{"collection":"myth-cosmogony","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_46234/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_46234","id":"gutenberg_46234","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46234","summary":null,"tags":["Arthurian romances","Category: British Literature","Category: Historical Novels","Category: Mythology, Legends & Folklore","Knights and knighthood -- Poetry"],"text":"Produced by Chris Curnow, Chris Whitehead and the Online\nDistributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This\nfile was produced from images generously made available\nby The Internet Archive)\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n  ARTHURIAN ROMANCES\n\n  Unrepresented in Malory's\n  \"Morte d'Arthur\"\n\n\n  _No. III_\n\n  Guingamor, Lanval, Tyolet,\n  Le Bisclaveret.\n\n\n\n\n  ARTHURIAN ROMANCES\n\n  UNREPRESENTED IN MALORY'S\n\n  \"MORTE D'ARTHUR\"\n\n\n  I. SIR GAWAIN AND THE GREEN KNIGHT.\n\n  A Middle-English Romance retold in Modern Prose, with Introduction\n  and Notes, by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by M. M. CRAWFORD. 2nd\n  Edition, 1909. 2s. net.\n\n\n  II. TRISTAN AND ISEULT.\n\n  Rendered into English from the German of Gottfried of Strassburg\n  by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE WATTS. Two vols. 4th\n  Edition, 1910. 4s. net.\n\n\n  III. GUINGAMOR, LANVAL, TYOLET, LE BISCLAVERET.\n\n  Four Lays rendered into English Prose from the French of Marie de\n  France and others by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE WATTS.\n  2nd Edition, 1910. 2s. net.\n\n\n  IV. MORIEN.\n\n  Translated for the first time from the original Dutch by JESSIE L.\n  WESTON. With Frontispiece and Designed Title-Page by CAROLINE WATTS.\n  1901. 2s. net.\n\n\n  V. LE BEAUS DESCONNUS. CLIG\u00c8S.\n\n  Two Old English Metrical Romances rendered into prose by JESSIE L.\n  WESTON. With Designs by CAROLINE M. WATTS. 1902. 2s. net.\n\n\n  VI. SIR GAWAIN AT THE GRAIL CASTLE.\n\n  Three Versions from the Conte del Graal, Diu Cr\u00f4ne, and the Prose\n  Lancelot. By JESSIE L. WESTON. 1903. 2s. net.\n\n\n  VII. SIR GAWAIN AND THE LADY OF LYS.\n\n  Translated for the first time from Wauchier de Denain's section of\n  the Conte del Graal by JESSIE L. WESTON. With Designs by MORRIS M.\n  WILLIAMS. 1907. 2s. net.\n\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n  Guingamor Lanval Tyolet Bisclaveret\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n  FoUR LAIS RENDERED INTo ENgLISH PRoSE\n  FRoM THE FRENcH oF MARIE DE FRANcE\n  AND oTHERS BY JESSIE L. WESToN.\n\n  WITH DESIGNS BY CARoLINE WATTS\n\n\n\n  [Illustration]\n\n  PUBLISHED BY DAVID NUTT AT THE SIGN OF\n  THE PHOENIX, LONG ACRE, LONDON.   MCMX\n\n\n  _Second Impression, 1910_\n\n\n\n\nPreface\n\n\nThe previous volumes which have been published in this series have\ncontained versions belonging to what we may call the _conscious_ period\nof romantic literature; the writers had not only a story to tell, but\nhad also a very distinct feeling for the literary form of that story\nand the characterisation of the actors in it. In this present volume we\ngo behind the work of these masters of their craft to that great mass\nof floating popular tradition from which the Arthurian epic gradually\nshaped itself, and of which fragments remain to throw here and there an\nunexpected light on certain features of the story, and to tantalise us\nwith hints of all that has been lost past recovery.\n\nAll who have any real knowledge of the Arthurian cycle are well aware\nthat the Breton _lais_, representing as they do the popular tradition\nand folk-lore of the people among whom they were current, are of value\nas affording indications of the original form and meaning of much of\nthe completed legend, but of how much or how little value has not yet\nbeen exactly determined. An earlier generation of scholars regarded\nthem as of great, perhaps too great, importance. They were inclined\nindiscriminately to regard the Arthurian romances as being but a series\nof connected _lais_. A later school practically ignores them, and\nsees in the Arthurian romances the conscious production of literary\ninvention, dealing with materials gathered from all sources, and\nremodelled by the genius of a Northern French poet.\n\nI believe, myself, that the eventual result of criticism will be to\nestablish a position midway between these two points, and to show that\nthough certain of the early Celticists exaggerated somewhat, they\nwere, in the main, correct--their theory did not account for all the\nvaried problems of the Arthurian story, but it was not for that to be\nlightly dismissed. The true note of the Arthurian legend is evolution\n_not_ invention; the roots of that goodly growth spring alike from\nhistory, myth, and fa\u00ebry; whether the two latter were not, so far\nas the distinctively _Celtic_ elements of the legend are concerned,\noriginally _one_, is a question which need not here be debated.[1]\n\n[1] In this connection, _cf._ Mr. Nutt's \"Fairy Mythology of\nShakespeare\"--Popular Studies, No. 6.\n\nThis much is quite certain; while the mythic element in the Arthurian\nstory is yet a matter for discussion, while we are as yet undecided\nwhether Arthur was, or was not, identical with the _Mercurius Artusius_\nof the Gauls; whether he was, or was not, a _Culture Hero_; whether\nGawain does, or does not, represent the same hero as Cuchullin, and\nboth alike find origin in a solar myth; we at least know that both\nArthur and Gawain are closely connected with, and as their final\ndestination found rest in, Fairyland. It is, therefore, no matter for\nsurprise if we find such definitely fairy stories as the _lais_ of\n_Guingamor_ and _Lanval_ (which, be it noted, represent a whole family\nof kindred tales) connected with the Arthurian cycle, and their heroes\nfiguring as knights of Arthur's court.[2]\n\n[2] _Cf._ Dr. Schofield's studies of the _lais_ of _Guingamor_,\n_Graalent_, and _Lanval_, referred to in the Notes.\n\nAt that court the fairy, whether she be Morgain, the Lady of the Lake,\nor the Mistress of Graalent, Lanval, or Gawain, is at home, to be\ndistinguished by nothing, save her superior beauty and wisdom, from the\nmortals who surround her. (It is scarcely necessary to remark that the\nfairies of the medi\u00e6val French romance writers are not the pigmies of\nthe Teutonic sagas and of Shakespeare.) The r\u00f4le of these maidens is,\ngenerally speaking, a clearly defined one: they are immortals in search\nof a mortal love,[3] and in this character the parallels carry us far\nback to the earliest stages of Celtic tradition as preserved in ancient\nIrish romance.\n\n[3] To this rule _Nimue_, = the Lady of the Lake, appears to be the\nonly exception.\n\nA special feature of these Breton _lais_, to be noted in this\nconnection, is that they often combine two features which are more\ngenerally found apart, and which, as represented by their most famous\nmedi\u00e6val forms, are wont to be considered by us as belonging to two\ndifferent families of tradition, _i.e._, the _Tannh\u00e4user_ legend (the\ncarrying off of a knight by the queen of the other world), and the\n_Lohengrin_ legend (the rupture of a union between a mortal and an\nimmortal, and the penalties incurred by the former by the transgression\nof a prohibition imposed by the latter). Two of the stories given in\nthis volume, _Guingamor_ and _Lanval_, in common with others which will\nbe found noted in Dr. Schofield's studies, combine both _motifs_.\n\nNow that such tales as these, in themselves independent popular\nfolk-tales, sometimes became incorporated with, at other times by\nthe loan of incident and feature strongly influenced, the Arthurian\nstory, cannot I think be denied. Fairies such as the mistresses of\n_Guingamor_ and _Lanval_ were, as I have said above, residents or\nvisitors at Arthur's court. Arthur himself is, like those knights,\ncarried to Avalon; even as _Guingamor_ in the extremity of mortal\nweakness. That like Guingamor he was thought of as recovering, and\nreigning with undiminished vigour over his fairy kingdom, is clear from\nnumerous references in medi\u00e6val romance. The authors of _La Bataille\nde Loquifer_ and _Ogier le Danois_ knew him as King of Avalon; in _Huon\nde Bordeaux_ he has been promised the reversion of Oberon's kingdom;\nin _Lohengrin_ he reigns with Parzival, in a mysterious other-world\nrealm; he is as completely lord of Fairyland as any knight beloved of\nfairy queen. The boyhood of _Tyolet_ is the boyhood of Perceval; the\nmysterious stag guarded by lions wanders in and out of the mazes of\nArthurian romance.\n\nSome might, of course, suggest that these stories are really\nfragmentary borrowings from the Arthurian legend; but such a view is\nscarcely compatible with the fact that in their earlier forms they are\nentirely unconnected with that story. Thus we see that the _lai_ of\n_Guingamor_ in the solitary version we possess knows nothing of Arthur;\nneither the king or the queen, the fairy or her kingdom is named;\nChr\u00e9tien de Troyes knew the lady as Morgain, and her land as Avalon,\nand brings Guingamor to Arthur's court. The same remark applies to\n_Graalent_, while _Lanval_ is in an Arthurian setting. If the stories\nhad originally formed part of the cycle it is difficult to see why\nthey should have been separated from it; while we can well understand\nthat already existing folk-tales would be swept into the vortex of an\nincreasingly popular tradition.\n\nThe story of _Tyolet_ as preserved in the _lai_ is certainly not in\nits earliest form; it is in some points incomprehensible, and as I\nhave suggested in the Notes, the real meaning of the tale has been\nalready forgotten. But _Tyolet_ is never elsewhere mentioned as one of\nArthur's knights, and the adventure achieved by him when transferred to\nLancelot loses even the measure of coherence and plausibility it had\npreserved. Thus Lancelot, though knowing what is to be the guerdon of\nthe successful knight, and voluntarily undertaking the adventure, when\nachieved, leaves the lady under the pretext of summoning his kinsmen\nand never returns; on no account would he be faithless to Guinevere.\n\nIn the _Were-Wolf_, again, the characters are anonymous; but Malory's\nreference leaves no room for doubt that the hero later on figured as\none of Arthur's knights.\n\nIt is, I think, impossible to avoid the conclusion that the Arthurian\nlegend, in the process of evolution, borrowed with both hands from\nalready existing stores of popular folk-lore and tradition; and an\nexamination of the parallels with this folk-lore element makes it\nequally clear that it was largely of Celtic origin.\n\nBut in what form was this popular tradition when the literary\nmasterpieces of the Arthurian cycle, the poems of Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes\nand his German rivals, were composed? We know that many of these\ntales were told as Breton _lais_, and in this original form they have\npractically disappeared. Those we possess are French translations,\nand of these the best and largest collection we owe to the skill and\nindustry of Marie de France, an Anglo-Norman poetess who lived in the\nreign of Henry II. and was therefore a contemporary of Chr\u00e9tien de\nTroyes. Of the four _lais_ here given, two, _Lanval_ and _Were-Wolf_\n(_Bisclaveret_), are undoubtedly by her, and _Guingamor_ is very\ngenerally considered to be also her work. The metre in which she wrote\nwas the eight-syllable verse, in rhymed pairs, adopted also by Chr\u00e9tien\nin common with most of the poets of his time. As we see, Marie, like\nChr\u00e9tien, connected some of these _lais_ with Arthur. They are Breton\n_lais_; Arthur is a Breton king; his legend certainly came to the\nNorthern French poets partly, if not entirely, from Breton sources; the\nprobability, therefore, is that the connection took place, in the first\ninstance, on Breton rather than on French ground--_i.e._, it is due\nneither to Marie nor to Chr\u00e9tien, but to the sources they used.\n\nSetting hypothesis aside, however, this may be stated as an absolute\nmatter of fact: at the time that the longer Arthurian romances took\nshape there were also current a number of short poems, both in Breton\nand in French, the latter in the precise metre adopted for the longer\npoems, connecting the Arthurian story with a great mass of floating\npopular folk-tale, which short poems were known to the writers of the\nlonger and more elaborate romances. Are we seriously called upon to\nbelieve that they made absolutely _no_ use of them? That they left\nall this wealth of material rigidly on one side, and combined for\nthemselves out of their inventive faculties and classical knowledge\nthe romances that won such deserved repute? Such a solution of the\nArthurian problem I can scarcely think likely in the long run to be\naccepted by serious students; certainly not by those whom the study\nof comparative religion and folk-lore has taught how widely diffused\nin extension, and how persistent in character, are the tales which\nbelong to the childhood of the race. That a large and important body\nof genuine existing tradition should be, not merely superseded, but\npractically beaten out of the field and destroyed by the power of mere\nliterary invention, would be a curious phenomenon at any date; in the\ntwelfth century it is absolutely inconceivable. The Arthurian legend\nhas its roots in folk-tradition, and the abiding charm of its literary\npresentment is in reality due to the persistent vitality and pervasive\nquality of that folk-lore element. Children of a land of eternal youth,\nArthur and his knights are ever young; it is true that some of the\nromances tell us that in the last great war with Lancelot Arthur was\nover ninety years old and Gawain above seventy, but one feels that\neven for the writer such figures had no significance; their words and\nactions are the words and actions of youth--we have here no Charlemagne\nand his veterans _\u00e0 la barbe fleurie_.