The Honeysuckle and the Hazel Tree: 8. The Chatelaine of Vergi

8. The Chatelaine of Vergi

(La Chastelaine de Vergi)

Anonymous

	There are people who pretend
	Loyalty, say they intend
	To keep your confidence so well
4	That you may without danger tell
	Your secrets; and when they discover
	Proof that someone has a lover
	Make it their pleasure and their pride
8	To send the news out far and wide,
	And afterward make fun of those
	Who lose their joy because they chose
	To have it known. The greater the love
12	The more will be the sorrow of
	The true lover who must start
	Doubting the one who rules his heart.
	And oftentimes such harm is done
16	By this that love will quickly run
	Its course, to end in grief and shame.
	In just that way misfortune came
	To a valiant knight in Burgundy
20	And to the lady of Vergi.

	True was his love, and to his plea
	Consenting, she said he must agree
	To one condition: on the day
24	And hour that he would give away
	Their secret, he would lose her pledge
	Of love and that sweet privilege
	Granted to his heart's desire.
28	So that they would not require
	A messenger, the chevalier
	On certain evenings was to stay
	In a nearby orchard, nor withdraw
32	From its shelter until he saw
	Coming toward his hiding place
	Her little dog. In that case
	The knight continued on his way
36	Into her room without delay,
	Knowing that he need have no fear
	That anyone would ever appear,^[1]
	Except the chatelaine alone.
40	For a long time they called their own
	Love's happiness, and never let
	Anyone surprise their secret.

	Because the chevalier was handsome
44	And valorous, he had become
	Known to the duke of Burgundy,
	And visited so frequently
	At his court that soon the duchess
48	Began overtly to profess
	Affection for him, so much so
	That he would never have been slow
	At understanding what she meant,
52	Had he not been all intent
	On his own lady. In vain the duchess
	Smiled at him; he did not guess,
	For all her courtesy and guile,
56	He'd won her love. After a while
	She was vexed enough to cast
	Prudence aside, and at last
	Came to him with this straightforward
60	Speech: "It seems to me, my lord,
	As indeed to all your friends, your true
	Merit should encourage you,
	Brave and courteous as you are,
64	To seek a love that may seem far
	Above your station; you would do well
	To try." "My lady, what you counsel
	Never would have crossed my mind!"
68	She said, "In fact I am inclined
	To caution you against delay,
	If some great lady should betray
	An interest that you inspire
72	Beyond what friendship would require."
	He said, "You must forgive me, lady,
	But I really fail to see
	What you mean to say and why.
76	Neither count nor duke am I,
	And I have never looked above
	My place for some exalted love,
	Nor has anyone expressed
80	The slightest hint that such a quest
	Would be rewarded with success!"
	"Greater marvels have nonetheless
	Been true, and may well be again.
84	Suppose I were to ask you, then:
	Are you really unaware
	That I myself might come to care
	Enough, perhaps, to offer you
88	My love?" He said, "I never knew
	Of this, my lady, but I would
	Rejoice indeed if your love could
	Be mine in honor. Only I pray
92	That God will keep me far away
	From any love that might neglect
	My obligation to respect
	My noble lord; it would be vile
96	Treachery should I defile
	His honor by a sinful deed."
	She angrily replied, "Indeed!
	I never would have taken you
100	For such fool. Who asked you to?"
	"Of course you had no such intent,
	My lady; that's just what I meant!"

