I will tell you the story of another Lay. It relates the adventures
of a rich and mighty baron, and the Breton calls it, the Lay of Sir
Launfal.
King Arthur—that fearless knight and courteous lord—removed to
Wales, and lodged at Caerleon-on-Usk, since the Picts and Scots did
much mischief in the land. For it was the wont of the wild people of
the north to enter in the realm of Logres, and burn and damage at their
will. At the time of Pentecost, the King cried a great feast. Thereat
he gave many rich gifts to his counts and barons, and to the Knights of
the Round Table. Never were such worship and bounty shown before at any
feast, for Arthur bestowed honours and lands on all his servants—save
only on one. This lord, who was forgotten and misliked of the King, was
named Launfal. He was beloved by many of the Court, because of his
beauty and prowess, for he was a worthy knight, open of heart and heavy
of hand. These lords, to whom their comrade was dear, felt little joy
to see so stout a knight misprized. Sir Launfal was son to a King of
high descent, though his heritage was in a distant land. He was of the
King's household, but since Arthur gave him naught, and he was of too
proud a mind to pray for his due, he had spent all that he had. Right
heavy was Sir Launfal, when he considered these things, for he knew
himself taken in the toils. Gentles, marvel not overmuch hereat. Ever
must the pilgrim go heavily in a strange land, where there is none to
counsel and direct him in the path.
Now, on a day, Sir Launfal got him on his horse, that he might take
his pleasure for a little. He came forth from the city, alone, attended
by neither servant nor squire. He went his way through a green mead,
till he stood by a river of clear running water. Sir Launfal would have
crossed this stream, without thought of pass or ford, but he might not
do so, for reason that his horse was all fearful and trembling. Seeing
that he was hindered in this fashion, Launfal unbitted his steed, and
let him pasture in that fair meadow, where they had come. Then he
folded his cloak to serve him as a pillow, and lay upon the ground.
Launfal lay in great misease, because of his heavy thoughts, and the
discomfort of his bed. He turned from side to side, and might not
sleep. Now as the knight looked towards the river he saw two damsels
coming towards him; fairer maidens Launfal had never seen. These two
maidens were richly dressed in kirtles closely laced and shapen to
their persons and wore mantles of a goodly purple hue. Sweet and dainty
were the damsels, alike in raiment and in face. The elder of these
ladies carried in her hands a basin of pure gold, cunningly wrought by
some crafty smith—very fair and precious was the cup; and the younger
bore a towel of soft white linen. These maidens turned neither to the
right hand nor to the left, but went directly to the place where
Launfal lay. When Launfal saw that their business was with him, he
stood upon his feet, like a discreet and courteous gentleman. After
they had greeted the knight, one of the maidens delivered the message
with which she was charged.
“Sir Launfal, my demoiselle, as gracious as she is fair, prays that
you will follow us, her messengers, as she has a certain word to speak
with you. We will lead you swiftly to her pavilion, for our lady is
very near at hand. If you but lift your eyes you may see where her tent
is spread.”
Right glad was the knight to do the bidding of the maidens. He gave
no heed to his horse, but left him at his provand in the meadow. All
his desire was to go with the damsels, to that pavilion of silk and
divers colours, pitched in so fair a place. Certainly neither Semiramis
in the days of her most wanton power, nor Octavian, the Emperor of all
the West, had so gracious a covering from sun and rain. Above the tent
was set an eagle of gold, so rich and precious, that none might count
the cost. The cords and fringes thereof were of silken thread, and the
lances which bore aloft the pavilion were of refined gold. No King on
earth might have so sweet a shelter, not though he gave in fee the
value of his realm. Within this pavilion Launfal came upon the Maiden.
Whiter she was than any altar lily, and more sweetly flushed than the
new born rose in time of summer heat. She lay upon a bed with napery
and coverlet of richer worth than could be furnished by a castle's
spoil. Very fresh and slender showed the lady in her vesture of
spotless linen. About her person she had drawn a mantle of ermine,
edged with purple dye from the vats of Alexandria. By reason of the
heat her raiment was unfastened for a little, and her throat and the
rondure of her bosom showed whiter and more untouched than hawthorn in
May. The knight came before the bed, and stood gazing on so sweet a
sight. The Maiden beckoned him to draw near, and when he had seated
himself at the foot of her couch, spoke her mind.
“Launfal,” she said, “fair friend, it is for you that I have come
from my own far land. I bring you my love. If you are prudent and
discreet, as you are goodly to the view, there is no emperor nor count,
nor king, whose day shall be so filled with riches and with mirth as
yours.”
When Launfal heard these words he rejoiced greatly, for his heart
was litten by another's torch.