\n\nBut this is an element which in our rightful appreciation of the\nliterary masterpieces of the cycle we are apt to ignore, nor is it\nother than scantily represented in English literature; it has therefore\nbeen thought well, in such a series as this to include a volume which\nshall direct attention less to the completed Arthurian epic than to the\nmaterials from which that epic was formed, since if we mistake not, it\nis to the nature of that material even more than to the skill of its\nfashioners, that the unexampled popularity of the Arthurian legend is\ndue.\n\n  BOURNEMOUTH, _May 1900_.\n\n\n\n\nGuingamor\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n    \"_Graislemiers de Fine Posterne\n    I amena conpeignons vint,\n    Et Guigomars ses frere i vint;\n    De l'Isle d'Avalon fu sire.\n    De cestui avons oi dire\n    Qu'il fu amis Morgain la fee,\n    Et ce fu veritez, provee._\"\n\n  CHRETIEN DE TROYES.--_Erec._ vv. 1952-58.\n\n\nI will tell ye here a fair adventure, nor think ye that 'tis but mine\nown invention, for 'tis truth, this tale I tell ye, and men call the\nlay wherein 'tis writ the lay of Guingamor.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nIn Brittany of old time there reigned a king who held all the land in\nhis sway, and was lord of many noble barons--his name I cannot tell ye.\nThis king had a nephew who was both wise and courteous, a very brave\nand skilful knight, and Guingamor was he called. For his bravery and\nhis beauty the king held him passing dear, and thought to make him his\nheir since he had no son. All men loved Guingamor; he knew how to\npromise, and how to give; knights and squires alike honoured him for\nhis frankness and his courtesy; and his praises went abroad throughout\nall that land.\n\nOne day the king went forth to hunt and to disport himself in the\nforest. His nephew had that morn been bled and was still feeble, so\nmight not go forth into the woodland, but would abide in his hostel,\nand with him were many of the king's companions.\n\nAt prime Guingamor arose and went forth to the castle to seek solace.\nThe seneschal met him and threw his arm around his neck, and they spake\ntogether awhile, and then sat them down to play at chess. And as they\nsat there the queen came even to the door of the chamber, on her way\nto the chapel. She was tall and fair and graceful; and there she stood\nawhile to gaze on the knight whom she saw playing chess, and stayed her\nstill and moved not.\n\nVery fair did he seem to her in form and face and feature; he sat\nover against a window, and a ray of sunlight fell upon his face and\nillumined it with a fair colour. And the queen looked upon him till\nher thoughts were changed within her, and she was seized with love for\nhim, for his beauty and his courtesy.\n\nThen the queen turned her back, and called a maiden, and said: \"Go thou\nto the knight who sitteth within playing chess, Guingamor, the king's\nnephew, and bid him come to me straightway.\"\n\nSo the maiden went her way to the knight, and bare him her lady's\ngreeting, and her prayer that he come forthwith and speak with her; and\nGuingamor let his game be, and went with the maiden.\n\nThe queen greeted him courteously, and bade him sit beside her; but\nlittle did he think wherefore she made such fair semblance to him.\n\nThe queen spake first: \"Guingamor, thou art very valiant, brave and\ncourteous and winning--a fair adventure awaits thee--thou canst set\nthy love in high places! Thou hast a fair and courteous friend, I know\nneither dame nor damsel in the kingdom her equal! She loveth thee\ndearly, and thou canst have her for thy love.\"\n\nThe knight answered: \"Lady, I know not how I can dearly love one\nwhom I have never seen nor known; never have I heard speak of this\naforetime, nor have I besought love from any.\"\n\nAnd the queen spake: \"Friend, be not so shamefaced; _me_ canst thou\nvery well love, for of a sooth I am not to be refused; I love thee well\nand will love thee all my days.\"\n\nThen Guingamor was much abashed, and answered discreetly: \"Well do I\nknow, lady, that I ought to love thee; thou art wife to my lord the\nking, and I am bound to honour thee as my liege lady.\"\n\nBut the queen answered: \"I say not that thou shalt love me thus, but I\nwould love thee as my lover, and be thy lady. Thou art fair, and I am\ngracious; if it be thy will to love me very joyful shall we both be,\"\nand she drew him towards her and kissed him.\n\nGuingamor understood well what she said, and what love she desired of\nhim, and thereof had he great shame, and blushed rosy-red, and sprang\nup thinking to go forth from the chamber. The queen would fain keep him\nwith her, and laid hold on his mantle, so that the clasp broke and he\ncame forth without it.\n\nThen Guingamor went back to the chessboard, and seated himself, much\ntroubled at heart; so startled had he been that he had no thought for\nhis mantle, but turned to his game without it.\n\nThe queen was much terrified when she thought of the king, for when\nGuingamor had so spoken, and showed her his mind she feared lest he\nshould accuse her to his uncle. Then she called a maiden whom she\ntrusted much, and gave her the mantle, and bade her bear it to the\nknight; and she laid it around his shoulders, but so troubled in mind\nwas he that he knew not when she brought it to him; and the maiden\nreturned to the queen.\n\nSo were the two in great fear till vesper-tide, when the king returned\nfrom the chase and sat him down to meat. They had had good sport that\nday, and he and his comrades were very joyful. After meat they laughed\nand made sport, and told their adventures, each spake of his deeds, who\nhad missed, who had hit fair. Guingamor had not been with them, whereof\nhe was sorrowful. So he held his peace, and spake no word.\n\nBut the queen watched him, and thinking to make him wrathful, she\ndevised words of which each one should weigh heavily. She turned\nherself to the knights and spake: \"Much do I hear ye boast, and tell of\nyour adventures, yet of all whom I see here is none brave enough (were\none to give him a thousand pounds of gold) to dare hunt or wind horn\nin the forest here without, where the white boar wanders. Marvellous\npraise would he win who should take that boar!\"\n\nThen all the knights held their peace, for none would assay that\nventure. Guingamor knew well that it was for him she spake thus.\nThroughout the hall all were silent, there was nor sound nor strife.\n\nThe king answered her first: \"Lady, thou hast often heard of the\nadventure of the forest, and this thou knowest; it displeaseth me much\nwhen in any place I hear it spoken of. No man may go thither to hunt\nthe boar who may return therefrom, so adventurous is the land, and so\nperilous the river. Much mischief have I already suffered; ten knights,\nthe best of the land, have I lost; they set forth to seek the boar and\ncame never again.\"\n\nThen he said no more, but the company departed from each other, the\nknights went to their hostel to slumber and the king betook himself to\nhis couch.\n\nGuingamor did not forget the word which he had heard, but went his way\nto the king's chamber and knelt before him. \"Sire,\" he said, \"I ask of\nthee somewhat whereof I have great need, and which I pray thee to grant\nme, nor in any wise to refuse the gift.\"\n\nThe king said: \"Fair nephew, I grant thee what thou prayest from me,\nask securely, for in naught would I deny thy will.\"\n\nThe knight thanked him, and said: \"This is that which I demanded, and\nthe gift which thou hast given me. I go to hunt in the forest.\" Then he\nprayed him to lend him his horse, his bloodhound, his brachet, and his\npack of hounds.\n\nWhen the king heard what his nephew said, and knew the gift he had\ngiven, he was very sorrowful and knew not what to do. Fain would he\nhave taken back his word and bade him let the matter be, for such a\ngift should he not have asked; never would he suffer him, even for his\nweight in gold, to go chase the white boar, for never might he return.\nAnd if he lent him his good brachet and his steed then would he lose\nthem both and never see them again, and naught had he that he valued so\nhighly; there was nothing on earth he would have taken for them--\"an I\nlose them I shall grieve all the days of my life.\"\n\nAnd Guingamor answered the king: \"Sire, by the faith I owe thee, for\nnaught that thou could'st give me, were it the wide world, would I do\nother than I have said and chase the boar to-morrow. If thou wilt not\nlend me thy steed, and the brachet thou dost hold dear, thy hound and\nthine other dogs, then must I e'en take my own, such as they are.\"\n\nWith that came the queen who had heard what Guingamor desired (and know\nye that it pleased her well), and she prayed the king that he would\ndo as the knight required, for she thought thus to be delivered from\nhim, and never, in all her life, to see him again. So earnestly did she\nmake her prayer that at length the king granted all she might ask. Then\nGuingamor prayed leave, and went joyful to his dwelling; naught might\nhe sleep that night, but when he saw dawn he arose in haste and made\nready, and called to him all his companions, the king's household, who\nwere in much fear for him, and would gladly have hindered his going an\nthey might. He bade them bring him the king's steed which he had lent\nhim the night before, and his brachet, and his good horn, which he\nwould not have given for its weight in gold. Two packs of the king's\ngood dogs did Guingamor take with him, and forgat not the bloodhound.\nThe king himself would accompany him forth from the town, and with him\ncame the burghers and the courtiers, rich and poor, making great cry\nand lamentation, and with them too were many ladies sorrowing sorely.\n\nTo the thicket nearest the city went all the huntsmen, taking with them\nthe bloodhound, and seeking for the track of the wild boar, for they\nknew well where he was wont to haunt. They found the track and knew it,\nfor many a time had they seen it, and traced the beast to his lair in\nthe thick bushes and loosed the bloodhound, and by force drove forth\nthe boar.\n\nThen Guingamor sounded his horn and bade them uncouple one pack of\ndogs and the other lead forward to await him near the forest, but they\nshould not enter therein. Thus Guingamor began the chase and the boar\nfled before him, leaving his lair unwillingly. The dogs followed,\ngiving tongue, and hunted him to the verge of the forest, but further\nmight they not go, since they were weary, wherefore they uncoupled the\nothers. Guingamor rode on winding his horn, and the pack ran yelping on\nthe boar's track; return to his lair he might not, but plunged into the\nforest, and the knight followed after, carrying the brachet which he\nhad borrowed from the king.\n\nThey who had borne him company, the king and his fellowship and the men\nof the city, stayed without the wood, nor would go further. There they\nabode so long as they might hear the blast of the horn and the barking\nof the dogs, and then they commended the knight to God and turned them\nback to the town.\n\nThe boar ran further and further till he had wearied out the dogs,\nthen Guingamor took the brachet and loosened the leash, and set it on\nthe track, which it followed of right good will, while the knight did\nwhat he might to aid and encourage his uncle's dog by blowing gaily on\nhis horn. Much did the sounds of the chase please him, but ere long\nhe had lost both brachet and boar, he heard neither yelp nor cry and\nbecame sorrowful and much displeased; he deemed he had lost the brachet\nthrough the thickness of the forest, and he was passing sorrowful for\nthe sake of his uncle who loved the dog so well. So he went still\nforward into the forest, and coming to a high hill he stayed awhile,\nvery sorrowful and much at a loss.\n\nThe sky was clear and the day fair, all around him sang the birds but\nhe hearkened not to their song. Ere long he heard the brachet give\ntongue afar off and he began to wind his horn, troubled at heart till\nhe saw the dog. Through a little plantation towards the open ground he\nsaw the brachet and the boar come swiftly, and thought to reach them\neasily. He spurred his steed to a gallop, nor would delay, rejoicing\nmuch at heart and saying to himself that might he take the boar, and\nreturn whole and unharmed to court, he would win much fame, and his\ndeed would be spoken of for all time.\n\nIn the joy of his heart he set the horn to his lips and blew a\nmarvellous great blast. Afore him passed the boar with the brachet\nclose upon its track. Guingamor rode after swiftly, through the\nadventurous land, across the perilous river, over the meadowland where\nthe turf was green and flowery; well nigh had he overtaken his prey\nwhen he looked ahead and saw the walls of a great palace, well built,\nyet without mortar. 