So perished the dragon of the Lieue de Greve, and so was proved the superiority of prayer over human strength and valour. St Efflam and his men settled on the spot as hermits, and were miraculously fed by angels. Efflam's wife, Enora, was borne to him by angels in that place, only to die when she had joined him. And when they came to tell Efflam that his new-found lady was no more and was lying cold in the cell he had provided for her, their news fell on deaf ears, for he too had pa.s.sed away. He is buried in Plestin Church, and his effigy, standing triumphant above an open-mouthed dragon, graces one of its many niches.

_The Isle of Avalon_

The Bretons believe that an island off Tregastel, on the coast of the department of Cotes-du-Nord, is the fabled Isle of Avalon to which King Arthur, sore wounded after his last battle, was borne to be healed of his hurts. With straining eyes the fisherman watches the mist-wrapped islet, and, peering through the evening haze, cheats himself into the belief that giant forms are moving upon its sh.o.r.es and that spectral shapes flit across its sands--that the dark hours bring back the activities of the attendant knights and enchantresses of the mighty hero of Celtdom, who, refreshed by his long repose, will one day return to the world of men and right the great wrongs which afflict humanity.

FOOTNOTES:

[54] _The Flourishing of Romance and the Rise of Allegory_, p. 135.

[55] No matter.

[56] _I.e._ had the best knowledge of medicine. _Couthe_, from A.S.

_cunnan_ to know.

[57] Swinburne, _Tristram of Lyonesse_.

[58] This incident is common in Celtic romance, and seems to have been widely used in nearly all medieval literatures.

[59] See Rev. Sir G. W. c.o.x, _Introduction to Mythology_, p. 326 ff.

[60] See Zimmer, _Zeitschrift fur Franzosische Sprache und Literatur_, xii, pp. 106 ff.

CHAPTER XI: THE BRETON LAYS OF MARIE DE FRANCE

The wonderful _Lais_ of Marie de France must ever hold a deep interest for all students of Breton lore, for though cast in the literary mould of Norman-French and breathing the spirit of Norman chivalry those of them which deal with Brittany (as do most of them) exhibit such evident marks of having been drawn from native Breton sources that we may regard them as among the most valuable doc.u.ments extant for the study and consideration of Armorican story.

Of the personal history of Marie de France very little is known. The date and place of her birth are still matters for conjecture, and until comparatively recent times literary antiquaries were doubtful even as to which century she flourished in. In the epilogue to her _Fables_ she states that she is a native of the Ile-de-France, but despite this she is believed to have been of Norman origin, and also to have lived the greater part of her life in England. Her work, which holds few suggestions of Anglo-Norman forms of thought or expression, was written in a literary dialect that in all likelihood was widely estranged from the common Norman tongue, and from this (though the ma.n.u.scripts in which they are preserved are dated later) we may judge her poems to have been composed in the second half of the twelfth century. The prologue of her _Lais_ contains a dedication to some unnamed king, and her _Fables_ are inscribed to a certain Count William, circ.u.mstances which are held by some to prove that she was of n.o.ble origin and not merely a _trouvere_ from necessity.

Until M. Gaston Paris decided that this mysterious king was Henry II of England, and that the 'Count William' was Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, Henry's natural son by the 'Fair Rosamond,' the mysterious monarch was believed to be Henry III. It is highly probable that the _Lais_ were actually written at the Court of Henry II, though the 'King' of the flowery prologue is hardly reconcilable with the stern ruler and law-maker of history. Be that as it may, Marie's poems achieved instant success. "Her rhyme is loved everywhere," says Denis Pyramus, the author of a life of St Edmund the King; "for counts, barons, and knights greatly admire it and hold it dear. And they love her writing so much, and take such pleasure in it, that they have it read, and often copied. These Lays are wont to please ladies, who listen to them with delight, for they are after their own hearts."

This fame and its attendant adulation were very sweet to Marie, and she was justly proud of her work, which, inspired, as she herself distinctly states, by the lays she had heard Breton minstrels sing, has, because of its vivid colouring and human appeal, survived the pa.s.sing of seven hundred years. The scenes of the tales are laid in Brittany, and we are probably correct in regarding them as culled from original traditional material. As we proceed with the telling of these ancient stories we shall endeavour to point out the essentially Breton elements they have retained.

_The Lay of the Were-Wolf_

In the long ago there dwelt in Brittany a worshipful baron, for whom the king of that land had a warm affection, and who was happy in the esteem of his peers and the love of his beautiful wife.

One only grief had his wife in her married life, and that was the mysterious absence of her husband for three days in every week. Where he disappeared to neither she nor any member of her household knew.

These excursions preyed upon her mind, so that at last she resolved to challenge him regarding them.

"Husband," she said to him pleadingly one day after he had just returned from one of these absences, "I have something to ask of you, but I fear that my request may vex you, and for this reason I hesitate to make it."

The baron took her in his arms and, kissing her tenderly, bade her state her request, which he a.s.sured her would by no means vex him.

"It is this," she said, "that you will trust me sufficiently to tell me where you spend those days when you are absent from me. So fearful have I become regarding these withdrawals and all the mystery that enshrouds them that I know neither rest nor comfort; indeed, so distraught am I at times that I feel I shall die for very anxiety. Oh, husband, tell me where you go and why you tarry so long!"

In great agitation the husband put his wife away from him, not daring to meet the glance of her imploring, anxious eyes.

