ROMANCES 
 
 CHIVALRY , 
 
 TOLD AND ILLUSTRATED 
 IN F AC-SI MILE 
 
 JOHN ASHTON 
 
 THE DAWN OF 
 CENTURY," "OLD TIMES," 
 LIFE IN THE KEIGN 
 QUEEN ANNE," 
 
 LONDON : 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 
 MDCCCLXXXVII 
 
* * W C 
 
THE MYSTERY OF MELUSINE DISCOVERED. [Frontispiece. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 TO the general reader the Romances of Chivalry are 
 very little known, some of them not at all ; and the 
 reason of this is, that no efforts have been made to 
 popularize them. Originating, as they did, with the pro- 
 fessional story-tellers of Norman times, they were, first of 
 all, metrical histories of the deeds of heroes, like those 
 which the Minstrel Taillefer sung at the Battle of Hastings, 
 when he went before William, chanting of Charlemagne 
 and Roland. Soon these were garnished with tales of 
 love, and, after a time, imagination was called into play, 
 and the Romance was written. They were the Novels of 
 the thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries, and must ever 
 be thought of in that light ; they were highly sensational, 
 and full of incident, never prolix, or with long-winded 
 speeches, till they were on the wane, at the end of the 
 sixteenth and beginning of the seventeenth centuries ; and 
 many of them have survived to our days in a condensed 
 
vi PREFACE. 
 
 form, as chap-books, or books for children a fact which 
 sufficiently shows the hold they had upon the people. 
 
 Some, nay most of them, have been edited and reprinted 
 for the learned societies ; but then only the oldest, or 
 rarest MSS., or printed copies, have been thus treated, 
 and they have seldom travelled far from the bookshelves 
 of the subscribers to these societies. And the reason is 
 not far to seek. The language in which they are written 
 is far too archaic for the ordinary reader, and requires a 
 special antiquarian education. The language of the four- 
 teenth and fifteenth centuries is totally different from the 
 English of to-day, and no ordinary person would care 
 about sitting down to read a book which would be unin- 
 telligible to him, were he not to refer to a glossary at every 
 line. 
 
 Weber, Ritson, and Thorns, did something to bring them 
 into notice, and there is the best book of all on the subject 
 in Bohn's Antiquarian Library ; but its usefulness is 
 marred by that awful word "antiquarian." People will 
 not believe that anything can be amusing if under that 
 heading it must be dry as dust. The popularity of our 
 archaeological societies has somewhat dispelled this notion, 
 but the prejudice remains generally. 
 
 Is there any reason why they should not be made as 
 attractive as other stories ? People will read the Northern 
 Sagas, or North American Indian legends, and tales of 
 wonder ; fairy and folk-lore tales are eagerly perused ; 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 whilst the Oriental Romances of the Thousand and One 
 Nights are devoured, not only by the young, but by 
 children of a larger growth. These Romances of Chivalry 
 deal in no greater marvels than are contained in the fore- 
 going examples, and they do give us a wonderful insight 
 into the manners and customs of our own country, centuries 
 ago. 
 
 Another reason why these Romances have not been so 
 popular as they might have been is, that they have never 
 been illustrated ; there has never been an attempt to 
 reproduce the contemporary engravings, which are so 
 deliciously quaint, and which throw so much light on the 
 manners and costumes of the period. Many of these 
 wood blocks are far older than the date of the books 
 which they adorn, as may be seen by the broken edges 
 and worm-holes, and have probably illustrated some pre- 
 vious edition now lost to us. To render these Romances 
 more interesting to the general reader, I have facsimiled 
 the engravings, and, as they are my own work, I can 
 guarantee their fidelity. 
 
 In making this selection, I have carefully avoided those 
 relating to Charlemagne, believing that the Carlovingian 
 Romances ought to be made into a series of their own ; and 
 I have not touched on the Arthurian legends, which might 
 well make another ; but I have taken those which were 
 thoroughly independent, each of which could stand on its 
 own merits, without reference to another. 
 
Vlll 
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 The advanced student may possibly grumble at the 
 number of foot-notes I have appended, in order to elucidate 
 the text, but my object has been, that every one, of average 
 intelligence, who reads the book, may thoroughly under- 
 stand it, and that without constantly referring to a glossary, 
 which, however, will be found at the end. 
 
 JOHN ASHTON. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 MELUSINE I 
 
 SIR ISUMBRAS 8l 
 
 SIR DEGORE IOI 
 
 SIR BEVIS OF HAMPTON 121 
 
 SIR TRYAMOURE 171 
 
 THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE IQI 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE 2O$ 
 
 VALENTINE AND ORSON 235 
 
 SIR EGLAMOURE OF ARTOYS 257 
 
 GUY OF WARWICK ......... 273 
 
 ROBERT THE DEVYLL 303 
 
 HOWLEGLAS 323 
 
ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE MYSTERY OF MELUSINE DISCOVERED . . Frontispiece 
 
 THE EARL OF POITIERS' FEAST 3 
 
 RAYMONDIN IS LEFT WITH HIS UNCLE 7 
 
 THE EARL DISCOURSES OF ASTRONOMY II 
 
 RAYMONDIN BY MISCHANCE KILLS HIS UNCLE . . . 1$ 
 
 RAYMONDIN'S FIRST MEETING WITH MELUSINE . . 19 
 
 .RAYMONDIN TAKES LEAVE OF MELUSINE .... 23 
 
 RAYMONDIN AND MELUSINE AT THE CHAPEL .... 27 
 
 RAYMONDIN ASKS A BOON OF THE EARL . . . . 31 
 
 RAYMONDIN MEASURES HIS LAND 35 
 
 MARRIAGE OF RAYMONDIN AND MELUSINE .... 39 
 
 BLESSING THE NUPTIAL BED 45 
 
 GEOFFREY WITH THE GREAT TOOTH BURNING THE ABBEY OF 
 
 MAILLIERES 55 
 
 THE FAINTING OF MELUSINE , 6 1 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF MELUSINE 65 
 
 THE KING'S PUNISHMENT 75 
 
 .SIR ISUMBRAS . Si 
 
xii ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 SIR DEGORE . . IOI 
 
 SIR GUY TRAITOROUSLY SLAIN BY SIR MURDURE . . 124 
 
 BEVIS FIGHTS THE FORESTERS 132 
 
 SIR BEVIS FIGHTS AND OVERCOMES ASCAPARTE . . . 151 
 
 ASCAPARTE CARRIES SIR BEVIS AND JOSIAN ON BOARD SHIP 152 
 
 SYR TRYAMOURE I?! 
 
 THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE 1 91 
 
 THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE 205 
 
 KING ORIANT MEETS BEATRICE 2OQ 
 
 KING ORIANT AND BEATRICE RIDING HOME . . . 211 
 
 THE TREACHERY OF QUEEN MATABRUNE . . . .214 
 
 THE CHILDREN MIRACULOUSLY SUCKLED . . . . 2l6 
 
 THE CHILDREN TURNED INTO SWANS 22O 
 
 COMBAT BETWEEN HELIAS AND MAKAIRE .... 224 
 
 THE CHILDREN OF HELIAS AT SPORT 233 
 
 VALENTINE AND ORSON 235 
 
 FATE OF VALENTINE AND ORSON . . . . .237 
 
 ORSON SUCKLED BY A BEAR 239 
 
 SYR EGLAMOURE OF ARTOYS 257 
 
 GUY OF WARWICK SAILING FOR ENGLAND . . . . 291 
 GUY'S FIGHT WITH THE GIANT COLBROND . . . .297 
 
 ROBERT THE DEVYLL 303 
 
 BIRTH OF ROBERT THE DEVYLL 307 
 
 ROBERT'S FATHER ADVISING WITH HIS NOBLES . . . 311 
 ROBERT CAUSES A STRONG CASTLE TO BE BUILT . . .312 
 
 ROBERT VISITS THE HERMIT 316 
 
 HOWLEGLAS 323 
 
 EULENSPIEGEL 326 
 
ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 flDeluafne. 
 
 THIS Romance, separated from the other stories 
 which are interwoven with it, is one of the 
 prettiest, and daintiest, of the fanciful tales of the 
 so-called middle ages. It is the story of the fabled rise 
 of the celebrated French family of Lusignan in Poitiers 
 Sovereign Counts of Forez, or Forest, which furnished 
 kings to Jerusalem and Cyprus. 1 
 
 There are those, however, who hardly look upon the 
 Fairy Melusine as supernatural, but contend that she 
 was a very living and corporal being, named Melisende, 
 
 1 " A Royal Claimant has just disappeared, in the person of a Russian officer, 
 named Lusignan, who held himself entitled to the crown of Cyprus. His 
 death does not, however, remove all danger of our right to rule the island 
 being some day contested, for he has left a son, the solitary attendant at his 
 funeral, who claims not only to be King of Cyprus, but of Jerusalem and 
 Armenia. The Sultan may have some trouble, therefore, as well as ourselves." 
 Globe, July 10, 1884. 
 
2 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 widow of a king of Jerusalem, who married a Geoffrey 
 de Lusignan ; but there seems to be no foundation for 
 this report, and, to believe it, would be to render devoid 
 of all interest the charming fabliau of Jean d'Arras, 
 which was written by him at the command of the Due 
 de Berri, who was brother to Charles V. of France. His 
 sister, the Duchesse de Bar, was probably tired of the 
 sameness of chateau life, and the Due, in order to amuse 
 her, ordered his secretary to write the story of Melusine 
 for her delectation. 
 
 And right well did he acquit himself of his commis- 
 sion, for the story, pur et simple, is simply and most 
 pathetically told. The text which I follow, and which 
 has never been printed, is an English translation of the 
 Romance of Jean d'Arras, a MS. of the I5th century, 
 luckily preserved in the British Museum (Royal 18, B. II.), 
 and it commences thus : " In the begynnyng of all 
 works / men oughten first of alle to call (on) the name 
 of the Creator of all creatures / which is very and trew 
 maister of alle thinges made or to be made that oughten 
 somwhat to entende to perfection of wele. Therefore 
 att the begynnynge of this present historye / though 
 that I ne be not worthy for to requyre hym / beseche 
 ryght devoutly, his right highe and worthy mageste 
 that this present history he wyl helpe me to bring unto 
 a good ende / and to ful doo it att (to) hys glorye and 
 praysyng. And to the plaisure of my right high mighte 
 

 THE EARL OF POITIERS' FEAST. 
 
 13. 
 
MELUSINE. 5 
 
 and doubtid r lord Johan, sone to the Kyng of ffraunce, 
 Dfis of Berry and of Auvergne. The whiche hystory 
 I have bygone after the veray and true cyronykles whiche 
 I have had of hy and of the Erie of Salesbury in 
 England, and many other bokes that I have sought 
 & ordredde for to accomplysshe hit. And by cause 
 that his noble suster Marye doughter to the Kyng 
 John of ffraunce, duchesse of Bar had requyred my said 
 lord for to have the said historye, the whiche in favour 
 of her hath doon as moche to his power as he might 
 to serche the very trouth & true historye / and hath 
 comanded me to do drawe alle alonge thistory whiche 
 herafter foloweth / . And I as of herte dyligent of my 
 poure witt & connying (write) as nygh as I can the 
 pure trouth of hys gracyos comandement. Wherfore 
 I humbly & devoutly beseche & pray to my Creatour 
 that my said lord will take it in gr(a)ce / and also all 
 them that shall rede or here it / that they wil pardonne 
 me yf I have said enythinge that ben not to theire good 
 gr(a)ce. Whiche this present hystorye I byganne the 
 Wensday saynt dementis day in Winter the yer of 
 o r Lord, m.ccc.lxxxvii. beseching alle them that shall 
 rede or here it redde that they wil pardonne me my 
 fawte if their be eny, ffor certaynly I have composed yt 
 the moost justly that I conde or have mowe after the 
 cronykles whiche I suppose certaynly to be trew." 
 
 1 Doughty, brave, valiant. 
 
Strasburg. 
 
 1478 ? fol. 
 
 55 
 
 1480? 
 
 Augsburg. 
 
 1538 
 
 Tholosa. 
 
 1489 4 
 
 Sevilla. 
 
 1526 fol. 
 
 6 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Here, then, we get undoubted evidence both as to 
 the author and the date of its writing. It must have 
 been very popular on the Continent, for a copy printed 
 in French, and printed at Geneva in 1478, is in ex- 
 istence ; whilst at the British Museum we possess some 
 very early ones. 
 
 In German. 
 
 j? 
 
 J5 
 
 In Spanish. 
 
 5J 
 
 From that published at Tholosa I have copied the 
 illustrations which I have used, and believe them to be 
 of French work. They are in draughtsmanship and 
 expression almost in advance of their time, and, cer- 
 tainly, are the best woodcuts of any Romance we possess. 
 
 Singularly enough, although so well known, and so 
 early printed on the Continent, it does not seem to have 
 been set up in type in this country, there being no re- 
 cord of its ever having engaged the attention of any of 
 our early printers. That it was .known in MS. is 
 evidenced from the beautiful copy whence I draw my 
 text, whenever quoted, but the only version that has 
 been printed, was published by the Early English Text 
 Society in 1866: "The Romans of Partenay or of 
 Lusignen : otherwise known as the tale of Melusine : 
 Translated from the French of La Coudrette (about 
 1500-1520 A.D.) Edited from a unique manuscript in 
 
RAYMONDIN IS LEFT WITH HIS UNCLE. [Seep. 13 
 
ME LU SINE. 9 
 
 the library of Trinity College, Cambridge, with an 
 Introduction, Notes, and Glossarial Index, by the Rev. 
 Walter W. Skeat, M.A., &c." 
 
 This, to the scholar, is a charming book ; but it is 
 " caviar to the general." It is in verse, and the language 
 is very archaic ; besides which, being a transcript of the 
 whole MS., the stories of Melusine, King Helmas, 
 Geoffry of the Great Tooth, and his brothers, the 
 Lady of the Sparrow-hawk, and Palestine's Treasure, 
 are, as in all the versions of Melusine, very involved. 
 Add to this that it was published by a learned Society, 
 which, although doing a wonderfully good work in 
 behalf of English literature, is not as well known as it 
 deserves to be by the general public, and, rightly 
 following out its raison d'etre, published it for the 
 benefit of its members and the scholarly public, without 
 reference to the great mass of readers. That it has not 
 been more popular, is somewhat astonishing, seeing that 
 it has been translated from the French into German, 
 Spanish, Danish, and Russ probably into other languages. 
 
 At first sight it would seem that this Romance was 
 indebted to England for its very inception, but Jean 
 d'Arras, who says he tells the truth as far as he possibly 
 can, says, " Hystory recounteth to us that there was 
 som tyme in the Brut r Brytayn a noble man whiche 
 
 1 The legend runs that Brute, a descendant of ^Eneas, after the siege of 
 Troy, came over to England and founded London, then called Troy novant, 
 or Tre nevant ; but in this Romance, Brittany is evidently meant. 
 
io ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 fell at debate with the nevew of the King of Bretons, 
 and in dede he durst therfore no more dwelle within 
 the land, but toke with hym al his fynance & goods and 
 went out of the land by the high mountaynes. And 
 as telleth thistorye he founde on a day nighe by a 
 fontayn a fayre lady to whom he told al his ffortune & 
 adventure/ so that fynally they enamoured eche other, 
 and the lady shewed to hym grett love & dede unto 
 hym moch comfort, and he began within her land that 
 was wast & deserte for to bylde & make fayre tounes 
 and strong castels. and was the land within short tyme 
 peupled raisonably/ and they dide calle the land forestz 
 by cause that they founde it full of grett wods and 
 thikk bushes. And yet at this day it is called fforestz. 
 It haped that this Knight and this lady fel at debate 
 togedre. I ne wot not goodly how ne wherfore / but 
 that right sodaynly departed the lady fro the Knight 
 wherfore he was woful & hevy. and notwythstandinge 
 he grew & increased in worth(y)n(es)s and in prosperite. 
 The noble men thanne of this land / seeyng that they 
 were without a lady purveyed hym of oon to hys wyf 
 a moche gentil & fayre woman suster to the Erie of 
 Poiters which regned at that tyme, & he begat on her 
 many children males, among the whiche was oon that 
 is to wete the iij de borne which was named Raymondyn 
 and was fayre goodly & gracyous, moche subtyl & wyty 
 in all thinges. And that same tyme the said Raymondin 
 might be xiiij yere of age." 
 
THE EARL DISCOURSES OF ASTRONOMY. \_ScCp. 14. 
 
ME LU SINE. 13 
 
 His uncle, the Earl of Poitiers, had but one son, 
 Bertrand, and, when he was to be dubbed knight, the 
 Earl made a great feast ; he invited the Earl of Forest, 
 who was not rich for his position, and, moreover, had 
 many sons, to feast with him. The invitation was 
 accepted, and he took with him three of his boys. It 
 was a great feast, and many a knight was there dubbed, 
 including the eldest son of the Earl of Forest, "ffor he 
 jousted moche wel & fayre." Seven mortal days did 
 this feast continue, and when it came to an end, and 
 the guests were departing, the Earl of Poitiers begged 
 his brother-in-law to leave Raymondin with him, pro- 
 mising that he would provide for his future life. The 
 Earl of Forest consented, and Raymondin was accordingly 
 left with his uncle ; and his father, with his two brothers, 
 went home. 
 
 The Earl of Poitiers, whose name was Emery, was 
 learned above his peers ; " he conde r many a science, 
 and specially he was parfytte in the science of Astro- 
 nomy ; " but also, like every knight and country gentle- 
 man, he dearly loved his hound and hawk, of both of 
 which he had many. One day a forester brought word 
 that in the forest of Colombiers " was the moost mer- 
 vayllous wild bore that had be sene of long tyme byfore, 
 and that at hym shuld be the best & fayrest dysport 
 that eny gentylman shuld ever have." 
 
 1 Knew. 
 
14 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 So the Earl, " with grette foyson * of barons and 
 knightes," set out to chase this prodigy, Raymondin 
 riding with him as his esquire, and they duly found 
 the wild boar, which "was fel and proude, & devoured 
 & kyld many houndes, and toke his cours thrugh the 
 fforest, ffor he was strongly chaffed, 2 and they byganne 
 for to folowe hym waloping 3 a good paas." But in 
 spite of all their " waloping " the boar took such a line 
 of country that none of the field, save the Earl and 
 Raymondin, cared about following him. Once Ray- 
 mondin brought the boar to bay and attacked him, but 
 the boar charged, and, sad to say about a hero of 
 romance, knocked Raymondin backwards and then fled. 
 Of course Raymondin remounted and followed him, and 
 the Earl, fearful that the young man might come to 
 grief, spurred after him, and, to his great joy, caught 
 him up. 
 
 By this time their horses were somewhat tired, and 
 they rested under a tree until nightfall, when the Earl 
 immediately mounted his hobby of astronomy, and dis- 
 coursed most learnedly on that science to his nephew, 
 until he noticed such astral conjunctions that he began 
 to weep full sorely ; and, on Raymondin questioning him, 
 he told him that there would happen to them a great 
 adventure, and that he foresaw by the stars that, if a 
 subject should slay his lord, he should become the 
 
 1 Company. 2 Very angry. 3 Galloping. 
 
RAYMONDIN BY MISCHANCE KILLS HIS UNCLE. [Seep. lj- 
 
ME LU SINE. 17 
 
 most powerful nobleman in the land, and from him 
 should spring such a noble lineage that it should be in 
 memory and remembrance until the end of the world. 
 He further went on to say that he, Earl Emery, was 
 now old, and he so loved Raymondin that he hoped 
 the prognostications of the heavens might be fulfilled 
 in their proper persons. 
 
 There were more tears on the part of the Earl and 
 deprecatory protests from Raymondin, when they heard 
 a fearful noise, which they found proceeded from a 
 wonderfully great and horrible boar that was coming 
 straight towards them. Raymondin wished the Earl to 
 climb some tree, but the old nobleman would not forsake 
 his young kinsman, the consequence of which was that 
 the boar left Raymondin and charged the Earl suddenly ; 
 who, seeing the enraged animal approach, dropped his 
 sword, and, taking a short spear and running towards 
 the boar, bracked^ or spitted, the brute through the breast, 
 although the shock brought him to his knees. Raymondin 
 at this time came up, and, finding the boar lying on his 
 back, smote him such a blow that his sword broke, and, 
 part of the blade springing backward, pierced the Earl's 
 breast and killed him. The unconscious Raymondin, 
 vexed at the snapping of his sword blade, "toke the 
 spere, and so strongly broched it thrughe the bore that 
 he slew hym." 
 
 Then, and not till then, he saw the cruel mishap that 
 
 3 
 
1 8 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 had befallen his uncle. " He went, and wold have had 
 hym to stand upon his feet, but it was for nought, he 
 thenne pulled out of hys brest the piece of the swerde 
 and knew that it was hys dede. Moche mervayllously 
 thanne byganne Raymondin to sighe & to complayne, 
 & wept and lamented piteously, saying in this maner, 
 Ha, ha, false fortune, how moche art thow perverse and 
 evyll that hath doon z to be slayn by me hym that loved 
 me so moche, and that had doon to me so moche good. 
 Ha, God Fader Almighty, where shal now be the lande 
 where this harde 2 and false synner shal now abyde, ffor 
 in certayn all they that shall here spek of this grett 
 mysdede shall juge me, and with good right, to dey 3 
 of a shamfull deth, ffor a more false ne more evyl treson 
 dide never no sinnes. Ha, erthe, cleve 4 and open the, 
 & devoure tho\i me fourthwith and lete me fall with the 
 moost obscure & derke angel within helle y l sometime 5 
 was the fayrest of all other in heven, ffor wel I have 
 deserved it." 
 
 For a long time Raymondin thus mourned, calling to 
 mind the Earl's astronomical prediction, how that, if a 
 subject should then slay his lord, he should arrive to 
 high estate, and establish a famous line of descendants. 
 In this, however, he could find no comfort, but, bewailing 
 his sad fate, he only thought of fleeing from the possible 
 consequences of his mishap, and going to some land 
 
 1 Caused. 2 Hardy. 3 Die. 4 Cleave or rend asunder. s That formerly. 
 
RAYMONDIN S FIRST MEETING WITH MELUSINE. \Seep. 21. 
 
ME LU SINE. 21 
 
 where he might do penance for his unconscious sin. 
 So he knelt down and fondly kissed his dead uncle, 
 " and soone after that he had kyssed hym, he layd hys 
 foot in the sterop and leped upon hys hors, and departed, 
 holding his way through the myddel of the fforest moche 
 dyscomforted, & rode apas, 1 unknowing the way, ne 2 
 whether he went, by only by hap & att aventure. And 
 made such a sorrow that there was no personne in the 
 worlde that could think ne say the V th part of hys 
 doulour." 
 
 " Raymondin was thus pensefull 3 and hevy of herte of 
 the myshap that was come to hym, that he ne wyst 
 where he was, ne whither he went, ne in no manere he 
 ledd hys hors, but hys hors ledd hym where that he wold, 
 ffor Raymondin touched not the brydell, and herd ne 
 saw nought, so sore was hys wit troubled." 
 
 It was now midnight and bright moonlight, and, in 
 his abstracted state, he rode along until he came to a fairy 
 fountain, called the "fontayne of Soyf," or "Thirsty 
 Gladness," beautifully situated, in a magnificent country 
 and, by this fountain, three fair damsels were disporting, 
 no others than Melusine and her two sisters, Melior and 
 Palestine and of these three, Melusine was evidently the 
 chief. 
 
 Raymondin saw them not, but his horse did, and fled 
 from them in a fright. 
 
 1 Apace quickly. 2 Nor. 3 Pensive full of thought. 
 
22 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Then Melusine addressed her sisters, and remarked 
 upon the incivility of the rider, who never even made 
 obeisance, or saluted them, as was only ordinary in the 
 days of chivalry. " By my feyth, he that rode now and 
 passed before us semyth to be a moche gentylman, and 
 nevertheles he maketh of it no semblance, but he sheweth 
 the semblaunt x of a vylayne or kerle 2 that hath passed 
 so before ladyes without to have salewed 3 them. I goo 
 to make hym spek, fifor he semeth to be a sleep." 
 
 So saying, she left her sisters, and went after Ray- 
 mondin, and, having caught his horse by the bridle, she 
 made him stand still, and began to upbraid the esquire 
 for his uncouth behaviour, but he heard her not, nor 
 answered her. " And she as angry and wroth, sayd ones 
 agen to hym, And how, sire musarde, 4 are ye so dyspy- 
 toned 5 that ye dayne 6 not answere to me. And yet he 
 answered nere 7 a word. By my feyth 8 sayd she within 
 herselfe, I byleve non other but that this yong man 
 slepeth upon his hors, or ellis he is eythir dombe or def." 
 So she pulled his hand forcibly, and Raymondin, waking 
 up with a start, all astonished, drew his sword impulsively, 
 and laid about him, thinking that it was some of the Earl's 
 train come to arrest him ; but a moment or two brought 
 him to his senses, especially when he heard, amidst 
 
 1 Resemblance ~ A villein or ceorl a labourer or slave. 
 
 3 Saluted. 4 Dreamer. 5 Dispositioned. 
 
 6 Deign. ^ Never. 8 Faith. 
 
RAYMONDIN TAKES LEAVE OF MELUSINE. [Seep. 2p. 
 
ME LU SINE. 25 
 
 rippling laughter, " Sire vassal, with whom will you 
 begynne the bataille : your enemys ben not here, and 
 knowe you fayre sire that I am of your party or side." 
 
 Raymondin was struck, as he could not fail to be, with 
 the exquisite beauty of the lady, got off his horse, and 
 knelt before her, after the fashion of his time. He 
 apologised for his involuntary abstraction, and pleaded 
 that he was full of thought of something which lay 
 heavy on his heart, and of which he prayed to God to 
 relieve him. The fair damsel at once changed her tone 
 of banter to one of seriousness, and put a trial question 
 to him, as to whither he was going. He replied that he 
 knew not he had lost his way. She, then, seeing he 
 would not tell his secret, sprung her mine upon him. 
 Calling him by name, she told him he should hide nothing 
 from her, for she knew all about him. 
 
 Raymondin was utterly astonished at thus hearing him- 
 self named by the fair stranger, so that he could not 
 answer her, and she, pursuing the advantage she had 
 gained, told him that, after God, she was the best 
 counsellor he could have ; and, to prove her intimate 
 knowledge of his affairs, she told him how that he had 
 slain his lord by mishap, and even related the conversation 
 they had had together on astronomy, promising, if he 
 would but obey her counsels, he should come to no harm, 
 but be the greatest man that had ever been, of his race, as 
 well as the largest landed proprietor. 
 
26 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Raymondin saw that this beautiful being was possessed 
 
 of almost supernatural powers, but, before he promised he 
 
 x^ ^^ 
 
 would obey her advice, he prudently inserted a clause, 
 " and it be that a cristen man may or ought to doo with 
 honour." The lady replied after her manner, Ca va sans dire, 
 and then established as the first preliminary, that he 
 should promise to make her his wife. This Raymondin 
 at once agreed to. But Melusine had another condition 
 contingent upon this, and, as the story hinges mainly 
 upon this, it is but fit that it should be given in the very 
 words of the MS. " Ye must promysse to me, Ray- 
 mondyn, upon all the sacrements & other that a man very 
 Catholique & of good faith may do and swere, that never 
 while I shall be in your company, ye shal not peyne ne 
 force yourselfe for to see me on the Saturday, nor by no 
 manere ye shall not enquyre that day of me ne the place 
 where I shall be. And whan she had thus said to Ray- 
 mondin, he yet ageyn said to her in this manere, On 
 the parel of my sowle I swere to you, that never on y t 
 day I ne shal doo nothing that may hyndre or adommage 1 
 you in no manere of wyse, and I, said she, ne shall doo 
 nor thinke to none other thing but in what manere I shall 
 mowe best encresse 2 in worship and honour both you 
 and your lynee. 3 And Raymondin yede 4 & gan sey to 
 her in this manere, Soo shal I do it to the playsire of 
 God." 
 
 1 Hurt. - More best or better increase. 3 Lineage, or family. 4 Went. 
 
RAYMONDIN AND MELUSINE AT THE CHAPEL. [See p. 30. 
 
MELUSINE. 29 
 
 Thus, then, Raymondin and Melusine plighted their 
 troth, and she at once commenced carrying out her portion 
 of the agreement by giving him good advice, as how to 
 act with regard to the death of his uncle. She told him 
 to return to Poitiers, and he was to reply in answer to all 
 questions put to him regarding the Earl his uncle, " Is he 
 not come home again ? " and when they should tell him 
 nay, he was to reply that he never saw him since the 
 chase was at its height, at which time he lost him ; and 
 he must feign to be more surprised at his uncle's absence 
 than any other. She foretold that soon afterwards the 
 hunters of his train, and others of his following, should 
 appear, bringing the corpse, borne upon a litter, and that 
 his wounds should seem to have been made by a boar's 
 teeth, so that all men should say that a wild boar had 
 slain him, and people should reckon it as a great deed to 
 the Earl, for that he had slain so ferocious a beast. He 
 was to go to the funeral, put on mourning as the others 
 did, and wait until it was the time for the barons to do 
 obeisance to their new Earl, Bertrand, when he was to 
 return to the fountain of Soyf, there to find Melusine. 
 But, before his final adieu, she gave him two rings, one of 
 which, as long as he wore it, would keep him harmless 
 from the stroke of any weapon, and the other would give 
 him victory over his enemies. 
 
 "Thanne toke Raymondin leve of the lady, and 
 embrased and kyssed her swetly and moche frendly," 
 
30 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 and went his way, whilst Melusine returned to her sisters. 
 On his arrival at Poitiers everything fell out as predicted, 
 and when, after the funeral, the barons were ordered to 
 come and do obeisance to their new earl, Raymondin 
 dutifully returned to his fiancee, but only to find great 
 marvels on his arrival at the trysting-place. 
 
 First and foremost, on his coming to the fountain of 
 Soyf, he perceived a chapel which he had never seen 
 before, around which were many knights and ladies, who 
 welcomed him with acclamations, begged him to alight, 
 and to accompany them unto their lady, who was awaiting 
 him in her pavilion. As he went towards it, Melusine 
 came to meet him, and, after some conversation, dinner 
 was announced, and they adjourned to the pavilion for 
 that important meal : and when he asked whence came 
 all this retinue ? was answered that they were all at his 
 command. 
 
 She then gave him the following counsel : Premising 
 that the morrow was the day for the barons to do homage 
 to Earl Bertrand, she advised that he, also, should present 
 himself, and that he should ask a boon of the new earl : 
 one not likely to be denied, on account of its apparent 
 modesty. She bade him ask, as a return of services done 
 to his father, neither town, nor castle, nor anything of 
 great value, but only as much land as the hide of a stag 
 wo'uld comprehend. Of course it is an old story, told of 
 Dido, as of others, but still it is part of the romance, and 
 
RAYMOND] N ASKS A BOON OF THE EARL. 
 
 {.Seep. 33. 
 
MELUSINE. 33 
 
 resulted in making our hero, for the first time in his life, 
 a landed proprietor. He was to ask for this land as a free 
 gift, entirely disassociated from rent or homage, and he 
 was also to be careful that this grant should be under the 
 Earl's great seal, and that of his suzerain. She told him, 
 also, that after this interview, the issue of which was 
 undoubted, he should meet a man with a stag's hide in a 
 bag, and this hide he was to buy, without haggling, for 
 whatever price the man chose to ask. He was then to 
 cut it in " the smallest and narowest waye that is possible 
 to be cutte after the maner of a thonge," and then, this 
 purchase being made, and the grant signed, sealed, and 
 delivered, he was to go with proper men to the fountain 
 of Soyf, where he would find the trees cut down, and all 
 ready for him to measure the ground which, when staked 
 out, if there was any leather over after the circular 
 measurement, he was to take it down the hill. He took 
 an affectionate leave of his lady love, and rode off to 
 Poitiers, where he met with a kindly reception from 
 all. 
 
 As an illustration of the manners of the time, I must 
 needs quote a line or two from the MS., showing the 
 intimate connection between the secular and clerical 
 power. " And the next morow they yede * all togedre 
 unto Saynt Hylary of Poyters where the devyne servyse 
 was doon right worshypfully. And atte that servyse was 
 
 1 Went. 
 
 4 
 
34 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 the yonge Erie revested lyke a Canoyne as they re pry mat 
 or Abbot, and dyde hys devoyre * as it apparteyned, 
 and that of custome was for to be doo." 
 
 The Barons did their homage, and, when it came to 
 Raymondin's turn, he preferred his request, as he had 
 been instructed, which the Earl gladly granted, and the 
 next day he took his leave, when he met, as Melusine had 
 foretold, a man who asked him, " Sire, wyl ye bye this 
 hertis skynne that I have within my sack for to make 
 good huntyng cordes for yo r hunters. By my feyth said 
 Raymondin / ye / 2 yf thou wilt selle it. And at one word 
 what shall I paye for hit. By my feyth, sire, said the 
 man, ye shall paye to me for it ten shelyngs or ellis ye 
 shall not have it. Ffrend sayd thanne Raymondin to 
 the said man, bryng it home with me and I shall pay 
 the there. And he answered with a good wille. Thanne 
 he folowed Raymondin unto his hous and there he 
 delyvered hys hyde, and Raymondin payed hym for it. 
 And anone after, Raymondin sent for a sadelmaker to 
 whom he said, My frend yf it plese you ye muste cutte 
 this hyde in fourme of a thonge in the narowest & 
 smallest wyse that is possible to be doo. The sadler dide 
 cutte it, and after, they leyd it within the sac thus 
 cutte." 
 
 On arriving at the Fountain of Soyf he found the trees 
 all levelled at least, such as were in the way of his 
 
 1 Devoir duty. 2 Yea, or yes. 
 
RAYMONDIN MEASURES HIS LAND. 
 
MELUSINE. 37 
 
 measuring ; at which he, naturally, marvelled at first ; but 
 in this, as in other things, Raymondin seems to have 
 speedily recognized the guiding hand of a superior genius, 
 and accepted the situation as he found it. The Romance 
 omits to state whether there was a commission associated 
 with Raymondin to execute the Earl's gift, but there evi- 
 dently was something of the sort, although it is somewhat 
 indefinitely described as " they." " Whan they that shuld 
 dely ver the gefte x saw the hyde cutte so small they were 
 of it alle abashed, and said to Raymondin that they wyst 
 not what to doo. And there incontynent came to them 
 two men clothed with cours cloth, the which said in this 
 manere. We are come hither for to helpe you. Thanne 
 they toke out of the sack the hyde, and bare it unto the 
 bottom of the valley, as nigh the roche 2 as they coude, 
 and there they dide sette a stake in the erthe, and to this 
 stake they fasted the one end of the hyde, and as they 
 went they set stakes for to hold with the said thonge 
 rounde aboute the roche, and whan they were come ageyn 
 to the first stake there was yet a grete remenant of the thong, 
 and for to sette and fournysshe it, they drew it downward 
 to the valey, and so far they went with it that they came 
 to the ende of it. And ye must knowe that after that, it 
 is said in the countre, and as the very and true history 
 witnesseth, there sprange at ende of the said thonge, a fayre 
 fontayn, the which rendred so moche of water, that a ryvere 
 
 1 Gift, or boon. 2 Rock. 
 
38 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 wexed or grew therof. Wherof many a mylle dyde grynde 
 corne, and yet now grynden. 1 Thanne they that were 
 there sent for to delyvere to Raymondin the place wei 
 moche abasshed, as wel of the fontayne that they see 
 spryng sodaynly before them as of the grete compace of 
 the ledder 2 whiche conteyned wel the space of two myll 3 
 of grounde." 
 
 The " they," although they could scarcely understand 
 the matter, faithfully executed their commission, and gave 
 possession to Raymondin of all the land thus acquired, 
 although their astonishment was not decreased by the 
 sudden disappearance of the two men who were so 
 opportunely officious with their help : and, after thanking 
 Earl Bertrand for his kind gift, and acknowledging that it 
 was all done without his knowledge, or interference, he 
 set out to rejoin Melusine. She, having thus provided an 
 estate for her lord, naturally wished to share it with him, 
 and urged their immediate espousal only quite properly, 
 and most womanlike she intended her wedding-day to 
 be the day of her life, and that her marriage should be no 
 hole-and-corner proceeding, but done openly and honour- 
 ably, in the face of day, and with every befitting ceremony. 
 Therefore she enjoined Raymondin to return to the Earl, 
 and invite him, and his mother, to the wedding, and, 
 meantime, she would make all the necessary arrangements 
 for the festival. She was worldly wise enough to instruct 
 
 1 And still do grind. 2 Leather. 3 Miles. 
 
MARRIAGE OF RAYMONDIN AND MELUSINE. {Seep. 43. 
 
ME LU SINE. 41 
 
 him that he might tell the Earl that he was going to wed 
 a king's daughter, but more than that he was not to say : 
 indeed it is difficult to imagine how he could, seeing that 
 he did not know himself. 
 
 The Earl spoke to Raymondin as to the mystery that 
 shrouded his wife, but the lover was staunch, and per- 
 tinently replied, " My lord, sith it sufTyseth me as thereof 
 ye oughte wel to be playsed, ffor I take no wyf that shall 
 brawle or stryve with you, but only with me, and I alone 
 shall bere eyther joye or sorowe for it." This argument 
 was unanswerable, and the Earl promised to attend the 
 marriage ceremony, and bring with him, not only his 
 mother, but a " foyson " of barons, and, besides his lady, 
 "many other ladyes and damoyselles." 
 
 " On the morowe erly the Erie aroos & herd his masse, 
 and made the barons to be manded & boden * for to goo 
 with hym to the weddynge of Raymondin, and they cam 
 incontinent." 
 
 When they did arrive they were all amazed at the 
 magnificence of the preparations, for, on their way, an 
 old knight and twenty-four horsemen met, and afterwards 
 escorted them. Then Raymondin and the Earl of Forest 
 joined the cortege, and they rode merrily to their des- 
 tination, where "the Erie was lodged within the moost 
 riche lodgyn that ever he had seen before. After (wards) 
 evry man was lodged honourably after his estate, & 
 
 1 Warned and bidden. 
 
42 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 they said that within theyre owne places at whom J the] 
 were not so wel lodged. Theire horses were lodged withii 
 the grett tentes, so at large & at theire ease that no 
 palfrener 2 was there but that he was full wel playsed. 
 And alle they marvailled fro whens so moch of good 
 and such plente of richesses might come there so haboun- 
 dauntly;" and well they might, for the historian Jean 
 d'Arras has not spared his imagination. 
 
 No touch of mine shall spoil the description of the 
 wedding. The guests arrived just in time, "and whan 
 the countesse had rested a lytel while, and that she was 
 arayed with her ryche rayments, also her doughter 
 Blanche, Knyghtes & Esquyers, ladyes and damoyselles 
 of her companye, wente into the chambre of the spouse, 
 the whiche chambre was fayrer, and passed 3 of ryches 
 alle the other chambres, but whan they sawe Melusyne 
 & perceyved her ryche tyres, 4 her riche gowne alle set 
 w l precious stones & perlys ; the coler that she had about 
 her nek, her gerdell, & her other rayments that she had 
 on her, they alle marvaylled gretly, and specially the 
 Countesse that sayd consideryng that grete estate, 
 Never had I wened 5 ne supposed that no queene ne 
 Emperesse had be in alle the world that might have 
 founde suche jewellis so riche & so grete in value. . . . 
 The Erie of Poitiers and one of the moost hygh barons, 
 that is to wete the Erie of fforest, addressed & ledde the 
 
 r Home. 2 Groom. 3 Surpassed. 4 Attire, or dress. 5 Ween, or fancy. 
 
MELUSINE. 43 
 
 spouse unto the said chapel le of our lady which was so 
 rychly adorned & arayed so nobly that wonder it was 
 to see, as of parements, 1 and ornaments of cloth of gold 
 purfeld 2 & set w l perlys and precious stones so wel 
 wrought, and so connyngly browded 3 that marvaylle it 
 was to loke on. Fayre ymages straungely kerved, 4 as 
 of crucifixe & figure of o r lady all of pure & fyn gold, 
 and bokes were there so wel writen, and so riche that 
 make the world : 5 rycher bokes might not have be. 
 And there was a bysshop that wedded them & songe 
 masse before them." 
 
 The marriage ceremony over, the bride, bridegroom, 
 and guests, all adjourned to the pavilions, where a dinner 
 was served, which, of course, was a marvel of cookery. 
 All were served on plates of gold, and, as fast as one 
 course was finished and removed, another was ready to 
 take its place. The dinner came to an end at last, " the 
 tables were taken up & graces said, and they were served 
 with ypocras & spyces," the knights and esquires donned 
 their armour, and went into the tilting ring, where a 
 scaffold was erected for Melusine and the ladies. Of 
 course, in the tourney Raymondin was the victorious 
 hero, overthrowing all comers; and night brought this 
 disport to an end. 
 
 The close of the evening is such a revelation of I5th 
 
 1 Furniture. 2 Trimmed, or edged. 3 Embroidered. 
 
 4 Carved. 5 As rich as could be made in the whole world. 
 
44 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 century manners, that it can only be told to the best 
 advantage in the very words of the chroniclers. " And 
 thanne they yede 1 into the grete tente, and after they 
 had washen, they set them at table and wel & richely 
 they were served, and after souper were the tables taken 
 up, and they wesshed theyre hands, & graces were said. 
 This doon the ladyes wente asyde pryvely and toke 
 other gownes on them and cam agayn for to daunse. 
 The feste was fayre, and the worship was there grete, so 
 that the Erie and all they that were come with hym 
 marvaylled gretly of the grette ryches & honour that 
 they sawe there. And whan it was tyme they ledd the 
 spouse to bed most honourably within a wonder (fully) 
 marvayllous & riche pavyllon. And there the Erles of 
 Poitiers & of fforest betoke her unto the ladye's handes. 
 And than the Countess of Poitiers and other grete ladyes 
 had the spouse to bed, and did endoctryne her in suche 
 thynges that she oughte for to doo, howbeit that she 
 was ynough purveyed thereof; but not wythstandyng she 
 thanked them moch humbly therfore. And whan she 
 was abed the ladyes abode thereunto tyme that Ray- 
 mondin came in." 
 
 The gentlemen had not the solace of the smoking- 
 room, but sat chatting over the jousting of the day, 
 until the arrival of a knight with a message from the 
 ladies that it was time for Raymondin to join his bride. 
 
 1 Went. 
 
BLESSING THE NUPTIAL BED. 
 
 [Seep. 47- 
 
MEL U SINE. 47 
 
 " At this word they went and ledde Raymondin to the 
 pavyllon and soone he was brought to bed. And thanne 
 cam there y e Bysshop that had spoused them and did 
 halowe theyre bed, and, after that, everychon toke his 
 leve, and the courteyns were drawen aboute the bed." 
 
 Next morning they all heard mass, " the offertory of 
 whiche was grete and riche," and, after more feasting, 
 the company took their departure, Melusine accom- 
 panying the Countess of Poitiers beyond the little town 
 of Columbiers, and, at parting, presenting her with "a 
 fayre & most riche owche J of gold, in value unestimable, 
 and to Blanche her doughter a gerland all set with perlys, 
 with saphirs, rubyes, and with many other precyous stones 
 in grete nombre. And alle they that sawe the said owche 
 and gerland marvaylled gretly of the beaute, goodnes & 
 value of it." 
 
 Although the most noble of the guests had departed, 
 still plenty more took their places, and the feasting went 
 on right merrily. At length the festivity came to an end, 
 and the young married couple were left to themselves. 
 Melusine, who took upon herself the ordering of every- 
 thing, and, from a business point of view, seems to have 
 regarded Raymondin as simply a sleeping partner, im- 
 mediately set to work to build a castle on their small 
 estate, and, under her potent influence, it rose in a 
 marvellously short space of time. "And every Saturday 
 
 1 Brooch. 
 
48 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR K 
 
 Melusyne payed truly her werkmen, and mete and drynke 
 they hadde in haboundance ; but trouth it is, that no body 
 knew from whens these werkmen were." 
 
 The castle being built, of course there was a house- 
 warming needless to say, in Melusine's large-hearted and 
 open-handed manner, a somewhat extravagant festival. 
 The Earls of Poitiers and Forest were, of course, present, 
 and jousting and feasting fully occupied the time and 
 attention of all. Melusine asked them kindly to name 
 her castle, but good manners forbade it, and the Earl of 
 Poitiers politely pointed out that none was so worthy to 
 christen the chateau as the fair chatelaine and founder. 
 " Ha, ha, my lord, said Melusyne, sith it ne may none 
 otherwise be, and that I see your playsire is that I gyve 
 name to it, hit shal be called after myn owne name 
 Lusignen. By my feyth sayd the Erie the name fetteth 
 full wel to it for two causes, ffirst bycause ye are called 
 Melusyne of Albanye, whyche name in grek langage is 
 as moche for to say, a thyng marvayllous or comyng from 
 grete marveylle and also this place is bylded and made 
 marvayllously, ffor I beleve not otherwyse, but that as 
 longe as the world shal laste shall there be founde som 
 wonder & marvayllous thinge. Thanne they alle ansuered 
 in this maner. My lord, no man in the world might gyve 
 betre name that bettre shuld fette to it than she hath, as 
 after manere of the place, also the interpretyng made by 
 you of her owne name, and on this oppynyon & worde 
 
MELUSINE. 49 
 
 1 were alle of one acorde. Whiche name within few days 
 i was so publyed that it was knowen through alle the land, 
 and yet at this day it is called soo." The feast came to 
 an end, and the guests departed. 
 
 The next important event in the life of Raymondin 
 and Melusine was the birth of their first-born son, Uryan, 
 or Urien. She was unfortunate in her progeny; they were 
 all, in some way or other, malformed. Urien was " moche 
 fayre and wel proporcyoned or shapen in all hys membres, 
 except hys vysage that was short and large, one ey he 
 had rede and the other blew. He was baptysed & named 
 Uryan, and wete J it that he had the gretest eerys 2 that 
 ever were seen on eny child of his age, and when they were 
 outdrawen they were as grete as the handling of a fan." 
 
 Melusine found her husband some employment in 
 visiting his relations at Brut, Brittany, and, while he was 
 away, she built a city as a surprise for him on his return. 
 She then gave birth to a son, who was christened Edon, 
 and his face was red. She then built the towns and 
 castles of Melle, Donant, and Mernant, and afterwards 
 the city and tower of St. Maxence, besides commencing 
 the abbey there. 
 
 She then bore a third son, named Guyon, or Guy, but 
 he had one eye higher than the other ; after which she 
 amused herself with building the town and castle of 
 Parthenay, and also founded the port and city of Rochelle, 
 
 1 Know. 2 Ears. 
 
 5 
 
50 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 as well as many other towns. Her fourth child was 
 named Anthony, " but in his birth he brought a token 
 along hys chyk * that was the foot of a lyon, whereof 
 they that sawe hym wondred, & moche were abasshed." 
 
 In the seventh year of her married life she bore her 
 fifth boy, who was named Raynold ; but his defect was 
 that he only had one eye, but that must have been of 
 telescopic power, for he could see ships as far out at sea 
 as one-and-twenty leagues. The year after she was 
 brought to bed of a son who, afterwards, was famous in 
 chronicle. He " had to name Geffray, whiche at hys 
 birth brought in hys mouthe a grete & long toth 2 that 
 apyered 3 without an ench long & more, & therfore 
 men added to his propre name Geffray with the grete 
 toth ; and he was moch grete & hye & wel formed & 
 strong marveyllously hardy & cruel, in so moche that 
 every man fered & dradde hym whan he was in (of) age." 
 
 The year following, her son Fromond was born, whose 
 deformity was the having a bunch of hair on his nose. He 
 was very devout and turned monk, and was burnt, with all 
 the other monks, by his brother Geoffrey with the great 
 tooth, when he sacked and burnt the abbey of Maillieres. 
 Her next maternal effort was a rank failure, for this son 
 " brought at hys birth thre eyen, 4 one of the which was 
 in the mydel of his forhed. He was so evyl & so cruel 
 that at the foureth yere of hys age he slew two of hys 
 
 1 Cheek. s Tooth. s stuck out. 4 Eyes. 
 
ME LU SINE. 51 
 
 nourryces." His name was very properly " Horrible." 
 She also had two younger children, Raymond and 
 Theodorik, but there seems to have been very little the 
 matter with their personal appearance. 
 
 With the fortunes of these children we have nothing 
 to do, except inasmuch as they come in contact with 
 the story of their father and mother ; who seem to have 
 lived thoroughly happy and prosperous lives until such 
 time as Raymondin's brother, the Earl of Forest, came 
 one day to pay them a visit, and was received with all 
 the courtesy that the pair could show him. His re- 
 quital of this kindness was the wrecking of their loveand 
 domestic happiness. He arrived on a Saturday, the day 
 when Melusine was "not at home," and when he and 
 i Raymondin were going to dinner he asked after his 
 sister-in-law, marvelling at her absence. Raymondin, 
 who took his wife's weekly absence as a matter of course, 
 calmly replied that she was not then visible, but next 
 day she would be there to welcome his brother. " But 
 for that ansuere the Erie of Fforest held not hys peas, 
 but thus said agen to hys brother. Ye are my brother, 
 I owe 1 not to hyde to you your dyshono 1 ". Now fayre 
 brother wete 2 it that the comyn 3 talking of the peple is 
 that Melusyne yo r wyf evry Saturday in the yere is with 
 another man in avoultyre, & so blynd ye are by her 
 sayeng, that ye dare not enquere, nor knoweth wher she 
 
 1 Ought. 2 Know. 3 Common. 
 
52 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 be cometh or goeth ; and also, others sayen & make them 
 strong that she is a spryghte of the fayry that on evry 
 Saturday maketh her penaunce. I wot not to whiche of 
 bothe I shal byleve, and for none other cause I am com 
 hither but to advertyse r you therof." 
 
 This information, given, possibly, with every good 
 intention, naturally disturbed Raymondin, who had 
 hitherto taken his wife's hebdomadal absences with per- 
 fect calmness, and as strictly in the proper nature of 
 things. But at this revelation, that his wife's conduct 
 was common talk, he abruptly rose from table and re- 
 tired to his chamber, where he became the prey of 
 terrible jealousy. After some self-communion, like a 
 man he determined to know the worst ; he " toke his 
 swerd & girded it about hym, and went toward the place 
 where as Melusyne went evry Saturday in the yer ; and 
 when he cam there he fond a doore of yron thikk & 
 strong, and wete it wel, he had never betofore that tyme 
 so ferre thitherward ; and whan he perceyved the doore 
 of yron, he toke hys swerd that was hard & tempered w l 
 fyn stele, and w 1 the poynte of it dyde so moche that he 
 perced the doore and made a holl in it, and loked in at 
 that holl, and sawe there Melusyne that was within a 
 grete bathe of marbel stone, 2 where were steppis to 
 mounte in it, and was wel XV foot of length, and therein 
 she bathed herself makyng there her penytence." 
 