'Twas all enclosed of green marble, and above the\nentry was a tower which seemed to him of silver, so great was the\nclearness it gave. The doors were of fine ivory, inlaid with golden\ntrefoils, nor was there bar nor lock.\n\nGuingamor came on swiftly, and when he saw the door stand wide and the\nentrance free, he thought him he would go within and find the goodman\nwho kept the gate, for fain would he know who was lord of the palace,\nsince 'twas the fairest he had ever seen. Much it pleased him to look\nupon its beauties, for he thought he might lightly overtake the boar\nere it had run far, since it was wearied by the chase. So he rode\nwithin and drew bridle in the palace, and looked all around, but no\nman might he see, naught was there about him but fine gold; and the\nchambers which opened from the hall seemed of stones of Paradise. That\nhe found neither man nor woman there pleased him not, else was he glad\nthat he had found so fair an adventure to tell again in his own land.\n\nThen he turned him back, and rode quickly through the meadows by the\nriver, but naught did he see of his boar, quarry and dog were alike\nlost. Then was Guingamor wrathful. \"Of a truth,\" he said, \"I am\nbetrayed, men may well hold me for a fool. Methinks that to look upon\na house have I lost all my labour. If I find not my dog and my boar\nlittle joy or pleasure shall I have henceforward, and never more may I\nreturn to my own land.\" Much troubled, he betook himself to the high\nground of the forest, and began to listen if he might hear the cry of\nthe dog.\n\nThen he heard the brachet give tongue afar off to his right hand, and\nhe waited and hearkened till he surely heard both dog and boar. Then he\nbegan again to wind his horn, and rode towards them. The boar passed\nbefore him, and Guingamor rode after, encouraging the brachet with hue\nand cry.\n\nThus he came into the open country, and found a spring beneath an\nolive tree, wide-spreading, and covered with leaves. The water of the\nspring was clear and fair, and the gravel thereof gold and silver. In\nthe water a maiden was bathing herself while another combed her hair\nand washed her feet and hands. Fair was she, long-limbed and softly\nrounded, in all the world was there nothing so fair, neither lily nor\nrose, as that naked maiden.\n\nAs soon as Guingamor beheld her he was stirred by her beauty. He\nsaw her garments on a bush, and turned his horse's bridle thither;\nhe stayed not, but taking her robes, set them high in the fork of a\ngreat oak. When he had taken the boar, he thought to return and speak\nwith the maiden, for he knew well that she would not go thence naked.\nBut the maiden saw his deed, and called the knight to her, and spake\nproudly: \"Guingamor, let be my robes; an God will, never shall it be\ntold among knights that thou didst so discourteous a deed as to hide\nthe garments of a maiden in the fork of a tree! Come hither, and fear\nnot. To-day shalt thou abide with me, thou hast laboured all day and\nhast had but ill success.\"\n\nThen Guingamor went towards her, and proffered her robe, and thanked\nher for her courtesy, and said he might not lodge with her, since he\nmust seek the boar and the brachet which he had lost.\n\nThe maiden answered him: \"Friend, all the knights in the world let them\nlabour as they might should not find those two, an I gave them not mine\naid. Let that folly be, and make this covenant with me; come with me\nand I pledge thee loyally that I will give thee the boar as a prize,\nand the brachet shalt thou have again to take with thee into thine own\nland, on the third day hence.\"\n\n\"Fair lady,\" said the knight, \"by this covenant will I gladly abide\neven as thou hast spoken.\"\n\nThen he dismounted, and the maiden clad herself in a short space, and\nshe who was with her brought her a mule well and richly harnessed,\nand a palfrey, better had never count nor king. Guingamor lifted the\nmaiden to her saddle, and rode beside her, holding her bridle in his\nhand. Often did he look upon her, and seeing her so fair and tall and\ngraceful of good will would he become her lover. He looked upon her\ngently, and prayed her earnestly that she would grant him her love;\nnever aforetime had his heart been troubled for any woman he had looked\nupon, nor had he thought of love.\n\nThe maiden, who was wise and courteous, answered Guingamor that she\nwould willingly grant him her love, whereof the knight was joyful, and\nsince she had pledged herself to be his lady, he laid his arm around\nher and kissed her.\n\nThe waiting maiden had ridden on quickly to the palace wherein\nGuingamor had entered, and they had decked it richly, and bidden the\nknights mount and ride out to meet their lady, to do honour to the\nlover whom she brought with her. Three hundred or more of them there\nwere, nor was there one but was clad in vest of silk wrought with\ngold thread. Each knight led with him his lady. 'Twas a passing fair\ncompany. There were squires with hawks, and fair falcons that had\npassed their moulting. In the palace were there as many playing at\nchess and other games.\n\nWhen Guingamor dismounted he beheld the ten knights who had gone forth\nto chase the boar, and been lost from his land. They rose from their\nseats to meet him, and greeted him right joyfully, and Guingamor kissed\nthem each one. A fair lodging was his that night, great plenty of rich\nmeats, with much rejoicing, and great state; there was the sound of\nharps and viols, the song of youths and maidens. Much did he marvel at\nthe noble fare, the beauty and the richness of all around. He bethought\nhim that he would abide there two days, and on the third would take his\nway homeward; the dog and the boar would he take, and make known to his\nuncle the adventure which had befallen him, then would he return again\nto his lady.\n\nYet otherwise than he deemed had it chanced to him; not three days but\nthree hundred years had he been in that palace; dead was the king, and\ndead his household and the men of his lineage, and the cities he had\nknown had fallen into destruction and ruin.\n\nOn the third day Guingamor prayed leave of his love that he might go\nto his own land, and that she would give him the brachet and the boar,\naccording to her covenant; and the maiden answered: \"Friend, thou shalt\nhave them, but know that thou wilt go hence for naught; 'tis three\nhundred years past since thou camest hither, thine uncle and his folk\nare dead; neither friends nor kinsmen shalt thou find. One thing I tell\nthee, ask where thou wilt, nowhere shalt thou find a man so old that he\nmay tell thee aught of those thou seekest.\"\n\n\"Lady,\" quoth Guingamor, \"I may not believe that thou sayest sooth, but\nif the thing be so then I swear to thee that I will straightway return\nhither.\"\n\nAnd she answered, \"I charge thee when thou hast passed the river to\nreturn to thine own land, that thou neither eat nor drink, however\ngreat may be thy need, till thou return once more to this land,\notherwise art thou undone.\"\n\nThen she bade them bring his steed, and the great boar, and the brachet\nwhich she gave him in leash, and Guingamor took the boar's head, more\nmight he not carry, and mounted his steed and went forth. His lady\nrode with him to the river, and had him put across in a boat, then she\ncommended him to God and left him.\n\nThe knight rode forward and wandered till midday in the forest, nor\nmight he find a way out. 'Twas all so ill-looking and overgrown that he\nmight know the way no longer. Then afar to the left he heard the axe of\na wood-cutter, who had made a fire and burnt charcoal, and he spurred\ntowards the sound, and gave the man greeting, and asked where his uncle\nthe king abode, and at what castle he should seek for him.\n\nBut the charcoal-burner answered: \"Of a faith, sire, I know naught;\nthe king of whom thou speakest 'tis over three hundred years since he\ndied, he and all his folk, and the castles of which thou askest have\nlong been in ruins. There are certain of the old folk who full oft\ntell tales of that king, and of his nephew who was a wondrous valiant\nknight, how he went one day to hunt within this forest and was seen\nno more.\" Guingamor heard what he said, and a great pity seized him\nfor the king his uncle, whom he had thus lost, and he spake to the\ncharcoal-burner: \"Hearken what I say to thee, for I will tell thee\nwhat has befallen me. _I_ am he who went hunting in this forest, and\nI thought to return and bring with me the white boar.\" Then he began\nto tell of the palace he had found, and the maiden whom he had met,\nhow she had lodged him royally for two days; \"and on the third did I\ndepart, and she gave me my dog and the boar.\" Then he gave him the\nboar's head and bade him keep it well till he returned to his home,\nand might tell the folk of the land how he had seen and spoken with\nGuingamor the king's nephew.\n\nThe poor man thanked him, and Guingamor bade him farewell, and turned\nhim back and left him. 'Twas already past nones and the day drew\ntowards vesper-tide; so great a hunger seized the knight that he became\nwell-nigh ravening; by the roadside as he went there grew a wild apple\ntree, the boughs well laden with fruit; he drew near and plucked three\nand ate them. He did ill in that he forgat his lady's command, for even\nas he tasted the fruit he was aged and undone, so feeble of limb that\nhe fell from his steed, and might move neither hand nor foot; when he\nmight speak he began in a feeble voice to bemoan himself.\n\nThe charcoal-burner had followed him and seen what had chanced, and it\nseemed to him that he might scarce live till the evening. But as he\nwould go to his aid there came riding two fair maidens, well and richly\ndressed, who dismounted beside Guingamor, and blamed him much, and\nreproached him for that he had so ill kept his lady's command. Gently\nthey lifted the knight and set him on his horse, and led him to the\nriver, where they placed him, his steed, and his dog, in a boat and\nrowed them over.\n\nThe peasant turned him back, and that night he sought his home bearing\nwith him the boar's head; far and wide he told the tale, and affirmed\nit by his oath. The head he gave unto the king, who caused it to be\nshown at many a feast; and that none might forget the adventure the\nking bade make a lay which bare the name of Guingamor--and so do the\nBreton call it.\n\n\n\n\nSir Launfal\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n  _This is the adventure of the rich and noble knight Sir Launfal, even\n   as the Breton lay recounts it._\n\n\nThe valiant and courteous King, Arthur, was sojourning at Carduel,\nbecause of the Picts and the Scots who had greatly destroyed the land,\nfor they were in the kingdom of Logres and often wrought mischief\ntherein.\n\nIn Carduel, at Pentecost, the King held his summer court, and gave\nrich gifts to the counts, the barons, and all the knights of the Round\nTable. Never before in all the world were such gifts given. Honours and\nlands he shared forth to all, save to one alone, of those who served\nhim.\n\nThis was Sir Launfal; of him and his the King thought not; and yet all\nmen loved him, for worthy he was, free of hand, very valiant, and fair\nto look upon. Had any ill happened to this knight, his fellows would\nhave been but ill-pleased.\n\nLaunfal was son to a king of high descent, but his heritage was far\nhence in a distant land; he was of the household of King Arthur, but\nall his money was spent, for the King gave him nothing, and nothing\nwould Launfal ask from him. But now Sir Launfal was much perplexed,\nvery sorrowful, and heavy of heart. Nor need ye wonder at it, for one\nwho is a stranger and without counsel is but sorrowful in a foreign\nland when he knows not where to seek for aid.\n\nThis knight of whom I tell ye, who had served the King so well, one day\nmounted his horse and rode forth for diversion. He left the city behind\nhim, and came all alone into a fair meadow through which ran a swift\nwater. As he rode downwards to the stream, his horse shivered beneath\nhim. Then the knight dismounted, and loosening the girth let the steed\ngo free to feed at its will on the grass of the meadow. Then folding\nhis mantle beneath his head he laid himself down; but his thoughts were\ntroubled by his ill fortune, and as he lay on the grass he knew nothing\nthat might pleasure him.\n\nSuddenly, as he looked downward towards the bank of the river, he saw\ntwo maidens coming towards him; never before had he seen maidens so\nfair. They were richly clad in robes of purple grey, and their faces\nwere wondrous beautiful. The elder bore in her hands a basin of gold\nfinely wrought (indeed it is but truth I tell you); the other held a\nsnow-white towel.\n\nThey came straight to where the knight was lying, and Launfal, who was\nwell taught in courteous ways, sprang to his feet in their presence.\nThen they saluted him, and delivered to him their message. \"Sir\nLaunfal,\" said the elder, \"my lady, who is most fair and courteous, has\nsent us to you, for she wills that you shall return with us. See, her\npavilion is near at hand, we will lead you thither in all safety.