Dainty sir, said one of those Norman knights, William Mallet, of the house of Mallet de Graville 54, as he moved as far from the gigantic intruder as the space on the settle would permit, forgive the observation that you have damaged my mantle, you have grazed my foot, and you have drunk my wine. And vouchsafe, if it so please you, the face of the man who hath done this triple wrong to William Mallet de Graville.
A kind of laughfor laugh absolute it was notrattled under the cowl of the tall stranger, as he drew it still closer over his face, with a hand that might have spanned the breast of his interrogator, and he made a gesture as if he did not understand the question addressed to him.
Therewith the Norman knight, bending with demure courtesy across the board to Godrith the Saxon, said:
Pardex 55, but this fair guest and seigneur seemeth to me, noble Godree (whose name I fear my lips do but rudely enounce) of Saxon line and language; our Romance tongue he knoweth not. Pray you, is it the Saxon custom to enter a kings hall so garbed, and drink a knights wine so mutely?
Godrith, a young Saxon of considerable rank, but one of the most sedulous of the imitators of the foreign fashions, coloured high at the irony in the knights speech, and turning rudely to the huge guest, who was now causing immense fragments of pasty to vanish under the cavernous cowl, he said in his native tongue, though with a lisp as if unfamiliar to him
If thou beest Saxon, shame us not with thy ceorlish manners; crave pardon of this Norman thegn, who will doubtless yield it to thee in pity. Uncover thy faceand
Here the Saxons rebuke was interrupted; for one of the servitors just then approaching Godriths side with a spit, elegantly caparisoned with some score of plump larks, the unmannerly giant stretched out his arm within an inch of the Saxons startled nose, and possessed himself of larks, broche, and all. He drew off two, which he placed on his friends platter, despite all dissuasive gesticulations, and deposited the rest upon his own. The young banqueters gazed upon the spectacle in wrath too full for words.
At last spoke Mallet de Graville, with an envious eye upon the larksfor though a Norman was not gluttonous, he was epicureanCertes, and foi de chevalier! a man must go into strange parts if he wish to see monsters; but we are fortunate people, (and he turned to his Norman friend, Aymer, Quen 56 or Count, DEvreux,) that we have discovered Polyphemus without going so far as Ulysses; and pointing to the hooded giant, he quoted, appropriately enough,
Monstrum, horrendum, informe, ingens, cui lumen ademptum.
The giant continued to devour his larks, as complacently as the ogre to whom he was likened might have devoured the Greeks in his cave. But his fellow intruder seemed agitated by the sound of the Latin; he lifted up his head suddenly, and showed lips glistening with white even teeth, and curved into an approving smile, while he said: Bene, me fili! bene, lepidissime, poetae verba, in militis ore, non indecora sonant. 57
The young Norman stared at the speaker, and replied, in the same tone of grave affectation: Courteous sir! the approbation of an ecclesiastic so eminent as I take you to be, from the modesty with which you conceal your greatness, cannot fail to draw upon me the envy of my English friends; who are accustomed to swear in verba magistri, only for verba they learnedly substitute vina.
You are pleasant, Sire Mallet, said Godrith, reddening; but I know well that Latin is only fit for monks and shavelings; and little enow even they have to boast of.
The Normans lip curled in disdain. Latin!O, Godree, bien aime!Latin is the tongue of Caesars and senators, fortes conquerors and preux chevaliers. Knowest thou not that Duke William the dauntless at eight years old had the Comments of Julius Caesar by heart?and that it is his saying, that a king without letters is a crowned ass? 58 When the king is an ass, asinine are his subjects. Wherefore go to school, speak respectfully of thy betters, the monks and shavelings, who with us are often brave captains and sage councillors,and learn that a full head makes a weighty hand.
Thy name, young knight? said the ecclesiastic, in Norman French, though with a slight foreign accent.
