In the Great Palace of English Literature over one of the golden doors hangs a horn of ivory, and a sword of which the name is Durendal. Above that door is written Chanson de Roland, which means the Song of Roland. Often in the stillness of the early morning or at dusk the Great Palace rings faintly with the music from that ivory horn which belonged to Roland, and which he sounded for the last time in the Pass of Roncevaux. Or there is heard the clinking of Durendal against the stone of the palace walls—no doubt the wind stirring it where it hangs beside the door it guards.

"Chanson de Roland!" You see the story is French. The Normans brought it with them when they came to conquer Britain in 1066 under William of Normandy. Before the soldiers of William, the minstrel, Taillefer, rode singing of "Charlemagne, and of Roland, and of Oliver, and the vassals who fell at Roncevaux."

[Pg 69]

"Roland, comrade," said Oliver, "blow thy horn of ivory, and Charles shall hear it and bring hither again his army, and ... succor us."

"Nay, first will I lay on with Durendal, the good sword girded at my side."

"Roland, comrade," urged Oliver, "blow thy horn of ivory, that Charles may hear it."

"God forbid that they should say I sounded my horn for dread of the heathen."

"Prithee look!" begged Oliver. "They are close upon us. Thou wouldst not deign to sound thy horn of ivory. Were the King here we should suffer no hurt."

Oliver was wise and Roland was brave, and the song that the minstrel Taillefer chanted before the conquering hosts of William of Normandy was a wonderful, stirring song. No doubt there flows in English veins to-day much of the courage of Roland and the wisdom of Oliver. Although the English continued English, yet for a long time following the conquest of England by the Normans songs were sung in French rather than in English. And ready and witty was all that was written down in French, for the literature of the Normans was as brightly colored as a jewel and not grand and melancholy as was that of the Anglo-Saxons. "Beowulf" was the battle song of the Anglo-Saxons, the "Song of Roland" that of the Normans. Melancholy was the poem of [Pg 70]"Beowulf." White and clear, stirring and flashing in the sunshine was the "Chanson de Roland," even as Roland's beloved sword Durendal, which is heard clinking against the stone of the Great Palace of English Literature.

But "Roland" represented only a fraction of the story-telling in the French poetry of that time. The most exquisite and delightful story-teller of that twelfth century collected and wrote here charming stories on English soil and dedicated them to Henry II., who died in 1189. Her name was Marie de France, and of her lays a rival poet wrote:
All love them much and hold them dear, Baron, count and chevalier, Applaud their form and take delight To hear them told by day and night. In chief, these tales the ladies please; They listen glad their hearts to ease.

Marie de France's lays are based on British tradition. There are many of these delightful stories. Among the most interesting of them is "The Werewolf."

Once upon a time in the days of King Arthur—for later there are some lines in Malory's "Morte d'Arthur" which tells us that this story must have been true—there lived a man who for part of the week was a wolf—that is, he had the form [Pg 71]and the appetite of a wolf, and was called a werewolf. But nobody knew that he was a werewolf for three days in the week. Not even his wife, whom he loved well and devotedly, knew what happened to her husband while he was away from her these three days every week.

It vexed the wife very much that she did not know, but she was afraid to question her husband, lest he be angry. At last one day she did question him.

"Ask me no more," replied the husband, "for if I answered you you would cease to love me."

Nevertheless she gave him no peace until he had told her that three days in the week, because of a spell which was over him, he was forced to be a werewolf, and that when he felt the change coming over him he hid himself in the very thickest part of the forest.

Then the wife demanded to know what became of his clothes, and h............