Once upon a time there lived in Normandy two lovers, who were
passing fond, and were brought by Love to Death. The story of their
love was bruited so abroad, that the Bretons made a song in their own
tongue, and named this song the Lay of the Two Lovers.
In Neustria—that men call Normandy—there is verily a high and
marvellously great mountain, where lie the relics of the Two Children.
Near this high place the King of those parts caused to be built a
certain fair and cunning city, and since he was lord of the Pistrians,
it was known as Pistres. The town yet endures, with its towers and
houses, to bear witness to the truth; moreover the country thereabouts
is known to us all as the Valley of Pistres.
This King had one fair daughter, a damsel sweet of face and gracious
of manner, very near to her father's heart, since he had lost his
Queen. The maiden increased in years and favour, but he took no heed to
her trothing, so that men—yea, even his own people—blamed him greatly
for this thing. When the King heard thereof he was passing heavy and
dolent, and considered within himself how he might be delivered from
this grief. So then, that none should carry off his child, he caused it
to be proclaimed, both far and near, by script and trumpet, that he
alone should wed the maid, who would bear her in his arms, to the
pinnacle of the great and perilous mountain, and that without rest or
stay. When this news was noised about the country, many came upon the
quest. But strive as they would they might not enforce themselves more
than they were able. However mighty they were of body, at the last they
failed upon the mountain, and fell with their burthen to the ground.
Thus, for a while, was none so bold as to seek the high Princess.
Now in this country lived a squire, son to a certain count of that
realm, seemly of semblance and courteous, and right desirous to win
that prize, which was so coveted of all. He was a welcome guest at the
Court, and the King talked with him very willingly. This squire had set
his heart upon the daughter of the King, and many a time spoke in her
ear, praying her to give him again the love he had bestowed upon her.
So seeing him brave and courteous, she esteemed him for the gifts which
gained him the favour of the King, and they loved together in their
youth. But they hid this matter from all about the Court. This thing
was very grievous to them, but the damoiseau thought within himself
that it were good to bear the pains he knew, rather than to seek out
others that might prove sharper still. Yet in the end, altogether
distraught by love, this prudent varlet sought his friend, and showed
her his case, saying that he urgently required of her that she would
flee with him, for no longer could he endure the weariness of his days.
Should he ask her of the King, well he knew that by reason of his love
he would refuse the gift, save he bore her in his arms up the steep
mount. Then the maiden made answer to her lover, and said,
“Fair friend, well I know you may not carry me to that high place.
Moreover should we take to flight, my father would suffer wrath and
sorrow beyond measure, and go heavily all his days. Certainly my love
is too fond to plague him thus, and we must seek another counsel, for
this is not to my heart. Hearken well. I have kindred in Salerno, of
rich estate. For more than thirty years my aunt has studied there the
art of medicine, and knows the secret gift of every root and herb. If
you hasten to her, bearing letters from me, and show her your
adventure, certainly she will find counsel and cure. Doubt not that she
will discover some cunning simple, that will strengthen your body, as
well as comfort your heart. Then return to this realm with your potion,
and ask me at my father's hand. He will deem you but a stripling, and
set forth the terms of his bargain, that to him alone shall I be given
who knows how to climb the perilous mountain, without pause or rest,
bearing his lady between his arms.”
When the varlet heard this cunning counsel of the maiden, he
rejoiced greatly, and thanking her sweetly for her rede, craved
permission to depart. He returned to his own home, and gathering
together a goodly store of silken cloths most precious, he bestowed his
gear upon the pack horses, and made him ready for the road. So with a
little company of men, mounted on swift palfreys, and most privy to his
mind, he arrived at Salerno. Now the squire made no long stay at his
lodging, but as soon as he might, went to the damsel's kindred to open
out his mind. He delivered to the aunt the letters he carried from his
friend, and bewailed their evil case. When the dame had read these
letters with him, line by line, she charged him to lodge with her
awhile, till she might do according to his wish. So by her sorceries,
and for the love of her maid, she brewed such a potion that no man,
however wearied and outworn, but by drinking this philtre, would not be
refreshed in heart and blood and bones. Such virtue had this medicine,
directly it were drunken. This simple she poured within a little
flacket, and gave it to the varlet, who received the gift with great
joy and delight, and returned swiftly to his own land.
