Chapter 9

'Twas on the solemn feast of sainted John, When knights past tale did in the castle won, That, supper done, 'twas will'd they all should fare Forth to the orchard green, awhile to ramble there. The queen, who long had mark'd, with much delight, The gallant graces of the Breton knight, Soon, from the window of her lofty tower, Mid the gay band espied him in a bower, And turning to her dames with blythe intent, 'Hence, all!' she cried; 'we join the merriment!' All took the word, to the gay band they hied, The queen, besure, was close to Lanval's side, Sprightly she seem'd, and sportfully did toy, And caught his hand to dance, and led the general joy,

Lanval alone was dull where all was gay, His thoughts were fixed on his lovely fay: Soon as he deftly might, he fled the throng; And her dear name nigh trembled on his tongue, When the fond queen, who well had trac'd his flight, Stepp'd forth, and cross'd his disappointed sight. Much had she sought to meet the knight alone; Now in these words she made her passion known: 'Lanval!' she said, 'thy worth, long season past, 'In my deserv'd esteem hath fix'd thee fast: 'Tis thine this prosperous presage to improve:-- Say, gentle knight, canst thou return my love?

The knight, ye wot, love's paragon ador'd, And, had his heart been free, rever'd his word; True to his king, the fealty of his soul Abhorr'd all commerce with a thought so foul. In fine, the sequel of my tale to tell, From the shent queen such bitter slander fell, That, with an honest indignation strong, The fatal secret 'scap'd Sir Lanval's tongue: 'Yes!' he declar'd, 'he felt love's fullest power! Yes!' he declar'd, 'he had a paramour! But one, so perfect in all female grace, Those charms might scarcely win her handmaid's place; Those charms, were now one menial damsel near, Would lose this little light, and disappear.'

Strong degradation sure the words implied; The queen stood mute, she could not speak for pride; But quick she turn'd, and to her chamber sped, There prostrate lay, and wept upon her bed; There vow'd the coming of her lord to wait, Nor mov'd till promis'd vengeance seal'd her hate.

The king, that day devoted to the chace, Ne'er till the close of evening sought the place; Then at his feet the fair deceiver fell, And gloss'd her artful tale of mischief well; Told how a saucy knight his queen abus'd, With prayer of proffer'd love, with scorn refus'd; Thereat how rudely rail'd the ruffian shent, With slanderous speech and foul disparagement, And boastfully declar'd such charms array'd The veriest menial where his vows were paid, That, might one handmaid of that dame be seen, All eyes would shun with scorn imperial Arthur's queen. The weeping tale of her, his heart ador'd, Wak'd the quick wrath of her deluded lord; Sternly he menac'd some disastrous end By fire or cord, should soon that wretch attend, And straight dispatched three barons bold to bring The culprit to the presence of his king.

Lanval! the while, the queen no longer near, Home to his chamber hied with heavy cheer: Much did he dread his luckless boast might prove The eternal forfeit of his lady's love; And, all impatient his dark doom to try, And end the pangs of dire uncertainty, His humble prayer he tremblingly preferr'd, Wo worth the while! his prayer no more was heard. O! how he wail'd! how curs'd the unhappy day! Deaf still remained the unrelenting fay. Him, thus dismay'd, the approaching barons found; Outstretch'd he lay, and weeping, on the ground; To reckless ears their summons they declar'd, Lost was his fay, for nought beside he car'd; So forth they led him, void of will or word, Dead was his heart within, his wretched life abhorr'd.

They reach the presence; there he hears surpriz'd The mortal charge of felony devis'd: Stern did the monarch look, and sharp upbraid For foul seducement of his queen assay'd: The knight, whose loyal heart disdain'd the offence, With generous warmth affirm'd his innocence; He ne'er devis'd seduction:--for the rest, His speech discourteous, frankly he confess'd; Influenc'd with ire his lips forwent their guard; He stood prepared to bide the court's award. Straight from his peers were chosen judges nam'd: Then fix the trial, with due forms proclaim'd; By them 'tis order'd that the accus'd assign Three men for pledge, or in a prison pine.

Lanval! 'tis told, had pass'd from foreign strand, And kinsmen none there dwelt on English land; And well he knew that in the hour of proof Friends for the most part fail, and stand aloof: Sue them he would not, but with manly pride In silence turn'd, and toward his prison hied. With generous grief the deed Sir Gawaine view'd; Dear to the king was he, and nephew of his blood, But liberal worth past nature's ties prevail'd, And sympathy stood forth, if friendship fail'd; Nor less good-will full many a knight inspir'd; With general voice the prisoner all requir'd, All pledg'd their fiefs he should not fail the day, And homeward bore him from the court away.

