of fables on the model of Marie's. Marie's fables cannot
compete with those of her great French successor, La Fontaine; and yet
one is always insensibly comparing them with his. The literary value of
her works is not great; the recital is too cold and impersonal; there is
too much of the apologue and none of that delightful individuality, the
reflection of his own mind, which La Fontaine manages to impress upon
his creatures; the writer shows no sympathy with the "little people" of
her fables.

The lays are decidedly more entertaining, and show considerable
narrative power, as well as an unconscious appreciation of the romantic
beauty of the incidents, many of which have to do with fairies and
enchantment. They are tales of love and adventure, full of marvels. One
meets King Arthur and Tristram, and a host of knights and ladies
transformed by the fairies. We may mention the pathetic _Lai de Frene_,
a story related to the famous one of _Patient Grissel_; the story of
_Guingamor_, a tale of a knight who lives three days in fairyland and
comes back to find that three hundred years had passed on earth; and the
story of the werewolf Bisclavret, which we may give as a specimen of
this very interesting portion of Old French literature interesting, at
least, to those who love literature in its infancy.

"When I set out to write lays," says Marie, "I would not forget
Bisclavret. In Breton he is called Bisclavret, while the Normans call
him _garwalf_ (werewolf)." We have heard often enough, she continues, of
men who became werewolves and lived in the forest. The werewolf is a
savage beast, and when he is in a rage he devours men and does much
damage. After this little preface, the tale goes on to tell of a knight
of Brittany, courteous, rich, beloved by all his neighbors. His wife,
however, was piqued by unreasoning curiosity about one thing, which was
quite enough, indeed, to arouse the curiosity of any wife. This was the
fact that for three days out of 'the week her husband disappeared, no
one knew whither. At length, she asked her husband where he went, and,
in spite of his reluctance to tell,

"tant le blandi e losenia
Que s'aventure li cunta,"

that is, she wheedled and coaxed him till he told her that on three days
of the week he must be a werewolf; that, going to the forest, he
stripped himself and hid his clothing carefully, and then was turned
into a wolf. He besought her not to reveal the hiding pla