IX
THE LAY OF THE ASH TREE
Now will I tell you the Lay of the Ash Tree, according to the storythat I know.
In ancient days there dwelt two knights in Brittany, who wereneighbours and close friends. These two lords were brave and worthygentlemen, rich in goods and lands, and near both in heart and home.Moreover each was wedded to a dame. One of these ladies was withchild, and when her time was come, she was delivered of two boys. Herhusband was right happy and content. For the joy that was his, he sentmessages to his neighbour, telling that his wife had brought forth twosons, and praying that one of them might be christened with his name.The rich man was at meat when the messenger came before him. Theservitor kneeled before the dais, and told his message in his ear. Thelord thanked God for the happiness that had befallen his friend,and bestowed a fair horse on the bringer of good tidings. His wife,sitting at board with her husband, heard the story of the messenger,and smiled at his news. Proud she was, and sly, with an envious heart,and a rancorous tongue. She made no effort to bridle her lips, butspoke lightly before the servants of the house, and said,
"I marvel greatly that so reputable a man as our neighbour, shouldpublish his dishonour to my lord. It is a shameful thing for any wifeto have two children at a birth. We all know that no woman bringsforth two at one bearing, except two husbands have aided her therein."
Her husband looked upon her in silence for awhile, and when he spokeit was to blame her very sternly.
"Wife," he said, "be silent. It is better to be dumb, than to uttersuch words as these. As you know well, there is not a breath totarnish this lady's good name."
The folk of the house, who listened to these words, stored them intheir hearts, and told abroad the tale, spoken by their lady. Verysoon it was known throughout Brittany. Greatly was the lady blamed forher evil tongue, and not a woman who heard thereof--whether she wererich or poor--but who scorned her for her malice. The servant whocarried the message, on his return repeated to his lord of what he hadseen and heard. Passing heavy was the knight, and knew not what todo. He doubted his own true wife, and suspected her the more sorely,because she had done naught that was in any way amiss.
The lady, who so foully slandered her fellow, fell with child in thesame year. Her neighbour was avenged upon her, for when her term wascome, she became the mother of two daughters. Sick at heart was she.She was right sorrowful, and lamented her evil case.
"Alas," she said, "what shall I do, for I am dishonoured for allmy days. Shamed I am, it is the simple truth. When my lord and hiskinsfolk shall hear of what has chanced, they will never believe mea stainless wife. They will remember how I judged all women in myplight. They will recall how I said before my house, that my neighbourcould not have been doubly a mother, unless she had first been doublya wife. I have the best reason now to know that I was wrong, and I amcaught in my own snare. She who digs a pit for another, cannot tellthat she may not fall into the hole herself. If you wish to speakloudly concerning your neighbour, it is best to say nothing of himbut in praise. The only way to keep me from shame, is that one of mychildren should die. It is a great sin; but I would rather trust tothe mercy of God, than suffer scorn and reproach for the rest of mylife."
The women about her comforted her as best they might in this trouble.They told her frankly that they would not suffer such wrong to bedone, since the slaying of a child was not reckoned a jest. The ladyhad a maiden near her person, whom she had long held and nourished.The damsel was a freeman's daughter, and was greatly loved andcherished of her mistress. When she saw the lady's tears, and heardthe bitterness of her complaint, anguish went to her heart, like aknife. She stooped over her lady, striving to bring her comfort.
"Lady," she said, "take it not so to heart. Give over this grief, forall will yet be well. You shall deliver me one of these children, andI will put her so far from you, that you shall never see her again,nor know shame because of her. I will carry her safe and sound to thedoor of a church. There I will lay her down. Some honest man shallfind her, and--please God--will be at the cost of her nourishing."
Great joy had the lady to hear these words. She promised the maidenthat in recompense of her service, she would grant her such guerdonas she should wish. The maiden took the babe--yet smiling in hersleep--and wrapped her in a linen cloth. Above this she set a piece ofsanguine silk, brought by the husband of this dame from a bazaar inConstantinople--fairer was never seen. With a silken lace they bounda great ring to the child's arm. This ring was of fine gold, weighingfully an ounce, and was set with garnets most precious.
