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Marie was a subject of the English Crown, born in an ancient town
called Pitre, some three miles above Rouen, in the Duchy of Normandy.
This speculation is based largely on the unwonted topographical
accuracy of her description of Pitre, given in "The Lay of the Two
Lovers." Such evidence, perhaps, is insufficient to obtain a judgment
in a Court of Law. The date when Marie lived was long a matter of
dispute. The Prologue to her "Lays" contains a dedication to some
unnamed King; whilst her "Fables" is dedicated to a certain Count
William. These facts prove her to have been a person of position and
repute. The King was long supposed to be Henry the Third of England,
and this would suggest that she lived in the thirteenth century.
An early scholar, the Abbe de La Rue, in fact, said that this was
"undoubtedly" the case, giving cogent reasons in support of his
contention. But modern scholarship, in the person of Gaston Paris,
has decided that the King was Henry the Second, of pious memory; the
Count, William Longsword, Earl of Salisbury, his natural son by Fair
Rosamund; and that Marie must be placed in the second half of the
twelfth century. This shows that scholarship is not an exact science,
and that such words as "doubtless" should not be employed more than
necessary. A certain Eastern philosopher, when engaged in instructing
the youth of his country, used always to conclude his lectures with
the unvarying formula, "But, gentlemen, all that I have told you is
probably wrong." This sage was a wise man (not always the same thing),
and his example should be had in remembrance. It seems possible (and
one hesitates to use a stronger word) that the "Lays" of Marie were
actually written at the Court of Henry of England. From political
ambition the King was married to Eleanor of Aquitaine, a lady of
literary tastes, who came from a family in which the patronage of
singers was a tradition. Her husband, too, had a pronounced liking for
literature. He was fond of books, and once paid a visit to Glastonbury
to visit King Arthur's tomb. These, perhaps, are limited virtues, but
Henry the Second had need of every rag. It is somewhat difficult to
recognise in that King of the Prologue, "in whose heart all gracious
things are rooted," the actual King who murdered Becket; who turned
over picture-books at Mass, and never confessed or communicated. It is
yet more difficult to perceive "joy as his handmaid" who, because of
the loss of a