	Then the duchess said no more,
104	But bitter rage and hatred for
	The chevalier was like a challenge
	In her heart to seek revenge.
	And so when she lay beside
108	Her husband that same night, she sighed
	And after a while began to weep
	Before the duke could go to sleep.
	Soon, of course, he wanted to know
112	What it was that grieved her so,
	And insisted she reply.
	She said, "I have good cause to cry,
	When I see how hard it is
116	For any man to winnow his
	Enemies from loyal friends.
	Honored above innocence,
	Treachery goes without rebuke."
120	"In God's name, lady," said the duke,
	"I can't imagine why you say
	So strange a thing, but this you may
	Well believe: I'll entertain
124	No traitor, if I know his name!"
	"Then, my lord, you must refuse
	To welcome X, who has abused
	Your honor and my own all day,
128	In the hope I would betray
	Your love and favor his instead.
	He never dared to speak, he said,
	But kept his love in silence long.
132	It seemed to me I would do wrong
	Not to speak of this to you.
	It might very well be true
	That he spoke no idle word
136	To me today-”we've never heard
	That anyone has caught his eye;
	Perhaps this is the reason why.
	I hope, for your honor's sake,
140	That you will not be slow to take
	Measures against his insolence."
	Said the duke, "For this offense
	He'll answer to me, be sure of that!"

144	The duke felt such displeasure at
	Her words that all night long he lay
	Awake. He loved the chevalier,
	But now believed his wife, and grieved
148	To think that he had been deceived
	By one he trusted. So he spent
	A sleepless night and next day sent
	Immediately for the one
152	The duchess had accused of treason,
	Although she was herself to blame.
	Alone with the chevalier, he came
	Directly to the point, and said:
156	"Just how far I was misled
	By looks and valor I can see
	Now, for without loyalty,
	You have ill deserved your place
160	Of honor here, and your disgrace
	Comes in answer to my love.
	I believed you far above
	Any such hypocrisy.
164	Even now I cannot see
	How it happened that you cared
	So little for my trust you dared
	Make your treacherous appeal
168	To my own wife, and try to steal
	Her honor and her love. To find
	Betrayal of a baser kind
	One would look far. You are forever
172	Banished from my lands! If ever
	Anyone sees you here again,
	You will be captured by my men
	And take your rightful place among
176	Traitors-”I will have you hung!"
	When the chevalier had learned
	Of what he was accused, he burned
	With rage and trembled, well aware
180	Of what he'd lose by leaving there-”
	How could he see his love in case
	He was exiled? In this place
	Only could he safely stay
184	Close to her and make his way
	In secret to his happiness.
	He was, apart from this, no less
	Dismayed because his noble lord,
188	Whom he in all good faith had honored,
	Called him a traitor and a thief.
	He felt his life was over, his grief
	Was so intense. "By God above,
192	My lord, I could not be guilty of
	What you suppose. Not in any way
	At any time could what you say
	Be true; it is only vile
196	Slander!" "There is no denial
	Possible, and no defense.
	Don't speak to me of innocence
	When she has herself revealed
200	How you hoped that she would yield
	To your desire, and how you went
	And pleaded with her to consent;
	Perhaps she kept back what you could add."
204	"My lady said what she is glad
	To have you believe." "And I advise
	You not to waste my time with lies!"
	"There is no way for me to speak
208	In my defense; and yet to seek
	A proof of what I did not do,
	That nothing you heard was ever true,
	I swear I'd give my very life!"
212	The duke remembered what his wife
	Had said, her final argument
	That made the truth seem evident:
	The knight had not been known to care
216	For any woman anywhere.
	He said, "If you insist, despite
	All I know, that you are right,
	You will give your solemn word
220	That what I ask you will be answered
	Honestly; I can be then,
	According to your reply, quite certain
	Whether or not what I suspect
224	Is true. You cannot protect
	Yourself in any other way."