 1 Let you know. 2 See Frontispiece. 
 
ME LU SINE. 53 
 
 It was then he made the discovery of the awful effects 
 of his wife's fairy origin, and of the expiation she was 
 doomed to undergo. Doubtless he regretted his indiscreet 
 curiosity, especially when " he sawe Melusyne within the 
 bathe unto her navell in forme of a woman kymbyng her 
 heere, and from the navel downward in lyknes of a grete 
 serpent, the tayll as grete & thykk as a barell and so long 
 it was that she made it to touche oftymes, while that 
 Raymondin beheld her the rouf of the chambre that was 
 ryght hye." 
 
 The manuscript gives some long and very doleful 
 soliloquies of Raymondin, who went home, and to bed, in 
 a state of mind easier to be imagined than described. 
 With the first flush of dawn Melusine returned, as was 
 her wont, to her home, and the description of the meeting 
 between husband and wife in the MS. is so quaint that 
 the story would suffer much were it not told in its very 
 words. " Ere sayth thistorye that in such dole r & 
 bewaylynge abode Raymondin al that nyght tyl it was 
 day lyght. And as soone as aurora might be perceyved, 
 Melusyne came & entred in to the chambre, and whan 
 Raymondin herd her com, he made semblant z of slepe. 
 She toke of her clothes and than al naked layed herself 
 by hym. And thenne bygan Raymondin to syghe, as that 
 he felt grete doleur 2 at herte, and Melusyne embraced 
 hym & asked what hym eyled, 3 sayeng in this wyse. 
 
 1 Feigned. 2 Grief. 3 Ailed was the matter with him. 
 
54 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 My lord what eyleth you, be ye syke. And whan Ray- 
 mondin sawe that she of none other thing spake, he 
 supposed that she nothyng had knowen of this faytte, 1 
 but for nought he byleved so, 2 ffor she wyst wel that 
 he had not shewn the matere to no man, wherfor she 
 suffred at that tyme, & made no semblant therof, wher- 
 fore he was right joyous and ansuered to her. Madame 
 I have be (en) somwhat evyl at ease & have had an 
 ager. 3 My lord sayd Melusyne abasshe you not, ffor yf 
 it plese God ye shal soone be hole. And thenne he that 
 was right joyous said to her. By my feyth, swete love, 
 I fele me wel at ease for your comyng ; and she said, I 
 am therof glad, and whan tyme requyred they roos, and 
 went to here masse, and soone after was the dyner redy." 
 Thus, for the moment, no harm came of Raymondin's 
 discovery, and the pair lived in loving amity until an 
 unusual escapade on the part of their son Geoffrey with 
 the great tooth led to most disastrous effects. It arose 
 in this wise : His brother Fromond had a liking to lead 
 a clean and godly life, and, after some opposition on his 
 father's part, he entered into religious life as a monk at 
 the abbey of Maillieres. This, the warrior Geoffrey 
 looked upon as a degradation to his family and lineage ; 
 none of them ever had been shavelings, none of them 
 ever should be, or he would know the reason why ; so he 
 at once started off " with grete yre agenste the Abbot 
 
 1 Fact. a He knew not the facts of the case. 3 Ague. 
 
GEOFFREY WITH THE GREAT TOOTH BURNING THE ABBEY OF MAILLIERES. 
 
 [See p. 58. 
 
MELUSINE. 57 
 
 : & convent of Maylesses ; and at that tyme the said abbot 
 
 |;& his monkes were in chapitre, and Geffray then coming 
 
 |tto the place, entred with swerd gird about hym in to 
 
 rthe chapitre. And whan he perceyved the abbot & hys 
 
 monkes he said al on hye x to them. Ye false monkes, 
 
 how have ye had the hardynes to have enchanted my 
 
 brother in so moche that thrughe your false & subtyl 
 
 langage have shorne hym monke ; by the teeth of God 
 
 yl ye thought it, ffor ye shal drynk therfore of an evyl 
 
 drynk." 
 
 " Helas my lord, said th'abbot, for the love of God 
 ttiave mercy on us and suffre you to be enfourmed of the 
 trouth & rayson, for on my Creator, I nor none of us all 
 counseylled hym never thereto. Thenne cam Froymont 
 foorth, that trowed wel to have peased the yre 2 of 
 Geffray hys brother, and thus said. My dere brother, 
 iby the body & sowle which I have gyven to god, here 
 ;is no personne, nor within this place that ever spake 
 any word to me touching my profession, ffor I have it 
 doon of myn owne free wylle & thrugh devocion. By 
 my sowle, said Geffray, so shalt thou be therfore payed 
 with the others, for it shal not be wytted 3 me to have 
 a brother of myn a monke, and with these words he 
 went out of the Chapter and shetted the doores fast 
 after hym & closed the Abbot & the monkes therynne^ 
 
 1 In a loud tone of voice. 2 Believed he could appease the wrath. 
 3 I will not be twitted. 
 
58 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 and incontinent he made al the meyne * of the place 
 to bryng there wode & strawe ynough al about the 
 Chapter, and fyred it, & sware he shuld brene them all 
 therynne, & that none shuld escape. Thenne came the 
 ten knyghtes foorth tofore 2 Geffray, whiche blamed hym 
 of that horryble faytte, sayeng that Froymond his brother 
 was in good purpos, & that happly throughe hys prayers 
 & good dedes the sowles of hys frendes & others myght 
 be asswaged & holpen. By the teeth of God, sayd 
 thenne Geffray, nother he nor none monke in this place 
 shal never syng masse nor say prayers but they shal 
 all be bruled 3 & brent." 
 
 His ten knights left him, for they would not have aught 
 to do with such a diabolical scheme ; but their defection 
 in no way hindered Geoffrey from his design, and with 
 his own hand he fired the abbey. The chronicler says : 
 " It was a pyteous syght, ffor as soone as the monkes 
 sawe the fyre they bygan to crye piteously & to make 
 bytter & doulourous bewaylyngs, but al that prevaylled 
 them nought." In fine, Fromond and all the monks were 
 burnt, and then the fiend in human shape, Geoffrey with 
 the great tooth, began to feel compunction, and to re- 
 pent him as far as his evil disposition would allow ; but 
 the mischief was done, and the poor monks could never 
 be restored to life. 
 
 Ill news flies apace ; and it was not long before a 
 
 1 Servants. 3 Towards. 3 Burnt, from the French briiler, to burn. 
 
MELUSINE. 59 
 
 messenger came to Raymondin with the tidings of his 
 son's murder of his inoffensive brother. He refused to 
 believe the news, but on the messenger offering to be 
 put in prison and hanged, if it were not true, he mounted 
 his horse and set off at full speed for Maillieres ; nor did 
 he draw rein until he came there, where he found even 
 as the messenger had said. Turning the matter over in 
 his mind, he could come but to one conclusion, after his 
 discovery of his wife's peculiarity, and at once laid the 
 blame on her shoulders. " I byleve it is but fantosme or 
 spryght-werke of this woman, and as I trowe, she never 
 bare no child that shal at the ende have perfection, ffor 
 yet hath she brought none but that it hath som strange 
 token. See I not the horrybyllnes of her son called 
 horryble that passed not vij yere of age whan he slew 
 two squyers of myn, and, or ever he was thre yere old, he 
 made dye two gentyl women his nourryces through hys 
 bytting of theyre pappes. Sawe I not also theyre moder 
 on that Saturday whan my brother of Fforest to me 
 brought evyl tydyngs of her, in fourme of a serpent from 
 the navel downward ; by god, yea, and wel I wote certayn 
 that it is som spryght, some fantosme or Illusyon that thus 
 hath abused me, ffor the first tyme that I sawe her, she 
 knew & coude reherce all my fortune & aventure." 
 
 Pondering in this wise, "pensefull & wroth," he rode 
 homewards, and it may be easily imagined that his 
 meeting with Melusine was not of a loving character. 
 
60 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 She was not unprepared for it, for the barons had sent 
 a messenger to her, telling her of all that had passed, 
 and she at once left, with all her retinue, for Lusignan, 
 "and there she sojourned by the space of thre dayes, & 
 ever she was of symple & hevy contenaunce, and went al 
 about in the place up & doun, here & there, gyvyng 
 ofte syghes so grete that it was mervaylle & pyteous to 
 here." And this grief, the chronicler thinks, was not only 
 due to the death of one son, and the outrageous conduct 
 of the other, but to the knowledge (" whiche I byleve be 
 trew ") of her own impending calamity. 
 
 Their meeting was painful in the extreme. On her 
 part nothing was- omitted to welcome her lord. The 
 room chosen was the fairest in the house, looking over 
 the pleasure gardens and the beautiful prospect which 
 stretched for miles round ; and she herself made her 
 appearance, "accompanyed of many ladyes & noble 
 damoyselles, & of the barons of the land. . . . Thenne 
 whan she sawe Raymondin, humbly & ryght honourably 
 salued J hym, but thenne he was so dolaunt 2 & re- 
 plenysshed with yre that he to her ansuered never a 
 word." But she, caring little for his black looks, spoke 
 to him very sensibly on the subject ; blaming Geoffrey's 
 diabolical behaviour, but reminding her husband that the 
 past could not be undone, and the best thing was to make 
 reparation for the sin and outrage committed, and hope 
 
 ' ' Saluted. 2 Doleful. 
 
THE FAINTING OF MELUSINE. 
 
 {Seep. 63. 
 
MELUSINE. 63 
 
 that Geoffrey might so amend his life as to be a shining 
 example of all the virtues in the future. 
 
 Raymondin, although in his heart he could not but confess 
 the justice of her reasoning, was so "replenysshed and perced 
 with yre, that al rayson natural was fled & goon from hym," 
 and he at once began a violent abuse of his devoted wife, 
 commencing with "Go thou hens, fals serpente," and saying 
 that she and all her children, save Fromond, were of the 
 devil. Either the violence of this public attack, or the fact 
 of her secret being thus divulged, had such an effect upon 
 Melusine, that she fell to the ground in a swoon, so deathly, 
 that for half an hour she did not breathe, and was pulseless. 
 Cold water vigorously applied, and other remedies, at length 
 brought her round, and restored her to her senses, when 
 she gently upbraided her husband with the revelation of 
 her dual existence, which had so abruptly put an end to 
 the fond dream of her life, that she might have lived the 
 allotted time of mortal existence, and then have been 
 buried in the Church of Our Lady of Lusignan, whereas 
 now she would have to resume her fairy shape of half 
 serpent, half woman, and linger about in that guise until 
 the day of judgment. The thoughts of this dreadful fate 
 had such an effect upon the pair that they both fainted, 
 and then wept and bewailed both barons and damoiselles, 
 " and they al lamented and bewaylled so pyteously & 
 rendered teerys in habundance, in so moche that it was a 
 pyteous syght." 
 
64 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 When they came to life again, Melusine spoke as to her 
 testamentary wishes in a somewhat prophetic strain. She 
 told Raymondin that during his lifetime he should hold all 
 his possessions in peace, because she would watch over him, 
 but that his heirs would have trouble to maintain them in the 
 time to come. That he must not banish Geoffrey, for that 
 he would become a good and useful member of society. 
 She desired that of her two youngest children, Raymond 
 and Theodorik, the former should be Earl of Forest, and 
 the younger Lord of Parthenay, Vernon, and Rochelle, with 
 the port there. All the others were quite able to take care 
 of themselves, except the awful child " Horrible," who, she 
 said, would, if allowed to live, commit more wickedness 
 than any other man ; therefore she desired, after she was 
 gone, that he should be put to death a suggestion that was 
 duly attended to, and he was comfortably stifled with smoke 
 from wet hay, and then honourably buried. She regretted 
 having to quit her human form, and all that made life dear 
 to her, but was somewhat comforted by the fact that she 
 should still be able to see her husband, although he might 
 not be able to behold her. She gave her husband two rings, 
 which seem to have been identical with those she bestowed 
 on him in the time of their courtship ; told him that she 
 was the daughter of King Elynas of Albany and of his 
 queen Pressyne, recapitulated her testamentary wishes, 
 and, having heaved " a sore syghe," she flew out of the 
 window into the air, " transfigured lyke a serpent grete & 
 long in XV foote of lengthe. 
 
r 
 
 "i 
 
 I 
 
 ii 
 ii 
 
 \ 
 
 I 
 
 i 
 
 1 
 
 1 
 
 i 
 
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 ^ 
 
 P 
 
 S 
 
 i 
 
 ^N 
 
 // 
 
 ^^> 
 
 y/ 
 
 ^s 
 
 / x^ ^ 
 
 THE FLIGHT OF MELUSINE. 
 
MELUSINE. 67 
 
 "And wete it wel that on the basse 1 stone of the wyndowe 
 apereth at this day th' emprynte of her foot serpentous. 2 
 Then encreased the lamentable sorovves of Raymondin, and 
 of the barons, ladyes, and damoyselles, and moost in 
 especial Raymondin's hevynes above al other. And forth- 
 with they loked out of the wyndowe to beholde what way 
 she toke. And ye noble Melusyne so transfygured as it is 
 aforsaid flyeing thre tymes about the place passed foreby 
 the wyndowe gyvyng at everyche tyme an horryble cry 
 & pyteous that caused them that beheld her to wepe for 
 pyte, ffor they perceyved wel that loth she was to departe 
 fro the place, and that it was by constraynte. And thenne 
 she toke her way toward Lusynen, makyng in th'ayre by 
 her furyousnes suche horryble crye & noyse that it semed 
 al th'ayer to be replete with thundre & tempeste. 
 
 " Thus as I have shewed went Melusyne lyke a serpent 
 flyeing in th'ayer toward Lusynen, and not so hygh but that 
 the men of the Counte 3 might see her, and she was herd a 
 myle in th'ayer, ffor she made suche noyse that al the peple 
 was abasshed. And so she flawgh 4 to Lusynen thre tymes 
 about the ffortres cryeng so pyteously & lamentably lyke 
 the voyce of a mermayde. Wherof they of the ffortresse 
 & of the toun were gretly abasshed, and wyst not what 
 they shuld thinke, ffor they sawe the figure of a serpent 
 
 1 Window-sill. 
 
 2 A serpent's foot must have been remarkable reminding one of the old carol 
 wherein Joseph was invited to "sit upon a serpent's knee." 
 
 3 County, or district. 4 Flew. 
 
68 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 and the voyce of a woman that cam from the serpent. And 
 whan she had floughe about the ffortresse thre tymes she 
 lyghted so sodaynly & horribly upon the toure called 
 posterne, bryngyng with her suche thundre & tempeste 
 that it semed that bothe the fortres & the tour shuld have 
 sonk & fallen, & therwith they lost the syght of her and 
 wyst not where she was be come. . . . And (when) the 
 tydyngs were knowen in the Countre the poure peuple 
 made grete lamentacion & sorowe, and wysshed her agen 
 with pyteous syghes, ffor she had doo 1 them grete good. 
 And then bygan the obsequyes of her to be observyd in al 
 abbeyes & churches that she had founded, and Raymondin 
 her lord dede to be doon 2 for her almesses 3 & prayers 
 thrugh al his land." 
 
 This was a fitting tribute to her worth and goodness, and 
 her memory, or rather the tradition, of her existence still 
 remains in the neighbourhood of Poitiers, where to this 
 day a sharp and sudden cry is called a " cri de Melusine," 
 and, at fair times, Melusine cakes are sold half woman 
 half serpent. The legend goes on to say that she used to 
 come at night to visit her two little ones, " and held them 
 tofore the fyre and eased them as she coude ; 4 and wel 
 sawe the nourryces that, who durst no word speke. And 
 more encreced the two children in nature in a weke than 
 dide other children in a moneth, wherof the peuple had 
 grete marvayll, but when Raymondin knew it by the 
 
 1 Done. 2 Caused to be done. 3 Alms, or charities. 4 Well as she was able . 
 
MELUSINE. 69 
 
 nourryces that Melusyne cam there evry nyght to vysyte 
 her children, relessed * his sorowe, trustyng to have her 
 agen, but that thoughte was for nought ; ffor never after 
 sawe her in forme of a woman, howbeit divers have sith 2 
 sen her in femenyn figure. And wete it that how (ever) 
 wel Raymondin hoped to have her ageyn, nevertheles he 
 had alway suche herty sorowe that there is none that can 
 tell it. And there was never man sith that sawe hym 
 laugh nor make Joye." 
 
 He had, however, a profound hatred of his son Geoffrey, 
 and the latter went away, doing useful work. He killed a 
 giant, and released his prisoners, found the tomb of his 
 grandfather and grandmother, after which he devoted his 
 energies to the slaughter of his uncle, the Earl of Forest, 
 whom he rightly deemed the fons et origo of all the mis- 
 fortunes that happened to his mother. Having chased 
 the unfortunate Earl, sword in hand, all through the castle, 
 on to its roof, the unhappy nobleman, in an endeavour to 
 escape, missed his footing, fell, and was killed. Raymondin 
 thought this was carrying filial duty quite far enough, and 
 said, " I must (ap)pease Geffray or he do any more dom- 
 mage." So he sent the young Theodorik to bid him come 
 and see him. He did so, and begged his father's for- 
 giveness. Nay, more, he promised to rebuild the abbey 
 of Maillieres, far more magnificently than it had previously 
 been, and to provide for ten monks in excess of the original 
 
 1 Relieved. 2 Since. 
 
yo ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 number. After rebuking his too zealous son, Raymondin 
 told him he was going on a journey, and would therefore 
 leave him in sole charge of his possessions, with the excep- 
 tion of the arrangement entered into in accordance with 
 Melusine's wishes. 
 
 This settled, he set out for Rome, where he interviewed 
 the Pope, named Benedictus, who received him kindly 
 heard his confession, gave him penance, and had him after- 
 wards to dinner. Raymondin informed his Holiness of his 
 intention to retire to a hermitage at Montserrat, in Aragon, 
 and obtained the papal license so to do. Meanwhile 
 Geoffrey's conscience smote him sorely; and, troubled by 
 the recollection of his misdeeds, he also determined to go 
 to Rome, see the Pope, confess his sins, and suffer his 
 punishment. This he did, and the Holy Father, among 
 many other penances, ordered him to rebuild the abbey of 
 Maillieres and provide for a hundred and twenty monks. 
 Matters thus being accommodated, he expressed his inten- 
 tion of finding his father, and the Pope directed him where 
 to go. 
 
 He duly found Raymondin, who, when he knew that 
 Geoffrey's repentance was sincere, took him in his arms and 
 kissed him, at the same time declaring his unalterable 
 intention to die a hermit, and insisting on his son's return 
 to Lusignan. On his arrival there, the barons did him 
 homage 'as their new Earl, and he then rebuilt the abbey of 
 Maillieres. 
 
 
MELUSINE. 71 
 
 We hear of Melusine yet again, for the chronicler tells 
 us " that as long as Raymondin ly ved Geffray & Theodoryk 
 came there every yere ones to see hym, but it befell on a 
 day that they were both at Lusynen redy for to go to 
 Mountserrat, a marvayllous aventure ; ffor there was seen 
 upon the batelments of the Castel, a grete & horryble 
 serpent, the which cryed with a femenyn voys, whereof all 
 the people was abasshed, but wel they wyst that it was 
 Melusine. Whan the bretheren beheld it, teerys in habund- 
 ance bygan to fall from their eyen, ffor they knew wel that 
 it was their moder. And whan the serpent sawe them 
 wepe, she enclyned the heed toward them, casting such an 
 horryble cry & so dolorous that it semed (to) them that 
 herd it that the ffortres shuld have fall (en)." 
 
 Alarmed at this portent, the two sons set out on their 
 
 journey, only to find their father dead. They did all that 
 
 
 
 was possible under the circumstances, went into mourning, 
 with all their retinue, and gave him a magnificent funeral, 
 at which were present the King and Queen of Aragon, 
 and all the nobility of the land. 
 
 Here, virtually, the story of Melusine ends, but there 
 are legends arising out of it, besides the deeds of prowess 
 done by her sons such as her birth, and the fate of herself 
 and sisters. They were the daughters of King Helmas or 
 Helymas of Albania, and his wife Pressyne, who was a 
 fairy. A difficulty seems always to attend the union of a 
 mortal and a supernatural being, and this case was no 
 
72 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 exception. Fairies must evidently have their moments of 
 retreat, far away from spying eyes, and Queen Pressyne 
 bargained, before marriage, that, whilst she lay in childbed, 
 her husband should never see her, nor inquire after her. 
 The promise was given, and of course broken, the penalty 
 being the vanishing of the fairy wife with her three 
 daughters, Melusine, Melior, and Palestine. They were 
 brought up at Avalon' in fairy-land, and when they had 
 arrived at years of discretion, z>., were fifteen years old, 
 their mother confided to them the secret of their birth. 
 The three girls were highly indignant with their father for 
 his treatment of their mother, and, with the unreasoning 
 impetuosity of youth, they took summary means to punish 
 him by enclosing him in a mountain. At his death his 
 wife buried him sumptuously, but his tomb was hidden 
 from all men, until discovered, as already told, by his 
 grandson Geoffrey. But she punished her daughters for 
 their conduct. We all know Melusine's sad fate; let us 
 trace that of Melior. 
 
 Now it came to pass, after the death of Raymondin's son, 
 Guyon, who was King of Armenia, there was one of his 
 descendants who filled his throne, fair to look upon, hardy, 
 and chivalrous, and it was reported to him that in Great 
 Armenia was "a Castel whereat was the most fayre lady that 
 men wyst at that tyme, in al the world. The whiche lady 
 had a sperhauk, 1 and to al knyghts of noble extraction that 
 
 1 Sparrowhawk. 
 
ME LU SINE. 73 
 
 - thither went, & coude watche the said sperhauk duryng the 
 space of thre dayes and thre nyghts without slepe, the 
 lady should appere tofore them, and gyve them suche 
 worldly gefte as they wold wysshe, and were desyryng to 
 have, except only herself." 
 
 These were the terms, simple enough, as it would seem, 
 but very hard to attain (but three only having gained their 
 wishes), for even knights of noble extraction were only 
 made of flesh and blood, and Melior's beauty so vanquished 
 them, that almost invariably they succumbed, and asked her 
 love ; whereon a sad fate overtook them, and she meted 
 out unsparing punishment ; generally, that they should 
 remain her prisoners until the day of judgment. Another 
 condition was attached, that this castle was only to be 
 visited once a year, and that was the day before the vigil 
 of Saint John, and on the morrow of Saint John's Day 
 every man must depart thence. 
 
 The king accepted the adventure, and, in due time, came 
 to the castle, where he was met by an old man clothed in 
 white, who, after ^interrogating the king on his errand, 
 showed him into the castle, which excited his admiration 
 by the splendour of its fittings which may be imagined 
 from the following description of the sparrowhawk's perch. 
 " And after hym entred the kyng that perceyved in the 
 myddst of the hall a long home of a unicorn * that was fayre 
 
 1 A royal gift from one potentate to another, having no money value, but 
 inestimable as medicine, or as an amulet by means of which poison might be 
 discovered. 
 
74 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 & whyte, and therupon was spred a grete cloth of gold, 
 wheron stod the sperhauk, and a glove of whyte sylk 
 under his feet." 
 
 The old man clearly explained the conditions, and left 
 his Majesty, who, finding, amongst other things, that a 
 splendid repast was awaiting him, ate thereof, but cautiously 
 and sparingly, as the chronicle sets forth. "Kept good 
 dyete, and made none exces, fTor wel he knew that to moch 
 meet and drynk causeth the body to be pesaunt J and 
 slepy." His moderation stood him in good stead, for he 
 achieved his task of watching the bird, without sleeping, for 
 three days and nights ; and his reward came, when, on the 
 fourth day, Melior presented herself. Of course her 
 dazzling beauty, and the lavish wealth everywhere dis- 
 played, " gretely abasshed " the king, but she soon set him 
 at his ease. Foolishly, very foolishly, he asked the hand 
 of the lady, but she, probably because she was of kin to 
 him, although rebuking him angrily, yet gave him another 
 chance to retrieve his error. 
 
 Still, however, bewitched by her beauty, he asked for 
 herself only, and yet once more she gave him a chance to 
 recant his choice, telling him her history ; that she was of 
 kin to him, and that Holy Church would not suffer their 
 union, and, as a punishment, she prophesied evil to himself 
 and his heirs, and that their estate should fall into decay. 
 Blinded by his infatuation, " he wold have taken the lady 
 
 1 Heavy. 
 
THE KINGS PUNISHMENT. 
 
 [Seep. 77- 
 
ME LU SINE. 77 
 
 by maner of vyolens & by force ; but soon Melyor vanysshed, 
 that he wyst never where she was become," thus proving 
 that fairies are fully able to hold their own against vile 
 man. 
 
 The king's punishment swiftly followed his fault. Im- 
 mediatly after the departyng of Melyor, there fell upon 
 the Kyng gret & pesaunt strokes as thykk as rayn falleth 
 from the skye, wherof he was al so brused in every part of 
 his body, and was drawen by the feet from the halle unto 
 the barrers J without the Castel." He never saw his enemies, 
 but when he came to shake himself together, and look at 
 his rueful case, his armour all dinted and broken, and 
 himself a mass of bruises, he cursed a thousand times the 
 man whoever brought him the first tidings of this adventure, 
 and sailed, a sadder and a sorer man, to his own dominions, 
 and afterwards all fell out as Melior had predicted. This 
 seems to have been the last ever heard of her. 
 
 Her sister Palestine's fate was to be shut up in a 
 place in Aragon, where she sat for ever guarding her 
 father's treasures, which could only be attained by one of 
 his lineage. Many noble knights essayed the task of 
 rescuing the fabulous riches which were under her guardian- 
 ship, but none ever returned, being killed by the serpents, 
 dragons, and other fearsome beasts which guarded it. But 
 Geoffrey, in his old age, hearing of the disappearance of an 
 English knight who was of Tristram's line, who foolishly 
 
 1 Barriers. 
 
78 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 engaged in this quest, determined to attempt it himself, 
 but his time for such adventures was past, and he died before 
 he could accomplish it. 
 
 But Melusine was not easily disposed of, for Jean 
 d'Arras relates several of her recent appearances, authen- 
 ticating them as well as any modern ghost story could 
 possibly be. One is of a knight named Gersnell, who was 
 keeping the castle of Lusignan, as lieutenant for the King 
 of England, at the time when John, Due of Berry and 
 Auvergne, besieged it, who "sayd to hym after the reduccyon 
 of the ffortres, that thre days tofore that he gaf it up, he 
 lyeng in hys bed with a woman, hys concubine, named 
 Alexaundryne, perceyved a grete & horryble serpent in the 
 myddle of the chambre, wherof he was gretly abasshed & 
 sore agast, and wold have taken the swerd to have des- 
 charged it upon the serpent, but Alexaundrine said thenne 
 to hym in this manyere. Ha valyaunt Gersnell, how ofte 
 have I sene your mortal enemyes tofore your presence, 
 that never ye were aferd, and now for a serpent of femenyn 
 nature ye shake for fere. Wete it for trouth that this 
 serpent is the lady of this place & she that edyfyed it, she 
 shal by no manere wise hurt nor dommage you, but so ferre 
 I understand by her apparysshing that needs ye shal hastly 
 delyvere & gyve up this ffortres to the Due of Berry. And 
 moreover, said the said Gersnell to my said lord, that hys con- 
 cubyne fered nothyng the serpent, but that he was never in his 
 dayes so aferd. And that he sawe thenne the said serpent 
 
MELUSINE. 79 
 
 tourned into a forme of a woman clothed in a gowne of 
 cours cloth, & gyrded with a grete corde undernethe the 
 pappes of her, and soone after tourned herselfe in the 
 figure of a serpent and so vanysshed away." 
 
 Also, as if this were not sufficient, a man named Godart, 
 
 who lived within the fortress, swore on the Gospels that he 
 
 | had many times seen the said serpent upon the walls, and 
 
 | she never meddled with him. And to make the case 
 
 stronger, one Guyon of Wales deposed that on the night 
 
 the apparition appeared to Gersnell, he also saw it upon 
 
 the battlements of the dongeon keep. 
 
 Can any one doubt the truth of the story after this ? 
 Reader, do you ? 
 

Sir 3$umbra$ 
 
 IS peculiarly an English Romance at least we know of 
 no version in a foreign tongue, and, indeed, those in 
 English are very scarce. Three MSS. are known 
 to exist, all of the i$th century, one at Lincoln, in the 
 Thornton Collection ; another in the library of Caius 
 College, Cambridge ; and a third is in the British Museum 
 {Cotton, Caligula, A. ii.). These have been published the 
 first in extenso but the language is very archaic, so that 
 I have preferred taking the first printed copy I could find, 
 and that is one printed by William Copland. Black letter, 
 no date, but in the British Museum Catalogue it is approxi- 
 mately given as 1550. This edition fulfilled most of the 
 ^conditions I required. Any one with a very slight know- 
 ledge of Old English could read it easily, and, although 
 it varies in its language from the MSS., it is in complete 
 accord with them as to the story. 
 
 The frontispiece is evidently much older than the 
 printing, as the wood-block of the knight is both worm- 
 
84 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 eaten and broken. It served its purpose, however, as it 
 had already done duty as frontispiece for Sy r Bevys of 
 Hampton, published by the same printer. 
 
 Of all the nobles of his time, Sir Isumbras seems to- 
 have been the most favoured. Of specially comely 
 person, great strength, and prowess in arms, wealthy, and 
 yet liberal of his wealth, with a beautiful wife and three 
 lovely children a happier existence could hardly be 
 imagined ; and so the old chronicler seems to have, 
 thought when he wrote. 
 
 Ye shall well heare of a knight 
 
 That was in warre full wyght, 1 
 
 And doughtye 2 of his dede. 
 
 Hys name was syr Isenbras, 
 
 Man nobler than he was, 
 
 Lyved none with breade. 
 
 He was lyvely, large and longe, 
 
 With shoulders broade, and armes stronge 
 
 That myghtie was to se. 
 
 He was a hardy man and hye, 
 
 All men hym loved that hym se, 
 
 For a gentyll knight was he. 
 
 Harpers loved him in hall, 
 
 With other minstrels all, 
 
 For he gave them golde and fee. 
 
 He was as curtoise as men might thinke,, 
 
 Lyberall of meate and drynke 
 
 In the worlde was none so fre. 
 
 He hade a ladye full of beautye 
 
 And also full of charitie 
 
 As any lady might be. 
 
 1 Active. 2 Brave. 
 
SIR ISUMBRAS. 85 
 
 Betwene them thay had chyldren thre, 
 Fayrer forms myght no man se 
 Under the cope of heaven. 
 
 This reads somewhat like the perfection of human 
 i bliss, and so it might have been, had not Sir Isumbras 
 lacked some spiritual essentials, which, in all probability, 
 was owing to his worldly prosperity and happiness. He 
 was puffed up with pride, and never thought of the Giver 
 of all things, who had so bounteously bestowed His 
 favours upon him ; and God thought it necessary, for the 
 knight's soul's sake, and for the salutary lesson to be 
 learned from the example he intended to make of him, 
 to chasten him for his pride and bring him low. 
 
 So, after, it befell on a daye 
 
 That this knyght went him to piaye 
 
 Hys forest for to se. 
 
 As he loked up on hye 
 
 He sawe an aungell in the skye 
 
 Which toward hym dyd flye. 
 
 Isenbras, he sayde there, 
 
 Thou hast forgotten what thou were 
 
 For pryde, and golde, and fee. 
 
 Wherfore our lord sayth to thee so 
 
 All thy good[s] thou must forego 
 
 As thou shalt hereafter se. 
 
 The worldes welth shall fro the x fall, 
 
 Thou shalt lose thy children all, 
 
 And all thy landes free. 
 
 Thy lady goodlyest of all, 
 
 For feare of fyre shall flye thy hall 
 
 This daye or thou her se. 
 
 1 From thee. 
 
86 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 The knyghte fell doune upon his kne 
 Underneth an Olyve tre 
 And helde up both his handes. 
 And then agayne thus sayde he 
 Lorde God in trinitie 
 Welcome be thy soundes. 
 While I am yonge, I maye well go, 
 When I am olde, I may not so, 
 Though that I fayne woulde. 
 Therfore Jesu I pray thee 
 In youth send me adversitie, 
 And not when I am olde. 
 The aungel toke from thence his flight, 
 And left alone that carefull knyght ; 
 From hym he .wente his waye. 
 
 Swift was the divine punishment ; for no sooner was 
 the angel gone, than his strong steed dropped down dead 
 from under him, and his hawks and hounds suddenly 
 expired, and in this plight nought was left for him but 
 to take his sad way homeward on foot, whilst the tears 
 streamed down his cheeks. On his way he was met by 
 some of his household, who had but sad news to give him : 
 how that all his cattle had been destroyed by adders, 
 that worms had killed his capons, and that he had no 
 beast left for the plough, they having died from the effects 
 of thunder. He took their news with becoming resigna- 
 tion and bade them pass on. Sad-hearted, he still bent his 
 steps homeward, when he was met by " a lytle lad " who 
 told him the grievous news that all his castle, &c., was 
 burned to the ground, and that many of his people had 
 been killed. In fact the only lives saved were those of 
 
ISUMBRAS. 87 
 
 his wife and children who had fled for fear of the fire. 
 When he reached the scene of the catastrophe he found it 
 even as it had been reported unto him. 
 
 A dolefull sight than gan he se, 
 Hys wyfe and his chyldren thre 
 Out of the fyre were fled. 
 There they sate under a thorne 
 Bare and naked as they wer borne, 
 Brought out of theyr bed. 
 
 He took off his "surcoat of pallade" 1 and put it on his 
 wife, cut his scarlet mantle into three pieces in which to 
 wrap his children, and, being fully imbued with the awful 
 punishments with which God had thought good to afflict 
 him, he suggested to his wife that they should at once 
 set out on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and visit 
 Calvary. This resolution they carried into effect at once, 
 but in a very meek, and lowly fashion. 
 
 The lorde and the ladye bende 2 
 
 Toke theyr way for to wende 
 
 Upon the same daye. 
 
 Whan that they departe shoulde 
 
 For them wept both yonge and olde, 
 
 Both wyfe, wydow, man and maye. 3 
 
 They bare with them no maner of thynge 
 
 That was worth a farthynge, 
 
 Cattell, golde ne fe. 4 
 
 But mekely they asked theyr meate 
 
 Where that they myght it gette 
 
 For saynct charytie. 
 
 1 A rich kind of cloth. 2 Bowed to circumstances. 3 Maid. 4 Nor property. 
 
88 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 In this humble manner they passed through " seven 
 lands " safely, sometimes subsisting on the alms of the 
 charitable ; at others, only on berries, and the tender 
 shoots of the thorn. At length they came to a river, 
 through which Sir Isumbras waded, with his eldest child 
 in his arms, and, having placed him under a bush of broom, 
 he re-crossed the river to fetch his second born ; but, whilst 
 he was in mid stream, a lion bore away his eldest boy, 
 and a leopard took his next child, who was with his 
 mother. 
 
 After the first burst of grief they piously bowed to the 
 will of the Creator, and pursued their journey through a 
 forest, until they came to the sea shore, where they saw a 
 fleet of " thre hundred shyppes and mo," belonging to the 
 Soudan of the Saracens, who was there in person. As 
 they had tasted neither meat nor drink for seven days, 
 they not unnaturally agreed to pay the Soudan a visit, 
 and ask for some provisions. But the Soudan thought 
 they were spies, and ordered them to be beaten and sent 
 away. Their pitiful case, however, was apparent to the 
 bystanders, and caused much commiseration among them. 
 
 A knyght kneled before the kynge 
 
 And sayd it is a pytifull thynge 
 
 That poore penaunce to se. 
 
 He semeth a man so gentyll and fre, 
 
 Though he be in necessitie, 
 
 It is ruth 1 and pytie. 
 
 1 Compassion should be shown him. 
 
ISUMBRAS. 89 
 
 His eyen are gray as any glasse ; 
 Were he as well fedde as ever he was 
 Like a knight shoulde he be. 
 Hys wyfe as wyte as whalesbone, 
 Though she with weping be overgone, 
 She is as white as blosome on tre. 
 
 This intercession had weight with the Soudan, and he 
 ordered the wayfarers to be brought before him, which 
 was done, after they had been fed and clothed. He was 
 struck with Sir Isumbras's personal appearance, and 
 offered to dub him a knight if he would go and fight for 
 him, first of all renouncing Christianity and embracing 
 the faith of Mahound. But this was too much for Sir 
 Jsumbras's othodoxy : 
 
 I shall never Hethen hounde become, 
 
 Nor warre againste Christendome, 
 
 Therfore to dye thys daye (he was willing). 
 
 Create wayes we have to gone, 
 
 Meat ne drynke have we none, 
 
 Ne penye for to paye. 
 
 Syr, helpe us to our lyves fode, 1 
 
 For hys love that dyed on rode, 2 
 
 And let us walk awaye. 
 
 But this was not to be, for the Soudan was struck by 
 the angelic beauty of the lady, and, after his Oriental 
 manner, he wished to purchase her of her husband, offering 
 him "an hundred pounde of fayre Florence rede and 
 rounde, and red robes seven : " besides which, she was to 
 
 1 Food. 2 Rood, or cross. 
 
90 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 be made the Soudan's queen. Needless to say, Sir 
 Isumbras indignantly refused such a bargain, but the 
 Soudan had force majeure on his side, paid the money and 
 garments, and seized the lady. Sir Isumbras threw away 
 the money, and, for his pains, got a terrible beating, from 
 which, as soon as he was recovered, he took his son by the 
 hand and went forth. Seemingly both Sir Isumbras and 
 his wife looked upon these events as manifestations of the 
 Divine will, and accepted them with resignation, for the 
 Soudan immediately crowned the lady as his queen, and 
 she made no resistance thereto, only stipulating to have a 
 few last words with her former husband. 
 
 This was granted, and, after an affecting interview, she 
 advised Sir Isumbras to go away, and, for the future, to 
 exert all his energies in endeavouring to conquer and kill 
 the Soudan, and enjoy his kingdom. 
 
 Then this ladye meke and mylde 
 Kyssed hym, and than her chylde, 
 Then sowned x she tymes thre. 
 
 After which she sailed for Syria, and her husband, 
 accepting the position, took the gold and red robes, and 
 with his little son went on his way. At night, weary and 
 tired, they lay upon the bare earth, but with the morn 
 came an adventure, for an eagle carried off the red robes 
 in which were wrapped both the gold, for which he had 
 sold his wife, and also his provisions. He followed the 
 
 1 Swooned. 
 
1 SUMS R AS. 91 
 
 bird till stopped by the shores of the Grecian Sea, over 
 which the eagle flew, and he returned sadly to his young 
 son, who, however, in the meantime, had been carried off 
 by an unicorn ; and this last blow utterly crushed the 
 
 knight. 
 
 The knyghte afore was often wo, 
 
 But never then he was so, 
 
 He set hym on a stone. 
 
 Lorde, he saye, wo is me, 
 
 For my wyfe and my chyldren thre, 
 
 Now am I left alone. 
 
 The kynge that bare of thorne the croune, 
 
 Wysshe me a waye unto the towne, 
 
 For all amysse have I gone. 
 
 Hungry, tired, and heartsore, he proceeded on his way, 
 until he saw the light of a fire, which proceeded from a 
 smith's forge. He begged for bread, but the smiths were 
 utilitarian in their ideas, and refused to give any unless he 
 worked for it. " They sayde, labour, for so do we." Sir 
 Isumbras complied, and worked for them for a twelve- 
 month in doing arduous and menial work, but after that 
 time he was initiated into the art and mystery of working 
 in iron, and he worked at this trade for seven years, be- 
 coming so proficient therein that he was enabled to make 
 himself a suit of armour, and all that belonged to a 
 knight's outfit. 
 
 At the end of that time he heard that the Christians 
 had taken the field against the Saracens, and he deter- 
 mined to join them ; so, buckling on his armour, he got 
 
92 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 the best substitute for a charger that he could, " a croked 
 caple that coles broughte," and started for the fray. 
 Needless to say he fought like a paladin, until the poor 
 "caple" was slain. His prowess had been so prominent, 
 that when this event happened, an Earl gave him a good 
 steed and a fine suit of armour instead of his home-made 
 one. Thus accoutred, he -once more mixed in the melee, 
 dealing hard blows all round, and at last he slew the 
 Soudan. Such a feat as this could not fail of recognition 
 by the Christian king, and Sir Isumbras was brought 
 before him, all wounded as he was, and questioned as to 
 who he was. 
 
 Syr, quod he, a smythe's man, 
 To defend thee in fyghte. 
 
 The king promised to make him a knight, and gener- 
 ally to look after his fortune, and, in the meantime, 
 ordered him to a nunnery, where the good sisters might 
 heal him of his wounds. Here he was greatly petted, 
 
 Because he had the Sowdan slayne, 
 With many a Heathen hounde. 
 
 When he got well, he would not wait for honours to be 
 bestowed upon him, but dressed himself like a palmer, 
 and, having taken a grateful farewell of the prioress and 
 the nuns, he again set out on his pilgrimage. He found 
 a ship sailing for Acre, and soon reached that city, from 
 whence he prosecuted his pilgrimage to the Holy Sepul- 
 chre. Hard and toilsome was the way, and the food, 
 
SfJS ISUMBRAS. 93 
 
 too, poor and insufficient ; but a blessed change was at 
 
 hand, and he was about to reap the reward of his suffer- 
 ings. 
 
 Faint and hungry, 
 
 Beside the borowe J of Bethlem, 
 
 He set hym by a well streme, 
 
 Tyll the day was dymme. 
 
 As he sat and sore syght 
 
 There came an aungell about mydnight 
 
 And brought hym bread and wyne. 
 
 Isenbras, he sayde, lysten unto mee, 
 
 Our lorde hath pardon graunted to thee, 
 
 Forgeven are synnes thyne. 
 
 Nowe rest the well, syr Isenbras, 
 
 Forgeven is all thy trespas, 
 
 Shortly for to sayne. 2 
 
 My Lorde is heaven['s] kynge 
 
 Hath the geven hys blessynge, 
 
 And byddeth the turne agayne. 
 
 The knyght on his knees hym set, 
 
 And Christ of heaven kynge he grete[d], 
 
 Of the tydynges he was fayne. 3 
 
 The angel left him, and Sir Isumbras, fortified by the 
 food he had taken, retraced his steps. He wandered 
 about until he .heard of a fair castle, wherein dwelt a 
 queen, who was a paragon of all that was good, and 
 
 Every day she made a dole 
 
 Of many florences, gold and hole, 4 
 
 Whoso woulde it fetche. 
 
 Sir Isumbras was in that lowly condition when either 
 
 1 Burgh, or town. 2 Say. 3 Glad. 
 
 4 I.e., not clipped, but nice and round, fresh from the mint. 
 
94 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 money or meat would be acceptable, and at once made 
 for that castle. He joined the ranks of the poor, and duly 
 received his golden florin from the queen, who chose 
 fifty of the poorest and feeblest from among them, and 
 Sir Isumbras with them. The queen presided at the 
 feast of these poor folk, and, from some cause unexplained, 
 either from his superior state of emaciation, or from his 
 palmer's garb, denoting a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, 
 the steward gave directions that he should sit above all 
 the other company. Food and drink were given him, but 
 he did not partake of them, but sat still, shedding tears. 
 Probably this behaviour called particular attention to him, 
 for the queen ordered a chair and a cushion to be pro- 
 vided for the poor palmer, that he might relate to her the 
 adventures he had met with in the many lands through 
 which he had travelled. He gratified her curiosity with 
 many traveller's tales, but no temptation in the form of 
 rich meats, &c., could induce him to eat. The queen bade 
 him dread nothing, but 
 
 For his soule that was my Lorde 
 I will the finde at bed and borde, 
 Fayre to cloth and feede. 
 At thyne ease thou shalt be, 
 With much mirth game and gle, 
 Both early and late. 
 A clene chamber and a iayre, 
 And a man to serve thee 
 Within the castle gate 
 
 a position which was gratefully accepted by Sir Isumbras 
 
ISUMBRAS. 95 
 
 who fell on his knees and thanked the queen ; but this 
 promotion naturally brought with it envy from those less 
 fortunate. At length there was a tournament, and he 
 was horsed " on a fayre stede." His generous diet had 
 brought back his old strength, and he played havoc with 
 the Saracens ; none could stand before him. 
 
 Some he caste over the lake, 
 
 Of some both necke and backe he brake, 
 
 They fled from hym for drede. 
 
 The ladye seying that, fast lough, 1 
 
 And sayde my palmer is strong ynough, 
 
 And worthy for to ryde. 
 
 And now a curious adventure befel Sir Isumbras, bor- 
 dering somewhat on the marvellous : for, as he was walk- 
 ing one day, he espied a heron's nest, wherefrom fluttered 
 a red cloth. Being somewhat amazed at this singular 
 sight he climbed the tree, and in the nest he found his 
 own red robe, of which the eagle had robbed him, still 
 containing the gold which had been given him as the 
 price of his wife, the sight of which well-nigh sent him 
 mad. 
 
 When he se the reade golde 
 Wherfore hys ladye was solde, 
 Then was he woode 2 of mynde. 
 The golde into the chambre he bare, 
 Under his heade he putte it there, 
 Then wepynge he went his waye. 
 Ever when he the golde gan se, 
 Hys songe was well a waye. 
 1 Laughed loudly. 2 Mad. 
 
96 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Were he never of chere so good 
 Whan he in hys chamber yode * 
 After he wepte all the daye. 
 
 This lachrymose behaviour naturally attracted attention, 
 and was reported to the queen ; and, by way of solving the 
 mystery, four knights broke open the door of Sir Isum- 
 bras' chamber, and found the red robes and the gold, which 
 they took to the queen, who, at the sight of these tokens, 
 especially of the gold for which she had been sold into 
 splendid slavery, swooned thrice. When she came to 
 herself 
 
 Often she syghed, and sayde alas, 
 This ought a knyght Syr Isenbras 
 That my lorde was wont to be. 
 Unto the knyghts there she tolde 
 How that she for golde was solde, 
 Her lorde was beaten there. 
 Where ye maye the palmer se 
 Byd hym come and speke with me: 
 Therto me longeth sore. 
 The palmer came into the hall, 
 Unto counsell she dyd him call, 
 And asked hym right there. 
 How that he the golde wan, 
 And whether he were a gentleman, 
 And in what countre he was borne. 
 With carfull harte, 2 and rewfull 3 dreare 
 He gave the quene this aunswere 
 On knees her before. 
 The first tale that he her tolde 
 Madame therfore my wife was solde 
 I do you to understande. 
 
 1 Went. 2 Heart full of care. 3 Rueful. 
 
ISUMBRAS. 97 
 
 Thre chyldren have I lore, 1 
 
 My mantel was awaye bore, 
 
 I in a nest it founde. 
 
 Tho 2 had the lady great solace, 
 
 She fell in sowning, so faynt she was 
 
 When they together met. 
 
 There was myrthe to se them mete 
 
 With clypping 3 and kissing swete 
 
 In armes for to folde. 
 
 Eyther of other was so fayne 
 
 They wolde it no longer layne ; 4 
 
 To the knyghtes they it tolde. 
 
 A ryche brydale dyd they byd, 
 
 Both riche and poore thyther yede, 5 
 
 Would none themselfe with holde. 
 
 Syr Isenbras was rayed 6 ryght, 
 
 And crowned kyng, that erre 7 was knyght, 
 
 With a gaye garlande of golde. 
 
 The chronicle does not treat of the happiness of the 
 reunited pair, but it can well be imagined. It was hardly 
 to be expected that his most Christian Majesty King 
 Isumbras would live in friendly accord with the dogs of 
 Mahound, his heathen neighbours ; nor, indeed, does he 
 seem to have gained the affection of his own subjects, for 
 when his neighbours rose against him, all his people, with- 
 out exception, forsook him, and left him perfectly alone 
 to fight the Saracen hosts. 
 
 Sir Isumbras does not seem to have quailed, although 
 he felt he must be going to certain destruction. His 
 parting from his queen is well told. 
 
 1 Lost. 2 Then. 3 Embracing. 
 
 They would no longer delay their reunion. 
 Went. 6 Arrayed, apparelled. 1 Erst, before. 
 
98 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Syr Isenbras curtoyse and kene 1 
 
 Toke hys leave of his quene, 
 
 And after syghed full sore. 
 
 He loked on her with eyen graye 
 
 And sayd, Madame, have good daye 
 
 For now and evermore. 
 
 The ladye sayd unto the knight, 
 
 I woulde I were in armure bright 
 
 With you that I myght fare. 
 
 If God woulde the grace sende, 
 
 That we myght together wende, 
 
 Then gone were all my care. 
 
 Sone was the lady dyghte 2 
 
 In armure as she were a knyghte, 
 
 With horse, with speare, and shelde. 
 
 Agaynst thyrty thousand Sarasins, and mo 
 
 Of christen came but they two 
 
 Alone into the feylde. 
 
 Strong indeed must have been the faith that impellec 
 the pair to encounter the Saracenic horde. The heather 
 raged furiously around them, but the knight was calm, anc 
 swore by " swete Jesu " that he would not give in whilsi 
 he " may in styrope stande," and his lady, following hi< 
 example, swore by " Mary mylde " that " she woulde do hei 
 myghte." The battle began, and they twain did prodigies 
 of valour, overcoming all who came against them, until 
 the Soudan of the Saracens " was out of his wyt," and 
 promised rewards and lands to any one who would lay 
 Sir Isumbras low. 
 
 It was not to be done single-handed, and it was there- 
 fore proposed that a combined rush should be made on 
 
 1 Earnest, bold. 2 Clad. 
 
SIR ISUMBRAS. 99 
 
 Sir Isumbras, and thus overwhelm him with sheer force of 
 numbers. This was done, and the knight and his lady 
 were in such sore straits, that but a short time could only 
 elapse before they certainly must be slain, when a miracle 
 came to their aid. 
 
 Ryght as they slayne shoulde have be, 1 
 
 There came ryding kynges thre 
 
 On beastes that were wylde. 
 
 One on a Leoparde, and one on a Unicorne, 
 
 And one a Lion, one ranne beforne, 2 
 
 Theyr eldest sonne to beare. 
 
 The knyghtes fought as they were wode, 3 
 
 And slewe all that before them stode ; 
 
 Great wonder it was to se. 
 
 The Heathen knyghtes slew the 4 there, 
 
 The Sarasyns that counted were 
 
 Thurtye thousand and thre. 
 
 It is needless to say that these three champions who 
 arrived so opportunely were the three lost children of Sir 
 Isumbras and his wife. The chronicle does not attempt to 
 account for their sudden appearance other than " The 
 grace of God us hether sent." Sir Isumbras' faithless 
 subjects seem to have returned to their allegiance, and 
 everything went very happily. The three sons each con- 
 quered him a " land," and christianized the people, and the 
 j Romance concludes. 
 
 Than was Kynge Syr Isenbras 
 Of more welth than ever he was, 
 And come out of his care. 
 
 1 Been. 2 Before. 3 Mad. 4 They. 
 
ioo ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 To every sonne he gave a lande, 
 
 And crouned hym kynge with his hande, 
 
 Whyle they together were. 
 
 The eldest sonne was in Surrye r 
 
 Chosen chyefe of chyvalre, 
 
 As kynge and governoure. 
 
 The seconde sonne, shortly to say, 
 
 In an He called laffaye 
 
 Reygned with great honour. 
 
 The youngest brother was crowned kynge 
 
 Of Calabre without leasynge : 2 
 
 Thus reygned they all thre. 
 
 And when it pleased God of hys myght, 
 
 They all departed in heavens lyght, 
 
 To the whiche brynge us the trinitie, 
 
 Amen, Amen, for charitie. 
 