I can give it thee, said the giant, speaking aloud for the first time, in the same language, and in a rough voice, which a quick ear might have detected as disguised,I can describe to thee name, birth, and quality. By name, this youth is Guillaume Mallet, sometimes styled De Graville, because our Norman gentilhommes, forsooth, must always now have a de tacked to their names; nevertheless he hath no other right to the seigneurie of Graville, which appertains to the head of his house, than may be conferred by an old tower on one corner of the demesnes so designated, with lands that would feed one horse and two villeinsif they were not in pawn to a Jew for moneys to buy velvet mantelines and a chain of gold. By birth, he comes from Mallet 59, a bold Norwegian in the fleet of Rou the Sea-king; his mother was a Frank woman, from whom he inherits his best possessionsvidelicet, a shrewd wit, and a railing tongue. His qualities are abstinence, for he eateth nowhere save at the cost of anothersome Latin, for he was meant for a monk, because he seemed too slight of frame for a warriorsome courage, for in spite of his frame he slew three Burgundians with his own hand; and Duke William, among their foolish acts, spoilt a friar sans tache, by making a knight sans terre; and for the rest
And for the rest, interrupted the Sire de Graville, turning white with wrath, but speaking in a low repressed voice, were it not that Duke William sate yonder, thou shouldst have six inches of cold steel in thy huge carcase to digest thy stolen dinner, and silence thy unmannerly tongue.
For the rest, continued the giant indifferently, and as if he had not heard the interruption; for the rest, he only resembles Achilles, in being impiger iracundus. Big men can quote Latin as well as little ones, Messire Mallet the beau clerc!
Mallets hand was on his dagger; and his eye dilated like that of the panther before he springs; but fortunately, at that moment, the deep sonorous voice of William, accustomed to send its sounds down the ranks of an army, rolled clear through the assemblage, though pitched little above its ordinary key:
Fair is your feast, and bright your wine, Sir King and brother mine! But I miss here what king and knight hold as the salt of the feast and the perfume to the wine: the lay of the minstrel. Beshrew me, but both Saxon and Norman are of kindred stock, and love to hear in hall and bower the deeds of their northern fathers. Crave I therefore from your gleemen, or harpers, some song of the olden time!
A murmur of applause went through the Norman part of the assembly; the Saxons looked up; and some of the more practised courtiers sighed wearily, for they knew well what ditties alone were in favour with the saintly Edward.
The low voice of the King in reply was not heard, but those habituated to read his countenance in its very faint varieties of expression, might have seen that it conveyed reproof; and its purport soon became practically known, when a lugubrious prelude was heard from a quarter of the hall, in which sate certain ghost-like musicians in white robeswhite as winding-sheets; and forthwith a dolorous and dirgelike voice chaunted a long and most tedious recital of the miracles and martyrdom of some early saint. So monotonous was the chaunt, that its effect soon became visible in a general drowsiness. And when Edward, who alone listened with attentive delight, turned towards the close to gather sympathising admiration from his distinguished guests, he saw his nephew yawning as if his jaw were dislocatedthe Bishop of Bayeux, with his well-ringed fingers interlaced and resting on his stomach, fast asleepFitzosbornes half-shaven head balancing to and fro with many an uneasy startand, William, wide awake indeed, but with eyes fixed on vacant space, and his soul far away from the gridiron to which (all other saints be praised!) the saint of the ballad had at last happily arrived.
A murmur of applause went through the Norman part of the assembly; the Saxons looked up; and some of the more practised courtiers sighed wearily, for they knew well what ditties alone were in favour with the saintly Edward.
The low voice of the King in reply was not heard, but those habituated to read his countenance in its very faint varieties of expression, might have seen that it conveyed reproof; and its purport soon became practically known, when a lugubrious prelude was heard from a quarter of the hall, in which sate certain ghost-like musicians in white robeswhite as winding-sheets; and forthwith a dolorous and dirgelike voice chaunted a long and most tedious recital of the miracles and martyrdom of some early saint. So monotonous was the chaunt, that its effect soon became visible in a general drowsiness. And when Edward, who alone listened with attentive delight, turned towards the close to gather sympathising admiration from his distinguished guests, he saw his nephew yawning as if his jaw were dislocatedthe Bishop of Bayeux, with his well-ringed fingers interlaced and resting on his stomach, fast asleepFitzosbornes half-shaven head balancing to and fro with many an uneasy startand, William, wide awake indeed, but with eyes fixed on vacant space, and his soul far away from the gridiron to which (all other saints be praised!) the saint of the ballad had at last happily arrived.
A comforting and salutary recital, Count William, said the King.
The Duke started from his reverie, and bowed his head: then said, rather abruptly, Is not yon blazon that of King Alfred?
Yea. Wherefore?