	By this time the chevalier
	Was ready to promise anything,
228	If only he could somehow bring
	The duke at last to realize
	That he had been misled by lies.
	Wishing at all costs to remain
232	Near the chatelaine's domain,
	He most willingly agrees
	To whatever it may please
	The duke to ask. In his distress
236	He doesn't even try to guess
	What the duke might want to know;
	Feeling no guilt, he is not slow
	To pledge his word. The duke, convinced
240	Of his sincerity, begins:
	"You know that I would be inclined
	To doubt a story of this kind;
	Until now I've never yet
244	Had any reason to regret
	My loving confidence in you.
	I would not have listened to
	The duchess with such great concern,
248	Were there not evidence to turn
	Suspicion to your falsity.
	I can't imagine you to be
	Indifferent to love, indeed
252	Your face, your elegance, would lead
	Whoever saw you to assume
	There was somewhere a lady whom
	You loved; yet we have never heard
256	Of any woman you preferred.
	This is enough to make me feel
	Sure that my wife did reveal
	The truth to me: you have betrayed
260	All honor, hoping to persuade
	The duchess to reward your shame
	With secret love. If you still claim
	This false, I ask you now to swear
264	You love someone, and tell me where
	And who she is. Otherwise,
	You're proved a traitor; I advise
	You never to set foot here again!"

268	The chevalier only then
	Realized he could not prevail.
	Any argument would fail
	In this debate. If he were to tell^[2]
272	The truth, he might just as well
	Be exiled, for he had no doubt
	That if his lady should find out
	He had broken faith with her,
276	She would be lost to him forever.
	But in case he should decide,
	Honoring his vow, to hide
	His love, the duke would then believe
280	Him guilty; and, forced to leave,
	Exiled on pain of death from love,
	He'd suffer what he fears above
	All else. He can't forget he owes
284	To this one lady all he knows
	Of happiness. Should her embrace
	Be forfeited by his disgrace,
	Or because he was too weak
288	To keep his promise, he would seek
	In vain a reason to forgive
	That failure, or go on and live
	Without her. In misfortune he
292	Was like the chatelain of Couci,
	Who, with love and sorrow strong
	Within his heart, composed this song:

	Now Love grown cruel takes away from me
	The sweet attentions of that dearest one
296	Who was my joy and who was perfectly
	My lover and in all things my companion.
	Remembering the pleasures I have known,
	Her words of love, her simple courtesy,
300	There is no end to grieving but to die,
	My heart and body severed willingly.^[3]

	The chevalier in his despair
304	Cannot decide if he would fare
	Better if he were to tell
	The truth or let the duke expel
	Him from the land and yield to lies.
308	The tears of anguish in his eyes,
	While he wonders how to speak
	In his defense, run down his cheek.
	But this infuriates the duke,
312	Who finds another way to rebuke
	The knight: he does not wish to share
	The secret of a love affair.
	Abruptly he says, "Your sorrow,
316	Chevalier, only serves to show
	What confidence you have in me.
	You believe, apparently,
	That I am apt to give away
320	Your secret. I can only say
	I'd let my teeth be one by one
	Pulled out before I'd ever have done
	So vile a thing." "My lord, I swear
324	By God above, I do not dare
	Answer you, whatever must
	Become of me. I cannot trust
	Anyone; I'd rather die
328	Than lose what I will lose if I
	Should tell the truth. For if it were
	Ever to be known to her
	That I so basely was untrue-Â¦"
332	The duke replied, "I swear to you
	On my very life and soul, I know
	How to keep the faith I owe
	To one who pledged me fealty.
336	What you have to say to me
	Will never be by fault of mine
	Revealed, nor shall any sign
	Of what I know escape me while
340	I live." The chevalier on trial
	Was weeping. "I will tell you then.
	I love your niece, the chatelaine
	Of Vergi, and she loves me in return."
344	"Do you claim that I'm the first to learn
	Of this? Someone must have suspected.
	If you want your secret protected,
	Tell the truth! Someone must have known!"
348	"No one but ourselves alone,
	Till now." "But it's beyond belief!
	Without help you would come to grief,
	And quickly, if you left to chance
352	The time and place of your romance."
	"My lord, I've nothing more to hide
	From you," the chevalier replied.