“Fair lady,” he answered, “since it pleases you to be so gracious,
and to dower so graceless a knight with your love, there is naught that
you may bid me do—right or wrong, evil or good—that I will not do to
the utmost of my power. I will observe your commandment, and serve in
your quarrels. For you I renounce my father and my father's house. This
only I pray, that I may dwell with you in your lodging, and that you
will never send me from your side.”
When the Maiden heard the words of him whom so fondly she desired to
love, she was altogether moved, and granted him forthwith her heart and
her tenderness. To her bounty she added another gift besides. Never
might Launfal be desirous of aught, but he would have according to his
wish. He might waste and spend at will and pleasure, but in his purse
ever there was to spare. No more was Launfal sad. Right merry was the
pilgrim, since one had set him on the way, with such a gift, that the
more pennies he bestowed, the more silver and gold were in his pouch.
But the Maiden had yet a word to say.
“Friend,” she said, “hearken to my counsel. I lay this charge upon
you, and pray you urgently, that you tell not to any man the secret of
our love. If you show this matter, you will lose your friend, for ever
and a day. Never again may you see my face. Never again will you have
seisin of that body, which is now so tender in your eyes.”
Launfal plighted faith, that right strictly he would observe this
commandment. So the Maiden granted him her kiss and her embrace, and
very sweetly in that fair lodging passed the day till evensong was
come.
Right loath was Launfal to depart from the pavilion at the vesper
hour, and gladly would he have stayed, had he been able, and his lady
wished.
“Fair friend,” said she, “rise up, for no longer may you tarry. The
hour is come that we must part. But one thing I have to say before you
go. When you would speak with me I shall hasten to come before your
wish. Well I deem that you will only call your friend where she may be
found without reproach or shame of men. You may see me at your
pleasure; my voice shall speak softly in your ear at will; but I must
never be known of your comrades, nor must they ever learn my speech.”
Right joyous was Launfal to hear this thing. He sealed the covenant
with a kiss, and stood upon his feet. Then there entered the two
maidens who had led him to the pavilion, bringing with them rich
raiment, fitting for a knight's apparel. When Launfal had clothed
himself therewith, there seemed no goodlier varlet under heaven, for
certainly he was fair and true. After these maidens had refreshed him
with clear water, and dried his hands upon the napkin, Launfal went to
meat. His friend sat at table with him, and small will had he to refuse
her courtesy. Very serviceably the damsels bore the meats, and Launfal
and the Maiden ate and drank with mirth and content. But one dish was
more to the knight's relish than any other. Sweeter than the dainties
within his mouth, was the lady's kiss upon his lips.
When supper was ended, Launfal rose from table, for his horse stood
waiting without the pavilion. The destrier was newly saddled and
bridled, and showed proudly in his rich gay trappings. So Launfal
kissed, and bade farewell, and went his way. He rode back towards the
city at a slow pace. Often he checked his steed, and looked behind him,
for he was filled with amazement, and all bemused concerning this
adventure. In his heart he doubted that it was but a dream. He was
altogether astonished, and knew not what to do. He feared that pavilion
and Maiden alike were from the realm of faery.
Launfal returned to his lodging, and was greeted by servitors, clad
no longer in ragged raiment. He fared richly, lay softly, and spent
largely, but never knew how his purse was filled. There was no lord who
had need of a lodging in the town, but Launfal brought him to his hall,
for refreshment and delight. Launfal bestowed rich gifts. Launfal
redeemed the poor captive. Launfal clothed in scarlet the minstrel.
Launfal gave honour where honour was due. Stranger and friend alike he
comforted at need. So, whether by night or by day, Launfal lived
greatly at his ease. His lady, she came at will and pleasure, and, for
the rest, all was added unto him.
Now it chanced, the same year, about the feast of St. John, a
company of knights came, for their solace, to an orchard, beneath that
tower where dwelt the Queen. Together with these lords went Gawain and
his cousin, Yvain the fair. Then said Gawain, that goodly knight,
beloved and dear to all,
“Lords, we do wrong to disport ourselves in this pleasaunce without
our comrade Launfal. It is not well to slight a prince as brave as he
is courteous, and of a lineage prouder than our own.”
