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The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): His wife questions his absences

AMONGST them all, there is one lay

I’d not forget; that of Bisclavret.

Bisclavret is the name in Breton,

Garwaf (Werewolf) in Norman.

Many a year such tales men told,

For it had often chanced, of old,

That humans werewolves became;

From the woods, to kill and maim,

They would roam; savage creatures,

When lodged in wolf-like features,

For men they eat, and ill they wreak,

And then again the wild woods seek.

But word of that I must delay,

To tell you first of Bisclavret.

There lived a lord in Brittany,

I’ve heard him praised handsomely,

A virtuous, a noble knight,

Who sought to act as was right,

His liege-lord, he held him dear,

As did his neighbours far and near.

A worthy woman he had wed,

Fair of seeming, and well-bred,

She loved him and he loved her;

Yet one thing ever troubled her,

That he was lost to her each week

For three whole days, nor would he speak

Of where he went; she knew not then

What befell him, nor did his men.

One day he returned, this knight,

To his house, filled with delight,

Thus she was minded to enquire:

‘My sweet friend, my fair sire,

There is something, I declare

I’ve longed to ask, if I but dare;

I fear you may be angry though,

And there is naught that I fear so.’

On hearing this, he embraced her,

Drew her to him, and kissed her.

‘Now, madam, ask away,’ said he,

‘I’ll hide naught from my lady;

If I can, I’ll ever answer you.’

‘I’faith,’ she said, ‘I breathe anew!

I live in fear every day,

Whenever you are far away,

My heart is filled with pain too,

I’m so afraid of losing you;

If I fail to garner swift relief,

Then I must surely die of grief.

So tell me, for I long to know,

Where you dwell, where you go?

I think you must love elsewhere,

And if you do, I’m in despair.’

The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): He reveals that he is a werewolf

‘MERCY, in God’s name, my lady!

If I said aught, ill would befall me,

And I would drive your love away,

And lose myself that very day.’

Now the lady felt, on hearing

This, twas less than convincing.

And oft she would raise the matter,

She would wheedle him and flatter,

Asking whither he did venture,

Till, at last, for fear of censure:
‘A werewolf I become,’ he said,

‘In the forest I make my bed,

Through its depths there I stray,

And there it is I find my prey.’

When he’d told her all his tale,

Then she requested this detail,

Whether he his clothes eschewed.

‘Lady,’ he said, ‘I wander nude.’

‘Where then do your clothes abide?’

‘I must not tell you,’ he replied,

‘For if of them I were relieved,

And my altered state perceived,

A werewolf I should be forever.

And naught could help me ever,

My former being to regain;

And so you question me in vain.’

‘Sire,’ she said, ‘I love you more

Than all the world; you, therefore,

Should not hide a thing from me,

Nor ever doubt my loyalty,

For that is not the way of love.

What is my sin, by heaven above,

That you doubt me in anything?

Do right, and tell me everything.’

She so tormented him withal,

He could do naught but tell her all.

‘Lady, quite near the wood,’ said he,

‘Beside the road, where I journey,

An ancient chapel doth it grace,

That serves me as a hiding-place.

There lies a stone, long and wide,

Beneath a bush, hollow inside;

Under there, my clothes I hide,

Till I return, and there they bide.’

The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): He is betrayed by his wife

THE lady wondered at his tale,

While her face grew wan and pale.

Filled with fear at his strange news,

This one thought her mind pursues,

How to make her escape that day,

For with him she would not stay.

A knight who dwelt in that country,

One who had long loved this lady,

Begged and prayed her to be his,

And done much in her service,

Though she had never loved him,

Nor of such had e’er assured him,

She summoned, her news conveyed,

And her heart to him displayed.

‘Be glad, she said, ‘fair neighbour,

For that for which you’ve laboured,

I grant you now, without reserve;

You shall receive all you deserve,

I grant my love, my body too,

Make me your love, as I do you!’

He gave her thanks, gratefully,

Accepting her pledge, entirely;

She swore it on the sacrament;

Then all the tale of where he went,

Her lord, what he became, did yield,

His journey to the woods revealed,

And all the paths he took outlined,

Despatching him the clothes to find.

And thus was Bisclavret ill-paid,

And by his own wife now betrayed.

Since he had vanished frequently

All her neighbours now agreed,

Her lord must have left for good.

Though they searched as best they could,

With nary a sign of him, in the end,

Their search they chose to suspend.

The lady’s marriage was approved

To one who had, so loyally, loved.

The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): The werewolf is hunted

SO things remained a whole year,

Till the king, while hunting deer,

Came to the forest depths, one day,

Where lay the werewolf, Bisclavret.

When the hounds were hallooed,

He was the quarry they pursued.

All that day they chased him hard,

Huntsmen and hounds, yard by yard,

Until they nigh-on cornered him,

And would have torn him limb from limb,

If he’d not seen the king, whom he

Ran towards, in hope of mercy,

Then pawing at the stirrup there,

Licked his foot, while all did stare.

The king who was gripped by fear,

Summoned his companions near.

‘My lords, about me now,’ he cried,

‘Behold this creature, at my side,

And how with strange humility,

In human wise, it begs for mercy.