	And so he told him how and when
356	He went to see the chatelaine,
	And all about the promise made
	To her, and how the small dog played
	His part. "I won't be satisfied
360	Just by hearing how you hide
	Your love. I insist that when
	You go to see my niece again,
	You take me with you. That way I
364	Once and for all can verify
	Your story; and there is no need
	For my niece to know." The knight agreed,
	Saying, "If you are so inclined,
368	The truth is that I have in mind
	To visit the chatelaine tonight."
	The duke said that would be all right
	With him; the journey, he was sure,
372	Would bring him both relief and pleasure.

	In the place they had selected
	They met at nightfall undetected.
	The lady lived not far away;
376	On foot they quickly made their way
	Into the orchard near her manor.
	They scarcely had arrived before
	The little dog was seen to race
380	Through the shadows toward the place
	Where they were standing, and the knight
	Welcomed him with great delight.
	Then the duke, as they had agreed,
384	Lets the chevalier proceed
	Toward his lady, quietly goes
	After him, and pausing close
	To the window of her bedroom, hides
388	As best he can. A tree provides
	The shelter of great branches bent
	Down as if it were a tent
	Within which he could safely stay.
392	From there he saw the chevalier
	Entering the room, and then,
	Through a courtyard, the chatelaine
	Coming toward him. The duke was near
396	Enough so that he could hear
	Her joyful welcome as she ran
	To meet her lover and began
	Embracing him, her arms around
400	His neck. They had scarcely found
	Breath to speak a word before
	They'd kissed a hundred times or more.
	The knight embraced her once again
404	And said, "My lady, my sweet friend,
	My love, my dearest hope, my heart,
	There is no happiness apart
	From you in all the world for me;
408	And I have hungered so to be
	With you like this, it seems a year
	Since the last time I was here."
	And she to him: "My lord, my dearest
412	Friend, my only love, the rest
	Of time, each hour of every day
	Is emptiness with you away;
	But now that I can see you here
416	Beside me, there's no more to fear
	From sorrow-”you are safe and sound
	And welcome indeed!" "And you well-found!"
	Close to the door, the duke heard
420	All they said, and every word
	Gave him reason to rejoice.
	He recognized his niece's voice
	And her face; he knew beyond all doubt
424	His wife had lied to him about
	The chevalier. The evidence
	Proved his good faith and innocence,
	For if he loved the chatelaine,
428	He was unlikely to have been
	Urging the duchess to betray
	Her lord. The duke prepared to stay
	Keeping watch, all through the night,
432	While the lady and the knight
	In her chamber, wide awake
	In bed, were well content to make
	The most of time and celebrate
436	Their love. Nor shall I relate
	More about their happiness;
	Words alone are powerless
	To tell the pleasures Love may give
440	To perfect lovers, those who live
	Obedient to her commands.
	What the true lover understands
	Remains a mystery for those
444	To whom Love does not disclose
	Herself, and never otherwise
	Can they be made to realize
	That love's unshadowed joy is worth
448	More than anything else on earth.
	But those who for one moment wake
	To love will never again mistake
	The false for true; if love should last
452	Forever, yet when it is past
	It will have been too brief. One night
	Could last a week, the week might
	Become a month, the month might be
456	A year, and if the year were three,
	And three years twenty, which became
	A hundred, it would be the same
	For true lovers, who would pray
460	Still that the morning might delay.
	The chevalier had thoughts like these,
	Remembering his joy would cease
	All too soon, his night must end
464	Before the dawn. The chatelaine
	Came with her lover to the door
	To say farewell, and so once more
	The duke could see them give and take
468	Kisses of love. Their voices break
	Now with heavy sighs, and tears
	Are falling as the moment nears
	When the chevalier must go.
472	He turns away, and she with sorrow
	Left alone begins to close
	The door, but while she can she follows
	With her eyes the one whom she
476	Would rather herself accompany.