\"\n\nThen Launfal went with them, taking no thought for his steed, which was\ngrazing beside him in the meadow. The maidens led him to the tent, rich\nit was and well placed. Not even the Queen Semiramis in the days of her\ngreatest wealth and power and wisdom, nor the Emperor Octavian, could\nhave equalled from their treasures the drapery alone.\n\nAbove the tent was an eagle of gold, its worth I know not how to tell\nyou; neither can I tell that of the silken cords and shining lances\nwhich upheld the tent; there is no king under heaven who could purchase\nits equal, let him offer what he would for it.\n\nWithin this pavilion was a maiden, of beauty surpassing even that\nof the lily and the new-blown rose, when they flower in the fair\nsummer-tide. She lay upon a rich couch, the covering of which was worth\nthe price of a castle, her fair and gracious body clothed only in a\nsimple vest. Her costly mantle of white ermine, covered with purple of\nAlexandria, had she cast from her for the heat, and face and throat and\nneck were whiter than flower of the thorn. Then the maiden called the\nknight to her, and he came near and seated himself beside the couch.\n\n\"Launfal,\" she said, \"fair friend, for you have I come forth from my\nown land; even from Lains have I come to seek you. If you be of very\ntruth valiant and courteous then neither emperor, count nor king have\nknown such joy as shall be yours, for I love you above all things.\"\n\nThen Love smote him swiftly, and seized and kindled his heart, and he\nanswered:\n\n\"Fair lady, if it so please you, and such joy may be my portion that\nyou deign to love me, then be the thing folly or wisdom you can command\nnothing that I will not do to the utmost of my power. All your wishes\nwill I fulfil, for you I will renounce my folk and my land, nor will I\never ask to leave you, if that be what you most desire of me.\"\n\nWhen the maiden heard him whom she could love well speak thus she\ngranted him all her heart and her love.\n\nAnd now was Launfal in the way to good fortune. A gift the lady\nbestowed upon him: there should be nothing so costly but that it might\nbe his if he so willed it. Let him give or spend as freely as he would\nhe should always have enough for his need. Happy indeed was Launfal,\nfor the more largely he spent the more gold and silver should he have.\n\n\"Friend,\" said the maiden, \"of one thing must I now warn you, nay more,\nI command and pray you, reveal this your adventure to no man. The\nreason will I tell you; if this our love be known you would lose me for\never, never again might you look upon me, never again embrace me.\"\n\nThen he answered that he would keep faithfully all that she should\ncommand him.\n\nThus were the two together even till the vesper-tide, and if his lady\nwould have consented fain would Launfal have remained longer.\n\n\"Friend,\" said she, \"rise up, no longer may you linger here, you must\ngo and I must remain. But one thing will I tell you, when you wish to\nspeak with me (and I would that may ever be when a knight may meet his\nlady without shame and without reproach) I shall be ever there at your\nwill, but no man save you shall see me, or hear me speak.\"\n\nWhen the knight heard that he was joyful, and he kissed his lady and\nrose up, and the maidens who had led him to the tent brought him new\nand rich garments, and when he was clad in them there was no fairer\nknight under heaven. Then they brought him water for his hands, and a\ntowel whereon to dry them, and laid food before him, and he supped with\nhis lady. Courteously were they served, and great was the joy of Sir\nLaunfal, for ever and again his love kissed him and he embraced her\ntenderly.\n\nWhen they were risen from supper his horse was brought to him, saddled\nand bridled; right well had they tended it. Then the knight took leave\nof his lady, and mounted and rode towards the city; but often he looked\nbehind him, for he marvelled greatly at all that had befallen him, and\nhe rode ever thinking of his adventure, amazed and half-doubting, for\nhe scarcely knew what the end thereof should be.\n\nThen he entered his hostel and found all his men well clad, and he held\ngreat state but knew not whence the money came to him. In all the city\nthere was no knight that had need of lodging but Launfal made him come\nunto him and gave him rich service. Launfal gave costly, gifts; Launfal\nransomed prisoners; Launfal clothed the minstrels; Launfal lavished\nwealth and honours; there was neither friend nor stranger to whom he\ngave not gifts. Great were his joy and gladness, for whether by day or\nby night he might full often look upon his lady, and all things were at\nhis commandment.\n\nNow in the self-same year, after the feast of St. John, thirty of the\nknights went forth to disport themselves in a meadow, below the tower\nwherein the queen had her lodging. With them went Sir Gawain and his\ncousin, the gallant Iwein. Then said Gawain, the fair and courteous,\nwho was loved of all: \"Pardieu, my lords, we do ill in that we have not\nbrought with us our companion, Sir Launfal, who is so free-handed and\ncourteous, and son to so rich a king.\" Then they turned back to his\nhostelry, and by their prayers persuaded Launfal to come with them.\n\nIt so chanced that the queen leant forth from an open casement, and\nthree of her chosen ladies with her. She looked upon Sir Launfal and\nknew him. Then she called one of her ladies, and bade her command the\nfairest and most graceful of her maidens to make ready and come forth\nwith her to the meadow. Thirty or more she took with her, and descended\nthe stairway of the tower. The knights were joyful at their coming, and\nhastened to meet them, and took them by the hand with all courtesy. But\nSir Launfal went apart from the others, for the time seemed long to him\nere he could see his lady, kiss her, and hold her in his arms. All\nother joys were but small to him if he had not that one delight of his\nheart.\n\nWhen the queen saw him alone she went straight towards him, and seated\nherself beside him; then, calling him by his name, she opened her heart\nto him.\n\n\"Launfal,\" she said, \"greatly have I honoured, cherished and loved you.\nAll my love is yours if you will have it, and if I thus grant you my\nfavour, then ought you to be joyful indeed.\"\n\n\"Lady,\" said the knight, \"let me be; I have small desire of your love.\nLong have I served King Arthur; I will not now deny my faith. Neither\nfor you nor for your love will I betray my liege lord.\"\n\nThe queen was angry, and in her wrath she spoke scoffingly. \"They but\nspake the truth,\" she said, \"who told me that you knew not how to love.\nCoward and traitor, false knight, my lord has done ill to suffer you so\nlong about him; he loses much by it, to my thinking.\"\n\nWhen Sir Launfal heard that he was wroth, and answered her swiftly,\nand by misfortune he said that of which he afterwards repented sorely.\n\"Lady,\" he said, \"you have been ill-advised. I love and I am loved by\none who deserves the prize of beauty above all whom I know. One thing I\nwill tell you, hear and mark it well; one of her serving maidens, even\nthe meanest among them, is worth more than you, my lady queen, in face\nand figure, in beauty, wisdom, and goodness.\"\n\nThen the queen rose up and went weeping to her chamber, shamed and\nangered that Launfal should have thus insulted her. She laid herself\ndown on her bed as if sick; never, she said, would she arise off it\ntill the king did justice on the plaint she would lay before him.\n\nKing Arthur came back from the woods after a fair day's hunting and\nsought the queen's chamber. When she saw him she cried out, and fell at\nhis feet, beseeching his favour, and saying that Sir Launfal had shamed\nher, for he had asked her love, and when she refused him had mocked and\ninsulted her, for he had boasted of his lady that she was so fair, so\nnoble, and so proud that even the lowest of her waiting women was worth\nmore than the queen.\n\nAt this King Arthur fell into a rage, and swore a solemn oath that\nunless the knight could defend himself well and fully in open court,\nhe should be hanged or burnt.\n\nForth from the chamber went the king, and called three of his barons to\nhim, and bade them fetch Sir Launfal, who indeed was now sad and sorry\nenough. He had returned to his hostelry, but alas! he learnt all too\nsoon that he had lost his lady, since he had revealed the secret of\ntheir love. He was all alone in his chamber, full of anguish. Again and\nagain he called upon his love, but it availed him nothing. He wept and\nsighed, and once and again fell on the ground in his despair. A hundred\ntimes he besought her to have mercy on him, and to speak once more to\nher true knight. He cursed his heart and his mouth that had betrayed\nhim; 'twas a marvel he did not slay himself. But neither cries nor\nblows nor lamentations sufficed to awaken her pity, and make her show\nherself to his eyes.\n\nAlas, what comfort might there be for the unhappy knight who had thus\nmade an enemy of his king? The barons came and bade him follow them to\ncourt without delay, for the queen had accused him, and the king, by\ntheir mouth, commanded his presence. Launfal followed them, sorrowing\ngreatly; had they slain him it would have pleased him well. He stood\nbefore the king, mute and speechless, his countenance changed for\nsorrow.\n\nThe king spoke in anger: \"Vassal,\" he said, \"you have greatly wronged\nme; an evil excuse have you found to shame and injure me, and insult\nthe queen. Foolish was your boast, and foolish must be your lady to\nhold that her maid-servant is fairer than my queen.\"\n\nSir Launfal denied that he had dishonoured himself or insulted his\nliege lord. Word by word he repeated what the queen had said to him;\nbut of the words he himself had spoken, and the boast he had made\nconcerning his love, he owned the truth; sorrowful enough he was, since\nby so doing he had lost her. And for this speech he would make amends,\nas the court might require.\n\nThe king was sorely enraged against him, and conjured his knights to\nsay what might rightfully be done in such a case, and how Launfal\nshould be punished. And the knights did as he bade them, and some\nspake fair, and some spake ill. Then they all took counsel together\nand decreed that judgment should be given on a fixed day; and that Sir\nLaunfal should give pledges to his lord that he would return to his\nhostelry and await the verdict. Otherwise, he should be held a prisoner\ntill the day came. The barons returned to the king, and told him what\nthey had agreed upon; and King Arthur demanded pledges, but Launfal was\nalone, a stranger in a strange land, without friend or kindred.\n\nThen Sir Gawain came near, with all his companions, and said to the\nking: \"Take pledges of all ye hold of mine and these my friends, fiefs\nor lands, each for himself.\" And when they had thus given pledges for\nhim who had nothing of his own, he was free to go to his hostelry. The\nknights bore Sir Launfal company, chiding him as they went for his\ngrief, and cursing the mad love that had brought him to this pass.\nEvery day they visited him that they might see if he ate and drank, for\nthey feared much that he would go mad for sorrow.\n\nAt the day they had named the barons were all assembled, the king was\nthere, and the queen, and the sureties delivered up Launfal. Very\nsorrowful they were for him. I think there were even three hundred of\nthem who had done all in their power without being able to deliver\nhim from peril. Of a great offence did they accuse him, and the king\ndemanded that sentence should be given according to the accusation and\nthe defence.\n\nThen the barons went forth to consider their judgment, heavy at heart,\nmany of them, for the gallant stranger who was in such stress among\nthem. Others, indeed, were ready to sacrifice Launfal to the will of\ntheir seigneur.\n\nThen spoke the Duke of Cornwall, for the right was his, whoever might\nweep or rage, to him it pertained to have the first word, and he said:\n\n\"The king lays his plea against a vassal, Launfal ye call him, of\nfelony and misdeed he accuses him in the matter of a love of which he\nboasted himself, thus making my lady, the queen, wrathful. None, save\nthe king, has aught against him; therefore do ye as I say, for he who\nwould speak the truth must have respect unto no man, save only such\nhonour as shall be due to his liege lord. Let Launfal be put upon\nhis oath (the king will surely have naught against it) and if he can\nprove his words, and bring forward his lady, and that which he said and\nwhich so angered the queen be true, then he shall be pardoned; 'twas no\nvillainy that he spake. But if he cannot bring proof of his word, then\nshall we make him to know that the king no longer desires his service\nand gives him dismissal from his court.\"\n\nThen they sent messengers to the knight, and spake, and made clear to\nhim that he must bring forth his lady that his word might be proved,\nand he held guiltless. But he told them that was beyond his power,\nnever through her might succour come to him. Then the messengers\nreturned to the judges, who saw there was no chance of aid, for the\nking pressed them hard, urged thereto by the queen, who was weary of\nawaiting their judgment.