Then certain of the lords returned to the city, and finding Launfal
within his hostel, entreated him to take his pastime with them in that
fair meadow. The Queen looked out from a window in her tower, she and
three ladies of her fellowship. They saw the lords at their pleasure,
and Launfal also, whom well they knew. So the Queen chose of her Court
thirty damsels—the sweetest of face and most dainty of fashion—and
commanded that they should descend with her to take their delight in
the garden. When the knights beheld this gay company of ladies come
down the steps of the perron, they rejoiced beyond measure. They
hastened before to lead them by the hand, and said such words in their
ear as were seemly and pleasant to be spoken. Amongst these merry and
courteous lords hasted not Sir Launfal. He drew apart from the throng,
for with him time went heavily, till he might have clasp and greeting
of his friend. The ladies of the Queen's fellowship seemed but kitchen
wenches to his sight, in comparison with the loveliness of the maiden.
When the Queen marked Launfal go aside, she went his way, and seating
herself upon the herb, called the knight before her. Then she opened
out her heart.
“Launfal, I have honoured you for long as a worthy knight, and have
praised and cherished you very dearly. You may receive a queen's whole
love, if such be your care. Be content: he to whom my heart is given,
has small reason to complain him of the alms.”
“Lady,” answered the knight, “grant me leave to go, for this grace
is not for me. I am the King's man, and dare not break my troth. Not
for the highest lady in the world, not even for her love, will I set
this reproach upon my lord.”
When the Queen heard this, she was full of wrath, and spoke many hot
and bitter words.
“Launfal,” she cried, “well I know that you think little of woman
and her love. There are sins more black that a man may have upon his
soul. Traitor you are, and false. Right evil counsel gave they to my
lord, who prayed him to suffer you about his person. You remain only
for his harm and loss.”
Launfal was very dolent to hear this thing. He was not slow to take
up the Queen's glove, and in his haste spake words that he repented
long, and with tears.
“Lady,” said he, “I am not of that guild of which you speak. Neither
am I a despiser of woman, since I love, and am loved, of one who would
bear the prize from all the ladies in the land. Dame, know now and be
persuaded, that she, whom I serve, is so rich in state, that the very
meanest of her maidens, excels you, Lady Queen, as much in clerkly
skill and goodness, as in sweetness of body and face, and in every
virtue.”
The Queen rose straightway to her feet, and fled to her chamber,
weeping. Right wrathful and heavy was she, because of the words that
had besmirched her. She lay sick upon her bed, from which, she said,
she would never rise, till the King had done her justice, and righted
this bitter wrong. Now the King that day had taken his pleasure within
the woods. He returned from the chase towards evening, and sought the
chamber of the Queen. When the lady saw him, she sprang from her bed,
and kneeling at his feet, pleaded for grace and pity. Launfal—she
said—had shamed her, since he required her love. When she had put him
by, very foully had he reviled her, boasting that his love was already
set on a lady, so proud and noble, that her meanest wench went more
richly, and smiled more sweetly, than the Queen. Thereat the King waxed
marvellously wrathful, and swore a great oath that he would set Launfal
within a fire, or hang him from a tree, if he could not deny this
thing, before his peers.
Arthur came forth from the Queen's chamber, and called to him three
of his lords. These he sent to seek the knight who so evilly had
entreated the Queen. Launfal, for his part, had returned to his
lodging, in a sad and sorrowful case. He saw very clearly that he had
lost his friend, since he had declared their love to men. Launfal sat
within his chamber, sick and heavy of thought. Often he called upon his
friend, but the lady would not hear his voice. He bewailed his evil
lot, with tears; for grief he came nigh to swoon; a hundred times he
implored the Maiden that she would deign to speak with her knight.
Then, since the lady yet refrained from speech, Launfal cursed his hot
and unruly tongue. Very near he came to ending all this trouble with
his knife. Naught he found to do but to wring his hands, and call upon
the Maiden, begging her to forgive his trespass, and to talk with him
again, as friend to friend.
But little peace is there for him who is harassed by a King. There
came presently to Launfal's hostel those three barons from the Court.
These bade the knight forthwith to go with them to Arthur's presence,
to acquit him of this wrong against the Queen. Launfal went forth, to
his own deep sorrow. Had any man slain him on the road, he would have
counted him his friend. He stood before the King, downcast and
speechless, being dumb by reason of that great grief, of which he
showed the picture and image.
Arthur looked upon his captive very evilly.
“Vassal,” said he, harshly, “you have done me a bitter wrong. It was
a foul deed to seek to shame me in this ugly fashion, and to smirch the
honour of the Queen. Is it folly or lightness which leads you to boast
of that lady, the least of whose maidens is fairer, and goes more
richly, than the Queen?”
Launfal protested that never had he set such shame upon his lord.
Word by word he told the tale of how he denied the Queen, within the
orchard. But concerning that which he had spoken of the lady, he owned
the truth, and his folly. The love of which he bragged was now lost to
him, by his own exceeding fault. He cared little for his life, and was
content to obey the judgment of the Court.
