No doubt the verses lack the singular power of the eleventh century; it is not worth while to pretend that any verse written in the thirteenth century wholly holds its own against "Roland":--

"Sire c.u.mpain! faites le vus de gred?

Ja est co Rollanz ki tant vos soelt amer!"

The courtesy of Roland has the serious solidity of the Romanesque arch, and that of Lancelot and Auca.s.sins has the grace of a legendary window; but one may love it, all the same; and one may even love the knight,--papelard though he were,--as he turned back to the altar and remained in prayer until the last ma.s.s was ended.

Then they mounted and rode on toward the field, and of course you foresee what had happened. In itself the story is bald enough, but it is told with such skill that one never tires of it. As the chevalier and the squire approached the lists, they met the other knights returning, for the jousts were over; but, to the astonishment of the chevalier, he was greeted by all who pa.s.sed him with shouts of applause for his marvellous triumph in the lists, where he had taken all the prizes and all the prisoners:--

Les chevaliers ont encontrez, Qui du tournois sont retournes, Qui du tout en tout est feru.

S'en avoit tout le pris eu Le chevalier qui reperoit Des messes qu' oies avoit.

Les autres qui s'en reperoient Le saluent et le conjoient Et distrent bien que onques mes Nul chevalier ne prist tel fes D'armes com il ot fet ce jour; A tousjours en avroit l'onnour.

Moult en i ot qui se rendoient A lui prisonier, et disoient "Nous somes vostre prisonier, Ne nous ne pourrions nier, Ne nous aiez par armes pris."

Lors ne fu plus cil esbahis, Car il a entendu tantost Que cele fu pour lui en l'ost Pour qui il fu en la chapelle.

His friends, returning from the fight, On the way there met the knight, For the jousts were wholly run, And all the prizes had been won By the knight who had not stirred From the ma.s.ses he had heard.

All the knights, as they came by, Saluted him and gave him joy, And frankly said that never yet Had any knight performed such feat, Nor ever honour won so great As he had done in arms that day; While many of them stopped to say That they all his prisoners were: "In truth, your prisoners we are: We cannot but admit it true: Taken we were in arms by you!"

Then the truth dawned on him there, And all at once he saw the light, That She, by whom he stood in prayer, --The Virgin,--stood by him in fight!

The moral of the tale belongs to the best feudal times. The knight at once recognized that he had become the liege-man of the Queen, and henceforth must render his service entirely to her. So he called his "barons," or tenants, together, and after telling them what had happened, took leave of them and the "siecle":--

"Moult est ciest tournoiement beaux Ou ele a pour moi tournoie; Mes trop l'avroit mal emploie Se pour lui je ne tournoioie!

Fox seroie se retournoie A la mondaine vanite.

A dieu promet en verite Que james ne tournoierai Fors devant le juge verai Qui conoit le bon chevalier Et selonc le fet set jutgier."

Lors prent congie piteus.e.m.e.nt, Et maint en plorent tenrement.

D'euls se part, en une abaie Servi puis la vierge Marie.

"Glorious has the tourney been Where for me has fought the Queen; But a disgrace for me it were If I tourneyed not for her.

Traitor to her should I be, Returned to worldly vanity.

I promise truly, by G.o.d's grace, Never again the lists to see, Except before that Judge's face, Who knows the true knight from the base, And gives to each his final place."

Then piteously he takes his leave While in tears his barons grieve.

So he parts, and in an abbey Serves henceforth the Virgin Mary.

Observe that in this case Mary exacted no service! Usually the legends are told, as in this instance, by priests, though they were told in the same spirit by laymen, as you can see in the poems of Rutebeuf, and they would not have been told very differently by soldiers, if one may judge from Joinville; but commonly the Virgin herself prescribed the kind of service she wished. Especially to the young knight who had, of his own accord, chosen her for his liege, she showed herself as exacting as other great ladies showed themselves toward their Lancelots and Tristans. When she chose, she could even indulge in more or less coquetry, else she could never have appealed to the sympathies of the thirteenth-century knight- errant. One of her miracles told how she disciplined the young men who were too much in the habit of a.s.suming her service in order to obtain selfish objects. A youthful chevalier, much given to tournaments and the other worldly diversions of the siecle, fell in love, after the rigorous obligation of his cla.s.s, as you know from your Dulcinea del Toboso, with a lady who, as was also prescribed by the rules of courteous love, declined to listen to him. An abbot of his acquaintance, sympathizing with his distress, suggested to him the happy idea of appealing for help to the Queen of Heaven. He followed the advice, and for an entire year shut himself up, and prayed to Mary, in her chapel, that she would soften the heart of his beloved, and bring her to listen to his prayer. At the end of the twelvemonth, fixed as a natural and sufficient proof of his earnestness in devotion, he felt himself ent.i.tled to indulge again in innocent worldly pleasures, and on the first morning after his release, he started out on horseback for a day's hunting. Probably thousands of young knights and squires were always doing more or less the same thing, and it was quite usual that, as they rode through the fields or forests, they should happen on a solitary chapel or shrine, as this knight did. He stopped long enough to kneel in it and renew his prayer to the Queen:--