 1 Syria. 2 Lying. 
 
Sir 2>egore* 
 
 AS far as I can find, there is no MS. edition of this 
 Romance in the British Museum, but it exists in 
 the Auchinleck MSS., and there is another at 
 Cambridge. The copy from which I have drawn was 
 printed by Copland, circa 1550, and is one of the Garrick 
 Collection in the British Museum. There was also a copy 
 of this Romance printed by Wynkyn de Worde, 4, 18 
 leaves with woodcuts, and another printed by John King, 
 1560, is in the Bodleian Library. 
 
 Once upon a time there was a king of England, whose 
 name has not been handed down to us, who was very 
 valiant, and highly skilled in martial exercises, and who 
 loved nothing more than jousting. He had but one 
 daughter, whose mother had died in giving birth to her, 
 and he loved her dearly. Kings' sons and the great ones 
 of the earth had wooed this princess, but hitherto without 
 
104 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 success, because the king exacted from each suitor that 
 they should joust together, and only he who could lift the 
 king out of his saddle and both stirrups should wed her. 
 All had failed, and matters stood thus at the beginning of 
 the story. 
 
 It was his custom to celebrate the anniversary of his 
 queen's death with some solemnity in the abbey in which 
 she was buried, and this Romance commences with the 
 procession thither, in which the princess rode with her 
 father ; but something happening amiss to her apparel, she 
 called her chamberlain and ladies-in-waiting to her, and 
 dismounted in order to put it right. This seems to have 
 taken some time, for when they started again the proces- 
 sion was both out of sight and hearing, and somehow they 
 took the wrong turning, and missed their way, getting lost 
 in a forest. It was very hot, they were tired, and they lay 
 down on the grass to rest, whilst the king's daughter went 
 and gathered flowers. She strayed so far that she lost her 
 companions, and, after the manner of her sex, she wept and 
 wrung her hands, fearing to be hurt by wild beasts. 
 
 Suddenly she saw before her a knight, richly dressed, 
 who begged her not to be afraid of him, for that he had 
 loved her many years, and that now, having met her thus 
 opportunely, he should gratify his passion. Utterly 
 paralyzed with fear and grief, she made no defence, and 
 before the knight left her, he gave her a present for the 
 son she should bear. 
 
DEGORE. 105 
 
 Therfore my swearde he shall have, 
 
 My good swerde of Ameaunt, 1 
 
 For therwith I slewe a Gyaunt. 
 
 I brake the poynt in his head, 
 
 And in the felde I it leved ; 
 
 Dame, take it up, lo, it is here, 
 
 For thou spekest not with me this many a yere, 
 
 And yet peraventure tyme may come 
 
 That I may speke with my sonne, 
 
 And by this sworde I maye him ken. 
 
 Thus saying, he kissed and left her, and she, dazed and 
 weeping, wandered about, carrying the sword, until she 
 met with her retinue. Concealing the sword in her robe, 
 she awoke them, and they once more went on their way, 
 this time meeting many a knight spurring in hot haste, 
 sent by the king in quest of them, and they proceeded to 
 the abbey to attend the memorial service to her mother. 
 
 Time went on, and she could no longer conceal her 
 position from herself, and, not knowing what to do, she 
 took one of her maidens into her confidence, and told her 
 all her history. With her connivance, the princess's son 
 was born without any one else being the wiser, and the 
 next thing was, how to get rid of the child. The maid 
 wrapped it well in clothes, laid it in a cradle, and with it 
 placed twenty pounds in gold and ten in silver, also 
 
 She put with him a payre of gloves, 
 Her leman gave her them in a stonde, 2 
 They wold els on no womans hande, 
 On childes neither womans they nolde, 3 
 But on his mothers handes they wolde, 
 1 ? Adamant. 2 Hurriedly. 3 Would not (go). 
 
io6 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 And bad the chylde no wyfe wed in lande, 
 
 But the gloves wolde on her hande. 
 
 For they might serve no where, 
 
 Save the mother that dyd hym beare. 
 
 A letter with the chylde put she, 
 
 With the gloves also perde ; x 
 
 She knyt the letter with a threde, 
 
 About his necke a full good spede, 
 
 Then was in the letter wrytte, 
 
 Whoso it founde shulde it wytte, 2 
 
 For Christes love if anye good man, 
 
 This wofull chylde fynde can, 
 
 Do him 3 be christened of priestes hande, 
 
 And to helpe hym to lyve in lande, 
 
 With this sylver that is here, 
 
 Tyll he may armes bere, 
 
 And helpe hym with his owne good, 
 
 For he is come of gentyll bloud. 
 
 And, having thus carefully fitted out the infant for a 
 foundling's career, she waited until the evening, and then 
 stole out, she knew not whither, with the child. 
 
 Through thicke and thyn in the brere, 4 
 She went all the wynter nyght, 
 By shyning of the mone light. 
 
 At length she reached a hermitage, and seeing the 
 advantage of providing the solitary with a companion, she 
 laid the cradle at the door, and hied back home. In the 
 morning the hermit found the babe, and 
 
 He lyft up the shete anone, 
 
 And loked upon the lytel grome, 5 
 
 Than helde up his ryght honde, 
 
 And thanked Jesus Christ of his fonde. 6 
 1 Par dieu, or par de. 2 Know. 3 Let him, &c. 
 
 4 Briar, tangled underwood. 5 Man. 6 Kindness. 
 
SIR DEGORE. I07 
 
 He bare the childe into the chapel, 
 
 For joye of him he ronge the bel. 
 
 And layed up the gloves and the treasure, 
 
 And christened the childe with great honour, 
 
 And in the worshipe of the Trinite. 
 
 He called the childes name Degore, 1 ^ 
 
 For degore to understande it is 
 
 But thynge that almost lost iwys, 
 
 As thinge that almost ago, 
 
 Therfore he called that chylde so. 
 
 But whatever might be the holy man's joy, he found 
 he had got something beyond his power to cope with ; so 
 he sent Degore to a married sister of his, and she and her 
 husband looked upon him as if he had been their own, and 
 kept him for ten years, by which time he had grown a 
 comely lad, well taught, and of a kindly disposition ; so 
 that nothing was left to be desired. He was then too old 
 for apron strings, so they sent him back to the hermit, who 
 " taught the childe of clerkes lore " for another ten years. 
 
 He was now twenty years old, tall, well built, and very 
 strong ; in fact, especially so for his years. So that when 
 the hermit found him fitted physically, by his strength, and 
 mentally, by his learning, for the battle of life, he looked 
 up the money, gloves, and letter that had accompanied 
 the babe, and, having deducted the ten pounds in silver for 
 his support and education, he gave him the remainder. 
 Naturally the young man burned to find his father, and 
 
 1 In a MS. copy of this Romance it is spelt Degare, which probably may 
 mean the modern Vegare led astray, or lost which will reconcile it with the 
 text. 
 
io8 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 would not be contented except that he set out on his quest 
 at once. So, taking only half his gold, he left the other 
 in the charge of the good hermit, who advised him to buy 
 a good horse and armour. But the youth would only take 
 a " batte," or club, made of a good oak sapling, with 
 which he could beat to the ground a good man well armed. 
 In those days an idle man in search of a job in the 
 adventure line was never long without meeting with one. 
 So on his first day, in the afternoon, whilst journeying 
 through a forest, he heard the sound of mighty strokes. 
 Going to the place whence they proceeded 
 
 There was an Erie both stout and gave, 
 He was come theyther the same daye 
 For to hunt a dere or a do, 
 But his hotmdes were gone hym fro. 
 Then was there a Dragon great and grymme, 
 Full of fyre and also venymme, 
 Wyth a wyde throte and tuskes greate, 
 Upon that knight faste gan he bete ; 
 And as a Lyon then was hys feete, 
 His tayle was longe and full unmete ; l 
 Between hys head and his tayle 
 Was wii fote withouten fayle ; 
 His body was lyke a wyne tonne, 
 He shone full bryght agaynste the sonne ; 
 His eyen were bright as any glasse, 
 His scales were harde as any brasse, 
 -And therto he was necked lyke a horse ; 
 He bare his head up with great force ; 
 The breth of his mouth that dyd out blowe 
 As it had bene a fyre on lowe ; 2 
 He was to loke on as I you tell 
 As it had bene a fiende of hell. 
 1 Unmeasured. 2 Burning brightly. 
 
SfR DEGORE. 109 
 
 The earl was getting weary of the strife, and prayed 
 Degore's help for the sake of "saynt charite." It was 
 willingly accorded ; and, as the dragon began to feel on 
 his ribs the effects of an oak sapling, skilfully and strongly 
 applied, he turned his attention to the quarter whence the 
 annoyance proceeded. The dragon was pounded and 
 bruised, but, as dragons will not submit to such treatment 
 with meekness, it used its tail with such effect that he 
 knocked Degore down. Quickly recovering, he redoubled 
 his attentions to the dragon, and, having reduced its ribs 
 to a jelly, and broken its legs, he finished up by dashing 
 its brains out. 
 
 Very grateful was the earl for the timely succour, and 
 he made Degore accompany him to his palace, where, in 
 addition to hospitable treatment, he dubbed him a knight, 
 and fain would have given him " rentes, treasure, and 
 halfe his lande." But Degore would have none of them ; 
 he only asked that the ladies of the establishment might 
 be summoned and try on his gloves : if they fitted one of 
 them, he would stay ; if not, he would take his leave. 
 We who are behind the scenes know the result they 
 would fit no one ; but the earl would not let Degore go 
 away empty, so gave him a good steed and a suit of 
 armour, a page, and a hackney for him to ride. 
 
 Thankfully he accepted these presents, and joyfully 
 went on his way, which led him towards his grandfather's 
 dominions. 
 
no ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Seeing many people, he stopped an esquire and asked 
 him the reason for this assemblage. He was told that the 
 king was holding a joust, the prize of which was to be 
 his daughter's hand, if any knight could lift the king out 
 of his saddle and both stirrups. The esquire detailed very 
 graphically the fate of the competitors. 
 
 For every man that rydeth to hym 
 
 He beteth them with strokes grym ; 
 
 Some he breaketh the necke anone, 
 
 Of some he cracketh both backe and bone, 
 
 Some through the body he glytte, 1 
 
 And some to death he smytte. 
 
 But to a young man who at the very outset of his career 
 had slain a dragon, this description would hardly act as a 
 deterrent. He knew himself to be very strong, and he 
 argued thus : 
 
 I am in my yonge bloud, 
 And I have horse and armure good, 
 And, as I trowe, a full good steede, 
 I will assaye if I maye spede, 
 And I maye beare the kinge downe, 
 I maye be a man of great renowne. 
 
 Thus revolving in his mind, he sought an inn, where he 
 rested and enjoyed himself; until one day he met the 
 king, and, kneeling before him, he told him that his lord 
 had sent him to warn his Majesty that he was coming to 
 joust with him ; and the king made answer that any one 
 coming on that errand was welcome. 
 
 1 Literally, glides, slips through. 
 
SfK DEGORE. in 
 
 Be he knyght or barowne, 
 Erie, duke, or churle in towne. 
 
 The jousts were fixed for the morrow, and Degore, fancy- 
 ing that he had by no means an easy task, and probably 
 being influenced by his education, went to church and 
 heard a mass to the Trinity, making an offering of a 
 florin to each of the three persons, the priest specially 
 praying for him. Then he went to his inn, armed himself, 
 bestrode his good steed, and took his lance, his squire follow- 
 ing with another ; and when he arrived at the place of tourney 
 he was the admired of all beholders, who had never seen 
 so fair a knight come on such an errand. 
 
 The joust began, and the king having the longer spear, 
 struck Degore full on the shield ; but, to his astonishment, 
 his adversary sat fast and safe in his saddle. At this the 
 king knew he had somebody out of the common way to 
 deal with, and, taking a yet longer spear at the next 
 assault, struck Degore full on the breast, so that his horse 
 reared on high, and he was nearly thrown ; but he rode out 
 his course. This fired Degore's blood ; twice had he been 
 smitten, and yet he had not touched the king ; next time 
 he must do better, and once more the destriers charged, 
 and a splendid joust ensued. Fair on each other's shield, 
 were the lances planted, but the impetus was so great that 
 both were shattered and splintered. 
 
 And then the kynge began to speake, 
 Gyve me a speare that wyll not breke, 
 
1 1 2 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR K 
 
 For he shall anone be smitten downe, 
 Though he be as stronge as Sampsone ; 
 And if he be the Devyll of hell 
 I shall him soone downe fell. 
 
 But this time the king's cunning forsook him, whilst 
 Sir Degore's lance hit him fairly. Alas ! both horse and 
 rider were rolling in the lists, the royal conditions being 
 fairly fulfilled. 
 
 Great commotion followed the king's overthrow, and 
 even the fair prize trembled as she thought she must now 
 be married, and to a knight from a strange country, whose 
 very name was unknown. The king held to his royal 
 word, and greeted his conqueror kindly, saying that if his 
 birth conformed to his appearance and deeds, he should 
 think him a fitting successor to his land ; meanwhile he 
 gave him his daughter, and yielded to him his realm. 
 Then and there was the marriage ceremony performed, 
 and so it came to pass that Degore married (unwittingly 
 to both parties) his MOTHER. 
 
 Great feasting ensued, and night was drawing nigh when 
 Sir Degore bethought him that he ought never to wed 
 any woman until she had tried on the magic gloves, and 
 in the heaviness of his heart wished aloud that he had 
 never been born, and that he were well out of the place. 
 The king inquired why, and then Degore told him how 
 that he had done wrong in marrying without first subject- 
 ing his bride to a trial of his gloves. 
 
SIR DEGORE. II3 
 
 And when the Lady gan this here 
 Anone she chaunged all her chere, 
 And all together tourned her mode ; 
 Her vysage waxed red as any bloude, 
 She knewe that the Gloves longed to her, 
 And sayd, geve me the Gloves, fayre Syr. 
 She toke the Gloves in that slede, 
 And lyghtly upon her handes them did ; 
 She fell downe and began to crye, 
 And sayd, Lorde God, I aske mercy ; 
 I am thy mother that dyd thee here, 
 And thou arte myne owne sonne dere. 
 
 There was no questioning the truth of the assertion ; 
 mother and son were locked in each other's arms, fondly 
 kissing and embracing. The king looked on astonished, 
 and naturally asked his daughter for an explanation, 
 which she gave fully and unreservedly. Sir Degore asked 
 his mother if she knew of his father's whereabouts, but 
 she had never seen him since their one fatal meeting ; but 
 she gave Degore the sole token she had of him, the point- 
 less sword he had given her, together with his message 
 that she was to keep it for their son, until the time that he 
 had grown to man's estate. Sir Degore eyed the blade 
 critically, saying that he who had owned it must have been 
 a man ; but he registered a vow that he would neither 
 sleep night nor day until he had found his father, if that he 
 were in Christendom. 
 
 So the next morning, after hearing mass, he set forth on 
 his quest,attended only by his page for he refused his grand- 
 father's offer of some knights to accompany him not know- 
 
 9 
 
ii4 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 ing whither he was going, only ever riding westward, until he 
 came to a forest and it was nigh nightfall. The sun was 
 down, and no town was near, when the knight espied a 
 castle, to which he sent his page to ask a night's lodging 
 " for charyte." On this, the drawbridge fell, the gate stood 
 open, and they entered. Like good cavaliers, their first 
 thou grits were for their horses, and, finding plenty of corn 
 and hay, they left them comfortable. They then went in 
 search of human beings, but, although they roamed about 
 and called out, they found none ; but in the midst of the 
 hall was a great fire. This looked, undoubtedly, as if the 
 castle were inhabited, and, determining to wait until some 
 one should come, Sir Degore sat himself on the dai's, and 
 made himself comfortable. 
 
 His patience was rewarded, for a lady and three maidens 
 appeared, dressed as Diana for the chase 
 
 . . . fayre and free, 
 That were trussed up to the kne. 
 
 Two had bows, and two bore venison, and Sir Degore 
 court eously stood up and blessed them ; but they took no 
 heed, and spoke not to him, but entered into a chamber, 
 shuttin g the door after them. Soon after, however, came 
 into the hall a dwarf, four feet high, who had a large 
 head, with yellow hair, and a milk-white face. He was 
 dressed in a green surcoat, edged with black and white 
 fur, and was well clad, his shoes being fashionably turned 
 
SIR DEGORE. u 5 
 
 up at the toes. Sir Degore bowed courteously to him, yet 
 the dwarf spoke no word, but began to furnish the board 
 with a cloth and bread and wine. He lit torches in the 
 hall, and made all things ready for supper. 
 
 Shortly afterwards there came from her bower a lady 
 accompanied by fifteen damsels, some in red, and some in 
 green. None of them took any heed of Sir Degore, but 
 went and washed their hands, and then sat down to supper 
 the lady on the dai's, five maidens on each side the table 
 and five at the bottom. Sir Degore was determined to 
 make them speak if he could, so he went and sat before 
 the lady, and commenced to eat ; but little food passed his 
 lips, as he was so entranced by the beauty of the lady. 
 Supper over, the dwarf brought water ; they all washed 
 their hands, and left the hall for their private apartments. 
 But Degore could not stay after they had gone. He 
 followed the lady, being determined to gaze his fill upon 
 her lovely countenance, and found her sitting upon her 
 bed, playing the harp. Sir Degore sat him down and 
 listened to the delicious music, which had such an effect 
 upon him that he laid down and fell asleep, the lady 
 kindly covering him ere she went to some other bed- 
 chamber. 
 
 In the morning she came and called him, twitting him 
 with his heavy slumber, and his discourtesy in going to 
 sleep, instead of enjoying the company of herself and her 
 maids. The knight begged forgiveness, and laid the blame 
 
1 1 6 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 on the soft music, or else the good wine he had drunk ; and 
 then he naturally inquired about his host or hostess. 
 
 But, tel me nowe, my Lady hende, 
 Or I out of this chambre wende, 
 Who hath this castel in his hande, 
 And who is lorde of this lande ; 
 Whether that ye be mayden or wyfe, 
 And in what maner ye lede your lyfe, 
 And why you have so many women 
 Alone withoute any men ? 
 
 Her story was soon told : her father was a baron, who 
 owned the castle and town, she was his only child, and, 
 after his death, his heir. Many a knight had sought her in 
 marriage, but a hideous giant, whom it was impossible she 
 could love, was enamoured of her, and had disposed not 
 only of her suitors, by the simple process of killing them, 
 but also of all her men folk, save and except the dwarf who 
 had laid the supper. So saying, she fell down in a swoon. 
 Her damoiselles attended to her, and when she recovered 
 she gave Sir Degore such a look, that he would have been 
 more than mortal, and less than knight, had he not answered 
 her that he would help her with all his power. Her gratitude 
 was such that she offered him herself and all her land in 
 case of victory. 
 
 Degore was longing for the fight ; nor had he long to 
 wait, for the giant was approaching. Hastily he armed 
 and sallied forth. They met with so great a crash that 
 their spears were splintered, and Sir Degore's horse having 
 
SIX DEGORE. 
 
 117 
 
 )een killed by the shock, he fell to the ground. He, how- 
 jver, was not hurt, for he sprang to his feet laughing, and 
 Irew his sword. The giant proved more courteous than 
 
 ie generality of his kind, and, scorning to be mounted 
 ^hilst his adversary was on foot, he dismounted, in order 
 
 lat the combat might be fought on somewhat of an 
 
 quality. It was continued with somewhat varied success, 
 intil Degore smote such a blow that he shore the giant's 
 telm and basinet, and divided his head. Even giants 
 mot survive such hurts, and this one gave up the ghost. 
 
 The lady, sitting in her castle, had seen the combat, and 
 rhen 
 
 Syr Degore' came to the castel, 
 
 And against hym came that damesel, 
 
 She thanked hym of his good deede, 
 
 And to her chamber she dyd him leade ; 
 
 She set hym on her bedde anone, 
 
 And unarmed hym full sone ; 
 
 She toke hym in her armes two, 
 
 And kyssed hym a hundred tymes and mo, 
 
 And sayde all my goods I wyll the geve, 
 
 And my bodye while I lyve. 
 
 But Sir Degore had to explain that he had set out with 
 a fixed purpose, and that this giant-slaying was but an 
 interlude. He had to go to a far country, but that at the 
 end of twelve months he would return to her, and in the 
 meantime he committed her to the keeping of the Almighty. 
 The fair one wept at his departure, but he was inexorable 
 and set out on his journey. 
 
ti8 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Long rode he, ever going westward, until in a forest he 
 met a knight arrayed in superb armour, richly ornamented 
 with gold and azure, bearing as his arms three boars' 
 heads. He asked Sir Degore what he was doing in his 
 forest slaying his deer. Degore denied the imputation, 
 saying that he was an adventurous knight going to seek 
 wars and fighting. The stranger knight evidently took this 
 to mean an invitation to combat, and in that light it was at 
 once accepted. With lances couched they met, but that of 
 Sir Degore being the longest, he smote the stranger knight 
 full upon the shield, so that his lance splintered ; but the 
 knight sat fast in his saddle. Taking each a fresh lance, 
 they once more met, and this time with such force that 
 both their horses were killed. 
 
 Then they fought on foot ; but ere long the stranger 
 noticed that Sir Degore's sword was pointless, and, calling 
 out for a short truce, breathlessly asked where was he born, 
 and in what land ? 
 
 Syr, he sayd, in England, 
 A kynges doughter is my mother, 
 But I wot not who is my father. 
 What is thy name, then sayd he, 
 Syr, my name is Degore'. 
 Sir Degore' thou art welcome, 
 For wel I wote thou art my sonne ; 
 By this swerde I know the here ; 
 The point is in my pautenere. 1 
 He took the poynt and sette it to, 
 And they accorded bothe two. 
 
 1 A purse, or pocket. 
 
DEGORE. up 
 
 At this convincing proof of paternity, the father and 
 son embraced, nothing doubting, and set out in company 
 for England, which they reached in safety, and at once rode 
 to the king's palace. Degord's mother saw them coming. 
 
 And when the ladye sawe that syght, 
 She went to them with all her myght ; 
 And ryght well she them knewe, 
 And then she chaunged all her hewe, 
 And sayd my dere sonne Degore, 
 Thou hast thy father brought with thee. 
 
 The strange knight owned to the fact. The king rejoiced 
 in the truth of his daughter's story. She and the krjight 
 were married, and then Sir Degore and his father set out 
 to visit the lady, whom he had defended from the giant. 
 They were wedded with great solemnity, and everybody, 
 for ever after, was happy. 
 
 " Thus endeth the tretyse of Syr Degore." 
 
Sir Be\>is of Ibampton* 
 
 OF this Romance I can find no MS. in the British 
 Museum, but it was an especial pet of the early 
 Italian Printers, there being many editions in 
 different Italian cities in the early sixteenth century, and 
 one was printed as early as 1497 at Bologna. Buovo de 
 Antona de Guidone Palladius Rezunto et revisto. Caligula 
 di Bazalieri. Ebert quotes two early French editions, 
 one Le livre de Beufoes de Hantonne et de la Belle 
 Josienne sa mye. Par Verard. But to this there is no 
 date ; it was probably earlier than the Beufnes DantJionnc 
 nouvellement imprinte" a Paris. Par le Noir. 1502. 
 
 Of English copies, there is one in the Bodleian Library, 
 printed by Pynson ; and Hazlitt says a fragment of two 
 leaves, printed by Wynkyn de Worde, is in existence. 
 The copy from which I have taken the Romance is printed 
 by Copland, and the British Museum gives an approxi- 
 mate date of 1550. 
 
 M. Amaury Duval, in his Histoire Litteraire de la 
 
f22 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 France, vol. xviii. p. 749, tries to show that this Romance 
 was of French extraction, and that the Anton from which 
 Sir Bevis derived his name was Antonne, a town in 
 France. But when we consider that the River Anton, or 
 Test, flows by Southampton, that there is a Bevois Mount 
 where he is supposed to be buried, and that the Bar Gate 
 is ornamented with paintings of both Bevis and Ascaparte, 
 we cannot yield our hero to the French. 
 
 Sir Bevis of Hampton had for father the famous Earl 
 of Southampton Sir Guy, who, the chronicler informs us, 
 lived in the time of King Edgar. When he was young, 
 Sir Guy was a very paladin, and his prowess was known 
 throughout the civilized world. 
 
 In every land he rode and yede, 1 
 
 For to wynne him price and mede : 2 
 
 In Fraunce, in Flaunders, and in Almaine ; 3 
 
 In Brabant, in Cecele, 4 and in Britayne ; 5 
 
 In Denmarke, Calyce, 6 and in Gasconne ; 
 
 In Hungary, Calabre,7 and in Burgoyne ; 
 
 In Pole, in Normandy, and in Mayne ; 
 
 In Turkye, Nabrant, 8 and in Spayne ; 
 
 In Eastland,9 Norway, and in Picardye ; 
 
 In Scotland, in Wales, and in Lumbardye ; 
 
 In Christendome, and also in heathenesse, 
 
 Full well is known Sir Guyes worthinesse. 
 
 * * # * -}' -:- 
 
 Whyle he was younge and jolye, 
 
 Wolde Syr Guy weed no wyfe ; 
 
 But whan that he was olde, 
 
 He waxed feble, croked and colde, 
 
 Than toke he his leve of chevalry. 
 
 1 Went. 2 Prize and reward. 3 Germany. 4 Sicily. 5 Brittany. 
 6 Calais. 7 Calabria. 8 Tartary. 9 Muscovy, or Russia. 
 
BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 123 
 
 Then, for the first time in his life, he seems to have 
 thought of matrimony, and his choice fell upon the 
 daughter of the King of Scotland, who was not only much 
 younger than he, but was in love with Sir Murdure, the 
 brother of the Emperor of Almaine. However, in those 
 days, young ladies had to obey the will of their parents. 
 So these two made a mariage de convenance, and the fruit 
 of their union was Sir Bevis. 
 
 But, as time went on, and Bevis grew into boyhood, the 
 difference of age between the married couple became more 
 apparent ; Sir Guy, his wife complained, " All day he 
 hideth in the churche," and she longed for the more 
 ardent companionship of her young lover. The perpetual 
 brooding on her wasted life first tempted her, and then led 
 her, into sin. She procured a pliant and trusty messenger, 
 and gave him the following instructions : 
 
 Go, she sayde, to Almayne, 
 
 And grete well fro me Syr Murdure, 
 
 Brother to the Emperoure, 
 
 And byd him in the fyrst daye 
 
 Of the moneth of Maye, 
 
 That he in the foreste be, 
 
 Well armed with his meine ; T 
 
 Byd him that it be not lened, 2 
 
 But that my lorde be there heded ; 3 
 
 And sende it me to 4 a present, 
 
 My lorde shall naked 5 to him be sent. 
 
 This cruel message was duly delivered, and, on the 
 appointed day, Sir Murdure and his men lay in ambush in 
 
 1 Company. 2 Behind hand. 3 Beheaded. 4 As. 5 Unarmed. 
 
124 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 the forest near Hampton. The wicked wife feigned sick- 
 ness, which she declared could only be cured by eating 
 wild boar's flesh. Sir Guy immediately promised that he 
 
 SIR GUY TRAITOROUSLY SLAIN BY SIR MURDURE. 
 
 would procure some for her, and, accompanied by his 
 followers, unsuspectingly entered the wood, where he soon 
 encountered Sir Murdure. 
 
 This false knight made no scruple of openly telling Sir 
 

 SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 125 
 
 Guy of the errand he had come on, and the old knight put 
 himself on the defensive. He performed prodigies of 
 valour. He wounded the traitorous Sir Murdure, and, 
 with his own hands, killed a hundred of his foes ; but, 
 alas ! his horse was slain, and he was brought to the 
 ground. The sad fate of the poor old man is graphically 
 told. 
 
 <_ 
 
 Than kneled Guy to Syr Murdure, 
 
 And said marcy and succoure ; 
 
 And sayde Murdure for thy gentry, 1 
 
 Thus cowardly let me not dye. _ 
 
 But lend me horse, armoure, and sheld, 
 
 And let me dye here in the felde ; 
 
 And with thee that I do so, 
 
 I thee forgyve and thou me slo ; 2 
 
 Than cried they all in this wyse, 
 
 Sle 2 him that he never ryse. 
 
 With that syr Murdure to hym yede, 
 
 And smote there of his head. 
 
 To a knight he toke his hede in hande, 
 
 Go he sayd, and bare this fonde 3 
 
 To the countesse that is so bright, 
 
 And say I come to her boure this night. 
 
 At this time Sir Bevis was but a child seven years of 
 age but he appears to have had knowledge beyond his 
 years, and, when he heard of the treacherous death of his 
 father, and of his mother's shameless sin, he went to her, 
 upbraided her with her conduct, and swore that, if he ever 
 bore arms, he would avenge his father with might and 
 main. His mother smote him to the ground, and com- 
 
 1 An appeal to his birth and breeding. 2 Slew. 3 Token of affection. 
 
1 2 6 ROMANCES OF CHI VALR Y. 
 
 man ded his uncle (his father's brother), Sir Sabere, to slay 
 him. Possibly it was policy on Sir Sabere's part to 
 temporize with the dominant party, and he promised 
 compliance. But instead of killing the boy, he victimized 
 a pig, and, sprinkling Bevis's clothes with its blood, he 
 sh owed them as evidence of his having done the behests of 
 the wicked Countess. As to the young Bevis, he clothed 
 him in mean attire, and set him to tend sheep, promising 
 to send him to Wales, where dwelt an Earl, who was a re- 
 lation, and who would train him to arms as soon as he was 
 old enough to bear them, when he might avenge his father. 
 
 Whilst engaged in the lowly occupation of herdboy, he 
 heard trumpets and tabors, and the sound of the festivities 
 in which the sinful pair were indulging, and he could not 
 control his indignation when he thought upon his father's 
 death, and contrasted his own sad plight with that of the 
 guilty ones. His wrath overcame his prudence, and he 
 went straight to the castle, where the porter refused him 
 admittance, but Bevis knocked his brains out, and went 
 into the hall, where he addressed his mother, and Sir 
 Murdure, in language more forcible than polite, and,, 
 finally, smote the evil knight so that he swooned. The 
 knights, who were feasting, seemed to have sympathized 
 with the boy, for they let him pass, and he went home to- 
 Sir Sabere, who was sorely puzzled what to do with him,, 
 and, as a temporary measure, hid him in a chamber. 
 
 Scarcely was he concealed, when the Countess arrived 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 1 2 7 
 
 in a furious state of mind, vowing that Sir Sabere should 
 su ffer for his nephew's conduct. Bevis, hearing this, came 
 from his hiding - place, and confronted his unnatural 
 mother. The sight of the boy seems to have roused her 
 to ungovernable fury, and she commanded Sir Sabere, and 
 another knight, to take him and cast him into the sea. 
 This they promised to do, but compromised the matter, 
 and salved their consciences by selling him to the Paynims, 
 whose ships were at the sea shore for trading purposes. 
 By them he was carried to the land of Armony, or 
 Armenia, then governed by a king called Ermine, who 
 had a daughter ; and, as we shall hear a great deal of this 
 lady in the course of the story, it will be as well to give 
 her description, as the chronicler's exposition of his ideal 
 of feminine perfection. 
 
 He had a doughter fayre and bryght, 
 Josian that fayre mayde hight ; T 
 Her visage was whight as lylly floure, 
 Therin ranne the rede coloure, 
 With bright browes and eyes shene, 2 
 With heare as gold wire on the grene ; 
 With comly nose and lyppes swete, 
 With lovely mouth and fayre fete, 
 With tethe white and even sette ; 
 Her handes 3 were swete as vyolet, 
 With gentill body withouten lacke, 
 W T ell shapen both belly and backe ; 
 With smale handes and fingers longe ; 
 Nothing of her was shapen wronge, 
 Wherfore should I her not decyve, 
 There was never none fayrer on lyve. 
 1 Called. 2 Shining. 3 Breath. 
 
128 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 The heathen merchants made Bevis a present to the 
 king, who was much struck with his personal appearance 
 and strength ; and, when the lad had told his story, and 
 avowed his parentage, the king remembered Sir Guy, 
 whose trenchant sword had laid low many a Paynim and 
 Saracen. 
 
 Bevis, he sayde, I have no heyre, 
 But a doughter that is fayre ; 
 And thou wylte thy lorde forsake, 
 And to Apolyn z our god thee betake. 
 I shall geve her to be thy wyfe, 
 And all my lande after my lyfe. 
 
 But nothing could induce Bevis to change his religion ; 
 so the king told him that, whilst he was young, he should 
 be his chamberlain, and when old enough to be dubbed a 
 knight, he should bear the king's banner in battle. And 
 so Bevis was brought up an universal favourite, but looked 
 upon by the fair Josian with eyes of love ; and by the 
 time he was fourteen years old, he was the very paragon 
 of a squire. 
 
 It was on a Christmas Day, and Bevis was riding with 
 some sixty Saracens, when one laughingly asked him if he 
 knew what day it was. He replied that he was but seven 
 years old when he was sold into heathenesse, and they 
 must not blame him if he failed in his knowledge of that 
 particular day. They began jeering him, and he did not 
 do much towards keeping the peace, by declaring that if 
 
 1 Apollyon. 
 
BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 129 
 
 he were armed he would joust with them one after the 
 other. This seems to have been more than the Saracenic 
 temper could bear, and they all set upon him. Weapon- 
 less, he was soon wounded, but 
 
 Bevis was light and quicke, 
 And to the Sarasyn gan he lepe, 1 
 And with his fyste he stroke faste 
 That his cheke bone all to braste. 2 
 
 Possessing himself of a Saracen's sword, he smote all 
 before him, in spite of all their endeavours indeed, he 
 seems to have borne a charmed life ; and, for a boy of four- 
 teen, he performed prodigies of valour. 
 
 Aboute Bevis the Sarasyns dyd lepe, 
 As they had bene a flocke of shepe, 
 Of some he gan y e woundes down tere 3 
 That the guttes trayled here and there. 
 There was no Sarason that he hette 4 
 But his body asonder he kette ; s 
 There myght none fle by no syde, 
 But Bevis made him to abyde ; 
 And Bevis within a litle stounde 6 
 The .ft. Sarsons had brought to grounde. 
 
 The horses of the slaughtered Saracens fled home ; 
 Bevis followed them, and, having stabled his horse, he 
 went into his chamber and sunk upon the floor, faint with 
 his wounds and loss of blood. King Ermine was very 
 wroth at the loss of his sixty Saracens, and swore he 
 would eat no bread until Bevis were dead ; but Josian 
 
 1 He sprang. ~ Smashed. 3 /.^., made long slashes. 
 
 4 Hit. 5 Cut. 6 While. 
 
 10 
 
130 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 pleaded for her love, and suggested that first of all Bevis's 
 story should be heard. The king agreed, and Josian sent 
 two knights to ask Bevis to speak with her ; but, whether it 
 was from the pain of the wounds, or that his blood had 
 not yet cooled after his arduous exertions, he returned the 
 very uncourteous message : " I wyll not ones styre of this 
 grounde, to speake with any heathen hounde," and then he 
 gave a more particular message to the two knights, after 
 which they incontinently fled. 
 
 Unchristened houndes, I rede you, fle, 
 Or I your herte blode shall se. 
 
 They reported Bevis's intractable state of mind to 
 Josian, who bade them come with her and fear not ; and, 
 when they reached Bevis's chamber, she kissed him and 
 raised him up, and, promising to cure him of his wounds, 
 led him to the king, her father, who, when he saw Bevis's 
 thirty wounds, and heard his version of the story, his " teres 
 ranne downe plenty," and he ordered Josian to exercise 
 her leech craft on the patient, and heal his wounds, if 
 possible : a task she willingly undertook, and what with 
 salves and drinks, and a great deal of kissing, Bevis was 
 soon made whole. 
 
 In King Ermine's forest was a fierce wild boar, whose 
 tusks were the dread of all men, and the creature was of 
 abnormal size. Bevis, having got sound and strong again, 
 bethought him of this boar, and could not rest contented 
 until he had tried conclusions with it. So, early one 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 131 
 
 morning, he armed himself, and, getting on horseback, 
 set off on his adventure, to the great admiration of Josian, 
 who watched him from a window. When he came to the 
 wood he tied up his horse and went in search of the boar, 
 blowing his horn as he went on his way ; but the boar 
 heeded not the horn blowing, and Bevis had to be guided to 
 its den by the bones of men which the fell beast had 
 slain. 
 
 When visible, it was not a pleasant animal to look at, 
 and, when attacked, proved quite capable of taking care of 
 itself. Bevis's boar spear was snapped into seven parts at 
 the onset, and, when the champion laid on him with his 
 sword, it had no effect. 
 
 Bevis thought at eche dynt x 
 That he had smiten upon a flinte. 
 
 And so the battle waged till it was noon, when Bevis was 
 so weary he thought he should die. The boar, too, had 
 had enough of it, and was faint and feeble, so that it turned 
 to the plain, whither Bevis followed it, and, as the boar 
 came towards him, open-mouthed, he thrust his sword down 
 its throat, and " clove his herte asonder," and, cutting off 
 the head of his grisly foe, he stuck it on the truncheon, or 
 broken part of his boar spear. 
 
 The regular foresters had hitherto been afraid to cope 
 with this awful beast, but when they saw him slain by 
 Bevis they were filled with envy and hatred, and con- 
 
 1 Stroke. 
 
I 3 2 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 spired together to slay him and possess themselves of the 
 boar's head. They were twelve in number, and all well 
 armed, whilst Bevis had but the truncheon of his spear, 
 
 BEVIS FIGHTS THE FORESTERS. 
 
 for he had forgotten his sword after cutting off the boar's 
 head. The foresters set upon him, but, needless to say, 
 they got the worst of it. Nine of their number bit the 
 
SIX BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 133 
 
 dust, never to rise again, whilst the other three fled from 
 his wrath. Bevis remounted the boar's head, and went in 
 triumph towards the royal residence ; the whole scene 
 having been enacted before the eyes of the loving Josian. 
 King Ermine, when the boar's head was presented to him, 
 took the loss of his foresters in good part, admiring the 
 prowess of Bevis. 
 
 In those days one adventure trod upon the heels of 
 
 another. 
 
 Sone after, not long during, 
 Came a messenger to Ermine y e king 
 For 1 Kynge Bradmounde of Damas, 2 
 That swore by Mahounde and Golyas, 
 But 3 of King Ermine blive 4 
 Sende Josian to be his wyfe, 
 In all waies he would him noie, 5 
 And all his land robbe and destroye, 
 And sayde in the fyrst day of Maye 
 He shoulde come and holde his daye, 
 And send away his doughter then, 
 And his landes destroye and brenne. 
 
 King Ermine was naturally wroth, and sent for his earls 
 and barons, but Josian could not refrain from recom- 
 mending Bevis, and told the king how valuable would be 
 the assistance of his arm, if he were dubbed a knight, and 
 thus enabled to take a prominent part in the defence of the 
 kingdom. The king sent for Bevis, made him a knight, 
 and gave him the chief command of his forces ; and his 
 equipment, which is noteworthy, as it figures more than 
 once in the story, is thus described : 
 
 1 From. 2 Damascus. 3 Unless. 4 Quickly. s Annoy. 
 
134 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Bevis did on he auctovvne * 
 That worthied 2 many a towne. 
 An hauberke Josian him brought, 
 A better hauberke was never wrought ; 
 A helmet she gave him good and faire, 
 There might no thing it appayre. 3 
 Than gave him that fayre maye 4 
 A good swerde that hight 5 Morglay, 
 There was no better under the sonn, 
 Mani a lande therwith was wonn. 
 Josian gave him suche a stede, 
 The best that ever on grounde yede ; 6 
 Full well can I his name tell, 
 Men called him Arundell ; 
 No horse in the world was so strong 
 - That might him sue 7 a forlonge. 
 
 Thus equipped, he sprung into the saddle, and sounded 
 his horn, so that his followers might know the rallying 
 sound. His force consisted of twenty thousand barons ; 
 but King Bradmound had twice as many, and, when the 
 opposing forces met, he laughed loudly at the small force 
 sent against him. He had a gigantic standard bearer, 
 King Radison, who passed for the champion of the army, 
 and at him Sir Bevis went. A short passage of arms, 
 and Radison lay dead, with Sir Bevis's spear right through 
 him. Then, with Morglay, he killed a hundred Saracens, 
 and, indeed, wherever he went, " heades trindle like a ball," 
 the invincible sword working wonders. At last he en- 
 
 1 Put on his haqueton, or quilted waistcoat, worn under the coat of mail. 
 
 2 That was worth. 3 Damage. 4 Maid. 
 
 5 Called ; all the famous swords of chivalry were named, as Arthur's 
 Excalibur. 6 Went. ? Follow, pursue. 
 
SIJK BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 135 
 
 countered Bradmound himself, and, after a brief combat, 
 the foe was at his mercy. This Bradmound sought, 
 offering castles and towers to his conqueror in exchange 
 for his life. But Bevis had his own views on the subject, 
 and would only grant the boon on condition that Brad- 
 mound became King Ermine's " man," or vassal. 
 
 Bevis charged him in his laye 
 
 That he shoulde never by night ne by daye 
 
 Wayte Kinge Ermine with no treason, 
 
 But ever be at his sommon, 
 
 And hold him of thy lands as chefe. 
 
 Had Sir Bevis the gift of prescience, it would have 
 been better, as the chronicler remarks, for him to have 
 killed King Bradmound at once ; but he was content 
 with his decisive victory, and returned to King Ermine, 
 taking with him two captured knights as his guests. 
 
 The King Ermine was glad and blithe, 
 And blessed Bevis often sithe. 
 
 And he told Josian to unarm the hero, and to look after 
 his personal welfare a task which the maiden most gladly 
 undertook, for her exceeding love towards him, and, in- 
 deed, she told him that she would rather have his naked 
 body than anything that Mahound could give; but, finding 
 him still cold to her advances, she upbraided him, calling 
 him a churl, and bidding him go hence. He retired to 
 his chamber, but Josian, left to herself, soon repented of 
 her conduct to Sir Bevis, and sent her chamberlain, 
 
136 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Boniface, with a reconciliatory message, begging Sir 
 Bevis to come to her. This he would not do, as he said 
 she herself had bade him begone. Boniface returned and 
 told his lady, who, finding that Bevis would not come to 
 her, determined to go to him, and accordingly went to 
 his chamber, where she found him awake. 
 
 Bevis, she sayde, a whyle awake, 
 I am come my peas to make. 
 Damoysell, sayde Bevis, then, 
 Let me lye, and go me from. 
 Mercy, she sayde, my lemman x swete, 
 She fell downe and beganne to wepe, 
 Forgyve me that I have mis-saide, 
 I wyll that ye be well apayde, 2 
 My false gods I wyll forsake, 
 And Christendome for thee to take. 
 On that covenant sayd Bevis than 
 I wyll the love, fay re Josyan. 
 
 This, then, was the strange wooing of Sir Bevis and 
 the fair Josian, who, in their after life, met with many 
 crosses, yet lost not faith in each other. 
 
 And now is introduced an episode of moral turpitude 
 it would be difficult to match. Bevis had treated the two 
 knights whom he had captured in his fight with Brad- 
 mound as his brothers, lodged them in his house, and 
 fed them at his table ; yet these two, by playing eaves- 
 droppers, overheard the love passages of Bevis and Josian, 
 and immediately went, open-mouthed, to the king, to 
 
 1 Love. 2 Paid. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 1 3 7 
 
 inform him of his daughter's apostacy. Their behaviour 
 is thus commented on in the metrical version : 
 
 It is sothe by all hallowes x 
 Delyver a thefe fro the gallows, 
 He shall the wate 2 to robbe or slo ; 3 
 So it fared by the knightes two : 
 Bevis delivered them from peryll, 
 And they guytte him full yll. 
 
 King Ermine was exceeding wroth, not on account of 
 the love his daughter bore to Bevis, but because he was 
 a Christian, for whose sake Josian would deny her gods. 
 Yet he felt that it would not be politic to punish Bevis 
 openly, and one of his court suggested a plan of getting 
 rid of the hero without undue publicity. This was to 
 write a letter to Bradmound, charging him to seize Bevis 
 and keep him in durance, and get the unsuspecting knight 
 to be the bearer of the missive. 
 
 Bevis was sent for, and entrusted with the letter, being 
 strictly charged by the treacherous Ermine not to break 
 the seal or pry into its contents. He asked for his horse 
 Arundel and his sword Morglay, but the king negatived 
 the suggestion, pointing out that, as he was going on a 
 pacific errand, an easy hackney would be most befitting. 
 Not only did he go unarmed and without his good steed, 
 but he neglected his commissariat, so that after two or 
 three days' riding he suffered both from hunger and thirst, 
 which, added to his bodily weariness, overcame him, and 
 
 1 The saints. 2 Lie in wait. 3 Slay. 
 
138 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 he got down from his saddle and stretched himself on the 
 ground to sleep, whilst his horse cropped the grass. When 
 he awoke he saw a palmer near him, who had a bountiful 
 feast spread before him of bread and wine and three 
 baked curlews. The palmer recognized Sir Bevis's social 
 position, and courteously invited him to share his meal, 
 which he did. His hunger being appeased, he questioned 
 the palmer as to who he was, and was told that his name 
 was Terry, the son of Sir Sabere, who had sent him in 
 quest of his nephew Bevis, with strict injunctions that he 
 was to roam all over the world, but that he must find him, 
 for Bevis was wanted to fight for his heritage against Sir 
 Murdure. Bevis, for some reason, did not disclose himself, 
 but professed to be the bosom friend of that knight, and 
 said that he would give him the palmer's message as soon 
 as he had accomplished the mission he had on hand. 
 Then, having kissed each other, they went their several 
 ways the palmer towards England, Sir Bevis towards 
 Damascus. 
 
 That city was duly reached, and the magnificence of 
 Bradmound's palace excited Sir Bevis's admiration ; but 
 he met with no adventure until he came to some Saracens 
 sacrificing to their idol Mahound. Fired with holy zeal, 
 he overturned the idol in the mire, and the natural con- 
 sequence ensued ; for the Saracens resented this desecra- 
 tion, and fell upon the perpetrator of the sacrilege. 
 Although Sir Bevis had left Morglay at home, and had 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 139 
 
 but a common sword, he soon killed two hundred of his 
 enemies, and the others fled to the palace, where they 
 reported the slaughter to the king, who at once went to 
 see into the affair. When Sir Bevis saw the king, he 
 kneeled down and delivered his letter. This the king 
 gave to a clerk to read, and when its contents had been 
 mastered, the king rejoiced exceedingly, and began by 
 upbraiding Sir Bevis with the deeds of valour he had 
 done to Bradmound's detriment, and said he should be 
 slain. Bevis implored that he might not die a dog's 
 death, but rather that he should die fighting against any 
 numbers, even sixty thousand men. But the revengeful 
 Saracen had determined that he should " die with muche 
 sorowe." One more struggle he made for liberty, and the 
 souls of sixty Saracens were liberated, but he was over- 
 powered by numbers, and bound. 
 
 They did him mock honour, seating him in hall, in a 
 knight's stall, and fed him with choice meats and drinks, the 
 king taunting him the while with the fact that this should 
 be his last meal. He was then taken to a dungeon where 
 he was left unbound. Searching about, he found a short 
 truncheon, which weapon he speedily appropriated, and 
 he also discovered that a stream of water ran through his 
 prison. 
 
 He had been there but a little while, when two dragons 
 made their appearance, with the intention of making a 
 meal of Sir Bevis, but he encountered them bravely with 
 
140 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 his truncheon, and slew them both after a combat which 
 lasted all that day and night, until the next noon a fight 
 so severe that at its close but very little of the truncheon 
 was left in his hand. His lot was a hard one. 
 
 Seven winters he was thore, 
 
 Meate he had never more 
 
 But once a daye withouten messe x 
 
 Of wheat bran he had a messe ; 
 
 Brede or corne ete he none, 
 
 But of water he had great wone ; 2 
 
 Rattes and myse and suche smal dere 
 
 Was his meate that seven yere. 
 
 During this time how fared Josian ? She soon missed 
 her lover, and straitly asked her father what had become 
 of him ; and he falsely answered that he had gone to live 
 on his estate in England, where he had married a king's 
 
 daughter. 
 
 Than was Josian full of wo. 
 
 And to her chamber she did go, 
 
 And wept sore for Syr Bevis, 
 
 And thought some treason here is ; 
 
 There is no man can tell the sorowe 
 
 That she made both even and morowe. 
 
 The loss of Sir Bevis was not her sole affliction. She 
 was again sought in marriage ; this time by Joure, King of 
 Mambraunt, whose suit found favour in her father's eyes, 
 and she was commanded to marry him. She durst not 
 disobey ; and they were married. However, although 
 wedded, she was determined to preserve her chastity, and 
 to that purpose she had recourse to a charm. 
 
 1 Without missing. 2 Quantity. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 141 
 
 I shall never so untrew be 
 As thou art, Bevis, to me : 
 I shall now go and make me a writte 
 Through a clarke wyse of witte, 
 There no man shall have grace 
 While the letters are in this place, 
 Against my wyll to lye me by, 
 Nor do me shame nor vylany. 
 
 This charm she hung around her neck, and it fully 
 answered its purpose, for, after their espousal, they set out 
 for King Ermine's court. The king, wishing to do his 
 son-in-law all the honour in his power, met him on the way, 
 and presented him with Arundel and Morglay. Struck by 
 the beauty of the horse, King Joure mounted him to ride 
 into the city ; but the horse, finding his rider was not 
 Bevis, leaped over hedge and ditch, briar and corn, until he 
 had thrown the unfortunate king and broken his back of 
 which hurt he died. Poor Arundel, as the cause of the 
 mischief, was bound with great ropes, and had no food nor 
 water given him ; and, had it not been through the kind- 
 ness of Josian (now Queen of Mambraunt), who privily 
 fed him, he would have been starved. 
 
 Bevis, meanwhile, was in evil case, rotting in a foul 
 dungeon, with only carrion for food ; his person neglected, 
 and his hair long and matted, yet was he not forsaken by the 
 Almighty. The story goes that one night an adder bit 
 him on his brow, and the pain having awakened him, he 
 prayed to God for help ; and immediately an angel 
 appeared and cured him. After this, his piety became 
 
142 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 more demonstrative, and his petitions were so fervid, that 
 they were overheard by his two gaolers, who, because their 
 prisoner so despised Mahound, thought it would be a 
 meritorious deed to kill him. One of them, taking a cord 
 and lanthorn, lowered himself into the dungeon, and smote 
 Bevis so that he fell ; but, after a short prayer, he threw 
 himself upon his gaoler, and, with his fists only, broke his 
 neck. After a while the other warder descended, but, 
 when he saw his fellow dead, he would have fain climbed 
 up again ; but Sir Bevis prevented him, and killed him 
 with the sword of gaoler No. I. 
 
