‘My lady, if you will,’ said the knight, ‘please help me to know who these people are who have just gone by.’
‘I will tell you as best I can,’ she replied, ‘but because my speech is impeded, I will have to tell you quickly. The first of the women who went past are taking such pleasure in their procession because each of them has at her side her best-beloved. She can kiss him, caress him and hold him in her arms. Throughout their lives these women were the loyal servants of Love, and they were passionately obedient to Love’s commands. Now their joy is their reward, and Love has given them joy in abundance. They take comfort among their pleasures, and it is always summer for them, unclouded by the storms of winter. They can rest whenever they wish, lying down at ease to sleep.
‘But the women who follow grieving and sighing behind them, trotting along so clumsily and in such deep pain, with faces pale and colourless, proceed without the company of men. I can tell you that they are the ones who never condescended to serve Love in any way, and now they are being forced to pay the price of their haughty disdain. O the woe of it, for it costs me much and causes such great pain never to have loved. Neither in winter nor in summer will we rest or take our ease. Never will we be free from constant sorrow. It was a dire fate that beset us at our birth when we did not become the companions of Love. To any woman who might hear of us, who might be told of our condition, I send the assurance that she will join our sorry company if she does not live a life of love. There is an old peasant saying, that anyone who is late in closing the stable door will suffer the distress of losing his horse. It is exactly the same with matters of the heart, and we have repented too late.’
When the lady had finished, she continued on her way, leaving the knight, who had listened closely to her, aware of the importance of her words. Without delay, Lorois returned to his castle and recounted all that had happened to him and all that he had been told by the woman. He spoke of her sorry harness, and he warned all virgins, ladies and young women in general to be on guard against her jolting gait. For it is better by far to ride along in comfort than to follow with those who trot in pain …
Source: Re-told from the Medieval French text of ‘Le Lay du Trot’ edited by E. Margaret Grimes in The Romanic Review XXVI (1935), pp. 317–21. An edition of Three Old French Narrative Lays, including ‘Le Lay du Trot’, is available from the Liverpool (University) Online Series of Critical Editions of French Texts.
The ‘Awntyrs of Arthure’
One of the most impressive English alliterative poems of the fourteenth century is The Awntyrs of Arthure (‘The Adventures of Arthur’) at the Terne Wathelyne. The geographical setting of the poem is on the banks of the Wadling Tarn, a hill-loch in Cumber-land. The poem may well have been written in the Scottish border-country, where there was a strong tradition of Arthurian folklore, and the anonymous author is likely to have borrowed from better-known alliterative poems such as Morte Arthure and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. In the first part of the poem Arthur’s queen Guinevere and her hunting companion Sir Gawain are separated from the rest of the royal party. The sky darkens, pelting rain and drifting snow scatter the hunting party, and in a lowering atmosphere in which nature itself seems to share their apprehension, Guinevere and Gawain are approached by the ghost of the queen’s mother. In its exchanges with the queen, the ghost acts as a Memento Mori, a reminder of the transitoriness of life and beauty, and in its responses to Sir Gawain the ghost is cast in a soothsaying role, which links the first part of the poem to the second. The ghost’s warnings about the pride and arrogance of Arthur’s court, which it predicts will eventually end in internal strife and ruin, are a key narrative preparation for the appearance in the second half of the poem of the wronged knight Galeron with his demand for the restitution of land which the king had confiscated and given to Gawain.
The Ghost of Guinevere’s Mother
Then there came from the loch a creature which seemed to have been fashioned in Hell, in Lucifer’s likeness, and glided screaming towards Guinevere … Its body was almost naked, for it was only partly covered with a shroud, and its dark bones could be seen, for it had no skin or living colour. It stopped and stood immovable like a stone, glaring, groaning and raving, awaiting the approach of the fearless Sir Gawain. A toad clung to the cheek of this grim and grisly ghost. In the depths of the hollow eye-sockets there was a glow like the embers of a fire. Its scant clothing was covered with writhing serpents.