\n\nBut as they arose to seek the king they saw two maidens come riding on\nwhite palfreys. Very fair they were to look upon, clad in green sendal\nover their white skin. The knights beheld them gladly, and Gawain, with\nthree others, hastened to Sir Launfal and told him what had chanced,\nand bade him look upon the maidens; and they prayed him eagerly to say\nwhether one of the twain were his lady, but he answered them nay.\n\nThe two, so fair to look upon, had gone forward to the palace, and\ndismounted before the da\u00efs whereon King Arthur was seated. If their\nbeauty was great, so also was their speech courteous.\n\n\"King,\" they said, \"command that chambers be assigned to us, fair with\nsilken hangings, wherein our mistress can fitly lodge, for with you\nwill she sojourn awhile.\"\n\nThey said no more, and the king called two knights, and bade them lead\nthe maidens to the upper chambers.\n\nThen the king demanded from his barons their judgment and their\nverdict, and said he was greatly wroth with them for their long delay.\n\n\"Sire,\" they answered, \"we were stayed by the coming of the damsels.\nOur decision is not yet made, we go but now to take counsel together.\"\nThen they reassembled, sad and thoughtful, and great was the clamour\nand strife among them.\n\nWhile they were yet in perplexity, they saw, descending the street,\ntwo maidens of noble aspect, clad in robes broidered with gold, and\nmounted on Spanish mules. Then all the knights were very joyful, and\nsaid each to the other: \"Surely now shall Sir Launfal, the valiant and\ncourteous, be safe.\"\n\nGawain and six companions went to seek the knight. \"Sir,\" they said,\n\"be of good courage, for the love of God speak to us. Hither come two\ndamsels, most beautiful, and richly clad, one of them must of a truth\nbe your lady!\" But Launfal answered simply; \"Never before to-day have I\nlooked upon, or known, or loved them.\"\n\nMeantime, the maidens had come to the palace and stood before the king.\nMany praised them for their beauty and bright colour, and some deemed\nthem fairer even than the queen.\n\nThe elder was wise and courteous, and she delivered her message\ngracefully. \"King,\" she said, \"bid your folk give us chambers wherein\nwe may lodge with our lady; she comes hither to speak with you.\"\n\nThen the king commanded that they should be led to their companions\nwho had come before them. Nor as yet was the judgment spoken. So when\nthe maidens had left the hall, he commanded his barons to deliver their\nverdict, their judgment already tarried too long, and the queen waxed\nwrathful for their delay.\n\nBut even as they sought the king, through the city came riding a\nmaiden, in all the world was none so fair. She rode a white palfrey,\nthat bore her well and easily. Well shaped were its head and neck,\nno better trained steed was there in all the world. Costly were the\ntrappings of that palfrey, under heaven was there no king rich enough\nto purchase the like, save that he sold or pledged his land.\n\nAnd thus was the lady clad: her raiment was all of white, laced on\neither side. Slender was her shape, and her neck whiter than snow on\nthe bough. Her eyes were blue, her skin fair. Straight was her nose,\nand lovely her mouth. Her eyebrows were brown, her forehead white,\nand her hair fair and curling. Her mantle was of purple, and the\nskirts were folded about her; on her hand she bare a hawk, and a hound\nfollowed behind her.\n\nIn all the Burg there was no one, small nor great, young nor old, but\nwas eager to look upon her as she passed. She came riding swiftly, and\nher beauty was no mere empty boast, but all men who looked upon her\nheld her for a marvel, and not one of those who beheld her but felt his\nheart verily kindled with love.\n\nThen those who loved Sir Launfal went to him, and told him of the\nmaiden who came, if by the will of heaven she might deliver him. \"Sir\nknight and comrade, hither comes one, no nutbrown maid is she, but\nthe fairest of all fair women in this world.\" And Launfal heard, and\nsighed, for well he knew her. He raised his head and the blood flew to\nhis cheek as he made swift answer: \"Of a faith,\" he said, \"_this_ is my\nlady! Now let them slay me if they will and she has no mercy on me. I\nam whole if I do but see her.\"\n\nThe maiden reached the palace; fairer was she than any who had entered\nthere. She dismounted before the king that all might behold her; she\nhad let her mantle fall that they might the better see her beauty. King\nArthur, in his courtesy, had risen to meet her, and all around him\nsprang to their feet, and were eager to offer their service. When they\nhad looked well upon her, and praised her beauty, she spoke in these\nwords, for no will had she to delay:\n\n\"King Arthur, I have loved one of your knights, behold him there,\nseigneur, Sir Launfal. He hath been accused at your court, but it\nis not my will that harm shall befall him. Concerning that which he\nsaid, know that the queen was in the wrong; never on any day did he\npray her for her love. Of the boast that he hath made, if he may by\nme be acquitted, then shall your barons speak him free, as they have\nrightfully engaged to do.\"\n\nThe king granted that so it might be, nor was there a single voice but\ndeclared that Launfal was guiltless of wrong, for their own eyes had\nacquitted him.\n\nAnd the maiden departed; in vain did the king pray her to remain; and\nmany there were who would fain have served her. Without the hall was\nthere a great block of grey marble, from which the chief knights of\nthe king's court were wont to mount their steeds; on this Launfal took\nhis stand, and when the maiden rode forth from the palace he sprang\nswiftly upon the palfrey behind her. Thus, as the Bretons tell us, he\ndeparted with her for that most fair island, Avalon; thither the fairy\nmaiden had carried her knight, and none hath heard man speak further of\nSir Launfal. Nor know I more of his story.\n\n\n\n\nTyolet\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n  _This is the Lay of Tyolet_\n\nAforetime when King Arthur reigned over the country of Britain, which\nis now called England, there were, I think me, far fewer folk in the\nland than there are to-day. But Arthur, whose valour men highly praise,\nhad in his company many brave and noble knights. Of a sooth there are\neven now knights of high fame and renown, yet are they not such manner\nof men as they were of old time.\n\nFor then the best and bravest knights were wont to wander through the\nland seeking adventures by day and by night, with never a squire for\ncompany, and it might well be that in the day's journey they found\nneither house nor tower, or again perchance they would find two or\nthree such. Or by dusky night they might find fair adventures, the\nwhich they would tell again at court, even as they had befallen. And\nthe clerks of the court would write them fairly on parchment in the\nLatin tongue, so that in days to come, men, an they would, might\nhearken to them.\n\nAnd these tales were turned from Latin into Romance, and from them, as\nour ancestors tell us, did the Britons make many a lay.\n\nAnd one lay they made will I tell ye, even as I myself heard the tale.\n'Twas of a lad, fair and skilful, proud and brave and valiant. Tyolet\nwas he called, and he knew strange wiles, for by whistling could he\ncall the beasts of the woodland to him and trap them, even as many as\nhe would. A fairy had taught him this skill, and never a beast that\nGod had made but would come to him at his whistle. A lady had he for\nmother, who dwelt in the wide woodland where her lord had made his\nabode by day and by night, and the spot was passing lonely, for ten\nleagues round was there no other dwelling.\n\nNow the knight, his father, had been dead fifteen years, and Tyolet had\ngrown fair and tall, but never an armed knight had he seen in all his\ndays, and but rarely other folk in that wide woodland where his mother\ndwelt. Never had he gone forth into the world beyond, for his mother\nheld him passing dear, but in the forest might he wander as it pleased\nhim, and no other pastime had he ever known. When he whistled as the\nfay had taught him, and the beasts heard him, then they came to him\nswiftly and he slew what he would and bore them home to his mother, and\non this they lived, they twain alone, for neither brother nor sister\nhad he, and his mother was a noble and courteous lady of good and loyal\nlife.\n\nOne day she called her son unto her and prayed him gently (for she\nloved him much) to go into the wood and slay her a stag; and the lad at\nher command went straightway into the forest and wandered the groves\ntill noontide, but neither stag nor beast of any kind might he see.\nThen he was sorely vexed at heart and bethought him to turn again\nhomewards, since nothing might he find in the woodland, when under\na tree he saw a stag which was both great and fair, and at once he\nwhistled to it.\n\nThe stag heard his whistle and looked towards him, but it came not at\nhis call nor awaited his coming, but at a gentle pace issued forth from\nthe wood, and Tyolet followed it till it came to a water and passed\nover. The stream was deep and swift-flowing, wide-reaching and perilous\nto pass, and the stag stood safe upon the further shore. Tyolet looked\nup and down, and saw a roebuck fat and well-grown coming towards him,\nthen he stayed his steps and whistled, and as the deer came closer he\nput forth his hand and drew his knife and plunged it into its body, and\nso slew it straightway.\n\nBut even as he did so he looked across the river, and lo! the stag\nwhich had passed the water changed its shape and became a knight, fully\narmed as a knight should be, and mounted on a gallant warhorse. Thus he\nstood on the river bank, and the lad, who never in his life had seen\nthe like, deemed it a great marvel and stood silent, gazing long upon\nhim, and wondering what might be the meaning of this strange gear.\n\nThen the knight spake to him across the water with gentle words,\ncourteously asking his name, and who he was and what he sought. And\nTyolet answered him: \"Son am I to the widow lady who dwelleth in the\ngreat forest, and Tyolet do they call me who would name my name. Now\ntell me who thou art, and what may be thy name?\"\n\nThen he who stood on the bank of the river spake: \"_Knight_ do men call\nme.\"\n\n\"What manner of beast may _Knight_ be,\" quoth Tyolet; \"where doth it\ndwell and whence doth it come?\"\n\n\"Of a faith that will I tell thee, truly and with no lie. 'Tis a beast\nthat is greatly feared for it taketh and eateth other beasts. Oft-times\ndoth it abide in the wood and oft-times in the open lands.\"\n\n\"Of a faith,\" said Tyolet, \"'tis a marvel--for never since I might\nwander in the wilderness have I seen such a beast; yet know I bears\nand lions, and every sort of venison. Nor is there a beast in all the\nforest that I know not, but I take them all without pain or trouble;\nthou alone I may not know. Yet thou seemest a brave beast. Tell me,\nthou Knight-Beast, what dost thou bear on thy head? And what is it that\nhangeth at thy neck, and is red and shining?\"\n\n\"Of a truth I will tell thee, and lie not. That which I bear on my head\nis a coif, which men call helmet, with steel all around; and this is a\nmantle in which I am wrapped, and this at my neck a shield, banded with\ngold.\"\n\n\"And with what hast thou clad thyself, it seemeth me pierced through\nwith little holes?\"\n\n\"'Tis a coat of wrought mail, men call it a hauberk.\"\n\n\"And with what art thou shod? Tell me of thy friendship.\"\n\n\"Shoes and greaves of iron have I, right well wrought.\"\n\n\"And what hast thou girt at thy side? Tell me an thou wilt.\"\n\n\"Men call it a sword, 'tis fair to look upon, and the blade is hard and\nkeen.\"\n\n\"And that long wood thou holdest? Tell me, and hide it not from me.\"\n\n\"Dost wish to know?\"\n\n\"Yea, of a truth.\"\n\n\"'Tis a lance, this that I bear with me. Now have I told thee the truth\nof all thou hast required of me.\"\n\n\"Sir,\" quoth Tyolet, \"I thank thee, and I would to God that I had also\nsuch vesture as thou hast, so fair and so comely; a coat and a coif and\nmantle even as thou wearest. Tell me, Knight-Beast, for the love of\nGod and His fair Feast, if there be other beasts such as thou and as\nfair to look upon?\"\n\n\"Of a truth,\" spake the knight, \"I will shew thee more than a hundred\nsuch.\"\n\nFor as the tale telleth in a little space there came through the meadow\ntwo hundred armed knights, all of the king's court; they had even taken\na stronghold at his command, and set it in fire and flames, and now\nthey went their way homeward riding in three ranged squadrons.\n\nThe Knight-Beast spake to Tyolet and bade him come forward a little\nstep and look beyond the river; and the lad did as he bade him, and\nsaw the knights ride armed on their chargers; and cried aloud, \"Now\nsee the beasts who all bear coifs on their heads! Ne'er have I seen\nsuch a sight! If it please God and His fair Feast I too will be a\nKnight-Beast!\"\n\nThen the knight who stood on the bank of the river spake again and\nsaid: \"Wilt thou be brave and valiant?\"\n\n\"Yea, of a truth, I swear it to thee.