"For the mercy of G.o.d, do not ask this of me," he besought her. "No good could come of your knowing, only great and terrible evil.

Knowledge would mean the death of your love for me, and my everlasting desolation."

"You are jesting with me, husband," she replied; "but it is a cruel jest. I am all seriousness, I do a.s.sure you. Peace of mind can never be mine until my question is fully answered."

But the baron, still greatly perturbed, remained firm. He could not tell her, and she must rest content with that. The lady, however, continued to plead, sometimes with tenderness, more often with tears and heart-piercing reproaches, until at length the baron, trusting to her love, decided to tell her his secret.

"I have to leave you because periodically I become a bisclaveret," he said. ('Bisclaveret' is the Breton name for were-wolf.) "I hide myself in the depths of the forest, live on wild animals and roots, and go unclad as any beast of the field."

When the lady had recovered from the horror of this disclosure and had rallied her senses to her aid, she turned to him again, determined at any cost to learn all the circ.u.mstances connected with this terrible transformation.

"You know that I love you better than all the world, my husband," she began; "that never in our life together have I done aught to forfeit your love or your trust. So do, I beseech you, tell me all--tell me where you hide your clothing before you become a were-wolf?"

"That I dare not do, dear wife," he replied, "for if I should lose my raiment or even be seen quitting it I must remain a were-wolf so long as I live. Never again could I become a man unless my garments were restored to me."

"Then you no longer trust me, no longer love me?" she cried. "Alas, alas that I have forfeited your confidence! Oh that I should live to see such a day!"

Her weeping broke out afresh, this time more piteously than before.

The baron, deeply touched, and willing by any means to alleviate her distress, at last divulged the vital secret which he had held from her so long.

But from that hour his wife cast about for ways and means to rid herself of her strange husband, of whom she now went in exceeding fear. In course of time she remembered a knight of that country who had long sought her love, but whom she had repulsed. To him she appealed, and right gladly and willingly he pledged himself to aid her. She showed him where her lord concealed his clothing, and begged him to spoil the were-wolf of his vesture on the next occasion on which he set out to a.s.sume his transformation. The fatal period soon returned. The baron disappeared as usual, but this time he did not return to his home. For days friends, neighbours, and menials sought him diligently, but no trace of him was to be found, and when a year had elapsed the search was at length abandoned, and the lady was wedded to her knight.

Some months later the King was hunting in the great forest near the missing baron's castle. The hounds, unleashed, came upon the scent of a wolf, and pressed the animal hard. For many hours they pursued him, and when about to seize him, Bisclaveret--for it was he--turned with such a human gesture of despair to the King, who had ridden hard upon his track, that the royal huntsman was moved to pity. To the King's surprise the were-wolf placed its paws together as if in supplication, and its great jaws moved as if in speech.

"Call off the hounds," cried the monarch to his attendants. "This quarry we will take alive to our palace. It is too marvellous a thing to be killed."

Accordingly they returned to the Court, where the were-wolf became an object of the greatest curiosity to all. So frolicsome yet so gentle was he that he became a universal favourite. At night he slept in the King's room, and by day he followed him with all the dumb faithfulness of a dog. The King was extremely attached to him, and never permitted his s.h.a.ggy favourite to be absent from his side for a moment.

One day the monarch held a high Court, to which his great va.s.sals and barons and all the lords of his broad demesnes were bidden. Among them came the knight who had wed the wife of Bisclaveret. Immediately upon sight of him the were-wolf flew at him with a savage joy that astonished those accustomed to his usual gentleness and docility. So fierce was the attack that the knight would have been killed had not the King intervened to save him. Later, in the royal hunting-lodge she who had been the wife of Bisclaveret came to offer the King a rich present. When he saw her the animal's rage knew no bounds, and despite all restraint he succeeded in mutilating her fair face in the most frightful manner. But for a certain wise counsellor this act would have cost Bisclaveret his life. This sagacious person, who knew of the animal's customary docility, insisted that some evil must have been done him.

"There must be some reason why this beast holds these twain in such mortal hate," he said. "Let this woman and her husband be brought hither so that they may be straitly questioned. She was once the wife of one who was near to your heart, and many marvellous happenings have ere this come out of Brittany."

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE WERE-WOLF]

The King hearkened to this sage counsel, for he loved the were-wolf, and was loath to have him slain. Under pressure of examination Bisclaveret's treacherous wife confessed all that she had done, adding that in her heart she believed the King's favourite animal to be no other than her former husband.

Instantly on learning this the King demanded the were-wolf's vesture from the treacherous knight her lover, and when this was brought to him he caused it to be spread before the wolf. But the animal behaved as though he did not see the garments.

Then the wise counsellor again came to his aid.

"You must take the beast to your own secret chamber, sire," he told the King; "for not without great shame and tribulation can he become a man once more, and this he dare not suffer in the sight of all."

This advice the King promptly followed, and when after some little time he, with two lords of his fellowship in attendance, re-entered the secret chamber, he found the wolf gone, and the baron so well beloved asleep in his bed.

With great joy and affection the King aroused his friend, and when the baron's feelings permitted him he related his adventures. As soon as his master had heard him out he not only restored to him all that had been taken from him, but added gifts the number and richness of which rendered him more wealthy and important than ever, while in just anger he banished from his realm the wife who had betrayed her lord, together with her lover.