The hunting dogs scattered in terror, greyhounds trembled at the sounds, and even the birds in the trees gave out piercing shrieks of alarm when the phantom drew near. But as he drew his sword, Sir Gawain showed no concern, and addressed the ghost in Christ’s name: ‘By the King on the cross, the Cleanser of sin, tell us, weird stranger, why you have come here wandering through the wild forest.’
The ghost answered: ‘Once I was adorned in flesh, the fairest of all, baptised and christened, with kings for my kin. But now I have been placed here for penance through God’s grace, and I have come to speak with your queen. For I too was once of royal lineage and my brow shone brighter than the precious jewels on the face of Brangwain. I enjoyed even greater earthly delights and pleasures than Guinevere your queen. I possessed great sums of gold and my estates were huge – parks and hunting fields, lakes and farms, towered towns and castles across the land. Now I am cast out alone, grim and lamenting, to lie down in the cold clay. You may see, courteous knight, the sorrow that death has brought me to. But I beg you to let me have a glimpse of fair Guinevere.’
Then Sir Gawain led the ghost into the presence of the queen, and it said to her: ‘Welcome, Guinevere, worthy of praise. See what sorrow death has brought upon your mother! Once my cheek was redder than the blooming rose, a flower set upon my lily-white skin. Now I am a grim lamenting ghost haunting the margins of this loch, and you must all take heed of my fate. Fair as you are now, and however clear your complexion in the mirror, all of you – kings, dukes and emperors – will be as I am now.
‘Death will deal with you in just this manner, so heed what I have to say while you are still alive. When you ride out in rich procession, take pity on the poor and have care for their condition. Soon the only courtiers and ladies who will surround you will be mourners and the only procession will be that of your body to its grave. Then there will be nothing to help you but penance and prayer, and it may be that you will find relief in the piety of the poor. Whenever you feast and take pleasure in your stately palaces, remember the poor at the gate.
‘Your feasting-dishes may be rich with dainty food, but I am cast into a dungeon of misery, naked and needy, hideous to your living sight. The place where I must dwell is loathsome to me, and my torment tolls like a bell among the brimstone and molten metal. I know of no other being as unhappy as myself, and it is impossible to describe the full extent of my suffering. But before I leave, I will tell you more so that you might mend your ways and take heed of my warnings.’
‘I grieve at your fate,’ replied Guinevere the queen. ‘But might not holy religion help you even now – matins and masses purchased with the wealth of this world? Might not the beaded rosaries of bishops, and prayers covenanted to be sung in cloisters, cure you of care? For you were once my mother, fair of body, and I am filled with grief at how barren you now appear … Tell me what might give you relief from your burdens. I’ll seek out holy men from the city to help you, and protect you from those writhing creatures that assail you, turning your blood black, so that I can hardly bear to look upon you.’
‘These were once my lovers, the source of my earlier delight, but now they have brought me low and torment me as serpents. Now that all worldly wealth has deserted me, this is the punishment which I now suffer. But, sweet Guinevere, I beg you to have nine hundred masses said for me from each daybreak to noon. By this spiritual succour my soul will soon have been brought to bliss.’
‘May He indeed bring you to bliss,’ said Guinevere, ‘He who bought us with blood, who reigned from
the cross, all crowned with thorns. For, despite all your sorrows, once you were christened and baptised and bathed in a font, surrounded by the comforting flame of candles. And may Mary, the Mother of that Blessed Child in Bethlehem, in her mildness give me grace to help your soul, and protect you with matins and masses as soon as day breaks … I give you my hand as a promise of this, that I will win peace for you with a million masses. But tell me one thing: what is it that angers Christ most, what is the sin that causes Him most offence?’
