Now will I tell you a story, whereof the Breton harper already has
made a Lay. Laustic, I deem, men name it in that country, which, being
interpreted, means rossignol in French, and nightingale in good plain
English.
In the realm of Brittany stands a certain rich and mighty city,
called Saint Malo. There were citizens of this township two knights, so
well spoken and reputed of all, that the city drew therefrom great
profit and fame. The houses of these lords were very near the one to
the other. One of the two knights had to wife a passing fair lady,
right gracious of manner and sweet of tongue. Wondrous pleasure found
this dame to array herself richly, after the wont and fashion of her
time. The other knight was yet a bachelor. He was well accounted of
amongst his fellows as a hardy knight and as an honourable man. He gave
hospitality gladly. Largely he gained, largely he spent, and willingly
bestowed gifts of all that he had.
This bachelor set his love upon his neighbour's wife. By reason of
his urgent prayers, his long suit and service, and by reason that all
men spake naught of him but praise—perchance, also, for reason that he
was never far from her eye—presently this lady came to set her heart
on him again. Though these two friends loved right tenderly, yet were
they so private and careful in their loves that none perceived what was
in their hearts. No man pried on them, or disturbed their goings and
comings. These were the more easy to devise since the bachelor and the
lady were such near neighbours. Their two houses stood side by side,
hall and cellar and combles. Only between the gardens was built a high
and ancient wall, of worn gray stone. When the lady sat within her
bower, by leaning from the casement she and her friend might speak
together, he to her, and she to him. They could also throw messages in
writing, and divers pretty gifts, the one to the other. Little enough
had they to displease them, and greatly were they at their ease, save
only that they might not take their pleasure together, so often as
their hearts had wished. For the dame was guarded very straitly when
her husband was abroad. Yet not so strictly but that they might have
word and speech, the now by night and now by day. At least, however
close the watch and ward, none might hinder that at times these fair
lovers stood within their casements, and looked fondly on the other's
face.
Now after these friends had loved for a great space it chanced that
the season became warm and sweet. It was the time when meadow and copse
are green; when orchards grow white with bloom, and birds break into
song as thickly as the bush to flower. It is the season when he who
loves would win to his desire. Truly I tell you that the knight would
have done all in his power to attain his wish, and the lady, for her
part, yearned for sight and speech of her friend. At night, when the
moon shone clearly in the sky, and her lord lay sleeping at her side,
often the dame slipped softly from her bed, and hastening to the
casement, leaned forth to have sight of him who watched. The greater
part of the dark they kept vigil together, for very pleasant it is to
look upon your friend, when sweeter things are denied.
This chanced so often, and the lady rose so frequently from her bed,
that her lord was altogether wrathful, and many a time inquired the
reason of her unrest.
“Husband,” replied the dame, “there is no dearer joy in this world,
than to hear the nightingale sing. It is to hearken to the song that
rises so sweetly on the night, that I lean forth from the casement.
What tune of harp or viol is half so fair! Because of my delight in his
song, and of my desire to hear, I may not shut my eyes till it be
morn.”
When the husband heard the lady's words he laughed within himself
for wrath and malice. He purposed that very soon the nightingale should
sing within a net. So he bade the servants of his house to devise
fillets and snares, and to set their cunning traps about the orchard.
Not a chestnut tree nor hazel within the garth but was limed and netted
for the caging of this bird. It was not long therefore ere the
nightingale was taken, and the servants made haste to give him to the
pleasure of their lord. Wondrous merry was the knight when he held him
living in his hand. He went straightway to the chamber of his dame, and
entering, said,
“Wife, are you within? Come near, for I must speak with you. Here is
the nightingale, all limed and taken, who made vigil of your sleeping
hours. Take now your rest in peace, for he will never disturb you
more.”
When the lady understood these words she was marvellously sorrowful
and heavy. She prayed her lord to grant her the nightingale for a gift.
But for all answer he wrung his neck with both hands so fiercely that
the head was torn from the body. Then, right foully, he flung the bird
upon the knees of the dame, in such fashion that her breast was
sprinkled with the blood. So he departed, incontinent, from the chamber
in a rage.
The lady took the little body in her hands, and wept his evil fate.
She railed on those who with nets and snares had betrayed the
nightingale to his death; for anger and hate beyond measure had gained
hold on her heart.
“Alas,” cried she, “evil is come upon me. Never again may I rise
from my bed in the night, and watch from the casement, so that I may
see my friend. One thing I know full well, that he will deem my love is
no more set upon him. Woe to her who has none to give her counsel. This
I will do. I will bestow the nightingale upon him, and send him tidings
of the chance that has befallen.”
So this doleful lady took a fair piece of white samite, broidered
with gold, and wrought thereon the whole story of this adventure. In
this silken cloth she wrapped the body of the little bird, and calling
to her a trusty servant of her house, charged him with the message, and
bade him bear it to her friend. The varlet went his way to the knight,
and having saluted him on the part of the lady, he told over to him the
story, and bestowed the nightingale upon him. When all had been
rehearsed and shown to him, and he had well considered the matter, the
knight was very dolent; yet in no wise would he avenge himself
wrongfully. So he caused a certain coffret to be fashioned, made not of
iron or steel, but of fine gold and fair stones, most rich and
precious, right strongly clasped and bound. In this little chest he set
the body of the nightingale, and having sealed the shrine, carried it
upon him whenever his business took him abroad.
This adventure could not long be hid. Very swiftly it was noised
about the country, and the Breton folk made a Lay thereon, which they
called the Lay of the Laustic, in their own tongue.