\"\n\n\"Then go thy way, and when thy mother seeth thee, she will say, 'Fair\nson, tell me, what aileth thee, and of what art thou thinking?' and\nthou shalt answer that thou hast much to think on, for thou would'st\nfain be like a Knight-Beast which thou hast seen in the forest, and for\nthat art thou thoughtful; and she will tell thee that it grieveth her\nmuch that thou hast seen such a beast which deceiveth and devoureth\nothers. Then shalt thou say, Of a faith little joy shall she have of\nthee if thou may'st not be even such a beast, and wear such a coif on\nthy head; and when she heareth that, swiftly will she bring thee other\nraiment, coat and mantle, helm and sword, greaves, and a long lance,\neven as thou hast seen here.\"\n\nThen Tyolet departed, for it seemed to him long ere he might be at\nhome, and he gave his mother the roebuck he had brought, and told her\nall his adventures even as they had chanced. And his mother answered\nthat it grieved her much that he had seen such a beast, \"For it taketh\nand devoureth many another.\"\n\n\"Of a truth,\" said Tyolet, \"now is it thus: if I may not be even such\na beast as I saw, little joy shalt thou have of me henceforward.\" When\nhis mother heard that she answered straightway that all the arms she\nhad would she bring him, and she brought those which had belonged to\nher lord, and armed her son therewith, and when he was mounted on his\nhorse he seemed indeed to be a Knight-Beast.\n\n\"Now,\" said she, \"fair son, dost know what thou must do? Thou shalt go\nstraight to King Arthur, and take good heed to my words, company not\nwith man or woman save with those of gentle birth and breeding.\" Then\nshe embraced and kissed him, and the lad went on his way, and journeyed\nfor many days over hills and plains and valley, till he came to the\ncourt of King Arthur, that valiant and courteous monarch.\n\nThe King was seated at meat, for he was wont to be richly served, but\nTyolet waited not at the hall entrance; clad even as he was in his\narmour and mounted on his steed, he rode up to the da\u00efs, whereon sat\nArthur the King, and spake no word, nor gave greeting to any man.\n\n\"Friend,\" quoth the King, \"dismount, and come, eat with us. Then shalt\nthou tell me what thou seekest, and who thou art, and what men call\nthee.\"\n\n\"Of a truth,\" said the lad, \"I will tell thee that ere ever I eat.\nKing, my name is Knight-Beast; many a beast have I slain, and men call\nme Tyolet. Well do I know how to catch venison, for, an it please thee,\nsire, I am son to the widow of the forest, and of a surety she hath\nsent me to thee to learn skill and wisdom and courtesy. I would learn\nof knighthood, of tourney, and jousting, how I may spend, and how I may\ngive, for never aforetime came I in a king's court, and I think me well\nthat never again shall I come where I may learn such fair nurture and\ncourtesy. Now have I told thee what I seek. What is thy mind thereon,\nSir King?\"\n\nAnd Arthur said, \"Sir Knight, thou shalt be my man, come now and eat.\"\n\n\"Sire,\" he said, \"I thank thee well.\"\n\nThen Tyolet dismounted, and they disarmed him and clothed him in a\nsurcoat and light mantle, and brought water for his hands and he sat\ndown to meat.\n\nWith that there entered a maiden, a proud and noble lady; of her beauty\nI may not speak, but I deem well that neither Dido nor Helen herself\nwas so fair. She was daughter unto the King of Logres, and came riding\nupon a snow-white palfrey, bearing with her a white brachet of smooth\nand shining hair, at whose neck hung a little golden bell. Thus she\nrode up before the King, and gave him greeting: \"King Arthur, God the\nall powerful who reigneth on high have thee in His keeping.\"\n\n\"Fair friend, may He who counteth the faithful for His own guard thee.\"\n\n\"Sire, I am a maiden, daughter unto king and queen, and my father\nruleth over Logres. I ask of thee for love, as of a right valiant\nmonarch, if there be one among thy knights who is of such prowess that\nfor me he will smite off the white foot of a certain stag. If there be\ngive him to me, I pray thee, sire, and I will take him for my lord;\nfor indeed, none other will I have. For no man may win my favour if he\nbring me not the white foot of that great and fair stag, the hair of\nwhich shineth like gold, and which is guarded by seven lions.\"\n\n\"Of a faith,\" said the King, \"such covenant will I make with thee that\nhe who bringeth hither the stag's foot shall have thee for wife.\"\n\n\"And I, Sir King, swear to thee that such shall be the covenant.\"\n\nSo they made the pact fast between them, and never a knight in the\nhall who was of any praise or renown but said he would go and seek the\nstag, did he but know where it might be found.\n\nThe maiden spake: \"This brachet shall guide ye where the stag is wont\nto have his dwelling-place.\"\n\nThen Lodoer, who desired greatly to be the first to seek the stag,\nprayed the boon from Arthur, and the King would not say him nay. So he\ntook the brachet, and mounted and set forth to seek the stag's foot.\nBut the dog which went with him led him straight to a water which was\ngreat and wide, black, swollen, and hideous to look upon, four hundred\nfathoms was it wide, and well on a hundred deep, and the brachet sprang\nstraightway into the flood, deeming perchance, as a dog may, that the\nknight was following it closely.\n\nBut follow it would Lodoer in no wise: he had no mind to enter the\nstream, for he had little desire of death, and he said within himself:\n\"He who hath not himself hath naught; he keepeth a castle well, I think\nme, who taketh heed that it be not mishandled.\"\n\nThen the dog came forth out of the water, and returned to Lodoer, and\nLodoer turned himself again and took the brachet, and went swiftly on\nhis way to the court, where was a great company assembled, and gave\nback her brachet to the maiden, the King's daughter of Logres.\n\nThen King Arthur asked him if he had brought the foot; and Lodoer\nanswered that an another would risk his life, the venture yet awaited\nhim. Then they mocked at him throughout the hall, but he wagged his\nhead at them and bade them go seek the foot, if by hap they might bring\nit back.\n\nThen many set forth to seek the stag, and to win the damsel, but never\na one might sing another song than that which Lodoer of need must sing\n(for he was indeed a valiant knight) save one only, who was brave and\nswift-footed, and whom men called _Knight-Beast_, though his name, as\nye know well, was Tyolet. For this knight went his way to King Arthur,\nand prayed him straitly that the maiden be held at the court for him,\nsince he would go forth to conquer the adventure of the stag's foot;\nnever, he said, would he return till he had smitten off the white right\nfoot of the stag.\n\nThe King gave him leave, and Tyolet armed himself right well, and went\nto the maiden and prayed of her the loan of her white brachet, which\nshe granted him freely, and he took leave of her. When he had ridden\nand roved long enough he came to the ford of that great and rushing\nwater which was deep and deadly to look upon; the brachet sprang into\nthe stream, and swam straightway, and Tyolet plunged in after it and\nthus mounted on his steed he followed the dog till he came forth on dry\nland. And the brachet ran ever before him and guided him till he came\nto where he might see the stag; seven lions they were that guarded it,\nand loved it with a great love.\n\nThen Tyolet looked, and saw the stag where it fed alone in a meadow,\nand none of the lions were near at hand; and he set spurs to his horse,\nand passed before it whistling as he went. The stag came swiftly\ntowards him, and when Tyolet had whistled seven times it stood still.\nThen Tyolet drew his sword, and taking the white right foot in his hand\nsmote it off at the joint, and hid it within his robe. The stag at\nthis gave a loud cry, and the lions, who were none too far off, came\nswiftly to its aid and beheld the knight.\n\nOne of the lions sprang upon the steed Tyolet bestrode, and wounded\nit so sorely that it tore away all the skin and flesh from the right\nshoulder, and when Tyolet saw it he smote the lion a mighty blow in the\nchest, cleaving asunder nerve and sinew--and with that lion had he no\nmore ado. The steed fell to the ground, and even as the knight sprang\nclear the lions were upon him on all sides. They tore the good hauberk\nfrom his back, and the flesh from his arms and ribs, and wounded him\nso sorely that they went nigh to devour him altogether. Sorely was he\ntorn, but at last he slew them, though scarce might he be delivered\nfrom their claws. Then he fell senseless beside the lions, for so torn\nand mauled was he that he might not stand upright.\n\nNow as he lay senseless there came thither a knight mounted upon an\niron-grey steed, and drew his bridle, and looked upon the young knight,\nand lamented over him. Then Tyolet opened his eyes, and told him all\nthat had chanced, and bade him take the foot from out his breast.\nThis the knight did, rejoicing greatly within himself, for much had he\nlonged to win that foot.\n\nBut as he turned his bridle to ride away, he bethought him that by\nchance the young knight might even yet live, and if he did, then ill\nwould it be for him; so he turned himself back thinking to slay the\nknight there and then lest he challenge him later. So he drew his\nsword, and thrust Tyolet through the body, and went his way, thinking\nthat he had slain him.\n\nThen came that traitor knight to the court of King Arthur, and shewed\nthe white foot, and demanded the hand of the maiden. But the white\nbrachet, which had led Tyolet to the stag had he not brought--of that\nknew he naught.\n\nThen he claimed by covenant that fair maiden, since, he said, he had\nsmitten off the white foot of the stag and brought it to court. But the\nKing, who was wise enow, demanded eight days' grace to await Tyolet's\nreturn, ere he would assemble his court, for he had with him but those\nof his household--good knights all, frank and courteous. So the knight\nmust needs grant that respite--and abide at court till the eight days\nwere ended.\n\nBut he knew not that that good and courteous knight, Sir Gawain, had\nset forth secretly to seek Tyolet, for the brachet had come back to\ncourt alone, and Gawain deemed surely it would guide him to the knight.\nAnd indeed it led him truly to the meadow where he found Tyolet lying\nlifeless among the lions.\n\nWhen Gawain saw the knight and the slaughter he had wrought, he mourned\nthe ill-chance greatly, and dismounting spake softly to his friend,\nand Tyolet answered him feebly, telling him what had brought him to\nthis pass; and as he spake there rode up a maiden, fair to look upon,\nmounted upon a mule, and greeted Gawain courteously. Then Gawain\nreturned her greeting, and called her to him, and embraced her, praying\nher very gently and very courteously that she would bear this knight,\nwho was indeed a right valiant knight, to the leech of the Black\nMountain; and the maiden did even as he besought her, and bare Tyolet\nto the leech, praying him to care for him for the sake of Sir Gawain.\n\nThe leech willingly received the knight, and did off his armour, laying\nhim on a table. Then he washed his wounds, and freed them from the\nclotted blood which was all around them, and saw that he would do well,\nand would be whole again within the month. But Sir Gawain went his way\nback to court and dismounted within the hall. And he found there the\nknight who had brought the white foot; he had dwelt at court till the\neight days were passed, and now he came to the King, saluting him, and\npraying him to keep the covenant which the maiden of Logres had herself\ndevised, and to which King Arthur had given consent--to wit, that\nwhosoever should bring her the white foot, him would she take for lord;\nand King Arthur said, \"'Tis the truth.\"\n\nBut when Gawain heard this he sprang forward swiftly, and said to the\nKing: \"Sire, 'tis not so; were it not that here before thee who art\nthe king I may not give the lie to any man, be he knight or squire, I\nwould say that he doth lie, and never won the white foot or the stag\nin the manner of which he vaunteth himself. Great shame doth he do to\nknights who would boast himself of another's deeds and clothe himself\nwith another's mantle; who would steal the goods from another's store,\nand deck himself with that which belongeth to another; who by the hand\nof another would joust, and draw forth from the thicket the fearsome\nserpent. Nor shall it thus be seen in this court; what thou sayest is\nworth naught, make thine assault elsewhere, seek elsewhere for what\nthou desirest, this maiden is not for thee!\"\n\n\"Of a faith,\" quoth the knight, \"Sir Gawain, now dost thou hold me for\na coward and a villain, since thou sayest that I dare not lay lance in\nrest for jousting, and know how to steal goods from another's store,\nand draw the serpent from the thicket by another's hand. But thou\nspeakest falsely as thou wilt find, if thou thinkest to prove thy words\nby force of arms, and deemest that thou wilt not find me in the field!\"\n\nWhile they thus strove together behold Tyolet, who had come thither in\nhaste and had dismounted without the hall. The King rose from his seat\nto meet him, and threw his arms around his neck, and kissed him for\nthe great love which he bare to him; and Tyolet bowed before him as\nfitting before his lord.\n\nThen Gawain embraced him, and Urian, and Kay, and Yvain the son of\nMorgain, and the good knight Lodoer, and all the other knights.