Right wrathful was the King at Launfal's words. He conjured his
barons to give him such wise counsel herein, that wrong might be done
to none. The lords did the King's bidding, whether good came of the
matter, or evil. They gathered themselves together, and appointed a
certain day that Launfal should abide the judgment of his peers. For
his part Launfal must give pledge and surety to his lord, that he would
come before this judgment in his own body. If he might not give such
surety then he should be held captive till the appointed day. When the
lords of the King's household returned to tell him of their counsel,
Arthur demanded that Launfal should put such pledge in his hand, as
they had said. Launfal was altogether mazed and bewildered at this
judgment, for he had neither friend nor kindred in the land. He would
have been set in prison, but Gawain came first to offer himself as his
surety, and with him, all the knights of his fellowship. These gave
into the King's hand as pledge, the fiefs and lands that they held of
his Crown. The King having taken pledges from the sureties, Launfal
returned to his lodging, and with him certain knights of his company.
They blamed him greatly because of his foolish love, and chastened him
grievously by reason of the sorrow he made before men. Every day they
came to his chamber, to know of his meat and drink, for much they
feared that presently he would become mad.
The lords of the household came together on the day appointed for
this judgment. The King was on his chair, with the Queen sitting at his
side. The sureties brought Launfal within the hall, and rendered him
into the hands of his peers. Right sorrowful were they because of his
plight. A great company of his fellowship did all that they were able
to acquit him of this charge. When all was set out, the King demanded
the judgment of the Court, according to the accusation and the answer.
The barons went forth in much trouble and thought to consider this
matter. Many amongst them grieved for the peril of a good knight in a
strange land; others held that it were well for Launfal to suffer,
because of the wish and malice of their lord. Whilst they were thus
perplexed, the Duke of Cornwall rose in the council, and said,
“Lords, the King pursues Launfal as a traitor, and would slay him
with the sword, by reason that he bragged of the beauty of his maiden,
and roused the jealousy of the Queen. By the faith that I owe this
company, none complains of Launfal, save only the King. For our part we
would know the truth of this business, and do justice between the King
and his man. We would also show proper reverence to our own liege lord.
Now, if it be according to Arthur's will, let us take oath of Launfal,
that he seek this lady, who has put such strife between him and the
Queen. If her beauty be such as he has told us, the Queen will have no
cause for wrath. She must pardon Launfal for his rudeness, since it
will be plain that he did not speak out of a malicious heart. Should
Launfal fail his word, and not return with the lady, or should her
fairness fall beneath his boast, then let him be cast off from our
fellowship, and be sent forth from the service of the King.”
This counsel seemed good to the lords of the household. They sent
certain of his friends to Launfal, to acquaint him with their judgment,
bidding him to pray his damsel to the Court, that he might be acquitted
of this blame. The knight made answer that in no wise could he do this
thing. So the sureties returned before the judges, saying that Launfal
hoped neither for refuge nor for succour from the lady, and Arthur
urged them to a speedy ending, because of the prompting of the Queen.
The judges were about to give sentence upon Launfal, when they saw
two maidens come riding towards the palace, upon two white ambling
palfreys. Very sweet and dainty were these maidens, and richly clothed
in garments of crimson sendal, closely girt and fashioned to their
bodies. All men, old and young, looked willingly upon them, for fair
they were to see. Gawain, and three knights of his company, went
straight to Launfal, and showed him these maidens, praying him to say
which of them was his friend. But he answered never a word. The maidens
dismounted from their palfreys, and coming before the dais where the
King was seated, spake him fairly, as they were fair.
“Sire, prepare now a chamber, hung with silken cloths, where it is
seemly for my lady to dwell; for she would lodge with you awhile.”
This gift the King granted gladly. He called to him two knights of
his household, and bade them bestow the maidens in such chambers as
were fitting to their degree. The maidens being gone, the King required
of his barons to proceed with their judgment, saying that he had sore
displeasure at the slowness of the cause.
“Sire,” replied the barons, “we rose from Council, because of the
damsels who entered in the hall. We will at once resume the sitting,
and give our judgment without more delay.”
The barons again were gathered together, in much thought and
trouble, to consider this matter. There was great strife and dissension
amongst them, for they knew not what to do. In the midst of all this
noise and tumult, there came two other damsels riding to the hall on
two Spanish mules. Very richly arrayed were these damsels in raiment of
fine needlework, and their kirtles were covered by fresh fair mantles,
embroidered with gold. Great joy had Launfal's comrades when they
marked these ladies. They said between themselves that doubtless they
came for the succour of the good knight. Gawain, and certain of his
company, made haste to Launfal, and said, “Sir, be not cast down. Two
ladies are near at hand, right dainty of dress, and gracious of person.
