Amongst the tales I tell you once again, I would not forget the Lay
of the Were-Wolf. Such beasts as he are known in every land.
Bisclavaret he is named in Brittany; whilst the Norman calls him
Garwal.
It is a certain thing, and within the knowledge of all, that many a
christened man has suffered this change, and ran wild in woods, as a
Were-Wolf. The Were-Wolf is a fearsome beast. He lurks within the thick
forest, mad and horrible to see. All the evil that he may, he does. He
goeth to and fro, about the solitary place, seeking man, in order to
devour him. Hearken, now, to the adventure of the Were-Wolf, that I
have to tell.
In Brittany there dwelt a baron who was marvellously esteemed of all
his fellows. He was a stout knight, and a comely, and a man of office
and repute. Right private was he to the mind of his lord, and dear to
the counsel of his neighbours. This baron was wedded to a very worthy
dame, right fair to see, and sweet of semblance. All his love was set
on her, and all her love was given again to him. One only grief had
this lady. For three whole days in every week her lord was absent from
her side. She knew not where he went, nor on what errand. Neither did
any of his house know the business which called him forth.
On a day when this lord was come again to his house, altogether
joyous and content, the lady took him to task, right sweetly, in this
fashion, “Husband,” said she, “and fair, sweet friend, I have a certain
thing to pray of you. Right willingly would I receive this gift, but I
fear to anger you in the asking. It is better for me to have an empty
hand, than to gain hard words.”
When the lord heard this matter, he took the lady in his arms, very
tenderly, and kissed her.
“Wife,” he answered, “ask what you will. What would you have, for it
is yours already?”
“By my faith,” said the lady, “soon shall I be whole. Husband, right
long and wearisome are the days that you spend away from your home. I
rise from my bed in the morning, sick at heart, I know not why. So
fearful am I, lest you do aught to your loss, that I may not find any
comfort. Very quickly shall I die for reason of my dread. Tell me now,
where you go, and on what business! How may the knowledge of one who
loves so closely, bring you to harm?”
“Wife,” made answer the lord, “nothing but evil can come if I tell
you this secret. For the mercy of God do not require it of me. If you
but knew, you would withdraw yourself from my love, and I should be
lost indeed.”
When the lady heard this, she was persuaded that her baron sought to
put her by with jesting words. Therefore she prayed and required him
the more urgently, with tender looks and speech, till he was overborne,
and told her all the story, hiding naught.
“Wife, I become Bisclavaret. I enter in the forest, and live on prey
and roots, within the thickest of the wood.”
After she had learned his secret, she prayed and entreated the more
as to whether he ran in his raiment, or went spoiled of vesture.
“Wife,” said he, “I go naked as a beast.”
“Tell me, for hope of grace, what you do with your clothing?”
“Fair wife, that will I never. If I should lose my raiment, or even
be marked as I quit my vesture, then a Were-Wolf I must go for all the
days of my life. Never again should I become man, save in that hour my
clothing were given back to me. For this reason never will I show my
lair.”
“Husband,” replied the lady to him, “I love you better than all the
world. The less cause have you for doubting my faith, or hiding any
tittle from me. What savour is here of friendship? How have I made
forfeit of your love; for what sin do you mistrust my honour? Open now
your heart, and tell what is good to be known.”
So at the end, outwearied and overborne by her importunity, he could
no longer refrain, but told her all.
“Wife,” said he, “within this wood, a little from the path, there is
a hidden way, and at the end thereof an ancient chapel, where
oftentimes I have bewailed my lot. Near by is a great hollow stone,
concealed by a bush, and there is the secret place where I hide my
raiment, till I would return to my own home.”
On hearing this marvel the lady became sanguine of visage, because
of her exceeding fear. She dared no longer to lie at his side, and
turned over in her mind, this way and that, how best she could get her
from him. Now there was a certain knight of those parts, who, for a
great while, had sought and required this lady for her love. This
knight had spent long years in her service, but little enough had he
got thereby, not even fair words, or a promise. To him the dame wrote a
letter, and meeting, made her purpose plain.
“Fair friend,” said she, “be happy. That which you have coveted so
long a time, I will grant without delay. Never again will I deny your
suit. My heart, and all I have to give, are yours, so take me now as
love and dame.”
Right sweetly the knight thanked her for her grace, and pledged her
faith and fealty. When she had confirmed him by an oath, then she told
him all this business of her lord—why he went, and what he became, and
of his ravening within the wood. So she showed him of the chapel, and
of the hollow stone, and of how to spoil the Were-Wolf of his vesture.
Thus, by the kiss of his wife, was Bisclavaret betrayed. Often enough
had he ravished his prey in desolate places, but from this journey he
never returned. His kinsfolk and acquaintance came together to ask of
his tidings, when this absence was noised abroad. Many a man, on many a
day, searched the woodland, but none might find him, nor learn where
Bisclavaret was gone.
The lady was wedded to the knight who had cherished her for so long
a space. More than a year had passed since Bisclavaret disappeared.
Then it chanced that the King would hunt in that self-same wood where
the Were-Wolf lurked. When the hounds were unleashed they ran this way
and that, and swiftly came upon his scent. At the view the huntsman
winded on his horn, and the whole pack were at his heels. They followed
him from morn to eve, till he was torn and bleeding, and was all adread
lest they should pull him down. Now the King was very close to the
quarry, and when Bisclavaret looked upon his master, he ran to him for
pity and for grace. He took the stirrup within his paws, and fawned
upon the prince's foot. The King was very fearful at this sight, but
presently he called his courtiers to his aid.
“Lords,” cried he, “hasten hither, and see this marvellous thing.
