
absent.
And every time the lady vexed herself more and more, till at last she
could no longer keep silence, and when her husband came back, joyful
and glad at heart after one of these journeys, she said to him: "My
dear lord, there is somewhat I would fain ask thee, and yet I scarce
dare, for I fear lest thou be angry with me."
Then her lord drew her to him, and kissed her tenderly. "Lady," he
said, "fear not to ask me, there is nothing I would not gladly tell
thee, if it be in my power."
"I' faith," she said, "now is my heart at rest. My lord, didst thou
but know how terrified I am in the days I am left alone; I rise in the
morning affrighted, and lie down at night in such dread of losing thee
that if I be not soon reassured I think me I shall die of it. Tell me,
I pray thee, where thou goest, and on what errand, that I who love thee
may be at rest during thine absence."
"Lady," he answered, "for the love of God ask me no more, for indeed if
I told thee evil would surely come of it; thou would'st cease to love
me, and I should be lost."
When the lady heard this she was but ill-pleased, nor would she let
her lord be at peace, but day by day she besought him with prayers and
caresses, till at length he yielded and told her all the truth. "Lady,"
he said, "there is a spell cast upon me: three days in the week am I
forced to become a were-wolf; and when I feel the change coming upon
me I hide me in the thickest part of the forest, and there I live on
prey and roots till the time has expired."
When he had told her this his wife asked him what of his garments? Did
he still wear them in his wolf's shape?
"Nay," he said, "I must needs lay them aside."
"And what dost thou do with them?"
"Ah, that I may not tell thee, for if I were to lose them, or they
should be stolen from me, then must I needs be a wolf all my days,
nothing could aid me save that the garments be brought to me again. So
for my own safety I must needs keep the matter secret."
"Ah, my dear lord, why hide it from _me_? Surely thou hast no fear of
me who love thee above all else in the world? Little love canst thou
have for me! What have I done? What sin have I committed that thou
should'st withdraw thy confidence? Thou wilt do well to tell me."
Thus she wept and entreated till at length the knight yielded, and told
her all.
"Wife," he said, "without the forest on the highway, at a cross road,
is an old chapel wherein I have often found help and succour. Close to
it, under a thick shrub, is a large stone with a hollow beneath it;
under that stone I hide my garments till the enchantment hath lost its
power, and I may turn me homewards."
Now when the lady had heard this story it fell out even as her husband
had foretold, for her love was changed to loathing, and she was seized
with a great dread and fear of him. She was terrified to be in his
presence, yet he was her lord, and she knew not how she might escape
from him.
Then she bethought her of a certain knight of that country, who had
loved her long, and wooed her in vain ere she wedded her lord; and one
time when her husband went forth, she sent for him in secret, and bade
him come and give her counsel on a matter that troubled her much. When
he came she bade him swear an oath to keep secret what she might tell
him, and when he had sworn she told him all the story, and prayed him
for the sake of the love he once bore her to free her from one who was
neither beast nor man, and yet was both.
The knight, who loved her still, was ready to do all she might desire,
and she said, "'Tis but to steal his clothes, for then he can no more
become a man, but must dwell in the forest as a wolf all his days, and
some one will assuredly slay him." So he went forth, and did after her
bidding and brought her the garments, and she hid them away saying,
"Now am I safe, and that monster can return no more to terrify me."
When the time went on, and her husband came not, the lady feigned to be
anxious for his welfare, and she sent his men forth to seek him; they
went through all the country but could find no trace of their lord, so
at length they gave up the search, and all deemed he had been slain on
one of his mysterious journeys. And when a year had passed, and the
lady thought the wolf had surely been killed, she wedded the knight who
had aided her and thought no more of the husband she had betrayed.
But the poor were-wolf roamed the forest in suffering and sorrow, for
though a beast outwardly yet he had the heart and brain of a man, and
knew well what had happened, and he grieved bitterly, for he had loved
his wife truly and well.
* * * * *
Now it chanced one day that the king of that land rode a-hunting in
that very forest, and the hounds came on the track of the were-wolf
and roused him from his lair and gave chase to him. All day he fled
before them through the woodland, and at last when they were close upon
him and he was in sore peril of being overtaken and torn in pieces the
king came riding after the hounds, and the wolf swerved aside and fled
to him, seizing him by the stirrup, and licking his foot in sign of
submission.
The king was much astonished, and called to his companions to come
swiftly. "See here, my lords," he said, "what think ye of this marvel?
See how this beast entreats mercy of me; he hath the sense of a man!
Drive off the dogs, for I will not have him injured. Turn we homewards,
I take this beast in my peace, and will hunt no more in this forest
lest by chance he be slain."