Drive the hounds away, and go

See that no man strikes a blow!

This beast possesses mind and sense;

Rein in the dogs then let us hence,

And leave the beast in peace, I say,

For I shall hunt no more today.’

And while the king turns to go,

Bisclavret doth seek to follow,

Staying close, cannot depart;

From the king he will not part.

The king leads on to his castle,

Delighted with him, truth to tell,

Never has he seen such before,

Holds him a wonder evermore,

And regards him as a treasure,

Tells his people tis his pleasure

That they show him every care,

None must trouble him or dare

To strike the beast for any reason.

Food and water it shall be given;

And they, most willingly, agree.

Now, every day it lies silently,

Among the knights, near the king,

None there but think it a fine thing;

The beast’s well-behaved, so good

It does naught but what it should.

Wherever the king might stray,

It will follow come what may,

Attending on him, constantly;

That it loves him is plain to see.

The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): Bisclavret attacks his rival

LISTEN to what next occurred:

All his barons received word

They must attend the king, at court,

So all those who owed him aught,

Might join a feast there, on a day,

And he be thus well-served alway.

There appeared among the rest

Richly adorned, finely dressed,

He who’d wed Bisclavret’s wife,

And who could never in his life

Have dreamed he might reappear.

When, at the feast, he drew near.

He was soon known to Bisclavret,

Who leapt and snapped at his prey,

Snatched him, and dragged him out,

And would have slain him, no doubt,

Had the king not called him back,

And seized a stick, foiled his attack.

He tried to bite him twice more,

Amazing all, since ne’er before

Had he acted in that same way

To any man, as he did that day.

And all men said, and held it true,

He must have reason so to do;

He’d been ill-treated, somehow,

To seek revenge as he did now.

But for now, his enmity ceased,

For the king curtailed the feast,

And the barons took their leave,

And off to their homes did weave.

Away rode each and every knight,

The victim first to take his flight,

Whom Bisclavret attacked; no wonder,

He’d sought to tear the man asunder.

The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): His wife reveals all

NOT long after this, as I have heard,

For thus I recall it, every word,

To that forest, there rode the king,

Wise and courteous in everything,

Where Bisclavret had been found,

Who now beside his steed did bound.

That night when he sought his rest,

A country house suited him best,

One known to Bisclavret’s lady,

Who, dressed in all her finery,

Hastened away, to see the king,

With her many a rich gift bearing.

When Bisclavret saw her coming,

His rage there was no restraining,

Towards her he leapt in anger.

Listen to his vengeance on her!

He bit the nose clean from her face.

What could be a worse disgrace?

He was threatened, men deployed,

Ready to see the beast destroyed.

Wise advice was offered the king:
‘Sire,’ one cried, ‘this poor thing

Has e’er appeared tame near you,

Nor has he, in our humble view,

Who have long observed his ways,

And been about him all these days,

Touched a single human being,

Nor has attempted one ill thing,

Except against this lady now.

By the loyalty we owe, we vow,

He must hold a grudge against her,

And her new lord, along with her.

She is the wife of that knight

Who was dear to your sight,

And was lost to us long ago,

What became of him none know.

Put this lady to the question,

See if she will yield the reason

Why the creature hates her so.

Make her tell if she doth know;

For many a marvel there has been

That we in Brittany have seen.’

The king agreed with this counsel,

The knight was held, she, as well,

Was taken at the lord’s suggestion,

Then they put her to the question.

From distress and fear, she told

Them all, the story did unfold

Of how she had her lord betrayed,

Of his clothes, of how he strayed

Through the woods, of all he’d said

Of where he went, and how he fed,

Of how, since his clothes had gone,

He’d not been seen by anyone.

But she believed, that here today

This creature must be Bisclavret.

The king demanded that she show

The clothes, whether she would or no,

She had them brought forth, and they

Were set down before Bisclavret.

Yet the creature took no notice,

Though they were offered as his.

He who’d given advice before,

Spoke now to the king once more:

‘Sire, this thing will never do,

He’ll not dress in front of you,

Nor, in changing from a creature,

Display, to all, his true nature.

No, not for aught will he do so,

It is a shame to him, you know.

Have him led to your chamber,

And his clothes to him proffer,

Then leave him be, such is my plan;

We’ll see if he becomes a man.’

The Lay of Bisclavret (The Werewolf): He is restored to human form

SO the king led the beast away,

And closed the doors on Bisclavret.

A long while did the king abide;

Then, with two lords at his side,

Entered the chamber; and all three

There, on the royal bed, did see,

The knight restored in every limb.

The king, hastening to embrace him,

Kissed him a hundred times and more,

And then his lands he did restore,

Both granting him his old estate,

And more than I can here relate.

The woman they exiled, swiftly,

Driving her from all that country,

And she went forth beside the man

With whom she’d made her evil plan.

She’d many children, I’m advised,

And they could all be recognised

In their seeming, and their feature;

Many a girl thus marred by nature,

Lacked a nose, in that family,

And lived nose-less; in verity;

For this whole tale you’ve heard,

Is truth itself; accept my word,

And in memory of Bisclavret,

The Bretons, they made this lay.

The End of the Lay of Bisclavret