‘Pride, with all its panoply,’ came the ghost’s reply, ‘against which the ancient prophets preached. Its fruit is bitter, and you and all your knights must be aware that the sin of pride offends against God’s laws. Whoever is disobedient to God will be denied the bliss that is to come. Fair Guinevere, unless you change your ways before you leave this earth, you will be burdened with care as I am now.’
‘And will you tell us also,’ said Guinevere, ‘what virtue it is that will bring us to endless bliss?’
‘Charity and meekness,’ said the ghost, ‘are the first of all virtues, and most pleasing to our Lord. Pity for the poor man, and the giving of alms, lead the pure along their way. Such virtues are gifts of the Holy Ghost, who inspires every spirit. You must hold these words in your heart for the fleeting time that you remain on earth.’
The knight Gawain then addressed the ghost: ‘How will we fare when we go forth to fight, and conquer the people of many lands? We over-run many rich countries, perhaps unjustly, exacting obedience and winning treasure by the strength of our hand.’
‘Your king is too greedy, and his knights are too keen, and although nothing may harm him while his luck holds, he will one day be brought low in all his majesty and lie helpless on the sea-shore. Such is the fate that awaits your chivalrous king, as fortune’s wheel spins to bring him down from the heights of his power …’
The ghost goes on to list Arthur’s future victories over France, Brittany, Burgundy and Rome, but then predicts the final battle between Arthur’s knights and the forces of his bastard son Mordred.
‘… On the coasts of Cornwall these valiant knights will strive and there the comely, steadfast, noble King Arthur will receive his death wound. And despite their brave deeds, all the royal companions of the noble Round Table, will die also, tricked by a traitor with a black shield and a silver saltire. The child who will one day betray you plays even now in King Arthur’s hall. But now I must leave you, and walk on my way throughout these woods. Think of me in my pain for the Lord’s sake, and succour my soul with some measure of good. Remember me in masses and measure out your beads for me, for such comforts are as sweet to the dead as morsels at the feasts of the living.’
The ghost glided away, dark and groaning. The wind died down, the sky lightened, the weather lifted, the tide turned, the clouds parted, and the sun came out. The King’s bugle summoned his companions across the fields and the royal procession turned towards the Queen to welcome her with joy and courtesy …
Source: Adapted into prose from an alliterative verse translation by Jessie L. Weston in Romance, Vision and Satire: English Alliterative Poems of the Fourteenth Century, London 1912, pp. 112–20. A modern edition, Arthur’s Adventures at the Tarn Wadling, trans. H. Phillips, was published by the University of Lancaster in 1988.
The ‘Gesta Romanorum’
One of the most widely read works in the late Middle Ages was a collection of stories or fables with a Latin title which means, in effect, ‘The Deeds or History of the Romans’. There are many surviving manuscripts of the work, in English and German as well as Latin, and it was to have a considerable influence over writers such as Chaucer and Boccaccio, both of whom borrowed heavily from it. The title might have suggested that, in the manner of earlier medieval chronicles which told of the gesta (the history and deeds) of a people, the stories had an historical basis and that they were drawn exclusively from Roman classical sources. That might indeed have been the case with early versions of the work, but as its popularity grew during the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries, new and fanciful stories drawn from many sources were added to the collection. Two of those which are reproduced here, for instance, were recorded originally by Gervase of Tilbury, while it is thought that many of the other fables in the compilation came from the Middle East and the Orient. The collection of stories may have had the primary purpose of providing narrative entertainment: the secondary aim (perhaps a subsidiary one, judging by the often cursory manner in which a pious conclusion was added at the end) was to demonstrate points of morality and theology.
The Phantom Knight of Wandlesbury
Tale CLV
On the borders of the episcopal see of Ely, there is a fortified place called Cathubrica [the castle of Cambridge] and a little below this there is a place which is distinguished by the name of Wandlesbury – because, as they say, the Vandals, having laid waste the country and cruelly slaughtered the Christians, pitched their camp here.