Letters were graven thereon, so that those who found the maid mightunderstand that she came of a good house. The damsel took the child,and went out from the chamber. When night was come, and all was still,she left the town, and sought the high road leading through theforest. She held on her way, clasping the baby to her breast, tillfrom afar, to her right hand, she heard the howling of dogs and thecrowing of cocks. She deemed that she was near a town, and went thelighter for the hope, directing her steps, there, whence the noisescame. Presently the damsel entered in a fair city, where was an Abbey,both great and rich. This Abbey was worshipfully ordered, with manynuns in their office and degree, and an Abbess in charge of all. Themaiden gazed upon the mighty house, and considered its towers andwalls, and the church with its belfry. She went swiftly to the door,and setting the child upon the ground, kneeled humbly to make herprayer.
"Lord," said she, "for the sake of Thy Holy Name, if such be Thy will,preserve this child from death."
Her petition ended, the maiden looked about her, and saw an ash tree,planted to give shadow in a sunny place. It was a fair tree, thick andleafy, and was divided into four strong branches. The maiden took thechild again in her arms, and running to the ash, set her within thetree. There she left her, commending her to the care of God. So shereturned to her mistress, and told her all that she had done.
Now in this Abbey was a porter, whose duty it was to open the doors ofthe church, before folk came to hear the service of God. This nighthe rose at his accustomed hour, lighted candles and lamps, rang thebells, and set wide the doors. His eyes fell upon the silken stuffwithin the ash. He thought at first that some bold thief had hiddenhis spoil within the tree. He felt with his hand to discover what itmight be, and found that it was a little child. The porter praisedGod for His goodness; he took the babe, and going again to his house,called to his daughter, who was a widow, with an infant yet in thecradle.
"Daughter," he cried, "get from bed at once; light your candle, andkindle the fire. I bring you a little child, whom I have found withinour ash. Take her to your breast; cherish her against the cold, andbathe her in warm water."
The widow did according to her father's will. She kindled a fire, andtaking the babe, washed and cherished her in her need. Very certainshe was, when she saw that rich stuff of crimson samite, and thegolden ring about the arm, that the girl was come of an honourablerace. The next day, when the office was ended, the porter prayed theAbbess that he might have speech with her as she left the church. Herelated his story, and told of the finding of the child. The Abbessbade him to fetch the child, dressed in such fashion as she wasdiscovered in the ash. The porter returned to his house, and showedthe babe right gladly to his dame. The Abbess observed the infantclosely, and said that she would be at the cost of her nourishing,and would cherish her as a sister's child. She commanded the porterstrictly to forget that he took her from the ash. In this manner itchanced that the maiden was tended of the Abbess. The lady consideredthe maid as her niece, and since she was taken from the ash, gave herthe name of Frêne. By this name she was known of all, within the Abbeyprecincts, where she was nourished.
When Frêne came to that age in which a girl turns to woman, there wasno fairer maiden in Brittany, nor so sweet a damsel. Frank, she was,and open, but discreet in semblance and in speech. To see her was tolove her, and to prize her smile above the beauty of the world. Now atDol there lived a lord of whom much good was spoken. I will tell youhis name. The folk of his country called him Buron. This lord heardspeak of the maiden, and began to love her, for the sweetness mentold of her. As he rode home from some tournament, he passed near theconvent, and prayed the Abbess that he might look upon her niece. TheAbbess gave him his desire. Greatly was the maiden to his mind.Very fair he found her, sweetly schooled and fashioned, modest andcourteous to all. If he might not win her to his love, he countedhimself the more forlorn. This lord was at his wits end, for he knewnot what to do. If he repaired often to the convent, the Abbess wouldconsider of the cause of his comings, and he would never again see themaiden with his eyes. One thing only gave him a little hope. Should heendow the Abbey of his wealth, he would make it his debtor for ever.In return he might ask a little room, where he might abide to havetheir fellowship, and, at times, withdraw him from the world. This hedid. He gave richly of his goods to the Abbey. Often, in return, hewent to the convent, but for other reasons than for penitence andpeace. He besought the maiden, and with prayers and promises,persuaded her to set upon him her love. When this lord was assuredthat she loved him, on a certain day he reasoned with her in thismanner.