	The duke left his hiding place
	As soon as the door was closed, to retrace
	His steps, following the knight,
480	Who was lamenting that the light,
	Approaching now, caused him to be
	Expelled from happiness. While she,
	Having been left behind, complained
484	Like him that night had not remained
	A shelter for their love, deceiving
	Joy; and the lady, grieving,
	Had no praises for the day.
488	The knight continued on his way
	With these same sad thoughts and words in mind.
	But the duke, who was not far behind,
	Caught up with him and joyfully
492	Embraced him, saying, "I will be
	Your friend now and forevermore
	In faithful love! All that you swore
	Has been proved-”and I could not afford
496	To be uncertain." "Thank you, my lord,
	For that! But in God's name I pray
	That you will never give away
	The secret of what you have learned
500	Tonight. My joy would all be turned
	To bitter grief if ever it
	Were known, and with my love I'd forfeit
	Life itself." The duke replied,
504	"You need not ask again. I'll hide
	Your secret; no one will have heard
	Of this from me. You have my word."

	Talking together, they returned
508	To the castle. No one at all had learned
	Of their adventure, but it seemed
	At dinner that the duke esteemed
	The chevalier now even more
512	Than he had ever done before.
	The duchess, at this, was so offended
	That, hiding her anger, she pretended
	Illness, and quickly left the table.
516	She went to bed, but was unable
	To find there any rest or pleasure.
	Meanwhile her husband dined at leisure,
	Washed his hands, and then remained
520	To see his guests were entertained.
	After a time he visited
	His wife, had her sit up in bed,
	And asked that no attendant stay
524	With them in the room. When they
	Were left alone, the duke inquired
	Why the duchess had retired
	In such a hurry during dinner
528	And what it was that troubled her.
	She said to him, "By God, I swear
	I was completely unaware
	Until I sat down to that meal
532	That you could ever so reveal
	Yourself unwise. You're not concerned,
	Apparently, by what you learned
	From me-”you seem to take delight
536	In honoring the very knight
	Who courted me behind your back!
	And when you showed me such a lack
	Of courtesy I had to leave,
540	To hide my anger here and grieve."
	"Ha!" the duke replied, "My dear,
	Not one word more do I wish to hear
	Against that knight, either from you
544	Or anyone else. It is not true
	That he ever had the least intent
	Of courting you. He is innocent.
	I know beyond the slightest doubt
548	He never even thought about
	Such treachery-”but on that score,
	I don't intend to tell you more."