 The murder of his gaolers naturally deprived him of his 
 " bran messe," and for three days he had no food. He had 
 recourse again to prayer ; and, by a superhuman effort, he 
 was enabled to reach the rope by which the warders had 
 descended, and thus climb up to the level of the ground. 
 This happened about midnight, and, listening, he heard 
 
 ... in the stable 
 Gromes synge, and make bable. 1 
 
 They were dressing the royal horses, and, as he stood in 
 need of a good steed for his escape, he burst open the door, 
 killed a few grooms, and chose the best horse for himself. 
 He then woke the porter, by telling him that Bevis of 
 Hampton had escaped, and that he was in pursuit. On 
 this the gates were unlocked, and Bevis rejoiced once more 
 in freedom. The poor janitor, on going his rounds, found 
 
 1 Babble, talk. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 143 
 
 the gaolers dead, and Sir Bevis missing, and thus woke up 
 to a sense of the situation, causing him to remark 
 
 ... By my snoute 
 That was Bevis that I let oute. 
 
 He at once reported the loss to the King Bradmound, 
 who lost but little time in fretting over it, but took prompt 
 measures, summoning his barons, and specially one, Sir 
 Graunders, who had a wonderful horse called Truncefyce, 
 said to be worth its weight in gold. Sir Graunders was 
 the first ready, and set off at once in pursuit, thinking to 
 win the prize easily ; and he soon came up with Sir Bevis. 
 The greetings usual in such cases were exchanged, and 
 then they fought. The combat was soon over. 
 
 Bevis turned him well and fayre, 
 And rode together with great ayre ; 
 Suche a stroke him gave Graunder 
 That through helme and halberke cler 
 Hert and bodi he clave in sunder, 
 There helped no armour, yt was wonder 
 Ryght to the sadle be hed mine, 
 And clove him downe as a swyne. 
 
 The next thing was to possess himself of the matchless 
 steed Truncefyce. The combat had, naturally, somewhat 
 delayed him, and, when he was mounted, he saw King 
 Bradmound and his host in hot pursuit. He fled on until 
 he came to the sea, in which he thought he would rather 
 perish than be slain by the heathen ; so, after a pious 
 ejaculation, he put the good horse at it and leaped forty 
 feet into the sea. This feat the Saracens dared not 
 
i 4 4 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 emulate, and Truncefyce bore him safely to the opposite 
 shore ; but so feeble was Bevis, that, when the horse 
 reached the land, and shook himself, the rider fell to the 
 ground. Such was his famished condition that he 
 remarked 
 
 Lome, sayd Bevis, how hongry am I, 
 And I were Kyng of Armony, 
 I would in geve withouten reade 
 For a shever l of browne breade. 
 
 He remounted his horse, and had not ridden long when he 
 came to a fair castle, on whose wall was a lady, whom the 
 famished knight conjured : " For his love that dyed on a 
 tre, one mele's mete thou geve me." But the lady begged 
 him to go away, explaining that her husband was a giant, 
 who believed in Mahound and Termagaunt, who would 
 take a pleasure in slaying a Christian. But Bevis insisting 
 that there, and there only, would he eat food, she was 
 obliged to go and tell her husband, who was Sir Graunders' 
 brother. He was naturally annoyed, especially when he 
 recognized Truncefyce ; and he asked Bevis whence he 
 had stolen him. Sir Bevis replied, mockingly, that at their 
 last meeting he had shorn Sir Graunders' crown for him, 
 and made a deacon of him, but that he would make a 
 priest of the giant. This taunting could not be endured, 
 and the giant struck out at Bevis, missed him, but killed 
 Truncefyce, and the battle waged on foot. The giant sent 
 
 1 Slice. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 145 
 
 a dart through Bevis's shoulder, and he retorted by a blow 
 which severed the giant's head from his body. 
 
 Then his appetite again asserted its sway, and he would 
 have meat. The new-made widow durst not refuse the 
 conqueror, and she served him with bread, wine, and fine 
 meats, all of which, as a precautionary measure against 
 poison, he insisted upon her tasting. Refreshed by this 
 food, he bound up his wound, and, with a light heart, 
 i resumed his journey, only wishing that King Bradmound 
 and his army were before him, that he might enjoy the 
 pastime of slaughtering them. 
 
 So he rode on until he came to Jerusalem, where he took 
 the opportunity (having lived so long in heathen lands) of 
 confessing to the Patriarch, who gave him absolution, and 
 kept him as his guest until he was quite cured of his 
 wounds, and recovered from his fatigues. One thing the 
 Patriarch especially charged him 
 
 And forbod him on his lyfe 
 
 That never he should wedde a wyfe 
 
 But if she were a mayden clene. 
 
 Taking leave of the Patriarch, he rode on, revolving in 
 his mind what his future course of action should be, 
 whether he should go to England and slay his stepfather, 
 or go to the kingdom of Armony and look after the fair 
 Josian. And, while he rode, thus self-communing, he met 
 with a knight, an old comrade, and they went on their way 
 together, the knight giving him news, to which, from his 
 
 II 
 
146 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 long imprisonment, he was a stranger. How that Josian 
 had been married to King Joure of Mambraunt, 1 who was 
 then owner both of Arundel and his sword Morglay. 
 
 This decided Sir Bevis, and he at once turned his steps 
 towards Mambraunt, which, when he reached, he would not 
 enter as a knight, but exchanged his horse with a palmer 
 for his clothes. On his arrival at the palace, he found 
 many pilgrims waiting, and, on being questioned, they 
 informed him that every day the queen distributed alms for 
 the love of Bevis of Hampton. Finding that this would 
 not take place until the afternoon, he wandered round the 
 palace, and heard, in a turret, Josian making moan for him. 
 
 He joined the pilgrims at the almsgiving, but was 
 singled out by Josian, who asked him if in any land he 
 had heard of Bevis of Hampton. Yes, he replied, he knew 
 him well enough ; for they were both earls, and often had 
 he heard him tell of his horse Arundel, and much would he 
 like to see him. The queen led Bevis to the stables, when 
 he went up to and spoke to Arundel, who no sooner heard 
 the voice of his loved master than he burst seven chains 
 that confined him, and ran out, neighing loudly. The 
 queen was afraid that the horse would hurt some one, but 
 Sir Bevis bade her fear nought, for he could manage him ; 
 and, leaping on Arundel's back, the scales fell from Josian's 
 
 1 The chronicler, here, has availed himself of poetic license ; for, in a 
 former part of the Romance, Aundel threw, and killed, King Joure immediately 
 after his wedding with Josian. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 1 47 
 
 eyes, and she recognized her old love. She at once 
 reminded him of his promise to make her his wife if she 
 forsook her false gods told him that she would get him 
 his good sword Morglay, and begged of him to take her 
 with him. The conditions imposed upon him by the Patri- 
 arch of Jerusalem came vividly before his mind, and he told 
 her of the difficulty ; but she so asserted her absolute chastity, 
 that he could not but believe her, and wished to begin their 
 flight at once. 
 
 But the old chamberlain, Boniface, had overheard them, 
 and, disapproving of their plan, he gave them the benefit 
 of his sage counsel. He pointed out that, if they fled now, 
 the king would at once pursue them on his return from 
 hunting, but that if, when the king came back, he were to 
 go boldly into the hall, the king would inquire of him, as 
 a stranger, what news he had. 
 
 Ye shall tell him redely 
 
 That ye came out of Surry, 1 
 
 And that the land is greatly noyed, 2 
 
 Townes be brent and men destroied, 
 
 And that King Bradwyne is 
 
 In point to lese 3 his landes ywis 4 
 
 Through Syrake and his men. 
 
 Now this counsel was feasible, as Bradwine was brother 
 to Joure, and, having tied up Arundel, he went into hall, 
 and things fell out as Boniface had suggested. The king 
 had some doubts as to the truth of Bevis's story, thinking 
 
 1 Syria. 2 Disturbed. 3 Lose. 4 j thinke. 
 
148 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 it strange that his brother should not have sent to him 
 to tell him of the straits he was in ; but, on Bevis asseve- 
 rating that it was perfectly true, he ordered his troops to 
 get ready, and set out to his brother's assistance. He left 
 Sir Grassy, his steward, in charge of home, but the wily 
 Boniface disposed of him, by giving him a sleeping draught. 
 
 They then took their flight ; but when Sir Grassy awoke 
 next day, and found the queen had fled with the pseudo 
 palmer, he followed them with all the men of Mambraunt, 
 and surrounded the fugitives. Sir Bevis felt that he, 
 Arundel, and Morglay, ought to be amusing themselves 
 in slaughtering this mob, but the wise Boniface would not 
 hear of it, and led them to a cave where they might be 
 hidden and secure; and so it happened. Grassy searched 
 all about, and, finding no trace of them, went back with 
 his force home again. 
 
 But during their sojourn in the cave, food was scant so 
 much so that Bevis had to leave Boniface and Josian, and 
 go and search for food. During his absence two lions 
 visited the cave, and although Boniface made all the 
 resistance possible, they slew and devoured him and his 
 horse. Then, succumbing to the potent virtue of Josian 
 in her combined character of king's daughter and pure 
 maiden, they laid their heads in her lap, for they were 
 unable to harm her. A terrible sight greeted Bevis on his 
 return, but his joy was great when he saw Josian unhurt. 
 She calmly said : 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 149 
 
 Come and venge me of these two, 
 For right now have they slayne 
 Bonyface your chamberlayne ; 
 The one lyon will I holde 
 Whyles ye make the other cold. 
 
 This mastery over the lions, and the utter absence of 
 fear of them, convinced Bevis of Josian's purity ; but it 
 was not in his nature to have his adventures made easy 
 for him, so he desired that both should be loosed on him 
 
 at once. 
 
 Strong and perylous was that fyght 
 Betwene the lyons and the knyght ; 
 They gave him woundes longe and wyde, 
 f His armure they tare on every syde. 
 
 But at last he slew them both with one stroke of his 
 sword. A little time was devoted to grief for Boniface, 
 and they continued on their journey, which was not 
 destined to be uneventful ; for they had not gone far 
 before they met with a giant, who, as he plays a some- 
 what important part in this history, had better be de- 
 scribed in the chronicler's own words : 
 
 He was bothe myghty and stronge, 
 He was full thyrty fote longe, 
 He was brystled like a sowe, 
 A fote there was betwene each brow ; 
 His lipes were great, they hanged syde, 1 
 His eies were holow, his mouth wide ; 
 He was lothely to loke on, 
 He was lyker a dyvell than a man ; 
 His staffe was a yonge oke, 
 He would geve a great stroke. 
 1 Aside. 
 
i5o ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Sir Bevis asked this portentous being what he called 
 himself ; he replied that his name was Ascaparte, and that 
 he had been sent by Sir Grassy to bring back the run- 
 aways, that he was delighted to have met with them, and 
 would, after binding them, lead them to Mambraunt. But 
 this was not Bevis's way ; so, lighting from Arundel, whom 
 he gave to Josian to hold, he assailed Ascaparte with 
 Morglay, and, being light and active, skipped hither and 
 thither, dealing the giant wounds, which, from his unwieldi- 
 ness, he was unable to parry, whilst his own strokes fell 
 harmless. At last, making a mighty blow, he slipped and 
 fell, and Sir Bevis at once was ready to cut off his head ; 
 but Josian, who evidently had a fashionable lady's eye for 
 a tall footman, begged her lover not to kill him. 
 
 Syr, she sayd, ye shall him save, 
 And let him live and be your knave. 1 
 Dame, he sayd, he wyll us betraye, 
 I will be borowe 2 he sayde naye. 
 Ascaparte made Bevis homage, 
 And became Syr Bevis' page. 
 
 They journeyed on until they came to the sea, where 
 they found a merchant ship ready to sail for Christendom, 
 but the Saracens therein did not care to receive Sir Bevis 
 and Josian, and Ascaparte had to clear them all out, 
 which he did with very little trouble. Then, tucking 
 Arundel and Sir Bevis under one arm, and Josian under 
 
 1 Man-servant. 2 I will pledge myself. 
 
BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 151 
 
 the other, he stalked on board, hoisted the sail, and, in 
 course of time, arrived at Cologne. 
 
 SIR BEVIS FIGHTS AND OVERCOMES ASCAPARTE. 
 
 Here he found a relative, in the person of the bishop, 
 who turned out to be a brother of Sir Sabere, and, conse- 
 quently, his uncle ; and of course, under such favourable 
 conditions, his first care was to get Josian baptized, and 
 
152 OMANCES OF CHI VALR Y. 
 
 in answer to the bishop's inquiry as to who this lady 
 
 was 
 
 Syr, sayd Bevis, of hethenesse a quene ; 
 For her I have suffred muche payne, 
 And she wolde become christen fayne. 
 
 ASCAPARTE CARRIES SIR BEVIS AND JOSIAN ON BOARD SHIP. 
 
 He sayde, what is he this bad visage ? 
 Syr, sayd Bevis, he is my page, 
 I pray you chrysten him also, 
 Though he be both blacke and bio. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 1 5 3 
 
 The byshope christened Josian 
 
 That was as white as any swan, 
 
 For Ascaparte was made a tonne ; x 
 
 And whan he shoulde therein be donne, 
 
 He lepet over upon the benche, 
 
 And said, churle, wilt thou me drenche, 
 
 The devyll of hell thy bayne 2 be ; 
 
 I am to muche to be christned, I tel y e . 
 
 The folke had good game and loughe, 
 
 But the byshope was wroth ynoughe. 
 
 During his stay in Cologne, he prevented himself from 
 rusting, and did good to the inhabitants of that district 
 by slaying a dragon. He started on this adventure with 
 Ascaparte, but the great lubber had no pluck, and returned 
 home after having heard the dragon yell. The description 
 of the fight takes up many pages. At last he 
 
 . . . hit him under the winge 
 
 As he was in his flienge. 
 
 There he was tender, without scale, 
 
 And Bevis thought to be his bale. 
 
 He smote after as I you say 
 
 With his good sworde Morglay. 
 
 Up to the hylter Morglay yode, 3 
 
 Through herte, lyver, bone and bloude. 
 
 Then, cutting off the dragon's head, he stuck it on a 
 spear, and bore it to the town, where the inhabitants 
 received him with enthusiasm, and gave him an ovation. 
 
 Having thus propitiated the people and bishop of 
 Cologne, he asked the latter's assistance to avenge his 
 father's death, and he was promised a hundred men-at- 
 
 1 Barrel, or cask for his immersion. 2 Bane. 3 Went. 
 
154 ROMANCES OP CHIVALRY. 
 
 arms at the bishop's cost and maintenance. As the 
 enterprise was somewhat hazardous, he left Josian behind 
 him, and set forth with his company. On his arrival near 
 Hampton he sent a messenger to Sir Murdure to say that 
 a knight of Brittany, named Sir Gararde, with a goodly 
 company, had come thither, understanding that he was 
 going to war with another knight, and that, if he would, 
 they would help him, or, if not, they would join the other side. 
 Needless to say Sir Murdure was glad of such aid, and 
 welcomed Sir Bevis heartily. His mother, not knowing 
 who he was, feasted him, and Sir Murdure regaled his 
 guest with a very garbled version of Sir Sabere's en- 
 deavours to reassert his nephew's rights : after hearing which, 
 our hero was in strange doubt whether to slay Sir Murdure 
 there, or go away from him. If he did the one, he would 
 be counted guilty of treachery ; if the other, of cowardice; 
 so he decided to slay him in open fight ; but to do this he 
 had recourse to stratagem. He told Sir Murdure that 
 his men had left their horses and armour behind them, 
 and begged him to furnish them with these necessaries as 
 well as shipping to take them to the Isle of Wight, where 
 Sir Sabere was. Sir Murdure found them, and Sir Bevis 
 sailed, thus furnished at the enemy's expense, to join his 
 uncle. Sir Sabere recognized his nephew's cognizance, 
 and met him with effusion. A messenger was found, bold 
 enough to go to the felon Murdure, and tell him that Sir 
 Gararde was, in truth, Sir Bevis, who meant to avenge 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 155 
 
 his father's death, and win back his own heritage. Sir 
 Murdure was in such an ungovernable rage at these tidings 
 that he threw his knife at the messenger, but, missing him, 
 the blade was buried in the breast of his own son, killing 
 him on the spot ; whilst the messenger, taking advantage 
 of the uproar, jumped on his horse and escaped. 
 
 The story now turns on the fortunes of Josian, who was 
 left at Cologne. An earl named Myle cast loving eyes 
 upon her, and left her not long without disclosing his 
 passion for her ; and, when he would fain have possessed 
 her, by fair means or foul, she told him that, if he tried the 
 latter, she would hand him over to Ascaparte. The earl 
 knew how to deal with a thick-witted giant, and sent the 
 latter a letter purporting to come from Bevis, in which he 
 bade his page meet him at a certain castle. The un- 
 reasoning mountain of flesh at once set out, arrived at the 
 castle, went inside, and was duly locked in. 
 
 The earl lost no time in conveying this news to Josian, 
 and she sent a statement of her position by a messenger to 
 Sir Bevis, and then, when the earl next came a-wooing, 
 she promised to be his bride, and, what is more, next day 
 they were married. But, on the wedding night, when they 
 were retiring to rest, and had received the then usual visits 
 of their friends and guests 
 
 Syr, sayd Josian, fayre love myne, 
 Let no person herein be 
 This night to here our privite. 
 
156 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Neyther knyght, mayden, nor swayne, 
 Myselfe shal be your chamberlayne. 
 He sayd, lemman, it shal be so ; 
 Both man and maiden he made out go, 
 He shet the dore well and fast, 
 And set hym downe at the last. 
 There was a curtayne as it was lawe x 
 Before the bed it was drawe, 
 Than, on her gyrdel, withouten lesinge 
 She made a knot rydyng ; 
 About his necke she drewe it thore 
 And strangled hym withouten more, 
 Then on a beme she hanged him hye. 
 
 Josian slept soundly and late, and the barons, &c., came 
 to the door to rouse the sluggards, when Josian pointed 
 to the swinging corpse, and confessed it to be her deed. 
 Swiftly did her punishment fall upon her. She was con- 
 demned to be burnt at a stake, on the morrow, outside the 
 town. The glare of the fire caught Ascaparte's eyes, and, 
 a glimmer of sense coming through his dull brain, he burst 
 out of the castle, and, seizing a fisherman's boat, he came 
 to land, where the first to greet him was Sir Bevis, who 
 asked him where was Josian ? and he stammered out an 
 excuse that Earl Myle had betrayed him. 
 
 There was no time for parley, but onwards they sped ; 
 and, indeed, they came not a moment too soon, for the fire 
 was ready, and Josian was there. 
 
 In her smocke she stode therby, 
 Right as they shoulde her brenne. 
 
 1 Hung. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 1 5 7 
 
 Bevis, with Morglay, and Arundel, and Ascaparte, soon 
 made mincemeat of Earl Myle's friends, and they all took 
 their departure for the Isle of Wight, where Sir Sabere 
 heartily welcomed them. 
 
 Sir Bevis sought and obtained recruits, but so did the 
 other side. An army came from Almaine, seven thousand 
 men from Scotland, and Sir Murdure had three thousand 
 of his own. Judging these to be sufficient, they took ship 
 to the Isle of Wight. Sir Sabere's troops were divided 
 into three commands, whereof he took three thousand, Sir 
 Bevis three, and Ascaparte was trusted with another three 
 thousand. The fight was obstinate, and Bevis endeavoured 
 to single out Sir Murdure. Once he succeeded in wounding 
 him, but he was rescued. Ascaparte now came up, with 
 his contingent all fresh, and the enemy were greatly afraid 
 of his huge stature. Sir Bevis recommended him to pay 
 particular attention to a knight on a white horse, who was 
 Sir Murdure, and to capture him by all means, and bring 
 him to the castle. 
 
 Away went the giant, and the road he took was made 
 plain by the dead and dying, whom his mighty staff laid 
 low. There was the knight on the white horse before him ; 
 in another moment horse and knight were tucked up under 
 the arm of the giant, whose huge form was now the centre 
 of the battle. The King of Scotland came to the rescue of 
 Sir Murdure, Sir Bevis hurried to the help of Ascaparte, 
 and fiercely the battle waged. Yet Ascaparte's mighty 
 
158 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 strength prevailed, and Sir Murdure was safely lodged in 
 the castle. The capture of their leader dispirited Mur- 
 dure's hosts ; they hesitated, broke, and fled, chased by Sir 
 Bevis and Sir Sabere with fearful slaughter, the King of 
 Scotland only, with a trusty few, escaping in a ship. 
 
 They had now a little leisure to bestow on Sir Murdure, 
 and his fate was evidently intended as a warning to those 
 who might be like minded. 
 
 Syr Bevis without any let 
 
 Made a caudron on the fyre be set 
 
 Full of pyche and of brymstone : 
 
 A worse death was never none. 
 
 Whan the caudron boyled harde 
 
 Murdure was caste in the mydwarde, 
 
 That deth died he seckerly x 
 
 For the deth of good Syr Guy. 
 
 Thereof hearde the countesse 
 
 That Syr Murdure dede was, 
 
 She stode above in a towre, 
 
 So wo she was for Syr Murdure 
 
 That she fell downe and broke her necke. 
 
 I beshrew him that therof doth recke. 2 
 
 Now, there was nothing left for the heir but to enter into 
 the heritage he had so hardly won, and he set out for 
 Hampton, where he was met by the burgesses, who brought 
 him to his castle. Here all the subsidiary barons did him 
 homage, and the one thing necessary to his happiness was 
 also attainable. 
 
 Than Bevis, he, sothe to sayne, 
 Sent after the byshop of Coleyne 
 
 1 Surely. 2 I pity him who cares about it. 
 
SIR BEVIS OF HAMPTON. 159 
 
 That he woulde for anithinge 
 
 To be at his weddinge. 
 
 Whan the bysshope was ther come, 
 
 Two knights had Josian anone ; 
 
 To Churche than they her ledde, 
 
 The Bysshope him selfe on the boke red, 
 
 And to Bevis was wedded blyve * 
 
 To the endynge of theyr lyve. 
 
 Here, according to modern ethics, the history should 
 end. Sir Bevis had apparently gained his heart's desire, 
 but the old chronicler has much more to tell about him. 
 
 First, acting under the advice of his uncle Sabere, he 
 went to London to do homage to King Edgar, who not 
 pnly confirmed him in his earldom of Hampton, but made 
 him Earl Marshal, a dignity formerly borne by his father. 
 This visit, however, was to have an unhappy influence over 
 the future life of Sir Bevis. And it happened in this way. 
 Whilst at King Edgar's Court, 
 
 In Somer at Whitsontyde, 
 Whan Knights most on horsbacke ride, 
 A cours let they make on a daye 
 Stedes and palfrayes for to assaye 
 Whiche horse that best may ren. 
 Thre myles the cours was then ; 
 Who that might ryd shoulde 
 Have. tl. I*, of red golde. 
 
 Sir Bevis, confident in the super-excellence of Arundel, 
 entered him for this race, and, coming on the day appointed, 
 found his competitors had already started, and had got 
 some half-mile ahead. But Arundel, even thus heavily 
 
 1 Quickly, 
 
1 60 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 handicapped, soon caught up, and passed his rivals, winning 
 the race by a long distance. 
 
 The king's son coveted this incomparable steed, and 
 wished to buy him of Bevis, but he refused to part with him 
 on any consideration. So the prince determined to take 
 him, and, going to Arundel's stable, attempted to lead him 
 forth ; but one kick from that animal scattered his brains 
 a fate which King Edgar so took to heart that he called 
 his parliament together, and demanded that Bevis should 
 be slain, by being torn asunder by wild beasts. But the 
 barons withstood him, saying that Bevis had nought to do 
 with his son's death, but that, if any victim was necessary, 
 Arundel should clearly be it. 
 
 But Bevis loved his horse so, that he proposed a course 
 which was agreed to, which was, that if Arundel were 
 spared, he would give up his heritage and honours to Sir 
 Sabere, and banish himself from England. A fortnight's 
 grace was allowed him, but if at the expiration of that 
 time he were still in England, " he shoulde be taken and 
 faste bounde." 
 
 Sadly he rode to Hampton, and at once set about the 
 preparations for his departure. Humbly he went forth 
 with Josian, having only Ascaparte for retinue, whilst 
 Terry, his cousin, accompanied them presumably for com- 
 panionship. Better had it been if Ascaparte had been left 
 behind, for the fallen fortunes of his master had materially 
 altered the giant's feelings towards him. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 161 
 
 Ascaparte that false thefe 
 For hym Bevis was in muche grefe ; 
 He thought I dwel here without fail, 
 I get nought elles but great travayl, 
 And I myght be Termagaunte. 
 Bring Josyon to Mambraunte, 
 Full welcome should I be y e king tyll, 1 
 And have ynoughe at my wyll. 
 This Ascaparte false was he, 
 For Beyis was fallen in poverte. 
 Whan a man in poverte is fall, 
 Few frendes meteth he withall. 
 
 What made this exile the worse was, that Josian was 
 very near her confinement, which happened when they 
 were in a forest Bevis and Terry had built a hut for her, 
 and when her time came, she begged them so earnestly to 
 go away from her for a while, that they could not but obey 
 her. She was delivered of twins (boys), and then the 
 wretch Ascaparte, who had given Bevis and Terry the slip, 
 and had returned 
 
 To the lodge wente he there, 
 
 And Josian awaye did bere. 
 
 There might no praiers her borowe, 2 
 
 I wonder her hart burst not for sorow, 
 
 For he swore by Termagaunte 
 
 He woulde her lede to Mambraunte. 
 
 Bevis, on his return, was thunderstruck to find Josian 
 gone, and the twin babes in her place, but he soon came to 
 the conclusion that it was Ascaparte's doings, and fainted 
 away. On his recovery, he took off his mantle, and, wrap- 
 1 Thereof. a Avail. 
 
 12 
 
1 62 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 ping his babes therein, set off, with Terry, in pursuit of 
 Ascaparte. On their way they met a forester, who could 
 give them no news ; but he agreed to take one of the chil- 
 dren, and bring it up for seven years, when he was to take 
 it to Sir Bevis. They next met a fisherman, with exactly 
 similar results, and, being thus " without encumbrance,'" 
 Bevis and Terry went on their way. 
 
 They came to a castellated town, in which they stayed 
 at an inn, where Bevis, looking out of a window, saw pre- 
 parations for a tournament. On inquiry he found that the 
 lord of that town, who was dying, and his daughter 
 unmarried, this tournament was instituted, so that the 
 strongest and best knight was to have her hand and her 
 lands for the prize. The temptation of a fight was so 
 great, that Bevis asked Terry if they should joust for that 
 lady, and Terry, being of a kindred spirit, consented. 
 Needless to say, they overthrew all comers, and Sir Bevis. 
 was adjudged the best knight. Dame Elynor (for that was. 
 the lady's name) immediately proposed their marriage, but 
 when she learned from Bevis his melancholy story, they 
 agreed that they should live in Platonic friendship for 
 seven years, and if at the end of that time no tidings could 
 be heard of Josian, they were to be married. Meantime 
 Bevis was governor of the land. 
 
 But how fared it with Josian whilst her lord was thus, 
 unmindful of her ? Luckily for her, Sir Sabere had a gift 
 of dreaming, and he dreamt that Bevis had been slaia 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 163 
 
 by Ascaparte ; and, so vivid was the vision, that he felt 
 convinced that harm had befallen his beloved nephew. 
 So, with twelve knights, disguised as palmers, but mail clad, 
 and well armed under their pilgrim's weeds, they set out, 
 and, going into Heathenesse, they came upon Ascaparte and 
 Josian near the city of Mambraunt. Josian appealed to 
 the palmer, Sir Sabere, for succour, and not without avail, 
 for they all fell on Ascaparte and killed him. 
 
 The giant being dead, their next thoughts were to find 
 Sir Bevis ; and that Josian might not be annoyed in her 
 journeying by men admiring her beauty, Sir Sabere pro- 
 vided for 
 
 Her body that was so fayre and gent : r 
 He noynted it with an oyntment, 
 And made her to seme yelowe and grene 
 That was before so fayre and shene, 
 That no man should take her him fro 
 Therfore discoloured her so. 
 
 They wandered about for some time without hearing any 
 tidings of Bevis, until they came to a city where Sir Sabere 
 accidentally met with his son Terry. Mutual explanations 
 ensued. Josian's ointment was removed ; she was re-united 
 to Bevis ; her children were sent for, and came. Sir Terry 
 married Dame Elynor, and once more, according to our 
 ideas, the story ought to come to an end. But no ! It is 
 carried back, and shows that King Joure, having been 
 unable to find any traces of Bevis and Josian, vented his 
 
 1 Gentle, or soft. 
 
1 64 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 wrath upon King Ermine, and gave him battle. A pilgrim 
 told Bevis the news, and he, his two. sons, Guy and Myles, 
 and Sir Sabere, accompanied by a goodly company of 
 knights, went forth to Armony. 
 
 This array somewhat frightened the old king, especially 
 as he remembered the treacherous trick he had served Sir 
 Bevis, so he cried him mercy a hundred times, and pro- 
 mised, if he would but forgive him, he would turn Chris- 
 tian. This was accepted, and the Bishop of Rome was 
 applied to to send clergy ; which he gladly did, who bap- 
 tized not only the king, but all his people. This being 
 satisfactorily done, Sir Joure began to be aggressive, and, 
 having got together an army of forty thousand Saracens, 
 he invaded Armony, and wasted it with fire and sword. 
 At length the opposing forces met, and a terrible fight 
 ensued. Bevis, with Morglay in hand, was as usual 
 irresistible, and he left heaps of dead Saracens upon the 
 field. At last, King Joure being taken prisoner and his 
 host overpowered, they fled, being slaughtered in their 
 flight. King Joure had, in prison, time for reflection, the 
 upshot of which was a desire to be released, and to that 
 end 
 
 King Joure prayed Bevis tho 
 
 That he might make raunsome and go, 
 
 And for his raunsome yf he wolde 
 
 Twenty sommers of red golde, 
 
 And thre hundreth beddes of sylke, 
 
 An hundreth stedes as whyt as mylke, 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 165 
 
 An hundreth cuppes of golde fyne 
 
 And as many of Misculyne : * 
 
 All this raunsome I wyll thee gyve 
 
 Yf thou nowe let me lyve. 
 
 Bevis said make thi servant it bring, 
 
 And I shall save thy life, syr king ; 
 
 So muche dred I not the, 
 
 But I lefer have y r treasure than thee. 
 
 King Ermine, finding his end drawing nigh, sent for 
 Guy, Sir Bevis's eldest son, and made over the kingdom of 
 Armony to him. Then the old man died, and Sir Sabere, 
 longing to see his wife and children, went to England. 
 
 Bevis had suffered from misplaced lenity in Ascaparte ; 
 he had now to have a repetition of the lesson in King 
 Joure, who coveted the horse Arundel, and would fain steal 
 it. He had a fitting tool in a horse thief named Robson, 
 who went to Armony, and, with his charms and craft, 
 beguiled poor Arundel, whose loss left his master inconso- 
 lable. Here Sir Sabere's accomplishment of dreaming, 
 again was of great use. He had a vision of Sir Bevis 
 riding Arundel, that the horse threw him, and broke two of 
 his ribs. So satisfied was he that this dream portended 
 evil, that he set out, wella rmed, to Mambraunt, and there, 
 by a river, he saw Robson on Arundel. He spoke fairly to 
 the thief, but, seizing his opportunity, he jumped up behind 
 him, and slew him. 
 
 After killing the infidel, Sir Sabere turned Arundel's 
 
 Mixed metal. 
 
1 66 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 head towards Armony, followed by some three thousand 
 Saracens. Josian was in a tower, and, seeing some one 
 riding Arundel and thus pursued, told Bevis, who, with his 
 two sons and his cousin Terry, and all his knights, sallied 
 forth, rescued Sir Sabere, and annihilated the Saracens. 
 
 King Joure, naturally, was displeased at the course 
 events were taking, and sent to ask counsel of his brother 
 Bradwine, King of Syria, who advised him to challenge 
 Bevis to single combat, and thus end the strife the victor 
 to have the other's lands. With Morglay's assistance 
 King Joure was killed, and Bevis, putting on his armour, 
 went on, at once, to Mambraunt; and the people of that city, 
 thinking it was their king returned, opened their gates, and, 
 in consequence, were easily subdued. They were soon 
 reconciled to their new ruler, and not only did homage to 
 him, but they " cursed their mawmetry," * and were bap- 
 tized into Christianity, those who would not conform to 
 the new regulations being immediately slain. 
 
 One day, whilst Bevis and Sir Sabere were hawking, a 
 messenger came to them, and reported that King Edgar 
 had, by counsel of his steward, disinherited Sir Sabere's 
 son, who was Bevis's heir. This could not be borne, and 
 the whole family, with ten thousand men, set forth for 
 England, and landed at Hampton ; and there they found 
 the news to be true, that Edgar, at the instigation of Sir 
 Bryan of Cornwall, an inveterate enemy of Sir Bevis, had 
 
 1 Mammet an idol, puppet, or doll. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 167 
 
 seized upon Bevis's estate, in satisfaction of Arundel having 
 killed his son. 
 
 Bevis and his host marched on London, and encamped 
 at Putney, where leaving them, he, with twelve knights 
 only, went to King Edgar, and asked him why he had 
 disinherited Sir Sabere and his son. The king, at first, 
 treated him kindly, telling him, if wrong had been done 
 him, it should be remedied by Parliament ; but, over- 
 persuaded by Sir Bryan, he came to no definite conclu- 
 sion. Sir Bevis left the presence without redress, and Sir 
 Bryan made a cry throughout the city, assembling all who 
 could bear arms. The city gates were locked, and chains 
 drawn across the street. 
 
 Bevis bade his men to make their way to Putney, and to 
 tell his sons to come to his aid, and then, leaping on 
 Arundel, he " went for " Sir Bryan, and clove him from 
 the crown to the saddle, and killed some two hundred of 
 the citizens. He then turned into Bread Street, where he 
 met many Lombards, who assaulted him, and got slain for 
 their pains. In Chepe, too, was a bloody fight, some six 
 hundred men here perishing, and there was fighting all that 
 summer's night. 
 
 The knights reached Putney safely, and told their news. 
 Josian swooned, but the men folk hastened to the succour 
 of their chief Guy arming himself with a sword that once 
 belonged to Lancelot du Lac, and Myles having the famous 
 brand Duvandel, once the property of Roland. They 
 
1 68 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 crossed the Thames, effected an entrance into the city at 
 Ludgate, and they found Sir Bevis, weary indeed, but still 
 fighting. Guy came in time to kill a " doughty Lombard," 
 who was pressing his father, and this he did with such 
 good will that it quite revived Sir Bevis, and even Arundel 
 neighed loudly, " and helped Bevis for to fight." It was a 
 
 terrible fight 
 
 So harde they gan together mete 
 That the blode raune in every strete ; 
 So many men was dead 
 The Chepe syde was of blode red, 
 For there was slayne, I understand, 
 To the number of thirty thousande. 
 
 The fighting having ceased, they retired to Putney, 
 and thence to Hampton, where they awaited the king's 
 forces, which they fully expected would be sent to punish 
 them ; but the king told his barons all that this strife was 
 entirely caused by Sir Bryan, who was dead : that Bevis 
 was a man of war, the king himself was getting old, and 
 he thought the best thing to do was to give his daughter 
 in marriage to Sir Bevis's son Myles, whom he would 
 make Earl of Cornwall ; and this was duly done, amidst 
 great rejoicings. 
 
 After these festivities Bevis and Josian retired to Mam- 
 braunt, and dwelt there seven years, until they died. 
 Their end was peaceful, a contrast to their lives. 
 
 Than waxed Josian seke and laye, 1 
 And Bevis also as I you saye ; 
 1 Took to her bed. 
 
SIR BE VIS OF HAMPTON. 169 
 
 Bishopes and friers came to them blyve * 
 Bevis and Josian for to shryve. 
 Whan Bevis and Josian the good 
 Had themselfe humbled to god in moode, 
 Eyther turned to other without host 
 And both they yielded up the ghost. 
 
 If. if. if. ;;; ;;: 
 
 Syr Guy than to the stable went he 
 
 Arundel his horse for to se, 
 
 Whan he came there no sound he read 
 
 For Arundell there found he deade ; 
 
 Syr Guy thought marveyle y e south to saye 
 
 For all they dyed upon a daye. 
 
 * * * # * 
 
 Thus endeth Bevis of South Hampton, 
 King and Knight of great renowne. 
 
 1 Quietly. 
 
Sir Gnjamoure, 
 
 EARLY MSS. of this Romance are scarce. There is 
 one in the Public Library of the University of 
 Cambridge, which has been edited by Halliwell for 
 the Percy Society, and another is given in the Pqrcy MSS. 
 Of printed copies but two are known to exist, both printed 
 by Copland, one in the Bodleian Library, and the other in 
 the British Museum, and from the latter I have taken my 
 story. 
 
 The name of the kingdom over which Aradas was 
 sovereign, was Arragon, but when he reigned we shall 
 probably never know ; nor is it material in order to follow 
 out this history. He was blessed with a queen whom he 
 loved dearly, by name Margarete, and they seem to have 
 lived a blissful existence, marred only by one drawback 
 
 Thys kynge loved well his quene, 
 Bycause she was semely to sene, 
 And as true as the turtel on tree ; 
 Ether to other made grete mone, 
 For chyldren together had they none ; 
 
174 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 and this so preyed upon the king, that he made a vow to 
 go and fight the heathen in the Holy Land, hoping, by so 
 doing, to find favour with the Deity, who might, perhaps > 
 grant him the dearest wish of his heart. The queen did 
 her best to combat this resolution, but neither her tears 
 nor entreaties could prevail, and the king set out on his 
 crusade, leaving his wife to the special charge of his steward 
 Marrocke. Now this Marrocke was a false and specious 
 traitor, and no sooner was the king's back turned, than he 
 fell to a wooing of the queen on his own account ; but she 
 scornfully rejected all his advances, and when he pestered 
 her still more, she threatened to have him hanged on the 
 gallows. Then he no longer persecuted her, but he vowed 
 to be avenged. 
 
 The king performed prodigies of valour in the Holy 
 Land, and made a very short campaign, returning after 
 only a few months' absence ; and his joy at his coming 
 home was marvellously enhanced by finding his wife 
 enceinte. 
 
 Many tymes he dyd her kysse, 
 
 And made grete joye wythoute mysse, 
 
 His hert made great rejoicyng. 
 
 But this was of short duration, for the villain Marrocke 
 assured the king that his queen had been unfaithful to him, 
 and that he, in the interests of his master, had slain her 
 paramour. At this news the king sorrowed greatly, but 
 seems to have had no doubt whatever as to the truth of 
 
SIX TRYAMOURE. 175 
 
 his steward's story, and to have judged her without the 
 smallest inquiry, debating whether he should not at once 
 burn her. Marrocke, however, was against this, and 
 suggested banishment. 
 
 Delyver her an ambelynge stede, 
 And an olde knyght her to lede. 
 
 This advice was followed, and thus the wicked steward 
 carried out the sentence on the queen, who meekly, but 
 sorrowfully a very patient Griselda suffered her unjust 
 doom. 
 
 He dyd her clothe in purple wede, 
 
 And sette her on an olde stede, 
 
 That was both croked and almost blynd. 
 
 He toke her an olde knyght, 
 
 Kynne to the quene, and Syr Roger hyght 
 
 That was bothe curteyse and kynd ; 
 
 Thre dayes he gave them leve to passe. 
 
 And after that daye set was, 
 
 If men myght them fynde 
 
 The quene sholde be brent stercke * dede 
 
 In a fyre with flames rede. 
 
 This came of the stuardes mynde. 
 
 Forty florens for theyr expence 
 
 The kyng had given them in this presence. 
 
 And so they set out on their sorrowful journey, the 
 queen weeping, and the old knight comforting her as best 
 he might. No servants accompanied them ; there were but 
 they twain and a noble greyhound belonging to Sir Roger. 
 Slowly, too, they went, and on this the wicked Marrocke 
 
 1 Stark, stiff. 
 
1 7 6 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 counted, for he got together a band of his own men, and 
 having got in front of the exiles, he lay in wait for them, 
 his object being to kill the knight and possess himself of 
 the queen. When, therefore, they came near, he and his 
 men showed themselves, declaring their intentions. The 
 old knight laid about him manfully, and accounted for four- 
 teen of the caitiff band, and in this he was well seconded 
 by his greyhound, who "full bytterly gan byte." But 
 Marrocke got behind the old knight, and, piercing his back 
 with a spear, killed him. 
 
 Meanwhile, the queen, having a wholesome dread of the 
 steward, fled, and hid herself in a green grove, so that when 
 Marrocke, after killing Sir Roger, sought her, she was 
 nowhere to be found, and, after hacking the knight's body, 
 he was fain to return home. The queen, having mourned 
 awhile over the corpse of Sir Roger, which the faithful 
 greyhound would not quit, went on her way towards 
 Hungary, until her condition forbade her to go any farther, 
 and, having alighted in a forest and tied her horse to a 
 tree, a boy was born to her, which rilled her with a deep 
 joy, and, having attended to it and wrapped it up well, they 
 both fell asleep. 
 
 A good knight named Sir Barnarde Mausewynge was 
 hunting the deer, and came riding past where these two lay. 
 Alighting from his horse, he approached the sleeping lady, 
 and awoke her, asking her how she came in that condition. 
 She told him some portion of her story, and then the kind 
 
SIR TRYAMOURE. 177 
 
 knight lifted her up courteously, and, carrying the child, 
 led her to his castle, where he handed her over to female 
 care, and she was put to bed. 
 
 The child was afterwards christened Tryamoure, and at 
 his baptism received many rich gifts from the neighbouring 
 lords and ladies. And there for some years Margarete 
 and her child abode. 
 
 Of her they were never vvery. 
 
 The chylde was taught grete nurture, 
 
 A mayster hym had under his cure 
 
 And taught him curtesye. 
 
 This chylde waxed wonderous well, 
 
 Of grete stature bothe fleshe and fell, 
 
 Every man loved hym truely ; 
 
 Of his company all folke were gladde, 
 
 None other cause in dede they hadde, 
 
 The chylde was gentyll and bolde. 
 
 We left the greyhound by the side of his dead master, 
 whose wounds he lay and licked, until the body became 
 somewhat decomposed, when he scratched a grave, and 
 dragging the corpse into it, covered it with earth and moss. 
 Neither heat nor cold, nor the winter storm, nor man's 
 hand, could make the faithful hound relinquish his guard 
 over his master's grave, which he quitted but once a day 
 in order to provide himself with food. And this went on 
 for seven long years, when the dog waxed old, and game 
 became so scarce that one day he sought food in the king's 
 hall, where all the barons and knights were set at meat ; 
 and having obtained it, he looked all round as if he sought 
 
 13 
 
1 7 8 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 some one, and, being unable to find him, he went away 
 once more to his master's grave. 
 
 This conduct he repeated on another day, and it so 
 excited the king's curiosity, that he asked whether that was 
 not Sir Roger's dog, who went forth with the queen and 
 that knight ; remarking that if it were so, they should soon 
 have tidings of the pair, and ordered that he should be 
 followed when next he made his appearance. On his next 
 visit to the royal hall the hound saw whom he wanted. 
 The false villain Marrocke was there, and, springing at his 
 throat, the dog bit it asunder, and thus ended the foul life 
 of the caitiff steward. 
 
 But than he wolde not byde, 
 
 For to his grave he ranne, 
 
 There followed hym many a manne, 
 
 Some on hors and some besyde ; 
 
 And whan he came wher his mayster was 
 
 He layde hym downe upon the grasse 
 
 And barked at the menne agayne. 
 
 There myght no man hym from y e place gete, 
 
 And yet with staves they dyd hym bete 
 
 That he was almost slayne. 
 
 The men returned and reported the dog's behaviour to 
 the king, whose acumen perceived its cause that Marrocke 
 had slain Sir Roger, and slandered the queen, and sent 
 them again, with instructions to dig. This they did, and 
 found the old knight's body in a wonderful state of preser- 
 vation. They bore it to the king, who shed bitter and 
 unavailing tears over it, and, as some reparation towards 
 
SIR TRYAMOURE. 179 
 
 the dead, and to his libelled and exiled queen, he had 
 Marrocke's body drawn through the city and then hanged 
 on a tree, that all men might see one that had wrought 
 such treason. Sir Roger's body was re-interred in a more 
 fitting place, in a sumptuous manner, but the greyhound 
 still was faithful to his old master, and kept guard over his 
 .ie\v tomb until he died. 
 
 The next thing the king did was to try and find his 
 njured queen ; but, though he sent far and near, he could 
 lear no tidings of her, and for many years he lived a life 
 Df sorrow and remorse, mourning and weeping, for that he 
 lad sent her forth innocent and misjudged, and, worse than 
 ill else, was ignorant of her fate. 
 
 When Tryamoure was fourteen years old, he excelled all 
 )f his age in size and strength, in good looks, and martial 
 exercises, and it so happened that at this time died, at a 
 jreat age, the King of Hungary, leaving as his successor 
 lis daughter " Fayre Elyne," who was fourteen years of 
 ige. The country around was unquiet, and her counsellors 
 tdvised that she should marry some mighty prince, who, 
 ,>y his personal prowess, might be able to defend her 
 jdngdom against all comers ; and for that purpose a great 
 ousting was commanded, to take place in six months' time, 
 vhich would sift the competitors for this great prize. The 
 ame of this great tournament reached to the ends of the 
 iivilized world, and lords and knights from all parts 
 locked to Hungary. 
 
i8o ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Even Try amoure heard of it, and his youthful heart beat 
 high, as to what he might accomplish, could he but be at 
 the jousting ; but how could he go thither without horse 
 or armour ? and he pondered night and morn how to- 
 gratify his wish. At length he bethought him of Syr 
 Barnerde, and he boldly asked that knight to lend him 
 horse and armour, so that he might go to the tourney. 
 Sir Barnerde told him that he knew nothing of jousting, 
 and was not able to wield the necessary weapons ; but the 
 precocious lad replying, that there was no knowing what 
 he could do till he tried, the knight's scruples gave way, 
 and he promised the loan of arms and steed : moreover, 
 that he would accompany him. This rejoiced the lad's 
 heart exceedingly, but, when he asked his mother's bless- 
 ing, there was somewhat of a scene with that fond parent, 
 who for the first time was to be parted from her darling ; 
 but at length she acquiesced, and must have felt proud of 
 her boy, who, when armed, and on horseback, looked every 
 inch a man. 
 
 So Sir Barnerde and Tryamoure rode to the jousting,, 
 and there took the side of the King of Arragon, who had 
 been attracted to the jousts, not knowing that he was the 
 boy's father. Needless to say that Tryamoure overthrew 
 every knight opposed to him, and Sir Barnerde failed not,. 
 on every such event, to shout "A Tryamoure! A Trya- 
 moure!" calling special attention to our hero's prowess. He 
 even had a course with his father, and unhorsed him. In. 
 
SIR TRYAMOURE. 181 
 
 short, he was the hero of the tournament, having kept 
 the lists against all comers for three days, and was there- 
 fore entitled to the hand and lands of the fair Elyne, who 
 looked upon him with decided eyes of favour. 
 
 But, among the knights he had overthrown was Sir 
 James, son of the Emperor of Germany ; and, as he left 
 the lists, Sir James laid wait for him privily, and riding 
 at Tryamoure, with a spear, pierced his thigh, and almost 
 killed him ; but Tryamoure had strength enough left to 
 strike him one blow, which made Sir James a corpse. 
 The German prince's followers immediately set upon 
 Tryamoure, and it would have gone hard with him, had not 
 King Aradas, by a lucky chance, come up and rescued him. 
 
 Sir Barnerde saw him home, but, when Queen Margarete 
 beheld her wounded darling, she fainted, and, on her 
 recovery, sensibly sent for a doctor. 
 
 Meanwhile the morrow came, but with it no victor to 
 claim his prize, as should have been ; and the lords and 
 knights who were assembled, begged the princess to choose 
 from among them, as Tryamoure had not thought it worth 
 while to exercise his right. They sought right and left 
 for him, and all supposed he had ridden home. But the 
 princess had seen quite enough of him to love him, and, in 
 spite of all the pressure put upon her by the lords and 
 knights, she would have none of them, nor would she 
 make a choice among them until a year had passed. To 
 this they were fain to accede, and so they rode their 
 
182 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 different ways, leaving the fair Elyne more bent than 
 ever on having Tryamoure for her husband. 
 
 Sir James's men bore the corpse of their master to his 
 father's court, and, in reply to the emperor's question, 
 they could only tell him that the name of him who had 
 slain his son was Tryamoure, but where he dwelt they 
 knew not ; but of this they were certain, that the King of 
 Arragon came and helped him against themselves ; and 
 the emperor, sore at his son's death, vowed vengeance on 
 both of them. He gathered together a great array, and 
 marched on Arragon, and, the king having fled to a strong 
 castle, he lay siege to it. In those days, however, sieges 
 took time, especially if the defenders behaved like Aradas, 
 who treated the besiegers 
 
 With gounes z and grete stones rounde 
 Were throwen downe to the groimde, 
 And on the men were caste, 
 They brake many backes and bones ; 
 Thus they fought every daye ones 
 Whyle seven wekes did laste. 
 
 Neither side cared about this, and King Aradas sent 
 two lords to the Emperor of Germany, to try and nego- 
 tiate a peace. They told the emperor, what was perfectly 
 true, that Aradas had nothing to do with the death of his 
 son in fact that he was killed before the king came up ; 
 but, if the emperor still felt aggrieved, the king would 
 meet him in single combat, and so settle the matter ; or, 
 1 Engines such as catapults, c. 
 
SIR TRYAMOURE. 183 
 
 if that were not agreeable, it might be arranged vicariously, 
 by means of two champions. This proposition was agreed 
 to, a date fixed upon for the combat, and a truce entered 
 into. The German champion was a giant named Maradas, 
 and Aradas put his trust in procuring the assistance of the 
 doughty Tryamoure ; but, although he sent messengers all 
 ways in search of him, no tidings of him could be gathered. 
 
 Meanwhile, Tryamoure's wound had healed, and he was 
 once more stout and strong, when one day he astonished 
 his mother by asking who his father was ; but the only 
 answer she gave him was, that he should know when he 
 married the Princess Elyne. This not satisfying him, he 
 bade his mother farewell, as he was going to set out in 
 search of adventures. He took the way to Arragon, and 
 was accompanied by three greyhounds, with which he 
 hunted as he rode. He was thus once following a hart, 
 when he was confronted by fourteen foresters, who swore 
 they would hale him to prison, such being the law of that 
 land. But when they began to apply physical force to 
 enforce their argument, Tryamoure got wroth, and soon 
 killed some, wounded others, and the rest fled. He then 
 went on in his pursuit of the hart, which had slain two of his 
 greyhounds, was sore pressing the third, and would prob- 
 ably have killed it also, had not Tryamoure come up, and 
 slain the deer with a spear-thrust ; and, as was customary 
 in venerie, he put his horn to his lips, and blew a " mort." 
 
 King Aradas and his knights were in hall when they 
 
184 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 heard the sound of that horn, and were sorely wondering 
 thereat, when in rushed a forester, who explained that 
 there was a gentleman hunting the deer, who had beaten 
 their whole force, killing some and wounding others. The 
 king, whose thoughts were of a personal nature, for the 
 time of finding a substitute had nigh run out, replied that 
 he had great need of such a man, and bade them go and 
 bring him in, using all courtesy. This was done, Trya- 
 moure, on the way, learning that he whom he was about to 
 visit was Aradas, the King of Arragon. As soon as he 
 saw the king, he recognized him ; but the king took him 
 by the hand and welcomed him, begging to know his 
 name. He replied Tryamoure, and called to the king's 
 recollection how he had come to his assistance when he 
 was in sore need. So overjoyed was Aradas at this 
 unexpected rencontre, that he fainted three times. 
 