His friends, for sure they well that title claim, First thought the licence of his tongue to blame; But, when they mark'd how deeply he was mov'd, They sooth'd and cherish'd rather than reprov'd. Each day, as mute he sat in desperate grief, They spoke kind words of comfort and relief; Each day, howe'er they sought, howe'er they sued, Scarce might they win his lips to taste of food: 'Come, welcome death!' forever was his cry; 'Lo, here a wretch who wishes but to die!' So still he wail'd, till woe such mastery wan They trembled for his nobler powers of man; They fear'd lest reason's tottering rule should end And to a moping ideot sink their friend.

At length came on the day, long since decreed, When the sad knight should suffer or be freed. From every part the assembling barons meet: Each judge, as fore-ordain'd, assumes his seat; The king, too strongly sway'd by female pride, O'er the grave council will himself preside, And, while the presence of his queen inspires, Goads on the judgment as her wrath requires. There might be seen that honourable band Late for the prisoner pledg'd in fief and land; Slow they advance, then stand before the board, Whiles all behold the entrusted thrall restor'd. With many a question next the accus'd was prov'd; Then, while the votes were given, awhile remov'd. But those brave warriors, when they weigh'd the plight And the fair promise of this hapless knight, His youth, for yet he reach'd not manhood's prime; His gallant mien, his life without a crime, His helpless state by kindred unsustain'd, In a strange court and in a foreign land, All cried aloud, were Lanval doom'd to die, It were a doom of shame and cruelty.

At first 'twas mov'd, that straight conducted thence, Some meet confinement should chastise the offence; When one grave peer, in honest hope to wave The dire debasement of a youth so brave, Produc'd this purpose, with such reasoning grac'd, 'Twas with the general plaudit soon embrac'd: ''Twas urg'd,' he said, 'and sure the offence he blam'd, Their queen by base comparison was sham'd; That he, the prisoner, with strange fury mov'd, Had prais'd too proudly the fair dame he lov'd; First, then, 'twere meet this mistress should be seen There in full court, and plac'd beside the queen; So might they judge of passion's mad pretence, Or truth had wrought the ungrateful preference.'

So spoke the judge; Sir Lanval hears the doom, And weens his hour of destiny is come; Quench'd is the lore that erst, in happier day, Won to his whisper'd prayer the willing fay; And the last licence pitying laws devise, Serves but to close the count of miseries!

When, lo! strange shouts of joy and clamourous cheers, Rose from without, and stay'd the astonish'd peers: At hand two damsels entering in were seen, Lovely alike their look, and noble was their mien; On a grey dappled steed each lady rode, That pac'd for pride, as conscious of his load; 'Lo here!' 'twas murmured round with new delight, 'Lo here, the mistress of the Breton knight!' The twain meanwhile pass'd onward undelay'd, And to the king their graceful greetings paid, Then told their lady's coming, and desir'd Such harbourage as highest rank requir'd.

E'en as they spoke, twain others, lovelier fair, Of stature loftier, of more royal air, Came proudly on: of gold their purfled vest, Well shap'd, each symmetry of limb confess'd: On goodly mules from farthest Spain they brought, This pair the presence of the sovereign sought.

The impatient king, ere well their lips had power, To claim fit harbourage of board and bower, Led on their way; and, court'sies scantly done, Back to the peers be sped, and press'd the judgment on; For much, meseems, his vengeful heart misgave Some thwarting chance the Breton knight might save.

Just were his boding fears: new shouts ascend Of loud acclaim; and wide the welkin rend. A female form the wondering peers behold, Too bright for mixture of earth's mortal mould: The gridelin pall that down her shoulders flow'd Half veil'd her snow-white courser as she rode; On her fair hand a sparrow-hawk was plac'd, Her steed's sure steps a following grey-hound trac'd And, as she pass'd, still pressing to the right Female and male, and citizen and knight, What wight soe'er in Carduel's walls was found, Swell'd the full quire, and spread the joy around.

Lanval, the while, apart from all the rest, Sat sadly waiting for his doom unbless'd: (Not that he fear'd to die: death rather sued; For life was nought, despoil'd of all its good:) To his dull ears his hastening friends proclaim The fancied form and presence of his dame; Feebly he rais'd his head: and, at the sight, In a strange extacy of wild delight, ''Tis she! 'tis she!' was all his faultering cry, 'I see her once again now satisfied I die!'

Thus while he spake, the peers with seemly state. Led by their king, the illustrious stranger wait; Proud Carduel's palace hail'd its princely guest, And thus the dame the assembled court address'd. 'List, king, and barons!--Arthur, I have lov'd A knight most loyal in thy service prov'd; Him, by thy foul neglect, reduc'd to need, These hands did recompense; they did thy deed. He disobey's me; I forbore to save; I left him at the portal of the grave: Firm loyalty hath well that breach repair'd-- He loves me still, nor shall he lack reward. 'Barons! your court its judgment did decree, Quittance or death, your queen compar'd with me: Behold the mistress of the knight is come, Now judge between us? and pronounce the doom.'