	With these words the duke withdrew,
552	Leaving her deep in thought. She knew
	That his refusal to explain
	Meant that forever she'd remain
	In torment, trying to understand
556	What had happened. On the other hand,
	She thought that there must be a way
	To make her husband give away
	His secret. And the duchess waited
560	Impatiently and calculated
	How she could best deploy her charms
	When she would have him in her arms
	That night; he would not be slow
564	To tell her what she wanted to know
	If she could question him in bed.
	And when the duke retired, instead
	Of greeting him, she looked annoyed
568	And turned away as to avoid
	His lying close to her. She knew
	That if she wanted to subdue
	Her husband, she need but display
572	Resentment, and in such a way
	As to discomfit his desire.
	He kissed her, only to inspire
	Bitter reproaches as she cried,
576	"I will not be satisfied
	With empty gestures, when I know
	Too well what lies behind your show
	Of love, how much you have deceived
580	My faith in you. Oh! I believed
	For long, with foolish innocence,
	That there was more than vain pretense
	In your fair words when you so often
584	Said you loved me. But I've been
	Disabused this day forever;
	Now I can be sure you never
	Loved me in your heart." "But why
588	Do you say that?" And she, to try
	To win him over to her will,
	Answered, "You told me to be still,
	When I would have questioned you
592	About something it wouldn't do,
	It seems, to have me know." "But tell me
	What you mean!" "Whatever he
	Found to make you take for fact
596	The lies behind which he attacked
	My honor! But I don't want to hear
	His story now; it's all too clear
	How much you value loyalty
600	And love. In my sincerity
	I've told you right away whatever
	I learned, regardless if it were
	Good or bad. But now I feel
604	Poorly repaid, for you conceal
	Your thoughts from me. And rest assured
	That I, from this day on, am cured
	Of trusting you, and never more
608	Can I love you, as before,
	With all my heart." And then she wept
	As sadly as she could, and kept
	Sighing as if her heart would break,
612	So that the duke began to take
	Pity on her. "My dearest love,"
	He said, "nothing stands above
	Your happiness, nor would I give
616	You cause for anger. But forgive
	Me this one time. I must refuse
	To tell you what you ask, or lose
	All honor." Quickly she replied,
620	"My lord, you are quite right to hide
	Your secret from me; I'll betray
	Your trust-”that seems to be the way
	You think of me! But truly I'm
624	Astonished; you can't name a time
	When I was tempted to disclose
	Anything you ever chose
	To tell me, and no matter how
628	Small or great it was. Now
	In all good faith I say to you
	That while I live, I'll never do
	So vile a thing." And once again
632	She wept. The duke, who had by then
	Become uneasy and distressed,
	Held out no longer. He caressed
	Her lovingly and said, "My lady,
636	I really don't know what should be
	My answer, but I do believe
	That you would loyally receive
	My confidence, and that no secret
640	Should come between us two. And yet
	Remember this: should you betray
	A word of this affair, you'll pay,
	I swear it, with your life!" "My lord,"
644	She answered, "I can well afford
	The risk; what could persuade me to
	Break a promise I'd made to you?"
	And the duke, because he held her dear,
648	Believed that his wife must be sincere,
	And told her everything he'd learned
	About his niece: how she returned
	The knight's true love, and how he went
652	Himself and witnessed her consent.
	In detail the duke related
	Everything: how they had waited
	In the orchard, what it meant
656	When the little dog was sent,
	And how the chevalier had gone
	To meet his love and stayed till dawn.
	When the duchess realized
660	Her proffered love had been despised
	For one whose rank was well below
	Her own, she felt a mortal blow
	Had been inflicted on her pride.
664	But she was careful still to hide
	Her feelings from the duke, and promise
	Never to breathe a word of this
	To anyone, at any time,
668	"Or else," she said, "for such a crime
	I should be hung!" Even then,
	Hatred for the chatelaine
	Filled her heart; she had begun
672	Already to plot against the one
	Because of whom the knight abused
	Her pride and, to her shame, refused
	Her love. Now the duchess thought
676	Only of revenge, and sought
	How best to profit from the hour
	When it would be in her power
	To whisper in the lady's ear
680	Something she would grieve to hear.
	But the duchess was denied
	Her vengeance until Whitsuntide,
	A feast the duke would celebrate
684	By holding his full court in state.
	Messengers telling what he planned
	Went out to the ladies of the land,
	And the first of his requests
688	Was that his niece be among his guests.
	The duchess's blood ran cold when she
	At last approached her enemy,
	In her eyes the most hateful thing
692	In all the world; and yet dissembling
	What she felt, she greeted her
	More graciously than she had ever
	Done before. And to express
696	The rage within her heart, the duchess
	Waited until Whitsunday.

	That evening, when they took away
	The tables to prepare the hall
700	For dancing, she invited all
	The ladies to her room, where they
	Could in privacy array
	Themselves in honor of the dance.
704	The duchess, when she saw her chance,
	Delayed no longer but addressed
	The chatelaine, as if in jest:
	"Be sure to look your best, my dear,
708	Since your handsome friend is here!"
	Untroubled was her prompt reply:
	"My lady, I can't imagine why
	You would hint at such a thing.
712	I'd have no friend who would not bring
	Honor to my lord; never yet
	Have I been willing to forget
	My own." She said, "I have no doubt
716	Of that. I wonder, though, about
	Your special talent in the art
	Of training dogs to act a part!"
	The other ladies overheard
720	But couldn't understand a word.
	With the duchess they departed
	For the dance, which had just started.