 When he had recovered himself, he poured into Trya- 
 moure's listening ear the story of his woes how that 
 the very help he had afforded him was wrought to his 
 undoing, for with the death of the emperor's son he had 
 nothing to do. 
 
 Then sayd Tryamoure, tho 
 That ye for me have been greved so, 
 If I myght it amende, 
 And at the daye of batyll 
 I trust to prove my myght well, 
 If God will grace me sende. 
 Than was Kynge Aradas very gladde, 
 And of Maradas he was not adradde. 1 
 1 Afraid. 
 
SSJ? TRYAMOURE. 185 
 
 Tryamoure was the king's guest until the day of battle, 
 when he was made a knight, and they went together to 
 the place of combat. It was a fearful fight, for they were 
 evenly matched, but a blow of Tryamoure's sword falling 
 short, it killed the giant's horse. Maradas taunted him 
 
 ... It is great shame 
 
 On a stede to wreke his game, 
 
 Thou sholdest rather to smyte me. 
 
 Tryamoure alighted from his horse to make the combat 
 more even, and, remembering that he had only that day 
 been made a knight, determined to prove himself worthy 
 of the honour, and laid on with such good will, that he 
 fairly tired out the giant, and, catching him off his guard, 
 ran him through the body. The emperor, although "a sory 
 man," made peace, according to his compact, kissed the 
 king in token of amity, and, with his army, wended his 
 way home. As, also, did King Aradas and Sir Tryamoure. 
 Needless to say, the king dearly loved the knight, would 
 always have him near him, and fain would make him his 
 heir ; but this Sir Tryamoure declined, as he still remem- 
 bered his princess in Hungary. With deep regret, the 
 king allowed him to depart, furnishing him with costly 
 arms, and a good steed, and so he took his leave. 
 
 As he went on his way, he met a palmer, in a mountain 
 pass, who asked him for alms, which Sir Tryamoure gave 
 him, accompanied " with wordes swete." The grateful 
 pilgrim, in return, begged him to turn back, as there were 
 
1 86 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 two giants guarding that pass ; but that news seems to 
 have gladdened our hero's heart, for 
 
 In fayth, sayd Tryamoure, yf there be no mo, 
 I truste in God that waye to go, 
 
 and continued on his journey, followed by the prayers of 
 the palmer. 
 
 When he judged he had gone a sufficient distance, he 
 blew his horn, and had not ridden far, when he saw two 
 giants on a hill, one of whom rode towards him, whilst the 
 other stopped where he was. The two met, and the usual 
 combat took place, but it lasted so long that the second 
 giant rose up, and, stopping the fight for a while, said to 
 Sir Tryamoure, 
 
 So doughty a knyght knovve I none, 
 
 Thy name that thou us tell. 
 
 Tryamoure sayd, fyrst will I wete T 
 
 Why that you do kepe thys strete, 
 
 And where that ye do dwell. 
 
 They sayd, we had a brother hyght Maradas, 
 
 With the Emperoure forsothe he was. 
 
 A stronge man well I knowe 
 
 In Aragon before the Emperoure, 
 
 A knight men called hym Syr Tryamoure, 
 
 In batayle there hym slewe. 
 
 And also we say anoder, 
 
 Burlongee, our elder broder, 
 
 As a man of muche myght, 
 
 He hath besyeged sothely 
 
 The kynges doughter of Houngry, 
 
 To wedde her he hath he hyght ; 
 
 1 Know. 
 
TRYAMOURE. 187 
 
 And so well hath he spedde 
 That he shall that lady wedde 
 But she may fynde a knyghte 
 That Burlonge overcome maye ; 
 For that same Tryamoure 
 Loved that lady par amoure, 
 As it is before tolde, 
 If he wyll to Houngry 
 Nedes he muste come us by 
 To mete with him he wolde. 
 
 When Sir Tryamoure discovered himself, the brother 
 giants were furious, and both attacked him. It is useless 
 to follow the details of the combat, but, in the end, both 
 giants were slain, and the knight went on his way. Nor 
 was he too soon, for it was the day appointed when the 
 giant Burlonge was to meet fair Elyne's champion. She, 
 poor lady, was in a state of great anxiety, but she had 
 faith in her lover, and said that if he were alive he would 
 surely come to defend her. At that moment Sir Trya- 
 moure rode up, and held a short parley with Burlonge, as 
 to their mutual willingness to fight. But Elyne, although 
 she saw that a champion had appeared on her part, knew 
 him not until she was told by a herald, and then she knelt 
 in prayer for his success. 
 
 The combatants engaged, with the usual prelude of 
 shivered lances ; and, when they betook themselves to 
 their swords, Sir Tryamoure missed a stroke, and lost his 
 weapon. Not being deficient in assurance, he asked that 
 he might have it again, and the giant, with unexampled 
 
i88 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 generosity, consented, provided he told his name. But 
 when he heard it 
 
 Than, sayde Burlonge, thou it was 
 
 That slewe my brother Maradas, 
 
 A fayre happe then befell. 
 
 Syr Tryamoure sayde to hym tho, 
 
 So have I done thy bretherne two 
 
 That on the mountayne dyde dwell. 
 
 Burlonge sayd, Wo may thou be, 
 
 For thou hast slayn my bretherne thre, 
 
 Sorowe hast thou sought ; 
 
 Thy swerde getest thou never agayn 
 
 Tyll I be venged, and thou slayne. 
 
 And, so saying, he aimed a mighty stroke at the knight, 
 but his feet slipped, and he fell. Sir Tryamoure instantly 
 picked up his sword, and cut off the giant's leg at the 
 knee, and then tauntingly told him to stand up and con- 
 tinue the fight. This, after being furnished with a fresh 
 sword, Burlonge did, and, for a time, fought upon his 
 stumps ; but not for long, for the mighty Tryamoure cut off 
 
 his head. 
 
 Now is Burlonge slayne, 
 And Tryamoure with mayne 
 Into the castell wente 
 To that lady that was full bryght ; 
 And at the gate she mette the knyght, 
 And in her armes she him hente. 1 
 She sayd, Welcome, Syr Tryamoure, 
 Ye have bought my love full dere, 
 My herte is on you lente. 2 
 Then sayde all the barons bolde, 
 Of hym we will our landes holde, 
 And thereto they dyd assent. 
 
 1 Held, clasped. * Remains with you. 
 
SIR TRYAMOURE. 189 
 
 There is little more to chronicle. They named a speedy 
 day for their marriage, and sent for Queen Margarete. 
 On her arrival, Tryamoure claimed the fulfilment of her 
 promise, that she would tell him who his father was ; which 
 she did, and gave her whole history. Thereupon he wrote 
 to King Aradas to come to Hungary, which he did gladly. 
 
 The young folks were married, Sir Tryamoure crowned 
 King of Hungary. King Aradas and Queen Margarete 
 were united, and 
 
 In joye togyder they ledde theyr lyfe 
 All theyr dayes withoute stryfe. 
 
of 
 
 lotoe titgte 
 
Squ\>r of lowe 2)egre, 
 
 COPLAND'S version, from which I have taken this 
 Romance, seems to be the only one now known. 
 It was reprinted by Ritson, and may also be found 
 n Warton's " History of English Poetry." 
 
 The parentage of this Squire of low degree is not given, 
 JDUt, at the time when this story opens, he had served the 
 {King of Hungary, by whom he was much liked, for seven 
 lears, and now held the position of Marshal of the Royal 
 Ball. He was good-looking and well made, was liked by 
 ill men, and could hold his own in the lists ; but he 
 flourished a secret grief, and was ever mourning, but no 
 pan wist why. 
 
 I The fact was, he was deeply in love with the daughter 
 bf his master the king, and, being a gentleman in feeling, 
 tould confide his secret to no man, so he went about 
 rnoping, and "ever he sayde wayle a waye." In this 
 [iesperate condition of mind, he wandered one day into the 
 
194 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 garden, and, as delineations of home life are very scarce in 
 these Romances, perhaps I may be pardoned for intro- 
 ducing a description of this place. 
 
 And in the garden, as I wene, 
 Was an arber fayre and grene ; 
 And in the arber was a tre, 
 A fayrer in the world might none be. 
 The tre it was of Cypresse, 1 
 The fyrst tre that Jesu chose, 
 The sother 2 wood and lykamoure, 3 
 The red rose, and the lyly floure, 
 The box, the beche, and the larel tre, 
 The date, also the damyse ; 4 
 The fylbyrdes 5 hangyng to the ground, 
 The fygge tre and the maple round ; 
 And other trees there was mane one, 
 The pyany, 6 the popler, and the plane, 
 With brode braunches all aboute, 
 Within the arber, and eke withoute. 
 On every braunche sate byrdes thre, 
 Syngynge with great melody. 
 The lavorocke 7 and the nightyngale, 
 The ruddocke, 8 the woodwele,9 
 The pee, 10 and the Popinjaye," 
 The thrustle 12 saynge both nyght and daye ; 
 The marlyn 13 and the wrenne also, 
 The swalowe whypping to and fro ; 
 The jaye jangled them amonge, 
 The larke began that mery songe ; 
 The sparowe spredde her on her spraye, 
 The mavys I4 songe with notes full gaye ; 
 
 1 The cross is said to have been made of three woods, of which Cypress, 
 was one. 
 
 2 Sothernwood. 3 Sycamore. 4 Damson. s Filberts. 6 Peony. 
 7 Lark. 8 Redbreast. 9 Woodpecker. I0 Pie. " Parrot. 
 
 a2 Thrush. The merlin hawk. J 4 The singing thrush. 
 
THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE. 195 
 
 The nuthake * with her notes newe, 
 The sterlynge set her notes full trewe ; 
 The goldfynche made full mery chere 
 When she was bente upon a brere ; 2 
 And many other foules mo, 
 The osyll 3 and the thrush also. 
 
 Into this arbour went the love-lorn Squire to mourn his 
 sad fate, and, presuming there were no eavesdroppers, he 
 made his plaint aloud. But it happened that this bower 
 was underneath the window of the princess's apartment, 
 
 and 
 
 In her oryal 4 there she was, 
 Closed well with royall glas, 
 Fulfylled it was with ymagery. 
 
 She opened the window, and there she saw the Squire 
 lying on the ground making his moan how that he loved 
 her dearly, but, because of his poverty and position, might 
 never hope to wed her. So she spoke to him, asking him 
 why he was so mournful, and why he always went about 
 so sadly, promising that whatever he told her should be 
 held as strictly confidential. Here was an opportunity, 
 and he did not neglect it. He dropped on one knee, and 
 poured forth his tale of passionate love how that, for 
 seven years, she had been the object of his humble adora- 
 tion, and that if she did not give him a word of comfort 
 he must needs go away, and become a hermit. 
 
 The lady listened to his tale, and told him that she 
 
 1 Nuthatch. 2 Briar. 3 Ousel, or blackbird. 
 
 4 Here the word probably means a turret. 
 
196 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 reciprocated his affection ; but that no one must know of 
 it, more especially the steward, or it would be certain 
 death to him. She bade him shake off his melancholy, 
 abandon all idea of turning hermit, but to go forth and do 
 man's work in the world. That if he would win her, he 
 must begin with chivalry ; that he must go into many 
 countries in search of adventures, and, after fighting three 
 battles, he would be worthy of being knighted. That this 
 mode of life was to last for seven years, when he was 
 to make a pilgrimage to Jerusalem, and then return to 
 Hungary, where, through fame of his deeds, the king 
 would wed him to her ; and that during the whole of the 
 seven years she would be true to him. She also would 
 see him properly equipped and horsed, with six yeomen to 
 ride with him ; and she would give him a thousand pounds 
 to start with, and more when he required it. The Squire 
 was profuse in his thanks, kissed his lady thrice, and 
 departed. 
 
 But the king's steward, Sir Maradose, who was both 
 false and treacherous, overheard their wooing, and vowed 
 to be avenged on that fair lady, with whom he himself was 
 in love a passion which was not returned by the princess. 
 
 Meanwhile, the Squire robed himself to perform his 
 accustomed duties for the last time, serving the king at 
 dinner on his knee. The king fed sumptuously on 
 
 Deynty meates that were dere, 
 With partryche, pecoke and plovere, 
 
THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE. 197 
 
 With byrdes in bread y-bake, 
 The tele, the ducke, and the drake, 
 The cocke, the curlewe, and the crane ; 
 With fesauntes fayre there were no want, 
 Both storkes and snytes, there were also, 
 And venyson freshe of bucke and do. 
 
 The king, however, ate nought, but gazed curiously and 
 thoughtfully upon his Squire, thinking of the singular tale 
 Sir Maradose, his steward, had told him of what he had 
 overheard, with the addition of a criminal liaison between 
 the Squire and the Princess. The king had not believed 
 the story, and had told his steward that if his daughter 
 loved the Squire, and he could prove himself worthy of her, 
 he saw no objection to their union ; and that, if he found 
 that the steward had defamed them for envy's sake, he 
 would imprison him for twelve years, and then hang him. 
 
 The steward had asseverated the truth of his story, and 
 added, that if the king would but give him a sufficient 
 force of men, he would take the Squire that night, in his 
 daughter's chamber. The king had still disbelieved Sir 
 Maradose, but promised him thirty men at arms, on con- 
 dition, that if the Squire did not enter the lady's chamber, 
 he was not to be touched, nor even if he kissed her, " so 
 that it be done courteously ; " but only, if he came with a 
 company " for to betraye that fayre ladye," then was he to 
 be seized, and brought to the king's presence. 
 
 These thoughts, then, were in the king's mind as he 
 looked upon his Squire, whom he trusted and loved, and he 
 
198 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 was not surprised when, after dinner, the Squire waited on 
 him, and, on bended knee, asked him 
 
 As ye are lorde of chyvalry, 
 
 Give me leve to passe the sea 
 
 To prove my strengthe with my ryght hande 
 
 On Codes enemyes in uncouth land. 
 
 And to be knowe in chyvalry 
 
 In Gascoyne, Spayne and Lumbardy 
 
 In eche batayle for to fyght 
 
 To be proved a venterous knyght. 
 
 The kyng said to the squyer tho 
 
 Thou shalt have good leve to go, 
 
 I shall the gyve both golde and fe 
 
 And strength of men to wende with thee, 
 
 If thou be true in worde and dede, 
 
 I shall the helpe in all thy nede. 
 
 He let no grass grow under his feet, for he collected his 
 men and set forth at once ; but he had scarcely ridden 
 over a mile, when they came to a village, and there he 
 proposed that they should sup, and stay the night. But, 
 at supper, he remembered that he had not bidden the 
 princess farewell, so he started off alone to do this act of 
 courtesy. He entered the castle, and went straight to his 
 lady's chamber, not witting that Sir Maradose, and his 
 force, were lying in wait for him close by. He knocked at 
 her door, and conjured her to open it, but she, wrapping 
 herself in a mantle of cloth of gold, " she sayd, go away 
 thou wicked wyght," and utterly refused to open the door ; 
 
 but when 
 
 I am your owne squyr, he said, 
 For me lady be not dysmayde, 
 
THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE. 199 
 
 Come I am full pryvely 
 
 To take my leave of you, lady ; 
 
 then she let him in, premising that it was only in order 
 to " give him kysses thre, and a thousande pounde unto 
 your fe," begging him to go forth, and be an adventurous 
 knight. Whilst they were thus speaking, his enemies 
 were approaching, and all set on him at once ; but he 
 slew seven of them, and also the villain steward, before he 
 was overpowered. His captors stripped him of his 
 garments, in which they arrayed the dead steward, whose 
 features they gashed, so as to be unrecognizable, and 
 deposited outside the princess's door. They bore him, 
 unhurt, before the king, who, telling him that as he wished 
 to be his son, he would take care of him for seven years ; 
 and so sent him to prison. 
 
 When the princess saw the dead body, which she imagined 
 to be that of her lover, she made a great moan. 
 
 And in her armes she toke hym there, 
 Into the chamber she dyd hym bere ; 
 His bowels soon she dyd outdrawe, 
 And buryed them in Godde's lawe ; 
 She sered * that body with specery, 
 With vyrgin wax and commendry, 2 
 And closed him in a maser 3 tre, 
 And set on hym lockes thre ; 
 She put him in a marble stone 
 With quanyt gynnes 4 many one, 
 
 1 Embalmed wrapped it in a case, or waxed cloth. 
 
 2 Commendationes, or offices for the dead. 
 
 3 A hard-wood tree. Wooden bowls were termed maser bowls. 
 Fastenings. 
 
200 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 And set hym at hir beddes head, 
 
 And every day she kyst that dead. 
 
 Soone at morne when she up rose 
 
 Unto that dead body she gose, 
 
 Therfore wold she knele downe on her kne 
 
 And make her prayer to the trynite, 
 
 And kysse that body twyse or thryse 
 
 And fall in a swowne or she myght ryse. 
 
 Whan she had so done, 
 
 To churche then wolde she gone, 
 
 Than wolde she here masses fyve 
 
 And offer to them whyle she myght lyve ; 
 
 There none shall knowe but heven kynge 
 
 For whom that I make myne offrynge. 
 
 The king could but notice his daughter's sadness, and 
 spoke to her about it in a most kindly and fatherly way ; 
 asking her the reason why she, who was wont to be the 
 merriest of all the court, was now so sad, and also why 
 she, who used to be decked according to her rank, now 
 went about in mourning weeds : and he promised to gratify 
 her every taste, if she would but rouse herself and shake 
 off the melancholy that oppressed her : but all he could 
 get from her was 
 
 Gramercy, father, so mote I the, 
 For all these thynges lyketh not me. 
 Unto her chamber she is gone 
 And fell in sowning sore anone, 
 With much sorow and sighing sore, 
 Yet seven yeare she kept hym there. 
 
 The Squire was, as we have seen, put in prison, but the 
 king soon came to hear of the truth, and went to him 
 privily, and, bidding him to keep his counsel, told him he 
 
THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE. 201 
 
 was free, and might go across the sea as originally intended, 
 and that when his journeying should be done, he was to 
 come to the king's chamber ; and the king, being fully 
 satisfied of his Squire's innocence, promised that he should 
 have his daughter's hand and be his successor. Moreover, 
 the king supplied him with ample funds, and the Squire 
 went forth " full mery " ; but none knew of it save himself 
 and the king. He made himself famous by his deeds of 
 arms in Tuscany, Lombardy, and Portugal ; and then, the 
 seven years having expired, he went to Jerusalem, made 
 his offerings there, and returned to Hungary. When he 
 detailed his adventures, the king was delighted, and 
 welcomed him warmly, charging him, however, to 
 
 Let none wete of my menne I 
 That out of prison thou shouldest be, 
 But in my chamber holde the styll 
 And I shall wete my doughter's wyll. 
 
 So he went to see his daughter, but, passing under her 
 window, he heard her complaining ; and, as he stopped 
 and listened, thus he heard her addressing the supposed 
 body of her beloved Squire 
 
 Alas, then sayd that lady dere, 
 I have the kept this seven yere, 
 And now ye be in powder small, 
 I may no longer holde you withall. 
 My love, to the earth I shall the bring, 
 And preestes for you to reade and synge. 
 Yf any man aske me what I have here, 
 I will say it is my treasure ; 
 
 1 Let none of my household know. 
 
202 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 If any man aske why I do so, 
 For no theves shall come thereto. 
 And, squyer, for the love of thee 
 Fy on this worldes vanyte ; 
 Farewell golde, pure and fyne, 
 Farewell velvet and satyne ; 
 Farewell castelles and maners also, 
 Farewell huntynge and hawkynge to ; 
 Farewell all revell, myrthe, and play, 
 Farewell pleasure and garmentes gay ; 
 Farewell perle and precyous stone, 
 Farewell my juilles everych one ; 
 Farewell mantell and scarlet red, 
 Farewell crowne unto my head ; 
 Farewell hawkes and farewell hounde, 
 Farewell markes and many a pounde ; 
 Farewell huntynge at the hare, 
 Farewell harte and hynde for evermare. 
 Now will I take the mantell and ye rynge, 
 And become an ancresse * in my lyuynge. 
 
 But her father spoke to her, and told her she must think 
 of no such things, but put off her mourning, for she must 
 wed a knight ; but this she utterly refused for any con- 
 sideration on earth. Then her father told her all how that 
 she had been weeping over, and bewailing the body of 
 the treacherous steward, Sir Maradose. She very gently 
 upbraided him. 
 
 Alas, father, anone she sayde, 
 Why hath this traytour me betraid ? 
 Alas, she sayd, I have great wrong 
 That I have kept him here so long. 
 Alas, father, why dyye 2 so, 
 Ye might have warned me of my fo ; 
 
 1 Anchoresse a female Anchorite or Hermit. 2 Do ye. 
 
THE SQUYR OF LOWE DEGRE. 203 
 
 And ye had told me who it had be, 
 My love had never been dead for me. 
 
 So saying she fainted, and her father, when she had come 
 to, told her that her love was alive, and in the castle. 
 Naturally, she was eager to see him, and she was soon 
 gratified. The meeting can be better imagined than 
 described. The Squire was made knight and lord, and 
 
 Ther was myrth and melody, 
 With harpe, getron, 1 and sautry, 
 With rote, 2 ribible, 3 and clockarde, 4 
 With pypes, organs, and bumbarde ; 
 With other mynstrelles them amonge, 
 With sytolphe 5 and with sautry songe, 
 With fidle, recorda, 6 and dowcemere,7 
 With trompette and with claryon clere, 
 And dulcet pipes of many cordes. 
 
 The wedding was soon arranged. All the nobility of 
 Hungary were bidden to come to it, and the revels 
 consequent on it lasted forty days : after which, the king 
 led the quondam squire into the midst of his barons, and 
 then and there abdicated in his favour ; and, afterwards 
 
 That yong man and ye quene his wyfe, 
 With joy and blysse they led theyr lyfe. 
 
 1 Cithern or zithern. 2 Rote a sort of cymbal. 
 
 3 Ribible a kind of fiddle. 4 Probably hand bells. 
 
 5 A small psalterium with strings placed over a sound board. 
 
 6 A kind of flageolet. 7 Dulcimer. 
 
fetoaxme. 
 
IkniQbt of tbe Swanne, 
 
 THIS very pretty Romance is somewhat general. 
 According to Sir Francis Palgrave, the oldest form 
 in which it appears, is in the " Chronicle of 
 Tongres " by the Maitre de Gziise. It is incorporated in 
 the German Romance of " Lohengrin," and there is even 
 an Icelandic Saga of Helis the Knight of the Swan, 
 wherein Julius Caesar is said to be his father. 
 
 In the British Museum are two MSS. of this Romance, 
 both of fifteenth century, one on vellum and one on paper. 
 Ames says there was a copy printed on parchment by 
 Wynkyn de Worde, 1512; but I have taken mine from one 
 printed by Copland, in the British Museum, which is 
 believed to be unique, and which was translated by the 
 order of Edward Duke of Buckingham (beheaded on 
 Tower Hill, i;th May, 1521), who claimed to be lineally 
 descended from Helyas. 
 
 In the kingdom of Lilefort, or Strong Island, reigned a 
 
2o8 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 king named Pieron, who had to wife the Princess 
 Matabrune, the daughter of a neighbouring king, who had 
 been constantly at war with the kingdom of Lilefort ; and, 
 by this marriage, the feud was healed. This couple had 
 but one son, named Oriant, and he grew up to be a most 
 discreet and able prince, succeeding to his father's throne 
 on his decease. 
 
 Fond of all manly sports, he indulged in the princely 
 pastime of hunting, and, one day, his greyhounds started a 
 great hart, which led them a long chase, gaining safety at 
 last, and escaping the king and his hounds, by leaping into 
 the river. The king gave up all idea of pursuit, and 
 returned homewards; but, feeling hot and tired, he dis- 
 mounted by the side of a fountain, and having tied his 
 horse to a tree, sat himself down to rest. 
 
 He had not been there long, when " there came to him 
 a yonge damoysel, moche grevous and of noble maintene, 
 named Beatrice, accompanied of a noble knight and two 
 squires, with iiii damoyselles, the which she held in her 
 service and famyliarite." This lady held all the lands 
 thereabouts in signorie from King Oriant, but had never 
 yet seen her feudal superior : so she began their interview 
 with reproving the stranger for hunting on her ground, 
 telling him that, even if he had taken the hart, he should 
 not have kept it, and that he should make her some 
 recompense before he should be allowed to depart. The 
 king, who was so smitten by her charms that he fell 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 
 
 209 
 
 desperately in love with her at first sight, replied very 
 graciously to her, saying that he would not knowingly 
 have done anything to give her displeasure, and that, if he 
 thought he had done her any damage, even to the extent 
 of a farthing, he would recompense her ; but that as he was 
 King Oriant, and she merely held under him, he thought 
 he had a fair right to hunt on his own land. 
 
 When they heard who the stranger huntsman was, 
 the knight, who was with the lady Beatrice, kneeled down, 
 and did obeisance for her to the king, begging his pardon, 
 because she knew him not. "Then answered the kynge 
 to him and said, Know ye, noble knight, that I accept 
 ynoughe the excuse that ye have made for your noble lady. 
 But she shall make me amendes in suche maner as shal be 
 
 15 
 
210 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 agreeable, for the beaute and formosite of her noble 
 persone moveth me to be her husbande, and to take her 
 to wife and spouse, the which is my whole desire." 
 
 But, autocratic as was the monarch, he did not think 
 that the mere expression of his wish was sufficient for the 
 lady, and, therefore, he commenced to woo her, in a style 
 somewhat differing from the love-making of this nineteenth 
 century, but so quaint and curious, and presenting such a 
 picture of the courteous manners of that time, that even at 
 the risk of being somewhat wearisome, I give the brief 
 courtship in extenso. 
 
 " Than the king began for to speake in this maner, and 
 sayd, Gentil damoysell, pleasaunt, vertuous, garnished of 
 al beaute, in whome I have totali set the love of my herte, 
 is it not wel your wil that I be your husband. Pleaseth it 
 you not to be my wife to th'ende that I make you to be 
 crowned as quene and lady of Lilefort. May ye finde in 
 your hert by suche maner to accomplishe my wil, that you 
 and I might be assembled and conjonct by marriage. 
 Answere ye nowe and say your advise. 
 
 " Ha sir, saide she right humblye, I am not digne J ne 
 suffisaunt that ye do to me suche honour, for the hand- 
 maiden or subjecte ought not, ne maye not, in any thynge 
 compare to her prence and lorde. But sitte it pleaseth 
 you to commaund me so to doo, in disparsinge to me of 
 your grace, I wer right simple and evil instruct if I refused 
 
 1 Worthy. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 
 
 211 
 
 your pleasure, and the excellent honour that ye so 
 benignely and of your goodnesse unto me present. For if 
 it should please you to marry me to the least knight of 
 your noble company, yet ought I to consent of right. 
 Wherfore to you that is my lorde, and to other incom- 
 parable, I am all redy to obey and accept your good and 
 
 noble wil in the honour wherto ye require me, the which 
 with good hert I ottroye r and graunt you. 
 
 "And than King Oriant tookeherby thehandeand said, 
 Certes lady I promise you on the faith of knighthood, that 
 as long as ye be on live 2 never to espouse any other 
 woman than you, and I assure you even here that I shal 
 be your husbande. 
 
 " And thus bi a comin accorde, and by the consentement 
 
 1 Utter, to give. 2 Alive. 
 
212 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 of them bothe, was promised the saide manage with one 
 cordiall love." 
 
 The king, at once, took her with him to Lilefort, riding 
 along together, in pleasant companionship, in that sweet 
 May-tide. Arrived at the palace, his first care was to- 
 introduce his fair betrothed to his mother, and begged of her 
 to treat her kindly. For there was a look in Matabrune's 
 face, the reverse of welcome to the bride, and she plainly 
 told the king that such a match was beneath his dignity,, 
 when he might ask the hand of the richest and most noble 
 princess on earth. But he gave her plainly to understand 
 that it was his will and determination, and the crafty old 
 queen consented with her lips, but in her heart she hated 
 the fair Beatrice. 
 
 Next day the marriage was celebrated with great 
 solemnity, and the feasting and merrymaking was continued 
 for many days, but the chronicler relates of the dowager 
 queen : "And yf she made ani'chere at the said feast it 
 was bi false semblant and manere of doinge, for unjustly 
 and wrongfully she conspired alway some evil upon the 
 noble quene Beatrice." 
 
 The king loved his bride so dearly that he attended not 
 sufficiently to the affairs of his kingdom, a fact of which 
 his enemies took speedy cognizance ; and things came to 
 such a pass, that he was compelled to abandon his life of 
 enervating uxoriousness, buckle on his arms, and take the 
 field against his foes. It was a hard task to part from his 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 213 
 
 dear wife, but he left her, as he thought, in good hands, for 
 he had given his mother, Queen Matabrune, strict charge 
 respecting her, and she had promised to treat her as her ' 
 daughter, and better than herself : but her " wordes were 
 not accordaunt to her dedes, for they were al but abuse 
 and false simulation." 
 
 The queen was enceinte, and the wicked old woman took 
 occasion of her condition to wreak her spite and malice 
 upon her. She interviewed the midwife that would be in 
 attendance upon Beatrice, and promised to richly reward 
 her, as well as provide for her family, if she would only 
 follow out the instructions she would give her. The sage- 
 femme, dazzled by the bait, promised compliance, and a 
 most villainous plot was hatched by these two worthies. 
 At her confinement the queen bore six sons and one 
 daughter, each of whom came into the world with a silver 
 collar or chain around its neck ; and, whilst the young queen 
 was unconscious, the children were taken away by the 
 cruel mother-in-law, who substituted in their stead seven 
 new-born puppies. 1 
 
 When the queen recovered her senses, she heard 
 Matabrune and the midwife talking of this strange 
 occurrence, and, when she asked to see her child, they 
 showed her the seven puppies, upbraiding her with the 
 unnatural birth. The queen, amazed, and unable to 
 contradict their assertions, found a refuge in sobbing and 
 weeping, thinking it a direct visitation from God for some 
 
 1 See next page. 
 
2I 4 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY, 
 
 sin she had committed, and hoping that it might be 
 condoned by her leading the remainder of her life in some 
 convent, in religious exercises and penances. The false old 
 queen tried to comfort her by the assurance that the king 
 should never know of it, determining, all the time, to tell 
 him as soon as he returned home. 
 
 The next thing Matabrune had to do, was to get rid of 
 
 the seven children, and to this end she called to her her 
 secretary Markes, and, first reminding him that he owed all 
 his fortunes to her, told him that therefore it behoved him 
 to do her bidding. Markes replied that it was but his 
 duty to do whatever she commanded, and the wily old 
 dame then told him that the queen had borne seven 
 children, all of whom came into the world with silver chains 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 215 
 
 about their necks, and that this was something so abnormal, 
 that she, fearing they might become murderers and thieves, 
 thought they ought to be drowned, or killed, at once, rather 
 than grow up and do evil ; adding, that she had persuaded 
 the queen that she had given birth to seven puppies. 
 Markes, of course, undertook the commission, and promised 
 that nothing should ever be heard of the babes. 
 
 He mounted his horse, having the little ones wrapped 
 in his mantle, rode about ten miles from the city, and 
 entered a forest, when he thought he would dismount and 
 see how the children fared. They were fair to look upon, 
 and, as he thought upon them, he considered that as they 
 had made their appearance into the world wearing those 
 collars, perhaps God had ordained them to come to wealth 
 and honour ; and, when the babes laughed and crowed to 
 him, he could no longer steel his heart to drown or kill 
 them, but determined to adopt a middle course by 
 abandoning them to their fate, trusting to Providence to 
 protect them. And thus he addressed them : " Alas, 
 poore chyldren, it greveth me sore for to leve you here in 
 this place as desolate, wandred and habandoned of your 
 blode. But I hope that He that hath willed to creat and 
 fourme you to your good mothers body, wil not leve you 
 dispurveyed, and fare ye wel, to God I commaunde you, 
 children, for I shal se you nevermore. And thus amyably 
 took the said Markes leve of the til Htle children, the 
 which, at his departing, took theym in his armes and 
 
216 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 pitiousli kissed them in weping tenderly with salte teres.' 
 He then returned, and told Matabrune that he had hewed 
 them in pieces, and cast them into the river. 
 
 Meanwhile, the babes were in somewhat evil case, 
 " dolorouslye wayling, and as all dead for honger," when 
 
 providentially, a hermit named Helias, who lived in the 
 forest, passed by that way, and, weeping with pity and 
 compassion, he bore them to his little hermitage, and there 
 warmed them and fed them as best he could. But the care 
 of such a family not coming within the scope of the general 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 217 
 
 daily life of hermits, he prayed for Divine help in this, to 
 him, novel situation ; and, incontinently, his prayer was 
 heard, " for miraculously there came into his house a fayre 
 white goat, the wiche benignely came nere to the fott little 
 children in presenting to them her milke, and ther she gave 
 them sucke naturally as their nource. . . . And thus this 
 white goate gave milke sufficiently to them, and than 
 retourned to the wood. And so longe she gave them souke 
 that they began to gro and waxe somewhat stronge, and 
 folowed her in the woude and about the hermitage." 
 
 " Whan the forsaid children were come to age of 
 puerilete the devoute hermite Helyas made and appropryed 
 to eche of them a cote of leves of the trees, or of suche as 
 he coulde get. And so they were playing within the 
 forest, where as thei gathered fruite to eate with theyr 
 bread, for in that pointe were they nourished under the 
 grace of God, and by the dylygence of the good hermete, 
 which with good herte administred the bread of the 
 almesses * given him." 
 
 King Oriant returned home victorious over his enemies, 
 and Matabrune, accompanied by the midwife, went to meet 
 him. She told her tale, with artful embellishments, and 
 the midwife corroborated all she said, so that the king 
 must needs believe them ; and he grieved sorely, so that 
 when he was come to his palace " he was so inwardli dis- 
 comforted that he laide him on a bedde, where as he fell 
 
 1 Alms. 
 
218 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 on slepe for sorow and melancoly." Beatrice, who, on her 
 side, was also deeply sorrowing, was informed by a squire 
 of what her mother-in-law had done ; and, knowing that it 
 was of no use to welcome her husband home, she spent 
 her time in praying to the Virgin for strength and assist- 
 ance in this her time of trial. 
 
 The king assembled his council, to inform them of his 
 grief, and to ask their opinion as to what should be done 
 to the queen. The bishop spoke first, and his advice was 
 that she should be kept in honourable durance, and be 
 judged by God, by which means the truth would ultimately 
 be made manifest. A knight then expressed his opinion 
 that she should be burnt ; but this was utterly repugnant to 
 the king's feelings, and he agreed with the bishop. And 
 it was so settled, that she should be kept under the super- 
 vision of two knights, and treated well in every respect. 
 For this treatment she was very thankful, and spent her 
 time in religious exercises. 
 
 Meanwhile how did the children fare? The good hermit 
 baptized them, and they roamed freely in the forest, bare- 
 legged and footed, clad only in their little coats of green 
 leaves. Then it came to pass that a Yeoman of the Hunt, 
 named Savary, was hunting in the forest, when he came 
 npon seven children, each with a silver chain round its 
 neck, gathering wild apples, which they ate with bread. 
 He spoke to them, but they stared at him and ran away ; 
 he pursued them until they took refuge in the hermitage, 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 219 
 
 when the old hermit appeared, and begged of him to do 
 them no harm. Savary was naturally curious, and, in 
 answer to his questions, he told him the children's history, 
 as far as he knew it. 
 
 The huntsman guessed who they were, and, on his return, 
 informed Matabrune of what he had seen. She, too, recog- 
 nized the situation, and sent for Markes ; and, full of mad- 
 ness and fury, " put out his eyen, and handled him so that 
 many wened * that he had been dead." She thought she 
 had a more unscrupulous tool in the huntsman, and there- 
 fore she commanded him to go into the forest and slay the 
 children, promising him great reward. 
 
 He set out with six companions, but on their way they 
 saw a great crowd, and, asking what occasioned it, were 
 informed that a woman was to be burnt for killing her 
 child. This set Savary a-thinking, and he repented him of 
 the errand on which he was bound : so he spoke to his com- 
 panions, asking them, if burning to death was the fitting 
 punishment for a woman killing her child, which, after all, 
 was her own, what ought to be done to them, who were 
 about to kill seven innocent children in whom they had 
 no personal interest ? He therefore suggested that they 
 should do them no harm, but only take their silver collars 
 from them ; to which his companions agreed. 
 
 So they journeyed until they came to the hermitage, 
 where they found but six of the children the seventh, who 
 
 1 Thought. 
 
220 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 was godson to the hermit, having accompanied him on a 
 begging expedition to the neighbouring villages. The 
 children cried when they beheld these strange men, who, 
 whilst bidding them fear nothing, were busy in taking the 
 collars from their necks ; but, no sooner were they deprived 
 of these ornaments, than they were changed into white 
 swans, which flew away, "making a piteous and lamentable 
 
 crye." The men were terribly frightened at the conse- 
 quences of their act, but determined to return to Mata- 
 brune with six collars, and tell her they had lost the 
 seventh by the way. She was very mad at not having 
 them all, but eventually grew appeased, and sent for a 
 goldsmith, commanding him to make a cup of the chains. 
 But these were no ordinary chains of silver, and, when 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 221 
 
 the goldsmith melted one in a crucible, to his utter 
 astonishment it yielded sufficient silver to make two cups 
 of the required weight. These he made, kept one himself, 
 took the other to Matabrune, who was satisfied with the 
 weight of metal she got ; and gave the other five chains to 
 his wife for safe keeping, rightly believing there was some- 
 thing weird and uncanny about them. 
 
 On the return of the hermit Helias and his godson they 
 found the hermitage empty, and sought the children far and 
 near with diligent search and shouting, but without avail; 
 and a miserable night they spent, on the morrow continuing 
 their quest, with the same result. One thing, however, 
 the young Helias found, and knew not that they were his 
 brethren ; on a fair pond he beheld six white swans, which 
 when he approached them, came towards him, took the 
 bread he gave them, and allowed him to stroke their 
 feathers as he would. And every day he went to the pond 
 to feed and caress them ; but nought could he nor the hermit 
 ever find of the lost children. And so, in this simple 
 manner the young Helias grew up to man's estate, strong, 
 healthy, and vigorous, unversed in the ways of the world, 
 religious and simple-minded enough for a priest, for which 
 his foster father intended him, until his purpose was altered 
 by an angelic vision. 
 
 Think not that the wicked Matabrune was quiet all this 
 time. Far from it, she only bided until she could find a 
 subservient tool, and this took sixteen years to find. It 
 
222 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 irked her that Beatrice should be alive, and nothing should 
 thwart her purpose of compassing her death. At length 
 she found someone fitted to her purpose, "a knight disloial 
 and wicked named Makaire," who was quite willing to 
 bear false witness against Beatrice, which witness he was 
 willing to defend with his body. The king would fain 
 have let the matter rest, but could not, for here was a knight 
 who would affirm, at the expense of his life, that what he 
 said was true, and would not be gainsaid. Of course the 
 queen could appear by her champion, and do battle with 
 him ; but none came forward, and she could but pray to 
 God for deliverance, and trust to His goodness. 
 
 In the meantime Helias the hermit had an angelic 
 vision, in which the whole story of the seven children and 
 Queen Beatrice was related to him, as also the fact that 
 the swans were the lost ones, who should some day be 
 restored to their proper shapes. The angel also told him 
 that his godson was to go to his father's court, to be his 
 mother's champion, never doubting that he would be vic- 
 torious over the wicked Makaire. He further prophesied, 
 that from Helias the younger should spring the famous 
 Godfrey de Bouillon who should conquer the Holy Land. 
 At his awakening he called the youth, told him the whole 
 vision, and bad him set forth in aid of his mother. This 
 he did, clothed but in leaves, barefoot, and with a simple 
 staff in his hand ; but, in bidding his foster father farewell, 
 he begged him to feed his brethren, the swans, diligently. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 223 
 
 Arrangements were being made for the queen's death 
 when he arrived at Lilefort, and the porters would not 
 admit him into the precincts of the court, because of his 
 peculiar dress and appearance ; but at last some one 
 told him where Makaire was, and led him before the Con- 
 sistory, where were the king, the accused queen, all the 
 nobility, and the foul villain Makaire. The king thought 
 he was a madman, but a knight said he had heard him 
 .speak sense ; and, on the king asking him his business, he 
 replied that he sought Makaire. On being shown him he 
 .at once strode to him, and, defying him, he smote him such 
 .a blow with his fist that he felled him to the earth, and, at 
 his rising, he was fain to retire from the royal presence 
 covered with blood. 
 
 The king questioned him why he had so treated Makaire, 
 and he replied that he had come thither by God's command 
 to be his mother's champion, but before he would say more 
 he would embrace her ; and, to the marvel of all, he went 
 up to, and kissed and embraced the queen. He then told 
 all his story, and the king asked the queen whether the 
 .substitution of the puppies for the children was true ; but 
 she replied that at the time she was unconscious, and, of 
 course, knew nothing about it. 
 
 The king, however, believed the story, and, instead of 
 .sending his queen back to prison, had her led to rich 
 .apartments; but he cast Makaire into prison, to be kept in 
 .safe custody until the day of battle. He also gave orders 
 
224 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 for the making of rich armour for his son Helias, and then, 
 in order to make assurance doubly sure, he visited the 
 hermit, who thoroughly convinced him of the truth of his 
 son's story. On his return, his first act was to restore his 
 injured queen to all liberty, for which she humbly praised 
 
 and thanked God : but Matabrune was put in durance under 
 the safe keeping of four sergeants. 
 
 The day for the combat had come, and Helias was 
 armed as befits a king's son, whilst the caitiff Makaire 
 must have seen that his fate was sealed, when he found 
 the queen at liberty, and such a champion to fight for her. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 225 
 
 Still he swore that he had "good cause in that quarel 
 different that the one against the other wolde sustaine." 
 Of course the combat was gained by Helias, who, when 
 about to despatch Makaire, was entreated by the latter to 
 spare his life for an hour, and he would reveal all Mata- 
 brune's treason, and tell the name of the goldsmith who 
 made the silver cup for her. Helias would fain have killed 
 the traitor then and there, but could not resist the tempta- 
 tion of hearing the false knave confess his misdeeds, so he 
 respited him. Brought before the king, he made a full 
 confession, and then, " bi the commaundement of the noble 
 Kynge Oriant, the sayd fals reproved traytre Makayre was 
 drawen to the galowes, and there shamfully hanged and 
 strangled as a recreant knight that he was." 
 
 Their return to the palace was signalized by exuberance 
 of joy and festivity, not forgetting masses in thanksgiving. 
 The goldsmith was sent for, and brought with him the 
 extra cup and the five chains. " Than the kyng and the 
 queene tooke those precious chaynes and kissed them 
 reverentlie in weeping, and bewayling naturally theyr 
 poore children that by so great a treason were mued J and 
 converted into swannes." The eyeless Markes was then 
 brought forward, and told the part he had taken in Mata- 
 brune's villainy ; but when Helias heard him he was moved 
 with pity, and praying to God to have mercy on that poor 
 blind man, and restore to him his sight, he made the sign 
 
 1 Changed. 
 
 16 
 
226 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 of the cross over Markes's eyes, and he saw as clearly as 
 ever he did. But, whilst all this was going on, Matabrune 
 managed to make her gaolers drunk, and escaped, with- 
 drawing, with certain of her friends, to her castle of 
 Maubruiant, a fact which the king lamented, and vented 
 his wrath on those who had her in keeping. 
 
 Among all the joy, there yet remained the fact that the 
 other children were still swans ; and Helias, having asked 
 of, and obtained from, his father the five chains and the 
 cup, declared that he would not rest until he had trans- 
 formed them. Nor had he long to wait, for lo ! before the 
 king's palace, in the river which ran there, swam six noble 
 swans. The king, queen, and Helias descended to the 
 river bank, and when the swans saw Helias approach the 
 brink " they came lightli fawning and flikering about him, 
 making him chere, and he playned lovingli theyr fethers." r 
 But when he put the chains about their necks they were 
 miraculously transformed into four young men and one 
 maiden, to the great joy of the king and queen, who 
 kissed them, and could scarce contain themselves for joy. 
 
 " And when the other swanne (whose chaine was molten 
 for to make the cuppes as afore is sayd) saw his brethren 
 and his sister retourned into theyr humaine fourmes he lept 
 agayne all sorowfully into the river, and for dole that he 
 had, he plucked almost al his fethers to the bare flesshe. 
 And whan the good Helias saw him so dolorously demeane 
 
 1 Played lovingly with their feathers. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 227 
 
 himselfe, he took him to weepe for sorow, and recomforted 
 him, sayinge, My dere brother, my frende, have somwhat 
 pacience, and discomforte you not. For I shall make so 
 meeke and humble praiers unto God Almighti for you, 
 that yet I shall se you ones a noble knight. And than the 
 swanne began to enclyne and bowe downe his head, as in 
 thanking him, and syth plunged himselfe all togyther in 
 the water." 
 
 The king and queen sorrowed a while, but they had five 
 living children to console them, and Helias bade them be 
 of good cheer, for in all probability the sixth would soon 
 "be restored to them, in his own proper shape. The trans- 
 formed were taken to church to be re-baptized, and the girl 
 was christened Rose. 
 
 Now King Oriant, perceiving that Helias was beloved 
 ".both of God and man, thought that he was fitting to suc- 
 ceed him, and, calling together all his knights and barons, 
 'he solemnly gave up his kingdom to him, telling him to 
 do whatever he thought right to his mother Matabrune. 
 Helias willingly undertook the task of punishing his grand - 
 imother, and set out with a mixed force of six thousand 
 .men to besiege the castle of Maubruiant. To take it was 
 no easy task, but the garrison at length yielded, and 
 Matabrune was once more a prisoner. "And as soone as 
 the kinge apperceyved her he came to her with great 
 courage and kest her to the earth, saying, Ha, false olde 
 vvitche, thou hast betrayed my mother, and made us to 
 
228 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 sufifre muche evyll. Yf it were not for the honour of God 
 and the bloud wherof I am comen, myselfe should slea 
 thee." She begged to be taken before King Oriant, but 
 Helias explained that he had come to do justice upon her ; 
 and then, when she found that his determination was fixed, 
 she confessed her sins, and acknowledged that she ought 
 to die. Her shrift was a short one, for " than was wood 
 and dry thornes layd about her, and fyre set therein, and 
 so she was brent for her demerites before al the people." 
 
 Then Helias returned, and told his news, which seems 
 to have been received in the most matter-of-fact way. 
 He went and told his mother what he had done, sayinge, 
 Mother, rejoyce you, for ye be revenged now of the perverce 
 Matabrune, for I have made her to be brente for her de- 
 merites. And the quene answered, My right dere sonne, I 
 thanke you. Jesus forgeve her soule." 
 
 The time passed quietly and uneventfully, until one day,. 
 Helias, looking towards the river, saw a swan guiding a ship, 
 which it led to a wharf, and then stopped. Helias found 
 no difficulty in recognizing in the bird his untransformed 
 brother, and knew at once, that it had come to lead him 
 to some place, he knew not whither, where he ought to go. 
 He immediately gave back his kingdom to King Oriant, 
 who gave him a horn of such virtue, that whoever blew it 
 should receive no hurt, and, embarking on board the ship, 
 set off on his unknown voyage. 
 
 Here, in order to make the story plain, is a slight 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 229 
 
 t 
 
 digression, which treats of how Otto the First, Emperor of 
 Almayne or Germany, held court at Nimaye, and the 
 Earl of Frankebourke came before him to accuse the 
 Duchesse of Boulyon of having poisoned his brother, her 
 husband ; and he also alleged that her daughter was illegiti- 
 mate, and that, therefore, he laid claim to the duchy as 
 being next heir of his father, and, as was usual in those 
 days, he was ready to back his opinion with his life, in 
 single combat with a champion on behalf of the duchess ; 
 but none came forward. 
 
 The swan guided Helias to Nimaye, and he, having 
 sounded his horn, which caused all hearers to marvel, 
 disembarked, and the swan and ship disappeared. He 
 introduced himself to the emperor as a knight in search 
 of adventures, and Otto told him that if such was his quest, 
 there was one waiting for him, namely, to defend the 
 Duchesse of Boulyon. He told him her story, and 
 Helias asked for an interview, from which he came, 
 determined to be her champion. A day was fixed, and 
 the fight took place. Helias of course was the victor, 
 and, in spite of the Earl's prayer for mercy, his head was 
 smitten off. 
 
 In those days events succeeded each other rapidly, for 
 no sooner had Helias slain the Earl, than, after he had 
 saluted the emperor, he " tooke the duchesses doughter 
 bi the hand, and embraced her, and kissed her benignely 
 in saying, Mi love, ye ought wel to be mi wife, for I have 
 
230 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 frelie bought you, and saved your honour in champ * of 
 batayle. And the mayden answered humbly, Certainly,, 
 noble knyght, my mother and I ben beholden to God and 
 you of the right happy jurney 2 that this daye we have by 
 you receyved ; wherfore, at the good pleasure of mi mother, 
 I yelde me totalli to you, as it hath been promised." 
 
 This was all their wooing ; and the next day they were 
 married (the festivities lasting fifteen days), and the 
 duchess resigned her lands and duchy, and, with the 
 consent of the emperor, transferred them to Helias, whilst 
 she retired to a convent. The young pair set out for their 
 dominions, where they were received with great joy. Here 
 they abode for seven years in great peace, the young 
 duchess bearing a daughter, who was christened Ydain, 
 who in after years was the mother of Godfrey de Boulogne, 
 and his brothers Baldwin and Eustace. 
 
 One day, in sport, his wife asked Helias of what country 
 he was, and what friends he had ; but he sternly forbad her 
 ever to speak of it, saying, that if she did so, he would at 
 once leave her, and never again live with her. By inadver- 
 tence, or impelled by womanly curiosity, she again asked 
 the question. Helias was now seriously angry, and told 
 her that he should leave her at once. He called his 
 knights together, and commanded them that they should 
 escort his wife and daughter to Nimaye, to the Emperor 
 Otto, and that they should guard well the duchy in their 
 
 1 Battle-field. 2 Day's work. 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 231 
 
 behalf ; and as for himself, the ship, led by a swan, would 
 come for him, and he would depart for ever from them. 
 And so it fell out, the ladies went to Nimaye, and the 
 swan-led ship called for Helias. 
 
 His wife arrived first, and complained to Otto of her 
 husband's conduct towards her but only got reproof from 
 him. Helias came soon after, and, in an interview with 
 the emperor, besought his protection towards his wife and 
 daughter, and begged him to see that the latter married 
 nobly both of which were promised ; after which he bad 
 his wife and child adieu, and sailed away under the 
 guidance of the swan to Lilefort. 
 
 Here he was most heartily welcomed by his parents and 
 brethren, but the joy of the father and mother was dimmed 
 by the recollection that they had one son yet in the 
 likeness of a swan. But the queen had had a dream on 
 the previous night, which she related, and, as it seemed to 
 have been sent divinely, it was followed out in the minutest 
 particulars. 
 
