III
THE LAY OF THE DOLOROUS KNIGHT
Hearken now to the Lay that once I heard a minstrel chanting to hisharp. In surety of its truth I will name the city where this storypassed. The Lay of the Dolorous Knight, my harper called his song,but of those who hearkened, some named it rather, The Lay of the FourSorrows.
In Nantes, of Brittany, there dwelt a dame who was dearly held ofall, for reason of the much good that was found in her. This lady waspassing fair of body, apt in book as any clerk, and meetly schooled inevery grace that it becometh dame to have. So gracious of person wasthis damsel, that throughout the realm there was no knight couldrefrain from setting his heart upon her, though he saw her but oneonly time. Although the demoiselle might not return the love of somany, certainly she had no wish to slay them all. Better by far thata man pray and require in love all the dames of his country, than runmad in woods for the bright eyes of one. Therefore this dame gavecourtesy and good will to each alike. Even when she might not hear alover's words, so sweetly she denied his wish that the more he heldher dear and was the more her servant for that fond denial. So becauseof her great riches of body and of heart, this lady of whom I tell,was prayed and required in love by the lords of her country, both bynight and by day.
Now in Brittany lived four young barons, but their names I cannottell. It is enough that they were desirable in the eyes of maidens forreason of their beauty, and that men esteemed them because they werecourteous of manner and open of hand. Moreover they were stout andhardy knights amongst the spears, and rich and worthy gentlemen ofthose very parts. Each of these four knights had set his heart uponthe lady, and for love of her pained himself mightily, and did allthat he was able, so that by any means he might gain her favour. Eachprayed her privily for her love, and strove all that he could to makehim worthy of the gift, above his fellows. For her part the lady wassore perplexed, and considered in her mind very earnestly, which ofthese four knights she should take as friend. But since they all wereloyal and worthy gentlemen, she durst not choose amongst them; forshe would not slay three lovers with her hand so that one might havecontent. Therefore to each and all, the dame made herself fair andsweet of semblance. Gifts she gave to all alike. Tender messages shesent to each. Every knight deemed himself esteemed and favoured abovehis fellows, and by soft words and fair service diligently strove toplease. When the knights gathered together for the games, each ofthese lords contended earnestly for the prize, so that he might befirst, and draw on him the favour of his dame. Each held her for hisfriend. Each bore upon him her gift--pennon, or sleeve, or ring. Eachcried her name within the lists.
Now when Eastertide was come, a great tournament was proclaimed to beheld beyond the walls of Nantes, that rich city. The four lovers werethe appellants in this tourney, and from every realm knights rodeto break a lance in honour of their dame. Frenchman and Norman andFleming; the hardiest knights of Brabant, Boulogne and Anjou; eachcame to do his devoir in the field. Nor was the chivalry of Nantesbackward in this quarrel, but till the vespers of the tournament wascome, they stayed themselves within the lists, and struck stoutly fortheir lord. After the four lovers had laced their harness upon them,they issued forth from the city, followed by the knights who were oftheir company in this adventure. But upon the four fell the burden ofthe day, for they were known of all by the embroidered arms upon theirsurcoat, and the device fashioned on the shield. Now against the fourlovers arrayed themselves four other knights, armed altogether incoats of mail, and helmets and gauntlets of steel. Of these strangerknights two were of Hainault, and the two others were Flemings. Whenthe four lovers saw their adversaries prepare themselves for thecombat, they had little desire to flee, but hastened to join them inbattle. Each lowered his spear, and choosing his enemy, met him soeagerly that all men wondered, for horse and man fell to the earth.The four lovers recked little of their destriers, but freeing theirfeet from the stirrups bent over the fallen foe, and called on him toyield. When the friends of the vanquished knights saw their case,they hastened to their succour; so for their rescue there was a greatpress, and many a mighty stroke with the sword.
The damsel stood upon a tower to watch these feats of arms. By theirblazoned coats and shields she knew her knights; she saw theirmarvellous deeds, yet might not say who did best, nor give to one thepraise. But the tournament was no longer a seemly and ordered battle.The ranks of the two companies were confused together, so that everyman fought against his fellow, and none might tell whether he struckhis comrade or his foe. The four lovers did well and worshipfully, sothat all men deemed them worthy of the prize. But when evening wascome, and the sport drew to its close, their courage led them tofolly. Having ventured too far from their companions, they were setupon by their adversaries, and assailed so fiercely that three wereslain outright. As to the fourth he yet lived, but altogether mauledand shaken, for his thigh was broken, and a spear head remained in hisside. The four bodies were fallen on the field, and lay with those whohad perished in that day. But because of the great mischief thesefour lovers had done their adversaries, their shields were castdespitefully without the lists; but in this their foemen didwrongfully, and all men held them in sore displeasure.