Hem! Matilda of Flanders is in direct descent from Alfred: it is a name and a line the Saxons yet honour!
Surely, yes; Alfred was a great man, and reformed the Psalmster, replied Edward.
The dirge ceased, but so benumbing had been its effect, that the torpor it created did not subside with the cause. There was a dead and funereal silence throughout the spacious hall, when suddenly, loudly, mightily, as the blast of the trumpet upon the hush of the grave, rose a single voice. All startedall turnedall looked to one direction; and they saw that the great voice pealed from the farthest end of the hall. From under his gown the gigantic stranger had drawn a small three-stringed instrumentsomewhat resembling the modern luteand thus he sang,
THE BALLAD OF ROU. 60 I From Blois to Senlis, wave by wave, rolld on the Norman flood,
And Frank on Frank went drifting down the weltering tide of blood;
There was not left in all the land a castle wall to fire,
And not a wife but wailed a lord, a child but mourned a sire.
To Charles the king, the mitred monks, the mailed barons flew,
While, shaking earth, behind them strode the thunder march of Rou.
O King, then cried those barons bold, in vain are mace and mail,
We fall before the Norman axe, as corn before the hail.
And vainly, cried the pious monks, by Marys shrine we kneel,
For prayers, like arrows, glance aside, against the Norman teel.
The barons groaned, the shavelings wept, while near and nearer drew,
As death-birds round their scented feast, the raven flags of Rou.
Then said King Charles, Where thousands fail, what king can stand
alone,
The strength of kings is in the men that gather round the throne.
When war dismays my barons bold, tis time for war to cease;
When Heaven forsakes my pious monks, the will of Heaven is peace.
Go forth, my monks, with mass and rood the Norman camp unto,
And to the fold, with shepherd crook, entice this grisly Rou.
Ill give him all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure,
And Gille, my child, shall be his bride, to bind him fast and sure:
Let him but kiss the Christian cross, and sheathe the heathen sword,
And hold the lands I cannot keep, a fief from Charles his lord.
Forth went the pastors of the Church, the Shepherds work to do,
And wrap the golden fleece around the tiger loins of Rou.
Psalm-chanting came the shaven monks, within the camp of dread;
Amidst his warriors, Norman Rou stood taller by the head.
Out spoke the Frank Archbishop then, a priest devout and sage,
When peace and plenty wait thy word, what need of war and rage?
Why waste a land as fair as aught beneath the arch of blue,
Which might be thine to sow and reap?Thus saith the King to Rou.
Ill give thee all the ocean coast, from Michael Mount to Eure,
And Gille, my fairest child, as bride, to bind thee fast and sure;
If then but kneel to Christ our God, and sheathe thy paynim sword,
And hold thy land, the Churchs son, a fief from Charles thy lord.
The Norman on his warriors lookedto counsel they withdrew;
The saints took pity on the Franks, and moved the soul of Rou.
So back he strode and thus he spoke, to that Archbishop meek:
I take the land thy king bestows from Eure to Michael-peak,
I take the maid, or foul or fair, a bargain with the toast,
And for thy creed, a sea-kings gods are those that give the most.
So hie thee back, and tell thy chief to make his proffer true,
And he shall find a docile son, and ye a saint in Rou.
So oer the border stream of Epte came Rou the Norman, where,
Begirt with barons, sat the King, enthroned at green St. Clair;
He placed his hand in Charless hand,loud shouted all the throng,
But tears were in King Charless eyesthe grip of Rou was strong.
Now kiss the foot, the Bishop said, that homage still is due;
Then dark the frown and stern the smile of that grim convert, Rou.
He takes the foot, as if the foot to slavish lips to bring;
The Normans scowl; he tilts the throne, and backwards falls the
King.
Loud laugh the joyous Norman menpale stare the Franks aghast;
And Rou lifts up his head as from the wind springs up the mast;
I said I would adore a God, but not a mortal too;
The foot that fled before a foe let cowards kiss! said Rou.
No words can express the excitement which this rough minstrelsymarred as it is by our poor translation from the Romance-tongue in which it was chantedproduced amongst the Norman guests; less perhaps, indeed, the song itself, than the recognition of the minstrel; and as he closed, from more than a hundred voices came the loud murmur, only subdued from a shout by the royal presence, Taillefer, our Norman Taillefer!