 The goldsmith was sent for, and he produced the two 
 cups, which he made into two sacramental chalices. 
 Two altars were appointed, upon each of which a chalice 
 was placed, and a bed was placed between the altars. 
 Helias went to the riverside, and called the swan, which 
 immediately came, and followed him into the church, where 
 it was laid in the bed ; and at the prayer of consecration in 
 the mass, the swan returned to its human form, and, joining 
 
232 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 his hands, humbly gave thanks to God for His goodness. 
 Then, after he had kissed his parents and brethren, the 
 bells were solemnly rung, and a Te Deum was sung in 
 thankfulness to God. And, afterwards, he was baptized, 
 and had the name of Emery bestowed upon him. So 
 King Oriant and his queen Beatrice recovered all their 
 children, and they lived henceforth devoutly, and in the 
 fear of the Lord. 
 
 One would imagine that now Helias would have settled 
 down, but he had his own views on the subject. His 
 foster father, the old hermit, was dead, and King Oriant, 
 in thankfulness for his kindness, and in recognition of 
 Divine mercy, had erected a religious establishment where 
 erst was the humble hermitage ; and thither Helias 
 determined to retire, and spend the remainder of his life 
 in religious exercises. But, first of all, he told all his family 
 of the adventures he had undergone since last he had seen 
 them, and then he took his leave of them and went to the 
 hermitage, where he built a castle exactly like that at 
 Boulogne and, indeed, called it " Boulyon le restaure," 
 and there he abode. 
 
 Meanwhile his wife, although in religious retreat, still 
 thought upon her lord, and sent messengers in all direc- 
 tions in search of him. One of them, a squire named Ponce, 
 was luckiest of them all, for, being at Jerusalem, he got 
 hold of a clue to his old master, which he followed with 
 such success, that at length he arrived at Boulyon le 
 
THE KNIGHT OF THE SWANNE. 233 
 
 restaure. In due time he made himself known to, and 
 was recognized by, his old master, to whom he told his 
 errand, begging him to return to his wife and daughter. 
 But this Helias declared was impossible, for he was vowed 
 to a religious life ; yet he gave him his signet ring, as a 
 token, by which his wife should kno\V that the squire had 
 spoken with him. 
 
 On his return to Nimaye, Ponce detailed the result of 
 
 his travels, and, having found out where her husband 
 was, she and her daughter at once set out to visit him. 
 They arrived at Boulyon le restaure, only to find him 
 grievously sick, and, indeed, on his death-bed. The meeting 
 on both sides was most tender, but necessarily painful, 
 for very shortly afterwards Helias died an event which 
 preyed so much upon his wife, that she died immediately 
 of a broken heart. 
 
234 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 After having seen her parents buried in the same tomb, 
 Ydain returned to Boulyon and superintended the educa- 
 tion of her sons. "And when in their adolescence they 
 were somewhat comen to the age of strengthe, they began 
 to practyse them in shooting with their bows and arbelstre r 
 to playe with the swerde and buckeler, to runne, to just, 
 to play with a pollaxe, and to wrastle," and in diri 1 time 
 they were each sent to the Emperor of Almayne to be 
 knighted. 
 
 C Thus endeth ye life and myraculous hystory of the 
 most noble and illustryous Helyas, Knight of the Swanne. 
 
 1 Arblast or arbelast a cross-bow. 
 
IDalenttne anb vson* 
 
 THE TWO SONNES OF THE EMPEROUR OF GREECE. 
 
 THIS Romance is undoubtedly of French origin, 
 and the British Museum has a fine MS. of it 
 (10 E. IV. Royal). The earliest known printed 
 copy is one by Jac. Maillet, Lyons, 1489, and it was a 
 favourite both with the early French and Italian presses. 
 There was a fragment of four leaves only of this Romance 
 found in the binding of an oak-covered book in the library 
 
236 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 of the Duke of Devonshire at Bolton Abbey, which was 
 printed by Wynkyn de Worde, and is, probably, as old as 
 that by Maillet. I take my copy from one of two books 
 printed by Copland. 
 
 Pepin le Bref reigned over France, and his fair and 
 virtuous sister, Bellisant, was given in marriage to Alexander, 
 Emperor of Greece, and went to her home at Constanti- 
 nople. For some little time all went well, until the High 
 Priest, who also seems to have been Comptroller of the 
 imperial household, became enamoured of her ; but his 
 advances being indignantly repulsed by the lady, he 
 traduced her to the emperor, who, believing him, would 
 fain have put her to death, but eventually commuted her 
 punishment to banishment, and bade her go to her brother 
 Pepin, accompanied only by her page Blandiman whom 
 she had brought with her from France. As usual with 
 heroines of Romance, after a little lamentation she accepted 
 the inevitable, and set forth on her journey. 
 
 But the wicked High Priest still longed to get her in 
 his power, and, arming himself, went in pursuit of the 
 exiles. Great was the fight between him and the doughty 
 squire, and there is no knowing how it would have ended, 
 if a merchant had not appeared on the scene, who, moved 
 by the fair dame's tears and entreaties, championed her 
 cause and made the High Priest retrace his steps. 
 
 After a halt of a few days to cure Blandiman's wounds, 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 
 
 237 
 
 they came to a forest in Orleans, where Queen Bellisant, 
 being taken in childbirth, sent her faithful squire for 
 female assistance ; but during his absence she gave birth to 
 two sons, and then " a fresh misery worse than all the rest 
 that she had endured hapned unto this lady ; for as she 
 
 lay upon the earth under y e tree, and her two infants by 
 her, suddenly came to her a huge beare, most horrible to 
 behold, and tooke up one of the infants in her mouth, and 
 with great pace hasted into y e thickest of y e forest. 
 This strange and unlookt for accident frighted the dis- 
 tressed lady to the soule, that she cried out most lamentably,. 
 
238 ROMANCES O* CHIVALRY. 
 
 getting up upon her hands and feet to hasten after the 
 aforesaid beare, which was quickly got out of her sight. 
 But, alas ! it little avayled her to make any further pursute, 
 for she never came unto the sight of the child, till by 
 miracle it was at length disclosed." Still, hoping against 
 hope, she feebly crawled after the bear, until exhausted 
 nature gave way, and she lay fainting on the ground. 
 
 Now it so happened that King Pepin was, that day, in 
 the same forest, and, as good luck would have it, he espied 
 the child, and taking it up, bade an attendant to bear the 
 foundling to Orleans ; which was duly done, a nurse was 
 provided, and the boy was baptized by the name of 
 Valentine. 
 
 Meanwhile Blandiman returned with the assistance he 
 had been to seek, but found no Bellisant ; in her stead, 
 however, was her brother Pepin, to whom the faithful squire 
 related the story of his mistress's wrongs : but he seems 
 to have omitted to mention her confinement, nor did 
 Pepin tell him of the child he had found so that when 
 Bellisant was eventually found by Blandiman, she only 
 knew that she had lost both her children. 
 
 The Romance leaves all in this state, and tells of the 
 child carried off by the bear. " The Beare (as you heard 
 before) that had carryed away one of the Children, all this 
 while had offered it no violence, but bare it unto her Cave, 
 which was darke and obscure. In this cave the old Beare 
 had foure young ones, amongst whom shee layd the Child 3 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 
 
 2 39 
 
 to be devoured ; but marke the chance, and you shall finde 
 it at laste miraculous, for all this while the young Beares 
 did it no harme, but with their rough pawes streaked it 
 softly. The old Beare perceiving they did not devoure it, 
 shewed a bearish kind of favour toward it, insomuch that 
 she kept it, and gave it sucke among her yong ones the 
 space of one whole yeare. The Child, by reason of the 
 
 nutriment it received from the Beare, became rough all 
 over like a beast, and, as he grew in strength, began to 
 range up and downe in the woods, and when he met with 
 other beasts would smite them, and gat such mastery over 
 them, that they began to shun the place wherein he came, 
 he was so extreame fierce amongst them : and in this beast- 
 
240 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 like estate passed he the tearm of ti years, growing up to 
 such strength that scarce any man or beast in the forest 
 durst stirre abroad fearing to fall into his hands, least he 
 should put them to death, and after, eate their flesh, more 
 like unto a ravenous beast, than any humane creature. 
 His name was called Orson, because a Beare had been his 
 nurse, and also became rough like a Beare." 
 
 Bellisant and her squire wandered over many countries 
 until they came to a port in Portugal, where dwelt, in an 
 invincible castle, a giant named Ferragus. Contrary to 
 the wont of giants, this one received them with kindness, 
 and introduced Bellisant to his wife ; and with this friendly 
 giant she abode many years, during which time the mer- 
 chant, who had previously taken her part, followed the High 
 Priest to Constantinople, and there publicly impeached 
 him with his wrong doing. Of course there was but one 
 method of proving his accusation, and that was in the lists> 
 in a combat a V entrance ; and King Pepin, being interested 
 in the good name of his sister, was invited to witness the 
 combat. He accordingly went to Constantinople, where 
 the fight was to take place. Naturally, the traitorous High 
 Priest was worsted, and confessed his sins, as a punishment 
 for which he was plunged alive into a cauldron of boiling 
 oil. Universal joy prevailed at the establishment of the 
 queen's innocence, and before the monarchs parted " there 
 was a generall peace concluded on both parties between 
 them, and a most speedy course taken to send abroad into- 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 241 
 
 all parts of the world to seeke out the distressed Lady 
 Bellisant" 
 
 King Pepin returned to Paris, where he found Valentine 
 a comely youth, well versed in all the exercises fitted to 
 his age ; and when Pepin went to besiege Rome, which the 
 Saracens had taken, Valentine went with him as his chief 
 commander. At Rome he jousted with the Admiral of the 
 Saracens, and overthrew him, and, at the assault on the city, 
 he performed such prodigies of valour, that he was mainly 
 instrumental in relieving the city from the presence of 
 the hated infidel after which they returned home to 
 France. 
 
 Now, King Pepin had two illegitimate sons, Haufray and 
 Henry, who hated Valentine because he was in such favour 
 with their father, and, when the king bestowed upon him 
 the earldom of Clerimont of Auvergne, their rage knew no 
 bounds, and they determined, by any means, to compass 
 his death. An opportunity soon presented itself, for Orson, 
 with his growing strength, was rapidly developing into a 
 nuisance, and daily complaints, from all sides, of his con- 
 duct, came to the king, who called his barons together, and 
 offered a reward of a thousand marks for the body of 
 Orson, dead or alive. None cared to essay the task, and 
 the wicked brothers suggested that Valentine should 
 undertake it. He accepted the challenge, to the great 
 grief of the king, and next day set out on his adventure. 
 
 He arrived at the forest, and at nightfall he partook of 
 
 17 
 
242 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 some refreshment, tied his horse to a tree, and climbed the 
 same in which situation he spent the night. With the 
 early dawn came the object of his quest, Orson, whose 
 attention was drawn to Valentine's beautiful horse, which 
 he immediately began to claw with his long nails. The 
 horse resisted, and kicked and plunged ; proceedings which 
 upset Orson's temper, and a regular rough and tumble 
 fight between him and the horse was imminent. Valentine, 
 from his leafy height, seeing the danger that threatened 
 his good steed, called to the wild man, that if he wanted to 
 fight anybody, he would come down and oblige him. It 
 was a terrible fight. Orson was wounded by a stab with 
 a knife, and Valentine was bruised and battered in this 
 unfraternal strife, which only came to an end when both 
 were too exhausted to continue it, and then Valentine thus 
 addressed his brother : " Wild-man, wherefore dost not 
 thou yeeld thyselfe to me ? Heere thou livest like a 
 beast, having no knowledge of humane society. Come thy 
 way with me, and I shall make thee know both thyselfe 
 and others. I will give unto thee food of all sorts, and 
 also cloath thee in apparell fitting humaine shape." 
 
 The Chronicler does not state how the wild-man under- 
 stood this harangue, but he evidently did so, for he " fell 
 down upon his knees, and stretched forth his hands towards 
 his Brother, making unto him a signe to forgive him, and 
 he would commit himself under his command ever after, 
 and with further signes promised that during his life he 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 243 
 
 would assist him both in body and goods." Valentine 
 graciously accepted his submission, but took the precau- 
 tion to make him walk in front until they were out of the 
 wood, when Valentine bound him with one of his horse's 
 .girths, and thus " led the Wild-man with him like a Beast, 
 who never resisted, which was a thing most of all to be 
 wondred at." 
 
 His uncouthness created much diversion at court ; he ate 
 his food in a savage manner, and drank wine in any 
 quantity. But he was faithful to his conqueror, who had 
 him baptized under the name of Orson or, as some of the 
 older French romances have it, Ursine, a name which 
 would be more appropriate and "Valentine taught him 
 manners how he should behave himselfe. And so they 
 both lived quietly in the Court of King Pepin." 
 
 But heroes of Romance are restless beings, and not 
 particularly home loving, snatching eagerly at any occasion 
 which might lead to adventure, and one soon offered to 
 Valentine. Duke Savary of Aquitaine sent to King Pepin, 
 desiring his aid against " a false and accursed Pagan (called 
 the Greene Knight) who hath beseidged his Confines, and 
 intendeth to have his Daughter by force of armes against 
 his will." This Green Knight was the brother of Ferragus, 
 the kindly Giant, and was a most redoubtable man of war, 
 before whom none could stand, as he " could not be over- 
 come by any, except he were a King's Son, and such an 
 one as had never sucked the breasts of any Woman." 
 
244 ROMANCES OF CHIVALR Y. 
 
 Here then was a foe worthy of Valentine's sword ; he 
 would overthrow the Paladin and rescue the fair Lady 
 Fezon for the Green Knight had promised not to kill 
 the Duke, or possess himself of his daughter, if, in six 
 months, a champion could be found who could overcome 
 him. 
 
 Valentine, who had the additional inducement of wan- 
 dering into foreign parts in order to discover his parents, 
 applied for, and obtained, leave from Pepin to undertake 
 this adventure, and, accompanied by Orson, he set out, 
 much to the discomfort of Eglantine, King Pepin's daugh- 
 ter, who was^deeply in love with him. 
 
 But Haufray and Henry thought they herein saw an 
 opportunity of wreaking their hatred to Valentine, and,, 
 with their cousin Grygar and thirty men, laid in ambush 
 for him in a forest, through which he must needs pass. It 
 was successful, and, after a brave struggle against over- 
 whelming odds, in which Orson literally fought with tooth 
 and nail, Valentine was taken prisoner, and Orson sadly 
 went to Pepin's Court, where, by signs, he told the tale. 
 He had the satisfaction of a single combat with Grygar,. 
 whom he overcame, and who confessed his treachery, and 
 was rewarded by being hanged on the nearest tree. King 
 Pepin then proceeded with a force to deliver Valentine,, 
 executing summary justice on his captors ; after which the 
 brothers went on their quest of the Green Knight. 
 
 On their arrival at Aquitaine, Valentine introduced him- 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 245 
 
 self to Duke Savary, told him of their errand, and having 
 spoken with the Lady Fezon, bade her notice Orson, who 
 had undertaken to be her champion, and who was the 
 strongest man in the world. The lady looked on the wild- 
 man with eyes of affection, a sentiment which was increased 
 when she afterwards met him at dinner, a meal at which 
 the Green Knight was an uninvited guest This latter was 
 boasting how he would demolish the Champion on the 
 morrow, when Orson rose from table, and, taking the 
 Green Knight by the waist, laid him across his shoulder as 
 if he were a child, and then, seeing a handy wall, threw 
 him against it with such force that all imagined he was 
 killed. After which he calmly resumed his meal. 
 
 Next day, being the day appointed for the combat, all 
 things were ready, and two or three knights who claimed 
 priority, having been overthrown and hanged by the Green 
 Knight, Valentine encountered him, and the fight between 
 them lasted till sunset, ending in a drawn battle, which 
 was to be resumed on the morrow. But when the morning 
 came, he caused Orson to be armed in his armour, and to 
 ride his horse, and thus go and fight the Green Knight. 
 The contest was severe, until Orson disencumbered himself 
 of the armour and dragged his opponent from the saddle, 
 when he cast him to the ground, holding him down 
 until he wrung from him the unwilling confession that he 
 yielded. 
 
 Summary vengeance was about to be taken upon the 
 
246" ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Green Knight, and he was nearly undergoing the death he 
 had caused so many others to suffer, when Valentine came 
 to his rescue, and granted him his life on condition that he 
 should renounce paganism, and should go to France and 
 tell King Pepin that he had been overcome by Valentine 
 and Orson. To this he agreed, and, out of gratitude, he 
 suggested that the two should go and visit his sister 
 Clerimond, who possessed a magic head of brass, which, 
 like Friar Bacon's, spoke, and was possessed of supernatural 
 knowledge. The Lady Fezon was delighted that her cham- 
 pion had obtained the victory, and, being deeply in love 
 with Orson, they were at once betrothed ; but Orson, by- 
 signs, made his affianced bride understand that he would 
 not marry her until he had obtained the power of speech. 
 And Valentine, being warned by an angel in a vision that 
 they should at once go and see Clerimond, took his depar- 
 ture, accompanied by Orson. 
 
 Meanwhile Blandiman had been sent by his mistress, 
 who still lived in the Giant Ferragus's Castle, to King" 
 Pepin, to find out whether that monarch yet entertained 
 his injurious opinions respecting his sister. Blandiman told 
 the story of the bear taking away one child, and the other 
 being lost while Bellisant was in pursuit of the bear ; and, 
 when he said that this happened on the day in which he 
 met King Pepin in the forest in Orleans, it " strucke the 
 King into such admiration, that he began to recollect his 
 wits, and then presently came into his mind the finding of 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 247 
 
 Valentine in the Forest, and how by the same Valentine, 
 Orson was conquered in the same wood. Then hee began 
 again to think on the story that Blandimain had tould him, 
 and thereby knew that these were the two babes brought 
 forth by his sister ; wherefore he sent for his Queene, and 
 other Ladies, to let them understand what Blandimain had 
 declared, saying, ' My Lords, I have long nourished and 
 brought up in my Court two poore Children ; and now it 
 plainly doth appeare they are Sons to an Emperor, and my 
 neere kinsmen Valentine, the one whom I founde in the 
 Forest of Orleance, brought forth there by my sister 
 Bellysant, in the time of her exile, and Orson, who was 
 likewise vanquished by Valentine, to be his naturale 
 brother, and both Sons to the Emperour of Greece. At 
 these tydings all the Court was wonderfull joyfull, save 
 only Haufray and Henry, who in outward shew seemed glad, 
 but were in their hearts very sorrowfull, for above all things 
 they desired the death of Valentine." 
 
 Pepin made up his mind to proceed to Constantinople, 
 to inform his brother-in-law of the good news; and, accom- 
 panied by the Green Knight, who had arrived in Paris, 
 and been graciously received, set out on his journey. On 
 his way he paid a visit to the Pope, who informed him that 
 the Soudan of the Saracens was besieging Constantinople, 
 and that the Emperor of Greece was in sore need of help. 
 An expedition to succour him was soon organized, and 
 Pepin set out at the head of two hundred thousand men, 
 
248 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 to the assistance of his brother-in-law. There was a 
 terrible battle with the Saracens, who, however, were no 
 match for their opponents, and King Pepiri entered Con- 
 stantinople, but the united forces of the two monarchs 
 were insufficient to compel the Saracens to raise the 
 siege. 
 
 The history now turns to the two heroes. They, in 
 the course of travel, came to Clerimond's Castle, but were 
 confronted at the entrance by ten sturdy knights who were 
 always on guard. The fair chatelaine was told that two 
 knights desired admittance, and she gave orders that the 
 gate should be well kept, whilst she interrogated them 
 herself from the window. After seeing a ring which her 
 brother the Green Knight had given Valentine as a token, 
 and having consulted the magic head, she gave orders for 
 their admission. But her seneschal or steward demurred, 
 and would not admit them without a fight which ended 
 disastrously for him, for Valentine killed him. 
 
 Clerimond, who fell in love with Valentine at first sight, 
 admired him still more for slaying her seneschal ; and when 
 he gave her her brother's ring, her confidence in him was 
 complete, and they all sat down to dinner, after which 
 meal they proceeded to the chamber wherein was kept the 
 brazen head. On their arrival " they found the Chamber 
 doore guarded on this manner. On the one side a grimme 
 fearefull and ugly shapen Villayne, strong and crooked, 
 armed with a club of yron uppon his neck, which offered 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 247 
 
 to make resistance. On the other side of the chamber 
 dore stood a most fierce Lyon." With little ado Valentine 
 seized the lion, and it became powerless, whilst at the same 
 time Orson attended to the " Villayne," knocked him 
 down, and would have slain him, had not Clerimond inter- 
 fered. They then entered the chamber, which was full of 
 wonders, the chief being the brazen head, which immedi- 
 ately commenced an oration about their birth and parentage, 
 and ended thus: "'Further, thus much I shall also tell thee, 
 that this thy brother here present shal never have use of 
 his tongue till a thread be cut under the same, and then 
 thou shalt heare him speake plainely. Therefore proceed 
 as thou hast begun, and thou shalt prosper : for my time 
 is at a period, sith thou art come to enter this chamber,' 
 and so bending itselfe towards him in token of reverence, it 
 never after spake more." After this there were tender 
 embracings of the brothers. Clerimond informed Valentine 
 that he was her destined husband, and he at once agreed 
 to marry her, provided she turned Christian, to which she 
 joyfully consented. Orson had his tongue cut, and was 
 enabled to speak, and all were happy. 
 
 But this was not destined to last, for Clerimond kept a 
 dwarf named Pacolet, who was an enchanter, and possessed 
 a wooden horse, in whose head was a pin, which would 
 direct the flight of the horse through the air in any direc- 
 tion its rider wished, and by means of this equine balloon 
 he visited Ferragus, and informed him of all his sister's 
 
250 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 doings. Ferragus, as a good, conscientious pagan, fell into 
 a terrible rage at the idea of his sister marrying a Christian,, 
 but he dissembled his anger, and instructed Pacolet to tell 
 his lady that he would come in person to visit her, with a 
 noble troop of knights. Of the sincerity of this message 
 Clerimond had doubts, but she could do nothing, and, in 
 due time, Ferragus, with his fleet, arrived. 
 
 It would seem as if the minds of giants were naturally 
 warped, for Ferragus, although, as we have seen, was 
 capable of acts of generosity and benevolence, yet har- 
 boured the direst treachery towards his sister and her 
 fiance ; and, under pretence of taking Valentine to see his 
 mother, and celebrating their marriage in Portugal, he 
 lured them on board his ship, and when fairly at sea he 
 bound both Valentine and Orson, putting them in irons 
 a proceeding which so infuriated Clerimond, that she would 
 have thrown herself into the sea had she not been 
 prevented. 
 
 On the ship's arrival at Portugal, the brothers were put 
 in a dungeon in Ferragus's Castle, and there Bellisant saw 
 them, and was afterwards told by Clerimond who they 
 were a story which, of course, ended in loud lamentations 
 of the pair, when they thought of the probable fate of 
 the prisoners. But at this moment the dwarf Pacolet 
 appeared, and comforted the ladies by telling them that 
 he would set them all free that night ; and this he accom- 
 plished by his magic arts. And then, having seated them 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 251 
 
 on his wooden horse, he speedily deposited them at 
 Clerimond's Castle, from whence they sailed to Aquitaine, 
 and arrived safely at Duke Savary's, where Orson, in order 
 to try Lady Fezon's constancy to him, did not declare his 
 name, but assumed the character of a stranger knight. 
 
 When Ferragus learned that the escaped prisoners were 
 at Aquitaine, he was in a furious rage, and, having gath- 
 ered an army, he laid siege to that city, and in one battle 
 took the Duke prisoner ; but Orson and Pacolet penetrated 
 into the camp of the enemy, and, by the enchantments of 
 the latter, released the Duke, who, in gratitude, promised 
 to give Orson his daughter Fezon in marriage. In a 
 subsequent battle Ferragus and his host were defeated, and 
 the siege was raised. Orson declared himself, and was 
 happily married to the Lady Fezon. 
 
 It may be remembered that King Pepin and the 
 Emperor of Greece were shut up in Constantinople, be- 
 sieged by the Saracenic Soudan, and Valentine, having 
 now some leisure, determined to go to their assistance. So 
 Pacolet, mounting Valentine and the Green Knight on his 
 aerial courser, soon brought them in presence of the two 
 monarchs, and was introduced to the Emperor as his son. 
 Pacolet was invaluable, for, Valentine and the Green 
 Knight having been taken prisoners, he not only released 
 them, but he persuaded the Soudan to mount his wooden 
 horse and hey, presto ! they were in the palace of the 
 Grecian Emperor at Constantinople. This poor deluded 
 
252 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 pagan was immediately hanged on the highest tower, in 
 sight of all his frosts. 
 
 The story now takes a totally different turn. A King 
 Trompart, a Saracen, and friend of Ferragus, was enamoured 
 of Clerimond, and was aided by a magician, who performed 
 wonderful enchantments, and robbed Pacolet of his horse, 
 on which he placed Clerimond, and so conveyed her to 
 King Trompart's tent. She did not take her abduction 
 quietly, and when Trompart attempted to kiss her, she 
 smote him on the mouth with her fist ; which so enraged 
 him, that he caught her up, and, jumping on Pacolet's 
 horse, flew to India a journey that cost him dear, for the 
 King of India remembered that Trompart had killed his 
 brother, and at once caused his head to be cut off. He, 
 too, fell desperately in love with Clerimond, but refrained 
 from pressing his suit when she told him she was under a 
 vow not to take a husband for the space of a year, and he 
 entertained her handsomely in his palace. 
 
 They mourned her loss in Aquitaine, and Pacolet 
 revenged himself on his rival magician by killing him ; he 
 also brought Ferragus, bound, unto the city, and having by 
 his spells caused all the Saracen army to sleep soundly, 
 the garrison sallied forth, and slew them to a man. Ferra- 
 gus was offered his life on condition of his turning 
 Christian ; but this he refused, and was beheaded. The 
 Duke of Aquitaine and Orson now resolved to go to the 
 relief of Constantinople, and, aided by a sortie of the 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 253 
 
 garrison, the Saracen army was totally destroyed. The 
 Emperor, King Pepin, Valentine and the Green Knight, 
 then went to meet Bellisant, who had arrived in a ship. 
 She, of course, was reconciled to her husband, and there 
 was universal joy. 
 
 Except with Valentine, who missed the face of his 
 beloved Clerimond. On closely questioning Pacolet, he 
 told him how she had been carried off by King Trompart, 
 and he vowed to spend his life in searching for her. From 
 this point the Romance becomes so involved and intricate, 
 as to be somewhat difficult to follow, and I shall simplify 
 it by leaving out a vast amount of extraneous matter, and 
 only follow the fortunes of the principal characters. Val- 
 entine and Pacolet travelled in many lands in searching 
 after Clerimond, and met with numberless adventures, 
 until, at last, they met King Pepin, who had been taken 
 prisoner at Jerusalem, and had been interned at the court 
 of the King of India, where he reported Clerimond to be, 
 still faithful to her absent love, having counterfeited 
 madness to avoid the king's love. 
 
 Valentine clothed himself in pilgrim's garb, and at once 
 set out for the court of the King of India. Arrived there he 
 gave himself out to be a physician, and a specialist in cases 
 of madness. This caused him to be brought into Lady 
 Clerimond's presence. He discovered himself, and, finding 
 that she had carefully kept Pacolet's horse, they mounted 
 thereon, and safely escaped. 
 
254 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 His next exploit was delivering his father, the Green 
 Knight, and the twelve Peers of France, from the hands 
 of the Lady Galazy ; and he, in his turn, was afterwards 
 besieged in the city of Angory. His father with ten 
 thousand men came to their relief, and, in order to secure 
 a safe landing, the Emperor ordered that what we should 
 term his staff should put on pagan garments. Valentine 
 saw this band of paynims, charged them, and inadvertently 
 killed his father. There was but scant time for mourning, 
 for the heathen were prevailing, so he and Orson once 
 more joined the fray, and, by their deeds of valour, changed 
 the fortune of war, and completely routed the Saracens. 
 But, after the excitement of battle, came a reaction, and 
 Valentine was as one mad. So, being incapable of attend- 
 ing to affairs, they crowned the Green Knight King of 
 Angory, and departed for Constantinople. 
 
 In the meantime things were not going well at the 
 French Court, where Haufray and Henry were. These two, 
 having no Valentine to hate, turned their attention to the 
 young Charlemagne their brother, whom Pepin had made 
 his heir ; and having invited him, and the king and queen, 
 to a feast, they determined to poison him. But he came 
 not, so they gave the poisoned cup to the king and queen, 
 and they both drank, and died. The two wicked brothers 
 seized on all the strong castles and cities, but could not 
 find Charlemagne, who was with his sister ; by whose aid, 
 and that of the King of England, Haufray and Henry 
 
VALENTINE AND ORSON. 255 
 
 were eventually overcome, and slain, whilst Charlemagne 
 was crowned king, amidst universal joy. 
 
 Valentine and Orson went to Constantinople, bearers of 
 the sad news of the Emperor's death, and, the throne being 
 vacant, they were chosen joint emperors. But Valentine 
 governed not long he was too oppressed by the weight of 
 the crime he had committed, in unwittingly killing his 
 father, and he sought the common refuge of the time, a 
 pilgrimage. He told Clerimond of his resolve, and they 
 broke her wedding-ring, each keeping half. Then, taking 
 only one page with him, he set out for Rome, where, 
 " comming into the presence of a hermit, he confessed the 
 death of his father ; the hermit seeing him so penitent, 
 enjoy ned him pennance : First change thy habit and go 
 barely cloathed, and 7 yeares lye under the staires of thy 
 pallace, without speaking any words ; thou shalt neither 
 eat nor drinke but of the scraps that come from thine own 
 table do thus, and feare not thy sins. Sir, said Valentine, 
 all this I will do ; so, after he had dined, he departed with- 
 out speaking to his servant : after this Valentine entred 
 into a wood, feeding upon Roots ; and he continued there 
 :so long that he was forgotten amongst men." 
 
 Valentine followed out the instructions of the hermit, 
 ,and lay under the stairs of his own house, none knowing 
 who the poor pilgrim was. " At the end of seaven yeares 
 Valentine fell into a mortall disease, whereof he dyed. 
 .Before his death an Angell appeared to him saying, Valen- 
 
256 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 tine, thy glasse is run, for within foure houres thou shalt 
 die ; whereat he greatly rejoyced, making signes for pen, 
 inke and paper : when he had it, he wrote that it was 
 himselfe that appeared like a Pilgrim. After putting to 
 his name, he closed up the paper, putting in the other 
 halfe of the Ring that he had kept : shortly after he layd 
 him down, and dyed." Clerimond was disconsolate at his 
 death, and ever afterwards lived a single life. 
 
 Orson reigned seven years, when he, too, retired into a 
 wood, and lived on roots ; and, when he died, he was 
 succeeded in the government by his children. The chro- 
 nicle finishes thus : " The Green Knight after so governed 
 his children that they carefully spent their time on earth,, 
 and followed their Father to his grave." 
 
Cglamouve 
 of Ir tops, 
 
 18 
 
Sir lEslamourc of Hrto\>0* 
 
 THE British Museum possesses a MS. of this 
 Romance (paper I5th century), and Copland 
 printed a version, which is in the Bodleian Library, 
 but I have taken my story from one in the British 
 Museum printed by John Walley, A.D. 1570. 
 
 In the court of Sir Prynsamoure, Earl of Artois, there 
 were many knights, but pre-eminent amongst them, both 
 for courtesy and feats of arms, was Sir Eglamoure. The 
 Earl had but one child, a daughter named Christabel, 
 and she would be his heiress. She was of surpassing 
 beauty, her fair complexion even coming up to the 
 Romance standard "as whyte as whales-bone." She 
 loved Eglamoure, and he loved her ; and when lords and 
 knights came from strange lands to joust in honour of 
 Christabel, and thus endeavour to win her love, the lance 
 of Sir Eglamoure ever overthrew them. He, although he 
 loved her dearly, had but little hope of winning her, for, 
 
2 6o ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 besides the presumption of his aspiring to the hand of his 
 patron's daughter, with the chance of succeeding to his 
 sovereignty, he was poor, and, as his chamberlain told him, 
 " a knyght of lytel lande," supplementing this information 
 with the proverb 
 
 The man that heweth over hye, 
 Some chyp falleth in his eye. 
 
 This trusty servant endeavoured to prove to his master 
 the hopelessness of his love, pointing out that she was 
 sought for by princes and lords, and that it was scarcely 
 likely she would look favourably on a simple knight. Sir 
 Eglamoure, somewhat discouraged by this conversation, 
 retired to his chamber, where he prayed to God to help 
 him in this strait, and to grant that he might have the 
 Earl's daughter to wife. Then he took to his bed, sick 
 with love. 
 
 On the morowe that may den small 
 Ete wyth her father in the hall 
 That was so fayre and bryght. 
 All the knyghtes were at mate save he ; 
 The ladye sayd for Goddes pytie 
 Where is Syr Eglamoure my knyght ? 
 Hys squyere answered wyth hevy chere, 
 He is syke and dead full nere ; 
 He prayeth of you a syght. 
 
 The Earl told his daughter to go and see the sick 
 knight, for that he was always courteous and kind, besides 
 being first in the tournament. So, after dinner, accom- 
 
SIX EGLAMOURE OF ARTOYS. 261 
 
 panied by her two maidens, she went to the knight's 
 chamber, and inquired after his health. 
 
 And than sayde that lady bryght, 
 
 How fareth Syr Eglamoure my knyght, 
 
 That is man ryght fayre ? 
 
 For sothe lady, as ye may se, 
 
 With wo I am bound for the love of the, 
 
 In longynge and in care. 
 
 Syr, she sayde, by Goddes pytie, 
 
 If ye be agreved for me 
 
 It wolde greve me full sore. 
 
 Damosell, might I tourne to lyfe, 
 
 I wolde have you to be my wyfe 
 
 If it your wyll were. 
 
 She replied that she was fond of him, and, if he would 
 speak plainly to her father on the subject, and obtain his 
 consent, she would be willing. The knight was so over- 
 joyed at this quasi consent, that he ordered his squire to 
 " fetch an 4 C. pounde or two," which he presented to his 
 inamorata's two maids, against their marriage. This 
 generosity was so pleasing to the lady, that she rewarded 
 her love with a kiss. On her return to the palace the Earl 
 inquired after Sir Eglamoure, and she informed him that 
 he was much better, and intended to go out hawking on 
 the morrow ; and the Earl was so pleased thereat, that he 
 said he would accompany him. 
 
 They rode hawking all next day, and at night, on their 
 return home, Sir Eglamoure spoke to the Earl on the 
 subject of his love for his daughter. His proposition was 
 distasteful to the Earl, but he diplomatically agreed to it, 
 
62 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 provided the knight was successful in three deeds of arms, 
 which he would set him the first being that he should go 
 hunting in a forest belonging to a giant named Sir Marocke, 
 and bring thence a hart. 
 
 The knyght thought on Crystabell, 
 He swore by him that harowed hell 
 Him wolde he never forsake. 
 Syr, kepe wel my lady and my lande, 
 Therto the erle helde up his hande, 
 And trothes x they dyd stryke. 
 
 He then went to bid his love farewell, telling her the 
 errand on which he was bent ; and she gave him a grey- 
 hound, from which no deer had ever escaped, and a 
 sword, which had been found in the sea 
 
 There is no helme of yron and stele 
 But it wolde carve in two. 
 
 So he set off on his journey, and soon came to the 
 giant's forest, where he found abundance of deer ; but 
 started one hart in particular the finest of the herd. 
 The deep baying of the deer-hound woke the giant 
 Marocke, who had an unconquerable aversion to having 
 his deer hunted, and he at once roused himself, and went 
 in search of the poacher. By this time Sir Eglamoure had 
 killed his deer, and blown a mort on his horn, a proceeding 
 not likely to appease the giant's anger ; so that when they 
 met but scant courtesy passed, and Marocke smote a 
 swinging blow with his club, which missed the knight, and 
 
 1 They plighted or pledged their faith. 
 
EGLAMOURE OF ARTOYS. 263 
 
 spent its force on the ground. And then began a mighty 
 combat, which lasted three days, which is the more marvel 
 when we consider that, at the first onset, the glitter of Sir 
 Eglamoure's sword blinded poor Marocke, so that it was 
 much to his credit that the fight lasted so long. At length 
 Marocke was vanquished, and, having cut off his head, 
 Eglamoure took that and the venison to the Earl, in 
 witness that he had accomplished his first task. 
 
 He was immediately set another, which was to go to the 
 land of Satyn, wherever that was, and slay a boar which 
 had tusks a yard long, and had so ravaged the country 
 that no man could live there ; indeed, he found his way to 
 the animal by the corpses and skeletons of the men it had 
 slain. Early next day he met this awful beast coming 
 from the sea, where it had been taking its morning dratig Jit, 
 and when it saw the knight, it began sharpening its tusks 
 as if it were mad. Sir Eglamoure tried the effects of a 
 spear upon it, but it had no effect on its tough hide ; and 
 his horse having been slain by the boar, he had no option 
 but to continue the fight on foot. Again was the combat 
 continued for three days, before the knight was victorious, 
 and could add the boar's head and tusks to his other 
 trophies. 
 
 But this time fate ordained that he should not return 
 home at once, for the roars and yells of the boar had 
 attracted the attention of the King of Satyn, who, with 
 his retinue, was out hunting. He thought it was some 
 
264 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 man in distress, and sent a squire to see, who arrived just 
 in time to witness the end of the fight. He reported to 
 the king, how that a knight had slain the dreaded boar, 
 and his majesty must needs go and see that doughty 
 knight. They had their midday meal together under the 
 shadow of the trees, and the king invited the knight to 
 spend the night with him, and was especially delighted 
 when he found that he had slain Marocke, for he was 
 much troubled with that giant's brother, one Manas. 
 The invitation was accepted, and, to reinvigorate him 
 after his recent severe toil 
 
 Agaynst even the kynge dyd dight 
 A bath for that gentle knyght 
 That was of herbes good. 
 Syr Eglamoure therein laye 
 Tyll it was lyght of the daye 
 That men to matyns yode. 
 
 After he had heard mass, came the giant Manas calling 
 out to the king, that unless he sent his daughter Ardanata 
 to him, he would have his blood. Sir Eglamoure could 
 not brook this insult to his host, so, arming himself, he went 
 on the walls, commanding a squire to show the giant the 
 head of the slaughtered boar. At the sight of it Manas 
 bewailed the loss of his " lytell speckled hoglyne," and 
 threatened destruction to all concerned in its death. Sir 
 Eglamoure mounted his steed, couched his spear, and rode 
 at the giant ; but he might as well have ridden against a 
 rock man and horse were overthrown, the latter killed, 
 
EGLAMOURE OF ARTOYS. 265 
 
 the former sore bruised. Sir Eglamoure carried on the 
 combat on foot, cut off the giant's hand, and allowed the 
 huge monster to tire himself out, so that about eventide he 
 killed him. Great was the joye at Satyn, and the king 
 wished to abdicate, and give him not only his kingdom, 
 but his daughter. Sir Eglamoure gratefully declined both, 
 saying he had other work on hand ; but the fair Ardanata 
 gave him a ring, which would bear him harmless either on 
 land or water. 
 
 Taking the heads both of the giant and the boar, Sir 
 Eglamoure returned to the court of Artois, where his first 
 visit was to his lady love, who sprang to meet him. 
 Having kissed her, he went to the hall to see Earl 
 Prynsamoure, who never expected that the knight could 
 have come safely out of the ordeal ; and his disappointment 
 was so great, that he cast aside his previous dissimulation. 
 
 The erle answered, and was full of wo, 
 What devyll ! may nothynge the slo ? 
 Forsothe ryght as I wene 
 Thou art aboute, as I understande, 
 For to wynne Artoys and all my lande, 
 And also my doughter clene. 
 
 Sir Eglamoure replied that was so, provided he proved 
 himself worthy ; and the Earl, thinking that he might fail 
 in the third adventure, wished him to commence it at 
 once. But the knight pleaded the labours and fatigues he 
 had but just undergone, and asked for three months' repose, 
 which was granted. 
 
266 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Syr Eglamoure, after souper, 
 Went to Crystabelles chamber 
 With torches brennynge bryght. 
 The lady was of so great pryde 
 .She set hym on her bedde syde, 
 And sayde welcome Syr Knyght. 
 Then Eglamoure dyd her tell 
 Of adventures that him befell, 
 But there he dwelled all nyght. 
 Damosell, he sayd, so God me spede, 
 I hope to God you for to wedde ; 
 And then theyr trouthes plyght. 
 
 To their mutual grief the three months expired, and the 
 Earl set Sir Eglamoure his third "and final task. He told 
 him that at Rome there was a dragon, which was of such 
 might, that it prevented any one from going within five 
 miles of the city, and his task was to slay the venomous 
 beast. He set out on his adventure in good spirits, having 
 taken an affectionate farewell of his lady love, to whom he 
 gave the gold ring with which Ardanata had presented 
 him, to keep him in special remembrancer 
 
 Arrived at Rome, he soon found the dragon, and in a 
 short time they were hotly engaged ; but when the dragon 
 had lost its tail, its head, and its wings, a blow which 
 cleaved its backbone settled it, and it gave up the ghost. 
 But this was not achieved without grievous hurt to the 
 knight. Great rejoicings were at Rome at the slaying of 
 the dragon, and Constantine, the emperor, gave orders to 
 fetch the knight with triumph into the city. But Sir 
 Eglamoure was nearly dead, and it was only the medical 
 
SIR EGLAMOURE OF A R TOYS. 267 
 
 skill of the emperor's daughter, Vyatdurs, that saved 
 his life. 
 
 But his healing and convalescence took so long a time, 
 that, ere he could get back to Artois, to claim his 
 guerdon, and wed Christabel, she had borne a son ; at which 
 the king was so incensed, that he put her and her little 
 child alone on board a ship, and left them to the mercy of 
 the waves, disregarding all entreaties to the contrary. 
 
 In spite of the talismanic ring, the ship, after many days' 
 voyaging, ran on a rock, and left them on a land overrun 
 with wild beasts. With trembling limbs she staggered 
 inland, in great fear, her babe, who was wrapped in a 
 scarlet mantle and gold girdle, in her arms ; when a griffin, 
 descending from the skies, snatched at her child, and, 
 tearing it from her, flew away. Words cannot depict her 
 grief. The griffin pursued its way until it came to the 
 kingdom of Israel ; and the king of that country, being out 
 hunting, espied the griffin, and made it drop its burden. 
 He took up the boy, carried him home, and, finding from 
 his clothes that he was of gentle blood, brought him up 
 and educated him as his son, christening him Degrabell. 
 
 Christabel returned to the ship, which was blown off the 
 rocks, and for five days she drifted about without food, 
 until she arrived on the coast of Egypt. Sir Marmaduke 
 the king, being in his tower, saw the derelict, and sent a 
 squire to inspect it, who reported that it contained but a 
 beautiful female, who could but make signs to him. She 
 
268 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 was taken on shore, fed well, and then brought before the 
 king, to whom she told her sad tale. He turned out to be 
 her uncle, and at his court she abode. 
 
 The Romance now turns to Eglamoure, who, being whole 
 and sound, was desirous of returning to Artois ; which he 
 did, taking with him the dragon's head. On his landing, 
 he heard the sad fate of Christabel and their babe. After 
 fainting, he went in -a very excited state to the Earl's hall, 
 where, finding that nobleman, he roughly addressed him 
 
 And thou erle of Artoys, 
 Take, he sayde, the Dragons hede ; 
 All is myne that here is leved, 
 What doest thou in my place ? 
 
 He then called wildly on Christabel, and behaved in such 
 a frenzied way that it is no wonder 
 
 The erle was so ferde of Eglamoure, 
 That he was fayne to take the toure. 
 
 When he got calmer, he dubbed two and thirty knights, 
 and then he left for the Holy Land, where he abode fifteen 
 years, doing great deeds of arms, both in battle and 
 tournament. 
 
 The King of Israel was getting old, and Degrabell, 
 having arrived at a proper age, was by him dubbed knight, 
 and received as arms a golden griffin on an azure field, 
 having in its claws a man child in a mantle, bound with a 
 girdle of gold. And the old king told him that it was 
 
EGLAMOURE OF ARTOYS. 269 
 
 time he should think about marrying, and that in Egypt 
 was " a svvete thynge." 
 
 Although Degrabell was but fifteen years old, he was 
 taller than the other knights by a foot, and, being considered 
 perfectly marriageable, the King of Israel set out for Egypt 
 with Degrabell and a company of knights. On their 
 
 arrival, 
 
 The Kynge of Israel on lande goeth, 
 
 The King of Egypt by the hand hym taketh, 
 
 And ledde hym into the hall. 
 
 Syr, sayd the Kynge, for charyte 
 
 Wyll ye let me your daughter se, 
 
 Whyte as bone of whall. 
 
 The lady fro the chambre was brought, 
 
 With mannes hande she semed wrought 
 
 And carved out of tre. 1 
 
 Her owne sonne stode and behelde, 
 
 Well worthe him that might welde, 2 
 
 Thus to hymselfe thought he. 
 
 The Kynge of Israel asked than 
 
 If that she myght passe the streme 
 
 His sonnes wyfe for to be. 
 
 Syr, said the Kynge, yf that ye maye 
 
 Mete me a stroke to morrowe daye, 
 
 Thine askinge graunt I the. 
 
 On the morrow the lists were prepared, and Degrabell 
 and King Marmaduke met in mimic combat ; but the 
 former, at the first course, unhorsed the king, a feat which 
 caused that monarch to say that he was worthy of 
 Christabel, and the couple were taken to church and 
 married. But when Christabel saw his arms, she wept full 
 
 1 Wood. a Govern. 
 
270 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 sore, and when questioned on the subject, she told her tale 
 of how her child had been reft from her by a griffin ; and 
 the King of Israel joined in with his story of how such a 
 child had been found. An eclaircissement took place : 
 the queen recognized in Degrabell her son, he, in her, his 
 mother, and of course, under these circumstances, the 
 marriage was considered null. 
 
 But her uncle, considering that she ought to be married, 
 asked her which of the knights she would choose. In this 
 matter, however, Degrabell had a word to say, and he 
 would not consent to his mother marrying any one, except 
 that he won her in fair fight as he had done ; and as every 
 lord wished to compete for so fair a prize, it was decided, 
 and proclaimed far and near, that a tournament should be 
 held, at an appointed time, to settle their claims. 
 
 Sir Eglamoure having by this time tired of living in 
 Syria, was on his way home, when he heard of this tourna- 
 ment, and determined to be present. He went there, and 
 was conspicuous by his beautiful armour, and his heraldic 
 
 bearings. 
 
 He beareth in Azure a shyppe of golde, 
 Full rychely portreyed in the molde, 
 Full well and worthely. 
 The see was made both grymme and bolde, 
 A yonge chylde of a nyght olde 
 And a woman lyenge thereby. 
 Of sylver was the mast, of gold the fain, 1 
 Sayle, rope, cabels, echone 8 
 Paynted were worthely. 
 1 The weathercock a- top of the mast. 2 Each or every one. 
 
EGLAMO URE OF ARTO VS. 271 
 
 Degrabell did wonders ; knight succeeded knight only to 
 be worsted, until, last of all, it came to the turn of Sir 
 Eglamoure, who, after a brief parley, engaged with his son. 
 The latter could not stand against the veteran, fresh from 
 his deeds of arms in heathenesse. 
 
 Syr Eglamoure, as it was happe, 
 He gave his sonne suche a rappe 
 That to the grounde vvente he. 
 Alas, than sayd lady fare, 
 My sonne is dead, by goddes pitie, 
 The kene knyght hath hym slayne. 
 
 He was only shaken, but the tournament was at an end ; 
 and, after disarming, the knights joined in feasting. Sir 
 Eglamoure, as being the victor, was placed at Christabel's 
 side, and she asked him why he bore such arms. He replied 
 that his lady and his young son had "been sent to sea in an 
 open boat by her father. Breathlessly she asked his name, 
 and, when she heard it, she naturally fainted. Mutual 
 explanations took place, and universal joy reigned around. 
 The wedding was settled to take place at Artois, and Sir 
 Eglamoure invited the three kings of Israel, Egypt, and 
 Satyn, to be present the latter having promised that his 
 daughter Ardanata should marry Degrabell. 
 
 Over the sea they went right joyously, and soon arrived 
 at Artois, where 
 
 The erle than in a toure stode, 
 He sawe men passe the salt floode 
 And fast his horse gan dryve. 
 
272 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Whan he herde of Eglamoure 
 He fell out of his toure, 
 And brake his necke belyve. 1 
 
 This event did not in any manner hinder the marriages, 
 which duly took place, graced by the presence of the 
 Emperor Constantine. The King of Israel gave half his 
 land to Degrabell, with the promise of the reversion of the 
 whole at his decease, and 
 
 With mykell myrthe the feast was made, 
 
 Fourty dayes it abode 
 
 Among all lordes hende. 2 
 
 And than forsothe, as I you saye, 
 
 Every man toke his owne waye 
 
 Where hym lyked to dwell. 
 
 1 Quickly. 2 Gentle, polite. 
 
of 
 
 THE British Museum is very rich in MSS. of this 
 Romance beginning with one of the rarest 
 quality . (Harley 3775), vellum, circa 1300. The 
 Royal, Sloane, Additional, Cotton, Harleian, and Lans- 
 downe Collections, all have MSS. of fourteenth and 
 fifteenth century, but the earliest known printed copy is 
 French. " Cy Commence Guy de Warwick, chevalier 
 d'Angleterre, qui en son temps fit plusieurs prouesses et 
 conquestes en Angleterre, en Allemaigne, Ytalie et 
 Dannemarche, et aussi sur les infidelles ennemys de la 
 chrestienete. Par. Fr. Regnault, 7 Mars. 1525." And 
 Hazlitt says that in the Bodleian Library is one leaf 
 containing thirty lines on a page, printed with Wynkyn de 
 Worde's types. I have taken mine from a copy printed by 
 Copland, attributed to 1560 (?). 
 
 The fire at Warwick Castle on Advent Sunday, 1871, 
 spared the so-called relics of Guy, and they are now 
 
 19 
 
274 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 removed from the porter's lodge, . . . where they were 
 formerly kept, to the Great Hall. One William Hoggeson, 
 yeoman of the buttery, had, temp. Henry VIII., 2d. per 
 diem allowed him for the custody of Guy's sword. There are 
 his shield, helmet, breastplate, walking-staff and tilting-pole, 
 all of great size, though the Romance does not speak of his 
 being taller than his fellows any more than it mentions his 
 slaying a dun cow, which is an article of firm belief in 
 Warwickshire. His porridge-pot is but a garrison crock of 
 the sixteenth century, and his flesh-fork is a military fork, 
 temp. Henry VI II., so that the other relics are probably as 
 authentic. 
 
 Earl Rohaunt was not only Earl of Warwick, but of 
 Oxford and Buckingham, and his daughter Phelys, or 
 Phyllis, was not only very beautiful, but as learned as if she 
 had studied at Girton. His estate was well administered 
 by his steward, Segurd of Wallingford, whose son Guy 
 the hero of the Romance was of beautiful form and 
 features, graceful, active, and courageous. He was chief 
 cupbearer to the Earl, and in that capacity had ample 
 opportunities of beholding the fair Phyllis, with whom he 
 fell deeply in love. 
 