Great were the lamentation and the cry when the news of this mischancewas noised about the city. Such a tumult of mourning was never beforeheard, for the whole city was moved. All men hastened forth to theplace where the lists were set. Meetly to mourn the dead there rodenigh upon two thousand knights, with hauberks unlaced, and uncoveredheads, plucking upon their beards. So the four lovers were placed eachupon his shield, and being brought back in honour to Nantes, werecarried to the house of that dame, whom so greatly they had loved.When the lady knew this distressful adventure, straightway she fellto the ground. Being returned from her swoon, she made her complaint,calling upon her lovers each by his name.
"Alas," said she, "what shall I do, for never shall I know happinessagain. These four knights had set their hearts upon me, and despitetheir great treasure, esteemed my love as richer than all theirwealth. Alas, for the fair and valiant knight! Alas, for the loyal andgenerous man! By gifts such as these they sought to gain my favour,but how might lady bereave three of life, so as to cherish one. Evennow I cannot tell for whom I have most pity, or who was closest to mymind. But three are dead, and one is sore stricken; neither is thereanything in the world which can bring me comfort. Only this is thereto do--to give the slain men seemly burial, and, if it may be, to healtheir comrade of his wounds."
So, because of her great love and nobleness, the lady caused thesethree distressful knights to be buried well and worshipfully in arich abbey. In that place she offered their Mass penny, and gave richofferings of silver and of lights besides. May God have mercy on themin that day. As for the wounded knight she commanded him to be carriedto her own chamber. She sent for surgeons, and gave him into theirhands. These searched his wounds so skilfully, and tended him with sogreat care, that presently his hurt commenced to heal. Very often wasthe lady in the chamber, and very tenderly she cherished the strickenman. Yet ever she felt pity for the three Knights of the Sorrows, andever she went heavily by reason of their deaths.
Now on a summer's day, the lady and the knight sat together aftermeat. She called to mind the sorrow that was hers; so that, in aspace, her head fell upon her breast, and she gave herself altogetherto her grief. The knight looked earnestly upon his dame. Well he mightsee that she was far away, and clearly he perceived the cause.
"Lady," said he, "you are in sorrow. Open now your grief to me. If youtell me what is in your heart perchance I may find you comfort."
"Fair friend," replied she, "I think of what is gone, and rememberyour companions, who are dead. Never was lady of my peerage, howeverfair and good and gracious, ever loved by four such valiant gentlemen,nor ever lost them in one single day. Save you--who were so maimed andin such peril--all are gone. Therefore I call to mind those who lovedme so dearly, and am the saddest lady beneath the sun. To rememberthese things, of you four I shall make a Lay, and will call it the Layof the Four Sorrows."
When the knight heard these words he made answer very swiftly, "Lady,name it not the Lay of the Four Sorrows, but, rather, the Lay of theDolorous Knight. Would you hear the reason why it should bear thisname? My three comrades have finished their course; they have nothingmore to hope of their life. They are gone, and with them the pang oftheir great sorrow, and the knowledge of their enduring love for you.I alone have come, all amazed and fearful, from the net wherein theywere taken, but I find my life more bitter than my comrades found thegrave. I see you on your goings and comings about the house. I mayspeak with you both matins and vespers. But no other joy do I get--neither clasp nor kiss, nothing but a few empty, courteous words.Since all these evils are come upon me because of you, I choose deathrather than life. For this reason your Lay should bear my name, and becalled the Lay of the Dolorous Knight. He who would name it the Layof the Four Sorrows would name it wrongly, and not according to thetruth."
"By my faith," replied the lady, "this is a fair saying. So shall thesong be known as the Lay of the Dolorous Knight."
Thus was the Lay conceived, made perfect, and brought to a fair birth.For this reason it came by its name; though to this day some call itthe Lay of the Four Sorrows. Either name befits it well, for the storytells of both these matters, but it is the use and wont in this landto call it the Lay of the Dolorous Knight. Here it ends; no more isthere to say. I heard no more, and nothing more I know. Perforce Ibring my story to a close.