All cry aloud, the words of love were right, And one united voice acquits the knight. Back from the palace turns the parting fay, And with her beauteous damsels speeds away: Her, as she pass'd the enraptur'd Lanval view'd; High on the portal's marble steps he stood; On his tall steed he sprang with vigorous bound; Thenceforth their footsteps never wight hath found.

But 'tis the Breton tale, they both are gone To the fair isle of fertile Avalon; There, in the lap of love for ever laid, By sorrow unassail'd, in bliss embay'd, They make their won: for me, where'er they dwell, No farther tale befalls me here to tell.

Thomas Chestre translated this tale in the reign of Henry 6, but the extracts published by Mr. Warton, differ in some particulars from the tale here given.

No. VI.--LES DEUX AMANTS.

In Neustria, now called Normandy is a single mountain of unusual height and verdure, railed the mountain "of the two lovers," in consequence of an adventure to which it gave rise, and of which the Bretons have formed a lay. Close to it are the remains of a city, now reduced to a few houses, but formerly opulent, founded by the king of the Pistreins, whence it was called Depistreins, and the neighbouring valley Val de Pistre. This king had one only daughter, whom he loved so much that he could not bear to be separated from her. With a view to check the pursuits of the lovers, whom her beauty and accomplishments attracted, he published a decree, that her hand should never be granted but to a suitor who should be able to carry her, without resting, from the bottom to the top of the adjoining mountain. Many attempted the enterprise, for presumption is common; none achieved it, because its execution was barely possible. The suitors disappeared, one by one, and the beautiful princess seemed doomed to eternal celibacy. There was one youth, the son of a neighbouring baron, who was a favourite with the king and the whole court, and whose assiduities, which were dictated by an unconquerable and sincere passion, ultimately gained the lady's warmest affections. It was long a secret to all the world: but this discretion became, at length, almost intolerable; and the youth, hopeless of fulfilling the condition which alone could obtain her hand, earnestly conjured her to fly from her father's court. To this she would not consent, but suggested a mode of accomplishing their wishes more compatible with her filial piety: "I have," said she, "a rich aunt, who resides, and has studied during thirty years, at Salerno. In that celebrated school she has so completely acquired the art of medicine; has learned so many _salves_ and drugs; has so studied _herbs_ and _roots_, that she will be enabled to compose for you _electuaries_ and _drinks_, capable of communicating the degree of vigour necessary to the accomplishment of the trial prescribed by my father. To her you shall bear a letter from me, and at your return shall demand me from the king, on the terms to which he has himself assented." The lover thanked her; went home, provided the necessary assortment of rich clothes, and other merchandize, of palfreys, beasts of burthen and attendants, and set off for Salerno. His mission was successful: the good aunt's electuaries rendered him much more athletic than before; and he brought back, in a small vial, an elixir capable of instantly restoring strength at the moment of complete exhaustion. He therefore was full of confidence, and claimed the trial. The king having summoned all his principal vassals to behold the ceremony, conducted his daughter into the great plain on the banks of the Seine, and found the youth already stationed at the foot of the mountain. The lovely princess had scarcely tasted food since the departure of her lover; she would gladly have wasted herself to the lightness of air for the purpose of diminishing his labour. She wore only a single robe which closely enveloped her. Her lover catching her up with one hand, and bearing the precious vial in the other, appeared perfectly unconscious of the burthen, and bore her, with the rapidity of lightning, more than half way up the mountain: but here she perceived his breath began to fail, and conjured him to have recourse to his medicine. He replied, that he was still full of vigour; was too much within sight of the multitude below, that their cries on seeing him stop, even for an instant, would annoy and dishearten him; and that, while able to proceed alone, he would not appeal to preternatural assistance. At two-thirds of the height she felt him totter under the weight, and again repeated her earnest entreaties. But he no longer heard or listened: exerting his whole remains of strength, he staggered with her to the top, still bearing the untasted vial in his hand, and dropped dead on the ground. His mistress, thinking he had only fainted, knelt down by his side, applied the elixir to his lips, but found that life had left him. She then dashed the vial on the ground, uttered a dreadful shriek, threw herself on the body, and instantly expired. The king and his attendants, much surprized at not seeing them return, ascended the mountain, and found the youth fast locked in the arms of the princess. By command of her father they were buried on the spot in a marble coffin, and the mountain still retains the name of "The Two Lovers." Around their tomb the ground exhibits an unceasing verdure; and hither the whole country resort for the most valuable herbs employed in medicine, which owe their origin to the contents of the marvellous vial.[77]

No. VII.--YWONEC.