La mere dieu qui maint chetif A retrait de chetivete Par sa grant debonnairte Par sa courtoise courtoisie Au las qui tant l'apele et prie Ignelement s'est demonstree, D'une coronne corronnee Plaine de pierres precieuses Si flamboianz si precieuses Pour pou li euil ne li esluisent.

Si netement ainsi reluisent Et resplendissent com la raie Qui en este au matin raie.

Tant par a bel et cler le vis Que buer fu mez, ce li est vis, Qui s'i puest a.s.sez mirer.

"Cele qui te fait soupirer Et en si grant erreur t'a mis,"

Fait nostre dame, "biau douz amis, Est ele plus bele que moi?"

Li chevaliers a tel effroi De la clarte, ne sai que face; Ses mains giete devant sa face; Tel hide a et tel freeur Chaoir se laisse de freeur; Mais cele en qui pitie est toute Li dist: "Amis, or n'aies doute!

Je suis cele, n'en doute mie, Qui te doi faire avoir t'amie.

Or prens garde que tu feras.

Cele que tu miex ameras De nous ii auras a amie."

G.o.d's Mother who to many a wretch Has brought relief from wretchedness.

By her infinite goodness, By her courteous courteousness, To her suppliant in distress Came from heaven quickly down; On her head she bore the crown, Full of precious stones and gems Darting splendour, flashing flames, Till the eye near lost its sight In the keenness of the light, As the summer morning's sun Blinds the eyes it shines upon.

So beautiful and bright her face, Only to look on her is grace.

"She who has caused you thus to sigh, And has brought you to this end,"-- Said Our Lady,--"Tell me, friend, Is she handsomer than I?"

Scared by her brilliancy, the knight Knows not what to do for fright; He clasps his hands before his face, And in his shame and his disgrace Falls prostrate on the ground with fear; But she with pity ever near Tells him:--"Friend, be not afraid!

Doubt not that I am she whose aid Shall surely bring your love to you; But take good care what you shall do!

She you shall love most faithfully Of us two, shall your mistress be."

One is at a loss to imagine what a young gentleman could do, in such a situation, except to obey, with the fewest words possible, the suggestion so gracefully intended. Queen's favours might be fatal gifts, but they were much more fatal to reject than to accept.

Whatever might be the preferences of the knight, he had invited his own fate, and in consequence was fortunate to be allowed the option of dying and going to heaven, or dying without going to heaven. Mary was not always so gentle with young men who deserted or neglected her for an earthly rival;--the offence which irritated her most, and occasionally caused her to use language which hardly bears translation into modern English. Without meaning to a.s.sert that the Queen of Heaven was jealous as Queen Blanche herself, one must still admit that she was very severe on lovers who showed willingness to leave her service, and take service with any other lady. One of her admirers, educated for the priesthood but not yet in full orders, was obliged by reasons of family interest to quit his career in order to marry. An insult like this was more than Mary could endure, and she gave the young man a lesson he never forgot:--

Ireement li prent a dire La mere au roi de paradis: "Di moi, di moi, tu que jadis M'amoies tant de tout ton coeur.

Pourquoi m'as tu jete puer?

Di moi, di moi, ou est donc cele Qui plus de moi bone est et bele?...

Pourquoi, pourquoi, las durfeus, Las engignez, las deceuz, Me lais pour une la.s.se fame, Qui suis du del Royne et Dame?

Enne fais tu trop mauvais change Qui tu por une fame estrange Me laisses qui par amors t'amoie Et ja ou ciel t'apareilloie En mes chambres un riche lit Por couchier t'ame a grand delit?