This place is situated on the summit of a hill, on a round plain surrounded by trenches and ramparts, to which there is only one entrance. According to many ancient legends, it was often reported that if any knight went there in the light of the moon at dead of night and called aloud, he was immediately confronted by another knight who rose up from the opposite side of the plain ready armed and mounted for combat. The encounter invariably ended in the overthrow of one or other of the combatants …
There was once in Britain a knight called Albert, brave in combat and possessing every virtue. He happened to visit a nearby castle, where he was hospitably received. At night, after supper, as is usual in great households during the winter, the family and guests assembled round the fire and began to tell various stories and folktales. At last they referred to the extraordinary legend of Wandlesbury, and our knight, who did not entirely believe the story, determined to test the proof of what he had heard. Accompanied therefore by a squire of noble blood, he hastened to the spot, fully armed and clad in a coat of mail.
Albert climbed the hill, dismissed his squire, and entered the round plain. He shouted a challenge and instantly an opponent who was himself fully armed and equipped sprang out to meet him. They held up their shields, levelled their lances at each other and urged their horses into the charge. Both knights were shaken by the shock of the collision. Their lances broke, but their blows had little effect because they glanced off the armour. Albert pressed so hard in the combat that his adversary fell and gave him the opportunity to capture his horse, but, on getting up again, the opponent seized a broken lance and threw it like a javelin. A severe wound was inflicted in his thigh, but, exultant at his victory, he did not notice the pain. At this point, his adversary suddenly disappeared, leaving Albert to lead away the captured horse and hand it into the charge of his squire. The horse was enormous, light in colour and of a beautiful shape.
When Albert returned to the castle, the household crowded around him, applauding his courage and rejoicing at the overthrow of the hostile knight. However, when he removed one of the plates of armour that covered his thigh, they saw that it was filled with clotted blood. The family were alarmed at the appearance of the wound, and servants were summoned and set scurrying about. Those who had been asleep were woken up to marvel at the event. The proof of Albert’s victory was the horse, which was held by the bridle and closely inspected. Its eyes sparkled like fire, its neck was proudly arched, its mane and tail were of a lustrous jet-black colour and it bore a war-saddle on its back.
It was already past daybreak, and the cock had begun to crow, when the horse broke free and escaped, snorting and furiously striking the ground with its hoofs. It was immediately pursued but disappeared in an instant. The knight retained a permanent reminder of his severe wound, for every year, on the anniversary of his combat at Wandlesbury, the wound broke out afresh. Some time after that, he went overseas and died valiantly in combat with the pagans …
In the original text, this story was titled ‘Of the Christian discomf
iture of the Devil’. A moralising conclusion followed the text, in which it was made clear that listeners were expected to apply the story in the following way: the brave knight is compared to Christ; the antagonist is the Devil, armed with pride; the castle where they fight is the world which Christ enters from the heavenly realms.
The Ghostly Butler
Tale CLXI
In the kingdom of England there was a small mountain which rose up towards its summit in the shape of a man. The sides of the mountain were wooded and covered with forests where knights and huntsmen enjoyed their sport. But it often happened that, as they climbed the hillside, they became hot and thirsty and searched for somewhere to rest. Although each huntsman was usually alone because of the nature of the terrain, he would say out loud, as though to a companion: ‘I am thirsty.’
At these words, most unexpectedly, a figure with a smiling face and an outstretched hand would appear beside the weary man, carrying a large drinking horn ornamented with gold and precious stones and filled with a delicious and mysterious liquid. The horn was handed to the thirsty huntsman, and no sooner had he drunk from it than his thirst and fatigue were assuaged, leaving him feeling so refreshed that it was as though he had not undertaken any labours at all that day. When the contents of the drinking horn had been emptied, the attendant held out a clean napkin for him to wipe his mouth. Once he had completed his task, the figure would disappear without expecting any reward or answering any questions. This butler’s duty was carried out every day, and although the attendant seemed to be very old, he always moved remarkably swiftly.
Medieval Ghost Stories Page 19
