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The Lay of Laüstic (The Nightingale): The two knights

NOW a new adventure I’ll relay

Of which the Bretons made a lay;

Laüstic its name, as told to me,

For so tis called in that country;

Rossignol then, in French, this tale,

And, in true English, nightingale.

Near Saint-Malo, there was a town,

In that land, twas of great renown.

And two valiant knights lived there,

Twin strongholds they owned, that pair.

Through these two barons’ bounty,

It was famed for its liberality.

Now, one knight had wed a lady,

Sage, well-bred, full of courtesy;

And she thought herself a wonder,

As was oft shown by her manner;

The other, a bachelor it appears,

Was well-known among his peers,

For his great bravery and prowess,

Willingly scattering his largesse,

Found at tourneys, spending freely,

Gave all he had, quite indiscreetly.

Now, he loved his neighbour’s wife,

And sought her love, all of his life,

And since he had great good in him,

Above all others, she too loved him,

Partly because of all she did hear,

Partly because he lived so near.

Wisely and well they loved each other,

Yet kept their true love undercover,

Such that they were not perceived,

Nor troubled once, nor misbelieved.

And they could better act this way

Because each lived not far away;

Near together were their houses

Both his manor and her spouse’s;

Scarce a barrier between at all,

Except a high brownstone wall.

The lady’s chamber it was such

That standing at the window much

Lover to lover could thus relay,

From here to there, across the way;

Sending love-tokens through the air

Tossing and hurling them, that pair.

Naught came to spoil their pleasure,

They could venture at their leisure,

Except they could not be together,

Nor thus delight in one another;

Her spouse a guard did her accord,

Whenever he chose to ride abroad.

Yet one recourse they had alway,

Whether by night or e’en by day,

Whereby they could both converse,

Since no guard, for better or worse

Could keep that wife from the window,

Whence sweet words she might bestow.

The Lay of Laüstic (The Nightingale): The song of the nightingale

AND long they loved each other so,

Till one summer, you should know,

When, woods and fields all green again,

The orchards blossom did sustain,

And little birds in their sweet bowers

Sang their joy, among the flowers.

Who that his lover might desire,

Tis no wonder, then, if he aspire;

And to speak truly of this knight,

His thoughts on loving did alight;

And the lady, with all her heart,

In looks and speech, took love’s part.

On nights when the moon shone brightly,

And her husband slept not lightly,

Then she’d oft rise from his side,

And wrapped in a cloak thus hied

To the window, for well she knew

That her lover would be there too,

For each would for the other’s sake

Stand there half the night awake.

Delighted to gaze at one another,

Since they could not be together.

She rose so oft, so oft she stood,

That her husband, in anger, would

Many a time question why

She stood there gazing at the sky.

‘Sire,’ she answered with deceit,

‘There’s no joy on earth so sweet

As hearing the nightingale sing.

It is for that I stand listening;

So sweetly does it sing at night

It seems to me tis pure delight.’

Tis such joy, I long for it so,

That rest or sleep I thus forgo.’

When he had heard the lady,

He smiled at her maliciously,

One idea possessed his thought,

That the nightingale be caught.

There was not a servant there

That with trap or net or snare

He did not to the orchard send,

Nor chestnut nor hazel stem

That was not dipped in lime,

So he might enact the crime.

When the nightingale was caught,

To the husband it was brought.

Happy to grasp it in his hand

To the lady’s chamber he ran,

Calling out: ‘Where are you, lady?

Come here now, come speak with me!

For I have trapped the nightingale,

That with his song did you regale.

Now you may safely sleep in peace,

He’ll wake you not, his song doth cease.’

The Lay of Laüstic (The Nightingale): The nightingale is slain

NOW when this news she received,

She was angered and sorely grieved.

She demanded the bird, but he

Laughed, and killed it violently,

Twisting its neck in his hands,

As villains do, you understand,

And threw the body at her so

Down her slip the blood did flow,

Across the front, above her heart;

Then, with this act, he did depart.

The lady took up the little body,

Weeping, she cursed those, loudly,

Who the nets and snares had brought,

Who the nightingale had caught,

And robbed her of all delight.

‘Alas,’ she cried, ‘no more at night,

Shall I rise now, ill comes to me;

Nor at my window shall I be,

Where I was wont to see my love.

One thing I fear, by heaven above,

That now he’ll think I am untrue;

I must take counsel on what to do.

To him I’ll send the nightingale,

And hence relate to him the tale.’

The bird she wrapped in rich samite,

Twas all adorned with gold bright,

With this she enveloped the bird,

And summoned a servant to her,

Charged him with her message

And to her lover sent the package.

The servant bore it to the knight,

Greeted him and speaking aright

The lady’s message, every word,

Gave him the nightingale from her.

When he had spoken, and shown all,

And the knight knew what did befall,

He was deeply grieved by the tale.

Filled with goodness, he did not fail

To command a goldsmith to create

A casket, iron nor steel did rate

In its design, twas of pure gold,

With many a precious gem, all told,

And wrought with a tight-fitting lid.

In this the nightingale he hid;

And then the reliquary he sealed,

To carry it ever, so concealed.

And yet the story was sung of old,

It could not long remain untold.

Bretons who made it, call the lay

Laüstic, Nightingale, to this day.

The End of the Lay of Laüstic