Tell us truly, for the love of God, is one of these your friend?”
But Launfal answered very simply that never before had he seen these
damsels with his eyes, nor known and loved them in his heart.
The maidens dismounted from their mules, and stood before Arthur, in
the sight of all. Greatly were they praised of many, because of their
beauty, and of the colour of their face and hair. Some there were who
deemed already that the Queen was overborne.
The elder of the damsels carried herself modestly and well, and
sweetly told over the message wherewith she was charged.
“Sire, make ready for us chambers, where we may abide with our lady,
for even now she comes to speak with thee.”
The King commanded that the ladies should be led to their
companions, and bestowed in the same honourable fashion as they. Then
he bade the lords of his household to consider their judgment, since he
would endure no further respite. The Court already had given too much
time to the business, and the Queen was growing wrathful, because of
the blame that was hers. Now the judges were about to proclaim their
sentence, when, amidst the tumult of the town, there came riding to the
palace the flower of all the ladies of the world. She came mounted upon
a palfrey, white as snow, which carried her softly, as though she loved
her burthen. Beneath the sky was no goodlier steed, nor one more gentle
to the hand. The harness of the palfrey was so rich, that no king on
earth might hope to buy trappings so precious, unless he sold or set
his realm in pledge. The Maiden herself showed such as I will tell you.
Passing slim was the lady, sweet of bodice and slender of girdle. Her
throat was whiter than snow on branch, and her eyes were like flowers
in the pallor of her face. She had a witching mouth, a dainty nose, and
an open brow. Her eyebrows were brown, and her golden hair parted in
two soft waves upon her head. She was clad in a shift of spotless
linen, and above her snowy kirtle was set a mantle of royal purple,
clasped upon her breast. She carried a hooded falcon upon her glove,
and a greyhound followed closely after. As the Maiden rode at a slow
pace through the streets of the city, there was none, neither great nor
small, youth nor sergeant, but ran forth from his house, that he might
content his heart with so great beauty. Every man that saw her with his
eyes, marvelled at a fairness beyond that of any earthly woman. Little
he cared for any mortal maiden, after he had seen this sight. The
friends of Sir Launfal hastened to the knight, to tell him of his
lady's succour, if so it were according to God's will.
“Sir comrade, truly is not this your friend? This lady is neither
black nor golden, mean nor tall. She is only the most lovely thing in
all the world.”
When Launfal heard this, he sighed, for by their words he knew again
his friend. He raised his head, and as the blood rushed to his face,
speech flowed from his lips.
“By my faith,” cried he, “yes, she is indeed my friend. It is a
small matter now whether men slay me, or set me free; for I am made
whole of my hurt just by looking on her face.”
The Maiden entered in the palace—where none so fair had come
before—and stood before the King, in the presence of his household.
She loosed the clasp of her mantle, so that men might the more easily
perceive the grace of her person. The courteous King advanced to meet
her, and all the Court got them on their feet, and pained themselves in
her service. When the lords had gazed upon her for a space, and praised
the sum of her beauty, the lady spake to Arthur in this fashion, for
she was anxious to begone.
“Sire, I have loved one of thy vassals,—the knight who stands in
bonds, Sir Launfal. He was always misprized in thy Court, and his every
action turned to blame. What he said, that thou knowest; for over hasty
was his tongue before the Queen. But he never craved her in love,
however loud his boasting. I cannot choose that he should come to hurt
or harm by me. In the hope of freeing Launfal from his bonds, I have
obeyed thy summons. Let now thy barons look boldly upon my face, and
deal justly in this quarrel between the Queen and me.”
The King commanded that this should be done, and looking upon her
eyes, not one of the judges but was persuaded that her favour exceeded
that of the Queen.
Since then Launfal had not spoken in malice against his lady, the
lords of the household gave him again his sword. When the trial had
come thus to an end the Maiden took her leave of the King, and made her
ready to depart. Gladly would Arthur have had her lodge with him for a
little, and many a lord would have rejoiced in her service, but she
might not tarry. Now without the hall stood a great stone of dull
marble, where it was the wont of lords, departing from the Court, to
climb into the saddle, and Launfal by the stone. The Maiden came forth
from the doors of the palace, and mounting on the stone, seated herself
on the palfrey, behind her friend. Then they rode across the plain
together, and were no more seen.
The Bretons tell that the knight was ravished by his lady to an
island, very dim and very fair, known as Avalon. But none has had
speech with Launfal and his faery love since then, and for my part I
can tell you no more of the matter.