	The chatelaine remained there
724	Alone and sick from her despair
	And raging anger. Churning inside,
	She found a room where she could hide;
	No one would be there. But instead,
728	A little maid lay close to the bed.
	The lady did not see her. She thought
	She was alone, and so, distraught
	By bitter grief, let herself fall
732	Upon the bed and mourned for all
	Her happiness. "O God, have mercy!
	What am I to do? If she
	Taunts me so that I regret
736	Training my little dog, the secret
	Never could have been revealed,
	Except by him who made me yield
	To love and now casts me away.
740	For that he never would betray,
	Unless he was so much her friend
	He wished our love were at an end,
	To put her in my place. The fact
744	Is all too clear-”he broke the pact
	We made, and how can I suppose
	He loves me still? And yet, God knows,
	I loved him more than anything
748	On earth, and love can never bring
	More joy. Nothing had the power
	To drive him from my thoughts each hour
	Of every day and every night;
752	He was my pleasure, my delight,
	My comfort and my happiness.
	Absent, he was nonetheless
	Close to me, within my heart!
756	Ah, dearest friend, would you depart?
	How can it be that you have changed
	So much that you yourself arranged
	For love to end in treachery?
760	I thought you were more true to me
	Than ever Tristan to his fair
	Iseut, and in return I swear
	That twice as dear to me you were
764	As I was to myself. And never
	At any time, from the first day
	We loved, did I in any way
	Give you the least cause to so
768	Hate me that you'd lightly throw
	Our love away as you have done,
	Telling our secret to someone
	Whom you prefer to me. Alas,
772	My love, how could this come to pass,
	When I have always been so far
	From being disloyal, as you are;
	If God above had offered me
776	The world, the very sky to be
	My own, and with it Paradise,
	I would not take it if the price
	Were losing you, my only treasure,
780	My very health and all the pleasure
	Of my life. Nothing grieved
	Or troubled me while I believed
	You had the slightest love for me.
784	Alas for love! To think that he
	Would make me come to this despair!
	When he was with me, all my care
	Was for his pleasure; I required
788	Only to do what he desired
	To be content. And he would say
	That nothing could banish him away
	From me, that body and soul he was
792	My love, my own forever. Because
	His words were gentle, I believed
	All he said, so well deceived
	I thought his heart could not be closed
796	In hatred toward me-”not to boast
	The love of a duchess or a queen.
	How good it was when I could lean
	Against him, with my heart on his,
800	When I could believe his promise
	To be, while he remained alive,
	My love-”and I would not survive
	His death, were it to come before
804	My own; it would have been a more
	Cruel fate to be condemned
	To see him no longer than to end
	My life with his. Alas for love!
808	By what right did he tell her of
	Our happiness? Why did he choose
	Deliberately so to lose
	My love? He knew that he had vowed
812	To me before I first allowed
	His visits that they would be concealed
	From everyone, and should he yield
	The secret, it would mean the end
816	Of love between us. It has happened
	So. And yet how can I live,
	Mourning for him? Life can give
	Nothing now but further pain;
820	I have no reason to remain
	Alive without him. Rather I pray
	To God for death, and that He may
	Have mercy on my soul and bless
824	My lover, by whose pitiless
	Cruelty I have been driven
	Now to death. I have forgiven
	His treachery. Nor do I grieve
828	That I must die, for I receive
	My fate from him; remembering
	The sweetness of his love, the sting
	Is drawn away from death." The lady
832	Said nothing after that, but only
	Sighed and, just before the end,
	Murmured, "God keep you, dearest friend."
	And with these final words she pressed
836	Her arms hard against her breast,
	Fainting in agony. All trace
	Of color vanished from her face;
	Her heart was still, and she lay dead.