Trop par as faites grant merveilles S'autrement tost ne te conseilles Ou ciel serra tes lits deffais Et en la flamme d'enfer faiz!"

With anger flashing in her eyes Answers the Queen of Paradise: "Tell me, tell me! you of old Loved me once with love untold; Why now throw me aside?

Tell me, tell me! where a bride Kinder or fairer have you won?...

Wherefore, wherefore, wretched one, Deceived, betrayed, misled, undone, Leave me for a creature mean, Me, who am of Heaven the Queen?

Can you make a worse exchange, You that for a woman strange, Leave me who, with perfect love, Waiting you in heaven above, Had in my chamber richly dressed A bed of bliss your soul to rest?

Terrible is your mistake!

Unless you better council take, In heaven your bed shall be unmade, And in the flames of h.e.l.l be spread."

A mistress who loved in this manner was not to be gainsaid. No earthly love had a chance of holding its own against this unfair combination of heaven and h.e.l.l, and Mary was as unscrupulous as any other great lady in abusing all her advantages in order to save HER souls. Frenchmen never found fault with abuses of power for what they thought a serious object. The more tyrannical Mary was, the more her adorers adored, and they wholly approved, both in love and in law, the rule that any man who changed his allegiance without permission, did so at his own peril. His life and property were forfeit. Mary showed him too much grace in giving him an option.

Even in anger Mary always remained a great lady, and in the ordinary relations of society her manners were exquisite, as they were, according to Joinville, in the court of Saint Louis, when tempers were not overwrought. The very brutality of the brutal compelled the courteous to exaggerate courtesy, and some of the royal family were as coa.r.s.e as the king was delicate in manners. In heaven the manners were perfect, and almost as stately as those of Roland and Oliver.

On one occasion Saint Peter found himself embarra.s.sed by an affair which the public opinion of the Court of Heaven, although not by any means puritanic, thought more objectionable--in fact, more frankly discreditable--than an honest corrupt job ought to be; and even his influence, though certainly considerable, wholly failed to carry it through the law-court. The case, as reported by Gaultier de Coincy, was this: A very worthless creature of Saint Peter's--a monk of Cologne--who had led a scandalous life, and "ne cremoit dieu, ordre ne roule," died, and in due course of law was tried, convicted, and dragged off by the devils to undergo his term of punishment. Saint Peter could not desert his sinner, though much ashamed of him, and accordingly made formal application to the Trinity for a pardon. The Trinity, somewhat severely, refused. Finding his own interest insufficient, Saint Peter tried to strengthen it by asking the archangels to help him; but the case was too much for them also, and they declined. The brother apostles were appealed to, with the same result; and finally even the saints, though they had so obvious interest in keeping friendly relations with Peter, found public opinion too strong to defy. The case was desperate. The Trinity were--or was--emphatic, and--what was rare in the Middle Ages--every member of the feudal hierarchy sustained its decision. Nothing more could be done in the regular way. Saint Peter was obliged to divest himself of authority, and place himself and his dignity in the hands of the Virgin. Accordingly he asked for an audience, and stated the case to Our Lady. With the utmost grace, she instantly responded:--

"Pierre, Pierre," dit Nostre Dame, "En moult grand poine et por ceste ame De mon douz filz me fierai Tant que pour toi l'en prierai."

La Mere Dieu lors s'est levee, Devant son filz s'en est alee Et ses virges toutes apres.

De lui si tint Pierre pres, Quar sanz doutance bien savoit Que sa besoigne faite avoit Puisque cele l'avoit en prise Ou forme humaine avoit prise.

Quant sa Mere vit li douz Sire Qui de son doit daigna escrire Qu'en honourant et pere et mere En contre lui a chere clere Se leva moult festivement Et si li dist moult doucement; "Bien veigniez vous, ma douce mere,"

Comme douz filz, comme douz pere.

Doucement l'a par la main prise Et doucement lez lui a.s.sise; Lors li a dit:--"A douce chiere, Que veus ma douce mere chiere, Mes amies et mes sereurs?"

"Pierre, Pierre," our Lady said, "With all my heart I'll give you aid, And to my gentle Son I'll sue Until I beg that soul for you."

G.o.d's Mother then arose straightway, And sought her Son without delay; All her virgins followed her, And Saint Peter kept him near, For he knew his task was done And his prize already won, Since it was hers, in whom began The life of G.o.d in form of Man.