 It was the feast of Pentecost, which was celebrated by 
 the Earl with great solemnity, with jousting, hunting, and 
 hawking, and it so happened that Guy was commanded by 
 his noble master to look after the welfare of the ladies at 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 275 
 
 dinner. His graceful form called forth many a glance 
 from the fair damsels ; and even the incomparable Phyllis, 
 when he presented her with water to wash her hands, as 
 was the custom then, both before and after meat, deigned 
 to ask his name. 
 
 From that time Guy's fate was sealed, and he took the 
 bold step of declaring his passion. Phyllis simply treated 
 the youth as an inferior who had been guilty of a grave 
 presumption, and he went away disconsolate. In those 
 days despairing lovers lost flesh rapidly, and were soon 
 brought to death's door, Guy being no exception, and, in 
 spite of the most learned physicians, he was near dying; 
 and yet these leeches could not diagnose his case, nor say 
 what was his malady, the symptoms, according to an old 
 MS., being 
 
 In my bed comyth a colde blode, 
 
 That makyth me to qwake, as y were wode ; z 
 
 Aftur, comyth a strong hete 
 
 That makyth my body for to swete : 
 
 All I brenne, 2 boone3 and hyde* 
 
 All hote, as any glede. 5 
 
 Thys ys my lyfe nyght and daye, 
 
 For payne reste y ne maye. 
 
 Luckily for him, at this juncture the lady Phyllis had a 
 dream, or, to use a stronger term, angelic vision, in which 
 an angel visited her and bade her love her humble suitor ; 
 and that same night, Guy, feeling his strength almost 
 exhausted, went painfully into the garden, with the 
 
 - 1 As if I were mad. 2 Burn. 3 Bone. 4 Skin. s A red-hot coal. 
 
27 6 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 determination of making a final appeal to the object of 
 his affection. He found her, with but one attendant, and 
 having told her how he was dying for love of her, he cast 
 himself on the ground swooning. At this her womanly 
 nature asserted itself, and, after he came to himself, she 
 mildly rated him, winding up by telling him that before 
 she could become his wife he must be dubbed a knight. 
 
 This set him off swooning again, this time for joy, and 
 when he recovered he went to the Earl, and begged him 
 to knight him. To this Earl Rohaunt consented, more 
 especially as he had a batch of twenty squires on hand, 
 waiting to be dubbed. As soon as he had received his new 
 dignity, he sought Phyllis and pressed his suit, but she 
 gave him to understand that she meant that he must be an 
 approved knight before she would wed him. 
 
 Therefore, Sir Guy, with wordes few, 
 My wyll to thee now will I shew : 
 At thy wyll gettest thou not mee, 
 Tyll thou so doughty a knyght bee, 
 That thou have in this worlde no pere, 
 In no lande farre ne nere, 
 And that thou here the maystry, 
 And floure of all chevalry ; 
 And when thou [art] so noble tolde 
 That in this worlde be none so bolde, 
 Thou shalt then have the love of mee, 
 At thy wyll so wyll I be. 
 
 Being, probably, well aware of the firm character of his 
 beloved, Guy accepted the situation without murmur ; and 
 after kissing her, he went straight to the Earl, and asked 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 277 
 
 his permission to leave his service, and go across the sea to 
 seek adventures. Earl Rohaunt asked him why he wanted 
 to leave, whether he lacked anything ; but, finally, gave his 
 consent, and Guy went to his parents to acquaint them 
 with his determination. Both his father and mother tried 
 to persuade him not to go, but he would not yield ; and, 
 having received their blessing, he soon set sail. 
 
 He landed at Normandy, went to Spain and Germany, 
 in all of which countries he distinguished himself; after 
 which he went to Lombardy, in company with three 
 knights, Sirs Heraude, Urry, and Thorold. Here Duke 
 Otho of Pauy (or Pavia), who had been wounded by Guy 
 in Brittany, instructed fifteen of his knights to waylay our 
 hero, slay his companions, and bring him to the duke. 
 But they reckoned not on the prowess of Guy and his 
 companions ; a fearful fight ensued. Of Guy's three 
 knights two were slain, and himself wounded ; yet but 
 one of the Lombards returned to tell the tale of their 
 discomfiture to Duke Otho. Heraude was thought to be 
 dead, but a monk discovered a spark of life in him, and 
 he eventually recovered. Guy was healed of his wound, 
 and afterwards went into Poland, thence to Saxony, 
 and in both places he was made welcome on account of 
 his marvellous feats of arms. Thence he proceeded to 
 Burgundy, at which court he abode some time. 
 
 Here, one day, being hunting, he met with a palmer, 
 who turned out to be no other than his old knight com- 
 
2 78 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 panion Heraude, who, since his convalescence, had been 
 seeking Guy. Joyfully they returned together to the 
 court of the Duke of Burgundy, and, soon after, they took 
 their leave, with the intention of returning to their own 
 country. But at Saint Omers they met a palmer who 
 told them that the Emperor Raynere had besieged Duke 
 Segwyn of Lavayne, because the latter had slain his 
 cousin Sadock. If there was any fighting to be done, 
 Guy must be in it, and, on hearing this news, he and 
 Heraude made up their minds to go and help the duke ; 
 and they did so, taking with them fifty knights. 
 
 They arrived at Duke Segwyn's town, abode there 
 all night, and, on the morrow, hearing that the emperor's 
 troops were advancing, led by his steward, who was a 
 mighty man of valour, they sallied out, and, aided by a 
 sortie from the town, utterly routed the Germans, taking 
 the steward, and several of the nobility, prisoners. 
 
 The emperor did not take this reverse kindly, but 
 threatened to annihilate the duke and Sir Guy ; and Otho 
 (Guy's old foe) assured the monarch that he should be 
 well avenged before seven days should have passed. 
 With him went Raynere, Duke of Saxony, and Wando- 
 mere, the Constable of Cologne ; but they only went to 
 defeat, for the troops were routed. Guy sorely wounded 
 his enemy, Duke Otho, and the other two leaders were taken 
 prisoners. It was in this battle that Sir Terry, who was 
 afterwards one of Guy's firmest friends, distinguished 
 himself mightily. 
 
G UY OF WAR WICK. 2 79 
 
 The emperor was playing at chess, when he saw Sir 
 Terry spurring furiously, drawn sword in hand ; all 
 wounded was he, and his armour rent, his hauberk and 
 basinet hacked and hewed. Soon were told his heavy 
 tidings respecting the defeat of the imperial army, and 
 the emperor nearly lost his reason on hearing the bad 
 news; but 
 
 He sware by God, that had him bought, 
 He should never be glad in thought 
 Till he the Duke had in hande 
 And brent and destroyed all his Lande. 
 
 So the emperor set out at the head of his army, and 
 with him rode his son Sir Gayre. But when they were 
 come before the town, Guy sallied forth with a thousand 
 knights, and not only took Sir Gayre prisoner, but so 
 demoralized the enemy, that the emperor had to send a 
 reinforcement of two thousand men, who, being more than 
 the besieged cared to cope with, they retired into the 
 shelter of their town, absolutely weary of fighting. 
 
 When the Emperour heard sayne 
 That his sonne was taken certayn, 
 He sayd, and made an hydyous crye, 
 Assayle the Cittie hastily. 
 His men so did without fayle, 
 The Cittie they faste assayle ; 
 Stones they thrue at the towne 
 For to fell the walles downe ; 
 They shoten with noble albasters l 
 And great plenty of good Archers ; 
 
 1 Cross-bowmen. 
 
2 8o ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 They clymed upon the walles of stone 
 
 For to take the towne anone ; 
 
 But they within had no doubt, 
 
 With strength ynough they put them out. 
 
 And the siege went on, to the great daily loss of the 
 Germans ; till, one day, a spy brought news that the 
 emperor was going to hunt in the forest. The duke 
 thought to take a great force, with some of his trustiest 
 knights, and capture him, but Guy said that he would 
 undertake the task. So, taking with him a thousand 
 knights, he rode into the forest, where he found the king 
 hunting. 
 
 With that came Guy forth anone right, 
 
 On a noble steede full fast prickand, 1 
 
 A branch of Olyve in his hand, 
 
 That betokeneth peace to be ; 
 
 The Emperour well fayre greeted he. 
 
 Guy sayd, God that is full of might, 
 
 Save thee, syr gentle knight, 
 
 And give thy menne happe 2 and grace, 
 
 Well to rede 3 thee in this place. 
 
 Duke Segwyn sendeth me to thee, 
 
 That in good maner will love thee, 
 
 With glad cheare he prayeth you 
 
 To harborow 4 with him now. 
 
 He shall you welcome, and your Barrons, 
 
 With Swannes, Craynes, and Herons, 
 
 And make you right well at ease ; 
 
 These wordes, quod Guy, be no lese. 5 
 
 Duke Segwyne will yeelde thee 
 
 His Castle and his good Cittie, 
 
 And all landes lowde and still, 
 
 And himselfe at your owne will. 
 
 Spurring. 2 Luck. 3 Counsel, advice. 4 Live. 5 Are true. 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 281 
 
 Therfore, Syr, I warne you 
 To him ye must with me now, 
 For what more can he to thee do, 
 Than thus meekely send thee to ? 
 
 But although Guy said that he was speaking without 
 " lese," both the parties knew that it meant capture and 
 polite imprisonment. The emperor, for form's sake, con- 
 sulted with the King of Hungary, Duke Otho, Sir Terry, 
 and others of his nobility, and decided to endorse the 
 fiction, and go to visit Duke Segwyn as his guest. 
 
 Arrived at the city, Sir Guy did the honours, Segwyn 
 keeping out of sight ; as indeed he did until he had seen 
 the knights and barons his prisoners, whom he begged to 
 intercede for him with the emperor. This they willingly 
 agreed to do ; and the duke appeared before his imperial 
 master barefoot and in his shirt only, with an olive branch 
 in his hand, and, falling on his knees, he begged forgive- 
 ness 
 
 And said, Syr, mercy certayne 
 I will no more warre thee agayne, 
 For that I have grevyd thee yll, 
 I and all myne is at thy wyll. 
 
 He pleaded that Sadock had but himself to thank for 
 his death, having provoked the quarrel which led to their 
 combat ; but, if the king thought fit, he would sustain 
 his cause to be righteous, with his body. The emperor's 
 nobility interceded in his behalf, led by the imperial heir, 
 Sir Gayre, who spoke thus : 
 
282 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Father, he sayd, by Saynt Martyn 
 A noble man is Duke Segwyn, 
 And a doughty man of dede ; 
 He may you helpe at your neede. 
 Forgyve him, I pray you now, 
 That he hath trespassed agaynst you ; 
 Or, certes, syr, sayd he, 
 Love get ye none of me. 
 
 Guy added his intercession, and the emperor forgave the 
 duke freely ; an act which did not pass without comment 
 among his peers one of whom, Duke Otho, stigmatized 
 the emperor as a " false traytour " for making friends with 
 one who had shed a kinsman's blood. The fiery Guy at 
 once wanted to fight him ; peace was with difficulty re- 
 stored, and a double marriage cemented this reconciliation. 
 
 Then wedded Duke Raynere, with glee, 
 Segwyn's syster, a mayden free, 
 And led her, as I understand, 
 To Burntswick his owne lande. 
 Then sayde the riche Emperour 
 To Duke Segwyne, wyth great honour, 
 Now never more to be at stryfe, 
 Therefore I will give thee a wyfe, 
 A fay re mayden that is niece myne. 
 Gramercy, Syr, sayd Duke Segwyne. 
 Of them was made a fayre wedding. 
 
 After the usual festivity, Sir Guy took his leave, and 
 accompanied the emperor ; and, as they went on their 
 way, occasionally hunting and hawking, he espied a 
 dormound, 1 and immediately interrogated the skipper, as 
 
 1 A dromond, or armed vessel. 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 283 
 
 to what country he was of, &c. " Sayd a marry ner full 
 tight " that they hailed from Constantinople, and that a 
 Soudan, or Sultan, had invaded their territory with sixty 
 thousand men, and had besieged the Greek emperor, 
 Ernis, had destroyed all his troops, and taken all his land, 
 save that city. 
 
 On hearing this, Guy consulted with his old friend 
 Heraude, and the upshot was, that, refusing the " landes 
 and fee " offered him by the Emperor of Germany, he 
 chose a thousand knights, and with them immediately set 
 sail. The distressed Grecian emperor received them with 
 effusion, and offered his daughter to Guy in marriage. 
 Sir Guy and his knights turned the tide of war; they 
 defeated the Soudan's troops, Guy killed his nephew, 
 Coldran, and so grievously wounded Eskeldart, who was 
 the Saracen's chief general, that he had but time to reach 
 home before he died, having told his tale to his master, 
 the Soudan, who vowed he would destroy Constantinople. 
 
 But Guy had foes within doors, as well as without. The 
 emperor had promised him great rewards, and, among 
 them, the hand of his daughter, Loret ; but the steward of 
 the Emperor of Germany, one Morgradour, loved her, and 
 would fain have both her and her father's dominions. This 
 he essayed to compass by craft, and, pretending a great 
 love for Guy, he one day suggested that they should go and 
 have a game at chess in the fair Loret's chamber which 
 they accordingly did ; but, on the conclusion of the game, 
 
284 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Morgradour made some excuse and left the room, taking 
 horse, however, immediately, and rushing off to the 
 Emperor Ernis to tell him that Guy was in his daughter's 
 chamber, whither he had gone with felonious intent, and 
 counselled Guy's instant hanging in which case he pro- 
 mised he would go to the Emperor of Germany, and bring 
 such a force as would completely rid Ernis of his enemies. 
 But the latter could not believe the steward. 
 
 Then sayd Ernis the Emperour, 
 Let be thy tales, Morgradour, 
 That gentle knight would not doe this 
 For all the Empyre, I wys. 
 
 So the false traitor rode back to Sir Guy, and told him 
 how the emperor had made such an accusation against 
 him, and was coming to hang him. Guy believed his 
 lying words, and, determining not to stop to be hanged, 
 he gathered his knights together, explained to them the 
 situation, and told them he was going to join the emperor's 
 enemies. But, as they were putting their plan into exe- 
 cution, they met the emperor, and, after a few words of 
 explanation, they were reconciled. 
 
 The next day was a great battle with the Saracens, 
 ending in the defeat of the latter ; an event which had a 
 peculiar effect upon the Soudan, who attributed it to the 
 mefficacy of his gods. 
 
 Then sayd the Soudan so grim, 
 To bring his Gods before him, 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 285 
 
 Gods, he sayd, evil mote ye be, 
 
 For evil, he sayd, have ye quit me. 
 
 With honour, he sayd, I have served you, 
 
 And will I have my meede * now. 
 
 Therefore I shall on you bewreke, 3 
 
 All your neckes I shall doe breake. 
 
 He began to lay on fast, 
 
 While a stafife in his hande might laste, 
 
 He all to hew them and gan fayne, 
 
 Ye shall be brent, forsooth, certayne ; 
 
 For ye be worse than houndes, 
 
 That ever I saw ye wo be the stounds. 3 
 
 Some he brent on a low, 4 
 
 And some into the sea gan throw. 
 
 In the meantime, the grateful Emperor Ernis was loading 
 Sir Guy with favours. 
 
 That good Emperour Ernis, 
 
 Through Guye's helpe to winne him pryce, 3 
 
 Syr Guy he gave a royall bone, 6 
 
 With all his Lande his will 7 to done. 
 
 But this only excited the envy and hatred of Sir 
 Morgradour, who, knowing that the Soudan would kill 
 any messenger sent to him, suggested to the emperor 
 that he should send Sir Guy and Sir Heraude as ambassa- 
 dors to the paynim sovereign, with the proposition that, 
 in order to prevent the effusion of any more blood, a 
 champion should be chosen on either side, by whose fate 
 both parties should abide, the same as if both armies 
 engaged and one was victorious. The emperor thought 
 
 1 Reward. 2 Avenge. 3 Moments or time. 4 In a bright fire. 
 5 Prize. 6 Boon. 7 To have sole authority over his land. 
 
286 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 the advice good, and caused all his barons to be assembled ; 
 which was done, and the situation was explained to them : 
 
 But in that hall was none tho 
 That durst prefer him to go. 
 
 Indeed, an old white-bearded knight rose up and denounced 
 as a traitor whoever had given the emperor such advice, 
 reminding his sovereign of the fate of his cousin Griffon, 
 who, being sent with a message to the Sultan, was slain, 
 and his head returned as answer, adding that it was not 
 through cowardice that he spoke thus, but through his 
 advanced age, it being a hundred years since he had been 
 dubbed knight ; but, had he been in his lusty youth, he 
 would have undertaken the embassage, well knowing he 
 was going to his death. This, however, did not fire the 
 souls of any in that assemblage, save only Guy and 
 Heraude, the latter chafing, and wishing to spring to his 
 feet, being only withheld by Guy, who wished to see 
 whether any would offer. 
 
 But no knight was bold enough, so Guy stood up and 
 accepted the adventure ; but the emperor, who could not 
 afford to lose him, replied that he had only propounded 
 the task to try which of his barons and knights would do 
 the most for him. Guy would not retract his offer, and all 
 the emperor and his court could do, was to pray for his 
 success and safe return. 
 
 When fully armed, Guy rode forth on his adventure, 
 and went through the heathen camp, until he saw a 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 287 
 
 pavilion, on which was an enormous carbuncle ; and, by 
 this, he guessed it was the Soudan's, and there he saw that 
 sovereign sitting at meat with ten kings, and all his barons 
 round him. Riding up to them, he opened his embassy in 
 the following extraordinary manner, which would seem 
 but little calculated to achieve the desired object. 
 
 Lorde, that shape, both hote and colde, 
 And all this world hath in holde, 
 And suffered on Crosse passyons fell 
 To buy man's soule out of hell, 
 Give the Soudan his malison, 1 
 And all that leeven 2 on Mahouwne ; 
 God's curse have thou and thyne, 
 And tho that leeve on Apolyne. 
 
 He then proceeded to deliver the emperor's message. 
 That he was allowed to do so quietly, speaks volumes for 
 the well-disciplined tempers of the Saracens ; the Soudan, 
 in his astonishment, merely asking 
 
 . . . What art thou 
 That thus proudly speakest now ? 
 Yet found I never man certayne, 
 That such wordes durst me sayne. 
 
 When Guy declared his name, the Soudan remembered 
 all the evil this terrible warrior had wrought him, and at 
 once decreed his death, commanding him to be kept in 
 prison until dinner was finished. But our hero did not 
 wait for this command to be obeyed ; he rode straight at 
 the Soudan, cut off his head, and, taking it in his left 
 
 1 Curse. 2 Believe. 
 
288 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 hand, he charged through the Saracen host, killing all who 
 opposed. Superior numbers, however, told upon him, and 
 he was sorely pressed, when Heraude, who had been 
 warned of his friend's need in a dream, came with a strong 
 body of German knights, turned the tide of battle, and 
 escorted the victorious Guy to the emperor, to whom he 
 delivered the Soudan's head. 
 
 And all the belles of the Citie 
 Rong with great solemnitie. 
 Agayn * Syr Guy the people came tho, 
 And every man blessed him also, 
 And sayd Christ give him good fare, 
 That thus hath brought us out of care. 
 
 Sir Guy took an original method of disposing of his 
 enemy's remains, for he had the Soudan's head enclosed in 
 brass, richly gilt, and set upon a marble pillar in the midst 
 of the market-place. 
 
 In those days people were restless, and the empero^ 
 having no war on hand, resolved on a tour through his 
 dominions, to see each town, and repair the ravages of the 
 Saracens. Sir Guy, of course, accompanied him, and it 
 fell on a summer's day that he saw a dragon chasing a. 
 lion. This was a temptation too great for Guy. 
 
 To his knightes then said Guyon, 
 I will go fyght agayne yonder Dragon, 
 That would slea yonder gentle Beast; 
 Abyde me here, both moste and least. 
 
 1 Opposite, right before. 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 289 
 
 A terrific combat naturally ensued, which, of course, 
 ended in a victory for Guy, who cut off the dragon's head ; 
 nor would the fight travel out of the ordinary canons of 
 romance, were it not for the peculiar behaviour of the 
 lion, who proved himself indeed a " gentle Beast." 
 
 Guy tourned his horse and rode agayne, 
 
 The Lyon him followed, and was full fayne ; 
 
 Before his horse that Lyon ran, 
 
 As comely as any man. 
 
 And for fayne played before Guyon, 
 
 For Guy had slayne that foule Dragon . 
 
 Guyes horse necke the Lyon ran to, 
 
 Guy weened he would have him misdo, 
 
 And downe he sterte x full right 
 
 With the Lyon there for to fight. 
 
 And when he was start adowne, 
 
 As still as a Lamb lay the Lyon, 
 
 And there licked he Guyes feete. 
 
 And when Guy saw he was so meeke, 
 
 Guy would him no harme do, 
 
 But let him ren by him tho. 
 
 And everywhere Guy can ride 
 
 The Lyon ran alway by his side. 
 
 * * * >;: * 
 
 At night when Guy yede his chamber to, 
 The Lyon him followed him fast tho ; 
 On nightes when Guy slept fast perfay, 2 
 The Lyon before his bed lay. 
 
 The emperor now thought that it was time for Guy to 
 enter into the fulness of his reward, and made arrangements 
 that he should be married, on the morrow, to his daughter 
 
 1 Leaped. 2 Parfoi\! faith. 
 
 20 
 
290 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 Loret, with whom, as dowry, he gave half his kingdom ; 
 but when 
 
 The Wedding Ring was forth brought, 
 Guy then on fayre Phelis thought, 
 
 and fainted. When he came to, he begged that the 
 marriage might be postponed until he had recovered of 
 his illness ; then went home, and took to his bed, where he 
 lay a fortnight, to the great grief of the lion, who would 
 neither eat nor drink. After the fortnight, Guy got up, 
 and went to the emperor, followed by the lion, who 
 accompanied them to dinner, where he lay at his master's 
 feet. He afterwards went to lie down in an arbour, where 
 he was espied by the false Morgradour, who mortally 
 wounded him with his sword. The " gentle Beaste " had 
 just sufficient strength to crawl to his master's chamber 
 and lick his hand, when he expired. Guy was mad, for 
 he would not have lost his pet for " a thousand pound of 
 treasure," and he went to the court, questioning all he met, 
 if they knew who had done this mean deed. No one knew, 
 until he came to a maiden who had seen Sir Morgradour 
 commit the foul act. No sooner did Guy hear this than 
 he sought the villain, and, after a very brief parley, settled 
 accounts with Sir Morgradour, by cleaving his head in two. 
 Having thus done, Guy sought the emperor, and ex- 
 plained that he must no longer stay with him, for the loss 
 of the German emperor's steward would cause " strained 
 relations " between the sovereigns if he did ; to avoid 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 
 
 291 
 
 which, he proposed to start at once for his own country. 
 The emperor tried to dissuade him, repeating his offers of 
 his daughter's hand, and the half of his kingdom ; but 
 
 Syr Emperour, then sayd Guy, 
 
 To wedde yet I am not ready ; 
 
 For if I tooke thy Daughter, certayne 
 
 All thy men would have disdayne 
 
 That thou wouldst make an Emperour 
 
 Of a pore Vavasour. 1 
 
 So if Guy would not stay, the emperor was obliged to let 
 him go. But, if his desire really had been to reach England 
 
 quickly, destiny was against him, and he had numerous 
 adventures before he did so, the principal of which was his 
 being of much use to, and making a comrade of, Sir Terry, 
 of whom the Chronicle has before spoken but, as these 
 adventures have no real bearing on the story, and are 
 peculiarly involved and wearisome, I omit them. 
 
 Guy tooke leave, I understande, 
 And passed fayre into Englande. 
 1 Vassal. 
 
292 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 And when Guy was on Englande syde, 
 Unto Yorke then he gan ryde. 
 King Athelstone there he founde, 
 And all the states of the Lande. 
 
 Athelstan was delighted to welcome such a Paladin, and 
 was asking after his adventures and welfare, when a 
 messenger came to the king, informing him that there was 
 a foul dragon in Northumberland, who had ravaged 
 twenty miles round it, a fearsome and ugly beast, who slew 
 all who attempted to kill it. Athelstan was at his wit's 
 end how to deal with this evil creature, until Guy solved 
 the difficulty, by proposing that he should go against the 
 dragon, accompanied only by Sir Heraude, and three other 
 knights. Leave was granted him, and they set off at once, 
 soon reaching Northumberland, where no time was lost in 
 finding the habitation of the dragon. On viewing the huge 
 saurian, Guy determined to undertake the adventure by 
 himself, and, having dismissed his comrades, he prayed 
 most heartily for success. The fight was obstinate, for Sir 
 Guy's weapons made no impression on the animal's hard 
 scales, and it was only by ramming his sword down the 
 
 beast's throat, 
 
 That the Dragon began to yell, 
 As it had bene a fiende of hell ; 
 
 and finally gave up the ghost. He then went to Lincoln, 
 where the king then was, and presented him with the 
 dragon's head ; after which he set his face homeward. 
 Arrived at Wallingford, he found both his father and 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 293 
 
 mother dead, and, having given the inheritance he re- 
 ceived from them to Sir Heraude, he set his face towards 
 Warwick. Here, like a true lover, he at once sought 
 Phyllis, telling her all his adventures, and how he had 
 refused all women for her sake. She, on her part, declared 
 that she never loved any one as well as she did him ; 
 which was all singularly a propos y for her father called her 
 to him, told her it was about time she married, and bade 
 her choose some one. She named Sir Guy a choice 
 which met with Earl Rohaunt's hearty approval, and they 
 were duly married. 
 
 But quiet domestic felicity soon palled upon the roving 
 and adventurous Guy, and his married life had lasted but 
 forty days, when, 
 
 After it fell upon a day, 
 
 As Syr Guy came from play, 
 
 Into a toure he went on hye, 
 
 And looked about him farre and nye. 
 
 Guy stoode and bethought him tho 
 
 How he had done many a man wo, 
 
 And slayne many a man with his hande, 
 
 Brent and destroyed many a Lande ; 
 
 And all was for a woman's love, 
 
 And not for God's sake above : 
 
 and, pondering over these things, he determined to do 
 penance for his misspent life, in going a pilgrimage to the 
 Holy Land. Not even the tender expostulations of his 
 newly married bride, nor the thought of the child she 
 should bear, made his determination waver for an instant. 
 
294 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 The child, when born, he bade her put under the care of 
 his friend Heraude ; and, finding that nothing could turn his 
 will, his wretched wife gave him a gold ring, so that when 
 he looked upon it he might remember her : and he took 
 his departure. The deserted Phyllis, when she fully com- 
 prehended the situation, " drue out a little knyfe " where- 
 with to end her life ; but she thought of her unborn babe, 
 and refrained taking the more sensible step of consulting 
 her father, who comforted her by suggesting that Guy 
 had only done this to try her, and that he would soon 
 return, Sir Heraude, too, disguised as a palmer, went in 
 quest of him ; but, although he wandered all over Europe, 
 yet he heard no tidings of him, and in due course Phyllis 
 became a mother, and her son was christened Raynburne. 
 
 Guy, in his travels, soon met with an adventure, cham- 
 pioned the cause of a Sir Tryamoure, whose son Fabour had 
 had the bad luck to checkmate, at chess, the son of the 
 Soudan, who lost his temper, and hit Fabour over the head 
 with the board a compliment which Fabour returned with 
 interest, killing the Soudan's son with the chess-board. 
 Guy's adversary was, as usual, a giant, but he met at Guy's 
 hands the usual fate of giants, and was killed. He next 
 met his old friend Sir Terry, who was in great tribulation ; 
 but Guy effectually succoured him, and, at length, returned 
 to England. 
 
 Things had not gone smoothly at home whilst he was 
 away. His son Raynburne was brought up by Phyllis 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 295 
 
 until he was four years old, when she, as her husband 
 wished, handed him over to Sir Heraude for tuition. But 
 whilst in his care, a great mishap fell upon the child. 
 
 So on a day, I understande, 
 
 Marchauntes came into Englande, 
 
 Into London out of Russye, 
 
 With Englishmen to sell and buy ; 
 
 They gave King Athelstone sylver and golde, 
 
 To buy and sell where they would. 
 
 So on a day, withouten lye, 
 
 The Sarasyns this chylde gan espye, 
 
 Guyes sonne fayre Raynburne, 
 
 And stale him away with treason. 
 
 And then they sailed away, until they came unto the land 
 of a king named Aragus, to whom they made the boy a 
 present ; and Aragus grew very fond of him, and had the 
 lad taught all martial exercises ; 'made him in the course of 
 years a knight and his chamberlain, gave him fine armour 
 and good steeds presents for which he evinced his 
 gratitude by overthrowing all comers in the tourneys. 
 
 Such was the state of Sir Guy's domestic affairs on his 
 return to England ; and public matters were in a very bad 
 way, for Havelock King of Denmark, and Conelock King 
 of Norway, had landed, and burnt every town until they 
 came to Winchester, where King Athelstan was, and they 
 were then besieging that city, but they had promised relief, 
 if Athelstan would find any one to fight their noted but 
 ill-favoured giant, Colbrond. No champion could be found 
 in Winchester, but, in answer to prayer, the king had a 
 
296 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 vision, that if on the morrow he would go to the gate of 
 the city, he should find a pilgrim, who would be the 
 champion. This the king did. 
 
 And as the Aungell sayd to him, 
 
 At the gate he founde the Pilgrime. 
 
 He led him unto his chamber soone, 
 
 And fell on his knees before him anone ; 
 
 He prayed him that Battayle to doe. 
 
 Redest ' thou me to fight, quod Guy, whereto 
 
 Seest thou not me readily, 
 
 Unneathes 2 for feeblenesse alyve am I. 
 
 Nevertheless, sayd Guy, ryse up, Syr King, 
 
 Syth thou prayest me this thing, 
 
 For thee I shall the battayle do 
 
 If God send me life thereto. 
 
 Well glad was then all Englande, 
 
 That they had agayne Colbronde 
 
 A man lyke for to fight, 
 
 And for to defende their Landes right. 
 
 The fight with Colbrond was no child's-play ; heavy 
 strokes made deep wounds, and the combat seemed likely 
 to end in the giant's favour, when Guy's sword broke. In 
 vain he asked Colbrond to lend him one of his axes a 
 courtesy which he did not see his way to grant ; but, by his 
 superior agility, Guy possessed himself of one, and, with 
 one sweeping stroke, Colbrond's head was severed from his 
 body. 
 
 The Danes, nearly mad at the loss of their champion, 
 honourably kept their pact, and retired to their ships ; 
 and in England was great joy, ringing of bells, processions 
 
 1 Dost thou counsel me to fight ? 2 Literally unwieldy, unfit. 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 
 
 297 
 
 and Te Deums. But the hero of the day would join in no 
 merriment, he put on his palmer's weeds and went away, 
 no man knowing who he was, save only the king, and he 
 
 pledged his royal word not to divulge it until his champion 
 should be dead and buried. In this humble guise he 
 reached Warwick, and came to his own gate, where he sat 
 
*98 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 down among the poor, none recognizing him, making one 
 of the twelve poor men that Phyllis fed every day. 
 
 The Countesse beheld him than, 
 For he was so feeble a man. 
 Of all her meate she did cheare, . 
 And to Syr Guy she let it beare, 
 And of the best wyne that she had, 
 To Guy she sent and bad him be glad. 
 And, for she thought him porest of all, 
 She bad him eate every day in the hall. 
 
 But Guy was satisfied he had seen his wife, found her 
 full of works of mercy and charity ; but she knew him not, 
 and he turned his steps away from his own home to Arderne, 
 where he found a deserted hermitage, which was to be his 
 home for the short time he had to be on earth. And there 
 he lived in pious contemplation, serving God after his way, 
 and living frugally on the herbs of the field, until one 
 night he had a vision of an angel 
 
 An Aungell came from God Almighty, 
 And said Guy make thee ready ; 
 Within this toil nights thou shalt come 
 To Jesu and in his blisse wone. 
 Guy thanked Christ and called mercy, 
 So glad was he never erst J truely. 
 
 On the seventh day he called his page to him, and bade 
 him go to Warwick, and there call upon the Countess, and 
 show her a gold ring, which he gave the page, and tell her 
 that it came from the pilgrim to whom she sent meat to 
 eat in her own hall bidding her come with him to Arderne, 
 
 1 Truly was he never so glad before. 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 299 
 
 a service for which she would well requite him. The page 
 did as he was told, and Phyllis, on seeing the ring, fainted 
 thrice ; after which she could not make haste enough to 
 join her husband, but, under the guidance of the page, she, 
 accompanied by a retinue of knights and squires, rode with 
 all speed to the hermitage, where they found Sir Guy lying 
 on the floor, in extremis. 
 
 Then set she up a shrieke so spert, 1 
 
 For sorow of him nye brast her harte, 
 
 Guy kest * up his eyen tho, 
 
 The soule out of the body can go. 
 
 She fell on him in that hermytage, 
 
 She kist his mouth and his vysage, 
 
 Out of his mouth came a savour 
 
 Also sweate as any flower. 
 
 She prayed all the Bishops of the country, 
 
 At her Lordes burying for to be. 
 
 At Warwick he should him grave, 
 
 But no man might 3 him thence have, 
 
 Then bad she let him be. 
 
 In that hermytage buryed was he ; 
 
 A richer burying then she made one, 
 
 King ne Duke had never none ; 
 
 Many a Masse for him was sayde, 
 
 Or he in his grave was layde. 
 
 But Phyllis so took Sir Guy's death to heart, that she at 
 once fell ill from grief, and, fifteen days after her husband's 
 decease, she died, leaving instructions that she should be 
 buried by his side, which was accordingly done. 
 
 Now be they both with God Almighty 
 Up in hye blisse, 
 Jesu us all thereto wish. 
 1 Sudden. 2 Cast up, opened his eyes. 3 Move. 
 
300 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 To complete the story, it now remains but to follow the 
 fortunes of Raynburne, Guy's son ; and to do this, it is 
 necessary to go back to the time of his capture by the 
 Saracens. It will be remembered that he was, at that time, 
 under the tuition of Sir Heraude, who was furious when 
 he discovered the loss of his ward. He did the best thing 
 that could be done under the circumstances : he went at 
 once in pursuit, but was unfortunately wrecked upon the 
 coast of Africa, and, after a fight with the natives, was 
 overpowered and cast into a dungeon, where he lay for 
 many years, until he was overheard lamenting his sad fate, 
 he who had been the boldest baron of his time. This was 
 told the king of that country, who was at that time at war 
 with Aragus, who had protected Raynburne, and, indeed, 
 this latter was at the head of his army, performing prodigies 
 of valour. Feeling the need of every brave arm, he had 
 him taken out of prison, and well bathed and fed, and was 
 overjoyed when he heard that his captive was the redoubt- 
 able Sir Heraude, companion in arms with the invincible 
 Sir Guy : and he offered him his ransom, and a hundred 
 pounds yearly, if he would fight for him against his enemies. 
 To this Sir Heraude consented, and his health and strength 
 were soon recruited by good food. 
 
 When he met the Saracens, he slaughtered them in the 
 good old style, and would have slain Aragus, had he not 
 been protected by Raynburne. Of course Heraude had to 
 fight this champion, and this combat was so protracted 
 
GUY OF WARWICK. 301 
 
 sand fierce, that each gained a mutual admiration of the 
 i other's prowess ; so that when, during a pause, they learned 
 each other's names, there was a most affecting meeting 
 between them, and, by their efforts, a peace was concluded 
 between the contending parties. They then set their faces 
 towards England, which they reached after many adven- 
 tures. 
 
 Then passed they, I understande, 
 The sea and came into Englande ; 
 To London that they came anone, 
 And there they found King Athelstone. 
 Of Heraudes comming glad was he, 
 And great joy he made them all three. 1 
 The King yeelded up Syr Raynburn 
 His Fathers Landes, tower and towne, 
 And there were they fower dayes or five, 
 And after went to Warwick blive. 2 
 Men of the countrey, old and yong, 
 Were glad ynough of their coming ; 
 Olde and yong, echeman of his age, 
 Came and did Raynburne homage. 
 
 1 The third was Aslake, a son of Sir Heraude. 
 a Quickly. 
 
IRobert tbe 
 
 'HIS Romance was early printed in France, for it 
 was published at Lyons by P. Mareschall in 1496 ; 
 another edition was issued by Nic. de la Barre, 
 ris 1497 ; and we, too, have very early English versions 
 >f the tale, in two editions, but slightly varying, printed 
 >y Wynkyn de Worde one in the Public Library at 
 Cambridge, the other in the British Museum, from which 
 have taken my story. 
 
 The opening sentence of this Romance epitomizes the 
 ,vhole story. " C Here begynneth the lyfe of the moast 
 yschevoust Robert the deyvyll whiche was afterwarde 
 :alled the servaunt of god." For of all incarnate fiends, 
 seems to have been one of the worst, and, in his con- 
 /ersion, he shone as a bright example to even professed 
 bietists. 
 
 " It befel in tyme past there was a duke in Normandye 
 
 21 
 
306 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 whiche was called Ouberte, y e whiche duke was passynge 
 ryche of goodes and also vertuous of lyvynge, and loved 
 and dred god above all thynge and dyde grete almesse 
 dedes, and exceded all other in ryghtwysnesse and justyce, 
 and moost chevalrouse in dedes of armes and notable actes 
 doynge. This duke held open hous upon a crystmasse 
 daye in a towne whiche was called Naverne upon the Seyne. 
 To the whiche courte came all y e lordes and noble blode 
 of Normandy. And bycause this noble duke was not 
 maryed, his lordes, nobles, with one assente besought hym 
 to marye and take a wyfe, to th' entente that his lynage 
 myght be multyplyed thereby, and that they myght have a 
 ryght heyre to enherite his landes after his dyceyse." 
 
 In a most complacent manner, he replied that what they 
 said must be right, and that, perhaps, they would kindly 
 " purvey " him a wife. They told him that he spoke " very 
 wysely, and lyke a noble prynce," and one of them said he 
 knew the very lady fitted for the position, the daughter of 
 the Duke of Burgundy. This settled the matter " This 
 lady was demaunded of her fader, the duke, of Bourgone, 
 which gave hym her wyllyngly," and the marriage was 
 celebrated with all the usual ceremonies and festivity. 
 
 Years rolled on (the chronicler says eighteen), and to 
 their great grief their union was not blessed with any 
 children a source of the deepest disappointment to them ; 
 and they were always lamenting the fact, so much so that 
 they came to the conclusion that " they that made the 
 
ROBERT THE DEVYLL. 
 
 37 
 
 maryage betwene us bothe they dyde grete synne." Still, 
 they did not abandon all hope of offspring, the father 
 praying devoutly for a son and heir who might honour and 
 serve the Lord ; but his wife replied, " In the devyles name 
 be it, insomoche as god hath not y e power that I conceyve, 
 and yf I be conceyved with chylde, I gyve it to y e devyll 
 body and soule." 
 
 When the child, thus dedicated to the foul fiend, was 
 born, " they were gretly abasshed and aferde with the 
 merveylouse noise and tokens that they herde and se in y e 
 byrth of the sayd Robert the devyll, in that (when) this 
 chylde was borne, the skye waxed as darke as though it 
 had been nyghte, as it is shewed in olde cronycles that it 
 thondreth and lyghtened so sore that men thought y e 
 firmament had been open and all y e worlde sholde have 
 
308 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 perysshed. And there blewe soo moche wynde out of the 
 iiij quarters of the worlde, and was suche storme and 
 tempest, that al the hous trembled so sore that it shoke a 
 grete pece of it to y e erth, insomoche that all they that 
 were in y e hous wened that ye worlde had ben at an ende, 
 and that they with y e hous and all sholde have sonken ; but 
 in shorte tyme it pleased God that all this trouble ceased, 
 and the weder clered up, and y e chylde was brought to 
 chyrche to be crystned whiche was named Roberte," 
 
 He was so opposed to this Christian rite that he never 
 ceased crying and howling ; and he was obliged to be 
 brought up by hand, and fed with a horn, because he bit 
 his nurse's breasts. And his growth was also phenomenal, 
 for, at twelve months old, he was as big as a child of three 
 years. " And the elder that this chyld Robert waxed, 
 more curster ; and there was no man that coud rule hym, 
 and whan he founde or coude come by ony chyldrene he 
 smote and bote z and cast stones at them, and brake theyr 
 armes and legges and neckes, and scratte out theyr eyes 
 out of theyr hedes, and therein was all his delyte and 
 pleasure." No wonder, then, that when the street boys saw 
 him " they durst not abyde hym, but cryed one to another 
 here cometh the wode 2 Robert ; and other many cryed 
 here cometh y e cursed madde Robert, and some cryed here 
 cometh Robert y e devyll ; and thus cryenge they voyded 3 
 all the streets, for they durst not abyde and loke hym in the 
 
 1 Beat. 2 Mad. 3 Emptied. 
 
ROBERT THE DEVYLL. 309 
 
 face. And forthwith y e chyldrene that knewe hym with 
 one assent called hym Roberte ye devyll, whyche name 
 he kepte durynge his lyfe, and shall do as longe as the 
 worlde standeth." 
 
 Vain was the attempt to bring this young demon under 
 scholastic discipline ; for, having found a man bold enough 
 to become his schoolmaster, the pedagogue would fain 
 chastise him for some fault, but Robert " gate a murderer 
 or bodkyn and thrast his mayster in the bely that his guttes 
 fell at his fete, and so fell downe deed to y e erth." From 
 this time none could be found to undertake his education, 
 but all were glad to let him alone and go his own ways, a 
 privilege of which he fully availed himself, becoming a 
 terror to all men, and causing his father many times to 
 wish him dead. 
 
 When he was eighteen years old, his mother besought 
 the duke to knight him, so that he might have some 
 employment ; and he consented, telling his son that he did 
 so in order that he might forsake his " vyces and moost 
 hatfull lyf," and live as a chivalrous knight should do. 
 Robert's answer was typical of him. " I shall doo your 
 commaundement, but as for y e ordre of knyghthode, I set 
 nothynge therby, for there is no degre shall cause me (to) 
 leve my condycyons nor change my lyfe ; for I am not in 
 that mynde to do no better than I have done hitherto, nor 
 to amende for no man lyvynge." This gracious reception 
 of an honour was followed by equally bad conduct in 
 
3 1 o ROMANCES OF CHI VALR Y. 
 
 church, on the night before he was dubbed, when, according 
 to custom, he watched his armour in church : " theder 
 cam Robert lyke a madman, and overthrowynge al them 
 that came in his waye, ferynge nother god nor y e devyl, 
 and he was never styll of all y e nyght." 
 
 This " Mirror of Chivalry," at his first tournament, over- 
 threw all comers, killing and wounding them to such an 
 extent that the king stopped the tourney; which made 
 Robert mad, and he went about smiting those he had killed, 
 till the people rose with one accord and plainly told the 
 duke that he must keep his son under some control. But 
 this hopeful went on his way, committing all kinds of 
 deviltry, murdering, robbing and burning abbeys, churches, 
 hermitages and farms, until there were none left for him to 
 pillage. " These wycked dedes of Robert came to y e eres 
 of y e good duke, and al they that were thus robbed and 
 rebuked, came to complayne of the grete outrage and 
 suppression done by Robert and styll was doynge thorowe- 
 out all the countree. One sayd my lorde youre sone hath 
 forsed my wyfe, an other sayd he hathe ravyshed my 
 doughter, the other sayd he hath stolen my goodes and 
 robbed my hous, and other sayd he hath wounded me to 
 death, with many semblable * offences." 
 
 His father knew not how to answer these tales of outrage, 
 and sought refuge in prayer a course which was not 
 immediately efficacious ; till one of his knights spoke up 
 
 1 Similar. 
 
ROBERT THE DE VYLL. 3 1 i 
 
 boldly, and told the duke that his advice was that Robert 
 should be sent for, and rebuked before all the nobles, and 
 commanded to alter his style of living ; and, if he would 
 not, then justice should be done upon him as upon a 
 stranger. This advice the duke thought to be good, and 
 acted upon it, sending out men to bring his son to his 
 presence. But Robert evilly entreated his father's messen- 
 
 gers, and put out their eyes, mockingly exclaiming, " Syrs, 
 nowe shall ye slepe the better ; go now home to my fader, 
 and tell hym that I set lytel by hym, and bycause he sendeth 
 you to brynge me to hym, therefore to his dyspyte I have 
 put out your eyen." 
 
 The poor duke mourned over his maimed servants, but 
 was, as usual, powerless to suggest a remedy ; until one of 
 
3 I2 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 his nobles advised his weak-minded lord that it was use- 
 less to think that Robert would come, voluntarily, to be 
 admonished and punished, but, as it was necessary for the 
 common weal that it should be done, stronger steps should 
 be taken. Then the duke, willing to follow the counsel of 
 his nobles, sent in all haste to all ports, cities, and towns, 
 throughout his dominions, commanding all sheriffs, bailiffs, 
 
 and other officers, to use their utmost diligence to bring 
 his recalcitrant son before him, or to keep him and all his 
 company safely in prison. When Robert heard of this 
 proclamation, "he was almoost out of his wyt for wode 
 angre, and wheted his teeth lyke a bore, and swore a grete 
 othe, sayenge thus, that he wolde have open warre agenst 
 his fader, and subdewe and spyll all his lordshyppe." 
 
ROBERT THE DEVYLL. 313 
 
 He evidently thought that his father was in earnest, for 
 he built himself a strong castle in which to defend himself, 
 and there he gathered together " all y e moost myschevouste 
 and falsest theves that he could fynde or here of in his 
 faders lande ; to wete morderers, theves, strete robers, 
 rebel les, brenners of chyrches and houses, forsers of 
 women, robbers of churches, and the moost wyckeedest 
 and curseste theves that were under the sonne." With 
 this goodly company he solaced himself with murdering 
 merchants, and plundering all that came in his way, even 
 down to the poor pilgrims, so that every man fled from 
 him, like sheep from a wolf; nay, he even, in one of his 
 mad fits, killed seven holy hermits, "and after that he 
 hadde done this myschevous dede, he rode out of y e wode 
 lykc a dcvvll out of helle, semynge worse thenne wode, 
 and his clothes were all dyed red with y e blode of the 
 people that he had murdred and slayne, and thus arayed 
 he rode over the felds, and clothes, hands, and face, all 
 were rede of the blode of the holy heremytes, whiche he 
 had so pyteously murdred in the wyldernesse." 
 
 In this mad guise he rode recklessly, until he came to 
 the Castle of Darques, where a shepherd had told him his 
 mother was going to dine, and when he came there all 
 men ran from him, shutting themselves in their houses ; 
 and, seeing himself thus universally shunned, he fell 
 a-thinking as to why he was leading such a mischievous 
 and cursed life. In this unwonted frame of mind he lighted 
 
3 i 4 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 from off his horse, and, drawing his bloody sword, he strode 
 into the hall where his mother was. She was sore afraid, 
 and would have fled from him, but he called out to her to 
 stay, for pity's sake, until he had spoken to her ; and then 
 he questioned her whether she knew of any reason, or 
 could account for the fact, that he was so vicious, for he 
 was convinced that he had inherited his disposition either 
 from her or his father. 
 
 When the duchess heard him speak thus, she fell to, 
 weeping bitterly, and entreated her son to cut her head off. 
 But even Robert's ill-regulated mind recoiled from such a 
 deed, and he asked : " O ! dere moder, why sholde I do so 
 that so moche myschefe have done, and this sholde be the 
 worste dede that ever I dyde." Then the duchess told her 
 son how she had given him over to the devil, adding, " O ! 
 sonne, I am the moost unfortunate woman lyvynge, and 
 I knowlege that it is all my faute that ye be soo cursed 
 and wycked a liver." On hearing this sad tale Robert 
 fainted away, and, on his recovery, fell a-weeping, vowing 
 that henceforth he would do no more harm, but only good, 
 and would amend his life, and do penance for his past sins. 
 
 Then, taking leave of his mother, he sought his com- 
 panions, whom he rebuked for their vicious lives, and 
 exhorted them to change their way of life and repent, 
 adding that he himself was going on a pilgrimage to 
 Rome. His band did not believe in this sudden conversion 
 of their leader, and mocked him, saying, " Now Syrs, take 
 
ROBERT THE DEVYLL. 315 
 
 hede ; y e fox wyll be an aunker, 1 for he begynneth to 
 preche." Once more Robert urged them to repentance, 
 but they told him that in future they meant to do more 
 wickedness than in the past. Finding that his exhorta- 
 tions produced no good effect on the reprobate crew, he 
 adopted a highly original method of preventing their doing 
 any mischief ; he killed them all, one after the other, and, 
 locking up his castle, he sent the key to his father, who 
 restored, as far as possible, to the poor people the goods of 
 which his son had robbed them. 
 
 In great pain, and poverty, Robert performed his 
 pilgrimage to Rome, where he found the Pope officiating 
 in St. Peter's Cathedral. Could he but reach the Holy 
 Father, and pour his tale of sin into his ears, then, thought 
 he, there might be hope even for him ; so he pressed hard 
 to get to the Pope, but was smitten and told to go back. 
 However, the more he was rebuffed, the more pertinacious 
 he was in his resolve, and made such a noise, that he 
 attracted the attention of the Pontiff, who had pity on him, 
 and desired the people to let him alone. The Pope asked 
 him his business, and Robert told him he was the greatest 
 sinner in the world, and begged the Pope to hear his con- 
 fession and grant him absolution. The Holy Father asked 
 his name, and when he heard that his penitent was no 
 other than the redoubtable Robert the Devil, he said he 
 would hear his confession, on condition that he would 
 
 1 Anchorite, ankret or hermit. 
 
3 i6 
 
 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 promise to do no man harm. " Robert fell on his knees 
 with grete devocyon and repentaunce of his synnes, saynge, 
 Holy Fader, nay, as longe as I lyve I promyse god and his 
 blessyd mother I wyll never hurte crysten creature." 
 
 Then the Pope heard his confession which was of such 
 an extraordinary nature, that he shrank from the responsi- 
 
 Itobert. 
 
 bility of giving him absolution ; but told him he must go 
 to his own confessor, a hermit who lived three miles from 
 the city, tell him who had sent him, and he would hear 
 the confession and assoil him. So the next morning 
 Robert paid the hermit a visit. He was welcomed by the 
 holy man, who listened to his confession ; but he, like the 
 
ROBERT THE DEVYLL. 317 
 
 Pope, thought it so extraordinary, that he preferred to let 
 the night go over before he pronounced absolution and 
 set him his penance. 
 
 So all night Robert lay in the little chapel, and the 
 hermit prayed fervently for guidance as to this singular 
 case, until at last he fell asleep. In his slumber, an angel 
 appeared unto him, and told him that it was God's com- 
 mand that if Robert would be shriven of his sins, he must 
 counterfeit the ways and manners of a fool, and pretend 
 to be dumb, and that he must eat no kind of meat but 
 what he could take from the dogs ; and this life he must 
 lead until God should show him that his sin was forgiven. 
 At daybreak the hermit called Robert to him, and told 
 him of the penance which had been imposed upon him by 
 the Divine will ; and Robert accepted it thankfully, if, by 
 so doing, he could only get rid of the intolerable load of 
 his sins : and, after taking leave of the hermit, he went 
 his way. 
 