Here is a beast who has the sense of man. He abases himself before his
foe, and cries for mercy, although he cannot speak. Beat off the
hounds, and let no man do him harm. We will hunt no more to-day, but
return to our own place, with the wonderful quarry we have taken.”
The King turned him about, and rode to his hall, Bisclavaret
following at his side. Very near to his master the Were-Wolf went, like
any dog, and had no care to seek again the wood. When the King had
brought him safely to his own castle, he rejoiced greatly, for the
beast was fair and strong, no mightier had any man seen. Much pride had
the King in his marvellous beast. He held him so dear, that he bade all
those who wished for his love, to cross the Wolf in naught, neither to
strike him with a rod, but ever to see that he was richly fed and
kennelled warm. This commandment the Court observed willingly. So all
the day the Wolf sported with the lords, and at night he lay within the
chamber of the King. There was not a man who did not make much of the
beast, so frank was he and debonair. None had reason to do him wrong,
for ever was he about his master, and for his part did evil to none.
Every day were these two companions together, and all perceived that
the King loved him as his friend.
Hearken now to that which chanced.
The King held a high Court, and bade his great vassals and barons,
and all the lords of his venery to the feast. Never was there a
goodlier feast, nor one set forth with sweeter show and pomp. Amongst
those who were bidden, came that same knight who had the wife of
Bisclavaret for dame. He came to the castle, richly gowned, with a fair
company, but little he deemed whom he would find so near. Bisclavaret
marked his foe the moment he stood within the hall. He ran towards him,
and seized him with his fangs, in the King's very presence, and to the
view of all. Doubtless he would have done him much mischief, had not
the King called and chidden him, and threatened him with a rod. Once,
and twice, again, the Wolf set upon the knight in the very light of
day. All men marvelled at his malice, for sweet and serviceable was the
beast, and to that hour had shown hatred of none. With one consent the
household deemed that this deed was done with full reason, and that the
Wolf had suffered at the knight's hand some bitter wrong. Right wary of
his foe was the knight until the feast had ended, and all the barons
had taken farewell of their lord, and departed, each to his own house.
With these, amongst the very first, went that lord whom Bisclavaret so
fiercely had assailed. Small was the wonder that he was glad to go.
No long while after this adventure it came to pass that the
courteous King would hunt in that forest where Bisclavaret was found.
With the prince came his wolf, and a fair company. Now at nightfall the
King abode within a certain lodge of that country, and this was known
of that dame who before was the wife of Bisclavaret. In the morning the
lady clothed her in her most dainty apparel, and hastened to the lodge,
since she desired to speak with the King, and to offer him a rich
present. When the lady entered in the chamber, neither man nor leash
might restrain the fury of the Wolf. He became as a mad dog in his
hatred and malice. Breaking from his bonds he sprang at the lady's
face, and bit the nose from her visage. From every side men ran to the
succour of the dame. They beat off the wolf from his prey, and for a
little would have cut him in pieces with their swords. But a certain
wise counsellor said to the King,
“Sire, hearken now to me. This beast is always with you, and there
is not one of us all who has not known him for long. He goes in and out
amongst us, nor has molested any man, neither done wrong or felony to
any, save only to this dame, one only time as we have seen. He has done
evil to this lady, and to that knight, who is now the husband of the
dame. Sire, she was once the wife of that lord who was so close and
private to your heart, but who went, and none might find where he had
gone. Now, therefore, put the dame in a sure place, and question her
straitly, so that she may tell—if perchance she knows thereof—for
what reason this Beast holds her in such mortal hate. For many a
strange deed has chanced, as well we know, in this marvellous land of
Brittany.”
The King listened to these words, and deemed the counsel good. He
laid hands upon the knight, and put the dame in surety in another
place. He caused them to be questioned right straitly, so that their
torment was very grievous. At the end, partly because of her distress,
and partly by reason of her exceeding fear, the lady's lips were
loosed, and she told her tale. She showed them of the betrayal of her
lord, and how his raiment was stolen from the hollow stone. Since then
she knew not where he went, nor what had befallen him, for he had never
come again to his own land. Only, in her heart, well she deemed and was
persuaded, that Bisclavaret was he.
Straightway the King demanded the vesture of his baron, whether this
were to the wish of the lady, or whether it were against her wish. When
the raiment was brought him, he caused it to be spread before
Bisclavaret, but the Wolf made as though he had not seen. Then that
cunning and crafty counsellor took the King apart, that he might give
him a fresh rede.
“Sire,” said he, “you do not wisely, nor well, to set this raiment
before Bisclavaret, in the sight of all. In shame and much tribulation
must he lay aside the beast, and again become man. Carry your wolf
within your most secret chamber, and put his vestment therein. Then
close the door upon him, and leave him alone for a space. So we shall
see presently whether the ravening beast may indeed return to human
shape.”
The King carried the Wolf to his chamber, and shut the doors upon
him fast. He delayed for a brief while, and taking two lords of his
fellowship with him, came again to the room. Entering therein, all
three, softly together, they found the knight sleeping in the King's
bed, like a little child. The King ran swiftly to the bed and taking
his friend in his arms, embraced and kissed him fondly, above a hundred
times. When man's speech returned once more, he told him of his
adventure. Then the King restored to his friend the fief that was
stolen from him, and gave such rich gifts, moreover, as I cannot tell.
As for the wife who had betrayed Bisclavaret, he bade her avoid his
country, and chased her from the realm. So she went forth, she and her
second lord together, to seek a more abiding city, and were no more
seen.
The adventure that you have heard is no vain fable. Verily and
indeed it chanced as I have said. The Lay of the Were-Wolf, truly, was
written that it should ever be borne in mind.