"Fair friend," said he, "since you have given me your love, come withme, where I can cherish you before all the world. You know, as wellas I, that if your aunt should perceive our friendship, she would bepassing wrath, and grieve beyond measure. If my counsel seems good,let us flee together, you with me, and I with you. Certes, you shallnever have cause to regret your trust, and of my riches you shall havethe half."
When she who loved so fondly heard these words, she granted of hertenderness what it pleased him to have, and followed after where hewould. Frêne fled to her lover's castle, carrying with her that silkencloth and ring, which might do her service on a day. These the Abbesshad given her again, telling her how one morning at prime she wasfound upon an ash, this ring and samite her only wealth, since she wasnot her niece. Right carefully had Frêne guarded her treasure fromthat hour. She shut them closely in a little chest, and this coffretshe bore with her in her flight, for she would neither lose them norforget.
The lord, with whom the maiden fled, loved and cherished her verydearly. Of all the men and servants of his house, there was notone--either great or small--but who loved and honoured her for hersimplicity. They lived long together in love and content, till thefair days passed, and trouble came upon this lord. The knights of hisrealm drew together, and many a time urged that he should put away hisfriend, and wed with some rich gentlewoman. They would be joyous if ason were born, to come after to his fief and heritage. The peril wastoo great to suffer that he remained a bachelor, and without an heir.Never more would they hold him as lord, or serve him with a goodheart, if he would not do according to their will.
There being naught else to do, the lord deferred to this counsel ofhis knights, and begged them to name the lady whom he needs must wed.
"Sir," answered they, "there is a lord of these parts, privy to ourcounsel, who has but one child, a maid, his only heir. Broad landswill he give as her dowry. This damsel's name is Coudre, and in allthis country there is none so fair. Be advised: throw away the ash rodyou carry, and take the hazel as your staff.[1] The ash is a barrenstock; but the hazel is thick with nuts and delight. We shall becontent if you take this maiden as your wife, so it be to the will ofGod, and she be given you of her kinsfolk."
Buron demanded the hand of the lady in marriage, and her father andkin betrothed her to the lord. Alas! it was hid from all, that thesetwo were twin sisters. It was Frêne's lot to be doubly abandoned, andto see her lover become her sister's husband. When she learned thather friend purposed taking to himself a wife, she made no outcryagainst his falseness. She continued to serve her lord faithfully, andwas diligent in the business of his house. The sergeant and the varletwere marvellously wrathful, when they knew that she must go fromamongst them. On the day appointed for the marriage, Buron bade hisfriends and acquaintance to the feast. Together with these camethe Archbishop, and those of Dol who held of him their lands. Hisbetrothed was brought to his home by her mother. Great dread had themother because of Frêne, for she knew of the love that the lord borethe maiden, and feared lest her daughter should be a stranger in herown hall. She spoke to her son-in-law, counselling him to send Frênefrom his house, and to find her an honest man for her husband. Thusthere would be quittance between them. Very splendid was the feast.Whilst all was mirth and jollity, the damsel visited the chambers, tosee that each was ordered to her lord's pleasure. She hid the tormentin her heart, and seemed neither troubled nor downcast. She compassedthe bride with every fair observance, and waited upon her rightdaintily.
[Footnote 1: This is a play on words; Frêne in the French, meaningash, and Coudre meaning hazel.]