 And as he entered Rome, he began to leap and run 
 about like a lunatic, so that the children ran after him, and 
 pelted him with mud and filth, and the people, at their 
 windows, mocked and jeered at him. At length he came 
 to the Emperor's Court, and, finding the gate open, went 
 boldly into the hall, where he began curvetting and 
 prancing about in such a manner, as to attract the 
 emperor's attention, who, thinking it a pity that so good- 
 looking a young man should be out of his mind, ordered 
 
3 i8 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 one of his servants to give him some meat ; but he would 
 have none of it. In those days the hounds were always 
 participants of their master's meals in hall, and the 
 emperor having thrown a bone to one of his dogs, Robert 
 immediately seized it ; but, as the dog would not let go, he 
 sat down and gnawed at one end of the bone, whilst the 
 dog gnawed the other. 
 
 This conduct filled the emperor and his guests with 
 astonishment, and seeing the poor witless fellow was really 
 hungry, they cast more bones to the dogs, so that they 
 might have the amusement afforded by the struggle 
 between man and beast. Where the dogs quenched their 
 thirst, so did he ; and when, at night, one went to lie down 
 under the stairs, there he followed and lay beside it ; and 
 when, by the emperor's orders, a bed was offered him, he 
 refused it, and lay upon the damp earth. And thus he 
 lived for seven years, eating, drinking, and sleeping with 
 the dogs. 
 
 Now the emperor had a fair daughter, who was dumb, 
 with whom the Seneschal was in love, and, because the 
 emperor refused him her hand, he gathered an army of 
 Saracens and laid siege to Rome ; and, although the 
 emperor had the greatest number of men, yet would the 
 Seneschal have got the advantage had it not been for 
 Robert. For whilst the forces were engaged, he was by a 
 fountain in a garden, when he heard " a voyce oute of 
 Heven sente frome our Lorde, saynge in this manner : 
 
ROBERT THE DE VYLL. 3 1 9 
 
 Robert, god commandeth you by me that ye incontynent 
 arme you with this harneys, and lyght upon this horse that 
 god hath sente you, and ride in all the hast possyble and 
 rescue th' emperour and his people." There was no mis- 
 taking this Divine command there were the horse and 
 armour. So Robert did as he was bid, and was soon 
 riding to the battle-field, but he had been watched with 
 wonder by the dumb princess. The day ended in a victory 
 for the emperor, for " whan Robert was come in to y e hoost 
 he put hym in the moost prese l of the turkes, and faughte 
 and layde on eche syde on these cursed houndes. There a 
 man myght have sene arms, legges, hedes, tomble on the 
 grounde ; he smote to y e grounde both horse and man that 
 never rose after ; it was a worlde to see y e murdre that 
 Robert dyde amonge y e dampned dogges the sarasyns." 
 
 The victory assured, Robert returned to his fountain, 
 unarmed, and both arms and horse vanished, to the 
 extreme astonishment of the princess, who was a spectator 
 of the strange scene. At night there was feasting, and the 
 poor fool played his pranks as usual in the hall ; but it was 
 noticed that he had a cut on his face, which was attributed 
 to some of the servants having ill-used him. Of course the 
 talk was chiefly on the champion who had so marvellously 
 befriended them, and who had so mysteriously disappeared ; 
 and at each mention of his name the dumb princess pointed 
 to Robert, and made signs that he it was who had so 
 
 1 Thickest of the fight. 
 
3 2o ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 helped them : but this was so inconceivable that the 
 emperor got angry at the suggestion, and the princess 
 wisely left off. 
 
 The Seneschal, not content with his defeat, gathered 
 another army, but was overthrown again by Robert's 
 potent aid. He again disappeared, observed of none save 
 the princess. Yet a third time the Seneschal besieged 
 Rome, this time with a greater force than ever. Robert's 
 prowess once more gained them the victory ; but it happened 
 that certain of the emperor's knights were determined to 
 penetrate the mystery of the miraculous champion on the 
 white horse, and waylaid him on his return. As he refused 
 to answer their interrogations, and set spurs to his horse, 
 one of the knights better mounted than his fellows followed 
 in pursuit, and, wishing to kill the white horse in order to 
 secure the strange knight, he missed the horse with his 
 spear, but ran. it into Robert's thigh, where it broke off; 
 and the white horse and its rider duly reached the fountain 
 in the garden, where the steed, as usual, disappeared. 
 
 Robert drew out the spear-head, and hid it among the 
 stones by the fountain, bathed his wound, and dressed it 
 with grease and moss watched all the time by the princess, 
 who saw that he was comely and fair to look upon, and 
 began to love him. Robert went into hall as usual, limping 
 as little as he could, but enduring agonies of pain. By and 
 by the knight who had wounded him returned, told his 
 story, and expressed his sorrow that he should have hurt so 
 
ROBERT THE DEVYLL 321 
 
 worthy a knight ; and the emperor, by the advice of his 
 nobles, issued a proclamation that, if the knight on a white 
 horse would come to court, and bring with him the spear- 
 head with which he was wounded, he would give him his 
 daughter in marriage, and half his kingdom. 
 
 The Seneschal heard of this proclamation, and a bright 
 thought struck him that he would drive a spear into his 
 thigh, and go and claim the reward. This he did, and, 
 although the knight was present who had wounded Robert, 
 and knew it was not his spear-head, yet he spoke not, for 
 fear that the Seneschal should kill him. So the Seneschal 
 was awarded the prize. As for the lady, when she heard 
 her fate, " she raylled and raged as thoughe she hadde ben 
 wood and madde, she tare her here from her heed, and all 
 to tare her clothes, but it myght nothynge avayle her, for 
 she was constrayned and must be arayed like a bryde and 
 an Emperour's doughter that shold be maryed." 
 
 Weeping and struggling, she was led to the altar, but 
 hardly had the service commenced, when her fettered 
 tongue was loosed, and she began to tell what she had 
 seen ; when the Seneschal, perceiving that his chance was 
 for ever gone, mounted his horse and fled away. She not 
 only told of Robert and the white horse, but sent for the 
 spear-head, which was found exactly to fit the shaft. Now 
 were lords sent to fetch Robert, " whome they founde 
 lyenge amonge dogges ; they folowed hym and dyd hym 
 reverence, but Robert answered them not." The hermit 
 
 22 
 
322 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 who had been warned by a dream, and had come to see 
 to the rehabilitation of Robert, recognized him, and told 
 him that God had forgiven all his sins, and in future 
 he should be called no longer Robert the Devil, but Robert 
 the servant of God. Then Robert fell upon his knees, and 
 gave laud and thanks to God for his mercies and forgive- 
 ness. The emperor would have given him his daughter in 
 marriage, but this the hermit would not suffer. 
 
 But, when Robert had gone but a little way from Rome, 
 God commanded him to return and marry the princess ; 
 which he did, and, after the usual prolonged festivities, he 
 led his bride to Rouen. Here he found his father dead, 
 and, consequently, that he was Duke of Normandy. Soon 
 afterwards, he received a message from the Emperor of 
 Rome, saying he was again besieged by the Seneschal, and 
 begging his help. He at once went to his assistance, but 
 found the emperor had been killed by the Seneschal. He 
 had the satisfaction of cleaving the latter's head to the 
 teeth, thus ending his vile life. This done, he returned to 
 Rouen, and we learn that " Robert lyved long in vertue 
 and honoure with that noble ladye his wyfe, and he was 
 beloved and dradde J of hyghe and lowe degre, for he dyde 
 ryght and justyce, as well over the ryche as over the poore 
 kepynge his lande in rest and in prase." 
 
 1 Feared. 
 
befluwert) a me 
 
 rpe 3eft of aman fyaf tbaa called ^ott)le* 
 
 J0la5,anb of manpnwruapioua tbpna?anli 
 
Ibowleglas* 
 
 HOWLEGLAS is one of the oldest jest-books in the 
 English language, and it comes from a German 
 source, the popular Eulenspiegel literally Owl 
 and Glass, as represented in the next illustration, which is 
 taken from an early printed French edition. Eulenspiegel 
 was in existence long before the merry tales of Skelton, 
 or Scoggin's Jests, and its stories, like theirs, are not all 
 reproducible for modern readers. The book from which 
 I have taken this " Merye Jest " is very rare, there being 
 but three copies known, two of which (unfortunately both 
 imperfect) are in the British Museum, and the other is in 
 the Bodleian Library. This latter was reproduced and 
 privately printed by Frederic Ouvry, Esq., F.S.A., in 1867. 
 The copies in the British Museum were " |[ Imprynted at 
 London in Tamestrete at the Vintre on the Craned wharfe 
 by Wyllyam Copland," and, in the catalogue, are approxi- 
 mately dated 1528 and 1530; but this is probably erroneous, 
 
326 
 
 ROMANCES OP CHIVALRY. 
 
 being antedated, most likely, by some five and twenty or 
 thirty years. 
 
 However, this does not detract from its rarity, and I now 
 present it to my readers as a popular book of light reading 
 and humour, coeval with the Romances. 
 
 " Yn the lande of Sassen, in the vyllage of Ruelnige, there 
 dwelleth a man that was named Nicholas Howleglas, that 
 had a wife named Mypeke, that lay a child bed in the same 
 vyllage : and that chylde'was brought into a taverne where 
 the father was with his gosseppes, and made good cheret. 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 327 
 
 Whan the mydwife had wel dronke, she took y e childe to 
 bere it home, and in the wai was a little bridg over a 
 muddy water. And as the mydwife would have gone over 
 the lytel brydge, she fel into the mudde with the chylde, 
 for she had a lytel dronk to much wyne, for had not helpe 
 come quickly, they had both been drowned in y e mudde. 
 And whan she came home with the childe, they made a 
 kettle of warm water to be made redi, and there they washed 
 y e child clen of the mudde. And thus was Howleglas thre 
 tyms in one dai cristened, once at y e churche, once in the 
 mudde, and once in y e warm water." 
 
 Of course, with such a start in life, he could not but turn 
 out something uncommon, and during his childhood he 
 was preternaturally sharp ; but he was more than that he 
 was elvishly mischievous, so that he became notorious for 
 his pranks, and, for amusement, he was very fond of dancing 
 on the tight-rope. There is a tale told of him of 
 
 " Howe Howleglas fell from the rope into the water, 
 
 whereof the people had good sporte. 
 " Upon a tyme Howleglas played upon y e corde that was 
 set over the water, where he made good sport, but at the 
 last there was one that cut the rope, so fell he into the 
 water, and was all to wette, and he came out as well as he 
 might, for y e lytle spyte he thought to quyte them agayn. 
 And said to them, come agayne -to morowe, and I will doo 
 many more wonders upon the rope. And y e next dai after 
 
328 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 came Howleglas and daunced upon the corde, and than he 
 sayde to the yonge folke, ye shall see what news I can doo. 
 Gyve me every body your ryghte shoe upon the rope end. 
 So they dyd, and the olde men also. And whan he hadde 
 daunced a whyle, he caste them their shoen upon a hepe, 
 and bad them take their shoen eche of them agayne. 
 Than ran they after their shoen, and for haste one tumbled 
 over the other, and than they began to ly together by the 
 eares, and smyte with their fystes so hard that they fell 
 both to the yearth. One said weping, this is my shoe, and 
 the other laughed and cryd that is my shoe. And thus, for 
 their shoen, they laye together by the eares. Than began 
 Howleglas to laughe, crying seeke your shoen. Yesterday 
 ye bathed me, and he lept from the corde, and went his 
 way to his mother, and durst not come out again in the 
 space of a moneth. And so he taried with his mother, 
 whereof his mother was glad, but she knew not the cause 
 why he dyd with her, nor what he had done." 
 
 He continued to grow up in this harum-scarum, ne'er- 
 do-well sort of fashion, until we hear 
 
 " How Howleglas was hired of a priest. 
 
 " As Howleglas ran out of y e castel he came to a village 
 that was called Buddest, in the land of Brounswike. And 
 then came a priest to Howleglas, and hyred hym, but he 
 knew him not. The priest sayd to hym, that he should 
 have good dayes and eate and drinke the same meate that 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 329 
 
 he himselfe and his woman dyd, and al that should be 
 done with half the labour ; and than sayd Howleglas that 
 thereafter would he do his diligence. Then dressed the 
 priestes woman t(w)o chikins, and she bad Howlegas turne 
 (the spit), and so he dyd, and he loked up and saw that she 
 had but one iye, that whan the chikyns were (cooked) 
 enough, then he brake one of the chikins from the spit and 
 eate it without any bread, and when it was dener tyme, 
 came the woman unto y e kechin, where Howleglas turned, 
 and thought to take up the chikyns ; and whan she was 
 come, she founde no more there but one chikyn. Than 
 sayde she to Howleglas, where is the other chikyn : there 
 were two chykins ? Than answered he to her, lift up your 
 iye, and than shal you see the other chiken. Than was 
 the woman therewith angry, and knew well that Howleglas 
 mocked her, and than she ran to the priest and told him 
 howe she had dressed ii chykins, and whan she came to 
 take them up shee found but one, and than he mocked me 
 because I had but one iye : than went the priest to How- 
 leglas and said, whi mocke ye my woman ; there was ii 
 chikyns. Than answerd Howleglas and said that was 
 truth. I have said to the woman that she should open her 
 eyen, and she should se well where that other chekyn was 
 become. Than laughed the priest and sayd she cannot se, 
 she hath but one iye : than sayd Howleglas to the priest, 
 the one chykin have I eaten, for ye sayd that I shold eate 
 and drinke as well as you and your woman, and the one 
 
33 o ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 I eate for you, and the other I eate for your woman, for I 
 was afrayde that you should have synned, for the promise 
 that yc promysed me, and therefore I made mesure. 
 
 " Than sayd the priest, I care not for the chikens, but I 
 wold have you please my woman, and do after her. Then 
 sayd Howleglas, I do your commaundement ; and that y e 
 woman bad him do, he did but halfe, for she bad him 
 fetch a boket of water, and he went and brought it but 
 halfe full of water, and whan he shold brynge two logges, he 
 brought but one, and when he should geve the beastes two 
 botels of hay, he gave them but one, and when he should 
 fetch a pot full of bere, he brought it halfe full, and so did 
 he of many other things mo. 1 Than complayned she to 
 the priest of Howleglas again. Than sayd y e priest, I bad 
 that you should do as she bad you ; and Howleglas 
 answered, I have done as ye bad me, for ye said to me 
 that I should do al thing with halfe laboure. And your 
 woman would fayne se with both iyes ; but she seeth but 
 with one iye, and so do I half y e labour. And than the 
 priest laughed: and than said ye woman, wyl you have this 
 ungracious knave ani longer, then will I tarry no lenger 
 with you, but depart. 
 
 " Than gave the priest Howleglas leve to depart for his 
 woman's sake; but whan the paryshe clerke was dead of y e 
 village, than sent the priest for Howleglas, and holpe hyme 
 so muche that he was made the paryshe clerke." 
 
 1 More. 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 331 
 
 How he behaved himself in his new position we shall see 
 by the following. 
 
 "And than in the meane season while Howleglas was 
 paryshe clarke, at Easter they should play the resurrection 
 of our Lord ; and for because that the men wer not learned, 
 nor could not read, y e priest took his leman, 1 and put her 
 in the grave for an aungell, and this seeing, Howleglas toke 
 to hym ii of the symplest persons that were in the towne, 
 that plaied the iii maries, and the parson plaied Christe, 
 with a baner in his hand ; than saide Howleglas to the 
 symple persons, whan the aungel asketh you whome you 
 seke, you may saye, the parsones leman with one iye. 
 Than it fortuned that the tyme was come that thei must 
 playe, and the angell asked them whom they sought, and 
 then said they as Howleglas had shewed and lerned them 
 afore ; and than answered they, we seke the priest's leman 
 with one iye, and than the priest might heare that he was 
 mocked. 
 
 "And whan the priestes leman herd that, she arose out of 
 the grave and would have smyten, with her fist, Howleglas 
 upon the cheke, but she missed him, and smote one of the 
 simple persons that played one of the thre maries, and he 
 gave her another, and than toke she him by the heare, and 
 that seing his wyfe, came running hastely to smite the 
 priest's leman ; and then the priest seeing this, caste downe 
 hys baner, and went to helpe his woman, so that the one 
 
 1 Love. 
 
332 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 gave the other sore strokes, and made greate noyse in the 
 churche. And than Howleglas seyng them lyinge to- 
 gether by the eares in the bodi of the church, went his way 
 out of the village, and came no more there." 
 
 " How Howleglas made hole al the sicke folke that were 
 in the Hospitall, where the spere of our Lorde is. 
 
 " Upon a tyme Howleglas came to Northeborough, and 
 he set upon the churche dores and upon y e Guyld hal, and 
 every place that all the people in that towne myght knowe 
 that he was a great maister of Phisicke : that al sicke he 
 could make hoi. And than the maister of the spytle 
 house, where the spere of our lord is, had mani sicke 
 folkes in his house. Than went the maister of the hos- 
 pytall to Howleglas, and asked hym, yf he could helpe 
 sicke men, or lame men, and make them hole ; and he 
 would reward him after his owne pleasure. 
 
 " Then answered Howleglas to the maister of the hospitall, 
 wyl ye geve me ,C,C* golde gyledens, 1 and I shal recover 
 and make them hole of all the sickness and deases, 2 and 
 will have no money tyll all the sicke persons be delivered 
 out of the hospital. These wordes pleased the maister of 
 the hospitall veri wel. And he gave hym some money in 
 his hande. 
 
 " Upon y e morowe after came Howleglas to the hospital 
 with ii men after hym, and than he asked y e sicke folke, 
 
 x Guldens. 2 Diseases. 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 333 
 
 one after the other, what desease they had ; and whan he 
 hadde asked them all, than he made them swere upon a 
 booke that they should kepe his counsail whatsoever he 
 said to them. They answered that they would : than saide 
 Howleglas to them, I have undertaken to make you all 
 hole, whiche is unpossible, but I must nedes bren one of 
 you all to pouder : and then must I take the powder of 
 him, and geve all y e others to drinke thereof, with other 
 medicines that I shall minister therto. And he that is the 
 last, whan I shal cal you out of the hospitall, and he 
 cannot go, shal be he that shal be brenned. For on 
 Wednesday next coming, than shall I come before the 
 maister of the hospitall, and than shall I call, and he that 
 slepeth longest shall pay for al. 
 
 " Than prepared every one of y e sicke folke their crutches, 
 and gear, that they wold not be the laste. And whan 
 Howleglas was come to the maisters of y e hospitall, than 
 called he them, and than they ran out of the hospitall, and 
 some of them had not bene out of their bed in * yere 
 before. Than whan the sicke folke were out of the hos- 
 pital, then asked he his money, and than the maister gave 
 it him, and than he departed. 
 
 " And within iii daies after came again the poore men to 
 the hospital, and complained of their sicknes, and than the 
 maister of the hospital said to them, how cometh this to 
 passe. I gave y e maister of phisik a great summe of 
 money to make you hole. Than answered the poore folke, 
 
334 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 he hath deceyved you and us bothe, for foure dayes past he 
 came to every one of us, and sayd to us that he should 
 come on Wednisday next coming, and heale us, but he 
 sayd he must nedes first bren one of us, and sayd that 
 should be he that, when he shold cal, should be the last out 
 of hys bed, and the pouder of hym shold they drinke, and 
 be made hole therwith. Than knewe the maister of the 
 hospitall that he was deceyved and begyled, and than toke 
 he the poor folke into the hospitall, and put every one in 
 their bedde, as they were before, but he dyd all agaynst 
 his wyll." 
 
 Fraud and subtlety were the breath of his nostrils, and 
 he lived shiftily and by his wits, as the annexed example 
 will show. 
 
 " How Howleglas tooke upon him to be a painter. 1 
 " Than it fortuned that Howleglas myght no longer tary 
 in the land of Sassen for hys knavishenesse : than departed 
 he into the land of Hessen to Marchborough to the earle, 
 and he asked Howleglas what occapacion he was of ? 
 Then answered Howleglas, worshipfull lord I am a painter, 
 my cunning doth excell al other, for in no land is not so 
 cunning as I. Then answered y e erle, have you here any 
 ensample of your work ? Then answered Howleglas to 
 the erle, yes my lord. Then had he be(en) in Flaunders, 
 and brought with him divers ymages that pleased the 
 
 1 This story is wanting in both the British Museum copies, and I have 
 therefore taken it from Mr. Ouvry's reprint. 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 335 
 
 erle wonderfull well. Then sayd the earle to Howleglas, 
 Master, what shal I geve to you to take upon you to paint 
 upon the wal in my hal, al the lordes and knightes of my 
 progeny, from the fyrst unto y e last in y e goodlyest and 
 fayrest manner that ye can, with al the erles of Hessen 
 and their ladies with them, and how our forfathers were 
 married to ladies of straunge lands. And al this must you 
 cast that it may be upon the walls of my hall. 
 
 " Then answered Howleglas to the earle, worshipfull 
 lorde, if it please you that you wyll have all thys that you 
 have rehersed to me to be painted so costli and rychly as 
 you speake of, then would it cost, onely the colours that 
 should (be)long thereto, above iii + C+ golde geldens. Then 
 answered the earle to Howleglas and sayd make yt well, 
 and in the best maner, that you and we twaine shal agree 
 after the beste maner. And also I shall doo you a greater 
 pleasure than all that come thereto. And then toke 
 Howleglas the woorke upon hym, but he sayd to the lorde, 
 that he must nedes have an ,C> gildens, in earnest to bi the 
 colours that belonged thereto, and for his men's wages. 
 And then bad the earle the rent maister geve to Howle- 
 glas an <.C. geldens, and so he did. 
 
 " Then went Howleglas and gat him thre felowes, and 
 then came he again to the earle and asked him a bone 
 before he began to worke ; and y e erle graunted him, and 
 then he did aske of the earle, that there should no person 
 be so hardy to come into the hall to trouble him and his 
 
33 6 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 workemen, without they aske hym lycence. And the 
 erle granted his desire : and than went Howleglas into the 
 hal with his servauntes, and whan he and they were in the 
 hall, Howleglas set a paire of tables x before them, and he 
 bad them play, but he made them before to sweare that 
 they shoulde not bewraye him ; and the felowes had good 
 pastime, wherewyth they were wel content, and glad that 
 they might have meat, drinke, and cloth, and doo no other 
 thinge, but play and passe the time in that maner. And 
 Howleglas did no other thinge, but hang a white cloth 
 before y e wall. That done, he came and plaied with hys 
 servauntes. In the meane time longed the earle greatly to 
 see his worke, if it was so goodly as the copy was, and to 
 se if the coloures were good, and so he departed and came 
 to Howleglas and said : Good maister painter, I pray you 
 let me go with you to se your worke. Then said How- 
 leglas to the lord, worshipfull lord, before that you see mi 
 worke, I must shew to you one thinge. He, the which is 
 not borne in wedlocke, may not see my painting. Then 
 sayd the erle, that wer a merveylous thinge. 
 
 " And then went he with Howleglas into the hall, and 
 there had he hanged up a white cloth (over) that he should 
 have painted. And he had in his hande a whit rod, and 
 he did awaye (with) the cloth that hanged upon y e wal, 
 and pointed upon the wall with his whit rode, and shewed 
 the erle that that was the first lord of y e land and erle of 
 
 1 For draughts or backgammon. 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 
 
 337 
 
 Hessen. And this is y e erle of Rome, he had a wife that 
 they called lustine, the Duke's doughter of Benem. And 
 after that he was made Emperour. And of y e daughter of 
 him came Adulphus. And of Adulphus came William 
 the swarte. 1 And this William had one Lewis, so forthe to 
 your noble grace. And I know well that there is no 
 parson livinge that can deprove my workes, so cureously 
 have I made, and with faire colours ; but the Lord saw no 
 worke, but y e plain wal. 
 
 " Then thought he in his minde, am I a bastard I see 
 nothing but the whit wal. And for because that he would 
 not be knowen for a bastard, he said to Howleglas, maister, 
 your woorke pleaseth me merveylously well, but my 
 understandinge is very small therein. And with that he 
 went out of the hall, and came to his wife, and she asked 
 him how that worke did please him ? he said I have 
 shrewed 2 trust in him. Than said the erle, I like it well, 
 shall it please you to looke theron, and she graunted. And 
 then she desyred Howleglas that she might see his worke, 
 and he graunted her, and then sayd unto her secretly, as 
 he had sayd before to her lorde, and showed her the lordes 
 upon the wal with the white rod in his hande ; as he did 
 to the lord, and there stode one folishe gentilwoman with 
 the lady, and she said, that she saw no painting on the 
 wall, and the other spake not one worde. And then 
 thought Howleglas, wyl this foole tel truthe : then must I 
 
 1 Swarthy, or dark. 2 Sure faith. 
 
 23 
 
338 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 needes depart. Then hanged he up the white cloth, and 
 so departed the lady. 
 
 " And when she was come to her lord, he asked her how 
 she lyketh the worke she sayd ; how that it liketh me, it 
 liketh not my folish gentlewoman, and she sayd that some 
 of her gentle women say that it was but deceyte, and so 
 thought the lord ; then sayde the lord to Howleglas, that 
 he should make redy his worke that he and his lords 
 might se it tomorow, that he might know which of them 
 were borne in wedlocke and which were not, for he that is 
 not borne in wedlocke, al his land is forfet to me. Then 
 answered Howleglas, I wyll do it with a good wyl. Then 
 went he to the rent maister, and received of him a <t. gold 
 gildens. 
 
 " And when he had received the mony, he sayde to his 
 servaunts, Now must we all departe, and gave them mony, 
 of the which they were contente, and so departed. Then, 
 on the morow came the earle with his lordes into the hall, 
 and they asked wher the maister painter was, and his 
 company, for he sayd he would see the worke. Then 
 turned he up the cloth, and asked them if they sawe any 
 worke, and they sayde nay. Then sayd the erle, we be 
 deceived. He sayd we have sore longed to se Howleglas, 
 and nowe he hath begyled us, but it maketh no great 
 mater for the mony. But let us banishe him from our 
 land for a begiler of people, and so they did. And so 
 departed the earle with hys lordes." 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 339 
 
 41 How Howleglas won a pece of clothe of a man 
 of the countrey. 
 
 " Howleglas would ever fare wel, and make good chere, 
 but he woulde not worke. Then on a time came he to 
 Olsem, to a goodly company of men of that countrey. 
 And as he walked, he espyed one man alone with a grene 
 cloth on hys arme ; then ymagyned he in his minde, how 
 that he might get y e clothe. So he came to him, and he 
 asked him wher he was dwellyng. And then the husband- 
 man tolde him ; and than departed Howleglas from him 
 and continentli x he met with a Shottish 2 priest, and 
 another knave, and he sayd to them, I desyre you to helpe 
 me, and I shall geve you for your labour, and they sayd 
 they wold. Than said Howleglas, whan I call you to 
 recorde to know what colour yonder cloth is ye shall say 
 blewe. I wil go before, and come [ye] after. Than went 
 he to the husbandman, and he asked him how he sold his 
 blewe cloth. Than sayde the husbandman, that it was grene 
 and not blewe. I hold *r* gildens against thy cloth, that 
 it is blewe : than saide the husbandman I holde you. It is 
 done sayde Howleglas, and the first man that comes hereby, 
 shall be the judge thereto : agreed, sayd the husbandman. 
 
 " Than made Howleglas a sygne to the men, that he had 
 hired, and they came. Than sayde the husbandman, we 
 two strive what colour this cloth is, I pray you breke our 
 stryfe. Than the felow saide it is fayre blew cloth ; than 
 
 1 Soon. a Scotch. 
 
340 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 said y e husbandman, man, ye be too false for me to medle 
 with, for it is made betwyxt you two to deceyve me. Than 
 sayde Howleglas, cause that ye saye we be agree, let hym 
 go ; here cometh a priest, wil ye be contented what he 
 sayeth : and the man of the countre sayde yes. Than 
 came the priest by : than sayd Howleglas, I praye you to 
 tel us what colour this cloth is ? The priest sayd, ye se 
 wel ynough, what nede you to aske me. The husbandman 
 sayd, I know the colour of the cloth wel ynough, but these 
 two men say it is an other colour, and therefore we stryve. 
 Than sayde the priest, what have I to do with your 
 stryving ? Than sayde the husbandman, I pray you syr, 
 departe us of our stryving. Than sayde the priest, I can 
 se no other, but that it is a fayre blewe. And than sayd 
 the husbandman, and ye were not a priest, in fayth ye did 
 lye, for ye be thre false men : but sythen ye be a priest I 
 must beleve you. And then gave he Howleglas the cloth, 
 and wente his waye. Than did Howleglas with his ii 
 felowes clothe themselves with the husbandman's cloth 
 againste the wynter. But the good poore man prayed to 
 God many a tyme and ofte, that the devill might take 
 them al thre, for the poore man was then worse all the 
 dayes of hys lyfe after that great losse." 
 
 " Howe Howleglas gave *. gyldens to iu poore 
 
 men for christes love. 
 "On a time came Howleglas to Hanover, where he did 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 341 
 
 many vertuous thinges. On a time rode Howleglas 
 without the towne, and as he rode he met with JHU blinde 
 men to whom he saide, whether wil ye go ? The blinde 
 men hering that he was on horseback they put off their 
 cappes, for they wende * that he had beare a great gentle- 
 man, and saide, we have bene at a doole 2 of a ryche man, 
 that died yesterdai in the town. Than sayd Howleglas, I 
 take gret thought for you, how you shall do this winter, 
 for methink you shall frese to death, before the winter be 
 done. And than he sayde, holde, here is +%%. gildens, and 
 returne agayne all you to the place where that I was 
 lodged, and he named his host, and he bad them make 
 good chere til winter were done. 
 
 " And than they thanked hym, for they thought that 
 he had geven them moni, but he did not. And then 
 departed they to the place whither he sent them, and 
 they thought that some of the company had the mony. 
 And whan they came to the Inne, they said to the 
 hostise that, by the way as they went, thei met with 
 a good man that gave them j;;r<. gildens for god's 
 sake, and he bad us come hither, and make good chere 
 therefore, for he sayd that he had bene lodged here, and 
 for his sake we shold have good chere. Whan the hoste 
 herde that they had mony, he toke them in, and made 
 them good chere. 
 
 "And whan that their 4 ;c, gildens were spent, than said 
 
 1 Weened, thought or imagined. , . 2 Mourning. 
 
342 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 the hoste to them. Nowe will ye reken, good brethren, 
 for now the ** gildens be spent. The blynd men sayd, 
 we be contented to pay you, and than spake one of the 
 blinde men, and sayd, He that hath twenty gildens pay our 
 hoste. And than said the one to the other, I have not the 
 gyldens ; Nor I have not the twenty gyldens. And 
 than some sate and clawed their head, and some clawed 
 their arme. And than they knew that they were deceyved. 
 Than thought the hoste in hys mynde, what shall I do 
 with them ? Shall I let them go that they spend me no 
 more mony ? Nay, not so. Than shut he the blind men 
 in the stable, and brought to them hay and strawe. 
 
 And whan that Howleglas thought that al the mony 
 was spent, than came he ryding in to the same Inne where 
 the blynde men were, and he had chaunged hys clothyng 
 that they should not knowe hym, and so entred into the 
 Inne where the blynd men were, and he led his horse into 
 the stable wher the pore men were. And (when) he had 
 set up his horse, he came to his hoste, and asked his hoste 
 wherfore he had kept the blynd men in the stable, so fast 
 shut in. And he asked him what harme they had done to 
 hym. Than sayd the hoste, I would that they were 
 together in the water so that I had my costes payde me, 
 and than he tolde him all the matter. And than sayde 
 Howleglas. And you had a borowe, 1 would you lette 
 them goo. And the hoste sayde yes, with a good wyll. 
 
 1 If you had a surety. 
 
HO WLEGLAS. 343 
 
 Than sayde Howleglas, I wyll go see if I can finde any 
 borowe for them. 
 
 "Then went he to the Curate of the churche and sayde, 
 Maister parson, I have an hoste that this night was taken 
 with the fencle ; * I desyre you for to helpe hym. The 
 Curate saide, with a good wyll, but you must tary two or 
 thre daies for it maye not be done in haste. Well, sayde 
 Howleglas, that is well saide, but I will go fetche his wife, 
 that she may here what you say. And y e priest said I 
 shall tel to her the same that I told to you without fayle. 
 And than went Howleglas home to his hoste, and he tolde 
 hym that he had founde a borow, and that it was the 
 parsone of the churche, and let your wyfe go with me, and 
 she shall here him speke y e same that he hath sayde to me, 
 and than was his hoste glad and he sende his wife with 
 Howleglas, to the Curate. And whan they were come to 
 the Curate, Howleglas said to him, Maister parsone here is 
 the wyfe of the man, that I spake of to you, now tell her 
 the same that you have said to me. And the curate sayd, 
 with a good wil : than said he to the woman, tary a daye or 
 two, and I shall helpe your husbande well. And than was 
 the woman glad, and returned home agayne withe How- 
 leglas, and whan she came home, she told her husband 
 what the curate sayd, whereof the hoste was glad, and he 
 went unto the stable, and let the blynde men lose and 
 they went their way. 
 
 1 Possessed by the devil. 
 
344 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 " And than Howleglas reckned with his hoste, and so 
 departed from thence ; and whan the thyrd day came, than 
 went the woman to the priest, and she asked him twente 
 gildens that the blynde men had spende. The curate 
 asked her, hath your husbande that y e told to me ? x And 
 the woman said no. Than said the Curate, that is the false 
 devil that wold have the mony. Than saide she, what 
 false devill menest thou ? Geve me mi moni for my costes. 
 Than saide the curate to the woman, it was tolde me that 
 your husbande was taken with y e false devyll ; brynge him 
 hether, and I shall helpe hym thereof by the grace of god. 
 Than sayd the woman to y e priest, suche begylers fynde 
 I many. Now you should pay me for my costes ; you 
 bring to me a back rekening, and you say my husband is 
 taken with the devyll, and that you shall know shortly. 
 And than she ran to her husbande, and tolde hym how the 
 priest said to her. 
 
 " And whan the hoste heard those wordes, he was angry, 
 and toke the spit with the rost that lai at the fyre, and ran 
 to the priestes charribre; And whan the curate spyed him 
 he was afrayde, and called the neighbours to help him, and 
 fie made a signe df : the noly crosse before him, and he 
 cryed for help to take that man that was so beset : with the 
 devil. Than sayd the tioste, thou priest pay me my mony, 
 and the priest gave hynv no aunswere. Than 'would the 
 hoste have run thorow him with the hote spyt, but .the 
 
 1 He meant, is he possessed with the devil ? 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 345 
 
 neyghbours went betwene them and departed them, and 
 they helde the hoste stil with gret payne from maister 
 parsone. But as long as the hoste lived, he asked his 
 mony of the priest, for the costes of the blynde men, but 
 the priest aunswered to him that he ought him nought, and 
 nought he would pay him, but sayd, and you be taken with 
 a devyll, I shall helpe you therof. But never after, loved 
 one the other." 
 
 " How Howleglas scared his hoste with 
 a dead woulfe. 
 
 " In Ysetleven dwelled an Inneholder that was very 
 spyteful and mockying, and he praysed greatly his bold- 
 nesse. Upon a tyme, it befell in the winter season, when 
 there had been a great snow, Howleglas came riding with 
 other thre merchauntes from Sasson to Ysetleven, and it 
 was very late or they came there ; and when they were 
 come, they entred into the Inne that the man kept. 
 Than sayde their hoste angerly, wher have you ben so late, 
 it is no time now to take your Inne. Than they aunswered, 
 Be ye not angry, for we have been hounted with a woulfe 
 in the snow, we could not scape till nowe. Than the hoste 
 mocked them because they iiii were huntying pf one 
 woulf, and said, if there came x woulfes to me in y e field, 
 I wold have slayne them everichone, and mocked y e 
 marchauntes tyl they went to bed. And Howleglas sate 
 
346 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 by the fyre and herde a! together. Than should they go 
 to bed. 
 
 " And it fortuned that Howleglas and the marchaunts 
 should lye in one chambre. And when they ware in the 
 chambre together, they toke counsayl together how they 
 myght stop their hoste of his mocking. Then sayde 
 Howleglas, our hoste is full of mocking; let me alone, 
 I shall pay him well ynough that he shall not mocke us no 
 more. Than promysed the marchauntes to Howleglas to 
 pay all his costes, and geve hym more monye for his 
 labour. Than sayde Howleglas, do your Journey and 
 busynesse of your marchaundise, and whan ye have (done) 
 it, come agayne and lodge at this Inne, and ye shal fynde 
 me here, and then we shal make our host that he shal 
 mocke no more. And than arose ye marchauntes in the 
 morning, and payed hym for their costes, and Howleglas 
 also. Than they took their horses and departed from 
 thence. And whan they were paste a lytle, he cryed to 
 the marchauntes, take hede that the woulfe byte you not, 
 in mockage. They thanked their hoste because he gave 
 them warning before. 
 
 " And, as they rode, Howleglas found a woulfe that was 
 frozen to y e deth, and that he toke up, and put in a bagge, 
 and layd it before him, and than they retourned agayne to 
 Ysetleven, to that Inne wrier they were lodged before. 
 And he kept the woulf so close that no man knew 
 therof. And whan the nyght was come and that they sat 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 347 
 
 all at supper, than the hoste began to laugh at them, and 
 he resoned against their hardines and against the woulfe. 
 Than sayd they, so it fortuned at that time, you said that 
 you would slay x woulfes, but first I wold se you kyl one. 
 And then said y e hoste that should I do alone. And thus 
 they rested tyl they went to bedde. 
 
 " And Howleglas helde his peace, tyll that he and the 
 marchauntes went above, all together in the chambre. And 
 than sayd Howleglas to ye marchauntes, Let me nowe 
 begyn to worke, and wake you a lytle whyle. And than 
 when the hoste and all his folke were a slepe, than wente 
 he pryvely into the chambre, and he fetched the ded woulf 
 that was styffe frosen, and dressed him with stickes, and put 
 two chyldrens shoen in his mouth, and made him stand as 
 though he had ben a live. And then left he y e woulf 
 standing in the hal, and he came againe into the chambre 
 to y e marchauntes, and when he was above, he and y e 
 marchauntes called their hoste. And their hoste asked 
 them what they would have. Than aunswered they to 
 him, that they would have some drynke, for they had so 
 gret thyrste that they must nedes drynke. Let your mayd 
 or man brynge us some, and we wyll paye for it tomorowe. 
 Then waxed the hoste angrye and sayd, This is the Sasson's 
 maner, for to drynke both daye .and nyght. And than he 
 called his mayd, and bad her that she should geve the 
 merchauntes drinke. 
 
 " And than the mayde rose, and as she went to lyght a 
 
34 8 ROMANCES OP CHIVALR K 
 
 candel, she saw the woulf with ii shoen in his mouth. 
 Than she was afrayd, and ran to the gardeyn, for she 
 thought that he had eaten both the chyldren ; than called 
 they agayne. Than called the hoste his man, and bad him 
 rise and bere the Sassons drynke. Than arose he, and 
 lyghted a candle, for he wened that the mayde had slept 
 still. Then looked he asyde and sawe the woulfe stande, 
 (and) he was afrayd, and he thought that the woulfe had 
 eaten the mayde, and let fal the candle, and ran into y e 
 seller. 
 
 " Than called Howleglas and the marchauntes the third 
 time, and prayed that he himself would bring them some 
 drinke, for they sayde there came no bodye, or else geve 
 them a candle and they wold drawe it themselfes. Than 
 arose the hoste hymselfe, for he wend that his man and 
 his mayde were fallen aslepe agayn, and than lyghted he a 
 candle, and whan that he had done he loked asyde and 
 spyed the woulfe : and he was so afrayde that he fel unto 
 the ground, and than arose he and cryed to the mar- 
 chauntes, and he prayed them for to come helpe him, for 
 there was a woulf, that had eaten both his man and his 
 mayde. And this herde the mayde in the gardeyn and 
 the man in the seller, and come to helpe their maister, and 
 the marchauntes also. And Howleglas laughed at this 
 hardy man, that woulde have slayne ten woulfes, and he was 
 made afraide of one deade woulfe. And whan theyr hoste 
 saw that it was clone in mockage, than was he ashamed, 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 349 
 
 and he xvyste not what to say. And than left he his 
 bostying and jestying, and went to bed againe. And on 
 the morow it was knowen through the towne, wherof the 
 hoste was sore ashamed. And than in the morning arose 
 the marchauntes and paied their costes, and Howleglas 
 also, and rode their way. And than never after praysed 
 the hoste his manhode." 
 
 As in life he was mischievous, so was he in his exit from 
 this world ; vide , 
 
 " How Howleglas made his testament 
 
 " In the meane time waxed Howleglas sycker and sicker. 
 Than he called for y e lordes to make his testamente. And 
 whan they were come he gave his grodes in iii partes. 
 One parte to his kynsfolke, another to the lordes of Molen, 
 and the other to the parson of Molen whensover he died. 
 And he asked to be buried in christen mans buriall, and 
 to syng for hys soule, Placebo z and Dirig, with masses and 
 other good servyces, after the custome and usans. 
 
 " And than he shewed to them a great chest that was wel 
 barred with yron, and foure keyes therto belonging, and he 
 told unto them that in this chest was all his goods, and 
 than he gave the cheste to them to kepe, that were right 
 heavy for him. And than within a moneth after his death, 
 than the foure should take the keyes therof, and deale all 
 
 1 Two Antiphons in the Roman Catholic Officium Defiinctortim. 
 4 4 Placebo Domino in regione vivorum " is sung at Vespers, and " Dirige 
 Domine Deus meus, in conspectu tuo viam meam," at Matins. 
 
350 ROMANCES OF CHIVALRY. 
 
 the money for his soule. And within a whyle after he 
 departed. 
 
 " And whan he was dead, they wound hym in a wynding 
 shete, and after in a coffyn, and after on a here. Than 
 came the pryestes and feched hym to church, and sung for 
 him Placebo and Dirig. And in the meane time came in 
 a sow with her pygges, and went under the here, for she 
 had founde the taste of dead flesshe, and with her nose 
 she cast down the here, whereof the priestes and clerkes 
 wer afrayde ; and (when) they sawe that it was downe, 
 than they ran so fast that eche fell on others necke, for the 
 thought that he had bene rysen agayne, and so they lefte 
 hym there. And than the systers of a nonnery took the 
 corse, and brought to grave and buried it. And whan 
 a moneth was past, than came the thre parties for to unlocke 
 the cheste, and for to deale the money for his soule. And 
 whan that they had opened the cheste, they founde no 
 other but stones therin. 
 
 " Than they woundered therof, and the one looked on the 
 other, and the parson wened that the lordes had had the 
 money because they had the chest in kepinge. And the 
 lordes wened that his frendes had opened the cheste and 
 taken out the tresure, and put in stones the whyle that he 
 was sycke, and so to have shut the cheste agayne. And 
 his frendes wende that the curate had conveied the tresure 
 whan that he confessed hym. And than in a gret anger 
 they departed fro thence, for at the last they knew that it 
 
HOWLEGLAS. 351 
 
 was he that had done it for to mocke them. And after 
 that the lordes and the curate agreed together agayne, and 
 so to bury hym under the galowes. And so they dyd. 
 And, as they were delvinge of his grave, he stanke so sore 
 that they could not abide y e ayre therof. And so they 
 covered hym wyth earth agayne, and lete hym lye styll, 
 and so they departed." 
 
Adommage : hurt. 
 
 Advertyse : to acquaint. 
 
 Agayn : opposite, right before. 
 
 Almayne : Germany. 
 
 Almesses : alms. 
 
 Ancresse : a female hermit. 
 
 Apas : apace, quickly. 
 
 Appayre : damage. 
 
 Apyered : sticking out, projecting. 
 
 Arbelstre : an arbelast or cross- 
 bow. 
 
 Auctowne : an Haqueton or quilted 
 waistcoat, worn under the coat 
 of mail. 
 
 Aunker : an anchorite or hermit. 
 
 Bable : talk. 
 
 Basse stone : window sill. 
 
 Bayne : hurt, injury. 
 
 Be : been. 
 
 Beforne : before. 
 
 Bende : to bow to circumstances. 
 
 Bewreke : avenge. 
 
 Blive : quickly. 
 
 Boone : bone. 
 
 Borowe : a burgh or town. 
 
 Borowe : a pledge, surety. 
 
 Borowe : to avail. 
 
 Bote : beat. 
 
 Braste : broke, burst. 
 
 Brere : underwood, briar. 
 
 Browded : embroidered. 
 
 Bruled : burnt. 
 
 Carfull : full of care. 
 
 Chaffed : angry, chafed. 
 
 Chyk : cheek. 
 
 Cleve : to open or rend asunder. 
 
 Clockarde : probably hand bells. 
 
 Clypping, or cleping : embracing. 
 
 Comite : county, district. 
 
 Conned : knew. 
 
 Continentli or incontinent : soon. 
 
 Damyse : damson. 
 Dede : caused. 
 Devoure : devoir or duty. 
 Dey : die. 
 
 24 
 
354 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Did on : put on. 
 
 Digne : worthy. 
 
 Do : to cause. 
 
 Dolaunt : sorrowful. 
 
 Doleur : grief. 
 
 Doo : done. 
 
 Doole : mourning. 
 
 Doon : caused. 
 
 Dormound : a dromond or armed 
 
 vessel. 
 
 Doughty e : brave. 
 Dowcemere : a dulcimer. 
 Down-tere : to make long gashes. 
 Dradde : fear. 
 Dyghte : clad. 
 Dynt : stroke. 
 
 Echone : each, or every one. 
 Eerys : ears. 
 Erre : erst, before. 
 Eyen : eyes. 
 Eyled : ailed. 
 
 Fane : a weather-cock. 
 
 Fayne : glad. 
 
 Faytte : fact. 
 
 Fe or fee : property. 
 
 Flaugh : flew. 
 
 Fode : food. 
 
 Fonde : a token of affection, kind- 
 ness. 
 
 For : sometimes used instead of 
 from. 
 
 Foyson : a company, troop. 
 
 Fro : from. 
 
 Gent : gentle or soft. 
 Gentry : birth and breeding. 
 
 Getron : a musical instrument ; a 
 
 gittern or zithern. 
 Glede : a red-hot coal. 
 Glytte : to slide. 
 Grome : a man. 
 Gyledens : guldens. Flemish gold 
 
 coins. 
 Gynnes : fastenings. 
 
 Hallowes : saints. 
 Happe : luck. 
 Harde : hardy, bold. 
 Heded : beheaded. 
 Hende : gentle, polite. 
 Hente : hold, clasped. 
 Hette : hit. 
 Herborow : to reside. 
 Might : called. 
 Hole : whole. 
 
 Jurney : a day's work. 
 
 Kene : earnest, bold. 
 
 Kerle : ceorl or churl, a labourer. 
 
 Kerved : carved. 
 
 Kest : cast. 
 
 Kette : cut. 
 
 Knave : a man servant. 
 
 Lavorocke : a lark. 
 Lawe : hung. 
 Layne : delay. 
 Leasynge : lying. 
 Leeven : believe. 
 Lened : behindhand. 
 Lemman or leman : a lover. 
 Lente : to remain. 
 Lepe : to spring. 
 
GLOSSARY. 
 
 355 
 
 Lese : to lose. 
 
 Lese : lies. 
 
 Lore : lost. 
 
 Lough : laugh. 
 
 Lowe : a bright fire. 
 
 Lynee : lineage, family, or race. 
 
 Malison : a curse. 
 Manded : warned or bidden. 
 Maser tree : a hard-wood tree. 
 Mavis : the singing thrush. 
 Mawmetry : idolatry, from mammet 
 
 an idol, puppet, or doll. 
 Maye : a maid. 
 Mede or meede : reward. 
 Messe : missing. 
 Meyne : servants, followers. 
 Misculyne : a mixed metal. 
 Mo or mowe : more. 
 Mued : changed, transformed. 
 Musarde : a dreamer. 
 
 Naked : unarmed. 
 
 Ne : nor. 
 
 Noie : annoy, hurt, injure. 
 
 Nolde : would not. 
 
 Nuthake : the nuthatch. 
 
 On hye : loudly. 
 
 On live : alive. 
 
 Osyll : the ousel or blackbird. 
 
 Ottroye : give, utter. 
 
 Owche : a brooch. 
 
 Owe : ought. 
 
 Palfrener : a groom. 
 Pallade : a rich kind of cloth. 
 Parements : furniture. 
 
 Passed : surpassed. 
 Pautenere : a purse or pocket. 
 Pease : appease, quiet. 
 Pesaunt : heavy. 
 
 Penseful : pensive, full of thought. 
 Perde : par Dieu, by God. 
 Perfay : par foi y i* faith. 
 Playned : played with. 
 Popinjay : a parrot. 
 Price or Pryce : a prize. 
 Purfled : trimmed or edged. 
 Pyany : peony. 
 
 Rayed : dressed, arrayed. 
 Reck : to care about. 
 Record : a kind of flageolet. 
 Rede : to counsel, advise. 
 Relessed : relieved. 
 Rewfull : rueful. 
 Ribible : a kind of fiddle. 
 Roche : a rock. 
 Rood : a cross, crucifix. 
 Rote : a sort of cymbal. 
 Ruddocke : a robin. 
 Ruth : compassion, pity. 
 
 Salevved : saluted. 
 
 Sayne : say. 
 
 Seckerly : securely, surely. 
 
 Semblable : similar. 
 
 Semblaunt : resemblance, image. 
 
 Sered : enbalmed. 
 
 Shene : shining. 
 
 Shever : a slice. 
 
 Shrewed : sure. 
 
 Sith : since. 
 
 Slo or sle : to kill. 
 
 Sometime : formerly. 
 
356 
 
 GLOSSARY. 
 
 Sowned : swooned, fainted. 
 
 Sperhauk : a sparrow-hawk. 
 
 Spert : sudden. 
 
 Stercke : stark, stiff. 
 
 Sterte or start : leap down, alight. 
 
 Stonde : hurriedly. 
 
 Stounde : a little while. 
 
 Stounds : pains. 
 
 Sue : to follow, pursue. 
 
 Surrie : Syria. 
 
 Swarte : swarthy or dark. 
 
 Syde : aside. 
 
 Tables : draught or backgammon 
 
 boards. 
 The : they. 
 Tho : then. 
 Thrustle : a thrush. 
 To : sometimes used instead of as. 
 To fore : towards. 
 Tonne : a barrel or large cask. 
 Toth : a tooth. 
 Tre : wood. 
 Tyll : thereof. 
 Tyres : attire, dress. 
 
 Uneathes : unfit, unwieldy. 
 
 Vavasour : a vassal. 
 Voyded : emptied. 
 Vylayne : villein, a labourer. 
 
 Waloping : galoping. 
 Wate : to lie in wait. 
 Welde : govern. 
 Wened : ween or fancy. 
 Wete : to know. 
 Whom : home. 
 Witted : twitted. 
 Wone : plenty, quantity. 
 Woode or wode : mad. 
 Woodwele : a woodpecker. 
 Worthied : was worth. 
 Wyght : active. 
 Wytte or wit : to know. 
 
 Ye : yea, yes. 
 
 Yede or yode : went. 
 
 Ywis : I think. 
 
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