\n\nBut the knight who would fain win the maiden through the foot which\nTyolet had given to him, and which he had brought thither, spake again\nto Arthur, and again made request.\n\nBut Tyolet, when he knew that he demanded the maiden, spake courteously\nto him, and asked him gently: \"Sir Knight, tell me here in the presence\nof the King, by what right dost thou claim this maiden?\"\n\n\"Of a faith,\" he said, \"I will tell thee. It is because I brought her\nthe white foot of the stag; the King and she herself had so pledged it.\"\n\n\"Didst thou then smite off the foot? If it be true, it may not be\ndenied.\"\n\n\"Yea, I smote it off, and brought it hither with me.\"\n\n\"And who then slew the seven lions?\"\n\nThe knight looked upon him and said never a word, but reddened, and\nwaxed wrathful.\n\nThen Tyolet spake again: \"Sir Knight, who was he who was smitten with\nthe sword, and who was he who smote him? Tell me, I pray thee, for of a\ntruth I think me that last wast thou!\" And the knight frowned, as one\nashamed.\n\n\"But that was, methinks, to return evil for good when thou didst that\ndeed. In all good faith I gave thee the foot which I had smitten from\noff the stag, and for that didst thou give me such guerdon as went nigh\nto slay me; dead ought I to be in very truth. I gave thee a gift: of\nthat do I now repent me. With the sword thou didst carry didst thou\nsmite me through the body, thinking to have slain me. If thou would'st\ndeny it, here will I tend to King Arthur my gage that I will prove it\nbefore this noble company.\"\n\nBut when the knight heard that, since he feared death more than shame,\nhe cried him mercy, knowing that he spake truth. Nothing dared he\ngainsay, but yielded himself to King Arthur to do his commandment.\n\nThen Tyolet, taking counsel with the King and his barons, pardoned him,\nand the knight fell on his knees and kissed his feet. Then Tyolet\nraised him up and kissed him, and from that day forward they spake no\nmore of that matter. The knight gave back the stag's foot, and Tyolet\ngave it to the damsel.\n\nThe lily and the new-blown rose, when it bloometh first in the fair\nsummer-time, are less fair than was that maiden. Then Tyolet prayed\nher hand in marriage, and with her consent did King Arthur give her to\nhim. She led him back with her to her land, there was he king, and she\nqueen--and here the lay of Tyolet findeth ending.\n\n\n\n\nThe Were-Wolf\n\n\n\n\n[Illustration]\n\n\n\n\n  \"_Sir Marrok, the good knight that was betrayed with his wife, for she\n  made him seven year a Werwolf._\"--MORTE D'ARTHUR, book xix. chap. 11.\n\n\nIn the days of King Arthur there lived in Brittany a valiant knight of\nnoble birth and fair to look upon; in high favour with his lord and\nmuch loved by all his fellows. This knight was wedded to a fair and\ngracious lady whom he loved tenderly, and she too loved her lord, but\none thing vexed her sorely--three days in every week would her husband\nleave her, and none knew whither he went, or what he did while thus\nabsent.\n\nAnd every time the lady vexed herself more and more, till at last she\ncould no longer keep silence, and when her husband came back, joyful\nand glad at heart after one of these journeys, she said to him: \"My\ndear lord, there is somewhat I would fain ask thee, and yet I scarce\ndare, for I fear lest thou be angry with me.\"\n\nThen her lord drew her to him, and kissed her tenderly. \"Lady,\" he\nsaid, \"fear not to ask me, there is nothing I would not gladly tell\nthee, if it be in my power.\"\n\n\"I' faith,\" she said, \"now is my heart at rest. My lord, didst thou\nbut know how terrified I am in the days I am left alone; I rise in the\nmorning affrighted, and lie down at night in such dread of losing thee\nthat if I be not soon reassured I think me I shall die of it. Tell me,\nI pray thee, where thou goest, and on what errand, that I who love thee\nmay be at rest during thine absence.\"\n\n\"Lady,\" he answered, \"for the love of God ask me no more, for indeed if\nI told thee evil would surely come of it; thou would'st cease to love\nme, and I should be lost.\"\n\nWhen the lady heard this she was but ill-pleased, nor would she let\nher lord be at peace, but day by day she besought him with prayers and\ncaresses, till at length he yielded and told her all the truth. \"Lady,\"\nhe said, \"there is a spell cast upon me: three days in the week am I\nforced to become a were-wolf; and when I feel the change coming upon\nme I hide me in the thickest part of the forest, and there I live on\nprey and roots till the time has expired.\"\n\nWhen he had told her this his wife asked him what of his garments? Did\nhe still wear them in his wolf's shape?\n\n\"Nay,\" he said, \"I must needs lay them aside.\"\n\n\"And what dost thou do with them?\"\n\n\"Ah, that I may not tell thee, for if I were to lose them, or they\nshould be stolen from me, then must I needs be a wolf all my days,\nnothing could aid me save that the garments be brought to me again. So\nfor my own safety I must needs keep the matter secret.\"\n\n\"Ah, my dear lord, why hide it from _me_? Surely thou hast no fear of\nme who love thee above all else in the world? Little love canst thou\nhave for me! What have I done? What sin have I committed that thou\nshould'st withdraw thy confidence? Thou wilt do well to tell me.\"\n\nThus she wept and entreated till at length the knight yielded, and told\nher all.\n\n\"Wife,\" he said, \"without the forest on the highway, at a cross road,\nis an old chapel wherein I have often found help and succour. Close to\nit, under a thick shrub, is a large stone with a hollow beneath it;\nunder that stone I hide my garments till the enchantment hath lost its\npower, and I may turn me homewards.\"\n\nNow when the lady had heard this story it fell out even as her husband\nhad foretold, for her love was changed to loathing, and she was seized\nwith a great dread and fear of him. She was terrified to be in his\npresence, yet he was her lord, and she knew not how she might escape\nfrom him.\n\nThen she bethought her of a certain knight of that country, who had\nloved her long, and wooed her in vain ere she wedded her lord; and one\ntime when her husband went forth, she sent for him in secret, and bade\nhim come and give her counsel on a matter that troubled her much. When\nhe came she bade him swear an oath to keep secret what she might tell\nhim, and when he had sworn she told him all the story, and prayed him\nfor the sake of the love he once bore her to free her from one who was\nneither beast nor man, and yet was both.\n\nThe knight, who loved her still, was ready to do all she might desire,\nand she said, \"'Tis but to steal his clothes, for then he can no more\nbecome a man, but must dwell in the forest as a wolf all his days, and\nsome one will assuredly slay him.\" So he went forth, and did after her\nbidding and brought her the garments, and she hid them away saying,\n\"Now am I safe, and that monster can return no more to terrify me.\"\n\nWhen the time went on, and her husband came not, the lady feigned to be\nanxious for his welfare, and she sent his men forth to seek him; they\nwent through all the country but could find no trace of their lord, so\nat length they gave up the search, and all deemed he had been slain on\none of his mysterious journeys. And when a year had passed, and the\nlady thought the wolf had surely been killed, she wedded the knight who\nhad aided her and thought no more of the husband she had betrayed.\n\nBut the poor were-wolf roamed the forest in suffering and sorrow, for\nthough a beast outwardly yet he had the heart and brain of a man, and\nknew well what had happened, and he grieved bitterly, for he had loved\nhis wife truly and well.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nNow it chanced one day that the king of that land rode a-hunting in\nthat very forest, and the hounds came on the track of the were-wolf\nand roused him from his lair and gave chase to him. All day he fled\nbefore them through the woodland, and at last when they were close upon\nhim and he was in sore peril of being overtaken and torn in pieces the\nking came riding after the hounds, and the wolf swerved aside and fled\nto him, seizing him by the stirrup, and licking his foot in sign of\nsubmission.\n\nThe king was much astonished, and called to his companions to come\nswiftly. \"See here, my lords,\" he said, \"what think ye of this marvel?\nSee how this beast entreats mercy of me; he hath the sense of a man!\nDrive off the dogs, for I will not have him injured. Turn we homewards,\nI take this beast in my peace, and will hunt no more in this forest\nlest by chance he be slain.\"\n\nWith that they turned their bridles and rode homewards; but the wolf\nfollowed behind, and would not be driven back, even when they came to\nthe royal castle. The king was greatly pleased, for he thought the\nmatter strange and marvellous; no such tale had he ever heard before;\nand since he had taken a great liking for the beast he bade his knights\nnot merely to do the wolf no harm, but to treat him with all care and\nkindness, on pain of losing the royal favour. So all day the wolf\nroamed the court, free among the knights, and at night he slept in the\nking's own chamber. Wherever the king went, there he would have his\nwolf go too, and all the courtiers made much of the beast, seeing that\nit pleased their lord, and finding that he did no harm to any man among\nthem.\n\nNow when a long time had passed the king had occasion to hold a solemn\ncourt; he summoned all his barons from far and near, and among them\ncame the knight who had betrayed the were-wolf, and wedded his lady; he\nhad little thought that his rival was yet in life, still less that he\nwas so near at hand. But as soon as the wolf beheld him he sprang upon\nhim savagely, tearing him with his teeth, and would have slain him if\nthe king had not called him off, and even then twice again he would\nhave seized him.\n\nEvery one in the castle was astonished at the rage shown by the beast,\nwhich had always been so tame and gentle, and a whisper went round that\nsurely there must be something which no one knew against the knight,\nfor the wolf would scarce have attacked him without cause. All the time\nthe court lasted the wolf had to be kept in close guard. When at length\nit broke up the knight who had been attacked was one of the first to\nleave--and small marvel it he were. But when the knight had gone the\nwolf was once more as tame and friendly as he had been from the first,\nand all the courtiers made a pet of him as they had done aforetime, and\nforgot, as time went on, that he had ever shown himself so savage.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAt length the king bethought him that he would make a progress through\nhis kingdom, and at the same time hunt for a while in the forest where\nhe had found the wolf. As his custom was he took the beast with him.\n\nNow the lady, the were-wolf's treacherous wife, hearing that the king\nwould abide some time in that part of the country, prayed for an\naudience that she might win the royal favour by presenting rich gifts,\nfor she knew well that the king loved not her second husband as he had\nloved the first.\n\nThe king appointed a day and hour for the audience, but when the lady\nentered the presence chamber suddenly the wolf flew upon her, and\nbefore any could hinder had bitten the nose from off her face. The\ncourtiers drew out their weapons and would have slain the beast, when a\nwise man, one of the king's councillors, stayed them. \"Sire,\" he said,\n\"hearken to me--this wolf has been long with us, there is not one of\nus here who has not been near to him, and caressed him, over and over\nagain; yet not a man of us has he ever touched, or even shown ill-will\nto any. But two has he ever attacked, this lady here and the lord, her\nhusband. Now, sire, bethink thee well--this lady was the wife of the\nknight thou didst hold dear aforetime, and who was lost long since, no\nman knowing what came to him. Take my counsel, put this lady in guard,\nand question her closely as to whether she can give any reason why the\nwolf should hate her. Many a marvel hath come to pass in Brittany, and\nmethinks there is something stranger than we wot of here.\"\n\nThe king thought the old lord's counsel good; he caused the lady and\nher husband to be put in prison apart, and questioned separately with\nthreats if they kept silence; till at length the lady, terrified,\nconfessed how she had betrayed her first husband, by causing his\ngarments to be stolen from him when he was in a wolf's shape. Since\nthat time he had disappeared; she knew not whether he were alive or\ndead, but she thought that perchance this wolf was he. When the king\nheard this he commanded them to fetch the garments belonging to the\nlost knight, whether it were pleasing to the lady or no; and when they\nwere brought he laid them before the wolf and waited to see what would\nchance.\n\nBut the wolf made as if he saw them not, and the wise councillor said,\n\"Sire, if this beast be indeed a were-wolf he will not change shapes\nwhile there are any to behold him; since it is only with great pain\nand difficulty he can do so. Bid them take wolf and garments into thine\nown chamber, and fasten the doors upon him; then leave him for a while,\nand we shall see if he become man.\"\n\nThe king thought this counsel good, and he himself took the beast into\nhis chamber and made the doors fast.