Her courage was marvellous to that company of lords and ladies, whoobserved her curiously. The mother of the bride regarded her also, andpraised her privily. She said aloud that had she known the sweetnessof this lady, she would not have taken her lover from her, nor spoiledher life for the sake of the bride. The night being come the damselentered in the bridal chamber to deck the bed against her lord. Sheput off her mantle, and calling the chamberlains, showed them howtheir master loved to lie. His bed being softly arrayed, a coverletwas spread upon the linen sheets. Frêne looked upon the coverlet:in her eyes it showed too mean a garnishing for so fair a lord.She turned it over in her mind, and going to her coffret she tooktherefrom that rich stuff of sanguine silk, and set it on the couch.This she did not only in honour of her friend, but that the Archbishopmight not despise the house, when he blessed the marriage bed,according to the rite. When all was ready the mother carried the brideto that chamber where she should lie, to disarray her for the night.Looking upon the bed she marked the silken coverlet, for she had neverseen so rich a cloth, save only that in which she wrapped her child.When she remembered of this thing, her heart turned to water. Shesummoned a chamberlain.
"Tell me," she said, "tell me in good faith where this garniture wasfound."
"Lady," he made reply, "that you shall know. Our damsel spread it onthe bed, because this dossal is richer than the coverlet that wasthere before."
The lady called for the damsel. Frêne came before her in haste, beingyet without her mantle. All the mother moved within her, as she pliedher with questions.
"Fair friend, hide it not a whit from me. Tell me truly where thisfair samite was found; whence came it; who gave it to you? Answerswiftly, and tell me who bestowed on you this cloth?"
The damsel made answer to her:
"Lady, my aunt, the Abbess, gave me this silken stuff, and charged meto keep it carefully. At the same time she gave me a ring, which thosewho put me forth, had bound upon me."
"Fair friend, may I see this ring?"
"Certes, lady, I shall be pleased to show it."
The lady looked closely on the ring, when it was brought. She knewagain her own, and the crimson samite flung upon the bed. No doubt wasin her mind. She knew and was persuaded that Frêne was her very child.All words were spoken, and there was nothing more to hide.
"Thou art my daughter, fair friend."
Then for reason of the pity that was hers, she fell to the ground, andlay in a swoon. When the lady came again to herself, she sent for herhusband, who, all adread, hastened to the chamber. He marvelled themore sorely when his wife fell at his feet, and embracing him closely,entreated pardon for the evil that she had done.
Knowing nothing of her trespass, he made reply, "Wife, what is this?Between you and me there is nothing to call for forgiveness. Pardonyou may have for whatever fault you please. Tell me plainly what isyour wish."
"Husband, my offence is so black, that you had better give meabsolution before I tell you the sin. A long time ago, by reason oflightness and malice, I spoke evil of my neighbour, whenas she boretwo sons at a birth. I fell afterwards into the very pit that I haddigged. Though I told you that I was delivered of a daughter, thetruth is that I had borne two maids. One of these I wrapped in ourstuff of samite, together with the ring you gave me the first time wemet, and caused her to be laid beside a church. Such a sin will out.The cloth and the ring I have found, and I have recognised our maid,whom I had lost by my own folly. She is this very damsel--so fair andamiable to all--whom the knight so greatly loved. Now we have marriedthe lord to her sister."
The husband made answer, "Wife, if your sin be double, our joy ismanifold. Very tenderly hath God dealt with us, in giving us back ourchild. I am altogether joyous and content to have two daughters forone. Daughter, come to your father's side."
The damsel rejoiced greatly to hear this story. Her father tarried nolonger, but seeking his son-in-law, brought him to the Archbishop, andrelated the adventure. The knight knew such joy as was never yet. TheArchbishop gave counsel that on the morrow he would part him and herwhom he had joined together. This was done, for in the morning hesevered them, bed and board. Afterwards he married Frêne to herfriend, and her father accorded the damsel with a right good heart.Her mother and sister were with her at the wedding, and for dowry herfather gave her the half of his heritage. When they returned to theirown realm they took Coudre, their daughter, with them. There she wasgranted to a lord of those parts, and rich was the feast.
When this adventure was bruited abroad, and all the story, the Lay ofthe Ash Tree was written, so called of the lady, named Frêne.