The varlet made no long sojourn in his home. He repaired straightway
to the Court, and, seeking out the King, required of him his fair
daughter in marriage, promising, for his part, that were she given him,
he would bear her in his arms to the summit of the mount. The King was
no wise wrath at his presumption. He smiled rather at his folly, for
how should one so young and slender succeed in a business wherein so
many mighty men had failed. Therefore he appointed a certain day for
this judgment. Moreover he caused letters to be written to his vassals
and his friends—passing none by—bidding them to see the end of this
adventure. Yea, with public cry and sound of trumpet he bade all who
would, come to behold the stripling carry his fair daughter to the
pinnacle of the mountain. And from every region round about men came to
learn the issue of this thing. But for her part the fair maiden did all
that she was able to bring her love to a good end. Ever was it fast day
and fleshless day with her, so that by any means she might lighten the
burthen that her friend must carry in his arms.
Now on the appointed day this young dansellon came very early to the
appointed place, bringing the flacket with him. When the great company
were fully met together, the King led forth his daughter before them;
and all might see that she was arrayed in nothing but her smock. The
varlet took the maiden in his arms, but first he gave her the flask
with the precious brewage to carry, since for pride he might not endure
to drink therefrom, save at utmost peril. The squire set forth at a
great pace, and climbed briskly till he was halfway up the mount.
Because of the joy he had in clasping his burthen, he gave no thought
to the potion. But she—she knew the strength was failing in his heart.
“Fair friend,” said she, “well I know that you tire: drink now, I
pray you, of the flacket, and so shall your manhood come again at
need.”
But the varlet answered,
“Fair love, my heart is full of courage; nor for any reason will I
pause, so long as I can hold upon my way. It is the noise of all this
folk—the tumult and the shouting—that makes my steps uncertain. Their
cries distress me, I do not dare to stand.”
But when two thirds of the course was won, the grasshopper would
have tripped him off his feet. Urgently and often the maiden prayed
him, saying,
“Fair friend, drink now of thy cordial.”
But he would neither hear, nor give credence to her words. A mighty
anguish filled his bosom. He climbed upon the summit of the mountain,
and pained himself grievously to bring his journey to an end. This he
might not do. He reeled and fell, nor could he rise again, for the
heart had burst within his breast.
When the maiden saw her lover's piteous plight, she deemed that he
had swooned by reason of his pain. She kneeled hastily at his side, and
put the enchanted brewage to his lips, but he could neither drink nor
speak, for he was dead, as I have told you. She bewailed his evil lot,
with many shrill cries, and flung the useless flacket far away. The
precious potion bestrewed the ground, making a garden of that desolate
place. For many saving herbs have been found there since that day by
the simple folk of that country, which from the magic philtre derived
all their virtue.
But when the maiden knew that her lover was dead, she made such
wondrous sorrow, as no man had ever seen. She kissed his eyes and
mouth, and falling upon his body, took him in her arms, and pressed him
closely to her breast. There was no heart so hard as not to be touched
by her sorrow; for in this fashion died a dame, who was fair and sweet
and gracious, beyond the wont of the daughters of men.
Now the King and his company, since these two lovers came not again,
presently climbed the mountain to learn their end. But when the King
came upon them lifeless, and fast in that embrace, incontinent he fell
to the ground, bereft of sense. After his speech had returned to him,
he was passing heavy, and lamented their doleful case, and thus did all
his people with him.
Three days they kept the bodies of these two fair children from
earth, with uncovered face. On the third day they sealed them fast in a
goodly coffin of marble, and by the counsel of all men, laid them
softly to rest on that mountain where they died. Then they departed
from them, and left them together, alone.
Since this adventure of the Two Children this hill is known as the
Mountain of the Two Lovers, and their story being bruited abroad, the
Breton folk have made a Lay thereof, even as I have rehearsed before
you.