840	Her lover did not know. Instead
	He had been dancing at the ball,
	Waiting for her. But nothing at all
	Could please him when he was denied
844	The presence of his love. He tried
	To find out why she didn't appear,
	Whispering in the duke's ear,
	"My lord, why does your niece delay
848	So long to come and dance today?
	It must be something she has done
	That made you lock her up in prison!"
	The duke, who had not been aware
852	That the chatelaine was not yet there,
	Looked for her among the dancers
	All in vain. And so he answers
	The knight by leading him away
856	Toward his niece's room. When they
	Cannot find her, he suggests
	They try the dressing room, and requests
	The chevalier to look for her
860	Alone, knowing he would prefer
	To find his lady in a place
	Where privately they might embrace.
	Gratefully the knight accepts
864	The opportunity, and steps
	Into the alcove where she lies
	So pale and still. With joy he tries
	To waken her to his caress;
868	Her lips are cold, and colorless
	Her face, her body rigid. So,
	In agony, he came to know
	The truth. "O God! Why did she die?
872	What could have happened?" At his cry,
	The maid who was hidden near the bed
	Suddenly appeared and said,
	"My lord, this much I know is true.
876	She prayed for death because she knew
	That she was by her love betrayed,
	From some remark the duchess made,
	Teasing her about her friend
880	And how she trained a dog. In the end
	The lady's bitter grieving broke
	Her heart." The knight, as she spoke,
	Realized that he had killed
884	The chatelaine himself, and filled
	With wild remorse, he cried his pain
	Aloud: "Oh my sweet love, in vain
	Were you so loyal, you above
888	All on earth deserving love,
	And by this vile betrayal brought
	To death. Justice would have sought
	To be avenged on me alone,
892	But you would in my place atone
	My falsity. Now let me pay
	For treason in the only way
	I can." With that he took a sword
896	Down from the wall and drove it toward
	His heart. The chevalier had fallen
	Over her lifeless body when
	His blood ran out and he was dead.

900	The little serving maid, who fled
	In terror when she saw the two
	Had died, told everything she knew
	As soon as she found the duke. She kept
904	Nothing back: how she had slept
	Inside the alcove and remained,
	While the chatelaine complained
	Of her lost love, and how the duchess
908	Caused the lady such distress
	By mocking her, and how she died
	Of her despair. Horrified,
	The duke hastened to behold
912	The truth of what he had been told.
	From the knight's breast he withdrew
	The sword, then in the hall broke through
	The dancers circling there to find
916	His wife. Not in the least inclined,
	Now, to engage in lengthy speech,
	He wanted, in his rage, to teach
	The duchess he meant what he had said;
920	He raised his sword and struck her head
	Without a single word. At his feet
	The duchess fell. And then complete
	Confusion filled the hall. No one
924	Could understand what the duke had done,
	What they all had seen with their own eyes-”
	For the joyful dancers a sad surprise.
	Then, to the people of his court,
928	The duke gave a full report,
	Telling of the promise made
	And broken and again betrayed.
	Tears came to their eyes, and when
932	They saw the lovers, they wept again,
	And there was the duchess lying dead.
	Saddened, angry, they soon fled
	The court and all the horror they
936	Were witness to. The duke, next day,
	Had the lovers placed within
	A single grave, and buried in
	Another place his wife. Alone
940	With sorrow, he was never known
	To laugh again. He took the cross,
	Became a Knight Templar across
	The sea, and never more returned.
944	Ah, God! If all their love was turned
	To bitterness and grief, the reason
	Lies in what the knight had done,
	Believing that he should entrust
948	The duke with what he knew he must
	Conceal from all, or sacrifice
	His love. Nothing could suffice
	Ever to free him from the promise
952	He had made. Surely this
	May be a warning to all those
	Who love, never to disclose
	Their secret, for by that they gain
956	Nothing, and while they remain
	Undiscovered, those who prey
	On others' love are kept at bay.