With that they turned their bridles and rode homewards; but the wolf
followed behind, and would not be driven back, even when they came to
the royal castle. The king was greatly pleased, for he thought the
matter strange and marvellous; no such tale had he ever heard before;
and since he had taken a great liking for the beast he bade his knights
not merely to do the wolf no harm, but to treat him with all care and
kindness, on pain of losing the royal favour. So all day the wolf
roamed the court, free among the knights, and at night he slept in the
king's own chamber. Wherever the king went, there he would have his
wolf go too, and all the courtiers made much of the beast, seeing that
it pleased their lord, and finding that he did no harm to any man among
them.
Now when a long time had passed the king had occasion to hold a solemn
court; he summoned all his barons from far and near, and among them
came the knight who had betrayed the were-wolf, and wedded his lady; he
had little thought that his rival was yet in life, still less that he
was so near at hand. But as soon as the wolf beheld him he sprang upon
him savagely, tearing him with his teeth, and would have slain him if
the king had not called him off, and even then twice again he would
have seized him.
Every one in the castle was astonished at the rage shown by the beast,
which had always been so tame and gentle, and a whisper went round that
surely there must be something which no one knew against the knight,
for the wolf would scarce have attacked him without cause. All the time
the court lasted the wolf had to be kept in close guard. When at length
it broke up the knight who had been attacked was one of the first to
leave--and small marvel it he were. But when the knight had gone the
wolf was once more as tame and friendly as he had been from the first,
and all the courtiers made a pet of him as they had done aforetime, and
forgot, as time went on, that he had ever shown himself so savage.
* * * * *
At length the king bethought him that he would make a progress through
his kingdom, and at the same time hunt for a while in the forest where
he had found the wolf. As his custom was he took the beast with him.
Now the lady, the were-wolf's treacherous wife, hearing that the king
would abide some time in that part of the country, prayed for an
audience that she might win the royal favour by presenting rich gifts,
for she knew well that the king loved not her second husband as he had
loved the first.
The king appointed a day and hour for the audience, but when the lady
entered the presence chamber suddenly the wolf flew upon her, and
before any could hinder had bitten the nose from off her face. The
courtiers drew out their weapons and would have slain the beast, when a
wise man, one of the king's councillors, stayed them. "Sire," he said,
"hearken to me--this wolf has been long with us, there is not one of
us here who has not been near to him, and caressed him, over and over
again; yet not a man of us has he ever touched, or even shown ill-will
to any. But two has he ever attacked, this lady here and the lord, her
husband. Now, sire, bethink thee well--this lady was the wife of the
knight thou didst hold dear aforetime, and who was lost long since, no
man knowing what came to him. Take my counsel, put this lady in guard,
and question her closely as to whether she can give any reason why the
wolf should hate her. Many a marvel hath come to pass in Brittany, and
methinks there is something stranger than we wot of here."
The king thought the old lord's counsel good; he caused the lady and
her husband to be put in prison apart, and questioned separately with
threats if they kept silence; till at length the lady, terrified,
confessed how she had betrayed her first husband, by causing his
garments to be stolen from him when he was in a wolf's shape. Since
that time he had disappeared; she knew not whether he were alive or
dead, but she thought that perchance this wolf was he. When the king
heard this he commanded them to fetch the garments belonging to the
lost knight, whether it were pleasing to the lady or no; and when they
were brought he laid them before the wolf and waited to see what would
chance.
But the wolf made as if he saw them not, and the wise councillor said,
"Sire, if this beast be indeed a were-wolf he will not change shapes
while there are any to behold him; since it is only with great pain
and difficulty he can do so. Bid them take wolf and garments into thine
own chamber, and fasten the doors upon him; then leave him for a while,
and we shall see if he become man."
The king thought this counsel good, and he himself took the beast into
his chamber and made the doors fast.
Then they waited for a space that seemed long enough to the king, and
when the old lord told him he might well do so, he took two nobles with
him, and unlocked the doors, and entered, and lo, on the king's couch
lay the long lost knight in a deep slumber!
The king ran to him and embraced him warmly; and when the first wonder
had somewhat passed, he bade him take back all the lands of which he
had been robbed, and over and above he bestowed upon him many rich
gifts.
The treacherous wife and her second husband were banished from the
country; many years they lived in a strange land, and had children and
grand-children--but all their descendants might be known by this, that
the maidens were born without noses, so that they won the surname of
_enasees_.
And the old books say that this adventure was verily true, and that it
was in order that the memory of it should be preserved to all time that
the Bretons put it in verse, and called it "The Lai of the Were-Wolf."
Notes
GUINGAMOR.
This charming lay was first published by M. Gaston Paris (Romania
VIII.) from the same MS. collection as the _Lay of Tyolet_. The
author is unnamed, but the general consensus of critical opinion has
attributed it to Marie de France, the famous Anglo-Norman poetess.
Certainly both in manner and matter it is a remarkably favourable
specimen of the Breton lay.