\n\nThen they waited for a space that seemed long enough to the king, and\nwhen the old lord told him he might well do so, he took two nobles with\nhim, and unlocked the doors, and entered, and lo, on the king's couch\nlay the long lost knight in a deep slumber!\n\nThe king ran to him and embraced him warmly; and when the first wonder\nhad somewhat passed, he bade him take back all the lands of which he\nhad been robbed, and over and above he bestowed upon him many rich\ngifts.\n\nThe treacherous wife and her second husband were banished from the\ncountry; many years they lived in a strange land, and had children and\ngrand-children--but all their descendants might be known by this, that\nthe maidens were born without noses, so that they won the surname of\n_\u00e9nas\u00e9es_.\n\nAnd the old books say that this adventure was verily true, and that it\nwas in order that the memory of it should be preserved to all time that\nthe Bretons put it in verse, and called it \"The Lai of the Were-Wolf.\"\n\n\n\n\nNotes\n\n\nGUINGAMOR.\n\nThis charming lay was first published by M. Gaston Paris (Romania\nVIII.) from the same MS. collection as the _Lay of Tyolet_. The\nauthor is unnamed, but the general consensus of critical opinion has\nattributed it to Marie de France, the famous Anglo-Norman poetess.\nCertainly both in manner and matter it is a remarkably favourable\nspecimen of the Breton lay.\n\nThe story of Guingamor evidently represents a very favourite class of\ntales; setting aside the numerous parallels cited by Dr. Schofield in\nhis study of the lay (_The Lay of Guingamor_, \"Harvard Studies and\nNotes in Philology and Literature,\" vol. v.), we have among the French\ntranslations of Breton lays which have descended to us no fewer than\nthree which closely correspond in subject and treatment, the lays of\n_Guingamor_, _Graalent_, and _Lanval_. In each of these the hero is\ntempted by a queen; rejects her proffered love; wins a fairy bride,\nand departs to dwell with her in her own land. Guingamor and Graalent\nagree in the circumstances under which the knight meets the fairy\nmaiden (a feature in which Dr. Schofield sees the influence of the\n_Wayland_ story--_cf._ _The Lays of Graalent and Lanval, and the Story\nof Wayland_, W. H. Schofield); while Lanval and Graalent agree in the\nsubsequent development of the story.\n\nOf the three, Guingamor is distinctly the most tragic. The knight who\nafter two days spent in the delights of love and the festivities of\nthe wondrous palace returns on the third day to his own land to find\nthat kinsmen and friends have passed away, and his own name and fate\nbut a folk-tale centuries old, is a really pathetic figure. We need\nnot wonder that the story was a popular one; not only does Chr\u00e9tien de\nTroyes in the quotation prefixed to my translation mention it, but it\nis again referred to as a well-known tale by Gautier de Doulens, one\nof the continuators of Chr\u00e9tien's unfinished _Conte del Graal_. The\nknight who is coupled with Guingamor in our extract, _Graislemiers de\nFine Posterne_, is by Prof. Foerster and other scholars identified with\n_Graalent mor_, and it seems probable that it was the close resemblance\nbetween their stories, noted above, which led the French poet to\nrepresent them as brothers.\n\nPAGE 6.--_He knew how to promise and how to give._ \"Bien sot promestre\net bien doner.\" This should be compared with Wace's description of\nGawain, \"plus volt faire que il ne dist, Et plus doner qu'il ne\npromist.\" It is impossible not to feel that Arthur's gallant nephew,\nwho had a fairy for his love, and who according to Chaucer found his\nfinal home in fairy-land, stands in very close connection with these\nheroes of the earlier stratum of Arthurian legend.\n\nPAGE 18.--_Taking her robes set them high in the fork of a great\noak._ This apparently unknightly proceeding on the part of the hero\nwas doubtless originally connected with the supernatural character of\nthe lady, and seems to have taken its rise in a confusion between a\nfay and a swan-maiden. As we know from Northern tradition (Brynhild's\n_Hell-reid_ and the _Wieland-saga_) to steal the \"swan-shift\" of such a\nmaiden was the recognised means of effecting her capture. This has been\nwell discussed by Dr. Schofield in the study quoted above.\n\nPAGE 22.--_I charge thee--that thou neither eat nor drink._\n\nThis is evidently a somewhat confused introduction of the well-known\nfeature that partaking of food in any land brings the eater under the\noperation of the laws of that land, but we generally find the incident\nof reverse application, as in the case of Persephone, who having tasted\nof the pomegranate seeds must needs continue an inhabitant of the other\nworld. Guingamor having already eaten of the food of fa\u00ebry, would, one\nwould think, be incapable of returning to the other world. Such a fate\nas befalls him is, however, often brought about by coming in contact\nwith the _earth_; thus in the _Voyage of Bran_, when the hero and his\ncompanions return from the Magic Isles, they are warned not to set foot\non the shore of Ireland; one of the company disobeys the injunction\nand immediately falls to ashes, as one many years dead. Mr. Hartland,\nin his work on _The Science of Fairy-tales_, gives other instances of\nthis belief. From the references made to the story by later writers,\nhowever, it is quite clear that Guingamor was supposed to have\nregained his youth on his return to Fairyland, and to enjoy practical\nimmortality as the lord of its queen.\n\n\nSIR LAUNFAL.\n\nThis is a translation of the _Lai de Lanval_, by Marie de France, the\n_original_ source being, as in the case of all the other stories, a\nBreton _lai_ which the Anglo-Norman poetess translated into French.\n\nThe English poem of the same name, by Thomas of Chester, is not,\nstrictly speaking, a _translation_ of Marie's _lai_, but an adaptation,\ninto which features borrowed from other sources have been worked. Thus\nthe author evidently knew the lay of _Graalent_, which, as I have\nstated in the note to Guingamor, recites precisely the same story as\n_Lanval_, only with certain variations in the incidents. Dr. Schofield,\nin the study to which I have previously referred, decides that the\noriginal hero is _Lanval_.\n\nThe _Graalent_ version contains a weirdly pathetic feature which was\neither unknown to Marie or disregarded by her. The hero rides off, not\non the lady's steed, but on his own; crossing the river he is swept\nfrom the saddle, and only saved from drowning by his mistress, who\ntakes him up behind her on her palfrey. The knight's charger, reaching\nthe shore, vainly seeks for his master, and the Bretons tell how\nyearly, on the anniversary of Graalent's disappearance, the horse may\nbe heard neighing loudly for the vanished knight. Thomas of Chester\nrefers to this story evidently, but appears to think that the steed had\nrejoined its master, as after telling how \"_every yer, upon a certayn\nday, Men may here Launfale's stede nay_,\" he goes on to tell how any\nwho desires a joust to keep his arms from rusting \"_may fynde justes\nanow wyth Syr Launfal the knyght_.\"\n\n\nTYOLET.\n\nThis lay is the translation of one published by M. Gaston Paris\n(Romania VIII. 1879) from a MS. in the Biblioth\u00e8que Nationale, and\npreviously unknown. It will be seen that it really consists of two\ndistinct stories: (_a_) Tyolet's _Enfances_; (_b_) his achieving of\nthe adventure of the white-footed stag. Whether these two stories\noriginally related to the same hero is doubtful, but both are of\nconsiderable importance for the criticism of the Arthurian legend.\n\n(_a_) Tyolet's _Enfances_.--This story certainly bears a strong\nresemblance to the \"Perceval\" story as related by Chr\u00e9tien de Troyes\nand Wolfram von Eschenbach; but while in some points it seems to have\npreserved more archaic features, in others it is distinctly more\nmodern. Thus the lad's confusion of the knight with a beast seems a\nprimitive trait, as does also his fairy gift of attracting beasts\nby whistling, and the curious transformation of the stag, while\nhis behaviour on arriving at court, on the other hand, is far more\ncivilised than that of Perceval. One naturally asks where had he\nlearnt of tourneys and joustings and the knightly duty of \"largesse\"?\nThe probability is that we have here a revised, and independent,\nversion of the popular folk-tale which under the hands of certain\ntwelfth-century poets developed into the Perceval romance.\n\n(_b_) _Le cerf au pied blanc._ This story is also found in the vast\ncompilation of Arthurian romance known as the Dutch _Lancelot_.\nThere the adventure is attributed to Lancelot, but with certain\nvariants--_e.g._, Kay, and not Lodoer, is the first to attempt the\nadventure, and to fail through cowardice (a trait entirely in accord\nwith the r\u00f4le played by Kay in the later Arthurian story); Lancelot\nslays the lions _before_ cutting off the foot of the stag; and he\ndoes not marry the lady, who in this version has not herself visited\nArthur's court but has sent a messenger. This at once points to a later\nredaction of the story; the hero certainly ought to marry the maiden at\nwhose instigation he undertakes the adventure.\n\nThe part played by the traitor knight did not, I venture to think,\noriginally belong to the story; it is part of a very widely spread\nAryan folk-tale, generally relating to the slaying of a dragon or\nsimilar monster. Mr. Hartland has given a long list of the variants\nof this in _The Legend of Perseus_, vol. iii. A very fine specimen is\ncontained in the early _Tristan_ poems, notably that of Gottfried von\nStrassburg, and another version, that contained in the poem of _Morien_\nascribes the adventure to _Lancelot_. It may be remarked that in both\nthe \"Lancelot\" versions, as in this _lai_ of Tyolet, it is Gawain who\nseeks the hero, and chivalrously defends his claim against that of\nthe traitor. The story certainly must have become connected with the\nArthurian legend at a time when Gawain was still the _beau-ideal_ of\nknightly courtesy.\n\nThe original tale at the root of the _Cerf au pied blanc_ was, I\nbelieve, a transformation tale; the stag was the enchanted relative\nof the lady who instigated the adventure, and the spell could only\nbe broken by smiting off the animal's foot (as in many instances it\nis necessary to cut off the head of the victim of magic spells); this\nseems to me the only explanation of what is here a pointless act of\ncruelty. Probably the connecting link with the tale of Tyolet is\nthe mysterious stag-knight of the first part, not the fairy gift of\nwhistling as M. Gaston Paris suggested. I believe the story to be the\norigin of the white stag guarded by _six_ lions in the Prose Lancelot,\nwhich in the \"Queste\" changes with its _four_ attendant lions into Our\nLord and the Four Evangelists. The real meaning of the story has here\nbeen preserved. This solution is also indicated by the fact that one of\nthe shapes assumed by Merlin in his numerous transformations is that of\na stag _with one white foot_ (_cf._ \"Merlin,\" Sommer's edition, xxiii.\np. 302).\n\nIn connection with this it may be noted that a story published in the\n_Scottish Celtic Review_, vol. i., \"Macphie's Black Dog,\" contains a\nstriking parallel to _Tyolet_. The hero goes forth to shoot and sees a\nroyal stag, but whenever he raises his gun to fire the animal changes\ninto a woman. I think it is clear that in _Tyolet_ we have the Perceval\nEnfances plus a transformation tale.\n\n\nTHE WERE-WOLF.\n\nThe source of this is the _Lai du Bisclavaret_, by Marie de France. She\nwas evidently relating a popular tradition, and there can be little\ndoubt that it is the story referred to by Malory in the passage quoted\nat the heading of the tale. In Marie's _Lai_ none of the characters are\nnamed.\n\nThe same story appears to be at the root of a Celtic folk-tale,\n_Morraha_, published by Mr. Jacobs in his collection entitled, \"More\nCeltic Fairy Tales,\" here, however, being only subsidiary, a story\nwithin a story. Elsewhere I have found no trace of it, but the\nreference in Malory appeared to justify its inclusion among Arthurian\ntales.\n\nSince writing this note Mr. Nutt has drawn my attention to a tale\npublished in the _Scottish Celtic Review_, referred to above, \"How\nthe Great Tuairisgeul was put to Death.\" This tale strongly resembles\n_Morraha_, only the transformation is brought about by the spells of\na witch employed by the stepmother, and is not the deed of the wife.\n_Morraha_ seems to occupy a position between our tale and this. It\nmay be suggested that there is a certain resemblance between the name\nMorraha, and that given by Malory for the hero of the story _Marrok_.\nIt is worth noting that in both these tales the sympathy of the reader\nis invited for the wolf. As a rule a were-wolf is an object of dread\nand abhorrence.\n\n\n  Printed by BALLANTYNE & CO. LIMITED\n  Tavistock Street, Covent Garden, London\n\n\n\n\nTRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:\n\nObvious printer errors have been corrected. Otherwise, the author's\noriginal spelling, punctuation and hyphenation have been left intact.","title":"Guingamor, Lanval, Tyolet, Bisclaveret: Four lais rendered into English prose","tradition":"myth-cosmogony","translated_text":null,"word_count":19463}