The story of Guingamor evidently represents a very favourite class of
tales; setting aside the numerous parallels cited by Dr. Schofield in
his study of the lay (_The Lay of Guingamor_, "Harvard Studies and
Notes in Philology and Literature," vol. v.), we have among the French
translations of Breton lays which have descended to us no fewer than
three which closely correspond in subject and treatment, the lays of
_Guingamor_, _Graalent_, and _Lanval_. In each of these the hero is
tempted by a queen; rejects her proffered love; wins a fairy bride,
and departs to dwell with her in her own land. Guingamor and Graalent
agree in the circumstances under which the knight meets the fairy
maiden (a feature in which Dr. Schofield sees the influence of the
_Wayland_ story--_cf._ _The Lays of Graalent and Lanval, and the Story
of Wayland_, W. H. Schofield); while Lanval and Graalent agree in the
subsequent development of the story.
Of the three, Guingamor is distinctly the most tragic. The knight who
after two days spent in the delights of love and the festivities of
the wondrous palace returns on the third day to his own land to find
that kinsmen and friends have passed away, and his own name and fate
but a folk-tale centuries old, is a really pathetic figure. We need
not wonder that the story was a popular one; not only does Chretien de
Troyes in the quotation prefixed to my translation mention it, but it
is again referred to as a well-known tale by Gautier de Doulens, one
of the continuators of Chretien's unfinished _Conte del Graal_. The
knight who is coupled with Guingamor in our extract, _Graislemiers de
Fine Posterne_, is by Prof. Foerster and other scholars identified with
_Graalent mor_, and it seems probable that it was the close resemblance
between their stories, noted above, which led the French poet to
represent them as brothers.
PAGE 6.--_He knew how to promise and how to give._ "Bien sot promestre
et bien doner." This should be compared with Wace's description of
Gawain, "plus volt faire que il ne dist, Et plus doner qu'il ne
promist." It is impossible not to feel that Arthur's gallant nephew,
who had a fairy for his love, and who according to Chaucer found his
final home in fairy-land, stands in very close connection with these
heroes of the earlier stratum of Arthurian legend.
PAGE 18.--_Taking her robes set them high in the fork of a great
oak._ This apparently unknightly proceeding on the part of the hero
was doubtless originally connected with the supernatural character of
the lady, and seems to have taken its rise in a confusion between a
fay and a swan-maiden. As we know from Northern tradition (Brynhild's
_Hell-reid_ and the _Wieland-saga_) to steal the "swan-shift" of such a
maiden was the recognised means of effecting her capture. This has been
well discussed by Dr. Schofield in the study quoted above.
PAGE 22.--_I charge thee--that thou neither eat nor drink._
This is evidently a somewhat confused introduction of the well-known
feature that partaking of food in any land brings the eater under the
operation of the laws of that land, but we generally find the incident
of reverse application, as in the case of Persephone, who having tasted
of the pomegranate seeds must needs continue an inhabitant of the other
world. Guingamor having already eaten of the food of faery, would, one
would think, be incapable of returning to the other world. Such a fate
as befalls him is, however, often brought about by coming in contact
with the _earth_; thus in the _Voyage of Bran_, when the hero and his
companions return from the Magic Isles, they are warned not to set foot
on the shore of Ireland; one of the company disobeys the injunction
and immediately falls to ashes, as one many years dead. Mr. Hartland,
in his work on _The Science of Fairy-tales_, gives other instances of
this belief. From the references made to the story by later writers,
however, it is quite clear that Guingamor was supposed to have
regained his youth on his return to Fairyland, and to enjoy practical
immortality as the lord of its queen.
SIR LAUNFAL.
This is a translation of the _Lai de Lanval_, by Marie de France, the
_original_ source being, as in the case of all the other stories, a
Breton _lai_ which the Anglo-Norman poetess translated into French.
The English poem of the same name, by Thomas of Chester, is not,
strictly speaking, a _translation_ of Marie's _lai_, but an adaptation,
into which features borrowed from other sources have been worked. Thus
the author evidently knew the lay of _Graalent_, which, as I have
stated in the note to Guingamor, recites precisely the same story as
_Lanval_, only with certain variations in the incidents. Dr. Schofield,
in the study to which I have previously referred, decides that the
original hero is _Lanval_.
The _Graalent_ version contains a weirdly pathetic feature which was
either unknown to Marie or disregarded by her. The hero rides off, not
on the lady's steed, but on his own; crossing the river he is swept
from the saddle, and only saved from drowning by his mistress, who
takes him up behind her on her palfrey. The knight's charger, reaching
the shore, vainly seeks for his master, and the Bretons tell how
yearly, on the anniversary of Graalent's disappearance, the horse may
be heard neighing loudly for the vanished knight. Thomas of Chester
refers to this story evidently, but appears to think that the steed had
rejoined its master, as after telling how "_every yer, upon a certayn
day, Men may here Launfale's stede nay_," he goes on to tell how any
who desires a joust to keep his arms from rusting "_may fynde justes
anow wyth Syr Launfal the knyght_."
TYOLET.